Calling Cusack, Evaristo, and the chaplain over while Tanaka manned the RSOV, Goose gripped the edge of the bloodstained field blanket under the wounded man. On the count of three, they lifted the young soldier from the ground. He groaned in pain but didn’t wake.
Goose felt like yelling with the wounded man. The exertion pulled at his strained shoulder and brought back the sensation of the iron band around his chest, cutting his breath short. Together, they carried the injured man to the back of the RSOV.
Bill reached out and helped guide the soldier onto the rear deck area. Cusack had cut away Bill’s left pant leg to get to the wound. Heavy gauze bandaged the leg.
“Don’t bust that dressing loose,” Cusack warned. “We had a hard time pulling everything together.”
Bill’s face blanched white and a sick sweat poured from his skin. Gingerly, he returned to a sitting position. “I like being a soldier,” he said with a grin that was only a shadow of the usual effort. “I don’t even mind getting shot at. It’s part of the service. But this getting shot, you know, I have a real problem with that.”
The moment of levity, even as out of place as it was, lightened the mood. The young soldier lying on the RSOV’s rear deck even woke long enough to gasp, “Tell me about it.”
As the other Rangers belted in around the RSOV, Goose took his position in the passenger seat. “Let’s roll,” he told Tanaka.
Tanaka let out the clutch and the four-wheel drive kicked small rooster tails in the sand for a moment before catching better traction.
Glancing over his shoulder, Goose saw the second RSOV flank them, staying behind and to the right. He checked the western skies, knowing the aircraft from USS Wasp was inbound from that direction.
Except for the smoke and dust haze rising from Glitter City, the blue sky remained empty.
C’mon, Goose thought, be there. We’ve got a lot to do.
United States of America
Fort Benning, Georgia
Local Time 1:12 A.M.
“Gerry.” Megan grew short of breath as she sprinted up the steel fire escape that zigzagged back and forth across the outside of the resident building. She was in shape from the sports she and Goose played, but that didn’t prepare her to be at peak condition during one of the most intensely stressful situations of her life. “Gerry.”
The boy didn’t answer.
Below, out in the parking lot, Private Newman and his friends kept the spotlight on the boy. They also stayed back at Megan’s request. At this point, with everything that had happened to him tonight, she wasn’t sure what Gerry Fletcher was capable of doing.
“Gerry.” Megan’s feet drummed against the metal fire escape steps. The clanging noises rang and echoed against the apartment building.
One of the windows above on the third floor opened and a young, bare-chested man leaned out. His dog tags glinted in the spotlight. Rap music with unintelligible lyrics blared out into the night. “Hey! What’s going on out here?” he demanded.
Without pausing to answer, Megan ran past him. The vibration of her passing tipped over a wrought-iron stand containing three potted plants. Potting soil and vegetation scattered across the landing and leaked through the holes in the grilled landing.
“Hey,” the guy in the window called again. He started climbing out.
“Back off, soldier,” Megan ordered, putting all the steel she could muster into her voice. During her observations of Goose in his element, she’d seen him bark commands in the same kind of tone. He’d told her that the voice of authority was something a soldier often responded to without identifying the source, if the speaker could carry off the role. The ability to produce that voice was one of the first deciding factors in choosing non-coms and officers.
The soldier froze halfway out of the window.
Megan grabbed the next rail headed up and took the steps two at a time. She looked up at Gerry Fletcher. The boy still stood transfixed in the bright spotlight. His face was wracked with anguish and fear. Tears glistened like silver as they ran down his cheeks to his quivering chin.
Heartbroken, Megan thought as she hurled herself up the flight of steps. And terrified. She couldn’t help wondering how much of Gerry’s life had been spent feeling that way. Later. Think about that later. Get him down from the building now. Why did he come up here? Why is he standing near the edge? God, that boy shouldn’t be up here.
But she was afraid she knew.
God, I need Your help here. I hope that You’re listening. Please be listening.
In the parking lot below, a military Jeep with flashing security lights pulled to a stop beside Newman and his friends. Two uniformed MPs got out with flashlights and shined the beams over the Jeep, highlighting Newman and his friends.
Megan ran. Her breath burned the back of her throat and her lungs seemed too small to drag in the air that she needed. Calm, she instructed herself. Gerry needs you calm. You need to be calm for yourself.
She pulled up the final few steps. Her body felt like lead. Everything seemed to be going too fast and too slow at the same time. She stepped out onto the rooftop. Gravel cracked and crunched under her feet. She had to be trapped in a nightmare. This had to be a nightmare. God help her if it wasn’t.
Gerry Fletcher stood farther down the same wall she’d come up on. The spotlight on his body turned him almost ghostly white in the front and made his back half as black as night.
“Stay away, Mrs. Gander,” Gerry said in a voice that broke. “Please stay away.”
Megan stopped immediately. In a situation like this, the potential victim
