Syrian troops flanked the armored cav. Some of the Syrian soldiers jogged behind the slow-moving tanks with one hand on the rear so they could take advantage of the cover provided.
“Phoenix Eight,” Goose called.
“Go, Leader,” Tanaka answered.
“Stay with Three, Four, and Five. I want you providing cover sniping fire.”
“Affirmative, Leader, but you’re going to be hanging out there.”
The clank of the treads and the hoarse rumble of the tanks’ V-12 diesel engines grew steadily louder. The T-72 in the second wave stopped, locked down, then belched fire from the main gun.
The 125mm round screamed through the air and struck deep in the heart of the broken and burned vehicles in the Syrian camp. A Jeep jumped into the air, spinning end over end as parts flew off, then landed with a huge crash that shattered it into pieces.
Goose was surprised to learn that none of his team had been hit.
“Phoenix Leader, this is Blue Falcon Leader.” The Marine Harrier captain was Dalton Hammer, a Tennessee native. There hadn’t been time for Goose to learn much more than that while preparations had been made to save the Marines from the aerial crash site and pull the front line back into a semblance of order.
Remington had managed the liaisons between the U.N. peacekeeping forces and the Turkish army, but Goose had tried to get to know the new commanders. He hardly knew more than their names so far, but each of them had learned in a heartbeat what Goose had expected of them and what he planned to do with their units.
“I want to offer my assistance, Phoenix Leader,” the marine captain said. “You and your men are going to get chewed up by those cav—”
“Negative, Blue Leader.” Goose put edged ice into his voice. “You will stand down and clear my com. Now.”
There was no response.
Goose knew the Marine captain was only concerned about their welfare, but there was no way Goose was going to allow the few surviving aircraft they had left to them to be risked in this engagement. The CH-46Es were going to be needed for evac for the more critically wounded—provided they lived that long—and the Harriers and Apaches were going to be used to cover their final withdrawal from the border. Remington had promised additional aircraft would be forthcoming soon from Wasp. Though Goose gathered the guys on Wasp were having problems of their own.
Knowing his short dismissal was probably going to earn him a grudge match with Dalton Hammer, Goose hoped he’d be alive to mend fences later. The Marine captain wasn’t used to taking a backseat to the action. Goose also knew that Remington would support him on any decision he made on the battlefield.
The line of Syrian cav advanced inexorably. Dust rose from the broken ground behind them. The vehicles avoided blast craters large enough to drop Greyhound buses in.
“Phoenix Two.” Goose lifted his M-4A1 and curled his finger over the M-203’s trigger. Remaining behind cover of the troop transport, he took aim at the center T-55.
“Go, Leader. You have Two.”
“HE rounds, Two. First target is the center tank. After reload, take out the tank closest to you in the lead. With luck, the drivers will panic and turn outside. If we get lucky, we’ll break a tread and mire those vehicles down.”
“Affirmative, Leader. Target acquisition understood. Awaiting your go.”
Goose glanced at Cusack at the other end of the troop transport. The lanky young Ranger stood braced with the M-4A1 to his shoulder.
“Affirmative, Sarge,” Cusack said. “Locked on.”
The tanks continued forward, closing at low speed, bringing in a tide of dust that settled over the trail of dead Syrian soldiers left behind them.
“Stonewall,” Goose called. “This is Phoenix Leader.”
“Go, Leader. You have Stonewall.”
“That .50-cal you’re carrying has armor-piercing capability, right?”
“Bet the farm on it, Phoenix Leader.”
“Concentrate your fire on the lead tanks. Let’s see if we can’t jam them up.”
“Awaiting your go, Phoenix Leader.”
Goose squinted, squeezing out a bead of sweat that had been obscuring his vision. His body was a mass of aches and bruises. He pushed all those feelings out of his mind and prayed to God that he could stand firm and get done what he needed to do.
“Fire!” Goose ordered. His finger drew up the M-203’s trigger slack, and he felt the assault rifle buck with grim authority against his shoulder as the 40mm HE round whooshed from the grenade launcher’s throat.
The Mediterranean Sea
USS Wasp
Local Time 0953 Hours
“God raptured his church,” Chaplain Delroy Harte stated with more conviction than he’d ever had at any time in his life. “That’s why all those people are missing, Captain. The Lord has reached down into this world and taken those believers who walked with him.”
But even as the conviction filled the chaplain, he knew the jury was still out for those who watched him. Despite his best intentions, he didn’t know if he was getting through to the two men before him. For a moment, he thought he truly knew what his father had gone through on Sunday mornings. Delroy had never met a man who believed in the Word of God more than his father, but even that solid belief—though it had helped shape what Delroy did and his career choices, in fact, just about everything about his life—hadn’t been enough to get Delroy into heaven. How had his father gotten up every Sunday morning, hoping that he had discovered a message, a moment in the Bible, that could turn a flicker of belief into a life-lasting flame in those who listened?
Captain Mark Falkirk sat behind his desk and gave Delroy his full attention.
“Captain, are you going to listen to this—this—this hogwash?” Colonel Donaldson
