Remington sounded tense. “The Syrians are not holding anything back, Sergeant. This is shaping up to be a major land grab, and the Syrians obviously want to nail down as much territory as they can as soon as possible before the Turks, and we, get a chance to recover and pin down their advance.”
The grim news that the border units were still under attack pounded at Goose’s conscience. The crash and thunder of the artillery strikes south of his current position continued mercilessly. The need to be on the move thrummed inside him.
“Diyarbakir is the nerve center for Turkey’s military base against the PKK,” Remington continued, “but they’re geared for counter-terrorist operations and action against riots. Not to take on the whole Syrian army.”
“That’s correct, sir,” Goose agreed. The great walled city had been built back in the twelfth century and was known for the beautiful mosques within the huge black basalt walls that surrounded the metropolitan area. In addition to its key military role, Diyarbakir was one of Turkey’s prized cultural possessions, filled with history.
“I think the Syrians are going to try to reach Diyarbakir and sack the city to make a statement. And to gain an important piece of real estate. The only thing standing between them and that city is us.” Remington breathed out angrily. “This isn’t simply an escalation of border warfare, Goose. This is a commitment to work some changes in the status quo between these two countries.” Frustration echoed in his voice. “The Turkish military intelligence guys should have seen this coming.”
Although he hadn’t seen any stats on Syrian troop movements, Goose figured Remington was right in his assessment of the situation. There was no other reason for Syria to so suddenly and so solidly go on the offensive. Chaim Rosenzweig’s economic miracle had calmed down some of the tensions in the Middle East, but Israel’s new and greater prosperity had also triggered jealousy in Syria and some of its neighbors.
It wasn’t just jealousy that was the problem. All that money pouring into Israel had also given rise to feelings of renewed threat in the country’s neighbors, as if the past tensions in the region hadn’t been bad enough. Many of the Middle East nations hadn’t believed Israel would be generous with her newfound wealth.except when it came to buying arms and armor. And where could the Israelis aim all of that newfound weaponry? The Arab nations had all envisioned themselves with a target circle right in the center of their borders. Even though Israel had been keeping a low profile lately, the shift in the balance of power had destabilized the region. And with that much tension in the air, something had to snap.
The Syrians had to have a goal for their aggression, and the city of Diyarbakir was the most logical goal. If the Syrians proved successful in taking Diyarbakir, they would gain a lot of raw materials and a nice piece of strategic territory—including control of the Tigris River, known as the Dicle River locally—as well as a good staging position for further military ops and missions against Turkey and the U.N. peacekeeping efforts. It would be an excellent base for an attack on Ankara, the capital city of Turkey and a center for the country’s international business. Also, the Turks would be more careful about destroying the walled city of Diyarbakir than the Syrians would. All that history made a great protective barrier, if the Syrians could take it.
“The Turkish command doesn’t believe that the Syrians will reach Diyarbakir.” Remington’s tone—at least to Goose, who had known him for years—held a note of doubt and sarcasm. “They believe we can hold the line at the border.”
“What do you think, sir?” Goose went to the deuce-and-a-half and helped load an unconscious woman who had suffered an abdominal wound. They had gotten the bleeding stopped and enough plasma into her to maintain blood pressure, and she was still breathing. But she’d lapsed into unconsciousness, and Goose didn’t like the look of her. He was afraid that the woman had slipped into a coma.
Bill sent the next two men out on patrol.
On the other side of the makeshift gurney made from slashed tent canvas, Danielle Vinchenzo talked on a cell phone, evidently turning in a story. Like Goose and his men, she wore a piece of cloth tied over her lower face to keep out the worst of the sand. Because of that, her voice was muffled as she talked to her network. The phone lines had come back up with the mil-sat network. When she saw Goose and Bill, she nodded a quick thank-you at them. Goose’s men aboard the deuce-and-a-half helped to pull the wounded woman aboard.
“I believe we can hold them,” Remington answered. “But the cost is going to be high. We’re losing men out there by the minute, Goose. My men.”
“Yes, sir.” A bleak coldness touched an unreachable spot between Goose’s shoulder blades at the thought of all those men falling beneath enemy weapons. So many of them were young, hardly more than boys. Not much older than Joey.
Even as he thought that, Goose realized he, too, might not make it back home, might not see his wife and sons again. Then he steeled himself, knowing he couldn’t afford to think like that. As a soldier, he faced that risk every day of his career. He always kept the possibility in perspective. But today, that possibility was up close and personal once more, and he was reminded that there were no guarantees. The image of the dead boy passed through his mind. Why did things like this happen? Goose couldn’t believe that it was part of God’s plan. Faith in God
