Holding his M-4A1 in his right hand, Goose ran over and caught the Ranger’s BDUs in one hand and helped yank him to his feet. As the man stood briefly, Goose saw that the soldier would never make the distance under his own power. Goose squatted and threw a shoulder into the young soldier’s waist, buckling the Ranger in half. With the soldier over his shoulder, Goose forced himself to stand. His injured knee trembled at the exertion, and for a moment he thought the joint might not be strong enough for the load.
God help me. I won’t leave this boy out here to die. A quick glance at the Ranger’s bloodied and dusty face showed that he wasn’t much older than Joey, Goose’s seventeen-year-old stepson.
Despite the sharp twinges of pain that felt like rat’s teeth gnawing at his knee, Goose stood with his burden. He turned, ran back for the protection of the alley, and eased the wounded soldier onto the ground. Lieutenant Wake, blood glistening at his waist, grabbed another wounded Ranger by his LCE and dragged the man to cover. Shrapnel had hit the young soldier in the face and head, leaving bloody wounds. He was dazed, almost out on his feet.
“Oracle,” Goose called over the headset. “This is Leader.”
“Go, Leader. You have Oracle.”
“I need a medevac on my twenty. I’ve got wounded.”
“Affirmative, Leader. I’ve got your twenty. Medevac as soon as we’re able.”
“How long?” Goose sucked in deep breaths as the tank rumbled in their direction.
There was no immediate response. “As soon as they’re able, Leader.” The radio com operator paused, and for a moment the trained distance in the man’s voice evaporated. “We’re taking heavy casualties. We’ve got soldiers down everywhere.”
Goose glanced around the corner and watched as the Syrian armored cav rolled into Sanliurfa. The Rangers were supposed to hold the city until they were relieved of duty. Now it didn’t look like they would hold their positions through the night.
Brake drums from a vehicle shrilled behind Goose. Paranoid, knowing that Remington’s spotters couldn’t tell how far the enemy had penetrated into the city, Goose wheeled around and brought his assault rifle up.
The pickup was nearly twenty years old, an American model Goose remembered seeing back in Waycross, Georgia. A man slid out of the door from behind the steering wheel.
A crimson flare torched the sky and brought out the urban battlefield in sharp relief. It also lit up the young driver’s bruised and battered features. He was in his early twenties and looked Middle Eastern.
In spite of the man’s days’-old injuries that had left faded bruises and scabs around his mouth and eyes and on his cheeks, Goose recognized him at once. Icarus. After only a moment’s hesitation, Goose muted the mouthpiece pickup on the helmet headset. Remington had declared an interest in Icarus, and Goose knew the captain would have sent Dean Hardin or others after the agent even in the heat of battle.
The man raised his eyebrows a little, obviously surprised by Goose’s choice to cut off contact with his commanding officer.
If he’d known everything about Icarus, Goose might not have cut out communications. But so far Icarus seemed content to contact him. Until Goose knew for certain what the man was up to, he was willing to delay telling Remington’s knowledge of the agent’s activities to preserve that tenuous relationship.
“Icarus,” Goose acknowledged in a voice too low to be heard by Wake or other members of Tango squad.
Icarus grinned ruefully. “Sergeant,” he said. He held his empty hands carefully away from his body.
Goose’s finger rested on the outside rim of the M-4A1’s trigger guard.
Icarus shrugged and glanced down at the stained and ripped United Nations uniform he wore. “With everything going on, I have to admit, I’m surprised you knew me. Still, I had to take the chance. Couldn’t leave you out here. I knew you wouldn’t leave your men behind.”
Goose said nothing, his mind reeling from the implications of the man’s appearance. Icarus remained an unknown in the mysterious events leading up to Syria’s unexpected attack on Turkey. Captain Remington had taken an assignment from CIA Section Chief Alexander Cody to rescue an operative who had fallen into the ungenerous hands of the PKK, a local terrorist organization.
Abdullah Ocalan first organized the Kurdistan Workers’ Party in 1974 for the purpose of creating an independent Kurdish state from land within Turkey, Iran, and Iraq. Of late, the group primarily targeted Turkey, seeking to destabilize the government through bloody attacks.
According to information Cody gave Remington, the terrorist cell Icarus had infiltrated was responsible for a failed assassination attempt on Israeli statesman Chaim Rosenzweig’s life. After discovering the traitor in their midst, the terrorist organization had transported Icarus toward Syria. Goose’s mission to rescue the young agent had triggered the frantic satellite phone call that had precipitated Syria’s no-holds-barred attack on Turkey.
Since the Rangers had pulled back into Sanliurfa, CIA agents had searched for Icarus. Remington said the young agent had possibly gone rogue. Corporal Dean Hardin, one of Remington’s go-to men for dirty operations, had taken point on the search for Icarus inside the city.
Only two days ago, while Goose was still reeling from Megan’s news that Chris was among the children who had disappeared, Icarus had met Goose in a bar. While there, Icarus had revealed that two of the CIA agents had caught up to him and he had killed them both while escaping. Icarus also told Goose that everything that had happened—his capture and the rescue attempt—was part of a carefully designed plan. The agent had spoken of the seven years of lies and subterfuge and unspeakable horror that remained ahead for the world.
Goose hadn’t known what Icarus was talking about then, but after attending Corporal Joseph Baker’s services in the tent church these past two days, he was finally beginning to catch on. It appeared to Goose that they might all be caught up in something that had impacted the whole world, something that
