Jeeps and Hummers and cargo trucks rolled by outside as the military continued putting down sandbags and shoring up defensive postures in case the Syrian military decided they felt lucky despite the turn of events on the mountain. Those soldiers worked by lanterns and Kleig lights now. The night had fallen nearly an hour ago. Or maybe it only seemed like an hour ago. Goose wasn’t sure.
He turned his attention to the beer bottle sitting on the table in front of him. Then he looked at the picture of his family, taken only last summer at a backyard barbecue. Even though he wasn’t in the picture, Bill Townsend had been there. Bill had taken the picture.
In the picture, Goose held Chris tightly in his arms. Chris loved being out in the sun, and his hair was bleached so blond it was almost white. Megan stood at Goose’s side with Joey next to her.
Gone.
The word hammered into Goose’s mind and sent a stake through his heart one more time. How could his son just be gone? How could Bill just be gone?
Footsteps sounded behind Goose and he recognized the measured stride immediately. He would have recognized the stride in a parade march. He sat quietly, waiting.
Remington came around the table.
Reluctantly, Goose came to his feet and saluted, then stood at attention.
“At ease, Sergeant,” Remington said. “This is a social call.”
“Yes, sir.” But Goose knew that Remington had waited until he’d gotten to his feet and saluted before telling him that.
“Sit down,” Remington said.
Goose sat.
“Mind if I join you?”
“No, sir.”
Remington hooked the chair on the other side of the table and sat. He folded his hands on the tabletop. “I heard about Chris.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Knock off the ‘sir’, Goose. This is me and you.”
“All right.”
Remington took a deep breath, looked away and let it out, then looked back at Goose. “I had to find out about it from someone else. I should have heard about it from you.”
“You were busy.”
“Not too busy for you, Goose,” Remington said. “I’m never too busy for you.”
Goose knew that wasn’t true. There had been times in the past when he’d had to wait for Remington’s attention, sometimes for days.
“How are you holding up?” Remington asked.
“Not good,” Goose answered.
“Can you do your job?”
“I don’t know.”
Remington’s voice crackled with authority. “That’s not the answer I was hoping for, Sergeant.”
“No, sir, it’s probably not.”
Anger darkened the captain’s features. “Don’t you sit there and feel sorry for yourself, Goose.”
Goose held back an angry response, because Remington was a friend as well as a commanding officer.
“What happened to Chris is a bad thing,” Remington said. “But, from what I understand, that happened to every kid out there.”
Goose controlled himself with effort. Remington didn’t have kids.
“I don’t know what you’re going through, Goose,” Remington said, “but if I could share part of the burden of it, I would.”
Shame cracked Goose’s anger a little because he believed Remington might have tried. But in the end, all the same, he knew that Remington wouldn’t have been capable.
“I don’t know what happened to those kids,” Remington said. “I don’t know what happened to those men everyone reported missing. But there are some things I do know.” He ticked points off on his fingers. “There’s an army waiting out there thinking they’re holding a sword to our bared throats. They’re waiting for us to make a mistake. They’re waiting to grow brave again. I’ve got busted rifle companies out there that are undermanned, under-equipped, and some of them scared out of their minds, scratching around in the dirt looking for Jesus to come bail them out.” The captain took a ragged breath. “I can’t have that, Goose. And you know I can’t have that.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington looked at him. “I need you, Goose. I need you to be strong.”
Goose paused. “I don’t know if—”
“Then you figure it out, mister!” Remington’s voice grew loud enough to quiet the men around them.
Goose was conscious of the unwanted attention.
“You’re a soldier, Goose,” Remington stated in a harsh voice. “You’re a sergeant. A leader of men. More than that, you’re my sergeant. You’ll get those Rangers up and running, and you’ll stand tall when I tell you to.”
“Sir, yes, sir.” Goose’s response was automatic, ingrained by years of military training.
Remington exhaled again and leaned back in his chair. “I shouldn’t even be having this talk with you, Goose.”
“No, sir.”
“You’ve been hurt before. You’ve been scared before. When those things happen, there’s one thing that you’ve always been able to hold fast to.”
Goose remained silent.
“You’re a soldier, Goose. You’ve always been a soldier. You were a soldier waiting to happen back in Waycross. You’re a soldier now. You’ll be a soldier the day you die.”
“Yes, sir.”
Remington’s voice softened a little. “And when you die, Goose, you’re going to die standing tall, facing whatever enemy you’re up against that day, and you’re going to die believing that you’re doing all you can do.” He paused. “That’s all a professional soldier can ask for. And before you’re anything else, Goose, you’re a professional soldier. Probably the most professional soldier I’ve ever seen.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Remington pursed his lips. “You’ve got some downtime coming, sergeant.” He glanced at the picture on the table. “Get this straight in your head. Figure out what you can do something about and what you can’t. Don’t let the world get so big you can’t deal with it. One thing at a time. One opponent at a time. One mission at a time. One battle at a time. One war at a time. That’s how we’ve always done it.” He paused. “It works. That’s how we’ll continue to do it.”
“Yes, sir.”
“We’ll
