One of the men sitting in front of the new guys turned around and grabbed his arm. “Back off, man,” the private snarled. He wore a bandage around his head and had his other arm up in a sling. “You weren’t there. I was. I saw Corporal Baker start praying to the Lord. I heard his words as he called out for our salvation. That prayer—Corporal Baker’s, and the prayers of every man out there—got answered. God reached down and spared us.”
“Let go of me.” The reinforcement brushed the other man’s hand away. “I don’t need to hear any preaching.”
“Then what are you doing here?”
As quiet as the conversation was, the confrontation spread quickly. Several of the new men aligned themselves with the reinforcement, and men who had been in the retreat last night stood with the wounded private.
In another minute, Goose realized, the pushing and shoving would start. Military men standing down while in war zones didn’t wear well. And there was always resentment between men who had been blooded in a conflict and those who had not. The tension was a product of testosterone and fear, all mixed into a combustible concoction that would spill over onto everyone around them if somebody didn’t stop it right now.
Goose stepped forward, trying not to limp. He carried his M-4A1 slung over his right shoulder, barrel pointed up, his pistol holstered on his hip, and had the chinstrap of his helmet looped over his left shoulder.
Even as Goose started to move, epithets and curses erupted between the two groups. Hands curled into fists.
Goose pushed his way in between the men. At first they resisted, but they gave way immediately as soon as the soldiers caught sight of his stripes. He put steel in his voice. “Stand down now.”
“Yes, Sarge,” the private said.
“Understood, Sergeant,” the other man said.
Goose swept the men with a gaze, feeling the eyes of everyone else under the canvas watching him. They were all waiting to see which side he would be on.
“You men are gathered here as brothers,” Goose said. “Sworn to fight a common enemy. That enemy lies just outside the gates of this city, and he’ll be coming again in just a matter of days.”
Sweat beaded the faces of the men watching him.
“I’ve left dead men scattered from here to the border,” Goose went on. “Something I swore as a Ranger that I would never do.”
Guilty looks on the faces of some of his men made it clear he wasn’t the only Ranger regretting this.
Guilt stung Goose, too, but there was nothing he could do about it. “Those men stood together,” he said. “They fought together and they bled together and they died together.” He paused. “I’m going to tell you now that you men don’t stand a chance if you don’t stand together. If you’re going to stand together when we’re attacked or—God willing—when we take the attack to them, then you’ll start standing together now.”
Silence filled the canvas canopy.
“Is that understood?” Goose growled.
“Yes, Sergeant,” all of the men chorused.
Goose looked back at Joseph Baker. “Sorry to interrupt your service, Corporal. Carry on.”
Baker smiled and saluted with his Bible. “Thank you, Sarge.”
Turning, feeling pain bite into his knee, Goose walked back toward the rear of the tent.
Captain Remington, resplendent in a fresh uniform, stood there looking at him. Dark aviator sunglasses hid his eyes, but Goose knew from years of friendship that Remington wasn’t happy.
“Could I see you a moment, Sergeant?” Remington asked as Goose joined him.
“Yes, sir.”
Remington turned a cold, perfectly executed about-face and walked out from under the tent.
Goose followed. As he moved out of the shade, sweltering heat hammered him, boiling up from the parched earth. Micro-mirages danced above broken street sections that thrust up out of the ground like rolling sea caps.
The latest Syrian SCUD attack had been partially directed at Sanliurfa and had leveled much of the city. Many tall buildings lay scattered in ruins. Military and civilian crews worked to clear the blocked streets. Other crews fought to contain and extinguish the fires that still burned among the piles of rubble.
Carrion birds gathered throughout the city, perching on broken buildings and swooping from the sky, looking for the victims of the attacks. A third contingent of workers followed the birds, looking for the dead.
When bodies were found, they were piled into the backs of cargo trucks and driven to mass burial sites. Even though Sanliurfa would not in all probability be held for long, the dead had to be cleared out to prevent the spread of disease, and some attempt had to be made to identify the corpses, though most were burned or crushed too badly for recognition to be easy. Goose moved upwind from a group of those searchers.
Remington stopped by the Hummer he was using as his personal vehicle. Anger showed in the set of his shoulders and the stiffness of his neck. He swung around on Goose and pointed toward the canvas church. He swore. “That, Sergeant, is precisely the reason I didn’t want this stuff started.”
“Yes, sir,” Goose responded, staring at the twin reflections of himself on Remington’s sunglasses. He didn’t try to argue with the captain. Both of them knew the free time the men had was their own. Arguing with Remington wouldn’t have gotten anywhere anyway.
“And don’t tell me that all this Bible thumping is good for the morale of the men.”
“No, sir,” Goose said.
“What happened on that mountain last night,” Remington said, “was not some kind of mystical event. No Second Coming.”
Goose remained silent.
Remington swore again. “Baker is pouring this swill out like slops to hogs in a trough, sergeant. Don’t tell me you believe in this nonsense.”
Goose measured his words carefully. “That mountain fell, sir. I saw it fall.”
“And what made it fall?”
Goose hesitated. “I don’t know, sir.”
“But you believe God
