Skidding down the hill, Goose closed on the vehicle. He watched the movement in the station wagon, tracking his unit as well as the targets. Years of combat training, discipline, and action in several deployments stood him in good stead. He kept his finger on the trigger guard. Until he knew he was going to have to shoot and he had a confirmed target, he never touched the trigger.
Dust filled the air around the station wagon, obscuring his vision. The man getting out of the passenger side looked blurred, but there was no mistaking the Uzi submachine gun clenched in his fists.
“Weapon!” Goose yelled, throwing himself forward and down. He brought the M-4A1 up and slid his finger into the trigger guard, squeezing the trigger three times. The butt stock shoved against his shoulder with each shot.
Hit by the rounds, the terrorist fell backward. The passenger window erupted in a spray of glittering shards.
Even as the terrorist fell to the ground, Goose spotted the station wagon’s driver lifting a semi-automatic pistol in his fist and pointing the weapon at the CIA spy. Goose tracked the man but couldn’t fire because one of the Rangers was in his field of fire.
Then the driver’s head snapped back.
For Goose, time seemed to slow down. His senses whirling, his mind driven to adrenaline-charged razor awareness, Goose noted the starred hole that had formed on the windshield, then heard the heavier 7.62mm report of Tanaka’s M-24 sniper rifle roll into the gap around the road.
As he died, the driver fired a pistol round that punctured the station wagon’s roof and the jerry can on top. The jerry can exploded in a seething mass of hungry orange and yellow flames that spread across the top of the vehicle. The second can, already propelled by the first can’s explosion, detonated in midair. A sheet of flames arced over two of the Rangers standing ahead of the vehicle to the left. Both soldiers hit the ground and rolled to extinguish the flames that clung to their fatigues and helmets.
The heat wave generated by the blast hammered Goose. Through tearing eyes, he stared through the pool of flames that clung to the station wagon. Flames poured down over the vehicle’s side and formed fiery puddles on the ground.
The third terrorist was fumbling for the door.
The battered CIA agent screamed, “Kill him! Kill him!”
Managing to hit the door release, the terrorist vaulted from the Subaru and ran. He pulled a sat-phone from his pocket even as he brandished a 9mm pistol in his other hand. The man hit the dirt and crawled for cover.
“Kill him!” the CIA agent yelled from inside the burning car.
Goose transferred his M-4A1 to his right arm and pushed himself up. The car blocked his line of fire. He ran toward the station wagon. The windshield, covered in flames, imploded and blew back over the body of the dead driver. Fire rushed into the vehicle’s interior.
Ducking to avoid the tongue of flame that spat from the open passenger door, Goose reached into the burning car and hooked a hand inside the agent’s elbow. He yanked the man from the vehicle, nearly sending both of them sprawling before getting his feet under him.
Bill rushed in and grabbed the agent’s other arm. They had to drag him back from the burning Subaru because his feet were taped together.
“You’ve got to get that guy!” the agent yelled hoarsely. Fresh blood trickled from his split lips and broken nose. Bruises showed all across his face.
“Our mission is to get you out of here alive. That’s our first priority.” Something else in the car blew, sending waves of blistering heat over them. Goose quit talking and helped Bill drag the guy farther from the flames.
“Take it easy,” Goose said. He stood, cradling the M-4A1 and looking for the terrorist.
Bill flipped a combat knife from his LCE and slid the sharp blade through the duct tape securing the man’s ankles and wrists.
The agent reached for the tape covering his eyes but couldn’t manage to pull the strips from his face. The binding at his wrists had been tight enough to cut off his circulation, and his hands probably remained numb. Goose knew that when the man started to get the feeling back he was going to be in a world of hurt.
The terrorist was out of sight, invisible in the cloud of black smoke spewing from the burning station wagon.
“Don’t you understand me?” the agent bellowed. He tried a couple different languages while Bill pulled at the duct tape over his eyes.
“We understand you,” Goose replied. “We’re U.S. Army Rangers. With the 75th out of Fort Benning. Our mission is to get you out safe. Why do we have to kill him? Give me a good reason to risk my men to do it, now that we’ve done what we came here to do.” As a soldier, Goose had killed, but always to protect himself or others. He had never killed indiscriminately or allowed any man under his command to do so.
The agent blinked his eyes against the harsh sunlight. Tears rolled down his dusty cheeks. “That man will transmit to the Syrian forces. They’ll know you’ve saved me. They know that I know they’re planning to launch a major offensive against the Turkish and U.N. forces, especially the American military. If he gets his message through, they’ll launch that strike immediately. Your refusal to kill him will take away days and hours we might have had to prepare.”
Fear raced through Goose. He’d known something was up on the border. He’d felt it in his bones.
“Three,” Goose said as he threw himself in pursuit.
“I’ve got him,” Tanaka replied.
The wind changed. The terrorist materialized out of the concealing smoke with the sat-phone clasped tightly against his head. Then he spun, his legs flaring out wildly as he
