“All right. What do we do?”
“There’s a garage below.”
“I saw it.”
Goose admired the way the woman adapted. Hannah had gone from victim to survivor in seconds. Some people spent their whole lives and couldn’t make that jump.
“Our SIGNIT intel indicates that there are vehicles inside that garage,” Goose went on. “We’re going to take one and attempt to rendezvous with the rest of my squad.”
More explosions pealed outside. Some of them were close enough now that concussive waves vibrated through the building.
“All right, Sergeant,” Hannah said.
“Do you know how to use a weapon, ma’am?”
“No. All I ever volunteered for was nursing.”
Goose nodded. “Keep these two with you. Keep them moving.” He scanned the hallway. “I’m going to secure the hallway. Don’t leave this room until I tell you we’re clear.”
“All right.” Hannah wrapped her arms around her daughter, who held her and cried.
Goose stood and moved out into the hallway with both MP5s at the ready. Having a two-man team would have been better. He felt like he needed to grow eyes in the back of his head. His bad knee felt stiff and uncomfortable, but it functioned.
Movement in the stairwell alerted him, letting him jerk his head back just as a Syrian soldier fired. The bullet cut through the corner of the stairwell and spun through the space where Goose’s head had just been.
Dropping his right-hand MP5 so the machine pistol hung from the whip-it sling around his right shoulder, Goose took an M67 frag grenade from his LCE, pulled the pin, slipped the spoon, and counted off two seconds of the four-second fuse. He pitched the grenade underhanded, rolling it just above floor level so that it hopped into the stairwell.
A startled exclamation triggered a flurry of frantic footsteps; then the grenade detonation made Goose temporarily deaf.
“Sergeant!” Hannah yelled.
“Yes, ma’am,” Goose responded. “Hold up just a minute more.” He checked the stairwell and spotted the Syrian soldier lying facedown on the second flight of steps.
Goose moved down the hallway, found two other dead Syrian guards he and Fieldstone had accounted for, as well as the com center. It was too late to stop any communications.
“Base,” Goose said, hustling back to the stairwell. “This is Alpha Leader. Base, do you read?”
“Base reads you, Alpha Leader,” a man’s voice answered.
“Can I get an assist?” Goose asked.
“What do you need? The other teams are already working their own exfiltration.”
“Do you have thermographic access to the building for a scan?” Goose asked.
“Affirmative.”
“I’m on the second floor. You’ve probably got me tagged.”
“Affirmative, Alpha Leader.”
“I got three civilians with me. They’re on the same floor.”
“Affirmative.”
“Tag them for me in case we get separated during the evac.”
“Done, Alpha Leader.” The op tech hesitated. “You need to get moving.”
“Got retaliation coming in from the main camp?”
“Affirmative. You’ll probably have a bit of a dust-up; then they’ll pull back.”
That caught Goose’s immediate attention. “Why?”
“Base has an air strike headed their way that should reach out and touch them in less than two minutes.”
Goose let out a long, angry breath. Remington hadn’t mentioned anything about an air strike against the main campsite. Alpha and Bravo Details had been bait. The hit-and-git they’d managed here had resulted in the loss of thousands of gallons of fuel and some armored cav units as well as at least one of the four officers they’d been after.
“Sweep the bottom floor for me,” Goose said.
“I’ve got two unfriendlies. One near the front door and the other in the kitchen.”
“Hannah,” Goose called, “time to go.” He started down the stairs and picked up the electronic detonator to the Claymore Conner had put on the front door. Picturing the building’s layout in his mind, he triggered the detonator and stepped around the corner near the stairwell.
The explosion drowned out all other sounds for a moment; then a man screamed in agony.
The Syrian soldier in the kitchen was caught by surprise. He’d gone to the door near the common room to check on his partner. Too late, he saw or sensed Goose’s approach. He brought his AK-47 up, already firing.
Rounds stitched the wall beside Goose as he walked into the gunfire. One of the rounds caught his Kevlar vest with a glancing sledgehammer blow. Goose put a three-round burst through the Syrian soldier’s head, blowing him backwards.
Remaining cautious, Goose peered around the corner and spotted the wounded Syrian guard who had screamed lying by the front door with his assault rifle snugged up against his arm. Goose shot the man just as the soldier spotted him and tried to bring his weapon up.
“Hannah,” Goose called, swapping magazines and moving toward the garage access door on the other side of the kitchen area.
“We’re here.”
“Base,” Goose called.
“Here.”
“Sweep the garage. Vehicles and troops.”
“Three vehicles. Four men. One of the men is in the vehicle nearest the garage door. Two are in the corner directly opposite you. The last man is to your left, next to the wall six feet from your present twenty.”
“Affirmative.” Goose selected another M67 grenade, pulled the ring, then opened the garage door and tossed the grenade into the opposite side. The light from the explosion filled the garage for a moment, and the sound of painful screams rolled over Goose.
Looking up the wall by the door, realizing the materials were cheap and not bullet-resistant, Goose burned a full clip tracking down the wall.
“Two down,” the op tech said. “One still in the car and one still in the corner opposite your present twenty.”
Goose dropped the empty magazine and shoved a fresh one home. He didn’t try to think. Everything at this point was nerve and reaction. He was a gun sight just trying to stay alive.
“You’ve got vehicles headed your way, Alpha Leader,” the op tech said. “Evidently somebody’s called
