captain was six feet four inches tall with broad shoulders and short-clipped dark hair.
“What is it, Private?” Remington snapped.
“Got a problem with the convoy, sir.” The private was young and baby-faced, one of the geek army that had moved up quickly as the military had become increasingly reliant on technology.
“Which convoy?” There were currently three out. Remington checked the time on the bottom of the computer screen. Two, he amended. One of them should have reached its destination by now.
“Harran, sir.”
Goose’s convoy. The thought that something had gone wrong there irritated Remington. Then again, he didn’t know if it was the thought that something had gone wrong or the thought of Goose that irritated him most.
“What’s wrong with the convoy?” Remington asked.
“It’s under attack, sir.”
“By whom?” Remington stood and walked out of his office. The private led the way through the computer workstations that had been set up and now ran off noisy generators.
“We don’t know, sir.” The private gestured to one of the large LCD computer monitors.
Remington studied the screen and saw satellite imagery of the convoy racing across the rugged terrain toward Harran. Only the four supply trucks and two support Hummers remained together. Six units were MIA.
“Where is the rest of my convoy?” Remington demanded.
“Sergeant Gander pulled most of the support vehicles off the convoy, sir,” the private said.
“Why?”
“There was a village on fire, sir. Sergeant Gander wanted to see if they could help.” The private gestured to another monitor.
Remington made out the burning houses and the six Hummers parked in front of them. His irritation with Goose turned into fullfledged anger.
“Who authorized this?” Remington demanded.
“No one, sir. Sergeant Gander radioed us, said he’d take a quick look-see and be back to the convoy.”
“Did those people ask for help?”
“Not that I know of, sir.”
“How did Sergeant Gander know they needed help?”
“Sergeant Gander saw the burning buildings from the route they were traveling.”
Remington cursed. “And he didn’t think that maybe they were being set up?”
“I don’t know, sir.”
“Are we in radio communication with Sergeant Gander?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Good. Hand me that headset.”
The private passed the headset over, and Remington put it on and pulled the chin mic into place. “What’s his call sign?”
“Drifter Leader.”
Remington pushed a button on the mic and opened the radio channel. “Drifter Leader, this is Base. Do you copy?”
“Sir,” the computer tech next to him said, “I’ve got bogeys vectoring in on the supply convoy.”
Remington flicked his gaze back to the computer screen and watched as seven… eight… nine speeding vehicles closed in on the convoy. He cursed and queued the mic again. “Drifter Leader, this is Base. Do you copy?”
3
United States Rangers Convoy
Three Klicks North-Northeast of Harran
Sanliurfa Province, Turkey
Local Time 2116 Hours
Private First Class Jimmy Robinson sat in the back of the cargo truck and sipped metallic-tasting water from his canteen. He rode on an ammo box and swayed with the motion of the truck lumbering across the uneven terrain. Through the parted canvas partially covering the rear of the truck, he constantly watched the terrain.
“Man,” Butch Strahan complained from the other side of the truck. “You couldn’t ask for a bumpier ride.”
“You could,” Robinson said, “but I’d shoot you on account of you being too sadistic to live.”
Strahan laughed. “I’m just glad it isn’t so bumpy that some of this ammo goes off.”
“Wouldn’t do that. This stuff’s packed all right. I helped get it done.”
“I guess if you’re wrong, we’ll never live to know about it.” Strahan shifted, obviously trying to find a more comfortable position. “I heard you got to talk to your girl.”
Robinson nodded and tried to keep the smile from his face. The other men teased about such things. “Got Pablo’s Xbox 360 up and running. Hooked it into the Internet coming out of command. Captain Remington finally okayed that.”
“Good thing you guys didn’t get caught using it before he allowed it.”
“Tell me about it. But that Xbox just sips bandwidth. Even when you’re talking back and forth over the gamer network.”
“So what did your girl say?”
Robinson’s happy thoughts fled. “Her parents are missing.”
Strahan looked suddenly solemn. “Well, if Joe Baker was right in what he was saying, that God came and took all the Christians home to begin the Tribulation, that’s a good thing.”
“Maybe. But right now Nikki’s alone.” Robinson hesitated, wondering if he should say anything about what was really on his mind. “And she’s still here.”
“Oh,” Strahan said, suddenly understanding.
“I’ve known her since I was fourteen,” Robinson said. “Used to sit behind her in algebra. Her parents were always involved with the church. So was she.”
“You’re wondering why she’s still here while her parents are gone?”
“She says it was because she didn’t believe as much as her parents did. She thinks she was just going through the moves.”
“I think a lot of us were like that,” Strahan said. “I have to admit, I ain’t always played things on the straight and narrow, and maybe I’ve been too interested in other things than God’s Word, but I didn’t think I’d be left behind like this.”
“I never gave it any thought,” Robinson admitted. “I treated everybody fairly, tried to get along, but I didn’t make much time in my day for thinking about where I might end up when it was all over.”
“That’s because it’s not normal to sit around thinking about everything being all over.”
“Nikki’s parents did. Every Sunday and Wednesday at church. And I’m sure they didn’t forget about it during the rest of the week either.”
“But it’s not over. Not if what Joe Baker was saying was right. About how we can redeem ourselves in God’s eyes now.”
“I know. I’m hoping.”
Strahan shook his head. “You gotta do more than hope. You gotta believe.” He paused. “I don’t know about you, but before I hit my rack every night, I hit my knees and give thanks for getting through one more day.”
“I know. Me too. Nikki and me, we even prayed together on that Xbox hookup the other night. I mean, she doesn’t even have an Xbox. She was over at a friend’s house. They were logging on and staying on whenever they could because Nikki knows I like to play. She said that she knew if I was still alive, sooner or later I’d log on.”
“Then that conversation you two had was meant to be.”
“God wanted us to talk.” Robinson sipped his water again. “Nikki and I both believe that.”
Strahan abruptly sat up a little straighter and peered out the back of the truck. “Did you see that?”
Robinson put his canteen away and picked up his M-4A1. “See what?”
