“Prior to this attack,” Danielle said, “dead American soldiers were hurled into the city by the Syrian army.”
Growing braver as he lost himself in the camera work, Cezar stepped out from cover and focused on the corpse that had nearly come down on top of them.
“These men are not new casualties of tonight’s attack,” Danielle announced. “The dried blood on this man’s clothes is days old.” She signaled for the camera to return to her. “The only place the Syrian army could have gotten dead American soldiers is from the border action that took place three days ago. The U.S. Army Rangers pride themselves on never leaving a man behind, but during the evacuation of the Turkish-Syrian border, the 75th, commanded by Captain Cal Remington, was forced by the horrific circumstances to leave their dead behind. The Syrians are using our own dead as weapons against us.”
Another artillery shell crashed into the street behind her and created a huge crater. Chunks of pavement ricocheted from the nearby buildings.
“In past battles in this country,” Danielle went on after the din had abated a little, “armies would lay siege to fortresses and cities. They sometimes brought the bodies of their dead foes to toss over ramparts in an effort to spread disease within the ranks of their enemies.” She paused. “Tonight, there is no doubt that the Syrian army hopes to spread terror amidst the brave defenders of Sanliurfa using those same tactics.”
A quick signal to Cezar alerted him again.
Danielle pointed toward the burning barricade. “Somewhere out there in that rugged, mountainous terrain, the Syrian army is marching. In interviews, Captain Remington of the 75th Rangers out of Fort Benning, Georgia, has assured viewers that his team will stand firm and that the Syrians will not be able to take Sanliurfa. Tonight, his claim is being challenged.”
A fresh salvo of artillery shells slammed into the nearby buildings. Two buildings fell, tumbling in a widening rush of broken brick and shattered glass. The structures ceased to exist, becoming instead pools of debris.
Calling Cezar back to her, Danielle said, “This is Danielle Vinchenzo, reporting live from the front line in Sanliurfa, Turkey, for OneWorld NewsNet.” She signaled again.
Cezar pushed the camera focus past her to the rescue operation once more; then the camera light dimmed.
“You’re off the air,” Stolojan announced. “Good piece. I’m sure the producers will need more footage soon.”
Gunfire opened up all around Danielle. She stared at the barricade area. “I’ll get it,” she said. OneWorld Communications had no problem getting pushy about their news, and that was fine with her.
The harder they pushed, the more she was able to get out of her team.
“I take it the Syrians are on their way here?”
“Definitely,” Stolojan answered.
“You’ve been monitoring the city?” Danielle asked.
“Yes,” Stolojan assured her.
“Have you managed to keep a visual lock on Sergeant Gander?” OneWorld NewsNet’s satellite resources rivaled those of most modern nations. Besides being able to broadcast live news all around the world, they also had some of the best tracking satellites in the business. The corporation’s infrastructure had also seemed to be one of the most intact after the wave of mysterious disappearances had taken away a third of the world’s population. She hadn’t heard of any disappearances taking place within OneWorld’s offices.
“Yes. We lost the sergeant for a time, but quickly turned him up again. The sergeant has primarily been with his men.”
Goose Gander had become a focal point for OneWorld’s stories. Since she’d first accepted the job, Danielle had been told to stay close to Goose. Valerica Hergheligiu, the woman who had informed Danielle that OneWorld Communications had bought out her contract with FOX News, had pointed out that Sergeant Gander was exactly the kind of American hero that OneWorld NewsNet wanted to stick close to. As a result, the sergeant was gaining recognition, though he didn’t appear to be aware of it.
“Captain Remington, however, has been something more of a challenge,” Stolojan said.
Danielle knew from her own experiences that Remington was all but impossible to keep up with. During the last two days she’d tried desperately to deal with the man. The captain willingly granted interviews, even seemed to court them, but none of the media people presently working in Sanliurfa were able to keep him in their sights when he chose to vanish.
One of the CNN reporters based in Sanliurfa had voiced the rumor that Remington was searching for a rogue CIA team within the city. Or, he said, perhaps it was a double agent that had been within the PKK, the terrorist group known as the Kurdistan Workers’ Party. The story was too good to ignore, and it had been told and retold among the media, with the circumstances flipping back and forth, depending on who was telling the tale.
The selling point for the media was that the CIA might somehow have been involved with the Syrian decision to attack Turkey. If that was the case, the current war story was going to get even bigger. Chaim Rosenzweig’s invention of the synthetic fertilizer had turned Israel into a veritable Eden overnight and made it into an even more dynamic economic force that had unsettled the balance of power in the Middle East. There was some suspicion on part of the Arab nations that the United States, under President Fitzhugh, had had a hand in the development of that fertilizer.
Yesterday, that CNN reporter had been found dead, his throat slit. He’d been young, convinced he was on the trail of something that would earn him a Pulitzer, and he’d taken chances by going into the rougher areas of the city where the traders and black-market dealers met. Danielle had earmarked the story to follow up on, but OneWorld had kept her busy pumping human-interest stories, such as the cooks she had been with before the attack.
“We do have Captain Remington now,” Stolojan said.
“But where is Sergeant Gander?” Danielle
