Apocalypse Crucible (9 page)

“Does Private Collins think she’d have shot him if he hadn’t left the house?”

Kerby hesitated.

“There’s no foul here, Corporal,” Megan said. “I could ask Private Collins, but that would take time we might not have. I just want to get a feel for things before I proceed. Leslie’s a juvenile. Let’s worry about taking care of her first, then what impact your reports might have on her and her family.”

The military was all about paperwork, Megan knew. In her job as a family counselor, she stayed enmeshed in files, forms, and followups. All of those reports remained with career military men and women throughout their service.
And with their kids.

Kerby glanced at Megan. “Private Collins was convinced she would have shot him, ma’am.”

“What about Tori McKean?”

“She was glad to get out of the house.”

An MP opened the door of the Jeep that had switched its lights on and off. He touched the brim of his helmet with the barrel of his assault rifle in an abbreviated salute and shone his light into the vehicle. “Mrs. Gander.”

“Private,” Megan replied. She glanced inside the jeep.

Tori McKean huddled in the passenger seat under a man’s leather jacket. Her blonde hair, normally fussed over for hours, hung in disarray. Black mascara tracked her cheeks in thin trails from bloodshot blue eyes.

She was about the most frightened seventeen-year-old Megan had ever seen.
In the last five minutes,
she amended. Terrified kids had filled her office for the last two days.

“Tori,” Megan said in a normal tone.

The girl squinted against the bright light, raising a hand to shield her streaked face. “Mrs. Gander?”

Megan closed her hand over the private’s flashlight and gently pushed the light away. Getting the message, the private shut the beam off.

“That’s right, Tori,” Megan said. “I’m here to help.”
If I can. Lord, help me help. Help me stay calm and help me think.

“I’m afraid Leslie’s going to hurt herself, Mrs. Gander.”

“No.” Megan kept her voice calm and firm. “We’re not going to let her do that.”

“I don’t think you can stop her. She’s not herself.”

“I’m going to try.” Megan reached out and took Tori’s hands into her own. They were cold as ice.

“She’s not herself.” Tori sniffled. “It’s all this … this … ” She shook her head helplessly. “Nobody knows what’s going on. Leslie’s mom disappeared, and she doesn’t know if her dad is alive or dead.”

“I know. I’ve been talking to her privately and in group.” During the last two days, there had been little opportunity for private counseling sessions. The disappearances, the outbreak of war in Turkey, and the chaos that seemed to consume the world had affected all of them. Megan had started to schedule private sessions again, but there simply weren’t enough hours in the day. On top of that, half the base’s counselors had gone missing.

“She’s going to kill herself, Mrs. Gander.” Tori clutched Megan’s arms. The girl’s hands knotted into white-knuckled fists. The whirling amber lights atop the sawhorses striped her face, flickering into and out of existence.

“Why?” Megan asked.

“She’s confused. She’s all mixed up.” Tori cried and hiccupped at the same time.

With the heaviness of the rain, Megan hadn’t caught the smoke stink that clung to Tori’s blonde tresses. “Why is Leslie confused?”

“She just
is!
” Tori drew her hands back and wrapped her arms around herself. “Aren’t you confused? I mean, you lost your little boy and everything! You can’t just ignore that!”

Bright hot pain lanced through Megan. She almost turned away from the accusation in the girl’s eyes. Instead, Megan mustered the strength to push the pain aside.
For right now, Chris is out of reach. Concentrate on those you can save. Right now, these girls need you.

Megan hunkered down beside the Jeep, letting Tori have the high ground. Teens were used to adults leaning over them, browbeating them.

“You’ve been smoking tonight,” Megan said. She kept her tone flat and deliberately neutral.

“It’s incense.” Tori’s eyes wouldn’t meet Megan’s. “That’s all. Just incense. Leslie was burning incense.”

“That’s not incense.” Rain drummed against Megan’s shoulders, but the slicker she wore kept her from getting drenched. Her hair, though, was a different story. She felt it plastered against her head. “You were smoking.”

Tori looked like she was going to argue more, but she gave up the fight and cried like a child. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

MPs had caught Tori with drug paraphernalia before. Megan knew from counseling sessions that the girl occasionally experimented with drugs.

“Was Leslie smoking, too?” Megan asked.

Tori cried and buried her face in her hands. She opened her mouth to speak but no words came out.

“Tori, you’ve got to talk with me. I need to know what you and Leslie were doing.”

“I don’t want to be in trouble,” Tori cried hoarsely.

Megan cupped the girl’s face in her hand. “And I don’t want Leslie to hurt herself. Do you?”

Pain racked Tori’s face.

“Tori, help me! Leslie’s in that house with her father’s pistol. She’s threatened to shoot herself.”

“I know.” Tori took in a deep, shuddering breath. “I know. She told me she was going to shoot herself. She said she was going to shoot me, too. That’s when the MP came in and got me.”

Megan bridled the fear that thrummed inside her. Leslie Hollister was borderline depressive. She had great parents, but her problem was chemical, not environmental. Using drugs—something that Leslie had never done before, to Megan’s knowledge—could only complicate the existing problems.

“I can smell pot in your hair,” Megan said

Tori shook her head. “I don’t want to be in trouble, Mrs. Gander. I swear I don’t want to be in trouble. I wasn’t going to do it, wasn’t going to smoke anymore, but things have been so screwed up I just couldn’t keep calm. I’ve been going to pieces on the inside. When I saw that Leslie was spazzing about everything, I thought maybe it would calm us down.”

“Is pot all you were doing?”

Tori didn’t answer.

Megan kept her voice gentle. “I have to know, Tori. If something goes wrong here tonight, the hospital is going to have to know. If Leslie’s had something besides weed, I need to know so I can tell them.”

Tears fell from the girl’s eyes. She shook and quivered. “My dad is going to kill me. He is
so
going to kill me.”

“Your dad isn’t going to kill you,” Megan said. “That’s just fear talking.” She knew Tori didn’t believe her at the moment, but the girl had been through similar situations with her parents in the past. “You’re out of there. You’re safe.” Megan paused. “But Leslie isn’t. Help me get her out of that house and somewhere that I can take care of her.”

Tori glanced at the house with teary eyes and real fear.

Megan tenderly brushed the girl’s hair from her face.
God, they’re all so young. How can You expect any of them to be ready to go through this?
“Tori.”

Dazed, the girl looked at her.

“Help me,” Megan repeated.

“We smoked some pot,” Tori reluctantly admitted. “I brought some whiskey. And there was other stuff.”

“What stuff?”

“Downers mostly. I thought they would mellow her out. Help her get a grip.”

Except when you’re a naturally depressive person,
Megan thought,
they send you right through the floor.
She kept her eyes on Tori, stroking the girl’s hair. “How bad is it? I have to know before I go in there.”

“I thought she was going to do it, Mrs. Gander,” Tori choked out. “I thought I was dead. I’ve never seen her like that.”

“Why does she want to shoot herself?” Megan asked. “She thinks she’s dreaming.” Tori’s voice came out hushed and dead. “She thinks her dad’s at war and her mom has disappeared because she’s trapped in a nightmare. She thinks if she kills herself in the dream, she’ll wake up and everything will be all right.”

A gunshot blasted through the night.

Turning her head, instinctively tracking the sound, Megan knew the report had come from within the Hollister home.

5

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0432 Hours

A gust of hot, acrid wind hammered Goose as the satchel charge exploded on the enemy tank behind him. Flames jetted harsh and bright, and for a moment he worried that he was close enough to the blast that he might catch fire. The battle roars and thunder around him evaporated, as if someone had turned the sound off. Then he realized that the detonation of the explosive had deafened him again.

Off balance, lost in the sudden war of light and dark, he hit the stone street and landed awkwardly on his left side. The impact drove the air from his lungs. Instinctively, he rolled facedown and wrapped his hands over his head, making certain his helmet remained in place as debris rained around him.

Glancing over his shoulder when the worst of the onslaught was over, Goose watched in stunned fascination as the multiton Syrian tank came up from the right side, slowly flipping like a turtle caught out on a highway. The explosion left a gaping crater in the street, and Goose knew the charge must have rotated under the tank tread at the time of detonation. Sheared and no longer a continuous belt, the loose roll of heavy links spewed forward, spilling across the battle-scarred street.

With grudging reluctance, aided by the fact that the tank’s left-side track hadn’t quit driving, the tank turned over onto its side. The left tread continued to spin, chewing through the street, spraying broken rock over Goose. The tank revolved, turning crossways.

Goose’s hearing returned in a liquid rush that popped both ears. Someone yelled for his attention over the headset.

“Phoenix Leader! Phoenix Leader!”

Goose tried to speak then found he wasn’t breathing. The impact had emptied his lungs. He forced himself up, slid his rifle around to his hands, and inhaled. Heated, sulfurous dust coated the inside of his dry mouth. His ribs protested the action even as his lungs tried to find some small measure of relief.

“Leader,” Goose gasped. “Leader … is standing.” He took another breath, this one coming easier. Pain blazed along his ribs but he didn’t think any were broken. “I need your soldier with the MPIM.”

The tank rocked as the left tread continued to spin. Goose knew the armored vehicle had a chance of landing right side up as much as upside down. Right side up, the tank would remain in the fight.

“Leader, this is Tango Nine,” a soldier called over the headset. “I’ve got an MPIM, and I’ve got target acquisition.”

The Multi-Purpose Infantry Munition system was issued to the army and the marines in 2002, replacing the AT-4 and M-72 Light Antitank Weapon. The AT-4s and the LAWs served as disposable, one-use-only weapons against armored vehicles and heavily fortified emplacements.

“Tango Nine,” Goose said as he sprinted toward a nearby building, “you have your target. Neutralize the armor.” He reached the corner of the building, put his back to the wall, and hunkered down with the M-4A1 cradled across his knees and one hand on his helmet.

“Bird’s away!” Tango Nine warned.

From the corner of his eye, Goose marked the MPIM gunner’s position from the weapon’s ignition flare that briefly lit the Ranger dressed in full battle gear. From his position, Tango Nine had direct line of sight to the Syrian tank’s guts.

Farther down the street toward the barricades, three other armored vehicles roared through the clouds of dust and layers of smoke. Muzzle flashes from the surrounding buildings marked the defenders’ positions and drew enemy fire. Fifty-cal machine guns strafed the buildings and chewed holes in the walls.

The MPIM rocket slammed against the Syrian tank’s undercarriage. The explosion unleashed a host of flames that enveloped the vehicle. Chunks of metal broke loose, flying into the air and streaking into the buildings and the street. The other tread didn’t survive the new assault, coming apart at once and flapping with horrendous bonging noises. Propelled by the blast, the tank overturned, rocking to a halt upside down.

“Tango One,” Goose called, shoving himself back into a standing position.

“Go, Leader. You’ve got Tango One,” Lieutenant Wake replied.

“Secure that vehicle,” Goose ordered.

Wake snapped orders to his unit, deploying men instantly. A half dozen Rangers abandoned their positions and rushed forward to surround the tank. They carried their rifles loose and ready, tight against their chests and muzzles down so they could swing the weapons in any direction.

“If they don’t have any more fight in them,” Goose instructed, “I want prisoners, Tango One.” His weak knees trembled slightly under his weight and he didn’t trust his legs. He wasn’t sure if he could move, much less run. He locked into the side of the building to provide cover fire for the approaching troops.

“Affirmative, Leader.”

Wake led the team himself. He was compact and broad-shouldered.