That one word stirred up anger in Goose that he really didn’t want, need, or mean. Bill had left. Whether or not he intended to, whether or not he had been given a choice, he’d left.
“Tango Fourteen Leader, this is Nine,” a man’s excited voice called over the headset.
“You’ve got Tango Fourteen Leader,” Robinson said, automatically turning to where he had posted his squad member.
“I got movement up on the rooftops,” the soldier said. “To the west, across from the target building.”
Immediately, Goose turned to the west, raising his hand to shade his eyes from the sun. He spotted a man rising from the rooftop and fitting a long tube to his shoulder.
Recognizing the RPG-7 rocket launcher from years of experience with them, Goose shouted, “Get down! That’s a hostile!”
A puff of smoke jetted from the back of the RPG-7. Less than a heartbeat later, the missile struck the building and the payload exploded. By that time, another figure popped up on another rooftop and fired another rocket.
Feeling helpless, knowing the combined might of the Rangers, marines, U.N. forces, and Turkish army hadn’t been able to keep out small but determined detachments of enemies, Goose watched as the second rocket struck the target. Further weakened, the building sagged and started collapsing in on itself.
OneWorld NewsNet Mobile Platform
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 1329 Hours
Danielle worked standing up, getting her thoughts down on a yellow legal pad. When things got too crazy or she got too tired to think straight, she worked with paper and a pencil.
Cezar rummaged through the refrigerator and complained about the lack of choices. “You know,” he said, finally selecting frozen pizza and moving toward the microwave, “there are restaurants open. Good restaurants with good food.”
There were, Danielle knew. She’d done interviews with some of the people who had stayed behind to run their businesses. The few who had stayed told her that if they left their businesses, the family would lose everything. It was better, they said, to stay and believe in the Turkish army and their friends, the Americans, and to pray that they could turn the Syrian war machines back as they had been doing.
“Those restaurants,” Gorca said from the corner, where he worked on one of the stalk microphones Danielle used when she needed both hands free, “are run by madmen.”
“The hopefuls,” Cezar argued. “They know the city will be held.”
From everything she’d seen, Danielle didn’t believe that for a minute. Sanliurfa was doomed to become a way station on the Syrian army’s march into the country. It wasn’t going to be a scenic one, though.
“Would you really want to eat anything a madman has prepared?” Gorca challenged. He was irritable because Cezar had slept and he hadn’t been able to. Gorca had bemoaned that fact while watching the younger man sleep earlier, and Danielle had echoed the sentiments. Cezar’s ability to sleep and forget about the war bordered on the inhuman.
“Now—” Cezar held up the microwaved pizza, slipping it from hand to hand to combat the heat—“I am eating this cardboard confection, you know. I tell you, frozen pizza—now that is a madman’s creation. They should be made fresh, piled high with—”
“Miss Vinchenzo,” Bogasieru called from the bank of monitors.
Shifting, grateful for the distraction because listening to Cezar and Gorca argue over anything—which they did frequently, especially over Star Trek episodes—tended to give her headaches, Danielle joined Bogasieru.
“You asked me to keep you apprised of any news concerning First Sergeant Gander,” Bogasieru said.
Since the first sergeant is pretty much the anchor I’m doing these stories around, yeah. But Danielle didn’t say that. She peered at the monitors. At present, OneWorld NewsNet was recycling pieces that had been edited down for brevity. She wasn’t supposed to go live again for a couple hours, when Remington had condescended to give the media a brief interview.
“Where is he?” she asked.
Bogasieru pointed to one of the screens on the lower right. “Here.”
As Danielle watched, she spotted the first sergeant kneeling beside a Hummer and bringing his assault rifle to his shoulder. In front of him, an explosion struck a burning building, igniting a dust cloud and sending large chunks of debris flying. The building buckled, caving in like a fighter past his prime who’d taken one punch too many.
“Where is that?” Danielle asked.
Bogasieru didn’t answer, just tapped on his keyboard. The monitor beside the one showing the attack suddenly opened on a gridded map of the city.
“We have been tracing the actions of the other media groups in the city,” Bogasieru said, “using the satellite array. I’ll know the location in just a moment.”
Yellow horizontal and vertical lines started coming together on the monitor. The gridded map of Sanliurfa magnified as the double sets of lines closed.
Danielle’s sat-phone rang. Thinking it was Stolojan calling to make sure she was on the story, she scooped the phone from her hip and said, “I’m on it.”
“Hello?”
The feminine voice startled Danielle, but she watched the action on the screen as the Rangers went into action. First Sergeant Gander returned fire from cover of the Hummer.
“Who is this?” Danielle asked.
“My name is Simona. I am sister to Lizuca.”
From the distraught tone in the young woman’s voice, Danielle knew something was wrong.
“Forgive my call,” Simona said. “I got your number from my mother, yes? She could no make the phone call. Not after what happened to Lizuca.”
A chill ghosted through Danielle. “What happened to Lizuca?”
The young woman’s voice broke and she cried. When she spoke, her voice got higher and higher till it was squeaking at the end. “Poor Lizuca. My poor sister. She is murder!”
The announcement froze Danielle’s brain. She thought she couldn’t have heard what she’d just heard. “What happened?” Simona cried for a time.
Danielle watched the attack on the monitor, her attention torn and the need to do something almost overwhelming.
“Lizuca,” Simona said in a halting voice, “she is go to café, yes? To get computer information for you as
