Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (16 page)

* * *

They entered Salmeh, and he braked to a halt next to the orange bus, now completely camouflaged He told the two astonished sentries, Drew Jackson and Julio Garcia, to unload the motor scooter and camouflage the jeep.

“That’s an interesting vehicle. What happened to the owners?” Garcia asked, looking at the Syrian UAZ.

“They went AWOL. Permanently.”

“I had a feeling it would be something like that.”

Nava went away to find the Rabbi, and the old man fixed up the worst of their injuries where the sand had flayed their bodies.

“You will need to be careful until it heals,” he commented, gently smoothing salve over each of their faces in turn. “Make sure the skin does not make contact with anything, or it will aggravate the injuries and make healing a much longer process. So no making out with the opposite sex, as if you’d ever get the chance in this place,” he smiled.

Talley moved his eyes without turning his head, to exchange a glance with her. He was sure Gold didn’t see, pretty sure. When they were done, he went to locate Mahmoud. Nava’s uncle was waiting for him inside his hut.

“I trust Wadi Marat was suitable for the airdrop?”

Is it my imagination, or does the man have a gleam in his eye? No, surely not.

“The site is perfect. If Admiral Brooks can arrange the drop, we’ll go back to meet it tonight. I’m sorry we had to bring that Syrian Army vehicle here, but we’ll need it later.”

“As long as you dispose of it a long way from here when you’re done.”

“That’s a promise.”

"Then it is of no account."

Khalil fell silent for a few moments.

“What is it, Mahmoud?”

The garage mechanic cleared his throat. “I have a request to make, Commander Talley.”

“Yeah, what is it?”

“You know nothing of me. When I was called up for the army, I volunteered for the 15th Special Forces Division. I was a captain of shock troops, and we patrolled the border areas, fighting all manner of insurgents, bandits, and smugglers. It was hard and bloody work, and I was good at it. Very good.”

“That’s very interesting.”

Why is he telling me this?

"The operation you are planning. You intend to return to Sheikh Najjar and destroy the plant that is trying to produce nerve gas, is that correct?” Talley nodded, and Mahmoud hurried on. ”The operation is as important to my people as it is to yours."

My people? Does he mean the inhabitants of this village, or the Syrians, or the Jews? Maybe all of them. This is one complicated guy
.

He decided a polite reply was needed. "I'm sure it is, my friend. If those weapons get used, it'll be bad. Very bad."

"Yes. I wish to come with you."

Talley's mind was already elsewhere, and he almost missed it.

"What? That's impossible. I appreciate your experience, Sir, but that was a long time ago. We've trained for this kind of thing. You'll get yourself killed."

"Perhaps, but I can get you into Sheikh Najjar, to the nerve gas plant, unseen. I know a way to the edge of the perimeter. It would give your operation a much better chance of success."

"A way in would help us immensely, but you can mark it on a map. There’s no need to come along."

The Arab shook his head. "There is no map, and you will not find it. The only way is for me to guide you."

He thought for a few moments about the offer. He had serious concerns about the assault as it was. If Mahmoud could get them near the plant unnoticed, they'd almost be home and dry. But still, he was a civilian, and no matter what he'd done before, not ready for the kind of fierce fighting necessary for an assault of this type.

"You're sure you can't just give us directions?"

"No, impossible."

He knew when to give in. "Very well. You're in."

And God help me he if gets killed.

* * *

When darkness fell, they set out in the jeep for Wadi Marat, the LZ. Talley drove, with Mahmoud in the passenger seat; Rovere and Jesse Whitefeather sat in the back. The rest of the men followed in the old bus. Mahmoud guided them back to the place he’d checked out earlier with Nava. They took a roundabout route, sheltered from observation between high dunes, not the direct course indicated by his GPS. He recalled his conversation with Brooks, who’d been uncharacteristically short.

“They’re not going for it, Talley. Those weapons are stockpiled ready for a punitive raid somewhere over the border. Apparently, Hezbollah have been playing their little games, trying to start another war. General Weiss pushed them as hard as he could, called in a lot of favors, but…”

“We’re trying to prevent another war, Sir. We don’t have any other options. We need that gear.”

Why General Weiss? The Israelis have a score of people who could authorize those weapons, why does it come down to one man who happens to be a friend of the Admiral? It’s almost like it’s some cozy arrangement between them, outside the chain of command. But that’s impossible.

“Commander, you’re sure you can't…”

“It’s not an option, Admiral. Either we get what we need, or we pull out. Period.”

A pause. “That’s blackmail.” His voice was ominously quiet, and his dark eyes, filled with anger, staring out through the screen across thousands of miles of satellite Internet connection.

“I’m sorry, Sir. I’m calling it as it is.”

He muttered, “I’ll try them again, no promises. If they agree, God only knows what the price will be.
 
NATO will be in their debt for years to come.”

“If we don’t pull this off, there may not be any State of Israel, so all bets would be off.”

Brooks nodded gloomily. “I’ll try him again. Give me a half hour, and I’ll get back to you. Brooks out.”

He called exactly thirty minutes later. He looked even more tired and angry, but the anger was tinged with something else. Victory.

“You've got what you want, Talley. The drop will be tonight at 2300. Give me the coordinates.”

He called them over, and Brooks made a note. Finally, the Admiral stared at him. “Now you have what you want, how do you rate your chances?”

“We’re short of men, Sir, so it’ll be more than tough.” He thought about Mahmoud’s suggestion of a secret way in to Sheikh Najjar but decided not to mention it on an open line. “I guess we have an even chance.”

Brooks nodded. “I understand. The Israelis will have to swallow it, whatever happens. You know what it means….”

“I know, Sir.”

They left the rest unsaid. If Echo Six failed to destroy the CX9 plant, chances were the Israelis would be far too busy defending themselves against a devastating attack to worry about the price of a shipment of weapons.

“Yeah. Brooks out.”

Near Wadi Marat – The Fourth Day

“We’re about five klicks from the Wadi, Boss,” Jesse shouted from the back.

He thought about his earlier visit to the site, and the frantic lovemaking with Nava. He was so lost in his thoughts that Rovere’s inevitable quotation came as something of a shock.

“Journey's end in lover's meeting.”

“What! What did you mean by that?”

The Italian replied, “Just another piece of wisdom from the immortal Shakespeare, Boss. What did you think I meant?”

Talley stared through the rear view mirror, but his expression was guileless.

“Nothing. I thought you said something else.”

Rovere looked suspicious but made no reply. He concentrated on steering the jeep along the narrow trail between two high dunes that ran for several kilometers toward their destination. Because the dunes sheltered them, they almost missed it.

“Activity up ahead,” Whitefeather shouted.

Talley couldn’t see anything, but the Indian was almost magical in his ability to see what other men missed, especially at night. He braked to a halt, and the bus pulled in behind. They climbed out and walked to the top of a dune, and now he could see what Whitefeather had seen, or maybe sensed. Talley could never tell. Syrian Army vehicles, it had to be, for there was a helicopter circling overhead. The Free Syrian Army didn’t have an air force. Guy came to stand alongside him.

“They’re looking for something.”

With a sickening feeling, Talley knew what it was, the two dead soldiers and their missing jeep. He explained the problem to Guy, who grimaced.

“In thirty minutes, an aircraft will drop our supplies right on top of them. If we lose this lot, we may as well pack up and go home. Unless…”

“Unless what?”

“Unless they saw the vehicle they’re looking for, racing away from them. They’ll chase after it, and that’ll clear the LZ for the drop. Problem solved.”

“Not for whoever drives that jeep.”

“That’d be me. I’d like to take Jesse with me. They’ll expect to see two men, and at night, they won’t be able to see if we’re the right men. Once we’ve led them away, we’ll double back.”

“You’re forgetting the helo.”

“No, I’m not. That’s why I want Jesse. He’s a sniper with almost superhuman night vision. The aircraft has to come down.”

Talley glanced at Whitefeather. “Can you do that? Bring down that helo?”

“Provided he stays still, yep, I can take him. It’s not armored. It’s just a lightweight recon job.”

Guy nodded. “That’s it then. As soon as they’re a good distance away, we’ll double back.”

Talley swallowed his concern. "You'd better get going. We’re almost out of time for the airdrop. We’ll meet up at Salmeh. Just make sure you get through.”

“We’ll be there.”

Guy and Jesse jumped back aboard the UAZ. For a few anxious moments, it refused to start. Then the engine fired, and they roared off toward the Syrians. When they were out of sight, Talley called together the rest of his small force.

“We’ll get as near as we can and wait until the Syrians chase after the jeep. Then we move to the LZ for the airdrop. Let’s mount up.”

They climbed into the old bus and drove on. They crested another dune, part of a long series of rolling mountains of sand that were enough to swallow an entire army in their vast embrace. They could hear engines racing in the distance as the Syrians took off after Guy and Jesse.
 

“It worked,” Rovere grinned. “The stupid bastards fell for it.”

“It looks that way. We’ll head on in and stop just short of the LZ, in case they left a sentry. I hope to God they can keep that UAZ ahead of the Syrians. Those Russian jeeps are not the quickest things on four wheels.”

“Live or die, it’s the game we’re in. We all have to take our chances,” Rebecca stated coldly.

They both stared at her. Rovere responded fast. “I wish my horse had the speed of your tongue.”

She glared at him. “What?”

“Shakespeare, Miss Dayan. Surely you will have heard of him, even in Israel.”

Talley swallowed a smile as her face glowed red with anger, but before she could snap a reply, they halted at the crest of the last dune before their destination, and he went forward on foot. Rebecca went with him, and Rovere came up behind with Mahmoud. The quarter-moon was enough for them to see the wide plain stretching out ahead of them. Wadi Marat, an ideal place for an aircraft to drop supplies, were it not for the truck parked in the center of the open plain, and the squad of infantry busy making camp on the sand next to their vehicle.

“Fuck!” he breathed. “There must be a dozen of them, maybe more.”

“We have to draw them off,” Rebecca said. “We can’t let them stay there.”

“I can take care of it,” Rovere said immediately.

Talley smiled. “Domenico, I’m already short of men. We don’t even have enough for the raid on the CX9 plant. I can’t lose any more.”

“I’ll do it,” Rebecca told them.

He stared at her. “How?”

“I’ve done it before. I'll mess up my clothes and hair, and make it look as if I’ve just crawled out of the desert after being trapped in the storm. They’ll be all over me, and then you can take them.”

He nodded. Arab men had a weak spot when it came to all women. They were treated as little more than chattels, possession to use and abuse at will. When they encountered a vulnerable female, their first instinct was likely to be less than chivalrous, especially with a girl as pretty as Rebecca Dayan. It would give his men a chance to take them. An outside chance, to be sure, it would only need one man who wasn’t taken in to turn and see them; perhaps a man who was gay or hung over, and that would be the end of it. But it was their only chance. He checked his wristwatch. Twenty minutes to the drop.

“Do it.”

She tore off her jacket, ripped the buttons from her shirt, and used her fingers to tangle her hair.
 
Then she put a hand under the bus and smeared grease from the axle onto her face.
 

“It looks impressive,” Talley commented, “if they all fall for it.”

She nodded. “It worked the last time.”

“What were the odds?”

“I was with a Sayeret unit in the Sinai, the Israeli Special Forces. A group of eight Arabs was trying to infiltrate our defenses, and I went forward to distract them while the Sayeret took them from behind.”

“Yeah, but what were the odds?”

A pause. “There were twenty of us.”

And here, they outnumber us. It’s not quite the same, but we don’t have any other options.

“Right. Each of us will just have to kill more of the bastards, that's all.”

She stared at him, not sure if he was making a joke. It was time to move.

“Mahmoud, stay with the bus and guard it. Rebecca, do your stuff. We’ll come right in as soon as they’re looking the other way.”

She nodded and jogged over the edge of the dune, down toward the Syrians half a kilometer away.
 
Talley led his men in a wide half circle, to come at the hostiles from the opposing side. They heard her shouting at the Syrians in Arabic, and the excited shouts of the soldiers. When the encampment was in view, they could see Rebecca was almost there. Three of the soldiers walked out to greet her, and it was obvious from their body language their intentions were anything but good. At least they were all looking at her. It was time to make the assault.

But against a whole section of Syrian infantry?

He turned to the men. “Those bastards look like they’re real hungry for a woman. Let’s speed it up.”

Within seconds, it became clear there was no desert code these soldiers adhered to. No rules of succor for victims of the harsh desert. She was a woman, and they had been without a woman for too long. The first three men reached her, and without a word began ripping off her clothes. In the dark, they didn’t notice her camo pants. They were interested in was what lay beneath. Rebecca screamed when one of the men punched her. She screamed again, and they heard the curse, then the blow as one of the men retaliated for something she’d done. And then she went silent.

Talley raced forward, struggling across the soft sand, ignoring aching muscles, the pain of his wounds, the constant jarring as his boots slipped and slid, threatening to break an ankle. He had to reach this strange, brave Israeli girl. So cold and calculating, and yet… braver than many Special Forces operators he’d known during his career. A remarkable girl, and right now, she needed help.

His brain blotted out everything, except the need to reach her before they hurt her too badly. Vince overtook him, running like a madman as he sped toward her. He stumbled, but DiMosta was unwounded. And then he was in the center of the Syrians. Talley could see Rebecca's on the sand, almost hidden by the swirl of men. In the center of the melee, Vince fought, and he used his knife to devastating effect.

There were fourteen Syrians in all, and by the time Talley joined the fight, three of them were dead, and many of the others bleeding badly from knife slashes. But he was one man, and a soldier smashed the butt of his rifle on DiMosta’s head, and the sniper crumpled. Talley reached the Syrian and blocked the blow that would have smashed Vince’s skull. He used his own blade and stabbed for the heart, missed, and the blade hit the breastbone. He struck again and was rewarded by a fountain of blood that spurted from the man’s chest. He twisted away from a rifle butt and felt a blade glance off his ballistic vest. He turned to face the new assailant, just as the rest of his men joined the fight.

The Syrian had drawn a pistol, and he shouted in triumph. Talley pushed the blade into the soldier’s open mouth, through to the back of the throat, and the sharp steel cut off the cry. He died in a gush of arterial blood. Another Syrian stood over Rebecca’s body, his pistol raised ready to fire, but Rovere smashed into him and repeatedly clubbed his skull with his pistol butt until the man was still.

Two more Syrian soldiers crashed into him, and then there was a thunderous roar of anger. Heinrich Buchmann hit the brawling pack of men like an express train, and he hammered the Syrians into the ground. The German used his ferocity and extraordinary weight and strength, and even as they tried to surrender, he stamped on one man’s throat, crushing his windpipe, and stabbed his combat knife through the other man’s chest. The blade pinned him to the desert floor. He snatched out the knife and turned to seek out the next opponent, but the fight was over. The last of the Syrians were dying.

Talley bent to pick up Rebecca Dayan and found her out cold. Her breathing was shallow but regular. She’d been struck by something hard, probably a rifle butt, to make her compliant. When he felt around her skull, his hand came away sticky with blood. His eyes jerked up to the sky as something exploded over on the horizon. The helo, Jesse had pulled it off. Bright flames lit up the sky, and the rolling explosion seemed to echo around the mountainous dunes like a tidal wave of sound.

“Looks like he got the helo,” Reynolds murmured.

He nodded. “Yep. That was close.”

They could hear the sound of aero engines in the distance. The drop was here. Without a radio, he used a flashlight to give their unit call sign. The aircraft roared over, banked, and returned. It flew across Wadi Marat at low level, little more than five hundred meters from the desert floor, and the first of the parachutes appeared in the sky. He turned to Buchmann.

“Heinrich, get back to Mahmoud, and tell him to bring the bus here. We’ll load it up, and get out before they wake up to what we’re doing.”