Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (25 page)

Good!

It meant he'd connected. Still the Syrian got in a hard punch that he narrowly avoided by jerking his head back. It still slid off the side of his forehead, and he hit back, dealing the other man a haymaker that snapped into his chin. Talley scrambled him, but the Syrian wasn’t finished. He snatched a knife, hidden in his boot, and stabbed at Talley's throat. He blocked the blow and punched again and again. This time the blows hit the center of his face, and the Syrian cried out as a jet of blood poured out from his ruined nose. Talley hit him again. It was a killing blow, a vicious chop with the edge of his hand that crushed the officer’s windpipe. The man twisted away in agony and went down face forward in the sand. He had to be finished, and Talley reached down to check for a pulse.

It was a feint. The Syrian suddenly whirled, the knife still grasped in his hand, poised to deliver a vicious slash up into Talley’s crotch. He nearly succeeded, but as the wicked blade was only inches away, Rebecca appeared, her pistol raised. She fired a single shot, and the bullet smacked into the man's head almost exactly between his eyes. He fell back to the sand, and this time there was no second coming. Talley nodded his thanks and looked for another target, but the fight had ended.

"Did we get them all?"

She shook her head. "Two got away, and they're headed out into the desert. Julio and Roy went after them, but they got a good start."

"Is there anywhere for them to go in that direction?”

"I don't know, but the desert is vast, and they can lose themselves there until they reach their own people."

At that moment, Julio Garcia came rushing back. "Roy’s still on their tail, but we could lose them. There’s too much ground to cover. We need more men to make a search party."

Talley looked around. Brooks and Rovere were still covering the entrance to the settlement. He realized bitterly he'd posted them at the wrong place, or he should have made certain to position at least one man the other end to prevent an escape. But there just weren’t enough men.

Would one man have made the difference?
 
Maybe. But what’s done is done. If those escapers get away and back to their unit, the situation will be lost. The people who moved here to escape the ravages of Syrian oppression; they’ll be wiped out, men, women, and children. It's time for damage control, not worrying about what might have been.

"Vince, Rebecca, come with me. We have to go after them. The rest of you, guard the settlement. It shouldn't take long. Either we find them quickly, or they’re gone for good."

He knew he’d pronounced a possible sentence of death on Salmeh, a real sentence of death if they didn’t get the escapers. It was time to start packing their things ready to move out. He started running, Vince followed, and then Rebecca made up her mind and sprinted after them. They ran through the soft, almost impassable sand. Every step was harder, more difficult than the previous one. The soft surface sucked at their boots, so it was like running through a marsh, though this surface rarely saw any water. It took them a quarter of an hour to reach the first dune, and when they reached the top, panting in the hot desert air and their lungs bursting in pain, they found Reynolds. He was surveying the empty desert ahead of them, a vast, empty space.

Anything?"

He shook his head. "Not a thing. The bastards ran along the slope of the dune, and the sand shifted to cover their footprints. No way will we find them."

He didn’t reply, couldn’t reply. The enormity of the Syrians' escape was beyond consideration. It meant they really had brought destruction and death to this hitherto peaceful place. They were waiting for a decision, go on or head back. With agonizing reluctance, he gave the only possible order.

"We'll head back to the village. We could spend days out here and not find them."

"What about the people who live there?"

He looked at Rebecca. "They'll have to evacuate and find somewhere else to live. That place is certain death to anyone who stays."

"Some of them will be reluctant to leave. It could be hard making them go."

"They'll go," he said grimly. "At gunpoint if necessary. I'm not leaving anyone to be slaughtered by the Syrians. Let's head back."

He turned and started back down the dune, retracing their steps to Salmeh. When they reached it, the settlement was in uproar. Civilians had emerged from hiding and were gaping at the results of the brief fight. Bodies were strewn over the sand, and the big Ural truck was completely wrecked, reduced to scrap by the hits from the SIMON projectiles. Everywhere, there was debris, shards of steel, cartridge cases, fragments of uniform and equipment.

It was familiar to Echo Six, but to these people it was a new nightmare. Hell had come to Salmeh, and it would never be the same again. The violence that visited this place had torn their lives asunder. Brooks was talking quietly to Mahmoud and Rabbi Gold. Talley approached them and gave them the news about the escapers.

"I'm sorry, but they’ll bring down the military on this place. They'll kill everyone, men, women, and children. You'll have to evacuate, all of you."

"What have you done?" Gold shouted in fury. He'd drawn himself up like an avenging Abraham, a biblical Patriarch filled with righteous anger. His flowing beard jutted forward almost like a weapon, jabbing at him as the Rabbi ranted. "We were at peace here until you arrived. We have done everything to help you, and in return you tell us we have lost everything!"

For a few moments, he was lost for words. And then he saw two young children playing by the well. They couldn't have been older than eight or nine years old, a boy and a girl. He recalled the children he'd seen on this operation, caught up in the crazed Islamic struggle. The boy suicide bomber, and the other kid, the one they'd shot inside the Embassy. There were the bodies massacred on the sand, which they found when they landed. The young soldier, tortured, and being tended inside one of the huts, Talley's two sons, kidnapped so they could be used as pawns in the Islamic lunacy. At least he'd got them back, although he still regretted the loss of life there’d been along the way. They were alive, just as those two kids playing on the sand were alive. But the others were all dead, just like these would be if they stayed here.

"You haven't lost everything, Rabbi Gold. Look at those kids. They’re alive, like the rest of your people. You’ll stay alive if you get out of here now, and you'll find somewhere else to call home. But it won't be Salmeh."

"We're not leaving."

He sighed.

Doesn’t he understand? I remember the stories of Jews in Nazi Germany refusing to leave, always believing things would get better. God would not allow anything terrible to happen. But things never did get better, and those people are long dead. Not again, dear God, no!

"You have to leave. Otherwise, you’ll condemn these people to death."

Gold shook his head. "God will decide who lives and dies, not the Syrians and not you. We stay."

"The hell you will, not if I have anything to do with it!" He appealed to Brooks. "Sir, we have to get these people out of here before the military arrive. More than enough blood has been spilled on this sand. Let's make sure there isn't any more."

He nodded. "I agree. Rabbi Gold, you have to lead them out."

The man glared at him, like an Old Testament Prophet. "No."

Talley turned to Roy. "Get the men together, and start rounding up the civilians. We're marching out in one hour, whether they like it or not."

"And if they refuse?"

"Threaten to shoot them, anything, but make them move."

"Roger that."

The Sergeant wheeled away and went to locate the men.

"You're no better than the Nazis," Gold spat at him. "What are you going to do, put us in a camp?"

Talley stared back at him, feeling his own rage beginning to swell. "Look around you, Rabbi, women, children, the sick, the elderly. They don’t have a decision to make. They have to rely on those who are strongest. You stay here, and you condemn them all to death. My friend, you may be insane enough to let that happen, but we're not." He looked at Mahmoud. "Can I rely on you to help out? You know what’ll happen if they stay."

The Syrian nodded. "I will help. Come, Rabbi, let us talk."

He left them to it and went to find Nava. She was waiting outside the doorway to her hut, and she nodded a greeting.

"I assume you've come for my help."

"You know it has to be done. If we don't get these people away, they'll be massacred."

"The Syrians, you think they will come?"

"I know they'll come, and they'll be spoiling for blood."

She nodded. "I will do my best, give me a few hours."

"You have one hour, not a minute more. Any longer, and they could be here."

“In that case I will make a start.”

* * *

He checked his wristwatch. Exactly an hour had passed. They were assembled in the center of the village, a pathetic column, and their faces sullen. They all carried bags and cases, and once again he recalled the photos and newsreels from the Second World War. Jews dragged out of their homes and forced onto trains heading east.

But what can I do?
 
I'm trying to save their lives, not murder them.

He saw Nava waving to him from the Rabbi's hut, and he walked over.

"The young Syrian soldier, he is conscious again."

"That's good news. Will he be able to walk?"

Her face dropped. "Walk! It's out of the question, but we still have the SUV hidden under the camouflage. I thought we could use it to carry those unable to walk."

He shook his head. "No chance. The vehicle will kick up a dust cloud. They'll have aircraft up looking for us. The moment they spot that vehicle, they'll send in gunships or fighter-bombers. I'm sorry."

She stared at him. "Perhaps you'd better come inside and see how he is."

He entered the hut. They'd dressed the boy in a clean shirt and pants, patched and threadbare, but at least they covered most of his tortured body. It also meant he was no longer wearing Syrian Army uniform, which would have marked him out for a firing squad, the usual punishment for deserters. His eyes were open, and he gave them a faint smile of greeting.

"You are the man who saved me, yes?"

"You speak English?" he asked in surprise.

"Yes, I speak English. My name is Ali Nasri. Before they forced me to join the Army, I was at school in Damascus, studying politics and foreign affairs. It was essential to learn English to understand what was happening in the world. But I learned too much, especially the extent of the tyranny of the Assad regime.”

“I doubt that went down well with Damascus.”

“No. When I tried to talk about it, I spent three months in prison where I was beaten daily. Finally, when they needed soldiers to fight the rebels, they offered me a choice."

Talley nodded. "Join the Army or stay in prison."

"No. The choice was join the Army, or a death sentence."

"Not much of a choice. Ali, we need to leave before the Syrian Army gets here. Are you able to walk?"

He shook his head. "I'm sorry, but when Nava came and told me you were leaving, I got out of bed and tried to walk. It was impossible. I took a step and collapsed. You'll have to leave me. You know you have no choice."

Talley glanced at Nava, but she was expressionless.

What does she expect me to do? Carry him on my shoulders? It's not as if I don’t have enough burdens.

He walked out of the hut and saw the line of civilians, some of them very old, many of them young, all clutching their bundles and possessions. They wouldn't all make it. It was a long track through the desert to Aleppo, even if they didn't fall prey to some passing Syrian patrol. Some of these kids and old folks were going to die. And the kid they'd brought from Aleppo, the boy soldier, there was no way he'd make the journey either. He should be in an ER room, not about to embark on a tough desert crossing.

"Not a pretty sight."

He looked up as Rebecca spoke. She'd come up behind him.

"No. If there was any other way, I'd do it."

"It is the way of us Jews," she responded sadly. "It always has been. Ever since the diaspora, we have been at the mercy of soldiers, except in Israel. The one place where we have stood firm and refused to let our tormentors destroy us, until now."

It suddenly came home to him how serious were the consequences if this operation failed. The real casualties were people like these Jews about to leave their homes for what could become a death march across the desert, at least for some of them. And then there was Israel, where this scene could be repeated a thousand times over. The Syrians still had a supply of CX9 shells deployed close to the Israeli border. Ever since Cairo, there was a trail of bodies to mark their passing.

There must be something we can do, some way to save these people from the horrors awaiting them, to prevent the Syrians from launching Armageddon on Israel and whichever other country they decide to target next; to stop the butchery and find some justice for those who have been killed in the name of Islamic fanaticism. Most of all, how can we stop these bastards killing the kids?