“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 vehicle behind the sliding RSOV.
The two vehicles came together with a grinding crash. Goose skidded 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 into Remington’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 hundred 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 with Bill Townsend, but no less vital.
“Thanks,” Goose said, leaning into Remington’s strength and letting the man help him up the mountainside as his knee threatened 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.”
Dean Hardin sat in the passenger seat beside Remington, though. Hardin’s face still bore the bruises that Goose had inflicted. The man’s presence reminded Goose that even though the friendship 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 as Brady and Madden cut the fallen RSOV free. The vehicle tumbled end over end down the mountain and burst into flames.
Remington took the lead, causing Brady to comment in wonderment 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.
Baker sat 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 unexplained 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 moment, 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 overturned.
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 that Baker had stood in the stream doing baptisms.
Baker looked 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
