Apocalypse Dawn (67 page)

Several of the men in the group were reinforcements from Ankara and from Wasp. They hadn’t seen the mountain leveled, but they had been drawn to the story.

Goose stood at the back of the group. His injured knee throbbed maniacally and he kept most of his weight on his good leg. He knew that if Remington saw him favoring the limb that the Captain would order him to the temporary hospital area for treatment.

Until his unit was safe, Goose couldn’t rest. He stood in the baking heat that hung over the wrecked city and hoped that what he’d been told about the coolness of the approaching evening was true. So far the Syrians hadn’t tried to invade the country any farther and the sat-recon systems were all back on-line. With the reinforcements in place from the United States, the United Nations, and the Turkish military, Goose was certain the Syrians wouldn’t try anything until they were able to mass an overwhelming attack. At best guess, he and his men-and the Allied forces as a whole-had a few days of breathing room.

But the attack would come. Goose was certain of that, too.

Baker described the power of the Lord, how He had reached down and saved the 75’h Rangers as they’d fought and struggled to escape the Syrian forces. As he talked, media people shot footage of the Rangers.

“Probably just a Syrian missile,” one of the reinforcements said ahead of Goose. “You know. Those Syrians probably launched a SCUD up into those mountains, and instead of taking our guys out it started a fissure that caused the whole mountaintop to crumble.”

One of the men sitting in front of the new guys turned around and grabbed his arm. “Back off, man,” the private snarled. He wore a bandage around his head and had his other arm up in a sling. “You weren’t there. I was. I saw Corporal Baker start praying to the Lord. I heard his words as he called out for our salvation. That prayer-Corporal Baker’s, and the prayers of every man out there-got answered. God reached down and spared us.”

“Let go of me.” The reinforcement brushed the other man’s hand away. “I don’t need to hear any preaching.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

As quiet as the conversation was, the confrontation spread quickly. Several of the new men aligned themselves with the reinforcement, and men who had been in the retreat last night stood with the wounded private.

In another minute, Goose realized, the pushing and shoving would start. Military men standing down while in war zones didn’t wear well. And there was always resentment between men who had been blooded in a conflict and those who had not. The tension was a product of testosterone and fear, all mixed into a combustible concoction that would spill over onto everyone around them if somebody didn’t stop it right now.

Goose stepped forward, trying not to limp. He carried his M-4A1 slung over his right shoulder, barrel pointed up, his pistol holstered on his hip, and had the chinstrap of his helmet looped over his left shoulder.

Even as Goose started to move, epithets and curses erupted between the two groups. Hands curled into fists.

Goose pushed his way in between the men. At first they resisted, but they gave way immediately as soon as the soldiers caught sight of his stripes. He put steel in his voice. “Stand down now.”

“Yes, Sarge,” the private said.

“Understood, Sergeant,” the other man said.

Goose swept the men with a gaze, feeling the eyes of everyone else under the canvas watching him. They were all waiting to see which side he would be on.

“You men are gathered here as brothers,” Goose said. “Sworn to fight a common enemy. That enemy lies just outside the gates of this city, and he’ll be coming again in just a matter of days.”

Sweat beaded the faces of the men watching him.

“I’ve left dead men scattered from here to the border,” Goose went on. “Something I swore as a Ranger that I would never do.”

Guilty looks on the faces of some of his men made it clear he wasn’t the only Ranger regretting this.

Guilt stung Goose, too, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Those men stood together,” he said. “They fought together and they bled together and they died together.” He paused. “I’m going to tell you now that you men don’t stand a chance if you don’t stand together. If you’re going to stand together when we’re attacked or-God willing-when we take the attack to them, then you’ll start standing together now.”

Silence filled the canvas canopy.

“Is that understood?” Goose growled.

“Yes, Sergeant,” all of the men chorused.

Goose looked back at Joseph Baker. “Sorry to interrupt your service, Corporal. Carry on.”

Baker smiled and saluted with his Bible. “Thank you, Sarge.”

Turning, feeling pain bite into his knee, Goose walked back toward the rear of the tent.

Captain Remington, resplendent in a fresh uniform, stood there looking at him. Dark aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but Goose knew from years of friendship that Remington wasn’t happy.

“Could I see you a moment, Sergeant?” Remington asked as Goose joined him.

“Yes, sir.”

Remington turned a cold, perfectly executed aboutface and walked out from under the tent.

Goose followed. As he moved out of the shade, sweltering heat hammered him, boiling up from the parched earth. Micro-mirages danced above broken street sections that thrust up out of the ground like rolling sea caps.

The latest Syrian SCUD attack had been partially directed at Sanliurfa and had leveled much of the city. Many tall buildings lay scattered in ruins. Military and civilian crews worked to clear the blocked streets. Other crews fought to contain and extinguish the fires that still burned among the piles of rubble.

Carrion birds gathered throughout the city, perching on broken buildings and swooping from the sky, looking for the victims of the attacks. A third contingent of workers followed the birds, looking for the dead.

When bodies were found, they were piled into the backs of cargo trucks and driven to mass burial sites. Even though Sanliurfa would not in all probability be held for long, the dead had to be cleared out to prevent the spread of disease, and some attempt had to be made to identify the corpses, though most were burned or crushed too badly for recognition to be easy. Goose moved upwind from a group of those searchers.

Remington stopped by the Hummer he was using as his personal vehicle. Anger showed in the set of his shoulders and the stiffness of his neck. He swung around on Goose and pointed toward the canvas church. He swore. “That, Sergeant, is precisely the reason I didn’t want this stuff started.”

“Yes, sir,” Goose responded, staring at the twin reflections of himself on Remington’s sunglasses. He didn’t try to argue with the captain. Both of them knew the free time the men had was their own. Arguing with Remington wouldn’t have gotten anywhere anyway.

“And don’t tell me that all this Bible thumping is good for the morale of the men.”

.No, sir,” Goose said.

“What happened on that mountain last night,” Remington said, .was not some kind of mystical event. No Second Coming.”

Goose remained silent.

Remington swore again. “Baker is pouring this swill out like slops to hogs in a trough, sergeant. Don’t tell me you believe in this non” sense.

Goose measured his words carefully. “That mountain fell, sir. I saw it fall.”

“And what made it fall?”

Goose hesitated. “I don’t know, sir.”

“But you believe God caused it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Then I’m also going to hold God responsible for the deaths of all those Rangers we left behind, Sergeant.”

Goose felt an immediate surge of anger. That wasn’t what God was about. He’d learned everything he knew about God from his father in Sunday school, and from Bill Townsend during the last few years. God hadn’t killed those men they’d been forced to leave behind.

“Sir-“

“Don’t you argue with me,” Remington interrupted. “Don’t you even dare.”

“No, sir.”

“You can’t have it both ways, Sergeant. If God was responsible for our salvation last night, then why didn’t He save those men we lost?”

Goose didn’t have an answer for that. He felt there was still so much he needed to learn.

Remington shook his head. He cursed and paced for an instant, then swung back on Goose. “This is a bad business, Sergeant. Bad business. Those men in that tent are there because they want to feel special. Like the hand of God Almighty has touched them. Like they’re invulnerable or something.”

Goose stood his ground. His knee throbbed.

“Is that what you want them thinking, Sergeant?” Remington demanded. “That they’re invulnerable?”

“No, sir.”

“You’re right, ‘No, sir.’ Because thinking like that will get those men killed.”

“Yes, sir.”

Remington took in a deep breath, held it for an interminable moment, then released it. His dark lenses turned toward Goose again. “I am their commanding officer, Sergeant. I want them believing in me. Is that clear?”

“Yes, sir.”

Remington flicked his gaze back to the tent. “Let Baker talk for now, Sergeant, but I want this shut down. We’ve got chaplains for this kind of thing. I don’t need some holy-roller stepping up from the enlisted to go on a private crusade to save the souls of the men I’m leading into battle.”

Personally, Goose disagreed with that. Since they had been in camp in the city, Baker had continued with the baptisms for a while, till no one else had come forward. Then the big man had started witnessing to those who were interested.

“I want Baker’s little tent revival closed down,” Remington went on.

“Sir, this is Baker’s personal time.”

Remington wheeled on Goose and thrust his face forward, stopping less than an inch from Goose’s face. Goose never moved. He shifted his gaze, staring through the captain’s head the way he’d been trained to since Boot Camp.

“That man owes me five hours of sleep, Sergeant,” Remington said. “I want them. Starting now.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

“Sir.” Goose saluted sharply. “Yes, sir.” He turned an aboutface and headed for the tent church. Remington was wrong about his assessment of God’s fault in the deaths of the men they’d lost, and Goose knew that. But he also knew he couldn’t argue the point.

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

Sanliurfa, Turkey

Local Time 1612 Hours

“Sergeant Samuel Gander.” The woman in the Red Cross uniform looked around the room that had been set up as a communications center. She was middle-aged, a brunette with twenty extra pounds on her and a calm, confident demeanor. She held a hand over the phone handset she held.

Heart beating frantically, Goose limped forward. “Here.” He held up a hand so the woman would see him in the crowd of men that filled the building near to bursting. “I’m Sergeant Gander.”

The phone service coming into Turkey was abominably slow. He knew there were problems stateside, too, but he didn’t know why. He’d been busy. And news was filtering through the military ranks slower than usual because there was so much weird stuff passing through with it that one knew what to believe.

The phones had been put in immediately upon the arrival of the American military reinforcements. Communications were being routed through one of satellites donated by Nicolae Carpathia until the American satellites were back on-line.

The Red Cross had manned the phones, answering and putting through calls as quickly as they could for servicemen in the immediate area. Goose had established a relief crew that swapped out with men at post so they could take phone calls from home.

The building was an auditorium that had been gutted of furniture to make room for the phone equipment. Soldiers sat on the floor or leaned against the walls while they waited to take calls that had been put on hold.

The woman handed the phone to Goose. She smiled, but she looked tired and worn. Not all news coming from home was good, and not all of it going back was either.

“It’s Mrs. Gander, Sergeant,” the woman said.

Thank You, God, Goose thought silently as he accepted the phone. He nodded at the woman. “Thank you, ma’am.”

The woman hesitated. “Please try to be brief, Sergeant. I know that’s asking a lot, given our present circumstances and everything that has been going on. But there are a lot of other men that need to speak to their families as well.” The speech was the same one Goose had heard her dole out every time she handed over the phone.

“Yes, ma’am,” Goose said. He pulled the handset to his ear and felt trapped by the cord. “Megan?”

“Goose? Goose, is it really you?” Megan’s voice cracked and he heard her crying at the other end of the connection.

“It’s me, Meg.” Goose barely swallowed the lump that was in his throat. His eyes burned and he felt the unshed tears he wouldn’t let fall because men were watching him. Everything he had planned to say to her evaporated the instant he heard her voice. But he did know what mattered. “I love you.”

She cried for a moment. “I … love … you, too.”

They were silent for a while, and Goose felt terrible that this time looked so wasted. But just hugging the phone like that made him feel like Megan was right there, like he could reach out and touch her or smell her hair.