Apocalypse Crucible Read Free Page B

Remington asked.
    Goose raked the terrain with the binocs. Gray movement slid forward from the morass of shifting dust that hovered around the Syrian cav units.
    “East end,” Knoffler announced.
    “Got it,” Remington said. “One vehicle?”
    “Affirmative, Control.”
    “Affirmative,” Goose added. “Sweep perimeter checkpoints. By the numbers.”
    In quick succession, the perimeter checkpoint duty officers confirmed the reported sighting of one vehicle en route to Sanliurfa. All the checkpoints on the northern side of the city confirmed there was no questionable activity.
    Tension filled Goose. He always got that way before combat. Then, when the first round was fired or the first move was executed, everything inside him became unstuck and he could move again. He said a brief prayer, asking God for His help during the course of the night, praying that his men and the people they defended would get through the encounter unscathed.
    Three days ago, during the retreat from the border, a pass had become impassable for a short time. While the Syrians closed in at full speed, Corporal Joseph Baker had united the men in reciting the Twenty-third Psalm. Baker had declared his faith in God, offering salvation to the men trapped on that mountain.
    And in the moment before the Syrians had opened fire into the trapped military, an earthquake had split the mountain and brushed the enemy army away. The 75th had lived, and Baker had stepped into his calling among the Rangers. Whenever he wasn’t on duty or helping with the wounded, Baker was witnessing to and counseling men who reached out to a faith they had never known or had somehow forgotten about.
    Goose counted himself among those who had forgotten their faith in God. Wes Gander, Goose’s father, had taught Sunday school in the little Baptist church they’d attended in Waycross. Goose had always been there, but he hadn’t always been attentive. Now he found himself wishing he’d listened better to the lessons his father had taught.
    Peering through the binocs, Goose watched the vehicle approach, picking up speed. It was an American cargo truck. A charred and tattered remnant of the flag of the United States hung from a fiberglass pole in the back. Several of the Turkish, U.N., and U.S. vehicles had been abandoned at the border because there hadn’t been enough gasoline salvaged to remove them all. Many of them had been left behind, booby-trapped. This one appeared to be finding its way to them despite its fate at the border.
    “Eagle One,” Goose called out, knowing from experience that Remington would want him to handle moment-to-moment operations to free up the captain to see the overall picture.
    “Go, Leader,” Mitchell replied.
    “Can you ID the driver?” Goose said. The sniper had a telescopic lens on his M-24 bolt-action sniper rifle.
    “Looking, Leader.”
    Goose felt cold inside. Although they’d searched diligently, he knew there was every possibility they had left some wounded behind.
    There were over two hundred men on Turkish, U.N., Ranger, and marine MIA lists. The Syrians wouldn’t bring prisoners here just to release them. But maybe the man was an advance scout, one who was there to convince them that the Syrians had hostages.
    “One man in the cab,” Mitchell said a moment later. “He’s wearing one of our uniforms.”
    “Anyone else?” Goose asked.
    “Negative.”
    The other spotter/sniper teams quickly confirmed the information.
    Goose put the binocs away. He knelt beside the retaining wall on the rooftop and unlimbered the M-4A1. The assault rifle had telescopic sights, but they didn’t have the range of the binocs. Keeping the scope on target was also problematic.
    The FIRM—Floating Integrated Rail Mount—system allowed a rifleman to mount a number of optical and sighting devices. The AN/ PVS-4 night-vision scope limned the world and everything in it with a green glow.
    Leaning forward slightly, bracing to take the recoil of