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 firing 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 of Wasp’s Marine wing responded.
“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 cartridges from the Barrett 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 the Barretts 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 hollow 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?”
“Roger target, 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 immediately.
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 refilling 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 mixture, detonated, blasting free of the constraining spaces where it had been held. Huge gouts of flaming liquid spewed through the air, covering 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 hesitate about killing everyone. After the bloodthirsty attack with the SCUDs yesterday morning, he knew there would be no Geneva Convention 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 Cobras sweep in toward the tanks and APCs. The Marine wing had few bombs left after attacking the SCUD launch sites, but they unlimbered everything they had. The effect left several APCs and tanks disabled 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 disappeared 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, Hummers, and Jeeps departing in an organized fashion. He stayed with Fire Control.
When the Syrian army hit the abandoned Ranger,
