Bill is gone.
That was the bottom line. No matter how Bill had been taken or killed—God, please let Bill be alive—he was gone, and he wasn’t there to help Goose now as he had for so many years as a friend and a fellow soldier. The flutter of the wet, dust-encrusted kerchief Goose had tied around his lower face pulled in tight against his lips as he took a deep breath. In that breath, he centered himself, putting on the mental armor of the professional soldier. He spoke calmly into the headset microphone.
“Base, this is Phoenix Leader.”
There was no reply.
With effort, Goose turned toward the LZ, where the stricken Marine wing lay shattered. Flames leapt up from the broken helicopters, and the heat created pockets of shifting mirage effects in the air, swirling through the heavy black smoke. A few men stumbled and staggered from the wreckage.
There are survivors. The realization electrified Goose. The fatigue and pain sloughed away from him as the need to act gave him a second wind. He pushed himself into a jog and gazed back along the border.
Two Harriers and one Whiskey Cobra roved through the air, cutting through the ocean of haze that cycled through the air. Roiling waves of fire still scoured the no-man’s-land that had been forcibly declared on the Syrian side of the border.
Goose switched his headset over to the general frequency in use by the Rangers. “Phoenix Team, this is Phoenix Leader. Count off.”
In quick succession, the team counted off, letting him know that five of the Rangers were still at hand. Dockery and Evaristo were too wounded to help with a rescue effort. Bill Townsend and Neal Clark were missing.
Goose ordered the men to help with the rescue operations among the downed aircraft, then turned his attention to the front line. The Turkish military were still in position there, but he knew he’d feel more comfortable with his teams in place. And he knew that Cal Remington would demand that. “Echo Two. Bravo One.”
“Echo Two here, Phoenix Leader,” Bernhardt replied.
“Bravo One reads you, Phoenix Leader,” York said.
“Hold your positions,” Goose ordered. “We’ve lost com with Base. For the moment, we hold what we have.”
Both rifle company leaders agreed.
“Echo Two, is Six still intact and with your unit?” Echo Six was Rick Means, one of the best point men Goose had ever seen.
“Affirmative, Leader.”
“Get Six and two men forward,” Goose said. “His choice. I need spotters in place. With the com out, we don’t have eyes that can see through that haze. I want as much intel incoming as we can get.”
“Affirmative, Leader.”
“Phoenix Leader, this is Alpha Two. We’ve lost men, Goose.” Sergeant Gunther Slade, the number two in Alpha Rifle Company, sounded hysterical. A ragged breath rattled over the com. “They’ve disappeared! There are empty uniforms everywhere!”
“Understood, Alpha Two,” Goose stated calmly. “Treat them as MIAs for now. Get me a list of missing personnel. Secure any loose weapons and gear. We don’t know how soon it will be before we can restock. Charlie Leader, do you copy this com?”
“Affirmative, Phoenix,” Lieutenant Harold Wake’s deep voice replied. Harry had six years in the Rangers. He was still young in some ways, a graduate of OCS after getting a doctorate in marine biology in Seattle. He’d attended school with the intention of putting in his time in the military to pay off his college tuition, then get back to the work in the oceans that he loved. Instead, he’d gotten hooked on the Ranger life, drawn to the adrenaline and sense of family that was missing after being raised in state institutions.
“Charlie One,” Goose said, “I need you to fall back with your people to aid in the search and rescue among the Marine wing. Grab all the medkits you can get your hands on and head this way.”
“Roger, Phoenix,” Harry replied.
Goose reached the first Sea Knight. Black spots danced in his vision from the lack of air.
The helicopter sat on the rough land canted over on its right side. A rotor blade had chopped into the hard earth, looking for a moment like it had buried itself several feet with the impact. Then Goose noted the broken stubs of the other rotors and knew that the rotor blade the craft rested on had shattered, too.
Smoke coiled like fat, restless snakes from the helicopter’s interior. The Sea Knights carried ordnance, but most of that was secured with the Marines. The downed Whiskey Cobras would be more dangerous. Dead men lay strewn before the Sea Knight. He forced himself not to dwell on the fact that until minutes ago these men had been alive.
Despite the amount of death he had seen in the past two hours, he couldn’t distance himself from the horror of it.
And God help me if I ever do, Goose prayed.
After ascertaining that none of the men lying outside the helicopter were alive, Goose ducked down and prepared to enter the open side cargo door. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he was in motion before he recognized the Beretta M9/Model 92F that came up in the hand of the dazed Marine on the other side of the cargo area.
The gunshot filled the tight space inside the cargo helicopter but hardly made a dent in the cacophony of noise that rolled over the battlefield. The bullet slapped into the ground just outside the cargo area.
Goose spun and went to the ground, keeping his assault rifle in his right hand while his left clapped instinctively to his helmet. “Stand down, Marine,” he ordered in the voice of authority he’d cultivated while stepping up through the ranks. “I’m Sergeant Gander. With the 75th Rangers.”
A choked sob came from inside the helicopter. “Sorry, Sergeant. I’m sorry. I’m hit. I’m hurt bad.”
Goose pushed himself up and put his back to the helicopter’s body. He kept the M-4A1 canted up. “What’s
