Apocalypse Dawn (69 page)

Cigarette smoke hugged the dark ceiling where stains and residue from millions of other cigarettes had left permanent marks. The smell of beer and alcohol pervaded the tavern. The place felt like a thousand other places around the world that Goose had been in before he’d met Bill and Megan. It even reminded him of the beer halls his father had hung out in back in Waycross when Goose was a kid.

jeeps and Hummers and cargo trucks rolled by outside as the military continued putting down sandbags and shoring up defensive postures in case the Syrian military decided they felt lucky despite the turn of events on the mountain. Those soldiers worked by lanterns and Kleig lights now. The night had fallen nearly an hour ago. Or maybe it only seemed like an hour ago. Goose wasn’t sure.

He turned his attention to the beer bottle sitting on the table in front of him. Then he looked at the picture of his family, taken only last summer at a backyard barbecue. Even though he wasn’t in the picture, Bill Townsend had been there. Bill had taken the picture.

In the picture, Goose held Chris tightly in his arms. Chris loved being out in the sun, and his hair was bleached so blond it was almost white. Megan stood at Goose’s side with Joey next to her.

Gone.

The word hammered into Goose’s mind and sent a stake through his heart one more time. How could his son just be gone? How could Bill just be gone?

Footsteps sounded behind Goose and he recognized the measured stride immediately. He would have recognized the stride in a parade march. He sat quietly, waiting.

Remington came around the table.

Reluctantly, Goose came to his feet and saluted, then stood at attention.

“At ease, Sergeant,” Remington said. “This is a social call.”

“Yes, sir.” But Goose knew that Remington had waited until he’d gotten to his feet and saluted before telling him that.

“Sit down,” Remington said.

Goose sat.

“Mind if I join you?”

.No, sir.”

Remington hooked the chair on the other side of the table and sat. He folded his hands on the tabletop. “I heard about Chris.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Knock off the ‘sir’, Goose. This is me and you.”

“All right.”

Remington took a deep breath, looked away and let it out, then looked back at Goose. “I had to find out about it from someone else. I should have heard about it from you.”

“You were busy.”

“Not too busy for you, Goose,” Remington said. “I’m never too busy for you.”

Goose knew that wasn’t true. There had been times in the past when he’d had to wait for Remington’s attention, sometimes for days.

“How are you holding up?” Remington asked.

“Not good,” Goose answered.

“Can you do your job?”

“I don’t know.’

Remington’s voice crackled with authority. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for, Sergeant.”

. No, sir, it’s probably not.”

Anger darkened the captain’s features. “Don’t you sit there and feel sorry for yourself, Goose.”

Goose held back an angry response, because Remington was a friend as well as a commanding officer.

“What happened to Chris is a bad thing,” Remington said. “But, from what I understand, that happened to every kid out there.”

Goose controlled himself with effort. Remington didn’t have kids.

“I don’t know what you’re going through, Goose,” Remington said, “but if I could share part of the burden of it, I would.”

Shame cracked Goose’s anger a little because he believed Remington might have tried. But in the end, all the same, he knew that Remington wouldn’t have been capable.

“I don’t know what happened to those kids,” Remington said. “I don’t know what happened to those men everyone reported missing. But there are some things I do know.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “There’s an army waiting out there thinking they’re holding a sword to our bared throats. They’re waiting for us to make a mistake. They’re waiting to grow brave again. I’ve got busted rifle companies out there that are undermanned, under-equipped, and some of them scared out of their minds, scratching around in the dirt looking for Jesus to come bail them out.” The captain took a ragged breath. “I can’t have that, Goose. And you know I can’t have that.”

“Yes, sir.”

Remington looked at him. “I need you, Goose. I need you to be strong. “

Goose paused. “I don’t know if-“

“Then you figure it out, mister!” Remington’s voice grew loud enough to quiet the men around them.

Goose was conscious of the unwanted attention.

“You’re a soldier, Goose,” Remington stated in a harsh voice. “You’re a sergeant. A leader of men. More than that, you’re my sergeant. You’ll get those Rangers up and running, and you’ll stand tall when I tell you to.”

“Sir, yes, sir.” Goose’s response was automatic, ingrained by years of military training.

Remington exhaled again and leaned back in his chair. “I shouldn’t even be having this talk with you, Goose.”

“No, sir.”

“You’ve been hurt before. You’ve been scared before. When those things happen, there’s one thing that you’ve always been able to hold fast to.”

Goose remained silent.

“You’re a soldier, Goose. You’ve always been a soldier. You were a soldier waiting to happen back in Waycross. You’re a soldier now. You’ll be a soldier the day you die.”

“Yes, sir.”

Remington’s voice softened a little. “And when you die, Goose, you’re going to die standing tall, facing whatever enemy you’re up against that day, and you’re going to die believing that you’re doing all you can do.” He paused. “That’s all a professional soldier can ask for. And before you’re anything else, Goose, you’re a professional soldier. Probably the most professional soldier I’ve ever seen.”

“Thank you, sir.”

Remington pursed his lips. “You’ve got some downtime coming, sergeant.” He glanced at the picture on the table. “Get this straight in your head. Figure out what you can do something about and what you can’t. Don’t let the world get so big you can’t deal with it. One thing at a time. One opponent at a time. One mission at a time. One battle at a time. One war at a time. That’s how we’ve always done it.” He paused. “It works. That’s how we’ll continue to do it.”

“Yes, sir.”

“We’ll get through this, Goose.” Remington stood, and Goose stood with him. “We will because we don’t have a choice. Get some sleep, then get back out there. We’ve got to make this city look like we’re going to hold it. That way Ankara and Diyarbakir City will have time to get ready to deal with the Syrian invasion when it comes. And it will.”

“Yes, sir.”

The captain hesitated. “1 also want Baker and his snake-oil show shut down.”

Goose took a moment to consider, wanting to make sure he had his words right and wasn’t too confrontational. “I don’t know if I can do that, sir. The men have a right to peaceably assemble on their own time.”

“Back home, sure, but this is a war zone, sergeant. They can assemble only when I say so. Remember that.”

“I will, sir.”

Remington grimaced. “If you can’t shut the man down, Sergeant, at least limit him.”

“Yes, sir.”

“I don’t want an army full of zealots,” Remington said. “After last night, stories have passed all through this command about how God reached down and saved the 75th.”

Goose nodded.

“I’ve also heard that God took all those missing people.”

Goose didn’t say anything. Megan had tried to tell him that, too, but she’d sounded more like she was trying to convince herself.

“Including your son,” Remington said.

Reaching into himself, Goose made his face stone.

“1 don’t believe that, Sergeant,” Remington said. “1 believe if you’ll think back, you’ll remember that several SCUDS hit that mountain before we got there. SCUDS that didn’t make it to their target destinations. I know that’s what I saw.”

Goose knew that was true. The SCUDS had gone everywhere again for a while. The second attack was what had damaged Sanliurfa so much. But he could also remember the feeling, the euphoria, that had filled him when Joseph Baker had led the Rangers in prayer.

“You have to ask yourself, Sergeant,” Remington said, “that if you want to believe that God cares about the 75th so much that He would save us from the Syrians, why would He see fit to take your boy?”

And that, Goose knew, had been exactly the question he had been wrestling with while he’d sat there and contemplated drinking that beer. He faulted himself for being so weak. Yet he forgave himself immediately. The God that he had been brought up to recognize wouldn’t have just taken Chris away. Would He?

Would He?

Indecision chafed at Goose’s thoughts. Baker seemed certain of what had happened. But you no longer are, are you? The saddest part of that was that Goose honestly didn’t know. If Chris hadn’t been taken—

But he had. Chris was gone. Megan had told him that.

Remington dropped a hand to Goose’s shoulder. “And if you need anything, let me know.”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir.” Goose watched Remington go, feeling the distance that now lay between him and his friend.

Outside the door, still in Goose’s sight, Remington’s Hummer rolled forward. In the glare of the lights against the night, Goose saw Dean Hardin sitting at the steering wheel as Remington climbed aboard the vehicle.

Hardin showed Goose a cold smile and tossed him an insouciant two-fingered salute. In the next instant, the Hummer pulled away.

For a moment, Hardin’s presence drew Goose’s mind from the despair that filled him. Hardin was a dangerous man, and one that didn’t easily forgive grudges. He was the kind of man that would put a knife in another man’s back the first time a chance presented itself. During the upcoming battles with Syria, Goose knew there would be plenty of chances for Hardin to find him.

“Some piece of work, your captain there,” a quiet voice said.

Goose turned back to the table and found a man sitting in the chair Remington had vacated. Although the hours that stretched between their previous encounter seemed several lifetimes long, Goose recognized the younger man.

“Agent Icarus,” Goose said softly.

The young man smiled through a mask of bruises. “Yes.” He glanced furtively around the tavern. “I know your captain is looking for me, Sergeant.”

Goose nodded. “So is the CIA.”

“I expected as much.”

Goose started to get up.

“Don’t, Sergeant.” The young agent placed a hand on the table, safely out of reach of any sudden move Goose might make without getting up from his chair. Inside the hand, an electronic detonator blinked a red warning light.

Goose froze.

“Do you know what this is?” the young agent asked.

“Yes.’

“Good. I have the explosive planted in this place. If you move, a lot of people, perhaps even you, are going to die.”

“What are you doing here?”

“1 came to speak with you.”

Goose inhaled and exhaled, taking time to think about that. “Why?”

“Because you impressed me yesterday. I think you’re a good man.”

Goose shrugged. “You could be wrong.”

“I know.” The young agent shook his hand holding the remote control detonator. “That’s why I came with insurance.”

“I’m listening,” Goose said. Using his peripheral vision, he glanced around the room, hoping he would spot a member of his unit that he could give hand signals to.

The young man looked worn and much the worse for wear. Goose doubted he’d seen a bed since his squad had rescued the man from the PKK terrorist cell. “Things aren’t exactly what you think they are.”

“That transmission initiated the attack,” Goose said.

The young man nodded. “That was all planned. My capture. You being there to stop the PKK cell. All of it.”

Goose listened, thinking the younger man was delusional.

“They’re very good at what they’re doing,” Icarus said. “Of course, they’ve been waiting for that moment yesterday for decades. They’ve had time to think and plan and get ready for the final confrontation.”

“What confrontation?” Goose asked. “The Syrians?”

Icarus shook his head. “The Syrians are actually only a small part of it, Sergeant. The fate of the world hangs in the balance here.” He smiled in self-deprecation. “Or at least the next seven years of it. As well as the souls of all those who have been left behind.”

“Who was left behind?” Goose struggled to find the thread of logic in the man’s words.

“The nonbelievers,” Icarus said. “And those who only gave belief lip service. And those like yourself who had doubts.”

“About what?”

“God.”

A cold chill spiked through Goose’s belly.

“I heard about what happened out there on that mountain, Sergeant.”

“It was just a fluke,” Goose said. “The mountain had been shelled. It was ready to fall. When the Syrian heavy cav came through there, the fissures gave way and the mountain fell.”

Icarus smiled. “I’d heard it was the hand of God that spared you.” He shook his head. “Maybe I heard wrong.” He gazed into Goose’s eyes. “What do you believe?”

Goose hesitated. “I don’t know,” he replied.

“If it was just that the mountain that chose that time to fall, or some kind of uninvolved fate that simply occurred at that moment, the timing couldn’t have been any better for you and your men.”

Goose couldn’t argue with that, so he didn’t.

Icarus glanced around the room. “I was fooled, Sergeant. I was used.”

“You need to talk to the CIA.”

“I can’t. No one there will believe me. And if Cody finds me, I very much believe he will kill me.” Icarus smiled. “I think you and your team were better than he bargained for. I don’t think I was supposed to survive the rescue yesterday. But I did. And now he’s afraid of me because of what I know.” He paused. “Cody had a team waiting for me here. They captured me. I had to kill them to escape. Cody’s looking for me. And I know your captain has men out looking as well.”

“Why talk to me?” Goose asked.

“Because you seem like a good man,” Icarus said. “I’ve seen few enough of them my life that I’ve learned to know one when I see one. Your friend, Bill, is a good man, too.”