With the vehicle losses the Turkish, U.N., and Ranger forces had already suffered, Goose hadn’t wanted to risk losing any more. Even one of the smaller Jeeps or 4x4 transport vehicles would have been hard-pressed to slip through the carnage along the border. And every vehicle they lost on the scouting mission was one less vehicle to help carry the wounded back to Sanliurfa that night.
Intermittent assault-rifle fire opened up in his area. The other members of Goose’s twenty-man team, broken into five groups of four, reported engagements as well.
Cusack sprinted to join Goose, taking up position near the front tire of the cargo truck for the limited protection it offered.
“Phoenix Eight confirms two hostiles down,” Tanaka reported in a cool voice. The team sniper had taken up a position a hundred yards back on top of a Bradley M-2 APC that had seen its last day. One of the Marines, a sniper with a Barrett M-82A1A .50-cal sniper rifle instead of the more conventional M-40A1 chambered in 7.62mm rounds, kept Tanaka company. Goose had allowed the addition because the man had come highly recommended.
The unique blast of the .50-cal round tore through the battlefield.
“Confirm three down from Eight’s position, Base,” the laconic Marine stated.
“I need to know about those vehicles, Base,” Goose said.
“You’ll have it, Leader.”
“Phoenix Leader, this is Stonewall Leader.”
“Go, Stonewall,” Goose replied. Stonewall Leader was the Marine sergeant in command of the surviving troop contingent from Wasp. Signaling Cusack, Carruthers, and Jansen, the three members of his own four-man group, Goose sent them around behind the Syrian soldier’s position.
“I realize this is your party, sir,” Marine Sergeant Deke Henderson said, “but I’d like permission to try my luck with the arriving armored cav. This Barrett, sir … well, if you’ve never seen one in action, you’d be surprised what it will do. Even those later model T-72s can’t handle the .50-cal rounds.”
“Affirmative, Stonewall,” Goose said. “Do what you can. We need to work for a holding position for a while.”
“I’ll do you proud, Phoenix Leader,” the Marine promised.
Gunfire erupted from the Syrian soldier’s position. Whirling into action, Goose sprinted for the end of the cargo truck. When he came out around the end, his back pressed up tight against the sootstained truck, he listened to the Syrian soldier’s assault rifle burn through the rest of his clip.
Turning, Goose dropped the M-4A1 into firing position and looked toward the Syrian BTR-60. The sniper lay in a hollowed-out spot in the earth near the APC. Goose directed a stream of 5.56mm tumblers at the BTR-60’s sloped sides, counting on the light bullet and the angle of the APC’s sides. The lightweight bullets slammed against the vehicle’s steeply inclined wall.
Designed to bounce and ricochet after hitting a target, the 5.56mm rounds deflected down into the Syrian soldier. The man pushed himself to his feet, then dropped back and didn’t move again.
Goose blinked perspiration from his eyes and searched for more enemy troops. He heard the clank of heavy rolling stock in the distance and knew that the armored cav Base had talked about was emerging from their chosen hiding areas.
The Rangers couldn’t back down. Goose knew that. They had to stop whatever contingent of Syrian forces remained in the area here. The Syrians had radio contact with the rest of their army. Remington’s intel teams were still assessing how large that army was. If the Rangers backed down, they might trigger a rout that would bring the rest of the Syrians grinding toward them.
Goose turned and signaled to Cusack, Carruthers, and Jansen. The three experienced Rangers moved at double time to fall into position around Goose. He moved Henderson up to take point.
“Take us to the west, Carruthers,” Goose said. “We’re going to set up a pincer and see if we can’t take out some of the cav.”
“You got it, Sarge.” Carruthers hailed from Big Fork, Montana. He was stocky and solid, slow to speak but quick to act. He was a minister’s son, and one of the men that Bill Townsend had spent a lot of time with. He took off, angling to the right, putting the sun to their backs.
Goose readied his M-203 grenade launcher with an HE round. The high-explosive 40mm grenade packed a solid punch that was devastating to the T-55 Russian-made tanks that made up most of Syria’s cav, and the round performed well against even the T-72 monsters.
Cusack packed an M-203 as well and readied his own.
“Phoenix Two,” Goose called. “This is Leader.”
“Go, Leader. You have Two.” Eddie Ybarra was a top-notch sergeant from Arizona with twelve years in.
“Set up to the east of the main blockage,” Goose said. “Try to outflank the tanks. Your team has two M-203s. I want to catch the Syrian cav in a cross fire.”
“Affirmative, Leader. Two is on the move.”
When Carruthers waved in warning and went to the ground next to a rocky outcrop, Goose fell into position against a burned-out troop transport that lay in twisted ruin. “Phoenix Three, Four, and Five.”
The leaders radioed back in response.
“Hold the middle,” Goose instructed. “Take out the ground forces and cover each other. Fall back if you have to. I want to draw the cav in.” As those squad leaders responded, he looked around the troop transport, breathing shallowly at the stink of burned flesh coming from within the vehicle.
A hundred yards away, a line of six T-55 main battle tanks, one T-72 main battle tank, two APCs, and three Jeeps formed a pack of hunting steel jackals. Evidently the SCUDs and the carnage unleashed by the Marine wing had struck them, as evidenced by the blast scarring they wore on their armored hides, but they hadn’t been disabled. Three T-55 tanks ran the forward line, crunching over broken vehicles and debris as well as corpses of their own dead.
The sight was a vision out of hell as Goose had imagined it back when one of the hellfire and brimstone evangelists had arrived at Waycross, Georgia, when
