“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.
Baker paused 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 appointed 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 relieved of the water detail.”
“I was going to get back to that as soon as I could,” Baker apologized. 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.”
Baker beamed. “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 undone.”
“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!”
Baker stepped 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 soldier 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.
Baker pinched 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.
Baker took his hand back.
“Thank you,” the young soldier said. Then a final long breath released 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 whispered 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 down Corporal Baker’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.”
Baker shook 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 in Glitter City. It seemed like that had been years ago instead of hours.
“Miss Vinchenzo,” 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 captain.”
“That would be Cal Remington?” Danielle Vinchenzo 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. Cal Remington 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 to Tommy Bono, who legged it over to the Hummer and climbed in behind the wheel.
Behind Danielle, 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, Sergeant
