Once the armored cav started rolling northbound, Goose knew the Syrians couldn’t be held back. The Turkish army, the U.N. peacekeeping forces, and the Rangers had taken huge casualties and lost irreplaceable materials. The Syrian army had taken some incredible losses as well, but the reserve force they’d had outnumbered anything the Turkish defenders had left to give.
There was no way to know what the Syrian military command had intended to do with the army encamped along the border before launching the SCUDs. Remington had stated, during his last discussion with Goose, that he believed the Syrian army would have been pulled back, making it look like they had backed down from the Turks. Then, while the unsuspecting Turkish army was congratulating itself, the SCUDs would have launched and taken out the first line of defense. The Syrians’ cav units would have rolled over whatever remained of the defenders.
Intercepting the CIA spy had changed all of that somehow, and Syria had gambled everything on the power of a sweeping first strike. And maybe they had gambled on the disappearances within the border troops as well. However, Remington had mentioned that the disappearances might not be linked to the fighting in Syria, although he hadn’t elaborated on that. With long years of friendship and service between them, Goose knew when not to press an issue with his captain.
Exposed on the east side of the T-72, the sun baked down into Goose, and it felt like the heat was leaching the moisture from his bones. Perspiration soaked his uniform and made the dirt that had stuck to his skin beneath his clothing even more uncomfortable. His eyelids felt like they dragged across his eyes in slow motion as he used his peripheral vision to search for the movement he’d caught from the corner of his eye. The heated air seemed too thin and too raw to breathe.
The overturned and burned-out vehicles along the skirmish line formed a deadly maze for the Rangers Goose had led into action. Soot marked the ground in blast patches and made it look like the earth itself had been bruised. Fire and smoke still clung to some of the vehicles and craters. The crackle of the small flames was the only sound coming from close by him.
Movement caught Goose’s eye again, drawing him around.
“Goose!” Cusack yelled in warning. The young Ranger brought his weapon up.
But Goose was already in motion as the Syrian soldier thrust his Chinese-made AK-47 forward. Goose turned toward Cusack, whose concern for Goose had left him exposed, fisted the Ranger’s uniform in his hand and dropped a shoulder into Cusack’s midsection to get him moving.
Bullets traced a white-hot trail along the tank, spinning wildly from the armor. Gunfire and ricochets ripped through the quiet stillness that had filled the area.
Goose shoved Dewey back nearly twenty feet before the Ranger’s feet got caught and he fell backward. By that time they were out of range of the Syrian’s rifle. Goose’s injured knee felt tight under him but held well enough as he pivoted and sprinted back toward the burned-out hulk of a cargo truck.
“Phoenix Base,” Goose called as he moved. “This is Phoenix Leader.”
“Go, Phoenix Leader. You have Phoenix Base.” Remington had assigned a mission control officer to watch over the Phoenix team by satellite while they were in hostile territory.
“Verify hostiles, Base,” Goose said. “I need your eyes.”
“Affirmative, Phoenix Leader. Base is taking a look-see.” Maintaining close surveillance on the skirmish line was a drain on the satcom systems while they tried to monitor the two countries and search for other Syrian troop movements across the border. Remington was doing double duty all the way around by pumping information out to Wasp and to the Pentagon. Phoenix Base had been standing by, ready to go close in.
Putting his back to the cargo truck, Goose listened for the Syrians. When he heard no running feet, he dropped into a crouch and peered under the truck from his position beside the slagged remains of the rear tire.
Two Syrian soldiers were prone beside an eight-wheeled BTR-60 armored personnel carrier. Blistered paint bubbled up all around the APC, and the eight tires were withered pools of burnt rubber. With its boat-shaped hull and sloped sides, the BTR-60 was a good swimmer, though that wouldn’t do it much good in the desert around them. The vehicle’s standard armament consisted of the coaxial 14.5mm KPV and 7.62mm PKT machine guns on the right side. The BTR-60 was by no means cutting-edge equipment, but it was a workhorse on the battlefield.
Goose fired on the fly, aiming for the closest Syrian soldier. A line of 5.56mm rounds from Goose’s weapon chewed through the ground even as Syrian fire knocked hunks of rubber from the tire Goose was hunkered behind. Goose’s bullets struck the lead man, who jerked with the impacts then lay still.
The surviving Syrian soldier’s bullets cut through the air by Goose’s head and kicked dirt up into his face. The clear goggles he wore kept the grit from his eyes. The kerchief he wore to filter the acrid smoke covered the lower half of his face.
“Phoenix Leader, Base confirms two hostiles in your immediate twenty,” the mission controller said urgently.
“One is down,” Goose said.
“Understood. One hostile down. I’m pinging them now, Leader. Your men have engaged thirty-seven Syrian foot soldiers. I’m also reading vehicles that are in motion to your location. I’ve got ten—no, Phoenix Leader, make that twelve vehicles. They were playing possum, Leader, or they moved up into position during the time we were without sat-relay. Copy?”
“Phoenix Leader copies, Base.” Goose checked up the line, making sure all his squad leaders had received the information. Armored cav loose in the Ranger scout forces would be like loosing a
