“Two blocks east of your position. One block south. At the main barricade blocking egress from the highway.”
“I’m on my way. I’ll cue you when we go live. Until then, we’re going to shoot some bits that I’ll want to work into the story. We’ll upload as we go. Get them cleaned up and I’ll do voice-overs later.” Danielle’s mind worked furiously. She didn’t know how many people comprised whatever workforce Stolojan was part of, but he seemed to have an army at his beck and call for research as well as for processing.
Staying close to the building, Danielle took the lead. Cezar and Gorca followed reluctantly.
“I heard what you said about the bodies,” Cezar said. “Do you think this is why the Syrians did this? To frighten the soldiers?”
“Are you scared?” Danielle countered.
“Yes.”
“Then I’d say it’s working.”
“I suppose.”
Danielle halted at the corner leading into a narrow alley filled with debris. A rumbling noise reached her ears, one of those impossible things that happened in the lull of gunfire and mortar fire. She knew what the sound was. Even though she didn’t want to, she turned toward the crashed barricade.
Dust and haze and flames filled the gap where the barricade had been at the end of the street. The Red Cross Humvee loaded the wounded and performed a U-turn just as an armored behemoth lumbered into view.
The tank was Russian-made. Danielle knew from her research that the Syrian army used primarily Soviet munitions. She didn’t know if it was a T-62 or a T-72, but it was huge. The tracks gouged the street, tearing away chunks of pavement. Then the turret swiveled as the tracks locked down. The main gun took deliberate aim.
Danielle dodged around the alley corner. Realizing that Cezar was frozen, his camera resting on his shoulder as he shot footage of the tank, Danielle reached back and grabbed his shirt. “Move!” she yelled, yanking him into stumbling motion.
Gorca followed, covering his head with his hands.
The vehicle’s main gun belched flame that tore away the shadows between the buildings. The blast deafened Danielle. Riding out an adrenaline spike, she tried to run down the alley and drag Cezar behind her. Her feet became entangled with his, and she stumbled over a chunk of building. She fell.
Behind her, the tank sped forward again.
Renewed fear slammed through Danielle. The occupying military force hadn’t claimed their cobbled-together defenses were impenetrable. In fact, Remington had told the citizens that exactly the opposite was true.
Another round blasted from the tank. A building staggered, then fell, joining the debris on the other side of the main street.
Lying on the rubble amidst shadows too thin to offer much in the way of protection, Danielle felt certain that she was about to die. Then, ahead of her, she saw a man running toward her through the swirling fog of dust and haze.
Disheveled and wearing a torn uniform, Sergeant Goose Gander ran across the ragged piles of debris that choked the alley. He held his assault rifle in both hands across his chest. When he reached her, Goose grabbed her by her Kevlar vest and yanked her to her feet. He pushed her toward the end of the alley.
“Get out of here!” he ordered. Then he was gone, rushing headlong on an interception course with the invading Syrian tank.
Cezar started for the other end of the alley. Danielle put a hand against his chest and stopped him.
“What are you doing?” he demanded.
“Follow me,” Danielle told him, starting after Goose.
“You heard the sergeant!” Cezar protested. “He told us to get out of here!”
Danielle kept moving. “The story’s here, Cezar. If you don’t want this job, I’m sure OneWorld can find someone else to take your place.”
Cezar hesitated only a moment then followed.
Stopping at the corner, already several yards behind Goose, Danielle watched the Ranger out on the street. A gunner popped up from the turret and turned the 7.62mm light machine gun mounted there toward the first sergeant.
A row of bullets chopped into the pavement toward Goose. He never broke stride.
4
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0427 Hours
When the Syrian soldier popped up from the T-62 tank loader’s turret hatch and manned the light machine gun, Goose knew he had no choice but to continue the attack. Ducking back into the alley where he’d passed Danielle Vinchenzo and her OneWorld NewsNet team would have been impossible. He’d have slipped and fallen on the debris underfoot and been easy prey for the Syrian gunner. That fact ricocheted through his mind in a heartbeat. Grimly determined, he lengthened his stride.
“Goose, look out!” a Ranger shouted.
Already in motion and with the headset securely in place under his helmet, Goose experienced a curious Doppler effect. He heard the warning through the headset, then again from his right because the soldier was so close. The Ranger sounded familiar. Under any other circumstances, Goose felt certain he would have recognized the man’s voice.
The tank continued rolling forward, leaving a widely spread set of track marks in the cracked and cratered street. Thankfully, the turret gunner had trouble bringing the machine gun to bear on Goose.
Lifting his M-4A1 assault rifle, Goose fired two three-round bursts and hoped for the best. One burst struck a flurry of sparks from the tank’s armored back less than a foot from the Syrian gunner. The second tri-burst hammered into the enemy gunner’s chest and popped him back over the turret.
Less than twenty yards from the tank and closing quickly, Goose said, “Tango One, this is Phoenix Leader.” His breath came raggedly, tearing his words apart.
“Go, Phoenix Leader, you have Tango One.”
Tango One was Lieutenant Harold Wake, the commanding officer of Charlie Company of the 75th Rangers. Charlie Company held the ground currently challenged by the Syrian push. Goose, through the extension of Captain Remington’s authority, actually had command of the ranking officer. Working in the heat of battle with too few troops from too many forces made for strange chains of command.
“If I don’t
