Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (22 page)

"Get a suit on, Naseem. We're going outside to survey the damage." He faced the other two men in the room, who were both wore frightened expressions. "You men will stay here and monitor the situation. Make sure you keep the airlock closed until we return, and keep trying the radios. It may be the overload circuits have tripped, and they may reset sometime later."

"Sir, without an NBC suit, we'll…"

"I gave you an order, Private," Hafiz hissed at him. "Continue with your duties until I return."

The man nodded, still unhappy. He made no move to step back, until the Major put his hand on the butt of his pistol. Sullenly, the soldier moved away, and Hafiz pulled on the suit, locked the helmet securely closed, and switched on the air supply. Naseem was ahead of him, ready to enter the airlock, his suit fully secured. Hafiz nodded, and the two men walked into the tiny chamber.

Corporal Naseem began to close and secure the inner door, made gastight with thick rubber seals. Hafiz waited by the control to evacuate the air from the chamber and equalize the airlock pressure with the outside atmosphere. The control room was kept at a higher pressure to minimize the risk of contamination. Naseem suddenly called out.

"The warning light, Sir! The seal integrity of the inner door is damaged, probably in the explosion. We can't open the outer door. You know what will happen. The gas will leak into the control room, and they’ll be killed!"

Hafiz stared at the warning light, which was indeed glowing red.

Shit!

"Is there any way you can fix it? Perhaps a piece of debris has jammed in the seal."

The Corporal shook his head and pointed. "It's split, Sir. The rubber has ripped where it meets the flange. It's impossible to repair it. It will have to be replaced. We’ll have to wait for help."

It took Hafiz less than five seconds to decide. Allah had greater designs for him than waiting in a badly sealed room, surrounded by nerve gas. He pressed the button, and the air hissed as positive pressure inside the chamber began to lessen.

"It's too bad, but we have to get out of here. We have work to do. They'll have to take their chances."

Naseem stared at him in disbelief. One of the men back in the control room was his cousin, Faraj. His wife would take it hard. He knew that.
 
Besides, she had children to feed, and her elderly parents counted on her, on her husband’s pay, for food. But he knew there was nothing he could do. If he tried to argue with Major Hafiz, it was possible he’d be ordered to hand over his suit to one of the other men. No matter the suffering of Faraj’s family, Naseem chose life over death.

"Yes, Sir," he murmured. There was just enough of a reproof in his voice to let the other man know how he felt about it. He’d done all he could. The pressure equalized, and he moved to open the outer door. They walked out into the silence. The huge space had become a mausoleum, a place of the dead. Naseem turned and looked back through the glass of the control room. Already the two men were clutching at their throats as the gas destroyed their lungs. He quickly checked the integrity on his own suit. It wasn't a pretty way to die.

Hafiz saw the direction of his gaze and the dying men, and sneered. They were just stupid peasants, and whether they lived or died had little consequence, they could soon be replaced. All that mattered was to get away from this place of horrors, find a radio, and make contact with his headquarters. And then the hunt for the infidels would begin.

This time there will be no mistake. I'll catch up with them, no matter what it takes, no matter how
many people I have to torture and kill to find them. Those foreign soldiers are dead men walking.

* * *

They waited on the bank for Drew Jackson in the shelter of a small grove of palm trees. After an hour, Talley began to have misgivings, but the demolitions specialist appeared just as it was full dawn. They saw him from a distance. The yellow suit was bright against the dank, dark gray surface of the water. He finally reached them, and they helped him up the bank and began to unfasten the seals on his NBC suit. He shook himself out of the thick folds of hot, yellow plastic; red faced and bathed in sweat.

"Damn, am I glad to get out of that. How far is this place from the plant?"

"Maybe three kilometers," Talley replied. "But it's far enough. The wind is blowing to the north away from here, so we're safe. Drew, that was something else, what you did back there. We won’t forget it in a hurry."

He shrugged. "There wasn't much risk. I hunkered down in a deep hole, and my only worry was if a piece of blast debris damaged my suit, but it didn't happen.” He grinned. “How do we get out of here?"

"We walk. It’s the only way. I estimate we’re about twenty kilometers from Salmeh, so if we start now, we’ll be there by midday. Barring accidents."

Brooks came by and overheard. "Accidents like running into a division of Syrian troops? We’re mighty vulnerable now it’s daylight.”

"That’s true, Sir, except which troops are going to come looking once they know there's been a leak of nerve gas? My guess is they'll give whole area a wide berth. Our main worry is military overflights. We'll have to cover our back-trail and keep a sharp lookout aircraft. If they see us, they'll likely strafe us or use bombs. Either way, our only defense is to be invisible."

Brooks grimaced. "We can only cover our tracks so far. If they send in a squadron of gunships flying at low level, they will find us. And if they find us…"

"Yeah, I know," Talley interrupted. "If they find us, NATFOR will be looking for new personnel."

Near Salmeh – The Fifth Day

"You what?"

He stared at Rothstein. They’d stopped at the halfway mark, all of them exhausted after the strain of the action the night before. Slogging through soft sand that sucked at their boots like glue made it worse. They were like a line of Zombies, plodding slowly and endlessly across the harsh desert. The scientist was talking to his fellow Israeli, Rebecca Dayan, and she called out for them to listen.

"I told you back at Sheikh Najjar,” he said irritably. “The first consignment of CX9 shells has already left."

“No, the other part,” she prompted him.
 

Before he could answer, Brooks intervened. "Professor Rothstein, what quantities are we talking here, how much did they ship out?"

The Israeli shrugged. "I don't know, but I would guess about a quarter of the total quantity of material, maybe two hundred shells. We loaded the explosive propellant and the warheads in a single process back at Sheikh Najjar, and crated them ready to ship out to the front."

“Rothstein, the timescale. Tell us.”

He hesitated but finally told them what he knew. “They didn’t tell me, but I overheard an officer talking about the date for the attack."

They waited for him to go on, but he was silent. Rebecca exploded.

“For fuck’s sake, when is it? Tell us, or I’ll kill you with my bare hands.”

His voice was quiet, a guilty murmur. "At dawn, less than two days time. About eighteen hours, I would think."

"Eighteen hours!” Talley felt like tearing the man apart himself. “You have to be kidding me. Our intel people had it down for Al Naqba, what changed?"

Rothstein inclined his head. "You are correct, Al Naqba was the planned day for the launch, but the Syrians are not fools. They knew my disappearance from the Israeli Embassy in Cairo would create a furor, and then they heard of a Special Forces incursion planned for this region. They put two and two together.”

There it is again. How in God’s name did they hear about our operation? When I find the person responsible, I’ll tear his guts out.

Rebecca was incandescent with anger. "How the fuck could you help these people? You know they’re threatening our nation, the State of Israel? What you’ve done could kill us all."

"I had no choice," Rothstein moaned. "They tortured me for hour after hour. I had to tell them what I knew. I'm sorry, but I'm a scientist, not a soldier, and I only gave in when I couldn't take any more."

She gave him a final look of contempt and turned away.

"Do you know where they've taken the nerve gas shells?" Talley pressed him.

"To the Golan Heights. The Syrians have a disguised artillery battery in a village that overlooks the Israeli defensive positions."

"And they plan to attack Israel in eighteen hours, you’re certain?"

He nodded. "Yes, when they were loading the shells, I heard some of them talking.”

"We have to get to Salmeh," Rebecca snapped out. "Now we know the altered timescale, we need to alert my people."

Brooks nodded. “I'll contact Major-General Lev Weiss when we get to Salmeh and ask him to put the IDF on full alert. They'll need to issue protective gear to the troops, especially the men in the area of the Golan. I would imagine with a threat as big as this they'll take it seriously. I suggest we get started. Every minute we wait here is a minute gained for the enemy.” He stared at Rothstein. “Mister, you’d better know the location of that village.”

Rothstein stared back at him. “I have no idea. No idea at all.”

* * *

They reached Salmeh in the full glare of the desert sun. The time was 1300, and they'd almost jogged for the entire second leg of the journey from the river. Talley almost fell to the ground with exhaustion as they reached the settlement, and it was only with an extreme effort of will he kept to his feet. Rothstein was lagging behind. He'd moaned and protested for most of the way, and in the end there'd been no choice but to assign two troopers to guard him, Reynolds and Garcia, while they pressed on to reach Salmeh as fast as possible. Nava saw them coming to the village, and she rushed out to greet him.

"Abe! You look terrible. Are you hurt?"

She didn't look terrible. Her face had concern written all over it, and Talley realized already he was forgetting about the scar, as if it was some integral part of her beauty and her mystique.

"Not even a scratch. It was just heavy going over the sand. How's the boy? The young Syrian soldier we brought in."

"He's regained consciousness a couple of times, but he's in a lot of pain, and Rabbi Gold had to sedate him to ease it. Don't worry; he's a damn good doctor. The boy is in good hands, but what about you? You look all in, covered in sweat. I'll fetch some water to cool you down."

He stopped her. "Not now, we have to establish communication with General Weiss."

"Was it bad, Sheikh Najjar?"

He told her about the CX9 plant, and that they'd destroyed it.

"Fortunately, the winds are blowing to the north, so this place won't be affected."

She didn't seem relieved. "What about the people who will be? The people in the direct line of the nerve gas cloud."

"I'm sorry, but we didn't make the stuff. We just had to destroy it, and there was no other way. All I can say is the area is an empty patch of desert. With any luck, no one will be caught by the cloud."

"I hope not."

He could see she wasn't completely satisfied with his answer, but it was the truth, and there was no other way. Mahmoud had ducked into the hut with the computer equipment, and he emerged to inform them everything was ready. Talley excused himself.

"We're making contact with Tel Aviv right now. I have to go."

She nodded. "Me too, it's time for me to change my patient's dressings. I'll see you later."

To his astonishment, she quickly stepped forward and gave him a light kiss on the lips before she skipped away. Brooks was staring at him, and he felt himself redden.

"If you're ready, Commander?"

"Yes, of course. Sorry."

"Yeah, she's a nice looking girl, but all the same..."

He followed the Admiral inside and watched as his boss sat in front of the screen and started a video conversation with Lev Weiss. He summed up their operation in a few sentences and explained about the artillery battery in the Golan Heights, preparing to fire CX9 shells into Israel. Weiss exploded.

"The bastards! They've been quiet for a time, and we hoped the Syrians had decided to call a halt to their crazy plans. My priority is to make sure our troops are put on full alert. I’ll talk to our Defense Ministry, but it’s doubtful they’ll sanction a preemptive strike. I don't like it, but that’s the way they’ve become, fucking ‘appeasement’. That's all they talk about. They don’t seem to remember the State of Israel hasn't survived by waiting on the enemy to make the first move. Our main difficulty will be locating this artillery battery. Anything you can do?”

“We have the scientist, Rothstein. I think he knows more than he’s telling us.”

“Pump him, Carl. Get it out of him. If we can locate those CX9 shells, the Air Force can go in and give them a good pounding. We could even send in the paratroops if we only knew that location. Listen, Carl, your men have performed a miracle just getting as far as you have, but there’s one more piece of the jigsaw I need. The timescale, when are those bastards planning to go?”

“We already know, Lev. It’s eighteen hours.”

Weiss stared back in silence. “You’re serious.”

“I am. I’m sorry.”

“Then we’re screwed. I barely have the authority to order replacement toilet paper, let alone a full-scale strike. My masters will want endless talks, and call for the other side to meet to discuss peace, before they’ll make a decision. Eighteen hours! They seem to think by letting the Arabs do as they please, the peace will hold."

"Until the nerve gas starts to rain down on your cities and towns,” Brooks replied.
 

“Yes, until then. Carl, you're the man on the spot. You have to locate that battery and find those shells."

Brooks was silent for a few moments, considering what was being asked of them. “I’ll talk to the men, Lev. But I'd get to work on your Ministry of Defense and light a fire under them."

He grunted. "They're not the men they used to be, Carl. I'll do what I can, but see what you can put together from there. We have to find that battery. I'll call back in a couple of hours."

"I wish you luck, old friend. Brooks out."

He turned to Talley. "You can tell the men to stand down and get some rest. All we can do until he calls back is wait.”

“And if his people won’t listen?
 
Maybe think it’s some kind of a trick, to force their hand?”

He shook his head. “Unless Weiss comes up with something, we're all in the shitter."

"Not quite, Admiral Brooks."

They both looked at Mahmoud Khalil. He'd been standing unnoticed in the shadows at the rear of the hut.

"What have you got?" Brooks almost shouted the question, a measure of his desperation.

"If you leave me with the computer connection, I can make contact with some people I know. They may be able to help."

Brooks eyed him warily. "Army?"

"The people I have in mind are smugglers. They run the border trade around the Golan Heights, between Syria and Israel. I doubt there is any part of the Golan they are not familiar with, and there’s a good chance they’ll have seen activity in the area where the Syrians took the shells. I mean there’d have to have been extra transports, more troops. Those are the signs I’d tell them to look for.”

“It makes sense,” Brooks nodded.

“Yes. It's only an outside chance, but if they have seen anything, I will call you."

Brooks nodded. "It's appreciated."

Mahmoud shook his head. "There is no need for appreciation. It’s as important to us here as it is to every Israeli Jew. If we lose our homeland, we lose everything, and we could face a repeat of the Nazis. The Iranians are already waiting to step into their jackboots.”

“I understand, Mr. Khalil.
 
Do what you can. Find that place, and we’ll do our best to make sure it never happens.”

He took the seat Brooks had just vacated and started tapping at the keys to begin making contact. They left him and went back outside. Rebecca was waiting, her eyes burning with fire and righteous wrath.

"I do not believe that man is telling the truth," she snapped.

"Rothstein?" Brooks asked.

She nodded. "Benjamin Rothstein. Nothing he says rings true. No Israeli would give away what he did, not to an enemy like Syria. Think about it. The key to the destruction of the State of Israel! It's unbelievable, and I don’t believe it. It couldn't have happened, not the way he said."
 

"Rebecca, no one knows what they'll do when they're tortured. Rothstein said they worked him over, and he only gave in when it became unbearable. It must have been pretty bad."

"Really?" she snorted at Talley. “If that’s true, where are the scars?”

“They’re probably hidden. The guy was hurt real bad. You should have some sympathy for your fellow countryman.”

She eyed him for a few moments and then nodded. “I agree, and he will have my sympathy. When he shows me the scars. Where are the scars?”

He looked at Brooks, who shrugged, as if to say, ‘search me?’ And then Talley remembered Rothstein’s odd choice of words. That he’d ‘disappeared’, not been ‘kidnapped’.

It’s a fair question. Where are the scars?
 
He didn’t seem that distressed when we found him in
the underground nerve gas facility. Why was that?

“Okay, let’s have a chat with the guy, but handle him carefully, clear? He may be on the level with us.”

She nodded. “I will find him and bring him here, where we can speak without the men overhearing.”

She left and returned a few minutes later with the scientist. Rovere and Buchmann followed behind him. It looked to Talley as if Rebecca had warned them, and they were blocking any chance of escape. He felt a twinge of pity for the Israeli. He was looking around uneasily. But he dismissed the feeling.

If the guy's guilty, he deserves to burn in hell.

“What is it, what’s the problem?” Rothstein blurted, making a show of righteous anger.

“We’ve got a problem, Professor Rothstein,” Talley answered. “Maybe you can help us.”

“I’ll do what I can.”

“Good. Tell us about Syrian torture techniques. Which part of your body did they work on?”

The scientist went pale, and he shook his head, as if someone had punched him. In that moment, they all knew the truth. He’d given the Syrians everything they’d asked him for, but why?

“I, er, it was, on my body.”

“Show us.”

His expression was appalled. Fearful. Remembering the torture, or something else?