“Yes, sir.”
“Then I’m also going to hold God responsible for the deaths of all those Rangers we left behind, Sergeant.”
Goose felt an immediate surge of anger. That wasn’t what God was about. He’d learned everything he knew about God from his father in Sunday school, and from Bill Townsend during the last few years. God hadn’t killed those men they’d been forced to leave behind.
“Sir—”
“Don’t you argue with me,” Remington interrupted. “Don’t you even dare.”
“No, sir.”
“You can’t have it both ways, Sergeant. If God was responsible for our salvation last night, then why didn’t He save those men we lost?”
Goose didn’t have an answer for that. He felt there was still so much he needed to learn.
Remington shook his head. He cursed and paced for an instant, then swung back on Goose. “This is a bad business, Sergeant. Bad business. Those men in that tent are there because they want to feel special. Like the hand of God Almighty has touched them. Like they’re invulnerable or something.”
Goose stood his ground. His knee throbbed.
“Is that what you want them thinking, Sergeant?” Remington demanded. “That they’re invulnerable?”
“No, sir.”
“You’re right, ‘No, sir.’ Because thinking like that will get those men killed.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington took in a deep breath, held it for an interminable moment, then released it. His dark lenses turned toward Goose again. “I am their commanding officer, Sergeant. I want them believing in me. Is that clear?”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington flicked his gaze back to the tent. “Let Baker talk for now, Sergeant, but I want this shut down. We’ve got chaplains for this kind of thing. I don’t need some holy-roller stepping up from the enlisted to go on a private crusade to save the souls of the men I’m leading into battle.”
Personally, Goose disagreed with that. Since they had been in camp in the city, Baker had continued with the baptisms for a while, till no one else had come forward. Then the big man had started witnessing to those who were interested.
“I want Baker’s little tent revival closed down,” Remington went on.
“Sir, this is Baker’s personal time.”
Remington wheeled on Goose and thrust his face forward, stopping less than an inch from Goose’s face. Goose never moved. He shifted his gaze, staring through the captain’s head the way he’d been trained to since Boot Camp.
“That man owes me five hours of sleep, Sergeant,” Remington said. “I want them. Starting now.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Dismissed.”
“Sir.” Goose saluted sharply. “Yes, sir.” He turned an about-face and headed for the tent church. Remington was wrong about his assessment of God’s fault in the deaths of the men they’d lost, and Goose knew that. But he also knew he couldn’t argue the point.
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1612 Hours
“Sergeant Samuel Gander.” The woman in the Red Cross uniform looked around the room that had been set up as a communications center. She was middle-aged, a brunette with twenty extra pounds on her and a calm, confident demeanor. She held a hand over the phone handset she held.
Heart beating frantically, Goose limped forward. “Here.” He held up a hand so the woman would see him in the crowd of men that filled the building near to bursting. “I’m Sergeant Gander.”
The phone service coming into Turkey was abominably slow. He knew there were problems stateside, too, but he didn’t know why. He’d been busy. And news was filtering through the military ranks slower than usual because there was so much weird stuff passing through with it that one knew what to believe.
The phones had been put in immediately upon the arrival of the American military reinforcements. Communications were being routed through one of satellites donated by Nicolae Carpathia until the American satellites were back on-line.
The Red Cross had manned the phones, answering and putting through calls as quickly as they could for servicemen in the immediate area. Goose had established a relief crew that swapped out with men at post so they could take phone calls from home.
The building was an auditorium that had been gutted of furniture to make room for the phone equipment. Soldiers sat on the floor or leaned against the walls while they waited to take calls that had been put on hold.
The woman handed the phone to Goose. She smiled, but she looked tired and worn. Not all news coming from home was good, and not all of it going back was either.
“It’s Mrs. Gander, Sergeant,” the woman said.
Thank You, God, Goose thought silently as he accepted the phone. He nodded at the woman. “Thank you, ma’am.”
The woman hesitated. “Please try to be brief, Sergeant. I know that’s asking a lot, given our present circumstances and everything that has been going on. But there are a lot of other men that need to speak to their families as well.” The speech was the same one Goose had heard her dole out every time she handed over the phone.
“Yes, ma’am,” Goose said. He pulled the handset to his ear and felt trapped by the cord. “Megan?”
“Goose? Goose, is it really you?” Megan’s voice cracked and he heard her crying at the other end of the connection.
“It’s me, Meg.” Goose barely swallowed the lump that was in his throat. His eyes burned and he felt the unshed tears he wouldn’t let fall because men were watching him. Everything he had planned to say to her evaporated the instant he heard her voice. But he did know what mattered. “I love you.”
She cried for a moment. “I … love … you, too.”
They were silent for a while, and Goose felt terrible that this time looked so wasted. But just hugging the phone like that made him feel like Megan was right there, like he could reach out and touch her or smell her hair.
“How bad is it there, Goose? I’ve been watching television. That’s all anyone has been doing over here. It looks really bad.”
“It probably looks better than it is,” Goose said.
“But you’re all right?”
“Yes.” Goose shook his head,
