Apocalypse Dawn (31 page)

Remington guided Foster by voice, flipping to every hundredth frame. Onscreen, the view changed dramatically as the Sea Knight had pitched and yawed in the air. One of the nearby helicopters hung in mid-destruction, the flames and debris hurtling from the craft as steel bent and ripped loose. A hundred frames back, the helo was struck by another helicopter. The copilot’s face in the other aircraft was frozen in surprise, one hand pushed to the glass as if to ward off the other helo.

Four pictures-four hundred frames-back, the captain figured out what he was looking for. “Stop here.” Remington gazed at the screen, then tapped it. “Can you reimage this? Zoom in and blow it up?”

“Sure.” In seconds, the picture grew larger and larger at Remington’s direction.

“Do you see it?” Remington stared at the image and felt a cold gust of wind across the back of his neck. He knew that feeling was only his imagination, though. There wasn’t a cold wind anywhere in their vicinity.

Foster studied the picture and shook his head. “I see the helicopter that Briggs’s aircraft ran into.”

“Here.” Remington ran his finger over a section of the screen. “Look here and you can see a reflection of the copilot in the Plexiglas.” The image looked like a grayed-out photograph against the Plexiglas. “What do you see in the seat next to him?”

“The seat is empty,” Foster said in a hollow voice.

“Yes,” Remington said.

Foster worked the keyboard, pulling up and scanning Wasp’s crew lists on the left monitor. “No, sir,” the private said. “That seat wasn’t empty. At least, it wasn’t supposed to be empty. Lieutenant Briggs was definitely aboard that aircraft. The copilot was Sergeant Julian Mahoney.”

Keen-edged interest sharpened Remington’s focus. “Go back a hundred frames.”

Foster did. The seat remained empty.

Three hundred frames back, passed in increments of one hundred, the view inside the cockpit changed, and the reflection of the interior wasn’t displayed against the Plexiglas. Four hundred frames back, the seat was still empty when the reflection formed against the Plexiglas again. A hundred frames back from that point, Lieutenant Briggs, looking dangerously cool despite the immediate pressure he had flown into, sat in the seat with his hand on the control yoke.

“There he is,” Foster said.

“Yes,” Remington agreed. “Now we roll forward, Private. By tens.”

Thirty frames later, Briggs’s seat was empty. After a frame-byframe search, Foster located the two frames in sequence that showed the Marine helo pilot had been in his seat, then gone. Except for the pile made by a uniform, headgear, and boots. The helicopter had gone out of control from that moment and swiftly collided with the nearby helicopter to start off the string of destruction that had rained from the sky.

“Put up both frames,” Remington said in a calm, controlled voice. “Side by side. I want to look at them.”

Foster tapped keys. The two frames popped into view.

Remington studied the two digital images. Except for the fact that Lieutenant Briggs was missing and his uniform was on the seat, the scenes didn’t look different in any way.

Somewhere between the two images, Lieutenant Briggs had managed to strip off his clothing and gear and leave a helicopter 338 feet above an LZ in hostile territory. Remington thought about that, wondering if the lieutenant’s body would turn up on the battleground. He glanced at the corporal’s clothing in the nearby chair and felt certain there would be no body.

When Dockery’s hand relaxed in his, Goose felt certain the man had died. However, when he checked the corporal’s pulse, he found a flicker of life. The anesthetic had flooded his nervous system and left him limp on the shard of metal that had ripped through his body and now supported him. Dockery’s eyes remained open, but Goose doubted the man saw anything.

Goose released Dockery’s hand. God, look over him. Keep him safe till I can get help here, or take him home with You if that’s what You feel is best. Whatever was done needed to be done quickly.

Pushing himself to his feet, Goose looked at Bill’s empty uniform. Goose’s mind reeled as he tried to accept the evidence lying on the ground.

Bill is gone.

That was the bottom line. No matter how Bill had been taken or killed-God, please let Bill be alive-he was gone, and he wasn’t there to help Goose now as he had for so many years as a friend and a fellow soldier. The flutter of the wet, dust-encrusted kerchief Goose had tied around his lower face pulled in tight against his lips as he took a deep breath. In that breath, he centered himself, putting on the mental armor of the professional soldier. He spoke calmly into the headset microphone.

“Base, this is Phoenix Leader.”

There was no reply.

With effort, Goose turned toward the LZ, where the stricken Marine wing lay shattered. Flames leapt up from the broken helicopters, and the heat created pockets of shifting mirage effects in the air, swirling through the heavy black smoke. A few men stumbled and staggered from the wreckage.

There are survivors. The realization electrified Goose. The fatigue and pain sloughed away from him as the need to act gave him a second wind. He pushed himself into a jog and gazed back along the border.

Two Harriers and one Whiskey Cobra roved through the air, cutting through the ocean of haze that cycled through the air. Roiling waves of fire still scoured the no-man’s-land that had been forcibly declared on the Syrian side of the border.

Goose switched his headset over to the general frequency in use by the Rangers. “Phoenix Team, this is Phoenix Leader. Count off.”

in quick succession, the team counted off, letting him know that five of the Rangers were still at hand. Dockery and Evaristo were too wounded to help with a rescue effort. Bill Townsend and Neal Clark were missing.

Goose ordered the men to help with the rescue operations among the downed aircraft, then turned his attention to the front line. The Turkish military were still in position there, but he knew he’d feel more comfortable with his teams in place. And he knew that Cal Remington would demand that. “Echo Two. Bravo One.”

“Echo Two here, Phoenix Leader,” Bernhardt replied.

“Bravo One reads you, Phoenix Leader,” York said.

“Hold your positions,” Goose ordered. “We’ve lost com with Base. For the moment, we hold what we have.”

Both rifle company leaders agreed.

“Echo Two, is Six still intact and with your unit?” Echo Six was Rick Means, one of the best point men Goose had ever seen.

“Affirmative, Leader.”

“Get Six and two men forward,” Goose said. “His choice. I need spotters in place. With the com out, we don’t have eyes that can see through that haze. I want as much intel incoming as we can get.”

“Affirmative, Leader.”

“Phoenix Leader, this is Alpha Two. We’ve lost men, Goose.” Sergeant Gunther Slade, the number two in Alpha Rifle Company, sounded hysterical. A ragged breath rattled over the com. “They’ve disappeared! There are empty—uniforms everywhere!”

“Understood, Alpha Two,” Goose stated calmly. “Treat them as MlAs for now. Get me a list of missing personnel. Secure any loose weapons and gear. We don’t know how soon it will be before we can restock. Charlie Leader, do you copy this com?”

“Affirmative, Phoenix,” Lieutenant Harold Wake’s deep voice replied. Harry had six years in the Rangers. He was still young in some ways, a graduate of OCS after getting a doctorate in marine biology in Seattle. He’d attended school with the intention of putting in his time in the military to pay off his college tuition, then get back to the work in the oceans that he loved. Instead, he’d gotten hooked on the Ranger life, drawn to the adrenaline and sense of family that was missing after being raised in state institutions.

“Charlie One,” Goose said, “I need you to fall back with your people to aid in the search and rescue among the Marine wing. Grab all the medkits you can get your hands on and head this way.”

“Roger, Phoenix,” Harry replied.

Goose reached the first Sea Knight. Black spots danced in his vision from the lack of air.

The helicopter sat on the rough land canted over on its right side. A rotor blade had chopped into the hard earth, looking for a moment like it had buried itself several feet with the impact. Then Goose noted the broken stubs of the other rotors and knew that the rotor blade the craft rested on had shattered, too.

Smoke coiled like fat, restless snakes from the helicopter’s interior. The Sea Knights carried ordnance, but most of that was secured with the Marines. The downed Whiskey Cobras would be more dangerous.

Dead men lay strewn before the Sea Knight. He forced himself not to dwell on the fact that until minutes ago these men had been alive. Despite the amount of death he had seen in the past two hours, he couldn’t distance himself from the horror of it.

And God help me if I ever do, Goose prayed.

After ascertaining that none of the men lying outside the helicopter were alive, Goose ducked down and prepared to enter the open side cargo door. A flash of movement caught his eye, and he was in motion before he recognized the Beretta M9/Model 92F that came up in the hand of the dazed Marine on the other side of the cargo area.

The gunshot filled the tight space inside the cargo helicopter but hardly made a dent in the cacophony of noise that rolled over the battlefield. The bullet slapped into the ground just outside the cargo area.

Goose spun and went to the ground, keeping his assault rifle in his right hand while his left clapped instinctively to his helmet. “Stand down, Marine,” he ordered in the voice of authority he’d cultivated while stepping up through the ranks. “I’m Sergeant Gander. With the 75th Rangers.”

A choked sob came from inside the helicopter. “Sorry, Sergeant. I’m sorry. I’m hit. I’m hurt bad.”

Goose pushed himself up and put his back to the helicopter’s body. He kept the M-4A1 canted up. “What’s your name, Marine?”

“Lance Corporal Kenny Pierce, Sergeant.”

Goose pushed out his breath and stared down at the arm that stuck out from under the helicopter’s body. The limb was the left arm. A gold band glinted around the ring finger. Married. The realization slammed home to Goose like a hammer falling. Thoughts flickered through his mind, images of Megan, Joey, and Chris. He walled them away with effort. He was a soldier on the battlefield. He would always be a soldier on the battlefield.

“Lance Corporal Pierce,” Goose said, “I want you to put your sidearm down.”

“Done, Sergeant.”

With a quick prayer, Goose heaved off the side of the helicopter, stepped around the dead man’s arm, and hunkered down in the cargo door. His eyes took a moment to adjust to the dark interior.

The Marine corporal was young with a kid’s features that time in the service hadn’t yet erased. Dark brows hung over pain-and fearfilled eyes set in dark hollows. He sat with his back against the opposite side of the helicopter. Blood stained his BDLls. Dead men lay around him. Fuel stink filled the air and let Goose know they were potentially sitting on top of a bomb.

“They’re dead, Sergeant,” Kenny croaked.

Goose shouldered his rifle and crept forward. The helicopter creaked as the weight shifted but didn’t move more than a couple inches. “I know. I lost a buddy of mine.”

“I lost my whole squad, Sergeant.” The young corporal’s face crumpled. He squeezed his eyes shut. Tears tracked down his bloody cheeks.

The young man was lucky to be alive, but Goose didn’t mention that. He squatted down near the corporal, aware of the corpses of Marines that pressed in against him.

“Where are you hit?” Goose asked. Concentrate on the things that you can do. Not what you’ve lost. That’s what Bill always said. Says! That’s what Bill always says. You’re not going to give up on him, Goose.

‘My legs. I can’t move them.”

As gently as he could, Goose rolled the corpses from the young corporal, but he was grimly aware that he was still shifting dead weight. Blood was everywhere. He knew he should have at least put on the rubber gloves from the medkit to protect himself, but to be completely protected he’d have had to have a bodysuit. He concen traced on the task at hand, knowing he had to hold himself together for the young corporal.

“What happened to the helo?” Goose took his mini-Maglite from his combat harness.

“Don’t know.” The corporal yelled in pain when Goose uncovered one of his legs to reveal shrapnel wounds that had to have come from the shattered rotors. All of the men in front of Kenny Pierce were riddled with the jagged shards. More metal stuck out from the helo’s interior. “Somebody said the pilot disappeared.”

“Disappeared?” Goose opened his medkit and took out gauze and tape, added wraparound compresses, and a pair of scissors. He started cutting the man’s pant legs to reveal the wounds. If the metal hadn’t ripped through an artery and caused the young Marine to bleed out before now, he didn’t want to inadvertently cause that.

“That’s what they said.”

Goose started wrapping gauze over the compress he’d wrapped around Pierce’s lower leg. Letting his hands work through the familiar process, he glanced forward.