Apocalypse Dawn Page 13

  “Understood, sir,” Goose said.

  “In the meantime, I’ve got a helo en route to pick up you and your team.”

  “Sir,” Goose said, looking at the two RSOVs parked near the tallest building left standing in Glitter City, “I’ve got two vehicles here. Leaving them behind—”

  “—isn’t going to happen,” Remington interrupted. “That helo is carrying drivers that will get those vehicles back where we can use them most. In the meantime, I want you and your team back to the front line as soon as I can get you there.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “The helo pilot is on your team’s frequency,” the captain said. “He’s code-named Leapfrog. He’s maintaining radio silence till you’re ready for him.”

  Goose peered through the shifting layers of dust and smoke but couldn’t see anything.

  “Is there anything else, Sergeant?” Remington asked.

  “What about an escort for these people?” Goose asked.

  “They’ll be on their own. They can get to Sanliurfa.”

  The idea of the few surviving civilians and media people pushing forward on their own didn’t appeal to Goose. The military situation could change in an eye blink. And those vehicles, especially the deuce-and-a-half, weren’t going to be able to outrun another phalanx of SCUDs.

  “You got them out of there, Goose,” Remington said. “That’s more than a lot of them could have accomplished on their own.”

  “Yes, sir.” Goose couldn’t argue with that. If the survivors hadn’t been given concrete instruction and direction, far fewer of them would have survived.

  “I’ll be in touch, Goose. Just get yourself and those men where I need you as soon as you can.”

  “Yes, sir.” Goose clicked the headset back over to the team frequency. “Two.”

  “Two,” Bill answered. He stood near the deuce-and-a-half’s cab, turning to face Goose. They could have shouted across the distance, but the headset communications made conversation easier.

  “What’s the sit-rep?”

  “Convoy’s locked and loaded, Sarge. Ready to roll.”

  “Then get them sent out.”

  “Who do you want with the deuce-and-a-half?” Bill asked.

  “No one,” Goose replied. “We’ve been given orders to await air transport to the front. Courtesy of the captain.”

  “Can’t get along without us, huh?” Bill’s tone was light, but Goose knew that the day’s events had worn on him despite his show of calm. But the calm was an essential part of Bill, the result of Bill’s beliefs. No matter how bad things got, Bill always believed that God had a hand in things.

  But how could he say that this is part of God’s plan? Goose scanned the war zone that lay in shambles around him. “Can’t get along without us? Evidently not,” he replied in answer to Bill’s jibe. “Who do you have heading up the civilian effort?”

  “A guy named Murdock. He and his crew have been working construction in the area.”

  Goose vaguely remembered meeting the man. “I’ll talk to him and let him know where he stands.”

  “He’s a good guy,” Bill said. “For an ex-jarhead.”

  An ex-Marine? Goose took that as a sign that things were going to be better. He jogged toward the deuce-and-a-half. “Phoenix Team, this is Phoenix Leader. Hold perimeter positions until the air unit arrives. And the first person to see it, let me know.”

  A chorus of responses echoed over the channel.

  “Leapfrog,” Goose called. “Are you there?”

  “Affirmative, Phoenix Leader,” a young male voice answered. His confidence seemed unshaken. “Looking for the LZ, Sarge.”

  “Put the bird down inside town,” Goose advised. “We’ll come to you, and the drivers can pick up the ground units here.”

  “Affirmative, Leader.”

  Goose paused at the deuce-and-a-half’s side. He peered up at the driver. “Mr. Murdock?”

  Murdock was grizzled and gray haired, the lines in his face ironed in by time and strength of character. He was stoutly built and looked to be in his fifties. Blood spotted his torn khaki shirt.

  “I’m Murdock.” The man extended a hand down.

  Goose took the man’s hand, and even though he had been prepared, he was surprised by the strength of the construction man’s grip. “Good to meet you, sir.”

  Murdock shook his head. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. I mustered out with sergeant’s chevrons that weren’t much different than yours.”

  Nodding, Goose took his hand back and looked at the deuce-and-a-half. “You can handle this rig?”

  “Like I was born to it,” Murdock said. “You got no worries there.”

  “We’ve got a dust-off coming up,” Goose said. “We’re not going to be escorting you.”

  Automatically, Murdock glanced at the sky. “Going back to the front line?”

  “Yes.”

  “From what I’ve seen, and from what I’ve heard from the reporters,” Murdock said, “it’s a nasty place down there. You keep your head low.”

  “I will.”

  Murdock looked at Goose. “You and your men did a good thing here today, Sergeant. A lot of people wouldn’t have gotten out of here without you.” A smile twinkled in his blue eyes. “The only thing I can see wrong with the lot of you is that you ain’t Marines. Things get back to normal soon, come look me up. I’m good for a dinner and a good word with the Marine Corps.”

  Goose agreed.

  “Until then,” Murdock said, “I’ll drive this rig on into Sanliurfa and get these people squared away. I’ll be saying prayers for you every mile.”

  “Thanks,” Goose said. “I’d appreciate that. So would the rest of the unit.” He stepped back and waved Murdock into motion, yelling at the passengers in the back to settle in.

  Despite the huge size and the power of the vehicle, the deuce-and-a-half glided into motion. The large tires crunched across the rocks, broken mortar, glass, and other debris littering the road.

  Movement on Goose’s right drew his attention to the reporter and cameraman approaching him. He had noted the two men earlier as they’d talked to Bill only a short distance away.

  “Get that man’s picture,” the reporter said, waving to a cameraman bleeding from one ear and a scalp wound. The reporter was bloodied but appeared sharp and driven. “He’s the commanding officer.”

  Camcorder resting on his shoulder, the cameraman approached Goose. The reporter trotted after him with a wireless mike in his hand. The reporter was young and wild-eyed, obviously not nearly as focused as his older partner.

  “Sergeant,” the reporter said as he jogged to keep up with Goose. “I’m George Hardesty, with Viewpoint Action News.”

  Goose didn’t recognize the affiliation, but he wasn’t surprised. His news watching was limited primarily to FOX and CNN, and lately when he’d been at home, his viewing channel of choice had been cartoons with Chris. With the memory of those cartoons, Goose missed his youngest son. Of course, he missed his wife and oldest son as well. But there was nothing like a hug from Chris, so innocent and so freely given, that seemed to make sense of the world and set everything straight in about three seconds flat.

  “Mr. Hardesty,” Goose stated calmly, “the convoy is leaving. I suggest you and your cameraman load up and get moving before you’re left behind.”

  Hardesty shook his head. “I won’t be left behind. I’ve been around this business for a long time. Besides, I can always go with you and your men. That’s where the story will be.”

  Goose faced the man. “We’re not retreating, sir. We’re returning to the front line.”

  “I can go with you.”

  Before Goose could politely respond, Hardin’s voice came over the headset, calling for his attention. “You’ve got Leader,” Goose said, turning away from the reporter.

  “I’ve got our bird,” Hardin said. “South-southwest.”

  Glancing up into the hazy sky, Goose made out the familiar wasp shape of the UH-
60 Black Hawk troop transport helicopter. The helo was marked in desert camo tans and browns.

  “Acknowledged,” Goose said. “Leapfrog, we have a visual on you.”

  “Good to hear, Phoenix Leader. I can’t see anything down there in that soup.” The UH-60 settled in, dropping quickly earthward.

  “Captain,” Hardesty tried again, extending the wireless microphone. “Anything you’d care to say about today’s attack? Anybody you’d like to speak to back home?”

  Goose knew the reporter didn’t know his rank. In the field, the Rangers kept rankings hidden so the officers and non-coms couldn’t be picked off by enemy sniper fire.

  Turning to the reporter, Goose put an edge on his voice. “Mr. Hardesty, either you get in one of the vehicles that are transporting these people back to Sanliurfa or I’m going to put you on one.”

  “I only need a minute of your time,” Hardesty complained.

  “Leader, this is Leapfrog,” the helo pilot broke in. “I’ve got three bogeys coming in from the west. Repeat, three bogeys coming in from the west.”

  “Affirmative, Leapfrog. What do you see?”

  “Three vehicles, Leader. Jeeps. Small trucks. Can’t quite make them out with the dust flying around. Want us to take a look-see before we settle in?”

  “Have we got a sat-relay that can look for you?” Goose asked.

  “Negative, Leader. We’re still in a dark zone out there till all the sat-repeaters are put back in place.”

  “Eyeball the bogeys,” Goose said. “But stay clear. If they’re coming to help, use the PA to let them know the evacuation is taking place now.”

  “Will do, Leader. Could be scavengers, too. I heard there’s bandits in the area.”

  Goose watched as the helicopter rose into the sky once more, then soared across Glitter City. A wake of thunder from the big rotors followed. He radioed the rest of the team and got them moving toward a common meeting point along the ridgeline. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 0750 hours. The air support from Wasp was still ten or twelve minutes out.

  “Captain.”

  Irritated by the reporter’s continued insistence on not following orders, Goose turned to face the man. He took a deep breath to calm himself because the cameraman was fully focused on him.

  “Not captain,” Goose stated as patiently as he could. “Sergeant.”

  The reporter opened his mouth to speak again.

  “Phoenix Leader,” the helo pilot called out. A note of concern was in the young man’s voice.

  “Go, Leapfrog.” Goose turned in the helo’s direction. The Black Hawk shot through the air then heeled up like a falcon turning into a stiff breeze.

  “Leader, we have problems. These bogeys look a whole lot like Syrian troops. I see—”

  “Rocket!” another man at the helo end of the communication yelled. “Get us out of—”

  In the distance, the Black Hawk exploded into an orange and black fireball that stood out against the smudged blue sky. The aircraft lost altitude at once, dropping like a wounded duck. Before the UH-60 disappeared from sight over the ridgeline, another explosion detonated aboard the aircraft, blowing the helo into flaming pieces.

  Holding his M-4A1 in both hands, Goose ran for the ridgeline, the sound of the explosions reaching him only heartbeats later. In the next instant, the first Jeep that the helo pilot must have seen shot over the ridgeline, airborne for several feet before plunging back down. Two others followed the first, with scarcely a heartbeat of time between them.

  Nearly to the remains of the building at the outermost west end of Glitter City, Goose recognized the camo pattern of the Syrian troops that manned the three Jeeps. “Phoenix Team, fall back!” he yelled.

  The gunner on the rear deck of the lead Jeep saw Goose and opened fire with the 7.62mm machine gun mounted on the vehicle’s roll bar. Steel-jacketed rounds slapped the sand at Goose’s feet, chased him as he changed directions, then cracked rock from the leaning wall that had survived the fire and the bomb that had destroyed the building.

  Goose leaped forward, threw his right hand out, and came up in a forward roll. Taking cover behind the leaning wall, he hefted the M-4A1 in both hands and stepped around the corner, snugging the assault rifle into his shoulder.

  12

  United States of America

  Fort Benning, Georgia

  Local Time 12:55 A.M.

  “Private Fletcher!” Helen Cordell called down the length of the hospital corridor. “You will come back here now!”

  “Not without my son! You can’t keep him from me! You people shouldn’t have had him here without my permission anyway!”

  Megan heard the vehemence and anger in the man’s words. Unconsciously, she started to draw up, preparing to defend herself.

  “The MPs are on their way,” Helen warned.

  “Fine,” Boyd Fletcher roared. “They’ll be here when I bring charges against you and the doctor for treating my son without my consent.”

  Gerry got out of the bed before Megan could stop him. She was a step behind the boy as he ran out into the hallway. He froze, like a deer in headlights, and stared down the corridor.

  Megan put her hands on the eleven-year-old boy’s shoulders, feeling the tremors of fear shiver through him.

  Boyd Fletcher saw his son immediately. He was a big man, blocky and solid, a handful of inches over six feet. Short black hair with a pronounced widow’s peak formed a skullcap over his broad head. Hazel eyes as flat and cold as a pit viper’s sat on either side of a nose that had had been broken repeatedly in the past. He wore fatigues. Light glinted against his dog tags.

  “Private Fletcher, I am ordering you to stand down this instant!” Helen stood at the other end of the corridor. Two nurses and a doctor stood with her. None of them made an effort to stop Fletcher.

  From the slightly unsteady way Fletcher was walking, Megan felt certain the man had been drinking. Whatever limited control the man had on his emotions when he was sober would have been partially lifted by the alcohol. Keeping her hands on Gerry’s shoulders to hold him in place, she stepped in front of the boy and pushed him behind her.

  “Private Fletcher,” Megan said sternly.

  Obscenities littered the hallway as Fletcher kept coming.

  The language didn’t bother Megan. She didn’t approve of it, but on an army base she’d developed a certain familiarity with it. And her work with teens had been occasionally rife with it. Of course, it wasn’t a universal problem. Many soldiers, including Goose, never cursed. Or at least never cursed around her.

  “Private Fletcher,” Megan tried again. She kept Gerry behind her, making it apparent that he would have to go through her to get to her son.

  “Get out of my way,” Fletcher ordered as he closed on them. “What has he been telling you?”

  Megan knew the man wasn’t going to stop.

  “Whatever it was,” Fletcher declared, “it doesn’t matter. He’s a little liar anyway. You can’t believe a word he says. I told you that when you first started seeing him.”

  Gerry tore free of Megan’s restraining hand and darted forward. “Dad! Stop! Please, stop!”

  Stepping forward again, Megan once more placed herself in front of the boy.

  “Mrs. Gander, don’t!” Gerry pleaded. “He doesn’t know what he’s doing when he gets like this! Please!”

  Before Megan could think of anything to say, the two uniformed Rangers from the security desk arrived at a full run. Helen yelled to them and pointed at Boyd Fletcher, loosing them like hounds on a fox. Their footsteps, closing at a drumming double beat, alerted Fletcher that he wasn’t the only big guy in the hallway.

  The bleary-eyed private turned around, snarling curses.

  “Soldier,” Corporal Grady barked in a loud voice, “stand down now or we’ll stand you down.”

  Fletcher grinned drunkenly. “My lucky day, boys. Unless I’m seeing double, I’m getting a two-for-one tonight if you decide to open the ball on th
is one. You pups had better back off if you know what’s good for you.”

  Grady and Malone hesitated.

  “I came here to get my son,” Fletcher said. “He’s mine. Nobody can keep him from me. He’s not supposed to be here. He’s not supposed to be talking. I’m taking him home.”

  “No,” Grady said. His voice cracked slightly, and there was a tense edge in it. “You’re going to leave the boy here, and you’re going to come with us.”

  Fletcher cursed again, then turned and advanced toward Megan and Gerry. Grady and Malone launched themselves at the drunken private. They tried to restrain him, but Fletcher closed his hands into fists and viciously hammered both of the younger men, driving them down to the ground in seconds. The meaty smacks of flesh against flesh rocketed through the hallway.

  When he’d shaken free of his would-be captors, Fletcher aimed himself at Megan again. He cursed Gerry and in his diatribe blamed everything wrong in his life on the boy.

  Megan stood her ground, fear rattling inside her like an insane beast. She felt Gerry cowering behind her and heard his whimpering sobs. I will not falter, she told herself. I will not step away from him. She thought of Goose somewhere out there on the Turkish border, dealing with God only knew what. Surely she, too, could hold her ground in a hostile situation.

  Before Fletcher could reach Megan, though, Malone and Grady—bleeding and bruised—rose from the floor and threw themselves at him. Malone went low, wrapping his arms around Fletcher’s ankles while Grady hit the man waist-high.

  Driven off-balance, Fletcher fell forward, slamming into the floor at Megan’s feet. He screamed and raged, shouted curses, and struggled to get to his feet. His face, when he looked up, was covered in blood.

  Megan stepped back and turned around. Gerry was no longer standing behind her. She watched helplessly as the boy ran to the other end of the hallway and crashed through the emergency exit. A warning Klaxon shrilled in his wake, but he was gone out into the night before the door closed.

  United States of America

  Columbus, Georgia

  Local Time 12:55 A.M.

  “Hey, Joey, what are you doing? I thought you came here to dance.”