Mel Odom - Apocalypse unleashed

Syrian men and machines tried to retreat from the brutal attack that faced them. When they rolled back over or stepped on the mines, the vehicles blew their tires or their treads. Men died in bloody ruin, tattered by the shrapnel.

When they realized they were trapped, the Syrians tried to make use of the sandbags. Remington gave the order to detonate the plastic explosives they’d planted within some of the piles. The barrier vanished, and more of the enemy died.

“Not exactly playing by the Geneva Convention, are we?” Rebreanu asked over the com.

“I didn’t come out here to get my butt kicked,” Remington responded. “I came out here to win.” He stood and surveyed the battleground, watching as the Syrians died.

“Not going to ask if they want to surrender?”

“No,” Remington said. “I don’t want a mass of prisoners inside the city. We can’t look after them anyway.” He paused. “When those people have had enough, they can take their chances fleeing back to the main forces.”

The Syrian tanks and artillery located within the treeline continued firing, but they made fine targets for the laser painters as well. Three Syrian soldiers tried to dash back across the open land. Unfortunately for them, the mud had swallowed some of the bomblets. Two of the men blew up almost instantly. The third one made it almost halfway when his luck ran out.

All right, Remington thought, we’ve earned some distance and respect. What are you people going to do now?

Outside Sanliurfa

Sanliurfa Province, Turkey

Local Time 2105 Hours

Goose waited in the darkness. After the sun had set and the moon slid behind the cloud bank, he’d crept toward the city. Miller and Icarus trailed after him. The rain, which had been a blessing earlier because it had reduced visibility, turned the terrain treacherous. Thick mud sucked at his boots and added several pounds to his feet. The extra weight also made traveling silently even harder.

Hostilities had come to a stop between the U.S. and UN forces within Sanliurfa and the Syrian forces outside the city. Fighting at night in the rain was risky. However, it perfectly masked efforts to get into the city. None of the forces on either side of the deadly no-man’s-land chose to keep lights on. Those only made men targets for snipers.

The problem was that Goose and the two men with him weren’t the only ones attempting to get into Sanliurfa. Instead of advancing toward the city in a straight line across the dangerous stretch of corpses and ragged earth, Goose had decided to circle around farther to the west. He noticed the shadows east of their position before they left the treeline.

Goose held a hand up and waved Icarus and Miller to ground.

“What’s wrong?” Miller whispered.

“Quiet,” Goose ordered. He used his peripheral vision to track the shadows he’d spotted through the falling rain. His M-4A1 slid easily into his hands. But using the rifle would immediately draw the attention of every Syrian soldier camped nearby.

Miller lay belly-down in the mud and didn’t move.

Icarus held up one hand and showed three fingers.

Goose waited a moment, checking the movement of the shadows. Then he nodded and held up three fingers. Three Syrian soldiers.

Almost effortlessly, Icarus pushed up into a crouch and slid a knife from his boot. The dulled matte finish didn’t gleam.

Goose passed his rifle back to Miller. “Hold that,” he told the chaplain. “Me and Icarus will be back in a minute.”

“What if you’re not?”

“Trust me. You’ll know about it. If this goes bust, hightail it to somewhere safe.” Goose pulled the knife from his harness and made certain his sidearm was secured in its holster. Then he stayed low and went forward, toward the three Syrians.

Local Time 2108 Hours

Goose moved slowly. In the dark, he knew he could remain almost invisible as long as he stayed low and didn’t move quickly. He took a fresh grip on the knife in his hand. The rain turned the handle slick.

Almost twenty feet away, moving parallel to him, Icarus remained hunkered down. Goose thought about how easily the man had taken on the role of assassin. There hadn’t been any time to think about it. Icarus had just shifted into killer mode without a second thought.

That was enough to give Goose pause. Then again, he realized he’d done the same thing. When it came to survival, people made choices quickly about living and dying.

The three Syrians carried backpacks. Goose figured they were loaded with plastic explosives. Something to provide a quick punch back at their enemies. The three men concentrated on watching in front of them, obviously expecting any trouble they might experience to come from the direction of the city.

Icarus waved his free hand to get Goose’s attention. Goose nodded at him. Icarus pointed to the man at the end of the Syrians, then at himself. The meaning was clear. Goose nodded again.

Without another gesture or word, Icarus rushed toward the Syrians. Goose did the same. When he reached the man he’d set his sights on, Icarus wrapped a hand around the man’s mouth to stifle any outcry, then slipped his knife between the man’s ribs. The Syrian soldier shuddered and died.

By then Goose had reached the man he had chosen. He clapped a hand over the man’s mouth as well, then drove the knife point into the back of the man’s neck at the base of the skull. It was a clean, immediate kill when the blade separated the spinal cord. The body sprawled in the mud.

After yanking his knife free, Goose moved forward with long strides. His knee quaked and throbbed, pain hammering at the inside of his head. He came up behind the third man, then saw the man’s head jerk backward.

Something warm and wet splashed across Goose’s face. As the Syrian suddenly went limp and fell, Goose knew the man had been shot.

“Down!” Goose told Icarus.

The younger man went to ground at once, barely beating Goose. Something zipped through the air over his head, and another bullet pocked the mud only inches from his hand.

None of the shots made a sound.

“Sniper,” Goose whispered to Icarus. “He’s using a silenced weapon. Move.”

Together, they headed back the way they’d come.

Local Time 2113 Hours

Miller was still in position where they’d left him. He gazed at them anxiously.

The pain in Goose’s knee felt like shark’s teeth grinding into his flesh and bone.

“Why aren’t we going on?” Miller whispered. “We’re practically to the city.”

“Because there are men hunting us out there,” Icarus said. Both men locked their gaze on Goose.

“That’s the way it is,” Goose said. He quickly recounted what had happened.

“Syrians?” Miller asked.

“Not with silenced rifles cycling subsonic rounds. They’re more like those men hunting us earlier,” Goose replied.

Miller sat down with his back to a tree. The fifteen-mile trek that had taken place throughout the day had almost done him in. He stayed active, but it was different when adrenaline spiked in a man’s system all day from being surrounded by enemies.

“Who’s sending those men?” Miller asked.

Goose didn’t answer. He didn’t want to lie, and he didn’t want Miller to know everything he knew.

“It doesn’t matter,” Icarus said. “We have to get around them if we’re going to survive.” He glanced at Goose. “And waiting isn’t going to make it any easier.”

Goose nodded. He took a sip of water, tasted the earthy flavor that came from refilling the LCE bladder in pools of rain, and got into motion. “We gotta get help if we’re going to get inside,” Goose said.

“How do you plan on doing that?” Icarus demanded.