Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (3 page)

"Your boss came through on the secure communications channel, said he needs to speak to you as a priority."

Dear God, not another mission. Not now, it's too soon. These men are not ready. If they send them into the field the way they are now, they'd better send in a supply of body bags to bring them out.

He took the offered headset and placed it on his head.

"Talley."

"Brooks. I gather it went well.”

Vice-Admiral Carl Brooks, the short black fireplug of a man who was the driving force behind NATFOR, the NATO division that managed Special Operations across the world.

"Well enough, Sir, but they need more time."

"Time is a luxury for all of us, Commander. I’m sorry.” He didn’t sound apologetic. “A luxury we don't have right now. Our Israeli friends have a problem, and your unit is the nearest."

Talley looked out the window and saw they’d changed course, and were heading west along the Mediterranean coastline. They should have vectored southeast, back to Prince Sultan Air Base in Saudi, home to elements of the United States Military Training Mission. Friendly territory.

“Where are we headed, Admiral?”

“Egypt, Cairo, to be exact. The Israeli Embassy just got hit by a bunch of Palestinians. It happened less than an hour ago. They sent out an emergency signal, and the request for assistance hit my desk. For obvious reasons, the Israelis don't want to send a Special Operations detachment into Cairo. So they put it on our plate. They were impressed with the way Echo Six worked with them on the simulated Hostage Rescue. Your mission is to infiltrate the Embassy, using whatever means necessary, and get the survivors out, all of them. It's exactly what you've trained for, Commander."

He cursed. The simulations had gone well, that much was true. But this time it would be the real thing, and with a unit that was a patchwork of newcomers, rookies, not hardened veterans; they’d be fighting inside a country that was Muslim, whose people were bitterly opposed to everything that NATO and the Western World stood for. He heard Brooks continue; cutting him off before he could object.

"I briefed the pilot, and he's changed course for Cairo. Get those Israelis out, Talley. And deal with the insurgents. It's time to show those bastards they can't invade foreign embassies anytime they feel like it. Make sure you protect the Ambassador; the Israelis wouldn't thank us if he caught a bullet during the operation. There's someone else you need to look out for, a VIP who happened to be visiting the Embassy when the terrorists attacked. His name is Professor Benjamin Rothstein. Apparently, he was in Cairo looking at antiquities and called in to discuss something about his visa. He's a well-known amateur collector, and something of a celebrity inside Israel. They said it’s vital you get him out."

"Who is he, Admiral?"

"No idea. Just that he’s important to the State of Israel, and that’s good enough for me. They've uploaded the schematics of the Embassy building to our computers, and I'm making them available to your tablet as we speak. Good luck, Talley. The Israelis will owe us big time if you pull this one off."

Talley went to reply, but he’d signed off. He took off the headset and handed it back.

Who the hell is this Benjamin Rothstein, and what does he do? Why is he so important? One thing’s for sure; he’s not just an amateur collector of antiquities.

He thanked the pilot and made his way aft. Over the thunder of the engines, he outlined the operation to his men. Guy Welland, his number two, glanced at the schematic that had downloaded to their tactical tablet.

"I assume we'll fast-rope from the Osprey?"

Talley nodded. "It's our best bet. The camel jockeys could have any number of spotters in the area. Our only chance of getting those people out alive will be to go in fast, and hit the enemy before they realize we’re there."

He stopped as the overhead speaker clicked. The voice was loud enough to be heard over the noise.

"This is the Captain. We're fifteen minutes out."

Talley turned his attention back to Guy. "Get them ready, and make sure they double-check everything. This will be the first time on a live mission for some of them, and the Israelis will be watching our every move. There’s something else, Brooks told us to look out for a visitor who was caught inside. His name is Benjamin Rothstein, Professor Benjamin Rothstein."

Sergeant Welland paled. "Benjamin Rothstein, are you sure?"

Talley gave him a curious glance. Guy was agitated, which was unusual for the former SAS man.

"Does the name mean something to you?"

He shook his head. "Probably not."

He put it out of his head. There was a hell of a lot to do. Rappelling from a hovering Osprey was not something to be taken lightly. The downwash from the huge rotors was something else, like climbing down a mountainside in the teeth of a hurricane. He went through the mechanical process of checking his weapons, an MP7 assault carbine, and his Sig Sauer P226, a nine-millimeter automatic. Then he walked to the ramp at the rear of the cabin, and one by one tested each rappelling rope. Satisfied they were secure, he went to each man in turn for a quick glance to make certain they were ready.

Jesse Whitefeather was conferring with their other sniper, Vince DiMosta, and he noted the new man looked calm and confident; that was good. So far, he'd acquitted himself well and got on with the other men, with one exception. Sergeant Heinrich Buchmann, the huge, tough, German, who despised him because of his Native American heritage. Buchmann was the lead breacher, taking over from Roy Reynolds, after the tough black Sergeant took one bullet too many. Too much busting into buildings and getting his body shot to pieces in the process meant he had to take a step back. Buchmann looked indestructible and probably was, but he was an ardent racist and a believer in the supremacy of the white race. Normally, Talley would have RTU'd him, Return To Unit, but he was an essential part of Echo Six. The man was a throwback to his forefathers, who'd spearheaded the drive through Poland and France in their Panzers. Buchmann was almost a flesh and blood replacement for the charging tanks that conquered most of Europe before the world woke up to the Nazi menace. He tolerated the German, always knowing that one day the man might go too far, and he'd have to RTU him. Or kill him.

"Five minutes, Commander,” the Captain intoned. “We’re feet dry. In a few moments, you’ll have sight of the pyramids. I guess you won't have time to pay them a visit," he joked.

Talley ignored the quip and looked at Guy. "I'll fast rope with the first stick. You’ll follow right behind. Lieutenant Rovere, bring up the rear, and as you’re the last, you’ll need to get down fast. They'll hear us coming, and we won't have much time."

"They’ll still have time to kill the hostages," Lieutenant Domenico Rovere pointed out. The Italian was the unit joker, always ready with a quotation from Shakespeare, suitable for the occasion. So far, he’d held back. It wouldn’t be long before he came up with something.

"That's true, except they won't have figured a Hostage Rescue mission would arrive so soon. I doubt they'll be ready for us."

Rovere nodded, but he still looked dubious.

"One minute," the pilot intoned. "You sure you want me to pick you up out on the Giza Plateau? Or should I wait around over the target?"

"Make it the Giza Plateau. If you wait over the city, you'll be a target for every Muslim carrying a gun."

"That's about all of them, I guess."

Talley smiled. He turned back to his men. "Make sure you know who you're shooting at. The Israelis won’t be very forgiving if you hit one of their own. They’re liable to launch an operation against our people."

"Roger that," they responded in unison.

The Osprey slowed and began the wing rotation maneuver, to bring it to the hover. They heard the internal motors whine as the ramp began to lower. Talley pulled on his thick leather gloves and kicked the rappelling ropes over the edge.

“We’re over the target,” the cabin speaker announced. “Embassy roof is fifty meters below the ramp.”

Several shots smacked into the Osprey, as the people on the ground responded to the sight of an American military aircraft over their city. They ignored them.

"And then it started, like a guilty thing, upon a fearful summons," Domenico Rovere intoned, rising to the occasion.

The craft edged forward until it was suspended directly over the Embassy building.

Someone called, "We are stationary over target," but Talley had already grasped the rappelling rope.

"Let's go, people."

He hurtled down the rope, which hung directly above a glass skylight set into the flat roof of the Embassy building. He could have swung away to land on the concrete, but what the hell? His boots smashed through the glass, and he landed in a heap of broken fragments and timber on the carpet of an Embassy office. It wasn't empty, and a startled Palestinian whirled to face him, bringing his AK-47 to bear. He was slow, too slow by a mile. Talley double-tapped him, and as the body fell, he ran to the door to check the passage.

Two more Palestinians were racing along the corridor toward him. One of them mistook him for a comrade and opened his mouth to speak. His confusion lasted a split second, and then he understood his mistake. He whipped up the barrel of his AK, beginning to shout a warning. Talley fired and hit both of them, using half a clip to make sure. The alloy-plated steel jacket rounds smashed into them, ten hardened, armor-piercing bullets that shredded them in the blink of an eye.

Another Palestinian reached the head of the staircase and turned into the passage. Another two hardened 4.6mm rounds buried themselves in his body, one in his chest and the other in his abdomen. He tried to shriek, shocked and agonized, but it emerged as a hoarse croak, and then he crumpled to the floor, near death. Talley's men were racing through the building, taking control, and he directed Rovere to secure the lower floors. He glimpsed his second-in-command approaching.

"Guy, we have to find the Ambassador. Take the right. I'll check out the other end with Roy and Jesse."

"Copy that," Welland sang out as he signaled to his men, and they fanned out along the corridor. Talley led his small group in the opposite direction, and they hit paydirt almost immediately; a door that was obviously soundproofed, thicker, and more sumptuous than the others. He signed to the other two men to cover him as he tried the handle. It was locked.

"I'll do it," Roy offered.

He looked at Reynolds. The man had sustained many injuries during his days as lead breacher, but when Buchmann wasn't around, he was still mightily effective. He nodded.

"Go. I'll follow you in. Jesse, cover us."

The big Sergeant charged, and his massive weight and strength smashed the door wide open. He rolled over and dived to the side, narrowly missing a burst of gunfire. Talley recognized the distinctive chatter of an AK-47. A hit on their ballistic vests from the heavy caliber bullets would be disabling, at least for a short time. At short range they could penetrate and kill. Talley tumbled through the door, rolling the opposite way, and saw an Arab staring at him, a Palestinian. It wasn't difficult to decide the man's origin, for he was the spitting image of the late and unlamented Palestinian leader, Yasser Arafat. Maybe a little thinner, maybe a tad taller, but at a pinch it could have been him. He was standing behind a captive, an older man who knelt on the thick carpet. He had his pistol pointed at the man’s head.

"Put down your weapons! Otherwise I kill the Ambassador."

His voice was calm, yet there was an undercurrent of savagery, and he had little doubt the Arab would carry out his threat. He nodded to Roy, and both men lay down their guns on the carpet. The Arab nodded and twisted his thick, ugly lips into a sneer.

Strange, it’s almost as if he’s been practicing that sneer; a weirdo, some kind of Arafat groupie, and right now, every bit as dangerous as the real thing.