Apocalypse Burning Read online

  Goose knew Remington was still ticked off about the whole Icarus snafu, because the captain hadn’t been in direct contact with him for hours. Remington had only checked in then to let Goose know he wasn’t pleased with the base-recovery speed or the fact that Corporal Baker’s church attendance was growing. Both were issues that Goose had little control over.

  Shutting Goose out of ops was behavior Remington had exhibited before. This increased distance between them served as a silent reminder that they were officer and first sergeant now instead of equals and an official notice that Remington didn’t like having his authority questioned or negated in any fashion. If Remington discovered that Goose actually talked with Icarus, the first sergeant knew the captain would have him up on charges immediately. Goose refused to worry now because he knew that when Remington needed him, all would be forgiven. The only option at the moment was waiting it out.

  Besides that, there wasn’t much Remington could plan or strategize that would surprise Goose. Most of Remington’s actions were dictated by the amount of damage the Syrians had caused during their latest attack. During the recovery briefing, Goose had organized most of the mission and tasking lists himself, only passing them through Remington’s office for the rubber-stamp treatment.

  The few changes the captain had wanted had been cosmetic things, timing issues, or inconsequential items that served only to remind Goose who was in charge. Remington hadn’t wanted to deal with the day-to-day nuts and bolts of command. Goose knew the captain was striving to find some way to come out a winner. That was Remington’s nature, and that was what made him an excellent officer.

  “Check the clearance,” Goose ordered. He turned from the privates and peered out at the street.

  Rain drummed the broken concrete and poured into the gutters. The streets flooded quickly because Sanliurfa wasn’t designed to handle this amount of precipitation. A cargo truck sped by, and its tires whistled wetly as they plowed through standing water.

  Private Malone talked quickly into his headset, identifying Goose and letting the security detail know Goose wanted to see the captain. A moment later, the security teams inside the building cleared Goose.

  After he entered the door, a two-man security team met Goose. They flanked him without talking as he headed for the stairwell to the left that led to the underground basement where the command post nerve center was set up.

  As he glanced around the open area of the office building’s main lobby, Goose saw that security in all the areas had been stepped up. All the security personnel were Rangers. No one had notified him that security for the ops center was being bumped up.

  He took the stairwell down, wishing he’d taken the elevator, but he was too proud to favor his injured knee like that. He gritted his teeth against the throbbing pain and kept the knee in motion.

  The office building was one of the newest constructions. It had leased space to companies and corporations all over the world. Those companies and corporations had been some of the first to evacuate Sanliurfa after the first wave of SCUDs.

  The basement area had been designed to withstand terrorist attacks and even operate cut off from the rest of the city for a time. Auxiliary generators kept the power on to the belowground offices even in times of power outages.

  Goose and the privates’ footsteps echoed in the hallway as he followed the familiar path to the command post’s nerve center. When he entered the room, Goose was surprised at the amount of activity. Evidently Remington had called all three shifts in.

  The large room was darkened except for the pale, glowing light of dozens of computer screens on desks as well as on walls. As Goose’s gaze swept the monitors, he noted instantly that many of the op techs were watching satellite pictures of the area around and north of the Turkish-Syrian border. Ordnance tape held thick, fat serpents’ coils of cables together and fastened to the tiled floor.

  “When did we get satellite access back?” Goose asked.

  “I’m sorry, First Sergeant,” one of the two privates accompanying Goose replied, “but we’re not at liberty to discuss anything happening here at this time. Captain’s orders. We’re on a communications blackout with the rest of the military. Our guys as well. Everything in this area operates on a need-to-know basis. So far, you’re not cleared for that knowledge.”

  So we’ve got satellite access and we’re not telling the U.N. Peacekeeping force’s commanding officer or Colonel Mkchian of the Turkish army, Goose thought, and immediately felt uneasy. When those two men discovered that Remington had somehow gotten access to a satellite array, Goose knew the relationships among the three military teams were going to be strained. The strategy wasn’t the wisest in the present situation because the secret could divide loyalties, but Goose knew Remington had chosen to play it that way because the captain kept total control. Remington worked to keep control of everything he was involved with.

  The Ranger captain stood at the back of the room in front of a huge wall screen. When Remington’s cybernetic ops teams had first hit Sanliurfa, they’d made the rounds among the computer stores and shops and salvaged every bit of equipment they could, adding to what they already carried and replacing what they’d had to abandon at the border. In hours, they’d cobbled together a nerve center that looked like it could have managed space-shuttle launches.

  Remington was talking to a man in civilian clothes. At first Goose thought the man might be one of Cody’s CIA operatives. Goose’s stomach clenched, and his mind filled with questions as he considered the possibility that Remington was working with the CIA. That might explain the satellite access. Goose couldn’t help wondering if the CIA had finally caught up to Icarus and if the rogue agent had told Cody and his people that he had told Goose everything.

  When the man turned to face Goose, the first sergeant saw something predatory in the man’s gaze. Even standing there in Kevlar with his assault rifle and sidearm, Goose felt more vulnerable than he had on the battlefield. The man was tall and bald and broad. A mustache and goatee marked his Middle Eastern features. But his clothing was expensive, a European suit that hadn’t come off the rack. A dangling earring in the shape of an upside-down pointed star hung from his left ear.

  The man smiled at Goose, but there was nothing friendly about the expression. The first sergeant almost felt like he’d been threatened.

  “Captain,” one of the privates said just before they came to a stop a few feet from Remington. “First Sergeant Gander reporting, sir.”

  Reading the situation, Goose remained at attention. He watched as the scenes shifted on a rotating basis every few seconds. The big screen was divided into eight sections, all of them showing Syrian armor and troop movements.

  “At ease, First Sergeant,” Remington said.

  “Yes, sir,” Goose responded. “Thank you, sir.”

  The two privates took three steps back, but never left Goose unattended.

  “What brings you here, First Sergeant?” Remington asked.

  “The rain, sir.” Goose felt foolish as soon as he gave the answer. He’d wanted to say more, but his instant read of the captain’s mood had shut down his enthusiasm. Also, the guilt for having talked to Icarus behind the captain’s back and telling Baker about it came fullblown to the surface.

  “You came here to tell me it’s raining?” Remington waved a hand toward the computer screens. “I know it’s raining, First Sergeant. I can tell you all of the immediate vicinities where it is raining. In just a few seconds, I can tell you where it is not raining.”

  Goose tried to ignore the biting sarcasm embedded in each word the captain spoke. “With the rain, Captain, I doubt very much that the Syrians will move their armored cav units.”

  “No, First Sergeant, they are not moving. Nor do they show any signs of moving until this rain stops. I’ve already confirmed that.” Remington waved to the screens where Syrian T-62 and T-72 tanks sat alongside BTR-60 APCs and artillery field pieces covered by tarps and tied to stakes hammered in the
ground.

  Goose tried not to let the cold distance in Remington’s tone throw him. “I thought we might discuss possible strategies for taking advantage of this reprieve, sir.”

  “That’s commendable, First Sergeant,” Remington said, “but I was already starting to plan those strategies forty-two minutes ago when I learned the unexpected storm front was gathering.”

  “We have satellite access again, sir?” Goose asked.

  “I do.” Remington nodded.

  “I wasn’t aware that the U.S. satellites were back online. The media people still seem pretty much out of the loop and don’t have access to these connections.”

  “The U.S. satellites are not back online, First Sergeant.”

  Goose thought about that. The mil-sat systems the Rangers presently tied into were part of the same system that supported the American media efforts. If he wasn’t using those, that meant Remington had an outside source for the feeds on the screens.

  “You have feeds,” Goose stated.

  Remington turned and looked at Goose. “Yes, I do, First Sergeant. And I’m considering my options at this point. With the Syrian cav units temporarily immobilized, I intend to capitalize on their weakness. We are a Ranger unit. We specialize in hit-and-git strikes when the time comes. At present, I am identifying targets and examining possible courses of action.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “When I find something you’ll be useful for, First Sergeant, I’ll send for you.”

  Even in the darkness, Goose felt heat fill his face. “Yes, sir.” OCS might have placed bars on Remington’s shoulders and taught him about diplomacy, command history, and how to conduct himself in the upper tiers of the military, but Goose knew he was as wellinformed about tactics, weapons, men, and materials as Remington was. The only thing the captain had over him at the moment was access to enemy intel.

  Remington turned from Goose. “You can also discontinue the need for weather reports, First Sergeant. Although I appreciate your zeal, I’d rather get them the modern way.”

  Something’s going on, Goose realized. He’d rarely seen Remington so cold and contained. Although their relationship was sometimes rocky, as all relationships got at times, Goose could count on the fingers of one hand when Remington had gone out of his way to pull rank so harshly. And the captain never pulled rank in front of other members of the team unless dressing Goose down was an object lesson to the others and put them all on notice, uniting them and letting them know that their fates depended on how well they served their captain.

  “Don’t you have ops you should be overseeing, First Sergeant?” Remington asked, shifting his attention back in Goose’s direction.

  “Yes, sir.” Goose pulled his right arm up in a salute.

  Remington cut him a brief salute and turned away.

  Dismissed abruptly, knowing Remington had stopped just short of being insulting, Goose performed a sharp about-face that set his knee to screaming. He managed three steps before Remington called for him.

  “First Sergeant Gander.”

  Goose turned, on the defensive at once and feeling helpless. When they were sergeants together, Goose had taken offense at the smug tone of superiority Remington often evidenced. The captain had better diction, was totally comfortable at a general’s black-tie affair, and had master’s degrees in history and political science—from college courses taken while he was a sergeant and aiming for general—to fill in the lulls in conversation.

  During the seventeen years of their association, Goose had never felt intimidated by Remington when it came to the hands-on grunt work of soldiering. Only in the occasional social circles or around women had Goose felt somewhat at a loss. Remington could be the life of the party, and he always had two or three good-looking women hanging around him.

  “It has come to my attention that the void left by the death of First Lieutenant Tarver as my executive officer in the chain of command has yet to be filled,” Remington said, facing Goose again.

  “Yes, sir.” Goose also knew that the captain hadn’t had a single problem using him as executive officer. They’d worked together as a team for years. They knew each other’s moves. None of the lieutenants available to replace the XO had that kind of knowledge.

  “I’ve rectified that by placing Lieutenant Perrin as my XO as of this morning.”

  Goose knew Perrin and didn’t care for the man. Nick Perrin was twenty-nine years old and had come into the military as an officer out of college. The fact that he hadn’t advanced past lieutenant in five years spoke volumes. However, Perrin was devious and smart as a weasel, making him one of Remington’s immediate selections for the group of hard cases the captain kept for ops that didn’t run exactly by the book.

  “Understood, sir,” Goose said.

  Remington waited, probably thinking that Goose might want to comment on the selection.

  Goose wanted to comment but knew that the effort would do no good. The fact that Remington had selected Perrin out of three other lieutenant choices within the Rangers spoke volumes. Perrin had been chosen for two reasons that Goose could see. One reason was to get back at Goose because Remington knew Goose didn’t approve of the lieutenant, and the other was to make certain Remington could operate any questionable activities in plain view without meeting Perrin on the sly. That didn’t mean that Remington’s black ops would take place aboveboard, but Perrin’s constant presence wasn’t going to be questioned.

  “Comments, First Sergeant?” Remington invited.

  Goose knew better than to bite. “No, sir. I understand, sir. I’ll be awaiting your orders or Lieutenant Perrin’s, sir.”

  Remington stared at Goose as if somewhat dissatisfied with the easy capitulation on his first sergeant’s part. Or maybe the captain was more unhappy and uncertain of his friend’s acceptance of another superior officer that he knew wasn’t as skilled as he was. If that was true, Goose knew, then Remington had forgotten that all sergeants had a history of dealing with “superior” officers that weren’t.

  “Is there anything else, sir?” Goose asked.

  Remington’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t happy about Goose’s relaxed demeanor about the change in the chain of command. Goose knew that he was supposed to take the change as an insult, but at the same time he knew getting out from under Remington’s direct supervision would give him the necessary time to see to his troops, their needs, and their morale. That was where sergeants operated best to command the units and missions they were in charge of. Sergeants were trained to act and think for themselves.

  He’d also have more time to pursue the questions his talk with Icarus had raised.

  “No, First Sergeant, there isn’t. You’re dismissed.”

  Remington turned so abruptly that Goose could only salute the captain’s back. Goose did that, setting the example for the enlisted men in the room. No matter what else happened in the field, in his personal life, or between Remington and him, Goose prided himself on being a professional soldier.

  He did another about-face and left the command center. This time he made it all the way to the door without being called back.

  As he stepped out into the driving rain still flooding Sanliurfa’s streets, Goose knew that Remington was planning something. The captain’s nature prevented him from simply lying back and awaiting the Syrians’ next move. Waiting wasn’t one of Remington’s strong suits.

  Thinking along those lines, remembering the screen images of the stagnant Syrian army huddled down under the rain, remembering Remington’s comment about the Rangers being a hit-and-git strike force, Goose figured the captain would field a special ops team with orders to exact a pound of flesh from the opposing army.

  While awaiting the captain’s orders—or possibly Lieutenant Perrin’s—Goose decided he would put together and ready a team who could deploy for such an engagement. The trick was not to let the captain know Goose was already working on the same agenda. A good first sergeant always anticipated his commanding officer
’s orders and stood ready in such a manner that the CO still thought a mission was his own idea.

  6

  United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

  Sanliurfa, Turkey

  Local Time 0742 Hours

  “Seriously, love, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Danielle Vinchenzo growled irritably as she scrambled into Sid Wright’s rented Land Rover. She shook off the nylon hoodie she’d donned hoping to keep her hair dry. There were no plans to shoot any additional TV footage at the moment, but she knew that could change in a heartbeat, depending on whether the Syrians stood by the apparent rainout going on. Water from the drenched hoodie splashed all over the seats.

  Sid said, “Do be careful with the upholstery.”

  “You’re kidding, right?” Danielle asked as she shifted the tote bag that carried her extra makeup, tape recorders, and digital camera.

  “I don’t like having my things wet. Nor do I care to have this vehicle in any worse shape than it is.”

  “This is a rental, Sid. Nothing to get emotional about. If you want to get fussy about things, I’d talk to whoever put those bullet holes in the right rear quarter panel.”

  “I would have, except at the time I didn’t feel like hanging around for the matching bullet hole between my eyes.” Sid took his foot off the brake and rolled into the sparse traffic moving slowly through the rain.

  That surprised Danielle. “Someone tried to shoot you? While you were in the car?” She hadn’t heard about any skirmishes with the Syrian army during the night. Things had been unusually quiet, which meant—judging from past experience—that the situation was about to turn ugly again.

  “Yes.” Sid drove with both hands on the wheel and a cigarette hanging between his lips. “You’re not the only one stringing news stories out of the city, love.”

  “So what did you have?” Danielle asked.

  Sid glanced askance at her. “I should tell you? The princess of the Sanliurfan airwaves?”

  “They aren’t calling me that.”