The corpse thudded into the sand and didn’t move.
Battered and bruised by the rough ride across the sand, his lungs still feeling like they were bound by constricting iron bands, Goose released his hold on the Jeep. He slid to a stop in the sand. Bill was hit. The memory whipped through his mind even as his strained shoulder screamed at him. He put his left hand out and rolled to his feet. His shoulder felt weak, like it was made of broken glass.
“Leader’s up!” Cusack yelped excitedly. “Tanaka!”
“I’ve got him,” Tanaka replied in a quiet, controlled voice.
Pushing himself, focusing on the battle at hand with the professionalism he’d developed after seventeen years in the military, Goose brought the assault rifle to his shoulder. He dropped the sights over the driver’s chest. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Syrian soldier in the passenger seat point his AK-47 at Goose. Before he had a chance to fire, the Syrian soldier pitched forward and Goose knew that Tanaka had found his target.
Goose fired a series of three-round bursts. Bullets chopped into the Jeep’s grill, then across the hood, and smashed into the driver just above the steering wheel. The dead man’s foot slipped from the accelerator and clutch. A moment later, the Jeep stuttered to a halt.
Head spinning, lungs aching, Goose swayed. For a moment, he thought he was going to fall. Abruptly, the iron bars constricting his lungs dropped away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then coughed and almost threw up. Flames coursed across his chest. No blood showed on his chest. Intact. He’d been pounded, but the bullets hadn’t penetrated. He said a silent prayer of thanks.
Keeping his assault rifle up at the ready, slightly canted down so he could sweep the weapon up, Goose advanced. He sucked in another breath, feeling as though his chest were busted up inside but not feeling any grating of bone that would have indicated shattered or splintered ribs that could pierce his internal organs and compromise his breathing. His lungs appeared to be intact.
“Two,” Goose called as he closed on the stalled Jeep. Neither of the Syrian soldiers moved. “Two, do you copy?”
One of the RSOVs raced up the hillside. Evidently Hardin and the two men with him had managed to get the combat vehicle and were rolling to check on the downed helicopter.
“Two copies, Leader,” Bill replied. The weakness in his voice offered proof that not all was well with him.
“What’s your status, Two?” Goose grabbed the driver by the shirtfront and dragged the man from the Jeep’s seat. The corpse dropped to the sand. “Confirmed kill.”
“I’m hurt,” Bill replied. “But I’m still standing.”
Goose pulled the man from the passenger seat and dumped his body to the ground. “Confirmed kill. How bad is it, Two?”
“Patchwork, Leader. Leg shot. Bullet went through and through.”
“Do you need assistance?” As Goose walked back toward the hillside, he checked on the three-man crew from the second Jeep. The HE round had blown them in a semicircle from the point of impact.
“I need a medkit,” Bill replied. “Having a tough time getting the bleeding stopped.”
“I’m on it, Leader,” Cusack offered. “I’ve got a medkit.”
“Take care of it, Six,” Goose acknowledged.
“Leader, this is Base.” Captain Remington’s voice.
“Clear my channel, Base,” Goose ordered. “I’m in the middle of a busted op and you can’t help me.”
Remington took no offense. “Affirmative, Leader. I’ll be standing by.”
“Understood, sir.” Goose approached Hardesty, who still lay on the ground. “Get up.”
Hardesty got up uncertainly. He stared at the dead cameraman. The man was so young to be so dead that the fact was offensive to Goose.
“Four,” Goose said, reminding himself that other young men were selflessly giving their lives along the border even then. The artillery fire continued without cease. “What’s the sit-rep at your twenty?”
“Leapfrog is officially scratched, Leader,” Hardin replied. “I’ve got five survivors from a sixteen-man crew aboard the 60.”
“Four survivors,” Evaristo said in open disgust.
“One of the survivors is a chaplain,” Hardin said. “All of these guys are banged up, Leader. Gonna be more of a detriment to the cause than any kind of help.”
Artillery fire rolled to the south, crossing over Goose in a wave of echoes.
“Get them squared away,” Goose ordered. “We’re leaving in two minutes.”
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1:10 A.M.
Heart thudding, Megan ran out into the base hospital parking lot. Only a dozen or so cars occupied the striped slots. She stopped in the center of the lot and spun around, looking for Gerry Fletcher.
Fort Benning kept security lights on all through the night where they were needed, so the area around the hospital was relatively lighted. Lamps illuminated high-traffic areas, but the residential areas remained dark except for lights along footpaths between the buildings. The military base was a safe area, a place where married couples and families with children could live in peace.
But tonight those safe places harbored shadows where a scared eleven-year-old boy could easily hide.
“Megan.”
Turning, Megan spotted Helen Cordell standing in the open emergency door. The bleats of the alarm blasted out into the parking lot.
“Have you found Gerry?” Helen asked.
“No.” Megan tried to push away the frustration she felt. “I didn’t know he was running till he was already gone.”
“Neither did I.” Helen gazed around the parking lot. “He can’t have gone far.”
“I know. I just don’t know where he could have gone.”
“Do you know his mother’s number?”
“Yes.” In that moment, Megan felt foolish. It was her job to keep it together, to know and to be ready to act one step ahead of anything the kids in her care could come up with. Gerry had been terrified of his dad. That much was evident. But she was good at her job. Maybe she wasn’t thinking at her best tonight, but she was prepared. “I’ve got Tonya’s phone number in my cell phone memory.”
“Check there,” Helen suggested. “As scared as that
