For a moment, a hint of jealousy flared through Remington. Even when they’d been soldiering together as sergeants, Goose had always seemed to capture the attention and respect of other soldiers as well as the media. He was photogenic and self-deprecating, every inch a team player who sweated blood for the cause.
But Goose would never be an officer. A few times, when his jealousy had risen too high, Remington had consoled himself with that thought. Goose would never be an officer, never be more than the first sergeant that he was. And when he’d had his fill of battle, as Remington suspected Goose soon would now that he had Megan and Chris waiting at home for him, Goose would quietly lay down his arms and concentrate on being a husband and father.
Remington hadn’t wanted to deal with any of those responsibilities that would divide his attention and his personal resources. The screen cut away, showing footage of the caravan of vehicles from Glitter City rumbling along the road to Sanliurfa. The refugees had actually reached the city over an hour ago, and more footage showed the arrival of those vehicles inside the city. Several SCUDs had slammed Sanliurfa during the initial attack. Sections of the city were burning ruins now.
“Since we’re agreed on the evacuation,” Goose said, “all we need is a time frame.”
“Part of that will depend on how soon you can get those men ready to go.” Remington returned to the screen that showed Goose’s point of view.
“We need transportation.”
Remington touched the monitor in front of him, loving the power that knowledge gave him. The touch-screen programming that came with the satellite feeds made shifting between perspectives a breeze. Maybe the generals at the Pentagon would give him a hard time about his decision to take the help Nicolae Carpathia had so freely offered, but Remington felt that, in the end, no blame would be laid at his doorstep. Linking with Carpathia had been the thing to do, for just the reasons the Romanian president had gone into.
The monitor cleared in a heartbeat. A long line of military trucks raced along a winding mountain road. The view from the satellite peered down at the countryside. With the magnification available in Carpathia’s satellites, Remington could have isolated each truck and shifted over to infrared to discover how many men rode inside.
“Transportation is on the way, Goose,” the Ranger captain said. “You’ll have it in about five hours. I’ve got a convoy of trucks aimed in your direction from Diyarbakir.”
The distance from the convoy’s origination point outside Diyarbakir and the border was 223 miles of treacherous road. The Marine wing from Wasp had traveled a little more than that, but the aircraft had been able to fly in a straight line at an average of 150 miles an hour. The land-based support had to travel through treacherous mountain roads further hampered by occasional damage from SCUDs. The five hours Remington quoted to his first sergeant was only if nothing untoward happened during the jump.
“You’re stripping the secondary unit, sir,” Goose said.
The secondary unit of Rangers in Diyarbakir had been primarily support and supply staff. But they were a fighting unit with heavy field artillery as well, capable of becoming part of a pincer movement should the need arise.
“Superficially,” Remington agreed, “the convoy might look like that, but that unit is primarily designated for emergency relief. There is a lot of cargo space aboard those vehicles to help with your wounded.”
“What about our dead?”
Remington cursed in his mind, but not one word escaped his lips. He knew the evacuation would come down to this. A Ranger was trained never to leave a comrade behind, not even a dead one. And the fallback op from the border was going to require more than that from them.
On the move again, Remington walked back to the computer monitor linked to Goose’s helmet cam. “We can’t take them, Goose.”
“Captain, I didn’t lead those men here to leave them—”
“You didn’t lead them here to watch them die either, First Sergeant Gander.” Remington made his voice hard. “Did you?”
The view from Goose’s helmet cam lifted briefly to the sky. Traces of smoke still hung in the air. Remington didn’t know what answer Goose hoped to find there. Goose still clung to the idea that some higher power actually watched over the world and made decisions about who lived or died. Remington knew that decision rested solely within the individual. A strong man outlived a weak one. A warrior outlived a pacifist. In Remington’s book, life’s rules were simple. No higher power influenced his life or his rules.
“No, sir,” Goose replied. “I didn’t lead them here for that.”
“We didn’t lead them here for that, Goose.” Remington made his voice gentle again. The commands came naturally. “We cut our losses. We save who we can. We let the others go.” He paused, knowing he had to choose his words carefully. “Those we leave behind, Goose, we remember. If we can, we’ll return for them and take them back to their families.”
“Yes, sir.”
Returning for the dead was one of the last things Remington wanted to do. Images of other ops where men had been lost came sharply to mind. Corpses left too long in the sun bloated, became breeding grounds for flies, and turned horrific. A company that had to retrieve its own dead days after the battle, as would likely be the case in this present engagement, suffered mental and emotional damage from that mission that hampered them on the battlefield. If possible, Remington intended to see that someone else was called in for that duty, but at the moment there weren’t any possibilities at hand. The mystery vanishings had left everyone strapped for men.
Except the Syrians.
More news about the worldwide event poured into Remington’s sat feeds from around the globe. So far, his impression was that Africa and South America
