Echo Six: Black Ops 4 - Chechen Massacre (13 page)

"You want my help?"

Talley had no choice. "Yes, I want your help. We need your help, Josef."

"I suspected as much. Quite honestly, my friend, apart from my hatred of the Chechens, the idea that those North Korean monkeys could get hold of nuclear missiles worries me, enough to want to put a stop to it. I can help you reach the place where the Trans-Siberian Express halts. Can you disable the train in some way to stop it continuing on its journey?"

"I believe so. We're carrying demolition charges, and we can certainly damage the tracks, enough to prevent it from moving off."

Phillipov shook his head. "No, no, that won't do it. There are ways to branch around Chita if they wish. You damage the line, and they can go back a few kilometers and take a different route. No, you must damage the locomotive itself, and it will be heavily guarded."

Before he could reply, Barrington pushed his way into the small office. He studied all of them, and then addressed himself to Talley.

"What's going on? I still command here, so it's time I got this operation on course."

"Of course."

He explained to the MP how Josef Phillipov had offered them his assistance. All it drew was a snort from the Major.

"I should think he’d help. He's taken enough of my dollars."

NATO dollars, not your dollars. Provided to pay for unexpected expenses, like the charter of an aircraft to get up with their target
.

He explained how far they'd got. It drew another snort from Barrington.

"So we just need a way to prevent that train from leaving until we get control of the warheads, and defeat one hundred and fifty North Korean security troops; as well as Borz Abramov and his Chechen bodyguards. We’ve failed once. It’s impossible. Time to face the obvious, Commander. We’re stymied. It’s time to request an exfil.”

Once again, Talley ignored him. Josef broke the silence.

"We need a missile to hit the train, a shoulder launched missile. It's the only way. If anyone tries to plant explosives in the locomotive, they'll machine gun them before they get anywhere near."

"Of course we need a missile," Barrington snapped, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Unfortunately, we're stuck in a cesspit city in Siberia, and even here, I doubt you can walk down to the nearest mall and buy a missile off the shelf. The only way…"

Josef interrupted: "I have a shoulder launched missile. Well, several shoulder launched missiles. They're called Strela-2s."

Talley was immediately interested. The Strela-2, known within NATO as the SA-7 Grail, was a man-portable, shoulder-fired, low-altitude surface-to-air missile system with a high explosive warhead and passive infrared homing guidance. Similar to the US Army FIM-43 Redeye, it was the first generation of Soviet man-portable SAMs, developed in 1968 and in service ever since. With a range in excess of three kilometers, and carrying a warhead weighing more than one kilogram, the weapon was designed for shooting down aircraft. It would stop a tank, or a train.

He smiled at Josef. “That would be perfect, and you’ll let us use these missiles?”

The Russian nodded. Barrington was silent for a moment, and then he nodded thoughtfully. It was obvious he wasn't a fighting man, far from it. He was a cop, and he hadn't impressed any of the members of Echo Six so far. But he was still an officer in the American military, and right then, just when it mattered, he seemed to make a decision. They saw the transition in his face, in his expression, a sea change. One moment, the truculent, by the book cop the next, a soldier. He looked back at Phillipov.

"How much? I guess we’ll need two, in case of a misfire, or we miss the target first time." Then he grinned, and for the first time, cracked a joke, “Is there any discount for quantity?”

The tension drained away, and Talley smiled at Alessandra. There was hope for the man yet.

"I have a price, but it is not money."

“Not money? Then what?” the MP queried, giving the Russian a puzzled frown.

He explained again how Chechen Muslims had murdered his wife and son. How his service in Afghanistan had given him a deep hatred for the so-called Islamic fighters, and the brutal cause they espoused.

"So exactly what do you want?"

"I want to go with you. I wish to join your operation."

"Impossible! There's no way!" the MP shook his head.

Talley gestured to Alessandra to stay with Josef. He took the Major into the warehouse where the rest of the men had found places to rest while they waited. Like soldiers the world over, they’d grab any opportunity to rest, not knowing how long before the chance came again. They retreated to a corner out of earshot, and he explained how much they needed the pilot. Talley counted off the advantages on his fingers, one by one.

“First, he has the missiles, and without them we have no way of preventing that train from going all the way to Pyongyang. Second, he has local knowledge, and God only knows we need every possible advantage when that train gets here. Third, he's a pilot, and he has an aircraft. Who knows if we'll need it again? It may be the only way out of here, and last, he's a fighting man, with…"

"Fighting man! He's a drunk."

"A fighting man with a great deal of experience fighting the Mujahedeen in Afghanistan, the Chechens, and he's even served in North Korea, training pilots. Major, we need him, and he's offering to help us for nothing."

Barrington thought for a few moments while the cop inside him fought with the soldier. The military man won. He nodded.

"Very well, but if you want him along, he's your responsibility. Make sure he stays out of trouble."

“I’ll do that, Major,” Talley replied, astonished the man had acquiesced so quickly.

Maybe there’s hope for Barrington yet.

They returned to the office, and Alessandra looked at him expectantly. He gave her a nod and explained to Phillipov they had a deal. He beamed a huge smile and opened a filing cabinet. They assumed he was taking out maps of the area, but instead he removed a liter bottle of vodka and three glasses. He poured a huge measure into each one and handed them around.

"A toast. Death to the Chechens."

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Talley took a sip of the fiery spirit. It almost melted his tonsils. It tasted like a chemical weapon, maybe it was. He put the glass back down on the desk with most of the spirit still in it. Alessandra did the same, but they smiled when Barrington manfully swallowed the glass and collapsed, choking and gasping for air.

"I'll go check the men," he finally managed to stammer out. He marched out the door, and Phillipov began speaking again.

"You'll need something else to wear, or you'll have the local militia sniffing around before you get near that railway line. Fortunately, I have a few bales of former Red Army working uniforms you can borrow. Can any of your men use the Strela?"

"We're Special Forces," Talley replied. It was enough, what they were trained to do.

He nodded. "Very well. What concerns me is what happens if we hit the locomotive before Yuri's men arrive. Those troops charge like rabid dogs. Believe me, I've seen those North Koreans when they’re roused, and it's not a pretty sight."

Talley recalled their operation into North Korea several months back. They fought like crazed robots, programmed to keep going forward, no matter what, to the death. Taking on the NKs was not to be done lightly, not this time. He thought about Colonel Ho, the worst of them, and for a few moments he was back inside North Korea, recalling the cruelty and brutality of Kim's favorite officer.

Josef spoke to him, "What's bugging you?"

"Nothing."

"I don't believe you, my friend. There is something more, something that drives you. Something that will keep you going forward until you have achieved whatever is on your mind. And don't tell me about the warheads, this is something different. Something personal."

Alessandra looked at him sharply, and he decided to bare his soul. He explained to Josef about Ho. About the murdered nurses, and how he'd brought the man to the South. He was responsible, and now he was close, he’d make sure Colonel Ho didn’t get a chance at a repeat performance, and that the women he’d murdered got justice.

Is that really true? Or is it to expiate my guilt, to salve my conscience?
He shook his head
. I'll never know
.

The Russian said something, got to his feet, and walked out.

"What did he say?"

"He said he would find the Soviet uniforms for us to change into. Apparently, it's not unusual in Siberia for civilian workers to wear old Red Army kit for manual labor. Most of them served in the military. It won't attract any attention."

She paused. Talley waited for the rest.

"He also said it would be interesting if Colonel Ho and the warheads went in different directions. He wondered which one you’d go after."

"The warheads, of course," he asserted.

She stared at him.

* * *

It was comfortable in the warm cab of the huge diesel locomotive. The North Korean Colonel sat in the seat normally occupied by the second driver. The man had protested, but when Ho produced his pistol and pointed it at the man's head, leaving him in no doubt he'd blow out his brains; he backed off and sat on the steel floor behind the driver. Borz Abramov had found a wooden box on which to sit, and one of his bodyguards stood stoically beside him, maintaining a guard over his boss. The rest of Ho's men were spread between four wooden sided goods wagons. They were unheated with no comforts whatsoever, and the Colonel knew the men would be suffering badly as they traveled across Siberia.

Too bad, they’re soldiers, and it’s what they get paid for.

He smiled to himself as he thought about Captain Park, riding in the goods wagon behind the first of the wrecked passenger coaches. Now he’d understand that in the Korean People's Army, his highly placed connections were of little use when they were in the field, and he was subject to the whim of a superior officer. In this case, himself, Colonel Ho. He chuckled to himself. He was a favorite of Kim Jong-un, and that particular connection trumped everything else.

So fuck the obnoxious little bastard’s connections. Perhaps next time we travel together, the Captain will stay out of my way.

He heard Abramov speak to the driver.

"How long before we reach Chita?"

The man consulted his instrument panel. "About thirty minutes, Comrade."

"Don't call me Comrade, you fucking asshole! It's Mr. Abramov to you."

"Yes, Comrade… Mr. Abramov. Sorry, Sir."

The Chechen nodded. Ho disliked him for his vanity. In his country, Comrade was a title of honor, used for fellow communists. The Leader himself was addressed as Comrade. At that moment, Ho despised the Islamic gangster even more for his lack of manners. He glanced out of the window, but there was no sight of the city of Chita. He’d been uneasy during the journey, recalling the NATO force that had almost beaten him the last time. Talley was the name of the officer, and now the same man had the temerity to attack him yet again. It was only by ill luck he’d escaped the ambush at Irkutsk.

Did I underestimate the man? I think not. When we get back, heads are going to roll. We should have destroyed those attackers. Instead, they got away. Yes,
there'll be a reckoning with Talley.

The NATO man had almost caused his downfall, and only by using extreme trickery had Ho managed to worm his way back into Kim Jong-un's favor. This time it would be different. He didn’t yet know what Ho had prepared for him that would show the annoying American how a master tactician really operated. If he only knew it, his life was about to be turned upside down. When he made plans for this operation, it was obvious NATO would involve themselves yet again in something that was none of their business. It was also obvious they’d employ an officer with experience of operations against the Democratic Republic of Korea. Talley. And so he’d formulated a plan that would show Commander Talley the reach of Colonel Hong Jang Ho. If it came to a showdown, he held the trump card, one that Talley was unaware of, so far. He called it his insurance, just in case Talley managed to do something unexpected and pull off the impossible. It would all be for nothing. Ho had covered every eventuality, and Talley would get the nastiest surprise of his life, if Ho were forced to use his insurance policy.