“Affirmative, Leader.”
Goose paused at the deuce-and-a-half’s side. He peered up at the driver. “Mr. Murdock?”
Murdock was grizzled and gray haired, the lines in his face ironed in by time and strength of character. He was stoutly built and looked to be in his fifties. Blood spotted his torn khaki shirt.
“I’m Murdock.” The man extended a hand down.
Goose took the man’s hand, and even though he had been prepared, he was surprised by the strength of the construction man’s grip. “Good to meet you, sir.”
Murdock shook his head. “Don’t ‘sir’ me. I mustered out with sergeant’s chevrons that weren’t much different than yours.”
Nodding, Goose took his hand back and looked at the deuce-and-a-half. “You can handle this rig?”
“Like I was born to it,” Murdock said. “You got no worries there.”
“We’ve got a dust-off coming up,” Goose said. “We’re not going to be escorting you.”
Automatically, Murdock glanced at the sky. “Going back to the front line?”
“Yes.”
“From what I’ve seen, and from what I’ve heard from the reporters,” Murdock said, “it’s a nasty place down there. You keep your head low.”
“I will.”
Murdock looked at Goose. “You and your men did a good thing here today, Sergeant. A lot of people wouldn’t have gotten out of here without you.” A smile twinkled in his blue eyes. “The only thing I can see wrong with the lot of you is that you ain’t Marines. Things get back to normal soon, come look me up. I’m good for a dinner and a good word with the Marine Corps.”
Goose agreed.
“Until then,” Murdock said, “I’ll drive this rig on into Sanliurfa and get these people squared away. I’ll be saying prayers for you every mile.”
“Thanks,” Goose said. “I’d appreciate that. So would the rest of the unit.” He stepped back and waved Murdock into motion, yelling at the passengers in the back to settle in.
Despite the huge size and the power of the vehicle, the deuce-and-a-half glided into motion. The large tires crunched across the rocks, broken mortar, glass, and other debris littering the road.
Movement on Goose’s right drew his attention to the reporter and cameraman approaching him. He had noted the two men earlier as they’d talked to Bill only a short distance away.
“Get that man’s picture,” the reporter said, waving to a cameraman bleeding from one ear and a scalp wound. The reporter was bloodied but appeared sharp and driven. “He’s the commanding officer.”
Camcorder resting on his shoulder, the cameraman approached Goose. The reporter trotted after him with a wireless mike in his hand. The reporter was young and wild-eyed, obviously not nearly as focused as his older partner.
“Sergeant,” the reporter said as he jogged to keep up with Goose. “I’m George Hardesty, with Viewpoint Action News.”
Goose didn’t recognize the affiliation, but he wasn’t surprised. His news watching was limited primarily to FOX and CNN, and lately when he’d been at home, his viewing channel of choice had been cartoons with Chris. With the memory of those cartoons, Goose missed his youngest son. Of course, he missed his wife and oldest son as well. But there was nothing like a hug from Chris, so innocent and so freely given, that seemed to make sense of the world and set everything straight in about three seconds flat.
“Mr. Hardesty,” Goose stated calmly, “the convoy is leaving. I suggest you and your cameraman load up and get moving before you’re left behind.”
Hardesty shook his head. “I won’t be left behind. I’ve been around this business for a long time. Besides, I can always go with you and your men. That’s where the story will be.”
Goose faced the man. “We’re not retreating, sir. We’re returning to the front line.”
“I can go with you.”
Before Goose could politely respond, Hardin’s voice came over the headset, calling for his attention. “You’ve got Leader,” Goose said, turning away from the reporter.
“I’ve got our bird,” Hardin said. “South-southwest.”
Glancing up into the hazy sky, Goose made out the familiar wasp shape of the UH-60 Black Hawk troop transport helicopter. The helo was marked in desert camo tans and browns.
“Acknowledged,” Goose said. “Leapfrog, we have a visual on you.”
“Good to hear, Phoenix Leader. I can’t see anything down there in that soup.” The UH-60 settled in, dropping quickly earthward.
“Captain,” Hardesty tried again, extending the wireless microphone. “Anything you’d care to say about today’s attack? Anybody you’d like to speak to back home?”
Goose knew the reporter didn’t know his rank. In the field, the Rangers kept rankings hidden so the officers and non-coms couldn’t be picked off by enemy sniper fire.
Turning to the reporter, Goose put an edge on his voice. “Mr. Hardesty, either you get in one of the vehicles that are transporting these people back to Sanliurfa or I’m going to put you on one.”
“I only need a minute of your time,” Hardesty complained.
“Leader, this is Leapfrog,” the helo pilot broke in. “I’ve got three bogeys coming in from the west. Repeat, three bogeys coming in from the west.”
“Affirmative, Leapfrog. What do you see?”
“Three vehicles, Leader. Jeeps. Small trucks. Can’t quite make them out with the dust flying around. Want us to take a look-see before we settle in?”
“Have we got a sat-relay that can look for you?” Goose asked.
“Negative, Leader. We’re still in a dark zone out there till all the sat-repeaters are put back in place.”
“Eyeball the bogeys,” Goose said. “But stay clear. If they’re coming to help, use the PA to let them know the evacuation is taking place now.”
“Will do, Leader. Could be scavengers, too. I heard there’s bandits in the area.”
Goose watched as the helicopter rose into the sky once more, then soared across Glitter City. A wake of thunder from the big rotors followed. He radioed the rest of the team and got them moving toward a common meeting point along the ridgeline. He glanced at his watch and saw that it was 0750 hours. The air support from Wasp was still ten or twelve minutes out.
“Captain.”
Irritated by the
