35
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1318 Hours
Hell descended on Sanliurfa. The war, snarling and blistering hot, ravaged the city and sucked the marrow from its broken bones despite the pounding rain. A few of the SCUD missiles the Syrians were firing had gotten past the Patriot defensive systems, and Remington felt the explosions shake the earth and quiver through his boot soles.
He stood at parade rest in front of the ops board and kept the battlefield in view in his mind even when the satellite systems occasionally failed and the screens went dark. Fear came at him harder then. His dependence on technology left him crippled and floundering.
It’s not me, Remington told himself, struggling for a calm, clear head. It’s war the way it’s fought now. Battles these days move too fast for an unaided man to keep up with. No one could adequately track developing fronts and unit strength without computers.
Back when war had first been invented, generals had peered over a battlefield from a cliff or a hill, or they had led their troops from the front lines. They’d been able to see everything they needed to.
Remington had studied war, from the Chinese texts to the Romans to MOUT battles staged inside cities. In the beginning, war had started in communities as one faction inside a metropolitan area- no matter how large or how small-had fought to contain or destroy another. Then war had gotten too large and was waged outside the city, partly to make sure there was still something left standing for the victor to claim. From there war had spread to the struggles between the cities, where economies and religions threatened to conquer all.
War was still waged for the same reasons. Spin doctors simply tried to put different faces on it.
The Greek city-states had battled each other. The nations comprising the German confederacy had battled each other. The North had battled the South in the United States. Remington believed it was man’s nature to battle other men.
There could, in the end, be only one conqueror, one world leader.
He gazed at the ops board in disbelief. The Syrians seriously outgunned and outnumbered his troops. Sanliurfa had been under constant attack for almost three hours. The Syrian military and air force had settled into the ridges around the city and contented themselves with shelling and bombing the Turkish, American, and United Nations forces into submission. Time was on their side.
At least the rain that continued to fall slowed them. The huge tract of land in front of the city’s walls had become a lake of mud that jammed the Syrian cavalry units. A few of them that tried to cross the expanse became targets for Remington’s artillery squads. Those squads hadn’t hesitated about blowing tanks, APCs, and field artillery to pieces.
Remington knew that several Syrian units sat out there in smoking ruins. He took pride in those small successes. What he needed was a way to turn those into more and larger successes.
What he needed-though he was loath to admit it-was Goose. Whenever circumstances had threatened to get out of hand in the past, whether in Iraq or Bosnia or in one of the African countries where they’d fought for survival in the early years, Goose had always been by Remington’s side.
Don’t you think about him, Remington commanded himself. Goose is part of the problem these days. He’s picked up Baker’s slack and has split the attention of this army. These men need to stay worried about saving their butts, not their souls.
“Captain,” the com officer said. He was young and bright faced.
Remington looked at the man.
“I’ve got Doyle.”
Remington nodded, then reached up and switched his headset to the frequency he used for Corporal Raymond Doyle. “Go.”
“I found your bird.” Doyle’s voice carried the lilt of New Orleans in it. Before entering the army, he’d been a street enforcer in that city and a part-time bounty hunter for a bail bondsman. His attorney had gotten him a sweetheart deal into the army to settle a manslaughter charge the DA’s office had leveled against him.
Before the army, Doyle had been a violent man conditioned to using his fists and a gun to solve problems. After Remington found out about him, he’d put the man’s talents to work. He still employed his fists and gun, and he did the dark, dirty jobs behind the scenes that Goose wouldn’t.
The “bird” was CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody.
“Where is he?” Remington asked.
“North end of the city.”
That didn’t surprise Remington. “Is he getting ready to run?”
“He’s still here, but I’m willing to bet if things turn much more sour, he’ll bolt like a striped ape.”
Remington wasn’t sure what the colloquialism meant, but he understood the sentiment. “He’s probably afraid to head out of the city with the SCUDs dropping out there.” The other end of Sanliurfa was easily within reach of the Syrians’ missiles, and some of those who had chosen to flee late in the game lay dead on the highway now.
“That’s the way I figure it too. But if he decides he likes his chances better out on the open road, what do you want me to do?”
“Prevent that. I’m not done with him.”
“Yes, sir. Probably be better to bag him and bring him in.”
“Can you do that?”
“Yes, sir, but it’ll be bloody. He’s got him a squad of hard-core boys around him.”
Remington’s mind flipped that around. “He’s not waiting here to see if he can get out of the city. He’s waiting to see how things turn out with Goose and Icarus.”
“You could be right, sir. But seeing as how we haven’t had any radio communication with Gander, there’s every chance that-”
“Goose would keep radio silence at this point,” Remington said. “He’s behind enemy lines. He’s not going to want to call attention to himself.”
“No, sir. I reckon not. If I was in his shoes, I wouldn’t want nobody to know where I was either. Out in that brush, he’ll have a chance.”
If he’s still alive.
Even though Doyle didn’t say the words, Remington knew the man was thinking them. Remington wasn’t going to believe Goose was dead till he saw the sergeant’s body.
“Keep a loose watch on your target,” Remington said. “I don’t want to lose track of him in the confusion.”
Another SCUD landed nearby and shook the earth. Particleboard dropped from the ceiling and landed on soldiers as well as the floor. A flurry of curses ran through the room, and a few of the men hit the deck and went flat. The electronics went out for a moment, then came back on.
“Are you still there?” Remington asked.
“Yes, sir.”
Remington let out a tense breath. He needed the communications array to stay intact. “Did you copy my last instructions?”
“Stay on top of the target. Don’t engage.”
“Right. He’s probably waiting around at least till nightfall. That’s when Goose will most likely try to make it back into the city. If Icarus is still alive, Goose will bring him in at that time too.”
“Yes, sir.” Doyle’s calm tone told Remington he’d already thought of that. “The target’s wired into a communications array himself. He’s staying on the horn to some of his people.”
“He’ll have spotters around the city.” Remington’s mind flew, working out everything Cody would probably be planning for. Remington turned and gazed around the room. “He’s probably going to have someone on me.”
“Yes, sir. If I was the target, that’s what I’d do.”
Remington hated the insecurity that fell over him. He hated having to accept that he didn’t control everyone in the room. Cody, and the agency the man worked for, had enough resources to buy any one of the soldiers in the command center who wasn’t convinced his future lay in Remington’s hands. At the moment, there were probably a lot of soldiers like that.
“The good thing is,” Doyle said, “the target doesn’t appear willing to leave the city till he deals with his objective. It’s easier to hunt something that has a reason to stay around. That way you don’t have to worry about just one chance to get it right. Him hunting that Icarus guy, that’s just a honey pot to a bear. I got a feeling this guy won’t jump till he’s settled his target’s hash. Works out for us.”