“Is this the package, Base?” Goose asked.
“Affirmative, Leader,” Remington said. “You have visual confirmation.”
The station wagon had come within a quarter mile of the Rangers’ position. The rough terrain kept the vehicle’s speed down to about thirty miles an hour.
Goose switched over to the team frequency. Remington and HQ remained part of the loop. “We’ve got ID. Our save is located in the rear seat. Passenger side, not the driver’s side. Copy?”
The ten men in the unit responded quickly.
Glancing over his shoulder, Goose looked at Corporal Bill Townsend. The corporal had been the first man Goose selected for the ten-man unit.
Bill had just turned twenty-eight. He was young, easygoing by nature but quick on the fly on an op. Like Goose, he wore load-carrying equipment, an LCE, that supported his gear. Combat webbing held extra magazines and rounds for the M-4A1/M-203 combo he carried. The M-203 grenade launcher fired 40mm grenades and added a wallop to a squad’s force.
During the eight years he’d known Bill, Goose had never seen him perturbed. Things didn’t always go the way Bill thought they should, but he worked through any situation, be it smooth sailing or total chaos, with better grace than any man Goose had ever known. Bill was totally relaxed and at peace with himself. Goose figured it had something to do with the corporal’s faith. Bill was a devout Christian who spent time with squadmates who were having personal troubles. He was good at easing the burdens down to some manageable load. If Bill hadn’t been such a good soldier and adamant about making a difference in the world in that fashion, Goose would have recommended the corporal for a counseling position on base.
Seven years ago, when Goose had met Megan Holder at Fort Benning and fallen in love with her in spite of his best efforts not to, Bill had counseled him. Goose had always promised himself that he’d remain single till he finished his twenty years and retired, reminding himself that a dedicated career soldier’s family often got short shrift by the very nature of the job. He hadn’t wanted to put anyone through that. But Goose had been torn in his resolution when he saw Megan trying bravely to raise her son—our son, he corrected himself—Joey, all by herself.
Bill had known Goose was troubled and had talked to him without really talking to him for a while. At least, that was the way it seemed. Looking back on things now, Goose had the distinct impression that the young man knew exactly what he was doing.
In the end, Bill helped Goose get over his cold feet and follow his heart. Bill had been best man at their wedding, a position Goose always thought would belong to his old friend Cal Remington. After all, Goose had been best man at two of Remington’s weddings. But for some reason Remington hadn’t been able to participate on the date Goose and Megan had chosen. In the end, Bill had been the perfect best man, and he had stayed close to Goose’s whole family. These days, Remington seldom visited the Gander household, while Bill was often around. He frequently baby-sat Chris.
“I’m here,” Bill told Goose quietly. “When you move, I’ve got your six.”
“You get your prayers said?” Goose tossed off the question in a lighthearted way, but he’d been around Bill when the man had prayed over injured soldiers and during disastrous situations. It seemed to Goose that God paid special attention to Bill’s words. Although he’d never talked about his feelings with anyone else, Goose had always felt the strength and conviction in Bill’s prayers. While he had a few doubts of his own about God, Goose leaned on Bill to put in a good word for him with the Big Guy.
Bill nodded. “Prayers said. Mine. Yours. The squad’s. We’ll make it home okay, Sarge.”
“I hope you’re right.”
An easy grin touched Bill’s lips. “You can’t just hope. You gotta have faith.”
“I do have faith.”
“Nah.” Bill shook his head. “If you had faith, you wouldn’t have to reach for hope.”
“Then I’m working on it. Best I can do. Thanks, man.” Goose turned from Bill.
It wasn’t often Goose felt the difference between the younger man and himself, but today he did. They often attended the same prayer groups while they were in the field. Or, more accurately, Goose joined the ones that Bill headed. And even back on base, Bill had found the church that Goose’s family attended. Bill spent some of his free time working as a youth minister for athletic events there.
“Phoenix Three,” Goose called out.
“Three,” Bobby Tanaka responded. He was the unit sniper, young and cool under pressure. “Go, Leader.”
“I want the package protected, Three. Your primary target is the hostile in the backseat with him.”
“Affirmative, Leader.” Tanaka lay in a prone sniping position behind an M-24 bolt-action sniper rifle.
The station wagon closed on the gap.
“On me,” Goose ordered. He tracked the vehicle with the M-4A1.
Twenty yards in front of the Rangers’ position, the Subaru’s front wheels hit the portable spike barrier concealed under the sand. The tires blew as the spikes shredded the rubber. Before the driver could hope to regain control over his vehicle, the rear tires hit the spikes and went to pieces as well.
“Go!” Goose commanded, pushing himself up and racing down the hill. Sand, gravel, and rock tore loose under his combat boots, throwing up dust. He skidded twice, dragging a knee both times to stay upright while he cradled the M-4A1 in his arms. Bill pounded along behind him.
The station wagon driver tried to keep going, but the tire rims sank into the soft sand and chewed through the hard-packed earth. In less than five feet, the station wagon had mired up to its chassis. The engine roared as the driver tried to use the
