Apocalypse Dawn (19 page)

Chris.

Joey turned and walked away.

“Hey, man,” Leonard said solemnly, dropping a hand on Joey’s shoulder for a moment. “Hope everything turns out okay with your dad.”

“Me, too,” Joey said. “Thanks.” He kept moving.

“Hey, Joey,” Jenny called from behind him.

He stopped and watched as she ran to join him. “What?” he asked.

“Want company?”

“You?” Joey couldn’t figure her out. She had been so hard on him, then this. Her behavior didn’t make sense.

“Yeah.”

„Why?

She shrugged. “Because you’re a friend. And I think maybe you could use a friend for a little while.”

A friend. That was one of the last things Joey wanted to be with Jenny McGrath. He almost groaned in frustration.

“Look,” Jenny said. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry for the things that I said. I’m not always a nice person.”

“No,” he agreed, and part of him wanted to be a little mean about accepting her offer. However, he regretted his response immediately.

She sighed. “It’s a twenty-minute drive back to the base. Your dad is obviously involved in something really bad, wherever he is.”

“Turkey.”

“Whatever. And I don’t know what your mom had to say-“

“There’s been an emergency. My little brother got dumped in the child-care center on base because I wasn’t home.” Like I should have been. “Chris likes to be in his own bed at night. Mom said he wasn’t happy about being left there, and if he wakes up there, he’s going to freak.’

“Then let’s go get him,” Jenny said, taking Joey by the arm.

Joey didn’t move.

She looked at him, locking eyes. “It’s a twenty-minute drive, Joey. You’re upset. At least, I’d be upset in your shoes. You don’t need to be alone. And the fact that you wanted to make sure I was going to be okay if you left me here was kind of cool.” She shrugged. “Let me return the favor by riding along with you. I take care of my friends, too. When I get over being temporarily self-involved.”

Joey melted at her hesitant smile, and he got a peek behind the usual confident and distant air Jenny McGrath broadcast to everyone. He got the feeling she was actually afraid he was going to turn her down. But thinking about that twenty-minute drive back to Fort Benning, he knew he’d be a basket case by the time he arrived if he was alone.

“All right,” he said.

Over her left shoulder, the television at the bar changed its programming with no warning. The words LIVE: BROADCAST-GLITTER CITY, TURKEY started streaming across the bottom of the screen.

Even across the distance, Joey recognized Goose’s haggard features. Goose wore a kerchief over his lower face, but the scar by his right eyebrow that curved down toward his hidden cheekbone marked him immediately. Sand coated his face and gear. A helicopter flew through the air in the distance behind him.

Goose was obviously short of patience with the reporter talking to him. The camera shot only showed his head and shoulders, but Joey could identify the emotion by his stepdad’s stance. Then Goose turned away from the camera, one hand going to the headset. The helicopter exploded.

Stunned, not believing what he was seeing, Joey’s breath stopped dead and tight in his lungs and his mouth turned dry as chalk. On the screen, Goose advanced toward the ridge where the flaming fragments of the helicopter had fallen. In the next instant, a Jeep sailed over the ridge and landed on the desert floor. The vehicle swung dangerously close to the burned-out husk of a building as the driver overcorrected. The gunner on the rear deck swung his weapon in Goose’s direction and started firing.

Joey watched as Goose reversed directions and took cover behind the broken, smoke-wreathed fragment of a wall. Bullets threw up sprays of sand and chewed pockmarks in the stone. Then the camera view changed as the jeep gunner’s next sweep of deadly fire caught the cameraman and punched him backward.

A sheen of bright crimson blood covered the camera lens before everything went black.

Turkey

As Goose centered the M-4A1’s sights over the Syrian gunner on the Jeep’s rear deck and squeezed the trigger, he watched in helpless frustration as the machine gun swiveled in the reporter and cameraman’s direction. Hardesty threw himself flat, but the cameraman never had a chance.

A fusillade of bullets slapped into the cameraman, shredded the camera, and dropped a bloody corpse to the hot, smoke-stained ground already strewn with debris.

Taking aim, Goose slipped his finger over the M-4A1’s trigger, took up slack, and pulled through. The assault rifle bucked against his shoulder. He fired two more three-round bursts, unsure of which one raked the machine gunner from the rear deck. A body tumbled from the vehicle and fell in a limp-limbed sprawl to the ground.

Noticing that there had been a casualty, the Syrian soldier driving the jeep took immediate evasive action.

No mercy existed in. Goose’s heart. He thought of all the unsuspecting people who had been killed in the brutal attack only moments ago. When he had to take the lives of people killing innocents, he figured he was on the side of the angels. He fired again, putting his next rounds into the driver, watching as the man slumped over the steering wheel.

Out of control, the jeep weaved and drove into the flaming hulk of a building. As high as the flames were, Goose knew the third man in the jeep wasn’t going to make an escape from the building.

Hardesty, the news reporter, lay on the ground and raised his head only briefly to look at the dead cameraman. Then he began shouting for help.

‘TFree,” Goose shouted hoarsely, not knowing if the headset connection was still intact. “This is Leader.”

“Three reads you, Leader,” Bobby Tanaka radioed back.

“Take the high ground, Three. You’re our cover.”

“Affirmative, Leader. Three has the high ground.” As the squad sniper, ‘Tanaka could provide covering fire.

Goose watched as the other two jeeps roared into Glitter City. “Four,” he said.

“Four reads you, Leader,” Dean Hardin replied.

“Get one of the RSOVs up and running, Four,” Goose ordered. “If any crew from that 60 survived, I want to know. Eight and Ten, you’re with Four.”

“Acknowledged, Leader,” Hardin said. “Gonna be tough getting through to them.”

“We’ll give them something else to worry about.” Goose’s mind raced. From years of training and self-discipline, he knew where every man in his unit was. A shaky plan came together between heartbeats.

The two jeeps reached the other end of the town and came back around. ‘The machine gunners raked the hillside where Phoenix’Team was hunkered down, letting the Rangers know they had the range and the firepower to get the job done.

“Two.” Goose rose, sucking his breath in to charge his lungs with oxygen. Adrenaline fired through him, temporarily erasing all fatigue and fear.

“Two copies,” Bill said.

“You’ve got the 203,” Goose said. The M-203 fired fin-stabilized 40mm grenades with a variety of purposes.

“Affirmative.”

“If I give you a target, can you hit it?”

“Leader, don’t-“

‘f’aking his M-4A1 firmly in both hands after swapping out magazines, Goose sucked in another breath, then pushed it all out. “Load up with an II E round. No fragmentation. Let’s cut the risk of friendly fire.”

“Goose,” Bill protested. “This isn’t-“

The two jeeps rumbled closer. The lead jeep headed for Goose’s position, obviously confident of engaging him.

“I’ve got no choice, Two,” Goose said. “They’re on top of me. You’re in an exposed position. One of us has to be at risk, and if you’re taken down, we lose the 203’s punch.”

“All right, Goose.” Bill didn’t sound relaxed.

“Now.” Goose broke cover in a rush, running toward the opposite side of the street. He drummed his combat boots hard against the sand, knowing that if he were back on base, in sneakers or in baseball cleats, he could make better time. Combat boots were prized by soldiers for endurance and protection, not for being fleet.

The machine gunner of the lead vehicle opened fire at once. A brutal line of 7.62mm bullets cracked the wall where Goose had been hiding, then chopped through the sand after him as the Syrian soldier compensated for his motion.

The rattle of machine gun fire filled Goose’s head. He knew the Syrian soldier almost had him in his sights, felt certain he heard the harsh whisper of the steel-jacketed rounds cutting the air just behind him. His heart slammed against his rib cage like an enraged beast seeking escape. He thought of Megan and Joey and Chris, and he thought about God and Jesus, the way his father had talked of them in the Sunday school lasses he’d taught back in Waycross when Goose was growing up.

The Lord is my shepherd, Goose thought. I shall notIn the next instant, Bill’s aim with his M-203 proved dead on target. The 40mm HE grenade slammed into the front of the Syrian Jeep. Hammered by the high-explosive grenade, the Jeep’s hood buckled and the three Syrian soldiers seated in the vehicle blew out into the road. One of the Jeep’s tires exploded, turning into a whirlwind of shredded rubber. Continuing to roll, the vehicle turned hard to the right and crashed into a pile of debris.

“Two is down!”Tanaka yelled. “Repeat, Two is hit!”

Only then realizing that the remaining Jeep’s machine gunner had been firing at the Rangers staggered along the hillside and that Bill must have taken a round while he’d exposed himself to fire the grenade launcher, Goose saw that he’d exhausted his own options.

A line of 7.62mm rounds chopped into the sand before him, cutting off further escape.

Goose spun, digging his boots in, turning sideways to present his left profile and-God willing-a smaller target. He brought the M-4A1 up, aiming by instinct and years of training rather than seeking the sights. The instant he stroked the trigger, he knew he’d missed. He didn’t get another chance.

A pair of 7.62mm rounds thudded into his chest and stomach, driving him down and backward.

‘Leader is down!’ Tanaka yelled. His voice came loud and rushed over the headset.

At the same time, the sniper’s voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away to Goose. He was dimly aware of crashing into the sand, but he hung on to his assault rifle. He’d been shot before. He’d been knifed and blown up. He knew he had no time for panic. Even temporary panic killed good Rangers dead.

Less than forty feet away now, the remaining Syrian Jeep drove straight for Goose. The driver obviously intended to run him over, finishing what the machine gunner’s rounds might have only started. Thankfully, but only just, the driver’s impulsive action also kept the rear deck machine gunner from firing another burst into Goose.

Unable to breathe, not certain if the bullets had penetrated flesh or had been stopped by his body armor, Goose pushed past the pain and forced himself to move. His whole chest felt numb. He threw his right leg left and rolled a full 360 degrees.

“Goose!” Tanaka called. “Goose!”

Do your job, Ranger, Goose thought.

Sand covered his face as he came over on his back with the jeep over him, its undercarriage only inches above his face. The clearance was about the same as the Ranger four-wheel-drive vehicles had. He felt the heat of the Jeep’s exhaust against his left cheek for a second, then bright sunlight stabbed into his eyes as it passed him by.

Knowing the machine gunner would probably turn to pick him off, that he would never get to his feet before the man could kill him, Goose threw his left hand up and caught the Jeep’s rear bumper. He curled his fingers around the bumper’s edge, hoped the edge wouldn’t cut into his flesh too badly, and grunted in pain as his arm nearly jumped from his shoulder socket.

He trailed behind the jeep, too close for the machine gunner on the rear deck to tilt his weapon down. Dragged by the jeep across the rough landscape at thirty miles an hour or more, Goose skidded and went airborne like a sled hitting fresh powder, skipping the uneven terrain.

The Syrian soldier manning the machine gun peered over the back. A surprised look creased his features.

Holding on to the M-4A1, Goose lifted the assault rifle and squeezed the trigger at pointblank range.’I’he 5.56mm round punched into the soldier’s face and tore him from the rear deck.

The corpse thudded into the sand and didn’t move.

Battered and bruised by the rough ride across the sand, his lungs still feeling like they were bound by constricting iron bands, Goose released his hold on the jeep. He slid to a stop in the sand. Bill was hit. The memory whipped through his mind even as his strained shoulder screamed at him. He put his left hand out and rolled to his feet. His shoulder felt weak, like it was made of broken glass.

“Leader’s up!” Cusack yelped excitedly. “Tanaka!”

“I’ve got him,” Tanaka replied in a quiet, controlled voice.

Pushing himself, focusing on the battle at hand with the professionalism he’d developed after seventeen years in the military, Goose brought the assault rifle to his shoulder. He dropped the sights over the driver’s chest. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Syrian soldier in the passenger seat point his AK-47 at Goose. Before he had a chance to fire, the Syrian soldier pitched forward and Goose knew that Tanaka had found his target.