Benbow was quiet for a moment. "They're not going to let you leave right now, Mrs. Gander."

"Why?"

"Because the provost marshal's office is considering bringing charges against you."

"For what?" Megan's voice tightened into a hoarse whisper. "For the kidnapping of Gerry Fletcher."

Turkish-Syrian Border 40 Klicks South of Sanliurfa, Turkey Local Time 0947 Hours A flash of movement caught gooses eye. He drew back down to the shelter of the overturned Syrian T-72 main battle tank that had remained remarkably intact after the fusillade leveled by the arriving Marine Harriers and Apaches. A scattering of vehicles, Syrian corpses, and ashes of tents and other flammable materials littered the ground around them.

"Phoenix Leader confirms a hostile," Goose warned over the headset. He brought the butt of the M-4A1 up over his right shoulder, maintaining a tight profile that would allow him to move quickly and sweep the assault rifle up if he needed to, while at the same time remaining a compact target. He peered around the edge of the tank, feeling the hot metal of the tread pressing against his cheek.

Tense seconds ticked by as quiet reigned along the skirmish line that had taken shape on the border. Off in the distance to the north, Goose could hear only a few scattered truck noises, jet engine roars, and the occasional whap-whap of helicopter rotors. More noise came from the south as the tanks, APCs, and Jeeps the Syrian army had held in reserve started jockeying for the inexorable push that would come to invade Turkey proper.

Once the armored cav started rolling northbound, Goose knew the Syrians couldn't be held back. The Turkish army, the U.N. peacekeeping forces, and the Rangers had taken huge casualties and lost irreplaceable materials. The Syrian army had taken some incredible losses as well, but the reserve force they'd had outnumbered anything the Turkish defenders had left to give.

There was no way to know what the Syrian military command had intended to do with the army encamped along the border before launching the SCUDs. Remington had stated, during his last discussion with Goose, that he believed the Syrian army would have been pulled back, making it look like they had backed down from the Turks. Then, while the unsuspecting Turkish army was congratulating itself, the SCUDs would have launched and taken out the first line of defense. The Syrians' cav units would have rolled over whatever remained of the defenders.

Intercepting the CIA spy had changed all of that somehow, and Syria had gambled everything on the power of a sweeping first strike. And maybe they had gambled on the disappearances within the border troops as well. However, Remington had mentioned that the disappearances might not be linked to the fighting in Syria, although he hadn't elaborated on that. With long years of friendship and service between them, Goose knew when not to press an issue with his captain.

Exposed on the east side of the T-72, the sun baked down into Goose, and it felt like the heat was leaching the moisture from his bones. Perspiration soaked his uniform and made the dirt that had stuck to his skin beneath his clothing even more uncomfortable. His eyelids felt like they dragged across his eyes in slow motion as he used his peripheral vision to search for the movement he'd caught from the corner of his eye. The heated air seemed too thin and too raw to breathe.

The overturned and burned-out vehicles along the skirmish line formed a deadly maze for the Rangers Goose had led into action. Soot marked the ground in blast patches and made it look like the earth itself had been bruised. Fire and smoke still clung to some of the vehicles and craters. The crackle of the small flames was the only sound coming from close by him.

Movement caught Goose's eye again, drawing him around. "Goose!" Cusack yelled in warning. The young Ranger brought his weapon up.

But Goose was already in motion as the Syrian soldier thrust his Chinese-made AK-47 forward. Goose turned toward Cusack, whose concern for Goose had left him exposed, fisted the Ranger's uniform in his hand and dropped a shoulder into Cusack's midsection to get him moving.

Bullets traced a white-hot trail along the tank, spinning wildly from the armor. Gunfire and ricochets ripped through the quiet stillness that had filled the area.

Goose shoved Dewey back nearly twenty feet before the Ranger's feet got caught and he fell backward. By that time they were out of range of the Syrian's rifle. Goose's injured knee felt tight under him but held well enough as he pivoted and sprinted back toward the burned-out hulk of a cargo truck.

"Phoenix Base," Goose called as he moved. "This is Phoenix Leader."

"Go, Phoenix Leader. You have Phoenix Base." Remington had assigned a mission control officer to watch over the Phoenix team by satellite while they were in hostile territory.

"Verify hostiles, Base," Goose said. "I need your eyes."

"Affirmative, Phoenix Leader. Base is taking a look-see." Maintaining close surveillance on the skirmish line was a drain on the satcom systems while they tried to monitor the two countries and search for other Syrian troop movements across the border. Remington was doing double duty all the way around by pumping information out to Wasp and to the Pentagon. Phoenix Base had been standing by, ready to go close in.

Putting his back to the cargo truck, Goose listened for the Syrians. When he heard no running feet, he dropped into a crouch and peered under the truck from his position beside the slagged remains of the rear tire.

Two Syrian soldiers were prone beside an eight-wheeled BTR-60 armored personnel carrier. Blistered paint bubbled up all around the APC, and the eight tires were withered pools of burnt rubber. With its boat-shaped hull and sloped sides, the BTR-60 was a good swimmer, though that wouldn't do it much good in the desert around them. The vehicle's standard armament consisted of the coaxial 14.5 mm KPV and 7.62mm PKT machine guns on the right side. The BTR-60 was by no means cutting-edge equipment, but it was a workhorse on the battlefield.

Goose fired on the fly, aiming for the closest Syrian soldier. A line of 5.56mm rounds from Goose's weapon chewed through the ground even as Syrian fire knocked hunks of rubber from the tire Goose was hunkered behind. Goose's bullets struck the lead man, who jerked with the impacts then lay still.

The surviving Syrian soldier's bullets cut through the air by Goose's head and kicked dirt up into his face. The clear goggles he wore kept the grit from his eyes. The kerchief he wore to filter the acrid smoke covered the lower half of his face.

"Phoenix Leader, Base confirms two hostiles in your immediate twenty," the mission controller said urgently. "One is down," Goose said.

"Understood. One hostile down. I'm pinging them now, Leader. Your men have engaged thirty-seven Syrian foot soldiers. I'm also reading vehicles that are in motion to your location. I've got tenno, Phoenix Leader, make that twelve vehicles. They were playing possum, Leader, or they moved up into position during the time we were without sat-relay. Copy?"

"Phoenix Leader copies, Base." Goose checked up the line, making sure all his squad leaders had received the information. Armored cav loose in the Ranger scout forces would be like loosing a lion in a henhouse.

With the vehicle losses the Turkish, U.N., and Ranger forces had already suffered, Goose hadn't wanted to risk losing any more. Even one of the smaller Jeeps or 4x4 transport vehicles would have been hard-pressed to slip through the carnage along the border. And every vehicle they lost on the scouting mission was one less vehicle to help carry the wounded back to Sanliurfa that night.

Intermittent assault-rifle fire opened up in his area. The other members of Goose's twenty-man team, broken into five groups of four, reported engagements as well.

Cusack sprinted to join Goose, taking up position near the front tire of the cargo truck for the limited protection it offered.

"Phoenix Eight confirms two hostiles down,"Tanaka reported in a cool voice. The team sniper had taken up a position a hundred yards back on top of a Bradley M-2 APC that had seen its last day. One of the Marines, a sniper with a Barrett M-82A1A.50-cal sniper rifle instead of the more conventional M-40A1 chambered in 7.62mm rounds, kept Tanaka company. Goose had allowed the addition because the man had come highly recommended.

The unique blast of the .50-cal round tore through the battlefield.

"Confirm three down from Eight's position, Base," the laconic Marine stated.

"I need to know about those vehicles, Base," Goose said. "You'll have it, Leader."

"Phoenix Leader, this is Stonewall Leader."

"Go, Stonewall," Goose replied. Stonewall Leader was the Marine sergeant in command of the surviving troop contingent from Wasp. Signaling Cusack, Carruthers, and Jansen, the three members of his own four-man group, Goose sent them around Denina the Syrian soldier's position.

"I realize this is your party, sir," Marine Sergeant Deke Henderson said, "but I'd like permission to try my luck with the arriving armored cav. This Barrett, sir ... well, if you've never seen one in action, you'd be surprised what it will do. Even those later model T-72s can't handle the .50-cal rounds."

"Affirmative, Stonewall," Goose said. "Do what you can. We need to work for a holding position for a while."

"I'll do you proud, Phoenix Leader," the Marine promised.

Gunfire erupted from the Syrian soldier's position. Whirling into action, Goose sprinted for the end of the cargo truck. When he came out around the end, his back pressed up tight against the soot-stained truck, he listened to the Syrian soldier's assault rifle burn through the rest of his clip.

Turning, Goose dropped the M-4A1 into firing position and looked toward the Syrian BTR-60. The sniper lay in a hollowed-out spot in the earth near the APC. Goose directed a stream of 5.56mm tumblers at the BTR-60's sloped sides, counting on the light bullet and the angle of the APC's sides. The lightweight bullets slammed against the vehicle's steeply inclined wall.

Designed to bounce and ricochet after hitting a target, the 5.56mm rounds deflected down into the Syrian soldier. The man pushed himself to his feet, then dropped back and didn't move again.

Goose blinked perspiration from his eyes and searched for more enemy troops. He heard the clank of heavy rolling stock in the distance and knew that the armored cav Base had talked about was emerging from their chosen hiding areas.

The Rangers couldn't back down. Goose knew that. They had to stop whatever contingent of Syrian forces remained in the area here. The Syrians had radio contact with the rest of their army. Remington's intel teams were still assessing how large that army was. If the Rangers backed down, they might trigger a rout that would bring the rest of the Syrians grinding toward them.

Goose turned and signaled to Cusack, Carruthers, and Jansen. The three experienced Rangers moved at double time to fall into position around Goose. He moved Henderson up to take point.

"Take us to the west, Carruthers," Goose said. "We're going to sel up a pincer and see if we can't take out some of the cav."

"You got it, Sarge." Carruthers hailed from Big Fork, Montana. He was stocky and solid, slow to speak but quick to act. He was a minister's son, and one of the men that Bill Townsend had spent a lot of time with. He took off, angling to the right, putting the sun to their backs.

Goose readied his M-203 grenade launcher with an HE round. The high-explosive 40mm grenade packed a solid punch that was devastating to the T-55 Russian-made tanks that made up most of Syria's cav, and the round performed well against even the T-72 monsters.

Cusack packed an M-203 as well and readied his own.

" Phoenix Two, " Goose called. "This is Leader."

"Go, Leader. You have Two." Eddie Ybarra was a top-notch sergeant from Arizona with twelve years in.

"Set up to the east of the main blockage," Goose said. "Try to outflank the tanks. Your team has two M-203s. I want to catch the Syrian cav in a cross fire."

"Affirmative, Leader. Two is on the move."

When Carruthers waved in warning and went to the ground next to a rocky outcrop, Goose fell into position against a burned-out troop transport that lay in twisted ruin. "Phoenix Three, Four, and Five."

The leaders radioed back in response.

"Hold the middle," Goose instructed. "Take out the ground forces and cover each other. Fall back if you have to. I want to draw the cav in." As those squad leaders responded, he looked around the troop transport, breathing shallowly at the stink of burned flesh coming from within the vehicle.

A hundred yards away, a line of six T-55 main battle tanks, one T72 main battle tank, two APCs, and three jeeps formed a pack of hunting steel jackals. Evidently the SCUDs and the carnage unleashed by the Marine wing had struck them, as evidenced by the blast scarring they wore on their armored hides, but they hadn't been disabled. Three T-55 tanks ran the forward line, crunching over broken vehicles and debris as well as corpses of their own dead.

The sight was a vision out of hell as Goose had imagined it back when one of the hellfire and brimstone evangelists had arrived at Waycross, Georgia, when he was a kid. Some of those men had painted word pictures of Satan's dominion, pictures that had been a lot like what he had seen all morning. It was easy to imagine that the whole world had slipped, without knowing or heeding the signs, into the end times, just as Bill had warned.

Syrian troops flanked the armored cav. Some of me Syrian soldiers jogged behind the slow-moving tanks with one hand on the rear so they could take advantage of the cover provided.

"Phoenix Eight," Goose called.

"Go, Leader," Tanaka answered.

"Stay with Three, Four, and Five. I want you providing cover sniping fire."

"Affirmative, Leader, but you're going to be hanging out there."

The clank of the treads and the hoarse rumble of the tanks' V-12 diesel engines grew steadily louder. The T-72 in the second wave stopped, locked down, then belched fire from the main gun.

The 125mm round screamed through the air and struck deep in the heart of the broken and burned vehicles in the Syrian camp. A Jeep jumped into the air, spinning end over end as parts flew off, then landed with a huge crash that shattered it into pieces.

Goose was surprised to learn that none of his team had been hit.

"Phoenix Leader, this is Blue Falcon Leader." The Marine Harrier captain was Dalton Hammer, a Tennessee native. There hadn't been time for Goose to learn much more than that while preparations had been made to save the Marines from the aerial crash site and pull the front line back into a semblance of order.

Remington had managed the liaisons between the U.N. peacekeeping forces and the Turkish army, but Goose had tried to get to know the new commanders. He hardly knew more than their names so far, but each of them had learned in a heartbeat what Goose had expected of them and what he planned to do with their units.

"I want to offer my assistance, Phoenix Leader," the marine captain said. "You and your men are going to get chewed up by those cav-"

"Negative, Blue Leader." Goose put edged ice into his voice. "You will stand down and clear my com. Now "

There was no response.

Goose knew the Marine captain was only concerned about their welfare, but there was no way Goose was going to allow the few surviving aircraft they had left to them to be risked in this engagement. The CH-46Es were going to be needed for evac for the more critically wounded-provided they lived that long-and the Harriers and Apaches were going to be used to cover their final withdrawal from the border. Remington had promised additional aircraft would be forthcoming soon from Wasp. Though Goose gathered the guys on Wasp were having problems of their own.

Knowing his short dismissal was probably going to earn him a grudge match with Dalton Hammer, Goose hoped he'd be alive to mend fences later. The Marine captain wasn't used to taking a backseat to the action. Goose also knew that Remington would support him on any decision he made on the battlefield.

The line of Syrian cav advanced inexorably. Dust rose from the broken ground behind them. The vehicles avoided blast craters large enough to drop Greyhound buses in.

"Phoenix Two." Goose lifted his M-4A1 and curled his finger over the M-203's trigger. Remaining behind cover of the troop transport, he took aim at the center T-55.

"Go, Leader. You have Two."

"HE rounds, Two. First target is the center tank. After reload, take out the tank closest to you in the lead. With luck, the drivers will panic and turn outside. If we get lucky, we'll break a tread and mire those vehicles down."

"Affirmative, Leader. Target acquisition understood. Awaiting your go."

Goose glanced at Cusack at the other end of the troop transport. The lanky young Ranger stood braced with the M-4A1 to his shoulder.

"Affirmative, Sarge," Cusack said. "Locked on."

The tanks continued forward, closing at low speed, bringing in a tide of dust that settled over the trail of dead Syrian soldiers left behind them.

"Stonewall," Goose called. "This is Phoenix Leader." "Go, Leader. You have Stonewall."

"That .50-cal you're carrying has armor-piercing capability, right?"

"Bet the farm on it, Phoenix Leader."

"Concentrate your fire on the lead tanks. Let's see if we can't jam them up."

"Awaiting your go, Phoenix Leader."

Goose squinted, squeezing out a bead of sweat that had been obscuring his vision. His body was a mass of aches and bruises. He pushed all those feelings out of his mind and prayed to God that he could stand firm and get done what he needed to do.

"Fire!" Goose ordered. His finger drew up the M-203's trigger slack, and he felt the assault rifle buck with grim authority against his shoulder as the 40mm HE round whooshed from the grenade launcher's throat.

The Mediterranean Sea USS Wasp Local Time 0953 Hours "God raptured his church," Chaplain Delroy Harte stated with more conviction than he'd ever had at any time in his life. "That's why all those people are missing, Captain. The Lord has reached down into this world and taken those believers who walked with him."

But even as the conviction filled the chaplain, he knew the jury was still out for those who watched him. Despite his best intentions, he didn't know if he was getting through to the two men before him. For a moment, he thought he truly knew what his father had gone through on Sunday mornings. Delroy had never met a man who believed in the Word of God more than his father, but even that solid belief-though it had helped shape what Delroy did and his career choices, in fact, just about everything about his life-hadn't been enough to get Delroy into heaven. How had his father gotten up every Sunday morning, hoping that he had discovered a message, a moment in the Bible, that could turn a flicker of belief into a life-lasting flame in those who listened?

Captain Mark Falkirk sat behind his desk and gave Delroy his full attention.

"Captain, are you going to listen to this-this-this hogwash?" Colonel Donaldson exploded. He slapped the desk with both his big hands and stood. "You're a military man, Captain, not some wideeyed kid looking for the supernatural around every corner. Religious magic or whatever hoopdoodle this Bible pounder is pushing isn't going to solve the problems we've got facing us."

Before he could stop himself, Delroy's voice thundered, "God is not a parlor trick, Colonel Donaldson!"

"Are you listening to this, Captain?" Donaldson demanded. He looked at Delroy for just a moment as if to make sure the chaplain was staying in place, then turned back to Falkirk.

"I am listening to this, Colonel," Falkirk said.

"You shouldn't be," Donaldson objected. "Do you know the kind of effect the chaplain's ravings are going to have on the crew once this gets out?"

Falkirk remained unflappable. "It appears to have already gotten out, Colonel. Due to you pressuring Chaplain Delroy to speak his mind in front of the crew instead of having a private meeting with him as he requested."

Donaldson swore. "He shouldn't have interrupted my meeting."

"Your meeting," Falkirk said, "wasn't interrupted until you came to the door and entered into a verbal confrontation with Chaplain Delroy."

"If I hadn't gone to the door, he would have come in after me. He threatened to walk through the sergeant I had posted there." Falkirk flicked his gaze to Delroy. "Chaplain?"