Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (20 page)

Should I send someone to help her take out those extra men? No, this is a job for stealth and skill, not numbers and brawn.

He glanced over at the men watching the screens. “Admiral, anything changed?”

“All quiet.”

“No, wait!” Mahmoud exclaimed. “Something’s moving. A vehicle.”

They watched a big dark green shape, bulky and heavy, approach the compound. Four barrels stuck up from the bodywork at an angle.

“It’s a fucking tank,” someone blurted.

But it wasn’t a tank. It was something altogether more mobile, something with devastating anti-personnel capability.

“Oh, fuck!”

It was another ZSU quad barrel flak gun, a twin to the one they’d destroyed. Its headlights lit up the roadway as it slowed for the final turn, headlights that would illuminate Rebecca Dayan and spell the end of everything. He sensed they were looking at him, waiting for answers, but he had none.

“Shit,” Brooks breathed. “Is this as bad as I think?”

“No, Admiral. It’s worse. We’re screwed.”

Sheikh Najjar – The Fifth Day

Monday 12
^th
May

“You need to call it.”

He looked at Brooks. “I know.”

They had one ace in the hole. The Harop UCAV, circling the sky, patiently waiting for an order. It could destroy the flak gun in an instant, meaning the success of the entire operation could rest on that one weapon, used in the right place, at the right time.

Should I use the Harop? Choose!

She had about three seconds before the formidable ZSU quad-barrel gun swung into the yard and lit up her hiding place.

Can she survive? No, they’ll see her at once and turn the machine guns on her.

Not only would they lose Rebecca Dayan, they’d lose the element of surprise, what little surprise they had left. But no way was he going to toss a member of his unit to the Syrians.

“Launch.”

Brooks was waiting, his fingers poised over the keyboard. He jabbed the button, and a thousand meters above their heads, the drone flipped over and arrowed down toward its target. He watched the screen carefully, making minute adjustments to keep it locked in on the flak gun. The ZSU turned through the gates and into the yard. The massive headlights lit up the entire area, swinging slowly toward the dark patch where the girl hid. He could imagine her, frozen in terror, locked into a tiny area by heavy machine guns, surrounded by scores of Syrian troops, and now the mobile gun moving closer, about to expose her to the brutal fire of the Syrians.

Where’s that fucking drone?

A glimpse of a dark shape in the sky, a shadow, or maybe it was something he imagined, but then the ground shook. A jet of flame shot upward, and the shockwave punched into them the same moment as the flak gun exploded. There was a huge roar as it went up, a combination of the warhead, fuel, and thousands of rounds of ammunition. For a couple of seconds, the entire area was bathed in light. He saw Rebecca Dayan clearly. She was crouched in a hole that only half hid her.

The ZSU disintegrated into a shapeless mass of twisted steel, and the secondary explosions and falling debris slashed into the Syrian troops. Both machine gun emplacements were decimated, and the combination of high explosive and the resultant shower of steel knifed around them, pounding them into scrap. The soldiers on foot never stood a chance. Even if they’d been wearing armored vests, it wouldn’t have helped. The hurricane of flame and steel tore into them and wiped them out. All that remained was torn tissue, bone, and blood, mixed with broken equipment and shreds of uniform.

The tremors of the explosion eased, the darkness returned as the flame flickered and died, and the facility became almost silent. Still, stunned, like a frozen moment in time.

Talley catapulted to his feet.

“Admiral, get over to Rebecca. She’s sure to need help. Vince, cover him. Mahmoud, stay here and monitor the Albatross screen. Warn us if anything changes. Buchmann, Jackson, Reynolds, we need to hit that door before they recover. The explosion bought us a couple of minutes, but no more. Domenico, stay here with Garcia. You’re our blocking force if they bring up reinforcements. Let’s take this place down, people. Time to kick some Syrian ass.”

Brooks was already up and racing toward Rebecca’s position, moving fast for an older man. Talley led the breachers in a lung-bursting run across the open yard until they stood before the steel door. Buchmann handed them the missiles, and they loaded the SIMONs in their Galil assault rifles.

“Remember, it has to be simultaneous, two missiles to each hinge. Jackson and me will take the top two. Reynolds, you and Garcia take the bottom two. On the count of three; one, two…”

They fired, and the breaching missiles tore out of the barrels, propelled by 5.56mm cartridges. They smashed into the hinges together at the exact same moment. The shattering ‘crack’ when they hit punched out a shockwave that made them reel, and the door was shrouded in smoke. They ran forward, but the door was intact. With the bitter, acid taste of defeat filling his mouth, Talley accepted the inevitable. The plan had failed.

“Fuck it! We’re…”

“No, hold it. We can do this!” Drew, their demolitions expert exclaimed.

“How?”

“Those hinges must be weakened. They’ll be on the point of cracking. A couple of frag grenades might just finish ‘em off.”

“You sure?”

“Pretty sure. Only problem is I don’t have any grenades.”

“I do,” Buchmann growled. He took four M26 missiles from his pack and handed them to Jackson, who snatched them and wedged them against the hinges.

“Ready?”

Talley nodded. “Do it?”

He pulled the pin from the grenade next to the top hinge and another grenade fastened to the bottom hinge. The sprung lever flipped up into the air.

“Run!”

They sprinted away until Talley shouted for them to hit the dirt. He crashed down and was almost flat on the ground when the grenades exploded. They all heard a final ‘crack’ as debris showered down over them. He leapt to his feet and ran to the door. It sagged open on cracked hinges. The four men put their hands behind the thick steel edge and pulled. The heavy steel portal tilted over and crashed to the ground. They were in!

Bulbs, protected inside armored glass cases, lit the staircase. They went down in a rush, reached the bottom, and stopped before another door. It was made of glass, the edges fitted with rubber gaskets, a biological containment door. Should they smash through it, or was there something nasty the other side? Like CX9, leaking from containers damaged in the explosions and floating loose in the atmosphere; enough to kill them only seconds after they breached the door.

He put his head close to the glass and peered in. A man was on the inside, about to put his hand on the door handle to open it. He wasn’t wearing a respirator or protective gear, a good sign. He signaled to them to move into the shadows. The door opened, and Buchmann stepped forward and tapped the man on the head with the butt of his assault rifle. He slumped to the ground, blood pouring from his broken skull.

“Buchmann, we need to keep a man conscious enough to tell us what we’re up against inside.”

The German shrugged. “The monkey probably didn’t speak English.”

“We’ll never know. Hold your fire and don’t smash anything. We don’t know what they have down here, but this place exists to produce CX9, and it could be stored anywhere. If you do have to shoot someone, make sure you’re up close and don’t miss. Let’s go.”

He stepped through the door and into the facility. It was divided into sealed containment rooms on either side, with a narrow corridor through the center. There was no one in sight, but they could hear music from the far end of the passage.

“Buchmann, there may be a rest room there. Check it out. Remember, no snap shooting, and try to locate us a prisoner.”

The German smiled wolfishly. “Understood.”

He dragged out his huge combat knife and ran lightly toward the source of the music. Talley turned to the other two men.

“Drew, find a way to destroy this place. If they make CX9 shells, they must have stockpiles of explosives.”

Jackson nodded. “I’ll take a look around.”

“Roy, we have to check out the containment rooms. There must be some people down here, unless they only come in the daytime. We need to find out, and don’t forget Rothstein; he’s the key to the whole damn thing.”

They went to the first of the containment rooms. It was completely empty, so they left the door closed, just in case. The second room was also empty. Dust marks on the floor made it obvious the Syrians had moved something out of the place recently, but what? Before they reached the third room, Buchmann came back with a prisoner, holding him off the ground by the collar, so his feet were scraping along the ground.

“He was in the room at the end, a rest room.”

“Alone?”

The German shook his head. “There were two others with him, soldiers.” He shrugged. “Now there is just him.”

“Leave him with us. Get back to the end of the passage and start working back there and check each of the containment rooms. But don’t go inside, Heinrich. We’re looking for bio-containment tanks, or even prepared CX9 shells.”

“You think I don’t know what is inside?”

He stood and stared. Talley realized he was seeing a side to the German he hadn’t seen before. The man was afraid, terrified of the invisible death, the CX9 that lurked somewhere in this place. The huge trooper swallowed and stomped away to the end of the passageway. Talley looked at the prisoner. He was short and wiry, slightly built, and wore a white lab coat. His chin was partly unshaven, and his hair was wild and disheveled. He wore glasses, round rimless glasses with wire arms clipped around his ears. The lenses were smeared and grimy with sweat.

“Do you speak English?”

The man nodded. “Yes, of course. I was educated in England.”

Despite his obvious terror, the reply was delivered with a degree of arrogance, a man used to calling the shots.

Is it possible this is Rothstein? But he doesn’t look like a man the Syrians tortured to give up information.

“Who are you?"

“I am Professor Benjamin Rothstein. Who the hell are you?”

Talley forced himself to be calm. “My name is Commander Abe Talley, Echo Six. It’s good to see you, Sir. We’re here to get you out and destroy this place.”

A shadow passed over Rothstein’s face.

Relief maybe, or something else?

 
“Echo Six? That’s Guy’s outfit? That’s amazing. Where is he?”

“He’s not with us right now,” Talley replied smoothly. “How far have they got here, did they manage to create the gas? The CX9?”

The scientist stared at him. “You know about it?”

“We do, yes. What’s the deal?”

A pause. The man wore a strange expression, almost a sneer.

He's a scientist. They're all weird, aren’t they?

 
“Well, er…the gas is in production. You came too late.”

Talley waited for more, but Rothstein stayed silent. “Do you know where they store the gas?”

The man didn’t answer.

Definitely weird, or maybe the torture had been especially bad.

“Right, we’ll find it.” He looked at Roy. “Take care of him. I’ll see how Drew is doing.”

He found Jackson laying a long, thin cable toward the staircase.

“What’s the deal?”

He looked concerned. “I found a supply of explosives, but they’re for use in artillery shells, so no detonators. I had to improvise, but the device will need to be ignited from a long wire. A battery powered switch box should set it off, but the difficulty is being far enough away when it goes up.”

“What’s the distance?”

“The length of this cable.”

He nodded. “Do the best you can.” He indicated to the scientist they’d found, waiting silently. “This is Benjamin Rothstein.” The two men nodded a greeting. “Buchmann is checking out the rest of the facility for any hostiles, but so far there’s only him, and a couple of soldiers, but he dealt with them. We’re leaving ASAP, but watch yourself when you poke your head out up top. They’re covering us with the machine guns, but you know the Syrians have us outnumbered and outgunned. Our best hope is they’re still too stunned to recover.”

He grinned. “When they do recover, let’s hope they’re crappy shots.”

Talley started up the staircase, moving to the side as footsteps descended. He raised his Galil, but it was Admiral Brooks with Rebecca Dayan. She was covered in soot and grime, her camos ripped and burned. She’d lost her helmet, and underneath her chin was a bright red weal where the strap had jerked up when it was torn off her, presumably by the blast of the UCAV.

“You made it.”

She gave him a curt nod. “Only thanks to the Admiral. I was stunned after the explosion, and I blundered into a bunch of Syrians, four soldiers out for blood. They thought I was a gift from Allah, maybe an advance on the virgins from Paradise.” She grinned, recalling the moment. “I thought I was dead. I’d lost my weapons, and I was in no shape to take them on, but Carl came on them and the rest was history.
 
Four shots, four kills.”

Carl?

“It was nothing. They were rookies,” Brooks muttered. Even in the dark, it was possible to see his embarrassment. “They must have been hiding somewhere, trying to avoid contact with the enemy. Bad move.”

Talley nodded. “We’re about to blow this place; Drew’s fixing it up now. We need to start moving back a long way away from this place. When it goes up, who knows how far the nerve gas will spread.”

Brooks grimaced. “Maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea to warn the locals.”

“Warn them?” Rebecca Dayan was suddenly energized with anger. “They developed these things to use against my country, and now we are about to destroy them, you want to take the time to warn them? Give them a chance to stop us? Are you mad?”