Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (17 page)

“You think they’ll come, the Syrians?”

“They’ll have picked up the aircraft on radar, so yeah, we could have company pretty soon.”

He nodded and ran off, like a bull charging across the sand. The first of the crates hit the ground nearby with a ‘crump’, then another, and another, and a man. He stripped off his helmet and goggles, but they recognized the familiar figure even before his boots touched the sand. Vice-Admiral Carl Brooks, head of NATO’s NATFOR Special Operations division. And the last man they’d expected to see in the field. He expertly detached his ‘chute and rolled it into a compact ball, then grinned at Talley.

“You said you were short of men, Commander. Maybe you can use me?”

“Sir! This is, well, a surprise. Why are you here?”

“Long story, which I’ll tell you later. In the meantime, I want a sitrep.”

He was still astonished by Brooks’ appearance; like a genie from a bottle. To give himself time to think, Talley looked around and watched his men rush to retrieve the supplies and pile them in a heap ready to load. “Nothing’s changed, Sir. We’re set to go in tonight.”

Brooks tensed, hearing the sound of a vehicle speeding toward them.

“Take it easy. It’s Mahmoud with the bus.” He turned to the men. “Get this stuff aboard the bus. We have to clear the LZ before the Syrians turn up to find out what’s going on.”

He explained to Brooks how Welland and Whitefeather lured the Syrian force away and brought down the helo.

“That’s fine work, but you can’t wait for them.”

“I know, Sir. We’ll see them back at Salmeh.”

The bus slowed as it came up with them. Buchmann was standing on the step of the open door, and he leapt off as the vehicle went past, threw a salute, and went to help load the crates. Brooks smiled and raised his eyebrows, as if there was nothing unusual about seeing an orange bus in the middle of the Syrian Desert.

“And if they don’t make it to Salmeh?”

Talley shrugged. “They’ll make it.”

Brooks nodded, but then saw Rebecca on the ground. She was still partially undressed, but she was conscious and trying to clean herself up.

 
“I guess there’s a story there somewhere, Miss Dayan. I’ve no doubt your uncle would be proud.”

She stared back at him. “You know?”

“Sure. It’s a famous name, and when I heard it, I checked you out.” He looked at Talley and Rovere. “You didn’t make the connection?”

They shook their heads.

Brooks sighed. “Moshe Dayan, the former Israeli Minister of Defense. He fought his way through every Israeli campaign, prior to the formation of Israel and through to the Yom Kippur war of 1973.
 
During the Six Day War in 1967, he personally oversaw the capture of East Jerusalem. He was a real war hero, one of Israel’s most famous sons.”

“And a total bastard,” Rebecca responded. “You know what Ariel Sharon said of my uncle? ‘Moshe would wake up with a hundred ideas. Of them ninety-five were dangerous; three more were bad; the remaining two, however, were brilliant.’ That was him; a cold hearted, ruthless sonofabitch, a real ‘ben zona’, but a great man, in spite of everything.”

Talley nodded. “I recall reading about him, the guy with the eye patch.”

She nodded. “That's Moshe.”

“Quite a guy.”

She gave Talley a bitter glance. “So a lot of people said. Yes, he was a war hero, there’s no doubt. But for those who loved him, I understand it was very different.”

“Did you know him well?”

She shook her head. “He died before I was born, but my mother told me many tales about him. Most of them best forgotten.”

Vince jogged over to them. “The last of the gear is stowed on the bus, and we’re ready to hit the road. Back to Salmeh, I guess?” Then he did a double take. “Admiral!”

He saluted, and Brooks returned it. “At ease, Sergeant. I’m just along for the ride. The Commander is still in charge.” He looked around at them. “I mean it. I’m just here to make up the numbers, so any of you think I’m muscling in, forget it. I’m still good with an assault rifle, and I do CQB training twice a year, so use me where you want. That’s an order,” he grinned. “The last order I intend to hand out until we get home.”

Talley nodded. “Roger that, Sir.
 
Domenico, let’s get everyone aboard, and we’ll head out. I hope to Christ Guy and Jesse made it.”

No one answered. They all knew if anything could go wrong, it sure as hell would.

The ride back was the usual jolting, rattling journey in a vehicle that was long past its sell-by date. Mahmoud took the wheel and nursed the ageing, wheezing museum piece for every kilometer of the way.
 
Brooks sat in front, next to Talley. There was no chance of being overheard over the roar of the engine, and the constant whine and rattle of the tired, old bodywork, and mechanical parts.

“First off, Commander, I have a confession to make. You may as well know this entire operation was not sanctioned by NATO.”

Jesus Christ!

“Who did give the orders?”

“I did.”

“No, what I mean is…”

“Talley, I gave the orders. There’s nothing official, nothing on paper. This operation doesn’t exist.”

“But that’s…”

“Impossible? Maybe, but that’s the way General Weiss and me cooked it up.” He went on to explain what they were up against, the politicians of both NATO and Israel.

“In the end, it was a toss up. We could let it go, and see these psycho ragheads inflict Christ knows how many deaths on innocent Israelis. And who knows which country would have been next. Or we could take action, independent action. And that’s why we’re all here.”

Talley went to speak, but he held up a hand.

“You need to hear the rest of it. Lev and me were able to fix the supply drop, but it’s up to you how you play it from here on in. If you decide we’ve acted in a way you feel is wrong, we can arrange to get you out of Syria. It only needs a call from General Weiss, and the Israeli Defense Force will send in transport to pick you up. You won’t be blamed. This is our show. You were only acting under orders.”

He regarded the Admiral for a few moments. Someone he’d come to recognize as one of the few truly good men he’d run into during his military career.

“You won’t be, Sir. Treated fairly, that is. They’ll crucify you.”

Brooks sighed. “I guess so, but that’s the risk we both took, Lev and me. He’s still at Lod Air Base, to handle things from that end.”

He thought about those bodies on the ground at the LZ, massacred by the Syrians. If they deployed the CX9, God only knows whom they’d kill next. Men and women, they weren’t particular. And children. Like those pathetic little bodies they encountered when they dropped in, the suicide bomber in Cairo, and the kid inside the Embassy. All dead. Like so many tens of thousands of kids worldwide, murdered in their blind campaign of bloody vengeance. Even his own sons, sucked into the Islamic blood fest, and who only survived when he and his men rescued them. He felt the turmoil in his guts, and something else stirring in his mind; anger, white, hot anger.

I can’t allow it to go on, to get worse. Not on my watch.

He gave Brooks his answer. “I’ll be along, Sir. I wouldn’t miss this one, not for anything. I know the men will give the same answer when I put it to them.”

The Admiral nodded his appreciation but seemed lost in thought as they rattled across the desert. They eventually reached the settlement of Salmeh, but there was no sign of Guy or Jesse. He stood watching the distant dark horizon, hoping to see movement, to hear the sound of an engine, but there was nothing. Finally, he faced the men, who were waiting, taut with anticipation. On the way back, he’d spelled out what Brooks had outlined. Now it was up to them.

“We’re going into Sheikh Najjar. If any man wants to stand down, it’s their choice, and it won’t reflect badly on their service record. You know if you come with Admiral Brooks and me it’s unofficial, unsanctioned, and …” He battled to find the right words, “and it’ll save a lot of folks from a terrible death if the Syrians get the chance to use that CX9. It’s time to decide. Those who want out, take a step back.”

He waited a full minute, and not a single man moved. Finally, he nodded.

“It’s appreciated, all of you. We have the tools to do the job. The equipment the Israelis sent looks as good as anything we’ve used. And we have an edge. Mahmoud knows a way in. It means we can finish this job, get out, and go home. Let’s get kitted up move out.”

They gave a shout of approval. Nava appeared and stood close to him, looking like a Jewish princess.
 
The moon was enough for him to see her regal face, and he was struck once again by her simple beauty. Even the long, narrow scar failed to take away her obvious attraction. If anything it gave her a plus, like a line of character; as if to proclaim to the world she’d suffered, yet it would take more than a scar to mar her beauty. He stared at her, sensing she wanted to say something. He waited, and then she told him.

“It was a Syrian soldier.”

“Excuse me?”

“He tried to rape me. When I resisted, he pulled a knife.” She hesitated. He thought she’d finished, but she went on. ”It was the final provocation for Mahmoud. When he saw what was happening, he dragged the man off into the desert and killed him. Until then we were silent and anonymous in our isolated village. After that, he went to work for the Israelis. He said anything that will help weaken the Syrian regime is worth working for. He uses the money they give him to help the village, to provide facilities, a new well, education, whatever we need.”

He nodded. “He’s a good man, a lot better than I first realized.”

“Yes, he is. This operation. I know it means a lot…”

“It does.”

“I don’t want anything to happen to Mahmoud,” Her eyes met his, “or you.”

She stepped forward and kissed him. Her arms came around him, and she held him tight, as if she never wanted to let him go. She was something else, this brave, clever girl. After the sandstorm, when they’d made love, he’d felt a connection between them, a mental connection, not just the physical. It was much more than words could describe. Even if he could find the right words, for she was of another place, and another world.

You’re not in Kansas now, Talley.

“We’ll be careful, don’t worry…”

She ignored him. “You both mean a lot to me. I can’t lose you.”

 
“I’ll be back, Nava.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

He left her then. It was time to finish the preparations and head for the target. He found Rovere beside a heap of opened crates, handing out weapons, and he sorted through the boxes until he found what he wanted. A Galil, the iconic Israeli assault rifle. The carbine length model, similar to the MP7 he’d lost when the C-130 went down. The weapon fired the NATO standard 5.56mm cartridge, like the HK 416 he’d used often in the past; a simple rifle, with only six moving parts. It was fitted with a folding stock, making concealment quick and easy. For the kind of fight he expected inside Sheikh Najjar, it was the ideal weapon. Rovere helped himself to a Galil assault rifle, and then handed Talley a huge pistol.

“It’s a Desert Eagle .50 caliber. A monster gun, but the Israelis swear by them. When you hit a man, he does down and doesn’t get up. Period.”

Talley nodded and snapped out the clip to look at the huge rounds. “I can imagine. What about radios?”

The Italian handed him a headset with lightweight boom mic. “It’s good stuff, state of the art Israeli electronics. They know how to make good gear.”