Or had God watching over him, Goose amended, feeling certain that was more reason than the other.
“Go, Base,” Goose said as he stepped out of the RSOV and dropped to the sand. “Leader reads you five by five.”
“How bad is it?” Remington asked.
“The helo is gone, sir.” Goose surveyed the bulk of the wreck. Fire wreathed the Black Hawk, burning off the excess fuel. Whatever equipment remained aboard that might be salvageable wasn’t going to be approachable for some time. “We’ve got four survivors. All of them are wounded.”
“What about your squad?”
“Mostly intact, Base. One walking wounded.”
“Your vehicles?”
“We’re in motion, sir.” Goose surveyed the wounded men.
The chaplain wore an identifying armband that guaranteed recognition but not safety from enemy fire. He was in his late forties, his dark hair peppered with gray. Hard lines made his face look haggard. Quietly, he held one wounded man’s hand and spoke in a low, confident voice.
Hardin stood beside the chaplain, out of the line of sight of the wounded man. With an impassive expression, Hardin locked eyes with Goose and slowly shook his head.
“There’s something you should know, Sergeant,” Remington said.
“What, sir?”
“The reporter that was talking to you, Hardesty, was sending out a live transmission at the time the helo went down and your squad was attacked. The television stations carried that transmission in real time. No delay.”
Goose took in the statement, automatically logging the ramifications. If Megan or Joey was awake, and if they knew that war along the Turkish border had broken out, they might have seen the footage on television. He felt guilty that his wife and son might be sitting home worrying about him.
“I’m sending a message through channels,” Remington said. “Fort Benning will send a dispatch to Megan to let her know you’re all right.”
For the moment, Goose thought. He was enough of a realist to know that Remington might be sending a message that might not be true twenty minutes from now. “Thank you for that, sir.”
“We’re fighting wars in unusual times,” Remington said. “Battle has never been a televised event before. Yet that’s where we’re finding ourselves. I didn’t want you distracted from your mission.”
Goose checked his watch. “I’ve still got a window on the arriving aircraft, sir.”
“Yes, you do. Can you get there?”
“Yes, sir. We’ll be carrying wounded. I’d like a medical team to meet me if possible. I’ve got one man here who’s touch and go.”
“Affirmative, Leader. I’ll pass the request along, but I can make no promises. Those people are busy. We’ve got wounded and casualties scattered all along the border.”
“But we’re holding.”
“Yes, Sergeant. Those men at the front are Rangers. Our Rangers. They’ll stand. And once those Marines arrive and we get the air support we’re expecting, Syria is going to be sorry she opened the ball on this one.”
Goose cleared the channel and switched back to the squad frequency. The sat-relay vids weren’t up yet, but he thanked God the com channels held up through the emergency rerouting.
“Hardin,” Goose called.
“Yeah, Sarge.”
“Let’s get loaded up. Take the two wounded. We’ll handle the chaplain and his charge.”
“We’re on it.” Hardin trotted back to the RSOV he commanded and got his four-man team to transfer two of the wounded helo crewmen to the vehicle.
Goose surveyed the burning remains of the helicopter. Occasionally the flames shifted and he could see the bodies of the two pilots still strapped into their seats. Both dead men were burned beyond recognition.
“Sergeant.”
Turning at the sound of the soft voice behind him, Goose faced the chaplain. “Chaplain,” Goose said.
“O’Dell,” the chaplain said. “Timothy O’Dell.” He spoke with a New York accent and offered his hand.
“First Sergeant Samuel Gander.” Goose took the man’s hand, finding the grip solid and reassuring.
O’Dell nodded. “I know who you are, Sergeant. We were briefed before we jumped from the border.”
“We’re pressed for time here, Chaplain.”
“I know, but I wanted to talk to you about Private Digby over there.” O’Dell paused, looking back at the young man lying unconscious on the OD field blanket that was pockmarked with ember charring. “If we try to transport him across the desert, I’m afraid he’s not going to make it. Shrapnel from one of the shattered helicopter rotors pierced his right lung. It’s pretty much filled with blood. There are other injuries, but that one is the most serious.”
“The only other option is to leave him here,” Goose said. He kept emotion from the decision, though he knew if anything happened to the young soldier he would feel guilty later. Command came equipped with harsh decisions.
“I could stay with him,” O’Dell offered.
Goose looked into the man’s eyes. “I can’t guarantee a medevac, Chaplain. I can’t even guarantee there will be one when we get to the other end of this jump.”
“God will provide, Sergeant. He always does.”
For a moment, Goose was almost swayed by the chaplain’s quiet words. They carried the same certain conviction that Bill’s counsel often had. But the stark desert surrounding them weighed heavily on him.
“I can’t let you do that,” Goose said. “If I leave you out here, we could lose you both.”
“Sergeant, I’m willing—”
Goose cut the man off firmly but politely, having to talk a little louder because the fresh assault of artillery fire thundering to the south. “Chaplain, I appreciate that, but it’s not going to happen. I don’t want to lose anyone, but I’m not going to risk two.”
The chaplain looked like he wanted to argue, then he stood respectfully. “All right, Sergeant. We’ll do it your way. I’ll pray for success for us all.”
Goose nodded a thank-you and turned from the man, focusing on the mission, concentrating on the need to get to the front where he could
