Apocalypse Unleashed (19 page)

Gary slid down beside her.

Danielle looked at him, seeing the fear in his eyes and knowing she wore it in hers too. “Where did that come from?”

Gary shook his head. “Don’t know. Close.”

More machine-gun fire ripped into life just ahead of her. Danielle pressed against the mudbrick house and tried to imagine she was no bigger than another layer of dust. This time bullets chopped through the house and punched out fist-size holes.

“Danielle, what’s going on there?” The voice came over the earpiece she wore that connected her to OneWorld NewsNet. “We’re getting a picture of the ground, but not much else.”

Gary grimaced and lifted the camera to his shoulder.

The voice belonged to Vincent Terrell, the late night New York anchor at OneWorld NewsNet. Nicolae Carpathia’s news program had been granted an emergency twenty-four-hour news channel in the United States market only weeks ago.

OneWorld no longer had to depend on other channels to carry its feeds. It now owned a large share of the viewing market because it had reporters in the field in all the hotspots and because its communications satellites worked better than anyone else’s. The fact that Terrell was able to talk to Danielle in real time was proof of that.

“I don’t know. I think we’re under attack.” Danielle slid back up the wall and got her nerves under control.

“We’ve still got the advancing Syrian army in view. They’re some distance from Harran.”

Fullauto roars sounded again.

“Can you lock in on my position?” Danielle peered around the side of the house.

“Give us a minute.” Terrell sounded incredibly calm.

Of course he is. He’s not the one getting shot at.
Danielle stared at the scars from bullets that tracked the house. It was scary how easily she identified the holes as ammunition damage.
Way too much familiarity.

Danielle looked back at Gary. “Are you good?”

“Man, I don’t know if I’m ever going to be good again.”

“Can you keep that camera going?”

“Yes.”

Focusing, Danielle eased out around the house and followed the sound of the weapons fire. Only a little farther ahead, she saw a man clad in Bedouin robes scale one of the flat-roofed houses and slip a rifle from his shoulder.

Looking down at the house, Danielle spotted a U.S. Army helmet through the window. She caught a glimpse of a blood-smeared, frightened face. The Bedouin man’s intent was immediately interpretable.

Before she knew what she was doing, Danielle shouted, “Look out! There’s someone on the roof!”

The Bedouin man turned and brought his rifle to his shoulder. Other Bedouins beside the building stepped into view and brought up their weapons as well. Staring down the muzzles of the weapons, Danielle was convinced she was only a heartbeat away from death.

Then someone hit her broadside and knocked her back and down. A shadow fell across her, blotting out the morning sun and creating an instant barrier between her and the Bedouins.

Even in profile, with the buttstock of the M-4A1 blocking part of his face, Danielle recognized the soldier.

Goose.

18

United States 75th Army Rangers Outpost
Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 0733 Hours

Standing over Danielle Vinchenzo, Goose leveled the M-4A1 and fired by instinct. Instead of using the assault rifle, he pulled the trigger on the M-203 grenade launcher mounted under the rifle barrel. The 40mm grenade thumped from the launcher and struck in the middle of the Bedouins.

Knowing he’d be fighting at close quarters around his own men, Goose had loaded a high-explosive round in the launcher’s chamber instead of an antipersonnel grenade. The area of effect would be reduced, and the likelihood of hurting a fellow soldier—if he used the weapon judiciously—was reduced. He felt certain the thick mudbrick walls would protect the Rangers inside the house.

The HE round exploded and flung five Bedouins backward. The lead man who had taken the brunt of the detonation was dead, his chest and face almost obliterated.

The Bedouin on the rooftop tried to keep his weapon on target. Rounds chewed into the mud bricks beside Goose. At least one of them ricocheted off his Kevlar vest and drove some of the wind from his lungs.

Forcing himself to remain standing and alert, Goose pulled the M-4A1 toward the Bedouin and slid his finger over the carbine’s trigger. He stitched a three-round burst from the Bedouin’s right hip to his left shoulder. The man stood for just a moment, then toppled from the roof.

By that time the Bedouins on the ground had semirecovered. They fumbled for their weapons and brought them up as Goose fired the M-4A1. The bullets chopped two of the Bedouins down, but two others escaped.

“Falcon Eleven.” Goose had to force the words from his mouth as his lungs labored for air. The run and then the ricochet had left him short of breath.

“I’m reading you, Sarge.”

“You got two hostiles in your twenty. I’m right outside. How are you?”

“Got a man down, Sarge. He’s leaking all over the place. I’ve been hit.”

“Affirmative. You sit tight, and I’ll come get you out of there.” Goose looked back at Danielle.

The reporter lay sprawled in the dirt, just now getting her breath back. Dirt covered one side of her face. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth.

“That was a brave thing you did, ma’am, but you need to stay back now. This is going to be bloody.”

Danielle nodded.

Staying low, the carbine held across his body, Goose sprinted across the open space. His knee ached but held together. The sounds of the battle and the approach of the Syrian heavy armor echoed all around him. The sun beat down on him unmercifully.

Somewhere ahead of him, at least two hostiles were in motion, and the close-set houses were a rat’s warren.

United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 0034 Hours

Aching inside, Megan watched the video footage of the battle in Harran. She hated how helpless she felt while Goose laid his life on the line.

The picture was tagged with a slug line at the bottom:
Live Feed from Special OneWorld NewsNet Correspondent Danielle Vinchenzo
.

On the television screen hanging from the ceiling in the break room, Goose went forward into the mass of bodies that had been scattered by his weapon. The camera followed his movement, and the swaying camera motion only added to the sick feeling churning Megan’s stomach.

“You just hold on to yourself, girlfriend.” Evelyn threw her arms around Megan and held her fiercely. “That man of yours is savvy. He knows what he’s doing.”

“I should be there.” Megan’s voice was hoarse. “I should be there. Not here. Those men over there, they don’t have anybody. With the situation being what it is, they’re not going to come home anytime soon. The Bible talks so much about the final battle being fought in the Middle East.” She shook her head and fought her tears. “That’s where they’re going to serve until this thing is finished.”

“You don’t know that.”

Goose kept moving forward till he disappeared around the house.

Danielle Vinchenzo, captured in the camera’s eye, waited a moment. Then she grabbed the cameraman’s sleeve and pulled him forward. From the erratic movement of the camera, it was easy to see that his compliance was anything but willing.

“I do know that.” Megan tried to hold on to that last view of Goose. “Those men are going to be there. As long as they’re able to fight. The Holy Land is going to be the eye of the storm.”

“Megan’s right,” one of the other women gathered in the break room said. “When the Antichrist comes—and he will—events are going to unfold over there that are going to bring about the end of days. It’s all in the Bible. All you have to do is read it.”

“That doesn’t mean
those
men are going to be the ones stuck over there.” Evelyn remained stubborn.

“They will be,” Megan said. “The Rangers are always put in the line of fire.” And she couldn’t imagine Goose stepping away from the duty he’d sworn to see through.

“We should be there,” a young woman said. Tears ran down her cheeks as she watched the television.

Megan looked at the woman, whose words echoed her own thoughts. They
should
be there. Those of them that still had family members in Turkey should be with them.

Gunshots cracked through the television speakers. Megan jumped. Evelyn tightened her grip and offered soothing encouragement.

I should be there,
Megan thought and felt guilty that she hadn’t realized that before.

United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0735 Hours

Cal Remington watched the action on the television feed that had opened on one of the computers. Danielle Vinchenzo’s reports from ground zero couldn’t be ignored. The fact that she was, again, so close to Goose—
like a bad penny,
Remington couldn’t help thinking—displeased the captain. But the intel she was sending back about what was taking place in the city was valuable.

Remington was torn as he watched Goose move carefully through the ancient city’s narrow streets. On one hand, it would have been easier if Goose were killed or medevaced out. The schism that was starting to pull the Rangers in two directions would heal. Or at least not be exacerbated.

The problem was that Goose was also the one man Remington knew he could count on to get the job done when the chips were down.

“Captain Remington,” one of the security team said from behind the captain.

Remington answered without turning around. “Busy, soldier.” He watched Goose sweep the alley with his assault rifle, then glance back at Danielle Vinchenzo and wave her away.

“Yes, sir,” the guard said. “But CIA Special Agent Alexander Cody says it’s urgent that he speak with you at this time.”

The CIA section chief’s name grabbed Remington’s attention immediately. Cody was a dangerous man. He was also a direct conduit to Nicolae Carpathia.

Remington nodded. “Bring him forward.”

“Yes, sir.” The corporal spun and trotted back.

Remington kept his attention riveted on the television broadcast and computer monitors relaying the live video feeds from other news network and satellites. He glanced at the Syrian cavalry leaving a line of dust in the terrain. They’d fed up the main highway from Syria, then spread out into the foothills.

“Lieutenant Archer.”

“Sir?” The lieutenant turned from the marker board where he was doing the latest update.

“What’s the ETA on the Syrian forces?”

“Minute, minute and a half, sir.”

CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody stepped into a position next to Remington. The agent looked tired and worn. Under the baseball cap, his short-clipped black hair seemed to have gone grayer at the temples. Wraparound sunglasses masked his eyes. He wore a light Windbreaker over khakis and a white golf shirt. Combat boots completed the ensemble.

“Captain.” Cody’s voice was a dark rumble.