VisitTyndale's exciting Web site atwww.tyndale.com

Discover the latest about the Left Behind series atwww.leftbehind.com Copyright © 2003 by Tyndale
House Publishers, Inc. All rights reserved. Cover photograph courtesy of U.S. Navy website:
www.wasp.navy.mil Author photo byMichaelPatrickBrown

Written and developed in association with Tekno Books,Green Bay,Wisconsin. Designed byJulieChen

Edited byJamesCain

Scripture taken from the New King James Version. Copyright © 1979, 1980, 1982, 1991 by Thomas
Nelson, Inc. Used by permission. All rights reserved.



Published in association with the literary agency of Alive Communications, Inc.7680 Goddard Street,
Suite 200,Colorado Springs,CO80920.

Published in association with the literary agency of Sterling Lord Literistic,New York,NY.



 This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the
author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or
persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of either the author or the publisher.



Left Behind isa registered trademark ofTyndale House Publishers, Inc.

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data

Odom,Mel.

Apocalypse dawn /MelOdom.

p. cm. (Apocalypse dawn #1)

ISBN 0-8423-8418-9 (sc)

1. Rapture (Christian eschatology)-Fiction. 2. End of the world-Fiction. I. Title. PS3565.D53A86 2003
813'.54-dc21




Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0547 Hours




 Covered in three days' worth of perspiration, filth, and fine yellow dust,First SergeantSamuelAdams
"Goose"Gander knelt beside the river that cut through the harsh land of southernTurkey . The stream was
muddy brown, low for the season. Fish nearly as long as his arm swam slowly through the water.

Goose leaned forward and filled his canteen, wishing for cooler weather. He popped two water
purification tabs into the canteen and shook it.

 Then one of the fish he'd been watching jerked violently. Blood sprayed from a huge wound that ran
through the creature's side. Wa-ter jumped from the river only a few inches from the dying fish, seeming
to hang frozen in the air for a split second. A rainbow flashed through the spray and Goose knew a bullet
had caused the splash.

"Sniper!" Goose yelled to his squad as he dove for cover. A sec-ond bullet slammed the metal canteen
from his hand, leaving his fingers numb from the impact. Goose landed behind a shelf of bro-ken rock.

 The Rangers working the water supply detail flattened out against the harsh terrain immediately. Some of
them ducked in behind the Hummers and cargo trucks and the big water-pumping unit.

Then the sound of three rifle reports rolled over their position.

"Anybody see anything?" Goose yelled.

"Nothing, Sarge."

"Thomas?" Goose asked over the headset.CliffThomas was the team scout.

"I don't see anything, Sarge."

"That's a heavy-caliber rifle," another Ranger said. "The sniper could be set up as much as a mile away."

Goose scanned the broken mountains in the distance to the south. "Anybody hit?"

A chorus ofnos followed.

 Goose breathed a sigh of relief. Syrian snipers had been some-thing of a problem, but so far he hadn't
lost any of his men. More shots ripped into the river. Two dead fish floated up in response.

 Goose didn't think the shooter was actually aiming for the fish. The creatures were unexpected
casualties. But the effect was a sober-ing one. It was a message of sorts, warning shots fired across the
bow of the United States Rangers assigned to the area.

Switching frequencies on the headset, Goose said, "Base."

"Go,Phoenix Leader. You have Base."

"I've got a sniper hosing my water detail," Goose said. "I can't find him. Can you assist?"

 "Affirmative, Leader. Base is looking. " Base was the central Ranger command post. The intelligence
teams there had access to spy satel-lites that could peer down into the country and read the time off a
man's watch.

Goose remained pressed into the hard earth, feeling the heat soak-ing into his body. He listened as Base
maneuvered their own sniper team into position.

"Got a line on your troublemakers out there, Leader."

"Affirmative, Base. Patch me through to the sniper team." Goose breathed out, blowing dust from the
baked grit covering the bare ar-eas where vegetation had given up the struggle to survive.

"Phoenix Leader, this is Sniper Team Romero."

"Good to have you there,Romero . Can you confirm Base's report of one hostile sniper team?"

"Not only confirm it, Leader, but we're in position to cancel their pass to the party."
 "Negative on the cancellation,Romero ," Goose replied. "The Syri-ans are baiting us. None of my team
has been hit. But I wouldn't mind seeing them sit out the next few dances." Sliding his M-4A1 to the side,
he took out his 10X50 binoculars and had the Ranger sniper team direct him to the hostile shooter's
location.

After a brief search, Goose found the enemy team-a shooter and a spotter-stretched out on a rocky
outcrop in the jagged mountains to the southeast. No one else was around. The digital readout on his
binoculars estimated the distance at a little less than a mile.

"Romero," Goose said, "I have our sniper team in sight. Send them on their way."

"Affirmative, Leader. We'll send them packing."

 An instant later, rock jumped from the outcropping around the two Syrian soldiers. They jumped for
cover, obviously not expecting to be found so quickly.

The other Rangers cheered the sniper team on as they reported, "Leader, your water detail is clean and
green."

 "Understood,Romero . Thanks for the assist." Goose put his bin-oculars away and stood. He took up
the assault rifle and felt fatigue eat into his bones.

 Glancing at the dead fish floating on the river, he was reminded of an old army axiom, the military version
of Murphy's Law: "It isn't the bullet with his name on it that a professional soldier has to fear; it's all those
that are addressed To Whom It May Concern."'

 The 75th Ranger Regiment was stuck between a rock and a hard place. And it seemed more than their
share of trouble was looking for them.

Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0601 Hours



Death stalked the invisible line that separatedSyria andTurkey .

 Goose peered through his binoculars and adjusted the magnifica-tion as he scanned the border. He
knew the balance that kept three ar-mies from each other's throats was so tenuous that any change might
tip it the wrong way. Even a shift in the slow, dry wind might trigger renewed hostilities. The hatred
between the Turks and the Syrian--sponsored Kurdish terrorists had existed for too many generations to
count. And Goose knew that the Turks' American allies would be in the thick of the fighting, no matter
who started it.

 The early morning light hurt Goose's eyes, and the rocks and sand around him absorbed the sun's rays
and steadily rose to baking tem-perature. By midafternoon, he knew from hard experience, the arid land
would be almost unbearable.
 For the last seventy-two hours, he and C Company had been on constant alert in full battle dress,
camped in the harsh, barren plateaus overlooking the border. He'd been awake for so long that sleep
was a distant memory. The exhausted man inside him had no place here. The professional warrior had to
stay sharp.

 Despite the circumstances, he'd taken the time to stay clean--shaven, although he hadn't foisted the same
expectation on his men. Leadership was often as much about image as about substance. A shade less
than six feet tall, with wheat-colored blond hair that al-most matched the desert around him and a body
disciplined by nearly two decades of military training, Goose looked like a soldier. He kept his hair
cropped high and tight, but sand still found a way to burrow into his scalp, where it itched furiously. Just
one more irritant he had to ignore. The dry heat pulled at the half-moon shrapnel scar that ran from his
right eyebrow to his cheekbone. The scar was less than six months old and still felt tight.

 During the last few months, his border patrol assignment had turned nasty. The body count was getting
serious for all sides. Of late, a few American casualties had been added into the mix, kicking up
in-ternational scrutiny and drawing the attention of news media from all over the globe. There were other
hot spots in the world, of course, and news service people were hunkered down like vultures around the
var-ious front lines, waiting to see where the bloodiest violence would erupt first.

 Goose prayed some other place would win that lottery. He was sit-ting atop a powder keg that could
leave dead soldiers piled high on both sides of the border-some of whom he might be responsible for.

 Many months ago, the United Nations had sought the help of theUnited States to police a flare-up in
terrorist activity alongTurkey 's borders.PresidentFitzhugh responded by sending in the troops. He
explained to the American people that it was more than local terror-ism that threatened the peace in that
part of the world. Before long the Syrian army was facing off with the Turks at the border. Because
ofTurkey 's role as a key Western ally in the turbulentMiddle East , Fitz-hugh had made sure help had
been quick in coming. The 75th Army Ranger Regiment moved into the area on a peacekeeping mission.
Rifle companies of the Third Battalion fromFort Benning,Georgia , an outfit with an illustrious combat
history, had taken on their portion of the mission.

 Goose hoped the American forces could keep the border nailed down until peace talks betweenTurkey
andSyria and theKurdistan

Workers Party could bear fruit. It was his job to see that the diplomats had the time they needed to
keep people from dying.

 But being so far from home for so long was hard. He missed his wife,Megan , and his boys,Joey
andChris . The last couple of years hadn't been kind to Goose-or to any American Special Forces
troops. Terrorist activity around the globe had kept them in the field. Goose's five-year-old son,Chris ,
seemed to be growing up much too fast in the pictures Goose had received from home over the last few
months. And his seventeen-year-old stepson,Joey , was on the brink of manhood. It nearly killed Goose
not to be there for his boys and his wife.

 According to the intel from HQ, the peace talks betweenTurkey andSyria were going to get serious any
day.Any day had been more than a month in coming, and moving C Company from support ca-pacity
insideTurkey to the border wasn't a promising sign.

 Dug in on the plateaus that made up the southeastern section ofTurkey , Goose stared due south. The
terrain wasn't as mountainous or craggy as in many places along the border. This had once been the
gateway toMesopotamia , home of some of the world's oldest civili-zations-Babylon,Sumer,Persia
,Assyria ,Chaldea . TheTigris andEu-phratesRivers flowed from the mountains further north and spilled
into the lowlands in the southeast, emptying intoIraq andIran to form what had once been known as
theFertile Crescent .

 Back when he was a young man, in a Bible class his daddy'd taught at church back home
inWaycross,Georgia , Goose had studied this re-gion. It was the place many Bible scholars believed had
once housed the Garden of Eden. But now the green paradise was gone. Here the world seemed
reduced to a sea of shifting yellow sand and gravel that sported islands of treacherous rocks and
stubborn scrub bushes. And Goose, too, had changed. His easy acceptance of the church's teaching was
long gone. He had seen too much violence to buy into the simple beliefs of his youth.

His faith, like the landscape around him, had been blasted.

 "So, what do you think, Sergeant?" The voice of his commanding officer came via Goose's ear/throat
headset. Satellite communications kept the teams in constant contact, and with HQ five klicks behind the
front lines, that was good. As First Sergeant, Goose's headset was chipped for the main channel as well
as four subset frequencies he could use for special team assignments. He was second-in-command and
ranking NCO of a company consisting of for four rifle platoons ranged across the border, shoring up the
exhausted Turkish soldiers on the front lines.

 Despite the fact that the Syrian military hadn't shown signs of having audio-pickup equipment or
signal-capturing communica-tions antenna, Goose spoke quietly and evenly over the scrambled channel.
"I think they're waiting on something, sir. Or someone."

"Nothing appears out of the ordinary,"CaptainCalRemington replied.

 "No, sir," Goose said, surveying the way the Syrian soldiers took refuge from the sun under vehicles and
tarps. "The grunts are all busi-ness as usual. But I do see a little more spit and polish than normal to-day.

"'Spit and polish'?"

 Goose grinned. "Yes, sir, Captain. An enlisted man, sir, he never forgets the dog and pony show he has
to put on for an officer. Always cleaning. Always drilling. Always looking busy. The more important the
officers, the more spit and polish."

"And you'd know that, would you, Sergeant?"

 "Yes, sir. And if I recall, sir, there was a time before OCS when you knew that, too." Their friendship
reached through nearly sixteen years of hardships and dangerous assignments, includingRemington 's
choice to sign up for the army'sOfficerCandidateSchool . That long bridge of friendship more than
spanned the gulf between officer and non-com.

Remingtonwas silent.

 Knowing the captain was back at headquarters, availing himself of the computer systems tied into the
geosynchronous spy satellites twenty-three thousand miles into space, Goose waited. He shifted the
binoculars slowly. MaybeRemington hadn't noticed the subtle change in the attitudes of the Syrian
soldiers on the other side of the border.

The Syrian soldiers wore camouflage fatigues that looked a lot like the ones worn by the American and
Turkish troops. The pattern was bigger, cleaner, and not as shaded. A civilian eye, Goose knew,
proba-bly wouldn't be able to differentiate between the three sets of battle dress uniforms in this part of
the world, but Goose had no problem. His life-as well as the lives of his squadmates-could depend on
that skill. It wasn't just a matter of finding and shooting the enemy. Like the old saying went, "Friendly fire
isn't."

 Syrian troop placement was heavy. Winning through intimida-tion,Remington called the effort, with his
signature smirk of disap-proval.Remington always said real warriors won wars by handing down a
decisive victory that left no room for argument-not by saber-rattling and trafficking in threats. Goose
knew that forRemington , anything other than confrontation and aggressive action was NJ-no joy.

 Goose didn't feel that way. If intimidation kept everybody from shooting, he was all for it. Putting on a
good show could save lives.Remington may have had his reasons to prefer action. An officer's ca-reer
advanced through victories, while an enlisted man simply wanted to do a good job and remain alive.
Goose hoped the Syrians were willing to stick to intimidation for the foreseeable future.

 The Syrian military boasted an assortment of Jeeps, Land Rovers, T-62 and T-72 main battle tanks,
BMP-2 and BMP-3 armored infantry fighting vehicles, and BTR-60 armored personnel carriers. Farther
back among the hills, Goose had seen self-propelled artillery and air defense units, as well as multiple
rocket launchers. Satellite recon-naissance had confirmed all those weapons, as well as giving reliable
estimates of troop numbers.

During the last week, the numbers had doubled. So the changes weren't all just spit and polish. Goose
was getting a bad feeling about the future.

 The Turks and the U.N. forces had their own array of weapons. The border area was crawling with
Humvees, M-1 Abrams main battle tanks, and Bradley M-2 and M-3 APCs. Artillery and air defense
units were bolstered by MLRs and Apache helicopter gunships. If that wasn't enough to handle the army
arrayed against them, heavy-duty help was close by. The 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit-Special
Op-erations Capable, or MEU(SOC), was on standby, poised for action on their three-ship amphibious
ready group, anchored by the USS Wasp. The ARG sat on a 180-day float out in theMediterranean Sea
, ready to lend air and Marine support to the land-based forces at a mo-ment's notice.

The Syrians knew that, and not just because of secret intelligence operations. The Wasp's presence had
been broadcast all over CNN and FOX News networks since the Rangers had moved in-country. The
bad guys knew what they were up against-though not, Goose hoped, the specifics of all the goodies they
had in their bag of tricks.

"Maybe they are waiting on something,"Remington said.

CalRemingtonwasn't one to drop hints and not pay off on them. "You got something, Cap?" Goose said.

 "I don't know yet, Sergeant. But I may have a way to get some-thing. I've got a maybe-mission for you,
purely hide-and-seek with a chance at some action. If you'd rather bake in the sun and watch the Syrian
army corps sleep, I can use one of the staff sergeants for this lit-tle exercise."

 Smiling despite the tension, Goose scanned the Syrian line again. Lots of snoring soldiers. Even with the
changes in the front line, many Syrian troops were stretched out in the shadows under vehicles or under
small tents. In this climate, a nap in the shade made a whole lot of sense. Goose felt it was a pityhe and
his men couldn't join them.

"I'm interested in a maybe-mission, Cap. Especially if it gets me off this plateau and out of the sun. It'll
give me a chance to stretch my legs and clear my head."

 "Not worried about leaving the troops there, Sergeant? As I recall, you're usually the last one to leave
the field when we're in a hot zone."

 "You've got sat-relays overlooking the play out here, sir," Goose said. "You've got a clearer view of
what's shaping up than I do. I figure you must need me. I know you don't like me being away from the
front line any more than I do."

"That I don't, Sergeant."Remington 's banter was light. "I may haveeyes and ears in space, but I'll take
your gut over technology any day. Anyway, you'll be back in place soon enough. I'm looking at a short
hop that will give you the chance to show your stuff. Maybe if you get away from that standoff for a little
while you'll get a different read on it when you get back."

"Yes, sir." Goose peered along the mountainous area and at the tarmac road that crossed the border.
The Syrians and the Turks had checkpoints for vehicles as well as pedestrians. So far there had been
nothing to see today. "Who do I need, and when do I go?"

"Take a squad. Yourself and ten. Two vehicles. And you're leaving now."

                                              *      *       *

 CaptainCalRemingtonstood behind the four-man unit that handled the communications relays for his
present operation. Nervous energy filled him, pushing him to act. Instead, he waited and watched the
eight computer screens spread in front of his team. Waiting was not his forte and never had been.

 The computers in the cinder-block building that had been re-vamped into a command HQ five klicks
behind the border made the chill air-conditioning necessary. Gasoline-powered generators sup-plied the
juice to run both the computers and the air-conditioning.

 Thick bundles of cables snaked across the chipped stone floor. An as-sortment of bullet holes scarred
the walls, offering mute testimony to how many times firefights had taken place in this building. The
building had once been part of a small village, a place where farmers and artisans had met to swap goods
and talk, but it was mostly rub-ble now. Only three of the small cinder-block buildings remained intact.

 The satellite feeds came in beautifully, panning down over the Turkish-Syrian border. The signals actually
came from two different satellites, but Cray computers relayed those signals into the systems so they
could be handled independently at each of the four workstations manned byRemington 's tech support
unit.

 OCS hadn't revealed all the secret machinations of its cybernetic systems, andRemington was amazed at
the computer surveillance program's abilities. Still, he knew how to use the intel the programs provided.
Even though the information they gave him would have been a commander's dream just a few years ago,
he needed more. Three shifts of four operators kept twenty-four-hour surveillance on the border over
different overlapping fields.

 After three days of close scrutiny,Remington was of the opinion that there wasn't much they hadn't seen,
photographed, cataloged, and archived along C Company's section of border country. The tech teams
had accumulated gigabytes of information and pumped it out to army databases inDiyarbakir , where the
general command in-country was situated, to the ARG headed by the USS Wasp out in the Med, and to
the Pentagon. None of the information gathered so far offered any indication of what was behind the
increased terrorist at-tacks withinTurkey . Something was up. Watching just wasn't enough;Remington
wanted-needed-to know what the enemy was thinking.

"CaptainRemington, sir."

 Turning,Remington studied the man in civilian clothes who stood between two Ranger escorts. The man
was tall, over six feet, butRemington stood two inches taller. The Ranger captain was also broader
through the shoulders than the new guy, and at thirty-eight, probably a handful of years younger.

"Sir," the corporal said, throwing a sharp salute while standing at attention, "this is Central Intelligence
Agency Section Chief Alexan-der Cody."

The CIA agent didn't look happy about the announcement. He seemed to be fit, and his mouth looked
habitually stern. He had short-cropped dark hair going gray at the temples. His light-colored slacks,
white dress shirt, and tie showed a layer of dust, as did the tan jacket slung over one arm. Beneath a
painful looking wind- and sun-burn, his skin was pale. Dark sunglasses hid his eyes.

"Come in, Agent Cody,"Remington said. "Corporal, Private, you're dismissed."

The corporal saluted again, spun smartly, and departed with the private in tow.

"Not exactly the kind of introduction I usually get in my line of work."Cody crossed the room and held
out his hand. "Or one that I would want."

 Remingtonshook the offered hand.Cody had a firm grip and a callused palm. "In the regular army, we
stand on formality, Agent Cody. Except for sometimes on the front lines, where a salute is con-sidered to
be a sniper magnet by our more experienced troops."

 "I can understand their caution. I start to feel exposed when I get the full treatment. You can call meAlex
,"Cody offered.

"Fine. You can address me as Captain, orCaptainRemington ."

IfCody took any insult, he didn't show it. "Very well, Captain. You've been briefed on our situation?"

"Only that you've had an agent go missing, and that we're sup-posed to help you get him back. If
possible."

 Codyreached into his shirt pocket and produced a miniature CD in a plastic case. "I've got an image of
the agent here."

Remingtontook the disc and handed it toLewis , one of the young techs. "Get this up for me."

"Yes, sir."Lewis took the disc, pushed it home into a CD-ROM reader, and tapped the keyboard.

Instantly, the monitor on the left scrolled. Thumbnails of images spread out in a simple information tree.
All of the images were of a young, dark-complexioned man who looked Middle Eastern. He might have
been Turkish, Kurdish, or Syrian; in fact, he could have been from any of a dozen countries in the area.
He looked all of twenty years old.

"He's one of ours?"Remington asked.
"Yeah."Cody gazed at the young man's photo. "An American, Captain. Not a recruit or paid informer."

"What kind of assignment has he been on?"

Codyhesitated. "You don't have clearance."

Remingtonmastered the wave of anger that flooded through him.

 "I just detailed a squad of men to handle the intercept your agency asked for,Cody . If my men are going
to be in danger, then you'd better clear me."

 Codypursed his lips and removed his sunglasses. "Icarus is a co-vert operative we've managed to get
into one of the PKK cell groups."

 The PKK,Remington knew from his own briefings regarding the border patrol assignment, was the
Kurdistan Worker's Party. Orga-nized in 1974 by Abdullah Ocalan, the PKK planned to establish an
independent Kurdish state from land withinTurkey ,Iraq , orIran . Over the years, the organization had
turned to terrorism aimed at destabilizing the Turkish government. Often the PKK terrorists killed as
many Kurds as they did Turks.

 "Infiltrating a single terrorist cell doesn't seem like a good invest-ment of manpower,"Remington stated.
"The cells are kept small and independent, with relatively no interaction among other cells or the parent
organization. The intelligence you'd get would be infinitesi-mal at best."

"Icarus penetrated the cell assigned to assassinateChaimRosenzweig ,"Cody said. "Thanks to Icarus, the
members of that team were ...dissuaded from that action."

"How dissuaded?"

 "Five of the eight men assigned to the assassination are dead,"Cody said. "The other three escaped our
sweeps. They have appar-ently taken Icarus with them."

 Remingtonnodded. He hadn't heard about an assassination team being intercepted, but he wasn't
surprised that Rosenzweig was a tar-get. The Israeli botanist whose synthetic fertilizer had turned his
country into a veritableEden almost overnight was reviled by most of the Arab nations, althoughIsrael 's
neighbors had made their peace withIsrael . In the end they'd had no choice, but peace at the end of a
gun barrel was still peace.

 Rosenzweig had been given the Nobel prize in chemistry for his efforts, and he'd been handed a death
sentence by terrorist organiza-tions scattered around theMiddle East , who now faced a concerted
Is-raeli effort to put them out of business.

 That shift in prosperity in theMiddle East , especially since it also affected the global balance of trade and
power, had triggered a Rus-sian surprise attack that had caughtIsrael and the world off guard fourteen
months ago. When he'd heard of the attack,Remington had figuredIsrael 's existence would be measured
in minutes.

 Instead, the Russian air force had suffered a massive systems fail-ure. Their attacking force had
self-destructed, its crumpled remains raining down from the sky in flaming chunks. Military experts and
analysts agreed that the Russian air force had grown lax and that the fleetwide systems failures were
caused by poorly maintained, obso-lete equipment.Remington wanted to be sure that such a disaster
never occurred to his forces on his watch.

"If this assassination attempt is off the books,"Remington asked, "why is your covert agent still with the
PKK cell?"

 Codystared at the young man's face on the computer screen. "We haven't been successful in exfiltrating
Icarus." "Maybe he didn't want to be exfiltrated." "We don't feel that's the case."

Don't feel,Remingtonknew, wasn't a definite answer. "How long has Icarus been under?"

 "A year and a half. He penetrated the PKK almost seven months ago. We were about to pull the plug
on the op at that point but he managed to get inside the cell."Cody paused. "Captain, there is no question
about this man's loyalty. That's why I'm here talking to you today. He's a good man in a bad situation. He
gave us the assassina-tion team when they were ready to strike, and he endangered himself by doing so."

"He could be dead already."

Concern creasedCody 's face for just a moment then flickered out of existence. "I refuse to believe that."

"You've asked for help,"Remington pointed out. "I'm risking the lives of my men. Sell me on what you
believe."

 The CIA agent nodded at the computer terminals. "I can log your computers in to the link we've set up
for your team."

RemingtonexcusedLewis from the chair andCody sat. The CIA chief's fingers clacked against the
keyboard in rapid syncopation. The monitor screen scrolled and scrolled again.

"What am I looking at?"Remington asked.

"I'm downloading a satellite feed. We have a lock on the vehicle Icarus is being transported in."

 The screen image changed, revealing a ten-year-old Subaru Leg-acy. Battered and pale blue, the vehicle
stood out in sharp relief against the yellow sand. A billowing amber dust cloud trailed behind the Subaru.

Remingtonwatched the station wagon jerk and bounce across the rough terrain. The road was ancient, a
whisper-thin memory that probably was constructed for carts and foot traffic, or military Jeeps.

"You're sure he's in there?" the Ranger captain asked.

 Codytapped more keys. The feed changed to a thermal image view. The station wagon registered as
purple, and the road and the desert became a sheet of pale yellow. The human body temperature of 98.6
degrees was lower than the ground temperature, making the four figures actually register cooler than the
land around them. The four people inside the car became outlined in dark yellow and or-ange.

 "We've had a lock on this car since it leftAnkara this morning,"Cody said.Ankara wasTurkey 's capital
city. "We've tracked Icarus since the group leftJerusalem ."

"The assassins got close,"Remington observed.
"Yes. Icarus has been closely watched."

"They suspected him?"

"The group watched each other. Since we decided to take them down inJerusalem , we created an
opening for Icarus to feed us infor-mation. However, we couldn't get a message back to him."

"What message?"

 "We wanted him out,"Cody said. "Icarus has reached an untena-ble position. If those other men don't
suspect him now, they will soon. Or whoever they're going to meet inSyria will."

"When your teams swept the other members of the cell, seems Icarus should have jumped ship."

 "Unless he thought he was about to get more information we needed. We would have gone after Icarus
ourselves,CaptainRemington , but given the state of alert inTurkey andSyria , the deci-sion was made that
it would be more feasible and prudent to have your men handle the exfiltration."

 Remingtonsilently agreed. While the United States Army's peace-keeping effort was welcomed
in-country, CIA agents weren't. Espe-cially since they didn't operate withTurkey 's permission in many
cases.

Codytapped the keys, changing the view back to normal.

 The perspective also pulled back, revealing movement high in the hills overlooking the road.Cody
tapped the keys again, narrowing the focus to the eleven Rangers huddled in two groups on either side of
the narrow road. Another keystroke put the group's geographic lo-cation in longitude and latitude under
them.

"These are your men?" the CIA section chief asked.

 Though he recognized the Ranger camo fatigues,Remington checked the location of Goose's group. The
figures matched. Goose had brought his unit into position after a fifteen-minute hop from the front lines.
They now sat seven klicks north-northeast of the bor-der face-off.

"Yes," he replied, moving back toCody 's screen. "They're good?"

"They're Rangers,"Remington answered. "They'remy Rangers. They're the best."

"Well,"Cody replied noncommittally, "in three or four minutes, we're going to find out."

The pale blue station wagon continued bouncing across the bro-ken terrain, closing on the Rangers'
positions.
Turkey

37 Klicks Southeast of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0621 Hours




 Goose hunkered down behind the rocks on the west side of the road he'd decided had probably served
as a pass through the mountains back in the days of theSilk Road . These days it was so little used Goose
figured the only reason it wasn't grown over was that nothing would grow in the sand and bleak rock.

A half mile away, a dust cloud closed on their position.

 Moving slowly, letting his dust-covered camo do the job it was de-signed to do, Goose lifted his
M-4A1 and peered through the scope. He checked to make sure the digital camera mounted underneath
the assault rifle had a clear field of view.

 The digital cam hooked into the modular computer/sat-com feed on his load-bearing frame, spreading
the extra weight across his shoulders. After two years of training with the rig for special urban warfare
operations, Goose didn't even notice the extra weight on the rifle.

 In most instances, the M-4A1 carbine was a better weapon than the M-16A2 Goose had been given
when he entered the Army sixteen years ago. He'd been a rawboned twenty-one-year-old fresh from the
backwoods country ofWaycross,Georgia . Both assault rifles fired the 5.56mm round, but the M-4A1's
barrel was fourteen and a half inches long, nearly six inches shorter than the M-16A2. Along with the
col-lapsible butt stock, the M-4A1 offered quicker reaction speed as well as the ability to use the
weapon in more compact places.

 Goose lay prone on the hot ground. Before taking up his position, he'd scraped away the top layer of
sand and rocks, exposing the cooler earth below. It made lying down on the scorching desert surface
more bearable. Only a minute or two of being exposed to the dry heat had turned the layer he'd exposed
the same color as the land around him.

 He adjusted the telescopic sights, bringing the image of the pale blue Subaru station wagon into proper
magnification. The image sharpened. He kept both eyes open, the way he had been trained to do,
mentally switching between both fields of vision. His father, a woodsman who had hunted all over
theOkefenokee Swamp and had pulled a tour of duty as a Marine inKorea , had first taught him the
technique. Drill sergeants and sniper specialists had refined the skill during training.

 Dried mud covered the station wagon's windshield except for the arches carved out by the wipers.
Streaks of dried mud stained the car's body. Tie-downs held two spare tires and two five-gallon jerry
cans on the roof.

 Goose played the scope over the vehicle's windshield. The driver and the man sitting in the shotgun seat
looked Middle Eastern. Evi-dently the vehicle's air-conditioning wasn't working because they were both
drenched with perspiration that left damp stains in the armpits of their shirts.

"Base," Goose said, speaking into the pencil mike at the left corner of his mouth.

"Go, Phoenix Leader,"Remington called back. "Base reads you five by five."

"You got vid?"

"We see what you see, Leader."

"Can you confirm your package?" Goose asked, sweeping the M-4A1's sights from the driver to the
passenger.

Remingtonhesitated an instant. "Neither of those men. They are confirmed hostiles. Repeat, we have
positive ID of hostile nature. Don't take any chances with these people."

 Shifting the rifle slightly and refocusing the scope, Goose ran the sights over the two men in the backseat.
He knew the agent immedi-ately because the man's face was battered and bloody. Gray duct tape
covered hiseyes, wrapping around his head. From the uncomfortable way the man was sitting, Goose
guessed that his hands were tied or cuffed behind him.

"Is this the package, Base?" Goose asked.

"Affirmative, Leader,"Remington said. "You have visual confir-mation."

The station wagon had come within a quarter mile of the Rangers' position. The rough terrain kept the
vehicle's speed down to about thirty miles an hour.

 Goose switched over to the team frequency.Remington and HQ remained part of the loop. "We've got
ID. Our save is located in the rear seat. Passenger side, not the driver's side. Copy?"

The ten men in the unit responded quickly.
Glancing over his shoulder, Goose looked atCorporalBillTownsend . The corporal had been the first
man Goose selected for the ten-man unit.

Billhad just turned twenty-eight. He was young, easygoing by na-ture but quick on the fly on an op. Like
Goose, he wore load-carrying equipment, an LCE, that supported his gear. Combat webbing held extra
magazines and rounds for the M-4A1/M-203 combo he carried. The M-203 grenade launcher fired
40mm grenades and added a wal-lop to a squad's force.

During the eight years he'd knownBill , Goose had never seen him perturbed. Things didn't always go the
wayBill thought they should, but he worked through any situation, be it smooth sailing or total chaos, with
better grace than any man Goose had ever known.Bill was totally relaxed and at peace with himself.
Goose figured it had something to do with the corporal's faith.Bill was a devout Christian who spent time
with squadmates who were having personal troubles. He was good at easing the burdens down to some
manageable load. IfBill hadn't been such a good soldier and adamant about making a dif-ference in the
world in that fashion, Goose would have recom-mended the corporal for a counseling position on base.

 Seven years ago, when Goose had metMeganHolder atFortBenning and fallen in love with her in spite of
his best efforts not to,Bill had counseled him. Goose had always promised himself that he'd remain single
till he finished his twenty years and retired, re-minding himself that a dedicated career soldier's family
often got short shrift by the very nature of the job. He hadn't wanted to put any-one through that. But
Goose had been torn in his resolution when he sawMegan trying bravely to raise herson-our son, he
corrected him-self-Joey, all by herself.

 Billhad known Goose was troubled and had talked to him with-out really talking to him for a while. At
least, that was the way it seemed. Looking back on things now, Goose had the distinct impres-sion that
the young man knew exactly what he was doing.

 In the end,Bill helped Goose get over his cold feet and follow his heart.Bill had been best man at their
wedding, a position Goose al-ways thought would belong to his old friendCalRemington . After all,
Goose had been best man at two ofRemington 's weddings. But for some reasonRemington hadn't been
able to participate on the date Goose andMegan had chosen. In the end,Bill had been the per-fect best
man, and he had stayed close to Goose's whole family. These days,Remington seldom visited theGander
household, whileBill was often around. He frequently baby-satChris .

"I'm here,"Bill told Goose quietly. "When you move, I've got your six."

 "You get your prayers said?" Goose tossed off the question in a lighthearted way, but he'd been
aroundBill when the man had prayed over injured soldiers and during disastrous situations. It seemed to
Goose that God paid special attention toBill 's words. Al-though he'd never talked about his feelings with
anyone else, Goose had always felt the strength and conviction inBill 's prayers. While he had a few
doubts of his own about God, Goose leaned onBill to put in a good word for him with the Big Guy.

Billnodded. "Prayers said. Mine. Yours. The squad's. We'll make it home okay, Sarge."

"I hope you're right."

An easy grin touchedBill 's lips. "You can't just hope. You gotta have faith."

"I do have faith."
"Nah."Bill shook his head. "If you had faith, you wouldn't have to reach for hope."

"Then I'm working on it. Best I can do. Thanks, man." Goose turned fromBill .

 It wasn't often Goose felt the difference between the younger man and himself, but today he did. They
often attended the same prayer groups while they were in the field. Or, more accurately, Goose joined
the ones thatBill headed. And even back on base,Bill had found the church that Goose's family
attended.Bill spent some of his free time working as a youth minister for athletic events there.

"Phoenix Three," Goose called out.

"Three,"BobbyTanaka responded. He was the unit sniper, young and cool under pressure. "Go,
Leader."

"I want the package protected, Three. Your primary target is the hostile in the backseat with him."

"Affirmative, Leader."Tanaka lay in a prone sniping position be-hind an M-24 bolt-action sniper rifle.

The station wagon closed on the gap.

"On me," Goose ordered. He tracked the vehicle with the M-4A1.

 Twenty yards in front of the Rangers' position, the Subaru's front wheels hit the portable spike barrier
concealed under the sand. The tires blew as the spikes shredded the rubber. Before the driver could
hope to regain control over his vehicle, the rear tires hit the spikes and went to pieces as well.

 "Go!" Goose commanded, pushing himself up and racing down the hill. Sand, gravel, and rock tore
loose under his combat boots, throwing up dust. He skidded twice, dragging a knee both times to stay
upright while he cradled the M-4A1 in his arms.Bill pounded along behind him.

 The station wagon driver tried to keep going, but the tire rims sank into the soft sand and chewed
through the hard-packed earth. In less than five feet, the station wagon had mired up to its chassis. The
en-gine roared as the driver tried to use the four-wheel drive to fight free of the earth. The churning rims
threw rooster tails of sand and rock behind the vehicle, then reversed and threw them forward.

 Skidding down the hill, Goose closed on the vehicle. He watched the movement in the station wagon,
tracking his unit as well as the targets. Years of combat training, discipline, and action in several
de-ployments stood him in good stead. He kept his finger on the trigger guard. Until he knew he was
going to have to shoot and he had a con-firmed target, he never touched the trigger.

 Dust filled the air around the station wagon, obscuring his vision. The man getting out of the passenger
side looked blurred, but there was no mistaking the Uzi submachine gun clenched in his fists.

 "Weapon!" Goose yelled, throwing himself forward and down. He brought the M-4A1 up and slid his
finger into the trigger guard, squeezing the trigger three times. The butt stock shoved against his shoulder
with each shot.

 Hit by the rounds, the terrorist fell backward. The passenger win-dow erupted in a spray of glittering
shards.

Even as the terrorist fell to the ground, Goose spotted the station wagon's driver lifting a semi-automatic
pistol in his fist and pointing the weapon at the CIA spy. Goose tracked the man but couldn't fire because
one of the Rangers was in his field of fire.

Then the driver's head snapped back.

 For Goose, time seemed to slow down. His senses whirling, his mind driven to adrenaline-charged razor
awareness, Goose noted the starred hole that had formed on the windshield, then heard the heavier
7.62mm report ofTanaka 's M-24 sniper rifle roll into the gap around the road.

 As he died, the driver fired a pistol round that punctured the sta-tion wagon's roof and the jerry can on
top. The jerry can exploded in a seething mass of hungry orange and yellow flames that spread across the
top of the vehicle. The second can, already propelled by the first can's explosion, detonated in midair. A
sheet of flames arced over two of the Rangers standing ahead of the vehicle to the left. Both soldiers hit
the ground and rolled to extinguish the flames that clung to their fatigues and helmets.

 The heat wave generated by the blast hammered Goose. Through tearing eyes, he stared through the
pool of flames that clung to the station wagon. Flames poured down over the vehicle's side and formed
fiery puddles on the ground.

The third terrorist was fumbling for the door.

The battered CIA agent screamed, "Kill him! Kill him!"

 Managing to hit the door release, the terrorist vaulted from the Subaru and ran. He pulled a sat-phone
from his pocket even as he brandished a 9mm pistol in his other hand. The man hit the dirt and crawled
for cover.

"Kill him!" the CIA agent yelled from inside the burning car.

 Goose transferred his M-4A1 to his right arm and pushed himself up. The car blocked his line of fire. He
ran toward the station wagon. The windshield, covered in flames, imploded and blew back over the body
of the dead driver. Fire rushed into the vehicle's interior.

 Ducking to avoid the tongue of flame that spat from the open pas-senger door, Goose reached into the
burning car and hooked a hand inside the agent's elbow. He yanked the man from the vehicle, nearly
sending both of them sprawling before getting his feet under him.

Billrushed in and grabbed the agent's other arm. They had to drag him back from the burning Subaru
because his feet were taped together.

"You've got to get that guy!" the agent yelled hoarsely. Fresh blood trickled from his split lips and
broken nose. Bruises showed all across his face.

 "Our mission is to get you out of here alive. That's our first prior-ity." Something else in the car blew,
sending waves of blistering heat over them. Goose quit talking and helpedBill drag the guy farther from
the flames.

"Take it easy," Goose said. He stood, cradling the M-4A1 and looking for the terrorist.

Billflipped a combat knife from his LCE and slid the sharp blade through the duct tape securing the
man's ankles and wrists.
 The agent reached for the tape covering his eyes but couldn't man-age to pull the strips from his face.
The binding at his wrists had been tight enough to cut off his circulation, and his hands probably
re-mained numb. Goose knew that when the man started to get the feel-ing back he was going to be in a
world of hurt.

The terrorist was out of sight, invisible in the cloud of black smoke spewing from the burning station
wagon.

 "Don't you understand me?" the agent bellowed. He tried a cou-ple different languages whileBill pulled at
the duct tape over his eyes.

 "We understand you," Goose replied. "We're U.S. Army Rangers. With the 75th out ofFortBenning .
Our mission is to get you out safe. Why do we have to kill him? Give me a good reason to risk my men
to do it, now that we've done what we came here to do." As a soldier, Goose had killed, but always to
protect himself or others. He had never killed indiscriminately or allowed any man under his com-mand to
do so.

 The agent blinked his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Tears rolled down his dusty cheeks. "That man will
transmit to the Syrian forces. They'll know you've saved me. They know that I know they're plan-ning to
launch a major offensive against the Turkish and U.N. forces, especially the American military. If he gets
his message through, they'll launch that strike immediately. Your refusal to kill him will take away days
and hours we might have had to prepare."

Fear raced through Goose. He'd known something was up on the border. He'd felt it in his bones.

"Three," Goose said as he threw himself in pursuit.

"I've got him,"Tanaka replied.

 The wind changed. The terrorist materialized out of the conceal-ing smoke with the sat-phone clasped
tightly against his head. Then he spun, his legs flaring out wildly as he fought to keep his balance. The
phone against his head went to pieces. Blood showed on his hand. He turned just as the sound of
Tanaka's sniper rifle slammed across the sound of the burning car.

The wind carried the twisting black smoke across Goose's vision, smudging the sight of the terrorist as
he raised his pistol. The station wagon exploded, bits of it launching into the air, its body buckling into a
wrenched mass of flaming metal.

Goose twisted into a profile stance, offering the smallest target pos-sible to the terrorist. He flicked the
M-4A1's fire selector over to a three-round burst. "Put the weapon down!" he ordered. "We're the
United States Army! Throw down your weapon and step away! "

Instead, the terrorist screamed in rage and opened fire.

 One round slapped against Goose's Kevlar-lined helmet. It hit hard enough to knock his head to one
side like he'd caught a punch from a professional boxer. The bullet ricocheted from the helmet, though.
Goose took a half step to the right to recover. His sights on the terrorist never wavered. He squeezed the
trigger, aiming for the kill zone.

The terrorist staggered backward just as the report fromTanaka 's sniper weapon echoed around
Goose. It was over.

Goose assignedWilliams andClark to secure the third terrorist's body and confirm the kill, then turned
back to the CIA agent.

The agent stood with difficulty, leaning heavily onBill . Holding his assault rifle in one hand,Bill put his
other arm around the man's waist to support him.

Flipping over to the secure command frequency, Goose said, "Phoenix Base, this is Phoenix Leader."

"Go, Leader. Base reads you."

"Can you confirm the story we're getting here?"

 "Affirmative, Leader,"Remington said in a cool voice. "My transla-tor at this end tells me the man was
telling someone that the group had been attacked by American Rangers."

"Was he alerting Syrian forces or the PKK?" Goose asked. He thought of his team. The front line was
only seven klicks away, but sud-denly it felt like a million miles.

"He was transmitting a warning, Leader,"Remington said. "We haven't been able to confirm the
destination of the signal. There wasn't time to get a lock on it."

"Did he get through?"

"We don't know."




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time11:21 P.M.



 MeganGanderstabbed a hand out, palmed the handset, and had the cordless phone to her ear between
the first and second ring. The real trick was being awake and semicoherent by the time the chill plastic
touched her ear and cheek.

 Her thoughts flew immediately toJoey . She'd fallen asleep on the couch waiting for him to get home. She
looked at her watch.Joey had a9 P.m. curfew on school nights, and he knew it. It was way too late for
her boy to be out. Her anger came awake with her, and she was ready to unload on her
seventeen-year-old son if he was calling withany excuse as to why he hadn't been home at curfew.

 If Goose were home,Joeywouldn't push his luck so hard,she thought, and at the same moment she
prayed the call wasn't from the police to tell her something had happened toJoey . Or from the army,
telling her something had happened to Goose.
 That was her second thought as she awoke. Maybe the call was about Goose. Her husband had
sounded calm and casual during their phone conversation the previous day, and she knew he wouldn't
call her late at night or during her scheduled shift at the base's counseling center. Goose was just that
way. No matter what time zone he was in, Goose always knew what time it was in her world and what
she had going on.

 Just as she thought the call might be about Goose, she dismissed the possibility. While Goose thought
things might heat up along the Turkish-Syrian border, he'd assured her that nothing had happened yet.
And if something had happened to Goose, there would have been a uniformed officer at her door to
inform her, not some imper-sonal phone call.

"MeganGander," she said, then covered the mouthpiece while she cleared the sleep from her voice.

"Megan, this isHelenCordell ."

 "Yes,Helen. What can I do for you?"HelenCordell was the cur-rent night shift supervisor at the
counseling center whereMegan worked.Megan sat up on the living-room couch. She wore pink sweats
that were a favorite of hers from her high school days eighteen years earlier. Other than during her two
pregnancies, her size had never changed. She'd been gifted with a fast metabolism and worked hard to
stay in shape. She and Goose shared mutual interests in ten-nis and hiking, as well as other team sports
supported on base, and that helped make scheduling activities easy.

"I know it's not your scheduled shift,"Helen said, "but we have a situation."

"It's no problem. I was just grabbing a nap."Megan got up and moved through the small three-bedroom
base house she and Goose had filled with comfortable furniture and personal items. She walked past the
master bedroom and down the hall toJoey 's room. "I'd have been up anyway in a few minutes."

"Is something wrong?"

 "It's my son,Joey ."Megan opened the door and peeked into the room. The room was a mess-the walls
covered with posters of ex-treme sports icons in midstunt, CDs scattered everywhere, and schoolbooks
gathering dust on the small rolltop desk Goose had given the boy as a birthday present a few years ago.
The bed was empty. "It's past curfew and my teenager still hasn't made it home."Megan walked to the
other bedroom. "He was supposed to be home by nine. If he's not home bymidnight , I get to go out and
look for him."

 "Now I really hate having to call you,"Helen said. "I know how nerve-wracking it is waiting up on a
teenager. I've done that myself."

"I know.Joey wouldn't pull something like this if Goose was at home."Megan eased her other son's door
open.

Chrislay swaddled in blankets featuring his favorite cartoon heroes. He slept on the top bunk of the bunk
bed, which he'd had to have because "sometimes me and Daddy like to haveguy time to play video
games and watch videos and stuff-like-that-PLEASE-Mom."

 The night-light on the dresser bathed him in soft golden illumina-tion that highlighted the wheat-colored
hair he'd gotten from his fa-ther. The night-light was a scene that showedJesus with a shepherd's crook
telling stories to a group of children gathered at his feet. It had been a gift fromBillTownsend , who
sometimes spent the night with them at the base when the weather turned bad or when he and Goose had
to make an early morning jump. On those nights,Bill read toChris from the big book of children's Bible
stories he had bought for the boy, giving the characters unique voices that delightedChris and left him
imitatingBill for days.

It helped knowing thatBill and Goose had each other over inTur-key .But who do you have,Joey?
Megan couldn't help but wonder. "Maybe this can wait,"Helen suggested.

 Megansighed. She knew she wasn't going to be able to get back to sleep. Worrying about Goose
andJoey was getting to be too much, and that wasn't even taking into consideration the caseload she was
currently working at the counseling center.

"If you called this late,"Megan said, "I know you thought it was important. Now spill."

"GerryFletcheris in the infirmary,"Helen said.

 Megan's stomach lurched.GerryFletcher was one of the special projectsMegan had taken into her
heart.Helen was well aware of that.Everyone connected to the counseling center-half the base -was
aware of that.

 For the last fourteen months, sincePrivateBoydFletcher had moved toFortBenning with his wife and son
to become a Ranger,Megan had been aware of the abuseGerry underwent. Most of it, she'd gathered,
had been psychological in nature: unkind words, sar-castic comments, anything to wreck the
eleven-year-old boy's self-es-teem.

But occasionally there had been bruises onGerry 's arms and legs and shoulders. None had ever shown
up on the boy's face, though.BoydFletcher had evidently declaredGerry 's face off-limits.

 Meganhad tried several times to getGerry out of the home. She'd failed. No one had ever
seenBoydFletcher punishGerry in any way.Gerry was, according to staff at the base schools, one of the
best stu-dents a teacher could hope for.

Meganhad urgedGerry to come forward with what happened. No dice. He always smiled at her and tell
her that he was just "accident--prone."BoydFletcher had refused steadfastly to talk to her, other than the
one time he had been ordered to by the base commander.

 Gerryhad gone more than a month without a bruise after that; then he'd suffered a devastating bicycle
wreck that had broken his left arm. Or soGerry andBoyd had claimed. Somehow, though, the wreck
hadn't taken any skin off the boy's knees or elbows the way such an accident normally would have.
WhenMegan had asked for another interview withBoydFletcher , the base commander had de-nied it,
tellingMegan he would only enforce such a visit if she could offer proof of physical abuse.

 It had gotten so hard going through channels thatMegan had gone to Goose with the situation months
ago. That was something she almost never did. He had listened and soothed her because he was Goose
and that was what he did. However, during the past months, until Goose's unit had been pulled out to
reinforce the Turk-ish troops,Gerry had seemed to relax and even be happy most days.Megan couldn't
prove it, and she wouldn't ask, but she felt certain Goose had done something to affect the situation in the
Fletcher household.

"How is he?"Megan asked.
 "Bruised. Shaken up. He says he was outside on the roof with his telescope. He says he slipped and
fell."

"How bad is it?"

 "The doctor says he's dislocated his shoulder, but the physical pain is only part of it. That's one scared
little guy,Megan ,"Helen said. "Gerrydoesn't want his dad to know."

"Where's his father?"Megan always thought ofBoydFletcher asGerry 'sfather. A dad was someone like
Goose, someone who cared. "At home."

"Does he knowGerry 's in the hospital?"

"No.Gerry 's withDr.Carson ."

Meganrelaxed a little.Thank You, God, for that.CraigCarson was a friend and one of the best
pediatricians on the base.

 "Dr.Carsonand I areelecting to have a busy night and phone trou-ble until you get a chance to seeGerry
,"Helen said. "If you want to come in to see him, that is."

"Of course I want to see him,"Megan said. "I'll be right there."




Turkey

39 Klicks Southeast of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0643 Hours
Belted in tight, Goose sat in the shotgun seat of the Ranger Special Operations Vehicle. The vehicle's
powerful diesel engine growled as the all-terrain tires dug into the sand and propelled the team across the
desert back toward the Turkish-Syrian border.

 Based on the Land Rover Defender Model 110, the RSOV offered seats all the way around that faced
outward rather than forward, giv-ing passengers 360-degree visibility. The Rangers had adopted the
ve-hicles after the Gulf War. With ten inches of clearance, heavy-duty suspension, and four-wheel drive,
the RSOV was a mover and shaker on a cross-country run.

 Tanakadrove whileClark handled the top gunner position where the M-249 SAW was mounted.Bill sat
with the CIA agent on the rear deck, which was the most protected point on the RSOV.Williams and
Cusack occupied side seats. The rest of the Ranger unit rode in a sec-ond RSOV. Both vehicles charged
and leaped across the broken ter-rain.

Goose scanned the countryside continuously. Nothing else ap-peared to be moving on the desert. He
glanced over his shoulder and saw the CIA agent staring apprehensively south to the border.

"Phoenix Leader,"Remington said.

"Go, Base," Goose responded. "Leader reads you."

"Do you have a headset on Special Project?"

"Affirmative, Base. Special Project, do you copy?"

"I copy," the agent replied.

"I'mCaptainCalRemington , son. I'm glad we were able to get you out of there in one piece."

"So am I. Until your guys showed up, I thought I was dead." "You probably would have been. They tell
me you're the main rea-sonChaimRosenzweig isn't lying in a box right now." "I suppose so, sir."

 Goose listened toRemington work. In a few short sentences,Remington had managed to remind the
agent what he owed the Rangers, andRemington in particular, while at the same time ac-knowledging the
agent's potential worth. Goose didn't always agree with the captain's methods, but they were effective.

"I need to know about the offensive the Syrians have planned, Son,"Remington said.

The agent hesitated. "IsSection ChiefCody there, Captain?" "Yes."

"Could I speak to him?"

"This is a military operation,"Remington said. "Mr.Codyhas been sidelined for the moment."

 Sidelined?Goose thought.More likelyCodyhad been thrown out by his boot heels. If the Rangers had
known there was a chance that a transmission might result in a Syrian attack, they would have han-dled
the rescue mission differently. The CIA section chief hadn't been up front with them, and Goose
knewRemington wouldn't have stood for that.Cody had probably been cleared from HQ in that moment.
"The information I have is sensitive," the agent said.

"If the Syrians are planning to attack the Turks and the company I've got stationed there, I can guarantee
you, no one is going to be more sensitive than me."

"With all due respect, sir, the information is highly classified."

"Let me ask you a question, Son. If the bullets start flying across that border in the next few minutes, are
we going to be seeing dead CIA agents hitting the sand? Or dead Rangers?My dead Rangers."

The agent still hesitated.

 Looking back at the man, Goose noticed how young he was. Surely no more than a handful of years
older thanJoey , probably less than that. It was strange to realize.Joey still fought and complained about
taking out the trash, and this agent had been responsible for penetrating a terrorist cell and preventing the
assassination of an in-ternational figure.

"Rangers, sir," the agent replied. His voice broke and Goose felt a little sorry for him. When he glanced
back over his shoulder, he saw thatBill had a hand on the young man's shoulder.

 "If you can,"Remington said, "I'd appreciate it if you'd help me save some of those Rangers, Son. The
same way we saved you."

For a moment, the RSOV's engine droned into the silence that fol-lowedRemington 's plea.

"I guessSection ChiefCody told you it took a long time to gain the PKK's trust," the agent stated.

"Almost a year,"Remington agreed.

 "The reason they let me in was because I crack software. I don't know if you realize this, Captain, but
hackers aren't the real deal when it comes to penetrating firewalls and security countermeasures
surrounding computer systems."

"I work with intelligence,"Remington replied. "I know the differ-ence between crackers and hackers."

 Goose checked his watch. The Chase-Durer Combat Command Automatic Chronograph had been a
gift fromMegan and the kids. The watch was solid and heavy, and its cost had been excessive when
matched against the family budget. ButMegan had insisted on giving it to him, especially since he was
gone from home so much these days. As first sergeant, time was always a consideration, so he was
always looking at the watch, always thinking of the family he left at home.

Now, though, Goose felt time working against him. He figured they could be no more than five minutes
out from the front line.

 "I impressed the men I was with," the CIA agent went on. "I man-aged to crack into several security
areas that heldChaimRosenzweig 's movements and finally located the target inJerusalem . Thankfully, 1
was also able to alert the agency team there to set up the intercept. I don't think Rosenzweig or his
people even knew he was in danger."

"Why didn't you shake loose then?"Remington said.
 "Because while I was inside the hotel system, using the computer the PKK cell had given me to use, I
found out they had another man on me, piggybacking every move I made."

"They made you?"

"Yes, sir. I think so. I don't know how far back they made me. Maybe the day I stepped into the cell. In
order to crack Rosenzweig's security, I had to use agency resources. Every time I was inside the sys-tem
using the tools I keep stashed there, the PKK cracker was shadow-ing me. I discovered him two weeks
before the assassination attempt was scheduled."

"He found out information about the agency?"Remington asked. "Yes. In the beginning."

Goose waited for the other shoe to drop.

"That wasn't the guy's major interest, though," the agent said. "What was?"

"The United States Army buildup along the Turkish-Syrian border."

 Cold dread spread across Goose's back, neck, and shoulders. He remained calm and quiet,
lettingRemington handle the questions because he knew the captain would be asking the same things he
would.

"What did they get?"Remington asked.

 "Everything," the agent answered. "They know where theU.S. military forces are, and they know where
the Turkish forces are. Exact locations."

 Goose glanced atBill , knowing the man could overhear the con-versation even though he wasn't linked
to the frequency through the headset.Bill looked grim but he didn't say anything.

 "I tried backtracking the guy," the agent said. "I put a trace on him through the sat-corn relays I was
using, a relatively simple snooper program that masks itself as a digital enhancement viewer. Using the
information I received through a dozen traces, I triangulated the guy's location through ground-based
satellite relays."

"Where was it?"

"InAleppo,Syria . Do you know where that is?"

"I know whereAleppo is,"Remington said.

 Goose digested that.Aleppo housed the Syrian Missile Com-mand. They had three mobile
surface-to-surface missile brigades there that included one battalion of FROG-7 surface-to-surface
mis-siles and one battalion of SS-1 SCUD-B missiles.

 The FROG-7s were unguided rockets but capable of carrying nu-clear, chemical, or biological payloads
seventy kilometers in from their point of launch. The SCUDs had limited guidance systems that made
them somewhat reliable but certainly more dangerous than the FROG-7s.

"When did you know for sure the cell had made you?"Remington asked.
 The agent took a deep, shuddering breath, then knuckled fresh blood from the corner of his mouth.
Goose believed the young man might have a cracked rib. If it had punctured a lung, thankfully the arterial
flow seemed minimal, only coloring his breath now and again.

 "The minute the assassination started to go badly," the agent said, "I was locked down by the three men
your team rescued me from. Af-ter the sweep, they were the only ones left standing. They took a ship
aroundSyria , sailing fromIsrael toTurkey so they wouldn't draw at-tention to themselves. They knew
theU.S. military was observing the coastal cities and didn't want to take a chance on someone identify-ing
me."

"Why didn't they kill you?"

"Killing me would have been simpler. But they wanted to use me to continue digging into military
placements around the Turkish bor-der. We sailed toIzmir , then took a car toAnkara to one of the safe
houses they had set up. I suppose the agency picked me up there and told you."

 Goose watched the southern horizon. Tension knotted his stom-ach. If the Syrians had the information
they needed to attack the bor-der armies, and they knew the CIA agent they'd been waiting for was now
in American hands, there was nothing holding them--

"Phoenix Leader,"Remington said.

"Go, Base," Goose responded.

"I need you to delay your return to the front lines."

Goose bridled at that. The last place he needed to be during the coming engagement-an engagement he
had unknowingly triggered by rescuing this CIA agent-was away from the front line.

"But, sir-"

"That's an order, Sergeant,"Remington barked. "I want you and your team to head toGlitterCity . You'll
need to take control of the evacuation there."

 Goose glanced at his watch, thought ofMegan ,Joey , andChris , and did the necessary math. He was
three minutes fromGlitterCity and ten minutes from the front line.

 GlitterCitywas basically a tent city built of Quonset huts and left-over buildings from small towns that had
been bombed and shelled out of existence years ago during border hostilities. It was located halfway
between the border and Sanliurfa. During the past few weeks, as armament on both the Turkish and
Syrian sides had built up, reporters from FOX News and CNN had taken up transitory resi-dence in the
tent city, becoming media nomads reporting on soldiers in the field, weaponry, political and sociological
issues, and the pos-sibility of war or peace.

 During the previous weeks, atRemington 's insistence, Goose had done two interviews. He hadn't
enjoyed doing them. So far, as near as

he could tell, neither of the pieces had aired. Which was fine with him, though he considered the
possibility that he wasn't very interest-ing or very photogenic. Maybe he was just too boring for TV. Still,
he andMegan had enjoyed a laugh about them. She had threatened to tape them and play them at family
gatherings.

 "Sir," Goose said, curbing his impatience and his anger because he knewRemington maintained a no-fly
zone for those emotions, "SergeantMichaelscan take care of the evacuation. His qualifica-tions-"

"Make the adjustment now, Sergeant,"Remington said. "That's an order."

 "Yes, sir." Stung, Goose gaveTanaka the order, then reset the GPS heading himself whileTanaka made
the course correction. "New course has been laid in, Captain."

 "Goose,"Remington said in a quieter voice, "I need you there. The Syrians launched a wave of
short-range missiles eighteen seconds ago.GlitterCity is one of their targets. " He paused. "Do what you
can to save whatever's left of them, Goose."




                                                  *   *   *



United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time11:57 P.M.



"Mommy, I don't want you to go! I don't want you to go!"

 Megan's heart shattered at the unhappiness in her five-year-old son's plaintive cries. She wiped tears
fromChris 's cheeks and looked into his china blue eyes that were so much like his father's.

 "It's going to be all right, little guy,"Megan said as she carriedChris in through the double doors of the
staff support building. She'd called ahead to arrange emergency baby-sitting. She'd also left mes-sages
onJoey 's pager and forwarded all incoming calls to her cell phone.

"Daddy calls me little guy,"Chris said petulantly. "Not you, Mommy."

"I know. I just felt like calling you little guy. So you can be my little guy the way you are for Daddy.
You're just going to be here a little while. Then we'll go home."

MegancarriedChris on her hip, surprised at how big he'd gotten since the summer. The thought that
Goose wouldn't even recognize

his son when he returned from his current tour swept into her mind and brought new pain.

Extended absences during active tours were a hazard of the kind of soldiering Goose did. He andMegan
had talked long and hard about those absences, about how much they affected a marriage as well as any
children of that marriage. That was the biggest fear Goose had had about getting married. He'd seen
military careers de-stroy families, and he believed too much in what he was doing to back away until he
had finished the career he'd promised himself to deliver.

 And compromise was a hard thing for Goose. He loved his fam-ily as fiercely as he loved his country.
Having to choose between them would have destroyed him, andMegan knew that. So she chose to be
strong for him, to be the woman she had trained herself to be after her first husband had abandonedJoey
and her, and to wait for the time that Goose would be home again.

God willing,she prayed softly.Please, God, be willing. She always kept Goose close in her prayers.

"No, Mommy! No!"Chris wailed. He butted his head against her shoulder in frustration.

 "It's going to be all right,Chris ,"Megan said. "It'll only be for a little while. Then I'll take you home and
we can cuddle in my bed. I don't work in the morning, so we can watch your favorite videos to-gether.
I'll make pancakes. I promise."

 Right after I get through grounding your brother for the rest of his nat-ural life,Meganthought.
LeavingChris asleep in his own bed would have been so much easier than getting him up, getting him
dressed, and getting him upset. IfJoey had been home when he was sup-posed to be, she could have
done just that. Her frustration and anger at her older son grew.

"Okay, "Chris said sleepily. He lay against her more contentedly, and his breath whispered soft and
warm against the hollow of her throat. "I love you, Mommy."

"I love you, too, baby," she told him.

 One of the three women on duty in the emergency baby-sitting facilities met her at the door. SinceMegan
had used the services be-fore and was on file, all she had to do was show her military ID to checkChris
in.Megan politely refused the young woman's offer to take her son and carried him inside the room
herself.

 The room was filled with cradles and small beds. The constant state of readiness around the world was
taking a terrible toll on military families. Emergency baby-sitting had become a necessary thing in these
troubled times.

AsMegan looked around, she was surprised to see that most of the beds were filled. She glanced at the
woman who had checked her in. "Busy night, huh?"

"Yeah. Military support personnel got called in a few minutes ago," the young woman said. "There's
been some kind of attack."

A cold rush inMegan 's chest took her breath for a moment. "Where?"

"Turkey," the woman said.

"What happened?"

 She shook her head. "I don't know. I heard the news from one of the men who dropped off his daughter
a few minutes ago." She looked atMegan . "Do you have someone over there?"
"My husband."Megan heldChris tightly. It hurt to think about putting him down and walking away from
him. With Goose in dan-ger, andJoey gone, she couldn't think of being absent from her youn-ger son.

 ButGerry's in danger, too,she told herself. Reluctantly, she placedChris in one of the empty beds and
pulled the sheet over him.

He looked up at her with those wide, blue eyes. "Night, Mommy."

"Good night, baby."Megan was surprised at the lump in her throat. "I love you. Say your prayers,
honey."

"Now I lay me down to sleep,"Chris said. "I pray the Lord my soul to keep."

"He will, darling. He will."Megan ruffled her son's hair and kissed him.

"I'm just going to sleep for a little while, Mommy, so you can come and get me soon."

"I will,Chris . I'll be right there for you. Promise."

 Yawning, his little nose wrinkling,Chris rolled over on his side and closed his eyes. He was asleep in the
space of a drawn breath.

 Megankissed her son once more, thankful for such a precious gift, and left the nursery. Her thoughts
spun, filled withGerry andBoydFletcher , wondering whereJoey might be, and hoping that Goose was all
right, because if she knew her husband, he would be in the middle of things.




TheMediterranean Sea
USSWasp

Local Time0657 Hours

 Alone with the dead man in the small, refrigerated room next to the medical department that was
sometimes used as a morgue, U.S. Navy Chaplain Delroy Harte gazed at the stationery before him and
prayed that the proper words would come to him.God, help me. How do you write to a woman and
tell her that her husband is dead? How do you write to his children and tell them that their father
no longer lives?

 Those were things agencies within the Department of Defense had been set up to handle. Even knowing
that those agencies had already contacted the dead man's family didn't help him.Dwight 's family would
expect a letter from his chaplain and good friend; a sad an-nouncement would carry a more personal
touch than the standard military communications. But the emotional cost of writing that let-ter was higher
than Delroy had believed possible. He'd never, in his years in the military, been put in the position of
writing one like it be-fore. Letters for the dead, yes; he'd written those. But never a letter for someone
who'd been his best friend.

 The chaplain closed hiseyes, aware of the familiar noises ofWasp coursing all around him, and tried to
remember how his father had handled deaths within his small Baptist congregation inMarbury,Al-abama .
ButDelroyHarte found no solace there.JosiahHarte had known every member of his congregation, all
those souls who sat in the pews every Sunday to hear the hard-fisted, hellfire-and-brimstone sermons his
father had delivered. His father had also known all of the townspeople who never darkened the door of
the church till they were carried inside in a box.

 Delroy had known the man who now lay in the black body bag on the stainless steel table a few feet
away. Known him well and admired him greatly. He shifted and gazed at the body bag, hoping that an
an-swer would somehow appear there. But it didn't.

 His father had been ten times the pastor Delroy had turned out to be.JosiahHarte had watched over his
congregation and his family with love and wisdom, leading them with a stern hand and a gentle touch,
guiding so many of them to fulfilling lives enriched with a sense of purpose.

 Tense and fatigued, a condition that was hard to get into and al-most impossible to escape, Delroy stood
and stretched his legs. He stood six feet six inches tall. In high school, he'd been a power for-ward, one
of the greatest basketball players the school had ever seen. People had believed he'd never make it
through college without be-ing drafted by the NBA. But that had been before he lost his father.
Somehow in the deep and terrible confusion of that loss, Delroy had found the Lord in ways he had
never imagined.

 But you didn't stay walking close to the Lord, did you, Delroy? No, you turned away from Him.
And you are too afraid to tell anyone because you don't know what would become of you without
this mission in your life.

 He rubbed his chin. The stubble that had grown there let him know he'd been at his task much longer
than he would have guessed.

His eyes burning with exhaustion, he gazed at his blurred reflec-tion in the stainless steel table where he'd
been working. His skin was dark, nearly blue-black, and his image flowed like a dark pool across the
metal surface. His hair was cut military style, high and tight, as it had been for thirty years, since the day
he'd entered the navy. He wore his chaplain's service dress blue uniform, but he'd left his white gloves
and his tie in his pocket. The tie would go back on before he left this room.

Officially, he was off duty right now. Writing the letter to the dead man's family was something he was
doing at the request of the dead man himself. Back in sick bay, before the emergency surgery that had
been ordered after Dwight had complained about severe chest pains and shortness of breath late last
night, Dwight had asked him to take on this task-just in case ...

 Waiting in the medical department while the medical personnel worked on his friend, Delroy had
expected to sit for hours till the doc-tors and nurses performed the surgery and gotDwight stabilized. The
medical staff told Delroy there was nothing to worry about outside of the normal risks of bypass
surgery-and givenDwight 's comparative youth and overall fitness, those were pretty small. At least, that
was what they told him before they started cutting.

 Delroy had believed them.Dwight had been in great shape, he was only fifty-two years old-only three
years Delroy's junior-and the doctors were top-flight military surgeons tempered by previous service in
combat conditions. When she was in home port inNorfolk,Virginia ,Wasp was counted as the fourth
largest hospital in the state. She was part of the state's disaster relief plan. Military medical aid didn't
come much better than the facilities on LISSWasp.

 But the doctors were wrong this time. Fifteen minutes into the sur-gery, Chief Petty Officer Dwight
Mellencamp had died on the table. Thirty minutes after the surgery had begun, the surgeon had been out
in the waiting room, explaining everything to Delroy, and despite his personal grief, the chaplain had
followed most of the medical jargon. The docs had done their best.

 But it was still nearly impossible to understand thatDwight was gone. No longer would he play chess or
share historical mystery nov-els or argue religion with the chaplain.Dwight had been a Christian of the old
school-believing every word of the Bible as the literal truth. The book of Revelation had been a hot topic
between them as they tried to imagine what the world would be like after the Rapture.Dwight was
convinced that they were living in the end times, that the world had reached the point of no return when
believers and nonbe-lievers would be separated by God's own hand.

 Delroy didn't believe that, and their arguments had sometimes grown heated becauseDwight believed so
fiercely.Dwight had ac-cused Delroy of hiding his head in the sand, of denying a truth so ob-vious that
any child should be able to see it.Dwight had been growing in his faith, seeing things and making
connections that Delroy was just unable to accept. Delroy thought that by debating the future withDwight
, he was defending the faith. Sometimes, though, after one of their discussions, he wondered in the dark
of the night ifDwight was right. Perhaps he was the one hiding the lack of strength of his faith. Maybe he
was only giving lip service to the beliefs his fa-ther had taught him so long ago.

"God help me,Dwight ," Delroy said in a choked voice. "I am go-ing to miss you so much." He placed a
hand on the body bag, know-ing that a few of the young Marine corpsmen and navy sailors on board
Wasp would never have thought of willingly touching a corpse, even through the body bag.

Being with the dead man didn't bother Delroy the way he knew it had bothered some of the other men
who helped carry the corpse into the room. Back home in Marbury, the farming community he had
grown up in, sitting up with the dead before the burial was a long-established practice. Delroy had sat up
many nights, with his grandparents and his father and the people of his father's parish.

 But you didn't get the chance to sit up withTerrence, did you?Despite the long years that had
passed, tears stung Delroy's eyes. Remem-bering was so confusing. Images of Terrence as a baby, as a
gap-toothed four-year-old holding a chamois and helping Daddy wash the family station wagon, as a
young man playing high school basket-ball, and finally as a Marine corporal in a dress uniform festooned
with ribbons and medals.No chance at all.

 Five years ago, his son,Lance CorporalTerrenceDavidHarte , had come home from theMiddle East
sealed in a box that had never been opened. The military had handled the burial with pomp and splen-dor
and brevity. Delroy, stationed elsewhere, had been flown home in time for the funeral.

 After the funeral and most of the requisite bereavement leave, Delroy had opted to return to his post
sooner than required. His wife had never understood that he couldn't stay there in the home that he
andTerrence had remodeled. Terrence had been everywhere in that house-in the pictures hanging on the
wall, in the sink stand that was a half-inch longer on the right than it was supposed to be because
Terrence hadn't cut the exact center from the countertop. The mistake had been his andTerrence 's, and
they'd waited years for someone to notice. Delroy's wife never had.

Tenderly, Delroy folded the old memories and put them away. He enjoyed them because they were all
he had left of the son he'd loved so much, but he resented that they could intrude into his thoughts, into
his life, without warning and sometimes without provocation.

 Today, though, there had been plenty of provocation. He re-turned to the tall stool next to the stainless
steel table where he had been composing the letterDwight had charged him to write. It had al-most been
a joke between them last night asDwight was prepped for surgery.

 "Write to her,ChaplainHarte ,"Dwight had said. "Write to my wife and my kids. Tell them how much I
love them. If this thing goes sour, I want them to know that I was thinking of them. And that I'm sorry I
couldn't be there more."

Delroy had tried to allay his friend's fears. Serious military man thatDwight was, he had been torn
between family and duty all his life. He had always said God would let him know when he'd had enough
of the navy-or when the navy had had enough of him.

Someone rapped on the door to the small room.

 "Come," Delroy said. He set his face, automatically reaching for the tie in his pocket in case the length of
time he'd spent with the dead man had attracted the captain's attention.CaptainMarkFalkirk was a
by-the-book navy officer, but he was also a man who realized his crew and staff were human.

The door opened and a hesitant young man stuck in his head. "ChaplainHarte."

 "You know I don't stand on formality when I'm not at post,Tom ." Delroy's military rank was
commander, but the proper verbal address for all military chaplains remainedChaplain.

 "Yes, sir." The young midshipman stepped into the room.TomMason was one of the aidesFalkirk had
assigned to coordinate be-tween the chaplain and the staff. "It's just that. .." He looked at the
sheet-covered corpse, then back at Delroy. "You're working."

Delroy shook his head. "I'm just doing a favor for an old friend. Come on in."

 The midshipman held up a cup. "I brought you coffee. Cream, two sugars. Shaken, not stirred." It was
an old joke, but he meant well.
"Bless you." A real grin twisted Delroy's face. He accepted the cupTom handed him.

Tomstood between Delroy and the door, coming no closer to the corpse than he had to.

 Delroy sipped his coffee, finding it sweet and hot. "You don't have to be nervous,Tom . He's dead. He
can't hurt you."

Tomscratched at his shirt collar with more than a little nervous-ness. "I know that,ChaplainHarte ."

 "You watch too many horror movies." Delroy knew that several of the crew passed DVDs around the
ship, sharing and trading with each other as they did with books and video games.Tom was a horror
movie aficionado.

"Yes, sir,"Tom agreed. "I do."

The men aboardWasp had seen a lot of action in recent years, even if most of it had only been lying in
wait off the coast. They were famil-iar with death, but most of them weren't comfortable with it.

 The matter wasn't helped by the fact that Chief Petty Officer Dwight Mellencamp had been aboard ship
for years and was a per-sonable man. Over twenty-six hundred men and women crewed aboardWasp
since the ship had been retrofitted with fern mods, up-grades that allowed the quartering of the female
Marines and sailors that amounted to 10 to 25 percent of the crew. But most of that crew had
knownDwight , or known of him.

Delroy put the coffee cup down. "What brings you here?" "Captain Falkirk."

 Delroy examined the paper in front of him. He'd chosen not to use the notebook computer he had back
in his quarters. A message like this needed the personal touch.Dwight would have wanted a letter, not a
fax or an e-mail, sent to his family.

 "And what did the captain want?" Delroy asked. He thoughtFalkirk was going to suggest strongly that he
stand down for a time. "A eulogy,"Tom answered.

Delroy frowned, feeling overwhelmed.

 "A lot of people knewChiefMellencamp ,"Tom explained. "Cap-tain Falkirk feels that addressing the
situation, what happened to the chief, with a small service would be better than letting the crew deal with
it alone. As big asWasp is, we're like a community. The captain believes everybody aboard ship would
feel better if we said a proper good-bye to the chief."

 Despite the additional pressure the situation put on him, Delroy had to agree with the captain's
assessment. The situation along the bor-der betweenTurkey andSyria was gut-churning for Marine
troops and navy crew, who lived with the fact that they might be called into imme-diate service at any
time.Wasp, with nearly twenty-seven hundred souls aboard her, not counting the crews of the other six
support ships in the ready group, held almost the same population asMarbury,Ala-bama . But the crew
aboardWasp lived on a world that measured 820 feet long and 106 feet wide, a very small island.
Marbury was spread out considerably more, and folks still managed to keep up with each other's
business. When Delroy had been a boy there, all the funerals were standing room only, the pews packed
with family and friends.

"All right," Delroy said. "Does the captain have a time frame in mind?"
"Captain Falkirk said to leave it up to you. But he also said that something like this, it's better to deal
with it sooner than later." Delroy nodded.

"The captain said to take your time,"Tom went on. "He knows you and the chief were close." The
midshipman hesitated. "I suggested that the captain get someone else."

"No." The reply was out of Delroy's mouth before he knew it, and the answer was also sharper than
he'd intended.There's no one else I would assign this to.

Tomtook a step back.

 "Easy," Delroy said. He rubbed the back of his neck with a big hand, hoping in vain to ease some of the
tension there. "Nobody's go-ing to do that eulogy but me. Tell the captain to give me a call at his
convenience later. We'll iron out the details then."

 BeforeTom could reply, a warning Klaxon screamed. The banshee wail filled the room, echoing in the
larger medical department on the other side of the open door.

It was, Delroy thought, loud enough to wake the dead. But it didn't this time. The flesh that had once
beenDwightMellencamp lay unmoving in the body bag.

Tomturned and charged out the door.

 Delroy followed at the younger man's heels as they pounded through the medical department and ran out
into the hall. A stream of men and women hurried through the halls and climbed the stairs leading up to
the flight deck. They strapped on protective gear-vests and helmets-as they quickly filed upward.

"What's going on?" a sailor asked a Marine.

 "Dunno," the Marine corpsman said. "Our general orders are to assemble on the flight deck and stand
ready to deploy."

"Deploy?" The sailor caught the stair railing and yanked himself around. "Deploy where?"

"The border," the Marine replied. "That's where the heat is. Don't you keep up with current events?" The
Marine shook his head.

"Man, that's crazy."

Pausing, Delroy let the last of the crewmen and Marines climb the stairs. He fell in behind them, sprinting
up through the 02 level. In seconds, he was on the flight deck, coming up inside the island that housed the
bridge.

 Delroy surveyed the activity that swept the landing helicopter dockship. Movement filled the LHD as
deck crews dressed in color-coded jerseys-primarily red for fuel and ordnance and yellow for
spotters-ran to their assigned posts. Marines erupted from flight deck ramp tunnel, moving at a dead run
with their gear tied securely around them and their assault rifles held at port arms before them. In the old
days, military jeeps had been able to drive up those ramps, but the Humvees they used now were too
wide. The next generation of landing helicopter dockships had already worked appropriate changes into
the redesigns.
 Fighter jets, AV-8B Harriers, rolled off the flight deck, dropping out over the dark sea then rising like
kites caught by the wind.Wasp had nine takeoff and landing positions on the deck for helicopters, six to
port and three to starboard. The port and stern elevators brought up CH-46E and CH-53E helicopters
and the Harriers two at a time.

 The CH-46Es, designated Sea Knights, had the distinctive twin prop design. The CH-53E Sea Stallions
had the more traditional ap-pearance of a main rotor backed by a tail rotor and were currently ranked as
the fastest helos the Marines handled. As soon as the helos were in place and had been boarded by
Marine troops, they leapt into the sky.

 No voices could be heard over the din that filledWasp's flight deck. Jet turbines on the Harriers
screamed, competing with the whirling rotors on the cargo helicopters used as troop transports. Navy
crew outfitted the aircraft as they rolled on deck from the eleva-tors.

 Delroy kept moving toward the island, which was what most of the crew called the bridge structure on
the ship's starboard side. As chaplain for the ship, Delroy had to remain available to help out where he
could. He raced up the stairs and through the coded doors leading to Primary Flight. Pri-Fly was Wasp's
nerve center for air oper-ations.

 CommanderKelly Tomlinson stood watch this morning. Desig-nated the air boss, he'd served in the
same capacity for a handful of years. He was tall and muscular with a shock of blond hair and a surfer's
tan. He also held the current record for bench presses down in the ship's fitness center and had been a
fierce surfing competitor inHawaii before giving up that dream and stepping into the military life.

The commander glanced at Delroy then resumed watching the deck activity through the heavy-duty
glass. "Good to have you, Chap-lain."

 "Thank you, sir." Delroy moved to his usual place back of the shipboard computers. He stood
withLieutenantGabrielMorales , who was in charge of the Landing Signals Officers. They'd shared
sto-ries in the galley about small towns and family.

 Morales's LSOs remained grouped and ready to assist with aircraft landing. Each man and woman was
clothed in deck gear, including helmets and goggles. The lieutenant was lanky but muscular. He had
grown up on a working cattle ranch in westTexas and sported a mus-tache that pushed the envelope on
navy regs.

"What's up,Gabe ?" Delroy asked.

"The Syrians just launched a full-blown attack across the border,"Gabe said in a low voice. "They took
out the communications towers with SCUDs and FROG-7s. From what I understand, the U.N.
peace-keeping forces and the 75th Rangers are taking a beating."

 Delroy glanced at the state-of-the-art weather forecasting equip-ment that was the heart of the Pri-Fly
area. Weather affected every op-eration. A small television monitor mounted next to the computer
screens showed a battle in progress. The tagline read TURKISH-SYRIAN BORDER.

"What triggered the attack?" Delroy asked.

 Gabeshrugged. His dark browneyes flashed as he watched the aircraft lifting offWasp's flight deck.
"Who knows? It was waiting to happen,Del. Only a matter of time. The intel I was looking at, man, you
just knew the Syrians were gonna jump some time."

"What are we doing?"

 "Air and troop support. Those gunships are herding jump troops. We're also providing medical
corpsmen to handle on-site wounded. Once a triage is established, the wounded that can travel will be
sent back here. From what we've heard so far, there are a lot of casualties. Gonna be a lot more."

Glancing at his watch, Delroy did the math. With the border two hundred miles away, give or take a
handful, the trip in-country would take time. "The border is an hour and a half away."

"An hour and twenty minutes,"Gabe corrected.

 As Delroy watched the television screen, coverage shifted toGlit-terCity . Several of the specials about
the ongoing conflict had been shot there and in the field featuring military men involved in the bor-der
patrol, and almost everybody in the ship had watched them when they aired. Over the last few tense
months, Delroy-as well as the rest of the world addicted to news services-had watched the dead city rise
from the dust and become a thriving if threadbare metropolis of journalists and local residents trying to
make a living from the meager opportunity the media invasion had brought them. One of the
news-magazines was planning to do a special on the impact the journalists' presence had on the area.

 The camera panned down the single road that cut throughGlitterCity . People were panicked, some of
them abandoning vehicles while others loaded gear and passengers aboard, evidently thinking they were
going to flee before the missiles reached them.

 In the next instant, absolute carnage tore throughGlitterCity . SCUDs landed in the small town, and the
resulting explosions col-lapsed a building.

 Dwight's voice came to Delroy in that moment."We're living in the end times now,Del.God is going
to deliver his people from the war and strife that's going to consume this world. We're going to
live to see the Rapture. "

 Dwighthad been wrong, of course. He hadn't lived to see it. But asDelroyHarte watched the stark
images relayed on the television mon-itor, the chaplain found the idea of the Rapture being close at hand
much easier to believe.

But then, Delroy denied that, refused to believe it. This was just a military engagement, not the end times.
Perhaps a war would even come of it. Men would die and he would pray for them because that was
what he had signed on to do.
Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0657 Hours




 A SCUD-B surface-to-surface missile's rockets burned for eighty sec-onds, more or less. While in the
air that eighty seconds, the SCUD-B traveled one hundred and seventy-five miles.

 The distance toGlitterCity fromAleppo,Syria , was less than eighty miles, less than half the distance the
SCUD-Bs were capable of. When he'd gotten the call fromCaptainRemington , Goose had been three
minutes away from the tent city that housed support personnel as well as media. Even picking up the
pace in the RSOVs to the point of risking life and limb, the Rangers arrived two minutes and forty-eight
seconds after the first wave of SCUDs blasted into the landscape.

 Goose sat buckled into the passenger seat and peered at the huge dust cloud that had been raised
around the area from the impact and detonation of the SCUDs.BobbyTanaka whipped the vehicle hard
to the left just as Goose yelled, "Something's in the road!"

 The yellow dust cloud had concealed the long steel body of an unexploded SCUD missile. Goose knew
from hard experience that SCUDs didn't always detonate. The failure rate for the Russian--designed
weapons was somethingU.S. military forces would never have allowed. But the thirty-foot-plus missiles
remained in the Syrian army's arsenal. And they had done their share of damage today.

The RSOV skidded wildly in the loose sand. The rear quarter panel came around and smacked the
SCUD. When he heard an ear-splitting blast at almost the same time, Goose figured that he and his unit
had just been blown to smithereens.

Instead, the RSOV skidded in the opposite direction from the im-pact asTanaka overcorrected. The
SCUD in the roadway remained a dud. It would have to be removed by bomb disposal teams later.

Glancing over his shoulder, Goose watched the second Ranger vehicle avoid the SCUD by several feet.
Then realization kicked in that if the detonation he'd heard hadn't occurred at their twenty it had to have
happened elsewhere. He glanced forward again and saw a new cloud of dust curling up a hundred feet
and more from thedesert.

Clods of hard earth and debris tumbled back down from the sky. They drummed against the RSOV
with the force of sledgehammers. The cacophony rolled over Goose, deafening him.

 Holding his left forearm over his face, Goose took as much cover as he could from his helmet and
Kevlar vest. Rocks and clods pinged off armor as well as flesh, leaving welts, scrapes, and bruises.
Goggles protected his eyes from the grit that swirled in the air, but the yellow dust matted and stuck to
the kerchief he'd pulled up over his nose and mouth. Perspiration and saliva had made the kerchief wet
enough to turn the dust to mud.

 The fallout from the SCUD detonation continued for a few sec-onds, then immediately started again as
at least two more missiles struck the high ridges of broken earth that surroundedGlitterCity . Ages ago,
when the town had been little more than a trading post for travelers, small stone buildings had been
constructed against the sides of the bowl that contained the meeting place. The surrounding hills forming
the natural bowl had always protected the village and the traders from the wind and the sandstorms that
sometimes rose up. The town had provided a place of relative peace, a little shade, and a natural spring
that was work to get to but had provided the townsfolk with their share of cool water.

 Since the arrival of the American troops and the international media, Turkish traders had opened up a
market again. They offered local cuisine and trinkets for souvenirs, bartering those things for American
and European products such as cigarettes, Coke and Pepsi, and even military MREs. Most American
fighting men only accepted the meals-ready-to-eat when nothing else was available, but Turkish traders
found a ready market waiting to sample the meals.

 Several buildings had existed on those hillsides, some of them decades old. Most of them were in some
state of disrepair. After the media had encamped there, local construction teams had been hired to
provide more adequate shelter. With things heating up on the border, most of the reporters wanted to
stay on-site rather than make the trip betweenDiyarbakir and Sanliurfa, the closest metro-politan cities.

 The repaired buildings had filled with the international report-ers, enterprising Turkish merchants, and
support personnel subsi-dized by the spending habits of the Turkish and American troops. When
members of the U.N. relief crews and peacekeeping efforts had arrived, the overflow had been set up in
tents. The tents ranged from cutting-edge technology to sheets of canvas put up with sticks. All of them
offered shade from the unforgiving sun.

 No one knew who had hung the sobriquetGlitterCity on the place. But everyone knew the reference
was to the Hollywood-style atmosphere of the place. Some news agencies had rolled out what were, in
effect, microproduction companies that shot day-by-day footage of the military buildup on both sides of
the border, managed day trips to local religious sites such as the Ulu Cami-the Grand Mosque of the
Suljuk Turks-the brick beehive cities of Harran, and the Pool of Abraham, and interviewed anyone and
everyone willing to talk to them.

During conversations with other Rangers who had visitedGlitterCity , Goose had learned that several
newscasts now featured seg-ments spotlighting the potential for disaster betweenTurkey andSyria .
Several investigations had been made into the roots of the PKK and their effect onTurkey 's relations
with its neighbors.

Other writers prepared books and took photographs, laying out chapters that were edited and readied
for printing as soon as they were e-mailed toNew York publishing houses. There were even a few
releases being done aboutTurkey , the Turkish-Syrian conflict, terror-ists, and historical events and
places, pieces that would be aired on the Travel Channel, The History Channel, and on the Discovery
Channel, then released straight to video.

 War-or at least the threat of impending war-had become big business in media, politics, and economics.
Politicians used those threats to shepherd legislation through Congress and to fund budget increases for
military spending. The military needed the money--U.S. troops were deployed at every hot spot
imaginable, going after everything from terrorists to the bankers who financed them to drug dealers to the
country's traditional enemies.

 Not every politician was pushing for more and bigger weapons and more and bigger armies. Goose had
heard of a United Nations representative fromRomania namedNicolaeCarpathia . Surprisingly, Carpathia
was pushing for disarmament in his own country. At the time he'd heard that, Goose had never thought it
would happen.Ro-mania was part ofEastern Europe , left orphaned by the failed Soviet Communist
government, and host to a series of bloodthirsty dicta-tors who had only been driven from office by
equally bloodthirsty military uprisings. Most military analysts had figured that the country would be awash
in political unrest and military action for decades to come. Instead, Carpathia had begun to quietRomania
down, almost as if by magic.

"Incoming!"Bill yelled from the back of the RSOV.

 Instinctively, Goose looked up and saw another SCUD plunge from the air like a blunt spear. Although
the missiles lacked a lot in targeting systems, this one streaked almost into the smoke- and dust-covered
heart ofGlitterCity .

The preexisting clouds of smoke and dust prevented Goose from seeing the actual impact. But a
heartbeat later, a fairly new blue van erupted into the air, turning and whirling like a child's toy. Flames
wreathed the vehicle and then the gas tank blew, ripping open the vehicle's side.

 The van reached the apex of its arc and had started earthward again, disappearing into the smoke and
dust before the sonic boom of the explosion reached Goose's ears. A moment later, a wave of
con-cussion rattled the RSOV's windshield.

 Merciful God,Goose prayed.Spare the innocent. Because if You don't, they're all going to die here
today.

 BobbyTanakaglanced at Goose. Fear lit the young man's eyes. He put his foot over the brake and
slowed.

"Get in there, soldier," Goose said.

 "Gonna be suicide to go in there,"Tanaka said. But he grinned a little as he pressed his foot harder on the
accelerator and drove the ve-hicle over the edge of the bowl. "Ah, well, I always did like a wild ride."
The RSOV juked and shuddered as the tires fought for traction on the hillside. They'd run out of road,
roaring out over loose layers of sand and rock.

 Goose sat in the shotgun seat with his left foot braced against the dash. He cradled the M-4A1 with both
hands and kept the assault rifle canted up at the ready. Closer to ground zero now, he raked his gaze
across the field of destruction the SCUDs had left in their wake.
 Huge craters had opened up from the bomb blasts, turning the desert floor under the shifting sands into a
lunar landscape. Stone buildings lay in tumbled wrecks or nearly covered by a deluge of de-

 bris that had slid free of hillsides. Flattened tents and flaming tents lit-tered the area, and none had been
spared. The concussions from the SCUDs had ripped the tent pegs from the ground and flung the tents
around like used tissues. Cars and trucks and vans sat abandoned, blown over or apart, or wrapped in
flames that sent spikes of twisting black smoke up through the dust cover.

 People, dead and dying and badly broken, covered the ground. Other people hunkered in the false
safety of the few remaining build-ings or behind boulders on the ground and the hillsides. Several peo-ple
shouted and cursed and cried out for help. Incredibly, some of the reporters were still working, standing
in front of cameramen who had managed to hang on to functioning equipment.

 A familiar sickness twisted greasily through Goose's stomach. He'd been on battlefields, had scenes
etched inside his skull that he knew would never leave him. Today was going to add to that library of
carnage.

"Base," Goose called over the headset.

Only white noise answered.Remington and his support staff were off-line.

 Goose wasn't surprised. Any staged attack against the American site would include strikes designed to
take out the communications relays. It wouldn't last, though.CalRemington was nothing if not a man who
planned for every eventuality. Backup systems were in place; they would be on soon. Goose believed
that. Until then, though, they had their orders.

"Stop here," Goose ordered.

Tanakaground the big vehicle to a halt.

A single road running north and south bisectedGlitterCity . Ev-eryone who arrived there was on their
way somewhere else.

"Off," Goose yelled. Raising his voice was almost unfamiliar after being accustomed to the headsets. He
unbuckled and jumped to the road.

 Flames crackled around the broken and battered husk of a van that had been gutted and made over into
a small restaurant on wheels. A Turkish man had operated the van, parking somewhere within the vicinity
ofGlitterCity every morning and selling theborek anddoner kebab lamb rolls his wife made every night.
The borek-thin rolls of pastry filled with cheese, minced meat, or spinach and pota-toes-was one of
Goose's favorites and he'd always stopped by the man's van when he was in town. The menu had also
included pilaf, baklava andkadayif pastries, and thick, dark Turkish coffee.

 Although the man spoke only rudimentary English and Goose spoke no Turkish at all, they'd
communicated well enough to con-duct business. During those times, Goose had also seen the man's two
sons, looking perhaps eight and ten, who worked inside the van with him. Both boys had been bright and
energetic, their eyes shin-ing and quick, picking up English words and phrases like sponges. Every time
they had seen Goose and other Rangers in uniform, the boys had yelled, "Hoo-ahh," just like a Ranger,
letting Goose know that the van had evidently become a favorite feeding place for the 75th.

The man lay on his back, half covered with sand and rock from a nearby explosion that had left a
ten-foot-wide, three-foot-deep crater in the ground. Blood covered the man. One arm was missing and
one leg half gone. He stared sightlessly at a sky that couldn't be seen through the dust and smoke hanging
in the air.

 Goose walled himself away from the panic and fear that vibrated within him. Soldiers knew fear, but they
also knew control.

A few feet away, the oldest of the two boys lay in a crumpled heap.

Heart thumping in his chest, Goose crossed to the boy. He knelt, eyes scanning the surrounding area as
his personal combat radar, de-veloped through training and on battlefields in theMiddle East andAfrica ,
kicked into life. Cupping his left hand around the boy's small shoulder, Goose pulled him over gently.

 From the slack way the boy moved, Goose knew immediately he was dead. As the body came over,
the metal shard that had pierced his chest showed, standing out from his flesh nearly a foot.

 Goose's mind screamed. Images flickered behind his eyes, scan-ning visual data into his brain,
contrasting the boy's slack, dead face with the grinning kid he had seen only a couple days ago. The boy
couldn't be dead; he had been tooalive to be dead like this.

It isn't fair,Goose couldn't help thinking.God, there's no way You can make this right. Children are
not supposed to die like this.

 But children did die. Goose had seen it in countless other operations. Children were always some of the
first to die when war touched civilized areas. They were too weak and vulnerable to pro-tect themselves,
and they were so unskilled in taking care of them-selves. Professional soldiers died in those
circumstances. Goose had seen them. What chance did a child have?

"Sarge."BillTownsend 's calm voice came from behind.

 Goose didn't answer, drawn into the dead boy's dark brown eyes that were cold and distant and lifeless
now. The Syrians had known there were children inGlitterCity , and women, too. And they had brought
their war to those innocents just the same.

"Sarge,"Bill said again.

 Trapped by the violence before him, feeling guilty because he hadn't managed to stop the PKK terrorist
from placing the sat-phone call, Goose had to struggle to tear his attention from the dead boy. He
couldn't help thinking about his son,Chris . How would it feel, he wondered, knowing thatChris would
never again offer a hug or a smile or a turn at one of his favorite video games? Goose banished the
thought. It was unthinkable.

Goose glanced atBill . "He's dead."

Billnodded. "I know. A lot of people are."

For the moment, the SCUD shelling seemed to be on hold. Goose knew that starting up the second
wave would take almost an hour and a half. In addition to being terribly inefficient as WMDs, weap-ons
of mass destruction, SCUDs took a lot of reload time.

"Then let's save the ones that are left," Goose said, more for his own focus than his team's. "This boy had
a brother. If we can, I want him found."

Billnodded.

Goose glanced back at the dead boy. "This isn't right,Bill ." His voice caught at his throat.

"He's in a better place, Sarge,"Bill stated quietly and politely. "That's what you have to focus on."

"It's hard."

Billwas quiet for just a moment; then he said, "Not if you believe, Sarge. It only gets hard when you have
doubts."

A kernel of anger exploded inside Goose. His voice came out sharper than he intended. "Then I'm a
doubter."

"I know, amigo. I'll pray for you. Acknowledge that and work on it, but never accept it."

 For a second, Goose thought his anger was going to spill over ontoBill . He barely restrained it. He
knewBill was right, but believ-ing he was right was another thing entirely. Acceptance was a small thing
to talk about, Goose knew, but it was a chasm in spirituality.

"Hey!" someone called. "Marines!"

 "We're Rangers,"DeweyCusack called back automatically. "We're the 75th." The Ranger hailed
fromKansas , a corn-fed country boy with an easygoing manner and a fierce pride in his unit. He peered
through the haze of dust and smoke, brushing at the mask of wet sand that impeded drawing his breath
through the kerchief.

 "I need help," the speaker went on. "My friend has been shot." He was young and compact, carrying
sunburn from recent exposure to the harsh desert climate that stood out starkly against his white-blond
hair. His accent was Australian.

"Break out the medkits,Bill ," Goose said.

"You got it, Sarge."

Using every iota of command that he had learned in his career, forcing a calm he definitely didn't feel,
Goose stepped into the center of the wreckage of what had beenGlitterCity .

"I'mFirst SergeantSamuelGander of the United States Army Rangers," he declared in a loud and proud
voice. "We're going to get you out of here."
United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time12:13 A.M.




 Meganheld up her ID as she stopped at the military checkpoint in the base hospital. Since the recent
terrorist attacks around the globe, se-curity on base had become a big issue. She carriedGerryFletcher 's
file in her hand. After droppingChris off, she'd stopped by her office to pick up the file. If she was going
to have to argue withBoydFletcher , she wanted to have every weapon in her arsenal to do battle with.
Nothing she had weighed as heavily as the man's history.

The uniformed Rangers working the security desk checked for her name in the computer while she
waited.

 "Cross-check with the ER list,"Megan suggested when they didn't find her name immediately.
"HelenCordellcalled me in for an emer-gency. This wasn't a planned visit."

"Yes, ma'am," the young corporal replied. His name badge identi-fied him as Grady.

 The soldier was,Megan knew, only a few years older thanJoey , and yet the young corporal already
carried an air of responsibility about him that her eldest son rarely showed.That's not fair, she chided
herself almost as soon as she had the thought.The military trains that air of responsibility into the
soldiers it turns out.

    Many of the younger Rangers were still kids in some respects. In her counseling capacity,Megan had
talked with some of them, helping them get over failed relationships and relaying news about deaths in the
family and other tragedies. Those same young men looked rigorous and potentially lethal in the BDUs,
helmets, and Kevlar vests while carrying assault rifles. But she'd also seen them crowd the base
basket-ball and volleyball courts in their downtime discuss video games and PC games over lunches in
the cafeteria. She had counseled them as they dealt with life's setbacks and pain during the lonely hours.
 Meganused her cell phone again, dialingJoey 's number and again getting the mailbox. She didn't bother
to leave a message. She glanced back out the door she'd entered, spotting her reflection and staring
through it. She couldn't help wondering whereJoey was, if Goose was all right, and ifChris was still
asleep.

She also wondered whatBoydFletcher was going to do when he found out they had his son in the ER.
As a matter of fact, she won-dered what she--

"Ma'am."

Startled,Megan turned to the young corporal. "Yes."

"Your ID checks out, ma'am. You're on the list forMs.Cordell . You can proceed."

 "Thank you,"Megan said. The television behind the desk caught her eye. A FOX News anchor was
talking, the flags ofTurkey andSyria on the wall behind him. SPECIAL BULLETIN hung ominously on
the screen. The audio was too low to hear. "Are you watching what's hap-pening inTurkey ?"

The corporal grimaced. "We're trying to, ma'am. We're not getting much from over there right now."

"What's the problem?"

An uncomfortable look covered the young soldier's face.

 "My husband is over there,"Megan said. "I'm concerned about him. He hasn't told me much about his
circumstances, but I know my husband, and I know when he isn't telling me something he thinks will
worry me."

 The other soldier glanced at her, then at the roster the corporal held. He looked back up.
"Mrs.Gander?"

"Yes."

"PrivateMalone." The young soldier rose to his feet and took off his black beret. "I know Goose, ma'am.
He's a good man."

"Yes, he is."

 Malonehesitated for just a moment. "We received a phone call at oh-four-hundred advising us not to talk
about the trouble over there. In case the media showed up. I doubt we'll see anybody here, but gen-eral
orders are passed around to everyone. Scuttlebutt moves through the ranks pretty quickly, as you
probably know."

"I do,"Megan said. That was why she had asked.

 "Right now, ma'am, we don't know much more than the media does. There was an attack along the
border. There are casualties. We don't know anything more than that. The Syrians evidently took out the
communications systems, includingGlitterCity ."

MeganrememberedGlitterCity from her conversations with Goose. "That's where the reporters and
media people are gathered."
 "Yes, ma'am. There have been casualties there, too, but we haven't got much information. The
Department of Defense has satellites keeping aneye on things there, but they're only giving out
informa-tion on a need-to-know basis. I wish I could tell you more."

"So do I, Private."

"Are you going to be on the premises for a while,Mrs.Gander ?"

Meganthought aboutGerryFletcher and the coming confronta-tion with his father. "Yes."Unfortunately.

"Right now," the private said, "all the media seems to be off-line, too. Maybe it's just the confusion."

 And maybe it's something more.Meganwas certain they both thought that, but neither of them wanted
to say it.

"I was thinking that if I heard something," the private said, "I could let you know."

"I'd appreciate that,"Megan said.

"Yes, ma'am."

 Walking away from the young private,Megan began to focus her thoughts on the task at hand. She
couldn't do anything about Goose's situation except pray for him. She was helpless to do anything more
right now aboutJoey 's actions except pray for him-and ground him for life the next time she saw him.
And she had done her best byChris . Her baby was sleeping in a warm bed, well cared for. She'd done
all she could for her family. Now it was time to do what she could to save the kid she'd been called in to
help.Megan strode down the hallway toward the ER.

 GerryFletcher,she reminded herself.I can helpGerryFletcher. It was important to focus on the
attainable things in the face of chaos. That was, she remembered, one of the things she'd learned from
Goose-and one of the things she liked best about her husband, and most re-spected. Goose was
bedrock, and he'd had to be patient to teach her to trust again after everything she had gone through
withTony , her first husband.

The waiting room outside the ER held a handful of people. Two soldiers sat in army sweats and looked
worried. Another soldier, who looked about thirty, sat with three small children in chairs on either side of
him and a little blonde-haired girl asleep in his lap. Another young soldier paced the floor.

 Megansaid a quick prayer for all of them. Whomever they were waiting on and worrying over, those
people were in good hands. The doctors and nurses at the base hospital were well trained and they were
committed to their jobs.

"Hey,Mrs.Gander ," the young, redheaded receptionist behind the desk said cheerily.

"Hi,Tammy ,"Megan replied. "Still got you on nights?"

 Tammyfrowned and rolled her eyes but couldn't sustain the effort and grinned. "Yeah, but I'm getting
used to the hours, and I've learned how to program the VCR. I've worked a few of the day shifts,
subbing for other people. You know, the nights are a lot quieter."
Most of them,Meganagreed. But tonight, she felt certain, was go-ing to be different. "Do you know
where I can findHelen ?"

 "Here."HelenCordell stepped out from behind the wall at the back of the receptionist's office. She was
trim and neat. Of African- American descent, her skin was so dark it appeared blue-black under the
fluorescent lights. She kept her hair cut short and straightened. Her patterned dress, in deep greens,
blues, and occasional purple, fit her perfectly.

 Besides being a fantastic hospital shift supervisor,Helen was also a seamstress. She claimed to have
learned the knack purely through self-preservation. Her husband was a drill instructor on base nearing the
end of a thirty-year hitch. Together,Helen andMarvinCordell had raised five sons and two daughters,
andHelen had sewn all their clothes, making up with her skill the budget deficiencies of an en-listed man's
pay. She also tailored her husband's uniforms and sent him out every morning bristling with fresh-starched
crispness.

"Coffee?"Helen raised the cup she held.

"Please,"Megan said.

Helendisappeared around the corner. "Cream. One sugar."

"You've got a good memory."

 "Nope. I've just learned that good people like to be appreciated in little ways. Remembering how a
person takes his or her coffee is a small courtesy."Helen reappeared with two full cups. "The good male
doctors that I work with? They never have to remember their an-niversaries or their wives' or girlfriends'
birthdays. I do that for them. I hate pulling a shift with a good doctor dealing with heavy guilt or
last-minute-gift panic. Of course, the bad ones can just live with their problems. I figure it's a learning
experience for them."

"Where'sGerry ?"

"In the back. Out of the way so you can be more or less alone for a while."

"His parents haven't noticed he's missing?"Megan followedHelen through the twists and turns of the
hospital corridors.

"Please,"Helen said with a sarcastic tone thatMegan had heard from her only a handful of times over the
years they had known each other. "They're not going to knowGerry is gone until somebody tells them."

"Gerry's still sticking with the story that he fell off the roof?"

"Tighter than a tick on a hound's ear,"Helen replied.

"But you don't believe him?"

"I raised seven children with a husband who was in the military and gone from home a lot,"Helen said. "I
know every way there is to fib. When something got broken in the house, it didn't take me long to find
out who did it. And once my Amazing Mom powers-more pow-erful than Superman's X-ray vision or
Spider-Man's spider sense-were a proven thing to my kids,they gave up trying."
Meganbelieved that, too.Helen had a reputation as a straight shooter around the base hospital.
Sometimes, though, she was pain-fully so.

 "Even my husband, whom I love with all my heart and who never did anything to hurt me, was
sometimes known to stay out with his buddies a little longer than we agreed on. I knew when something
had really come up and when he'd just gotten pressured into staying longer by being afraid of losing
guy-points."Helen glanced atMegan conspir-atorially. "Sometimes I letMarvin get away with it. Just to
throw him off, you know. It's okay for a child to know how Mom's going to react every time, but a
woman has to retain part of her mystery for her man."

 In spite of the tense situation ahead of them,Megan couldn't help grinning. She andHelen saw each other
professionally, and those times usually were seldom and short. Still, the rapport that existed be-tween
them was real.

 Helenturned a final comer and stopped. She pointed at a room at the end and on the right. "He's down
there. I've already delivered a snack to him. Chocolate milk and Oreos. Decidedly and deliberately
unhealthy. That kid can use the extra calories. He's skinny as a rake handle."

"I know,"Megan said. She took a deep breath. "Thanks,Helen ."

A troubled look twistedHelen 's features. "Something you should know.”

Meganwaited, guessing that she knew what the woman was going to tell her.

 "I askedDr.Carson to wait out of respect for you because I like you and I like how you do your
job,"Helen said in a quietly serious voice. "And because I think it will help if you talk toGerry about it
be-fore it happens." He let out a breath. "The doctor and I are reporting his father this time,Megan ."

"For what?"

 "For beating that child,"Helen said. She crossed her arms and lifted her chin. "I couldn't do anything
about the bicycle wreckGerry claimed to have had. But this." She shook her head. "I know he's not
telling the truth tonight."

"How?"

"Those bruises and that dislocated shoulder are hours old. Even the blood on the scratches was so dry it
was flaking.Gerry waited a long time before he came here."

 Megandigested that. The thought of the small boy lying in his bed, hurting and scared, waiting for his
father to go to sleep to steal off quietly to the hospital hurt her. One ofBoyd 's pet peeves, brought out in
conversations withGerry , was that his son wasn't tough enough and got mollycoddled by his mother. It
was things like this thatMegan had seen in her practice that sometimes caused her to question her faith in
God. Children were so innocent, and yet they were victimized in so many ways.

 "I think his father beat him earlier,"Helen said quietly, "and I thinkGerry knew his arm was hurt badly
enough that he had to do something about it. He was in a lot of pain when he got here."

"Is he afraid to go home?"

"No. As a matter of fact, he was ready to leave as soon asDr.Car-son finished putting his arm in a sling.
I told him we were waiting on X rays."

"He doesn't know I'm coming?"

Helenshook her head. "I was afraid if we told him that he might panic."

"He's going to panic when he sees me."

"Yeah. Probably."Helen put her hands onMegan 's shoulders. "You're a good counselor,Megan . I know
you can handleGerry and his fears just fine. The trick is to get him to tell the truth about his father."

 "That's going to be hard,"Megan said. "As much asGerry is afraid of his father, he loves him just as
fiercely."

"I know. But if you can get him to talk, do it. To save this kid, we're going to need his testimony."

"His dad is going to go ballistic when he finds out thatGerry came to the hospital."

"I'm going to make sure we have MPs here when we have to deal with him,"Helen promised. The
military police took care of all criminal matters that occurred on the base.

"How isGerry now?"That's the main thing,Megan told herself.Start there. Don't think aboutBoyd
Fletcherand how bad things are going to get when he shows up.

 "The doctor has him stabilized and relatively pain-free. He's even got him amused. ESPN runs
twenty-four hours a day. There's a big basketball game from out on the West Coast."Helen smiled sadly.
"Kids are incredible, you know? They go through so much, and they love so completely in spite of
whatever bad things they en-dure." She sighed. "I just can't imagine what this world would be like without
children."

Meganthought ofChris , picturing her son sleeping in the bor-rowed bed as she'd last seen him. Before
Goose, she'd never imag-ined having another child. In fact, she'd never imagined being happy again. Yet,
here she was.

 The fact thatGerryFletcher was waiting for her darkened her thoughts. She looked at the other woman.
"How long do I have be-fore you andDr.Carson file a report with the MPs?"

"I'll give you thirty minutes."

 Meganwinced at the deadline. "Thirty minutes isn't enough time to prepareGerry for the things he's going
to have to go through in addition to what he's already been through."

"Megan,"Helen said, "I'm sorry, but it's what we've got. I don't want to deal with this any more than you
do, but I will. I don't want to seeGerry taken away from his parents even for a few days,
butBoydFletcher has to get some counseling."

"I know."

Helenpushed her breath out. "Hey, I'm not mad at you."

"I know that, too. This is just a bad situation all the way around."Megan glanced at her watch. "Thirty
minutes. Starting now?"

Helennodded. "If you need anything, there's an intercom in the room. Let me know."

 "I will."Megan turned and walked toward the room. She focused her thoughts, drawing in a deep breath
then emptying her lungs. She wished she were less tired, more awake. She wishedJoey andChris were
both home. She wished Goose was safe. Then she prayed that what she could do tonight would be good
enough to changeGerry 's life for the better.




Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0707 Hours




 Working with the quick efficiency that military life had trained him for, Goose divided his team into two
five-man units that began orga-nizing the rescue and evacuation. Each team was equipped with a
complete medkit from the RSOVs. He placedDeanHardin , a no-non-sense Texan with more than a
decade of service-including combat experience-in charge of the second unit. But Goose keptBill with
him.

    Hardin's group took the east side ofGlitterCity while Goose's took the west. "Keep your weps up at
all times," the sergeant told his men. "Until we're told otherwise, we're going to believe we're in a hostile
zone and the Syrians are just about to top the ridge."

Despite the cries of the wounded, the sounds from burning vehi-cles and structures, the exploding
thunder of artillery in the distance that spoke of continued conflict along the border, Goose heard
si-lence. He missed the constant flow of information that streamed down through military channels over
the headset. That noise had been with him for years, at once aggravating and reassuring. Al-though his
father didn't often talk about his own tours as a special forces Green Beret, Goose had always been
aware that he fought a dif-ferent battle than his father had. The modem fighting warrior lived and died by
the flow of information.

 From what Goose could tell on his preliminary survey, nearly 80 percent of the people who had been
inGlitterCity at the time of the attack had been wiped out. Goose guessed from the craters in the hillsides
as well as the SCUDs lying around that hadn't detonated that less than half the missiles had struck the
town. But the ones that had made it had almost been enough to do the job.

 Nearly half of those who had survived the attack were wounded. Most of the injuries were serious and
would require hospitalization. Sanliurfa, the closest city with medical care, lay thirty klicks to the north
and east. If a medical convoy took care, they could make the trip in twenty to forty minutes, but they
were already twenty-four minutes into the ninety-minute window of opportunity they had to escape the
next wave of SCUDs.

 And that was only assuming the Syrians had fired everything they had loaded in the first attack. Goose
wished again that the communi-cations were back on line. They hadn't received any reinforcements to
help handle casualties, and that-along with the constant rolling bar-rage of artillery-led him to believe that
fighting along the border was hot and heavy. The need inside him to be back out there on the front lines
with his men was almost overwhelming.

"Over here," someone yelled. "I'm trapped."

 Goose swiveled, tracking the voice. A coughing fit followed, breaking up the repeated cry. The haze of
dust continued to eddy around the area. Goose was beginning to doubt that the dust would ever settle
entirely.

 Eight people had joined Goose's five-man team. Thirteen was an inauspicious number, and he couldn't
help thinking that most peo-ple thought the number had become unlucky as a result ofJesus ' last supper
with the apostles. Judas Iscariot had been the thirteenth man at the table, and Judas had betrayedJesus
for thirty pieces of silver. The number bothered Goose a little. He didn't consider himself overly
superstitious, but that number of able-bodied men seemed to stay the same and never grow.

 Further irritation came when some of the cameramen and report-ers refused to help aid the wounded
and search through the dead, choosing instead to shoot footage of the bombed town. Some of them
claimed to be concerned about the possibility of AIDS, while others simply couldn't deal with the reality
of sorting through corpses for survivors. Goose wanted to order the men to work, but he knew his
likelihood of success in getting them to help was remote.

By now, Goose carried a crowbar in addition to the M-4A1 slung over his shoulder. His knuckles and
palms were torn and bleeding, barked raw from handling broken rock, jagged metal, and shattered glass.

"Here,"Bill called, crouching beside a tumble of rock that had once been a building.

 Goose joined his friend, listening to a reporter's voice breaking in the background as the man tried to
relate what had just happened to a cameraman. Shifting his LCE, Goose slid his M-4A1 from his
shoul-der and handed the weapon to Steve Dockery, a battle-seasoned cor-poral. Taking a moment to
survey the pile of debris, Goose hefted his crowbar.
 "Gonna have to be careful,"Bill advised. He hooked a finger into his kerchief, brought it down past his
chin, and shook off the mud that clung to the material. His face, protected by the kerchief, looked clean
and white against the dirt that covered his goggles and the rest of his face. "We move this wrong, the
whole thing's gonna come down."

Goose nodded in agreement. He turned to his group. "Dockery, Cusack, stand guard. Evaristo, you're
withBill and me. The rest of you people form a line. We're going to shift the small stuff, then try to pull this
wall section back without toppling it."

 The eight civilian volunteers, two of them women, formed a line. During the last few frantic minutes of
rescue operations, they had learned the drill.

 Billtook point on the salvage, having the steadiest and surest hands, the quickest eye, and an unshakable
faith that they were going to be able to rescue the people who were left. He selected rocks from the
jumbled stone and started passing them back, uncovering the wall section that had fallen precariously into
the V-shaped corner of the building that remained.

 Sandhad rushed down the hillside in a wave, running over the back of the building and flooding the
interior through the windows. The sand had become a threat to the person inside, but it was proba-bly
the only thing that allowed the man to survive.

 Billhanded rocks back like a machine, able to make his selection from the myriad of stones before him,
seize it, heft it, and pass it to Goose.

 Standing almost knee-deep in the loose sand, Goose grabbed the chunk of rock. His hands burned and
ached with the effort. Muscles cramped in his back. Sand and small debris had managed to get inside his
BDU and under the Kevlar vest. Anchored by the constant stream of perspiration that covered him, the
sand and grit chafed at him. He pushed himself past the discomfort, thinking of the people they had yet to
save and the ones who would be lost ifthey didn't hurry.

 The next person in the rock removal line was a woman in her late twenties. She was a brunette with dark
eyes, dressed in torn khakis and a light purple blouse. Her hair was cropped short, ending at about the
nape of her neck. She was slender, and the way she handled herself told Goose that she kept in shape.

 She took the chunk of rock from Goose's hands. Pain and fear reg-istered in her eyes as she looked at
his face. The rough use had torn skin from her hands and forearms. Bloody patches held clots of sand
that Goose knew had to be uncomfortable. But she kept at the work, swinging around and passing the
rock to the next person in line.

Goose took the next rockBill handed him. He handed it to the woman.

 "Danielle," she said as she took the rock. She turned to pass the stone on, then turned back to Goose.
"My name."

"Oh." Goose handed her the current rock, swiveled, and reached for the next.

"DanielleVinchenzo. I'm a reporter with FOX News."Danielle coughed, choking on dust.

"SergeantSamuelGander, ma'am," Goose responded.
"I work this hard for you, Sergeant,"Danielle said, "I'm going to want an interview." She coughed again
but kept shifting rock.

 "If we get out of here alive," a heavyset man with a florid face said. "We'll get out alive," Goose said with
conviction.

The man made a show of looking around at the carnage that had been left ofGlitterCity . "A lot of people
haven't." Goose didn't have anything to say to that.

 A few minutes later,Bill had finished clearing the leaning wall sec-tion. He surveyed what was left, then
looked at Goose. "We could try to dig him out, Sarge. Sand's loose enough, and it would make quick
work."

"But the sand's helping hold the wall back," Goose said, realizing the difficulty they faced.

"Yep."Bill took his helmet off, wiped his forehead with a grimy arm, and clapped it back in place. "We're
gonna have to get it off."

 "We'll bring the section up with the crowbars," Goose instructed, his mind quickly providing a possible
solution to the problem. "Brace the section with rocks, then keep raising till we get the clear-ance we
need." He chose a relatively flat rock, hollowed out a place under the fallen wall, and set the rock into
place.

Billdid the same.

 "Hurry," the man cried out from under the rock. "It's getting ...hard ... to ... breathe ... in here." The voice
sounded weaker, and constant fits of coughing and retching echoed within.

 When both crowbars were in place, Goose swapped looks withBill . "On three," Goose said. He
counted. On three, he pulled up on the crowbar, straining everything he had. Black spots swam in his
vi-sion and he felt dizzy.

 Slowly, inexorably, the wall section shifted, coming up a few inches.Sand flooded in from the sides, filling
the cavity that had been left by the partial collapse.

The man inside screamed in tenor. "It's falling! It's falling!"




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time12:18 A.M.
"Gerry,"Megan said softly.

 The boy sat up in the middle of the hospital bed. His unruly au-burn hair stuck out in places from
uncontrollable cowlicks. Freckles spattered the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes remained fixed in awe
on the television suspended from the ceiling in the corner of the room. His right arm hung in a clean white
sling. Gauze pads covered scrapes on his arms and legs. He wore sweat pants with the knee out and a
long-sleeved sweatshirt.

 MeganknewGerry had worn the sweats to try to hide the bruises on his arms, legs, and back. She sat
quietly beside the bed, trying to keep herself relaxed in spite of everything rocketing through her mind.
Watching the basketball game on television was grueling when she knew Goose was in action-in danger,
she amended. She wanted to switch over to one of the news channels, but she tried to convince herself
that if ESPN wasn't interrupting the live game broadcast with news of the military engagement inTurkey ,
things couldn't be too bad.

"Gerry,"Megan tried again.

The boy pointed at the television screen. "Did you see that?" he asked excitedly. "Did you see that?"

 During the past twelve minutes of the precious thirtyHelenCordell had graciously allotted,Megan had
talked basketball with the boy, mostly listening. She had picked up some of the players' names. Only a
minute or two ago,Gerry had bemoaned the fact that the Knicks guard was scoring on the Lakers
player.Gerry wasa major Lakers fan.

 "Gerry,"Megan said in a slightly sterner voice. "We're going to have to talk about what happened
tonight."

 Without looking at her,Gerry drew away, curling himself into a ball. He drew his legs up, wrapped his
uninjured arm around his knees, and protectively cradled his injured arm between his stomach and his
thighs. His attention never wavered from the screen.

Thankfully, the Lakers called for a time-out and the station shifted to a commercial.

"Gerry, are you listening to me?"

"Yes, Mrs.Gander ." The boy reached for the half-empty bottle of chocolate milk on the tray beside the
bed. He made certain the cap was on tightly, then shook the bottle vigorously.

 The action reminded Megan of Joey at that age, and sometimes even now. When she saw him. Between
school, his friends, and the part-time job at the small cafe inColumbus , whole days passed lately that she
and her eldest son spent only minutes together. But whereJoey took chocolate milk as a given,Gerry
seemed to treasure the bot-tle he had, doling it out to himself in small sips.

"We need to talk,"Megan said.

 "About what?"Gerry kept checking the television screen, but he was studiously ignoring her. He took an
Oreo from the small pile of cookies on the paper plate and unscrewed the treat. He licked at the white
filling.
"Your fall."

 Gerryshrugged. A twinge of pain flashed across his face, blanch-ing his cheeks white under his freckles.
"I just fell."

"From the roof of your house?"

"Yeah." He licked at the cookie again tentatively.

"What were you doing on top of the house?"

"Looking at the stars."

“Why?"

"I don't know. I guess because I like stars."

 Meganwent with that patiently, knowing the clock was working against her and that the commercial on
television couldn't last for-ever. "What do you like about stars?"

"I don't know."

"Have you looked at them before?"

"Yeah. All the time."

"You've never mentioned that in one of our sessions."

"So?"

 'We've talked about other things you like. Basketball. Biking. It just seems kind of strange that you've
never mentioned an interest in astronomy before."Gerry preferred to talk aboutanything other than his
father and his relationship with the man. During some sessions,Gerry had even stooped to talking about
homework problems and assignments.

"Maybe,"Gerry said, "it's 'cause you didn't ask."

 Meganlet that statement sit between them for a moment. By as-signing the blame to her,Gerry was trying
to distance himself from the conversation. She remained silent, knowing from experience that arguing the
point was the wrong thing to do.Gerry was a good kid. Not all of the ones she worked with were,
butGerryFletcher was one of the good ones in a bad spot.

Looking at her, guilt flashing in his eyes,Gerry said, "Sorry. You ask lots of questions. It's not your fault
you didn't know. You just didn't ever ask that question."

That was a start. "Tell me about your telescope."

A trapped look creasedGerry 's thin face. For the first time,Megan saw the deep purple bruise that
marred his left jawline.The back of a hand? she wondered.Or a collision with something else?

Her stomach turned and she had to push back from the line of thinking and the images that came to
mind.BoydFletcher was a big man physically, and he lived on adrenaline. A definite type A person-ality
filled with anxiety, tension, and aggression.

"What about it?"Gerry asked defensively.

 "What kind is it?"Megan started slow, working with small details that would gradually tear away the
fabricationGerry was presenting. If she did it, here and now, with him knowing she was on his side,
maybe it would go easier when the MPs presented their questions andHelen andDr.Carson
accusedBoydFletcher of abusing his son.

Gerrycarefully raised and lowered his thin shoulders. "I don't know. It's just a telescope."

"How long have you had it?"

"A while."

"Did you get it for a birthday or Christmas?"

 The presentation of the choice brought home toGerry that he was going to have to be careful and more
attentive to his answers. "Does it matter?"

"I don't know. Is the telescope broken?"

"Probably,"Gerry replied. "It was a long fall from the top of the house. I mean, the fall banged me and
my arm up pretty bad." He nodded, more to himself than to her. "Probably the telescope got broke."

The television had returned to the basketball game, butGerry 's at-tention was riveted on his cookies and
milk and the questionsMegan had for him. He nibbled at one of the cookie pieces.

"Did you check on the telescope?"Megan asked.

"No."

 "I was just wondering. You know how your dad is about your things."BoydFletcher had a history
regarding his son's property. IfGerry broke or damaged something, the boy was made to pay a price.
But ifBoyd were mad at his son, he broke or disposed ofGerry 's toys.

 WhenGerry had claimed he'd had a bike wreck,BoydFletcher had gotten rid of the bike, which had
upsetGerry terribly. The brief--very brief-conversationMegan had shared withBoydFletcher had been
harsh and to the point: Maybe Megan could require the ses-sions, but she couldn't require him to provide
a bike for his son.

"He won't care about the telescope,"Gerry said.

Megannodded. "That's good. Who got the telescope for you?"

Hesitating,Gerry said, "My dad." During the sessions, he always tried to build his dad up in her eyes. He
was eleven years old and he knew that she didn't feel good about his father even though she had tried to
hide that fact.

"Is your dad interested in astronomy?"Megan asked. "I guess so."
"How is he going to feel about the telescope getting broken?" "He's probably not going to like it."

 There's an understatement.Megansometimes got the feeling thatBoydFletcher deliberately gave his son
breakable things or items that were hard to manage just so he could find fault with him.

"Probably not,"Megan said. "So what are we going to do about it?

Panicked,Gerry looked at her. "What do you mean? It's broken. There's nothing we can do about it."

"Don't you think we're going to have to tell your dad?"Gerry was quiet.

 "You know your dad doesn't like it when you do something wrong and then hide it from him,"Megan
said. Several ofGerry 's more severe punishments, including physical as well as mental ones, resulted
from the boy's attempts to conceal things from his father.

"I'll tell him,"Gerry said. "Promise."

 "I appreciate you being willing to. But I think this might be some-thing we'd do better together."Megan
slipped a glance at her watch. Only eleven minutes remained of her allotted time. It was time to turn up
the pressure.Help me here, God. I'm getting in over my head, and there's not going to be any
turning back. She kept her voice casual. "We can tell him about the telescope at the same time we tell
him about your visit here tonight."

"I can tell him in the morning."

 Meganshook her head. "Sorry, guy. No can do. A visit to the hos-pital in the middle of the night
requiresDr.Carson to report this."

"To my dad?"

"And possibly to other people."

Gerrygnawed his lip. "The doc called you, didn't he?"

 Meganthought aboutDr.Carson . The man was young and bright and caring, and she
thoughtBoydFletcher would probably rip through him like a buzz saw. No,BoydFletcher needed a more
sub-stantial target, someone who could stand up to every withering sec-ond of the argument that was
surely forthcoming. Someone who could dish it back.

"Actually,"Megan said, "Mrs.Cordellcalled me."

Gerryseemed to relax a little. "Mrs.Cordellis a tough lady."

"Yes,"Megan said. "One of the toughest I know."

"She doesn't believe I fell off the roof, does she?"

 Megandidn't hesitate. One of the bonds she had with anyone who saw her was unflinching honesty. "No,
she doesn't."
"Do you?"

"No."

 Gerryglanced at the thick file on the Fletcher family thatMegan had brought in with her. The boy deflated
with a long sigh, finally giv-ing in to the realization that events had progressed past the point of his ability
to control them. "How much trouble is my dad in?"

 "I don't know,Gerry ,"Megan said. Alot, for starters. But she hon-estly didn't know how much more.
She glanced at her watch. Sixmin-utes. Help me, God, because that's not nearly enough time. She
looked at the intercom on the wall, torn between begging more time fromHelen andDr.Carson now and
panickingGerry .

The boy sat on the hospital bed and looked apprehensive.

 Keep it nice and easy,Megandecided.Give it a couple minutes. See how things go. There'll be time
to callHelen. She smiled a little to easeGerry 's mind. "Why don't you tell me what really happened, and
we'll take it from there?"




Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0718 Hours




 On the other side of the collapsed wall inGlitterCity , the trapped man's horrified screams continued to
assault Goose's ears, spurring in him an instinctive need to react-now. Only his training as a pro-fessional
soldier-think first, have a plan, and stick with it-kept that impulse in check as the wall section collapsed
further.

 "It's okay, buddy,"Bill said calmly to the man as he maintained his hold on the crowbar shoring up his
end of the heavy wall section. "Just the sand shifting. We've got the wall. We're not going to let it fall on
you."
 Goose didn't know whereBill found the strength or the wind to speak. He felt all but done in from his
exertions to uncover the trapped man. The crowbar felt as though it were about to pull his arms from
their sockets. He wasn't the only one feeling the strain. The heavyset man and one of the other volunteers
had bailed on the line, dropping out of the rescue effort, collapsing, exhausted and wheez-ing, to the
sand.

Danielleand one of the other men rushed forward with rocks to put under the edge of the wall to brace it
up. Then Goose andBill added a second flat rock to the first and fought for another fistful of inches.

 The wall section shifted more, letting sand cascade in again. Un-der the ton of dead weight, the man
screamed, then his cries were cut off abruptly. Several cubic yards of sand and rock around the
V-shaped section of the building’s corner left standing broke free and sped under the elevated wall
section like mercury rolling across a flat surface at room temperature.

 Anxiety flooded Goose as he realized the man they had been try-ing to rescue had probably been buried
in that avalanche. He squat-ted and drew his Mini Maglite from his LCE. Clicking the flashlight on, he
dropped prone to the ground and peered under the monstrous slab, praying to God that their efforts had
not inadvertently crushed the life from the man they were trying to save.

 The high-intensity yellow beam barely cut through the haze of dust that squirted out from under the slab
in a boiling rush. The hol-low under the wall section left an area almost seven feet long and four feet wide.
Just about the dimensions of a grave, Goose couldn't help thinking. Hackles stood up on the back of his
neck. The man they'd been working to rescue was nowhere in sight.

 In the center of that space, something writhed under the sand that had rushed in. For a moment, Goose
was reminded of a cow he'd seen sink in a pit of quicksand in theOkefenokee Swamp while on a hunting
trip. He'd been sixteen at the time and out hunting with his buddies. They'd tried to save the cow, but in
the end they'd had to watch the terrified creature sink into the bog until it disappeared.

 Billthrew himself forward but was too broad to get through the gap. On his knees, he began scooping at
the loose sand with both hands.

The wall shuddered and sank an inch, and the sand continued to flow.

 Watching the struggling figure in the middle of the space, Goose stripped off his helmet and his LCE.
"Let me."

 Billkept digging. "You're the last man that should go under there, Sarge. That wall could come down any
second. We redistributed the weight, but we can't get it shored up on the hillside."

"I'm the only man that will fit. Now move, Corporal." Goose pulled his kerchief down and shoved the
Mini Maglite between his teeth.

Reluctantly,Bill gave ground.

 Goose slid by his friend. The flashlight beam jostled and jarred across the sea of sand that filled the
hollow space. Dust flooded Goose's lungs at once, choking him down so that he couldn't draw a breath.
He scooted forward on hands and knees, clawing through the sand. Something more solid than the sand
and considerably less dense than one of the stones he'd been handling took shape under his right hand.
Turning, he found he'd uncovered the face of a dead man.
 Sandhad filled the man's eyes, nose, and mouth. He lay partially on his side, his hair black and stringy
against the fine yellow sand.

 God help me,Goose prayed as he forced himself to push the corpse from his mind and concentrate on
the struggle ahead of him. There was no way of knowing-yet-how many people had been in the structure
when it had come down. Later, if there was a chance to exca-vate the bodies, authorities would learn the
number of casualties -and who they were.

 Later, he'd have the luxury to wonder how many families were go-ing to be devastated by the news
today.

 Reaching the writhing pile of sand, Goose tried to push to a kneel-ing position but couldn't. The wall was
less than two feet above him. He worked from his stomach, arching his back and using both arms like a
swimmer, shoving sand from the person who had been buried.

 Even as he pushed the sand away, he became aware that still more sand was sliding in from the wall's
edge where it butted into the V-shape of the building's comer. Their efforts had lifted that portion of the
wall enough to allow the sea of sand to slither in. A moment later, the wall itself shifted, grinding across
the rocks they'd placed to create the gap Goose had crawled in through. Even as he watched, the wall
dropped at least two inches.

"Sarge,"Bill called.

 Goose didn't answer, concentrating on his efforts to save the man.Sand flew into his mouth around the
Mini Maglite he held between his teeth. He resisted the urge to spit it out because he would lose the
flashlight, and the ambient light from outside the wall wouldn't be enough to work by. But the dust felt
thick in his throat, gathering weight and threatening to trigger a purge reflex.

The wall section shifted again and dropped enough to slam into the back of Goose's head.

"Sarge!"Bill sounded a little more panicked now.

 A hand grabbed Goose's ankle and yanked. He slid backward a short distance. "No!" he said around
the flashlight as best he could. He prayed fervently, wishing he believed with the same intensity thatBill
did, but the face of the dead boy he'd seen only moments ago kept haunting him. How strong did faith
have to be? Beneath the gog-gles, perspiration trickled across his face, washing small bits of grit into his
eyes, making them stream and bum.

 Then a hand reached up from the sandy grave and wrapped around the back of Goose's neck like
something out of a horror movie he'd seen as a kid. Fingernails tore into his flesh. Concentrating, thinking
quickly, Goose followed the path of the arm that held him in a death grip. Ramming his hand through the
shifting sand wasn't easy, but it was doable.

 Reaching down the length of the arm, Goose hooked his hand under the armpit and managed to secure a
strong grip on the man's shirt. For the first time, Goose realized that the man had been stand-ing up in the
building. The sand had come in so swiftly that the de-luge had filled the structure with him standing.

 Goose tried desperately not to think about the number of people that had been caught in the building.
Overhead, the wall fell again, sinking into the deep sand, coming far enough down now that it pressed
against his back. He spat out the flashlight, caught it in his free hand, and yelled, "I've got him! Pull!"
"Get him out of there!"Bill yelled. "C'mon! Pull! Put your backs into it!"

 Even asBill shouted, the massive stone slab over Goose's head dropped another few inches, pinning him
against the sand.




United States of America

Columbus,Georgia

Local Time12:28 A.M.



 Basso booms of speed metal music, delivered with hammering inten-sity, rocked the interior of the
nightclub. Out on the large dance floor, young men and women writhed and practically fought one
another. To someone not familiar with the club scene, it probably looked like they were vying to claim
more territory.

 Most of the club's dancers favored leather and lace, barely-there shorts, crop tops, slinky dresses that
were painted on, and leather pants so tight-on both sexes-they just had to cut down blood circulation.
The laser light show burned red, blue, green, and livid purple beams through the air and swirled
multicolored patterns over the dance floor. The dancers' dangling earrings and ornamented piercings in
their eye-brows, lips, and noses glinted in the garish colors of the laser lights.

Many of the dancers sported intricate tattoos. Some of them were temporary, courtesy of a street artist
working with fluorescent paint who'd set up shop in his van outside the club. Others wore glowing
necklaces and armbands that the band had thrown out a few songs back.

"Are you having a good time?"

 Mesmerized by all the action in front of him,JoeyHolder looked down at the young woman at his side.
"Yeah," he said.

She gave him a puzzled look and leaned closer.

Realizing that he hadn't spoken loudly enough to be heard over the music,Joey raised his voice. "Yes.
Great time."

 JennyMcGrathsmiled up at him. She rocked to the beat, popping her shoulders and clenched fists to the
rhythm. "Cool. I thought you would."

"Yeah. Me, too." As soon as the words left his mouth,Joey realized how dumb they sounded.

"You're a funny guy,Joey ."

"It's not all natural talent,"Joey replied loudly. "Sometimes I have to work at it."
 She grinned at him, and in that flash of white teeth,Joey fell in love with her all over again. At an inch or
two over five feet, carrying a woman's full body with slender lines, her short-cropped spiky hair dyed
purple, Jenny McGrath was beautiful.

 Stonewashed low-riding jeans sheathed her hips, and her mid-night blue camisole top revealed enough
milk white skin that it threat-ened to fry his brain cells. Her nose ring and eyebrow ring glinted in the laser
lights.

She so totally fit into the club, remindingJoey again that he didn't. His nervousness over the fake ID in his
pocket increased. Someone was going to find him out, then there'd be all kinds of trouble.Jenny didn't
know how old he really was, and she was twenty-three. His mother, if she had known where he was,
would have gone crazy.

"Want to dance some more?" she yelled.

"Sure,"Joey shouted back.

She took his hand and charged out onto the dance floor. At the outer fringes, she stopped, cupped her
hands around her mouth, and shouted, "Leonard!"

 A shaggy-haired behemoth turned to face her. He was dressed in jeans and a loose plaid shirt over a
concert T-shirt. He looked like he was in his thirties. Tattoos featuring flaming skulls marked his bared
arms.

"I want to surf,"Jenny shouted.

 Leonardgrinned, revealing that he was missing his two front teeth, then bent over slightly and folded his
hands together to make a stir-rup. "Come ahead, darlin'." He raised his voice in a thundering shout.
"Surfs up!"

Immediately the nearby dancers turned and raised their hands.

Without hesitation, jenny threw herself forward. She stepped intoLeonard 's clasped hands, then let him
hurl her into the audience. Waiting hands caught her above the heads of the crowd, balanced her, then
propelled her toward the stage.

Jennysurfed on her back, flailing wildly to make sure the other dancers knew she was coming. "Joey!
C'mon! See if you can make your way to the stage! "

Still grinning,Leonard held out his clasped hands. "You up for it, little man?"

 The challenge in the words was evident, andJoey felt himself bris-tling in response. Steeling himself, he
nodded and ran atLeonard . He put a foot intoLeonard 's hands and leaped. In the next instant he was
airborne, shooting up onto the crowd of moshers.

 Dancers belowJoey shouted at him as he passed. Some of them congratulated him while others cursed
at him. Both responses, and even mostly neutral expressions, usually came couched in acidic ob-scenities
thatJoey had seldom encountered. He felt thrilled and em-barrassed at the same time.

 Vacation Bible school had never been like this. As soon as that thought raced through his mind,Joey felt
an immediate surge of guilt and was reminded how the youth minister had always told him the best way to
know what God wanted in a person's life was by paying attention to the small niggling doubts that often
turned into guilt if left unchecked. His preacher said that a sense of right and wrong was placed within
every person, but it was up to that person to fine-tune that sense and keep his or her covenant with God.

An old anger surfaced inJoey again, triggering the rebellion that had claimed him. No one knew what
was right for him. He didn't even know, but he sure wasn't going to let someone else tell him. He'd loved
his dad, butTonyHolder had left and seldom showed up these days.Joey had liked the youth
minister,Mr.Lewis , butMr.Lewis had moved away.

 Joeyhad deeply liked, admired, and respected Goose, especially in the early days of Goose's marriage
to his mom. Those times had been great. Then, in no time at all it seemed, The Squirt had been
born.Chris 's arrival into the family had changed everything forJoey . Goose's attention had been divided
between the boys, and he wasn't able to do as many guy things withJoey as he had beforeChris had been
born. The pickup basketball games and racquetball gamesJoey had loved stopped as Goose stayed
home more to take care ofChris .

Part of that time spent together beforeChris arrived,Joey knew, was because his mom worked long
hours in the counseling center helping other people's kids. That hadn't been a problem beforeChris had
been born. Then, Goose had told them they were going to "bach" it, and they'd go take in a movie and
grab dinner at a cafe off base. If they didn't do a movie, they'd go to the rec center, shoot some hoops,
or play racquetball till they were both too tired to stand.

 Chrishad spoiled all of that. Goose hadn't been able to go as much whenJoey 's mom wasn't home to
take care of the baby. And it was like Goose never even noticed how much things had changed. It was
then thatJoey realized that he was, and always would be, Goose's stepson, not his real son. When he was
feeling generous, which wasn't often these days,Joey supposed that it wasn't Goose's fault. Af-ter all,
Goose couldn't have known how he would feel about having a real son until he had one.

 ButJoey felt lied to and taken advantage of. Like he'd been re-placed. He pushed away those thoughts
and concentrated on the mo-ment. The music was loud, the lights were dizzying, and the crowd waswild.
And he was in the middle of it.

 The crowd shoved him toward the stage. Tossed and hurled across the surface of the crowd,Joey
craned his neck around and spottedJenny ten feet ahead of him and quickly approaching the stage. Most
of the hands shoved him forward, but he caught more than a few punches to his back, ribs, and thighs.
Anger ran rampant through much of the crowd. The hard music gave their rage a voice, and the various
chemical stimulants they were imbibing gave people free reign to act on the primeval violence that moved
within them. After this night,Joey was certain he'd be carrying bruises for a week.

 Jennyreached the stage easily. She was a girl. Girls always reached the stage. But she was met by two
burly security guards wearing band T-shirts with SECURITY stamped across the chest and back of the
shirts. They wore black paratrooper pants, but none of the guys looked like the military government-issue
guys thatJoey had been around.

AsJoey closed on the stage, the two security guards confrontedJenny . Usually, the security people
pushed the crowd surfers back from the stage, and the dancers swept them back to the other end of the
dance floor. But this time the lead guitarist-a guy with a tattooed face, skinny arms, and obscene
T-shirt-stepped forward and spoke to the security people.

The guitarist started on a throbbing, ear-splitting solo and spoke to jenny. Unbelievably, jenny started
dancing onstage, gyrating her body in a manner that filledJoey with lust and jealousy all at the same time.
If she had danced for him like that-alone-he would have been thrilled. But dancing in front of guys who
hooted and yelled and screamed encouragement was horrible. He also felt it was incredibly stupid.

 Joeyreached the stage. Anger burst loose inside of him. He tried to run across the stage and get toJenny
. He didn't know what he was go-ing to do when he reached her, but he was determined to reach her.

 Two security guards caught him before he took his third step. With embarrassing ease, the security guys
flungJoey back into the crowd. Once he landed atop the crowd, the dancers shouted in eager derision at
his failed attempt and started shoving him to the back of the dance floor.

 "No!"Joey yelled, wanting to get to jenny and get her off the stage or at least let everyone know she was
with him. But the crowd wasn't listening or couldn't hear him. He fought and twisted and grabbed on to
people. In the end, his efforts didn't matter. He was swept along the top of the crowd like a piece of
flotsam driven before an aggressive tide.




Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0725 Hours




 As the tide of sand shifted around him, hands-Goose didn't know how many-pulled at his feet and
worked up his legs. He slid out from under the collapsed wall section as the sand rushed in to fill the
empty space. But he kept his grip on the trapped man. Rough stone rasped and cut into Goose's
shoulders and the back of his head. His arm felt wrenched from its socket as he drew the trapped man
from the sand, but he hung on.

 As soon as the man came free of the sand, Goose shot out from under the wall. He managed to wrap his
free arm behind the man's head in an embrace to strengthen his hold. Someone grabbed his bell and the
speed of the rescue attempt increased again.

 Bright sunlight ripped into Goose's eyes as he emerged.Bill reached for the rescued man. In the same
instant, the wall section collapsed witha whumf that spat out a roiling mass of dust. The group of
rescuers turned away from it.

"It's okay, Sarge,"Bill said, dropping to the ground beside Goose "I've got him. I've got him. He's gonna
be okay. You're gonna be okay."

 Goose released his grip on the man and rolled over. The coughing fit he'd been holding back erupted,
and for a moment he thought he was going to cough up a lung. His head felt near to bursting. Then, just
as he thought he'd never draw another breath, enough of the dust cleared from his lungs that he could
suck in a gasp of relatively fresh air.

Weak and shaking but recovering quickly, Goose forced himself to his feet.

"Are you all right, Sergeant Gander?"DanielleVinchenzo stood at his side. Blood streaked one side of
her face, leaking from her temple to her chin.

"Yes, ma'am," Goose answered, then went through another coughing fit.

She offered him a canteen of water.

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Are you always this polite?" she asked. "You nearly got crushed under that slab."

 Goose felt a little flustered. The question had come from left field and wasn't connected to anything that
had been going on. He un-capped the canteen and filled his mouth. Rinsing the dust from his mouth, he
spat the water out. Then he took a drink. He glanced around at the bombed-out city.

 "Sorry, Sergeant,"Danielle said with a wry grin that looked totally out of place on her bloody face. "A
reporter's professional curiosity, I'm afraid. I always try to understand the people and the stories I cover.
And maybe I'm a little irritated that anyone can be that cool under pressure."

"I'm fromWaycross,Georgia , ma'am," Goose said. "My daddy raised me to be respectful, and the
military has kept it that way. As far as being cool under pressure, it's just an act." He smiled back at her.

"Golden Globe all the way, Sergeant."

 "If you'll excuse me, ma'am, I've still got to see to getting these people-and you-out of here." Goose
turned from the reporter with a polite nod, then joinedBill at the side of the man they'd rescued.

 The man looked to be in his late forties. The yellow dust clung to him, as thick as the confectioners'
sugar on a powdered donut, gray-ing out his pinched features. He was bald and had firm features, the
face of a man that an audience would trust as he delivered the nightly news. His lightweight gray suit was
ripped and torn. His eyes rolled wildly in their sockets. From the crooked angle of his left foot, Goose
knew the man's leg or hip had been broken. Maybe both.

Goose thought he recognized the man from one of the television networks, either American or European,
but he couldn't be sure.

Billtilted the man's head back and poured water into his mouth from a canteen. "Easy there, mister.
You'll want to spit that out. If you swallow that mouthful without getting clear of all that sand, you'll just
be sick."
 The man rinsed his mouth and spat, getting most of the water on himself because he lacked the strength
to spit far enough to clear his body. He pushed awayBill 's offer of the canteen again and croaked,
"Teresa's still down there."

"Teresa?"Bill asked.

The man nodded. "She's my producer. We took shelter when the missiles struck. She was standing right
beside me when the building collapsed and started to fill with sand."

Sorrowfully,Bill shook his head. "We didn't find her."

 The man clutched atBill 's uniform. "You've got to go back. You've got to find her. She was there. The
sand pulled her away from me."

"Sir," Goose said, "we can't."

The man looked at Goose. Fire danced in his eyes. "Sergeant, that woman may be down there dying."

Goose spoke patiently. "If she was down there, sir, then there's nothing we can do for her. She's in
God's hands." He said the words, but he didn't really believe them. And he hated the fact that the
woman's survival had been taken out of his hands before he had even known she had been at risk. It
wasn't fair.

 Exhaustion and shock overcame the man. He fell back and sobbed helplessly, putting a hand over his
face.

"Sarge." Cusack trotted over with a section of canvas tent he'd cut.

 The Rangers had salvaged pieces from the tents and used them to drag wounded over to the
decades-old deuce-and-a-half that had es-caped the wholesale destruction that had swept through the
rest of the town. Flames had blistered the vehicle's camo paint and left a layer of black soot over it, but it
was still serviceable. An enterprising Turkish man had ended up with the ex-military vehicle and had hired
it out to the media to transport equipment back and forth from the airport. The roads toGlitterCity were
few, and only calledroads in po-lite company.

 Dockery gave Goose his assault rifle back, then helpedDewey or-ganize the litter bearers to carry the
man they'd rescued to the big truck. Together, the two Rangers hauled the injured man away, leav-ing a
smooth concave trail in the sand behind them.

 Goose pulled himself back into his gear, gazing across the single road that dividedGlitterCity and seeing
that Hardin’s team had found another survivor. There were getting to be fewer and fewer of those, and
most were too injured to help out with the rescue operation.

 Hardin, Goose noticed, had also started a scavenger pile, throw-ing items he considered salvageable
and marketable into a pile near the edge of the hard-packed earthen road. The man had a knack for
finding things. Hardin was a good soldier but not a career-minded one. He remained military because he
knew how to play the options that came to him and because he could follow orders. But Hardin also had
a tendency to involve himself in barter and trade that bordered on black market. Still, his skill could be
priceless in places like this.
 During their last deployment, a peacekeeping mission inEast Af-rica , Hardin had become the go-to guy
to locate hard-to-find materi-als. That was the up-side. The down-side was that Hardin had also muscled
his way into being something of a black market kingpin while the 75th was stationed there.

 Goose had wanted to bust the man down in rank from corporal to private when he'd discovered the
illicit trade he'd gotten involved in. ButRemington , a company sergeant then, had smoothed the waters
and kept Hardin at rank. WhenRemington had made officer, he'd brought Goose along with him, but he'd
also brought Hardin along. There were times when Goose didn't agree withRemington 's line of thinking.

But there was no mistaking Hardin’s value in a firefight or any op that needed a man who was cool, was
quick under pressure, and never hesitated to make a life-or-death decision.

Sudden static in Goose's left ear shot a bolt of white-hot pain screaming through his brain. His radio
hissed, popped, and crackled, then cleared.

"Phoenix Leader," a man's voice said. "Phoenix Leader, this is Base. Do you read? Over."

 Goose put a hand to the headset and adjusted the volume. Static continued to ripple through the
connection, but the communication remained steady. "Phoenix Leader reads you, Base."

"Stand by, Leader. I'm connecting you to Base Commander."

 Knowing that the com officer was alertingRemington to the fact that he had Goose, the sergeant glanced
toward the south. The booms of the heavy artillery continued.C'mon,Cal, Goose urged.Get with me.
Letme know how bad this is and what we have to do to fix it.




United States of America

Columbus,Georgia

Local Time12:35 A.M.



 LeonardmetJoey at the other end of the journey back across the dance crowd as the dancers surfed him
away from jenny and the stage. At the end of the ride, the final dancers unceremoniously dumpedJoey
onto the floor. Caught unprepared, still distracted by the stage show jenny was putting on,Joey hit the
floor hard.

 "Hey,"Leonard said, grinning broadly and pointing. "Looks like you lost your girl." He pointed toward
the stage. "Guess she's throw-ing the small fish back tonight, minnow."

 Joeywas so mad and hurt he couldn't speak. Slowly, and with some effort because he was sore from
being beaten during the surfing, he forced himself to his feet, rubbing the elbow he'd smacked on the
floor. But he couldn't help staring back up at the stage where jenny was still dancing.

A baby spotlight picked her out. She had become the center of the show while the lead guitarist
continued his solo. She was beautiful, andJoey was sure every guy in the club knew it.

"She's flauntin' it, man,"Leonard crowed. "That's harsh to watch, dude. I mean, if you're all caught up in
her like you seem to be."

 "She's just dancing,"Joey said defensively. "She likes to dance. She dances all the time." The excuse
sounded lame and he regretted it instantly.

"Yeah,"Leonard agreed. "Jenny's always been that way."

 Remembering the way she had called onLeonard to help her start her surf run,Joey asked, "You know
jenny?"

 Leonardnodded. "A couple years now. Maybe." He scratched his big, shaggy head. "Kinda hard to
remember. Hey, I'm gonna grab a beer."

Joeyglanced back at the stage where jenny was still breaking the frenetic beat down into popping dance
moves that brought cheers from the crowd. She wasn't like any of the girls he'd known back at the base.
Clouded with angry disgust and confusion, especially since part of him enjoyed thatJenny was such a hit
because he had brought her, he followedLeonard to the bar.

"Man,"Leonard said, looking back at the stage, "Jenny's stealin' the show." He grinned and shook his
head. Then he looked atJoey . "I always feel sorry for the guys she dates."

 "Why?"Joey asked. A few weeks ago when he had met jenny, he'd thought she was the sexiest girl he'd
ever met.

"She's fickle, man. Don't stay with nothin' or nobody for long."Leonard ordered a beer from the tattooed
bartender dressed in holey jeans and a sweatshirt with the sleeves ripped off. Laser lights gleamed against
his shaved head and glinted from his piercings.

The bartender looked atJoey .

"Beer,"Joey said, digging money out of his pants pocket.

The bartender tossed his bar towel over his shoulder and leaned on the bar. "You don't look old enough,
kid."

 "I got ID,"Joey argued. He was seventeen. The club, Ragged Metal, had a mandatory minimum age of
twenty-one.

"You're twenty-one?" The bartender grinned in disbelief.

 "Yeah."Joey fought to keep his eyes locked on the bartender. That was one of the things that Goose had
taught him: always look an-other man in the eye.Tony ,Joey 's real dad, had never stuck around long
enough to teach him anything about being a man. Maintaining eye contact was still hard for him, and for a
momentJoey had the sick feeling that he was going to cry or look away.

"C'mon, Ace,"Leonard said. "Get off him. He's got ID or he woulda never got past Turco at the front
door." "Looks young to me," Ace argued.
 Joeyknew he looked young. He couldn't help that. He got his slim, dark looks from his dad, who'd
looked like a kid well into his twenties. Dressed in torn stonewashed jeans that his mom would have so
totally freaked over and a red muscle tank top under an un-buttoned chambray shirt, he figured he
looked a lot older. If his mus-tache or beard would ever come in heavier, that would help.

 Until then, he had the fake ID thatDavidWilson , one of the other base teens, had made for him. Living
on base wasn't all bad,David would say, because some of the best computer equipment going was there
and easy to access. Fake IDs were only part of the services the clever fourteen-year-old provided-for a
fee.Joey 's ID had cost some cash and some baseball cards that he had collected with Goose. That had
been back beforeChris was born, back when Goose still had time for him.

"He comes from over at the base,"Leonard said. "You know how the Army guys make their kids dress."

"Not all of them go for the conservative look," Ace argued.

Leonardgestured with his beer. "Your dad a career guy?"

 "Yeah."Joey didn't bother to mention that Goose was his stepdad. And he was surprised thatLeonard
had pegged him as a mili-tary brat so quickly.Joey had thought he was disguised. "Almost twenty years."
Or more.Joey couldn't quite remember. He just knew that with Goose the time seemed like forever. He
couldn't imagine Goose being anything but a soldier, although Grandpa Gander told stories from time to
time about Goose as a kid.

 According to those stories, Goose had always been a Goody Two--shoes, which gaveJoey and him less
to talk about now thatJoey was deep into his teen years and wanted more out of life than Goose
evi-dently had. Goose had worked with his father as a carpenter inWaycross , hunted and fished the
swamp, and signed with the army almost right out of high school.

"Officer?"Leonard asked.

"Non-com,"Joey answered. "First Sergeant." He was surprised at how he said it and at the pride he felt.
He hopedLeonard didn't no-tice because that was pure geek.

The bartender pulled a beer up, opened the bottle, and slid it across the bar while taking the folded
moneyJoey had placed on the counter.

"Tough guy?"Leonard turned and placed his back to the bar, hooking his elbows over the edge.

 "Goose? He's one of the toughest."Joey sipped his beer. The taste was awful and he worked hard not to
grimace because Ace was still watching him suspiciously. He'd only tasted beer a handful of times. None
of those times had been pleasant and he really didn't see why people bothered to acquire the taste. But
they did, and if he wanted to be cool and fit in with the crowd jenny hung with, he knew he'd have to
acquire that taste, too.

 "So where did you meetJenny ?"Leonard took out a pack of ciga-rettes and lit up. He blew blue smoke
into the air and a purple laser light shot through the cloud for just a moment.

 Joeyglanced over his shoulder and felt another wave of anger. There was so much of it in him that it
worried him sometimes. It wor-ried his family, too. That was one of the reasons his mom had first started
making him go to church. She was a counselor, and yet she was too close to this problem to completely
solve it. So she'd dumped the problem into God's lap. Terrific solution. Maybe church had helped her as
a kid, but it wasn't working for him. He felt picked on by life, by his real dad, by the fact that he and his
mom had to survive on so little, not get to do so many things, and by Goose going away so much. He just
felt abandoned.

His mom had hoped that church would help him get over those feelings. She talked to him about faith,
but so much of what she said had come across like counseling stuff. He didn't have faith, and he knew it.
Everyone had abandoned him, and God had never showed up in his life.

 When things had finally started to get better, after Goose married his mom,Chris- "one of God's most
precious gifts"-showed up and took everything away from him again. EvenBill 's kind words and
well-meaning approach to the situation didn't put a different spin on things. AndBill was one of the most
insightful adultsJoey had ever met.

 The harsh thing about having a little brother dropped into his life was thatJoey couldn't hateChris . He'd
wanted to, but his little brother was so cool and loving and looked up to him so much while Goose wasn't
around thatJoey knew he could never really hate his lit-tle brother. Still, there were moments that
resentment crept in be-tween them. But the love was real, maybe the realest thingJoey had ever felt,
becauseChris didn't seem to expect anything back.

 In fact, thinking aboutChris now,Joey felt guilty that he wasn't home to make sure his little brother was
tucked in. That was one of the things that Goose had asked him to do.

But there'd been this date tonight with jenny.

 He watched her up on the stage. Some date. He didn't know how he was going to handle the present
situation.

"I metJenny at work,"Joey replied, answeringLeonard 's question. "Wick Dreams?"

Joeyshook his head. "Kettle O' Fish. It's a restaurant. We're both servers."

Leonarddrained a third of his beer. "Last I heard, jenny was work-ing at the candle place in the mall."

 Joeyshrugged. He didn't know about that. In fact, it seemed like there were a lot of things he didn't
know about jenny. "I met her at Kettle O' Fish. We worked a few shifts together, then she told me about
this place and asked me out." He felt pretty good about that. He'd never had a girl ask him out before.
The girls he knew on base usually found a way to let him know they were interested in him and wouldn't
mind being asked out. He'd dated a lot, but he'd never met a girl likeJennyMcGrath .

 "Yep, that'sJenny ."Leonard finished his beer, set the empty on the bar, and asked for another. "She
always goes for guys that are younger than her. And definitely more innocent."

 Joeyalmost argued the point on that one, but he didn't.Leonard was a big guy. Besides that, he had
information about jenny thatJoey wanted.

"Want a word of advice, kid?"Leonard asked.

The black angerJoey felt got the upper hand for a moment, mak-ing his voice sharp and quick.

 "Do I look like I need advice?"Leonard glanced at him in surprise. For a minute,Joey got the im-pression
the guy was going to jump him. ThenLeonard grinned, and there was a trace of evil in the expression.
"Yeah, you do."

Joeyswallowed and kept back the immediate response that formed in his mind.

 "My advice to you,"Leonard said, "is to enjoy tonight. Maybe a couple other nights, and some real nice
times. But don't get hung up on jenny. She ain't forever, man. She's just out to amuse herself, and you're
just the flavor of the week."

Leonard's words slammed intoJoey . He bridled against the pre-diction. The guy didn't know that.Jenny
had come on really strong, talking to him, making time to be with him. The attraction wasn't
one-sided.Joey was certain he wasn't the only one to feel it.

ButJenny was still dancing with the band, still in the spotlight and apparently loving it.

 Feeling kind of sick, no longer able to tolerate the beer taste in his mouth,Joey turned back to the bar,
intending to ask for an order of cheese nachos. Ace stood at the television mounted on the wall be-hind
the bar. Channels cycled as the bartender used the remote con-trol. The news broadcast caughtJoey 's
attention.

On the screen, video footage of troops rushing across windswept desert sands bore the tagline
SYRIAN-TURKISH BORDER. Explosions ripped across the stark landscape in the next instant.

Ace cycled past the news channel.

"Hey,"Joey shouted.

The bartender turned around. "You want something, kid?"

"That news channel,"Joey said. Goose! Goose was over there! "Let me see that again."

"You got somebody over there?" Ace asked.

"My dad,"Joey answered without hesitation. "My dad is over there."

 "That's harsh, man," the bartender said sympathetically as he switched the television channel back.
"Looks like those guys on the front line are taking a beating.




United States of AmericaFort
Benning,Georgia

Local Time12:42 A.M.




"My mom and dad got into an argument this evening."

"Before you came to the base hospital?"

"Yeah. A long time before."

 AsMegan watchedGerryFletcher , her heart went out to the boy. Remaining professional in light of
everything that had gone on so far tonight, especially after having to drop Chris off and not knowing
where Joey was or if Goose was all right, tested her emotional control to the max. At the moment, with
the clock ticking here and who--knew-what going on with her menfolk, she felt in over her head deal-ing
with bothGerry and her own family crises. As she always had in other times of overwhelming stress and
uncertainty about what course she should pursue, she quietly prayed to God.

 She felt a little guilty just now because it seemed like she was pray-ing to Him lately only to intercede on
her behalf or her family's, not just to accept and talk and give thanks. But that was when she most
needed Him: when things-likeGerry 's situation-got the better of her. And when those things-likeGerry 's
situation-continued, sometimes she couldn't help feeling that God didn't care.

 Upon occasion,Megan had unburdened herself toBillTownsend when he had been visiting. Bill had
always seemed so understanding, so seemingly in tune with God's ways, that he had been easy to talk to
about her work and about her faith. She'd toldBill about the bad things she had dealt with while
counseling the base kids, andBill had told her that God’s plan took everything into account, that no
sparrow fell without notice. He couldn't explain why those terrible things hap-pened, but he did believe
they served a purpose that wasn't always within human understanding. From the way he had
talked,Megan knew thatBill believed that. But she had her doubts, and times like to-night brought those
doubts to the forefront.

 Gerrysat in the bed with his back to the headboard. He held his good arm wrapped around his injured
arm, his knees doubled up. Al-though he stared at the television set where the Lakers had just re-turned
to the court after the half,Megan knew the boy no longer saw the game. He was reliving the night,
reviewing another section of the never-ending nightmare his life had turned into these past few years.

"Your parents got into an argument,"Megan prompted after a short while.

"Yeah,"Gerry said.

"I'm sorry."

 Gerryshrugged a little, taking care with his injured shoulder. "It's not your fault,Mrs.Gander . It's my
fault." Tears ran down his scratched cheeks. "It's always my fault. That's what you don't under-stand.
That's what I've been trying to tell you all this time, and you just don't listen. If you just listened and
believed me, maybe we could fix me. Make me better."
"I know you,Gerry ,"Megan said softly. "You're a good person."

Stubbornly, sniffling and wiping at his tears,Gerry shook his head. His voice came out as a hoarse
whisper. "I'm not. I can't be. If I was good, my mom and dad wouldn't fight so much over me."

 "Your mom and dad haven't just fought over you,"Megan said. "During our sessions, you said they've
fought in the past over money and over jobs your mom has taken."

 "Yeah, but they'd have more money if they didn't haveme,"Gerry said. "I've heard Dad say that. And if
they didn't need more money because of me, Mom could be at home more."

 "We've talked about this before. I thought we both agreed that your mom works because she likes
work. She makes friends there." And,Megan suspected,TonyaFletcher worked outside the home to get
away from her controlling husband.Megan believed the abuse is-sue ran deeper than justGerry . During
her conversations with the woman, though,Megan had never gottenTonya to open up.

"Maybe she wouldn't need friends if things were better at home."Gerry rested his chin on his knees.
Tears continued to cascade down his cheeks. "Maybe she'd be happy with my dad."

 "You don't think she's happy with him?"Megan pried at the situa-tion as delicately as she could.
Normally, she would have been tempted to wait untilGerry was better able to deal with the situation, but
with the MPs about to be notified, she couldn't afford to do that.BoydFletcher was going to go through
the roof when he found out what was going on.

 "I don't know,"Gerry answered. "I think they'd be fine. If it wasn't for me." He choked back a sob,
faking a cough. "I've heard my dad say that. I told you he's said that."

Meganknew. WhenGerry had told her he'd heard his dad say that, she'd felt sympathetic and angry all at
once. No child should have to hear or endure the thingsGerry had. But there were others out there that
had things as bad and worse.

"Did you do something to cause the fight tonight?"Megan asked. The MPs would want to know, and it
was better to know the answers to the questions those men would be asking so she didn't get blindsided.

"No." Shivers coursed throughGerry . "It just started over dinner."

"How did it start?"

 "They were talking. About going out. Mom was tired. You could see that she was tired. Dad said he
wished they could go to a movie, the way they used to before they had me. But they didn't have anyone
to watch me and he didn't want to take me."

Meganforced herself to remain silent.

 "Mom told Dad to go ahead and go, that she would stay with me while he got out of the house and
relaxed for a little while. He said that going out wasn't the point, that he wanted to go out with her, that
they never got to do anything together anymore."

 The Fletchers rarely went out as a couple,Megan knew. But some of the gossip around the base was
thatBoyd liked to hit the bars, and having a fight with his wife gave him a good excuse to go.
"Dad got mad then,"Gerry went on. "He started cussing and throwing things. He broke one of the vases
Mom had made in her art class."

 Evidence for the MPs, if it hasn't been cleaned up,Meganthought and felt immediately guilty that she
had to think like that.TonyaFletcher hadn't gotten to finish her art class due to her husband's reluctance to
watchGerry by himself. WhenGerry had suffered his "bike wreck" during one of the art classes,Tonya
had stopped going.

 "After the vase got broke,"Gerry said, "Mom got mad. She started yelling back at Dad. She hardly ever
dares to do that. She said if any-body deserved to get out of the house, it was her because she was stuck
there all day just waiting for him to come home and find something wrong with everything she did." The
boy's voice lowered. "Then Dad said the way he heard it she wasn't there by herself all the time."

 Meganmeasured the question carefully, then asked, "Your dad suspects your mom sometimes has
company at home when your fa-ther is gone?" That was a new wrinkle in an already volatile situation.

 Gerrywiped at his reddened eyes. "Dad says she does. But,Mrs.Gander , I've never seen anyone else
there. I come home every day right when I'm supposed to, and I've never seen anyone. Mom just sits
there alone." He sniffled, a little more under control now because he was so physically exhausted.
"Sometimes, Dad asks me if I've seen anyone around the house when he's gone. He gets me by myself
and asks me. But there's never been anyone there. I don't think he believes me, though. Most of the time
he just tells me I'd lie for her because she's got me trained to do that." He wiped at his eyes and looked
atMegan . "Tonight, Dad said he thought Mom was up to something. Then he started talking about how I
don't look anything like him. Or her, even."

That,Megan knew, was true.Gerry was much smaller than his fa-ther, but that could have been just
genetics, a throwback to another part of the Fletcher family, or toTonya 's family.

 "Dad said I looked like someone else,"Gerry said, "and that someone else was probably really my dad.
Mom yelled at him, telling him he should never say something like that in front of me." He gnawed his lip.
"I think Mom was really embarrassed and that's why she did it."

"Did what?"

 "She threw a pot at him. Just picked it up from the stove and heaved it at him. He was so surprised that
it hit him in the head. I couldn't believe it. Then he crossed the room and slapped her."

Meganforced herself to remain under control. From the sound of things, the Fletcher situation had
dropped into complete chaos.

"Mom fell,"Gerry said. "Dad drew back like he was going to hit her again. Before I knew it, I ran at
him." He started crying again, cov-ering his face with his hands and shaking his head in denial. "I hit my
own dad,Mrs.Gander . I never thought I would do something like that." He sobbed brokenly. "What kind
of son would do that?"

Meganswallowed the lump in her throat. "A son who cares about his mother and wanted to protect her."

Still shaking his head,Gerry buried his face against his knees. His shoulders shook with silent grief.

“Is that when your father hit you?”Megan asked. She hated hav-ing to push the boy, but she needed as
many details as she could get.
Gerryhesitated for a moment, then nodded.

"How many times?"

"I don't know."

"Was it once?"Megan asked. "Twice? More than that?"

He looked up at her, his eyes still pooling with tears of helpless-ness, hurt, and shame. "I don't
know,Mrs.Gander . He hit me and hit me. Mom had to get him to stop. She threatened to call the MPs.
She told him she would tell the base commander."

 Horrible images of the violence that had taken place in the home filledMegan 's mind till she felt she
wasn't going to be able to handle them.Why, God? Why put a child through this? And at the same time
she wondered why she had to be the one to deal with the child. Guilt ripped through her an instant after
that thought.

"Did your dad stop then?"Megan asked.

 "Yeah. But the house was wrecked. There were broken dishes everywhere. That's how come my arms
and legs are scratched up."

"What happened to your shoulder?"

Gerryshook his head. "I don't know. He grabbed me or some-thing. I know he didn't mean to hurt me.
He said he was sorry."

Meganfelt like screaming. After beating up his family,BoydFletcher simply handed out an apology.

 "He doesn't mean to be that way,Mrs.Gander ,"Gent ' said. "He really doesn't. But if my mom did
something wrong-" his voice broke and he sucked air noisily for a moment-"if I'm really not his kid, then
he shouldn't have to pay for me or take care of me. Should he?"

 No answer came toMegan . In all her years of counseling, no child had ever asked her a question like
that.

"You see,"Gerry said desperately. "This might not be his fault at all."

 "Listen to me,Gerry ,"Megan said as calmly as she could. "After tonight, some things are going to have to
change."

The boy shook his head. "I don't want them to change. I just want them to go back to the way they
were. I never should have come here."

 "Yes, you should have."Megan paused, gathering her thoughts, hoping she was making herself
convincing. "Gerry, this thing that happened with you and your mother tonight might have gotten worse if
you hadn't said anything. You and your mom might have gotten hurt. You still might get hurt-the next time
it happens.

Staying quiet when things are this wrong in the household isn't good. People who can help you have to
know what's going on." "No one can help me. No one cares."

 Megantook a breath, listening to the commentary of the basket-ball game coming from the television, not
believing how ordinary the sound was when there was so much pain in the room. It seemed like a
reminder that no matter how badGerryFletcher ’s life got, the world didn't care.

 No one cares,Meganthought.Or I could have stopped this long ago. Tears leaked down her cheeks,
triggered by sadness and anger and confusion.Do You care, God? Do You see what You've let happen
in this poor child's life? She felt bitter and angry then, and she knew her tone toward God was
accusing. Guilt stung her, but in a way she forgave herself. She felt that tone was deserved even if God
wasn't ultimately to blame.

 "I can help you,"Megan said in a husky voice. "I'm going to help you. First, though, we're going to have
to get you and your mom someplace safe."

Panic filledGerry 's face. "I don't want to leave my dad."

"Just for tonight."For starters,Megan thought. She was certain she could get the base commander's
office to pushBoydFletcher into get-ting more and deeper counseling after this episode.

"How much trouble is my dad in?"

"Some."

"It's all my fault, isn't it?"

"No,"Megan said. "It's not your fault,Gerry . Please believe that."

Gerryshook his head. "I shouldn't have told." He rocked back and forth against the bed's headboard,
unable to stay still. "I knew I shouldn't have told."

"You needed medical care."

 "My arm isn't broke. I thought it was broke. I got scared. I should have just stayed in bed instead of
sneaking out. I should have known my dad would never break my arm. This is all my fault."

BeforeMegan could say anything, a familiar bass voice reverber-ated in the hallway outside the door.

 "Where's my son?"Gerry knew that voice and trembled.Megan knew it, too, and braced herself. A string
of curses exploded after the nurse answered the question. Loud footsteps, the result of heavy combat
boots worn by someone big enough to make them really crash into the government-issue linoleum floor,
rang out in the hall-way, coming closer with every footfall.
Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0743 Hours




 Goose jogged as he talked over the headset, running tandem toBill on the other side of the road. They
secured the perimeter the unit had established around what was left ofGlitterCity during the evac op,
taking their turn as the others had in two-man groups. The other eight men kept working with the
wounded when they weren't walking pa-trol. Goose was also certain Hardin was busy squirreling away
sal-vaged goods every chance he got.

 Thick yellow dust still hung in the air. Sunlight slashed through the haze. Perspiration caked dust, smoke,
and debris to Goose's ex-posed skin. His lungs ached for clean air and labored hard to such what he got
through the wet dust filming the kerchief he had wrapped around his face. They avoided craters left by
the SCUD explosions and the clouds of thick smoke streaming from buildings that contin-ued to bum.

 "How bad is it?" Goose askedCalRemington . After their initial ra-dio contact, the captain had stated
that he would have to get back to him.Cal had only-at first-wanted to ascertain that Goose was still alive
and that the unit was relatively intact. Goose had had his hands so full with the rescue/evac operation
thatRemington 's curtness had been fine with him. But now that they'd done what they could, Goose
checked in with HQ. He wanted to know more about the big picture A lot more.

Remingtonsounded tense. "The Syrians are not holding anything back, Sergeant. This is shaping up to be
a major land grab, and the Syrians obviously want to nail down as much territory as they can as soon as
possible before the Turks, and we, get a chance to recover and pin down their advance."

 The grim news that the border units were still under attack pounded at Goose's conscience. The crash
and thunder of the artillery strikes south of his current position continued mercilessly. The need to be on
the move thrummed inside him.

 "Diyarbakiris the nerve center forTurkey 's military base against the PKK,"Remington continued, "but
they're geared for counter-ter-rorist operations and action against riots. Not to take on the whole Syrian
army."

 "That's correct, sir," Goose agreed. The great walled city had been built back in the twelfth century and
was known for the beautiful mosques within the huge black basalt walls that surrounded the met-ropolitan
area. In addition to its key military role,Diyarbakir was one ofTurkey 's prized cultural possessions, filled
with history.

 "I think the Syrians are going to try to reachDiyarbakir and sack the city to make a statement. And to
gain an important piece of real estate. The only thing standing between them and that city is
us."Remington breathed out angrily. "This isn't simply an escalation of border warfare, Goose. This is a
commitment to work some changes in the status quo between these two countries." Frustration echoed in
his voice. "The Turkish military intelligence guys should have seen this coming."
 Although he hadn't seen any stats on Syrian troop movements, Goose figuredRemington was right in his
assessment of the situation. There was no other reason forSyria to so suddenly and so solidly go on the
offensive.ChaimRosenzweig 's economic miracle had calmed down some of the tensions in theMiddle
East , butIsrael 's new and greater prosperity had also triggered jealousy inSyria and some of its
neighbors.

 It wasn't just jealousy that was the problem. All that money pour-ing intoIsrael had also given rise to
feelings of renewed threat in the country's neighbors, as if the past tensions in the region hadn't been bad
enough. Many of theMiddle East nations hadn't believedIsrael would be generous with her newfound
wealth, except when it came to buying arms and armor. And where could the Israelis aim all of that
newfound weaponry? The Arab nations had all envisioned themselves with a target circle right in the
center of their borders. Even thoughIs-rael had been keeping a low profile lately, the shift in the balance
of power had destabilized the region. And with that much tension in the air, something had to snap.

 The Syrians had to have a goal for their aggression, and the city ofDiyarbakir was the most logical goal.
If the Syrians proved successful in takingDiyarbakir , they would gain a lot of raw materials and a nice
piece of strategic territory-including control of theTigrisRiver , known as theDicleRiver locally-as well as
a good staging position for further military ops and missions againstTurkey and the U.N. peacekeeping
efforts. It would be an excellent base for an attack onAnkara , the capital city ofTurkey and a center for
the country's inter-national business. Also, the Turks would be more careful about de-stroying the walled
city ofDiyarbakir than the Syrians would. All that history made a great protective barrier, if the Syrians
could take it.

 "The Turkish command doesn't believe that the Syrians will reachDiyarbakir ."Remington 's tone-at least
to Goose, who had known him for years-held a note of doubt and sarcasm. "They believe we can hold
the line at the border."

"What do you think, sir?" Goose went to the deuce-and-a-half and helped load an unconscious woman
who had suffered an abdominal wound. They had gotten the bleeding stopped and enough plasma into
her to maintain blood pressure, and she was still breathing. But she'd lapsed into unconsciousness, and
Goose didn't like the look of her. He was afraid that the woman had slipped into a coma.

Billsent the next two men out on patrol.

 On the other side of the makeshift gurney made from slashed tent canvas,DanielleVinchenzo talked on a
cell phone, evidently turning in a story. Like Goose and his men, she wore a piece of cloth tied over her
lower face to keep out the worst of the sand. Because of that, her voice was muffled as she talked to her
network. The phone lines had come back up with the mil-sat network. When she saw Goose andBill ,
she nodded a quick thank-you at them. Goose's men aboard the deuce-and-a-half helped to pull the
wounded woman aboard.

"I believe we can hold them,"Remington answered. "But the cost is going to be high. We're losing men
out there by the minute, Goose. My men."

 "Yes, sir." A bleak coldness touched an unreachable spot between Goose's shoulder blades at the
thought of all those men falling be-neath enemy weapons. So many of them were young, hardly more than
boys. Not much older thanJoey.

 Even as he thought that, Goose realized he, too, might not make it back home, might not see his wife and
sons again. Then he steeled himself, knowing he couldn't afford to think like that. As a soldier, he faced
thatrisk every day of his career. He always kept the possibility in perspective. But today, that possibility
was up close and personal once more, and he was reminded that there were no guarantees. The image of
the dead boy passed through his mind. Why did things like this happen? Goose couldn't believe that it
was part of God's plan. Faith in God could never explain the carnage he'd been witness to, today and
through his long military career.

"Have you got any good news for me?" Goose asked his captain.

 "We've got additional backup that the Syrians might not have been counting on,"Remington said "Five
minutes after the first SCUDs were launched, USSWasp was cleared for action.PresidentFitzhugh didn't
hesitate about making the call.Wasp lost communi-cation with us shortly after that, when the SCUDs
took out our pri-mary communications stations, but not with the Pentagon. Air support lifted from the
Wasp's flight deck and is on the way in right now. "

 Goose checked his watch. He'd automatically logged the time of the attack as 0706 hours local time.
TheWasp was nearly two hun-dred miles away. The CH-46E chopper was the slowest of the aircraft
that would be in the reinforcement group. The Sea Knight helo class moved at something less than 170
mph. He did the math quickly.

 "The ETA of those ships is roughly twenty-two minutes,"Remington said, showing that he still knew how
Goose thought and when he thought it. "I confirmed that before I got back to you. Might go ten minutes
earlier or later, depending on whether they run into any trouble with the locals."

 That news heartened Goose somewhat. USSWasp was the lead ship in the seven vessel Amphibious
Readiness Group (ARG). That team was designated as the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit/Special
Operations Capable (MEU/SOC).Wasp was currently stationed on a 180-day float in the
easternMediterranean not far fromCyprus ,Greece .

 The six other ships that supportedWasp carried more men, weap-ons, and materials, including Cobra
helicopter gunships in addition to cargo helos that mainly transported Marine troops. Goose knew about
the sea-based unit because he always made it his business to know as much as he could about anything
that helped or hindered whatever mission he was currently assigned to.

In addition to nearly two thousand Marines and over a thousand sailors,Wasp also transported forty-two
CH-46E Sea Knight helicop-ters and five AV-8B Marine Harrier aircraft. All of them were capable of
making the jump to the Turkish-Syrian border. The aircraft could also be refueled in midair by KC-135
Hercules Stratotankers, so they could remain on constant patrol and provide support.

"How bad is our line, sir?" Goose asked.

"We've taken some big hits along the border. The casualty lists are going to be high." The captain's tone
was somber but confident.

 During his career,CalRemington had seen down-and-dirty action around the globe, and he'd never been
a man to knuckle down before a challenge. More than anything else at the moment, he would be planning
on delivering a counteroffensive that would hurt the Syri-ans as badly as the Turks, Americans, and the
rest of the U.N. peace-keeping effort had been hurt.

Goose heard the captain talking in a low voice to someone else, thenRemington switched his attention
back to Goose. "How much longer is your team going to be needed at that twenty?"

Goose swept the rescue effort with his gaze. All the wounded had been loaded onto the
deuce-and-a-half. There were fewer than he had hoped and more than he had expected. News stations
around the world were going to be in mourning, and international attention would be on the events
shaping up betweenTurkey andSyria .

 Smooth snake tracks that crisscrossed marked the paths the rescu-ers had made through the sand while
using canvas sleds to pull peo-ple too heavily injured to move on their own. Smoke eddied and spun
through the dust haze like pulled taffy, black against the deadly floating gold.

"Not long," Goose answered. "We're loading the survivors now And the dead that we can manage."

"Leave the dead,"Remington said. "They're wasted time, effort, and space. Your wounded are going to
have a hard enough time get-ting out of that area before the next attack launches."

 Goose bristled at the command.Remington 's order came across, as callous, but Goose's inherent
rejection of the plan of action ran deeper than that. As Special Forces, as a Ranger, he was trained and
committed to leaving no one behind-dead or alive.

 "You don't have time for anything more, Goose,"Remington said in a softer voice. He obviously knew
the reservations Goose had about the order. "Sending you there was a mistake. At least, sending you
there was a mistake in retrospect. Who would have guessed the Syrians would have attacked the border
so quickly or without restraint?"

Goose silently agreed. He stared at the corpses littering both sides of the road that cut through the small
heart ofGlitterCity , One of those bodies, he knew, belonged to the boy who had helped his fa-ther serve
meals. They had never found the other boy.

Distancing himself from that image, Goose tried not to look too closely at the bodies that had been too
disfigured to immediately identify. He didn't want to carry those memories with him from the battlefield.
He already knew that the nightmares from today would always be with him. That was one of the prices
he paid for being a warrior in the service of his country.

 Several of the reporters and cameramen walked along the lines of the dead, filming the bodies and
commenting on the attack. Their stories went out live. When the military radio communications had come
back on line, so had several channels for the media. Some of the satellite-equipped vans were still in one
piece and a few of the me-dia people had gotten them operational. The vehicles now pulled double duty
as media relays and ambulances as more wounded and survivors were loaded onto them.

"I need you at the front line, Goose,"Remington went on. "Every minute you spend at that rescue op is a
minute that I don't have you where I need you most."

 Goose sighed and rubbed his jaw. His body ached from the physi-cal demands. "I know, sir." Despite
the conversational toneRemington had adopted, Goose felt more at home keeping the line between
officer and non-com clear and defined. "As soon as we can clear this twenty, we'll be on our way."

 "We're holding our own along the border for the moment,"Remington went on. "We're rerouting the com
frequencies and sat-re-lays to bring all the teams up to speed again. Communications be-tween here and
the Pentagon continue to be hit-and-miss. But those troops hunkered down there know we've got help
on the way fromWasp. I've made sure they know it."

 "The air support and the extra troops are going to be a welcome addition, sir," Goose said. He was
interrupted by an explosion at the far end ofGlitterCity where an overturned sedan burst into flames. "But
those pilots are going to be taking their lives in their hands if they attempt landings near the border. The
Syrians have got plenty of ack-ack guns to knock them down."

 The number of anti-aircraft guns brought into the area over the last few weeks was impressive. Part of
every Ranger's job was recon-naissance, and Goose and his teams had sent plenty of numbers and stats
back for the officers and computers to crunch. Military thinking at the time had been that the AA guns
had been brought in due toWasp's arrival in theMediterranean Sea . No one had seen the addi-tional
guns as an arms buildup before a sudden strike.

 "I'm aware of those gun emplacements, Sergeant,"Remington said. "Those are going to be some of our
first targets as we organize our retaliation. Captain Falkirk, Wasp's commander, has informed me that the
Marines plan on putting in just behind our forward line. They will be relatively secure there, then they'll
hump up to join the Rangers along the front line. The Harriers and the Cobras will try to punch holes
along the Syrians' front perimeter and take out enemy ships invading our airspace. The Syrians have air
force units on the way as well. They've been holding them back."

 The thought of the men he helped command getting pounded by an aerial-based assault falling on the
heels of the SCUD launch filled Goose with dread. The enemy air teams were new. The Syrians had held
the planes and helos in the rear to keep from tipping their hands. And maybe to keep from losing them to
friendly fire. The known unre-liability of the SCUDs always made them a question mark in a battle.

 "They're also moving armored cav into the area, Goose,"Remington said. "Tanks and APCs as well as
field artillery. We've got units in place ourselves, so they're going to wait to see how their air strikes and
the SCUDs do before making that commitment. If our center holds strong along the roads crossing the
border, we'll be able to keep them back."

"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 inGlitterCity ,
"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 pha-lanx 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 fre-quency. "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 ofBill , the result ofBill '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 with-out us? Evidently not," he replied in answer toBill 's jibe.
"Who do you have heading up the civilian effort?"

"A guy namedMurdock . He and his crew have been working con-struction 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
ar-rives. 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?"

Murdockwas 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'mMurdock ." The man extended a hand down.

Goose took the man's hand, and even though he had been pre-pared, he was surprised by the strength
of the construction man's grip. "Good to meet you, sir."

Murdockshook his head. "Don't 'sir' me. I mustered out with ser-geant'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."

 Murdocklooked 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
wavedMurdock 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 toBill only a short distance away.

"Get that man's picture," the reporter said, waving to a camera-man bleeding from one ear and a scalp
wound. The reporter was bloodied but appeared sharp and driven. "He's the commanding offi-cer.

 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'mGeorgeHardesty , 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 car-toons
withChris . 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 fromChris , 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 sug-gest 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 micro-phone. "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-corns 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 be-fore 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 acrossGlitterCity . A wake of
thunder from the big rotors fol-lowed. 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 fromWasp 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 air-craft 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 be-tween them.
 Nearly to the remains of the building at the outermost west end ofGlitterCity , 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 de-stroyed 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 as-sault
rifle into his shoulder.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time12:55 A.M.




"PrivateFletcher!"HelenCordell called down the length of the hos-pital 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!"
Meganheard the vehemence and anger in the man's words. Uncon-sciously, she started to draw up,
preparing to defend herself.

"The MPs are on their way,"Helen warned.

 "Fine,"BoydFletcher roared. "'They'll be here when I bring charges against you and the doctor for
treating my son without my consent."

 Gerrygot out of the bed beforeMegan 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.

 Meganput her hands on the eleven-year-old boy's shoulders, feel-ing the tremors of fear shiver through
him.

 BoydFletchersaw his son immediately. He was a big man, blocky and solid, a handful of inches over six
feet. Short black hair with a pro-nounced 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.

 "PrivateFletcher, 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 stopFletcher .

 From the slightly unsteady wayFletcher 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 onGerry 's shoulders to hold him in place, she stepped in front of
the boy and pushed him behind her.

"PrivateFletcher,"Megan said sternly.

Obscenities littered the hallway as Fletcher kept coming.

 The language didn't botherMegan . 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.

 "PrivateFletcher,"Megan tried again. She keptGerry 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?"

Meganknew 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."

Gerrytore free ofMegan '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!"
 BeforeMegan 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 atBoydFletcher , loosing them like hounds on a fox. Their
footsteps, closing at a drumming double beat, alertedFletcher 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."

 Fletchergrinned 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 this one. You pups had better back off if you know what's good
for you."

Grady andMalone 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."

 Fletchercursed again, then turned and advanced towardMegan andGerry . Grady andMalone launched
themselves at the drunken pri-vate. They tried to restrain him, butFletcher 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 rock-eted through the hallway.

 When he'd shaken free of his would-be captors,Fletcher aimed himself atMegan again. He cursedGerry
and in his diatribe blamed everything wrong in his life on the boy.

 Meganstood her ground, fear rattling inside her like an insane beast. She feltGerry 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 reachMegan , 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 atMegan '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.

Meganstepped 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



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

    Mesmerized by the action on the television screen behind the bar at the heavy metal club,Joey didn't
recognizeJennyMcGrath 's voice at first. The news anchor was saying that the current footage had been
taped, that the live transmissions had been lost, and that the station hoped to re-establish a live
transmission within the next few minutes.

Goose is over there in that!The thought screamed throughJoey 's mind like a banshee wail.

"Joey?"Jenny 's voice took on a plaintive note. "I didn't come here with you to be ignored."

 A television anchor hunkered down behind a wall of sandbags. He held a microphone in one hand and
squinted against the dust and smoke that eddied across the screen. "-what we understand is that there's
been a full-scale assault upon the Turkish army and U.N. peacekeeping forces."

"Do you know what precipitated the attack?" an offscreen anchor-woman asked.

 A tremendous explosion sounded nearby before the reporter could reply. The man in the field dropped
prone and covered his head with both arms. Sand and earthen chunks rained down, pelting the newsman
mercilessly. The cameraman took cover a moment later, dragging the camera behind him. The view from
the field tum-bled along the desert floor. The scene shifted immediately, showing footage of SCUDs
streaking through the sky, then a line of explosions leaping up from the distant horizon.

"Joey,"Jenny called again.

Aggravated with the girl for interrupting him, still smarting over the way she had deserted him to dance
with the band,Joey said, "I'm trying to listen to the television."

Jenny's voice turned cold. "Catching up on the Lakers game?"

 Aware thatJenny wasn't at all happy with him,Joey said, "No. It's a special bulletin. The Syrians just
attackedTurkey ."

 Crossing her arms,Jenny didn't appear mollified by that explana-tion in the least. "So instead of a guy
who's a sports fan, I'm trading up to one who's totally a political science nerd? And what, exactly, is so
fascinating about that?"

 Memory of the wayJenny had danced on stage only moments ago rattled around insideJoey 's skull.
Looking at her, he realized that he wasn't as happy to be out with her as he'd thought he would be when
she first asked him.

"I told you my dad was a soldier,"Joey said, biting back his retort. "He's stationed over inTurkey ." He
pointed at the television. "He's one of the guys over there in the middle of that right now. His unit, the
75th Rangers, was assigned there. He could be hurt right now, or maybe worse." He couldn't bring
himself to say that Goose might have died in the initial assault.

 "Oh." Her features softening somewhat,Jenny glanced at the tele-vision. "There's nothing you can do
about what's going on over there. I mean, whatever's going to happen is going to happen."

Joeylooked at her in disbelief.

 A frown creasedJenny 's forehead and lips. "Don't give me that look. I work five nights a week at Kettle
0' Fish, which is a dead-end job no matter how much you seem to like it. Do the math. I work five nights.
That leaves two nights off. On those nights, I like to dance." She paused. "This is one of those nights,Joey
, and we're not exactly dancing here."

Overwhelmed in the face of such an uncaring attitude,Joey didn't know what to say.

"Besides,"Jenny said, "I thought you said your dad was inCali-fornia ."

 TonyHolderhad lived inCalifornia for the last half dozen years. He had been a small-time filmmaker
inL.A. since divorcingJoey 's Mom and leavingColumbus .

"It's Goose,"Joey said. "My stepdad."

 Jennyfrowned again and shrugged. "So what? You said yourself that the guy hardly has any time for you
these days. Why should you worry about him?"

 Because I care about what happens to him,Joeythought immedi-ately, but he didn't say it.Maybe he's
forgotten about me, but I still don't want anything to happen to him. Mom would go crazy. And
Chriswould lose his father.Joey knew all about that and didn't want his little brother to experience
something as bad as that. He glanced back at the television screen and took his cell phone from his
pocket.

 When he'd left the family house that evening, he'd turned the de-vice off, knowing his mom would call to
check on him after he stayed out past his curfew. He intended to tell his mom that he had forgotten to
charge the phone and had left the power cord adapter for his car's cigarette lighter on his desk. The car
was his mom's, so his stuff wasn't always in the vehicle. It was a fib he'd used in the past, and taking the
battery out and discharging the power before he arrived home was no problem.

"Joey,"Jenny said.

 Ignoring her,Joey watched the television, noticing thatLeonard and Ace were both keeping track of the
conversation between him andJenny . Punching in his number,Joey quickly cycled through the menu
options and opened his mailbox.

There were two messages, both of them from his mom. The caller ID indicated that five other messages
had been missed between the first and last message. The first three had been from theGander home
phone number. The last four had been from his mom's cell phone.

 "Joey,"his mom said calmly, "you're out past your curfew. You are going to be so grounded when you
get back home."

In a way, his mom's promise of punishment was reassuring. If she was only thinking of grounding him,
then things couldn't be that bad. But the call had been logged in before the time when the news channel
said the hostilities had started.

"Are you listening to me?"Jenny demanded.

 "Give me a minute,"Joey said, looking at the television. The news footage cycled through again. Evidently
the reporters had been caught pretty much flat-footed and hadn't been able to send much in the way of
footage before the communications lines had been cut. He punched up the second message.

 "Joey," his mom said. Her voice sounded tight and controlled, the way it did some days when things got
really hectic at the counseling center. "I don't know where you are, and I don't know what you might
have seen on the television. All I can tell you is that I haven't re-ceived any information about Goose."

 Some of the tightness insideJoey 's chest relaxed.Thank You, God. The sentiment flooded through him,
but at the same time he felt like a hypocrite, one of those people who reached for God in times of need
but never simply gave thanks to Him all along the way. But there hadn't been a lot to be thankful for
lately, had there?

 "I know Goose's unit was involved in the action along the border," his mom went on. "I've been called in
to the base hospital. An emer-gency has come up regarding one of my patients."

 That,Joey knew, wasn't a good thing. The last time his mom had gotten called in to the base hospital had
been when one of the teens she was counseling had tried to commit suicide. Even as he thought that, he
rememberedChris .

 "I had to dropChris off at the emergency child-care center," his mom said. "I don't know how long I'll be
at the hospital. If you get this message, please go by and pickChris up. He wasn't happy about being left
there." There was a pause. "I'm really ticked at you for not being here and for causing me extra
worry,Joey , but I want you to know I love you. Get home and we'll get this sorted out."

 The message clicked off. Before the automated message could prompt him to replay, delete, or save the
message,Joey punched the asterisk to end the session. He dialed his mom's cell phone number but got
only her message box. Fear crept through him, swamping him with thoughts of what might have happened
to his mom or Goose orChris . He was worried to the point that getting yelled at for blowing off his
curfew actually sounded good to him.

"Joey."Jenny sounded totally miffed.

Looking at her,Joey said, "I gotta go."

"What?" she asked sarcastically. "Did you hear your mom call-ing?"

"As a matter of fact,"Joey said, "I did. There's been an emergency. I brought you here. I can drop you
back by your house. Or do you think you can find a way home from here? I'll pay for a cab."

"You're leaving me here?" A look of disbelief covered her beauti-ful face.

"I'm trying not to."

"Do you care?"
 "Actually,"Joey said, "I do. Goose-my step-dad-taught me that you don't just ditch someone you
brought with you. And I don't want to just leave things like this between us. I want to see you again. If
that's okay."And, boy, doesn't that sound lame. But the thought didn't linger in his mind. He was
thinking totally of his family.

Jennystayed silent for a moment. "I can find a way home."

 Her answer slashed throughJoey 's knotted guts. His anger coiled inside him, and he wanted to stand
there and argue with her, to tell her how much her actions had hurt him. But he thought ofChris in the
child-care center with some stranger, and he knew how wigged out his mom would be with Goose in the
thick of things over inTurkey .

 "Fine."Joey shelved his anger and hurt for the moment. Sorting them out with all the confusion spinning
through his head at the same time was almost impossible. That was another thing Goose had helped him
work on when he was just a kid. He'd been confused over his dad's abandonment and his mother's
remarriage. As a result, some of his anger had been targeted at Goose, who had taken every-thing in
stride. They had worked through most of that one step at a time-untilChris had been born.

Chris.

Joeyturned and walked away.

   “Hey, man,”Leonard said solemnly, dropping a hand onJoey ’s shoulder for a moment. "Hope
everything turns out okay with your dad."

"Me, too,"Joey said. "Thanks." He kept moving.

"Hey,Joey ,"Jenny called from behind him.

He stopped and watched as she ran to join him. "What?" he asked. "Want company?"

 "You?"Joey couldn't figure her out. She had been so hard on him, then this. Her behavior didn't make
sense.

"Yeah."

 “Why?"

She shrugged. "Because you're a friend. And I think maybe you could use a friend for a little while."

 A friend.That was one of the last thingsJoey wanted to be withJennyMcGrath . He almost groaned in
frustration.

"Look,"Jenny said. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry for the things that I said. I'm not always a nice
person."

 "No," he agreed, and part of him wanted to be a little mean about accepting her offer. However, he
regretted his response immediately. She sighed. "It's a twenty-minute drive back to the base. Your dad is
obviously involved in something really bad, wherever he is." "Turkey."

"Whatever. And I don't know what your mom had to say-"
"There's been an emergency. My little brother got dumped in the child-care center on base because I
wasn't home."Like I should have been. "Chrislikes to be in his own bed at night. Mom said he wasn't
happy about being left there, and if he wakes up there, he's going to freak."

"Then let's go get him,"Jenny said, takingJoey by the arm.Joey didn't move.

She looked at him, locking eyes. "It's a twenty-minute drive,Joey . You're upset. At least, I'd be upset in
your shoes. You don't need to be alone. And the fact that you wanted to make sure I was going to be
okay if you left me here was kind of cool." She shrugged. "Let me re-turn the favor by riding along with
you. I take care of my friends, too. When I get over being temporarily self-involved."

 Joeymelted at her hesitant smile, and he got a peek behind the usual confident and distant
airJennyMcGrath broadcast to everyone. He got the feeling she was actually afraid he was going to turn
her down. But thinking about that twenty-minute drive back toFortBenning , he knew he'd be a basket
case by the time he arrived if he was alone.

"All right," he said.

Over her left shoulder, the television at the bar changed its pro-gramming with no warning. The words
LIVE BROADCAST-GLIT-TER CITY, TURKEY started streaming across the bottom of the screen.

 Even across the distance,Joey recognized Goose's haggard fea-tures. Goose wore a kerchief over his
lower face, but the scar by his right eyebrow that curved down toward his hidden cheekbone marked
him immediately.Sand coated his face and gear. A helicopter flew through the air in the distance behind
him.

 Goose was obviously short of patience with the reporter talking to him. The camera shot only showed
his head and shoulders, butJoey could identify the emotion by his stepdad's stance. Then Goose turned
away from the camera, one hand going to the headset. The he-licopter exploded.

 Stunned, not believing what he was seeing,Joey 's breath stopped dead and tight in his lungs and his
mouth turned dry as chalk. On the screen, Goose advanced toward the ridge where the flaming
frag-ments of the helicopter had fallen. In the next instant, a jeep sailed over the ridge and landed on the
desert floor. The vehicle swung dan-gerously close to the burned-out husk of a building as the driver
over-corrected. The gunner on the rear deck swung his weapon in Goose's direction and started firing.

 Joeywatched as Goose reversed directions and took cover behind the broken, smoke-wreathed
fragment of a wall. Bullets threw up sprays of sand and chewed pockmarks in the stone. Then the
camera view changed as the jeep gunner's next sweep of deadly fire caught the cameraman and punched
him backward.

A sheen of bright crimson blood covered the camera lens before everything went black.
Turkey

30 KIicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0755 Hours

 As Goose centered the M-4A1’s sights over the Syrian gunner on the Jeep's rear deck and squeezed
the trigger, he watched in helpless frus-tration as the machine gun swiveled in the reporter and
cameraman's direction. Hardesty threw himself flat, but the cameraman never had a chance.

 A fusillade of bullets slapped into the cameraman, shredded the camera, and dropped a bloody corpse
to the hot, smoke-stained ground already strewn with debris.

 Taking aim, Goose slipped his finger over the M-4A1's trigger, took up slack, and pulled through. The
assault rifle bucked against his shoulder. He fired two more three-round bursts, unsure of which one
raked the machine gunner from the rear deck. A body tumbled from the vehicle and fell in a limp-limbed
sprawl to the ground.

 Noticing that there had been a casualty, the Syrian soldier driving the Jeep took immediate evasive
action.

 No mercy existed in Goose's heart. He thought of all the unsus-pecting people who had been killed in
the brutal attack only mo-ments ago. When he had to take the lives of people killing innocents, he figured
he was on the side of the angels. He fired again, putting his next rounds into the driver, watching as the
man slumped over the steering wheel.

Out of control, the Jeep weaved and drove into the flaming hulk of a building. As high as the flames
were, Goose knew the third man in the Jeep wasn't going to make an escape from the building.

   Hardesty, the news reporter, lay on the ground and raised his headonly briefly to look at the dead
cameraman. Then he began shouting for help.

"Three," Goose shouted hoarsely, not knowing if the headset con-nection was still intact. "This is
Leader."

"Three reads you, Leader,"BobbyTanaka radioed back.

"Take the high ground, Three. You're our cover."

 "Affirmative, Leader. Three has the high ground." As the squad sniper,Tanaka could provide covering
fire.
Goose watched as the other two jeeps roared intoGlitterCity . "Four," he said.

"Four reads you, Leader,"DeanHardin replied.

"Get one of the RSOVs up and running, Four," Goose ordered. "If any crew from that 60 survived, I
want to know. Eight and Ten, you're with Four."

"Acknowledged, Leader," Hardin said. "Gonna be tough getting through to them."

 "We'll give them something else to worry about." Goose's mind raced. From years of training and
self-discipline, he knew where every man in his unit was. A shaky plan came together between
heartbeats.

 The two jeeps reached the other end of the town and came back around. The machine gunners raked
the hillside where Phoenix Team was hunkered down, letting the Rangers know they had the range and
the firepower to get the job done.

 "Two." Goose rose, sucking his breath in to charge his lungs with oxygen. Adrenaline fired through him,
temporarily erasing all fatigue and fear.

"Two copies,"Bill said.

"You've got the 203," Goose said. The M-203 fired fin-stabilized 40mm grenades with a variety of
purposes.

"Affirmative."

"If I give you a target, can you hit it?"

"Leader, don't-"

 Taking his M-4AI firmly in both hands after swapping out maga-zines, Goose sucked in another breath,
then pushed it all out. "Load up with an HE round. No fragmentation. Let's cut the risk of friendly fire."

"Goose,"Bill protested. "This isn't-"

 The two jeeps rumbled closer. The lead jeep headed for Goose's po-sition, obviously confident of
engaging him.

"I've got no choice, Two," Goose said. "They're on top of me. You're in an exposed position. One of us
has to be at risk, and if you're taken down, we lose the 203's punch."

 "Now."Goose broke cover in a rush, running toward the opposite side of the street. He drummed his
combat boots hard against the sand, knowing that if he were back on base, in sneakers or in baseball
cleats, he could make better time. Combat boots were prized by soldiers for endurance and protection,
not for being fleet.

 The machine gunner of the lead vehicle opened fire at once. A bru-tal line of 7.62mm bullets cracked the
wall where Goose had been hid-ing, then chopped through the sand after him as the Syrian soldier
compensated for his motion.
 The rattle of machine gun fire filled Goose's head. He knew the Syr-ian soldier almost had him in his
sights, felt certain he heard the harsh whisper of the steel-jacketed rounds cutting the air just behind him.
His heart slammed against his rib cage like an enraged beast seeking escape. He thought ofMegan
andJoey andChris , and he thought about God andJesus , the way his father had talked of them in the
Sunday school lasses he'd taught back inWaycross when Goose was growing up.

The Lord is my shepherd,Goose thought.I shall not--

 In the next instant,Bill 's aim with his M-203 proved dead on target. The 40mm HE grenade slammed
into the front of the Syrian Jeep. Hammered by the high-explosive grenade, the jeep's hood buckled and
the three Syrian soldiers seated in the vehicle blew out into the road. One of the jeep's tires exploded,
turning into a whirlwind of shredded rubber. Continuing to roll, the vehicle turned hard to the right and
crashed into a pile of debris.

"Two is down!"Tanaka yelled. "Repeat, Two is hit!"

 Only then realizing that the remaining Jeep's machine gunner had been firing at the Rangers staggered
along the hillside and thatBill must have taken a round while he'd exposed himself to fire the grenade
launcher, Goose saw that he'd exhausted his own options.

A line of 7.62mm rounds chopped into the sand before him, cut-ting off further escape.

 Goose spun, digging his boots in, turning sideways to present his left profile and-God willing-a smaller
target. He brought the M-4A1 up, aiming by instinct and years of training rather than seeking the sights.
The instant he stroked the trigger, he knew he'd missed. He didn't get another chance.

A pair of 7.62mm rounds thudded into his chest and stomach, driving him down and backward.

"Leader is down!"Tanaka yelled. His voice came loud and rushed over the headset.

At the same time, the sniper's voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away to Goose. He
was dimly aware of crashing into the sand, but he hung on to his assault rifle. He'd been shot be-fore.
He'd been knifed and blown up. He knew he had no time for panic. Even temporary panic killed good
Rangers dead.

 Less than forty feet away now, the remaining Syrian Jeep drove straight for Goose. The driver obviously
intended to run him over, fin-ishing what the machine gunner's rounds might have only started. Thankfully,
but only just, the driver's impulsive action also kept the rear deck machine gunner from firing another
burst into Goose.

 Unable to breathe, not certain if the bullets had penetrated flesh or had been stopped by his body armor,
Goose pushed past the pain and forced himself to move. His whole chest felt numb. He threw his right leg
left and rolled a full 360 degrees.

"Goose!"Tanaka called. "Goose!"

Do your job, Ranger,Goose thought.

 Sandcovered his face as he came over on his back with the Jeep over him, its undercarriage only inches
above his face. The clearance was about the same as the Ranger four-wheel-drive vehicles had. He felt
the heat of the Jeep's exhaust against his left cheek for a second, then bright sunlight stabbed into his eyes
as it passed him by.

Knowing the machine gunner would probably turn to pick him off, that he would never get to his feet
before the man could kill him, Goose threw his left hand up and caught the Jeep's rear bumper. He curled
his fingers around the bumper's edge, hoped the edge wouldn't cut into his flesh too badly, and grunted in
pain as his arm nearly jumped from his shoulder socket.

He trailed behind the Jeep, too close for the machine gunner on the rear deck to tilt his weapon down.
Dragged by the Jeep across the rough landscape at thirty miles an hour or more, Goose skidded and
went air-borne like a sled hitting fresh powder, skipping the uneven terrain.

 The Syrian soldier manning the machine gun peered over the back. A surprised look creased his
features.

Holding on to the M-4A1, Goose lifted the assault rifle and squeezed the trigger at pointblank range.
The 5.56mm round punched into the soldier's face and tore him from the rear deck.

The corpse thudded into the sand and didn't move.

 Battered and bruised by the rough ride across the sand, his lungs still feeling like they were bound by
constricting iron bands, Goose re-leased his hold on the Jeep. He slid to a stop in the sand.Billwas hit.
The memory whipped through his mind even as his strained shoulder screamed at him. He put his left
hand out and rolled to his feet. His shoulder felt weak, like it was made of broken glass.

"Leader's up!" Cusack yelped excitedly. "Tanaka!"

"I've got him,"Tanaka replied in a quiet, controlled voice.

 Pushing himself, focusing on the battle at hand with the profes-sionalism he'd developed after seventeen
years in the military, Goose brought the assault rifle to his shoulder. He dropped the sights over the
driver's chest. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Syrian soldier in the passenger seat point his AK-47
at Goose. Before he had a chance to fire, the Syrian soldier pitched forward and Goose knew
thatTanaka had found his target.

 Goose fired a series of three-round bursts. Bullets chopped into the Jeep's grill, then across the hood,
and smashed into the driver just above the steering wheel. The dead man's foot slipped from the
accel-erator and clutch. A moment later, the Jeep stuttered to a halt.

 Head spinning, lungs aching, Goose swayed. For a moment, he thought he was going to fall. Abruptly,
the iron bars constricting his lungs dropped away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then coughed and
almost threw up. Flames coursed across his chest. No blood showed on his chest. Intact. He'd been
pounded, but the bullets hadn't penetrated. He said a silent prayer of thanks.

 Keeping his assault rifle up at the ready, slightly canted down so he could sweep the weapon up, Goose
advanced. He sucked in another breath, feeling as though his chest were busted up inside but not feel-ing
any grating of bone that would have indicated shattered or splint-ered ribs that could pierce his internal
organs and compromise his breathing. His lungs appeared to be intact.

"Two," Goose called as he closed on the stalled Jeep. Neither of the Syrian soldiers moved. "Two, do
you copy?"
 One of the RSOVs raced up the hillside. Evidently Hardin and the two men with him had managed to get
the combat vehicle and were rolling to check on the downed helicopter.

 "Two copies, Leader,"Bill replied. The weakness in his voice of-fered proof that not all was well with
him.

 "What's your status, Two?" Goose grabbed the driver by the shirtfront and dragged the man from the
Jeep's seat. The corpse dropped to the sand. "Confirmed kill."

"I'm hurt,"Bill replied. "But I'm still standing."

Goose pulled the man from the passenger seat and dumped his body to the ground. "Confirmed kill.
How bad is it, Two?"

"Patchwork, Leader. Leg shot. Bullet went through and through."

 "Do you need assistance?" As Goose walked back toward the hill-side, he checked on the three-man
crew from the second Jeep. The HE round had blown them in a semicircle from the point of impact.

"I need a medkit,"Bill replied. "Having a tough time getting the bleeding stopped."

"I'm on it, Leader," Cusack offered. "I've got a medkit."

"Take care of it, Six," Goose acknowledged.

"Leader, this is Base."CaptainRemington 's voice.

"Clear my channel, Base," Goose ordered. "I'm in the middle of a busted op and you can't help me."

Remingtontook no offense. "Affirmative, Leader. I'll be stand-ing by."

"Understood, sir." Goose approached Hardesty, who still lay on the ground. "Getup."

 Hardesty got up uncertainly. He stared at the dead cameraman. The man was so young to be so dead
that the fact was offensive to Goose.

"Four," Goose said, reminding himself that other young men were selflessly giving their lives along the
border even then. The artillery fire continued without cease. "What's the sit-rep at your twenty?"

 "Leapfrog is officially scratched, Leader," Hardin replied. "I've got five survivors from a sixteen-man
crew aboard the 60."

"Foursurvivors," Evaristo said in open disgust.

"One of the survivors is a chaplain," Hardin said. "All of these guys are banged up, Leader. Gonna be
more of a detriment to the cause than any kind of help."

Artillery fire rolled to the south, crossing over Goose in a wave of echoes.

"Get them squared away," Goose ordered. "We're leaving in two minutes."
United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time 1:10 A.M.



 Heart thudding,Megan ran out into the base hospital parking lot. Only a dozen or so cars occupied the
striped slots. She stopped in the center of the lot and spun around, looking forGerryFletcher .

 FortBenningkept security lights on all through the night where they were needed, so the area around the
hospital was relatively lighted. Lamps illuminated high traffic areas, but the residential areasremained dark
except for lights along footpaths between the buildings. The military base was a safe area, a place where
married couple and families with children could live in peace.

But tonight those safe places harbored shadows where a scare eleven-year-old boy could easily hide.

"Megan."

Turning,Megan spottedHelenCordell standing in the open emergency door. The bleats of the alarm
blasted out into the parking lot.

"Have you foundGerry ?"Helen asked.

"No."Megan tried to push away the frustration she felt. "I didn’t know he was running till he was already
gone."

"Neither did I."Helen gazed around the parking lot. "He can’t have gone far."

"I know. I just don't know where he could have gone."

"Do you know his mother's number?"

 "Yes." In that moment,Megan felt foolish. It was her job to keep together, to know and to be ready to
act one step ahead of anything the kids in her care could come up with.Gerry had been terrified of his
dad. That much was evident. But she was good at her job. Maybe she wasn't thinking at her best tonight,
but she was prepared. "I've gotTonya 's phone number in my cell phone memory."

"Check there,"Helen suggested. "As scared as that kid is, the first place he'd probably go is home."

 Especially if he knows his father isn't there,Megansilently added "What aboutBoydFletcher ?" It was
important when she talked toGerry that she be able to honestly tell him what had become of his father.
TellingGerry what was going to happen to him next, that he would probably be removed from his home
and placed in foster car was going to be hard.Megan had been forced to do that before, and those
situations had never gone well.
 "He's going to the hoosegow for the night,"Helen said. "Resisting arrest is going to guarantee that. Then
I'll be adding new charges in the morning."

Megantook her cell phone from her pocket. "I'm going to keep looking out here. And I'll callTonya ."

 Helennodded. "I've got to shut this alarm off and call it in to base security as a false alarm before I have
a platoon of young men waiting to be the nextBruceWillis arrive here. I'll pass the word along to the
MPs. They can help look forGerry .”

"Thanks,Helen ."Megan was grateful for the assistance and the positive attitude that the other woman
brought to the situation. WithHelen around, nothing seemed impossible.

 Helenclosed the door and took away the yellow rectangle of light that spilled out onto the parking lot
from the hospital's emer-gency exit. Under the mercury vapor lights that illuminated the parking lot, the
landscape and the cars appeared in grays and blacks, as lifeless and alien as the moon.

 Meganpressed the cell phone's keypad. The screen flashed on, ghastly green-gray. She'd missed three
calls. While she'd been talk-ing toGerry , she'd muted the ringer out of habit. She mentally ha-rangued
herself. She was out of the house, Goose was in danger,Joey was God-only-knew-where, andChris was
in child care. What had she been thinking?

 But she knew what she'd been thinking about:GerryFletcher sit-ting in the hospital emergency room.
That was one of the aspects about her life that got really confusing: how could she be a mom and a wife
and a counselor and expect to do a good job at any of those?

During one of the infrequent sessions withBill when he'd been visiting, she'd talked about trying to
balance her life.Bill , relying on his faith, of course, had said that all works God intended for a per-son to
perform would be given balance. The key was to trust in His guidance in all things at all times. That was
hard to do because she cared so much about her man, her sons, and the kids entrusted to her care.

With a little guilt, she realized that she hadn't even considered the time needed to be spent being a good
Christian.

She stared at the cell phone screen whereJoey 's number stood out in sharp relief. So what was it to be:
mother or counselor?

 Joey,she decided, and felt a twinge of guilt. With so many things out of her control, she needed to know
that her son was all right. She would be able to focus more onGerry when she found him.

The phone rang once beforeJoey answered.

"Mom?"

"Joey, are you all right?"Megan walked toward the far end of the parking lot. Three young men sat in a
dark blue muscle car she felt certain Goose would have identified in an instant.

"I'm fine, Mom."

Thank You, God.

"Mom,"Joey said, "I'm sorry I missed curfew."
 Remembering how Gerry was afraid of his father, knowing that she had neverhad-would never have-a
relationship like that with either of her sons, Megan kept calm, reminding herself how thank-ful she was
that Joey was okay.

"We'll talk about that later,"Megan said. "I'm just glad you're all right. "

"I know."

Meganheard traffic over the phone connection. "Where are you?"

"Just a few minutes from the base,"Joey said. "I'm on my way to pick upChris ."

"Thank you,Joey . I appreciate that a lot."

He was silent for a moment. "I'm sorry that I wasn't there for him."

"You can be there for him now," she said. "That's the important thing. I don't know when I'm going to be
home, and I really didn't want him waking up in a child-care facility."

"I got it covered, Mom." Some of the hesitation and guilt faded fromJoey 's voice.

 Meganknew that was because he was in his element as oldest child. He had a task and a responsibility.
"Thank you,Joey ." She stared at the muscle car where the three young men talked. From their haircuts,
she deduced that they were soldiers.

"Have you heard anything about Goose?"Joey asked.

 Meganhad to halt herself from automatically correcting her son and telling him to refer to Goose as his
dad. For a while, beforeChris had been born,Joey had started calling Goose "Dad," but that had gone
away within weeks afterChris 's birth.

"I haven't heard anything,"Megan replied.

Joeywas silent for a moment.

"Honey,"Megan said, "I've really got to go. This is an emergency situation. I'll tell you about it in the
morning. After tonight is over, I think I'd like to talk to someone about this."

"All right, Mom,"Joey said. "You know I'm there for you."

 Both of them,Megan was certain, felt uncomfortable with that customary response after the missed
curfew tonight. "I love you,Joey ."

 "I know, Mom." He hesitated just long enough for her to know that he wasn't alone. "I love you, too. I'll
see you whenever you get home. If I'm not there by the time you need to get to school-"

"I'll get The Squirt off and get myself to school,"Joey said. "Promise."

"You still have lunch money?"
 "Yes, Mom." The exasperated tone in his voice told her that she'd just stepped into one of those
child/adult potholes that made the jour-neythrough the teen years so rocky for the parents and children.

Megancurbed her own response. Pointing out thatJoey hadn't been adult enough to hit his curfew would
have done no good and only destroyed the good rapport they'd had up till that moment. Until they could
both be adults in the relationship, she had to be the one.

 "I'll try to be home as soon as I can," she said. "I'll call in the morn-ing if I can't be there. SoChris can
talk to me."

"Okay, Mom."

Megansaid good-bye and broke the connection. She halted in the parking lot and flipped through her
phone book index, stopping onBoyd andTonyaFletcher 's phone number. She punched theTalk button.

 Six rings later, the phone was answered. The clanks and clunks that carried over the connection
toldMegan that the person who answered the phone was having a hard time.

"Hello,"Tonya croaked in a sleep-filled voice.

 "Tonya,"Megan said, "this isMeganGander ." She paused to let the young woman take the information in.
Even at her best,Tonya seemed a step behind the rest of the world. She had her hopes and dreams, but
she didn't quite seem in touch with all the realities of her life.

"Come on,Mrs.Gander ,"Tonya protested. "Do you know what time it is?"

"Yes,"Megan assured her. "There's been a problem,Tonya ."

"What kind of problem?" Worry and anxiety filledTonya 's voice.

 Meganheard the creak of the bed. She knew the younger woman was probably sitting up and only then
learning that her husband wasn't there. The time was early for some of the bars and the after--hours clubs
that remained open illegally.

"Can you tell me ifGerry is there?"Megan asked. "He's in his bedroom,"Tonya said.

"Are you sure?"

"I put him to bed,Mrs.Gander . I should know where my own kid is."

Yes,Megansilently agreed,you should. Instead, she said, "Gerrywas

at the base hospital just a short time ago,Tonya ."

"No way."Tonya sounded angry and confused at the same time.

"He's in his bed."

Meganlistened to the change in the phone's pitch, knowing thatTonyaFletcher was walking through the
house. She waited patiently, hoping that the woman was going to tell her thatGerry had returned home. If
he had,Megan was content to let things at the Fletcher home gel for the moment and concentrate on
gettingBoydFletcher blocked from being around his son without proper supervision.

A moment later,Tonya 's voice took on a note of hysteria. "He's not here,Mrs.Gander .He's not here.
His bed is empty. Where did you say he was?"

 "He was here at the base hospital,"Megan replied as calmly as she could. IfGerry hadn't run home,
where had he gone? He didn't have good friends at school, there were no other families or kids thatGerry
talked about.BoydFletcher hadn't let his son get close to anyone else. Except for the base-assigned youth
counselor who wasn't quite able to do her job well enough to save him.

"Where isGerry now?"Tonya demanded.

"I don't know,Tonya ,"Megan admitted. "But we're going to find him."

"How could you lose my baby?"Tonya was sobbing now, the draining noise broken intermittently by
hiccups.

 "We didn't lose him,"Megan said patiently. "He checked himself in for emergency care. He was treated,
and he's fine. A couple bumps and bruises."

 "He fell,"Tonya said quickly. "He fell again. You know how clumsy he is,Mrs.Gander . He's always
falling."

"We'll talk about that later."

"I've got to get off the phone,"Tonya said. "I've got to callBoyd ."

 "Boyd's here,"Megan said. She was conscious of the attention she was getting from the three young men
in the muscle car.

 One of them got out of the vehicle. The slim young black man wore gray sweat pants and a red muscle
shirt that showed off tattoos on his deltoids.Megan couldn't be sure because of the uncertain light, but the
tattoos looked like West Coast gang symbols, dark blue ink barely standing out against the ebony.

"Boyd's there?"Tonya 's tone indicated that made no sense to her. "What is he doing there?"

"He came looking forGerry ."

"He knewGerry was in the hospital?"

 "I don't know how he knewGerry was here,"Megan replied. She filed the question away because it was
a good one, and one that she wanted the answer to herself. "Boydassaulted two of the security men at
the hospital. He's been arrested."

"That ... that'scrazy!"

 "Tonya,"Megan said. "I need you to listen to me." She spoke like she was talking to a child, like she was
explaining toChris why he couldn't watch some of the violent cartoons on the networks. "Can you listen
to me,Tonya ?"

"Sure. Sure, I guess. Did you haveBoyd arrested?"
"No,"Megan answered.

"Because you don't know what he can be like when he gets upset."

Meganthought about the damage she'd seen done toGerry , howBoydFletcher had fought the two young
Rangers. She figured she could guess howBoydFletcher was. "You don't have to worry about your
husband for a while,Tonya . He's been taken to lockup. I'm go-ing to need to talk to you."

"About what?"

"About what happened toGerry tonight."

"Nothing happened toGerry . He fell. I told you he fell."

"Then why didn't you bring him to the hospital?"

"He wasn't hurt bad."

 "He came to the hospital,"Megan pointed out.God, please help me here. Thank You for letting me
know Joey isokay, but there's still Goose out there, andGerryis lost. Please help me deal with this
the right way.

 "He was just overreacting,"Tonya said defensively. "He knows how you like to baby him. He's probably
just acting out to get your attention."

 "Then he beat himself up severely to get my attention."Megan didn't mean to drop that on the woman,
but she was beyond self-re-straint and control. Where would an eleven-year-old boy run after seeing his
father, the man-no, thething-he most feared in the world, get hauled down by two Rangers?Gerry was
still at a young age. He wouldn't believe that the two Rangers would be able to stop his father. He'd
believe thatBoydFletcher was like one of the mon-sters in the teen movies, the ones that just will not
stop, cannot be killed. That was the kind of thingGerry believed he was dealing with.

"No,"Tonya said in a choked voice. "That's not true."

 Megantook a deep breath. "I know it's not true,Tonya . I know what happened toGerry . Now I need
to know where he is."

"I don't know,Mrs.Gander . I really don't know."Tonya started sobbing again. "Help me. I don't know
what to do."

 "It's okay."Megan hated the guilt that she felt. While dealing withGerry and his problems, it was easy to
lose sight of the fact that there were two victims in the Fletcher household. "I'll tell you what you can
do,Tonya ."

"What?"

"Check the house,"Megan instructed. "MaybeGerry came back but he's not in his room. Maybe he's
hiding there somewhere. Some secret place he has. Check outside the house. With everything that
happened here tonight, he might be too scared to come in."
"He wouldn't be afraid of coming into his own house."

"He was pretty scared tonight,Tonya . I don't know for sure, but I thinkBoyd had been drinking."

"Maybe I should come down there and try to bailBoyd out."

"After what he did tonight,"Megan said, "they're not going to let him out for a while. Trust me. You'll do
more good there."

"Okay."Tonya sounded completely defeated.

 "If you findGerry ,"Megan told her, "call me immediately." She waited tillTonya found a pen and paper,
then gave her the cell phone number. "If I findGerry first, I'll call you." She punched the cell phone's End
button.

The young black man stood nearby, giving the easy appearance of waiting patiently.

Meganlooked at him, then turned and started to walk back to the hospital building.

"Ma'am," the young man called.

 Calmly,Megan turned, punching 911 into the phone and slip-ping her thumb over the Talk button. If
things went badly, she was a thumb twitch away from immediate help-theoretically. "Yes."

 The young man crossed his arms over his chest and made no at-tempt to come closer. "I don't mean to
alarm you, ma'am. Got a good friend inside about to have his first baby. I'mPrivateTrevorNewman . I'm
with the 75th."

"Private,"Megan said, "my husband is Sergeant Gander."

 "Yes, ma'am. That's what I thought. I know Goose. I shoot hoops with him andJoey now and again at
the gym. I've seen you there a couple times. You and your baby."

Those times hadn't been very often of late. "How can I help you, Private?"

 "Actually, I thought it might be me was able to help you, ma'am. Didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I
couldn't help hearing you talk about a little boy you're looking for."

"Do you know where he went?"

"Yes, ma'am. I believe so."Newman nodded toward the nearest on-base apartment complex. "He went
up there."

 Meganlooked at the squat, four-story building. Several of the lights were still on in the apartments. She
guessed that several of the military guys still on base were watching the Lakers game asGerry had been
trying to do or were screening movies.

"He went to one of those apartments?"Megan asked. She sorted through the names of the peopleGerry
had mentioned but knew of none of them that were in the immediate area.

"No, ma'am,"Newman said. "I mean, he went up there. There's fire escapes on that building, ma'am.
That boy hauled himself up one of them to the rooftop."

 Meganstared at the building. For the life of her, she couldn't imagine whyGerry would do such a thing.
"Are you certain?" she asked the young private.

 "Yes, ma'am. I do a lot of recon work for my unit. I see what I see, and I'm telling you what I
saw."Newman turned. "Hey,Pete ."

"Yeah." A slim Hispanic man stepped away from the muscle car. "Use that spotlight on your jeep, bro.
Light up the roof of the res building over there."Newman pointed.

"You're going to make a lot of people very unhappy,"Pete warned, but he crossed to the Jeep Wrangler
decked out for off-road driving that occupied the slot next to the muscle car.

 "Gotta check something out,"Newman said. "Mrs.Ganderhere is looking for a kid. I saw him go up on
that building."

"I didn't see anything, man."

"That's why they got you lugging that M-60, grunt,"Newman re-plied with a grin, "and why I run point or
wing."

"Anybody comes to me with a beef over the light,"Pete promised, "I'm sending them to you." He flipped
on the spotlight.

 Meganshielded hereyes, blinking against the sudden pain, then followed the white tunnel the beam cut
through the night. At first, she believed the young soldiers were only earning themselves a world of
trouble that would lead to a severe dressing-down by the base com-mander, maybe a few visits from
other Rangers, and possibly even de-merits entered in their files.

 Then her doubts disappeared, becoming an arctic cold spear that pierced her heart when she
sawGerryFletcher standing at the edge of the building's roof four stories above the ground.




Turkey

30 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0759 Hours
 The explosions that had ripped the UH-60 Black Hawk helicopter from the sky had scattered the
machine over two hundred yards of desert sand. Flames still clung to some of the bigger pieces, and
turgid black smoke curled up from them.

 Goose was amazed that anyone had survived the destruction and the tumble from the sky, let alone four
of the crew. He stood in the passenger seat of the other RSOV asTanaka parked the vehicle fifty feet
away from the one Hardin and the two Rangers with him had used to get to the site.Tanaka pointed their
RSOV in the other direc-tion, giving the Ranger teams overlapping fields of fire as well as a perimeter.

"Phoenix Leader,"Remington called over the headset.

 Goose assigned men to perimeter watch. Cusack stayed in the RSOV to finish tendingBillTownsend ,
who had taken a round through his upper thigh. Luckily, the 7.62mm bullet had cored through the outside
of the leg. The wound was debilitating, but the steel-jacketed round had missed both the thighbone and
the femoral artery. Contact with the bone would have broken the leg, and slicing through the femoral
artery might have causedBill to bleed out and die beforethey could get the flow stopped. Either way, he
had been lucky.

Or had God watching over him,Goose amended, feeling certain that was more reason than the other.

 "Go, Base," Goose said as he stepped out of the RSOV and dropped to the sand. "Leader reads you
five by five."

"How bad is it?"Remington asked.

 "The helo is gone, sir." Goose surveyed the bulk of the wreck. Fire wreathed the Black Hawk, burning
off the excess fuel. Whatever equipment remained aboard that might be salvageable wasn't going to be
approachable for some time. "We've got four survivors. All of them are wounded."

"What about your squad?"

"Mostly intact, Base. One walking wounded."

"Your vehicles?"

"We're in motion, sir." Goose surveyed the wounded men.

The chaplain wore an identifying armband that guaranteed recog-nition but not safety from enemy fire.
He was in his late forties, his dark hair peppered with gray. Hard lines made his face look haggard.
Quietly, he held one wounded man's hand and spoke in a low, confi-dent voice.

 Hardin stood beside the chaplain, out of the line of sight of the wounded man. With an impassive
expression, Hardin locked eyes with Goose and slowly shook his head.

"There's something you should know, Sergeant,"Remington said.

"What, sir?"
"The reporter that was talking to you, Hardesty, was sending out a live transmission at the time the helo
went down and your squad was attacked. The television stations carried that transmission in real time.
No delay."

 Goose took in the statement, automatically logging the ramifica-tions. IfMegan orJoey was awake, and if
they knew that war along the Turkish border had broken out, they might have seen the footage on
television. He felt guilty that his wife and son might be sitting home worrying about him.

 "I'm sending a message through channels,"Remington said. "FortBenningwill send a dispatch toMegan to
let her know you're all right."

For the moment,Goose thought. He was enough of a realist to know thatRemington might be sending a
message that might not be true twenty minutes from now. "Thank you for that, sir."

"We're fighting wars in unusual times,"Remington said. "Battlehas never been a televised event before.
Yet that's where we're finding ourselves. I didn't want you distracted from your mission."

Goose checked his watch. "I've still got a window on the arriving aircraft, sir."

"Yes, you do. Can you get there?"

"Yes, sir. We'll be carrying wounded. I'd like a medical team to meet me if possible. I've got one man
here who's touch and go."

"Affirmative, Leader. I'll pass the request along, but I can make no promises. Those people are busy.
We've got wounded and casualties scattered all along the border."

"But we're holding."

"Yes, Sergeant. Those men at the front are Rangers.Our Rangers. They'll stand. And once those
Marines arrive and we get the air sup-port we're expecting,Syria is going to be sorry she opened the ball
on this one."

Goose cleared the channel and switched back to the squad fre-quency. The sat-relay vids weren't up
yet, but he thanked God the com channels held up through the emergency rerouting.

"Hardin," Goose called.

"Yeah, Sarge."

"Let's get loaded up. Take the two wounded. We'll handle the chaplain and his charge."

 "We're on it." Hardin trotted back to the RSOV he commanded and got his four-man team to transfer
two of the wounded helo crew-men to the vehicle.

 Goose surveyed the burning remains of the helicopter. Occa-sionally the flames shifted and he could see
the bodies of the two pi-lots still strapped into their seats. Both dead men were burned beyond
recognition.

"Sergeant."
Turning at the sound of the soft voice behind him, Goose faced the chaplain. "Chaplain," Goose said.

"O'Dell," the chaplain said. "TimothyO'Dell." He spoke with aNew York accent and offered his hand.

"First SergeantSamuelGander." Goose took the man's hand, finding the grip solid and reassuring.

O'Dellnodded. "I know who you are, Sergeant. We were briefed before we jumped from the border."

"We're pressed for time here, Chaplain."

 "I know, but I wanted to talk to you aboutPrivateDigby over there."O'Dell paused, looking back at the
young man lying uncon-scious on the OD field blanket that was pockmarked with ember charring. "If we
try to transport him across the desert, I'm afraid he's not going to make it. Shrapnel from one of the
shattered helicopter rotors pierced his right lung. It's pretty much filled with blood. There are other
injuries, but that one is the most serious."

"The only other option is to leave him here," Goose said. He kept emotion from the decision, though he
knew if anything happened to the young soldier he would feel guilty later. Command came equipped with
harsh decisions.

"I could stay with him,"O'Dell offered.

Goose looked into the man's eyes. "I can't guarantee a medevac, Chaplain. I can't even guarantee there
will be one when we get to the other end of this jump."

"God will provide, Sergeant. He always does."

 For a moment, Goose was almost swayed by the chaplain's quiet words. They carried the same certain
conviction thatBill 's counsel of-ten had. But the stark desert surrounding them weighed heavily on him.

"I can't let you do that," Goose said. "If I leave you out here, we could lose you both."

"Sergeant, I'm willing-"

 Goose cut the man off firmly but politely, having to talk a little louder because the fresh assault of artillery
fire thundering to the south. "Chaplain, I appreciate that, but it's not going to happen. I don't want to lose
anyone, but I'm not going to risk two."

The chaplain looked like he wanted to argue, then he stood re-spectfully. "All right, Sergeant. We'll do it
your way. I'll pray for suc-cess for us all."

 Goose nodded a thank-you and turned from the man, focusing on the mission, concentrating on the need
to get to the front where he could perhaps start saving lives instead of losing them. He walked to the
wounded man's side, listening uncomfortably to the wheeze and rasp of the young soldier's breathing as
his chest labored. Blood streaked the wounded man's face and his left eye was swollen shut.

 Calling Cusack, Evaristo, and the chaplain over whileTanaka manned the RSOV, Goose gripped the
edge of the bloodstained field blanket under the wounded man. On the count of three, they lifted the
young soldier from the ground. He groaned in pain but didn't wake.
 Goose felt like yelling with the wounded man. The exertion pulled at his strained shoulder and brought
back the sensation of the iron band around his chest, cutting his breath short. Together, they carried the
injured man to the back of the RSOV.

Billreached out and helped guide the soldier onto the rear deck area. Cusack had cut awayBill 's left
pant leg to get to the wound. Heavy gauze bandaged the leg.

"Don't bust that dressing loose," Cusack warned. "We had a hard time pulling everything together."

 Bill's face blanched white and a sick sweat poured from his skin. Gingerly, he returned to a sitting
position. "I like being a soldier," he said with a grin that was only a shadow of the usual effort. "I don't
even mind getting shotat. It's part of the service. But this getting shot, you know, I have a real problem
with that."

The moment of levity, even as out of place as it was, lightened the mood. The young soldier lying on the
RSOV's rear deck even woke long enough to gasp, "Tell me about it."

 As the other Rangers belted in around the RSOV, Goose took his position in the passenger seat. "Let's
roll," he toldTanaka .

Tanakalet out the clutch and the four-wheel drive kicked small rooster tails in the sand for a moment
before catching better traction.

Glancing over his shoulder, Goose saw the second RSOV flank them, staying behind and to the right.
He checked the western skies, knowing the aircraft fromUSS Wasp was inbound from that direc-tion.

Except for the smoke and dust haze rising fromGlitterCity , the blue sky remained empty.

C'mon,Goose thought,be there. We've got a lot to do.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time 1:12 A.M.



 "Gerry."Megan grew short of breath as she sprinted up the steel fire escape that zigzagged back and
forth across the outside of the resident building. She was in shape from the sports she and Goose played,
but that didn't prepare her to be at peak condition during one of the most intensely stressful situations of
her life. "Gerry."

The boy didn't answer.

 Below, out in the parking lot,PrivateNewman and his friends kept the spotlight on the boy. They also
stayed back atMegan 's re-quest. At this point, with everything that had happened to him to-night, she
wasn't sure whatGerryFletcher was capable of doing.

 "Gerry."Megan 's feet drummed against the metal fire escape steps. The clanging noises rang and echoed
against the apartment building.

One of the windows above on the third floor opened and a young, bare-chested man leaned out. His
dog tags glinted in the spotlight. Rap music with unintelligible lyrics blared out into the night. "Hey! What's
going on out here?" he demanded.

 Without pausing to answer,Megan ran past him. The vibration of her passing tipped over a wrought-iron
stand containing three potted plants. Potting soil and vegetation scattered across the landing and leaked
through the holes in the grilled landing.

"Hey," the guy in the window called again. He started climbing out.

 "Back off, soldier,"Megan ordered, putting all the steel she could muster into her voice. During her
observations of Goose in his ele-ment, she'd seen him bark commands in the same kind of tone. He'd
told her that the voice of authority was something a soldier often re-sponded to without identifying the
source, if the speaker could carry off the role. The ability to produce that voice was one of the first
de-ciding factors in choosing non-corns and officers.

The soldier froze halfway out of the window.

 Megangrabbed the next rail headed up and took the steps two at a time. She looked up atGerryFletcher
. The boy still stood transfixed in the bright spotlight. His face was wracked with anguish and fear. Tears
glistened like silver as they ran down his cheeks to his quivering chin.

 Heartbroken,Megan thought as she hurled herself up the flight of steps. And terrified. She couldn't help
wondering how much ofGerry 's life had been spent feeling that way. Later. Think about that later. Get
him down from the building now. Why did he come up here? Why is he standing near the edge? God,
that boy shouldn't be up here.

But she was afraid she knew.

God, I need Your help here. I hope that You're listening. Please be lis-tening.

In the parking lot below, a military jeep with flashing security lights pulled to a stop besideNewman and
his friends. Two uni-formed MPs got out with flashlights and shined the beams over the Jeep,
highlightingNewman and his friends.

 Meganran. Her breath burned the back of her throat and her lungs seemed too small to drag in the air
that she needed. Calm, she instructed herself.Gerry needs you calm. You need to be calm for yourself.

 She pulled up the final few steps. Her body felt like lead. Every-thing seemed to be going too fast and
too slow at the same time. She stepped out onto the rooftop. Gravel cracked and crunched under her
feet. She had to be trapped in a nightmare. This had to be a night-mare. God help her if it wasn't.

 GerryFletcherstood farther down the same wall she'd come up on. The spotlight on his body turned him
almost ghostly white in the front and made his back half as black as night.

"Stay away,Mrs.Gander ,"Gerry said in a voice that broke. "Please stay away."
 Meganstopped immediately. In a situation like this, the potential victim needed to feel in charge. Many
suicides took their own lives in an attempt to prove they had some control left to them. She held her
hands out to her sides.

"All right,Gerry ," she said in a calm voice. "I've stopped."

Gerrylooked back out at the parking lot.

 The MPs shined their lights up at the roof, adding to the intensity of the spotlight. Then they started for
the building.

 "Gerry."Megan forced herself to sound calm. She didn't feel that way, but she could sound that way-with
effort. Years spent counsel-ing troubled youths had honed that skill within her. "You've got to come away
from the edge of the building,Gerry . If you don't, the MPs are going to come up."

 Gerryshook his head, peered over the edge, and looked like he was going to throw up. But when he
faced her, he still looked reso-lute. "If they do, I'll jump."

The calm way he stated his planned action scaredMegan .Gerry sounded broken in spirit, filled with a
quiet desperation that ran bone deep. "You're breaking the law,Gerry . They can't just walk 11 away.

 "I'm planning on jumping anyway."Gerry 's voice remained calm and matter-of-fact. "When they get too
close, then I'll jump."

 "Let me try to stop them,"Megan offered. She lifted her cell phone and punched in the number to the
security office.

The dispatch officer came on in a crisp, efficient tone.

"This isMeganGander ,"Megan said, watching the MPs jog across the parking lot. "You've got men
monitoring a situation near the base hospital. A boy on an apartment building roof."

"Who are you, Mrs.Gander ?" the dispatcher asked. Other voices sounded in the background, other
dispatchers working other calls.

"I'm the boy's counselor,"Megan said. "You can verify that throughHelenCordell at the base hospital.
She called me in.Dr.Car-son is the attending physician in the ER tonight. He's aware of the sit-uation as
well."

The MPs had jogged to the base of the building.

"I'll do that now,Mrs.Gander ," the dispatcher replied. "Until then, the MPs-"

"Back them off,"Megan said, watching as one of the MPs started up the fire escape. "If they try to come
up after him, he's threatened to jump."

"Ma'am, I haven't confirmed who you are or what the situation-" "Do you want to confirm all that after
he's jumped?"Megan inter-rupted with desperate anger.

The brief pause that came after her challenge seemed elastic, like it would stretch on forever. Then he
said, "All right,Mrs.Gander . You've got a point."

 Listening closely, her eyes onGerry ,Megan heard the dispatcher order the MPs stand down. The
transmission through the MPs radios came from below, lagging a half second behind the cell phone
con-nection.

 "Gerry," she said, turning back to the boy. "They've stopped. See? You're in control here. We're going
to do what you want to do."God, please give me the time and the skill to convince him that he
wants to live. I've asked You for a lot in the past, but I really need Your help here. She stepped
toward the edge where the MPs could see her.

 Their flashlights played over her. Light seared into her eyes and she turned away. The MPs pointed their
lights to the side. Looking down again, she experienced immediate vertigo. How far up was four stories?
She didn't know. But she was certain that the height was more than enough to kill an eleven-year-old
boy.

"Step back away from the building,"Megan called down to the MPs.

 The young soldier leaning out the window of his apartment re-mained in that position below. The rap
music continued to blare. Un-believably, the soldier held a small camcorder in his hands. The intense light
sprayed through the dark night, mixing with the blind-ing glare of the spotlight.

"Mrs.Gander," one of the young MPs said. The tone indicated that he wanted verbal confirmation.

"Yes," she answered in a firm voice. "I need you to step back. Please."

 "Yes, ma'am. If you need any help, just let us know." The MP stepped back from the building. He
cupped the walkie-talkie micro-phone clipped to his right shoulder and spoke briefly.

 "I will. But I thinkGerry and I are quite capable of getting our-selves out of this situation."Megan looked
at the boy. Tears still cas-caded down his face. "We can handle this, can't we,Gerry ?"

Gerrydidn't answer.

 Meganwaited, then talked more softly, as if she didn't want the MPs to hear. Actually, she intended the
effort to bringGerry and her together, to let the boy know he was helping someone else. Some-times by
helping someone else, a person better learned to help him-self.

"They need to hear you,Gerry ,"Megan said. "They need to know that you're in control of the situation.
They have to tell the dispatch officer that they're confident that you know what you're doing."

Gerrydidn't move, didn't speak.

 "Gerry, I need your help. They need your help. I've got to try to do my job, and they've got to try to do
theirs."

The boy swallowed hard. "It's okay. Me andMrs.Gander are gonna talk."

 Thank You, God,Meganthought. But she knew the quick response on her part was just lip service. She
didn't believe God had anything to do with the present situation. She didn't see how. If God were pay-ing
attention, He would never have allowedGerryFletcher up on the roof.
 "That's fine," one of the MPs called up. "You guys talk all you want to. But if you could move away from
the roofs edge, it would help."

Meganlooked atGerry , putting the response back onto the boy.

 "No,"Gerry said. "I'm not leaving,Mrs.Gander ." He wiped his face with a shaking hand. "I'm going to
jump. I really am."




United States of America

Columbus,Georgia

Local Time 1:12 A.M.




"So, you and your mom."

 Joeybraked to a halt at a stoplight that had turned red right before he reached it. He turned to look
atJennyMcGrath in the passenger seat. Since they'd left the club, they hadn't talked much. During his cell
phone conversation with his mother, he had noticedJenny was being really attentive while trying not to get
caught eavesdropping.

"Yeah?"Joey prompted.

Jennylooked at him. The stoplight threw red light over her face, re-vealing her right profile in red
highlights and leaving the left side of her face buried in shadow. It was like she was trapped between two
worlds.

 Joeydidn't know where the impression had come from, but once the thought had come to his mind he
couldn't get rid of it.

"You and your mom are close,"Jenny said.

"Yeah. Mostly."
"Mostly?"

Joey looked away, aware that the young woman's eyes were boring into his, seeming to see past so
much of the image that he had built up to impress her. "I kind of blew curfew tonight. Not exactly a step
de-signed to build closeness."

Surprisingly,Jenny laughed. "No," she agreed. "Definitely not."

"What about you?"Joey said, thinking that if an opportunity pre-sented itself he should capitalize on it.

"What about me?"

“Are you close to your mom?”

Jennylooked away. "She's dead."

Joeyfelt horrible. The night just wasn't going well at all. He felt like he couldn't do anything wrong without
making a mess of things. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."

 "No,"Jenny agreed. "You didn't." Her face turned green. She waited a beat, then pointed at the traffic
light. "Green. We can go."

 Feeling even more inadequate,Joey took his foot from the brake and placed it on the accelerator. He
sped up, following the familiar streets back toFortBenning .

 "You didn't do anything wrong by asking,Joey ,"Jenny said. "You couldn't know. It's just me and my
father."

"No brothers or sisters?"

She shook her head, then a smile twisted her lips. "But you have a little brother."

"Chris."Joey nodded. "Yeah."

"So how old is he?"

"Five,"Joey said. "And don't try to tell him any different because he can count."

"Five's a cute age."

 And seventeen's not?Joeywanted to ask. But he didn't. He was afraid of the answer. Especially since
he'd told jenny he was twenty--one. "How do you know about cute ages for kids?" he countered. "If you
don't have a younger brother or sister?"

"Before I became a server, I worked in a child-care center. I liked working with the creepers."

"Creepers?"

 "Kids ten to fourteen months old. The daycare center staff called them creepers because they just
started to pull themselves up on things and walk."
"Oh."

Jennylooked atJoey and smiled again. "And you were thinking?"

"Horror movie stuff. Aliens. Predators. Creepers."Joey shrugged. "Just seemed to fit."

"So what's your little brother like?"

 Joeyslowed and took a left through the intersection, making cer-tain he had plenty of room before the
oncoming traffic reached them. A pang of jealousy ripped through him.Jenny didn't even knowChris and
already her attention was zeroing in on him, leavingJoey way be-hind.

Struggling to mask his hurt and disappointment,Joey said, "Chrisis great. Everybody likes him."Can't
you tell?

“Must be nice.”

"What?"

 Jennylooked away from him, turning to play with her hair in her reflection on the side window. "Having a
little brother."

"Some days,"Joey admitted. "Other days, I wish I was an only child."

“Why?"

Joeyshrugged. "Kinda miss all the attention." Miss it a lot,actually.

"You do, huh?"Jenny turned her attention to him.

 Really regretting all the scrutiny he was getting, and feeling more than a little defensive, Joey said, "Yeah.
I mean, you have to work your tail off at home to get your parents to notice you because all your
cuteness points faded back in a past you can barely remember, and your little brother just has to step into
the roomand-pow! He's the center of attention."

"That happens a lot?"

"Yeah,"Joey said. "All the time." A kaleidoscope of images swirled through his mind, stinging with each
memory of howChris had so nonchalantly taken the full attention of both parents and any other adult who
happened to be around. "I mean, it's likeChris is a magnet for attention."

 A brief, tense silence stretched between them.Joey had the feeling he had done something incredibly
stupid, but he couldn't for the life of him figure out what it was.

 "I thought you lived in an apartment with a roommate,"Jenny said. Her voice turned cold and hard. She
slid away from him, press-ing herself up against the door. "That's what you told me at Kettle 0' Fish."

 Too late,Joey realized that one of his lies had been found out. And they were all tied together. Sick
apprehension filled him.

"What else have you lied about?"Jenny demanded.
Turkey

37 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0810 Hours



 Artillery fire peppered the ridge of desert rockCaptainRemington had chosen as Goose's observation
point. Goose braced himself aTanaka hit the brakes. The RSOV skidded through the loose sand and
broken rock that covered the area from the explosions that had turned the border region into a moonlike
landscape.

 Keeping his head low and his helmet cinched up tight enough to keep it on, Goose stepped from the
RSOV and sprinted over to the com teamRemington had waiting for him. The two men pressed
themselves into the lee side of a rocky outcrop that thrust up to a bro-ken point twenty feet overhead.

 Despite the preparation he'd had for the scene and the occasional glances of the border he'd gotten
while racing for the observation point, the carnage strung along the border nearly froze Goose's heart. In
all his years as a soldier, Goose had never seen anything that could have left him ready for the horrible
consequences of the clash that lay before him.

The Syrian infantry remained too far away to see with the naked eye. According toRemington 's reports
while Goose had been en route, after the initial flurry of SCUDs and FROGs had landed within Syrian
occupied territory, the enemy army-at this point that was the only way Goose could think of them-the
Syrians had abandoned their posts and pulled back.

 If the Turkish government and the United Nations could have agreed withPresidentFitzhugh 's desire to
send the troops intoSyria , a beachhead could have been established. Recon posts and maybe even
search-and-destroy missions against specific targets identified from earlier intel could have been
organized. But that hadn't hap-pened. Now, if those same operations had to be done, the cost in lives
was going to escalate.

 Goose raked his gaze over the death and destruction that filled the border area. Artillery shelled the
area, harrying the men dug in along the invisible front line. Smoke and dust swept across the land, carried
in clouds that swirled slowly in the dry breeze. Exploding mortars and rocket fire hammered those
clouds, blowing them to smithereens or causing them to twist in new and violent gyrations.

The dust and smoke looked like wraiths, Goose realized, and his neck prickled at the thought, though he
wasn't usually prone to an overactive imagination.

 Men and pieces of men were scattered in all directions. As bad asGlitterCity had been, the border units
had been hit worse. Soldiers hustled through the burning APCs, Hummers, tanks, and cargo trucks, all
overturned and strewn about like an angry child's toys. The uninjured men were working to separate the
quick from the dead. A few of the men had medical bands on their arms to identify them for and protect
them from enemy snipers. However, the Syrian artillery fire recognized no Geneva Convention edicts and
had no conscience, From Goose's vantage point, it looked as though the corpsmen were being targeted
because of those armbands.

Three men carried a fourth to a waiting truck marked with a Red Cross insignia. Just as they reached the
truck, a group of four MiGs, the Russian-made aircraft the Syrians used, appeared in the south. The jets
streaked out of the blue sky, looking like camo-colored darts.

 Goose switched over to the frequency used by the troops in the field. Before he could say anything, cries
of, "Incoming! Incoming!' filled the headset. Knowing he couldn't offer anything more, he clicked back to
the command frequencyRemington had designated to him.

Below, men scattered all along the border.

 The MiGs peeled out of the tight diamond formation they had been in. Looking like high-tech vultures,
the jets fired a salvo of air-to--surface missiles that rocketed toward the entrenched positions of the
Turkish,U.S. , and U.N. forces.

 The missiles struck the ground and unleashed thunderclaps of noise, as well as unbelievable destructive
fury. One of the missiles struck the medical transport truck. Goose wasn't certain they'd in-tended to hit
that target or not; with the clouds of smoke and dust and the speed at which the MiGs were flying, it was
possible that the pilot never saw the truck's Red Cross markings.

The missile struck the truck broadside, piercing the ribbed canvas and not exploding till it struck the
ground. Later, Goose never knew if he actually saw the missile pass through the truck in one of those
mo-ments of crystal clarity that sometimes happened on the battlefield, or if the analytical processes in his
mind that he tapped into while making decisions told him that was what had happened.

In the end, it didn't matter.

 The resulting explosion lifted the truck from the ground, whirling it end over end thirty feet into the air.
The gas tanks ruptured and caught on fire. In the next instant, the truck was a flaming comet that
descended on an M- 1A1 Abrams tank. As the twisted hulk of the truck rolled from the tank, bodies of
soldiers spilled out in its wake. Some of the corpses wreathed the Abrams.

The three men who had been carrying the fourth had been blown several yards away. None of them got
up.

 One of the few surviving anti-aircraft emplacements opened fire. A collection of American Rangers and
Turkish soldiers operated the double-barreled weapon, tracking black clouds of flak across the blue sky.
In the space of three or four seconds, the AA gun crew had the MiG's range. The AA cannonfire struck
the MiG like a giant's fists, crumpling the warbird. Trailing oily black smoke, the MiG turned and tried to
limp back south of the border. Another salvo of AA cannonfire caught up with the jet, and the resulting
explosions broke it into fiery pieces.

 "Boo-yah!"Tanakayelled a short distance from Goose. The young man stood and shook his fist at the
falling debris that had been the enemy aircraft.

 In the next instant, one of the three surviving MiGs wheeled in the sky, flipping over in an inversion that
took it away from the AA gunners' sights. Still inverted, the Syrian pilot triggered his 20mm guns. The
cannon rounds pounded the desert ground, opening harsh tears in the earth and throwing up spiraling
double plumes of dirt, sand, and smoke. The pilot flipped over 180 degrees, never pausing on the 20mm
cannon.

Even as they realized the danger they were in, the AA crew was struck by the hammering bursts of
20mm cannonfire. Dead soldiers dropped, torn and bloody, like rag dolls. None of the brave crew that
had brought the enemy jet down remained alive.

 Continuing to rain destruction down on the border, the MiGs slammed air-to-surface missiles into
vehicles and groups of men. A direct hit by a missile blasted past the reactive armor covering an Abrams
and tore the turret loose.

 A moment later, a surviving member of the tank crew tried to scramble from the rolling stock only to get
caught by the next mis-sile that flipped the Abrams over. The small American flag attached to the radio
aerial burst into flames and incinerated.

 Goose watched the destruction helplessly. Hitting the MiG with a round from the M-4A1 would have
been an amazing feat.And a waste of ammo, he thought bitterly. With supply lines cut up and in danger,
there was no telling how much time would pass before the survivors could resupply.

"Lookout!"Tanaka yelled. "Incoming!Nine o'clock !"

 Goose swiveled his head to the left and spotted the MiG sweep-ing in from the east, running a
nap-of-the-earth course. "Down!" he yelled. "Take cover!" He turned and ran, spotting the chaplain with
the grievously wounded young soldier. "O'Dell!"

 The chaplain glanced up just as the first cannon shot tore up the desert terrain, heading for their position.
"Help me! Please help me!" He gripped one side of the dust- and blood-covered blanket and started
dragging the unconscious man toward the nearest RSOV.

 Shifting his assault rifle to his shoulder, Goose ran and caught the other side of the blanket. Adding his
strength and speed to the chaplain's efforts, together they humped the blanket toward the RSOV. Then
the cannon fire echoed all around them, and Goose knew that if he could hear the destruction at nearly
the same time as the rounds hit the ground that the enemy fire was almost on top of them.

Five feet out from the RSOV, Goose yelled, "Under! Now!" and threw himself forward in a skidding
dive. His strained shoulder screamed in renewed fury as he desperately clung to the blanket.O'Dell had
gone to the ground at the same time, maintaining his hold on the blanket and the soldier as well.

 Gravel tore at Goose's lower face. He arched his back, riding his Kevlar chest armor hard. Pain lanced
his left knee, biting into his flesh. His mouth opened to yell, sucking in the dust-covered ker-chief, and
then a whirling maelstrom of sound drowned out any sound he might have made.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time1:16 A.M.



Helplessly,Megan watched asGerryFletcher remained standing on the roofs edge.God, where are You
when I need You? We can't let this happen! God, please don't let this happen!
 The wind picked up, pulling atGerry 's clothing with invisible fingers. He threw his arms out, and for a
momentMegan thought he was going to throw himself over; then she saw that the movement was
instinctive, made to keep himself from tumbling over the edge.

The boy remained standing on the roofs edge. The spotlight turned his auburn hair the copper color of a
new penny. For a mo-ment, in the harsh light, his hair looked like a red-gold halo.

"Gerry,"Megan said. "I've got a phone here. Why don't we call your mom?"

Gerryhesitated, then shook his head. "I don't want to talk to her."

 "I think it could help."Megan thought about taking a step forward, slowly cutting down the distance
separating her from the boy. But she knew if she encroached on him there was every chance she could
scare him over the edge.

New tears coursed downGerry 's face. He trembled. "You don't understand,Mrs.Gander .

 You never understand. I try and I try to tell you, but you just don't get it. I'm a jinx to my mom and
dad."Megan knew that the words the boy used were his father's. "I was born,"Gerry said, "and I
screwed up their lives."

"That's not true."

He turned to face her, his face angry. "It is true! All you gotta do is ask them!"

"If your father feels that way-"

"He does. And you know it."

"Your father is wrong,"Megan said.

Gerrystared wild-eyed at her, as if he couldn't believe she had said what she had.

Never in one of her counseling sessions hadMegan dared interfere so directly with the relationship
between parent and child. She had al-ways tried to mediate, to help one or both parties come to an
under-standing that worked for all of them. That was her job; the performance that she had agreed to
undertake. Relationships healed best that healed together, when both or all parties took on some of the
guilt and undertook a portion of the effort required to put things back together.

 But there is no guilt onGerry's side, God. Surely You see that. Of us all, You have to be able to see
that. Don't be blind to that now.Deep inside her-self, though,Megan was afraid that God wasn't
listening, that He had turned a blind eye to the sparrow perched on this roofs edge.

"You can't say that about my dad,Mrs.Gander ,"Gerry said. "He's a good soldier. He's my dad." He
wiped tiredly at his eyes.

"I didn't say your father wasn't a good man,"Megan replied. "I said he was wrong. Everybody can be
wrong. We're supposed to be wrong sometimes. That's the best way we learn. From our mistakes."

"I'm the mistake,"Gerry sobbed. "There's something wrong with me,Mrs.Gander . Something bad
wrong. Before I was born, my mom and dad were happy. Now they're not. It's all my fault."

"Gerry, please. Let's call your mom. I talked to her earlier-"

"You did? Why did you do that?"

"Because you ran from the hospital. Because I was worried about you. "

"You shouldn't have done that,Mrs.Gander ." Unable to remain calm,Gerry started pacing along the
building's edge. His arms shot out from time to time, and he nearly fell twice.

"Gerry." Unable to stop herself,Megan stepped forward.

"Don't!"Gerryscreamed."Stay back!" He turned and faced her so abruptly that he almost fell.

Meganfroze. Her heart beat so frantically it nearly burst. "Gerry, I'm stopping."

"Stay right there!" he commanded in a shrill voice.

He's afraid.Meganclung to that realization. As long as he's afraid of falling, he won't jump.

"Gerry," she said calmly, "I talked to your mother just a few min-utes ago. She's worried about you. She
knows you've been to the hospi-tal.

"Where is she?"

 "At home,"Megan said. "I told her to wait there in case you came home. She doesn't know you're up
here. But I think she'd like to. I think she'd like the chance to talk to you." She paused and took a deep
breath, knowing she was about to push another ofGerry 's hot buttons. "I think you'd like to talk to her,
too."

 Stubbornly,Gerry shook his head. "When she finds out my dad got arrested because of me, she's going
to be mad."

"Your dad didn't get arrested because of you. He got arrested be-cause he attacked those other two
men."

"I shouldn't have gone to the hospital."

"You had to go to the hospital."Megan slowly lifted her cell phone. "I'm going to call your mom."And
you're going to push him to the point of no return. She hated that. But she felt certain there was no
other way she was going to getGerry from the rooftop. She pressed the Redial button, ringing the
Fletcher home number.

"Don't!"

Meganheld the phone out, turning the volume up. "It's ringing,Gerry . Do you hear it?"

"No!"

"Hello?"TonyaFletcher 's voice sounded frantic. "Megan! One of my neighbors came over. Her husband
is one of the MPs. What isGerry doing up there?"

 Calmly, her breath feeling tight inside her lungs,Megan pulled the phone back to her ear. "Tonya,
it'sMegan . I need you to be calm."

 "Calm!My son is up on a rooftop! Where, I've been told, you chased him! How can you expect me to
be calm! My husband is in jail, my son isin danger, and this is all because of you!"

"Tonya."Megan made her voice forceful. "We can sort out whose fault this is later. Right nowGerry
needs to know that you want him safely down from here. Do you hear me?"

"I hear you! But this isn't my fault! This isn'tBoyd 's fault! We can't help howGerry is! Don't you
understand that? You've seen how he is! You've seen how he always wants attention!"

 Too late,Megan realized thatGerry heard every word his mother said. The rooftop was silent and still,
and the tinny voice from the cell phone traveled easily toGerry 's ears.

"Gerry,"Megan said, covering the phone's mouthpiece. Before she could say another word, a belligerent
voice bellowed up from below.

"GeraldFletcher, you had better move your sorry self off that roof-top right this minute, mister! Don't
make me come up there and get you! "

 MeganrecognizedBoydFletcher 's voice. She was still a half step behindGerry . The boy wheeled around
at the roofs edge, and fear filled his features. He seemed to regain his balance for a moment. Then his left
foot shot out from under him.

Meganwas already in motion, watching asGerry flailed his arms in a doomed effort to regain his balance.
He toppled over the edge without a word.
United States of America

Columbus,Georgia

Local Time1:18 A.M.




"Do you even have a little brother?"

 Joeyfelt angry and scared all at the same time.Jenny was acting to-tally weird.She's not just mad. She's
scared. Realscared, he amended. But he had no idea what she was scared of.

"What's wrong with you?" he demanded. Then he wondered if someone who evidently had that much
wrong with them could even have a clue that something was wrong.

A car horn blared.

 Yanking his attention back to the street,Joey discovered that he had wandered across the center line and
was now traveling halfway in the oncoming lane. He pulled the wheel hard, overcompensating as he
steered back onto the proper side of the road.

 His tires squealed. Another car horn bleated behind him. Bright harsh light flooded his back window,
splashing against the rearview mirror and stabbing into his eyes to blind him.

"Let me out! "Jenny demanded.

 Eyes tearing, mind scattered,Joey frantically tried to figure out where the street was. He couldn't even
remember where he was, but he knew he was close to the military base. The bright yellow car parked
along the street appeared in his view like a ship pushing through a dense fog.

"Stop!" he yelped.

"You stop!"Jenny countered. She slapped him, hitting his arm and the top of his head.

 Joeyraised the arm blocking the laser beams from the car on his rear bumper to protect himself. The
bright lights zapped his eyes again. The car horn behind him blared once more, longer and louder this
time.
"Jenny!"

She hit him again.

 "Jenny! C'mon! I can't see! I'm gonna wreck!" And if his mom wasn't already going to go through the
roof, wrecking her car would definitely do it.

 Desperately,Joey reached up and twisted the rearview mirror out of his eyes. Almost too late, he
spotted the red SUV at the side of the street. He pulled away from the collision course he was on,
narrowly avoiding locking bumpers with the SUV. He didn't even know if his mom's insurance would go
high enough to cover an expensive vehi-cle like that. And he was certain there wouldn't have been much
of his mom's car left.

 Shifting in the seat, somehow snaking loose from the seat belt,Jenny got a leg up and kickedJoey in the
side. "Let me out of this car! Let me out now!"

"Ow!"Joey tried to cover his side. "Jenny, stop!"

"You shouldn't have lied to me! I get tired of being lied to! Every-body lies to me!"

 Man, she's totally losing it! Tears leaked downJoey 's face. He was hurt and scared and probably
madder than he had ever been. From the corner of his eye, he spotted a side street. He swerved the car,
somehow escaping the merciless onslaught of the lights from the ve-hicle and the idiot driver behind him.

JennyslappedJoey in the head again.

 "Stop!" Certain he was out of the flow of traffic now,Joey stomped the brakes. The car came to a
rocking halt. He raised both hands and caught jenny's wrists.

She kicked him in the face hard enough to split his lips.

"Let me go!" she demanded. "Let me go now!"

"All right, you psycho!"Joey shouted back. "I'm letting you go!"

He tasted blood as he released her wrists.

Jennypopped the door release and got out of the car.

 In dazed disbelief, still trying to figure out what had just happened and what had setJenny off,Joey
watched her walk down the darkened street away from the car. For a moment, he just wanted to drop
the car back into drive and leave her there. But the street looked like part of a residential area. There
were no public pay phones around. And it wasn't the kind of neighborhood where a stranger could bang
on a door at this time of night and expect to borrow the phone.

Frustrated, feeling so totally trapped,Joey popped his door open and stepped out into the night. "Jenny.
Wait! Where are you going?"

"Away from you." She wrapped her arms around herself and kept walking.
"Why?"

"Because you lied to me,Joey . If that's even your real name."

"C'mon. I didn't start to work at Kettle 0' Fish under an alias."

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"My name really isJoey ." Unable to just leave her, feeling pres-sured because he'd promised his mom he
was going to pick up his lit-tle brother,Joey sprinted after her. "I really do have a little brother
namedChris . I've got pictures." At his age, he'd thought carrying pic-tures of his little brother-especially
one that got all of the atten-tion-was kind of a dumb thing to do, butChris was the only little brother he
had. Besides, not everybody got to open his wallet so his secret was usually safe.

Jennykept walking.

In a half-dozen long strides,Joey caught up withJenny . She swiped at him with a fist. He ducked back,
only inches out of her reach. For a girl, she could really throw a punch.

 "Would you please look at my wallet?"Joey held it out, open to his driver's license and base ID. "Look.
I've got military ID, too."

"Go away,Joey . Or whatever your name is."

 "This is stupid."Joey stopped. Let her go, he told himself. You can't stop stupid people from being
stupid. People his age always said that. His anger stirred in him again. "You know, if anybody should be
upset about tonight, it should be me. I took you to the club and watched you dance with every guy in the
place but me."

Jennywhirled, then marched back to him, staying carefully back out of his reach. "What?"

"You heard me. You."Joey pointed at her. "Me." He pointed at himself. "Not exactly a fun date."

"Oh, man," she said. "You are so full of it. What? You think be-cause you ask somebody out you get to
own them?"

"No."Joey sighed. "No, I don't. But I think it should give those two people a chance to get to know each
other."

 "Really?"Jenny arched a brow. "And just exactly who was I sup-posed to be getting to know?Joey who
lives on his own? OrJoey who lives with his mom?"

 Joeytook a deep, shuddering breath. Man, tonight had been so totally messed up. He sucked on his split
lip and offered his wallet. "I'mJoeyHolder . My mom isMeganGander . My stepdad's name isSam
.SamuelGander . His friends call him Goose. I call him Goose. He's the one over inTurkey right now that
we saw on the television. My dad, Tony, he lives inL.A. I haven't seen him in ten years. I haven't even
got a phone call in five years." He took in a breath and let it out.About the timeChriswas born, he
realized, and he couldn't help wondering if his little brother's birth had something to do with that. He
shoved the question out of his mind, knowing it would haunt him later. "I'm seventeen. Not twenty-one."

She stared at him for a minute. "So you lied about your age?"
"Yes."

"Why?”

"To meet you."Joey shrugged. "Things didn't work out exactly the way I wanted them to."

Quiet and intense, her arms wrapped around herself, jenny stared at him.

Joeyfelt incredibly uncomfortable. He was also suddenly aware of the chill that was in the air. It was
March. Even in the South, spring was chilly without a jacket.

"For the record,"Jenny said, "you asked me to go to the club with you."

"Okay."

"That's not asking me for a date. If you want a date from some-one, you ask them for a date. I thought
maybe you hadn't been to the club before and wanted someone to go with."

"I hadn't,"Joey said.

 Jennysighed and shook her head. "You're seventeen. Of course you hadn't." She held her hand out.
"Let's see your fake ID."

Reaching into his pocket,Joey produced the fake ID he had been so proud of only a few days ago when
his great plan had begun. He put the ID in jenny's hand.

She looked at it and smiled a little. "Good picture."

"Thanks." Unable to help himself,Joey grinned a little. Suddenly, all the trouble that had been gathering all
night didn't seem so heavy.

"Dumb idea."Jenny ripped the fake ID into quarters and let the pieces blow away.

"Oh."Joey 's smile melted.

"Do you really have a little brother?"

Joeyopened his wallet and flashedChris 's picture again.

"Cute kid,"Jenny said.

"Everybody says that,"Joey replied glumly.

"How do I know the picture didn't come with the wallet?"

Reaching behind the top picture,Joey showed her an older one of him andChris together.

Peering more closely,Jenny said, "He looks a lot like you."

Joeyalmost asked her if that meant he was cute, too. But he didn't. Tonight, thankfully, he was not going
to be that dumb.

"So your little brother,"Jenny said, "he's still at the child-care place on the base?"

Joeynodded.

"And your stepdad really is over there in all that mess inTurkey ?"

Joeynodded again.

Jennysighed. "Okay. Let's go get the little brother. I bet your mom is going nuts."

"Yeah."

"The curfew thing isn't helping."

"No,"Joey agreed.

"You picked a really bad night for all of this,Joey ."

"You're telling me."

 Jennystarted back toward the car. Caught by surprise,Joey had to step quickly to catch up. He reached
past her to open the passenger-side door. It was something he'd seen Goose do for his mom for years
and couldn't remember his dad ever doing. Few guys did some-thing like that anymore, andJoey had
liked the idea of showing that kind of respect. Thinking of that reminded him of Goose, and uncer-tainty
filled him again. He slipped behind the steering wheel and got the car moving again.

 He paused at the corner, waiting on the light as traffic passed. "About the seventeen-years-old thing," he
said.

She looked at him. "What?"

"If I'd told you I was seventeen years old and wanted to go out on a date with you, would you have
gone?" After all, once he was un-grounded-if ever-maybe there was the possibility of getting a real date
with jenny.

No.

Joeytried to accept that. "Because I'm seventeen?"

 "Because I don't date," she stated in a flat voice. "I haven't dated in a long time. I don't let anyone that
close."

 Just shut up,Joeyadvised himself.You're ahead of the game. Just shut up and be glad you're not
alone right now when it seems like the world is falling apart.

But, of course, he couldn't. Smart and lucky just weren't in the cards for him tonight. "Why don't you
date?" he asked.

"Look,"Jenny said, "that's something I don't want to talk about. I-"
 When she screamed and leaped at him,Joey figured he had set her off again and he was about to have
his head beaten in. Then lights of an approaching vehicle flashed against the window to his left. Turn-ing
fromJenny , wanting to protect his face, he caught sight of the huge camo-colored Suburban coming
straight at him.

His scream got lost in the screech of tearing metal, his head slammed into the window, and his vision
blacked out.

Turkey

37 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0819 Hours



The earth moved.

 Lying under the RSOV, Goose felt the ground quiver and roll from the massive explosions of the 20mm
cannon rounds blasting craters into the ridgeline. For a moment, all sound went away as he tempo-rarily
turned deaf. Then he heard the drumming rain of rocks and dirt clods against the RSOV.

"You okay, Sarge?"

Glancing up, Goose sawBillTownsend crowded in under the fighting vehicle beside him. "Yeah.
Anybody hit?"

"Not yet."Bill grimaced as he shifted his wounded leg. "But they've got us in a tight spot."

Goose checked the wounded man and sawChaplainO'Dell press-ing his fingers againstDigby 's throat.

O'Delllooked up. Blood seeped from scratches on his face. "Thank You, God-this boy's still with us."

 And if we could get a medical team in to him,Goose thought,he might actually have a chance. He
crawled under the RSOV, turning around so he could survey the battlefield again. Switching to the main
tactical channel, he heard the lieutenants and sergeants ordering their men to hold their positions, to wait
out the attack as much as they could.

Clicking back to the command frequency attributed to him, Goose said, "Base, this is Phoenix Leader.
Do you copy?"

"Base copies, Leader,"Remington answered.

"We're taking a beating up here," Goose said. "I'm looking for good news."

"Good news is on its way, Leader,"Remington replied. "Let me in-troduce you to Blue Falcon Leader.
He's heading up a contingent of Marine Harriers that have been running nap-of-the-earth. The Syrians
don't know these guys are even close."

Goose grinned grimly and took out his binoculars. "Glad to have you, Blue Leader."
 "Pleasure is ours,Phoenix . Gonna be serving up a little dish I like to call extreme prejudice on those
three Syrian flyboys that have dared invade your company's airspace."

 The Marine pilot's casual confidence was infectious. Goose felt a little better about the situation the
Rangers were in. He scanned the border with the binoculars. The three Syrian jets strafed the area again.
In his mind, he was already working on plans to shore up the defense and hold the line once the Syrian
air strikes were removed and the wing support provided by USSWasp and the rest of the 26th
MEU(SOC) arrived.

"Phoenix, this is Blue Falcon Leader."

"Go, Falcon," Goose replied.

"We have those rascally rodents in view and have carefully identi-fied them as definite hostiles. We are
preparing to engage."

 "Good luck, Falcon, and Godspeed." Goose put his binoculars away and glanced up into the sky. He
figured he must have seen the Harriers at about the same time the MiG pilots did.

Pound for pound, minute for minute in the air, the Harriers were some of the deadliest military birds of
prey in close air support ma-neuvers. Navy fighter pilots didn't care for the smaller and slower warbirds,
but Marine pilots knew how to eke every plus out of their chosen craft.

 Powered by Pegasus-vectored thrust engines manufactured by Rolls Royce, the jets measured forty-six
feet, four inches long. Their swoop-winged design made them immediately recognizable to any-one who
knew aircraft. The vectored thrust could be turned to ninety degrees, giving the Harrier the startling ability
to lift off straight up, then launch forward. The VTOL, or vertical take off and landing, craft handled much
better in short takeoff and vertical landing (STOVL) mode. The rolling takeoff made possible by short
jump ramps aboard short aircraft carriers enabled the jets to take to the air like their name-sake, a
deadlyBritish Isles marsh hawk.

The MiG pilots tried to turn tail and beat a hasty retreat back across the border. Mercilessly, the
Harriers swooped up, rising above the hard deck with thunderous roars. AIM-9 Sidewinders, air-to-air
mis-siles designed for taking out other aircraft, launched from the Harriers.

 With unerring accuracy, the Sidewinders locked on to the super-heated jet engines of the Syrian aircraft.
Two exploded only a heart-beat apart, turning into a roiling mass of orange and black flames that
elongated into ovals of destruction.

 The third Syrian pilot heeled over hard to starboard, trying desper-ately to evade the Sidewinder rapidly
closing the distance. A second later, the air-to-air missile slammed into the MiG and ripped the fighter
aircraft to shreds. Flaming debris pinwheeled from the sky, plummeting to the ground on the Syrian side
of the border and disap-pearing into the smoky haze that drifted across the battlefield.

"Phoenix Leader, this is Blue Falcon."

 "Go, Falcon, you havePhoenix ," Goose responded. "That was quite a morale booster you delivered
there, Falcon."

"Our pleasure,Phoenix . We've heard you men have been hard up against it. We're spearheading a
bunch of leathemecks that are ready to get their land legs back if you want to invite them to the ball."

"Affirmative, Falcon. I'm looking forward to meeting those men."

"Set up for the meet and greet,Phoenix . You should have them in your view to the west-southwest. Blue
Falcon has your point."

 "Thank you, Falcon." Goose crawled out from under the RSOV. A gaping hole in his left pants leg
showed deep, bloody scratches in the bruised flesh beneath. When he moved the knee, he felt twinges of
pain, but they weren't as bad or as deep as the aches in his strained shoulder. He didn't believe either
injury would require any kind of hospital treatment. If he had a couple hours of rest, he was certain he
would be fine.

 But he was also certain that a couple hours of rest wasn't going to be possible for a long time.
Thankfully, the artillery barrage launched by the Syrians slowed. Maybe those crews were preparing for
an as-sault by the Harriers.

 "Phoenix Leader,"Remington called over the headset, "can you confirm visual on the arriving relief
teams?Wasp reads them five by five on the sat-scan."

 Goose scanned the sky, pulling his M-4A1 back into his arms, where the assault rifle felt most natural.
"I'm looking, Base."

Behind him, the Harriers opened fire across the border. "Phoenix, this is Blue Falcon Leader."

"Go, Falcon," Goose said.

"You've got a hostile unit moving on your twenty,Phoenix . We haven't confirmed the numbers yet, but
you've got rolling stock and cav as well as groundpounders coming under cover of all the haze. We're
going to discourage them as much as possible, but we're not go-ing to be able to stop them all."

"Affirmative," Goose replied. He clicked back into the general communications channel. "Bravo Platoon.
Echo Platoon."

 "Go,Phoenix Leader. You've got Bravo Leader." Bravo Leader wasLieutenantMatthewYork , a
not-quite-thirty graduate of OCS after a hitch in college and ROTC. He was still a little green to
command after only brief combat exposure, but he was a good soldier.

"Phoenix, this is Echo Platoon Two."RileyBernhardt 's voice was grim and steady. Like Goose, he'd
been in since high school and worked his way up to three stripes, second-in-command of Echo.

"Echo Two," Goose said, "where is One?"

"One went down with the AA gun,Phoenix ,"Bernhardt said. "I couldn't stop him."

 LieutenantHectorDawsonhad been commander of Echo. LikeYork ,Dawson had come up through
OCS. ButDawson had turned out ambitious like a lot of young officers, certain his commanding skills and
station in life had blessed him with luck and a certain amount ofJohnWayne movie hero invulnerability. A
sergeant work-ing with a new lieutenant, asBernhardt had been, had his work cut out for him. Goose had
been in that position, too, and had lost a young lieutenant inEast Africa .
 "All right, Two," Goose said, knowingRemington was listening in and would hear everything he was
saying, "you're taking a field pro-motion and moving to command of Echo. Understood?"

"Affirmative,Phoenix ."

 Goose knew the promotion would have a positive effect on Echo rifle company. Professional soldiers,
even raw recruits, often valued a sergeant's guidance more than an officer's. A sergeant lived in the same
air they did, wore the same dirt, and shared the same blood. Of-ficers had to go a long way to prove that
to the men they led, and most didn't bother because they were busy trying to earn their next posting and
battle their way up the military ladder of success.

 "Bravo, Echo," Goose said, "coordinate your efforts with the Turkish military. I want a pincer set up to
close off the access route the Syrians are using for their advance."

"Affirmative,Phoenix ,"Bernhardt agreed. "Understood,Phoenix ,"York

answered.

 According to the information Goose had gotten from the lieuten-ants and sergeants in the field, those two
rifle companies were more intact than Alpha orCharlie companies. He turned and foundBill at his side,
stubbornly limping along to keep up.

"You should stay put before you tear that wound loose," Goose said.

"I lay up, a lot of good Rangers are going to get killed. As long as I can stand, I can help."

Goose looked at his friend, unable to stop thinking that none of them were going to be able to stand
much longer if the reinforce-ments didn't arrive soon.

"It's gonna be all right, Sarge,"Bill said. "We're on the side of the angels. "

"I wish I had your confidence,Bill ."

 Billshook his head. "It's not confidence, Sarge." He had to speak in a loud voice to carry over the
sudden onslaught of 25mm cannonfire from the Harriers' GAU-12 fuselage guns. The General
Electric-made weapon sported a five-barrel rotary design that was nothing but lethal on the battlefield.
Carrying three hundred rounds in the magazine pod slung under the fighter jet's fuselage, a trained pilot
could blast a swath of destruction in seconds. The advancing Syrian troops were in the process of seeing
that firsthand. "I keep tell-ing you, it's belief."

 But it was hard to believe God cared about Rangers today. As soon as he had the thought, though, a
wave of guilt rocketed through Goose. He shoved the feeling from his mind, clearing his focus as he
scanned the skies.

"Phoenix Leader,"Remington called.

Billthrew out an arm. "There! There they are!"

Shading his eyes, still nearly choking on dust that somehow made it through the drying kerchief across
his lower face, Goose spotted the specks in the sky. Six wasp-shaped AH- 1W Whiskey Cobra
helicopter gunships led the arriving aircraft.
 "Base," Goose called over the headset, "Phoenixhas confirmation of Wasp's wing. Pass on our
appreciation to Wasp's captain."

 "Affirmative,Phoenix ,"Remington responded. Despite his at-tempt to have no change of tone in his
voice, Goose still heard the re-lief in his friend's words. "Get those Marines down in a safe place and let's
sort this out. Not one inch of that border is going to be given up on my watch."

"Understood, sir. We're going to take care of it for you." Goose stood under the advancing line of
Cobra attack helicopters. The Ma-rine aircraft were similar to the AH-64A Apache gunships Goose was
more familiar with. Their shadows hugged the ground and flashed over him. The sound of their passing hit
him a short time later.

Once the Whiskey Cobras whipped over the ridgeline Goose had used as his observation post, the
Harriers pulled away. Evidently, the two teams communicated on their own wavelength.

 Besides the 20mm autocannon mounted under the nose, the Whiskey Cobras were also decked out with
two LAU-68 rocket pods on the inside pylons that were flanked by two Hellfire antitank mis-siles and
four antipersonnel bombs. The Whiskey Cobras, guided by instrumentation, sped into the cloud of
smoke and dust that nearly obscured the battlefield.

 A moment later, the rocket pods spat flames and carnage, ripping into the landscape and the Syrian
army troops. The Hellfire missiles struck a staggered line of tanks, fast-attack vehicles, and armored
per-sonnel carriers. Goose's hopes lifted more as he saw the mass of de-struction the Marine pilots left in
their wake. Despite the differences in the branches of service, Goose respected the other soldiers and
their equipment. After today, he felt certain the Syrians would as well.

Bravo and Echo rifle companies kept moving to secure the border along the craters and wrecked
vehicles.

 Turning, Goose sprinted back toward the LZ he had marked off for the team. The landing zone was on
the flattest terrain available, but the smoke and dust hanging in the air lowered ground zero visi-bility
drastically.

 "Phoenix Leader," an unfamiliar voice called over the headset. "This is Excaliber Leader. We are at your
twenty but can't find the LZ. Repeat, we do not see the LZ."

 "Affirmative, Excaliber.Phoenix has you in sight. We're rolling out the red carpet." Goose switched over
to the frequency his team was using. "All right, mark it off. Pop smoke."

 In response, preset smoke grenades detonated electronically, marking off a trapezoid-shaped LZ
thatPhoenix team had verified as being clear of large boulders, broken ridges, or other landing hazards.

"Excaliber," Goose called, "do you have the target LZ in sight now?"

A heartbeat passed.

"Affirmative,Phoenix . Excaliber has your LZ in sight. We'll ren-dezvous at your twenty."

"Understood, Excaliber. I'll be the Ranger with the big grin on his face." Goose ran, heading for the LZ.
"Incoming!" Hardin yelled.

 Instinctively, Goose went to ground. He held on to the M-4A1 with one hand and grabbed his helmet's
chin strap with the other. His face skidded across the hard-packed ground, losing hide as well as the
kerchief masking his lower face. He breathed in and choked on the dust an instant before the artillery
rounds collided with the terrain.

 The radio communications crackled and spat through Goose's headset. Making sense of the garbled
lines was difficult. "Where is that artillery crew?"

"Don't know, Blue Falcon Leader. We're searching."

"Find them." The Marine pilot cursed. "Those men and those transport helos are going to get blown to
bits."

"I'm hit! I'm hit!"

More artillery shells continued to land, chewing into the turf. Craters opened up in the LZ. One of the
CH-46E helicopters took a di-rect hit while the group held back rather than charging into the LZ the
Syrians had targeted.

 Peering up with his arm shielding his face, feeling the sting of the skinned cheek, Goose saw the helo sag
drunkenly. Orange and black flames whooshed from the cargo door, blowing the group of Marines from
the cargo space like flaming puppets. Their arms and legs pinwheeled as they fell at least seventy feet.
There would be few-if any-survivors.

 The CH-46E was distinctive because of the twin rotors, one at ei-ther end of the fat-bodied aircraft. The
model was primarily a cargo helicopter, giving it the CH designation, but could be used as a troop
carrier. Originally, the CH-46 had been built to carry twenty soldiers, but increased armor and structural
upgrades had cut that number to between eight and twelve men.

"Phoenix Leader,"Bernhardt called.

Goose barely heard the man over the garbled dialogue coming through the headset. "Go, Echo. You
havePhoenix ."

"We've got the artillery company in sight, Goose." "Understood. Can you shut them down?"

 Battling the indefatigable pull of gravity, the damaged CH-46 slid toward the merciless ground. An
instant later, the rotors chopped into the hard earth and shattered on contact. Shards of composite metal
sliced through the air.

"It's no-man's-land out there,Phoenix ,"Bernhardt replied. "Our air support has us cut off."

"Blue Falcon Leader," Goose called. "Can you see those Rangers?"

"Negative,Phoenix ," the Marine pilot replied. "It's duck soup down there. We've stayed true to our line
of demarcation."

 Goose thought furiously as the fierce shelling continued virtually unabated. If the Harrier pilots had been
able to see through the smoke and dust to see Echo Company, they could have targeted the enemy
artillery. "Echo, can you put a smoke round near the artillery?"

"That's pushing two hundred meters,Phoenix ."

"Understood," Goose replied. The M-203 grenade launcher's ac-curacy was only good out to a
hundred and fifty yards. "Put a round out there."

"Will do,Phoenix ."

"Blue Falcon Leader, did you copy?" Goose asked.

"Affirmative,Phoenix . Blue Falcon will be watching for smoke."

"Your target will be fifty yards south of the smoke,"Bernhardt said. "Mark-now!"

 Turning, Goose peered back across the border. A second later, a plume of violet smoke shot up from
the ground, coloring the dust and smoke like ink from a startled squid.

 "Echo, Blue Falcon Leader marks your target designation and I have a verified lock," the Marine pilot
said. Target lock required laser spotting from another source. Goose guessed that one of the other
Harriers or the Whiskey Cobras had pinpointed the target. "Pull your team back and take cover. Gonna
be a big blast over in that twenty."

The Harrier heeled over in the air above Goose's head, splintering sunlight for a moment, then diving
back toward the battlefield. The pilot kept his deadly craft low, charging into the teeth of the artillery fire.
Then a pillar of fire launched up from the ground whirling or-ange flames and black smoke from the
Hellfire missile's double deto-nation.

The artillery fire stopped immediately.

"Way to fire, Blue Falcon Leader! "Bernhardt called.

"Phoenix, Excaliber is coming in."

 "Come ahead, Excaliber. We're clean and green as it's going to get." Goose pushed himself to his feet,
feeling the weakness in his knee and shoulder.

"Affirmative. We've got troops here that are ready to rock and roll."

"Goose! Goose!"

BillTownsend's voice rolled out of the smoke and dust to Goose's right.

"It's Dockery, Goose,"Bill said. Under the dust and blood, his face was ashen. "He's hit."

 Goose followedBill as the thunder of the arriving CH-46Es filled the air overhead again. The pilots juked
their helos around, bringing them down in a compact spread. Then the dust and smoke cleared in front of
Goose. Seeing Dockery nearly took Goose's breath away.

 CorporalSteveDockery had eight years in as a Ranger and had seen some of the worst that the terrorist
campaigns had to offer. He was a good man, a good soldier.
 Now Dockery sat on his knees in a mockery of obeisance. A two-inch-wide, six-foot-long shard of the
downed helicopter's shattered rotors impaled him, sticking through his back and nailing him to the ground
in a crouching position. His assault rifle lay beside him. Blood colored the kerchief over his lower face.
His hands gripped the piece of steel that jutted from his chest and into the earth between his knees.
Crimson ran down his arms, darkening the sleeves of his BDUs.

The man tried to speak. His mouth came open, but only blood poured out.

 Goose didn't know why the soldier wasn't already dead, but over the years he had seen men cling
tenaciously to life because they were afraid there wasn't anything afterward. His eyes made contact with
Dockery's.

Dockery's mouth moved again, pleading.

 Billknelt beside the wounded man and took one of Dockery's hands in his. "We're gonna be okay,
buddy,"Bill said, his voice un-naturally calm. "We're gonna be okay. Just look up in the sky. Look at
those helos coming in to us. We got help now. We'll get you out of here. "

Goose shouldered his rifle and dropped to one knee. He opened his medkit and took out an ampoule.
Ripping the plastic away with his teeth, he stabbed the needle into a vein in Dockery's arm and hit the
plunger. He hoped the anesthetic was enough to knock the man out, but at the same time he felt bad that
Dockery might not even be conscious the last few minutes of his life.

 Billtook out gauze and tried to stem the flow of blood around the wounds in the Ranger's back and
chest. "Sarge. Goose. I need help. Please."

"Excaliber, this isPhoenix ," Goose called, holding a bloody and shaking hand to his mouthpiece. "Are
you prepared to take on wounded?"

 "Affirmative,Phoenix . Excaliber is ready, willing, and able to transport wounded back toWasp. The
cap'n has the ship's hospital standing by if we can't make use of local resources in Sanliurfa."

 Not feeling in the least relieved, knowing that a great number of good men were going to be dead very
soon and some were already dead, Goose looked back at Dockery. The Ranger's eyes had glazed, but
his breath still pulled at the kerchief covering his mouth. He was conscious, but barely so.

 Goose took some of the gauzeBill handed him. He took a deep breath and tried to steady his hands as
he worked to staunch the bleeding. The shadows of the descending helicopters filtered through the
swirling smoke and dust haze to cover them.

"The shrapnel missed his heart and both lungs,"Bill said. "At least, I think it missed both-"

 When his friend's words cut off abruptly, Goose looked up from Dockery's back.Bill wasn't on the other
side of the wounded man. All that remained was a set of crumpled of BDUs, the LCE, the assault ri-fle,
and gear.

 Alarm jarred through Goose. He'd only taken his eyes offBill for an instant. There was no wayBill had
time to get out of his clothes and then-then-thenwhat? Take off acrossTurkey ?

The superstitious paranoia that Goose had grown up with as a child, part of that feeling stemming from
stories of the Old Testament and part of it from all the tall tales of ghosts and monsters that lived in
theOkefenokee Swamp aroundWaycross,Georgia , raised goose bumps across the back of his neck. He
fisted the pistol grip of the M-4A1 and glanced around.

"Bill?"

"He ... vanished," Dockery croaked.

 Goose glanced at the wounded man, noting the pinprick-sized pupils, symptoms of the drugs in his
system.

"'S'truth, Sargh.Saw'im ... disappear."

A dozen questions filled Goose's mind. Before he had a chance to ask any of them, metal screamed
overhead. He glanced up, spotting the black silhouettes of the helicopters through the dusk and smoke
haze framed against the sun and the blue sky. Tears ran down his cheeks, brought on by the stabbing
brightness of the sun.

 But then he saw at least half of the CH-46Es slide out of control across the sky. They collided with other
helicopters, shredding rotors and sending deadly shrapnel through each other and the vulnerable troops
inside.

 Then the troop transport ships rained from the sky like dying flies, breaking open and scattering troops
and gear across the hardpan. In a handful of seconds, the relief effort sent by USSWasp had become a
broken necklace of casualties spread across the battlefield.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time1:20 A.M.



 Meganthrew her upper body out across the roofs edge. She'd moved before she'd thought about the
action, and she knew that was the only thing that had savedGerryFletcher . She had never moved so
quickly in her life. By some miracle, she managed to grab the boy's left wrist and stop his plummet down
the side of the building to the hard ground four stories below.

 Men cursed in the parking lot below, in stunned amazement as well as fear.Megan recognized those
emotions because she felt them within herself as well. She couldn't believe she'd caught the falling boy.

At the same time, she knew she wasn't going to be able to keepGerry from falling. She didn't have the
mass or the strength. Her arm felt torn from the socket.

 The spotlights from the vehicles trained on her andGerry , pin-ning her shadow and the boy's against the
side of the building in hard-edged relief. The MPs broke loose first, sprinting for the fire es-cape.
"Somebody get up there!"BoydFletcher squalled. "She's going to get that boy killed!"

Megantried to pullGerry up but couldn't. She lacked the upper-body muscle it would take to pull the
boy up. At the same time she wondered who had broughtBoydFletcher out into the parking lot. If the
man hadn't startledGerry-

 But he did,she told herself.You're dealing with that now. No! God, we're dealing with this! You and
me! You helped putGerryout here on this roof tonight, and You're going to help me get him back
down!

Metal rang as the MPs pounded up the stairs. "Hold on, ma'am!" one of them called. "Just hold on!"

I am!Meganthought.God help me, I am! God, please help me!

Megancould see an explosion of fear go off insideGerry as he dangled above the waiting ground.
Whatever he'd thought when he stepped off the roof, he'd clearly changed his mind now. He kicked and
whipped his other arm up to grab hold of her forearm.

"Pull me up,Mrs.Gander !" the boy pleaded. "Pull me up! I don't want to fall! Please don't let me fall!"

 At least we're on the same page now,Meganthought. She pulled at her arm. Abruptly, she slid across
the roofs edge. Her shirt buttons rasped against the rough surface.No! God, no!

She kicked her legs back and barely managed to stop herself from continuing to skid over the edge.
From the sound of their steps on the metal treads, the MPs had reached the second landing now. She
breathed as deeply as she could, forcing herself to be calm.

"Somebody stop her!"BoydFletcher yelled. "She's going to get my son killed!"

 My son.Meganheard the words, but she didn't believe it.BoydFletcher hadn't ever calledGerry by his
name in her hearing before. He'd referred to the boy as a possession; the same as saying "my car."

 Pain burned through her arm. She focused onGerry . His eyes were wide with panic. His fingernails
clawed into her arm, leaving bloody furrows. Her own fear allowed her to ignore the burning pain of the
deep scratches, as if it were someone else's flesh that was getting torn.

"Mrs.Gander!Mrs.Gander ! Please help me!"

 "I am,Gerry . I am."Megan tried to keep the tears from her eyes but she couldn't. She was going to drop
him. She'd never be able to hold him till help arrived. He seemed to get heavier with each passing
second, a weight like a blacksmith's anvil kicking and yelling at the end of her arm.

 "Stop her!"BoydFletcher yelled. "She's going to kill him! She's crazy! " He struggled, trying to break
away from the two MPs who had stayed with him, even though his hands were cuffed behind his back.
One of the MPs slapped his stick at the backs of Fletcher's legs, knock-ing the man into a crumpled
kneeling position. He leaned down, pin-ningFletcher with one hand against the small of his back.

Fletcherscreamed curses.

"Calm down, Private," one of the MPs ordered.
ToMegan the voices, even Fletcher’s yells, seemed like they came from a million miles away.

"Mrs.Gander!"Gerry hung on to her desperately.

 Meganslid another couple inches, getting dangerously close to losing her scant purchase at the roofs
edge. "God," she shouted, "please help me! Please help me with this!"

But there was no answer.

 There had never been an answer when she had asked for help. Sometimes, most of the time, she had to
admit, the situations she prayed over had gotten better.Bill told her that God acted in the world, gave
signs that built faith if people trusted enough to look for them. Even in the Old Testament, when God had
spoken to His prophets on a regular basis, those ancient men had struggled more to disbelieve and
discount than to accept.Bill had suggested that was why idolatry had sprung up, that man had a
self-defeating need to reach out to things that didn't exist rather than admit God's love was there for them.

 Idols couldn't hold a person accountable for his or her actions. A person couldn't break faith with an
idol. An idol was a fabrication, a thing a person chose to believe in because she could exercise some
control over the idol by choosing to worship it or not worship it. Blame could be placed on an idol,
payoffs withheld from that idol, a new idol found.

 But what about God'slove?Megan asked herself frantically as she slid another inch.Where isHis hand in
this? I'm going to lose this boy, God! I'm not strong enough to hold him! Please! You can see this!
You have to be able to see this! Help me!

"Mrs.Gander!"Gerry slipped another inch.

 Megan's grip on the boy's hand loosened. Her hand grew numb and ached miserably from her sustained
effort. Goose could have pulled the boy back up. She felt certain of that. Goose was strong, sta-ble. He
could handle anything the world threw at him and keep go-ing. She had seen that.

 Gerryslipped again, andMegan slid forward across the roofs edge. She knew that if she didn't release
him his weight was going to drag her into a free fall with him. Part of her-the animal part that lived in the
lowest recesses of her brain, still afraid of fire and storms and any kind of change-screamed at her to let
go. No one could blame her for saving herself. She had already risked her life. Saving Gerry Fletcher
was impossible-Nothing isimpossible with God'shelp-it would have been better if she had missed
him-Whydidn't I misshim?

Gerry's hand slipped from her forearm, no longer able to hang on, his clasp sliding from her arm to her
hand.

"Mrs. Gander!"

"I've got you, Gerry. I've got you. Just hang on. Just hang on a mo-ment longer."

The MPs were on the final landing, headed for the rooftop. They were big and strong. They could hold
Gerry and make him safe. All they had to do was-

 "We just have to hang on a few more seconds." Megan's arm felt like fire had invaded the joint. "Just a
little longer." Tears blurred her vision and she knew she was crying.God! Why? Why have You
aban-doned us?

 The blood from the scratches along her forearm threaded down her hand and onto Gerry's. The grip
they shared became slick and un-certain.

"I'm falling!" Gerry screamed. "I'm falling!"

 "No," Megan said, stifling the urge she had to scream as well. "I've got you, Gerry. I've got you." She felt
the rooftop shake under her as the MPs raced toward them. "Just don't let go. Don't let go, Gerry."

Thin as a whisper, silent as snow, gone in the blink of an eye, Gerry's hand slipped through hers.

"No!" Megan screamed as she felt his fingers glide through the blood that coated her hand.

Gerry wailed in terror. And he fell, plummeting toward the un-yielding concrete in front of the apartment
building.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time1:21 A.M.




Time slowed asMegan watchedGerryFletcher fall. Time slowed but never stopped, moving inexorably
on in horrifying tiny ticks rather than in a brain-numbing rush.

Gerrydropped like a rock, tumbling over backward, his arms stretched out and reaching helplessly for a
handhold, his legs bicy-cling. A scream stretched the boy's mouth wide, butMegan couldn't hear it over
her own yell of anguish. She'd had him ... and she'd lost him.

 Why, God? Why did You let both of us come up on this roof tonight? If everything happens for a
reason, if I'm supposed to believe that, what good was it forGerryto be up here? Why did I have to
be up here?The last bit was selfish. She knew that and regretted the thought in the same mo-ment she
had it.
Gerrytumbled, turning to face away from her.

 Tears blurredMegan 's vision. She blinked them away uncon-sciously, and when she opened her eyes
again, she sawGerry hit the ground. At least, she thought the boy had hit the ground. But looking down
now, she knew that something was wrong.

 The pile of clothes at the bottom of the building didn't look big enough to be a boy. They only looked big
enough to be-to be a pile of clothes.

That's denial,Megantold herself, knowing that had to be true because nothing else made sense.My
mind is shutting out the real sight ofGerrydown there, shutting out the true image of blood and
broken pavement. He fell. He hit. 0 God, what have I done? Why did You forsake us? He was just
a baby.

 The two MPs on the rooftop grabbedMegan 's legs. She hadn't even noticed she'd still been falling,
skidding slowly but surely over the side of the roof.Gerry 's certain death had paralyzed even the liz-ard's
instinct for survival in the back of her brain.

"Mrs.Gander," one of the MPs said. "Mrs.Gander, relax. We've got you. It's over."

 Stubbornly,Megan clung to the roofs edge. One of the MPs guardingBoydFletcher ran toward the
impact area.Impact area? Is that what you call it? She didn't know how she could be so callous. The
MP reached the pile of clothes and stared down. His head swiveled around, looking for something.

 "Where is he?"BoydFletcher yelled. "Where isGerry ? I saw him up there. She hid him. Check the
rooftop. He can't have gone far." He struggled to get to his feet, but the MP holding him down never
moved, grinding him down on his face.

 In the end,Megan couldn't hold on to the roofs edge. The MPs proved too strong. They talked softly to
her, like she was a child or a trauma victim. Shaking and shivering, not certain that she was strong enough
to walk on her own two feet,Megan allowed the men to hold her from either side.

"Mrs.Gander."

 Megantracked the voice, turning to the man on the right when she wanted to go look over the roofs edge
again.It's only clothes. Only clothes. And that made no sense at all.

"Yes?" Her voice came out as a croak.

"Are you all right, ma'am?"

She tried to speak, found she couldn't, then tried again. "I think so."

 "Do you feel strong enough to take the stairs, ma'am? If not, we can probably get a rescue unit to come
take you off the roof. It would be a lot easier if you could make it under your own steam." The MP was
in his fifties, a black man gone gray at the temples, with a seamed face that offered strength and support.

Megannodded.

 "I'm sorry, ma'am, but I need you to audibly answer me. I need to know that you understand what I'm
asking." The MP's grip on her arm was gentle but firm.
"Yes,"Megan said. "I can walk."

"Then-when you're ready, ma'am."

Meganstarted forward, aiming for the fire escape.

"Have you got her,Dave ?" the other, younger MP asked. "I gotta look for that kid."

"Yeah," the big MP answered. "I can make it. If not, we'll stop partway down and you can catch up, or
one of the others can come up here."

Meganstopped and turned to the younger MP. "What did you say you were going to do?" She couldn't
believe she stopped, but what the man had said had jarred her.

The man stared at her. "I'm gonna look for that kid, Mrs. Gander Do you know where he got off to?"

Meganmade herself breathe out. "His name isGerry ." That was important. He wasn't just some chattel
ofBoyd 's, a possession; he wasn't just his abusive father's property.

"Yes, ma'am," the MP answered politely. "I've gotta look forGerry ."

 "He fell,"Megan said.God, he slipped right through my fingers. How could You allow something
like that to happen? "He's down there on the pavement."

"No, ma'am," the young MP insisted. "All that's down there are his clothes."

Meganstared at the man. "His clothes?"

 "Yes, ma'am." The MP nodded and shined his flashlight around the rooftop. Nothing came into view.
"Can you tell me where the kid-whereGerry is,Mrs.Gander ? Things will probably go easier if we can
bring him in."

 "We won't let his father at him,"Dave , the older MP, promised. He obviously mistook Megan's shocked
silence as trepidation. "PrivateFletcheris going to be in lockdown tonight. He won't touch the boy."

The young MP grimaced and glanced at his partner. "Is there another way down off of this roof?"

Daveshook his head. "This is it."

"The kid couldn't have flown down from the roof,Dave . He’s either up here or he's down there."

"Pete." The older MP licked his lips. "Maybe the boy was never up here."

 "I saw him,"Pete said. "I saw him." He glanced at the roofs edge trailing the flashlight beam along it. "And
I swear,Dave , I swear I saw that kid fall from the building."

 “If you did, he’d be down there,”DaveSaid "All that hit the ground was clothes. You heardMitchell
andRick the same as I did. You only saw clothes hit the ground. Nothing else." "Then we're looking for a
naked kid?"
"Maybe he was never up here. MaybeMrs.Gander only had his clothes. "

Megancouldn't believe what she was hearing. Why would anyone think she'd only been up on the
building with clothing? Why did they think only clothing had hit the ground?

"That sounds kind of weird, don't you think?"Pete asked.

 Daveshrugged. "You look. I'll getMrs.Gander to the ground, then I'll come back up and help you look
some more."

"You saw the kid, didn't you,Dave ?"Pete looked desperate. "You saw him up on this rooftop, didn't
you?"

Davelet out a long breath andMegan saw the fear in the man's eyes. "It was dark," the older MP said. "I
don't know what I saw."

 Dazed, not comprehending what was going on,Megan allowed herself to be led away. She descended
the metal stairs mechanically, barely noticing the bright light of the camcorder trained on her from one of
the building's windows.

"Get that camera out of here,"Dave growled.

Reluctantly, the young soldier filling the third-floor window did as he was ordered. He was shirtless, and
his dog tags gleamed in the reflected illumination. The camcorder light died. "Did yousee that boy
disappear, Sarge?" the young soldier asked.

 "Be quiet, soldier," the MP snapped. "You look like you've been drinking tonight. You sure don't want
someone prowling around in-side your apartment if you've got a shift in the morning. You'd get a referral
in no time flat."

The guy stood his ground but didn't say anything.

 As she descended the stairs,Megan kept staring at the pile of cloth-ing thatGerryFletcher had been
wearing only moments ago. She tried to comprehend what she was seeing, trying to make some sense of
it. How could there only be a few clothes left from a young boy that had fallen from a four-story rooftop?

But when she reached the ground level, those clothes were all that was left ofGerryFletcher . The
memory of the boy's screams as he fell hauntedMegan .

"What did you do with my son?"BoydFletcher yelled. He arched his back and turned to look at the man
holding him down. "Make her tell you. Make her tell you what she's done with my son. That's your job."

 "I didn't do anything with him,"Megan said, staring at the cloth-ing. She remembered the garments from
when she'd first seen them in the hospital, then again whenGerry had slipped from her grip and twisted
through the intervening distance. God help her, she thought that was one memory she'd never forget.

"She's lying!"BoydFletcher screamed. "You all know my son was up there. He's still up there. Find him!"

 In a daze,Megan approached the clothing. She knelt and touched the sweatpants with the tattered knee,
the sweatshirt, the smudged socks and sneakers. Silver gleamed in the combined lights of the MPs and
the curious onlookers that had gathered from the nearby apart-ments. She moved the socks and shoes,
revealing the silver necklaceGerry 's mother had gotten him last year. Almost hypnotized, she lifted the
necklace in her fingers. The small sterling silver cross hang-ing from the necklace spun and caught the
light.

"Get her away from those clothes! "BoydFletcher bellowed. "Get her away from them now! They aren't
hers! She has no business with them!"

 On her knees,Megan stared at the cross. She remembered how proudGerry had been of his necklace.
He wouldn't have left it be-hind. She wrapped her hand around the cross, thinking that she could still feel
the warmth of the boy's body in it even at the same time knowing that had to be impossible.

 Gerrywouldn't have left the necklace. He wouldn't have left his clothes.He didn't leave. He fell. The
words thundered throughMegan 's mind, overriding evenBoydFletcher 's loud curses and demands that
someone find his son.

"Mrs.Gander."

 Meganwas suddenly aware of the big MP at her side. His hand was once more on her arm. This time his
grip wasn't just supportive; it constrained her as well, letting her know she wasn't leaving unless he agreed
to it.

"Mrs.Gander," the MP said, "I'm afraid you're going to have to come with me."

"I can't."Megan rose, feeling the MP's hand tighten around her arm.He's afraid I'm going to try to run.
The realization flooded through her like cold water, triggering an instinctive impulse to do precisely that.

"Ma'am," the MP said with polite determination. "There are going to be a lot of questions."

"I can't,"Megan said. "I promised my son I'd come for him."

"Where's your son?"

"At the child-care facility."

"Then he'll be fine," the MP said.

"I told him I'd be there. I told him I'd be there when he woke up." Unexpectedly, new tears and a fresh
wave of panic ripped throughMegan . She felt sick and her knees buckled. If the MP hadn't been holding
on to her arm, she would have fallen.

"Come with me,Mrs.Gander ," the MP suggested. "I'm sure we can sort this out in a little while."

 "Cuff her,"BoydFletcher snarled. He calledMegan several unkind words, struggling against the man who
held him and against the handcuffs that held him. "Cuff her. She did something with my son. Find out what
she did with him."

 Meganopened her palm and gazed at the tiny silver cross. She prayed. She prayed harder than she had
prayed in years. Without an-other word, the big MP guided her toward the security Jeep. The flash-ing
lights whirled throughMegan 's vision. She felt like she was in a terrible nightmare and she couldn't get
free.
TheMediterranean Sea

USSWasp

Local Time 0821 Hours



 Only minutes after the last of the aircraft had lifted fromWasp's deck,DelroyHarte had returned to his
private quarters to watch the unfold-ing development of the engagement along the Turkish-Syrian border.
The combat information center had been reduced to using long-range satellite images because the
carefully orchestrated Syrian attacks had taken out the primary communications lines with the first wave
of SCUDs.GlitterCity , with all its media personalities and support crews, had become a casualty less
than three minutes after that.

 Captain Falkirk and his intelligence teams had been reduced to tapping into the video feeds being
pumped out ofGlitterCity . Those hadn't lasted long either. With the second wave of SCUDs, the feeds
fromGlitterCity had been lost as well.

 Delroy had barely switched on the television in his private quar-ters and started flipping through the news
channels before those ser-vices were lost, too. He had sat quietly for several minutes, trying to take
solace in the growl and thunder that wasWasp twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week.The ship had
been the major portion of his world for years.

Sailors green toWasp hated the constant barrage of noise. Old hands took comfort in the sounds,
knowing them all individually.

 Within minutes, though, Delroy had known he couldn't stay in his quarters. He had taken his portable
television set and returned to the medical department to try and attack the letter once more. His prayers
to God weren't going very well either. Thinking about the young warriors in the field dying so far from
home reminded the chaplain too much of Terrence.

 The loss of his son was never far from Delroy's mind, nor was the fact that the loss and his own inability
to deal with it had shattered his marriage after twenty-seven years. Actually, he was still married. He had
never filed for divorce, andGlenda had never pressed him for one. He had simply stopped going home.
He'd effectively cut off his ties to his family, though they still sent cards and letters.

But it wasGlenda 's ability to believe that their son was taken from them for a reason approved of by
God's will that mocked his own be-lief. And yet, tattered and broken as that belief was, it was all Delroy
had to cling to. He had put on a good face and made the best he could of his career and his life,
butGlenda knew him as no one else ever had.

Except for my father,Delroy thought.JosiahHartewould have known what I'm thinking at a glance.

 Glenda's own belief had shamed Delroy. And her ability to deal with his own decision to effectively end
the marriage three years ago, two years after Terrence's death, had shamed him further. He still sent
money home to help with the bills, but less than a year after he had stopped going home,Glenda had
opened an account at the bank and put the money there. She rented the house out to make the mortgage
payment and moved into a small apartment. She continued teaching and worked atCarlBynum 's produce
market during the summers.

 Seated again at the stainless steel table with the blank paper that was supposed to be the letter he was
going to write toDwightMellencamp 's family, Delroy stared at the television.Wasp had satel-lite hookups
for television throughout the ship. The crew traveled in relative comfort.

 Only moments ago, some of the news feeds inTurkey had come back on line. There had been a bit
about a U.S. Army Ranger outfit that had helped evacuateGlitterCity , then that feed had gone off-line
when Syrian troops had arrived and started shooting. The camera-man had evidently been one of the first
fatalities.

 Now the television channels were full of late-breaking stories. Some of those stories centered on
first-person accounts by reporters concerning the evacuation ofGlitterCity , the horrifying convoy back to
Sanliurfa, and the attacks that had gone on within Sanliurfa. Some came directly from the border where
reporters were pinned down by enemy fire just as the domestic troops, the U.N. peacekeepers, and the
U.S. Army Rangers were.

 Delroy glanced at the body bag that contained his dead friend. The chaplain couldn't help feeling that in a
wayDwightMellencamp was lucky he hadn't lived to see this day. It was certain that several of the
Marines the chief had known and loved like sons wouldn't be coming back. By the time what was left of
their people got back,Wasp would feel like a ghost town.

The body bag suddenly sagged, collapsing in on itself.

 Goose bumps prickled across the back of Delroy's neck. His breath caught at the back of his throat. At
first he thought he'd imag-ined the sagging, but as he looked at the body bag, he knew that he
hadn't.Dwight had been a big man. There was no way he could fit in the body bag in the shape it was in
now.

For a moment, Delroy was back in his grandfather's house, listen-ing to the old man tell stories to his
grandchildren that triggered fussy arguments from his wife.GrandpaSmith , on Delroy's mother's side, had
been a constant joker. One night when the grandkids had been visiting, he'd explained about sitting up
with the dead, and how some-times in the old days before mortuaries embalmed the bodies and
pre-pared them for burial, that sometimes the dead would sit up as well.

 The first time Delroy had sat up with the dead with his father a few years later, he'd been frightened out
of his mind, thinking the corpse of his great-uncle Darmon would sit up at any moment, maybe even
come crawling out of the casket like a mummy in one of those old monster movies. His father had noticed
Delroy's discomfort at once.

 Reluctantly, Delroy had explained his fears. Quietly and patiently, as was his way except when
frightening nonbelievers with visions of hell and eternal damnation in that roaring lion's voice of his, Josiah
Harte had explained how in the old days the unprepared body would sit up. He had described in detail
how the reaction was caused by rigor mortis setting in and tightening muscles due to the dead body's
inability to process sugar. Sometimes, his father had said, trapped air was even expelled from the
corpse's lungs, but the person was not ac-tually alive, as uneducated and superstitious people thought.

Even though his father had been kind and understanding and in-formative, and even though Delroy was
nearly fifty years older, hesuddenly felt like that small eight-year-old boy sitting in near dark with only
candles for light. He forced himself to breathe again.

 Using his remote control, he muted the television and pushed up from the chair. His heart beat frantically
as he made himself approach the much flatter body bag. Hand shaking, he pressed his palm against the
body bag.

 The bag sank beneath Delroy's hand, giving way immediately and not stopping till his palm reached the
table.

"No." He didn't even recognize his own voice at first.

 Quickly, struggling with all the emotions that were suddenly cas-cading within him, Delroy slid his hand
down the length of the body bag. It was empty. At least, it was empty of a corpse. However, there was
something inside the bag.

 Before he could stop himself, Delroy reached for the zipper and tugged it down, freeing the zipper's
teeth so the bag could fall open.

 Empty.The realization filled the chaplain with a mind-numbing cold that the refrigerated room couldn't
even begin to compete with.

 With the bag open, Delroy saw the clothing lying inside. The lump he'd felt had beenDwight 's favorite
shoes, a pair of Birkenstocks that his wife had given him a few Christmases ago.

 Stunned, his mind reeling and snatching at possible reasons for this unbelievable turn of events, Delroy
left the empty body bag and crossed the room. He pulled the door open and stepped into the main
hallway of the medical department.

 Cary Boone, in his mid-thirties and one of the ship's best sur-geons, stood in the hallway with a puzzled
look on his face and a PDA in his hand. Tall and powerful with short dark hair, and right now a heavy
five o'clock shadow,Boone was one of the regulars in Delroy's pickup basketball group whenWasp was
in her homeport.

"ChaplainHarte,"Boone greeted him distractedly.

 "Dr.Boone," Delroy replied. Navy doctors were called "doctor" until they reached the rank of
commander. "Do you know if anyone movedChiefMellencamp 's body?"

Boonelooked irritated. "Why would anyone do that?"

"I don't know. ButDwight -" Delroy halted himself. "The chief,, body is missing."

 "I thought you were in there with him."Boone covered ground rapidly, opening hatches along the hallway
and peering inside.

"I thought I was, too, but just now, when I checked the bag, the chief's body was missing."

"I'll ask around."Boone tried another door. "Have you seenNurseTaylor ?"

 JennaTaylorwas a favorite among the crew and the doctors. She was a vivacious young redhead
fromOhio and one of the most level-headed, kind, and considerate people that Delroy knew.
"No," Delroy answered.

"I swear that she was right here,"Boone said distractedly. "I was going over these files with her, in
preparation for the wounded we ex-pect to take on from the border skirmish, andJenna was talking to
me from one of these rooms. She stepped in here to get something."

"She's been working this morning?" Delroy asked.

"Yes.

 "Then maybe she'll know where the chiefs body is." Despite the calm, rational exterior he held carefully
in place, Delroy felt frantic. No one would takeDwight 's body. There was no reason. But the body had
disappeared and he had no explanation for that. He joinedBoone in his search, both of them calling
outJenna 's name.

 A pile of scrubs lay inside the second room Delroy checked. He froze, not believing what he was seeing.
"Cary." His voice was a harsh desert croak that barely freed itself from his lips.

"What?"

 "Come look at this. Tell me I'm not going crazy." Slowly, Delroy squatted, hearing his knees pop and
crack, because basketball hadn't been the kindest of sports to his body.

Boonejoined Delroy in the open hatch. "What?" the navy doctor asked.

Delroy pointed at the blue scrubs lying on the floor inside the supply room. Right on top was a name
badge withJennaTaylor 's name and rank on it.

"She left her clothes here?"Boone asked.

"The chiefs clothes were still inside the body bag," Delroy said in a low voice.

"That doesn't make any sense."

"No," Delroy admitted. "It doesn't."

 Running feet slapped against the steel floor. A young midshipman in scrubs rounded the corner at the
end of the hallway. "Dr.Boone," he gasped.

"What is it?"Boone replied.

 For an insane moment, Delroy thought the young man was going to say that the chiefs body had been
found, or thatJennaTaylor -as impossible as it sounded-had been caught streaking through the medical
department or had even made it out onto the flight deck. Stress did strange things to people, and the
coming hours and proba-bly days of dealing with wounded troops and the battle that raged along the
Turkish-Syrian border promised plenty of wear and tear on the nerves.

"They've disappeared, sir," the midshipman said.

"Who?"Boone asked.
 The midshipman shook his head. "I don't know exactly, sir. Dozens. I've found piles of clothes
throughout the medical depart-ment. The missing people are leaving their clothes behind. But no-body's
seen them. It's like they disappeared right off the ship! "

United States of America

Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center,ColoradoSprings

Local Time 2321 Hours



 In the last six months of his new posting in theCheyenneMountainOperationsCenter ,
twenty-eight-year-old U.S. Air Force Technical Sergeant James Franklin Manners had never before
seen an attack as large as the one now spinning across the huge wall screen monitors. The feeds came
directly from the satellites watching over the action that had broken out along the Turkish-Syrian border.
The other men and women aroundJim worked diligently at their assigned tasks, col-lating the real-time
information and moving it on to the command post inTurkey .

 Buried two thousand feet beneath the mountains that gave the complex its
name,CheyenneMountainOperationsCenter remained the backbone of the North American Air Defense
Command (NORAD). TheUnited States andCanada had jointly maintained the command post since
1957, with subdivisions responsible for deliver-ing warnings about aerospace dangers, missile attacks
launched againstNorth America or theUnited States , surveillance and protec-tion ofU.S. assets in space,
and geopolitical events that could threaten theU.S. as well as troops abroad. The command center
gath-ered, assembled, and interpreted data from numerous sources.

 Jimtapped commands on his keyboard, bringing up the informa-tion from the geosynchronous satellites
as well as the low-earth orbit satellites that still maintained a visual window on the aggressive com-bat
theater that had erupted eighty-seven minutes, forty-three seconds ago. He adjusted his headset and
listened to the ground communica-tions streaming through the computer links.

 "Excaliber, this isPhoenix . Are you prepared to take on wounded?" The transmission was slightly
garbled by the cacophony of explosions taking place around the speaker. Despite the dire straits he'd
found his group under, First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander performed his job and reported the events
as they occurred.

 "Affirmative,Phoenix . Excaliber is ready, willing, and able to transport wounded back toWasp. The
cap'n has the ship's hospital standing by if we can't make use of local resources in Sanliurfa."

 Jimstudied the terrain, spotting the wing units put into the air from USSWasp's deck out in
theMediterranean . The Marine pilots kept their aircraft flying smoothly, staying close to the hard deck.
Tracking the Marine wing had beenJim 's primary job, and the task had been relatively simple-until now.
Once the Syrian forces were engaged, tracking would become complicated. One of his main prior-ities
was to keep the friendlies separated from the hostiles.

 Jim's guts churned as he watched the aircraft moving. He tagged them again with the computer,
converting the visual feeds into digital tactical information that showed on the wall screen in front of him.
A Syrian MiG popped onscreen as well.Jim noted that he already had a designation for the craft but
reaffirmed the tag with frantic trackball movements and a couple keystrokes. He glanced at the computer
monitor on his right.

 The computer monitor showed the American air forces as blue tri-angles. The Syrian forces were red.
Any unknown aircraft, and thank God there were none of those, would be rendered in green, all of them
marked with digital readouts of elevation from the hard deck. The resulting effect would be viewer
friendly, like a kid's video game.

Suddenly, many of the blue triangles veered from the LZ the Rangers had set up along the ridgeline
behind the border. In a heart-beat, that tightly knit group of helicopters became a tangled confu-sion.

Glancing back at the satellite visual,Jim watched in disbelief as highly trained Marine pilots somehow
managed to crash their aircraft into each other. Only a few escaped the immediate destruction. Even so,
others dropped from the sky without ever being touched.

 In one split instant, the rescue effort became a catastrophe. What had once been efficient fighting
machines suddenly became ripped and twisted debris. AsJim watched in stunned amazement, one of the
Cobras blew up when it struck the ground. Somewhere in the areas of his mind that cataloged, identified,
and reasoned out such occurrences,Jim knew that the Cobra's ordnance must have blown. Fire wreathed
the battered hulk, letting him know there would be few-ifa ny-survivors.

"What just happened?" someone demanded.

 "Man, this reminds me of what happened to the Russian air force when they tried to pull off that surprise
attack onIsrael in January lastyear.

"Yeah," someone else said nervously. "But that shouldn't happen to us. We're the good guys."

Jimremembered the Russian attack and the way the Soviet aircraft had been swatted from the sky as if
by an invisible hand. Footage of the failed attack still rolled on the Learning Channel and on The His-tory
Channel when Cold War programs aired.

 Spinning in his chair,Jim gazed back at the observation post where the officers stood. Brigadier General
Hamilton Farley stood withCanadian Brigadier GeneralVictorWilliams .GeneralFarley was commander of
theCheyenneMountainCommandCenter andGen-eralWilliams served as second-in-command. Both men
were stem and alert, not showing any signs of having been rousted from bed.

 Jimlooked forColonelMorrisTurner , the Canadian officer in charge ofCharlieCrew , which was currently
on duty.ColonelTurner had been standing in his customary position behindJim , who was the newest
member of the team. When he didn't spot the colonel there,Jim glanced around the room. At present
time,CharlieCrew consisted of thirty-seven individuals. Even considering that someone might have
stepped away from their post, an event thatJim figured was never done during an alert situation because
he'd never seen that happen, losing a person in the room was next to impossible.

Then he saw the uniform lying on the floor only a few feet from his chair.ColonelTurner 's name badge
poked out from one of the buffed shoes.

Despite the trainingCharlieCrew had undergone, despite the stress that the team had faced on a number
of occasions that threat-ened North American security, the men and women manning their posts came
undone. As it turned out, several people were missing.

"It's like they got beamed out of here," Sterling Thompson said. He was a couple yearsJim 's junior but
had such an affinity for all things cybernetic that he had been a natural candidate to post
atCheyenneMountain .Sterling was also big into science fiction. He pushed his glasses up on his nose and
looked atJim . "There's no other explanation, man. We're two thousand feet down in solid rock, locked
up tight behind doors that weigh twenty-five tons each."

 "Calm down,"Jim advised, pushing himself to his feet. The sat-feeds streaming in fromTurkey had
faltered as well, but he wasn't sure if the problem lay there or within theCheyenneMountain com-plex.
"There's an explanation."

 "Yeah,"Sterling agreed wholeheartedly. He tapped keys on his keyboard, bringing up a view of space.
"And we're going to find it out there. Man, we thought we had problems inTurkey ?" He shook his head.
"I think we're about to be invaded. These people missing? They're just a sampling for whoever 's waiting
out there." He pointed at the screen full of stars.

 Jimbarely handled his own rising panic. He reached down and touchedColonelTurner 's uniform, trailing
a finger along the edge of the name badge. It felt real, but this couldn't really be happening. He watched
asSterling flipped through the different sectors of space available to them through the satellites they had
access to.

GeneralFarleystrode from the observation post and stopped near Turner's uniform. "Attention." His
voice was crisp and powerful.

 The command center crew obeyed immediately. There was noth-ing like a general's voice to bring an
enlisted man up short.

"I've notified security. Whatever this matter is-"Farley glanced down at Turner's abandoned uniform-"it's
being looked into by professionals. At this moment, I need all of you to be professional, to be the soldiers
you were trained to be in this field, and I need that from you right this instant. Do you understand that?"

"Yes, sir!" The reply boomed from the twenty-three people left in the ranks.

 "I need those information lines back up and running,"Farley said. "You've got American soldiers and our
allies dying over there. If we don't watch over them, give them some kind of heads-up, we're going to
lose more of them." He paused. "I'm not going to stand for that on my watch. Is that understood?"

"Yes, sir!"

"Then get back to it. I want everything you can find out, and I want it yesterday."

 Jimsettled back in at his console. This was why there were gener-als, he thought. When the world got
crazy, an order was still an order. But he remained uncomfortably aware of the vacated uniform lying
behind him at the general's feet.

He slipped his headset back on and cued the audible stream.

"Phoenix Leader, this is Alpha Two. We’ve lost men, Goose.” The man's voice cracked with rising
hysteria. "They've disappeared! There are empty uniforms everywhere!"

 Jimlifted his head and gazed across the empty seat whereDonnaKirkland had once sat. She had been
warm and friendly and helped him familiarize himself with the demands he faced. Only her uni-form
remained in the chair now. He locked eyes withSterling . "You listening to this?"
Sterlingnodded. "It's happening everywhere,Jim . It wasn't just us."

 For a moment,Jim felt a little relieved that the disappearances weren't held just to theCheyenne facility.
Then, a millisecond later, he realized that the other disappearances indicated that whatever en-emy they
were up against could strike possibly around the globe-at the very least on the other side of the world-at
the same time and with apparent impunity. How were they supposed to deal with some-thing like that?




United States75th Rangers 3rd Battalion

Field Command Post

35 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0824 Hours




 Even five miles back of the front line and safely entrenched-for the moment, at least-in the abandoned
cinder-block building he'd selected as his field command post, Captain Cal Remington co smell the
stench of war. Acrid explosive cordite and smoke gnawed his lungs while dust particles coated the
computer screens and irritated the eyes. The wind coming from the south had carried all those things to
them during the last hour and more.

But those things were logged in the back of the Ranger captain’s mind. His full attention was divided
between the computer monitor s and the uniform sitting in the chair where a young corporal had been
only moments ago.

 The preliminary head count among the intelligence crews showed 20 percent ofRemington 's on-site
teams had disappeared. One mo-ment, those men and women had been at their stations, manning the
computers and maintaining the perimeter around the building, and in the next moment they had been
gone. All of them had left at once, and none of those who had been left behind had seen anything of the
process that had carried those people away. They had left or been taken between heartbeats, as though
everyone in the room had blinked at the same time.

 Remingtonchafed over his inability to act on either the missing men or along the front line where his men
were. He didn't like taking a hit and not being able to retaliate immediately. But the communications lines
had gone down yet again, interrupting the flow of information sent from the Cheyenne Mountain
intelligencepeople as well as the feeds from USSWasp.

The com teams had promisedRemington that they would be back on line in a matter of minutes, but the
war along the Turkish-Syrianborder drew a terrible cost with each second that passed. Men died and
military strength withered in seconds. AndRemington knew he was losing precious time, resources, and
ground that would be hard to do without or nearly impossible to replace.

 The monitors relaying the satellite feeds showed grainy pictures of current activity. Bar lines scrolled
slowly through the screens, show-ing the actual repixelization of the digital images passed along.

 "Base, this is Cerberus Leader," a voice called over the walkie--talkie headsetRemington wore. The field
command post's communi-cations still worked up to three klicks away with only slight static.

 Five klicks back from the front line, at a time when all the intelli-gence networks were on the blink,
Cerberus was the perimeter secu-rity team charged with defending the command post. During the SCUD
attack, a few of the missiles had landed nearby, but the cinder-block building had remained standing if
somewhat battered.

 Until the moment the people went missing from the unit,Remington had felt they were divinely protected,
and that was a stretch for him. He believed in God, but he'd never once thought God had any interest in
him or knew he'd been born.

"Go, Cerberus,"Remington replied.

"You can add three more to that list ofMIAs ,"Lieutenant DonCarmichael told him. "We found the
uniforms and gear of one of the outer perimeter guard posts."

 "Affirmative, Cerberus Leader,"Remington replied. The informa-tion continued the trend of confirmed
disappearances that had started only minutes ago. Everyone within the three-klick radius who hadn't
responded had been verified missing.Remington had ordered the others into search-and-rescue teams to
sweep the area and system-atically check on units that had gone missing in action. "Secure what-ever
gear you can salvage and continue your search. Supplies are going to be hard to come by for a time."

"Understood, Base."

 The walkie-talkie connection hissed sparks inRemington 's ear. He strode again, seeking to neutralize
some of the nervous tension that filled him. More than anything, he wanted to hear from Goose. The first
sergeant was more than just a friend; Goose wasRemington 's third hand, the man who could see that
thingsRemington wanted done got done, and that they got doneRemington 's way.

 Remingtonstepped in behindPrivate First ClassFoster . The pri-vate had been on the second team, a
step down from the individuals the captain had worked with in the past, butFoster was good with the
computer.

"Let's see the archived footage of the helos again,"Remington said. "A few seconds before the impact."
We've missed something. We had to.

"One monitor or both?"Foster asked.

"Both,"Remington replied. "Post four quadrants on the screens. All in one-third speed slo-mo."

"Yes, sir."Foster tapped the keyboard. Both monitors ceased struggling with the grainy digital video they
were puking over at the moment. The images became crystal clear again, going back to the kind of
performanceRemington desired and was accustomed to.

The captain stood behind the computer operator and opened his vision.Remington had always been
good at tracking more than one thing at a time. That was one of the abilities that had helped him get into
OCS and had later helped him make the jump to captain.

 The images scrolled again and again, changing by flickers. Besides the ground cams that had been
assigned to the Rangers, the U.N. peacekeeping teams, and the Turkish army, several of the arriving
he-licopters and gunships had been equipped with cams as well. The sat-ellites governed by NORAD's
command center had pumped the video and audio transmissions toWasp and toRemington 's intelli-gence
teams.

The offered views included ground viewpoint shots as well as shots from inside the helo cockpits.

 Remingtoneyed the screens, blurring his attention and his pe-ripheral vision, not looking at the individual
action, but looking through the surface motions for the incongruent actions that didn't fit. Something had
gone wrong as the helos had swooped into the LZ, and he was going to see it this time.

 The exterior views of the Sea Knight contingent showed the helos descending toward the LZ in perfect
formation. The crimson haze from the smoke grenades Goose had used to establish quick visual sighting
blossomed against the tops of the smoke clouds from the ex-plosions like blood surfacing from the ocean
during a shark attack. In the next instant, some of the helicopters suddenly veered into others.

 Two Sea Knights in the lead collided and set off a chain of violence that whipped through the formation.
Other helos slammed together in a string of aerial wrecks. Often, the blows were only glancing, or a brief
meeting of rotor blades that shattered against each other, not full-blown collisions. Shards of carbonized
steel ripped through the helos like fragmentation grenades, slashing through the metal sides and Plexiglas
windows like tissue paper. Men died in that moment, and others died immediately afterward as the
helicopters broke and went to pieces against the hard earth. Black, oily smoke mixed with flames and
obscured the views of most of the few ship-carried cam-eras that had survived the impacts.

 In a brief, frozen split second, the image of Goose on his knees be-side a man who had been impaled by
a long shard filled one of the helo cams as the Sea Knight heeled over out of control. The image was so
stark, so unforgiving, that for a momentRemington was afraid Goose had been killed. He forced himself
to remember that he had talked with the first sergeant just after that. When the helicopter made contact
with the ground, the camera screen went black.

ButRemington had seen something else. The image played at the back of his mind, gnawing like a terrier.
He leaned forward. "Stop."

Fosterhit the keyboard. All the cycling images left onscreen halted, becoming silent, frozen images of
destruction or impending destruction.
"This one."Remington pointed to the lower left quadrant of the left monitor. "Can you identify this
helicopter?"

 Foster tapped keys and floated a legend into view on the screen. "Yes, sir. That wasLieutenantBriggs 's
aircraft."

"Can you isolateLieutenantBriggs 's aircraft in that formation?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then show me footage of the approach toward the LZ again and let's see what that helo did."

After a brief intermission for serious keyboarding,Foster put the results up on the right monitor. The
helicopters froze onscreen. "This is fifteen seconds before the first crash,"Foster said. "And this isBriggs 's
Sea Knight." The private tapped a few more keystrokes.

A circle, as bright yellow as a tennis ball, surrounded the heli-copter.

"Let's go,"Remington said, leaning more closely. He watched with interest asBriggs 's aircraft suddenly
veered out of control and locked rotors with the nearest Sea Knight on the left. Both aircraft fell to the
ground like broken birds. "Briggs's craft was one of those that went out of control."

"Yes, sir."Foster nodded. "I've got a list of the others. I can isolate their cameras, too, if you want."

 "We'll see. For now, run the footage from the interior camera inBriggs 's helo backward. Frame by
frame from the impact. You can cross-reference the time-date stamp on the videos, can't you?"

 "Yes, sir. That won't be a problem. All the cameras and transmis-sion equipment were calibrated for
exact timing."Foster shifted ner-vously.

"What is it?"Remington asked.

 "It's these cameras, sir. The ones used in the helos and by the ground teams? They shoot four thousand
frames a minute. Even if you go back thirty seconds, that's two thousand pictures to look at. Frame by
frame is going to take some time.Foster sounded apolo-getic. "Didn't mean to interrupt, sir. Just thought
you should know."

Remingtonnodded. "I needed to know, Private. Can you sort the frames?"

"Sure."

"Letme see every hundredth frame."

Bending to the keyboard,Foster entered the parameters of the search. A new window opened on the
monitor, filling with the frozen image of the interior of the Sea Knight's cockpit.

 The camera had been mounted inside the helicopter's cockpit roof and peered over the pilot and
copilot's shoulders, cutting them out of the picture and not giving a clear indication of what had
hap-pened that had made the helo break formation. On normal opera-tions, the Sea Knight carried a
crew chief and a mechanic in addition to the pilot and copilot. During hot drops that entailed possible
en-gagements with hostile ground forces, the mechanic was replaced with two door gunners.
 RemingtonguidedFoster by voice, flipping to every hundredth frame. Onscreen, the view changed
dramatically as the Sea Knight had pitched and yawed in the air. One of the nearby helicopters hung in
mid-destruction, the flames and debris hurtling from the craft as steel bent and ripped loose. A hundred
frames back, the helo was struck by another helicopter. The copilot's face in the other aircraft was frozen
in surprise, one hand pushed to the glass as if to ward off the other helo.

Four pictures-four hundred frames-back, the captain figured out what he was looking for. "Stop
here."Remington gazed at the screen, then tapped it. "Can you reimage this? Zoom in and blow it up?"

"Sure." In seconds, the picture grew larger and larger atRem-ington 's direction.

 "Do you see it?"Remington stared at the image and felt a cold gust of wind across the back of his neck.
He knew that feeling was only his imagination, though. There wasn't a cold wind anywhere in their
vicinity.

Fosterstudied the picture and shook his head. "I see the helicop-ter thatBriggs 's aircraft ran into."

 "Here."Remington ran his finger over a section of the screen. "Look here and you can see a reflection of
the copilot in the Plexi-glas." The image looked like a grayed-out photograph against the Plexiglas. "What
do you see in the seat next to him?"

"The seat is empty,"Foster said in a hollow voice.

"Yes,"Remington said.

Fosterworked the keyboard, pulling up and scanning Wasp's crew lists on the left monitor. "No, sir," the
private said. "That seat wasn't empty. At least, it wasn't supposed to be empty.LieutenantBriggs was
definitely aboard that aircraft. The copilot wasSergeantJulianMahoney . "

Keen-edged interest sharpenedRemington 's focus. "Go back a hundred frames."

Fosterdid. The seat remained empty.

 Three hundred frames back, passed in increments of one hun-dred, the view inside the cockpit changed,
and the reflection of the in-terior wasn't displayed against the Plexiglas. Four hundred frames back, the
seat was still empty when the reflection formed against the Plexiglas again. A hundred frames back from
that point,LieutenantBriggs , looking dangerously cool despite the immediate pressure he had flown into,
sat in the seat with his hand on the control yoke.

"There he is,"Foster said.

"Yes,"Remington agreed. "Now we roll forward, Private. By tens."

 Thirty frames later,Briggs 's seat was empty. After a frame-by-frame search,Foster located the two
frames in sequence that showed the Marine helo pilot had been in his seat, then gone. Except for the pile
made by a uniform, headgear, and boots. The helicopter had gone out of control from that moment and
swiftly collided with the nearby helicopter to start off the string of destruction that had rained from the
sky.

"Put up both frames,"Remington said in a calm, controlled voice. "Side by side. I want to look at them."
Foster tapped keys. The two frames popped into view.

Remingtonstudied the two digital images. Except for the fact thatLieutenantBriggs was missing and his
uniform was on the seat, the scenes didn't look different in any way.

 Somewhere between the two images,LieutenantBriggs had man aged to strip off his clothing and gear
and leave a helicopter 338 fee-tabove an LZ in hostile territory.Remington thought about that, wondering
if the lieutenant's body would turn up on the battleground.HE glanced at the corporal's clothing in the
nearby chair and felt certain there would be no body.

 When Dockery's hand relaxed in his, Goose felt certain the man naa died. However, when he checked
the corporal's pulse, he found a flicker of life. The anesthetic had flooded his nervous system and left him
limp on the shard of metal that had ripped through his body and now supported him. Dockery's eyes
remained open, but Goose doubted the man saw anything.

Goose released Dockery's hand.God, look over him. Keep him safe till I can get help here, or take
him home with You if that'swhat You feel is best. Whatever was done needed to be done quickly.

 Pushing himself to his feet, Goose looked atBill 's empty uniform. Goose's mind reeled as he tried to
accept the evidence lying on the ground.

Billis gone.

 That was the bottom line. No matter howBill had been taken or killed-God,please letBill be alive-he
was gone, and he wasn't there to help Goose now as he had for so many years as a friend and a fel-low
soldier. The flutter of the wet, dust-encrusted kerchief Goose had tied around his lower face pulled in
tight against his lips as he took a deep breath. In that breath, he centered himself, putting on the men-tal
armor of the professional soldier. He spoke calmly into the head- set microphone.

"Base, this is Phoenix Leader."

There was no reply.

 With effort, Goose turned toward the LZ, where the stricken Ma-rine wing lay shattered. Flames leapt
up from the broken helicopters, and the heat created pockets of shifting mirage effects in the air, swirl-ing
through the heavy black smoke. A few men stumbled and stag-gered from the wreckage.

 There are survivors.The realization electrified Goose. The fatigue and pain sloughed away from him as
the need to act gave him a sec-ond wind. He pushed himself into a jog and gazed back along the border.

 Two Harriers and one Whiskey Cobra roved through the air, cut-ting through the ocean of haze that
cycled through the air. Roiling waves of fire still scoured the no-man's-land that had been forcibly
declared on the Syrian side of the border.

Goose switched his headset over to the general frequency in use by the Rangers. "Phoenix Team, this is
Phoenix Leader. Count off "

In quick succession, the team counted off, letting him know that five of the Rangers were still at hand.
Dockery and Evaristo were too wounded to help with a rescue effort.BillTownsend andNealClark were
missing.
 Goose ordered the men to help with the rescue operations among the downed aircraft, then turned his
attention to the front line. The Turkish military were still in position there, but he knew he'd feel more
comfortable with his teams in place. And he knew thatCalRemington would demand that. "Echo Two.
Bravo One."

 "Echo Two here, Phoenix Leader,"Bernhardt replied. "Bravo One reads you, Phoenix Leader,"York
said.

"Hold your positions," Goose ordered. "We've lost corn with Base. For the moment, we hold what we
have." Both rifle company leaders agreed.

"Echo Two, is Six still intact and with your unit?" Echo Six wasRickMeans , one of the best point men
Goose had ever seen. "Affirmative, Leader."

"Get Six and two men forward," Goose said. "His choice. I need spotters in place. With the corn out,
we don't have eyes that can see through that haze. I want as much intel incoming as we can get."

"Affirmative, Leader."

 "Phoenix Leader, this is Alpha Two. We've lost men, Goose."Ser-geantGuntherSlade , the number two
in Alpha Rifle Company, sounded hysterical. A ragged breath rattled over the corn. "They've
disappeared! There are empty uniforms everywhere! "

 "Understood, Alpha Two," Goose stated calmly. "Treat them asMIAs for now. Get me a list of missing
personnel. Secure any loose weapons and gear. We don't know how soon it will be before we can
restock.CharlieLeader , do you copy this corn?"

 "Affirmative,Phoenix ,"LieutenantHaroldWake 's deep voice re-plied.Harry had six years in the Rangers.
He was still young in some ways, a graduate of OCS after getting a doctorate in marine biology inSeattle
. He'd attended school with the intention of putting in his time in the military to pay off his college tuition,
then get back to the work in the oceans that he loved. Instead, he'd gotten hooked on the Ranger life,
drawn to the adrenaline and sense of family that was missing after being raised in state institutions.

 "Charlie One," Goose said, "I need you to fall back with your peo-ple to aid in the search and rescue
among the Marine wing. Grab all the medkits you can get your hands on and head this way."

"Roger,Phoenix ,"Harry replied.

Goose reached the first Sea Knight. Black spots danced in his vi-sion from the lack of air.

 The helicopter sat on the rough land canted over on its right side. A rotor blade had chopped into the
hard earth, looking for a moment like it had buried itself several feet with the impact. Then Goose noted
the broken stubs of the other rotors and knew that the rotor blade the craft rested on had shattered, too.

Smoke coiled like fat, restless snakes from the helicopter's inte-rior. The Sea Knights carried ordnance,
but most of that was secured with the Marines. The downed Whiskey Cobras would be more
dan-gerous.

 Dead men lay strewn before the Sea Knight. He forced himself not to dwell on the fact that until minutes
ago these men had been alive. Despite the amount of death he had seen in the past two hours, he couldn't
distance himself from the horror of it.

And God help me if I ever do,Goose prayed.

After ascertaining that none of the men lying outside the helicop-ter were alive, Goose ducked down and
prepared to enter the open side cargo door. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he was in motion
before he recognized the Beretta M9/Model 92F that came up in the hand of the dazed Marine on the
other side of the cargo area.

The gunshot filled the tight space inside the cargo helicopter but hardly made a dent in the cacophony of
noise that rolled over the bat-tlefield. The bullet slapped into the ground just outside the cargo area.

 Goose spun and went to the ground, keeping his assault rifle in his right hand while his left clapped
instinctively to his helmet. "Stand down, Marine," he ordered in the voice of authority he'd culti-vated
while stepping up through the ranks. "I'm Sergeant Gander. With the 75th Rangers."

A choked sob came from inside the helicopter. "Sorry, Sergeant. I'm sorry. I'm hit. I'm hurt bad."

 Goose pushed himself up and put his back to the helicopter's body. He kept the M-4A1 canted up.
"What's your name, Marine?" "Lance CorporalKennyPierce, Sergeant."

 Goose pushed out his breath and stared down at the arm that stuck out from under the helicopter's
body. The limb was the left arm. A gold band glinted around the ring finger.Married. The realization
slammed home to Goose like a hammer falling. Thoughts flickered through his mind, images ofMegan
,Joey , andChris . He walled them away with effort. He was a soldier on the battlefield. He would always
be a soldier on the battlefield.

"Lance Corporal Pierce," Goose said, "I want you to put your side-arm down."

"Done, Sergeant."

 With a quick prayer, Goose heaved off the side of the helicopter, stepped around the dead man's arm,
and hunkered down in the cargo door. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark interior.

 The Marine corporal was young with a kid's features that time in the service hadn't yet erased. Dark
brows hung over pain- and fear--filledeyes set in dark hollows. He sat with his back against the
oppo-site side of the helicopter. Blood stained his BDUs. Dead men lay around him. Fuel stink filled the
air and let Goose know they were potentially sitting on top of a bomb.

"They're dead, Sergeant,"Kenny croaked.

Goose shouldered his rifle and crept forward. The helicopter creaked as the weight shifted but didn't
move more than a couple inches. "I know. I lost a buddy of mine."

"I lost my whole squad, Sergeant." The young corporal's face crumpled. He squeezed his eyes shut.
Tears tracked down his bloody cheeks.

 The young man was lucky to be alive, but Goose didn't mention that. He squatted down near the
corporal, aware of the corpses of Marines that pressed in against him.

"Where are you hit?" Goose asked.Concentrate on the things that you can do. Not what you've
lost. That's whatBillalways said. Says! That's whatBillalways says. You're not going to give up on
him, Goose.

"My legs. I can't move them."

 As gently as he could, Goose rolled the corpses from the young corporal, but he was grimly aware that
he was still shifting dead weight. Blood was everywhere. He knew he should have at least put on the
rubber gloves from the medkit to protect himself, but to be completely protected he'd have had to have a
bodysuit. He concen-trated on the task at hand, knowing he had to hold himself together for the young
corporal.

"What happened to the helo?" Goose took his mini-Maglite from his combat harness.

 "Don't know." The corporal yelled in pain when Goose uncov-ered one of his legs to reveal shrapnel
wounds that had to have come from the shattered rotors. All of the men in front ofKennyPierce were
riddled with the jagged shards. More metal stuck out from the helo's interior. "Somebody said the pilot
disappeared."

 "Disappeared?" Goose opened his medkit and took out gauze and tape, added wraparound
compresses, and a pair of scissors. He started cutting the man's pant legs to reveal the wounds. If the
metal hadn't ripped through an artery and caused the young Marine to bleed out before now, he didn't
want to inadvertently cause that.

"That's what they said."

Goose started wrapping gauze over the compress he'd wrapped around Pierce's lower leg. Letting his
hands work through the famil-iar process, he glanced forward.

 The cockpit was visible through the gaping hole left where the bulkhead separating the cargo area had
been. The pilot's seat was empty. The copilot lay dead in the other seat with a length of jagged metal
thrusting out from under the chin of his flight helmet.

"Did you see it?" Goose asked.

Piercewinced as the bandages were applied. "No."

 "If you need something for the pain," Goose offered, "let me know." Shock was sometimes the best pain
relief and one of the body's natural defenses. The cuts on the young Marine's legs were bad, but his legs
were intact. Without a ready transport to ferry in more medical supplies, they had to conserve what they
had on hand.

The Marine nodded. "I can deal."

Goose repacked the medkit. "I've got to get you out of here. Can you walk?"

 Piercetried to shove himself to his feet but couldn't gain enough traction on the tilted, blood-slick metal
flooring in his weakened con-dition. "I can't. I'm sorry."

 "Ease up, Marine. We'll all do what we can to see this through. You've done your part." Steeling himself,
ignoring the wolfs jaws that wrenched at his bruised knee, Goose gathered the young man up in his arms
and ducked down to step out of the helicopter onto the bar-ren earth. The hot wind slapped him,
draining his strength. His in-jured knee nearly buckled under him, but he made himself stand tall.

 You survived for a reason, Goose. You survived for a reason and you're going to walk and you're
going to do your job. God's hand is in this. Despite everything you see around you, God's hand is
in this. Now you be the soldier you signed on to be.

 Goose knew the words wereBill 's. They must have been from some other time, some other battle when
things had looked dark. Goose couldn't remember when that time was.Bill had always said that human
beings were venal and unwilling to reach for anything outside themselves. God was there, but most men
wanted to under-stand the nature of God, to know more things than they were ever meant to believe.

 "Life comes down to two choices, Goose,"Bill had always-has always-said. "You believe or you don't
believe. God will test you be-cause He loves you. He will take away everything you think you can know
or trust until He reveals that belief to you. One way or another, every one of His children that resist Him
is humbled and made to be-lieve again. Look atDavid . God lovedDavid fiercely, and no matter how
many timesDavid turned away from Him, God found a way to turnDavid back. You can't learn to
believe, Goose. You just do. It's the most natural thing in the world if you let it happen."

 For a moment, raw pain and fear and doubt crushed Goose as he surveyed the wrecked aircraft and the
border such a short distance away where one of the fiercest enemies he'd ever faced waited to kill him
and his men.

 Holding the young Marine corporal to him, Goose was reminded howChris had been laid in his arms just
after his son had been born. The moment had been overwhelming. Even knowingMegan was pregnant,
even feeling the baby kick, it somehow hadn't seemed real.

 ThenChris had been there, lying in his arms, so small, so helpless. And Goose swore then that he had felt
the hand of God upon him, felt the blessings of God upon him as well as the burden of responsi-bility.
After years in the military, Goose knew he would never be able to keepChris safe from everything.
Goose knew he would never be strong enough or big enough to completely protect his son.

Only God could do that. And in that moment of feeling that God was with him, he knew a covenant had
been made between God and him, that they would do everything possible to saveChris in the im-perfect
world into which he'd been born.

 In that moment of grace while holding his son for the first time, Goose had known the truest peace ever
in his life.God, how could I have forgotten that?

 Then Goose realized that he couldn't have forgotten it. God had reminded him of that moment just now,
at a time when that memory of faith had been most needed.God is there. God doessee this.

 The fear quieted.Be still, and know that I am God; I will be exalted among the nations, I will be
exalted in the earth. The passage came from Psalm 46:10. The verse had also been one of those
thatBill had al-ways held close to him.

 Goose took a deep breath andbelieved, not because he had no choice, but because believing wasthe
only choice a man with even a glimmer of faith could do. The pain and fatigue remained with him, but
those things seemed more distant. He walked forward, and his in-jured knee remained strong beneath
him. For the moment, that was all he needed.
United States of America

Columbus,Georgia

Local Time1:25 A.M




"Joey!”

 Pain filledJoey 's head. The throb exploded along his jaw and made his teeth ache. Deafness filled his left
ear. Even though his lids were closed, bright light stabbed through his eyes and deep into his brain.

"Joey! Are you all right?"

 Someone grabbedJoey 's arm and shook him.Oh, yeah. That helps so much. Thank you. Fresh agony
erupted inside his skull. He groaned and the grip on his arm went away.

"Wake up. We were in a wreck."

 Dim images flickered throughJoey 's mind. Then he remembered the camo-colored Suburban that had
been on a collision course with his mom's car. The memory of the crunch and scream of battered and
torn metal haunted him.Man, you are nevergonna get out of the house again in this lifetime.

Then he remembered thatJenny had been in the car with him. He snapped his eyes open, and the blare
of car horns closed in on him. The din sounded like he'd set off a shop full of car alarms or stepped into a
Klingon trap in aStar Trek episode.

Jennysat in the passenger seat. An ashen pallor colored her face and blood leaked from the left corner of
her mouth.
"You okay?"Joey asked.

She nodded. "I think so." She glanced at him. "I was just worried about you. You wouldn't wake up.
Are you sure you're okay?"

 No,Joeythought,I'm definitelynot okay. This is my mom's car, and with my luck tonight, it's
probably totaled. But he said, "Yeah. I'm okay." He turned his head and gazed into the bright headlights
of the Subur-ban shoved against the side of the car. "This wasn't my fault. This guy came outta nowhere."

Checking the right front side of the car, he saw that the impact from the bigger vehicle had shoved his
mom's car over into the stop sign. He hadn't even gone forward when his foot had slipped off the brake.
The front windshield revealed a road map of cracks and frac-tures.

 Anger swept throughJoey . Tonight had been a total bust. Lying about his age and going to the club had
been his fault. Not being home at curfew had been his fault. But this man, this was so not his fault. He had
just been sitting at the stop sign when this guy had plowed into him. Now he was going to be even later
picking upChris .

Joeyunbuckled his seat belt. He felt the bruising across his chest and hip and knew that they had been hit
with considerable force.

"What are you doing?"Jenny asked.

"Getting out."

"We should wait."

"For what?"

"The police."

Joeysquirmed over the seat. "That jerk hasn't even gotten out of the truck to come check on us. He's
probably sitting in there wasted or stoned out of his mind. I don't want him hiding evidence before the
police get here."

"It wasn't just him,Joey ."Jenny pointed through the cracked windshield.

 In the backseat now,Joey paused and looked. Several wrecks sat in the middle of the street. Cars had
gone onto the median. Traffic was usually heavy, even at this time of night. Some of his anger melted
away as the weirdness of the situation filtered through.

"A whole lot of people wrecked at the same time,"Jenny said. "I saw them. It was like those cars just
went out of control. Like the driv-ers just turned loose of the steering wheel."

 Fear seeped in through the cracks ofJoey 's anger, breaking the hot emotion down and filling him with
fear.Something's wrong. He tried to open the right rear door and found it was jammed. Rocking back,
he threw his shoulder against the door. A screech filled the car's inte-rior but the door opened.

 Joeystepped out on shaking legs. Out on the street, other drivers and passengers were getting out of
their cars. They yelled at each other, cursing, accusing, and sometimes asking if everyone was okay.
Jennygot out but stood behind the safety of the door.

 "There's a flashlight in the glove compartment,"Joey said. "Would you get it?" Goose had always been a
stickler for being pre-pared. The glove compartment also contained emergency highway flares, and there
was a large medical kit in the trunk.

 Joeytook the flashlight and switched it on. The beam cut through the night that had closed in around
them. The Suburban's beams slashed across the top of his mom's car.Joey walked back and peered at
the Suburban's cab.

 Nothing moved behind the glass. The greenish glow of the dash-board lights outlined the seats and filled
the cab. If anyone was in-side, he or she had to be lying down.

Joeydirected the flashlight's beam into the Suburban. As brave as he'd acted in the car, the last thing he
wanted to face was a drunken military guy who wanted to blame him for the wreck. He'd seen young
Rangers who'd had too much to drink get into fights, and even somewhat inebriated, those men remained
dangerous.

 "Maybe the driver is hurt."Jenny came over toJoey and took his arm in her hands. She looked worried.
"We need to check on him."

Having the young woman that close, smelling her perfume,Joey felt ten feet tall. He was definitely the
guy, and the logical choice to step into the potential danger. "I'll check on him."

"I'm coming with you."

 "It might not be safe."Joey hoped that it was, but he wanted her to realize that he might be taking his life
in his hands. Well, maybe not his life, but he could get socked. Of course, if he got socked and then was
able to restrain the guy the way Goose andBill had, he'd be a hero, right? Maybe it wouldn't matter so
much that he was only sev-enteen.

"Why wouldn't it be safe?" she asked.

"He could be drunk."

A frown of distaste turned jenny's lips down. She'd obviously wiped her face because blood smeared
her chin. "I've been around drunks before. Trustme, if he's drunk I won't feel like we owe him anything."

 Joeystarted preparing his next argument and jenny left him stand-ing there. He jogged to catch up. Man,
he couldn't figure her out. She'd gone nuts on him in the car, and now she was willing to walk into a
situation like this.

 On the passenger side of the Suburban,Joey stepped in front ofJenny . She didn't protest. Trying not to
shake,Joey directed the flash-light's beam into the big SUV.

No one was inside.

 Joeycontinued examining the Suburban's interior, looking for a bottle or beer cans. Surely there was
something that would help his case with his mom when he tried to explain what had happened to her car.

"Did he get out?"Joey asked.
"Who?"

"The driver."

"Did you see the driver get out?"Jenny 's tone turned unexpectedly sarcastic.

"I think that was during the time I was kinda knocked uncon-scious,"Joey replied.

 "If I'd seen someone get out of this car, I'd have told you." She stepped back from him and crossed her
arms.

 Joeysighed. Man, there was nothing he could say that didn't lead to a potential argument. "I didn't say
that you wouldn't." "Then what were you saying?"

He turned to her. "Look,Jenny , I'm sorry. I didn't mean for it to come across like that. But there's no
way whoever was driving this SUV just disappeared."

She narrowed her eyes angrily. "Then you're saying this car just rolled down the road till it hit us?"

Joeylooked back down the street. There were no parking places, no stops along the way where a driver
might have left an idling vehi-cle.

"Something else happened,"Jenny said, looking back out at the traffic. "We weren't the only ones it
happened to."

Turning his attention back to the Suburban,Joey tried the passen-ger door. The door opened easily. The
SUV had obviously sustained less damage than his mom's car.

"What are you doing?"Jenny demanded.

 Joeypopped the glove compartment open. "Trying to find out who owns this SUV. A lot of people carry
their insurance papers in the glove compartment." He rifled through the contents and found a small
expandable file that contained the insurance verification form.

AnthonyMacintyrewas a sergeant who lived atFortBenning .

"Hey,"Jenny said. "Look in the driver's seat."

 Instinctively,Joey started to withdraw, thinking there was some-thing dangerous there. He swung the
flashlight beam over the uni-form lying on the seat as though the clothes had been driving the car. Before
he could move,Jenny shoved in beside him and reached across the passenger bucket seat and plucked
the uniform from the driver's seat.

 AsJoey watched in disbelief,Jenny went through the clothing. She opened the leather wallet.
"SergeantMacintyre,Anthony . That what you found?"

"Yeah. You really shouldn't-"

 "Joey, something really weird is going on here. We need to know everything we can."Jenny picked up
the guy's cell phone and punched buttons. "The last call he got was fromFortBenning ." She showedJoey
the glowing screen.

 Joeyrecognized the exchange as one that belonged to the military base even though he didn't recognize
the number.

Jennypunched another button and held the phone to her ear.

"What are you doing?"Joey asked.

"Returning the call,"Jenny said. "Maybe we can find out who calledSergeantMacintyre ,Anthony ."

"What?"Joeyabsolutely could not believe it. "Do you know how much trouble we'll be in?"

 "Joey, look around. A lot of people are already in trouble. Do you think this many people just happened
to wreck all at the same time?"

Disorientation rocketed throughJoey as he surveyed the wrecked cars and the milling people.This can't
be real. It can't.

"No answer,"Jenny said. "Just a recording that all circuits are busy."

Joeyfished his own cell phone from his jacket pocket. "Maybe it's just that phone. Let me see the
number." WhenJenny showed him the screen, he entered the number and pressedSend.

 An automated message came on. "All circuits are busy. Your call cannot be completed. Please try
again."

Panic rose inJoey . He dialed his mom's cell phone number.

"All circuits are busy. Your call cannot be completed. Please try-"

broke the connection and tried again. The same message came on. Working quickly, he flipped through
his speed-dial numbers, calling his friends.

"All circuits are busy. Your call cannot be-"

It was a nightmare.

 WhenJoey looked up,Jenny was walking around the back of the Suburban. He caught up with her.
"Where are you going?"

"To see if those people need help."

"I've got to go,Jenny .Chris is still waiting-"

 An anguished cry interruptedJoey . Startled, he looked over at the woman standing beside a minivan one
lane over in the street about thirty feet away. A tow truck had collided with the van's rear, collaps-ing the
van inward and spinning it halfway around. The van's front tires rested on the median and the nose was
burrowed into a tree. "My baby!" she shrilled. "Has anyone seen my baby? Help me!"Jenny broke into a
run.Joey was a half step behind her. "Can we help?"Jenny asked the woman.
The woman looked like she was in her late twenties and was dressed in a fast-food restaurant's uniform.
Her hands shook.

"It's my baby!" the woman cried. "I had the late shift tonight. I belted her in the backseat! I always belt
her in the backseat! It's the saf-est place for an infant!"

Jennytook the woman by the shoulders. "It's going to be okay. We'll find your baby." She looked over
her shoulder atJoey . "Find the baby."

 Joeyhadn't even noticed he'd frozen. He hadn't been around that many adults who were losing it. Seeing
such raw emotion from the woman was overwhelming. Anger was one thing. Most people had no
problem expressing anger, but fear-

"Joey, find the baby."

"Sure."Joey stepped into the minivan, banging his head against the roof and starting a new crescendo of
pain. He played the flashlight over the child safety seat belted into the middle of the van's bench.

No kid.

 ThenJoey realized that during the impact the child might have gotten knocked out of the seat. That wasn't
supposed to happen, but the child wasn't in the seat now. And how would a kid look after she'd been
bounced around the interior of a van? The thought hitJoey with staggering ferocity. For a moment he was
sure he was going to throw up.

"Joey."

He wanted to snap atJenny , but he couldn't. He didn't trust his voice.

"Please find her," the woman pleaded.

 Reluctantly, desperately wanting to find the baby okay or not find her at all,Joey turned his attention
back to the van. He shined the light under all the seats, checked the front to make sure she hadn't been
thrown in that direction, then climbed over the backseat to the rear compartment. He found baskets of
laundry, a blanket, and a pair of collapsible lawn chairs. But no baby.

 "She's not here."Joey turned around and stepped on a small baby rattle, crushing the toy underfoot. "I'm
sorry. I didn't see that." The apology, coming at a time when a baby was missing, sounded inane but it
was out of his mouth before he could stop himself.

"My baby!" the woman wailed.

 The pain and panic in the woman's voice almost brokeJoey 's heart. He'd never heard his mom sound
like that, and he was sure he never wanted to.

"Joey."Jenny s voice was choked and quiet butJoey somehow heard her even over the continuing blare
of car horns and car alarms. "Look in the child seat again."

 Goose bumps suddenly erupted across the back ofJoey 's neck, and it felt like an ice-cold fist closed
around his heart. His breath locked in his lungs. He didn't know what he was going to find in the child
seat, but he was convinced that he didn't want to find it. He sud-denly realized the minivan's front
windshield was broken out.

Had the baby flown out the window? Was some body part still hanging in the seat? Which body part did
he mostnot want it to be?

 God, not that! I would have seen that already, wouldn't I? Babies are made of so many different
parts.He knew because he had worked withChris whenChris was learning to talk, touching toes and
fingers and eyes and ears, teachingChris the names of those parts.

The flashlight beam illuminated the safety seat.

There was no baby there, no baby parts.

Thank You, God.Joeyfelt tears burn the backs of his eyes.

 Then he spotted the pink Winnie-the-Pooh jumper lying on the safety seat. It was strewn across the little
chair, just asSergeantMacin-tyre 's uniform had been in the Suburban. On the front of the little jumper,
Pooh sat digging a paw into a honey pot as Eeyore, Piglet, Tigger, and Rabbit looked on. A disposable
diaper, folded and creased as though it had just come from a package-a conditionJoey remembered
rarely seeing them in-lay inside the jumper. A pair of tiny socks spilled out of a pair ofBlue's Clues shoes.

"She's gone,"Joey croaked. "She couldn't have taken those clothes off."

"No!" the woman screamed. She pushed free ofJenny and pulledJoey from the minivan. "My baby can't
be gone! She can't be!"

 Dazed,Joey stepped back from the van besideJenny . She took his hand in hers, holding tight. As they
stood there, other conversations drifted over them. More people were missing. More piles of clothes had
been left behind.

Adults everywhere were losing it. Other people screamed for help, saying they couldn't find their kids.

"What's going on?"Jenny asked.

"I don't know,"Joey said. "But I've got to get back to the base. I've got to find my mom andChris ."

"How are you going to get there?"

 "The car."Joey looked at his mom's car. The car was smashed, but nothing was leaking underneath.
Maybe it was only body damage. He caught himself then, knowing that life had gotten strange, because
he would never have thought that his mom's car just having body damage was a thing to be hoped for.
"Maybe I can get it free." He looked atJenny . "You going or staying?"

"I'm going. You don't need to be alone."

 Joeyled the way back to the car, running fast enough now thatJenny had to struggle to keep pace with
him. He opened the passenger door and crawled inside, sliding across the seat to the driver's side. He
turned the key, punched the gas, and prayed to God that the engine would catch. Struggling, the engine
turned over and started with a shudder just as jenny pulled the door closed.

"Hang on,"Joey said. He put the car in reverse and pushed the ac-celerator. The front wheels spun, then
caught, but the car couldn't break free of the Suburban.

"Cut the wheels toward the SHV,"Jenny said, bracing herself. "Floor it."

 Joeyturned the wheels toward the Suburban then mashed the ac-celerator to the floor. The engine
screamed, sputtered, and then launched into a full-throated roar.

 Metal ripped in banshee wails as the car surged again and again. Just asJoey was about to give up, the
front left fender tore free and clat-tered to the ground as the car sped backward. He slammed the brakes
on, dropped the transmission into drive, and whipped out around the Suburban. He ignored the stop sign.
Everyone out on the street was stopped. New arrivals were getting out of their cars to see what the
problem was.

 Breathing rapidly, fighting hard not to lose it and start crying like a wimp even though he was more
scared now than he could ever re-member being in his whole life, Joey sped toward Fort Benning. He
glanced at jenny and saw that she was sitting with her arms folded and tears running down her face.

 She turned to him, losing part of the tough facade she'd had all eve-ning. "Something's wrong,Joey ." She
covered her mouth with a hand as she sobbed and her voice cracked. "Something's so wrong. Look at
all those cars. Look at all those people."

Glancing at the businesses and houses that lined the street,Joey knew what she said was true. Something
was wrong. Big-time wrong.

 He reached for her hand, folded it into his. "It's going to be okay," he told her. And he felt stupid for
saying it because he knew things weren't going to be okay. But he said it because he was a guy and that
was something that guys were supposed to say at times like this.

She pulled her hand away. "You don't know that."

"No,"Joey admitted, "I don't. I'm just scared and I want everything to be okay."

She hesitated, then put her hand back in his, squeezing tightly. "Me, too."




United States75th Rangers 3rd Battalion

Field Command Post

35 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0831 Hours



 "How much time elapsed between the two frames?"Remington asked. In the command field post, he
concentrated on the pictures the computer tech had isolated of the helicopter pilot seat with and
with-outLieutenantBriggs of the Marine wing from USSWasp. The legend at the bottom of each picture
marked the local time as08:21:13 . Theevent-the Ranger captain didn't know what else to call it-had
oc-curred ten minutes ago and they were only now finding out about the disappearance.

"At this speed," Foster said, "you're getting a frame about every four-tenths of a second."

"Four-tenths of a second."Remington repeated the information in an effort to make it more concrete.

"Yes, sir."

 Remingtontried to wrap his brain around the idea of the impossi-ble act balanced against the impossible
time frame. "So every second there are two frames."

 "Maybe three,"Foster replied. "Depends on how the time broke down. You could get a frame one or
two seconds into the cycle, that still leaves you enough time for two more frames."

 "Go through the footage from all the digital cameras we were able to access at this time."Remington
tapped the screen showing the two pictures, one withLieutenantBriggs and the other without. "I want
every frame you can pull from every camera."

"Just the helicopters?"

"No. I want the frames from the wing provided byWasp and I want the frames from our men on the
ground that are equipped with digital cameras. Get that to me ASAP."

"Yes, sir." Foster bent to the task.

 Remingtonstood and started pacing again, surveying the tech crew around him. None of them seemed to
have had much luck with resecuring the computer feeds. He cursed, struggling to hold on to the calm
exterior he wore. Everyone remained aware of the piles of clothing that remained of the people they had
lost, and the captain knew the questions uppermost in their minds: Is it going to happen again? Will it take
the rest of us?

"CaptainRemington."

Wheeling about-face,Remington looked at the sergeant he'd as-signed to cover the cinder-block
building's entrance.

 SergeantTolliverentered the building in full battle dress, including his helmet and LCE. Sweat beaded his
face, attracting a layer of dust. He was a lifer, just as Goose was. But where Goose had the leader's
ca-pacity for free thinking and quick decision-making, Tolliver was a plod-der. He could be counted on
to do things by the book, within reason, and finish an assignment. But Tolliver seldom went beyond the
book.

 "What is it, Sergeant?"Remington asked. He ignored the fact that all the heads swiveled toward him from
the monitors. Everyone in the command post was spooked.

"CIA Section ChiefCodywould like a word with you." Tolliver hooked a thumb over his shoulder. "I've
got him detained outside."

"I thoughtCody had gone."
Tolliver nodded. "He had. He's back."

"When?"

Tolliver shrugged. "Just drove up. We halted him, IDed him, and walked him in from the perimeter."

 "Who is with him?"Remington ’s mind wound around the news, kicking the fact over and looking at all
the angles. He had ordered the CIA man out of the command post as soon as the SCUDs had been
launched.Cody had wasted no time getting north to Sanliurfa.

Now the man was back.Why?

"He's alone, Captain." Tolliver shifted his assault rifle in II arms.

"But he wasn't earlier."

"No, sir. Verified that through the perimeter guard's notes. That's how I checked his ID."

"What does he want to talk to me about?"

Tolliver shook his head. "He wouldn't say, sir."

 Curiosity filledRemington . He knew the agency was a big factor in securing the humint-human
intelligence-so necessary in wag-ing the ground war against the Taliban inAfghanistan . During the
Vietnam War, the CIA hadn't enjoyed a good reputation, but as far as the Fitzhugh administration was
concerned, the agency seemed un-able to do any wrong.Remington knew the truth didn't match up with
the public image. The undercover agent Goose and his team had extricated only that morning proved
that.

 "Bring the man in, Sergeant,"Remington ordered. "I want him unarmed and under heavy guard. Treat him
like a potential hostile."

"Yes, sir." Tolliver saluted, turned a sharp about-face, and left the room.

 Remingtonspun and faced the tech team again, catching several of them just turning away. In the space
of a drawn breath, he was staring at the backs of their heads again as they strove fruitlessly to re-connect
the lines of communication.

 The captain kept his attention forward when the sergeant re-turned with the CIA section chief moments
later. He pushed his breath out slowly and chased his anger and frustration into a corner of his mind.
Those emotions had their place, but now he needed the calm cool he was noted for.

"CaptainRemington," Tolliver said. "AgentCody is here."

"What can I do for you, Agent Cody?"Remington posed the ques-tion without turning to face the man.

"You can't do anything for me, Captain,"Cody stated in his unc-tuous voice.

 Remingtonspun on the man with the compact ferocity of a hunt-ing cougar. "Then you're wasting my
time, mister."
 Section ChiefCodyflinched and took a half step back before he caught himself. He looked rumpled and
definitely the worse for wear. His coat had been taken from him, leaving him in a sweat-stained white
shirt and suit pants. His empty shoulder holster hung under his left arm.

"Captain,"Cody said, "I assure you that-"

 Remingtonraised his voice, blowingCody 's words away. "I sent my men to recover one of your lost
agents just over two hours ago. The hostile who escaped sent a signal that triggered the Syrian attack
againstTurkey- "

"You don't know that,"Cody argued.

Remingtoncursed, beating the CIA agent down verbally till he closed his mouth in surrender.
Embarrassment pinkedCody 's ears and cheeks, and he blinked rapidly as he struggled to hold the
Ranger captain's fierce gaze.

 "I'm thinking seriously of having you placed under arrest and thrown into the brig until we can sort out
the disappearances of my people,"Remington said.

"What disappearances?"Cody asked.

 Remingtonstudied the man. If the CIA agent was feigning sur-prise, he was doing a credible
job.Remington pointed at the stacks of uniforms. Unwilling to release the exact number of losses within
his group, he said, "I've had people disappear while they were sitting in front of me. I never saw a thing."

Codywas in motion at once. He walked toward the nearest uni-form. "Then it's started."

 Remingtonwas so surprised at the man's movement that he was slow to react. Tolliver stepped forward
immediately, reversing his weapon and slamming the butt intoCody 's head. The CIA section chief
dropped. Before he could try to get up, the sergeant placed a foot on the back of his neck, pinningCody
facedown against the floor. Tolliver planted the muzzle of his M-4A1 in the man's left ear.

"What are you doing?"Cody demanded. His voice came out raw and rasping. Panic widened his eyes.
His hands flailed.

"Don't move," Tolliver snapped.

Codyfroze.

Remingtoneyed the man with renewed interest. "What's started?"

Tentatively,Cody rolled his head over so he could peer up. "I came here in good faith."

"This time?"Remington showed him a thin smile.

"Both times,"Cody insisted. "I was under orders, Captain. Surely you can appreciate that. I was told to
keep your knowledge of Icarus's mission to a minimum."

“So you chose not to tell me that the people holding your undercover guy could trigger the attack?"

"We didn't know that." Blood showed onCody ’s cheek where Tolliver shoved the rifle muzzle.
"But you suspected it."

"We didn't know what Icarus had."

"And now you do?"

"No."

“Why?”

"Because we don't know where he is."

 Remingtondigested the news. The communications had been off too long after the initial attack
forRemington to tell Goose not to re-lease the wounded agent from his sight. During the confusion of
rescu-ing the survivors of the attack onGlitterCity , Icarus had disappeared either on his own, with help,
or had been abducted by a teamCody had planted with the media people.

"Did you have a rendezvous point set up?"Remington asked.

"Of course we did."

"Then why didn't Icarus make it?"

Codyhesitated till Tolliver prodded him with the rifle barrel. "I don't know."

"What are you doing here?"

"I came back here to offer help,"Cody said.

"What kind of help?"

"Your computers have been infected with a virus. Not just the ones here, but all those along the line.
Probably all the computers involved in this operation."

"That's not possible. There are security measures, firewalls, all along the way."

"This morning,"Cody pointed out, "you would have said that the Syrian attack was not possible."

Remingtonsaid nothing.

 "The Syrians have been planning this attack for over a year,"Cody said. "They penetrated the mil-net at
least a few weeks ago."

"With Icarus's help,"Remington said, remembering the informa-tion he'd gotten from the man while he'd
been in Goose's custody.

"We think they were in before that. The CIA is not totally culpable in this."

"Telling me we've been hit with a virus-even if it's true, which I doubt-isn't help."
"I know." Codv acted patient, like a parent talking to an unruly child, andRemington totally disliked the
behavior. "I can give you ac-cess to another satellite system."

Remingtoncurbed his frustration with the situation. "What satel-lites?"

 "Satellites leased by the Romanian government,"Cody said. "Other satellites thatNicolaeCarpathia owns
and has offered for your use.

 Remingtonknew the name. Carpathia was an international figure, and part of the reason the U.N.
peacekeeping forces and the United States Army Rangers were presently in-country. Carpathia had
taken his own country by storm, becoming the darling of the population over the last few years after
getting off to a less-than-sterling beginning. Yesterday, the president ofRomania had stepped down and
suggested that the legislature appoint Carpathia as their new president. In a sur-prising turn of events,
both houses had unanimously done just that.

Before becoming a member of the House of Deputies inRomania , Carpathia had been a shrewd
businessman who had his fingers in many international business ventures. He'd gotten rich.Remington
wasn't surprised to learn that Carpathia had invested heavily in com-munications, and satellites would
have been one of the most natural investments.

"Why would Carpathia offer satellites he controls?"

"Because he believes in the stand the United Nations and theUnited States are making here,"Cody said.

"Why doesn't he make the offer to the Department of Defense orPresidentFitzhugh ?"

"How long do you think it would take them to make a decision re-garding using Carpathia's satellites?"

Remingtontook in a breath. The truth was, he knew it would take the president, both houses of
Congress, and the Pentagon much longer than it would take him to make such a decision.

"You can make this happen?"Remington asked.

"I've got a satellite phone out in my Jeep,"Cody said. "Nicolae is waiting for your answer."

Blind and deaf as he was in the current operation,Remington knew he was a sitting duck waiting to be
picked off by Syrian troops who would no doubt storm across the border within hours-maybe even
minutes. To keep that from happening, the Ranger captain knew he would make a deal with the devil
himself if he had to.

"All right,"Remington agreed. "Let's see what Carpathia has to offer."
Turkey

37 Klicks South of Sanliurfa

Local Time 0842 Hours




 "Is anyone still inside?" Goose jogged toward one of the helicopters that had landed more or less intact.
The rescue operation of the stricken Marines arriving from USSWasp was only minutes old. Flames still
claimed several of the Sea Knights, and Marine aircraft lay in thousands of pieces. This helicopter's
rotors had been broken and the aircraft canted over to the left. Someone had opened the tail cargo
hatch, allowing easier egress from the CH-46E.

 A Marine staggered out of the tail section while partially support-ing a fellow soldier. Blood tracked the
faces of both men. "I don't think so, Sarge. Me an'Kelly , I think we're the only ones that came down in
the Bullfrog that made it alive." He glanced at his compan-ion. "An'Kelly , he ain't doing too good."

 Goose pointed out the tents that were going up on the northern side of the ridge. "There's a triage station
up on that hill, Marine. I've got some of the medics from my unit up there that will take care of you till we
get transport units set up to medevac you back toWasp." At least, that was the plan. Goose still had no
idea if he could make it happen. Communications with the Ranger command post hadn't happened yet.

The Marine nodded.

"Do you need help?" Goose offered.

 "No thanks, Sarge." The Marine shifted his buddy's weight against him, offering more support. "Me
an'Kelly walked into this op on our own two feet, an' l reckon we'll finish up our bit of it the same way."
 "Fair enough." Goose turned from the two Marines and stepped into the Sea Knight. There were plenty
of soldiers who needed help and immediate rescue. And there was a lot of information that needed to be
assembled. His boots rang hollowly against the helicop-ter's metal deck.

 Five corpses lay stretched out inside the helicopter. All of them were young Marines. Normally, the sight
would have staggered Goose. But now, after seeing the immense landscape of death and carnage laid
around him, he was too deadened inside to react. He prayed for them, for God to take their souls into his
loving embrace, more out of habit than conviction.

Two uniforms and piles of gear sat near the corpses. They were stark reminders that Goose still didn't
know what had happened toBill .

 Goose took the small notebook and pen he'd been using from his combat harness. Working quickly, he
jotted down the presence of weapons, ammo, and medical supplies that the Sea Knight carried and
noted the two FAVs that occupied much of the cargo space. The Marine fast attack vehicles, built like
dune buggies with wide tires and stripped bodies, were armed to the teeth. Both vehicles inside the helo
looked salvageable and were still locked into the tie-downs se-curing them to the deck.Tanaka
andDewey were already coordinat-ing salvage operations from the helos that could be entered and were
using every available man who could be spared from the rescue ef-forts to assemble weapons and
supplies. The FAVs would be addi-tional transport as well as prizes in their own right.

 Only one of the RSOVs thePhoenix squad had taken for their mis-sion had survived the unexpected
aircraft fallout. The other had been buried under tons of flaming helicopter. The surviving vehicle was
presently being used to ferry the more gravely injured from the arriv-ing Marines. Other RSOVs were on
their way from the front line, but they were bringing wounded from the front lines. Goose had already
assigned some of them to help with moving the Marine survivors to the triage and others to help salvage
the weapons, ammo, and gear the helos had carried.

 Goose also jotted down the names of the dead men, and the names of the two missing men, copying the
information on their dog tags. Lieutenant Colonel Troy Folsom had been the commanding of-ficer of the
battalion landing team designated BLT 2/6. Three rifle companies-Echo, Fox, and Golf-comprised the
backbone of the unit. The heavy weapons company and the light armored reconnais-sance platoon
currently assigned to USSwasp backed the rifle companies. The lieutenant colonel was currently listed
among the missing. His staff sergeant,DelbertMurchison , was severely wounded and ly-ing unconscious
in the triage center.

 If possible, Goose was going to let the Marines care for their own dead and select an officer able to
collect the dog tags. But if that wasn't possible and the Turkish, U.N. peacekeeping, and American
forces were routed from the border, Goose wanted an accurate record of those lost and missing. He'd
ordered his men to record the infor-mation as well, and the men working the triage were taking down
names of the missing from the injured who were able to give them.

Given the number of empty uniforms being reported, Goose didn't expect to find them all. The number of
missing was staggering. Nearly one man in three was gone, leaving only his uniform and gear behind.

 Goose worked his way forward to the cockpit. When he looked in-side, he saw that both pilots were
dead, victims of the shrapnel that had broken through the Plexiglas. Judging from the deep slashes in the
cockpit, two or more rotor blades from another helicopter had cut into the area.

Turning from the dead men, Goose headed for the side cargo door. The headset was filled with constant
chatter, squads talking over each other, somehow managing to pause and listen and swap the information
each needed to get through. Through the myriad voices, some of which he recognized as men from his
own compa-nies, Goose missedBillTownsend 's voice with agonizing awareness.

 Before he stepped outside the helo, Goose spottedDeanHardin twenty feet away. Hardin was crouched
over the broken body of a Ma-rine who had evidently tumbled from one of the helos during a mid-air
collision. At first, Goose thought the corporal was only making certain the man was beyond help.

 Hardin squatted with his assault rifle across his thighs. His head moved like the heads of squirrels back
inWaycross did when they sensed a predator was in the area. That instinctive wariness on Hardin's part
froze Goose in place, triggering the hunter's skills his fa-ther had drilled into him from the time he was
eight.

 Working quickly, Hardin went through the dead man's pockets. The corporal scattered personal items
from the Marine's belongings like chaff. Money quickly found its way into a cloth bag tied around
Hardin's neck and tucked into his shirt. Other things quickly fol-lowed as Hardin went through familiar
motions.

 A murderous, cold rage filled Goose. The emotion was an alien thing, something he had never felt
before, even in the middle of a firefight. Before he knew it, he was out the cargo door and striding across
the missile-blasted ground. His boots scattered aircraft pieces. He didn't know what he was going to say
to the Ranger corporal, but by the time he realized that, it was too late.

 Hardin heard Goose's approach. He pushed himself up, un-sheathing a knife from his boot in a liquid
flash of metal.

 Goose didn't believe the corporal knew whom he was turning to face, only that someone had seen him
stealing from the dead. Getting caught while robbing a fellow soldier, especially a dead one who had
given his life for his country and his fellow soldiers, could put a man behind bars inLeavenworth for the
rest of his life.

Hardin turned with the knife in his fist and every intention of fighting for his life.

Only Goose's reflexes, honed from years of battles and training, saved his life. He lifted the M-4A1 to
block the knife, heard the heavy blade slam into the underside of the rifle's barrel, and felt the vibra-tion
of the blow jar along his arms. If he hadn't blocked the wicked knife slash, he felt certain that Hardin
would have cut his throat.

 Hardin spun away, flipping the knife expertly to his left hand in a motion so quick that most people
wouldn't have noticed. His eyes blazed with wolfish intensity and hunger. Then he feinted with his right
hand and swept the blade toward Goose in an effort to disem-bowel him. No remorse showed on the
corporal's hard face. Fear tightened his sweat-slick features.

 Moving quickly, Goose evaded the knife blow but felt the keen edge sheer through his uniform blouse
below the combat vest. The cruel kiss of the knife blade licked fire across his belly but didn't let him
know how badly he'd been injured. He stepped back, creating space, remembering even as Hardin
launched a boot at his face that the man was also skilled in martial arts.

 Hardin's boot caught Goose along his jaw with explosive force that snapped his head around, filled his
mouth with blood, and dropped him to his knees dazed. He lost the assault rifle and didn't have time to
look for the weapon before Hardin slashed at him again.
 Goose fell back out of the way, only inches from death, and swung his right leg around to kick Hardin's
feet from under him. The corporal landed face-first on the ground, growled foul curses, and tried to push
himself up.

 Forcing himself to move, Goose caught Hardin's right wrist in his own right hand, then grabbed a fistful
of the corporal's hair in his left. He threw his weight on top of Hardin's head, banging the man's face into
the ground. The knife came loose and Goose knocked the blade way, watching it skitter under the
helicopter he'd stepped from. Goose wasn't formally trained in martial arts as Hardin was, but he was no
stranger to physical confrontations. Back inWaycross , he'd been an all-star wrestler in high school. Once
a fight progressed to the ground, as most did, he was in his element. He started running his opponent's
body, looking for a hold that would allow him to inca-pacitate the man.

 Hardin's left elbow came back unexpectedly and caught Goose in the face. More blood gushed from his
nose, and his eyes filled with tears. Before Goose could recover, Hardin squirmed out from under him
and sprang for his assault rifle.

 Pushing himself up, Goose reached forward and caught Hardin's foot, tripping the man and sending him
sprawling again. Hardin still managed to grab his M-4A1 and roll over onto his back, trying des-perately
to pull the barrel in line.

Already moving forward, knowing his life was measured in a frac-tion of the scant time between frantic
heartbeats, Goose grabbed the assault rifle's barrel in his right hand and deflected the sudden stream of
5.56mm rounds that spewed forth. The string of reports echoed over the landscape and voices barked
out, demanding to know what was going on.

 Still holding the heated barrel, knowing the metal could sear his flesh if he held on too long, Goose fell on
top of Hardin and ham-mered at the man with his left hand. He punched the corporal in the face three
times, feeling the solid impacts of flesh against flesh. Hardin yowled in pain, then released the assault rifle
so he could better block Goose's brutal attack.

 Part of Goose knew that he was out of control. A sergeant wasn't supposed to fight with a man of lesser
rank, was never supposed to lay hands on a man of lesser rank in anger. He should have pointed his
weapon at Hardin and ordered the man to put his own weapons down, then placed Hardin under arrest.

 But catching Hardin looting the dead had been too much. Those Marines had given their lives in an effort
to come to the 75th Regi-ment's aid. Watching Hardin steal from them, stripping away the Rangers'
dignity, had pushed Goose over the line between civilian and savage that existed within every
battle-seasoned soldier.

 Goose's breath drew harsh and ragged, burning and drying the back of his throat. Despite his punishing
assault, Hardin got his hands up to block, then fired the Y between his left thumb and fore-finger into
Goose's throat. For a moment, Goose thought Hardin had shattered his larynx. He choked, couldn't get
his breath, and sagged back. Hardin lifted a foot and kicked him in the face.

 Overpowered by the kick, Goose rolled backwards, managing to turn the effort into an ugly shoulder
roll that was still good enough to bring him to his feet. Hardin was on his feet as well, already in midkick.
Goose kept his hands in close, feeling his opponent rain blow after blow into him. His arms kept the
punches and kicks from his face, and the Kevlar vest prevented most of the damage to his midsection.

Without warning, Hardin turned, evidently giving up on the idea of chopping Goose down. When the
corporal shifted, Goose snaked his left hand out, caught the man by the right shoulder, and spun him
around. He stepped forward and drove his right fist in a short, tight arc, twisting his hips to get all his
weight behind the blow.

 The punch caught Hardin in the middle of his face and lifted him off his feet. Before the corporal could
steady himself, Goose raked the M9/Model 92F pistol from his hip holster, cupped his left hand under
his right in a modified Weaver stance, and aimed at Hardiri s head.

 "Don't," Goose said in a cold voice. He somehow managed to keep himself from shaking with anger or
from exhaustion. He was in no-man's-land as far as the mission went, somewhere deep in the Twi-light
Zone because of the wayBill and all the other missing soldiers had disappeared, and in uncharted territory
in dealing with his com-mand. Never before had he ever drawn a weapon on a teammate with the full
intention of killing the man if he didn't listen.

Hardin's eyes blinked and Goose could see the calculations flicker-ing in the man's mind.

"You're a dead man if you do," Goose promised. "I swear to God, Hardin, I'll put a round through your
head and drop you like a rock."

Cursing, Hardin lay back on the ground and kept his arms out-stretched.

 Two Rangers from Lieutenant Wake's Charlie Company rounded the downed CH-46E. Both men had
their assault rifles tucked muzzle down toward the ground and butt plates resting against the upper right
shoulders, ready to open fire and ride the recoil up any target that presented itself.

Goose stood with effort. Blood coated his mouth, and he spat a blob of it onto the dry land.

“Sarge?”Private first classDarrellWalker stared at Goose. He was twenty years old and new to the
Rangers. He'd been recruited only a few weeks out of regular army boot camp for his computer skills.

 "Arrest this man, Private," Goose commanded. "I want him held under separate guard back at the
triage."

Walkerhesitated, as did the other Ranger.

 Goose put steel in his voice. "That was an order, Private." Com-mand came when there wasn't time or
resources for explanations, and Goose didn't want to talk about the situation till after he'd con-ferred
withCalRemington .

"All right, Sarge."Walker crossed to Hardin and offered to help the man to his feet.

Hardin shook the offer off and stood with overstated ease. "I don't know why you attacked me,
Sergeant Gander," he stated.

Goose looked at him. "Yeah, you do."

"Whatever you think you saw," Hardin said, "that wasn't what was going on."

"PrivateWalker," Goose said.

"Sarge?"Walker bound Hardin's hands behind him with a pair of disposable cuffs. Ranger scout teams
carried them in case they had to take prisoners while working point.

"CorporalHardinhas a pouch around his neck. I want it."

Hardin struggled, but the effort was only token resistance. Goose kept his pistol trained on the man
whileWalker cut the pouch free, then tossed over the bag.

 Goose caught the pouch, leathered his sidearm, and examined the contents. A sheaf of money nearly
two inches thick sat inside. There were also rings and bracelets and watches. Dizziness from his inju-ries,
the heat, and everything he'd been through for the past two hours swept over him like a tidal wave.

"I saw what I saw," Goose said.

 Hardin wiped his chin on his shoulder. "You're making a big mis-take." Naked menace anchored the
corporal's words.

"PrivateWalker."

"Yes, First Sergeant,"Walker replied immediately, reacting to the tone in Goose's voice.

"Get that man out of my sight," Goose ordered.

 "Yes, First Sergeant."Walker got on one side of Hardin, and the other Ranger mirrored him. Together,
the two privates marched Hardin away.

Goose took another look at the contents of the pouch. He didn't understand howBillTownsend could be
gone, other men could be dead, and someone likeCorporal DeanHardin could be up walking around.
The fact didn't make sense. He knew he'd never get the image of Hardin hanging over the dead Marine,
picking his pockets clean like a carrion eater working the bones of roadkill. Before he knew the nausea
was going to hit, Goose was doubled over and throwing up.

After the gut-wrenching attack passed, Goose didn't know if the reaction was triggered by the inhalation
of smoke, the stink of the blood and dead bodies, or the fact that he had pulled a weapon on a fellow
Ranger.And been prepared to use it. The thought remained as sharp and as bitter as the sour taste in his
mouth.

 He stared up at the blue sky in an effort to center himself. Black smoke stained the clouds and made the
air taste thick and acrid. The world had changed, and he somehow knew that things could never go back
to the way they had been.

 He said a quick prayer, not knowing what to ask for other than his family's safety and the safety of the
soldiers who faced death along the Turkish-Syrian border. He found his helmet on the ground, pulled it
on his head, and got back to the job he knew and had de-voted so much of his life to. Men were left to
be saved, supplies sal-vaged, and plans laid.

 And they still had no idea what shape the Syrians were in or if the mysterious vanishings had taken their
toll among that army as well. For all they knew, without the satellite communications, the Syrian army
was at full strength or had even been the cause of the disappear-ances.
United States75thRangers 3rd Battalion

Field Command Post

35 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,

TurkeyLocal Time 0844 Hours



 Staring at the mild-mannered, blond young man on the notebook computer's LCD screen,CalRemington
was surprised to see thatNicolaeCarpathia , president ofRomania as of yesterday, looked very ordinary.
Carpathia was thirty-three years old, broadchested and pho-togenic in a pleasant sort of way rather than
having movie-star good looks. He moved with compact, athletic grace but acted reserved and interested.
WhileCIA Section ChiefAlexanderCody had been arrang-ing the sat-phone/video cam conference
call,Remington had gone through intel files that were locked into his personal computer.

Carpathia's name had been in the news a lot lately, especially as a diplomat promoting the increase of
U.N. peacekeeping efforts, butRemington had never thought that Carpathia would be on a first-name
basis with a CIA section chief.

 The Romanian president stood behind his desk, in full view of the small video cam connected to the
desktop computer monitor. The connection was good; pixelization only occasionally blurred the
re-ception.Remington 's belief that Carpathia could deliver the neces-sary satellite communications grew
by leaps and bounds.

"Good morning,CaptainRemington ," Carpathia said in a smooth baritone.

 "Mr. President,"Remington replied, touching his hand to his hat brim in a quick salute. He had intended
to offer that courtesy from the start but was amazed at how easily the response came.

 The field command post was a beehive of activity. The techs changed out hard drives of the Crays, using
the backup parts that weren't infected with the virus. Several of them kept an eye onRemington , still not
quite sure of what was going on.

"Your people have quite a difficult road ahead of them," Carpathia said. "Of course, whatever help I
may be able to offer will be offered only too gladly."

"Thank you for that, sir. I'm encouraged by your ability to com-municate with me now."

 A slight smile tweaked the corners of Carpathia's mouth, making him look even younger and very
innocent. "Actually, I have a news team in place near your army,CaptainRemington . This
communica-tion is relatively simple."

"A news team?"Remington knew some of the media reporters who had been behind the front lines had
gathered around the area where the Marine wing had gone down in flames.
"Yes. Would you like to see?"

"I'd like that very much."

 Carpathia walked to the computer and tapped the keyboard. "I am conversant with the
computer,CaptainRemington , but I struggle with the applications to a degree. Please bear with me."

 "Of course, sir." Despite the near-panicked need within him to have access to the satellite
reconnaissanceCody had promised,Remington felt a little relaxed. Carpathia's obvious command of the
situation was reassuring.

"Ah," the Romanian president said, "here it is." He tapped a key.

 The image on the notebook computer shrank to a two-inch by three-inch rectangle on the upper left
corner of the screen. The rest of the monitor filled with video footage that had definitely been filmed at the
crash site the LZ had turned into. Wounded Marines staggered from the vehicles. Later explosions
knocked some of them from their feet. A fuel fire eruption from one of the helos' tanks engulfed two
Marines who carried a third man between them. All three soldiers blazed like scarecrows that had caught
fire. They ran, but they didn't get far, dropping into writhing pyres that were finally still.

"This is one of the stories that the news team is broadcasting," Carpathia said.

"Is CNN getting this?"Remington asked.

 "Yes. FOX News is getting the footage as well. Would you like to see the presentation on either of
those channels?"

Eitherof those channels.Remington heard the offer and couldn't believe it but somehow knew that
Carpathia had managed to feed the news stations despite all the chaos that had ran rampant through
American and British sources. "No. That will be fine."

"Would you like to hear the audio portion of this footage?"

"No,"Remington answered.

 "The footage that has been captured is quite dramatic," Carpathia said. "When I saw it, I was moved to
contactMr.Cody and offer the services of my country and myself."

"He hasn't mentioned how he got to know you,"Remington said.

"We're the CIA,"Cody said with a trace of pride in his voice. "We do business around the world."

 "Romaniais in a unique position,CaptainRemington ," Carpathia said. "We are one of the nations that
form the bridge be-tween the West and the East. After the Russian attack onIsrael four-teen months ago,
I happened to be in the unique position to offerMr.Cody and his associates some assistance regarding
intelligence work in the matter."

"How?"

"I own companies that regularly do business with the Russian government. The decision to attackIsrael
might have been a popular one, but it was not one that met with approval from every politician in the
Russian parliament.Mr.Cody and his group felt that knowing who those people were might be fortuitous
in the future. I provided that information."

    “A favor for a favor?” Wariness vibrated throughRemington . Nobody gave anything away for free,
just as he was certain the satellite help wouldn't come without some price.

 "Nothing so crass,CaptainRemington ." If Carpathia took any of-fense at the suggestion, he didn't show
it. "I believedMr.Cody when he presented his case."

"And you believe in the American presence here in this conflict?"

 Carpathia nodded. "I do, but I also have friends within the ranks of the U.N. peacekeeping team there.
If I help keep you and your people safe, then I will be saving them as well."

"Yes,"Remington said. "You will. I can guarantee that, Mr. Presi-dent."

 One of the techs came forward, standing out of sight of the video cam built intoCody 's notebook
computer. He gaveRemington a thumbs-up. Looking past the man, the Ranger captain saw that the
Crays were up and running again, but the monitors were all on standby. He nodded at the man.

 On the monitor, Carpathia remained in the small rectangle. The bigger picture showed a lone Ranger
staggering out of a CH-46E with a wounded Marine in his arms. The shot froze, then closed up on the
two men with the twisted wreckage of the helicopter in the back-ground.

 Goose!Remingtonrecognized his first sergeant at a glance. Goose was still alive. He breathed a sigh of
relief, then checked himself be-cause the time in the lower right corner of the screen showed that the time
the footage had been taken had been eleven minutes ago. Eleven minutes was a lifetime on a hot
battlezone.

"First Sergeant Samuel Adams Gander," Carpathia said. "I believe he is called Goose."

Remingtonwas astounded by the Romanian president's uncanny knowledge.

 Carpathia spread his hand. "Do not be shocked,CaptainRemington . The news service has broadcast the
sergeant's name.Mr.Cody told me of your friendship with Sergeant Gander, inferred from his observation
of you two on a mission this morning."

 Okay,Remingtonthought,Carpathia pays attention. I like a man who pays attention. He doesn't get
surprised much.

 The footage rolled on again, then abruptly ended, leavingRem-ington ignorant of Goose's fate during the
intervening eleven min-utes.Twelve minutes, the Ranger captain corrected himself. Anything could have
happened.

Carpathia leaned forward and tapped a key again. The small rect-angle filled the screen again. He stared
out atRemington .

The Ranger captain felt the man's eyes boring into his. He could trust Carpathia; he knew he could.

"Are you ready to accept my gift,CaptainRemington ?" the Roma-nian president asked.
"I don't have permission from the Pentagon,"Remington answered.

 "1 had thought to contact them," Carpathia said, "but I know how slowly things can happen within the
American government. I knew you were in the field and that you could use the information my satel-lites
can bring you."

 "Yes,"Remington said. And he knew how long it would take for the powers that be to agree to avail
themselves of Carpathia's satel-lites. Men would die during that time, andRemington still felt certain he
could drag a victory from the jaws of defeat.

"Captain?" Carpathia said. "I await only your team hooking into the satellite truck I have outside your
building."

 The truck had arrived only minutes ago. Thick black cables had been run from the Crays to the vehicle,
then tied in to the satellite sys-tem.

"If you move quickly enough," Carpathia said, "you may still turn this situation around."

 "I could,"Remington said before he realized he was going to speak. "If that area wasn't lost in darkness
to us."

 "Do not put up with the darkness," Carpathia encouraged. "You can put an end to it. All you have to do
is give the command."

"Bring the satellites on line,"Remington said.

 The techs worked at their stations. One after another, the monitor screens came on, filling the darkened
command post with bright illu-mination.

"Let there be light," Carpathia said, chuckling a little. And there was.
United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time1:46 A.M.




The world had gone crazy.

 The radio, back on after sixteen minutes of dead silence that Joey felt certain indicated that the device
was damaged by the wreck that had taken out the left side of his mom's car, bore frantic witness to the
state of the city.

 ,-can't call the police," the DJ said. Howler Murphy, the mid-night-to-four madman who spun censored
rap records and told off--color and suggestive jokes and had earned the ire of most parents of teens
around the city, had dropped his radio personality and become a clearinghouse for news. "Most of the
phone lines in the city con-tinue to be off-line. If any emergency personnel working to get those lines
back up and working would care to drop by the station and let us know what is going on, I'll be happy to
give you some mike time."

 Driving through the military base,Joey saw dozens of people--maybe hundreds, God, it seemed like
hundreds-crossing the streets with flashlights and worried expressions. MPs were out in force, bol-stered
by additional troops drawn from the personnel who lived on base. Other soldiers living off base came
toFortBenning to find out what was going on or had been called in to help maintain base secu-rity. All of
them,Joey would bet, had similar stories of disappear-ances, public utility failures, and mass confusion to
relate.

 "I have dozens of folks stopping by the station asking to get mes-sages to loved ones who were caught
out in traffic," Howler said in an anxious and worried voice. "People, as much as I would like to help, I
can't. What I would like to suggest is that those of you who are lost and scared out there stay home."

 An MP with an assault rifle slung over his shoulder wavedJoey off to one side of the street with a
flashlight wrapped in a red plastic cone.Joey pulled the car over to a stop. When he'd tried to roll the
window down at the checkpoint gate, the glass fragmented, falling out in chunks the way it was designed
to do. The event, something that would have threatened to change his whole life just a few hours ago, had
been anticlimactic.

"Can I see some ID, sir?" the soldier asked.

 Joeystill felt odd at being addressed as sir, but it made him feel kind of grown up while jenny sat in the
passenger seat. He pulled his papers from the dash. The sergeant manning the security gate had told him
they would probably be needed as he progressed through the base.

 The Ranger corporal glanced at the papers, then compared the driver's license and military ID toJoey .
"Are you Goose's kid?"
Joeyrankled a little at the "kid" tag. From sir to kid in nothing flat. "Yeah." He didn't want to get into the
whole stepson issue, and he re-sented the fact that the corporal might have been only eight or ten years
older than him.

"Are you okay?"

 Before he could stop himself,Joey touched the swelling at the side of his face. Crusted blood clung to his
skin, and his head was still pounding. "I got sideswiped while sitting at a stop sign when all of this
started."

"You look like you could use a doctor."

"I'm still standing." That was one of the things Goose said.

The corporal handed the papers back. "Your father's a good man.

His unit is having a hard go of it over there inTurkey ."

 "Have you heard how things are going there?"Joey asked. His in-terest in Goose's welfare outweighed
any slight he might have suf-fered.

The corporal shook his head. "No. I'm sorry. I'm pulling for him. A lot of us are."

"Thank you."

"Where are you headed,Joey ?"

 "The special services building. My little brotherChris is there. My mom got called in and had to leave him
there." He didn't add that his mom had droppedChris off hours ago because he just didn't need that kind
of guilt.

"Do you know how to get there?"

"Yeah. Take the next right, up three blocks, and the building sits on the left."

 "Correct. We're asking that all civilian personnel go to their homes until we get the base back up and
running properly. I'll radio up the line, let the guys who are working that area know what you're doing
there, but you're only going to get a small reprieve. After that, they'll make you get home."

 A rebellious anger ignited inJoey . The world was going crazy, Goose was over inTurkey fighting for his
life, and he was being told-in effect-to go to his room. He wasn't a kid; he needed someone to recognize
that. Still, he held the anger under control, but only just.

 "Don't take the situation personally," the corporal advised, obvi-ously readingJoey 's expression.
"Anyone who isn't in uniform is be-ing told the same thing. A lot of strange stuff has happened." He
sighed and shook his head. "We got people out here claiming aliens have invaded the planet, or that
terrorists have set off some kind of electromagnetic pulse bomb that's been coded to DNA sequencings.
Base security has got to come first."

Joeylet go of as much of the anger as he could. He blew out his breath. "It's cool," he said. "I
understand." But he didn't. Nothing made sense. Offered the choice of an alien invasion or terrorists with
an EMP bomb coded for DNA sequencing, he didn't want to choose either. There had to be another
answer.

The corporal stepped back and wavedJoey on.

 Slipping the car's transmission back into drive,Joey rolled for-ward. He couldn't help looking around.
Only a little farther on, MPs obviously had harsh words with two men in civilian clothing. The men had no
clue about how to act with a sergeant giving orders. Some of the men who lived on base were husbands
of military women. Having trouble with male spouses in a military family wasn't new.

Around the comer,Joey spotted a woman almost freaking out as she talked to a two-man team of MPs.
She gestured wildly and thrust a baby jumper out at the two soldiers.

"My baby!" the woman wailed through the open window of the car. "Please help me find my baby!"

 Before he knew it,Joey 's foot pressed a little harder on the acceler-ator. His mom's car clattered over
the speed bumps. He made the next turn and pulled into the emergency services center.

Nearly twenty people stood outside the building, clustered around two jeeps full of MPs.

 Renewed anxiety screamed to life insideJoey , breaking loose like a flood shredding a dam. He turned
toJenny . "Out. Hurry. I've got to findChris ." There was no wayChris could be sleeping through
every-thing that was going on.

 A siren screamed only a few blocks over, followed immediately by a voice thundering over a PA
system.

If he's not asleep, I can calm him down,Joeytold himself.He'll only have been worried for a few
minutes. As late as I am, he's probably already with Mom. She wouldn't leave him here in the
middle of this.

 Unless something had happened to his mom.Joey 's belly flip-flopped like a bag full of snakes. He
started shaking as he jogged to-ward the building's entrance. Bile bit at the back of his throat with sour
venom.

 A soldier in uniform stood near the entrance. Tears showed on his cheeks despite the night's shadows.
"My son is missing. I left him here. I brought him here myself not two hours ago after I was called in.
These people can't just tell me he's disappeared. That every child in this place has just disappeared. They
can't make me believe-"

No!Panic burst insideJoey . He stepped up his jog to an all-out run, catchingJenny off guard and
powering by her.

"Hey!" A soldier at the entrance grabbed for him.

 Joeyducked, going under the soldier's arm and skidding feet-first in a baseball slide. He rose in a bounce
automatically when his feet touched the wall at the first hallway. He slapped the wall with his hands,
powering himself forward again as the soldier came after him. Another MP reached forJenny , but she
evaded the guy's grasp with athletic ease and raced afterJoey and the first MP.
 Only a couple turns later, knowing the location of the nursery from past acquaintance with the building,
Joey saw four women dressed in scrubs standing out in the hallway. The MP pounded after him, not
gaining ground becauseJoey was so quick.

Holding up his ID to the women as they started to draw back, out of breath,Joey said, "I'm here for my
brother.ChrisGander . My mother,MeganGander , brought him here."

The women stared atJoey , then looked at each other. They all looked shell-shocked.

One of the women, a matronly type with gray hair and bifocals, looked atJoey . "The children aren't
here, son."

"Fine,"Joey said, breathing rapidly. "I figured my mom would come get him before I could get here."
See? Everything's fine.Chrisis fine. Mom is fine.

But the woman’s look toldJoeyeverything wasn’t fine. “What’swrong?"

"Your mom didn't come get your brother," the woman said.

"What do you mean?"

   "The children that were left here ... they aren't here anymore."

Panic slammed intoJoey . "Then where are they?"

 Before the woman could answer, the MP dropped a hand onJoey 's shoulder and spun him into the
nearest wall.Joey ducked his head back in time to keep his face from smacking the cinder block. The
impact knocked some of the breath from his lungs. In the next in-stant, the MP had leveredJoey 's right
arm so far up between his shoul-der blades thatJoey felt certain his arm was going to pop out of its
socket.

"I've got ID,"Joey said, his voice rising to a high pitch because of the excruciating pain. "It's in my shirt
pocket. I'm military. I've got a right to be here. I'm here to pick up my little brother."

The MP leaned intoJoey from behind, pinning him up against the wall. "We're not letting people into the
building. We've got this area sealed up."

"Why?"Joey demanded.

Jennycame running up, only a couple strides in front of the MP chasing her.

"Orders," the soldier snapped. "Ma'am, you stay right there, and I meannow.

 Looking confused and ticked off,Jenny froze. The other MP ar-rived and ordered her to turn and face
the wall, then put a hand against her back to hold her in place.

"What's going on?"Joey demanded. "You've got no right to do this."

"I've got every right," the MP retorted. "This base has been put on emergency alert. General's orders."

"I just came here to get my brother,"Joey said. "I want tosee my brother."
"What's your brother's name?" the matronly woman asked.

 "Gander,"Joey replied. "ChrisGander. I'm his older brother,Joey . My mom had to have told you people
I would be here after him."

"She did. Corporal, could I see his ID?"

"Yes, ma'am," the corporal said. He tookJoey 's ID from his shirk pocket and passed it over.

The woman examined the documents. "Corporal, I'd appreciate ii if you'd let this young man go."

"Ma'am, this kid just broke through our cordon and I can't just-"

 "This kid," the woman said in a stern voice, "is a kid. Maybe you need to keep that in mind. He's already
gotten through your cordon. I suggest that taking him into custody now isn't going to remove the fact that
the cordon was broken, or square things with your sergeant. Now is it?"

The MP was slow in answering. "No, ma'am."

"And his father is First Sergeant Goose Gander," the woman said. "Maybe you haven't heard of Goose,
but I can guarantee that he won't enjoy hearing that his son was manhandled by one of his fellow Rangers
while he was off inTurkey fighting for his life."

The MP's reply was grudging. "Probably not, ma'am."

"Then let him go. I'll vouch for him."

 "Yes, ma'am." The reluctance in the corporal's voice was evident, but he stepped back fromJoey and
released him.

"When I get through talking to him," the woman said, "I'll send him back out to you."

"Yes, ma'am."

Joeymoved back from the wall.

"Is this young lady with you?" the woman asked. "Yes,"Joey answered.

"Is she part of the family?"

Under other circumstances, the question would have embar-rassedJoey . All he could think about
wasChris .Missing. The word hung in his screaming mind like a malignant growth.

"No,"Joey answered. "Not family."

"I'm a friend ofJoey 's,"Jenny answered.

The woman looked at the two MPs. "Then I'll need her to stay here as well."

The two MPs touched their hat brims and left.Joey figured they would give him some flack for making
their jobs hard, but they didn't. They almost looked sorry for him.

Joeyturned to the woman. "Where is my brother? Where isChris ?"

 The woman reached out and took his hands. "He's gone,Joey . I'm so sorry to have to tell you this, but
he's gone." Fresh tears spilled down her face. Her voice turned into a forced whisper as she contin-ued
speaking. "They're-they'reall gone."

 Joeyshook his head desperately. "You're not making any sense. My mother called me. She said she
leftChris here. With you people. Did she come get him?"

"No." The woman's voice was hoarse. "I pray to God that she had. That all the parents had. But they
didn't."

 "Then where is my brother?"Joey was almost yelling.Jenny put a hand on his arm and stood close at his
side.Joey made himself calm down; he wasn't calm, but he wasn't yelling, even though he wanted to.

The woman's voice wouldn't come. Finally, she took Joey by the hand and led him into a nearby room.
The room was filled with beds. A box of preschool toys sat against one wall.

 As he entered the room, Joey noticed the empty children's cloth-ing that had been left in each bed. He
remembered the woman in the minivan who had lost her daughter. A rush of pain and confusion spilled
over inside him, rising with horrifying certainty. The most horrible sight Joey had ever seen waited in the
bed the woman guided him to.

 There, in the middle of the bedding, Chris's favorite PJs were spread out. The little jammies looked
exactly like the other stacks of clothing on the beds and in the cribs. Six or seven grief-stricken par-ents
and family members stood inside the room.

"No! " The cry tore loose from Joey's throat. Before he knew it, his legs went out from under him and he
dropped to his knees. "No!"




TheMediterranean Sea

USSWasp

Local Time 0851 Hours



So many people missing.

 The reality of the situation thundered through Delroy Harte's mind as he entered names on the report he
was preparing for Captain Mark Falkirk. He entered name after name, finding time and again a familiar
name. And the letter remained to be written for Chief Mellencamp. The knowledge lay like an iron anvil
in his thoughts.
 USSWasp was, in effect, a ghost ship. Nearly a third of her crew had inexplicably vanished. Only empty
uniforms and personal items were left behind by the people who had been on board a half an hour ago.
With the absence of the Marine wing and groundpounders,Wasp seemed to echo hollowly, as if her heart
and guts had been ripped from her. The reports from the other ships came through in much the same
vein.

 CNN and FOX News carried video footage and commentary from a small group of Romanian
reporters that had been behind the lines at the Turkish-Syrian border. However, the wisps of information
and glimpses of what that area had become were maddening. Not enough information was being
received to know what was truly going on over there, and more than enough was being seen to let every
crewperson aboardWasp know that the relief effort had failed, becoming a disas-ter that further
weakened the positions of the Rangers, the U.N. peacekeeping teams, and the Turkish army.

"Chaplain Harte."

 Surprised, Delroy glanced up and found a young ensign standing in the doorway to his office. The Navy
chaplain recognized the young man but hadn't had many dealings with him. Most of the usual staff
assigned to him had turned up among the missing. Given what he was beginning to suspect, he found that
oddly reassuring and trau-matic at the same time. The men who had served with him had been true
believers in God, and their faith had been strong.

 Stronger than mine,Delroy thought. And for the first time in a long time, he wished that Glenda were
there with him. His wife always seemed to be the rock in their relationship. When he fought with his
doubts and his fears, when he questioned his own faith in God-when the time came to bury Terry-she
had stood resolute at his side and seen that things were taken care of.

 Her ability to deal with everything through God's grace or her own patience had finally made him see
what a drain he was on her. When his pain over his son's death wouldn't go away, when he saw how his
own inability to deal with the grief resonated within his wife, he had left Charlotte. He had used her like a
crutch, demanding that she make sense of something that made no sense at all. He hadn't been able to
deal with his own weakness and his guilt over it.

"Yes, Ensign," Delroy said.

The ensign held up a box. "This was left down in the medical de-partment."

Delroy looked at the box without comprehension.

"ChiefMellencamp's personal property. Dr. Thomas asked me to bring this box to you."

 Delroy stood and took the box. During the confusion of the dis-appearances, he had forgotten about the
chiefs personal effects. He had intended them to be shipped back with the letter he had yet to write.

 "Thank you, Ensign." Delroy hefted the box, surprised to find that so little remained of a man. But
Terrence's personal possessions, shipped back after his death, had been few as well. And after Josiah
Harte's death, not counting the house and the car and bank accounts and life insurance, not much had
remained of his father either.

 Justthe memories, Delroy told himself. He only had to close hiseyes to see his father pounding the pulpit
in front of the congrega-tion, or to take Terrence's hand when he'd taught his son fishing. Justclose your
eyes and they're right there. But when you open them. God, when you open them.
 "Is there anything else I can do, Chaplain Harte?" the ensign asked. "Coffee, maybe? You look like you
could use it."

 Delroy placed the box on the corner of his desk. Chief Mellencamp's Bible lay on top of the small pile of
family pictures, jewelry, and knickknacks the chief had picked up around the world that Delroy had felt
his family would want.

"Coffee would be most welcome," Delroy answered.

"I'll get you some."

Taking the Bible from the box, Delroy studied the simulated leather and gilt lettering. "A moment before
you go, Ensign."

"All right."

The weight of the Bible rested comfortably in Delroy's big hands. How long had it been since he had
held a copy of God's Word and felt the familiar mixture of euphoria and fear? Delroy still had his father's
Bible and the Bible he had given Terrence the day he had taken his oath and become a soldier. Over the
years, the Navy chaplain had read from them both, seeking solace and remembrance and under-standing
of all the terrible things that had happened.

Turning, Delroy faced the young ensign. "How strong is your faith, son?"

 "My faith?" The ensign appeared uncomfortable. "In the captain? I have to admit, I've never seen
anything-"

"In God," Delroy interrupted. "How strong is your faith in God, Ensign?"

"It's good." The ensign glanced longingly at the door over his shoulder.

"Does the question make you uncomfortable?"

The ensign nodded. "Yes, sir."

"Why is that?"

"I don't like talking about stuff like that, Chaplain."

"But you took an oath, Ensign," Delroy said. "'I do solemnly

 swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and
domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the
President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations
and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.' U.S. Code, Section 502." He breathed in,
re-membering his own swearing-in ceremony, remembering Terry's. "Why do you think the phrase, 'So
help me God,' is in there?"

"I wouldn't know, sir. I guess it always has been."
 Delroy nodded to himself. "You can go, ensign." He glanced down at Chief Mellencamp's Bible in his
two big hands.

"Chaplain Delroy."

"Yes, Ensign."

The man hesitated and looked uncertain. "Did I do something wrong, Chaplain? I didn't mean to offend."

 Delroy looked up, feeling bad and embarrassed. With everything else going on, the loss of lives along the
Turkish-Syrian border and the unexplained disappearances of so many military personnel, it was
incredible to see that a crewman could still be concerned with leaving just the right impression on an
officer.

 "No, Ensign, you didn't do anything wrong," Delroy replied. "This is just a trying time. I only asked
because I struggle with my own faith now and again, and it's good to hear others talk about theirs." He
held up Mellencamp's Bible. "That was one of the reasons the chief and I enjoyed each other's company
so much."

"Yes, sir."

 "Would you check on the other lists?" Sweeper teams still moved withinWasp. Most of the missing had
already been confirmed, but Captain Falkirk had wanted a thorough ship's search before those names
were officially designated MIA.

"Of course, Chaplain." The ensign excused himself and left.

 Delroy returned to his chair behind the desk. He sat with Chief Mellencamp's Bible in his lap for a time,
thinking back on their friendship and all the confusing questions that raced through his thoughts. Then he
noticed the paper sticking out of the Bible.

 Opening the book, Delroy found several sheets of legal pad paper folded up in Revelation. The chiefs
Bible had been well used. Mellencamp's neat, precise handwriting covered the generous mar-gins, and
the pages were marked with a rainbow of highlighter colors. The chief had his own code for the
information he highlighted, but he used it only for proof of his own steel-trap memory.

 As chief petty officer, Mellencamp had carried long lists of men, Supplies, and necessary tasks in his
head. Deroy had protested, in fun between two good friends, that the chief was extraordinarily equipped
and his own arguments should be given the benefit of a handicap. But Mellencamp had loved God's
Word-the Old Testa-ment and the New-and could quote passages from several books, as well as
psalms.

 The fact that the chief had been preparing information based on Revelation was no surprise. Lately,
every conversation Delroy had en-tered into with Mellencamp had turned in that direction. The chief had
been convinced that these were the end times, that the Rapture--when God would come and call his
church home from the earth--was very near.

Delroy's eyes were drawn to the words his friend had scrawled upon the paper.
 We will be called home to heaven. No warning bell. No chance to say good-byes. One moment next,
standing in God's perfection.

And what of the people left behind?



 Hypnotized by the question Mellencamp had written across the page, Delroy followed the chiefs thinking
and found himself flipping through the pages of Revelation. In minutes, he was digging out books from the
neat, compact shelves behind him. Fear and horror and hope all began to dawn in his heart.

 The end of the world: It was real and it had come. Navy Chaplain Delroy Harte became more
convinced of that with each passing min-ute, and his thoughts became consumed with the carnage, the
lies, and the treachery that were in store for those left behind.




United States75th Rangers 3rd Battalion

Field Command Post

35 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0922 Hours




 "How bad is it, Goose?"CaptainCalRemington paced the interior of the command post, scanning the
computer monitors that revealed the graveyard of helicopters where the LZ had once been. He spoke
over the private frequency chipped into his first sergeant's headset, keeping his voice pitched low enough
that no one around him could overhear.

 "It's bad, sir," Goose said. "About as bad as it could be." The first sergeant listed the details in a verbal
codeRemington and he had worked out years ago whenRemington had taken command of the company.

 Anyone listening would have been lost in the gobbledygook of baseball players, stats, records, and play
references. After spending so many years together and being used to each other's ways, the Ranger
captain translated the code in his head immediately without writing anything down.

After the mysterious disappearances and the casualties along the border during the first wave of the
Syrian attack, the Ranger companies were down to roughly a third of their original strength. The U.N.
peace-keeping forces were in similar shape. The Marine wing detached from USSWasp was all but
decimated from vanishings and the aerial crashes that had littered the dead across the harsh mountainous
ground.

 The Syrians, though, remained at almost the same strength they'd had prior to the missile launch.
Repeated viewings of the footageNicolaeCarpathia 's satellites had captured revealed only a few
vanishings from among their ranks. Still, the events of the day had evi-dently been enough to check the
Syrian advance. Enemy troops-Remington felt he could safely consider the Syrians that-continued to
reorganize after the disappearances. It wouldn't be long, the Ranger captain knew, before they
discovered the extent of the attrition his troops had suffered. And when they did ...

"Goose,"Remington said, only then realizing that silence had stretched between his first sergeant and
himself.

"I'm here, sir." Goose's voice sounded flat.

 Remingtonknew the loss of men was getting to Goose. The first sergeant had never taken the deaths of
men under his command well. During battle, during the fine-tuning of a tactical op, Goose never let the
regret and self-recriminations touch him, but during the fallow times between, Goose struggled with those
losses. Marriage and fa-therhood had been good for him, binding the wounds and keeping his heart
strong. But at the same time, the family that kept Goose to-gether had also created a new weight for the
first sergeant to carry into the field.

"We're not going to be able to hold that position." "I know that, sir. I apologize, sir."

"Knock off the sir, Goose. We've been friends a lot longer than I've had these bars."

Goose hesitated. "That we have," he acknowledged. ButRemington could still hear the unstated sir in his
voice.

"You've got nothing to apologize for,"Remington said.

"I could have stopped that transmission," Goose said.

 "Negative, soldier."Remington made his voice forceful. He strode with his hands clasped behind his
back, taking care to step over the bundles of thick black cables that snaked across the floor to the
Crays. "The responsibility of that issue does not reside with you or within your purview." The Ranger
captain made his voice crisp and clean, ringing with authority. "If the ball was dropped anywhere, it was
on my end. I should have asked our alphabet agency more questions re-garding the op before I sent your
team in."

"They would have lied to you."

 Remingtonknew Goose was offering him a way out, not wanting the captain to take the blame either. A
small smile framedRemington 's lips. Hehad made a mistake by takingSection ChiefAl-exanderCody 's
story on faith. However,Remington didn't have much respect for the CIA.

 “If they lied to me,”Remington said, “that again would have made it my fault. As captain, I have to be a
human lie detector. That power was invested inme by theOfficerCandidateSchool , by the grace of God,
and by the board that charged me with my command. No one can lie to me." The sheer brass of the
statement was a joke he shared with Goose, but both of them knew that a commanding offi-cer had to
have that kind of view of himself to get the job done. "The agency representative withheld the truth from
us, Sergeant, and there's nothing we could have done about that."

"No, sir."

 "In addition to that, even if you had stopped that call, you don't know that a backup plan wasn't in place
regarding a missed check-in."

"I know."

"Then let's worry about the things you do know and the opera-tions that you have some control
over."Remington gazed at the mon-itors.

 The display of the images on the screens still astounded him. Whatever satellitesNicolaeCarpathia was
using brought in imag-ing-even voices, when cameras were close enough for the micro-phone pickups to
activate-on par with or better than the mil-spec satellites they'd been using for the border op.

 The screens constantly shifted perspectives, from ground cameras carried by reporters working the
scene to cameras mounted on sol-diers' weapons. Goose had one mounted on his helmet at present,
providingRemington with a first-person view of everything the first sergeant saw.

 At the moment, Goose walked the perimeter of the border the Rangers had been assigned. The first
sergeant carried his M-4A1 at port arms just the way the drill instructors back in boot taught.
Over-turned and burnt vehicles stood out against the broken and cratered earth turned black from missile
blasts and fuel-fed fires that had scoured the ground. Teams of Rangers, Marines, U.N. peacekeeping
personnel, and Turkish army regulars moved through the debris searching for any that might still be left
alive.

"Since we know we can't hold that position,"Remington went on, "we need to evacuate."

 "I know." The camera shifted as Goose climbed aboard an over-turned truck. The view shifted as the
camera adjusted to the shade in-side the truck's cargo area. Goose's hands holding the assault rifle
disappeared for a moment, then came back with a notepad. He sorted through the cargo spilled across
the back of the truck and jotted notes about the contents. Later, he would coordinate the recovery of the
materials that he deemed necessary and salvageable. "I'm rationing the fuel that we've been able to
scavenge, and I've gotHenderson and his motor-pool division working on vehicles that might be able to
carry wounded and cargo that can be repaired quickly."

"Sounds like you're ahead of me."Remington moved on, check-ing the screens.

"No, sir," Goose replied. "We've been through situations like this before. This is SOP on a blown
mission according to the parameters you've established."

"Actually, Sergeant,"Remington said, "I'd be hard-pressed to re-member if I came up with those
parameters or you did."

"They work," Goose replied. "If it ain't broke, don't fix it."

"Agreed." An image on the screen caughtRemington 's eye. The banner at the bottom of the screen read
TURKISH-SYRIAN BORDER-RECORDED EARLIER.
 The image showed Goose carrying a wounded Marine from the burning helicopter. The first sergeant
remained frozen in midstep. Pain and desperate resolve were etched on Goose's face. It was one of
those images that would end up splashed on the front pages of news-papers and magazine covers back
home,Remington could tell.

 For a moment, a hint of jealousy flared throughRemington . Even when they'd been soldiering together as
sergeants, Goose had always seemed to capture the attention and respect of other soldiers as well as the
media. He was photogenic and self-deprecating, every inch a team player who sweated blood for the
cause.

 But Goose would never be an officer.A few times, when his jealousy had risen too high,Remington
had consoled himself with that thought. Goose would never be an officer, never be more than the first
sergeant that he was. And when he'd had his fill of battle, as Remington suspected Goose soon would
now that he had Megan and Chris waiting at home for him, Goose would quietly lay down his arms and
concentrate on being a husband and father.

 Remingtonhadn't wanted to deal with any of those responsibili-ties that would divide his attention and his
personal resources. The screen cut away, showing footage of the caravan of vehicles fromGlit-terCity
rumbling along the road to Sanliurfa. The refugees had actu-ally reached the city over an hour ago, and
more footage showed the arrival of those vehicles inside the city. Several SCUDs had slammed Sanliurfa
during the initial attack. Sections of the city were burning ruins now.

“Since we agreed on the evacuation, Goose said, “all we need is a time frame."

 "Part of that will depend on how soon you can get those men ready to go."Remington returned to the
screen that showed Goose's point of view.

"We need transportation."

 Remingtontouched the monitor in front of him, loving the power that knowledge gave him. The
touch-screen programming that came with the satellite feeds made shifting between perspectives a
breeze. Maybe the generals at the Pentagon would give him a hard time about his decision to take the
helpNicolaeCarpathia had so freely of-fered, butRemington felt that, in the end, no blame would be laid
at his doorstep. Linking with Carpathia had been the thing to do, for just the reasons the Romanian
president had gone into.

The monitor cleared in a heartbeat. A long line of military trucks raced along a winding mountain road.
The view from the satellite peered down at the countryside. With the magnification available in
Carpathia's satellites,Remington could have isolated each truck and shifted over to infrared to discover
how many men rode inside.

"Transportation is on the way, Goose," the Ranger captain said. "You'll have it in about five hours. I've
got a convoy of trucks aimed in your direction fromDiyarbakir ."

 The distance from the convoy's origination point outsideDiyarbakir and the border was 223 miles of
treacherous road. The Marine wing fromWasp had traveled a little more than that, but the aircraft had
been able to fly in a straight line at an average of 150 miles an hour. The land-based support had to travel
through treach-erous mountain roads further hampered by occasional damage from SCUDs. The five
hoursRemington quoted to his first sergeant was only if nothing untoward happened during the jump.
"You're stripping the secondary unit, sir," Goose said.

 The secondary unit of Rangers inDiyarbakir hadbeen primarily support and supply staff. But they were a
fighting unit with heavy field artillery as well, capable of becoming part of a pincer movement should the
need arise.

 "Superficially,"Remington agreed, "the convoy might look like that, but that unit is primarily designated
for emergency relief. There is a lot of cargo space aboard those vehicles to help with your wounded."

"What about our dead?"

 Remingtoncursed in his mind, but not one word escaped his lips. He knew the evacuation would come
down to this. A Ranger was trained never to leave a comrade behind, not even a dead one. And the
fallback op from the border was going to require more than that from them.

 On the move again,Remington walked back to the computer monitor linked to Goose's helmet cam.
"We can't take them, Goose."

"Captain, I didn't lead those men here to leave them-"

"You didn't lead them here to watch them die either, First Ser-geant Gander."Remington made his voice
hard. "Did you?"

 The view from Goose's helmet cam lifted briefly to the sky. Traces of smoke still hung in the
air.Remington didn't know what answer Goose hoped to find there. Goose still clung to the idea that
some higher power actually watched over the world and made decisions about who lived or
died.Remington knew that decision rested solely within the individual. A strong man outlived a weak one.
A warrior outlived a pacifist. InRemington 's book, life's rules were simple. No higher power influenced
his life or his rules.

"No, sir," Goose replied. "I didn't lead them here for that."

 "Wedidn't lead them here for that, Goose."Remington made his voice gentle again. The commands came
naturally. "We cut our losses. We save who we can. We let the others go." He paused, know-ing he had
to choose his words carefully. "Those we leave behind, Goose, we remember. If we can, we'll return for
them and take them back to their families."

"Yes, sir."

 Returning for the dead was one of the last thingsRemington wanted to do. Images of other ops where
men had been lost came sharply to mind. Corpses left too long in the sun bloated, became breeding
grounds for flies, and turned horrific. A company that had to retrieve its own dead days after the battle,
as would likely be the case in this present engagement, suffered mental and emotional dam-age from that
mission that hampered them on the battlefield. If pos-sible,Remington intended to see that someone else
was called in for that duty, but at the moment there weren't any possibilities at hand. The mystery
vanishings had left everyone strapped for men.

Except the Syrians.

More news about the worldwide event poured intoRemington 's sat feeds from around the globe. So far,
his impression was thatAfrica andSouth America had been hardest hit, withEurope next in line, and the
Middle andFar East hardly touched. AndRemington knew that the full depth of the losses weren't known
yet. In some places in theUnited States , the equivalent of whole towns had vanished. Pre-liminary
reports indicated thatChina might have lost ten million, but that was merely a drop in the bucket in the
population of that vast country.Russia was also lightly touched, at least comparatively.

 But despite their seemingly minimal losses,Russia was mobiliz-ing her armies, air force, and navy. That
news had filtered down through the command net. What shape those troop movements would eventually
take remained to be seen, but the Pentagon was def-initely worried. TheUnited States had never been
more vulnerable to an attack.

 Remingtondidn't mention any of that to Goose. At present, the first sergeant believed the vanishings to be
localized, either the effect of some weapon of mass destruction that theU.S. military hadn't known about
or an unnatural phenomenon. Once the news broke that the vanishings had occurred around the world,
the Ranger cap-tain knew the battered remnants of the 75th Rangers would lose some of their belief that
they would make it out of their present situa-tion alive.

 And belief,Remington knew, was necessary in command. Not the kind of faith Goose sometimes talked
about that existed between a man and God, but the faith a soldier had in his own abilities and in the
orders of his superior officers.

Without a strong command structure, an army was a riot and un-controlled chaos waiting to happen.

 Goose's view returned to the stricken battlefield. He was in mo-tion again, whichRemington knew from
experience was good. Goose thought best on his feet when he had an objective to accomplish.
AndRemington intended to keep his first sergeant busy during the long, hard hours it would take to get
the retreat organized.

"At first blush,"Remington said, "the arriving convoy is going to look like reinforcements."

"What about Syrian intelligence?" Goose asked.

 Remingtonknew Goose referred to the satellites the Russians had allowed the Syrians to use. Since the
devastating lossesRussia had suffered fourteen months ago during the unprovoked attack onIs-rael
,Russia had sought to rebuild her strength through allies in theMiddle East and the Eastern bloc.

 The creation ofIsrael in 1948 had fed the Cold War between the superpowers that had intensified after
the Second World War. With theUnited States backingIsrael ,Russia had invested heavily in other
Middle Eastern countries to offset the edge that the American military had gained in the area.
SinceChaimRosenzweig 's formula had ele-vated his nation's fortunes,Russia had fed the jealousy of the
other Middle Eastern nations, gaining many allies that still smarted over past defeats at the hands of the
Israelis.

 Realizing the Eastern bloc might also be a source of Russian strength,Remington remembered
thatRomania was part of that sec-tor. The Kremlin's top people would certainly court new
presidentNicolaeCarpathia .

 Maybe he already has been courted.The thought was disconcerting toRemington , but as quickly as it
had come, the possibility faded from his mind. Even from only the quick conversation he'd had with
Carpathia, the Ranger captain had the distinct impression that the Romanian president was very much his
own man and would honor any agreement he gave his word to.
The feeling was unusual forRemington . Generally he distrusted most people and often found himself
prepared to believe the worst of them. Carpathia, though, was very different. He'd known that even
before the Romanian president had lent him the use of the satellites.

 "Syrian intelligence has been severely limited,"Remington said, addressing Goose's question. "The NSA
arranged for key Russian sat-ellites over the border to experience difficulties within minutes of the attack.
Syrian military is as blind and deaf as we were. They have no idea how many losses we've actually
incurred."

 Unless Carpathia gave them access to satellite feeds, as well asRemington . The thought was natural
toRemington given the circum-stances, but he quickly dismissed the possibility. Carpathia could find a
major ally in theUnited States , and he would be owed big-time after the assist along the Turkish-Syrian
border.

Remingtonturned his attention once more to his men.

"All we've got to do is keep up a strong front along the border un-til nightfall roughly eight hours from
now,"Remington said. "You can do that, Goose."

"Yes, sir."

"Keep patrols moving along the border. If the Syrians want more intel, make them pay for it. They'll
have to send in men and ma-chines. When they do, take them out. Hold the center, Goose."

"They'll have another wave of SCUDs ready soon."

 "Dig in. Tighter than ticks on a hound. As long as they're throwing SCUDs at your men, they can't put an
infantry offensive through there. The Turkish military inDiyarbakir are amped up with a supply of Patriot
missiles brought in by theUnited States military machine.

 Most of those SCUDs win never maze it across those gun crews fire, they're going to be targeted in
turn. We’ve already got several emplacements marked."

"Yes, sir."

 Goose's camera view swept the ridgeline behind the border.Remington knew the first sergeant was
thinking of the men he would lose when those attacks came.

"For now, Goose," the Ranger captain said, "we hold what we've got. The biggest threat there is the
Syrian infantry and cav units. Once they start across the border, we can't hold them back."

"I know, sir."

"After the transport vehicles arrive, station them around as if you're preparing to dig in. Get your
wounded and your salvaged ma-terials together. After full dark, start loading them aboard the trucks. I
want the evacuation underway by 0200. For the moment, we're going to pull back to Sanliurfa."

"Affirmative," Goose replied. "Can we hold Sanliurfa?"

"We don't know yet. That depends on how much the Syrians are willing to invest in this op."
 Goose's helmet cam raked the ravaged battlefield. Rangers stayed busy digging their dead and
salvageable supplies from wrecks, craters, and piles of stone that had been heavily fortified staging areas.

"They've already invested heavily," the sergeant said. "I don't think they'll back off now."

 "Neither do I."Remington scanned the command post, taking in the monitors. "CaptainMarkFalkirkis
organizing a bare-bones sup-port team aboardWasp. They're going to evac the wounded from Sanliurfa
when the transport reaches the city, and they're going to provide air cav to put down any potential Syrian
air force units."

"Tell Captain Falkirk that the 75th appreciates the help," Goose said.

"I already have."Remington could tell that Goose had more on his mind. "What are you thinking?"

Without hesitation, Goose said, "I want to stage the evac in two waves. The wounded and the materials
go first. The trucks are slower than the RSOVs and APCs we've got. They can leave at 0200 but we
won't leave until 0400. We'll cover their retreat."

"That two-hour gap is dangerous, Sergeant."

"Understood, sir," Goose replied. "But the convoy carrying the wounded could break down. If it does, I
don't know that I could get the Rangier rifle companies to abandon those men."

 Remingtonknew that Goose was right. And even if he would be successful in ordering fighting men back
to leave wounded com-rades in the arms of their enemies, the Ranger captain knew that Goose wouldn't
be able to leave. After everything those men had ex-perienced today, leaving men behind wasn't going to
fit into their acceptable parameters.

 "It's forty klicks to Sanliurfa," Goose went on. "If the convoy makes good time, they can reach the city in
an hour. That will give them an hour to load the wounded and get the city defenses rein-forced before we
leave our posts."

"Done,"Remington said. "But with you leaving that late, you're going to be hard-pressed to outrun the
dawn. Once the sun is up, the Syrians will be better able to see you."

 "I know that, sir," Goose said. "I'll talk to the company com-manders, but I'm sure they'll agree that the
two-stage wave is more doable for them than a mass retreat."

"Carry on, Goose. Let me know what I can do to help you."

"A prayer, sir," Goose said quietly. "Now and then when you have the time, a prayer."

Remingtonbroke the com connection. He had his own prepara-tions to attend to. The command post
personnel, including the sat-ellite crew, would pull back after dark. Carpathia already had another crew
waiting in Sanliurfa to keep the communications open so there would be no loss of intel.

 "CaptainRemington." One of the corporals manning the com-puter terminals waved for the captain's
attention. "I've got an en-crypted personal message from the Pentagon here, sir."

 Irritated,Remington approached the computer. He took his PDA from his pocket and set it in the dock
attached to the PC. The machine flashed for a moment as the message was uploaded.
 Remingtonfigured the communique would be a slap on the wrist for accepting Carpathia's help. That had
to be coming. He queued the PDA and read the message, verifying the pass codes that identified the
message as legitimate.

 In terse sentences, the Joint Chiefs of Staff at the Pentagon had advised him that the military was
currently moving to DEFCON 3, the defensive condition defined asIncrease in force readiness above
normal readiness.

 The news letRemington know that the theater of action had grown much larger thanTurkey , had now, in
fact, stretched across the globe. For the Pentagon to declare DEFCON 3, theUnited States had to fear
attack. The only candidates to garner that kind of attention wereChina andRussia .

 Had either of those countries attacked? Were they, not the Syrians, responsible for the mysterious
vanishings?




United States of America

Cheyenne Mountain Operations Center,ColoradoSprings

Local Time 2429 Hours




"Is this your first time at DEFCON 3?"

 The bizarre question chipped through Jim Manners' focus. The technical sergeant wasn't sure if that was
the first time the question had been asked or if it was only the first time he'd heard it. He glanced to his
right and foundTamaraColeman seated at the console next to him.

 Tamarawas part of Delta Crew. Her black skin cooled with the green glow of the monitor broadcasting
a night-vision display before her. She was in her late twenties and had made technical sergeant three
months beforeJim had. When he'd first come to theCheyenneMountainsOperationsCenter , she'd trained
him at his post.

 She was chatty and competent and attractive. During the training period, he'd discovered she tried out
for the Olympics in the hun-dred-meter dash and the mile and had nearly snared a position on the
American team a few times. Running was one of her passions, and she made it a point to work out
inColorado 's high altitudes, hoping to qualify for the American team during the next competition.

"Yeah,"Jim answered. "At least, it's my first DEFCON 3 on shift here." He frowned at the monitors. "It's
one thing to know we're at DEFCON 3, but it's another to watch it taking place."

 "Just be cool,"Tamara advised. Her uniform blouse and pants were neatly pressed, her name badge
precisely set, and her hair crop-ped short and styled. She tailored her own clothes and they showed her
skill. Almost offhandedly, she shifted between the spy satellites she had access to, using a combination of
trackball and keyboard to log information that would be later reviewed by the analysts who had been
brought on to sort and distill the huge amounts of intel they were bringing in.

 "I am."Jim turned his attention back to his screens. He monitored the various airfields around the world
that he was responsible for. "Did you-did you know any of them?"

"Them?"Tamara glanced at him. "Someone who disappeared, you mean?"

"Yeah."Jim nodded. "That's what I mean."

 Tamarawas quiet for a moment. "I've lost some friends." Her voice was thick. A shimmer of tears
gleamed in her dark eyes. "But that doesn't mean they're gone for good. We could find a way to bring
them back."

"Yeah,"Jim said. He hoped the doubt he felt didn't come through in his voice.

 "I was in the break room when it happened."Tamara tapped the keyboard. Delta Crew had been due to
relieveCharlie atmidnight be-cause they were the next up in the five-crew rotation. Now, however, both
teams were at work because of missing personnel. She shrugged. "I always get here early. Gives me time
to catch up on my reading and some quiet time for myself. I don't like to be in my apartment when my
roommate gets home at night. Gets way too weird sometimes."

"She had a date?"

 Tamarasmiled a little. "Definitely. New guy she met at the hospi-tal.Tiffany goes too fast in her
relationships, then they blow up-usually because she gets bored-and she wonders what happened."

"I thought you were going to move out."

 "I thought about it, but I can't. She's like a little sister. After eight months of living with her, I feel kind of
responsible for her."

 Jimnodded. While they'd been paired for his training, he'd learned quite a bit aboutTamara . She was the
oldest of nine children, seven of them girls, and she had definite firstborn characteristics. She still sent
money back home to her family to help pay the college tui-tion of her younger siblings. The Air Force
had taken care ofTamara 's college in exchange for compensatory time in service. Her generosity with her
family members had resulted in her string of strange room-mates, and her caregiver nature had kept them
around.Tiffany wasTamara 's latest "lost cause."Tamara was also a Big Sister, and if any-one in the
complex had a benefit or fund-raiser going on,Tamara was known as one of the softest touches on the
crews.

"So,"Jim said, "do you think it will happen?" He stared at the air-fields, watching the thermographic
displays that showed the crews readying the B-52H Stratofortresses at theAirLogisticsCenter at Tin-ker
Air Force Base inOklahoma . Other bases around theUnited States were making the same preparations
with their fleets.
"What?"Tamara clicked the trackball, capturing more images. "War?"

 Jim's mouth dried. He didn't know how they could sit there and discuss the subject as calmly as though
they were placing a breakfast order. "Yeah. That."

 Tamarahesitated. "I don't know." She glanced at her monitor, turning her head just enough to letJim
know she was checking the re-flection ofColonelDanHatton , the Delta Crew commander who had
stepped in to replace the missingColonelMorrisTurner .

 ColonelHatton, an American, was one of the most senior officers at the complex. He stood quietly,
granite-jawed with his hands clasped behind his back. During his time atCheyenneMountain ,Jim was
certainColonelHatton had seen plenty of DEFCON 3s come.

And go,Jimtold himself quietly. All those other DEFCON 3s had come and gone. Otherwise, a nuclear
war would have broken out.

 The basesJim watched were strategic. The B-52s were the world's best long-range heavy bombers.
Armed to the teeth, a B-52 carried seventy thousand pounds of mixed ordnance, including bombs,
mines, and missiles. Air-launched cruise missiles, Harpoon antiship, and Have Nap missiles were
standard fare for the big bombers.

 The B-52 bomber originally debuted in 1955 as a primary factor in the Cold War. Armed with nuclear
weapons, the planes were tasked to fly into Soviet airspace and take outMoscow and other key Russian
cities with nuclear weapons. Back in those days, the nukes had still been referred to as atom bombs.
Today that arsenal was re-ferred to as weapons of mass destruction, or WMDs. The targets es-sentially
remained the same: deep withinRussia orChina .

 Two B-52Hs-the current updated model with new avionics, de-fense systems, data-link
communications, and precision-guided weapons capabilities-could patrol 140,000 square miles of ocean
surface within two hours. Capable of flying at 50,000 feet and at low levels, the B-52 was a dreadnought
of air-strike capability. Without being refueled in the air, a Stratofortress had a range of 8,800 miles.

 In actuality, the B-52 never had to leave the sky or a threatening posture because the Stratofortress
could be refueled in midair. During the Gulf War, the longest strike mission in the aircraft's history was
launched by a group of B-52s that took off from Barksdale Air Force Base in Louisiana, flew to Iraq and
took out targets, then returned to the home base thirty-five hours later. Only the ability of the crew to
function without succumbing to fatigue limited the B-52's perfor-mance.

 "The Russians have had some disappearances,"Jim said, cycling through his list of targets. "I've seen
some of the reports. The CIA is feeding information to us from their agents on the ground there."

"I know. That's why the Russian military is in motion."

 "Saber rattling?"God,Jim prayed,just let it be saber rattling. Never before had he felt so vulnerable.
Before he'd gotten theCheyenneMountain posting, he'd known when international events had turned
tense, but he'd never had as great an access to how things were actu-ally shaping up. As a military man,
he'd always known that the world hovered daily on the brink of destruction. But settled in at a console in
theCheyenneMountain complex, he had the distinct experience of being part of the process.

"I don't think so."Tamara 's eyes flicked from one monitor to the other. "The Russians are scared."
"Scared? Of what?"

 "You know what happened inIsrael in January of lastyear." "When the Russian fighters got knocked
from the air by that freak meteor storm."

"Meteor storm?"Tamara smiled with polite disdain. "Is that what you think happened?"

"That seems to be the best answer."

"Does it? A freak meteor storm that didn't leave any meteors be-hind?"

 "Most people who don't know better just assumed that the de-struction of the Russian jets was because
the equipment they used was inferior."

"But you don't think that?"

"No way. If those fighters had been inferior, they wouldn't have made the hop fromRussia . And for all
of them to decide to self-de-struct more or less at the same time?"Jim shook his head. "No way."

"So ... a meteor storm?"

"Well, if the Israelis had used an electromagnetic pulse bomb, we'd have heard about it. And there
would have been a lot of power outages at ground zero. There weren't any reported."

"The Israeli military was caught flat-footed. They're more geared for border disputes than aerial combat
with the Russians."

 Jimfelt defensive. “A freak meteor storm that leaves no traces is easier to believe than aliens from outer
space."

Tamaranodded to her right. "Sterlingwouldn't agree with you. You've heard his theory, right?"

"I have."Jim knew from personal experience thatSterling would expound on the threat of aliens for hours
on end if given the opportu-nity.Sterling was the chief conspiracy enthusiast onCharlieCrew . "Okay, so if
you don't think it was aliens or a freak meteor storm or some tactical weapon the Israelis possess that we
don't know about, what do you think it was?"

 Silence stretched between them for a moment. During the six months he had known her,Jim had seldom
seenTamara think before making a reply. She always had information quickly at her disposal about any
number of topics.

"Do you ever read the Bible?" she asked finally.

 Jimfelt a little self-conscious. He'd seen the tiny cross thatTamara wore on a delicate necklace around
her neck when they'd had dinner, lunch, or breakfast after hours to get better acquainted. He'd gone to
church when he was a kid, but he'd gotten away from it and resented anyone who tried to shove religion
down his throat.

"Some," he said. "It's been a while."

"Ever study the book of Revelation?Daniel ? Ezekiel?"
"No."

"Ezekiel 38," she said. "You should take a look at it."

The conversation felt more and more uncomfortable toJim . He was beginning to feel sorry he'd asked.

 "Ezekiel 38 could be interpreted to describe the Russian attack onIsrael ,"Tamara went on. "A great
army is supposed to descend from the north and attempt to destroyIsrael and take her riches. For
years,Israel has depended on outside financial help."

"There are lots of riches there now."

"Because of Rosenzweig's formula, yes. At any rate, during the northern army's attack, whenIsrael was
helpless, God told Ezekiel that He would protectIsrael ."

"And you believe that's what happened?"

"Not,"Tamara stated quietly, "until today."

"When everyone vanished?"

"Yes."

 Jimconsidered her answer and the possibility he knew she was only hinting at. "So if God's hand was in
all of the disappearances, where did those people go?"

Tamaralooked at him. "Heaven,Jim. They went to heaven." A mostly beatific expression filled her face,
but some uncertainty shone in her dark eyes. There was also more than a little sadness.

Even though he had been expecting her to say exactly that, her words still brought a chill that filledJim 's
heart. "Why them?"

"Because they were the ones who were deserving."

"Deserving?"

 "Theybelieved. "Tamara shook her head. "Didn't you know some of those people who disappeared
from here?"

"Yeah."

"And what were most of them like?"

"They were good people,"Jim answered. That was one of the first things that came to mind. Of course,
he hadn't known them all, but he'd known quite a few.

"Exactly."

"But there are other good people who are still here,"Jim pointed out. "You were left behind."
 "Thank you for that, but my faith isn't as strong as it used to be,"Tamara admitted. "Or maybe it was
never as strong as I thought it was. I don't know." She sighed. "My mother was recently diagnosed with
cancer."

"I'm sorry."

Tamarashook her head. "That's not the point,Jim . The point is how I reacted to that news. I'm guilty of
holding God accountable for my mom's cancer. I'm not supposed to do that.

"But a feeling like that is only natural."

 "Maybe. Other people might blame the environment. I blamed God."Tamara sighed. "I can be mad at
God, but I have to understand that the things that happen are for the best. I'm supposed tobelieve in His
love." She pursed her lips. "Just last week, I had a disagreement with the pastor at my church. I finally
told him about Mom's cancer. He went through the usual spiel, telling me to trust God, that every-thing
was working out according to His plan. I didn't like what he had to say. It's the first time we've ever had
any kind of disagreement."

"I would have felt the same way."

 "Maybe."Tamara clicked the trackball again, capturing more in-formation. "But my mom didn't. She just
accepted the doctor's diag-nosis and said that God would figure out what she was supposed to do."

"You've talked about your mom a lot. She sounds like a terrific woman."

"She is. And she's important to me."

"If there's anything I can do."

Tamaranodded. "I'm not going to worry about it anymore. At least, I'm going to try not to. Whatever
happens, I really feel like it's in God's hands." She glanced around the room. "Just like the people who
disappeared here. I think they're in God's hands." She wiped her eyes. "And you know what else?"

"What?"

Tamara's voice broke, but she recovered. "I think my mom is in God's hands right now, too."

"What do you mean?"

"If this is the Rapture, if God has come and taken His church, I know my mom was one of those."

 Tamara's conviction touchedJim in ways he'd never felt before. For a moment, her emotion embarrassed
him. When she discovered that what she suddenly found herself believing wasn't actually the case, she
was going to be hurt deeply. But a quiet unease had threaded through his thoughts, never to be denied
again.What if she is right? What if God has come for his people? The thought was terrifying. He felt a
cold breeze across the back of his neck. If it was true, then he had been left behind.

"I tried to call home before we were pulled in to fill the vacant posts in here,"Tamara said.

"Was your mom home?" Despite his doubts,Jim found himself drawn to the answer.
"I don't know. The phone lines aren't going through right now."

That stood to reason,Jim mused. If the amount of disappearances they were logging in the different
military operations they moni-tored, as well as the disappearances from their own ranks that had left only
piles of clothing and tons of questions and fear behind, were re-flected around the United States, then the
phone companies and communications corporations had been hard hit as well.

"If this event-"Jim started.

"The Rapture,"Tamara said.

He nodded. "If the Rapture has occurred, then what happens to us?"

"To the people left behind?"

"Yeah." Just saying that madeJim 's mouth suddenly dry. Nothing he'd ever trained for in his life had
prepared him for this. Then he re-membered all those Sunday mornings in church that he had resented.
The sad fact was that hecould have been prepared.

"The Tribulation."

 Jimturned the word over in his head. He had heard the word sev-eral times, but it made no sense now.
"What is the Tribulation?"

 "After the Rapture, God will leave the world more or less intact. The people who are left behind will then
have the choice of believ-ing and giving themselves to him, or they can continue to deny His existence
and love. During the seven years of the Tribulation, Chris-tians will become more persecuted by
nonbelievers than at any time before."

"I thought the believers would have all been raptured."

"Theywill have,"Tamara said softly. "I believe they have been. But there will be new believers,Jim .
Don't you see? You're asking questions now that you would have never asked before."

Jimbroke eye contact by reaching for his coffee cup. He was sur-prised at how much his hand shook as
he lifted it. This was too much. It was all coming too fast.

When the Klaxon rang, he spilled a little of the tepid liquid in his lap.

 "All right, ladies and gentlemen,"ColonelHatton announced over the PA system. "The Russians have
taken to the air. We've just es-calated from DEFCON 3 to DEFCON 2."

 The colonel's words hammeredJim 's mind, shattering his thoughts and crystallizing his fear. DEFCON 2
meant that B-52s, es-cort fighters, and supply planes would take off and prepare to strike Russian
targets. He gazed in wide-eyed disbelief as the Stratofortresses he had onscreen suddenly jerked to life
and hurtled down runways.

"Jim,"Tamara said.

"Yeah," he replied in a thick voice.
"You okay?"

"We're watching what could be the end of the world. Do you know that?"

"It won't be the end," she stated quietly. "There's a lot that will happen before that happens. Things will
get much worse." "Worse than the end of the world?"

"Yes."

 AsJim watched, the B-52s leaped into the air, clawing their way into the night skies like birds of prey.
Even peering down on them on the large monitor, the flying dreadnoughts looked sleek and deadly when
they should have looked more like a child's toys. "Do you think God planned for DEFCON?"

“Yes.”

"What do you think happens to the people who die after the rapture?"

Tamaraquietly thought. "I think it depends on how their relation-ship with God has changed."

"And if it hasn't changed?"

"I don't think things would go very well for them."

Jimnodded. "If we live through tonight, do you think we could talk more about this?"

Tamarareached over and gave his forearm a reassuring squeeze. "Sure."




TheMediterranean Sea

USSWasp

Local Time 0937 Hours




DEFCON 2,ChaplainDelroyHartethought to himself as he jogged aft throughWasp's second level.God,
look over me as I strive to bring Your message to frightened and paranoid ears.

 The chaplain hurried through the large mess hall, past the officer's wardroom that functioned as a
restaurant or theater or town hall or conference room depending on the scheduled need, until he reached
the command and control centers caged protectively under the ship's island structure for extra defense.

 The C&C areas remained dark, but the glow of computer moni-tors and large display screens warred
with the gloomy shadows that filledWasp's bowels. Men spoke quietly, and their voices punctuated the
steady hum of computer mainframes and peripheral devices.

 Seven theaters of operation existed within the C&C post. The Tac-tical Air Control Center monitored
the airspace around the Amphibi-ous Readiness Group and assigned the daily flight sheets, matching men
and machines as well as zones and time frames. The Tactical Lo-gistics Group managed the onboard
supplies, weapons, and vehicles as well as the debarkation of the Marine troops. Information was
cleared and stored in the jointIntelligenceCenter , and hard-drive space was filled with information
concerning the world ifWasp was ever cut off from the Pentagon as she had been
beforeCaptainRemington had managed the coup with the Romanian communica-tions network. The Ship
Signals Exploitation Space was shut off from nearly everyone aboard ship because of the degree of
secrecy involved in using enemy signals against those enemies. When involved in heavy operations that
could threatenWasp, the ARG commander and staff stayed in the Flag Plot deep within the ship where
they could most be protected.

 TheLandingForceOperationsCenter was jam-packed with high--tech computer systems that tied the
Marine commander of the MEU(SOC) with embarked Marine units while away from the ship. From
there, fed with the information from spy-sats and in constant communications with his away
teams,ColonelHenryDonaldson , the MEU(SOC)'s commander-in-chief, could direct all action his
Marines took.

Two Marines stood guard in front of the door. They held their as-sault weapons at port arms.

"ChaplainHarte," one of the Marines greeted.

Delroy drew himself up tall and straight. Before leaving his quar-ters, he'd showered and shaved and put
on a fresh uniform. Before tellingColonelDonaldson and Captain Falkirk what he had to tell them, he
wanted to look his Navy best. Appearance counted for a lot in the military.

But he also carried his father's old Bible. To Delroy, the creases in the imitation leather cover and the
dog-eared pages were hash marks and medals of valor in a service that had gone largely unnoticed
out-sideJosiahHarte 's community. Maybe the uniform was his armor, but the Bible was his shield and
buckler.

"Sergeant," Delroy replied. "I need to speak withColonelDonaldson ."

The sergeant looked uncomfortable. "I'm sorry, sir.ColonelDonaldson left strict orders that he was not to
be disturbed."

 "'Not to be disturbed?"' Delroy couldn't believe it. His anger and frustration seeped through his grip
before he could restrain them. "We just lost hundreds of Marines along the Turkish border, Sergeant.
TheUnited States is at DEFCON 2, preparing to possibly go to war withRussia because that country is
certain we're responsible for the disappearances that have taken place there. Can anything be more
disturbing?"
The young sergeant blinked in shock and confusion. "Sir, I-"

 "Sergeant," Delroy put the crisp clear tone of command in his voice as he stepped forward, "do you see
these bars and that star on my shoulder?"

"Yes, sir." The Marine backed down slightly but didn't give up much ground.

   "I am a commander in the United States Navy," Delroy said.

"Yes, sir. I know that, sir. But I was given orders by my colonel that-"

 "Son," Delroy said in a quietly fierce voice, "either you let the col-onel make the decision whether or not
to see me, or I'm going to walk right over top of you."

 The sergeant braced at that. The private accompanying him took a step away and circled Delroy. The
chaplain stood his ground. At six and a half feet tall, driven as he was by the need to tell what he knew to
be true, Delroy knew he must have presented a fearsome figure to the men.

 The ship's crew still told about times Delroy had waded into fights aboard ship and in taverns off base
and broke up fights between mili-tary personnel. He'd even broken up a fight involving two Navy SEALs
that had earned him a lot of respect among his fellow military men, al-though the number of the Special
Forces men had grown in the telling over the years.Wasp took pride in having a two-fisted chaplain.

"Sir-"

“Sergeant!" Delroy's voice came out in a bellow. "I said open that door! And I meannow, mister!"

The sergeant stood resolute in front of the door, shifting the rifle to better use the weapon as a club if he
had to.

 Delroy knew he had the attention of several men around him. He almost felt embarrassed. Then he
remembered howChiefMellencamp 's body had disappeared from inside the body bag, and how there
had been loose piles of uniforms scattered aroundWasp. The text from Numbers 32:23 came to his mind:
"But if you do not do so, then take note, you have sinned against the Lord; and be sure your sin will find
you out." He knew he couldn't back away from the task that had been laid before him. The chiefs passing
and the responsi-bility of the letter and the disappearance of the body while he'd been there to bear
witness; those events hadn't been by accident.

 AndwhataboutTerry? Delroy's conviction wavered a little when he thought about his son's passing. He
steeled himself.Terry 's death couldn't mean nothing. He wouldn't let it. Surely even there he would find
God's hand. Surely he could believe in that after every-thing that had happened today.

The door behind the sergeant yanked open.

"What's going on here, Sergeant?"ColonelDonaldson stood ram-rod straight, looking fresh as a daisy
despite the fact he'd been up long, hard hours preparing for the Marine wing's insertion intoTurkey .

 Nineteen years a Marine, Donaldson looked every inch of his call-ing. He stood a couple inches over six
feet with the compact and wiry build of a good second baseman. His sandy colored hair was thinning on
top, although that was partially masked by the flattop crew cut, and going gray at the temples. Camo
BDUs outlined the hard lines of his body.

 "ChaplainHarte," the sergeant said. "He wanted to see you." Delroy's breath came hard and fast, and he
could feel his heart blast-pumping in his chest.

 Donaldson eyed the chaplain with challenge and curiosity, though there was more of the former than the
latter. "Is that right, Chaplain?"

"Yes, Colonel."

 Donaldson’s chin rose as he stepped out into the hallway. His big hand wrapped around his jaw, and his
stubble crackled. "I don't know what could possibly prompt you to interrupt a planning ses-sion I'm
having, Commander. Especially after I gave specific orders no one was supposed to get in."

 "Sir," Delroy said, straightening. "I apologize for the inconve-nience, but rest assured that I wouldn't have
interrupted if it wasn't important."

"I'll be the judge of that."

 For a fleeting moment, Delroy felt afraid. It was a natural reaction, given the circumstances. He'd hoped
to persuade Captain Falkirk andColonelDonaldson to grant him a few minutes alone to explain his
reasoning.

He hadn't expected the audience he had in the men stationed in the C&C centers around them.

"Yes, sir," Delroy said. "I wonder if we might talk in private." Donaldson folded his arms across his
broad chest. "This is fine for me,ChaplainHarte ."

Delroy felt the colonel's anger, saw the white-hot emotion edged in the sharp angles of the man's body.
Most of that anger, the chap-lain reasoned, wasn't directed at him but was just seeking a target the same
way water constantly sought the lowest level.

 "Yes, sir. I see that, sir." Delroy gripped his father's Bible in both hands. He took strength from the
book, and in his mind he heard his father, thundering from the pulpit as he presented God's love and the
fiery threat of hell and eternal damnation to his congregation.

 Terry's voice was in there, too, words ripped from the morning thatTerry had shipped out for the
battlefield. Despite his training, de-spite what faith he'd possessed, Delroy had been frightened, andTerry
saw that emotion in him."Don't be afraid, Dad. I'm not. You see, I believe in you and I believe in
God. Between Him and you, how can any-thing happen to me?"

 But something had happened, andTerry had never come home again. How could God want something
like that to happen to a boy who had hardly gotten to live any of his life?

"Well?" Donaldson prompted impatiently.

 The colonel's obvious willingness to make an example out of Delroy almost broke his nerve. But he felt
his father's hard-used Bible in his hands. Leviticus 5:1 had been a favorite passage ofJosiahHarte 's when
he was talking to his congregation about the need and duty to bear witness to the works of the Lord.And
if a soul sin, and hear the voice of swearing, and is a witness, whether he hath seen or known of
it; if he do not utter it, then he shall bear his iniquity.
 "I know how those people disappeared," Delroy said in a voice that almost broke. He felt ashamed of
himself. Here he was, testifying to the works of the Lord God, holding his own father's Bible, and he
acted as tremulous as a child.

 "I'd like to hear this,"ColonelDonaldson said. "Especially since military intelligence doesn't have a clue,
even with all the technology they control at their fingertips."

"The disappearance of those men wasn't through technology, Colonel." Delroy struggled, barely keeping
his voice under control. "Their removal from this world was divine."

Donaldson cursed. "They weren't removed from this world. They were murdered, and-"

 Delroy cut the Marine colonel off. "Not murdered. Sir." He took a breath, barely able to maintain eye
contact with the man. "Those peo-ple who have gone missing around the world, they were taken from
this world by the hand of God."

A rumble of conversation from the men in the C&C units filled the hallway.

"Chaplain!" Donaldson roared. "You'll cease and desist an-nouncements like that this instant!"

 Mouth dry, heart beating frantically, Delroy said, "I can't do that, sir. God insists that we bear witness to
the miracles that He has wrought in our lives so that we might influence others to look within their own
lives for works that He has done. If I don't talk about this, I'll be doing a disservice to God and to the
men of this ship. I took an oath to serve the people I was responsible for, and from the looks of this ship
and the fact that not everyone here was taken, I still have work to do."

"You're out of your mind," Donaldson said hoarsely.

 "No, sir," Delroy disagreed. "I've just stopped hiding from the truth. God has shown me something and I
am paying attention." No one spoke in the hallway. Delroy knew he had the ear of every man in the
centers.

"Chaplain, I order you to return to your quarters," Donaldson said. "You will remain under house arrest
until such time as I-" "No, sir," Delroy replied.

Donaldson's eyes nearly bugged out of his head. "Are you refusing the direct order of a superior
officer,ChaplainHarte ?"

 "I have been," Delroy admitted, "until today. But I won't turn away from him anymore. Not when there
are so many left behind that can be saved."

"Chaplain-" Donaldson's voice raised in obvious warning.

 "The proof is right there in front of you, Colonel. You have but to open your eyes to see." Delroy held
his father's Bible up before him. "I can show you chapter and verse where God made a covenant to
re-turn for his blessed chosen and reap them from this world."

"Chaplain, I don't know what you think you're trying to prove, but-"

"I'm not trying to prove anything," Delroy said. "I am trying to ac-knowledge the hand of God Almighty
in the course of these events that have changed the face of the world in the last hour and a half."

"Sergeant," Donaldson said

"Sir."

"Arrest that man."

"Yes, sir." The sergeant started forward.

Delroy slapped the Bible against the young Marine's chest, trap-ping his assault rifle there. "Don't you
dare," the chaplain advised. The Marine halted.

 "God put me here today," Delroy said, staring into the young man's eyes, "to bear witness to what has
truly happened because there are none so blind as those who will not see." He looked over the
ser-geant's shoulder at Donaldson. "I want you to listen to me, Colonel. Things are going to get much
worse than you see now. The Antichrist will rise up now that the Rapture has taken place. He will rise up
and fill the world with lies and treachery for seven years, and the souls of men will be tried as they have
never been tried before."

 In an obviously practiced move, Donaldson drew the M9 pistol from the holster at his hip. The satety
clicked ott as the barrel centered on Delroy's face. "Chaplain," the Marine colonel said in a cold voice,
"you'll shut your mouth now or I'll put a bullet through your face."

 Delroy stared death squarely in the eye and never blinked. He'd been in contact with it before. Each time
he'd felt that always-present fear that he wouldn't come back home alive, that he would be crip-pled for
life. But now, staring down the muzzle of the M9, he felt calm and relaxed.

 "Thirty-one percent of our crew is missing," Delroy said. "More of them went missing inTurkey , and the
survivors are stranded with the very armies they went in to save. Our world is hovering on the brink of a
nuclear war between theUnited States andRussia . And you threaten to kill me?" The chaplain couldn't
help it; he laughed, and the sound rolled through the C&C areas. "Have you ever read Revela-tion,
Colonel? Do you even know what's in store for the world now that this has happened?"

Donaldson held the pistol rock steady.

 "Threatening to kill me doesn't scare me," Delroy went on. "I was left behind after the Rapture. The only
way to my salvation now is through God's love and mercy. And if I can't have those, dying now will be a
lot simpler than struggling to live through the dark days that are coming."

 Cursing again, Donaldson shoved the sergeant away with his free hand and stood with the M9 held in a
Weaver stance. "Disobeying a direct order from a commanding officer during a time that might be
construed as wartime can get you executed on the spot."

Delroy gazed at the man, understanding more about what drove him. "You're afraid."

A nervous tic started in Donaldson's left eye. "Shut up," he snarled.

 "You've been through battles and wars." Delroy discovered he couldn't shut up. The truth seemed to
course in his veins. "But all of that hasn't prepared you for something like this."
"Shut. Up." A slight tremble shook the M9 in Donaldson's grip.

"You feel it, don't you, Colonel?" Delroy asked. "You know that I'm telling you the truth. You know."

Donaldson's hand shook more, and his knuckle whitened over the trigger.

"ColonelDonaldson! "The voice whip-cracked through the C&C.

Without turning, Delroy knewCaptainMarkFalkirk had stepped out of theCombatInformationCenter
only a short distance away.

 The CIC held all the computers and information systems the ship's captain needed to run operations
aboardWasp while she was active on a mission.

"Holster that sidearm,ColonelDonaldson ,"Falkirk ordered.

"Operations aboard my ship are going to goby my orders."

 With obvious reluctance, Donaldson holstered his weapon. Beads of perspiration covered his pale face.
"This man is spouting nonsense,

Captain Falkirk. And he's inciting unrest and demoralizing the crew." Delroy glanced atFalkirk .

 The captain was in his early thirties, one of the youngest men to have been appointed to that rank, and
the youngest to commandWasp. He had a slender build but carried an air of readiness and moved with
the fluid grace of a trained athlete. His eyes and hair were dark, complementing the easygoing nature he
maintained unless he was irritated or on task.

"Sergeant," Donaldson went on, "take the chaplain into custody and escort him down to the brig."

"Belay that order,"Falkirk commanded before the sergeant could get under way. Four Navy security
men filed into the hallway, flank-ing their commander.

"Captain," Donaldson objected.

"My ship, Colonel,"Falkirk replied, "and she'll run the way I have her run." He paused. "Are we clear?"

Donaldson clearly didn't like the idea, but he said, "Yes."Falkirk 's eyes flashed. "My ready room,
gentlemen.Now."




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time2:41 A.M.
"Mrs.Gander?"

 Meganlifted her head from her arms, startled to find that she had gone to sleep. She'd been sitting
uncomfortably at the small confer-ence table in the interview room at MP headquarters and trying very
quietly not to go out of her mind with worry. She automatically checked the time, afraid that she had slept
past dawn and thatChris would be waking up in the emergency child-care services. When she saw the
time, she relaxed a little and prayed thatJoey had picked upChris and they were both now at home.

The MPs had taken her cell phone from her when they’d taken her into custody. She didn't know ifJoey
had gotten to his younger brother, and she didn't know ifJoey was aware that she'd been taken by the
MPs. The MPs hadn't called her forced detention an arrest, only that she had been detained for
questioning.

 The man who stood on the other side of the table was dressed in a fresh Army uniform and wore a
lieutenant's bars. He was blond and pale, much too serious for his age, whichMegan didn't put much over
his mid-twenties. He carried an imitation leather briefcase.

"I'mMeganGander ,"Megan said. "Who are you?"

"LieutenantDougBenbow, ma'am." He offered his hand.

Megantook his hand and shook briefly. "Are you an MP,Lieuten-antBenbow ?"

"No, ma'am. I'm with the military justice system. I've been as-signed to be your legal representative."

"My attorney?"Megan struggled against the fatigue that filled her mind. "Why would I need an attorney?"

"We can talk about that." Benbow touched the back of the chair across the table from her. "May I sit?"

"Of course." Megan leaned back in her chair and tried to gather her errant thoughts. She was fatigued.
Her thoughts swam like fat koi in a deep pond, not quite reaching the surface.

 Benbow sat, placing his briefcase on the table, then flipping it open. He took out a tape recorder.
"Would you mind if I record our conversation?"

"Why are you recording our conversation?"

 The question caused the young lieutenant to hesitate. "I'll be tak-ing notes, of course, but I much prefer
to work from a recording. That way I get every word, and I don't miss the nuances a person may use as
he or she explains himself or herself." He took out a lined yellow legal pad.

Fear crept in on Megan and the chill in the room seemed like it deepened by the second. "I don't
understand."

Benbow clicked the tape recorder on. "I just need to go over to-night's events, Mrs. Gander."

"I've already told the MPs what happened. This doesn't make any sense. "

 Reaching into an inside jacket pocket, Benbow took out a me-chanical pencil and clicked the plunger to
expose the lead. "I need to know about the boy, Mrs. Gander."
"Gerry?"

 Benbow flipped through pages of notes. Hiseyes scanned the ma-terial rapidly. "Gerry Fletcher. Yes,
that's right, Mrs. Gander. You were his counselor?"

 Were? Icy jaws seemed to clamp on to Megan's thoughts. "I am Gerry's counselor."Those were clothes
I saw at the bottom of that building. Empty clothes. Gerry fell, but he didn't hit. Thank You, God,
he didn't hit.

"How long were you-have you been-Gerry Fletcher s coun-selor?"

"About a year." Megan thought furiously, trying to catch up with whatever the young lieutenant was
doing.

"Fourteen months?" Benbow's pencil hung expectantly over a clean sheet in the legal pad.

 "I'd have to check my notes if you want a definite answer." Megan didn't know why she couldn't
remember.

"I have checked your records regarding Gerry," Benbow said. "You've been seeing him for fourteen
months."

"You've seen my records regarding Gerry's case?"

 Benbow sat up straighter, if that was possible, and regarded her. "I haven't looked through the boy's file,
Mrs. Gander. Only your appoint-ments. I found that you first saw Gerry on December 27 two years
ago."

The first meeting had been after Christmas. Megan remembered that clearly now. "That sounds right."

"And Gerry has been in your care since that time?" "Yes."

 Benbow scribbled notes and nodded in satisfaction. "During your visits withGerry , you also came into
contact withPrivateBoydFletcher ."

Megan nodded.

"Please respond verbally, Mrs. Gander. I may ask that the tapes be admitted in court as evidence."

"Court?" Megan couldn't believe what the lieutenant was saying. "Who's talking about court?"

"The provost marshal's office," Benbow answered.

 "Frank Marion is talking about taking me to court?" Unable to sit any longer, Megan stood. Her chair
screeched as it shot back. As soon as she stood, she felt light-headed. The scratches along her arm that
Gerry had left during his panic before he had slipped from her hand stung.

"I've not spoken with Provost Marshal Marion yet," Benbow re-plied. "I hope to speak with him in the
morning regarding the other ex-tenuating circumstances that have occurred here on base tonight. I don't
know how you can be held accountable forGerryFletcher s dis-appearance.
"I'm not."

 Benbow nodded politely. "Yes, ma'am. That's why I'm here: to help prove that you were not responsible
for what happened to Gerry Fletcher."

"What has happened to him?"

"We don't know, ma'am. The MPs have scoured that building and they've found no sign of the boy."

"He disappeared." Megan forced the words out. "I had him. Then he fell. He just ... just never hit the
ground."

Benbow pushed out his breath easily. "You're sure you had the boy, Mrs. Gander?"

Megan faced the lieutenant and folded her arms. "Of course I'm sure.

"And he was hanging over the building?"

"Yes."

 "It's just that-" Benbow hesitated-"I know that things up on that rooftop had to have been confusing.
You got called out of bed in the middle of the night after a hectic day, already worried about one of your
children who hadn't yet come home, and learned that your hus-band is engaged in action along the
Turkish border before you got up on that rooftop with Gerry."

"What are you trying to say?" Megan demanded.

"I'm trying to suggest that perhaps you weren't at your best, Mrs. Gander. That's all."

"That maybe I wasn't holding that boy? That I imagined all of that?"

Benbow hesitated, then reluctantly nodded. "Yes, ma'am. Without wanting to be offensive in anyway, I
guess that's what I'm trying to sug-gest."

"Lieutenant, this is crazy. A waste of your time and mine. There were at least a dozen people who saw
Gerry disappear. The MPs had spotlights on Gerry and me. Haven't you talked to them?"

 "As a matter of fact, Mrs. Gander, I have talked to most of them. Ev-ery man I've talked to has told me
that he wasn't sure if you had the boy or not. No one got a good look."

"That's impossible."

 "As I said,Mrs.Gander , I know things had to be happening very fast and were probably intensely
confusing up on that rooftop."

 Meganforced herself to be calm when all she wanted to do was scream. Everything that had gone on
tonight, from Joey not showing up at home, to Goose being involved in unexpected action, to the whole
situation with Gerry Fletcher, had been overload on her al-ready strained emotions. "And if I didn't have
Gerry, what was I hold-ing? What fell from that building?"
 "The boy's clothing." Benbow sat quietly. His pencil sat poised over the legal pad. "I've verified that the
clothing found at the base of that residence building was the same clothing the boy wore when he entered
the hospital."

"They're saying I dropped Gerry'sclothes over the side of the build-ing?"

Benbow nodded.

 Frustration and fright filled Megan. Before she could stop the emotions, some of them boiled over.
"Speak up, Lieutenant. The tape recorder only records verbal responses."

 "Yes," Benbow said. His tone was totally neutral and he appeared to take no offense. "That's what
they're saying." "Why would I do that?"

"I don't know."

Tears filledMegan 's eyes. "I want out of here. Do you hear me?" The lieutenant frowned uncomfortably.

 "I've been here for nearly an hour," Megan said. "Up until the last fifteen minutes, I've been asked over
and over where Gerry Fletcher is. I've been asked straight out, and I've had MPs who thought they were
very clever try to get me to admit I know where Gerry is."

"Mrs. Gander-"

 Megan hurried on, cutting the lieutenant off. "I want to get my baby out of child care, and I want to go
home so I can pray for my hus-band and those Rangers over there in Turkey. I want to know my old-est
son is all right. I am a good mother and I'm a good wife, and that's what I should be doing. And despite
whatever stories you've been lis-tening to and however you may feel, I am a good counselor." Her voice
was thick with emotion. "I did my best to saveGerryFletcher ’s life tonight, and I don't know what
happened to him."

Benbow was quiet for a moment. "They're not going to let you leave right now,Mrs.Gander ."

"Why?"

"Because the provost marshal's office is considering bringing charges against you."

"For what?" Megan's voice tightened into a hoarse whisper. "For the kidnapping ofGerryFletcher ."
Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa, Turkey

Local Time 0947 Hours

 A flash of movement caught gooses eye. He drew back down to the shelter of the overturned Syrian
T-72 main battle tank that had re-mained remarkably intact after the fusillade leveled by the arriving
Marine Harriers and Apaches. A scattering of vehicles, Syrian corpses, and ashes of tents and other
flammable materials littered the ground around them.

 "Phoenix Leader confirms a hostile," Goose warned over the headset. He brought the butt of the M-4A1
up over his right shoulder, maintaining a tight profile that would allow him to move quickly and sweep the
assault rifle up if he needed to, while at the same time re-maining a compact target. He peered around the
edge of the tank, feeling the hot metal of the tread pressing against his cheek.

 Tense seconds ticked by as quiet reigned along the skirmish line that had taken shape on the border. Off
in the distance to the north, Goose could hear only a few scattered truck noises, jet engine roars, and the
occasionalwhap-whap of helicopter rotors. More noise came from the south as the tanks, APCs, and
Jeeps the Syrian army had held in reserve started jockeying for the inexorable push that would come to
invade Turkey proper.

 Once the armored cav started rolling northbound, Goose knew the Syrians couldn't be held back. The
Turkish army, the U.N. peace-keeping forces, and the Rangers had taken huge casualties and lost
ir-replaceable materials. The Syrian army had taken some incredible losses as well, but the reserve force
they'd had outnumbered anything the Turkish defenders had left to give.

 There was no way to know what the Syrian military command had intended to do with the army
encamped along the border before launching the SCUDs.Remington had stated, during his last
discus-sion with Goose, that he believed the Syrian army would have been pulled back, making it look
like they had backed down from the Turks. Then, while the unsuspecting Turkish army was
congratulating itself, the SCUDs would have launched and taken out the first line of defense. The Syrians'
cav units would have rolled over whatever re-mained of the defenders.
 Intercepting the CIA spy had changed all of that somehow, andSyria had gambled everything on the
power of a sweeping first strike. And maybe they had gambled on the disappearances within the border
troops as well. However,Remington had mentioned that the disap-pearances might not be linked to the
fighting inSyria , although he hadn't elaborated on that. With long years of friendship and service
be-tween them, Goose knew when not to press an issue with his captain.

 Exposed on the east side of the T-72, the sun baked down into Goose, and it felt like the heat was
leaching the moisture from his bones. Perspiration soaked his uniform and made the dirt that had stuck to
his skin beneath his clothing even more uncomfortable. His eyelids felt like they dragged across his eyes
in slow motion as he used his peripheral vision to search for the movement he'd caught from the corner of
his eye. The heated air seemed too thin and too raw to breathe.

 The overturned and burned-out vehicles along the skirmish line formed a deadly maze for the Rangers
Goose had led into action. Soot marked the ground in blast patches and made it look like the earth it-self
had been bruised. Fire and smoke still clung to some of the vehi-cles and craters. The crackle of the
small flames was the only sound coming from close by him.

Movement caught Goose's eye again, drawing him around. "Goose!" Cusack yelled in warning. The
young Ranger brought his weapon up.

 But Goose was already in motion as the Syrian soldier thrust his Chinese-made AK-47 forward. Goose
turned toward Cusack, whose concern for Goose had left him exposed, fisted the Ranger's uniform in his
hand and dropped a shoulder into Cusack's midsection to get him moving.

 Bullets traced a white-hot trail along the tank, spinning wildly from the armor. Gunfire and ricochets
ripped through the quiet still-ness that had filled the area.

Goose shovedDewey back nearly twenty feet before the Ranger's feet got caught and he fell backward.
By that time they were out of range of the Syrian's rifle. Goose's injured knee felt tight under him but held
well enough as he pivoted and sprinted back toward the burned-out hulk of a cargo truck.

"Phoenix Base," Goose called as he moved. "This is Phoenix Leader."

"Go,Phoenix Leader. You have Phoenix Base."Remington had assigned a mission control officer to
watch over thePhoenix team by satellite while they were in hostile territory.

"Verify hostiles, Base," Goose said. "I need your eyes."

 "Affirmative,Phoenix Leader. Base is taking a look-see." Main-taining close surveillance on the skirmish
line was a drain on the sat-com systems while they tried to monitor the two countries and search for other
Syrian troop movements across the border.Remington was doing double duty all the way around by
pumping information out toWasp and to the Pentagon. Phoenix Base had been standing by, ready to go
close in.

 Putting his back to the cargo truck, Goose listened for the Syrians. When he heard no running feet, he
dropped into a crouch and peered under the truck from his position beside the slagged remains of the
rear tire.

Two Syrian soldiers were prone beside an eight-wheeled BTR-60 armored personnel carrier. Blistered
paint bubbled up all around the APC, and the eight tires were withered pools of burnt rubber. With its
boat-shaped hull and sloped sides, the BTR-60 was a good swimmer, though that wouldn't do it much
good in the desert around them. The vehicle's standard armament consisted of the coaxial 14.5 mm KPV
and 7.62mm PKT machine guns on the right side. The BTR-60 was by no means cutting-edge
equipment, but it was a workhorse on the battlefield.

Goose fired on the fly, aiming for the closest Syrian soldier. A line of 5.56mm rounds from Goose's
weapon chewed through the ground even as Syrian fire knocked hunks of rubber from the tire Goose
was hunkered behind. Goose's bullets struck the lead man, who jerked with the impacts then lay still.

 The surviving Syrian soldier's bullets cut through the air by Goose's head and kicked dirt up into his face.
The clear goggles he wore kept the grit from his eyes. The kerchief he wore to filter the ac-rid smoke
covered the lower half of his face.

"Phoenix Leader, Base confirms two hostiles in your immediate twenty," the mission controller said
urgently. "One is down," Goose said.

"Understood. One hostile down. I'm pinging them now, Leader. Your men have engaged thirty-seven
Syrian foot soldiers. I'm also reading vehicles that are in motion to your location. I've got ten-no, Phoenix
Leader, make that twelve vehicles. They were playing possum, Leader, or they moved up into position
during the time we were without sat-relay. Copy?"

 "Phoenix Leader copies, Base." Goose checked up the line, mak-ing sure all his squad leaders had
received the information. Ar-mored cav loose in the Ranger scout forces would be like loosing a lion in a
henhouse.

 With the vehicle losses the Turkish, U.N., and Ranger forces had already suffered, Goose hadn't wanted
to risk losing any more. Even one of the smaller Jeeps or 4x4 transport vehicles would have been
hard-pressed to slip through the carnage along the border. And every vehicle they lost on the scouting
mission was one less vehicle to help carry the wounded back to Sanliurfa that night.

Intermittent assault-rifle fire opened up in his area. The other members of Goose's twenty-man team,
broken into five groups of four, reported engagements as well.

Cusack sprinted to join Goose, taking up position near the front tire of the cargo truck for the limited
protection it offered.

 "Phoenix Eight confirms two hostiles down,"Tanakareported in a cool voice. The team sniper had taken
up a position a hundred yards back on top of a Bradley M-2 APC that had seen its last day. One of the
Marines, a sniper with aBarrettM-82A1A.50-cal sniper rifle instead of the more conventional M-40A1
chambered in 7.62mm rounds, keptTanaka company. Goose had allowed the ad-dition because the man
had come highly recommended.

The unique blast of the .50-cal round tore through the battle-field.

"Confirm three down from Eight's position, Base," the laconic Marine stated.

"I need to know about those vehicles, Base," Goose said. "You'll have it, Leader."

"Phoenix Leader, this is Stonewall Leader."

 "Go, Stonewall," Goose replied. Stonewall Leader was the Ma-rine sergeant in command of the
surviving troop contingent from Wasp. Signaling Cusack, Carruthers, andJansen , the three members of
his own four-man group, Goose sent them around Denina the Syrian soldier's position.

 "I realize this is your party, sir,"Marine SergeantDekeHenderson said, "but I'd like permission to try my
luck with the arriving ar-mored cav. ThisBarrett , sir ... well, if you've never seen one in ac-tion, you'd be
surprised what it will do. Even those later model T-72s can't handle the .50-cal rounds."

"Affirmative, Stonewall," Goose said. "Do what you can. We need to work for a holding position for a
while."

"I'll do you proud, Phoenix Leader," the Marine promised.

 Gunfire erupted from the Syrian soldier's position. Whirling into action, Goose sprinted for the end of the
cargo truck. When he came out around the end, his back pressed up tight against the soot--stained truck,
he listened to the Syrian soldier's assault rifle burn through the rest of his clip.

 Turning, Goose dropped the M-4A1 into firing position and looked toward the Syrian BTR-60. The
sniper lay in a hollowed-out spot in the earth near the APC. Goose directed a stream of 5.56mm
tumblers at the BTR-60's sloped sides, counting on the light bullet and the angle of the APC's sides. The
lightweight bullets slammed against the vehicle's steeply inclined wall.

Designed to bounce and ricochet after hitting a target, the 5.56mm rounds deflected down into the
Syrian soldier. The man pushed himself to his feet, then dropped back and didn't move again.

 Goose blinked perspiration from his eyes and searched for more enemy troops. He heard the clank of
heavy rolling stock in the dis-tance and knew that the armored cav Base had talked about was emerging
from their chosen hiding areas.

 The Rangers couldn't back down. Goose knew that. They had to stop whatever contingent of Syrian
forces remained in the area here. The Syrians had radio contact with the rest of their army.Remington 's
intel teams were still assessing how large that army was. If the Rangers backed down, they might trigger a
rout that would bring the rest of the Syrians grinding toward them.

Goose turned and signaled to Cusack, Carruthers, andJansen . The three experienced Rangers moved at
double time to fall into po-sition around Goose. He movedHenderson up to take point.

"Take us to the west, Carruthers," Goose said. "We're going to sel up a pincer and see if we can't take
out some of the cav."

"You got it, Sarge.” Carruthers hailed from Big Fork,Montana . He was stocky and solid, slow to speak
but quick to act. He was a minis-ter's son, and one of the men thatBillTownsend had spent a lot of time
with. He took off, angling to the right, putting the sun to their backs.

 Goose readied his M-203 grenade launcher with an HE round. The high-explosive 40mm grenade
packed a solid punch that was devastating to the T-55 Russian-made tanks that made up most of Syria's
cav, and the round performed well against even the T-72 mon-sters.

Cusack packed an M-203 as well and readied his own.

" Phoenix Two, " Goose called. "This is Leader."

"Go, Leader. You have Two."EddieYbarra was a top-notch ser-geant fromArizona with twelve years in.
"Set up to the east of the main blockage," Goose said. "Try to out-flank the tanks. Your team has two
M-203s. I want to catch the Syrian cav in a cross fire."

"Affirmative, Leader. Two is on the move."

When Carruthers waved in warning and went to the ground next to a rocky outcrop, Goose fell into
position against a burned-out troop transport that lay in twisted ruin. "PhoenixThree, Four, and Five."

The leaders radioed back in response.

 "Hold the middle," Goose instructed. "Take out the ground forces and cover each other. Fall back if you
have to. I want to draw the cav in." As those squad leaders responded, he looked around the troop
transport, breathing shallowly at the stink of burned flesh coming from within the vehicle.

 A hundred yards away, a line of six T-55 main battle tanks, one T-72 main battle tank, two APCs, and
three jeeps formed a pack of hunting steel jackals. Evidently the SCUDs and the carnage unleashed by
the Marine wing had struck them, as evidenced by the blast scar-ring they wore on their armored hides,
but they hadn't been disabled. Three T-55 tanks ran the forward line, crunching over broken vehicles and
debris as well as corpses of their own dead.

 The sight was a vision out of hell as Goose had imagined it back when one of the hellfire and brimstone
evangelists had arrived atWaycross,Georgia , when he was a kid. Some of those men had painted word
pictures ofSatan 's dominion, pictures that had been a lot like what he had seen all morning. It was easy
to imagine that the whole world had slipped, without knowing or heeding the signs, into the end times,
just asBill had warned.

 Syrian troops flanked the armored cav. Some of me Syrian sol-diers jogged behind the slow-moving
tanks with one hand on the rear so they could take advantage of the cover provided.

"Phoenix Eight," Goose called.

"Go, Leader,"Tanaka answered.

"Stay with Three, Four, and Five. I want you providing cover snip-ing fire."

"Affirmative, Leader, but you're going to be hanging out there."

The clank of the treads and the hoarse rumble of the tanks' V-12 diesel engines grew steadily louder.
The T-72 in the second wave stopped, locked down, then belched fire from the main gun.

 The 125mm round screamed through the air and struck deep in the heart of the broken and burned
vehicles in the Syrian camp. A Jeep jumped into the air, spinning end over end as parts flew off, then
landed with a huge crash that shattered it into pieces.

   Goose was surprised to learn that none of his team had been hit.

 "Phoenix Leader, this is Blue Falcon Leader." The Marine Harrier captain was Dalton Hammer,
aTennessee native. There hadn't been time for Goose to learn much more than that while preparations
had been made to save the Marines from the aerial crash site and pull the front line back into a semblance
of order.
 Remingtonhad managed the liaisons between the U.N. peace-keeping forces and the Turkish army, but
Goose had tried to get to know the new commanders. He hardly knew more than their names so far, but
each of them had learned in a heartbeat what Goose had expected of them and what he planned to do
with their units.

 "I want to offer my assistance, Phoenix Leader," the marine cap-tain said. "You and your men are going
to get chewed up by those cav--“

"Negative, Blue Leader." Goose put edged ice into his voice. "You will stand down and clear my com.
Now "

There was no response.

 Goose knew the Marine captain was only concerned about their welfare, but there was no way Goose
was going to allow the few sur-viving aircraft they had left to them to be risked in this engagement. The
CH-46Es were going to be needed for evac for the more criticallywounded-provided they lived that
long-and the Harriers and Apaches were going to be used to cover their final withdrawal from the
border.Remington had promised additional aircraft would be forthcoming soon fromWasp. Though
Goose gathered the guys onWaspwere having problems of their own.

 Knowing his short dismissal was probably going to earn him a grudge match with Dalton Hammer,
Goose hoped he'd be alive to mend fences later. The Marine captain wasn't used to taking a backseat to
the action. Goose also knew thatRemington would sup-port him on any decision he made on the
battlefield.

The line of Syrian cav advanced inexorably. Dust rose from the broken ground behind them. The
vehicles avoided blast craters large enough to drop Greyhound buses in.

"PhoenixTwo." Goose lifted his M-4A1 and curled his finger over the M-203's trigger. Remaining
behind cover of the troop transport, he took aim at the center T-55.

"Go, Leader. You have Two."

 "HE rounds, Two. First target is the center tank. After reload, take out the tank closest to you in the
lead. With luck, the drivers will panic and turn outside. If we get lucky, we'll break a tread and mire those
vehicles down."

"Affirmative, Leader. Target acquisition understood. Awaiting your go."

Goose glanced at Cusack at the other end of the troop transport. The lanky young Ranger stood braced
with the M-4A1 to his shoul-der.

"Affirmative, Sarge," Cusack said. "Locked on."

The tanks continued forward, closing at low speed, bringing in a tide of dust that settled over the trail of
dead Syrian soldiers left be-hind them.

"Stonewall," Goose called. "This is Phoenix Leader." "Go, Leader. You have Stonewall."

"That .50-cal you're carrying has armor-piercing capability, right?"
"Bet the farm on it, Phoenix Leader."

"Concentrate your fire on the lead tanks. Let's see if we can't jam them up."

"Awaiting your go, Phoenix Leader."

 Goose squinted, squeezing out a bead of sweat that had been ob-scuring his vision. His body was a
mass of aches and bruises. He pushed all those feelings out of his mind and prayed to God that he could
stand firm and get done what he needed to do.

 "Fire!" Goose ordered. His finger drew up the M-203's trigger slack, and he felt the assault rifle buck
with grim authority against his shoulder as the 40mm HE roundwhooshed from the grenade launcher's
throat.




TheMediterranean Sea

USS Wasp

Local Time 0953 Hours



 "Godraptured his church,"ChaplainDelroyHarte stated with more conviction than he'd ever had at any
time in his life. "That's why all those people are missing, Captain. The Lord has reached down into this
world and taken those believers who walked with him."

 But even as the conviction filled the chaplain, he knew the jury was still out for those who watched him.
Despite his best intentions, he didn't know if he was getting through to the two men before him. For a
moment, he thought he truly knew what his father had gone through on Sunday mornings. Delroy had
never met a man who be-lieved in the Word of God more than his father, but even that solid
belief-though it had helped shape what Delroy did and his career choices, in fact, just about everything
about his life-hadn't been enough to get Delroy into heaven. How had his father gotten up every Sunday
morning, hoping that he had discovered a message, a mo-ment in the Bible, that could turn a flicker of
belief into a life-lasting flame in those who listened?

CaptainMarkFalkirksat behind his desk and gave Delroy his full attention.

 "Captain, are you going to listen to this-this-thishogwash?"ColonelDonaldson exploded. He slapped the
desk with both his big hands and stood. "You're a military man, Captain, not some wide-eyed kid
looking for the supernatural around every corner. Religious magic or whatever hoopdoodle this Bible
pounder is pushing isn't going to solve the problems we've got facing us."

Before he could stop himself, Delroy's voice thundered, "God isnot a parlor trick,ColonelDonaldson !"

 "Are you listening to this, Captain?" Donaldson demanded. He looked at Delroy for just a moment as if
to make sure the chaplain was staying in place, then turned back toFalkirk .
"I am listening to this, Colonel,"Falkirk said.

"You shouldn't be," Donaldson objected. "Do you know the kind of effect the chaplain's ravings are
going to have on the crew once this gets out?"

 Falkirkremained unflappable. "It appears to have already gotten out, Colonel. Due to you pressuring
Chaplain Delroy to speak his mind in front of the crew instead of having a private meeting with him as he
requested."

Donaldson swore. "He shouldn't have interrupted my meeting."

 "Your meeting,"Falkirk said, "wasn't interrupted until you came to the door and entered into a verbal
confrontation withChaplainDelroy ."

 "If I hadn't gone to the door, he would have come in after me. He threatened to walk through the
sergeant I had posted there."Falkirk flicked his gaze to Delroy. "Chaplain?"

"Aye, sir," Delroy agreed. "I did that."

"Would you have gone through his sergeant?"

 Delroy hesitated only a moment.Stay with the truth, Son,JosiahHarte had said so many times while
Delroy had been growing up. Al-ways stay with the truth. You'll be judged in God's eyes anyway,
and He will know what was in your heart. Hiding the truth from others serves no pur-pose and
sometimes conflicts the works God is trying to do through you.

"Aye, sir," Delroy answered. "I would have tried. I don't know if I could have. The sergeant is a big
man."

Falkirknodded. "And he's half your age. I would think you'd know better than that."

"Aye, sir." Delroy took a short breath. "But it was imperative that I speak to you and the colonel,
Captain. I know the idea of the Rapture is hard to accept, but it's all in here." He held up his father's
Bible.

"Oh, spare me," Donaldson growled. "Captain, we're wasting time here."

 "Colonel, is there anything else you can be doing right now?"Falkirk 's voice was crisp and clear.
"Anything for those men over there along the border, or to get the troops here more ready?"

Donaldson folded his arms over his chest. His fists knotted. "No. You know that, Captain."

 "I do know that."Falkirk rested his elbows on the neat desk and pressed his fingertips and palms
together.

 Like a man praying, Delroy couldn't help but observe. The signs are always there. His father had always
told him that. A man who teams to walk with God will always find his course charted for him. He just has
to pay attention. The chaplain was paying attention now.

"In addition to putting together relief and help for those Marines stranded along the Turkish-Syrian
border, in addition to arranging for medevac ships to get the more critically wounded here
whenCap-tainRemington pulls his troops out of the area, I'm trying very hard to understand what
happened to a third of my crew and a corre-sponding number of your Marines,"Falkirk said. "Maybe I'm
not an imaginative man. I've exhausted everything I can think of, and I can tell you that the Joint Chiefs of
Staff at the Pentagon haven't come up with an answer either."

"We don't need this God poppycock running rampant through our men," Donaldson stressed.

 Delroy took a deep breath, about to reply to that, but he main-tained his silence when Falkirk waved
him off.

"Do you know what will happen to the morale aboardWasp if the crew starts speculating like this?"
Donaldson continued.

 "The morale of this crew has already been damaged," Falkirk stated. "It was damaged when our birds
went down in flames over there, and it was damaged when so many of their shipmates vanished without
explanation."

"Then it's our job to take that morale and build it back up," Donaldson said.

 Anger flickered thoughFalkirk 's eyes for just an instant, then the emotion was gone. "Do you think that
you pulling your sidearm and shoving it into Chaplain Harte's face is going to shore up the morale aboard
this vessel, Colonel Donaldson?"

"The man simply wouldn't shut up," Donaldson roared.

"And if he had?"

"I wouldn't have drawn my sidearm and threatened him."

"So coming to me and requesting the three of us meet to discuss this would have made you happier?"

Donaldson blinked in confusion.

 Delroy was also aware that Falkirk had framed the option as a mild rebuke of his actions-that was
typical of the way he handled things.Point taken, Captain. He breathed out and made himself calm
down.

"Because I would have called that meeting at Chaplain Harte's in-sistence," Falkirk continued. "Chaplain
Harte is one of my most val-ued and trusted officers. I would afford him the same respect I show you."

"You can'tbelieve what the man is saying," Donaldson objected.

 "You're right," Falkirk agreed. "If I had been a true believer, I prob-ably wouldn't be sitting here in
command of this ship right now. I'd be gone with the others."

Donaldson stepped back as though in disbelief.

For the first time, Delroy noticed the Bible lying on the corner of the captain's desk. The cloth bookmark
was near the end of the Bible, probably somewhere in Revelation.Just look for the signs, Son. God will
always put them there to guide you.
 "The chaplain is crazy," Donaldson said. "Even if he's not certifi-able, he's not in his right mind. He's been
up all night. One of his best friends died in medical last night. Sleep deprivation. Emotional tur-moil. All
the confusion of what has taken place over in Turkey these past few hours. Those things have obviously
taken their toll on him. He's lost it."

 "The disappearances haven't just been in Turkey or aboard this ship," Delroy said as patiently as he
could. "They've happened around the world."

"So what?" Donaldson challenged.

 "Seems hard to believe that a weapon could be unleashed that would strike around the globe all at the
same time. We don't have anything like that. I don't believe that any foreign power has such a weapon
either."

 Donaldson breathed heavily, obviously on the edge of losing con-trol. He turned back to Delroy. "How
are you going to prove what you're saying?"

 "Prove that this was the Rapture?" Delroy spread his arms. "Look around you. The proof is right here. If
you want confirmation, read your Bible. Read 1 Corinthians. God states there that He will come for His
church." He flipped open his father's Bible to 1 Corinthians 15:51 and began reading in a clear, strong
voice. "'Behold, I tell you a mys-tery: We shall not all sleep, but we shall all be changed-in a moment, in
the twinkling of an eye, at the last trumpet." The chaplain looked up from the book. "That's how fast it
happens, Colonel. In the twin-kling of an eye. Just the way those personnel disappeared fromWasp. "

 "You're insane," Donaldson said, shaking his head. "That book was written back when high technology
was getting your household fire stoked by slave labor. The people who wrote it could never have
foreseen what's going on today. Crazy talk. That's what this is. Just crazy talk."

 "Did you know that Chief Petty Officer Mellencamp's body disap-peared in front of me?" Delroy asked.
"I was watching when it hap-pened. Have you heard that? Even the dead believers have left this ship. Do
you have a better answer for what happened here? What kind of unknown weapon of mass destruction
that we agree we don't know about would cause the disappearance of a dead man from in-side a body
bag without opening the closures or leaving a mark on that bag or on his clothing?"

Donaldson cursed. “I don’t need to hear this.”

 "You do," Delroy said. "You just won't admit to it yet." He opened the Bible again and began reading
once more. "'For the trumpet will sound, and the dead will be raised incorruptible, and we shall be
changed. For this corruptible must put on incorruption, and this mortal must put on immortality."'

"Captain," Donaldson said, "are you listening to this load of bull?"

"I am," Falkirk answered quietly. "To every word."

"Then make him stop."

 "It's not the Rapture you need to fear, Colonel," Delroy said, drawing the Marine officer's attention
immediately.

"I'm not afraid," Donaldson said.
 "You're afraid." Delroy felt the strength of conviction flowing through him. Reading God's words,
remembering how his father had pounded the pulpit in his pursuit of the salvation of souls, washed away
the fatigue and confusion that had filled his heart and his head for so long. He knew those feelings would
attempt to return and that he would have to find the strength to stand against them, but he trusted God
that he would find the means to do so.

Without warning, Donaldson launched a strong right fist at Delroy's head.

 Quickly, faster than he'd ever been before, faster than he'd thought humanly possible, Delroy reached up
with his free hand and caught Donaldson's fist with a loud, meaty smack. The blow halted only inches
from the chaplain's cheek.

Donaldson's eyes widened in astonishment.

 "You're afraid, Colonel," Delroy said. "But that's all right because your fear may cause you to seek
comfort in God. You should be afraid, because your immortal soul is going to be the cost of your
dis-belief."

Donaldson tried to yank his fist back.

 Delroy held on to Donaldson with a fierce strength he'd never known. "After the Rapture, God will leave
this earth in place for seven years. That time will be called the Tribulation. All those who have not come
to know Jesus Christ as their Savior before the Rapture will be given one last chance to make their peace
with him and their accep-tance of his dominion over their lives. But those seven years won't be easy. The
Antichrist will rise up and weave a tapestry of the sweetest lies a man has ever known, and the world as
we know it will be changed in ways we never expected."

Donaldson yanked his fist back, and this time Delroy let it go.

"You can't prove a single thing you're saying," Donaldson said.

 "You're right, Colonel," Delroy said. "I can't prove it. I'm not sup-posed to prove it. God isn't empirical.
You can't weigh and measure His works against any kind of criteria human beings have ever evolved."
He paused, feeling the swell of emotions breaking within him. "That's why they call itfaith. God is love
and trust and accep-tance and belief."

Donaldson stepped back, and for a moment Delroy thought the man might reach for his sidearm again.
Evidently Falkirk thought so, too, because the captain stood in a quick, fluid motion.

"You're crazy, preacher. Bedbug nuts, if you ask me," Donaldson said.

 "If you want a fight, Colonel, it's coming," Delroy said. His voice deepened, and he knew instinctively
that he spoke in the measured cadence of Josiah Harte bringing home a fiery invitation. "These next seven
years are going to be fraught with peril and dangers beyond man's wildest imaginings. Brother shall be
turned against brother, and father against son. And no person will emerge through the Tribu-lation
untouched." He paused. "You won't have a choice about that fight, but you will have to decide which side
you're going to be on."

 Donaldson trembled in anger, barely restraining himself. From a safe distance away, he leveled a finger
at Delroy. "Captain, with all due respect, I request that you issue orders that that man should not be on
this ship at this time."

 "You're right," Falkirk said. Then he met Delroy's gaze. "Chaplain Harte, go pack your bags. You're
leaving in ten minutes."

"Captain-" Delroy protested. He knew there was so much he could do here now that he knew and
understood. And there were so many things that he had to work on, to prepare, to research.

Falkirk cut him off. "That's an order, mister, and you're dis-missed."

 Stiffly, Delroy saluted. "Aye, Captain." He turned a sharp about-face and left the room. Confusion
shook him.God, I thought I under-stood You. Why are You allowing this? He couldn't help feeling
that maybe he didn't understand at all.




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time 2:56 A.M.




"Would you say that you've had an adversarial relationship with Pri-vate Boyd Fletcher?"
 Megan looked in disbelief at the young lieutenant who had been appointed her legal counsel. The silence
after his question hung in the stark emptiness of the provost marshal's interview room like an echo of her
thoughts. Her mind still hadn't gotten around the fact that the lieutenant believed she was going to be
arraigned on charges of kidnapping Gerry Fletcher.

"You've read my files, Lieutenant Benbow," Megan said. "What would you say about my contact with
Boyd Fletcher?"

"Actually," the lieutenant said, "I've only looked the files over a little. I didn't want to invade the
Fletchers' privacy-or yours-unless it became necessary."

 "Isee." Megan remained calm with effort. She wanted out of the room and to be back home with Joey
and Chris. She wanted to know her boys were all right-all of her boys. She wanted to know that Goose
was all right despite everything that was going on in Turkey.That isn't too much to ask, is it, God?
Especially not after the night I've been through. "Even from a cursory view of those files, I'd think that
you'd get a sense that Boyd Fletcher didn't care much for my meddling in his family."

Benbow looked at her, his pen poised over the yellow legal tab-let. "Is that how you view what you
were doing with the Fletchers? Meddling?"

 The frustration insideMegan continued to build. "LieutenantBenbow, how long have you been assigned
to your present AOC?" She used military terminology for the area of concentration, basically a job
description, to impress on him that she was familiar with army protocol.

"I finished law school last summer,Mrs.Gander ," Benbow said, "but I don't see what that has to do with
my question."

"Not with your question,"Megan pointed out. "The question is all mine. Maybe you finished law school,
Lieutenant, but you appear a little naive."

Benbow colored bright red on his cheeks and ears. He blinked rapidly.

 "Letme sum it up for you,"Megan said. "Yes, I had an adversarial relationship withPrivateFletcher
regarding his abuse of his son.""Alleged abuse," Benbow said.

 "You're talking like we're in a court of law,"Megan said. "PrivateFletcherwas abusing his son. I knew it.
He knew it.Gerry knew it.HelenCordell at the base hospital knew it. AndDr.Carson was going to file a
report with the provost marshal's office tonight-this morn-ing. It's possible thatDr.Carson already did,
givenBoydFletcher 's ar-rest at the hospital. Maybe you should check with the MPs and get a copy of
the report."

Benbow scratched the back of his neck with his pencil. "Ma'am, I'm not the enemy here."

"Then act like you're on my side."

After a brief hesitation, Benbow said, "I think we've gotten off on the wrong foot."

"Yes,"Megan said. "In fact, I think there aretwo wrong feet in-volved here."And neither one is mine.

 Benbow deliberated a moment, then reached over and switched the tape recorder off. "Let's start over
again." He stood and offered his hand. "I'mLieutenantDougBenbow ,Mrs.Gander ."
Too surprised to speak,Megan shook the man's hand again.

Taking his hand back, the young lieutenant said, "There's an aw-ful lot of confusion going on around the
base tonight. I'm probably not at my best, and I want to apologize for that. I will get up to speed fairly
quickly, but I am new to my AOC and the criminal justice court and toFortBenning . I hope you don't
hold that against me for long and that I prove to be a competent representative for you in this matter."

Megan's head spun. "LieutenantBenbow."

"Ma'am?"

"Sit down."

LieutenantBenbowpaused for a moment, then sat neatly, his knees together and his hands on either side
of the legal pad.Megan began to wonder what the mother of this boy was like.

"You'll have to excuse me, Lieutenant,"Megan said, offering no apology. "I'm afraid some of my
husband's take-charge tendencies have rubbed off on me." That wasn't quite the truth because she had
been self-sufficient as a single mom long before Goose came into her life. "Goose is a first sergeant with
C Company."

 "Yes, ma'am," Benbow replied. "I knew that. I was also told you were a very competent woman. That's
why the allegations about you concerning the kidnapping of the Fletcher boy surprised me. Then again,
when I thought about it, I wasn't surprised at all." He caught himself, realizing what he had said, and
hurried on. "I mean, I could see how you would want to protect the Fletcher boy because everyone says
you're that kind of person. A caretaker. A giver. I suppose if you thought hidingGerry from his father was
the only way you could pro-tect him you would do that."

"Lieutenant,"Megan said.

Benbow looked acutely attentive. "Ma'am?"

"I did notkidnapGerryFletcher ."

Benbow turned his palms up. "Then where isGerry ?"

"I don't know."

"He was up there on the building with you?"

 "Yes."Megan settled into the familiar question-and-answer mode she had been in for the last hour.
"Surely by now you've found wit-nesses who have corroborated that. There were a dozen or more
peo-ple there."

 "Yes, ma'am, I have. And the provost marshal's office has been very helpful in pointing me to them. I
intend to interview them all be-fore this investigation is finished."

"But you haven't found anyone who sawGerry fall from the building?"

"No, ma'am. I had a few saythey weren't certain if the boy fell. In fact, several thought they did see the
boy on the rooftop and thought he had fallen."

"But now they say they didn't seeGerry fall?"

 Benbow nodded. "That's right, ma'am. They said they knew the boy hadn't fallen or jumped when his
clothes hit the ground."

"How do they think the clothes got there?"

Benbow licked his lips. "They think you took them off the boy and threw them over the side of the
building."

 "They believe I strippedGerryFletcher down to his birthday suit and threw his clothes from the
building?"Megan felt confused and disoriented. In some ways, the present confusion she was going
through was worse than watchingGerryFletcher slip from her grip. That had ended in seconds, and
with-she believed with all her heart-Gerry safe somewhere. The conspiracy to make her a kidnap-per
seemed like an endless loop of madness-madness that just wouldn't stop. "That doesn't make any sense."

"Most of the people involved think you'd do that to protect the boy. The MPs are on your side. They
believe thatPrivateFletcher would have hurt his son if he'd gotten his hands on him."

"They're not on my side if they think I hidGerry . How do they think I got him down from that building?
And without his clothing?"

"There is some belief that you had an accomplice inside the resi-dent building."

"Do you realize what you're saying?"Megan asked. "You make it sound like I had this whole night
planned out."

"There are some who think you've had this planned for some time," Benbow said. "I've been told that
you were very frustrated with how things were developing with the Fletcher family.PrivateFletcher 's
wife-"

 "Her name isTonya ,"Megan said automatically. She felt over-whelmed. How could anyone think that
she had planned anything that had happened tonight?

"Tonya," Benbow acknowledged, "told the provost marshal's of-fice that you had been acting possessive
ofGerry . She states that she started getting the feeling that you would have taken him away from her if
you could have."

 "Tonyaignored what was happening toGerry ,"Megan said. "She knew her husband was abusing her son,
and she chose to ignore that."

"Can you prove that, ma'am?" Benbow looked atMegan hope-fully.

 "She never acted to help the situation or her son,"Megan said. "Check through the files I have onGerry .
You'll find that every refer-ral I received came from the base hospital or a base teacher. Never
fromTonya . You should have reports in there fromHelenCordell . Have you talked withHelen ?"

Benbow regardedMegan silently for a moment. "You don't know what's taking place on the base, do
you?"
 Meganmade herself breathe out. “Lieutenant,GerryFletcher fell from that building over an hour and a half
ago. He disappeared be-fore he hit the ground. I don't care how incredible you think that event is, it
happened. I saw it. Even if you can't find anyone else who will admit that they did."Please, God, I did
see that, didn't I? I haven't gone crazy! How can I take care of my family if I'm insane? She barely
managed to cap the rising panic that filled her.God, please help me. I don't know what to believe.

Benbow waited patiently for her to go on.

 "I was taken down from that building and brought here,"Megan said in a hoarse voice. "I didn't know I
was being taken into custody until I wasn't allowed to leave this room without an escort while I went to
the bathroom. I don't know anything at all that's happened outside of this room since I was put in it.
Nobody's told me a thing. I've got family out there, and I want to know that they're okay. It's driving me
crazy to be held like this."

"Then no one has even talked to you about what has happened on the base?"

 "No. And I'm starting to worry about that, too. I've noticed a lot of activity outside whenever the door
was open. I thought that maybe the MPs were organizing a widespread search forGerry , since
every-one kept coming to me, wanting to know where he was."

 "Mrs.Gander," Benbow said in a deliberate voice, "there have been other disappearances on the base.
InColumbus as well. In fact, I've heard news stories that say the disappearances are worldwide."

"What? What disappearances?"

 Benbow leaned forward. "GerryFletcherwasn't the only person to disappear tonight,Mrs.Gander . At
about the same time that you're claimingGerry disappeared, several personnel and civilians around the
base went missing as well."

"Who?"

 "HelenCordellwas one of those people." Benbow hesitated. "There were others. All of the children on
the base seem to be miss-ing. Not justGerry ."

A cold, hard band of fear encircledMegan 's heart. She forced her-self to speak."All of the children?"

 Benbow nodded, flipping through his notes. "The age range of the missing children appears to be from
newborn to the age of twelve. At least, twelve is the oldest reported age I have here on base. Some of
the radio and TV networks that are still on air are reporting that about the same age group has gone
missing throughout the world."

 Chris!Sharp pain lanced throughMegan 's chest. She felt the heat of her son's face against her palm, felt
the feathery softness of his breath against her cheek, felt his arms so tight around her neck as he'd
rebelled against being left.

The memory of his voice came to her, so innocent and sweet."Now I lay me down to sleep. I pray the
Lord my soul to keep. I'm just going to sleep for a little while, Mommy, so you can come and get
me soon. "

"LieutenantBenbow,"Megan said, her voice thick with emotion, "I have a son-" She meant to say that
she had a son in that age range, but she couldn't get the words out.

"Yes, ma'am. I know." The lieutenant referred to the legal pad. "He's here on base. I've cleared him for
visitation."

 Thank You, God. Thank You thatJoey's home safe.Megantried to speak, but there wasn't enough air
in her lungs. Then her thoughts turned toChris , and the images of her baby tumbled through her head. So
many of them included Goose. He had spent so much time withChris . Was he among the missing? What
would Goose do?

"The reports are going to help us," Benbow said. "With the disap-pearances of these other children, and
no real proof that you had any-thing to do withGerryFletcher ’s abduction, I don't see how this case can
proceed into court. I think all the pending charges of kidnapping will be summarily-"

 "Stop!"Megan ordered. Tears burned the backs of her eyes but she refused to let them spill. "I-I have
two sons.Two. I have a five-year-old,Chris . I-I left him with the emergency child-care services--earlier
this morning." She sobbed, then hiccupped because she was trying to retain control of her voice. "Do
you-do you know any-thing-about the children there?"

 Benbow blinked, then sat as motionless as glacial ice. Finally he said, "All of the children there are
reported missing,Mrs.Gander . I'm sorry. "

 Unwilling to lose complete control of herself right now,Megan took a deep breath.Later, she told
herself,I'll look forChrislater. First she had to get out of here, and this lawyer was her best shot at a
ticket out the door. She took another breath, then realized her mistake when her lungs grew too tight.
She exhaled slowly, like they'd taught her to do back in childbirth classes.Oh,Chris. She put her face in
her hands and tried to think through the morass of fear and panic and guilt that overwhelmed her.Maybe
Chriswasn't still there. MaybeJoeygot him and took him home.Chriswould be safe at home,
wouldn't he? But who would take all the children? How could anyone-

A knock sounded at the door.

Meganheard Benbow get up and open the door.

"Can I help you?" the lieutenant asked.

"I'mJoeyHolder . The MPs said my mom was here."

Desperate, wanting to wake so badly from the nightmare she was in,Megan looked up. She stood on the
other side of the table and gazed at her oldest son.

Joeystood in the middle of the door. A young womanMegan had never seen before stood at his side.
Both of them looked beaten and disheveled. Blood streakedJoey 's face. He held outChris 's overnight
bag with a look of pure helplessness.

"Chriswas gone, Mom."Joey 's face crumpled and he began to cry. "I'm sorry. I should have been there.
But I wasn't."

Meganwas stunned. Tears slid down her cheeks as she went to her oldest son and held him in her arms.

"Chriswas gone when I got there,"Joey sobbed in a choked voice. "All of them were gone. I didn't even
get to say good-bye. I just left the house tonight, left him playing in his room. And I didn't even say
good-bye to him."

 Meganheld her son and smoothed his hair the way she had when he'd been a child. "It's going to be
okay,Joey . It's going to be okay." She didn't know how she found the voice to speak the words, didn't
know how she found the strength to holdJoey as he shook and shiv-ered and cried. "Everything's going
to be all right," she said. But she didn't believe it.

She remembered howGerryFletcher had fallen from the rooftop, how he had tumbled in the air, and how
he had disappeared, leaving only his empty clothing to strike the ground.

Meganknew in her heart that they wouldn't findChris .

                                               *      *       *

Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0958 Hours



 The 40mm grenade streaked across the battlefield, cutting through the smoke and the dust haze, and
slammed into the center vehicle of the advancing three T-55 tanks. Orange flames rose in a whirling boil
from the impact, then again asEddieYbarra 's grenade struck home. Two other grenades, one from
Cusack's weapon and one fromRustyBarnes 's weapon in the Phoenix Two squad, struck the tank and
tore the turret loose.

 Goose broke the M-203 open, ejected the spent casing, then shoved another HE grenade into the
launcher and closed the breech. Bringing the M-4A1 to his shoulder again, watching as the tanks on
either side of the stricken vehicle split off, Goose sighted down the length of his weapon and elevated the
barrel a little.

 One of the T-55s in the second wave locked down and swiveled the turret toward the overturned troop
transport where Goose was taking cover.

 "Second target," Goose instructed. "Fire!" The assault rifle bucked against his shoulder and thethump of
the grenade firing from the launcher sounded a heartbeat ahead of the round from the T-55's main gun.

"Incoming!"Henderson yelled.

 At least, that was what Goose knew the man was going to yell be-fore the detonation of the 105mm
round filled his ears with the roar of an explosion only a few feet away. The dead husk of the troop
transport took most of the impact. The violent rocking of the vehicle when the impact shivered through it
made Goose think at first that the transport was going to fall over on him. He braced up against the
vehicle, ready to throw himself clear. His fingers worked automati-cally, breaking the grenade launcher
open and thumbing another HE round into the breech. Then he glanced around the still-quivering ve-hicle.

 The Syrian soldiers who had been following the armored cav broke from their positions and streaked
toward the Ranger line. Their AK-47s stuttered bull-roar chatter as they advanced.
 As Goose brought the assault rifle to his shoulder again, he saw that the first grenade had sped true.
Evidently the grenade had struck the T-55's right tread under the armored skirting and blew the track
apart. The long metal clanked against the tank and ripped long tears through the skirting before the driver
pulled the cav unit to a halt.

 The T-55Phoenix Two's squad had targeted had also lurched to a stop. One of the riskiest design
problems with the Soviet tank was the placement of the hatch on the top rather than the rear or
underneath. The Syrian crew tried to scramble free of the death trap the cav unit had become. One man
raced for the back of the tank while another crawled through the hatch, leaving the other two crewmen in
an un-determined state.

 Another HE round exploded against the low-slung cupola. The ex-plosion ripped the Syrian soldiers
from the tank, throwing them sev-eral yards away.

Goose blinked dusty sweat from his eyes. The grainy bum in his eyes told him he hadn't gotten all of it.
He aimed his weapon, peering through the open sights left under the mounted scope. He curled his finger
over the trigger and squeezed.

 The 40mm grenade hit the tank's cupola and exploded. The T-55 shivered slightly. Then the left tread
churned again, and the vehicle sped around in a semicircle before the driver realized he was dead in the
water.

 Goose watched the Syrian soldiers spreading along the skirmish line the Rangers had posted along the
scattered wrecks lining the Syr-ian side of the border.

 "Phoenix Three, Four, and Five," Goose said as he fed the M-203 another HE round. Two grenades
remained in the bandolier he car-ried.

The squads responded, letting him know they'd had no casualties.

 The sharp, distinct report of theBarrett .50-cal sniper rifle cut through the noise of the diesel engines and
clanking treads. One of the Syrian soldiers dropped where he stood, as if knocked aside by a gi-gantic
fist. Almost immediately, the.50-cal banged again and another man went down.

 "Three, Four, and Five," Goose called, "be advised that you have sweepers inside your perimeter. Take
them down and hold the cen-ter."

"Affirmative,Phoenix Leader."

"Two," Goose went on, "we march to the rear. Cut off any retreat."

"On your go, Leader," Ybarra replied. "We're locked and loaded here."

Goose scanned his squad. Carruthers,Jansen , and Cusack were all standing, though they looked like
dust-covered wraiths in their BDUs.

The three Rangers all nodded.

 "Carruthers," Goose said, "you've got point.Jansen , you're walk-ing slack. We're going to hump back to
the rear and take out the T-72. They know we're not going to turn our artillery loose on them with
squads in the field here."

"You got it, Sarge."Henderson held his assault rifle at the ready.

Goose opened the channel so all the squads could hear him. "One and Two are going to close the
pincer. Three, Four, and Five, stand tall. Let's make a statement here, get back some of what we gave
up this morning."

"Hoo-rah, Sarge!" Cusack yelled.

Goose rose to his feet from the crouch he'd taken cover in. "Go," he commanded.

Carruthers loped into the lead.

 Goose followed the point man. His boots thudded against the spray of loose dirt spread over the
hard-packed earth. The motion jarred him, awakening all the aches and bruises he'd acquired since
morning, but he denied the pain's hold on him. He'd trained seven-teen years for this moment, and he was
exemplary at his craft.

 While Carruthers negotiated the small maze of wrecked armored cav units and support vehicles that still
held dead men sitting inside, two Syrian soldiers broke cover to the left. They were obviously flee-ing the
tanks where the Marine sniper was taking advantage of every target of opportunity. The big.50-cal rifle
sounded like a basso drum rolling in the background.

"Down!" Carruthers yelled, going to cover.

Goose threw himself down and to the left. He shouldered his weapon by the time he hit the ground on
his left side, recovered, and squeezed the M-4A1's trigger in three-round bursts. The hail of 5.56mm
bullets caught the Syrian soldiers and drove them backward. Their heavier 7.62mm rounds cut the air
over Goose's head.

"Up!" Goose commanded, surging to his feet and favoring his in-jured knee slightly.

His squad came up in unison. Cusack had a neat crease along his helmet where a round had deflected.

"Bucket saved your head,"Jansen said.

"Yeah." Cusack reached up and adjusted his helmet. He looked a little pale.

Even after all the death the young Ranger had seen all morning, Goose knew death still became personal
when it barely skated by. "Carruthers," he said. "Let's move."

 The Rangers raced to the rear of the fire zone and took up a posi-tion behind a collection of boulders.
Goose and Cusack held to the center whileJansen and Carruthers flared out on either side and slightly
ahead to cover their position.

 The T-72 looked like a goliath amidst the other Syrian vehicles. Two of the three jeeps stayed close to
the large MBT. The third lay flipped over, fire only now starting to catch under the engine. One of the
jeep's crew attempted to crawl away from the overturned four-by--four, then dropped abruptly. Goose
understood the reason immedi-ately when the .50-cal report rolled over his position.
“Two, Goose called. “Are you in position?”

"We're here, Leader."

 Snarling like a great metallic beast, the T-72 fired into the mass of destruction lining the border where the
Ranger squads battled the Syrian soldiers. Fully loaded, the Soviet-made tank carried forty-five rounds
for its main gun, two more than the T-55s. There were also thousands of rounds for the 7.62 and
12.7mm light machine guns. Up and moving, able to fire while in motion, the T-72 was a jugger-naut of
destruction.

 The Syrian tank crew knew the capabilities of their machine, and they were out to make the most of
them. Confident of the thicker, lay-ered armor the T-72 carried instead of the lighter armor the T-55s
had, the tank drove straight into the teeth of Phoenix Three, Four, and Five.

"Cusack," Goose called.

"Yeah," the young Ranger replied.

"One round into the T-72," Goose said. "To get its attention."

 Cusack held his weapon steady and fired. The 40mm grenade cov-ered the ground in a split second and
detonated in a wash of flames and smoke against the left side of the turret. Cusack kicked the spent
casing free and thumbed another round in as the tank fired while roll-ing forward. The 40mm warhead
only left a smudge of soot across the back of the tank.

"No penetration," Cusack said.

 Less than a hundred feet away, the T-72 rumbled maniacally across the field of dead, collided with one
of the disabled tanks left from the Ranger squads' earlier attacks, and knocked the T-55 aside. The tank
fired, launching a 125mm round into the front of the derelict vehicles. Two wrecked jeeps and one cargo
van shuddered and slid across the ground, leaving deep gouges in the earth for several feet.

 JoelCarver, a private with Phoenix Four, took shrapnel through one shoulder that left him too injured to
fight or even get himself clear. Phoenix Four had to pull back to take care of their wounded.

 EddieYbarra's squad took out another T-55 with two grenades, leaving two plus the T-72. One of the
surviving jeeps wheeled and came toward Goose's position, obviously tracking Cusack's shot.

 "Didn't get the tank's attention,"Jansen yelled, "but we've got people interested. Several Syrian soldiers
turned in their direction as well.

 Bullets peppered the rocks Goose and his squad used for cove ; He kept his head down but watched as
the enemy approached.

 The Syrian soldier on the jeep's rear deck stood and fitted a long tube over his shoulder. Goose
recognized the weapon immediately as a Soviet RPG-7, a rocket-propelled grenade launcher specially
made for taking out tanks and personnel.

 The RPG-7 had come out of World War II as an antitank weapon for the GermanPanzerfaust. The
Soviet army had embraced the weapon in 1961 and made it their own, then made tons of
factory-as-sembled copies of the weapon that rendered the rocket launcher rela-tively inexpensive.
TheAfghanistan rebels had broken the back of the Communist war machine in the 1980s with the
weapon, taking out tanks, APCs, and helicopters with the rocket-propelled rounds.

"I've got the Jeep," Cusack said, leveling the M-4A1.

"Leave the Jeep," Goose said. "I need it intact. Take out the troops. Let them know we bite."

Cusack shifted, then squeezed the trigger. The 40mm grenade landed just in front of the approaching line
of men. Corpses left the ground and landed in crumpled, smoldering heaps when the HE round
detonated.

Staggered but obviously knowing they were fighting for their lives, the Syrians continued their advance.

Goose leveled his weapon and fired, putting another grenade in their midst and only a few yards in front
of the Jeep. A small crater opened up, and the concussion took down more Syrian soldiers.

"Fire at will," Goose said, slipping his finger over the M-4A1's trig-ger. "Stonewall."

"Go, Phoenix Leader. You have Stonewall." The Marine sniper sounded totally cool, utterly competent.

 "Stonewall, do you have our position?" Goose peered around cover, dropped to one knee, and swung
the assault rifle around. Two three-round bursts took out a pair of Syrian soldiers.

Another Syrian went to ground and skidded to a stand of rocks just before Goose's next burst
hammered the terrain in line with where he had been.

"I've got your position, Phoenix Leader," Stonewall said.

 "I've got a target for you." Goose shifted, reading the positions of his team and moving to keep the four
in a solid two-by-two block of overlapping fields of fire.

"Name it."

"I need the Jeep intact. Then I need coverage till I get to it. The ve-hicle has ordnance I need to get the
T-72 off your position."

"Will do, Phoenix Leader. Stonewall has the ball."

 Goose held his position till the first Syrian soldier rounded the rocks. He fired into the center of the
enemy, riding the M-4A1’s recoil up naturally.

The Syrian's head snapped back, and he fell into a tangled heap with the man behind him.

"Incoming!" Cusack bellowed.

Goose hunkered down on one knee, reached under his jaw for his chin strap, and pulled his helmet
down tight to protect him. An RPG-7 antipersonnel round detonated against the rocks and proved to be
more lethal to the Syrian troops than to the four besieged Rangers.

"Move!" Goose ordered as he swapped out magazines. "On me!" He led the three Rangers on a charge,
peripherally aware that Jansen had taken at least two rounds through his thighs just above his knees.
Blood matted the Ranger's pants legs.

 Sitting behind the rocks, they'd been sitting ducks for the same kind of pincer movement he'd used
against the Syrian armored cav units. The Ranger squads had gotten spread thin, but there'd been no
other way to contain the unexpected action from the surviving soldiers.

 A Syrian soldier fired at Goose from behind loose collection of boulders. Beyond the man, the Jeep was
still in motion. The soldier on the rear deck had the rocket launcher over his shoulder again. Even as he
swung around, he suddenly jerked sideways and fell from the moving vehicle.

Goose swept the assault rifle up and squeezed off two three-round bursts. The bullets missed the soldier
but struck the rock beside him, driving stone splinters and steel-jacketed lead splinters into his face. The
man fell back, slapping his hands over his bloody features and screaming.

 Stretching his stride, knowing his team was following at his heels as they'd been trained to do, Goose
raced for the RPG-7 that had fallen to ground. The dead Syrian soldier lay only a few feet away.

The Jeep came around in a tight turn.

 As Goose watched the Jeep, watched the crew inside it turning frantically to face the Ranger squad, he
saw that Ybarra's team had ac-counted for the other two T-55s. One of the APCs sat in a smoking ruin
along the skirmish line. The lead Jeep of the surviving two sud-denly caught a 40mm grenade in the grill
and became a flaming pyre that slammed into some of the morning's wreckage. The man who survived
the initial attack didn't get ten steps from the vehicle before Ranger rifles cut him down.

Only the T-72 remained.

 Goose stopped as the Jeep turned. He lifted his assault rifle and took aim. When he squeezed the
trigger, the bullets ripped through the windshield and took out both men in the front seats.

 Out of control, with no one manning the accelerator or the clutch, the jeep jerked forward, sputtered,
and died.

Recharging his weapon, Goose ran for the dropped RPG-7 and scooped it from the ground, praying to
God that the weapon re-mained intact. "Good shooting, Stonewall," he said.

"I aim to please, Phoenix Leader. Glad you're happy with it. Eight and I have a small problem."

 Goose glanced at the skirmish line and saw the Soviet-made tank smashing through the wreckage left
from the morning's attack like it was going through wet tissue. The T-72, clad in reactive armor, was
nearly invincible on the battlefield and moved through the terrain with impunity.

 "I'm working on that now, Stonewall. Two." Goose slung his as-sault rifle and hefted the satchel of
rocket grenades from the dead Syr-ian's shoulder, then turned and jogged toward the Jeep. He scanned
the three Rangers in his squad.

Jansen had the injuries to his legs and was barely holding his own.

Cusack had a scalp wound that leaked blood down into his eyes. "Carruthers," Goose said. "I need a
driver." "You got it, Sarge."
Together, Goose and Carruthers yanked the dead bodies from the Jeep. Carruthers slid behind the
wheel and keyed the ignition. Goose clambered onto the rear deck and prepped the RPG-7. He slapped
Carruthers on the back of the helmet to signal him. "Let's go."

 Carruthers stepped on the accelerator and let the clutch out. The Jeep's four wheels slid through the
loose dirt for a second, then grabbed traction.

"Phoenix Two," Goose called as Carruthers steered for the T-72. "Go, Leader. Two copies."

"That tank's covered in reactive armor," Goose said, squinting through the dust, feeling the kerchief
drying around his lower face. "Hit it with everything you've got left and let'ssee if I can get a clear shot."

"Done, Leader. Three, Four, and Five, if you're anywhere near that tank, get clear."

"We're already clear, Two. There's no way we can stop that thing."

 The crunch and shearing of metal filled the air and hurt Goose's ears as he reached into the satchel and
took out a rocket. He attached the rocket to the fore end of the RPG-7 tube.

 Reactive armor was a fairly recent addition to tank protection. Ev-ery tank was covered with metal
plates that protected its vital areas of steering, guns, and ammunition storage. Designed by a German
in-ventor in the 1970s, reactive armor consisted of two sets of plates with an explosive between them.
When hit by a shaped charge, the ex-plosive would be set off, blowing the outer layer out from the tank
and negating most, if not all, of the damage. The RPG-7 rounds could penetrate the T-72's denser armor,
but not the reactive armor, in one shot.

And Goose was very aware that one shot might be all he got.

 Forty-millimeter grenades slammed into the T-72, but the flurry was quickly over because thePhoenix
squads had only five to seven--Goose had lost count-rounds to spare. The onslaught had also drawn the
tank crew's attention to their back trail.

The main gun swiveled around on the turret, then belched flame.

Carruthers took immediate evasive maneuvers. The 125mm shot sailed past the jeep and slammed into a
burnt-out troop transport.

 Standing tall, taking aim, trying to account for the bumpy terrain, Goose fired the RPG-7 just as the
tank's machine guns opened up. A round caught him in the chest and knocked him down on the rear
deck, paralyzing his lungs with pain. Even as he fell, Goose saw that his aim had been true.

 The rocket impacted the front of the T-72 squarely, leaving a twisted mass of metal where the 7.62mm
and 12.7mm light machine guns had been. With any luck Goose had blocked the driver's vision as well.

 Incredibly, though wreathed in fire, the T-72 lumbered forward. Goose watched in disbelief as the tank
rolled closer. He marshaled his flagging strength and finally managed to draw a breath of air.

"Carruthers," Goose called.

The man sat in the front seat without moving. The Jeep's engine had died somewhere along the way.
 "Carruthers." Goose reached for the RPG-7, thanking God it hadn't fallen over the jeep's side. He found
the satchel and took out a rocket.

"Get clear, Sarge," Tanaka advised. "Carruthers ... Carruthers isn't with you anymore."

 Staying low, hands fumbling as he tried to fit the rocket to the launcher, Goose inched forward and
looked at Carruthers. At least one round had drilled through his heart, leaving him slack-jawed in

death.

God keep him,Goose prayed.

"Get out of there, Sarge," Ybarra said. "Get out of there now!"

Small-arms fire strafed the T-72 as it roared toward the jeep.

Goose remained with the jeep. If he tried to leave the vehicle in his present shape, he knew he wouldn't
make ten feet before the tank overtook him and ground him under the massive treads.

 The T-72 could fire on the move at speeds up to twenty-five kilome-ters an hour. At present, the
armored cav unit was moving faster than that. Or maybe it only looked that way, and the reason the tank
crew wasn't firing was because they hadn't reloaded the tank's magazine.

 Standing, seeing that the machine guns had been eradicated, Goose tried once more to fit the rocket to
the launcher. Before he could accomplish the task, the tank was on him.

In motion, weighing in at forty-four-and-a-half metric tons, the tank was a considerable weapon in its
own right.

 Dazed, working on fumes, the horror of the moment intensified by Carruthers's death and the pain and
fatigue that filled him, Goose realized he only had one chance before the tank ran him down. He gripped
the RPG-7 tightly, stood, and stepped forward, timing his ap-proach with that of the tank.

 Just before the treads ground over the front of the Jeep, Goose sprinted forward. He leaped from the
jeep's nose to the tank's front skirting, dodged through the flames, tripped over the wreckage of the
machine guns, managed two full steps that nearly got him to the tank's rear skirt despite the sudden lunge
of motion and mass be-neath him, then fell.

 He landed on the ground. The horrendous crunching and crash-ing of the jeep filled his ears, and he tried
desperately not to think of what was happening to Carruthers's body. The impact knocked the kerchief
from his face.

 As he forced himself to his feet and tried to fit the rocket to the launcher again, he noticed the auxiliary
fuel tanks strapped across the T-72's rear skirt immediately behind the turret. He smiled.

 Goose slipped the rocket into place and lifted the RPG-7 to his shoulder. He took aim at the back of the
turret through the fuel tanks, curled his finger over the trigger as the turret started to turn, and fired.

 Thewhoosh of the rocket ended almost immediately as the war-head slammed through the fuel tanks
and into the back of the turret. As the Afghanistan mujahedeen had discovered when fighting the
Russians, the most vulnerable part of the T-72 was the back of the tur-ret. And exterior fuel tanks just
made it that much more vulnerable.

The explosion, coupled with the added punch of the nearly full fuel tanks, blew the turret from the tank.
The resulting heat wave washed back over Goose, and his world dwindled to one flash-fried instant.

 Then the tank rolled to a halt and exploded again as the ammo stored aboard went off. A roiling mass of
fiery clouds, looking like a pillar of fire, streaked from the tank toward the heavens.

 Wearily, not believing that he was still alive but thanking God for His mercy, Goose pushed himself to his
feet. He peered around at the battlefield. "Base, this is Phoenix Leader."

"Go, Leader. You have Base."

"Do we own this battlefield, Base?"

Cal Remington's voice came over the headset. "You own the bat-tlefield, Phoenix Leader. Good work
down there. Establish your per-imeter and set up your salvaging operations."

 "Understood, Base. Leader out." Goose surveyed the harsh ter-rain. All they had to do was put up an
appearance, keep the Syrian army buffaloed, and survive long enough to retreat during the night.

But night seemed a lifetime away.




TheMediterranean Sea

USS Wasp

Local Time 1017 Hours




Heat shimmered fromWasp's flight deck asDelroyHarte trudged to-ward the waiting CH-53E Sea
Stallion with travel kit in hand. Frustra-tion and anger nearly shackled his mind, blinding him and making
him slow to respond to the greetings of the crewmen that he passed.
 Despite the horror that had happened along the Turkish-Syrian border, despite the number of personnel
that had gone inexplicably missing from the ship and the entire ARG, the ship's crew still had jobs to do.
A second wave of aircraft and Marines-cobbled together from Sigonella Naval Air Station inSicily and
MCB Camp Butler inOkinawa -was due onboardWasp in a matter of hours. The ship had to be made
ready to receive the new aircraft and troops that would rally to make the next attempt to reinforce
theU.S. , U.N., and Turkish troops along the border.

The wind from the waiting helo whipped across Delroy with hu-mid intensity that left him perspiring
under his jacket. He knew he should feel uncomfortable, and maybe he did, but at the moment, he didn't
care.

 He also noticed that several of the Marines stared at him with suspicious curiosity and more than a little
hostility.Well,ColonelDonaldson, you certainly get your word around quick. He held his head high
and tried to appear more certain of himself than he was.God, why did You lead me this far, make me
believe in You, and then let me fail at this? I know that you have raptured the church, taken your
faithful with you, and I know you left me behind because I have broken the relationship I have
had with You. Is this my punishment then, God, for doubting You?

The insecure feelings came rolling back in, almost thick enough and heavy enough to smother Delroy. As
he walked, he carried his fa-ther's Bible in his free hand, and he thought about the way Josiah Harte had
pounded the pulpit on Sunday mornings, how his father had journeyed to the homes of the sick, and
ministered to them until they got better or-as in some cases-how he had helped them let go of the mortal
world and not be afraid.

 When Delroy was nine, his grandfather had passed. A more bitter, angry, and harsh man had never
walked the earth. Delroy had never seen two men less likely to be father and son, or a man more willing
to turn his son aside and treasure other children who had turned out to be as godless and violent as he
himself was.

During his childhood, Delroy could count on one hand the num-ber of times he'd seen his grandfather.
Every timeJosiah had taken his family to visit his parents, Jonah Harte had gone away on fishing trips and
drinking binges.

 GrandmotherHartehad tried to fool her husband sometimes by not telling him whenJosiah and his family
were coming to visit, but there had always been clues: apple pies, extra cookies for the children. So
Jonah would load up his tackle box, throw a six-pack of beer in the passenger seat, and be gone for a
few days.

 In the end, though, Jonah Harte had succumbed to cancer that had broken even his wild fierceness, had
melted the unforgiving cold-ness from his heart. His other children, three sons and two daughters, had
wantedJosiah to stay away, butJosiah hadn't. Despite their curses and anger,Josiah had ministered to his
father. He knew those curses were directed at him because he could accept his father's death. And
because he could offer his father the certainty that if he acceptedJesus Christ as his Savior, he would go
on to a better place.

 For nearly two weeks,Josiah had stayed with his father, and Delroy had helped. In the South-at least in
those days-people died at home in their own beds surrounded by family, not in hospitals with only
strangers in attendance. Jonah Harte had died a shipwreck of a man in twisted, sweat-soaked sheets.

ButJosiah had never given up on his father or lost his faith in the Lord. That bedroom in the tiny old
house had been filled with gospel, with songs sung a cappella, and Delroy had never heard his father's
voice sound stronger or the songs sound sweeter.Josiah had talked of God's love, of His sacrifice of his
only son to save this world.

 And in the end, Jonah Harte's anger and fear and unkindness had shattered. Two days before his death,
Jonah had come toJesus , and he had died almost peacefully in the arms of a son he had never truly
ac-knowledged in life.

Delroy stared hard at the waiting helicopter.God, take me. Please take me and use me as You see fit.
Don't let me lie fallow while there is so much to be done. But in the back of his mind, Delroy knew he
was still angry overTerry 's death.And help me to get over the loss of my son, God. Help me to
understand why You took him so that I may stand tall in Your service.

 He almost felt ashamed at the last. God's plans weren't for men to understand. Only glimpses now and
then were given to mere mortals.Josiah had taught Delroy that.

As the rotor wash from the helo grew stronger, Delroy tucked his fa-ther's Bible under his arm and put
his hand to his hat.

"ChaplainHarte!"

At first Delroy thought he had imagined the call.

"ChaplainHarte"

Recognizing the captain's voice, Delroy stopped and turned around. The rotor wash broke across his
back and whipped his jacket billowing before him.

 Captain Falkirk crossed the deck in the long, rolling stride of a long-time Navy man. His dress whites
shone in the sun, and he looked dap-per and resplendent in the uniform. He had his hat under his arm and
a pair of blue-tinted aviator's sunglasses on.

Delroy, his hands full with his Bible and his kit, fumbled with his hat and tried to tuck it under his arm so
he could salute.

"At ease, Commander,"Falkirk said as he reached him. "This is an informal visit." He smiled a little.

 "Aye, sir." Delroy stood in the full heat of the glaring sun. He con-trolled his anger at the man he'd
always thought of as a friend, but he couldn't help feeling betrayed. When he'd reached his
quarters,Falkirk had already left a message with a young ensign outside his door with instructions to pack
only an overnight bag and report to the flight deck immediately. Delroy assumed that the rest of his
personal belongings would be shipped to him later. He still didn't know where the captain was sending
him.

"I've just come to see you off, Commander,"Falkirk said.

"There was no need for that, sir," Delroy replied.

"Angry, Commander?"

"Frustrated mostly, sir."
"But you're angry, too."

Delroy couldn't fathom the captain's easygoing nature. "I think I'm entitled, sir."

 Falkirknodded, and the sun gleamed from the blue lenses. "I think you are, too. Because if you're right
and Godhas raptured his church-"

"Begging the captain's pardon," Delroy interrupted,"I am right."

Falkirk's gaze behind the blue-tinted lenses was implacable and accusing. "Yet here you stand, in a
world that's been left behind, in a world of non- and near-believers."

 The captain's words stung. Delroy pushed his breath out. "Sir, I've got a helicopter waiting for me. The
longer it sits on that helipad, the more fuel it burns. I wouldn't dare to presume to tell you your job, but I
think I'd be a little more miserly with my resources till I figured out where I stood in this thing."

"So why do you think you were left behind?"Falkirk gazed up at Delroy from behind the sunglasses.

"My beliefs are hardly under your purview, Captain," Delroy stated stiffly.

 "Aren't they, Chaplain?"Falkirk 's voice took on an edge. "You came into my office and started talking,
asColonelDonaldson called it,crazy talk. You advanced your theory-"

"It's not a theory. It's the truth."

 Falkirkignored the interruption. "Yourtheory that the world was raptured, in an attempt to explain the
disappearances aboardWasp and among the Marines sent to the border conflict. That advance-ment of
said theory places your contentions under my purview." He paused. "Wouldn't you agree, Commander?"

Muscles knotted along Delroy's jaw. He made himself answer with effort. "Aye, sir."

 Falkirklooked away, seemingly staring at the whitecapped waves rolling in towardWasp's bow. "As
captain of this ship, I've got a re-sponsibility to the Navy, to the Marines, and to the men and women I
serve with."

Delroy remained silent even though he knew the captain awaited a response from him.

"Your view on the happening aboard this ship incited a colonel in the United States Marine Corps to
point a gun at your head and later take a swing at you.A colonel. Can you believe that?"

"Sir, in my defense, I did not provoke the colonel."

Falkirkswiveled his head and looked at Delroy. "No, sir, you didn't. Your view did."

Exasperated, Delroy asked, "Captain, do you knowwhyColonelDonaldson reacted the way he did?"

"Of course I do, Commander. Donaldson is afraid that you're right."

Surprise stole Delroy's voice.
 "The problem is,"Falkirk continued, "I am the captain of this ship. I am supposed to set a standard for
this vessel and her crew to adhere to. Yet, here are two of the most respected officers aboard my ship,
clearly at odds with each other during the greatest crisis this ship-and very probably, the world-has ever
faced." He paused. "So I have to make a choice."

"And you chose Donaldson."

"Chaplain, do you know who the most dangerous person on this planet is?"

 A multitude of scenarios involving nuclear weapons and biological agents came to Delroy's mind.Wasp's
crew knew all about those from intensified studies and debriefs as a result of the current rise in terrorist
activity.

"The most dangerous person on this planet, "Falkirk continued be-fore Delroy could answer, "is the
person who believes he is a pretty good Christian."

 At first, Delroy couldn't believe he'd heard right. He thought per-haps the rotor wash had slurred the
captain's words.

 "Pretty good Christians,"Falkirk repeated, "believethey are doing the right thing, living a good life as
God would have them do. But they're actually a shell. They live it right on the outside, keep up the
ap-pearance, go to church, talk the right talk, do the right things." He paused. "But they don'tbelieve.
Not where it matters." He tapped his chest over his heart. "Do you know why I'm still
here,ChaplainDelroy ?"

"No, sir."

 "Because I'ma pretty good Christian,"Falkirk said. "I didn't believe with the strength and the faith and
the conviction I was supposed to. And do you know how big that faith is supposed to be?"

"The size of a mustard seed, Captain. At least, that's what my father told me in his church and in his
house."

"When I saw Donaldson go at you,"Falkirk said, "when I saw the fear in him and I knew in my heart that
you were right, I knew if I wasn't careful I was going to watch this ship's crew tear itself apart.
Be-lievers, nonbelievers. Christians, non-Christians. Those who were afraid, and those who were not."
He paused. "I couldn't allow that to happen. Not on my watch."

 "So you decided to jettison me, sir?" Delroy let some of the out-rage he felt spill into his voice. "And you
stand there telling me you believe what I'm saying is true?"

 "Chaplain, the world is living in fear at this moment. Everything that has happened onWasp has happened
in the rest of the world.Russia stands poised to attack theUnited States with its nuclear arse-nal and take
us straight into Armageddon. I'm not willing to go there. Not without a fight."

 "But, Captain," Delroy protested, "I could do a lot of good aboard this ship. I could counsel the men. I
could-"

 "You could,"Falkirk interrupted in a calm, firm voice, "do a lot more toward saving lives by speaking at
the Pentagon and convincing the Joint Chiefs of Staff of your belief." He paused. "Ofour belief,
Chaplain."
Delroy felt as though he'd been poleaxed. "The Pentagon, sir? The Joint Chiefs of Staff?Me, sir?"

 "You'll enjoy the joint chiefs. They'll be a tough crowd, but after watching you witness
toColonelDonaldson in my office, I know you're the right man for the job. Your father would be proud of
you."

The enormity of the task laid before him hit Delroy like a ton of bricks. "But, sir, my place is here. With
Wasp. This crew has never needed me more. And I have never been more able to serve them."

"Are you scared, Chaplain?"

Delroy took a deep breath. "Aye, sir. More than I can ever remem-ber being."

 Falkirksmiled a little. "You can do more inWashington right now, Chaplain, than you can here. Let's
work to save lives first, then we'll work to save souls." He offered his hand. "I made my decision down in
my office. I'd made it before your confrontation withColo-nelDonaldson . I was prepared to try to
convince you of the Rapture. "

"That's why you had the Bible on your desk?"

"That Bible,"Falkirk said, "is always on my desk or near to hand. When I have to deal with problems
with personnel, I reach for that Bi-ble before I reach for the Navy manuals."

"I didn't know that, Captain."

 "Just as I didn't know if your convictions had strengthened enough to handle this situation. I know your
son's death troubles you, and I know you've struggled with your own faith."

Delroy's face felt hot. "I'm shamed to know that you were aware of that."

"We all struggle with our faith,"Falkirk said. "I just didn't know if

 you'd be ready for the task I was going to ask of you. But when I saw you stand up
toColonelDonaldson , when I saw the belief in your eyes, I knew I didn't have to sell you. Just as I know
you won't back down from the joint chiefs."

"No, sir."

"Then shake my hand, Chaplain,"Falkirk said, "and climb aboard that helo. You're wasting fuel standing
here talking, and I don't know that I have the reserves for it."

 "Aye, sir. You're right, sir." Delroy shoved his hat under his arm and took the captain's hand. They
shook.

"Godspeed, Chaplain,"Falkirk said.

 "Thank you, sir." Delroy stepped back, saluted smartly, then per-formed an about-face and jogged
toward the waiting Sea Stallion.

Once Delroy was safely buckled in his seat, the pilot pulled the CH-53E into the air and informed him
they would be stopping inGreece to pick up the planeFalkirk had requisitioned for the flight
toWashington,D.C. The pilot informed him that the plane trip would take fifteen or sixteen hours.

 Delroy gazed down through the window, watching asWasp and the rest of the ARG grew smaller and
smaller against the blanket of green sea. Seeing the vessels made him realize how small his world really
was while he was living aboardWasp.

And how big the problem facing him really was.

 But the stakes, God help me, You know what the stakes are.As he bowed his head and began to
pray, Delroy was surprised at how quickly and easily the words came to him, but he took strength in
them.




Edessa Hotel Sanliurfa

Sanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time2:13 P.M.



 "It's hard sitting around watching the news when you don't get to be part of it, isn't it?" The words
carried the plummy accent of the finest British boarding schools.

Seated at a back booth in the Edessa Hotel's restaurant,DanielleVinchenzo swiveled her gaze from the
nearby wall-mounted televi-sion and looked at the dark-complexioned woman standing in the aisle near
her table.

 The woman was striking-though her appearance was a surprise. Instead of the fair Sloan Ranger
Danielle expected after hearing that voice, she saw a woman who would stand out in any crowd-and
es-pecially in a crowd of British blue bloods. She had cafe au lait skin that gleamed in the light and a
mass of black hair pulled up in a style that made her look both professional and alluring. Her dark brown
silk business suit was a handmade Italian original that showed off her slim figure. Her purse
complemented the look and the suit well. She could have been a runway model for modem
businesswomen's attire. Her age could have been anywhere from mid-twenties to mid-fifties. She
obviously took good care of herself.

"Do I know you?"Danielle asked.

"Not yet," the woman replied. "My name isValericaHergheligiu ." "I'mDanielle- "

"Vinchenzo," the woman said. She smiled. "I know who you are,MissVinchenzo . I've seen your work."

 "I'm flattered."Danielle sat up a little straighter. The horrific events atGlitterCity had taken place nearly
seven hours ago. By rights, she felt she should have been up in her hotel room fast asleep. Or even
better, in the thick of things, reporting on them.
 Only she couldn't sleep. And she couldn't work. She was stuck out here watching the television, being a
spectator to the breaking news instead of part of it. Her boss hadn't returned her calls. And her news
crew had refused to even think about going to the border where the action was. They'd been too shaken
up, between the bombs and the deaths and the bullets and the people who had disappeared from among
them. The crew didn't have satellite access for a broadcast anyway. Their equipment was another
casualty of this disastrous day.

 So she'd been stuck in her hotel. She'd tried to watch the news from her room, but it hadn't been an
option because the violence of the morning had seemed to gather around her and wrap her in a cloud of
invisible menace. She'd been too uncomfortable alone in her room to be able to watch the news there.
She needed lights, peo-ple, noise around her-anything to make the world feel normal again. So here she
was in a hotel restaurant, with a television tuned to news for company, and a woman trapping her in the
booth, wearing clothes that cost more money thanDanielle made in a month.

"You should feel flattered," Valerica said. "I've come a long way to find you."

"You have?" None of this was making sense toDanielle .

"Yes, I have." Valerica glanced at the booth seat on the other side of the table. "May I sit down?"

"Of course. I'm sorry."Danielle waved to the other booth.

 "Please. Make yourself at home." Though if that suit was any indica-tion, home wouldn't look anything
like this hotel's restaurant.

The woman sat, then gestured to a waiter. "Have you eaten?"

"No,"Danielle admitted.

"That's Turkish coffee you're drinking?"

Danielleglanced down at her demitasse cup. "Yes. I've developed a weakness for it since I've been
here."

"Turkish coffee is the milk of chess players and thinkers," Valerica said.

"That's what I've been told,"Danielle agreed.

"On an empty stomach, dear girl, that drink is much too sweet and rich."

 Daniellestudied the woman. She had always prided herself on reading people, had always been quick to
figure out an angle some-one was about to play. But she couldn't get a reading from Valerica.

The waiter hovered expectantly.

"The mutton shanks kebab with vegetables is very good here," the woman suggested. "Allow me to
order for us both."

 "All right."Danielle watched as the woman ordered in fluent Turkish, though she had the impression that
language wasn't her na-tive one.
The waiter nodded and went away.

 "You'll have to forgive me,"Danielle said, "but I'm frazzled and not quite myself. It's been an unbelievable
day, and I'm about done for. I'm hardly good company right now. I imagine I'm going to ap-pear rude or
abrupt."

"Not at all, dear girl." Valerica gazed at her with complete interest. "I'm sure you have questions about
many things. Including who I am. Please feel free to ask them."

"Why are you here?"

"InTurkey ?"

"Talking to me."

The woman shrugged and smiled as if at her own humor. "Why, I'm here because I want to make you an
offer that you can't refuse."

 The bald statement madeDanielle uneasy, but she couldn't pin-point why. Maybe it was the too-casual
manner in which the woman had made her announcement. She held her silence and waited to see what
else this woman had to say.

 "You're a media specialist," Valerica continued. "You interview well. You stay current on your
assignments and the rest of the world that you're not covering. You look good on camera."

 For a moment, the thought that she should get up from the table and just walk away bumped gently
throughDanielle 's mind, like a butterfly banging against a glass window. But it vanished as her in-nate
curiosity took over. There was a story here. She could feel it. There was always a story when she got
that cold itch across the back of her neck.

"So?"Danielle said.

Valerica smiled and reached into her purse. She laid a business card on the tabletop.

Danielleread the card. "One World Communications. I'm im-pressed."

 "Not without just cause, dear girl. OneWorld Communications is quickly becoming a media force to be
reckoned with."

"Indeed."Danielle searched her brain for background info. "You're owned byNicolaeCarpathia , the man
who was made the new president ofRomania as of yesterday."

 "The very same." Valerica smiled again. "See? You knew that. In spite of everything you've been
covering here inTurkey , you knew that. This is one of the very reasons we want to hire you."

"Hire me?"

"As a reporter, dear girl."

Danielletried to relax. "I'm under contract with FOX News." "Not anymore."
 Panic filledDanielle . She'd prided herself on the work at FOX, but she'd had her share of personality
conflicts with the producer who handled her stories. What had happened to her job? "What are you
talking about?"

"One World Communications opened discussions with FOX News nearly a week ago with regard to
your contract. We wanted to hire you away from them. Less than an hour ago, we managed to buy you
out of that contract."

"Without contacting me?"

"It didn't make sense to talk to you until we'd reached an agree-ment with FOX."

 "What kind of agreement?" Worry bounced insideDanielle 's head. She had car payments and apartment
payments, along with all the other ordinary financial obligations that had to be met. Payments that she
could only make if she had a steady supply of cash coming in-and it looked like her job back at FOX
had just vanished in the wind. Apparently today's catastrophes weren't over yet.

"We bought that contract out for a princely sum, which I shall not be gauche enough to discuss with
you."

"What if I like my job at FOX? What if I don't want to work with OneWorld?"

Valerica smiled. "How can you not want to work with us? OneWorld is going to be one of the biggest
media corporations in, well, theworld."

 "That's your opinion."Danielle tried to quell her rebellion but couldn't. She had never liked being dictated
to. It was something that had been a part of her character since she was old enough to talk. It was one of
the reasons she'd left home the very day she got out of high school-and that she'd made her own way in
the world ever since.

"Dear girl-" Valerica's melodious voice took on a slightly icy tone- "that is not my opinion. That is a fact."

 Daniellebarely noticed the waiter as he returned with another demitasse cup. Her senses blurred. Maybe
the sugared coffee was get-ting to her.

"You were atGlitterCity during the attack this morning," Valerica said.

"Yes. Believe me, I noticed,"Danielle said. "But let's talk about something more interesting. What
happens if I don't accept your job offer?"

 Valerica reached into her purse again and took out an envelope. She slid the envelope across the table.
"That is a certified check for two years' pay at your present salary, plus a 10-percent raise for your
second year with us. If you don't want to work for us, take the money; FOX takes the money we gave
them, and you can go back to work for that network. But there's more where that came from if you'd
care to join us. We think you have the talent and the drive to be one of the best re-porters in the world.
You're career will take off for the stratosphere if you work with us. I assure you, you'll never regret
taking this offer."

 Danielleopened the envelope, looked at the check, and found the amount was exactly what the woman
had promised. It was a nice check, with lots of zeros on the good side of the decimal point. She whistled
softly. "I'm a bit surprised by this. It's clear from this check that you've planned this in advance and that
you're serious about this offer. But why me? What do you want from me? How can I believe you?"

“You’re a reporter,” Valerica said. “You shouldn’t believe me. You should want to check the facts for
yourself." She took a satellite phone from her purse, whichDanielle was beginning to believe was filled
with magic tricks or a hole to another dimension. "Call your news producer."

Dazed, definitely feeling the sugar high from the Turkish coffee,Danielle reached for the phone. She
dialed the number and, surpris-ingly, got through immediately.

"Hello?"

Even though she recognized the voice,Danielle couldn't help ask-ing, "AaronDiller?"

"Yes.Danielle ?Danielle , is that you? Do you haveany idea of what time it is over here?"

Glancing at her watch,Danielle said, "It's six-nineteen."

Diller swore. "In themorning,Danielle ! I just got to sleep."

 "You're doing better than I am. I haven't slept at all. I've got no sympathy for you,Aaron . My day got
kind of ruined when the SCUDs fell all around me this morning and killed my friends and destroyed a
bunch of my equipment. Or maybe it was when I got shot at by the Syrian military. Or maybe it was
when people all around me disap-peared without an explanation. If you want to compare comfort lev-els
right now,Aaron , I'm gonna have the upper hand. Why haven't you called me? Why haven't you
answered when I tried to check in?"

"I've been trying to call you," Diller said. "Every time I dialed your hotel, I got a message that the circuits
were busy. How did you get this number? This is myhome number."

 "Last year's Christmas party,"Danielle said. "You had one drink too many. Or maybe you had five too
many. Anyway, you hit on me. Somewhere between offering me more air time on international news
spots, a bigger office, a larger and more forgiving expense account, and the keys to your Lexus, you gave
me your home phone number."

"Oh. I don't remember that."

 "Somehow, I can't forget it."Danielle looked at the woman on the other side of the table. "I want to talk
to you about OneWorld Com-munications."

Suspicion vibrated in Diller's words. "What about them?"

 "I'm sitting withValericaHergheligiu from OneWorld Communi-cations,"Danielle said. "She's convinced
that her corporation has bought out my contract."

"Man," Diller said, "they're alreadythere?"

 "Is it true?"

"Hey,Danielle ," Diller said, "in my own defense, I think you're gonna come out of this thing okay. I
negotiated pretty good bonuses for all of us that-"
Daniellecut the man off with a hiss too angry to contain recogniz-able words, then broke the connection.
She looked at Valerica as she struggled to get her temper under control. "It seems I'm technically
unemployed at the moment. This comes as a bit of a surprise to me. But, even so, I shouldn't have hung
up on him. I hope you'll allow me that brief lapse of professionalism."

Valerica spread her hands. "Of course. It sounds justified. But let's talk about your new career with
OneWorld."

"I still haven't agreed to accept your offer."

 A bright smile split Valerica's face. "Dear girl, you should at least feign interest until you've had time to
cash that check."

Daniellecouldn't help grinning. "True."

 "We want you to continue covering the Turkish-Syrian problem," Valerica said. "And we believe we've
found a focal point for your story." She took a mini-DVD player with a superb color screen from her
purse, placed it on the table, and switched it on.

 Daniellegazed at the gleaming device. "I love the toys already." She'd always been interested in
cutting-edge technology.

"Just the tip of the iceberg, dear girl."

 The five-inch screen cleared and showed the kind of footage that had aired almost constantly on all the
networks over the last few hours. This particular piece focused on the unexplained mishap that had
wrecked almost all of the Marine airships coming to the aid of the border forces she'd interviewed so
recently.

The camera shot tightened up on a lone Army Ranger sergeant car-rying a wounded Marine from a
burning helicopter.

Valerica froze the DVD image. "This man," she said. "We want to find out who he is."

After a closer look at the screen,Danielle looked Valerica in the eye and said, "I know who he is."

"Do you?" Valerica smiled.

"Yes. That'sSergeantSamuelAdamsGander of the 75th Rangers."Danielle could still remember how the
man's voice had rung out strong and clear as he'd dealt with the slaughter atGlitterCity .

 "Dear girl," Valerica enthused, "how simply marvelous." She squeezedDanielle 's hand. The woman's
flesh felt cold as alabaster. "See? Your employment by OneWorld Communications is a thing that had to
come to pass."

Daniellelooked from the image to the woman. "But why him? He's a sergeant. A non-com. Why not an
officer? The commanding of-ficer of the man's unit is a captain. I know him, too.CalRemington ."

 "You do keep up with things, don't you?" Valerica smiled. "Cap-tainRemingtonwill probably march right
to prominence as this story develops, but for now, the powers that be want to focus on Sergeant Gander
there. He's in the middle of the action, you know. Lots of drama and danger. Very photogenic-all that
flame and fury. We want to know who he is and what his story is."

 "He could be dead,"Danielle pointed out. "When we pulled out, he was already up to his neck in trouble
and heading away to find worse. The Rangers were involved in a mission across the border only a few
hours ago."

 "Perhaps the war has taken him. But perhaps not. In any event, your first assignment-should you decide
to accept our offer of em-ployment-will be to discover the whereabouts of Sergeant Gander. Dead or
alive. We'd like to get his story."

"I'll have to go to the front?"

"Do you have any objections?"

"Reservations, yes. Feelings of panic, yes."Danielle took a deep breath, held it, then let it out. "But no
objections. That's where the story is."

"Then you'll do it?"

"Do you have a camera team available to send with me? My crew and equipment got trashed."

"The camera team is already in place there," Valerica said. "You'll be joining them as soon as-"

 "After lunch?"Danielle asked hopefully. Excitement and trepida-tion mixed within her. "I can be ready
then."

"Of course you can, dear girl. Of course you can." Valerica pattedDanielle 's hand. The gesture was that
of a much older woman, almost Edwardian in fact, but judging by her appearance,Danielle knew the
woman couldn't be that old.

 The waiter brought the plates of mutton on a bed of spiced rice, andDanielle was surprised to find she
had an appetite. She launched herself into the meal with gusto, her mind already whirling with how she
wanted to work the stories. She didn't even think about the po-tential threat to her life. She believed the
answer to the mysterious disappearances lay along that besieged and battered border. If the an-swer was
there, she'd find it. The answer had to be there. It was the biggest flash point in the world right now.
Nothing else had hap-pened around the globe that might trigger such an event.

At least, nothing else that she was aware or.

Of course, here inTurkey , coverage of the rest of the world's news had been spotty, concerned mostly
with the disappearances of so many people and all the confusion that had come about because of those
missing persons.

It was a mystery, andDanielle loved nothing better than a good mystery-except a good mystery with
great ratings potential. Which this story had.

 As she ate, Valerica kept talking up the corporation and the new heights of photojournalism they would
ascend to together.Danielle couldn't help noticing that the meat on the woman's kebab was still pink,
almost ready to bleed.

"Are you sure that's done?"Danielle asked, pointing to the kebab.
 "To perfection, dear girl," the woman assured her. "I don't like meat that's been overcooked. I prefer a
cut that is still simmering in its own juices, as fresh as though I had sliced it off the living animal myself."




Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South of Sanliurfa,

TurkeyLocal Time 1517 Hours




 Three squads of Turkish F-4E fighter-bombers from the air base inAn-kara roared through the blue sky
in tight groups of seven and flew south intoSyria . TheTurk Hava Kuvvetleri, the Turkish Air Force,
car-ried the familiar bull's-eye of two red rings and one white ring that identified them. The fin flashes
bore a white crescent moon with a star at the lower point on a field of bright red.

Goose shaded his eyes with a hand and said a prayer for the pilots.

"Those are brave men, Sergeant,"CaptainTariqMkchian said in a sober voice.

"I know, Captain," Goose replied. "Some of them probably won't be coming back."

"Still," the Turkish captain said, "they fly and they go. Just as you and your men stand and fight this day.
None of us, it seems, were cut out to break and run."

"Not until we get set for it," Goose agreed.

 Mkchian stared down at the line the U.N. forces, the Turkish army, and the 75th Rangers had created
behind the perimeter of bombed and broken Syrian vehicles that had been casualties of the SCUD
launches. The Turkish captain was a wiry man who stood about five and a half feet tall. Soaking wet, he
might have weighed 140 pounds, but he had the carriage of a lion, the mark of a leader of men.Gray
marked his dark hair and neatly trimmed mustache. Dur-ing the cease-fire that had lasted since the earlier
engagement, the captain had put on a freshly pressed uniform. He carried his M-16in the crook of his left
arm like a man who had been born with a weapon in his hands.
 Farther down the small promontory, three Turkish soldiers who served as the captain's aides stood
awaiting orders. All three of them were incredibly young.

 Too young to die, Goose couldn't help thinking. But he knew that fact didn't stop death from happening.
A number of young soldiers had died or disappeared today, and more probably would join them before
the dawn of the next day. That knowledge left a congealed lump of dread in Goose's stomach, and he
could only ask God for the strength to get through it.

 The sonic booms of the passing jets faded from Goose's ears. His injured knee had swollen further.
Thankfully, the screaming pain had died down to a dulled throb, something he could hold at bay thanks to
fatigue and analgesics. His clothing remained soaked and gritty de-spite the dry heat that baked the
broken land around him. At least the smoke and dust haze had mostly cleared out. He could take a deep
breath without the kerchief on his face and not launch into a cough-ing fit.

"Our air force will try to keep flights up at irregular intervals until after sundown," Mkchian said. "But if
our losses grow to be too great, they will stop sending those pilots."

 Goose nodded. He couldn't blame the Turkish military. The F-4Es were their primary offensive and
defensive weapons. Every insertion the Turk Hava Kuvvetleri made intoSyria that resulted in a lost unit
was going to take the Turkish government months-maybe years-to replace. Both planes and pilots were
scarce resources, and finding new ones would be difficult indeed.

 Valuable resources were being gambled to try to save the embat-tled Turkish military as well as the
U.N. peacekeeping forces and the Rangers. But the Syrian troops were firmly entrenched in the
posi-tions twenty klicks behind the border. They'd had all their luck with the ground war, though. Every
time the Syrians had tried to send an aerial attack, the remnants of the Marine wing, the Harriers and the
Apache gunships, had shot them down. Since then, though, two more of the Harriers and one of the
Apaches had been knocked from the sky. Luckily, only one of the pilots had been killed. A few of the
Syrian bombs and one of the falling aircraft had resulted in more ca-sualties among the Turkish and U.N.
peacekeeping forces. The Rangers, it seemed at the time, had already paid their blood price for survival.

"We'll make the best of it till that happens, Captain," Goose promised.

"I fear your men are pushing themselves too hard," Mkchian said.

 Goose surveyed the activity before them. Rangers still led the way on the salvage operations going on
among the wreckage left from the SCUD attacks. His men had been busy, scrounging salvageable
weap-ons, ammunition, and foodstuffs. They'd gathered everything useful, from spare tires that hadn't
been damaged or weren't too badly dam-aged to the fuel in Syrian Jeeps, tanks, APCs, and helicopters
that could be pumped from the gas tanks into fifty-five-gallon drums to tents, cots, and other gear.

 The plan was to pull back to Sanliurfa, regroup, and watch to see if the Syrian forces kept pushing once
they made it across the border. After they reached Sanliurfa, the three armies would further retreat
toDiyarbakir to figure out how they were going to hold the Syrians from the rest of the country. The
thinking was that if the Turkish army sta-tioned at the border, complemented by the U.N. peacekeeping
teams and the 75th Rangers, reachedDiyarbakir , they could pose enough of a threat of attacking any
army that marched onAnkara that the Syri-ans might not even make the attempt.

The trick lay in getting from their present predicament to Sanliurfa, and from there toDiyarbakir . It
wasn't going to be easy.
 "Those men are Rangers," Goose said. "When it comes to pushing, they only know one way to get the
job done."

"Still, they are doing so much work, and it will be for naught by this time tomorrow."

 "If this little ruse holds till this time tomorrow, Captain," Goose said, "I'll be a happy man." And we'll all
be in Sanliurfa. Then he thought aboutBillTownsend , who had vanished, and the other men who had died
and gone missing, and he knew that not all of them would be in Sanliurfa. The Rangers would have to
leave their dead as well, and that thought pained him because he knew from past experi-ence that the
Syrian troops would savage the bodies and use them as psychological weapons.

 Along the southern perimeter of the destruction on the other side of the border, the Ranger squads filled
sandbags and dug fighting holes. They used Jeeps and the RSOVs to pull wrecked vehicles closer
together to form barriers. Long scars showed in the crater-filled earth where wrecks had already been
towed.

 The media groups had gathered along the no-man's-land that marked the border. Some of them had
returned from Sanliurfa with more crew and more equipment. Goose found it hard to believe that the
reporters were brave enough-or foolish enough, as some Rangers had openly stated-to risk their lives
just to get a story plenty of other people were already getting.

"I could have my men help you," Mkchian offered.

"I appreciate that, Captain," Goose said, "but those men down there are used to working together.
They're up against the clock, and they're having to look over their shoulders during that work. It's
working right now. Besides the occasional language barrier issues with working with your guys, too many
men trying to do everything is going to get someone hurt. So let's leave it. For the time being."

Mkchian nodded. "That was what yourCaptainRemington re-layed to me."

"CaptainRemingtonis a fine officer," Goose said. "He knows what he's talking about."

"Have you served with him long, Sergeant?"

"Yes, sir."

"And you trust him?"

"With my life, sir," Goose answered without hesitation. "And with the lives of my men. If it ever came
down to it, I believeCaptainRemington would die for the men of his command."

 The Turkish captain eyed Goose in open speculation. "Not many soldiers would say that about their
commanding officers."

"No, sir," Goose agreed. "Probably not."

"You are a lucky man." Mkchian offered his hand. "I'll leave you to your work then, Sergeant. Thank
you for your time."

 "Yes, sir." Goose shook the man's hand, then saluted smartly.CaptainMkchian walked away, already
fielding calls from his troops over his headset.
 Goose spent several minutes communicating with the men he had out in the field. So far, everything was
progressing smoothly. In addition to creating the impression that the Rangers intended to dig in, the
squads were also setting up booby traps within the wrecked ve-hicles creating the barrier. They'd left
some nice surprises, including several remote-controlled munitions that would be set off when the Syrians
attempted to breech the border. All of those traps and RC at-tacks were built around ammo that had
been salvaged from the Syr-ian camp that couldn't be taken with the retreat. Later, after the sun went
down, his men would put in even more booby traps on the Turkish side of the border with just enough
room for the Syrian mili-tary to start feeling safe again after running afoul of the first wave.

All those efforts would buy time, not stop the enemy.But time's all we need, Goose told himself.

 He stayed on the move, not daring to give in to the temptation to lie down or even sit and rest because
he was afraid his injured leg would stiffen up on him. He'd gotten a wraparound brace from the medkits
to help hold his knee together, and the additional support did provide some relief.

 Plus, as first sergeant of the 75th, Goose knew he had no choice but to behave as though he were
superhuman. A leader had to lead if he was going to be followed; he couldn't just
command.GeneralGeorgeS.Patton had put it best when he'd said, "We herd sheep, we drive cattle, we
lead people. Lead me, follow me, or get out of my way." Goose tried to live by those words. If his
troops saw him start to fall apart, they might not be able to believe in themselves.

 He knew thatBillTownsend would have taken umbrage with him over that last thought. Faith wasn't
something based on a person or even an idea. It wasn't something that could be weighed or measured.
Setting an example was only coaxing others to trust in someone else, someone they could measure
themselves against.

Learning to trust others didn't teach a man to look outside himself for the faith in God he needed. For a
moment, Goose felt guilty, like he was letting the memory of his friend down, but at the same time he
knew thatBill would have forgiven him. That was whatBill was all about. Faith. And leading people in his
own way.

I'll get there,Bill. I promise you. I'll get there.

 Goose took off his helmet for a moment, slung his rifle over his shoulder, and ran his hand through his
sweat-slick hair. The cooling breeze felt wonderful. He wished he could leave the heavy Kevlar-cov-ered
helmet off, but he knew that if he did, his troops would follow suit. Every soldier hated the helmets, but
the headgear saved lives, and the soldiers knew that, too.

 The cannonade of the bombs unleashed by the F-4E fighter-bombers rolled back over the border. The
sound came from twenty klicks farther south, and Goose knew there was a time discrepancy be-tween
when the bombs were dropped and when the sound reached him.

"Phoenix Leader, this is Quartermaster." The call came over the headset, mixed in with the constant
barrage of communications that flowed from the Ranger squads as they went about their assigned tasks.

"Leader hears you, Quartermaster. Go to Tach Two."

Quartermaster wasJulianRodriguiz , a veteran sergeant with Echo Company. He'd grown up an air force
brat and lived on bases all around the world, but when the time had come for him to choose his own
vocation, he'd gone army. Besides being a good soldier, a master tactician with small units, and a good
cook able to do miracles with things found in the field, he'd also been gifted with a near-photo-graphic
memory. Placing him in charge of the salvage operations sup-ply list had been a no-brainer.

Goose switched the headset over to the secondary channel. "Quartermaster?"

Here, Leader."Julian hesitated. "We've got a situation."

Goose's mind immediately flew to the possibility of small troop incursions by the Syrians. They'd fought
off a few such attempts al-ready, and Goose knew there would be more.

"What's the problem?" Goose asked.

 "The water supply." Rodriguiz sounded a little tense and unsure of himself, mannerisms Goose had
seldom seen from the man even in the thick of battle.

Water was a main consideration to a soldier in an arid climate likeTurkey . The dry heat leached the
moisture from a man's body, and de-hydration was one of the greatest opponents of a fighting man in the
desert.

 One of the smaller tributaries to theTigrisRiver flowed south of here, southeast fromDiyarbakir north and
east of Sanliurfa. Feeding it was a seasonal stream nearly a klick to the east. During the storm season that
bridgedTurkey 's headlong rush from rainy winter to dry summer, with only a brief gasp sandwiched in
between for spring, several small streams were born, then quickly withered away. Water was, had been,
and always would be a source of contention between Middle Eastern countries. But right now, it was
spring and the stream was still running.

 During the initial SCUD launch, most of the Rangers' water sup-plies, as well as those of the Turkish
army and the U.N. peacekeeping forces, had been wiped out. All three commanders had sent teams to
the stream to replenish their supplies.

 "What's wrong with the water supply?" Goose asked. The Rangers had purification tablets to make
certain the water was potable, al-though at the rate they were being forced to use them they wouldn't last
long. But the possibility remained that someone farther upstream could foul the water.

 "Not the water supply, Leader," Rodriguiz said. "It'sBaker ." He paused. "They're telling me he's gone
crazy."




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time7:20 A.M.
 In the nightmare,Megan was once more atop the residential build-ing. She felt the hard edges of the
rooftop cutting into her chest and stomach.GerryFletcher again hung at the end of her arm, and his weight
was tearing her shoulder apart while slowly dragging her over the side of the building.

 Gerryjerked and fought. He slipped from her grip, no longer held by her fist but only by her fingers now.
The blood from the long scratches down her arm flowed across their clasped hands. The skin started to
slide, to glide, and she knew she was going to lose him. He screamed at her, pleaded with her to hold on,
to not let go, to not let him fall.

 Somehow, in the nightmare,Megan found the strength to stopGerry from sliding. She wouldn't lose him
this time. Bracing herself, she stopped the inexorable pull that inched her over the side of the building.
Then, incredibly, she started to pullGerry back up.

Without warning, the boy's body split open, the way it might have hadGerry hit the pavement four stories
below, and a great snarling beast covered in scales and fur emerged from the lifeless husk. Its tri-angular
head had a low forehead over slitted cat's eyes above a pointed, edged beak filled with monstrous fangs.
The thing was al-most as big as she was, a cross between a bobcat, a baboon, and a Gila monster.

The creature snapped atMegan 's head.

Startled,Megan released her hold.

 No longer suspended above the ground, the impossible nightmare thing fell. As it plummeted, the
creature started laughing. In the next instant, the creature becameChris . The wind ruffled his blond curls
as he fell and screamed in fear. She saw his face, his mouth and eyes wide with fear, and she knew there
was nothing she could do to prevent-

"No!"Megan 's own hoarse shout woke her. She sat bolt upright in her bed, swaddled in sheets damp
with sweat and wearing clothing from last night because she'd laid down certain sleep would never find
her. Her heart trip-hammered inside her chest and created a sharp, painful ache. For a moment, she
worried that she might be having a heart attack

Chris!

 Pain and anger filled her, bringing stinging tears to her eyes. Her baby was gone, taken by unknown
forces. She traced the fresh scab-bing that covered the scratches down her arm. It had happened; it was
all true.

 Resisting the urge to scream,Megan pulled her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around her
legs. She bowed her head and cried as silently as she could.

 After the events of last night, afterLieutenantBenbow had finally gotten her released from the provost
marshal's office, she'd returned home. She'd had no place else to go. At least, that was how it had felt
last night.

 Now the house seemed to echo with her son's absence. The family pictures on the bedroom wall-a
patchwork of memories picturing Goose,Joey , andMegan from all periods in their lives-had served as a
touchstone the three of them had used as jumping-off places for "I Remember" stories they had taken
turns tellingChris .

Of course, being only five years old and living with a five-year--old's egocentric view of the world ,Chris
hadn't believed any of the stories.Joey 's baby pictures and soccer seasons, Goose's high school
basketball pictures and boot camp photos,Megan 's high school swimming competitions and college
graduation-none of those events had really existed forChris 's. But her youngest son had lis-tened raptly
to the tales all of them had woven sometimes separately and sometimes together.

 And mixed in with all those photos of other lives were pictures ofChris . She'd had his picture taken
every year on his birthday. He stood or sat or sprawled beside the numbers one through five, all of them
as big as or bigger than he was.

There would be no number six.

Megancried as silently as she could for long, hard minutes. Finally, she felt drained and empty, physically
unable to cry anymore. Later, she knew, she would cry and grieve again.

 She made herself get up from the bed. If she succumbed to the warm embrace of the bedding, she knew
she would have nightmares again-wild visions running rampant through her head. She thought only briefly
about peeling out of last night's clothes and taking a shower, but the idea was repugnant. Taking a
shower and dressing for the day seemed almost obscene because that would be too normal. Life wasn't
normal. It wouldn't be normal again.

Leaving her bedroom, she made her way toJoey 's room and

peered inside. His bed was made and unoccupied. The last she'd re-membered,Joey had been sitting up
with the young woman he'd brought home and watching the news channels. He had promised to wake
her if there was any news of Goose.

 Panic, tapped from some unknown and bottomless reservoir in-sideMegan , surged again. She stepped
into the room. "Joey."

"He's not there."

 Meganwhirled at the sound of the young woman's voice and saw her standing in the hallway leading to
the living room.

 "He's inChris 's room," the young woman said. "I fell asleep on the couch. I woke up just a little while
ago and went looking for him." She hesitated. "I didn't intend to spend the night,Mrs.Gander . Espe-cially
not without asking. It just happened. I called for a cab, but none were running. And I couldn't askJoey to
take me home. You fell asleep and things last night were just so-so-"

 "I know." The young woman's obvious discomfort resonated withinMegan , drawing out the nurturer that
always lurked beneath the surface. "It's okay."

Jennycrossed her arms, mirroringMegan 's stance.

 Knowing that the crossed arms were a natural defensive posture,Megan opened her own arms. "I'm
sorry. I've forgotten your name."

"Jenny.JennyMcGrath ."

"Well,JennyMcGrath , it's good to meet you."Megan extended her hand.
Jennytook her hand briefly. "I'm sorry aboutChris ."

"Yes."Megan 's voice cracked, and if she hadn't already been de-void of tears she knew she would have
broken down and cried. "So am I." She blinked her eyes and felt the rough, grainy drag of the lids. "How
do you knowJoey ?"

"We work together. At the Kettle 0' Fish."

"I'm surprised he hasn't mentioned you."

"He didn't mention he was seventeen either. Until last night."

"And you're-?"

"Twenty-three."Jenny hurried on. "We're not dating. We just wens out together. Last night. First time."

"Out?"

"To a dance club."

The announcement tookMegan by surprise. "Joeyisn't old enough to go to a club.'

"He had fake ID."

 Megantook that in. On any other morning while finding all of this out, she would have planned on
groundingJoey within an inch of his life. Maybe even until he moved out of the home. But after last night
she was going to content herself with knowing he was all right.

Jennyfrowned, obviously not happy. "This isn't coming out very good, is it?"

Meganshook her head. "No. Do you drink coffee?"

"Not really."

"Cocoa?"

"Sure."

"Let me check onJoey and I'll make us some cocoa. We can figure out what we're going to do next."

"All right."

Meganwent down the hall and peeked in through the open door.Joey was asleep inChris 's bed. He was
holdingChris 's favorite stuffed bear. The sight brokeMegan 's heart all over again.

Oh God, why have You let this happen? Have You forsaken us?

Steeling herself,Megan turned from the door and went into the kitchen.

 Small and modest, trimmed in yellow and off-white, the kitchen smelled of spiced apples.Jenny sat at the
small round table and looked painfully uncomfortable.
 Meganswitched on the small TV on the baking rack near the stove, then went to the cupboards and
started rummaging through them for baker's chocolate, salt, and sugar. She put a cup of water and two
squares of the chocolate into a small pan and started to heat them.

"I hope you don't mind if I watch television while we talk,"Megan said.

"No,"Jenny replied.

 The television cleared and showed FOX News. The footage cur-rently rolling involved the
disappearances that had taken place around the world.Megan already knew that the incidents were
inter-national in scope. She'd watched the news in her bedroom till she'd mercifully fallen asleep while
waiting to wake from the nightmare she felt she surely had to be trapped in.

"Joeysaid your husband was over inTurkey ,"Jenny said.

 "He is,"Megan acknowledged."Your husband." Are thoseJoey's words or yours? She knewJoey felt
some alienation from Goose's affec-tion.'Some of it was because ofJoey 's age and Goose's frequent
ab-sences,Megan was sure. But sibling rivalry was also a big issue, especially at the ageChris was getting
to be. Had been.There will be no number six.

 "So far, the Syrian army hasn't tried to attackTurkey anymore,Jenny said. "The media is reporting that
the Rangers are digging in there. There's some speculation that they might try to hold the bor-der, but the
experts FOX and CNN has had on say that can't be done."

"Makes you hope the Syrian military command isn't watching the news."

"I know."

 Now that the water and chocolate had melted,Megan added a pinch of salt, three tablespoons of sugar,
and three cups of milk. "They haven't-" when her voice tightened, she concentrated on stir-ring- "haven't
released the names of any of the dead, have they?"

"No."

"Well, then we still have hope." ButMegan didn't know how she was going to tell Goose thatChris was
missing. Or how she was going to deal with anything if Goose was one of the casualties of the war that
had broken out in the turbulentMiddle East .

"Is there anything I can do to help you?"

 Bring back my baby,Meganthought immediately.Let me know my husband is all right. She took a
deep breath and continued stirring. "Look in the pantry, if you don't mind." She pointed the way. "I think
there may be some plain bagels in there we can heat up. Even if you're not hungry, you should eat
something."

Jennygot up, crossed to the pantry, and took down the bagels. She joinedMegan at the counter.Megan
handed the young woman a knife and she began slicing the bagels in half, leaving them open-faced.

"Microwave or toaster?"Jenny asked.
"I like mine from the toaster,"Megan answered.

"So do I."Jenny popped the bagels into the oversized toaster. "Do you think we should wakeJoey ?"

 Meganconsidered the prospect only briefly. "No. Let him sleep." There was no sense in getting him up
for the day before he was ready for it. They had too much tragedy to face. AndMegan already felt a
lit-tle uncomfortable with the young woman in the house without add-ing her son into the mix.

"Just so you know,Mrs.Gander ,Jenny said, "I had no intention of datingJoey . Even before I found out
he had been lying about his age. "

"But you went out with him to this club."

"As friends. But I don't think he knew that."

"Oh.”

Jennylooked at her. "He may not like me much after he gets up this morning, but after I found out your
husband was over in Turkey and that you had called Joey to come get Chris-" she took a deep breath-
well, I didn't want him to be alone."

"That was very considerate of you."

"Joey's a nice guy."

"I'm glad you think so."

Jennywaved to her attire. "It's not that I don't date nice guys,Mrs.Gander . I just don't date."

 For a brief moment,Megan saw pain glint in the young woman's eyes. But the emotion was quickly
hidden away, like a person with a long-standing injury would pull away from a casual touch from
someone who didn't know better.

"Your car wasn't his fault either,"Jenny said. "The driver of the truck that ran into us was one of the
people that disappeared last night."

Only then didMegan remember that the car was a disaster. "I'll have to call the insurance company."

 "I don't know if you'll be able to get through. There are reports all over that the phone lines are messed
up. In a lot of places, lines are down due to wrecks, fires, and other kinds of damage. A lot of phone
company employees left work after the disappearances happened. Or they disappeared themselves.
Nobody wants to go to work today be-cause everything is just so weird."

 "I can understand that." Now that the hot chocolate had reached the proper frothy state,Megan removed
the pan from the stove. She took two cups down from the cupboard and poured hot chocolate into both.
"Were you able to get in touch with your family?"

"Not yet." The toaster popped the four bagel pieces up, and the smell of fresh bread rolled through the
kitchen.

"Don't you need to call?"
Jennywas quiet. "If he wakes up, my dad might be worried."

Meganplaced the hot chocolate on the table, then found a serving plate for the bagels. "You live with
your parents."

"Just my dad. My mom left a long time ago."

"Oh."Megan felt immediately awkward. She took butter, cream cheese, and strawberry and blueberry
preserves from the refrigerator, placing them on the table as well. "Have you tried the phone again?"

 "A lot,"Jenny said. "It won't be a problem tillnoon . That's proba-bly when he'll get up." She hesitated.
"He's kind of between jobs right now."

"It happens."Megan knew there was more to the story, but she also knewJenny wasn't going to say any
more until she was ready.

"With my dad, it happens a lot." A trace of bitterness scored her words.

Meganleft the statement alone, sensing that the territory was better left unexplored unless the young
woman wanted to go there.

"Let's eat,"Megan suggested. They sat at the table.

 For a moment, with the bitterness coiled in her heart,Megan con-sidered not giving thanks for the meal.
But she knew that was wrong. She had to believe that God had a hand in all the confusion that was now
filling her life, even withChris 's disappearance. If she didn't be-lieve that, there was nothing left for her to
believe.

 She bowed her head and said a brief prayer. When she reached "Amen," she was a little surprised to
find thatJenny echoed her.

Jennytook one of the bagel halves and spread cream cheese over the open face. "What do you think
happened to all of them?"

 "Who?"Megan picked up one of the bagels, too, enjoying the feel of the warm, soft bread in her hands
as well as the aroma. There had always been something innately relaxing about fresh bread.

"All the people that disappeared,"Jenny answered.

"I don't know."

 Jennynodded toward the small television set. Closed captions car-ried the news stories across the
bottom of the screen. "Some of the people they have interviewed feel like the disappearances were
caused by some secret weapon of mass destruction. Others feel like aliens kid-napped all the people.
But what if those weren't the answer?"

"Do you have another answer in mind?"Megan caught herself too late and hoped thatJenny hadn't
noticed that she had lapsed into counselor mode.

A troubled frown appeared onJenny 's face. The expression looked disturbingly comfortable there.
"There was a book in the living room that I found. Something about the end times. The pre-Rapture days,
before God comes and takes all the believers from the world."

Meganremembered that the book was one thatBillTownsend had given her to read before he and Goose
had left to go over toTurkey .

From what Goose had said during that time,Bill had become con-vinced more than ever that the world
was on the eve of being Rap-tured.

"You read that book?"Megan asked.

"Some of it,"Jenny admitted. "It was interesting and really easy to follow. Have you read it?"

 "No,"Meganadmitted. There had never seemed to be enough time, what with holding the household
down with Goose gone and trying to meet all her commitments as a base counselor.

"If you do, I'd like to hear what you have to say about it."Jenny pinched a piece of her bagel off and
popped it into her mouth. She chewed mechanically and swallowed. "The book really makes you think."

"About what?"Megan asked.

"About all of this."Jenny pointed to the television, then made a vague circular motion. "About everybody
disappearing. About only their clothes being left behind. About all the kids disappearing."

 "God didn't have anything to do with this." Despite her best inten-tions to remain neutral during the
conversation,Megan heard the cold-ness in her voice. "God wouldn't have taken my baby away from
me."

"Not even to protect him from the seven years of death and destruc-tion that are going to follow the
Rapture?"Jenny asked the question calmly and quietly.

Meganglanced away from the young woman and looked through the kitchen window into the backyard.
The sun was bright and cheerful. The sky was blue. Outside, it looked like a normal day. Except it was a
day withoutChris in it. She thought furiously, trying to make whatJenny was saying make sense.

"Do you believe in God,Mrs.Gander ?"Jenny asked.

 "1 used to think so,"Megan answered honestly. "But after I was up on that building withGerryFletcher ,
after I had the chance to save him and couldn't-" She shook her head. "AfterChris disappeared, I just
don't know what to believe anymore."

"I thought about that, too,"Jenny said.

"Did you get any sleep last night?"

 "Not much. My head is just too full of stuff right now."Jenny took a deep breath. "Mrs.Gander, I hope
you'll forgive me, but I think I'm see-ing something here that you're not. Maybe it's that book, or maybe
it's just that I haven't gotten much sleep. I think maybe you did save him."

Meganclamped down on the angry response that welled in her throat.
 "When you were up on that rooftop withGerryFletcher ,"Jenny said, "you caught him. You stopped him
from falling."

"Not for long."

"No,"Jenny agreed, "but it was long enough that you held on and keptGerry from hitting the ground
before the Rapture occurred.Gerry was takenbefore he hit the ground."

 The young woman's words struck home inMegan 's heart with the force of a multiton steel vault
slamming shut.

 "I've never been much of one for God and churches,"Jenny said. "After everything I've seen and been
through, I really didn't think He cared much for me." Tears slid down her face and her lip trembled. "But
I've seen you andJoey . Both of you are good people. For some reason I was with him last night. If I'd
been with someone else, maybe I would have been one of the traffic fatalities that occurred when
everyone dis-appeared. Maybe I would never have read that book. I don't know."

"God does love you,Jenny ,"Megan said, fresh tears stinging hereyes. "God loves all his children."

"Do you really believe that?" Challenge rang like naked steel inJenny 's voice. "Or are you just saying it?"

"1 believe it,"Megan said, and she was surprised at the strength of the conviction in her voice.

 "Do you realize the difference you made inGerry 's life?"Jenny asked. "You held onto him long enough
that he didn't die painfully, long enough that God had time to take him in an eye blink."

 In that instant,Megan did see that. Some of the anger she felt at God lessened, and even a small part of
the pain that she felt over the loss ofChris eased.

 "More than that,"Jenny said in a hoarse voice, "you got to seeGerry disappear. Do you know how many
people are reporting disappear-ances on the television whodidn't see their family or friends or anyone
else disappear?"

"No."Megan reached across the table, drawn by the young woman's pain, and smoothed her hair from
her face.Twenty-three years old; so alone and so scared. What has happened to you? "No, I don't."

 "Hundreds,Mrs.Gander ,"Jenny said. "Probably thousands. But you saw the disappearance. There was
no alien ray beam. No weapon. Nothing.Gerry just-left. You were shown what happened toChris . If
you hadn't been called in last night, ifGerry hadn't ended up on that building and you hadn't gone up after
him, you wouldn't have seen anything. You would have woken this morning to findChris vanished and his
crumpled clothes left behind in his bed. You wouldn't have had the answer you have now. Don't you
see?"

"I do,"Megan said, tasting the salt of her own tears on her lips. "I dosee. I also see that God put you
here with me to help me."

 Jennywas silent. More tears ran down her face. "I wish I could be-lieve that, because I am so scared
right now."

"You can believe it,"Megan said. "What other reason could there be for you to go out on a non-date
with a teenaged boy and his fake ID last night?"
Jennyshook her head. "I don't know. But God-God has never been part of my life."

Megansmoothed the young woman's hair from her face, unable to stop herself, wanting so badly to take
her fears and pain away. "God has always been part of your life,Jenny . Whatever you've been through,
God helped you survive it to get to this moment. To be withJoey . To read that bookBill left that I have
never seemed to find the time to get to." She took a shuddering breath. "To help me believe. And I will
help you to believe. I promise."

 Unable to sit in her chair anymore,Megan got up and walked around the table. She put her arms
aroundJenny and held her tight, then was surprised at how fiercely the young woman held her back.

The doorbell rang.

Breaking the embrace after a final squeeze,Megan walked to the front door. After last night, she
wouldn't have been surprised to find a group of MPs orBoydFletcher on her front porch.

 Instead,MelindaDawson stood there.Melinda was one of the kids thatMegan counseled on a regular
basis. Tall and gangly, with punk--cut, brilliant red hair and Goth-style clothing, not quite fitting in with the
base kids,Melinda was prone to violent displays that unnerved her mother, a single parent who worked
at the base commissary.

 "Mrs.Gander,"Melinda said hesitantly. Then she burst into tears. "My mom is gone! I found her clothes
in her bed! She was gone! Just like all the other missing people! " Her voice shattered and she stepped
towardMegan with her arms outstretched. "I don't know what to do! Nobody can help me find her! "

Wrapping her arms around the young girl,Megan held her tightly. "It's okay,Melinda . We'll figure out
what to do. I promise. We'll figure out what to do."

"I didn't know where else to go!"Melinda said.

 "You came here,Melinda . That was the right thing to do." Glancing up from the girl,Megan looked out
into the street in front of her house. She saw other kids then, all of them clients of hers. All of them were
coming to her.

IfJenny had not helped her see the truth of what had happened,Megan knew she would have been
overwhelmed by the arrival of the kids. Instead, she was ready, and she knew then the task that the Lord
had put before her.
Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1526 Hours

 When he topped the small ridge in the Hummer he'd requisitioned from the motor pool, Goose saw that
one of the news teams had beaten him to the site and were even now setting up their satellite re-lay
equipment on the big truck carrying the OneWorld Communica-tions logo.

 The dirty-brown stream occupied the ragged center of the small de-pression. Almost thirty feet across
and no more than four feet deep, the slow-moving stream snaked through the depression in gentle
undula-tions between the moderately steep sides. In several places, animal runs and bare areas showing
high foot and vehicle traffic had scoured the rough riverbank. A few small trees grew along the banks,
stub-bornly not giving in to the heat and the sun and the barrenness that plagued the land. Weeds grew in
clumps, like knotted scabs from a fun-gal disease.

 Over three hundred people-Rangers, U.N. peacekeeping troops, Turkish army soldiers, and even a few
nomadic tribesmen who lived outside the cities-stood along the hills leading to the stream. There were a
few vehicles, military jeeps and trucks, but for the most part it was obvious the spectators had arrived on
foot. Under the sparse shade offered by the anemic trees, litters bearing wounded from all three mil-itary
forces sat with groups waiting to move them forward in the long lines that had formed at the stream's
edges and met in the middle where Baker stood baptizing people.

 CorporalTommyBonosat behind the Hummer’s steering wheel. He was young and lean, his angular face
a mask of dirt and grease. He'd come fromBrooklyn , from a long line of firemen, but he'd wanted to see
the world before he settled into the old neighborhood at one of the firehouses. His bloody knuckles
showed how hard and fast he had been working in the motor pool to get vehicles ready for the night's
evacuation.

"Man, Sarge,"Tommy said in a dazed voice. "Have you ever seen the like?"

 "No," Goose answered. But he'd heard of events like this one. His father had been baptized in
theSatillaRiver inWaycross,Georgia , when he'd been fifteen years old.

 The man who had baptizedWesleyGander had been a traveling re-vival speaker who had worn a white
seersucker suit and played a guitar. The man had favored bluesy gospel, and threw in a few hot licks that
had scandalized the mothers in the crowds and won over the hearts of the youngsters. He'd arrived in a
battered orange Ford pickup that ad-vertised handyman work and carried the tools of his trade in the
back. Before doing the revival, the man had worked around town, mending fences, cleaning out garages,
and doing small carpentry jobs in ex-change for lodging and meals.

 On the final day of the week-long revival, after the man had deliv-ered a standing, shouting oration under
the tent that had been bor-rowed from the farmers' marketplace, interspersed the whole time with music
and anecdotes, he had called for those who wanted to knowJesus Christ as his or her personal
savior.WesGander didn't tell the story much, but when he did, Goose was still able to see the fires of
conviction in his father's eyes. The revival had been a come-to-Jesus success that was never again
equaled inWaycross,Georgia .

 According to the local story, there were so many who came forward that day, and the spirit was so
strong among them, that the revivalist had led them on a three-mile walk to theSatillaRiver . There the
bap-tisms had begun. The man had dunked everyone who came forward, the symbolic resurrection of a
person after accepting the Son of God's most precious gift.

"Get us closer," Goose said.

Tommyput the Hummer in gear again and crept toward the stream. "What are you gonna do about this,
Sarge?"

Goose surveyed all the people around him. "I don't know."

 CorporalJosephBakerstood waist deep in the stream water. Tall and broad with flat features and a
round face,Baker looked like a gentle bear. He stood six feet eight inches tall, the tallest man in the
company.

 Bakergripped the nose and mouth of the man standing beside him, put a hand under his back as the man
folded his arms over his chest, and lowered him into the water. A moment later, he brought the man back
up.

The man fiercely hugged Baker, then sloshed through the loose mud of the streambed to where he'd left
his gear with a compatriot who was already soaked. The freshly baptized man wore the uniform of a
Turkish soldier. The man holding his weapon was a U.N. trooper.

Tommystopped the jeep thirty yards from the river. "I can't go any farther, Sarge."

 "This is good enough,Tommy ." Goose lifted his M-4A1 from the floorboard between his feet and slung
the assault rifle over his shoul-der. He stepped from the Hummer and felt his injured knee nearly buckle
under him as it refused to take his weight, even with the brace. But he took another step and the knee
loosened up. The pain was sharp and edged enough to bite ferociously.

WhenTommy switched off the Hummer’s engine, Goose heard the singing.



"Just as I am, without one plea,

But that Thy blood was shed for me,

And that Thou bidst me come to Thee,
0 Lamb of God, I come, I come. "



 The music swelled across the stream, filling the depression with hope. As Goose slowed and looked
around, the music grew stronger as more people joined in.



"Just as I am, and waiting not

To rid my soul of one dark blot,

To Thee whose blood can cleanse each spot,

0 Lamb of God, I come, I come."



For the first time, Goose noticed that the faces of the soldiers and the people around him were free of
worry and fear and tension. They weren't like the faces of the soldiers he had left back along the border.



"Just as I am, though tossed about

With many a conflict, many a doubt,

Fightings and fears within, without,

0 Lamb of God, I come, I come."



 Electricity scurried along Goose's neck as he listened to the song. In the stream, Bakern kept baptizing
the men who stepped forward. He took the first of a line, then switched to the other line. The effort the
man made at lowering all those people into the stream water and pulling them back up again was nothing
short of Herculean.



"Just as I am, poor, wretched, blind;

Sight, riches, healing of the mind,

Yea, all I need in Thee to find,

 0 Lamb of God, I come, I come."
 The group of OneWorld reporters made their way down through the people on the stream bank. A
woman led the way, and for a mo-ment Goose experienced a flash of recognition, but he lost the woman
in the crowd. For a second there, he thought he knew her.

 Then he spotted Private Braydon Childers, one of the newest re-cruits to the 75th. Braydon was tall and
fit but wore thick army-issue glasses. Stubble showed along his jaw. His uniform was soaking wet.

 Goose moved through the crowd. Rangers that saw him looked guilty and turned away, but Goose also
noted that they were men who were on break, relieved of digging fighting holes and setting up booby
traps.

The only dereliction of duty going on was Baker's water supply team.

"Private Childers," Goose said.

"Yes, First Sergeant." Childers turned in a smooth quarter turn. "Why isn't that water supply truck
moving?" Goose kept his voice level and conversational.

 "We were pumping water from the stream, First Sergeant, just like we were ordered. There were
already people here. People from the U.N. task forces and from the Turkish army. A few of the nomads.
All of them were doing the same thing, First Sergeant."

"Getting water?"

"Yes."

"But that stopped."

"Yes, sir. One of the men of our water detail was talking about Corporal Dockery."

 An image of the impaled Ranger filled Goose's mind. From what he understood, Dockery was still alive,
though the medical team working him didn't know what was keeping him alive.

"They say Dockery sawBillTownsend disappear, First Sergeant,"

Childers went on. He looked at Goose. "I was told you were there. Maybe you saw the angel, too."

The electricity skated across the back of Goose's neck again. "What angel?"

"The angel that came and tookBillTownsend away." Childers blinked behind the thick glasses.

Goose shook his head. "I didn't see an angel, Private."

 "I was told Dockery saw one. He said the angel came down and touchedBillTownsend on the shoulder
and told him it was time to go." Childers searched Goose's face. "Did you see that, First Sergeant?"

Goose hesitated briefly. "No. No, Private Childers, I didn't see that."

A crestfallen look dawned on Childers's face.

"I didn't seeBillTownsend disappear," Goose said. "I turned from him, then turned right back. He was
gone that quick."

 Childers smiled. "That's when the angel took him, First Sergeant. That's what Dockery is saying." He
looked back at the crowd that had formed down at the stream. "One of the guys talked about that. He
said that the angels had come and taken the good men-"

"There are a lot of good men left behind here, Private," Goose pointed out.

 "Yes, Sergeant. I know that. But what I mean is that the angels came for the believers. Men
likeBillTownsend andConleyMacgregor andStanThompson . We got to talking among ourselves, and we
all kept coming up with the same kind of men. Those that disappeared, First Sergeant, were all men who
were in church every Sunday, men who prayed before meals, men who spent time trying to talk to the
rest of us and explain about God. They were men who believed absolutely in the Savior."



"Just as I am, Thou wilt receive,

Wilt welcome, pardon, cleanse, relieve;

Because Thy promise I believe,

0 Lamb of God, I come, I come."



"But we didn't listen, First Sergeant," Childers continued. "We didn't believe enough. Most of us, we're
good men, just like you say. But we weren't those guys.JohnTaylor , he spoke up about then and said
he'd never been baptized. That's whenJimYancy said thatCor-poralBaker had been an ordained minister
back inOhio ."

 Goose knew that was the case.BillTownsend had told him the story of how Baker had been a young
minister until his wife had died in childbirth. He had left home after her funeral, worked at odd jobs to
support himself before he'd enlisted in the Army at twenty-nine.

"JohnaskedCorporalBaker to baptize him," Childers said. "He said he wanted to be saved inChrist
before he ended up dead out here."

 Goose looked out at Baker as he dunked yet another man. The cor-poral seemed tireless, like a man
possessed. And maybe, Goose admit-ted,Baker was. The energy surrounding the stream was a strong
current, a powerful force that wouldn't be denied. He could feel it.

 "At first," Childers said, "the corporal said he couldn't do it any-more. Said he couldn't
believe.JohnTaylor , he asked how couldBaker not believe when Dockery had seen an angel, when so
many people had disappeared just like is described in the Bible. Gone in a twinkling, that's whatBill used
to witness to me."



"Just as I am, Thy love unknown
Hath broken every barrier down;

Now, to be Thine, yea, Thine alone,

0 Lamb of God, I come, I come."



 "JohnTaylor," Childers said, "he started losing it. He was afraid." The private's voice broke. "I guess we
all were by that time, though I'm ashamed to admit it."

"Fear's nothing to be ashamed of, private," Goose said. "Every man in this op is afraid. I'm afraid."

Childers blinked at him. "You?"

 "Yeah. There's somethingPatton used to say about fear. He said, 'Courage is fear holding on a minute
longer.' That's what we're doing out here. Holding on a minute longer."

 "Bakerfinally gave in, First Sergeant," Childers said. "WithJohnTaylor asking him, with me asking him,
and the others that hadn't been baptized,Baker couldn't turn away. So he baptized us. And once he
started, once all those other soldiers figured out what was going on, they came forward, too. You can't
blameBaker . We got it started and he just hasn't had the heart to turn them away." He paused. "Truth to
tell, First Sergeant, I thinkCorporalBaker has found him something out in those waters that maybe he
never really lost."

 Bakerlowered another man into the water and brought him up. As soon as the man was steady, the
corporal reached for another and be-gan speaking.

"I still need that water supply truck running, Private," Goose said. "All your crew has been baptized?"

"Yes, First Sergeant."

 "Get them together. You're in charge. Get that truck moving again. I'll tellCorporalBaker he's relieved of
the water detail and he can con-tinue here."

"I will, First Sergeant." Childers made his way through the crowd and started calling his squad to him.

 Goose walked down the hill and stepped into the stream. The water was warm and moved sluggishly,
rising to wrap around his thighs. He crossed to Baker, feeling his boots slip on the mud.

 Bakerpaused in his baptism. Water droplets spotted his flushed face. "First Sergeant," the big man
greeted him. He looked nervous, but he also looked like a man who wasn't going to be deterred from his
ap-pointed task.

Goose was aware of the stares of the other men around them. Fear hollowed all their eyes.

"Carry on, Corporal. I just wanted you to know that you'd been re-lieved of the water detail."

 "I was going to get back to that as soon as I could,"Baker apolo-gized. He turned his face toward the
stream banks. "But they just kept coming."
"I can see that. I'm going to see if I can find a chaplain or two who can help you. Big as you are, you're
not going to be able to carry this load by yourself."

Bakerbeamed. "It's not just me, Sergeant. God is here with me. I've felt His touch. I knew I couldn't
walk away from this and leave it un-done."

 "Corporal!" Four men carrying a bloodstained gurney charged through the stream, splashing water in all
directions. They were part of the U.N. forces. "We need you now! I don't know if Hakim is gonna make
it! He wanted you to baptize him!"

Bakerstepped toward the gurney.

 The man on the gurney was young. His black skin looked ashen. Perspiration gleamed against his shaved
scalp, and his head lolled to one side. Bloody bandages covered his midsection and his thighs. His eyes
held a glazed appearance, and Goose didn't think the young sol-dier was going to make it either.

"Son."Baker put his hand on the young soldier's forehead. "Can you hear me, Son?"

 "Yes." The young soldier's voice came out as a hoarse whisper. "I hear." He focused his eyes on Baker.
"I want-I want God." His breath rattled in the back of his throat. Tremors shuddered through his body
and his eyes rolled up into his head.

 Bakerpinched the young soldier's nose closed and covered his mouth with a big hand. "I baptize Hakim
in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." He nodded. "Put him into the water."

 The men holding the gurney lowered the wounded man into the stream, immersing him entirely. Blood
floated up from his wounds and formed clouds in the brown water, clearly seen because of the bright sun.

"Bring him up,"Baker said.

The men pulled the young soldier back up. For a moment, Goose thought the man was dead.

Bakertook his hand back.

 "Thank you," the young soldier said. Then a final long breath re-leased from his lungs and the tremors
that had coursed through his body ceased. He relaxed in death.

"He held on," one of the soldiers who had carried the gurney whis-pered hoarsely. "He knew he was
dying, but he hung on till we could get him here. He insisted on coming when he heard what you were
doing."

Tenderly,Baker shut the young soldier's eyes. "It's done. He's with God now."

 "Thank you, preacher," one of the men bearing the gurney said. Together, the four men turned and
trudged away with the body of their dead friend.

Tears glittered as they spilled downCorporalBaker 's broad face. He swiveled to look at Goose. "I've
got to do this, Sergeant. I didn't mean to desert my post. After all these years, God has put His work
back in my life."

"I don't think He ever took it away," Goose said softly. "I think He just made you see again." He nodded
toward the waiting lines that met in the heart of the stream. "Get back to work, Corporal. I'll see that you
get some relief."

Bakershook his head. "I'll welcome the help, First Sergeant, but I

won't leave this post. God is making me strong. I'll endure."

"I think you will," Goose said. "As you were, Corporal."

"God keep you, Sergeant, "Baker said. Then he reached for the next man in line.

 Goose made his way back to the stream bank. Even as he stepped up onto dry land, the woman
reporter thrust a microphone into his face. She was young and beautiful in khakis despite the oppressive
heat and the dust that constantly carried through the wind.

"First Sergeant Gander," she said.

Looking at her, Goose recognized her from that morning inGlitterCity . It seemed like that had been
years ago instead of hours.

"MissVinchenzo," Goose greeted, though he never broke stride.

"You remember me?" The fact seemed to surprise her and catch her momentarily off guard.

"Yes, ma'am," Goose answered. "I hope you'll excuse me. I've got a job to do." He kept moving up the
hill, feeling the sharp ache in his knee as he ascended the grade.

"I'd like to interview you," she said.

"Yes, ma'am. Just not right now. I'll have to clear it with my cap-tain."

"That would beCalRemington ?"DanielleVinchenzo matched him stride for stride as he marched uphill.

 "Yes, ma'am." Goose kept his answers short and clipped. It was a habit. Talk too much and the media
could do almost anything they wanted with what was said. He'd been in front of microphones and
cameras a lot.CalRemington loved media attention, and his men sometimes got caught in the glow of the
camera, too.

"Do you have anything to say about what is going on here?"Danielle asked.

 "No, ma'am." Goose waved toTommyBono , who legged it over to the Hummer and climbed in behind
the wheel.

 BehindDanielle , a cameraman loped along with a camcorder on his shoulder. The man struggled to keep
the camera trained on Goose and the woman.

 "Baptism isn't exactly standard operating procedure for the army, is it, SergeantGander ?"Danielle
asked.

"No, ma'am." Goose could see that the young woman was getting frustrated with the interview. He also
guessed that the transmission was going out live.
Earlier,Remington had warned that many of the reporters had sat-ellite access again and were
broadcasting live interviews with the Turk-ish army, the U.N. task force, and Rangers. Up till now,
Goose had kept himself insulated within the closed perimeter of battlefield ops while the reporters had
been kept outside the gates.

"A number of people might see this sudden desire to get baptized as an act of desperation,"Danielle said.

 Goose turned and stood his ground so suddenly that the young woman had to back away to keep from
colliding with him. He kept a neutral expression on his face. "Is that what you think,MissVinchenzo ?"

She froze, not knowing what to say.

 "Because if that's what you think," Goose went on, "if you think that those soldiers out there aren't going
to hold the line when the time comes ... well, ma'am, I sure wouldn't be standing where you're standing
when the train comes through."

 All around them, the men who had been privy to the conversation suddenly erupted in an explosion of
applause and shouts of encour-agement.

"Hoo-rah! "

"That's telling her, Sarge!"

The cameraman behind the young reporter swung around to cap-ture the reactions.

 Instead of being angry as Goose had expected,Danielle nodded and smiled in acknowledgement. She
switched the microphone off. "Very good, Sergeant Gander. I'm not giving up on getting your story,
though. Another time?"

 Goose swung himself aboard the Hummer and made his injured knee as comfortable as he could. "At
my invitation, ma'am, it would be my pleasure." He touched his helmet respectfully, then wavedTommy
into motion.

 As they wheeled around, Goose looked at Baker standing in water up to his waist in the middle of the
stream, the two lines of men lead-ing up either hillside. At the moment, Goose wasn't worried about the
men or even the Syrians. He had no idea whatCalRemington was going to do when he learned that one
of his corporals was baptizing men while being covered by international news networks. Or that his first
sergeant, the man who knew what he wanted done, was responsi-ble for leaving the corporal in place.

 The strains of the invocation somehow remained clear even over the roar of the Hummer's engine,
ringing in Goose's ears.



"Just as I am, of that free love,

The breadth, length, depth, and height to prove,

Here for a season, then above,
0 Lamb of God, I come, I come!"




United States of America

Fort Benning,Georgia

Local Time8:37 A.M.




 Voices wokeJoey . He tried to retreat from them and drop back into slumber, where he didn't have to
face all the pain that awaited him, but he didn't have any luck. The voices kept intruding because they
were voices he didn't expect in his house.

 He pushed himself up into a sitting position inChris 's bed. Even after all these years and the nights he'd
spent "camping out" with Chris under a sheet while they fought off bears and pirates, he still forgot about
the bunk bed above and slammed his forehead into the stout frame. Yelping in pain,Joey rubbed his
forehead and ducked under the overhead bed. In a way, that pain felt good. At least there was an
understandable reason for that feeling. The pain he'd felt when he woke up was caused by stuff too weird
to ever explain. And he knew that the pain in his head would fade in minutes. He didn't think the other
would ever go away.

 Despite knowing that he wasn't going to findChris there,Joey still looked through both beds. His heart
felt cold and leaden inside his chest. Before he could stop himself, he was crying. His fists knotted in the
sheets and he wanted to rip them from the bed.

 But the rage inside him died stillborn because he knew the defi-ance would do no good. He'd dreamed
over and over of getting to the child-care facilities. He'd arrived late every time. When he hadn't dreamed
about being late, he'd dreamed about leaving the house last night without saying good-bye toChris . He'd
heardChris in this room, playing with his action figures, doing the voices for all of them.

 Some of those voices had even been different. AndJoey had slithered out the door like a spy in
aJamesBond film.

Joeyclosed his eyes and wiped his face.

All he'd had to do last night was step into the room for a minute."Hey, Squirt. I'm outta here. Catch
you later."

AndChris would have said,"Okay,Joey. Have fun. After while, alligator. "
Now he never would.

 Guilt smotheredJoey like one of Grandmother Gander's home-made quilts. He didn't know if getting to
say good-bye toChris would have changed how he felt now, but he couldn't get the thought out of his
head that he would never have the chance again. He reached down and picked upChris 's tattered teddy
bear, then tucked it ten-derly under one of the blankets on a pillow.

The voices continued. He thought he heard someone crying.

 Thinking about jenny and wondering if she was still there, won-dering if his mom was going to have
anything to say or ask aboutJenny and not knowing how he was going to handle that,Joey walked out
into the hallway in his socks. Last night his mom hadn't asked too many questions aboutJenny . Learning
thatChris had disappeared had blown her away. He'd never seen her cry so much.

And he couldn't help feeling so much of that was because of him. If he could have told her he was
withChris when he disappeared, maybe it would have helped.

 Or maybe he would have disappeared withChris .At least thenChriswouldn't be alone, wherever he
is.Joey still had no definite ideas about where that would be.

 The news programs all had people on them speculating about why the disappearances had occurred.
The theories ran the gamut from aliens from another world to terrorists to some kind of weird fluctuation
in the space-time continuum that had drawn the missing people over into an alternate time stream where
they were actually supposed to exist instead of the one they were in.

 If the guy giving the presentation about the space-time contin-uum theory had looked more like
Commander Data fromStar Trek: The Next Generation instead of Yoda,Joey might have bought into
that one. But the Yoda clone looked like he was a recovering homeless person.

The voices grew louder.

"What am I supposed to do,Mrs.Gander ? I need to find my mom.

Bewildered,Joey stopped and stared into the living room.

 At least twenty kids were gathered there, some of them flopped on the couch and the easy chair. More
of them sat in the floor. Most of them looked like they'd just gotten up from bed. All of them watched the
television news footage about the disappearances and the fighting going on inTurkey andSyria , like the
TV might hold the answer to all their unsolved problems.

 Joeyrecognized some of the kids from around the base. He recog-nized others from the files his mom
sometimes carried home from work. Of course, he was never supposed to look at those files, but he had
anyway because who could have resisted them just sitting there in her file case. He'd wanted to know
how messed up other kids' lives were, to get a better idea of where his own life had gone wrong. He felt
guilty about looking at the files now.

All of the kids in the files had been dealing with problems: anger management issues, new stepparents,
divorced parents, dead parents, parents who cared too much and parents who cared too little, drug
problems and drinking problems, poverty, self-esteem, and learning disorders. Compared to them, he
was normal. He just wasn't happy about it and didn't know how to change it. He stared at the kids.
What were they doing inhis house?

 "I'll tell you what we'renot going to do,Anna ," his mom said from the kitchen. "We're not going to panic.
We're going to take this one step at a time. As soon as the phones come back on again, we're going to
find out where your grandparents are and how they're doing."

"My grandparents?"Anna slapped the kitchen table. "Mrs.Gan-der, I can't live withmy grandparents!
My mom didn't even want to live with my grandparents!" The young teen's voice was almost a shriek.

"Anna," his mom said patiently, "calm down. We're in the dam-age control phase. You remember the
damage control phase from counseling, right?"

 Dazed,Joey walked through the living room to the kitchen, hav-ing to step over the bodies that nearly
covered the carpet. He detected the aroma of fresh-baked cookies. His stomach rumbled in
anticipa-tion.

 His mom stood at the stove, using a spatula to remove fresh cook-ies from the baking sheet. She wore
an apron. Baking was something his mom used as an outlet for her stress.Joey could always tell when his
mom had a bad day because she would turn the stove on, get the apron out, and pull out her to-be-tried
recipes. During days when the weather had been too wet or too cold, she'd also spent time baking
withChris . She'd never done that withJoey .

Jennystood at the counter with a couple of young teen girls. They poured flour and other ingredients into
a large mixing bowl.

 Other young teens and some older teens sat around the dining room table or on the floor up against the
two back walls out of the way of the baking. A young teen girl with braces smiled shyly atJoey . A boy
with a sullen expression said, "Mrs.Gander,Joey 's awake."

Joey's immediate impulse was to ask the guy who'd made him watch commander, but he curbed the
words. No matter what was go-ing on, he had the definite impression that a smart-alecky remark wasn't
going to be a good idea.

His mom turned to face him. Flour marked one of her cheeks and her bangs. "Good morning,Joey ."

Joeynodded.

"We have company," his mom said.

"Yeah," he said sourly. "I kind of got that."

 His mom hesitated, then looked over at jenny, who was looking back at her. "Jenny, could you talk
toJoey and explain things?"

Jennysmiled. "Sure. You've got another batch of cookie dough ready here."

"Good."

Jennywiped her hands on a dishtowel. "We'll need some more flour and sugar before we make another
batch. We scraped the bot-tom of the canisters to get this one."
 "Okay." His mom nodded, already making decisions the way she did when she got on a mission. At
least, that was what Goose called it when his mom got into the get-it-done-yesterday mode. "We'll work
on peanut brittle next. I was planning to make some for Easter, so I have the necessary ingredients.
MaybeJoey can go to the commissary for flour and sugar later." His mom looked at him. "You wouldn't
mind, would you,Joey ?"

 He didn't answer at first, too stunned to reply.Chris had van-ished, Goose was in a border war, and she
was baking with juvenile delinquents from all overFortBenning . "Sure. I don't mind." But he did mind. He
just couldn't tell her that.

 "Let's go,Joey ."Jenny looped her arm through his in a manner that was just too familiar after everything
they had been through last night. She pulled him after her toward the utility room off the kitchen.

 Joeyreluctantly followed her, suddenly resenting the fact thatJenny was still in his house. At me same
time, he knew from the looks on the faces of most of the teenaged boys in the kitchen that he was the
envy of them all with jenny on his arm.

Jennyled him through the small utility room and out the back door. They stood on the covered back
porch amid the ceramic pots that would hold plants and flowers a month or two from now.

If things ever get normal again.

The outside temperature was still cold enough thatJoey could see his own breath for just an instant
before it faded away.

"I know things must be confusing for you right now,"Jenny said.

 "Hey,"Joey said hotly, "contrary to popular opinion, I'm not ex-actly a little kid." The anger and
resentment got away from him before he could contain it. "So you can save the baby talk."

Jennytook a step back and wrapped her arms around herself. "What's wrong with you?"

"Me?"Joey couldn't believe it. "It's not me,Jenny ." He waved to-ward the house. "My house is filled
with people I don't even know. I can't even talk to my mom without somebody hearing me."

Jenny's eyes narrowed. "Those are kids that your mom is counsel-ing. All of them are missing their
parents, brothers, or sisters. None of them had anywhere to turn."

"So they have to show up atmy house?"

"That's kind of selfish, don't you think?"

"Selfish?"

"Yeah. I think them showing up here says a lot for the kind of per-son your mom is."

"They're in my house!"

Glancing over her shoulder, jenny said, "Why don't you try to keep your voice down."

"Because I don't want to,"Joey said, exasperated. "This is stupid! My little brother disappeared last
night! I thought my mom was go-ing to totally freak out! " He let out a pent-up breath because his lungs
were suddenly too full to breathe. "I get up this morning, she's got a houseful of strangers. And she's
baking cookies like everything is all right. Everything isnot all right! "

"Your mom is just trying to help those kids."Jenny eyed him de-liberately.

"She's my mom. Not theirs."

 "I don't think you realize what has happened here,Joey . These disappearances, they happened all
around the world. A lot of people are scared. A lot more than just those kids in your house."

"That's not my problem."

"It's a good thing we're not all as narrow-minded as you are." "Good for who?"

"Those kids in there need help,Joey ."

 Unable to stand still any longer,Joey stepped off the porch. He gazed at the flower beds, remembering
all the times he'd chased base-balls into them when he and Goose had played catch back there. The tire
swing thatChris loved so much still hung from the tree above the covered sandbox he had helped Goose
build three summers ago.

This was his house. His yard. And he had been invaded.

"Russiais threatening war,"Jenny said. "They think theUnited States is somehow responsible for all the
disappearances. It's all over the news." She paused. "Are you listening to me?"

Joeywheeled on her from halfway out into the backyard. "What are you still doing here, jenny?"

"I'm helping your mom."

"Last night you seemed like you were in a hurry to get home."

Jenny's voice turned cold and measured. "Last night," she stated, "I offered to come here and help you
because your dad is over inTur-key , probably fighting for his life, and to be with you when you picked
up your little brother. The only time I was ever in a hurry to get away from you was when I found out
you'd been lying to me."

Tears burned at the backs ofJoey 's eyes but he refused to shed them. "Why are you here now,Jenny ?"

 "Because your mom could use some help. Because she asked me if I would help her if I didn't have
anything better to do." "And you don't?"

 Jennywas quiet for a moment. Her lower lip quivered for just an instant, then stilled. Her gaze turned
cold and distant. "No,Joey , I don't have anything better to do. I live with my dad. He's an alco-holic. My
mom couldn't take it anymore, so she ran away. At least, that's the excuse she used for leaving us when I
was fifteen. I've put myself through school since then, got my dad up and going so it took him longer to
finally get fired from jobs that he stopped showing up late to." She took a breath. "I started to work
atMcDonald 's when I was sixteen because somebody needed to pay the rent in those crummy
apartments where we lived. I work at Kettle 0' Fish to pay the rent in the crummy apartment where we
live now. We've lived in that apartment for over two years. That's the longest I've ever lived in any one
place."

Joeystared at her, not knowing what to say.

 "I have to hide my money around the house because my dad will spend it on alcohol and beer if he finds
it. These days, since I've been able to pay the bills, my dad works less and less. I don't go to college
because it would cost too much. I change jobs a lot because sooner or later my dad will find out where I
work and come in there drunk and cause a scene."

"Jenny, I-"

 up,Joey ! " Her voice was fierce. "I don't want to hear 'I'm sorry.' I get that enough from my dad. 'I'm
sorry doesn't pay the bills or put food on the table or give me back any of my self-respect." She paused.

Joeylet the silence stretch between them, not knowing what to say. He got the distinct feeling that
whatever he said would only cause her to take his head off.

"Do you want to know why I don't date?"Jenny asked in a strained voice.

Joeydidn't answer. Too much was coming at him at one time, and he didn't know how to deal with it.

 "Because when I dated in the past,"Jenny said, "I heard my dad say things to me I never thought he
would say. Awful things,Joey . He accused me of stuff I didn't do. Stuff I don't do. He talks to me the
way he used to talk to my mom. Only I'm not her; I can't yell back at him the way she did. And even if I
did, things would just be worse. I watched each of them put the other in the emergency room when I was
little. More than once."

"I didn't know,"Joey whispered.

 "Of course you didn't know,"Jenny snapped. "I don't let anybody know. I don't want anybody to know.
You look at me and all you see is a body. You don't even know me, but all of a sudden you're
con-vinced you really like me, or maybe you're even falling in love with me." She let out a ragged breath.
"But you don't know me. You don't even try to get to know me. You just like the way I look."

Embarrassment burnedJoey 's face.

"Guys come around and hit on me,"Jenny said. "They think that I need them. I don't need them. I'm
making it on my own. Maybe it's not anybody's dream world, but it's what I've got to live with."

Joeywaited for a moment, wanting to make sure she was done. He knew he should just wait her out,
wait until she went back into the house. Instead, he asked, "Why don't you leave?"

"Leave my dad?"

"Yeah."

 "Because he's my dad,"Jenny answered. "And because everyone else has left him. My mom. His parents
and brothers and sister. His friends. Oh, he still has drinking buddies, but they only come around when
he's got money and he's buying." She paused. "Kind of the same way guys come around me because
they like what they see and not because of who I am."
"Nobody should have to live like that."Joey thought he was being supportive, but judging from the look
of reproach on jenny's face, she hadn't taken it that way.

"Grow up,Joey ," she said. "It's not a perfect world. Sometimes you just have to take what life hands
you. If I left my dad, he would die or end up in jail. I hate living with him, but I don't want that to
happen." A single tear tracked down her cheek. "He's my father,Joey , and I'm not going to leave him.
He's been left by too many people."

 Joeyshoved his hands into his pockets. His anger had wilted, but the pain inside him still resonated,
stronger now because he could feel the pain inside jenny.

 "And you're not the only one with a fake ID,Joey ," she said. "I'm not twenty-three. I'mnineteen. So if I
can handle this, I know you can." She nodded at the house. "I think your mom is a fantastic lady, but she
has her hands full with those kids in there. She could use some help." She looked at him expectantly.

Joeystared back at her. "You lied to me. You told me you were twenty-three. "

"Isn't that the pot calling the kettle black?"

 "No, it isn't. If you hadn't lied to me, I would have never lied to you. And you don't know everything
there is about living here."

"And what don't I know?"

 Joeythought about the feelings he'd been having for months, about howChris had seemed to consume the
attentions of his mom and Goose, about how he had been relegated to the role of baby-sit-ter. The way
his mom took in the kids who showed up at his house was a perfect case in point.

And nowJenny was using her own problems to try to make his seem insignificant. That was wrong. He
was entitled to his feelings, and there was no denying how things had been around his house. Ev-erybody
had an excuse for why things had been that way. But in the end, that's all they were: excuses.

 Disgusted, frustrated, and hurting, missingChris ,Joey turned away and threw an open hand back at her.
"Forget about it,Jenny . It's not worth talking about." He walked away, heading toward the base, not
knowing what he was going to do but knowing he couldn't stay there with all the pain and strangers inside
his house.

He felt her eyes on his back for a long time, but when he turned around a couple blocks away, she
wasn't there. He kept walking, feel-ing more lost and alone than he ever had.
United States75th Rangers 3rd Battalion

Field Command Post

35 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1542 Hours




 The world hung suspended from a single strand as thin as a gossamer spider web above the gleaming
jaws of death.

 CalRemingtonsat in his ready room in the command post and re-flected on that thought. The prose was
too purple to put in a field re-port, but the summation would stand out in a biography or an episode of
The History Channel.

 The Ranger captain had no doubt that history was being made and that he would probably figure large in
that history. A third of the world's population had disappeared with no apparent catalyst-ex-cept for a
sudden border skirmish that had flared up in theMiddle East . TheMiddle East had been a hotbed of
terrorism and world threat for decades-centuries even. But the fighting had never been anything like this.
Some weapon of unimaginable power had been unleashed, andRemington had been at ground zero.

 Rosenzweig's formula had changed the balance of power within theMiddle East . If there was any
finger-pointing later, Rosenzweig would surely bear the brunt of the blame. Perhaps the Israeli scientist
had come up with the miracle growth serum, but someone else-surely the Russians or the Chinese-had
come up with the weapon that had eradicated all the missing people.

But why give it to the Syrians to use?

That was the question.

 Sitting behind the desk,Remington rested his elbows on the chair arms and rested his hands together,
fingertip pressed to fingertip. He felt tired. He was coming up on almost forty-eight hours without sleep.
But he'd never needed that much sleep, and he'd always been able to get from his body what he
demanded of it. He wouldn't accept any less now.

 He scanned the notebook computer in front of him. The LCD screen filled the small lightless room with
soft blue illumination that grayed out all the color of his BDUs and the blue steel of his Colt.45 lying in the
modular holster on the metal desk. An earbud connected him to the computer so that he could listen to
the files he wanted to without being overheard.

Now that the Crays were up and running at peak performance,Remington had the files archived off-site
where he had access to them for reviewing through the notebook computer. He scanned the FOX and
CNN feeds coming through, as well as theOneWorldNewsNet footage.

 FOX and CNN covered most of the domestic scene in theUnited States , including the disaster areas
that had been declared in all the major cities.Chicago had been hit hard, andLos Angeles had
experi-enced looting, fires, and riots the likes of which even that city had never seen. D.C.,New York
,Atlanta all had their own share of trou-bles. The list went on.

 The footage rolled, showing wrecked cars, burning buildings, downed planes shattered across airfields
and cities. One catastrophe followed another. Martial law had been declared in several metropol-itan
areas, but the understaffing of the police, fire, and National Guard units that had experienced even larger
percentages of disap-pearances than the population at large had made it almost impossi-ble to enforce.

A knock sounded at the door.

"Come,"Remington said.

"Sir,"CorporalWaller , one of the computer techs, said, "there's something onOneWorldNewsNet that
you might want to see."

"What is it, Corporal?"Remington let the irritation he felt at being interrupted sound in his voice.

Wallerhesitated.

"You're burning daylight, mister,"Remington warned.

"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir. It's just kind of hard to explain. The OneWorld reporter, she's with the 75th,
Captain."

 That wasn't news. The presence of the news teams in the area, with the acknowledgement that they
couldn't fault the military in any way, had been one of the concessionsRemington had granted
toNicolaeCarpathia 's liaison. Evidently Carpathia was planning to address the United Nations when he
made an upcoming trip to theUnited States . The new Romanian president wanted to use some of the
footage of the military engagement along the Turkish-Syrian border to make whatever case he was going
to present.

"I knew those people were in the area,"Remington said. "As you might recall, I authorized their
presence."

 "Yes, sir. I know that, sir. But the story they're covering. That's what I thought you might be interested
in."

 "What is it?"Remington prepared himself to royally chew out his intelligence teams. If he had to learn of
an enemy incursion into the protected territories through a news service, heads were going to roll.

"It's the 75th, sir. They're-" the corporal paused.

"Spit it out, soldier." Uncertainty, one of the feelings thatRem-ington most hated in the world, nibbled at
the edges of his confi-dence. The planned retreat from the border was scheduled on a precarious
timetable. He wouldn't allow anything to circumvent that schedule.

"Well, Captain, there's a man baptizing soldiers out there."

At first,Remington was certain he hadn't heard right. He couldn't possibly have heard right. "What man?"

"I don't know, sir. One of ours."

"Dismissed, Corporal."

"Yes, sir." The corporal left with alacrity.

 Remingtonclosed the windows and opened a live streaming feed from OneWorld. The screen cleared,
showing a beautiful brunette standing in front of a slow-moving stream. He recognized her from earlier
transmissions that had basically introduced her to the viewing audience and recapped the situation along
the border.

 "This isDanielleVinchenzo ofOneWorldNewsNet ," the young woman said. "We're only a few miles-or
klicks, as the soldiers of the United States Army Rangers would say-from the border separatingTurkey
fromSyria . Nearly nine hours have passed since the devastat-ing launch of the SCUD missiles that piled
up casualties here at ground zero along the border and several targets deeper intoTurkey . The soldiers
here-the Rangers, the United Nations peacekeeping ef-fort, and the Turkish army-know they are in for
the battle of their lives."

 Glancing past the woman, using the zoom function on the video program,Remington focused on the
stream in the background. The cameraman almost had the shot in the frame. He couldn't recognize the
man doing the baptisms, but his actions were plain enough.Remington saw one line that was on the east
side of the stream, judging by the sun's position, made up of soldiers from all three units stationed along
the border, as well as civilians. They stood qui-etly and patiently, and they appeared to be singing.

 "Events have gone rather badly for the 75th Rangers,"Danielle said, "as they have for every soldier
stationed along the contested border. The death count from this morning's attack is still not final-ized.
Nor have the lists been compiled of those who have sim-ply.vanished as has happened around so much
of the planet."

Remingtonclicked the touch pad, bringing the image back to normal.

 "But here in the heart of the darkness between these two ancient enemies," the reporter went on, "a man
seems driven to snatch hope from the jaws of despair."

 The video suddenly cut away and brought up stock footage.Remington immediately recognized the
replay of Goose carrying the wounded Marine from one of the downed Sea Knight helicopters.

 "So many of you are familiar with the horrible accident that knocked Marine reinforcements from the air
only two hours after the blistering attack launched by the Syrian military. Many of you first came in
contact with this man then."

 The image zoomed in tight on Goose's face, showing the blood-and the sand-encrusted kerchief over his
lower face, and the haunted blue eyes. The scar along his right cheekbone stood out bloodred against
sunburned flesh.
Remingtonhad seen the footage several times. Goose was clearly being molded into a hero by the media.
But not Goose's captain. The OneWorld reporter hadn't sought him out for an interview. The fact chafed
him. Goose hated media attention, yet here he was be-coming a poster child for the Syrian engagement.

 "This isFirst SergeantSamuelAdams 'Goose'Gander ,"Danielle said, "of the United States Army's 75th
Rangers. He helped organize the rescue of Glitter City, the television and media center north of the
border, after the initial SCUD launch, then arrived back at the border encampment to bring in
reinforcements from the 26th Ma-rine Expeditionary Unit from the Amphibious Readiness Group in the
Mediterranean sea headed by USSWasp."

 The video changed again, showing a quick snippet of Wasp cutting across the ocean under a full head of
steam with helicopters flaring around her.

"In minutes, Sergeant Gander was forced to go from bringing a reinforcement team into the area to
helping his flagging troops re-cover from the devastating attack to rescuing the survivors."

Video footage rolled, showing Marine helicopters exploding.

 Then the image changed and showedDanielle standing on the stream bank again. "With the
reinforcements they were promised ly-ing either in the triage area they've put together or as casualties
across this battleground, with no hope of other reinforcements for some time to come, and knowing that
they've been left in charge of defending this country, most soldiers would be daunted to say the least.
Others might even give up."

 The camera swung past the reporter and focused on the two lines of men that met in the center of the
stream. Several of the soldiers carried some wounded on gurneys.

"But the men of the 75th Rangers are not ordinary men,"Danielle said in a voice-over. "They are the best
of the best. The cream of the crop. Even now, facing tremendous odds with the Syr-ian army standing
down-at least for the moment-on the other side of the border, these soldiers have found a renewed faith."

The camera focused on the huge man standing in the middle of the stream.Remington didn't know the
man-yet. But he would, and there would be an accounting two seconds later. The big man placed his
hand over the face of a U.N. soldier, then lowered him into the water and raised him.

"I'm told this man, Corporal Joseph Baker, one of Sergeant Gan-der's handpicked crew, was an
ordained minister who had given up his church after losing his wife and child to tragedy."Danielle 's voice
quieted. "Some said his faith was broken. ButBaker has found that faith again, here on one of the
bloodiest battlefields that has happened in recent years."

The footage continued to roll. The mountain of a man dealing with the tide of men coming at him from
both sides worked like a machine. He talked briefly to each man in turn, covered the man's face with a
big hand, and dunked him.

 "Most of the soldiers have to hurry back to their posts,"Danielle said. "In the beginning, I'm
toldCorporalBaker simply came here on a water detail assigned by Sergeant Gander. When one of his
crew asked to be baptized,Baker granted that request. Other crews from the U.N. peacekeeping forces
and the Turkish army were on hand getting water as well."

The camera view pulled back and shifted to show a broader view of the stream. Hundreds of men lined
the hillsides.

 Remingtonswore in disbelief. What had Goose been thinking by leaving Baker in place instead of taking
the man into custody?

The camera view tightened onDanielleVinchenzo again.

 "Some of the men consented to talk to us,"Danielle said. "Al-though most preferred their experience here
today to be kept private." She turned to look off-camera and gestured to someone.

 A soldier wearing the familiar baby blue headgear that identified the United Nations peacekeeping teams
stepped on-camera withDanielle . He was big and young and nervous and soaking wet. Deep scratches
showed on the left side of his face.

 "This isCorporalFlanneryO'Doyle of the Irish contingent of the United Nations peacekeepers,"Danielle
said, turning to the man. "Corporal, I'll only take a few minutes of your time. I know you've got to get
back to your unit."

"Yes, miss. Me an' the boyos, we've been powerful busy."O'Doyle looked slightly embarrassed. When
he smiled, he showed a gap be-tween his two front teeth.

"This assignment hasn't turned out as you expected."

Sadness touched the young corporal's face. "No, miss. I lost three

of me mates this mornin', I did. Good men. All of 'em." "I'm sorry to hear that, Corporal."

"Yes, miss. Thank you, miss."O'Doyle put his hands behind his back at parade rest.

"What brought you here?"

O'Doylelooked over his shoulder, squinting slightly against the sun to the west. The deep scratches on
his face showed more. "I heard about a man baptizin' in the stream, miss. An' I had to come."

"Why?"

 The big Irishman shrugged. "I was raised Presbyterian, miss. I al-ready been baptized once. When I was
just a wee lad. Me ma, she saw to that. She was a right stubborn old lady when she put her mind to it,
she was. An' she puts her mind to it often." He pursed his lips. "But I never saw to gettin' baptized on me
own. A decision like that, why it seems like it ought to be left betwixt a man an' his Maker, you know?"

The camera tightened onO'Doyle 's face. He stuck his chin out, obviously having trouble speaking.

'This mornin', after that ferocious battle, all them men dyin' an' them bombs droppin' from the air, why it
was like-"O'Doyle pursed his lips and sucked in a quick breath. Tears glittered in his green eyes. "I held
one of me mates when he died this mornin', miss. That's just somethin' you don't forget. But as I sat there
holdin' him, feelin' him goin' away from me, I felt like God hisself put it in me heart to get right with him.
To come to him on me own two feet." His voice broke.

"And you heard aboutCorporalBaker ,"Danielle prompted gently.
 "Yes, miss. I did. An' I asked me sergeant if I couldn't come out here an' get right with the Lord. He sent
me on, he did. An' I got here an'CorporalBaker , why he rightly baptized me."O'Doyle looked atDanielle
. "I tell you, miss, I haven't felt like this in me whole life. I feel like I done been reborn. I come up outta
that water, an' I knew every-thin' was gonna be okay."

"You mean with the coming battle?"

 O'Doyleshook his head. "No, miss. We got a powerful lot of fightin' ahead of this. Our commandin'
officers, they all tell us that. I don't know if I'll make it back home or not, but whatever happens, I know
it's gonna be all right." He touched his wet uniform. "I'm not alone anymore, miss." He nodded back out
at the stream. "Me an' these men what's here, them what has had God hisself speakin' into our hearts,
why we'll never be alone on this battlefield again." He shifted his assault rifle over his shoulder and
touched his blue beret. "Now, if you'll excuse me, miss, I gotta get back to me unit."

"Of course, Corporal,"Danielle said. "Thank you for sharing that with us."

 "Miss,"O'Doyle said with deadly earnestness, "if you go through somethin' like that back there, bein'
saved in the Lord, I mean, you'll find you just gotta tell somebody. It's too big to just keep all to
your-self. I'll pray for you, miss, that God will keep you safe in his sight, an' that you'll make your own
peace with him." Without another word, he turned and trotted away.

 DanielleVinchenzoappeared to have been caught off guard. She fumbled the smooth transition back to
the camera. "This isDanielleVinchenzo , on special assignment forOneWorldNewsNet , where a miracle
is taking shape on a battlefield."

 The news channel switched back to the anchor, and the stories moved on to the disappearances that had
taken place around the world.

 Remingtontapped the touch pad and broke the television feed. He leaned back in his chair and stripped
the earbud from his ear. An-ger swirled through him. He swore.

 The mission had fallen apart. He'd been used by the CIA and didn't know the full extent of his culpability
in precipitating the at-tack, had been in command of the rescue mission that had ended up scattered
across the hardpan. His first sergeant was allowing a crazed corporal to baptize the men of three armies
while the event was filmed for an international audience.

Remingtondidn't want to hear about it when the joint chiefs learned of the baptisms. He rubbed his face.
More than anything, he needed a win. And to get that win he knew he needed to start putting his foot
down and take command of the unit that Goose had let slip through his fingers.

AndRemington was going to start by putting an end to the non-sense taking place in that stream.

Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1623 Hours



Goose parked the Hummer along the ridgeline overlooking the stream where the baptisms continued.
He'd managed to send three chaplains to aidCorporalBaker , drawing from those who manned the triage
center. Instead of allowing himself to be relieved,Baker had continued with his work. Seven other
chaplains from the U.N. forces and the Turkish army had joined them.

Singing continued to fill the streambed area.

 Thankfully, Goose noted, the woman reporter for OneWorld was absent. WithRemington stepping out
into the field himself, Goose really didn't want her around to witness what he knew was going to be a
confrontation.

 Feeling the pain of his knee from the driving, Goose stepped from the Hummer. He leaned against the
vehicle and stretched the knee out carefully. He'd had similar injuries in the past and had worked through
them. The stretching didn't help. What he needed more than anything was rest, a good meal, and eight
hours of sleep. Soldiers won wars on supplies like that.

 Instead, Goose reached into the pocket of his BDUs and took out a packet of analgesic tabs. He
popped the tabs into his mouth, not happy about having to use them because the aspirin in them also
thinned the blood and would make any wounds he received bleed more and be harder to staunch.

But being able to move was top priority. He was infantry, after all, not air force or navy. He fought his
battles on his feet and he needed two good legs.

 He took the canteen from his hip and drank the tabs down in two long swallows. For a moment, he
remembered how he and Chris sometimes filled one of his canteens with Sunny Delight-which Chris
always called "power of the sun" because he quoted commer-cials that caught his eye-and "camped out
on safari" in the back-yard for an hour or two at a time.Chris 's vivid imagination always created
ferocious beasts, which they tamed or trapped, or swamps filled with alligators, which they avoided.After
while, alligators!

 Joeynever hung out there with them because he didn't want to get caught crawling around on the ground
to avoid vultures and dragons, butBillTownsend had.Bill ended up getting to beChris 's horse or camel or
elephant a lot. WhenJoey had been not quite nine, when Goose had marriedMegan , the backyard had
been Wrigley Field or Dodgers Stadium orFenwayPark or Turner Field.Megan had gotten to be the
cheering section and umpire, just as she'd al-ways been the "girl"Chris had insisted they rescue from the
beasts in the jungle.

 A wave of homesickness passed through Goose. He wanted to be back home with his family, to sit at
the kitchen table and watchChris playing in the backyard, to catch a ball game withJoey and work on
whatever was creating a rift between them, to have dinner withMegan .

And Goose wantedBill back here with him.

 He pushed the thoughts away and concentrated on the action taking place in the stream. He made
himself drink more water. That was one of the things he was pushing on all his troops. Perspiration was
the body's cooling mechanism, and drinking water provided the raw materials to get the job done.

 A Jeep pulled away from farther up the stream's edge. As the vehi-cle drew closer, Goose
recognizedCaptainTariqMkchian in the pas-senger seat.

The Jeep pulled to a stop in front of the Hummer. Goose saluted.
"At ease, Sergeant," Mkchian said as he stepped from the Jeep.

"Yes, sir." Goose replaced his canteen on his hip.

 Mkchian took off his sunglasses and wiped them free of dust. He put them back on and looked at the
stream. "It's an amazing thing, isn't it?"

"What's that, sir?"

"Belief, Sergeant. Belief."

"Yes, sir."

Mkchian looked at him. "I'm surprised to see you here. I'd heard you were here earlier."

"I was."

"And you're back now." The statement came across as a ques-tion.

 "Yes, sir." Goose wasn't going to tell the man thatRemington had ordered him to be there or that the
captain intended to put an end to the baptisms.

"I've also been toldCaptainRemington is en route," Mkchian said.

Goose said nothing.

"My spies, yousee," Mkchian said, "areeverywhere." He grinned as he said it.

Goose knew that the statement was offered in jest, but he also knew that the Turkish captain would have
been a fool not to moni-tor the activities of the Rangers.

 "So I had to ask myself," Mkchian said, "whatCaptainRemington would be doing out here. He has been
very adroit at managing intelligence, supply, reinforcements, and renegotiating satellite reconnaissance
even though it involved the introduction of theOneWorldNewsNet people among my men."

Goose shifted uncomfortably on his injured knee. Neither sitting nor standing helped with the pain. Only
being in motion to some degree helped alleviate the gnawing sensation and the throbbing.

 "The only answer I came up with," Mkchian continued, "was thatCaptainRemington wasn't happy with
the events that are cur-rently taking place here."

Goose didn't comment.

 "I, on the other hand," the Turkish captain said, "was raisedChristian . That's surprising in a country that
is 98 percent Islamic. However, many people don't know that Christianity was the chief religion in this
country before Islam came in with theSeljuks when they tookJerusalem in 1071."

 "Their takingJerusalem precipitated the Crusades," Goose said. Mkchian smiled as if in pleasant surprise.
"A student of history, Sergeant?"

"My dad was a Sunday school teacher back home, and after the Korean War, he got his doctorate in
history and taught college for a while." The university job didn't keepWesGander from being a sim-ple
man, though. "My dad showed me how Bible history intersects what they teach in public schools."

 Mkchian nodded. "My family-according to my father, who takes great pride in these things-insists that
we can trace our Chris-tianity back to the early people who first lived in these lands." He looked toward
the stream. "This event is an unexpected thing, Ser-geant, but I believe it is a good thing."

"Yes, sir."

"But your captain doesn't think so?"

"You'd have to ask him, sir."

 "I'll do that, Sergeant." Mkchian looked at Goose. "In the mean-time, I've noticed that your leg is
troubling you."

"I'm getting by."

 "Nonsense. You're in pain. I noticed that earlier and took the lib-erty of getting a medical kit. Have you
ever had a cortisone shot be-fore?"

"Yes." In the past, he'd needed a few cortisone shots to keep that knee functioning.

 "I have cortisone. If you'll allow my aide to treat you. I assure you that he's trained to deliver shots like
this." Mkchian smiled. "I took a round through my left shoulder a few years ago. The shoulder had to be
reconstructed. It still troubles me from time to time, and I have found cortisone to be a good thing." He
gestured to the jeep driver. "Tonight, when we pull back from this border, I would like knowing that you
are as able as you can be. To me, such a course of action makes sense because I will in part be relying
on you. What do you think?"

Goose hesitated only a moment. "Yes, sir." He knelt with diffi-culty and unlaced his boot. He pulled his
pant leg up and bared his swollen knee.

 Mkchian frowned as Goose hoisted himself up on the Hummer's rear deck so his leg would dangle
freely. "That knee is in horrible shape, Sergeant."

 "Yes, sir. It's not the first time I've damaged it." Goose breathed out and then took slow breaths, pushing
his mind past the pain that felt like a rusty bear trap had seized hold of his knee when the corpo-ral gently
worked his leg. He continued breathing through the pain of the shots as the man stabbed the needle deep
into his knee. Thankfully, the cortisone was mixed with a local anesthetic and the pain relief was
immediate.

"You realize that the cortisone will take the pain away," Mkchian said, "but does not reduce the damage
or the amount of damage you can unknowingly do to it."

Goose lowered his pant leg, tucked it back into his boot, and pulled the laces tight. "I know that from
past experience, Captain. Thank you."

"It is my pleasure. When we get toDiyarbakir , you should have that knee looked at."

"I will, sir." Goose stood on the leg and tested it. The knee felt numb, like it was a long way away, but he
felt his foot just fine.

An engine sounded over the ridgeline. A handful of seconds later,CalRemington arrived in an RSOV
with a full complement of Rangers.

Goose stood ramrod still and saluted. "Sir," he barked.

 SeeingRemington in captain's dress still somehow seemed odd af-ter all these years. Goose could
remember when they were both com-ing up through the ranks, both of them breaking in one second
lieutenant after another, only to see them go or transfer. But the recog-nition of the chain of command
was immediate.

 "Sergeant,"Remington said gruffly and fired off a salute while on the move. He looked over Goose's
shoulder, and Goose knew exactly what the captain was looking at. "I didn't know we were hosting a
revival."

"No, sir," Goose replied. Ever sinceRemington had gotten hold of him, told him he was coming out,
Goose had known what the captain was going to want to discuss.

"If we're not,"Remington snapped, "then tell me why I've got a Ranger corporal and three army chaplains
hip deep in water handing out baptisms like there was a fire sale."

"Things got out of control, sir," Goose responded.

"Out of control? Sergeant, when things get out of control, you're the first man I expect to put them back
under control."

   "Yes, sir."

"That's lip service, mister."Remington stood toe-to-toe with Goose, glaring down at him.

 Goose knew anger was the most volatile emotionRemington had. In every other department-love, fear,
curiosity-he seemed cool, al-most dispassionate.Remington andBill had never gotten along, and Goose
had often had to argue onBill 's behalf to keep him with the 75th.

"Who assigned those chaplains to be there with Baker?"Remington asked.

"I did, sir."

"Why?"

"Because I thought it would speed up the process, sir."

"How about ending the process, Sergeant? Did that cross your mind?"

"Yes, sir, it did. However, that seemed to be an unattainable ob-jective, sir."

"First Sergeant,"Remington growled, "that's the last thing I want to hear from the man I put in command
of my troops."

"Yes, sir."
Remingtonglared out at the stream. "Those men are slowing down my operation."

"No, sir," Goose said immediately.

Remingtonturned on him in an instant, shoving his face within inches of Goose's."What?"

 Goose metRemington 's gaze full measure. For a moment, just the barest hint of a moment that didn't last
long enough to cross the line between non-com and officer, they were just two men again.

 "The operation has not been slowed, sir," Goose said. "If the cap-tain will check the ops parameters on
the mission he has assigned, he'll find that the 75th-despite the loss of manpower and materi-als-is forty
minutes ahead of schedule. The rifle companies are go-ing to be ready to bed down before sunset, sir,
instead of working into the night as we had predicted. We will be able to cover the no-man's-land much
more effectively."

Remingtoncursed and drew back. "Those men need to be re-moved from that stream, Sergeant."

 Before Goose could reply, before he could even figure out what he was going to say,CaptainMkchian
spoke up.

"CaptainRemington, if I may interject."

"You may not,"Remington said, turning on the Turkish captain.

 Immediately, the men with Mkchian spread out around their commanding officer. Mkchian appeared to
take no offense.

"This is a United States Army matter,"Remington snarled.

 "And this is Turkish soil," Mkchian stated in a calm, even voice that carried naked steel in each word.
"You and your men are here at the invitation of my country, because your president believes he has a
vested interest in the outcome of things that happen here. I represent the government that invited you
here, and as their repre-sentative, I'll suffer no disrespect. Is that clear?"

Remingtonglared at the man. "What do you want?"

 "I want this operation to continue,CaptainRemington , until it is done. For as long as it takes. You have
not seen the effect this is having on the men. Tonight they are going to have to fight for their lives. I would
rather they went into that fight believing they could win, or at the very least, survive."

"Getting dipped in holy water and having the name of God spo-ken over you isn't going to save your
hide,"Remington said.

 Mkchian smiled coldly. "Perhaps their hides aren't what these men are worried about. These men aren't
fools. I have talked with many of them. They believe God has called them to this place and to those men
in the water."

"Don't give me the God mumbo jumbo. Maybe dipping Achilles in the River Styx made him invincible,
but it's not going to do that for those men."
 "I don't think they expect that. But I have noticed that many of the men come away from that stream a
little braver, a little more clearheaded."

"It'swater!"Remington growled.

"It'sbelief," Mkchian said.

"I'm not going to allow this to happen,"Remington said.

"And I'm not going to allow you to stop it." Mkchian held his ground.

Remingtonturned on the captain. "You can't stop me from tak-ing my men.

The Rangers behindRemington , all of them handpicked and all of them discipline problems for everyone
but the Ranger captain, flared out, both hands on their weapons.

 Unexpectedly, Mkchian clapped his hands and said, "Bravo. Now wouldn't this be a fine finale to the
United States Army Ranger involvement inTurkey ? My government reluctantly brings you in, and you
end up in a Wild West gunfight with the very army you're supposed to be helping. Out of purely
humanitarian reasons, of course, as yourPresidentFitzhugh claims."

"No one stands between my men and me,"Remington growled.

"Of course not, Captain." Mkchian waved generously toward the stream. "Take your men. By all means.
But are you prepared to arrest all of those men you will incite to riot?"

 Goose breathed shallowly, stunned by the events taking shape. He'd never seenRemington more on
edge.

 "And they will riot, Captain," Mkchian said in a softer voice. "Those men are trapped here, and they
need something to believe in. Something more than merely military rank and file. A lot of them are dead,
but a lot more of them disappeared today without explana-tion." The Turkish captain raised an eyebrow.
"Unless you're pre-pared to explain that to them?"

Remingtondidn't answer.

 "I didn't think so." Mkchian looked at Goose. "I came here pre-pared to stop your sergeant, because I
fully expected him to try to put an end to these baptisms. He would have tried, despite what you think.
He's a good man. I'm glad I caught you at the same time so I don't have to order you restrained."

"If you had done that-"

 "I would have," Mkchian said. "You have my promise on that. These men will have their
peace,CaptainRemington . It is within my power to give them that, and I will." He paused. "Furthermore,
if you decide to follow through on this course of action, I will seek outDanielleVinchenzo ,
theOneWorldNewsNet reporter that you have sponsored in this area, and tell her exactly what you have
done."

A nerve twitched onRemington 's jaw. His eyes looked like cold glass as he gave a small, imperceptible
nod. "Fine,CaptainMkchian . We'll let you have your little praise party. But I want it over soon."
"As long as it takes, Captain," Mkchian said. "God works in myste-rious ways, his wonders to perform.
You have your satellites and we have ours. The Syrians won't come this way without being noticed. We'll
have time to get into position." He smiled. "There's something you're forgetting, though."

Remingtondidn't ask.

 "Most ofSyria is Muslim. Doubtless, they are watching these pro-ceedings on television. In the Koran, it
says that the spirits of soldiers who fall in holy battle will immediately go to heaven and be granted special
privileges for their sacrifice." Mkchian looked out on the stream where the baptisms continued. "Those
Syrian soldiers willsee this, and they will think that these men are preparing to make that same sacrifice."
He looked back atRemington . "The Syrian soldiers will fear us more for this. They will be afraid because
they will think we will know no fear."

 The song coming from the men standing in the lines swelled to fill the tense silence that stretched between
the two captains.

 Turning away,Remington fixed Goose with his gaze. "This is your fault, Goose. You should never have
let this go this far. You stay with these people until this is finished."

"Sir," Goose objected, "I should be back at the base."

Remingtoncut him off. "You should. When this is finished, if you decide you want to be a Ranger again,
you come back then."

 Before Goose could even attempt a reply,Remington turned and walked away. He boarded the RSOV
and didn't look back as the vehi-cle headed back toward the Ranger encampment.

Goose felt torn. He couldn't disobey an order, but he didn't feel right. Heneeded to be at the Ranger
base to make certain everything was getting done.

"Your captain," Mkchian said, "is making a mistake by punishing you this way."

"I knew he wouldn't want the baptisms going on," Goose replied. "I should have stopped them."

Mkchian gazed at him in open speculation. "Then why didn't you?"

For a moment Goose thought the Turkish captain was faulting him as well. Then he saw that Mkchiari s
gaze was open and honest, without challenge or accusation.

"I didn't stop it," Goose said, "because it felt right."

 Mkchian tapped Goose on the chest. "God has touched your heart, too, First Sergeant Gander. No
matter how much pain you have to go through to endure, you will be a better man for it. You cannot
avoid His touch."

"I don't know, sir. I could have been mistaken about this whole thing."

 Mkchian pointed his chin at the men being baptized. "If you are, there are a lot of men with you." He
looked back at Goose. "In the meantime, you should know that you have made a powerful enemy
today."
Goose shook his head. "The captain's angry, but he's my friend. Not an enemy."

"Sometimes they are both, Sergeant. Just be careful."

Goose tried to find something to say to defendRemington .They had been friends for years. They would
be friends forever. He just didn't know how to explain that to Mkchian.

"In the meantime, though," the Turkish captain said, "know that you have my friendship. For what it's
worth." He extended his hand.

"It's worth a lot," Goose said, taking the other man's hand. "I don't take friendships lightly."

 "Nor do I. God keep you, First Sergeant Gander, for I fear you and I have only begun to see the horrific
things that are in store for us." Mkchian released his hand and walked back to his jeep.

 "God keep you, Captain." Goose stared after the Jeep. Unease stirred through his mind, leavening his
thoughts and building with each passing second. He was concerned about his relationship withRemington
. The captain had been mad at him before, even back when they had both been sergeants, but they had
never been in cir-cumstances like these. He'd never seenRemington take things so per-sonally.

Mkchian's final thoughts were very disturbing as well. The man had sounded sure of himself, like he
knew what was coming and it was more than just the hasty withdrawal from the Syrian front. And
whatever it was, Goose had the definite feeling that it was much, much worse.




United States of America

WashingtonDullesInternationalAirport,

WashingtonD.C.

Local Time5:43 P.M.

 From the instantDelroyHarte left the helipad aboard USSWasp in theMediterranean Sea and flown
west, time turned backward. InTur-key , the clock had moved forward into tomorrow, and the local time
there was 0043. He knew that because as he arrived in the restricted airspace overWashington , he
realized he'd forgotten to set his watch to local time.

But in the nation's capital, the time was5:43 P.m. , and harsh after-noon sunlight poured through the jet's
windows. He'd flown for over fourteen hours, in the helicopter fromWasp to the C-9 Skytrain Cap-tain
Falkirk had requisitioned for him at Sigonella Naval Air Station in Sicily, Italy. The navy primarily used
the Skytrain for cargo and passen-ger transportation as well as forward deployment logistic support.

Delroy closed his father's Bible gently, pulling the cloth bookmark into place in the book of Revelation.
During the long flight he had slept off and on. He'd eaten, too, but the skeleton crew had left him alone.

 Large enough to seat 115 commercial passengers, the C-9 was pres-ently set up with half its space
allotted to cargo and the other half to passengers. Delroy was the only passenger. It felt odd to be sitting
on an empty plane.

 Once, about halfway through the flight, he had awakened to find himself alone. He'd remembered how
Chief Mellencamp's body had disappeared with him sitting right beside it and how he and the other
crewmen aboardWasp sorted through the piles of clothing left throughout the ship's decks after the
disappearances. For a moment, he'd thought everyone had vanished from the Skytrain. Thankfully, that
hadn't been the case.

 The pilot's cabin opened and a young lieutenant stepped through. Usually the C-9 carried only two pilots
and necessary attendants. Evi-dently this flight was carrying three pilots; this man wasn't one of the two
Delroy had seen since the last leg of the flight had begun.

"ChaplainHarte," the young man said.

"Yes?" Delroy scratched his chin, feeling the stubble that had grown there during the flight.

"We're going to begin our descent in five minutes. You might want to put your seat belt on.

They had a lot of damage atDulles when the, uh,incident occurred. They haven't gotten it all cleaned
up."

 "Will there be any problems?" Delroy preferred the sea, calm and wide open. And as long as a person
stayed on top of it, the sea was a fine place to be. Flying, in his view, was a necessary evil. "None that
we can see," the lieutenant assured him. "Thank you, Lieutenant."

 "You're welcome." The lieutenant looked at all the papers and books that Delroy had scattered around.
"Will you need help putting things away?"

"No," Delroy answered. "No, I'm fine. You go on and take care of your business, Lieutenant."

The lieutenant nodded and started back to the pilot's cabin. "Lieutenant," Delroy called.

"Yes, sir."

"There is one thing."

"Yes, sir."

 "I've got a meeting with the joint chiefs as soon as I can get there." Delroy touched his face. "After a
flight this long, I'm not exactly pre-sentable."

"Captain Falkirk had us set up a liaison for you as soon as you're on the ground, sir. You'll be met at the
runway with a fresh uniform and toiletries. "

"Thank you, Lieutenant." Delroy turned his attention back to his papers. He should have known:Falkirk
was a very able and thorough captain.

The C-9 hit a patch of turbulence. His papers and books scattered everywhere. Delroy pushed himself
up from his seat and started gath-ering them. Before he knew it, the lieutenant was kneeling in front of
him, picking up the papers and study guides.

"I can get this," Delroy said hurriedly.

"It's all right.Frank can land the plane by himself if he needs to. This won't take us but just a moment."

 Then Delroy realized he was trying to keep all of his research to himself. He felt embarrassed to have
God's Word scattered around, out there for everyone to see what he'd been doing. Embarrassed-he
couldn't believe it.How long has it been since I felt like that?

 The young lieutenant flipped through the end-times prophecy book Delroy had been referencing "The
end of the world, Chaplain?" the lieutenant asked with a small smile. "Is that what you've been reading
about?"

 Delroy heard the lieutenant's inflection. Was the man trying to be sarcastic? Anger replaced the
embarrassment that Delroy had felt. He knew he was having a hard time of it. He'd had little sleep in the
last forty-eight hours, what with Mellencamp's death and the flight in toWashington .ColonelDonaldson 's
response had weighed heavily in the chaplain's mind as well. There was no guarantee the joint chiefs
would listen any more than the Marine colonel had. That thought set-tled into Delroy's brain with a
vengeance.

"Yes," Delroy said, "the end of the world. That's what I'm reading about."

The lieutenant handed the books over. "My grandmother used to try to scare me into being a better kid
with that stuff."

"With what?" Delroy stared into the young man's ice-blue eyes.

 "The end of the world," the young man said. "The-" he held up his hands and made quotation marks in
the air-"Apocalypse." He laughed. "Like anybody could really believe in that."

"You don't believe the Apocalypse is going to happen?" Delroy stood.

"I think it's a story," the young lieutenant said.

"A story." Delroy couldn't believe his ears.

 "Yeah," the young lieutenant said. "Every culture has a story about what's going to happen when the
world ends. If you don't like the Apocalypse, maybe you could tune in to Ragnarok. The Norse
in-vented a mythology for the end of the world, too. And if you don't want to hang your hat on the truly
ancient beliefs, you can also go for the scientific end of the world as we know it." He smiled. "Take your
pick. The hole in the ozone. The melting polar caps. Getting hit by a meteor. Or even the slow death of
the sun eventually burning itself out." He shrugged. "The last one could be dull but festive."
"What's wrong with you?" Delroy drew himself up to his full height, towering above the other

man. "How dare you talk to me like that. I am a superior officer, Lieutenant."

"Are you a superior officer,ChaplainHarte ?" the lieutenant mused.

"You've been sent on an important mission." He made his voice deep.

 "Convince the Joint Chiefs of Staff that God has come and taken his chil-dren."He laughed. "Do
you know how pathetic that sounds?" "I'll have your name, mister," Delroy said gruffly. "Sure. Read it for
yourself."

 Delroy looked at the man's name badge but couldn't quite make it out. The letters seemed to be
squirming, constantly staying just ahead of his ability to focus.

 "You don't believe God exists," the smiling lieutenant said. "You've served aboardWasp for five years,
and you haven't believed." "Shut up!" Delroy roared.

"You haven't believed," the man taunted. "That's whyColonelDonaldson didn't buy into your story."

"Donaldson is afraid," Delroy said in a voice that was only some-what below a shout. He didn't
understand why one of the other pilots didn't come back to find out what was going on.Unless they are
all in on it. The thought filled him with fear.

The lieutenant grinned. He whispered, "Maybe I killed them all." "Who are you?" Delroy demanded.

 The man shook his head. "The question isn't who am I, it's who do you think you are? How can you be
a chaplain if you don't believe?"

Delroy walked to the pilot's cabin door and tried to open it. The handle didn't turn. Knotting a fist, he
pounded on the door. "Open this door."

"How can you expect anyone to believe you," the man asked, "when you don't even believe yourself?"

Delroy whirled on the man, barely maintaining the panic that filled him. "I do believe!"

 "Why? Because a lot of people turned up missing sixteen-plus hours ago and you don't have an answer?
Oh, man, if you can't explain it, if things don't go the way you want them to, it must be God. Are
ig-norance and fear and a need for some kind of immortality what it takes to make you a
believer,ChaplainHarte ?"

Guilt washed over Delroy, so grim in its perfection that he felt him-self crumbling before it like an earthen
dam before the raging torrent of an unexpected flood.

The man shook his head. "I can't believe they sent you. There's no excuse. "

 Delroy trembled, held powerless by the accusations that poured from the man. Every one of them rang
true. He had been guilty of ex-actly what the man said. He hadn't believed. Not for a long time. And was
that what it took to make him believe? The disappearance of mil-lions of people?

It only took the death of one to make you doubt.The realization shook Delroy to his core.
 "And what message are you going to take to the joint chiefs,Chap-lainHarte ?" the man taunted. "Lock
up the women and children, the Antichrist is coming." He covered his mouth as if in embarrassment.
"Oops, forgot. All out of children, aren't we?" He paused. "Including you,ChaplainHarte ? God took
poor littleTerry in the prime of his life."

Tears filled Delroy's vision, and pain wracked his heart.

 "That's how you look at it, isn't it?" the man asked. "That God took your son?" He took a step forward,
thrusting his face into Delroy's. "Then why doesn't he give him back? What right did he have to take your
son?"

The sorrow broke out of Delroy in long, draining sobs. "I don't know! God help me, I don't know!"

"Well,," the man said in a relieved voice, "then maybe you should give some thought to why you're here."
He reached for Delroy's face.

Before Delroy could block the man's hand, it wrapped around his head, smothering him. He felt
powerless in the impossible grip, listen-ing to the evil, confident chuckle that sounded right in his ear.

 "Go home,Chaplain," the man said in a bestial snarl. "Go home and live in misery the way you have for
the last five years. You'll be more comfortable there."

 Shoved backward, off-balance, he fell. His head hit the carpeted floor hard enough to send black
comets crashing through his vision.

 When Delroy's eyesight cleared, the man was gone. Shaking, nau-seous, the chaplain pushed himself to
his knees. For a moment he thought he was going to throw up. But he made himself stand and go to the
pilot's cabin. When he tried the door this time, the handle turned easily. He followed the door inside the
cabin.

The two pilots looked back at him with curiosity. Both of them were men Delroy had seen earlier.

"Where is he?" Delroy demanded in a shaking and hoarse voice.

"Who?" the pilot asked.

"The other man," Delroy said. "The other pilot. The one who came back to tell me about the seat belt."

 The pilots swapped looks. "Chaplain," the pilot said in a deliber-ately calm and nonthreatening voice,
"there are just us two. No other pilots. No one has gone back to notify you yet. We were about to."

 "1 saw him," Delroy said. He felt the man's hand against his face, and this time he felt the slither of scales
instead of flesh. His voice choked down. "I saw him."

 The copilot got up. "Let me help you back to your seat, Chaplain. If you ask me, you look about done
in. Have you rested during this flight?"

Delroy looked at the two men. They were telling the truth.

"I haven't rested enough," he said. He looked at the pilot who had offered to help him to his seat. "I'm
fine."

 The pilot hesitated. "All right, chaplain. But we're going to be touching down in ten or fifteen minutes. As
soon as the tower gives us clearance. We need you to get belted in."

 "All right." Delroy turned and went, knowing that the two men would probably report this incident
toFalkirk . And what would that report do to the captain's faith?

 Delroy returned to his seat and belted himself in. He stared out the window, feeling the C-9 sink into its
final approach pattern only a few short minutes later. Smoke still curled from fires in the distance around
the city.

Had he been struggling with his own personal demons, trapped in some warped nightmare of his own
doubts? Or had it been some-thing else? If all the believers had been taken from the world during the
Rapture, did that mean that something else might have slipped back into the world? Something darker?
Something evil? Or had that evil been here all along and only now was freed to rise up?

 Delroy didn't know. What he was certain of, though, was that he was scheduled to speak to the joint
chiefs in the next hour-and he was in no shape for it.

Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0101 Hours



 The thrum of the generator only twenty yards away rattled throughCalRemington 's skull. His eyes felt
like they were filled with broken glass as he stared at the notebook computer on the small folding desk
he'd brought into the campsite along the ridge overlooking the bor-der area.

 His anger was still stoked from the confrontation with Goose andCaptainMkchian that had taken place
hours ago. Goose ticked him off plenty. Over the years that they had been good friends, then got-ten to
be an effective captain and first sergeant team, he and Goose had experienced plenty of differences of
opinion. Usually those dif-ferences of opinion had taken place over personnel, never over
im-plementation of details of an operation-never over organization or timing or equipment. They'd always
disagreed over people.

And those differences of opinion hadnever been publicly aired in any theater they'd been involved in.

 Remingtonaccepted some share of the blame. After all, he'd cho-sen to dress Goose down in front of
the Rangers he'd brought with him. Getting the chance to do it in front of the Turkish captain had been a
bonus.

That had backfired, though. Mkchian had taken Goose's side, and that had been totally
unexpected.Remington had believed the Turk-ish captain would be against Christian practices.

 Since that mistake,Remington had made it a point to researchCaptainTariqMkchian 's file more
thoroughly. He'd been surprised to learn that the Turkish captain was a Christian. In a country that was
overwhelmingly Muslim, the odds were heavily against such an oc-currence.
 But that was how things were with Goose. He'd always been lucky, always in the right place at the right
time. He'd always gotten to know the right people.

 Remingtonknew for a fact that Goose had been recruited for OCS. Goose had turned it down,
andRemington knew why. As an officer, Goose would end up dealing with paper more than he dealt with
people.

Remingtonknew the names of every man in his company, but Gooseknew each man. The first sergeant
knew them through families, kids, sports, training, or church.

 Remingtonhad never wanted that kind of familiarity with the people he commanded. Familiarity bred
contempt. Familiarity forced an officer to think of the unit he was about to sacrifice as hu-man beings
instead of numbers that got crunched in the final equa-tion.

The notebook computer screen blinked for his attention. A pop-up menu floated up and let him know he
had an incoming call.

 Remingtonpulled on the headset and tapped theOpen button. He made sure the button cam attached to
the notebook monitor pointed at him. The picture at the other end wouldn't be good because the light
level inside the tent was low. The light inside couldn't be seen from the outside at all because of the thick
tarp.

When the screen cleared,Remington found he was looking atCaptainMarkFalkirk . The connection was
provided through a sat-phone managed by the Romanian communications company.

"Captain,"Remington greeted.

"I take it you're at the front,"Falkirk said.

"Yes.

"Intel has marked movement among the Syrian troops."

 The message had come in eighteen minutes ago.Remington wasn't surprised thatWasp wasn't quite up to
speed in the sit-rep along the border. With her manpower cut drastically,Wasp been hard-pressed to get
set up for the arrival of the Marine Harriers and Sea Cobra helicopter gunships. There were also more
Sea Knights providing transportation for Marine troops into the area.

"We got our care package thirty-two minutes ago,"Falkirk said. "We'll be sending it along in twenty
minutes."

Remingtonnodded. If the new Marine Wing departedWasp in twenty minutes, they would arrive at the
border at 0330 hours, thirty minutes ahead of the scheduled final retreat from the border.

"That's good to hear,"Remington said.

"We've just got to hope that everybody's timetable matches up."

"The Syrians are more than likely just getting set up for the morn-ing,"Remington said. "And we may
have more to fear from the Rus-sians. We're still at DEFCON 2, and that care package you're sending is
big enough to attract attention."Or to trigger an attack all by itself, the Ranger captain knew. But they
had no choice. Without the rein-forcements, they wouldn't stand a chance of holding out against the
Syrians when they decided to invadeTurkey .

 And that invasion was definitely coming. All that remained to be seen was how far intoTurkey they came
before they were stopped. It was possible that the combined forces of Rangers, Turkish army, and U.N.
troops wouldn't be able to hold Sanliurfa. They also wouldn't be able to makeDiyarbakirCity before
being overtaken. A number of the mountain roads were out from the SCUDs that morning.

Yesterday,Remingtontold himself harshly.Keep it straight.

One of the other sat-phones he had beeped for attention.

'I have a call coming in,"Remington said.

"I'll hold,"Falkirk said. "I want to go over the backup LZs we're building in."

"I'll be right back."Remington tapped the mute function on the computer, then answered the sat-phone.

"Captain?" a man said.

"Go, Spotter,"Remington said.

Spotter wasNickPerrin , a young lieutenant skilled in urban undercover ops.Perrin was the kind of guy
who could walk into a neighborhood, scope out the streets, and let his commanding officer know where
potential targets were without ever being noticed.

WhenCIA Section ChiefAlexanderCody had left the command post three hours ago,Remington already
hadPerrin and his team of hardcases en route to Sanliurfa.Cody had maintained an interest in the missing
undercover CIA agent Goose and his team had rescued from the PKK terrorists yesterday morning
before the SCUD attack.

 "We found the Soupman easy,"Perrin said.Soupman was their tag for the CIA chief. "Followed him
without him knowing. Just like you wanted, sir. He went to an address, a hotel here in the city, stayed
in-side for a couple minutes, then left."

"Where is he?"

"We've still got him in sight, sir."

"What about the address?"

"That's where it gets interesting."

"I'm listening,"Remington said.

 Perrinpaused a moment, andRemington knew the man was smoking. That was bad news.Perrin only
smoked when he got tense.

"I went into the hotel, sir. Took a look around on the QT. There were two bodies in there."
"Who were they?"

 "Don't know. We took digital pictures. Either they weren't carry-ing any ID, or whoever killed them
took it when he or she or they left."

"You don't know anything about that room?"

"I didn't want to press outside our operating parameters on the mission, sir,"Perrin said. "Asking
questions, drawing attention to ourselves, those were definitely out."

 Remington's mind raced.AlexanderCody had come out of no-where with an agent who may have been
responsible for triggering the Syrian attack. The Ranger captain wanted to know more about the man.

"Find out who was in the room, Spotter,"Remington ordered.

"Yes, sir. How far do you want me to push it?"

 Remingtonthought about that. Cody had an in with Nicolae Carpathia, who had just recently been
elected president of his coun-try, a man who was fabulously wealthy, and who looked to be on the fast
track to becoming a player in world politics if his announced up-coming visit to the United Nations was
any indication.Cody was also operating a loose leash on the man that could have been responsible for
igniting the Syrian-Turkey confrontation.

 And that man had chosen deliberately to run and hide during the confusion that had taken place
atGlitterCity . It remained to be seen if undercover agent Icarus had disappeared when all the other
people had vanished.

"Push it all the way, Spotter,"Remington said.

 Perrinhesitated just a moment. Both of them knew that whenRemington set him free, someone might die.
There had been deaths in the past, enemies who had posed a potential threat to Rangers or had escaped
justice in other conflicts.

"Yes, sir,"Perrin said.

"Get back to me as soon as you know something." Curiosity ate atRemington . He treasured secrets.
Secrets held power. He couldn't help wondering whatCody was hiding.

"Yes, sir,"Perrin responded.

Remingtonbroke the connection and turned his attention back toFalkirk on the computer link.

Wasp's captain was looking away when the video feed came back on. He talked with someone
off-screen briefly, then tapped the key to open the audio. "Sorry."

"It's all right,"Remington said. "The LZs."

"Right."Falkirk looked distracted.

"Is something wrong?"
"Just got a disturbing communique on an away op I've got in play."

Remington's senses sharpened. "How will it affect us?" Anything that was going to cause fallout on his
Rangers was within his domain.

"This doesn't affect you,"Falkirk said. "I was hoping I'd found a way to roll the DEFCON 2 back."

Remingtonshook his head. "Something like that, you'd need an act of God."

"I know,"Falkirk said. "An act of God is what I thought I had in play."




United States of America

The Pentagon,WashingtonD.C.

Local Time6:42 P.M.




 DelroyHartesat outsideGeneralDavidMarsden 's office and felt the enormity of the mission he'd agreed
to carry out for Captain Falkirk.

 The fact that the Pentagon was up and running at nearlyseven o'clock in the evening when it normally
shut down at three-thirty in the afternoon was a prime indicator of how bad things were in theUnited
States . Luckily, the trip in had prepared him for it. Aban-doned and wrecked cars surrounded Dulles
International. Bull-dozers were still at work scraping smashed planes and jets away to free up more
runways as the nation slowly reclaimed the air. This time, though, Delroy was certain people would be
even less likely to trust air travel.

 At1:21 A.M. , when the disappearances had taken place, there hadn't been many flights in the air
aboveWashington , but a hefty assortment of the ones that had been in a holding pattern above, taking off
from, or landing atDulles had come down spectacularly all around the city. The falling passenger jets at
the airport had taken out hangars and other jets being serviced and fueled. According to the local news
reports, fires had burned at the airport most of the night because emergency services had been even
harder hit by the mysterious personnel depletion than the mean averages in the pop-ulation as a whole so
far indicated.

   The Pentagon halls stayed busy, and while he waited, Delroy watched the people hustle through.
Many messages were still being carried by hand throughout the building because not all of the phone lines
were operational again. According to a pamphlet Delroy had found in the seat he'd been shown to by the
young Ma-rine lance corporal who had been assigned to him upon his entrance to the heavily secured
building, the Pentagon had over one hundred thousand miles of phone lines. He had no idea how many
miles weren't working.

    Thinking about phone lines made Delroy think again of calling his wife. Or ex-wife, as the case might
be. She would have gotten in touch with him if she were going to end their marriage. Then again, he had
stopped returning her calls and letters a long time ago. She didn't owe him much courtesy after everything
he hadn't done, everything he hadn't said, everything he hadn't listened to her say.

Delroy held his hat in his hands. He was jet-lagged and worn.

 And empty,he thought bitterly. The nightmare-he'd almost con-vinced himself that was what it had been
even though he could still feel the man's scaly hand pressed against his face-had beaten down most of
whatever belief he had saved up while aboardWasp. He thought about the way he had faced Donaldson
while the Marine colonel had pressed his sidearm into his face. He had been so arrogant, so sure of
himself. He didn't feel that way now.

Delroy rubbed at his face. He'd shaved with the toiletries he'd been provided after landing, and he'd put
on a fresh uniform thatFalkirk had requisitioned. It fit him like it had been made for him. As tall as he was,
he'd always had to have his pants altered. While he'd been living at home, his wife had taken care of that.
The last few years he'd had the ship launderer take care of it for him.

He glanced up at the two young Marines standing outsideGeneralMarsden 's door. "I'm going to stretch
my legs. I've been on a plane for the last fourteen and a half hours."

"Yes, sir," the lance corporal replied. "Please remain within our sight, Chaplain. If you're found in the
building without an escort, you'll be locked down."

 Delroy nodded. "I'm not going far. Just to the window there and back." He walked slowly, missing the
feel ofWasp's deck under his feet. He wished he were there now. Then he felt guilty for that wish because
he knew it was only because he wanted to crawl into a hole and lick his wounds.

 He stood at the window and looked out. Darkness had fallen over the city. Evening still fell early in
March. But the night was held at bay by the lights around the city. Searchlights strobed the sky and the
light pollution washed away the stars.

 Frantic voices whispered up and down the hallways. The pam-phlet also said that the corridors
measured seventeen and one-half miles long. Yet the farthest distance between any two places in the
five-sided building could be easily walked in seven minutes.

The pamphlet was a font of information.

 And what do you know?Delroy examined his reflection in the dark glass of the window. The crisp
white uniform stood out sharply in the glass and looked like it held a bluish tint. His face, though, was
another matter. How had he gotten so old, so worn and used up? He'd never seen that kind of age in his
father's face. He had outlived his father, and he had outlived his son.

 But it's not just the age, is it, Delroy? You never saw your father this old, but you also never saw
him this false. Or this scared.
 Fear ached within him, resonating through all six feet, six inches of his frame. He had never been so
afraid. What had that nightmare aboard the Skytrain done? Had the nonexistent lieutenant been a
fig-ment of his own doubts, a result of the stress he was under, or a men-tal disorder that was only now
manifesting itself?

 ConfrontingColonelDonaldson aboardWasp wasn't the act of a sane man. No wonder the Marine
colonel had been afraid. He wasn't afraid of God's wrath or the Antichrist; Donaldson had been afraid of
a madman.

"Go home, Chaplain. "The rough voice echoed in Delroy's head."Go home and live in misery the
way you have for the last five years."

 The words beat into Delroy, ringing against the immense empti-ness he felt inside himself. He wanted out
of there. Truly, he did.Falkirk was wrong: he wasn't the man for the job. He was just a deluded fool
searching for some kind of meaning over the death of his son.

"ChaplainHarte."

 At first, Delroy thought he was hearing the man's words again. Then he spotted the young Marine's
reflection moving toward him in the window. He turned toward the Marine.

"ChaplainHarte," the Marine said. "GeneralMarsdenwill see you now, sir.

"Thank you, Lance Corporal."

 Delroy stepped into the general's spacious office and was es-corted back to a conference room in the
rear.

 GeneralMarsdenwasn't the only general in the room. Two other men wore stars on their shoulders. All
three of them sat at one end of the long conference table.

Coming to erect attention, Delroy fired off a salute atGeneralMarsden . "GeneralMarsden, sir.
NavyChaplainDelroyHarte of USSWasp."

Marsden was in his late fifties. He had iron-gray hair and quick gray wolfs eyes. He was tall and solid, a
big man with a jaw like a 1950s Buick bumper. He returned the salute. "At ease,ChaplainHarte ."

 "Thank you, sir." Delroy immediately took his hat off, tucked it under his arm, and spread his feet to
assume parade rest.

"I'd like to present Generals Todd Cranston andHubert

Mayweather. They are also members of the joint chiefs." "A pleasure, sirs," Delroy said.

 ToddCranstonlooked like he was in his late thirties.Cranston had made a name for himself during the
latest rash of Middle Eastern conflicts and had turned out to be a media darling. He was also a war hawk
with a particular axe to grind regardingRussia . He was blond and rugged-looking. There was talk of a
political career once he de-cided to step away from the military.

"ChaplainHarte,"Cranston said.
HubertMayweatherwas older than Marsden, just starting to go to seed. But he remained attentive and
had an undercurrent of menace that clung to him. His hair was light brown but gray at the temples. He
nodded.

 "General Cranston and General Ma eather will be assisting me with this matter this evening," Marsden
said, "lending an ear and ad-vice as I need it."

"Aye, sir," Delroy replied.

"You may sit, Chaplain."

 "Thank you, sir." Delroy placed his hat on the table and sat a little uncomfortably at the other end of the
conference table. The lines had been drawn on the battlefield. The chairs weren't designed for a man six
and a half feet tall. He put his hands on the table, the left folded over the right. He tried not to show the
tension he felt.

The two young Marines stood at the wall behind him.

Marsden flicked a glance at the Marines. "You'll excuse the extra manpower in the room, Chaplain.
Things are, at best, chaotic at this time."

"I understand, sir."

"Captain Falkirk called in a big favor to get you an audience with me at this time, Chaplain."

"Aye, sir. Captain Falkirk wanted me to extend his appreciation, sir. Thank you for seeing me."

 Marsden opened a manila folder in front of him. "This is a docu-ment Captain Falkirk e-mailed to me."
He flipped through pages. "It's a summation of the events aboardWasp and on the ground near the
Turkish-Syrian border. After reading the captain's report, I can see that you would appreciate our
situation here."

"Aye, sir."

"You lost men aboardWasp?"Cranston asked.

"Aye, sir. And we lost Marines out in the field near the Turkish--Syrian border, sir."

"Soldiers that just vanished?"Cranston asked.

"Aye, sir. And crewmen."

Cranstonpointed at the file Marsden had. "And there's nothing in that file that relates anything you might
have seen or heard at the time of the disappearances?"

 Delroy had read the file during the flight. It was a straight-ahead no-nonsense account of the crashed
aircraft and the crewmen missing aboardWasp. "No, sir."

"But you're here in regards to those unexplained disappearances?"
"That's correct, sir."

Marsden looked at Delroy. "According to what I understood from Captain Falkirk's rather cryptic
message, you think you have an expla-nation for those disappearances."

 Delroy hesitated. hadn'tFalkirk admitted he had the same the-ory? Maybe the captain wouldn't have
wanted to transmit such a message.Or maybe he didn't want to stick his neck out. Guilt rattled through
Delroy over that one. Even ifFalkirk hadn't mentioned that he believed what Delroy had come to say, the
captain had stuck his neck out all the same by making certain his chaplain got there to say it.

"Aye, sir. But it's not just an explanation, sir. I believe I have the answer, sir."

 Cranston'seyes narrowed. "Chaplain, I have to admit that I have a hard time believing that you have the
answer. We've been talking to NASA scientists, military think tanks, and gentlemen in the National
Security Agency about a number of possibilities that could have caused the mass disappearances around
the world. If you can come up with an answer they haven't thought of... well, sir, then my hat's off to
you."

 Delroy took a sip of breath, feeling as though the room had sud-denly constricted on him. He wanted to
believe, truly he did. But the image ofTerry 's casket, the unconscionable grave atMarbury,Ala-bama , in
the family plot whereJosiahHarte rested, ran through his mind. It had been raining the day they had laid
his son to rest.

"The people who disappeared," he said in a quiet voice, "were Rap-tured." He wanted to continue, to
pour passion into his words, but he couldn't. His throat seemed to dry up and the words just stopped.

Cranstonregarded Delroy with a flat gaze. "Raptured?"

"Aye, sir."

"Do you want to explain that term, Chaplain?"

 Delroy started to speak and couldn't get the words out for a mo-ment. He cleared his throat and tried
again. "They were taken by God, sir.

 "Taken by God."Cranston 's disbelief was obvious in the hollow tone of his voice, his words driving
home like nails in a coffin. He un-sheathed the steel of authority when he spoke again. "Did I hear you
right, Chaplain?"

"Aye, sir." Delroy sat quietly, aware of how his heart thudded in-side his chest.

 Cranstonglanced down at the legal pad in front of him. "Chap-lainHarte, you flew practically nonstop
from theMediterranean , from a ship that is involved in a major military engagement, to bring us that
story?"

Delroy had to force his voice out. "Aye, sir." "And you told your captain this?"

"I did, sir."

 Cranstonturned to Marsden. "Do you know Captain Falkirk,David ?" Marsden kept staring at Delroy.
"Yes. I do. I consider him a very good and very valuable friend."
 Cranstonshook his head. "Then I must admit, General, that I am confused. I know you must trust him
and his judgment, otherwise you would never have wasted my time by calling me here."

"I do trust his judgment," Marsden said. "Captain Falkirk speaks highly ofChaplainHarte . The chaplain
has had a long and distin-guished career with the Navy."

The words crashed into Delroy's mind. For the first time he real-ized his career was at stake today. And
he had brought them the story of the Rapture, something that he had no way of proving. Perspiration
poured down his face despite the room's cool temperature. Had he ever truly believed that? And why?

The mocking voice from the plane tore into his thoughts and wrecked his concentration."Because a lot
of people turned up missing six-teen-plus hours ago and you don't have an answer? Oh, man, if
you can't ex-plain it, if things don't go the way you want them to, it must be God. Are ignorance
and fear and a need for some kind of immortality what it takes to make you a believer,Chaplain
Harte?"

 Cranstondrew lines on the legal pad. "Not to be disrespectful, General, but maybe this should have been
a navy matter."

 Marsden spoke in a flat voice but didn't take his eyes from Delroy. "General, as you'll
recall,AdmiralRoyce is among the missing. In this matter, I didn't want a stand-in. I wanted us."

Cranstonlooked at Marsden, then at Mayweather. "Why us?"

"Because we represent a major bloc within the joint chiefs, Gen-eral," Mayweather said in his honey-soft
voice. "When the three of us speak together on something, people listen."

 "We don't agree on a lot of things,"Cranston said. "The case in point is the situation we need to take
regardingRussia ."

 "We don't know thatRussia is behind the attacks that eliminated so much of our population," Marsden
said.

"That's bull,"Cranston said. "It can't be anyone else. No one else has the technology."

"You know," Mayweather said in a patient father's voice, "that's whatRussia is saying about us. That we
must be behind the disappear-ances."

Cranstonwaved the subject away. "That's just a smoke screen they're broadcasting to the rest of the
world."

 "They say that's our tactic," Marsden pointed out. "PresidentFitzhugh's declaration to the American
people this morning that we would find out who attacked theUnited States so savagely and punish those
responsible wasn't even a thinly veiled threat."

 "Come on, General,"Cranston flared. "After what the Soviets did to the Israelis in that surprise attack
fourteen months ago, how can you even doubt thatRussia is behind this?"

Marsden glanced at Mayweather, then sipped from a glass of water.
 Mayweather leaned back in his chair, obviously taking a very smooth handoff. Delroy doubtedCranston
caught the transition. The two older generals reminded Delroy of two older deacons inJosiahHarte 's
church who outmaneuvered the up-and-coming firebrands by double-teaming them so quietly they were
never noticed.

"You know, General Cranston, you're something of an accom-plished tactician," Mayweather said.

 Delroy knew that was definitely an understatement. Shortly after the Russian attack onIsrael and
afterChaimRosenzweig 's introduc-tion of the chemical fertilizer that had revolutionizedIsrael 's place in
theMiddle East ,Cranston had been the man to go to for the answers regarding questions about those
countries.Cranston had helped ne-gotiate the fragile peace that had existed till the Russian attack, then
had helped put the conflicts back into perspective after that attack to maintain another brief period of
bloodless unrest-until the Syrians had attackedTurkey .

 "The accepted view of the failure of the Russian attack onIsrael was because they used planes that were
falling apart," Mayweather said. "Do you really think they would have launched an attack that was
doomed to fail if they had a weapon waiting in the wings that could vaporize a third of the world's
population?"

Cranstonremained quiet.

 "The Russian military lost a lot of men and machines in that de-bacle,Todd ," Marsden observed quietly.
"Men and machines they could have used to defend themselves in case theUnited States orGreat Britain
or anyone else decided to retaliate."

 "Besides that," Mayweather put in, "if I had a weapon that had made a third of the world's population
disappear in a heartbeat, I think I'd be threatening to use it again instead of denying I had it. The Russians
showed no mercy in their attempted attack onIsrael . Why would you think they would deny possession
of a weapon of mass destruction that worked on a magnitude this great?"

 "And American weapon development has run in tandem to Rus-sian research," Marsden said. "They got
ahead of us with Sputnik, but they paid the price for that because they focused the American na-tion's
need to get into the space race instead of allowing the Russians to get there first. We've never been
behind them since."

"Do you think the Russians could invent something we haven't already had on the drawing boards?"
Mayweather asked.

Delroy appreciated the way the two older generals worked. They were smooth as hand-varnished
wood, and they had put the walls around the younger general with accomplished ease.

Someone knocked on the door. The lance corporal crossed the room and opened the door. A quiet,
quick conversation ensued.

When the lance corporal stepped back inside the room, a young Air Force colonel accompanied him.
The colonel saluted sharply, feet tight together like he was on parade.

"ColonelEmersonCarter,GeneralMarsden ."

"Colonel." Marsden leaned back in his chair. "Obviously you're here on some matter of concern.
Otherwise you would not have in-terrupted a private meeting."
 "No, sir," the colonel said. "General King said I was to get a mes-sage to you at once, sir. There's a
story breaking on FOX thatGeneralFarley thought you might want to see, sir."

 Delroy placed the name after a moment. The onlyGeneralFarley the chaplain knew of was General
Hamilton Farley, who was in com-mand of the NORAD base atCheyenneMountain . Cold fear stabbed
through Delroy's heart.

 The world was at DEFCON 2, perched at the edge of now and never. Giant airplanes hung like hunting
hawks over cities around the world, their bellies filled with nuclear death. Ohio-class and Ty-phoon-class
submarines glided through the oceans of the world, al-ready in position to attack key sites inRussia
,Korea , andChina . All of those engines of destruction were cutting-edge, built with first-strike capability
and armed with nuclear warheads that were desig-nated city killers and could earn that sobriquet in one
searing blast.

 Marsden punched a button on a keypad built into the conference table. A cube of television screens
lowered from a recessed spot in the ceiling. The screens quickly changed to the FOX station.

"-here just outside ofGdansk,Poland ," a young reporter spoke into a microphone. "Nobody knows
what brought the plane down in this wheat field outside the small city, but speculation exists that there
was an aerial battle between American and Russian fighter jets."

 The camera view locked in on the raging fire clinging to the un-mistakable skeletal shape of a fighter jet.
Several emergency vehicles ringed the area. Uniformed men with flashlights worked to keep the small
crowds back.

"Will, do we know whether the aircraft was American or Rus-sian?" someone off-camera asked.

 The reporter brought the microphone back up to his face. He wore a coat and went bareheaded. He
squinted against the wind. "No,Bert. As yet the local authorities haven't gotten close enough to make any
kind of identification. Local residents that I've talked to said that they saw streaks that might have been
machine gun fire and-"

"When did this happen?" Marsden asked.

 ColonelCarterdidn't even check his watch. The time stamp was posted on the television program.
"Seven minutes ago, General."

"And whose plane is this?"

"One of ours, sir."

Marsden looked at the television screen. "What happened?"

"That plane was a flanker on Bronze Eagle."

 Delroy didn't know what Bronze Eagle was, but since the fighter jet was close toRussia , an educated
guess told him that the code name was for one of the B-52s put into the air for first-strike capability
againstRussia .

"The pilot of that aircraft judged that a Russian MiG got too close. Command agreed. The pilot was
under clearance to fire a few warning rounds to turn the MiG away. Instead, our pilot was shot down."

"What happened to our pilot?" Marsden asked.

"Dead on impact, sir. There was no seat ejection."

 Another young man lost,Delroy couldn't help thinking. He thought of the black coffinTerry had been
buried in, thought of the way his wife had taken the flag folded into a tight triangle.

 "Of course,"Cranston said, "the Russians will say that we reacted in a hostile manner first." He leaned
forward on his elbows, his hands wrapped together. "With the jet inGdansk , not far from the Russian
border, that may sell in the public view."

Marsden turned to the Air Force officer. "Was there anything else, Colonel?"

"No, sir."

"You'll keep me apprised of this development? And any others that may happen?"

"Yes, sir."

"Thank you, Colonel. You're dismissed.

With a final salute,ColonelCarter turned on his heel and marched for the door.

Marsden pressed the keypad again, and the television cube disap-peared into the ceiling.

 "After this,"Cranston mused as he watched the screens recede, "the Russians will be in a perfect position
to start putting more pres-sure behind their demands that we give their people back."

"Give their people back?" Delroy didn't realize he was speaking until the words were already out.

"Yes, Chaplain,"Cranston said in a hard voice. "The Russians claim we kidnapped their people."

"What about the rest of the people in the world?" Delroy was flab-bergasted.

"They don't care about the people missing from other countries,"Cranston said.

"What about the people we're missing?"

 "They don't believe what they see on television. They think this is all a production. AHollywood
special-effects presentation."

"That's insane," Delroy said.

   "Is it, Chaplain?"Cranston sounded sarcastic. "I wouldn't know. Of course, I might mention that
people telling me God Rap-tured the world and took all the believers to heaven sounds insane as well."

Delroy sank back in his chair.

"Unless you can convince me otherwise, Chaplain?"Cranston said. "Maybe you want to trot out your
belief for all of us to see." Delroy tried to speak but didn't know where to begin. What was wrong with
him? Why had he come all this way just to sit here like this?

"A message of faith then, Chaplain?"Cranston said. Face burning, Delroy remained silent.

"Come now,ChaplainHarte ,"Cranston said. "Surely after the distance you've come with Captain
Falkirk's blessing, you can reveal to us your personal visions or prophecies."

"Todd," Marsden said in mild rebuke.

 "This man didn't come here to be ridiculed," Mayweather said. "No,"Cranston agreed in a harsh voice.
"I'm sure he didn't. But I will tell you this: if he was in my command, I'd have him up on charges of
dereliction of duty."

 Heaviness filled Delroy's limbs. He felt like he'd been beaten. "Nothing to say, Chaplain?"Cranston
asked.

"No, sir." The answer was dragged from Delroy only by years of training and discipline.

"Then I suggest we call an end to this,"Cranston suggested.

"With a downed plane in Poland and the Russians hysterical over it,

I think we've got more pressing business to attend to." "Chaplain?" Marsden looked hopeful. "Aye, sir?"

"Was there anything else you wanted to say?"

 Delroy hesitated. He searched his mind for the fire he'd felt back on theWasp. But he couldn't think of a
single thing. "No, sir." Marsden seemed to sag in his chair. "You're dismissed,ChaplainHarte . "

"Thank you, General." Wearily, Delroy stood, put his hat on, sa-luted, and turned on his heel. He
walked toward the door in total, agonizing defeat.



Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0153 Hours



 Goose stood in the darkness at the front of the Hummer. Clouds and dust obscured the stars, and he
gave silent thanks for that. If there were any Syrian scouts around that the Ranger perimeter teams hadn't
been able to find, the darkness would help cover the fact that the first wave of the retreat was going to
start in minutes. Most of the wounded had been loaded an hour ago.

 Below in the stream, the final wave of men was finishing up with the chaplains andCorporalJosephBaker
, who had not once stepped from the stream. The big man had at times taken brief respites from the
baptisms, during which he had conferred with people he had pulled from the water.
The men held torches they'd made from materials salvaged from supplies that were going to be left
behind. The torches flickered in the slow, soft breeze that had turned cold as soon as the sun had gone
down. The land was giving up its heat now, and Goose knew from ex-perience that a chill would fill the
harsh terrain before morning.

 Goose had set himself up on perimeter watch. Movement on pa-trol helped him work through the
anxiety that crashed through him as he wondered how the night's preparations for the evac were going.

 Remington’s assigning him to the baptism hadn't interfered with carrying out the retreat. Goose knew the
Ranger captain had known that when he'd made the assignation. A good first sergeant made his position
redundant because he'd trained the men to know what had to be done already and the captain knew
everything had already been considered.

Also, Goose had monitored the activities of the different units and squads he'd set up through the
headset. His headset was chipped for all the different frequencies in use. He also knew thatRemington
de-liberately hadn't completely cut him out of the loop.

 As he walked, Goose kept his eyes moving like he was on point. In the darkness, his peripheral vision
was best. He carried the M-4A1 in both hands. At least the cortisone shot Mkchian had been generous
enough to give him had kicked in and calmed the damaged knee. The joint $till felt puffy and a little
leaden but moved well enough, and he felt only occasional twinges of pain.

 Other Rangers stood guard as well. Some of them had gotten bap-tized. Goose could see that their
uniforms were still damp, and the men stood huddled in blankets to block the chill wind. On the east-ern
ridgeline, Turkish soldiers put into by position byCaptainMkchian stood guard as well.

A hundred yards from the Hummer, Goose spotted the hulk of a RSOV.Remington . He
knewRemington wouldn't allow anyone else to take one of the vehicles this close to the retreat window.
As he got closer to the RSOV, he saw thatRemington had come alone.

"Hello, Goose,"Remington said, sitting in the seat with both arms wrapped around the steering wheel.
His voice was neutral.

"Captain," Goose replied.

"Is this circus about finished?"

 Goose looked over his shoulder. Fewer than a dozen torches still burned where Baker and the chaplains
spoke to the latest group of men that had been baptized. Pockets of men strode back up the hill-sides.
One man threw his torch into the stream. The water extin-guished the flames at once.

"Yes, sir," Goose said. "I told them they had to be done by two. They finished up about ten minutes ago.
They're clearing out now."

Remingtonsucked air through his teeth. It was one of the few un-conscious mannerisms he had, and this
one denoted extreme irrita-tion. "You realize we're living out a Chinese curse."

"Sir?"

"Knock off the 'sir,' Goose,"Remington said. "This is just you and
me.

 Goose stilled the immediate "yes, sir" that almost escaped him. DespiteRemington 's words, Goose knew
they would never share the equality they'd had as enlisted men together. Not unless something changed.
Goose knew he wasn't going up to officer, andRemington would never willingly leave.

"A Chinese curse?" Goose prompted.

"To live in interesting times,"Remington answered.

Goose nodded.

"Of course, some of the men who have been baptized out here have come back talking about these
being the end times,"Remington said. "I guessBaker and the chaplains are pumping them up about that."

"I wouldn't know," Goose said.

"You mean you haven't been down for a dip?"Remington seemed surprised.

 "No,"Goose answered. He'd been baptized when he was thirteen, withPastorMoody on one side and
his dad on the other. He could still remember coming out of the water of the baptismal pool and see-ing
the tears in his father's eyes. Not usually demonstrative in public,WesGander had pulled his son to him
tightly and hugged Goose so hard he hadn't been able to breathe.

"I don't like this, Goose."

Goose remained quiet.

 "I've seen men get religion on the battlefield before."Remington spat the word as if religion was a
disease. "A guy sees his buddy get hit next to him. Sees a mortar dig a crater only a few feet away. Gets
left out pinned down on a busted op too long. That will change a man's perspective." He paused. "They
say there are no atheists in foxholes."

"I've never seen one," Goose replied.

"A guy who isn't sure God is going to get him out of a jam is a guy who's sure God is ignoring him or
punishing him,"Remington said. "Then he feels like he's jinxed. The guy who figures God is going to save
him forgets about trying to save himself. The guy who figures God is out to get him thinks the next bullet
has his name on it." He paused. "Either situation makes for a bad soldier and an even worse Ranger."

 "Over a third of this unit disappeared yesterday morning, Cap-tain," Goose said. "Nearly that many
more people were killed during the SCUD launch. These men can't undergo something like that and walk
away unchanged."

 "So they decide to get baptized, give their souls to God.""Entrust their souls to God," Goose corrected.
"Semantics."

No, sir, it's not,Goose thought. But he knew the captain wouldn't understand.

Remingtonnodded at a group of Rangers passing by them only a few feet away. "Now that they're
walking out of here, I've got to won-der if they're thinking they're bulletproof or that they've paid up all
their dues for a one-way trip to heaven."

"You'd have to ask them."

 "I don't want either of those reactions from them,"Remington said. "Give me a man who's afraid of dying
and wants to make sure the other guy dies first. That's a good Ranger."

 Goose disagreed but didn't say so. A good Ranger was a man who got a dirty and dangerous job done
as efficiently as he could to save the lives of loved ones and innocents.

"That's why I freedDeanHardin ,"Remington said.

Anger flared through Goose. "Captain, that man is a thief, and he tried to kill me."

Remingtonshook his head and looked away. "That's not how he tells it, Goose. Hardin says you came
up on him from behind and sur-prised him. He had a knife in his hand and he accidentally nearly gut-ted
you. He says he was keyed up from the helicopters crashing and raining down all around you."

"And you believe him?"

"You can't walk up behind a man on a battlefield without giving him some kind of warning,
Goose."Remington looked at him then. Accusation showed in his eyes.

"Hardin was stealing from a dead Marine, Captain," Goose said.

"Hardin says he was salvaging resources."

Goose couldn't believe it. "Money from a dead man?"

"Money is one of the best resources a scavenger can find,"Remington said. "It converts to any size and
works almost any-where."

"Sir," Goose protested, "those men were our reinforcements. Most of them were little more than kids."

Remingtonswore. "Goose, listen to me. I know for a fact that you're an organ donor, right?"

"Yes, sir."

"Well, how do you figure on giving someone a heart or a lung without being dead? A kidney or an eye
you can maybe spare because you've got a pair. But let's face it: as a donor you're worth more if you're
dead."

Goose didn't say anything because he knew where the captain was headed with his logic.

"Those dead men that Hardin took money from were donors,"Remington said.

"Was that how Hardin put it, sir?" Goose asked.

"That's how I'm putting it now, Sergeant,"Remington said. "And that's how I'm putting it in my report."
"Yes, sir."

"I wanted you to know why I countermanded your orders to hold Hardin. I also talked him out of
pressing charges against you for strik-ing him. He'll be with me during the evac."

 "Yes, sir." But Goose knew that wasn't the only reasonRemington was telling him about Hardin. Hardin
was also a man to hold grudges. There was talk, never proven, of a man Hardin had gotten crossways
with and ended up killing. When Goose had turned up the scuttlebutt, he'd gone toRemington .Remington
had said that men like Hardin, guys who were natural-born predators and survivors, al-ways gathered
stories around them. Some of them, the captain had said, were even started by the predators themselves.

"We'll be in Sanliurfa tomorrow morning,"Remington said. "We're going to assess the situation and see if
we can hold the city, but that will only be a diversion to allow refortification ofDiyarbakir ."

 Goose had figured that would be the case. With the Rangers atDiyarbakir , they'd be able to attack from
behind any invading Syrian troops that got deeply into the country and marched onAnkara . For the time
they were there, Sanliurfa would also act as a frontier fort where they could arrange hit-and-get missions
to disable Syrian cav and missile units.

"You remember the CIA agent you rescued yesterday morning?"Remington asked.

"Yes. Icarus."

"I've had men in Sanliurfa-"

"Perrin?" Goose knew all about Perrin.

Remingtonnodded. "-and they haven't found this agent." "Maybe he was one of the ones who
disappeared." Goose had heard about losses in nearby areas as well.

 "Possibly,"Remington nodded. "In the meantime, I find it inter-esting that the CIA is in the area looking
for a rogue agent at a time when something as unexplained as the disappearances take place."

Goose considered that. He hadn't thought about the CIA being somehow involved with the
disappearances.

"When you get to Sanliurfa, take a look around. See if thisguy turns up."

"I will, sir."

 Remingtonpulled his shirtsleeve back and checked his watch on the inside of his wrist. "Get back to
camp, Sergeant. When this thing goes down, I want you where I can use you most."

"Yes, sir."

"And, Goose."Remington fixed him with a hard, flat stare. "This doesn't happen again. Not between us.
Not in my command.Ever. "

"Yes, sir," Goose said. And he hoped it wouldn't becauseRemington was his friend, but also because he
knew the captain wouldn't allow him to step across that line of command again with-out severe penalties.
Remington's head whipped away.

 Knowing the captain was listening to his headset, Goose quickly went through the channels, flipping over
to the main command channel.

 “-confirms SCUD launch," a man's high-strung voice an-nounced. "We are under attack! ETA seventy
seconds, Captain!"

Goose switched over to the main com channel the Rangers would be using. All the confusion brought on
by Remington's actions disap-peared in the space of a single heartbeat.

 "This is Phoenix Leader," Goose said as he sprinted for the Rum-mer. He dropped into the seat behind
the steering wheel. "The Syri-ans have launched SCUDs! Dig in! Dig in!" He keyed the starter button and
felt the engine shiver to life.

 Remington was already in motion, flooring the RSOV so the tires threw out rooster tails of dirt. He
would be in touch with the captains of the U.N. troops and the Turkish army, making certain they all had
the same information.

 Goose shoved the Hummei s transmission into gear and fol-lowed. He checked his watch and found that
the first evac carrying the wounded was already a few minutes underway. His heart turned cold as he
realized those units would be drastically exposed along the roads.

United States of America

The Pentagon,Washington,D.C.

Local Time 7:03 P.M.



 Nausea wormed through Delroy's guts as he walked fromGeneralMarsden 's office. His legs quivered
and black spots spun in his vision. Perspiration tracked down his face.

People hurried by him, carrying notes and meals. And probably a lot of bad news that was only going to
get worse, if the downed fighter inPoland was any indication.

Loosening his tie, Delroy tried to take a deep breath and couldn't.God, why did You send me all this
way to fail? He couldn't understand it.How was I supposed to change General Cranston's mind?
You're supposed to touch people's hearts. You're supposed to make them change. Not me. God,
help me. I can barely keep my own faith together. You know that. You see me as I really am.

"Are you okay,ChaplainHarte ?"

Delroy glanced over at the lance corporal who had been assigned to walk him out of the building. "I
don't know."

 "There's a bathroom here, sir." The lance corporal pointed to the side of the hallway. "Would you like to
stop?"

Delroy spotted the men's room plaque. When it was first designed after World War II, the Pentagon had
been designed with men in mind, not women. As a result, the number of men's rooms still far
outnumbered those of women.

"You had a long flight, sir," the lance corporal said, "and I know being in that room facing General
Cranston like that wasn't easy." "The general's a hard man," Delroy said.

"Yes, sir. But he's a driven man. If you can get him on your side, he'll go to the wall with you."

"I didn't quite make that happen, did I?"

"No, sir." The lance corporal hesitated. "But I'll tell you some-thing, Chaplain, I believe you're right. I
believe the worldhas been Raptured. "

"You do?"

"Yes, sir." The young man looked earnest and grim. "My grand-mother raised me, chaplain, and she
brought me up in the church. If it hadn't been for the church andPastorKeith , I'd never have made it out
of high school. I never would have become a Marine. God works in everyone's lives. It's just that a lot of
people don't acknowledge him. Including me, sometimes. But my doubts vanished when I saw what
happened."

"Lance Corporal, I wish you had stars on your shoulders." Delroy tried to make a joke of it, but the
Marine's forthrightness about his be-lief made the pain of his failure hurt even more.

"I wish that General Cranston hadn't been the man you needed to win over, sir.

"Thank you for that. And I think I'll take you up on that kind offer. It's been a long, long day for me."

 "Yes, sir. I'll be out here if you need me, sir." The Marine posted up beside the door. "So you can take a
few minutes to yourself if you need them, sir."

 Delroy clapped the young Marine on the shoulder. A regular offi-cer might not be able to get away with
that, but as chaplain he could. Even that small gesture, offered out of fellowship and friendship, re-minded
him how separated he was from the military, how far he was fromCranston 's world.

Inside the men's room, Delroy walked to the nearest sink. The door closed behind him and the outside
noises went away. The ex-haust fan in the center of the room rattled gently.

 The bathroom had a dark tiled floor and white walls. Six beige stalls stood at the far end of the room on
the other side of a similar number of urinals. The pine disinfectant smell of the room was so sharp it hurt
Delroy's sinuses and burned his eyes.

He stood at the sink and looked at his image. His tie hung at half-mast, and his features appeared ashen.
God, forgive me. I have failed You so badly.

"And where do you go to when you think you're failing, boy?"

 Delroy heard his father's voice, a call from his past. That had been one of the thingsJosiahHarte had
asked his eldest son several times as he'd been growing up. As a young boy, Delroy had been a fighter.
Being black inAlabama back in those years hadn't been easy. School-yard battles had resulted in more
than a few white parents showing up at his father's church.
That was whatJosiahHarte had always asked when Delroy had come home battered and beaten or
battered and victorious.Battered had always figured in there somewhere.

 If a man fails,JosiahHarteused to say in his occasional sermons when he touched on the subject,he has
nowhere else in the world he can go but to the Lord God Almighty. The choir would break out in
song, a gospel arrangement of "Where Could I Go?"

Delroy shrugged out of his jacket and looked up at the ceiling-and beyond it. "You gotta help me, Lord,
because I know I can't help myself. I've gone the distance You asked me to, but I've come up short
here." He hung his jacket on the paper towel holder. "I don't know what else You want me to do. You're
gonna have to show me what You want me to do now."

 He looked at his face in the mirror, wishing there were more ofJosiahHarte 's features in his. His father's
face had been hard and fierce, the face of an avenging angel, Delroy's mother had always said.

 Delroy had the face of a boxer. Scar tissue showed under both eyes under close inspection even after all
these years. His father had loved watching him box. He'd stood in the corner and worked as cut-man
while Delroy had battled in Golden Gloves boxing matches. He'd come to the gym, worked out on the
ropes, the speed bag, and the heavy bag with Delroy.

 "You're a good fighter, Delroy, "his father had told him occasionally, though only when he'd fought in
the ring and not in the schoolyard."You got a head for it. Always looking for an opponent, always
looking. If you ever get your heart wrapped around the Word of the Lord, why, you're gonna be a
champion, boy. But you got a mighty hard head. Mighty hard. Can I get an Amen on that?"

Amen,Delroy thought, and he was surprised to see a smile tug at his lips.

 "You not done, boy. You not done till I throw in the towel or you can't get up no more. And I ain't
throwin' in no towel. "

 Delroy remembered the times his father had told him that, times that he'd been certain he'd been too
broken up, too bloodied and bat-tered to go one more round. He'd always gotten up, gone one more
round and sometimes another as long as his father had kept at him.

 "I'm not done," Delroy told his reflection. He turned on the cold faucet, shoved both hands under the
stream, and splashed cold water into his face. The sensation woke him, alleviating some of the nausea
and fatigue he felt. Between that and the memories of his father, he felt almost human again.

He raised his head and blinked the water from his eyes.

 Then he saw the young blond pilot from the C-9 Skytrain standing behind him. As his vision cleared,
Delroy saw that the man wasn’t quite human. Scales covered his flesh, and his amber eyes were set in
elongated slits that ran up on the sides of his head, giving him a snake-like appearance. His nose was a
brief nub above a mouth that held ser-rated teeth. A black, forked tongue flicked out when he smiled.

"Oh, yeah," the creature said, "you're done. Just stupid, is all." With blinding speed, the man-creature
grabbed the back of Delroy's head and smashed him forward into the mirror.

Shards of the mirror tumbled into the sink and broke again. Dazed, Delroy slumped against the sink.
The creature shoved a hand against Delroy's back and straddled his hips, leaning into him to keep him
pinned against the sink. Its other hand scrabbled in the sink and grabbed a mirror shard from the rush-ing
water in the basin. Hard black talons gleamed at the ends of the thing's fingers.

"You came into this men's room," the thing said. "You were de-spondent. You were right to feel that
way. And right to do something about it. After all, nobody believes in you or your God. Everyone will
understand how you felt compelled to come in here and cut your own throat. "

 Delroy stared down at the gleaming shard in the creature's hand. He stared at the inhuman features
reflected in the mirror. The black, forked tongue danced in unholy anticipation.

"You won't be waking up, Delroy, but I'm your nightmare."

Twisting quickly, Delroy brought his left elbow back into the thing's face. It seemed stunned by the blow
but didn't release him. Delroy brought his elbow again, feeling the dense bone of the thing's head.

With an angry squall, the creature fell backward. Delroy pushed himself up to his feet, bringing his fists
up in front of him automati-cally.

 "Give up, Chaplain," the thing snarled, raking its empty hand across its features. "Give up and I'll kill you
fast."

"No," Delroy replied.

 "You want to give up." The thing swiped at him with the mirror shard. Light splintered from the gleaming
surface. "It's too hard for you to believe."

"I struggle with my belief," Delroy said. "I strive to be stronger in my belief. It's what every goodChristian
does."

"Really?" the thing mocked. "I got a news flash for you, ace. All the good Christians have done left the
planet. You people that are left here, you're prey." The creature uncoiled, almost like a snake uncoiling in
a strike.

 Delroy caught the creature's shard-wielding hand by the wrist with his left hand. He jammed his right
forearm up under the thing's jaw, catching it so fast that the serrated teeth closed and chopped off part of
the black tongue.

The creature head-butted him.

 Dazed, Delroy went backward and slammed against the wall. The creature was at his throat
immediately. With raw, savage strength, the thing shoved him down to the cold tile floor. Pieces of the
broken mir-ror scraped against the floor and cut into Delroy's back.

 The thing straddled Delroy. It grinned. "You're going to die, chap-lain. Ersatz faith never protected
anybody."

 Delroy struggled, but every time he got set and pushed, the creature moved fluidly and countered his
strength, keeping him pinned to the floor.

"You're nothing, chaplain." The creature smiled and the slitted eyes gleamed. "Your son was nothing.
He's gone and you'll never see him again."

"God took my son," Delroy said.

"Bullets blew your son's heart out, Chaplain. Don't fool yourself."

"I'll see him again," Delroy said. "I'll seeTerry again."

"Want to try for tonight?"

 Delroy yanked his right hand free and drove a punch into the thing's face, catching it off guard. When the
creature shifted, he rolled, getting over on top of it. But the thing slithered away, scrabbling up an-other
mirror shard. Losing was only a matter of time. Dying lay an inch behind that.

"Die tonight, Chaplain, and you get to see your boy earlier, right?"

 "1 can't," Delroy said. "God has a purpose here for me." He shook his head. "I'm not done yet." And
suddenly he believed it. Believed it right down to the core. He found the will to pray, really pray, for help.
God, help me, inJesus' name.

 And the bathroom door opened. Looking over the thing's shoulder, Delroy sawGeneralToddCranston 's
jaw drop in surprise.

The creature hissed like a scalded cat, curled in on itself, and faded away into the shadows.

Gasping for air, Delroy struggled to his feet. Chest heaving, he stared atCranston . "You saw that."

"No."Cranston shook his head.

"Then what did you see?"

"You,"Cranston said. "I came in. You must have fallen. That's all." The general reached for the door.

"No." Throwing out a big hand, Delroy caught the door and shut it. "You saw it. There are no aliens,
General. No mystery weapons that the Russians dreamed up."

"You're crazy."

"Those people that are missing were taken by the Rapture," Delroy went on relentlessly.

"No."

 Delroy leaned into the man, invadingCranston 's personal space the way he had seen his father do with
reluctant parishioners. "Do you know what we're up against, General?"

Pounding sounded on the door. "General. General Cranston. Are you all right, sir?"

 Delroy recognized the voice of the young Marine. He ignored the demands. "Ifyou don't recognize what
is before you, General, if you don't help curb the DEFCON 2 status we're at, you're going to help the
enemy win."
"The enemy?"

 "The Antichrist," Delroy said. "He's coming. You just saw one of his minions. Now that the Rapture has
occurred, the Antichrist will rise and take everyone and everything he can in the next seven years before
the Glorious Appearing of Christ."

More pounding hammered the door. "General!"

"We're soldiers, General," Delroy implored. "We're supposed to be good soldiers. The first line of
defense for civilians and those who are too weak or unable to defend themselves."

 "General!" The door jumped as someone tried to force his way in. "You took an oath," Delroy
reminded. "You took an oath before God to serve this country. God is part of every military creed and
duty we have. You can't turn your back on him, General."

The door flew open as Marines boiled into the room. Delroy didn't know how many of them there were.
They hit him and knocked him down, driving him to his knees and pinning his arms behind his back. One
of the Marines held a Colt .45 to the side of Delroy's head.Cranston stared back at him with an
unaccustomed pallor.

 "God put me here tonight," Delroy said. "I came a long way to be here. And the only reason I'm here is
to get you to do something that you can do." He breathed hard, twisted painfully by the Marines. "I heard
Him and I believed Him and I came. And He put you through that door at that moment to see what you
saw, General. If you don't be-lieve that, then you're lost. And if you're lost, that thing wins."Cranston
shook his head and wiped his mouth.

"What did you see, General?" Delroy asked. "You've got a third of tine people missing around the
planet. Countries armed with nuclear weapons pointed down each others' throats. Doesn't that sound like
Ar-mageddon to you?"

 "General," the lance corporal said. "Why don't you get out of here and let us handle this? We've got
him."

"No,"Cranston said. "Let him up."

"Sir?"

"Get off him, Marine. That's an order."

"Sir, yes, sir."

The Marines released Delroy. Weakly, the chaplain tried to get to his feet.

"Here, Chaplain Harte." Cranston extended his hand. He still looked uncertain.

Delroy took the man's hand and letCranston help him up.

"I don't know what I saw,ChaplainHarte ,"Cranston said, "but whatever it was, I'm willing to listen."

"Thank you, sir."
 "Grab your coat and hat,"Cranston said, "and let's go find out if I'm as influential as you seem to think I
am."

"It wasn't me thinking that, sir," Delroy said. "I just carried the message."




Turkish-Syrian Border

40 Klicks South ofSanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 0217 Hours




Pillars of fire leaped up from the ground in front of the ridge over-looking the Turkish-Syrian border.

 Goose drove the Hummer flat out, feeling the vehicle claw over the broken ground, then go airborne a
couple times. Less than a hundred yards from the ridge, a SCUD missile slammed into the front of the hill
where the Rangers, the U.N. troops, and the Turkish army had pulled back to holding positions. Rock
and dirt rained down over Goose, pep-pering his helmet and his body armor. His face and hands took
hits as well, but those were more annoying and scary than damaging.

 The battlefield, less than a day old from the previous morning's attack, only hours older than the
disappearances that had caused he-licopters and planes to rain from the sky, erupted again as the new
wave of devastation tore into the area. Smoke and dust occluded the landscape in less than a minute,
forming a thick, drifting acrid fog.

Goose flipped through the headset frequencies, tuning in to the com channel set aside for the Marine
wing survivors. He jerked the wheel as a large boulder smacked into the ground ahead of him, but he
wasn't able to entirely avoid the mass. The right front end of the Hummer kissed the boulder and the
headlights on that side shat-tered. The sudden jarring rocked Goose in his seat, but the belts kept him in
place till he regained control over the Hummer.

 The Marine Harrier and Sea Cobra gunships leapt up from the LZ that had been made earlier. The
pilots' voices sounded anxious as they formed up. One of the helos disintegrated as a SCUD hammered
it from the sky. Pieces of the Sea Cobra rained down in flaming shards. Then the Marine wing was
engaged, streaking over the border intoSyria to hunt the SCUD launchers, targeting them through the
satellite reconnaissance being done from the field command post.
Remingtondrove his RSOV just back of the ridgeline and parked.

 A hundred yards away so that both vehicles couldn't be lost in one SCUD blast, Goose parked the
Hummer and leaped out. He kept his head down, one hand on his helmet, and ran for the ridge. The
Ranger rifle companies lay spread out along the ridgeline, taking what cover they could behind natural
fortifications, husks of downed planes and helicopters they'd pulled into position, and behind sand-bags
they'd spent the afternoon filling.

 Goose hugged the ground and prayed for his teammates and the Marine wing that had flown into enemy
territory. As infantry, the only chance the Rangers had was to dig in and try to survive. Again and again,
the earth shook beneath him. He kept his face buried in his arms, choking on the dirt and the dust that
stayed stirred up. He kept praying, hoping to get home toMegan ,Joey, andChris .

 In less than a minute, the Marine pilots were confirming success-ful strikes against identified SCUD
launchers. Unfortunately, the pi-lots in turn were being targeted by ground antiaircraft guns. As Goose
listened to the frantic radio chatter, he realized the attrition rate among the Marine wing was fierce.

"Marathon Leader, this is Blue Falcon Leader," the Harrier pilot called.

 Marathon Leader wasCaptainRemington 's call sign. The opera-tion had been designatedMarathon
because of the long run the Rangers would have to do to get to Sanliurfa. The Turkish military had moved
extra troops into the city to help hold the Syrians back un-til the next fallback toDiyarbakir could be
arranged.

All we've got is forty klicks of bad road,Goose told himself.We can do forty klicks.

"Go Blue Leader,"Remington replied, "you have Marathon Leader."

"Marathon Leader, be advised that the hostiles' infantry and cav units are in motion."

"Rogerthat, Blue Leader. Can you confirm twenty from the line?"

"Twenty from the line is ten klicks."

 "Rogerten klicks, Blue Leader. Marathon One, did you copy?" "Affirmative," Goose responded.
"Marathon One copies.Roger ten klicks."

 It the Syrians were ten klicks out, Goose knew it wouldn't take more than seven to ten minutes to cover
the distance. He looked back over his shoulder at the mountain road the fleeing transports carrying the
wounded had taken earlier in the day.

 Goose couldn't see any of the trucks, jeeps, and Hummers that carried the wounded, but he knew they
didn't have a big enough lead to make an escape. If the drivers didn't maintain a grueling pace, the
approaching Syrians would quickly overtake them. And the same gru-eling pace they had to maintain
might kill many of the injured.

 At least when the Syrians got close to the border, the SCUD launchers would have to stop firing at
them. But the medevac units would remain fair game for the missiles.

Six minutes later, the command post personnel radioed that the Syrian cav should be visible from the
Rangers' positions. That was the bad news. The good news was that the SCUD launches were down to
practically nil. Between the attacks by the Marine wing and the proba-bility that the Syrians had
expended most of their arsenal the previ-ous day, they obviously hadn't had much to give.

 Goose crawled to the ridgeline and peered over. Through the smoke and the dust haze, he spotted the
front line of the approaching Syrian cavalry. The tanks and APCs looked monstrous in the dark-ness,
briefly lit up as their cannon and machine guns opened fire. Or-ange gouts of flame rent holes in the
darkness.

"Incoming!" someone yelled, and Goose didn't know if someone else had yelled or if he was only hearing
his own voice.

In the next instant, the cannon rounds impacted against the ridgeline. A few others exploded farther back
behind Goose. A fresh wave of falling dirt and rock rained down over Goose's back.

Then the line of advancing cav broke up as they hit the first of the M-18A1 claymores the Rangers had
positioned in the area in front of the burned-out hulks of Syrian vehicles left from the initial attack
yes-terday. The mines slowed the tanks and APCs for a moment as the drivers feared broken treads or
blown tires in the case of some of the APCs.

The Syrians had been expecting the traps there, Goose knew as he took out his night-vision binoculars,
but the next layer was down and dirty, stuff that wasn't found in the textbooks.

 As the Syrian cav units stood down to send infantry ahead to search out the claymores that could cripple
the APCs and tanks,Remington gave the order to begin the second wave of the evacuation.

 The U.N. forces departed first, sagging from the middle of the confrontation zone asRemington had
worked out. Even with all the casualties they'd had, the Rangers stood the best chance of surviving
bringing up the rear. The U.N. forces hadn't been bloodied as fre-quently or as harshly as the 75th, and
the Turkish army was more equipped and trained to attack en masse rather than by small, swiftly moving
special forces units.

 The U.N. forces sped through the night, getting away smoothly in spite of the blistering attack that had
taken place. If the Syrians hadn't moved forward and forced the confrontation, Goose felt certain they
could have made the retreat as easily as a practiced circus act.

 The vehicles drove without lights because that would have drawn Syrian fire immediately. With the heavy
dust and smoke streaming across the battlefield, the vehicle's lights wouldn't penetrate and would only
blind the drivers. Small reflectors had been placed along the mountain road for the first five klicks, till the
road disappeared up into the mountains high above the border.

 The Syrian infantry advanced cautiously against the threat of the claymores. Using rifle-fired grappling
hooks, they shot the heavy hooks into the area methodically, crisscrossing the lines and dragging the
hooks back through. As they hit claymores, the explosion threw dirt and rock into the air. Occasionally,
some of the Syrian soldiers were hit, but not often. Thousands of dollars of munitions were going up with
nothing to be gained for it.

 Except time,Goose reminded himself. Time was the one priceless commodity a soldier needed. The
ability to control time was a dream.

 The Syrians continued advancing, firing the grappling hooks, dragging them through the claymores,
advancing, reloading, and fir-ing again.
 They were, Goose had to admit, remarkably efficient. In a handful of minutes, groups of men had
cleared tank-wide paths through the open area to the maze of broken vehicles. The tanks and APCs
inched forward, still comfortable out of range of the Rangers' M-203s.

"Snipers," Goose called.

The sniper teams along the ridgeline, composed mostly of Marines who had survived the crash ofWasp's
Marine wing re-sponded.

"Targets," Goose commanded. "Fire at will."

 Almost immediately, the snipers opened fire. The heavy reports of the 7.62mm rounds from the M-40
sniper rifles and the .50-cal car-tridges from theBarrett popping off with measured cadence seemed
barely noticeable after the thunder of the exploding SCUDs. The M--40s were ranged out to a thousand
yards. The Marines handling theBarretts claimed hits had been confirmed out to a mile.

 Syrian infantrymen dropped in their tracks. In less than a minute, the Syrian tanks locked down and
started firing, punching rounds into the ridgeline. The Syrian infantrymen moved quickly through the
remaining ground to the abandoned vehicles, thinking they were safe from the sniper fire as they
continued searching for a way to the border.

"Marathon Fire Control," Goose called. His voice sounded hol-low and far away. Ringing rolled inside
his ears from the explosions that had fallen all around him. "This is Marathon One."

"Go, One. You have Fire Control."

"Do you have your target?"

"Rogertarget, One. Fire Control is up, fully loaded, and hunting bear."

 Tension knotted Goose's stomach. He stared down at the broken maze of shattered Syrian vehicles. The
Rangers had taken as much fuel as they needed to get their own transport back to Sanliurfa and hadn't
tried to carry any extra. If they made Sanliurfa, the objective and the necessity would be to hold the city,
not abandon it immedi-ately.

 With that operating parameter in mind, the Rangers had devised crude napalm bombs using the leftover
fuel from the downed aircraft that hadn't exploded or ruptured their tanks. Aviation gas was the most
combustible liquid they had. While they had been filling jerry cans with salvaged gas from the Syrian
vehicles, they had also been re-filling those gas tanks with a mixture of aviation gas, detergent, and oil
from the motor pools of the Rangers, U.N. forces, and Turkish army. Adding remote-control detonators
and wiring them to go off in select areas gave them an added arsenal.

 With the snipers driven back by the tank support cannonfire, the Syrian infantry moved deeper into the
maze of vehicles. None of the soldiers seemed to notice that the vehicles had been positioned to lead to
strategic locations.

"Fire Control," Goose said, "light up the primary zones."

"Fire in the hole, One."
Goose dropped the night-vision binoculars so the incendiaries wouldn't cause temporary blindness when
magnified through the lenses.

 The near-napalm, as the Rangers had termed the explosive mix-ture, detonated, blasting free of the
constraining spaces where it had been held. Huge gouts of flaming liquid spewed through the air,
cov-ering several of the Syrian infantry.

Goose's heart almost went out to the men. God help them, it was a horrible way to die. But he turned off
his feelings. If the Syrians weren't stopped here, at least for a while, they would roll over the Rangers, the
U.N. forces, and the Turkish army. Not even the wounded had a chance of escaping. Goose knew they
wouldn't hesi-tate about killing everyone. After the bloodthirsty attack with the SCUDs yesterday
morning, he knew there would be no Geneva Con-vention rules.

The battle was a basic one. The winners lived and the losers died.

 Syrians covered in the sticky flames created by the mixture of fuel, oil, and detergent turned into human
torches. Panicked, they ran in all directions. Some of them tripped claymores, proving that the threat still
existed within the maze of vehicles.

Still, the Syrians regrouped and came inexorably forward. When the tanks were certain the claymores
had been cleared, they rolled ponderously forward.

"Fire Control," Goose called.

"Go, One."

"Zone Two. Now."

 With the tanks and APCs in the heart of the maze, the secondary explosives, blocks of C-4, diesel fuel,
and fertilizer, detonated from ground emplacements. The rolling cav halted again, but only for a moment.
Evidently knowing they had no choice but to push on through, the tank commanders engaged again and
rolled forward.

"Blue Falcon Leader,"Remington called. "This is Marathon Leader."

"Go, Leader. You have Blue Falcon."

"You're up."

 Goose glanced to the east and saw the few Harriers and Sea Co-bras sweep in toward the tanks and
APCs. The Marine wing had few bombs left after attacking the SCUD launch sites, but they unlim-bered
everything they had. The effect left several APCs and tanks dis-abled or heavily damaged.

"Marathon, this is Blue Leader. We're tapped, guys, and running on fumes."

 "Get clear, Blue Leader,"Remington said. "Thanks for the assist." "I've heard that Rangers lead the way,"
the pilot said in a gruff,

friendly voice. "Didn't know they stayed to close the door."

"We're a full-service corps,"Remington said.
"God keep you,Marathon . We'll be waiting on you in Sanliurfa. "

The surviving Harriers and Sea Cobras turned north and disap-peared into the black sky.

"One, this is Leader."

"Go, Leader," Goose responded.

"Let's break it off by the numbers."

 Calmly, Goose called out the evacuation units, sending the Rangers into full retreat in waves. He was
aware of the RSOVs, Rum-mers, and Jeeps departing in an organized fashion. He stayed with Fire
Control.

 When the Syrian army hit the abandoned Ranger, Turkish, and U.N. vehicles, they hesitated. There
were no claymores in front of the wrecked vehicles, but the near-napalm and C-4 was in place. Thunder
and flames shredded the night again. When the tanks tried to rush through, they found claymores
staggered and waiting on the other side that blew some of the treads.

 "All right, Fire Control," Goose said. "We're done here. Retreat." He turned and stayed low, running
across the broken ground.

The twenty Rangers of the fire control unit ran for the waiting ve-hicles a quarter mile distant as the
Syrian cav opened fire again. The tanks and APCs fired blindly, though, lobbing shells into the ridgeline
where they believed their tormentors were, and put very few over the top.

We're going to make it,Goose thought. He was covered with grit and perspiration. The pain in his knee
was more fierce now, but it held together. His breath burned the back of his throat dry.

 Twenty-one men piled into three RSOVs, leaving the other Jeeps and Hummers behind. The fact that
those vehicles weren't going any-where offered mute testimony that several soldiers who had held the line
at the ridge weren't going to make it to Sanliurfa.

 PrivateJohnBradyfrom backwoodsNorth Carolina took the wheel of the RSOV and aimed them at the
reflectors that had been set up to mark the road. He was a seasoned driver, a good wheelman, and
claimed to come from a long line of moonshine runners and NASCAR racers. Goose didn't know if the
claim was true, but the man knew how to handle a vehicle.

The three RSOVs sped toward the winding mountain road.

Goose sat in the passenger seat and tried to find a comfortable po-sition for his injured knee.

"They're coming, Sarge,"CorporalTravisMadden called from the back of the RSOV. He was one of the
best electronics-on-the-run guys the Rangers had ever turned out.

 Twisting in his seat, Goose peered back at the ridgeline and saw the first of the tanks, APCs, and jeeps
pull into view. There was no hesitation; the Syrians came on at full speed now, a rolling onslaught of
armor and firepower.

They're not going to stop,Goose thought.They are not going to stop.
 In the darkness, with only indirect moonlight and starlight illumi-nating the night, the Syrian cav took on
the appearance of monsters, merciless juggernauts on the trail of weakened prey.

There was no certainty that they would be able to hold Sanliurfa without the reinforcements fromWasp.

"Marathon One,"Remington called.

"One reads you, Leader."

"Are you underway?"

 "Closing ground," Goose assured him. He held his M-4A1 butt to the floor next to his seat and held his
shoulder strap with his other hand. The RSOV jumped, jerked, and bounced as it flew across the terrain.

 The road turned narrow as the grade inclined, and it twisted like a broken-backed snake. Loose rock
made the going more treacherous, and Goose felt even the RSOV's four-wheel-drive struggle to keep
traction.

"Sarge!"

Whipping his head around in the seat, Goose looked at Madden.

The corporal was pointing behind them. "We lostSullivan ."

Only a short distance behind them, Goose watched as the rear RSOV tumbled down the steep
mountainside. The drop had to have been a hundred feet, with nothing but broken rock at the bottom.
The vehicle rolled twice, then came to a stop wedged precariously against a rocky outcrop.

"Stop the vehicle," Goose ordered.

Bradyslammed on the brakes.

"Backup," Goose said.

 Bradyrammed the transmission into reverse and backed down the steep grade. The Syrian cav units
could still be seen in the dis-tance, making good time now.

"One, this is Leader."

"Go, Leader," Goose responded. "You have One."

"My intel team tells me you've halted."

"They should have also told you that we lost one of our vehicles over the side."

"Leave it, Goose. You've got no margin there to effect a rescue. Those hostiles are going to be on you in
minutes."

Goose peered through the darkness. He fully expected thatRemington was right, figuring that the men
had been thrown clear of the RSOV. Then he saw one of the men moving, still belted into his seat.
"At least one of them is alive, Leader," Goose said.

"Get clear, Goose."

Bradybraked the RSOV adjacent to the vehicle.

"1 can't, Leader. I've left enough men behind on this mission. I can't leave any more."

"You're going to die there with them."

 Goose didn't reply, giving orders to get the other Rangers moving. They took ropes from the RSOV's
equipment compartments and tied onto the rear. Wrapping the rope around his waist, Goose rappelled
face-forward the way the Australian special forces did, moving the fifty feet down to the wedged vehicle
in three long steps.

 He landed on the steep rock face just above the vehicle. Rocks skit-tered beneath his feet, almost
causing him to fall.

"Hold up, Sarge," one of the Rangers said. "Don't touch the RSOV or we'll fall."

 Taking out his mini-Maglite, Goose surveyed the vehicle and saw that it actually swayed a few inches on
the rocky outcrop. Even more incredible,CorporalJosephBaker had clambered out and was using his
own strength to keep the balance. He was dug into the mountain-side like Atlas from Greek mythology,
taking enough of the weight of the RSOV to keep it balanced.

 From the pain-filled look on the big man's face, Goose knew the balance was a fleeting thing. No one
aboard the RSOV dared move.

"I need more rope," Goose called up. He tied himself in place and caught the rope that was thrown
down to him. "Secure the other end to the RSOV up there." He stepped to the rear of the RSOV where
most of the weight displacement was. "Hold on, Baker."

 "I'm holding, Sarge. God's with me. I'm not going to let them fall." The big man's face was a map of
agony, but there was a quiet kind of strength there, too. No fear, but a confidence that Goose couldn't
believe.

 As he worked to tie the other lines to the wedged RSOV, Goose heard the growling thunder of the
approaching Syrian cav. In less than a minute, he had the support ropes in place.

 "Okay, Baker," Goose said, giving himself more slack as he made his way down to the big man. "Turn
loose."

Gingerly, not trusting the ropes,Baker turned loose and nearly fell.

 At his side, Goose grabbed the man's combat harness and steadied him. Trusting his own weight to the
line around his waist, Goose tied a final line to the corporal's harness. Together, they started climbing up
the ropes.

 Goose's muscles strained and ached. His knee protested with waves of throbbing pain.God, help me.
Just a little farther. I want to make it back home. I want to see my family again. His arms and legs
trembled from exertion. Darkness clouded his vision.

 Just as they were about to reach the top, the wedged RSOV shifted, throwing down wheelbarrows full
of rock. Maybe it was the vibration of the tanks rolling across the mountain, or maybe the RSOV it was
tied onto had been subtly shifting the whole time. The lines couldn't be cut because the other Rangers
were still climbing them.

 Deep, cold conviction filled Goose that they weren't going to make it. The RSOV slid a few inches. The
closest man was still more than ten feet from the road's edge above. The RSOV slid again, a whole foot
this time, coming to within ten feet of the edge. The Rangers up top grabbed the vehicle and tried to
brace it, but the effort was no use.

Then headlights flared around the bend in the mountain road. A RSOV sped down the grade. Without
hesitation, the driver put his ve-hicle behind the sliding RSOV.

The two vehicles came together with a grinding crash. Goose skid-ded three feet down the
mountainside. For a moment it looked like the new arrival's attempt to block the sliding RSOV was
doomed to failure.

Then, unbelievably, the RSOVs all came to a stop. The late arrival held steady with one front wheel
hanging out over open space.

 "Climb," a familiar voice ordered. "Climb those ropes, Rangers, because if I have to climb down there
and hump you up here myself, you'll be peeling potatoes for a year."

 At the top of the climb, Goose looked intoRemington 's face. He reached up and took his friend's hand,
remembering all the times they'd had each other's backs in a dozen different countries on a hun-dred
different missions.

 No matter what other mysteries the world offered, no matter what other changes occurred, Goose knew
that the friendship between them was enduring. Different than the one he'd had withBillTowrisend , but no
less vital.

 "Thanks," Goose said, leaning intoRemington 's strength and letting the man help him up the mountainside
as his knee threat-ened to completely go out from under him.

 "I didn't want to finish this one up by myself, Goose. And it would be hard to break in a new first
sergeant."

 DeanHardinsat in the passenger seat besideRemington , though. Hardin's face still bore the bruises that
Goose had inflicted. The man's presence reminded Goose that even though the friend-ship was unique, it
also came with problems.

"Move, soldier,"Remington growled. "You're letting the entire Syrian army catch up to us."

 Goose hobbled painfully to his RSOV asBrady and Madden cut the fallen RSOV free. The vehicle
tumbled end over end down the mountain and burst into flames.

 Remingtontook the lead, causingBrady to comment in wonder-ment at the Ranger captain's skill. Both
vehicles battled the grade, lunging like quarter horses, then shimmying like cats on a hot roof as they
fought for traction on hairpin curves.
Bakersat behind Goose.

"Are you okay?" Goose asked.

"I am." The man smiled. "I'm more okay than I've ever been, Sarge. God is with me. He made sure I
was in a position to stop that RSOV's fall, and He gave me the strength to hold it there." He shook his
head. "God didn't put us here to fail, Sarge. He has something planned for us."

 Goose felt certain the man was delusional, perhaps hurt in ways he didn't know yet. But yet, at the same
time, Goose felt an unex-plained absence of fear. He glanced back over his shoulder and saw that the
tanks and APCs were only a short distance behind. They'd lost a little of the advance they'd gained
because the vehicles couldn't negotiate the turns like the RSOVs.

"Marathon One, we're blocked! We're blocked!"

 The announcement filled Goose with dread. And in the next mo-ment, the run through the mountains
came to a grinding halt.

"What happened?"Remington demanded.

"One of the transport trucks lost an axle. Locked up and flipped. It's crossways in the road."

"Get it out of the way,"Remington ordered.

 Goose forced himself to stand in the RSOV's seat. Looking ahead, he saw the switchback where the
transport truck had over-turned.

And the mountain vibrated with the weight of the approaching Syrian armored cav.

"We're trapped," Madden said. "Man, we almost made it." Anger fired the corporal's words.

 "No,"Baker said. Even in the darkness, black bruises could be seen forming on his neck and face and
across his shoulders through the tears in his shirt.

 How had he taken that kind of punishment?Even in the face of the approaching maelstrom of Syrian
cav, Goose was blown away by the memory of Baker standing under the RSOV, holding the vehicle up
to save his friends. Then Goose remembered all the long hours thatBaker had stood in the stream doing
baptisms.

Bakerlooked at Goose, his moon face as calm as a child's. "It's God, Sarge. Can't you feel Him around
us? We don't have to worry about the Syrians. All we have to do is trust in Him."

The big man pushed himself out of the RSOV, leaving his M-4A1 behind.

 In disbelief, Goose watched as Baker walked fifty feet away, then knelt down on the hard rocky
road.Baker held his hands out, his palms turned heavenward.

"I'm giving myself to You, Lord," Baker said in a strong, clear voice. "Take me and use me as You will.
But I ask You to protect me from my enemies, and to protect the men with me."
Other Rangers went forward, all of them menBaker had baptized in the last two days.

The Syrian armor came on.

 A dozen men knelt on the rock with Baker, all of them holding hands, forming a line of human beings
across the road.Baker led the men in prayer, his voice strong and resonant. He spoke the verse, and they
followed him.

"The Lord is my shepherd,"Baker said, "I shall not want."

More men came forward, knelt and took hands. The prayer grew louder.

The vibrations from the Syrian cav units grew stronger.

"He maketh me to lie down in green pastures,"Baker went on.

 Goose glanced forward and saw that several Rangers were franti-cally working on the overturned
transport truck.

 "He leadeth me beside the still waters,"Baker said, and the men joined him immediately. More Rangers
stepped forward, filling in the human wall that separated them from the advancing Syrian vehicles. "He
restoreth my soul."

Some of the pain went away in Goose's knee. A calmness came over him even though he knew the
Syrian guns were already sweep-ing the fragile flesh-and-blood wall.

"He leadeth me in the paths of righteousness for his name's sake."

 "Sergeant Gander!"Remington 's voice cut through the descend-ing tranquility. "Get those men on their
feet!"

Goose couldn't move.

The Syrian tanks spread out along a wide place in the mountain road. The road was wider at this bend,
overshadowed by a huge stone ledge. The tanks stood four across, and APCs ranked behind them.

"Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me."

Drawn by the feeling that touched his heart, Goose went forward. Taking up arms against the tanks
wasn't going to stop the heavy rounds that would rip them to shreds. Even bringing the RSOV's TOW
missile launchers to bear wouldn't stop the carnage that was about to be unleashed.

Remingtonswore and came after him. "Sergeant! I gave you an order! "

"Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me."

 And Goose repeated the words with the men. He heard the words of the psalm rising into the night sky.
His burden of worries was lifted from him. This was right. He just wished thatRemington could see it.
Something in the world had changed; it had grown darker and more bright. He missedBillTownsend , but
at the same moment he felt likeBill was with him, kneeling with the dozens of men praying
withCor-poralBaker .
"Thou preparest a table before me in the presence of mine ene-mies."

Goose heardRemington ordering the other Rangers into a defen-sive posture.

"Thou anointest my head with oil. My cup runneth over."

Then a peal of thunder took away all sound.

"Ready!"Remington shouted into the silence that followed.

The gunners adjusted, taking advantage of the higher incline where the Rangers were.

"Aim!"Remington roared.

 For a moment Goose felt fear worm into his heart as he consid-ered that he might not ever seeMegan
,Joey , orChris again. Before the fear could grow, though he heard a voice, calm and powerful.

"Be still and know that I am God!"

 The voice took Goose's breath away. In the next instant, the huge stone ledge jutting out from the
mountain tore free and skidded down the mountainside, triggering an avalanche of rock and boul-ders
that gained mass and speed. To Goose, it looked like the whole mountaintop toppled and fell.

 And when the mountain fell, it swept the Syrian cav away, rolling tanks and APCs and jeeps over the
edge like they were a child's toys. When the mass of rock stopped moving, a thirty-foot wall of stone and
dirt stood where the enemy had been only a moment ago.

 For a moment, the silence was almost complete except for the rolling thunder of the echoes of the
avalanche passing through the mountains.

 Bakerbegan again. "Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell in
the house of the Lord for-ever."

Drained but uplifted,First SergeantSamuelAdams "Goose"Gan-der bowed his head and gave thanks to
his Lord.




United States75th Army Rangers Temporary Post

Sanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1453 Hours
 Churchwas held under a canvas tent near one of the walls of the city. Benches had been fashioned out of
ammo lockers and boards sal-vaged from the wreckage of buildings that had been hit by SCUDS.

 CorporalJosephBaker, heavily bruised from the action that had taken place only twelve hours ago, stood
at the front of the congrega-tion and talked about the miracle that had leveled a mountain and turned
back the Syrian army.

Several of the men in the group were reinforcements fromAnkara and fromWasp. 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 ifRemington 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 bak-ing 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 theUnited States , the United Nations, and the Turkish military,
Goose was certain the Syrians wouldn't try anything untilthey 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 breath-ing room.

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

 Bakerdescribed the power of the Lord, how He had reached down and saved the 75th 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 ban-dage around his head and had his other arm up in a sling. "You weren't
there. I was. I sawCorporalBaker start praying to the Lord. I heard his words as he called out for our
salvation. That prayer-Cor-poral 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 rein-forcement, 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 con-coction that would spill over onto everyone around them if some-body
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 be-tween 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 downnow."

"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 to-gether. 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 atJosephBaker . "Sorry to interrupt your ser-vice, Corporal. Carry on."

Bakersmiled and saluted with his Bible. "Thank you, Sarge."

Turning, feeling pain bite into his knee, Goose walked back to-ward the rear of the tent.
CaptainRemington, resplendent in a fresh uniform, stood there looking at him. Dark aviator sunglasses
hid his eyes, but Goose knew from years of friendship thatRemington wasn't happy.

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

"Yes, sir."

Remingtonturned a cold, perfectly executed about-face 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.

 Remingtonstopped 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 him-self onRemington 's sunglasses. He
didn't try to argue with the cap-tain. Both of them knew the free time the men had was their own. Arguing
withRemington wouldn't have gotten anywhere anyway.

"And don't tell me that all this Bible thumping is good for the mo-rale 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.

Remingtonswore again. "Bakeris 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 fromBillTownsend 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.

Remingtonshook 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 de-manded. "That they're invulnerable?"

"No, sir."

"You're right, 'No, sir.' Because thinking like that will get those men killed."

"Yes, sir."

 Remingtontook in a deep breath, held it for an interminable mo-ment, 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."

 Remingtonflicked 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
en-listed to go on a private crusade to save the souls of the men I'm lead-ing 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 wit-nessing to
those who were interested.

"I want Baker's little tent revival closed down,"Remington went on.
"Sir, this is Baker's personal time."

 Remingtonwheeled on Goose and thrust his face forward, stop-ping 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 about-face and headed for the tent
church.Remington was wrong about his as-sessment 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 States75thArmy Rangers Temporary Post

Sanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1612 Hours



 "SergeantSamuelGander." 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 intoTurkey 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 byNicolaeCarpathia until the
American satellites were back on-line.

 The Red Cross had manned the phones, answering and putting through calls as quickly asthey could for
servicemen in the immedi-ate area. Goose had established a relief crew that swapped out with men at
post sothey 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'sMrs.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 likeMegan was right there, like he could reach out and touch her or smell
her hair.

 "How bad is it there, Goose? I've been watching television. That's all anyone has been doing over here.
It looks really bad."

"It probably looks better than it is," Goose said.

"But you're all right?"

 "Yes." Goose shook his head, feeling the weight of everything that had happened. "I am. But there are a
lot of guys over here,Meg , that aren't all right."

"I know. I've been praying for all of you."

Goose took a deep breath, struggling to keep himself centered. "Bill-" His voice broke. "Something
happened toBill ."

"Is he hurt?"

 Fatigue muddled Goose's thoughts. He didn't know how to ex-plain what had happened. "He's not hurt.
At least, I don't think he's hurt. He-he disappeared,Meg . I was right there beside him. He was there,
then he wasn't. Nobody here knows what happened."

"1 know,"Megan said. "It happened over here, too."
Goose tried to focus on what she had just said. "What happened?"

"The disappearances,"Megan said. "The news is full of it."

 The horror of a worldwide epidemic of disappearances surged through Goose. They still didn't even
know who had taken the miss-ing men-or how. He'd heard pieces and fragments of conversations about
people missing back in theUnited States , but he'd been too busy to follow up on the scuttlebutt. He did
know that DEFCON-2 had been pushed back due to something that had happened inWash-ington,D.C.
, and for that he was grateful.

 "We haven't got much access to the news here," Goose said. "The disappearances have happened over
there, too?"

"Yes."

Goose thought about his dad andMegan 's parents. "Have you heard from your mom and dad?"

"Yes. They're fine. Just scared. The way most of us are. Nobody really understands what has been
going on."

"It's okay," Goose said with more confidence than he felt. "We'll find out. The captain tells me the
military intelligence teams are working on it. They'll find an answer. Maybe we can get those people
back."

"I don't think so, Goose. Really, I don't." Her voice broke again.

"We'll get through it,Meg ," Goose said. "I promise."

"We don't have a choice. I know that. I just don't understand why all the children had to be taken." Her
breath rattled as she in-haled deeply. "Well, I mean I do understand, but it's just so hard to accept."

"What?" Panic exploded Goose's heart. "What about the chil-dren?"

Megancried for a moment, then got herself together. "The chil-dren, Goose. All of the children are gone.
Didn't you know?"

 "Meg." Goose's voice faltered and he thought for a moment he was going to go insane. None of this
made any sense. "Meg, there aren't any children in the 75th." Then he realized that he hadn't seen any
children in the city streets either. But that hadn't been too surpris-ing. Parents would keep their kids
inside, especially with a foreign army occupying the city. "Where areJoey andChris ? Are they all right?"

She was quiet too long.

"Meg?" Asking again hurt him. Pain welled in his throat. Tears blurred his vision.

"Joey's here,"Meg answered. "It'sChris , Goose.Chris is gone. Our baby isgone!"

To Goose, it seemed like all the air in the room suddenly went away. Then his injured leg went out from
under him. All of his re-serves seemed to collapse and dwindle into the cold, hard center of himself that
manifested.
"Goose? Goose! "

 Hurt took away Goose's voice. And even if he could have spoken, he didn't know what he would have
said. All he could think about wasChris , how he might never hold his son or speak to him again.Bill 's
disappearance had seemed so grim, so final.

And nowChris .God, what have You done? What have You done?




United States of America

Ft. Benning,Georgia

Local Time9:46 A.M.



 Megandumped the dirty clothes into the washer, added detergent, then closed the lid and started the
cycle. Doing ordinary things-cooking, cleaning, getting kids to bathe-all felt reassuring. While she was
doing those things, she could pretend everything was all right in the world, that the stories of the
mysterious disappearances and all the tragic deaths that had happened the night before were all fanta-sies
and lies. Propaganda, even.

Except that she knew it wasn't.

Even more upsetting,Joey hadn't come home last night.Megan had no idea where her eldest son was.
He'd talked with Jenny-ar-gued actually,Megan knew, because she'd heard them-yesterday morning. He
hadn't come back since.

 She'd tried to find him.Megan had gone through the list of ac-quaintances she'd had forJoey . For the
most part, she'd discovered that her son no longer hung out with the same kids. And how had she not
known that? Guilt washed over her as she listened to the washei s agitator kick to life and start whacking
the laundry.

"Megan?"

 HearingJenny 's voice,Megan looked up and saw the young woman standing in the utility room doorway.
"Yes."

"Bathroom's free,"Jenny said. "Your turn in the shower."

Jennyhad stayed last night to help out with the kids that had had nowhere else on base to go.Megan had
been in touch with some of the other counselors and the volunteer staff to establish a system to start
taking care of all the kids that had been left bereft of parents, ei-ther through the disappearances or
because their parents were away on military assignments and the guardians they'd had had disap-peared.
Keeping enough hot water in her household to meet the needs of all the kids she'd taken in was
impossible. She'd set the washer for cold.

"A shower, huh? Do we still have hot water?"Megan asked. She wanted a shower more than anything.
She'd missed taking one last night with all the extra kids to care for.

 "Some,"Jenny answered. "If you make it quick, it might last."Megan sighed and nodded. "I've gotKelly
and Regan's things about to come out of the dryer."

"I'll take care of it,"Jenny said.

 Megannodded thanks, then headed back through the house. Kids were clustered around the table with
Monopoly and Life. Board games helped give the younger teens focus. Others crowded around the
television in the living room, watching the news from around the country.

 She wanted to pull them back from the television, because she knew the images of downed planes,
wrecked cars, burning buildings, and riots in the larger metropolitan areas would live with them for-ever.
But those images would be mixed with footage of the terrorist attack on theWorldTradeCenter , people
jumping from the top of the buildings, and the sight of the space shuttleColumbia breaking up overTexas
. These kids weren't completely unprepared for tragedy.

The world had changed. It had changed during those events, and it had changed yet one more time.

 Megancouldn't help wondering how many more changes were coming, but she knew they would be
there. How long had it been, she wondered as she crossed the living room and gently
removedTabithaWelch 's feet from her couch, since there had been a true innocence in the world?

 Tabithaapologized andMegan felt guilty. She told the girl every-thing was all right.Tabitha hugged the
throw pillow she was holding more tightly.

The doorbell rang.

 JoshWebb, who had two parents overseas and his grandparents missing, answered the door. He talked
for a moment, then looked atMegan . "Mrs.Gander, it's for you."

 Two uniformed MPs stood at the door. Both of them looked hag-gard and worn, much older than they
should have.

"Mrs.Gander," one of them said.

'Yes.'

"I've got a warrant here, ma'am." He offered her a piece of paper.

"A warrant?"Megan knew what the word meant, but she couldn't make sense of it.

"Yes, ma'am," the MP said. "This was issued by the Provost's of-fice. Gives me the right to search the
premises."
"Search for what?"

The MP looked past her at the kids that had gathered behind her. "I'm looking forGerryFletcher ,
ma'am."

 This is insane,Meganthought. But she said, "Gerryisn't here. He was one of the kids that disappeared
last night." God, how could she say that so off-handedly?Chris was one of those that disappeared. It
wasn't natural; she'd never accept it as natural even if, asJenny sus-pected, God had had a hand in it.

"Yes, ma'am." The MP nodded. "You're probably right,Mrs.Gan-der . But I was ordered to search the
premises."

 "My son."Megan 's voice became a hoarse, tight whisper. "My sonChris was one of the children that
disappeared." She could still re-member the deep sobs that had racked Goose at the other end of the
phone connection. How could they be so far apart when there was so much to deal with? They needed
each other. She knew that her hus-band needed her as much as she needed him.

"Yes, ma'am," the MP responded. "I know." He looked upset and uncomfortable. "Mrs.Gander, I still
have to look."

Wordlessly,Megan stepped back.

The teenagers stepped back, too.

 The MPs filled the room. They looked big and alien and unin-vited. The weapons they wore seemed
threatening.

"Any of you guysGerryFletcher ?" the MP asked.

A chorus of "nos" followed the question.

"Well, then," the MP said, "I'll have to look around."

Unable to speak,Megan waved them on into her house. She couldn't believe what was happening. She
had tried to rescueGerryFletcher the night before last. Now she was being treated like a criminal.

 The search, thankfully, was thorough but brief.Jenny treated the men with icy, reproachful stares during
the time they spent in the house.

 At the door again, the lead MP held out another piece of paper. "I was also ordered to give you
this,Mrs.Gander ."

Tears leaking down her cheeks,Megan took the paper with a shak-ing hand. "What is it?"

"It's a summons, ma'am. You're being ordered to appear in the provost's office."

"Why?"

The MP shook his head. "I wouldn't know, ma'am. That's all I was told.

In disbelief,Megan opened the paper. There, in big bold letters, were the words ORDERED TO
APPEAR and DERELICTION OF DUTY. She looked up.

 "Ma'am," the MP said. He seemed hesitant. "I know your hus-band. I don't know Goose well, but I
know that he is a good man and he's doing his job over there. I don't know if you can get through to him
about this, but if you'd like some advice. .."

"Yes, Corporal,"Megan said. "I'd very much like some advice."

 "Get a lawyer, ma'am," the MP said. "The military will probably give you one, but I'd hire an outside
attorney to help represent you. The provost marshal, I don't know what's got him so hot on this, but from
what I saw this morning, he's going to be coming after you. And he's going to try to nail you."

 Oh, God,Meganthought,what else are You going to put my family through? She made herself nod.
She made herself say, "Thank you, Corporal," then she made herself close the door because she didn't
know anything else she could do.

"Megan,"Jenny called.

 Unable to speak,Megan waved the young woman away. Aware of the teenagers staring at her,Megan
went to her bedroom. She tried to gather clothes to take with her to the shower, but she couldn't. She
sawChris ' pictures hanging on the wall, all the birthday pictures from age one through five, and knew
there would be no picture for age six.

Dereliction of duty.

 It didn't make any sense. But she knew if she were found guilty she would be locked up. A sentence that
could last for years.

Was that what life-what God-had in store for her? Years spent in a military prison without her sons,
without her husband?

She knelt beside the bed and tried to pray. But she couldn't. The words wouldn't come and she felt
horribly betrayed.




United States75thArmy Rangers Temporary Post

Sanliurfa,Turkey

Local Time 1956 Hours



 Goose sat at the bar in a tavern that had been resurrected that after-noon. The furniture had been
cobbled together from wreckage that had been nearer to ground zero of several SCUD strikes.

 Other men sat around him. Some of the men were military, from theUS , from the UN, from the Turkish
army, but others were citizens, displaced villagers, media personnel, and hucksters trying to make money.
No one tried to sit with him. He'd claimed a small table as his own and every man there read the warning
signs.

 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 thou-sand
other places around the world that Goose had been in before he'd metBill andMegan . It even reminded
him of the beer halls his father had hung out in back inWaycross when Goose was a kid.

 Jeeps and Hummers and cargo trucks rolled by outside as the mili-tary continued putting down sandbags
and shoring up defensive pos-tures 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,BillTownsend had been there.Bill had taken the picture.

In the picture, Goose heldChris 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 withJoey 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 couldBill just be gone?

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

Remingtoncame 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 thatRemington 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."

Remingtonhooked the chair on the other side of the table and sat. He folded his hands on the tabletop. "I
heard aboutChris ."

"Yes, sir."

"Knock off the 'sir', Goose. This is me and you."

"All right."
 Remingtontook 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 forRemington '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, becauseRemington was a friend as well as a commanding officer.

 "What happened toChris 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 believedRem-ington might have tried. But in the end,
all the same, he knew thatRemington 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 fin-gers.
"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 forJesus 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."

Remingtonlooked 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'remy ser-geant. 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.

Remingtonexhaled 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
inWaycross . 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 sol-dier. Probably the most professional soldier I've ever seen."

"Thank you, sir."

 Remingtonpursed 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 wayAnkara andDiyarbakirCity will have time to get ready to deal with the Syrian invasion
when it comes. And it will."

"Yes, sir."

The captain hesitated. "I also wantBaker 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 assem-ble only when I say so. Remember
that."

"I will, sir."

Remingtongrimaced. "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.

 "I don't believe that, Sergeant,"Remington said. "I believe if you'll think back, you'll remember that
several SCUDS hit that mountain be-fore 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 whenJosephBaker 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
im-mediately. The God that he had been brought up to recognize wouldn't have just takenChris 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. IfChris hadn't been taken-

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

Remingtondropped a hand to Goose's shoulder. "And if you need anything, let me know."

 "Yes, sir. Thank you, sir." Goose watchedRemington 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 sawDeanHardin sitting at the steering wheel asRemington 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 de-spair 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 withSyria ,
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 chairRemington had vacated. Although the
hours that stretched between their previous encounter seemed several lifetimes long, Goose recog-nized
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?"

"I 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 non-believers," 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 ifCody 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. "Codyhad 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."

"He disappeared," Goose said.

Icarus nodded. "I can't say that I'm surprised."

"Do you know where he is?"

"Yes."

Blood thundered through Goose's temples. If the man knew whereBill was, then maybe he knew
whereChris was. "Where?"

 Icarus studied Goose for a moment, then shook his head sadly. "You're not ready." He shifted the
detonator in his hand. "I'll tell you this, though. As bad as you think things have been, as bad as you think
they're going to get, they're going to be even worse. Worse than you can ever imagine. Seven years of
lies and subterfuge and unspeakable horror, Sergeant. Only those who find the truth will be spared. And
even after everything that has happened, there are going to be so many that don't believe."

"Don't believe what?"

"That's what I'm talking about, Sergeant. The proof is lying be-fore you, and still you refuse to see.
That's what the Antichrist is rely-ing on."

Goose studied the man. "You don't have a bomb."

A smile flitted across his face. "Of course I have a bomb."

Goose shook his head. "You come in here worrying about the souls of people you don't even know, and
you claim you're prepared to destroy this place and kill everyone in it? I don't believe you."

"Listen to me." Icarus looked even more nervous, and he was scared now, too. "You've got to listen to
me."

 "No," Goose said. "No, I don't have to listen to you." He surged up from the table. Then his bad knee
locked up in a blaze of pain that took him to the ground. He fought his way through the agony, will-ing
himself to stay conscious.
By the time Goose got to his feet in the crowd of confused and concerned tavern patrons, Icarus was
gone. Goose limped through the crowd to the back door to the alley.

Nothing moved in the fetid shadows that filled the narrow alley. Icarus was gone as if he'd never existed,
but his words hung in the air.

 "As bad as you think things have been, as bad as you think they're going to get, in reality they're
going to be even worse. Seven years of lies and sub-terfuge and unspeakable horror, Sergeant.
Only those who find the truth will be spared."

 Goose limped out into the alley. Overcome, nearly exhausted, hurting over his losses and more confused
and lonely than he'd ever been in his life, he sat in the alley with his back to the wall.

 He looked up at the star-filled sky and wished he could believe the way thatBill had, wished that he
could holdChris again, wished that heknew.

 And only a sheer effort of will and years of training kept him from screaming in frustration. Still, just
asRemington had said, he was a professional soldier. No matter what happened, he knew his place in the
world.

 But sometimes-sometimes when they were hurt and lonely and scared and confused, when there was no
fighting to be done, some-times soldiers cried.