Apocalypse Crucible

ground shook beneath Danielle’s feet. Fear spun a ball of bile into the back of her throat as she heard the metallic screeches of the barricade sliding across the broken and pitted pavement. She dodged to the building’s side, flattening herself against the wall as a Volkswagen minivan wreathed in flames shuddered past her.
“Are you getting that?” Danielle yelled, turning toward Cezar. She didn’t know if she could be heard over the cacophony.
If Cezar heard Danielle, he didn’t respond. He knelt, camera to shoulder, and panned with the burning hulk of the Volkswagen as it roared past. A slipstream of embers and flaming pieces skipped after the vehicle. When the chips were down and the action was at its most intense, Cezar was the camera’s eye.
The rescue effort by the U.N. soldiers suddenly turned into tragedy, the mass of flying debris catching and scattering them like tenpins. Fire clung to the clothing of two of them, but neither moved, and Danielle felt quite certain that neither would move again.
“Medic!” one man shouted into the headset he wore. “Medic!”
“Have we got satellite access?” Danielle asked over her sat-phone.
“Of course,” Stolojan answered. “We are prepared to go live as soon as you begin broadcasting. I’ve already cleared you. Negotiations are underway even as we speak to run your piece on CNN and FOX News with a two-minute delay.”
The delay was supposed to inspire dedicated news watchers to switch over to the cable stations that carried OneWorld NewsNet as an alternative to local or national news. The violence in Turkey coupled with the disappearances that had taken place almost immediately afterward had guaranteed OneWorld a large share of the worldwide viewing public.
Nicolae Carpathia was—until a few days ago—a successful Romanian businessman worth millions. He owned OneWorld NewsNet. The day the war had broken out along the Turkish-Syrian border, the Romanian president in power at the time had stepped down from office and named Carpathia as his successor. In addition to running several corporations, the young Romanian power broker was now running a country.
And he is scheduled to speak to the United Nations, Danielle reminded herself. She’d wanted to cover that meeting, knowing that—given the current situation—the talks would garner global interest, but the story of the men attempting to hold Sanliurfa against such untenable odds was impossible for her to resist. She’d stuck it out in the battle zone instead of breaking off to go to New York.
A Humvee marked with the Red Cross insignia roared down the street. The front bumper grazed the still-burning hulk of the Volkswagen, spinning the vehicle around a little as it passed.
The Humvee’s driver braked in front of the downed soldiers, providing a protective barrier between them and the open end of the street. Before the rescue vehicle rocked to a complete stop, four field medics leaped into action, breaking out gurneys and medkits. They shouted at each other, sorting out the quick and the dead. Another artillery round, probably from a tank, slammed into the barricade and threw more debris back over the street.
Danielle tapped Cezar’s shoulder to get his attention.
The cameraman turned around.
“On me,” Danielle instructed as she took the wireless microphone from her jacket pocket and clipped it to her collar. She keyed the power and tucked the earpiece into her other ear. When she ran her finger across the microphone, she heard the rasp that told her the mike was live. Despite the danger, she took off the Kevlar helmet and ran her free hand through her short-cropped hair, trusting that every strand would fall perfectly into place.
Cezar stood, brought up the camera, and focused on her.
Danielle moved so that she stood away from the shadow of the building. The burning Volkswagen gave off enough light for her to be clearly seen by viewers. The Humvee and the medical team could be seen in the background, illuminated by the flaming debris that lay scattered across the street.
“Cue live transmission,” Danielle said.
“Live transmission cued,” Stolojan replied. “Live in three … two … one … go.”
Cezar focused on her, framing her from the waist up so she could signal him with her left hand out of the camera’s view.
“Sanliurfa, Turkey,” Danielle said in a clear voice. The collar microphone was cutting-edge technology, and Stolojan and his crew at OneWorld NewsNet headquarters cleaned up all the audio transmission as the piece went out live. “Also called the City of Prophets because of the biblical history that played out here and in the outlying lands. For generations, armies have marched and warred through these mountains and across the plains. Tonight, a remnant force made up of U.S. Army Rangers, the United Nations Peacekeeping force, and the Turkish army stand together against a common foe.”
Stepping back, Danielle offered a better view of the rescue attempt by the medical team. She signaled Cezar with her left hand, letting the cameraman know to shift the focus to the struggling soldiers.
“Under siege from the Syrian army,” Danielle continued, “these troops have faced hardship after hardship. Only last night an air strike rocked the city, destroying buildings and supply warehouses and killing hundreds of citizens. These brave warriors have stood ready to defend the town against a ground attack. Now that attack is here.”
Artillery rockets lanced across the sky in the distance. Long tails of bright fire trailed them. Less than a moment later, the shells fell amid the city again.
Danielle waited until the rolling thunder passed. She had learned through hard experience that the attacks often came in waves. Signaling Cezar, she drew his attention to her again.
“Only moments ago, the Syrians apparently launched another major offensive.” Danielle pointed. “This is what remains of one of the barricades this city’s defenders have erected in the hopes of holding this place.”
Cezar panned from her to focus on the burning barricade. Gray smoke snaked up into the black sky. A dim yellow haze burned above the piles of rubble. An artillery shell plowed into one of the buildings, toppling the upper story down