“Is there anything else, sir?” Goose asked.
Remington’s jaw tightened. He wasn’t happy about Goose’s relaxed demeanor about the change in the chain of command. Goose knew that he was supposed to take the change as an insult, but at the same time he knew getting out from under Remington’s direct supervision would give him the necessary time to see to his troops, their needs, and their morale. That was where sergeants operated best to command the units and missions they were in charge of. Sergeants were trained to act and think for themselves.
He’d also have more time to pursue the questions his talk with Icarus had raised.
“No, First Sergeant, there isn’t. You’re dismissed.”
Remington turned so abruptly that Goose could only salute the captain’s back. Goose did that, setting the example for the enlisted men in the room. No matter what else happened in the field, in his personal life, or between Remington and him, Goose prided himself on being a professional soldier.
He did another about-face and left the command center. This time he made it all the way to the door without being called back.
As he stepped out into the driving rain still flooding Sanliurfa’s streets, Goose knew that Remington was planning something. The captain’s nature prevented him from simply lying back and awaiting the Syrians’ next move. Waiting wasn’t one of Remington’s strong suits.
Thinking along those lines, remembering the screen images of the stagnant Syrian army huddled down under the rain, remembering Remington’s comment about the Rangers being a hit-and-git strike force, Goose figured the captain would field a special ops team with orders to exact a pound of flesh from the opposing army.
While awaiting the captain’s orders—or possibly Lieutenant Perrin’s—Goose decided he would put together and ready a team who could deploy for such an engagement. The trick was not to let the captain know Goose was already working on the same agenda. A good first sergeant always anticipated his commanding officer’s orders and stood ready in such a manner that the CO still thought a mission was his own idea.
6
United States 75th Army Rangers Temporary Post
Sanliurfa, Turkey
Local Time 0742 Hours
“Seriously, love, we’ve got to stop meeting like this.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Danielle Vinchenzo growled irritably as she scrambled into Sid Wright’s rented Land Rover. She shook off the nylon hoodie she’d donned hoping to keep her hair dry. There were no plans to shoot any additional TV footage at the moment, but she knew that could change in a heartbeat, depending on whether the Syrians stood by the apparent rainout going on. Water from the drenched hoodie splashed all over the seats.
Sid said, “Do be careful with the upholstery.”
“You’re kidding, right?” Danielle asked as she shifted the tote bag that carried her extra makeup, tape recorders, and digital camera.
“I don’t like having my things wet. Nor do I care to have this vehicle in any worse shape than it is.”
“This is a rental, Sid. Nothing to get emotional about. If you want to get fussy about things, I’d talk to whoever put those bullet holes in the right rear quarter panel.”
“I would have, except at the time I didn’t feel like hanging around for the matching bullet hole between my eyes.” Sid took his foot off the brake and rolled into the sparse traffic moving slowly through the rain.
That surprised Danielle. “Someone tried to shoot you? While you were in the car?” She hadn’t heard about any skirmishes with the Syrian army during the night. Things had been unusually quiet, which meant—judging from past experience—that the situation was about to turn ugly again.
“Yes.” Sid drove with both hands on the wheel and a cigarette hanging between his lips. “You’re not the only one stringing news stories out of the city, love.”
“So what did you have?” Danielle asked.
Sid glanced askance at her. “I should tell you? The princess of the Sanliurfan airwaves?”
“They aren’t calling me that.”
Sid gave her a look.
“No. Really. They aren’t calling me that on the other networks.”
“Not on the other networks,” Sid admitted after a moment, “but some of the other reporters—poor souls who were evidently born without one flicker of human compassion, people who would probably not allow the use of the computer and satellite phone to a rival who was racking up story after story for the international market—”
“Other reporters are calling me that?”
Sid shrugged. “Yes, love. And some rather repugnant names I won’t, out of my own vaunted sense of civility, repeat for your delicate ears.”
“My ears aren’t all that delicate.”
“Yes, well, I’m a gentleman, you see.”
“A true gentleman would dress in a fresh shirt and not use the one that has lipstick stains.” Danielle touched his collar.
“Lipstick? Truly?”
“Truly,” Danielle said. “See? I can be compassionate. I could have let you go out among your peers with evidence of your debauchery quite literally hanging around your neck. As a further show of compassion, I won’t mention said debauchery or lipstick to anyone.”
“You are one of a kind,” Sid admitted. He reached up for the rearview mirror and turned it to check his reflection. The lipstick was bright, bubblegum pink and stood out dramatically against his white shirt collar. “Oh. Well, there is a glaring bit of evidence, I suppose. I wasn’t near my luggage when this … happened.”
“You ask me,” Danielle said, “that doesn’t look accidental at all.”
Sid ignored her barbed comment. “Or when I got your call at this dreadful hour. After seven o’clock in the morning and rain pouring straight down, I assure you they’ve put this war on hold at least for a bit. No soldier wants to fight in the rain. Especially an infantry with a heavy armor assist. Planes won’t even be flying much today. You should have taken this opportunity to catch up on
