Then, incredibly, the fear on Gerry’s face went away. His eyes widened in surprise, and a kind of joy that only children knew filled his features. He reached up with his right hand, a move so instinctive that it made Megan’s heart ache as she remembered Joey and Chris when they were babies learning they could reach out and interact with the world around them.
Gerry reached up the way a child would, his hand clutching for the fingers of an adult’s hands, a hesitant grasping, then a firm squeeze. And as soon as he took hold of whatever he’d reached for, just that quick he was gone. A shimmer of light, so faint it might have been imagined, passed through his body; then his empty clothes dropped to the concrete below.
Benbow stopped the tape, reversed it so that Gerry reappeared in his clothing, then disappeared again. And again. And again.
The sound of men and women praying filled the courtroom.
As she gazed around, Megan saw men and women on their knees, some of them crying openly, others so terrified they could hardly control themselves. Only a few appeared to be unmoved at all.
“Mrs. Gander,” Benbow asked in a quiet, powerful voice, “is this what you saw that night?” He turned to face her and his eyes held a bright sheen.
“Yes,” Megan said. “I didn’t see it that clearly, but yes, that’s what I saw. I saw Gerry disappear.”
Even Colonel Erickson forgot to use his gavel to quiet the courtroom.
Benbow spoke over the crowd noise. “Colonel, the defense rests.” He looked at Trimble, who was on his knees retching and quaking in fear. “Major, we’re all through with the mumbo jumbo now.”
Operation Run Dry
26 Klicks South-Southwest of Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 2122 Hours
The splats Goose’s boots made as they hit the muddy earth didn’t travel far, but they alerted the Syrian soldier. The man turned with a cigarette in his mouth, the tip glowing orange in the darkness and illuminating his features under his helmet.
Goose’s knee almost went out on him when he landed. The pain blinded him for a moment. Then he pushed up, lunging, covering the six feet of space separating him from the enemy soldier. The Syrian clawed for the AK-47 that hung from his shoulder, but he never got the assault rifle pulled around before Goose was on him.
The first sergeant’s weight and rush took them both to the ground. Goose landed on top of his opponent, finding the AK-47 in the mad tangle of arms and legs and shoving it deep into the mud. He surged up and swung his combat knife forward, raking the blade across the Syrian’s throat.
Blood splashed over Goose’s face, but he had closed his eyes right before the knife made contact. When he opened them, his vision remained clear but he felt the hot rush of blood spreading over his features.
The Syrian bucked and shuddered beneath Goose for just a moment. Then he grew still as life left him. Goose gazed into the man’s eyes, seeing the thousand-yard stare settle into them as they remained unblinking in the spitting rain.
Goose was a hunter. In the country outside his hometown of Waycross, Georgia, he’d hunted deer and turkey, squirrel and dove, under his father’s tutelage. Goose had never hunted for pleasure, only to put meat on the table. A hunter ate what he killed, or he gave it to provide for those who needed it.
Hunting men was different than hunting game. Men were more dangerous, more unpredictable. But a hunter couldn’t have a conversation with a deer or a turkey. There was no opportunity for common understanding.
Goose’s father, Wes Gander, had served in Korea after the war there. North Korean snipers had taken out one of Wes’s best friends, and Wes had killed some of them in retaliation. When talking to some of the North Korean soldiers after the war, Wes had discovered that they were men pretty much like himself.
That, Wes Gander had said, had ended a lot of his youthful innocence. When he’d worn the marine uniform, he’d been a hero and the North Koreans had been the enemy, not men at all. Not long after that, Wes had ended his military career and moved back to Waycross.
Goose understood why his father had felt that way. He’d seen other men go through the same decision after being in heavy combat and meeting their enemies face-to-face instead of firing at distant targets.
It was harder mentally and emotionally to kill a man up close and personal while taking advantage of that man’s moment of weakness or indecision or inexperience. But the physical part of the killing was much simpler, less dangerous, and often saved other lives.
Goose had done it only when he’d known there was no other way. There’d been no other way with the Syrian. Trying to take him alive could have compromised the mission and jeopardized the lives of every man in the unit.
Breathing out, getting past the emotional impact of taking the man’s life, Goose wiped his knife on the man’s uniform and slid it back into the sheath. He glanced up at the soldier who was holding his weapons. Then he caught first his M-4A1 and then the MP5, quickly sliding the assault rifle over his shoulder. He pulled the NVGs back on.
He held up two fingers and pointed to the front of the building.
Parker and Huddleston slid forward on their stomachs and took up support sniper positions. Two more snipers were posted at the other end. Lieutenant York should have posted four himself to maintain a kill zone over the armored cav. The teams should have overlapping fields of fire.
In the lead again, Goose stayed close to the building’s wall and went forward. Berger, the last Ranger in line on the ground with him, caught hold of the dead Syrian and slid the corpse behind the building.
At the corner of the building, Goose scanned the nearby terrain, spotting Corporal Cliff Conner at the other
