"Get one of the RSOVs up and running, Four," Goose ordered. "If any crew from that 60 survived, I want to know. Eight and Ten, you're with Four."

"Acknowledged, Leader," Hardin said. "Gonna be tough getting through to them."

"We'll give them something else to worry about." Goose's mind raced. From years of training and self-discipline, he knew where every man in his unit was. A shaky plan came together between heartbeats.

The two jeeps reached the other end of the town and came back around. The machine gunners raked the hillside where Phoenix Team was hunkered down, letting the Rangers know they had the range and the firepower to get the job done.

"Two." Goose rose, sucking his breath in to charge his lungs with oxygen. Adrenaline fired through him, temporarily erasing all fatigue and fear.

"Two copies," Bill said.

"You've got the 203," Goose said. The M-203 fired fin-stabilized 40mm grenades with a variety of purposes.

"Affirmative."

"If I give you a target, can you hit it?"

"Leader, don't-"

Taking his M-4AI firmly in both hands after swapping out magazines, Goose sucked in another breath, then pushed it all out. "Load up with an HE round. No fragmentation. Let's cut the risk of friendly fire."

"Goose," Bill protested. "This isn't-"

The two jeeps rumbled closer. The lead jeep headed for Goose's position, obviously confident of engaging him.

"I've got no choice, Two," Goose said. "They're on top of me. You're in an exposed position. One of us has to be at risk, and if you're taken down, we lose the 203's punch."

"Now." Goose broke cover in a rush, running toward the opposite side of the street. He drummed his combat boots hard against the sand, knowing that if he were back on base, in sneakers or in baseball cleats, he could make better time. Combat boots were prized by soldiers for endurance and protection, not for being fleet.

The machine gunner of the lead vehicle opened fire at once. A brutal line of 7.62mm bullets cracked the wall where Goose had been hiding, then chopped through the sand after him as the Syrian soldier compensated for his motion.

The rattle of machine gun fire filled Goose's head. He knew the Syrian soldier almost had him in his sights, felt certain he heard the harsh whisper of the steel-jacketed rounds cutting the air just behind him. His heart slammed against his rib cage like an enraged beast seeking escape. He thought of Megan and Joey and Chris, and he thought about God and Jesus, the way his father had talked of them in the Sunday school lasses he'd taught back in Waycross when Goose was growing up.

The Lord is my shepherd, Goose thought. I shall not- In the next instant, Bill's aim with his M-203 proved dead on target. The 40mm HE grenade slammed into the front of the Syrian Jeep. Hammered by the high-explosive grenade, the jeep's hood buckled and the three Syrian soldiers seated in the vehicle blew out into the road. One of the jeep's tires exploded, turning into a whirlwind of shredded rubber. Continuing to roll, the vehicle turned hard to the right and crashed into a pile of debris.

"Two is down!" Tanaka yelled. "Repeat, Two is hit!"

Only then realizing that the remaining Jeep's machine gunner had been firing at the Rangers staggered along the hillside and that Bill must have taken a round while he'd exposed himself to fire the grenade launcher, Goose saw that he'd exhausted his own options.

A line of 7.62mm rounds chopped into the sand before him, cutting off further escape.

Goose spun, digging his boots in, turning sideways to present his left profile and-God willing-a smaller target. He brought the M-4A1 up, aiming by instinct and years of training rather than seeking the sights. The instant he stroked the trigger, he knew he'd missed. He didn't get another chance.

A pair of 7.62mm rounds thudded into his chest and stomach, driving him down and backward.

"Leader is down!" Tanaka yelled. His voice came loud and rushed over the headset.

At the same time, the sniper's voice sounded like it was coming from a million miles away to Goose. He was dimly aware of crashing into the sand, but he hung on to his assault rifle. He'd been shot before. He'd been knifed and blown up. He knew he had no time for panic. Even temporary panic killed good Rangers dead.

Less than forty feet away now, the remaining Syrian Jeep drove straight for Goose. The driver obviously intended to run him over, finishing what the machine gunner's rounds might have only started. Thankfully, but only just, the driver's impulsive action also kept the rear deck machine gunner from firing another burst into Goose.

Unable to breathe, not certain if the bullets had penetrated flesh or had been stopped by his body armor, Goose pushed past the pain and forced himself to move. His whole chest felt numb. He threw his right leg left and rolled a full 360 degrees.

"Goose!" Tanaka called. "Goose!"

Do your job, Ranger, Goose thought.

Sand covered his face as he came over on his back with the Jeep over him, its undercarriage only inches above his face. The clearance was about the same as the Ranger four-wheel-drive vehicles had. He felt the heat of the Jeep's exhaust against his left cheek for a second, then bright sunlight stabbed into his eyes as it passed him by.

Knowing the machine gunner would probably turn to pick him off, that he would never get to his feet before the man could kill him, Goose threw his left hand up and caught the Jeep's rear bumper. He curled his fingers around the bumper's edge, hoped the edge wouldn't cut into his flesh too badly, and grunted in pain as his arm nearly jumped from his shoulder socket.

He trailed behind the Jeep, too close for the machine gunner on the rear deck to tilt his weapon down. Dragged by the Jeep across the rough landscape at thirty miles an hour or more, Goose skidded and went air-borne like a sled hitting fresh powder, skipping the uneven terrain.

The Syrian soldier manning the machine gun peered over the back. A surprised look creased his features.

Holding on to the M-4A1, Goose lifted the assault rifle and squeezed the trigger at pointblank range. The 5.56mm round punched into the soldier's face and tore him from the rear deck.

The corpse thudded into the sand and didn't move.

Battered and bruised by the rough ride across the sand, his lungs still feeling like they were bound by constricting iron bands, Goose released his hold on the Jeep. He slid to a stop in the sand. Bill was hit. The memory whipped through his mind even as his strained shoulder screamed at him. He put his left hand out and rolled to his feet. His shoulder felt weak, like it was made of broken glass.

"Leader's up!" Cusack yelped excitedly. "Tanaka!"

"I've got him," Tanaka replied in a quiet, controlled voice.

Pushing himself, focusing on the battle at hand with the professionalism he'd developed after seventeen years in the military, Goose brought the assault rifle to his shoulder. He dropped the sights over the driver's chest. From his peripheral vision, he saw the Syrian soldier in the passenger seat point his AK-47 at Goose. Before he had a chance to fire, the Syrian soldier pitched forward and Goose knew that Tanaka had found his target.

Goose fired a series of three-round bursts. Bullets chopped into the Jeep's grill, then across the hood, and smashed into the driver just above the steering wheel. The dead man's foot slipped from the accelerator and clutch. A moment later, the Jeep stuttered to a halt.

Head spinning, lungs aching, Goose swayed. For a moment, he thought he was going to fall. Abruptly, the iron bars constricting his lungs dropped away. He took a deep, shuddering breath, then coughed and almost threw up. Flames coursed across his chest. No blood showed on his chest. Intact. He'd been pounded, but the bullets hadn't penetrated. He said a silent prayer of thanks.

Keeping his assault rifle up at the ready, slightly canted down so he could sweep the weapon up, Goose advanced. He sucked in another breath, feeling as though his chest were busted up inside but not feeling any grating of bone that would have indicated shattered or splintered ribs that could pierce his internal organs and compromise his breathing. His lungs appeared to be intact.

"Two," Goose called as he closed on the stalled Jeep. Neither of the Syrian soldiers moved. "Two, do you copy?"

One of the RSOVs raced up the hillside. Evidently Hardin and the two men with him had managed to get the combat vehicle and were rolling to check on the downed helicopter.

"Two copies, Leader," Bill replied. The weakness in his voice offered proof that not all was well with him.

"What's your status, Two?" Goose grabbed the driver by the shirtfront and dragged the man from the Jeep's seat. The corpse dropped to the sand. "Confirmed kill."

"I'm hurt," Bill replied. "But I'm still standing."

Goose pulled the man from the passenger seat and dumped his body to the ground. "Confirmed kill. How bad is it, Two?"

"Patchwork, Leader. Leg shot. Bullet went through and through."

"Do you need assistance?" As Goose walked back toward the hillside, he checked on the three-man crew from the second Jeep. The HE round had blown them in a semicircle from the point of impact.

"I need a medkit," Bill replied. "Having a tough time getting the bleeding stopped."

"I'm on it, Leader," Cusack offered. "I've got a medkit."

"Take care of it, Six," Goose acknowledged.

"Leader, this is Base." Captain Remington's voice.

"Clear my channel, Base," Goose ordered. "I'm in the middle of a busted op and you can't help me."

Remington took no offense. "Affirmative, Leader. I'll be standing by."

"Understood, sir." Goose approached Hardesty, who still lay on the ground. "Getup."

Hardesty got up uncertainly. He stared at the dead cameraman. The man was so young to be so dead that the fact was offensive to Goose.

"Four," Goose said, reminding himself that other young men were selflessly giving their lives along the border even then. The artillery fire continued without cease. "What's the sit-rep at your twenty?"

"Leapfrog is officially scratched, Leader," Hardin replied. "I've got five survivors from a sixteen-man crew aboard the 60."

"Four survivors," Evaristo said in open disgust.

"One of the survivors is a chaplain," Hardin said. "All of these guys are banged up, Leader. Gonna be more of a detriment to the cause than any kind of help."

Artillery fire rolled to the south, crossing over Goose in a wave of echoes.

"Get them squared away," Goose ordered. "We're leaving in two minutes."

United States of America Fort Benning, Georgia Local Time 1:10 A.M.

Heart thudding, Megan ran out into the base hospital parking lot. Only a dozen or so cars occupied the striped slots. She stopped in the center of the lot and spun around, looking for Gerry Fletcher.

Fort Benning kept security lights on all through the night where they were needed, so the area around the hospital was relatively lighted. Lamps illuminated high traffic areas, but the residential areas remained dark except for lights along footpaths between the buildings. The military base was a safe area, a place where married couple and families with children could live in peace.

But tonight those safe places harbored shadows where a scare eleven-year-old boy could easily hide.

"Megan."

Turning, Megan spotted Helen Cordell standing in the open emergency door. The bleats of the alarm blasted out into the parking lot.

"Have you found Gerry?" Helen asked.

"No." Megan tried to push away the frustration she felt. "I didn't know he was running till he was already gone."

"Neither did I." Helen gazed around the parking lot. "He can't have gone far."

"I know. I just don't know where he could have gone."

"Do you know his mother's number?"

"Yes." In that moment, Megan felt foolish. It was her job to keep together, to know and to be ready to act one step ahead of anything the kids in her care could come up with. Gerry had been terrified of his dad. That much was evident. But she was good at her job. Maybe she wasn't thinking at her best tonight, but she was prepared. "I've got Tonya's phone number in my cell phone memory."

"Check there," Helen suggested. "As scared as that kid is, the first place he'd probably go is home."

Especially if he knows his father isn't there, Megan silently added "What about Boyd Fletcher?" It was important when she talked to Gerry that she be able to honestly tell him what had become of his father. Telling Gerry what was going to happen to him next, that he would probably be removed from his home and placed in foster car was going to be hard. Megan had been forced to do that before, and those situations had never gone well.

"He's going to the hoosegow for the night," Helen said. "Resisting arrest is going to guarantee that. Then I'll be adding new charges in the morning."

Megan took her cell phone from her pocket. "I'm going to keep looking out here. And I'll call Tonya."

Helen nodded. "I've got to shut this alarm off and call it in to base security as a false alarm before I have a platoon of young men waiting to be the next Bruce Willis arrive here. I'll pass the word along to the MPs. They can help look for Gerry."

"Thanks, Helen." Megan was grateful for the assistance and the positive attitude that the other woman brought to the situation. With Helen around, nothing seemed impossible.

Helen closed the door and took away the yellow rectangle of light that spilled out onto the parking lot from the hospital's emergency exit. Under the mercury vapor lights that illuminated the parking lot, the landscape and the cars appeared in grays and blacks, as lifeless and alien as the moon.

Megan pressed the cell phone's keypad. The screen flashed on, ghastly green-gray. She'd missed three calls. While she'd been talking to Gerry, she'd muted the ringer out of habit. She mentally harangued herself. She was out of the house, Goose was in danger, Joey was God-only-knew-where, and Chris was in child care. What had she been thinking?

But she knew what she'd been thinking about: Gerry Fletcher sitting in the hospital emergency room. That was one of the aspects about her life that got really confusing: how could she be a mom and a wife and a counselor and expect to do a good job at any of those?

During one of the infrequent sessions with Bill when he'd been visiting, she'd talked about trying to balance her life. Bill, relying on his faith, of course, had said that all works God intended for a person to perform would be given balance. The key was to trust in His guidance in all things at all times. That was hard to do because she cared so much about her man, her sons, and the kids entrusted to her care.

With a little guilt, she realized that she hadn't even considered the time needed to be spent being a good Christian.

She stared at the cell phone screen where Joey's number stood out in sharp relief. So what was it to be: mother or counselor?

Joey, she decided, and felt a twinge of guilt. With so many things out of her control, she needed to know that her son was all right. She would be able to focus more on Gerry when she found him.

The phone rang once before Joey answered.

"Mom?"

"Joey, are you all right?" Megan walked toward the far end of the parking lot. Three young men sat in a dark blue muscle car she felt certain Goose would have identified in an instant.

"I'm fine, Mom."

Thank You, God.

"Mom," Joey said, "I'm sorry I missed curfew."

Remembering how Gerry was afraid of his father, knowing that she had never had-would never have-a relationship like that with either of her sons, Megan kept calm, reminding herself how thankful she was that Joey was okay.

"We'll talk about that later," Megan said. "I'm just glad you're all right. "

"I know."