Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (7 page)

"Mr. President."

The man ignored him for a few moments, as he continued leafing through a file he had open on his desk. Finally, he looked up. His mustache was neatly clipped, his well cut suit impeccable, and his bearing tall and erect. The initial impression was of a calm, cold confidence, as it should be. This man possessed absolute power over other men’s lives, including his own. Jalali waited to hear his fate.

"Minister. I imagine you know why I summoned you."

"The new weapons, Sir, the CX9?"

Uncharacteristically, the man lost his famous calm and slammed his fist down on the desk, causing Jalali to take a step back.

"Of course, the CX9, you oaf. What have you done about it?"

"Sir, you know I have made constant representations to this office about the danger to the Republic. Yet so far I…"

"Shut up! I didn't ask you to come here and give me excuses. I want to know what you're doing about it. The rebels have been inside Aleppo for two weeks, and now they’re threatening Sheikh Najjar. That includes my damned CX9 laboratory! I want you to take back Aleppo, Jalali, do you hear me? Stop those bastards getting any nearer."

"Sir, I will make…"

"Stop! I want you to use whatever means are necessary. Kick that bunch of scum out of Aleppo and bring the city back to the Islamic Republic."

"Mr. President, I will…"

The President silenced him with a glance. "Otherwise I’ll find another man to do the job. After he’s removed your head from your shoulders!"

The Minister felt sweat pouring down his back.
 
This was worse than he’d imagined, much worse.

"Sir, there is a possibility NATO will provide air support to the rebels. I will need the new S300 missiles the Russians sent us. And if I may deploy a battalion of troops with…"

"A battalion! You will use a Third Corps battalion. It is part of their area of operations."

Jalali took a deep breath. The last time they'd sent in troops from Third Corps, the atrocities were horrific, even by Syrian standards. For some reason, the General in command of Third Corps had unleashed his men for one purpose only, to brutalize and slaughter the civilian population of Syria, to frighten and cow them into submission. Maybe that kind of heavy-handed tactic would have worked before the uprising, but not now. In his opinion, all it had done was to persuade far more people to join the rebels than they’d managed to slaughter. The math was simple. Send in six hundred Third Corps thugs, and you'd create six thousand eager recruits for the rebel cause.

"Mr. President, what about Second Corps? Third Corps caused tremendous problems…"

"I don't give a fuck what problems they caused! Use them, and order them to butcher anyone who stands in their way. Clear? Sheikh Najjar must not fall into rebel hands!”

They'll hack and butcher the local civilian population, that’s for sure.

"It shall be as you say, Sir."

The President gave a satisfied nod and waved him away.

As he walked out through the Presidential Palace, he reflected it could have been worse. If he could rein in the bloodthirsty cutthroats of Third Corps, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad. Gaining control of the S300 missiles would give him more power within the Syrian military. That’s what counted. It was just too bad about the civilians.

He walked out into the sunshine where his official limousine waited. As his driver took him the short distance back to the Ministry, he wondered how best to use his new power. The President was becoming irksome, and Jalali was tiring of the constant threats the man made against him. Perhaps it was time to consider his options. He smiled to himself, first things first. He’d deploy the troops he'd been given and strengthen the defenses around Sheikh Najjar.

Yes, he'd show the President he could be both ruthless and effective when he was given the chance to act. The missiles were already positioned close to Aleppo. He'd given that order several days ago when he’d seen the danger to Sheikh Najjar, except he couldn’t give them any fire orders. That had to come from Damascus. Now he had the Presidential order, he would contact the battery commanders and order them to put the missiles on standby. He’d also instruct Third Corps to move a battalion to reinforce Sheikh Najjar immediately, and then begin planning to retake Aleppo. It was time to take off the gloves and show them the iron fist of the power he wielded.

* * *

"Commander, we've crossed the Turkish coastline, and we're heading toward the drop point. We'll be in position inside of eight minutes."

"Copy that," Talley replied to the aircraft commander, who was in fact an Air National Guard Major on assignment to NATO forces operating inside of Iraq. Unusually, there were no written orders for this mission, and the pilot had questioned it, but Brooks smoothed him over. Talley understood the need for secrecy, but even so, the entire operation had been handled in a novel way. The question was why.

He passed on the report to his men and glanced around to make certain they were ready for the jump. The Lockheed C-130 was flying close to its service ceiling of nine thousand meters, in order to keep them away from the surveillance systems of the Syrians, and give them a long glide path into the target. They checked each other's parachutes, webbing, and equipment, as always before making a drop. Their weapons and communications gear was stashed ready, and all that remained was the final safety checks. His earpiece clicked.

"Starting to depressurize in one minute."

"Copy that. Switch to oxygen.”

There was no need, but he still made a further visual check on their masks. He adjusted his own equipment and switched on the bottled oxygen supply. The motors inside the cargo hold hummed as the ramp started to lower, and the chill night air surged in, lowering the temperature to below freezing point. The bitter cold of the thinner air at altitude made him shiver slightly, although he knew the ground temperature would soar to almost thirty degrees during the day. Maybe the icy temperatures at altitude would seem more welcome then. He watched the red light come on as the loadmaster stood ready to oversee their jump. His earpiece clicked again.

"Jump off point in three minutes."

"Roger that."

He started moving toward the ramp. That was when it all started to go wrong. He never found out who shouted over cabin speaker.

"Missile launch, missile launch! We have two missiles inbound."

"Taking evasive action now. Hold on, people."

Before any of them could grab for handholds, the aircraft lurched to port as the pilot banked hard, tilting through ninety degrees to fly with one wing tip pointed up, the other pointed down. Talley grunted as a heavy body crashed into him, then another. He pulled himself clear and keyed his mic.

"Standby for emergency bailout! If that missile hits, we'll only have seconds before the aircraft breaks up. I want everybody to get to the ramp."

He heard David Beckerman shout, "I think my leg is broken!"

"If you stay with the aircraft, you'll have more than your leg to worry about. All of you; just get to that ramp and be ready to jump."

The pilot shouted a warning, "Missile impact in two seconds. We're too slow, we can't…"

The impact was massive. The radar guided missile was fused for both proximity and contact. It was the proximity fuse that caused the warhead to explode next to the port engine. Immediately, the wing began to shear off, and the racing Allison T56-A-15 turboprops went out of control, starting to shake loose from their mountings. The aircraft tilted over into a spin that would only end when the fuselage hit the ground.

This pilot shouted again, "Bailout, bailout!"

Talley was fighting toward the open ramp as the fuselage began to tilt over, ready for the next revolution as the aircraft fell victim to the laws of physics. The next stage was when it became a centrifuge. He saw Guy dragging two troopers towards the ramp. The men were either injured or unconscious. Rebecca Dayan was lying prone, her head bleeding profusely. It appeared she’d been struck when the aircraft abruptly veered and tossed them around like confetti. He put his hand on her webbing and started to drag her toward the ramp. There’d be time to attend to the wound later. If they didn't jump from the stricken aircraft, there'd be no later.

He reached the edge of the ramp at the same time as Guy. A cluster of troopers was already gathered around, braced against the aircraft spin, waiting for the order. He shouted at them over the screaming engines and the roar of the slipstream.

"What’re you waiting for? Get the fuck out of here! You know the coordinates for the LZ. Try and make it, but if not, make your way out into Turkey. Now go, jump!"

They started to leap off the ramp, struggling against the forces trying to trap them inside the doomed aircraft. The flight engineer appeared after he’d fought and dragged himself to the rear.

"What about the rest of the crew? The two pilots and the navigator?"

"They're leaving from the front exits," he shouted back. "I came back to make sure you got out."

"Roger that. We'll go out together."

The crewman began tugging and pushing the troopers over the ramp. Some didn't need his help, but others were badly hurt and couldn't make it alone. Guy went out with a man held gripped in each hand. He gave Talley a somber glance.

"I've set their parachutes to open automatically. It's all I can do for them."

"Copy that. I'll meet you at the LZ."

Guy opened his mouth to reply, but at that moment the aircraft lurched again. The force of the spin hurled him through the open ramp, as if he was no heavier than a rag doll. Talley had fastened a safe landing. Automatic opening was fine until you hit the ground. If the parachutist were unconscious, the result would be a number of broken bones. Or worse.

Talley plummeted down, waiting to clear the stricken aircraft. He caught sight of the C-130 several hundred meters below him and plunging toward its doom, spinning even faster. He was clear, and he pulled the cord to deploy his square RAM parachute, and he felt the jerk as it deployed safely. He knew he'd land faster than normal because of the extra weight, but he'd done it in training. There'd been accidents and broken bones, sure, but not too many. He checked his wrist mounted GPS and adjusted the lines to bring his course toward the LZ outside of Aleppo.

It was a long glide through the chilly night sky, and he had time to reflect on what had gone wrong. It was no secret the Syrians had taken delivery of the S300 missile system, but a surprise they’d deployed it so soon. And so close to the rebel held town where it would be endangered if the rebels attacked the missile batteries. But the biggest mystery was why they’d fired on a NATO aircraft flying inside Turkish airspace. There must be a new man in command. Someone who was prepared to go to even more extreme lengths to engage and destroy the enemy, whether they were the rebels or outsiders coming to their aid. Even so, shooting down a NATO aircraft inside Turkish airspace? It didn’t make sense.

 
Rebecca groaned. She was still unconscious, but there was plenty of time for her to come to before they landed, and then what? His problems were magnified out of all proportion. He’d no doubt Guy would make it. He always did. As would the other men he'd fought with over the years, men like Roy Reynolds, Heinrich Buchmann, Domenico Rovere, and some of the others. They’d been conscious when they jumped. But half his unit was hurt when the missile hit. Even though they’d sent them out with their 'chutes set to open automatically, there was a question about whether they'd survive the drop. Would there be enough to complete the operation?

With an unknown number of casualties, he had to reassess their chances. And when he added up the numbers, the answer was not good. It could be he’d need to abort the mission before it was underway, and get out of Syria before Echo Six was annihilated. Even then he had the other problem to face, the FBI Special Agent chasing his tail. Okay, he’d made the man look stupid, but the lives of two young children were at stake. What was he supposed to do?