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 recover from the devastating attack to rescuing the survivors.”
Video footage rolled, showing Marine helicopters exploding.
Then the image changed and showed Danielle standing on the stream bank again. “With the reinforcements they were promised lying 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 Syrian 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 Gander’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. But Baker 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 told Corporal Baker 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.
Remington swore in disbelief. What had Goose been thinking by leaving Baker in place instead of taking the man into custody?
The camera view tightened on Danielle Vinchenzo again.
“Some of the men consented to talk to us,” Danielle said. “Although 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 with Danielle. He was big and young and nervous and soaking wet. Deep scratches showed on the left side of his face.
“This is Corporal Flannery O’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 between 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’Doyle looked 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 already 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 on O’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 about Corporal Baker,” 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’ Corporal Baker, why he rightly baptized me.” O’Doyle looked at Danielle. “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 everythin’ was gonna be okay.”
“You mean with
