high school.
“Exactly. Sanliurfa has its history in the Bible as well. Abraham was born here. Several other prophets named in the Bible were drawn here at one time or another. That’s why the locals call Sanliurfa ‘The City of Prophets.’”
“I knew that,” Goose said. “But I didn’t know it until we got here and I heard it on the news.” He looked at Baker, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the corporal’s interest. He wanted to tell Baker about Icarus and about the claims the rogue CIA agent had made. But Baker had come here; Goose hadn’t sought Baker out. It followed that Baker wanted something from Goose. “You didn’t come here to discuss ancient history. What do you need?”
Baker looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“You came here for a reason, Corporal. Maybe we’d better get to it.”
Shaking his head, Baker said, “No. I’m not due back till 0700 myself. I’d intended to speak to more of the men at the church, to allay their fears as much as I can.” The big man was silent, and his tiredness showed on his face. “They carry on as best they can, but they feel they’re hovering on the brink of disaster.”
Goose didn’t comment. Every professional fighting man—from U.S. troops to U.N. military to Turkish army—knew that the Syrians were gathering strength for a final push against the city. And anybody with any knowledge of military tactics and the concentration of resources on both sides of the line was pretty sure which side was going to win. It didn’t take a genius right now to predict that the Syrians’ chances of rolling over them were pretty good.
“The men are afraid,” Baker said.
“I know.”
“They see how we’re burying our dead here,” Baker said. “They know that those fallen warriors aren’t going home to families so those people can grieve more properly. That knowledge is putting more pressure on our warriors to survive.”
“We’re marking the graves,” Goose said. “Later, when we get this thing cleaned up, the military will return for those bodies and bring them home.”
“That time—if it ever comes—is a long way off. They know that.”
Goose knew that too. With all the disappearances and the outbreak of so much violence, the American military was seriously undermanned.
“Once Syria invades this country, even if they hold only Sanliurfa and the southern part of Turkey, it’ll be years before we take these lands back. If we ever do.”
Goose remained silent. He knew other Rangers in the room were listening to the conversation. He didn’t want that fact discussed here because it would drive down morale, but he wouldn’t lie about the eventuality either.
“I came here this morning because I felt a … need … to speak with you,” Baker said.
“What do you need?”
Baker shook his head. “It’s not about what I need or the church needs, First Sergeant. I felt called here to find out what you needed.”
Goose stared at him.
“More and more these past days,” Baker said, “I’ve been getting strong feelings about things I’m supposed to do. I’m paying attention to those feelings.”
“What things?” Goose was thinking maybe he needed to alert Captain Remington that they could have a problem on their hands. So far, none of Baker’s churchgoers had caused any serious problems. Sure, there had been occasional fights between soldiers concerning religious issues, but they fought over meals and postings as well.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, First Sergeant. Believe me.”
Goose’s doubts in Baker’s psychological stability cleared up instantly, once he looked in his eyes. He did believe the big corporal, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. These were battlefield conditions. Soldiers got stressed and had mental breakdowns. Even when they survived, a lot of them had to work through differing levels of post-traumatic stress syndrome. That fact was part of a professional warrior’s
“Exactly. Sanliurfa has its history in the Bible as well. Abraham was born here. Several other prophets named in the Bible were drawn here at one time or another. That’s why the locals call Sanliurfa ‘The City of Prophets.’”
“I knew that,” Goose said. “But I didn’t know it until we got here and I heard it on the news.” He looked at Baker, feeling increasingly uncomfortable about the corporal’s interest. He wanted to tell Baker about Icarus and about the claims the rogue CIA agent had made. But Baker had come here; Goose hadn’t sought Baker out. It followed that Baker wanted something from Goose. “You didn’t come here to discuss ancient history. What do you need?”
Baker looked puzzled. “I don’t understand.”
“You came here for a reason, Corporal. Maybe we’d better get to it.”
Shaking his head, Baker said, “No. I’m not due back till 0700 myself. I’d intended to speak to more of the men at the church, to allay their fears as much as I can.” The big man was silent, and his tiredness showed on his face. “They carry on as best they can, but they feel they’re hovering on the brink of disaster.”
Goose didn’t comment. Every professional fighting man—from U.S. troops to U.N. military to Turkish army—knew that the Syrians were gathering strength for a final push against the city. And anybody with any knowledge of military tactics and the concentration of resources on both sides of the line was pretty sure which side was going to win. It didn’t take a genius right now to predict that the Syrians’ chances of rolling over them were pretty good.
“The men are afraid,” Baker said.
“I know.”
“They see how we’re burying our dead here,” Baker said. “They know that those fallen warriors aren’t going home to families so those people can grieve more properly. That knowledge is putting more pressure on our warriors to survive.”
“We’re marking the graves,” Goose said. “Later, when we get this thing cleaned up, the military will return for those bodies and bring them home.”
“That time—if it ever comes—is a long way off. They know that.”
Goose knew that too. With all the disappearances and the outbreak of so much violence, the American military was seriously undermanned.
“Once Syria invades this country, even if they hold only Sanliurfa and the southern part of Turkey, it’ll be years before we take these lands back. If we ever do.”
Goose remained silent. He knew other Rangers in the room were listening to the conversation. He didn’t want that fact discussed here because it would drive down morale, but he wouldn’t lie about the eventuality either.
“I came here this morning because I felt a … need … to speak with you,” Baker said.
“What do you need?”
Baker shook his head. “It’s not about what I need or the church needs, First Sergeant. I felt called here to find out what you needed.”
Goose stared at him.
“More and more these past days,” Baker said, “I’ve been getting strong feelings about things I’m supposed to do. I’m paying attention to those feelings.”
“What things?” Goose was thinking maybe he needed to alert Captain Remington that they could have a problem on their hands. So far, none of Baker’s churchgoers had caused any serious problems. Sure, there had been occasional fights between soldiers concerning religious issues, but they fought over meals and postings as well.
“There’s nothing wrong with me, First Sergeant. Believe me.”
Goose’s doubts in Baker’s psychological stability cleared up instantly, once he looked in his eyes. He did believe the big corporal, but he couldn’t for the life of him understand why. These were battlefield conditions. Soldiers got stressed and had mental breakdowns. Even when they survived, a lot of them had to work through differing levels of post-traumatic stress syndrome. That fact was part of a professional warrior’s
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