Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (13 page)

The 2CV puttered along the track and drove onto the LZ, stopping in the same place as before. As they watched, the windows gradually became more and more steamed up.

"How can they do that in such a small car?" the Italian mused.

"Youth and lust," Roy Reynolds growled with a trace of envy. He'd joined them in the shelter of the rocks, but there was little chance of getting out of the rain, which was still streaming down in torrents. None of them carried ponchos. They traveled and fought light. In the Middle East, the last thing anyone expected was rain. Their camos clung to them, soaked through, and their helmets gleamed in the wet.

Talley keyed his mic again. "Alpha One, this is Echo One. Be advised there is a civilian vehicle in the center of the LZ. They're no threat, repeat, no threat."

"Copy that," came the terse response.

"We should get them away from there," Reynolds murmured, "We don't want the ‘chutes tangling on that little car. And besides, if Alpha encounter an unknown vehicle, they could get jumpy and start shooting."

"If we go talk to them, they'll see our gear and know we're foreign troops."

"I can do it," Goldstein offered, "I'm a civilian. I'll tell them the land belongs to me."

Talley checked his watch, and then he nodded. "Make it quick. They'll be landing in a few minutes."

The Mossad man ran toward the Citroen and then slipped. The rain had churned the ground into soft, slippery mud, and he fell flat on his face. He struggled to get up, and then fell down again, just as the first of the Alpha Six troopers started to land.

Within seconds, it all began to go wrong. The kids in the car saw the parachutists landing. The two boys, excited and curious, climbed out and walked toward two of Werner Best's troopers. They should have shouted out, shouldn't have approached them in a rainstorm. The NATO men wouldn't have heard them until the last moment. But all the troopers heard was the shouted question in Arabic, and saw two Arab men coming toward them. They swung round, their weapons raised.

"No! They're…"

Both Alpha Six troopers pulled their triggers, and the two kids were hurled backward, their bodies torn apart by the bursts of gunfire; their lifeblood trickling out to join the rivulets of water that streamed across the ground. Immediately, the doors of the Citroen were flung open, and the two girls began to emerge. At the same time, more of the Alpha men were landing, and even though they were equipped with night vision goggles, the rainstorm made it next to impossible for them to identify the threat accurately. And Best had trained them to respond in only one way when there was a fraction of doubt. Half a dozen men opened fire and swept the two females and their flimsy little vehicle with semi-automatic fire. They were dead before the machine gunner joined in, using his Minimi to hose down the little 2CV to make sure. The girls inside probably never even knew what hit them.

All the time Talley was shouting into his mic, "Cease fire, cease fire! They're civilians. Don't shoot."

It was useless. He was still staring at the carnage in the rain-spattered field when he heard a voice next to him, speaking in a Germanic accent.

"Lieutenant-Commander Talley? Captain Best, reporting as ordered."

He turned to stare at the man. The German ignored the rain as if it didn't exist, and stood as erect as though he was on a parade ground.

"I told you they were civilians."

Best shrugged. "My men thought they were under attack, and they opened fire."

"They were kids, Captain. Just making out in their little car."

The Alpha Six commander fixed him with a hard stare. "My men determined they could be a risk, and they acted as I have instructed them to do."

"When in doubt, kill everything that moves?" Domenico said softly.

The German turned to look at Rovere, who was standing next to Talley. He nodded, completely missing the sarcasm and contempt in the Italian's voice.

"Exactly." He gazed back at Talley, "Besides, they were Arabs."

"Woe, destruction, ruin, and decay," Rovere continued, "The worst is death, and death will have his day."

"Eh?"

"Shakespeare, my Captain. A good, wise man, who held that life is sacred."

Best glared at him for a moment, then looked back at Talley. "I must see to my men."

He strode away. Rovere looked thoughtful. "Boss, I believe you were a little late explaining the Rules of Engagement to the good Captain."

He grimaced and walked away back to the shelter of the derelict building. He felt demoralized at the brutal and unnecessary killing of the teenagers in the car. There was little reason to feel confident for the coming operation. He'd given a clear order for Alpha Six to hold their fire, and yet they'd ignored it, and reveled in the chance to use deadly force.

The operation to free the hostages from Masnaa camp was difficult enough. If ever an operation required a delicate and subtle touch, this was it. Yet Admiral Brooks had sent him a battering ram. A battering ram that could result in the death of the person he wanted to free more than any of them. Nava, an innocent, caught up in the horrors of Beirut because of a faulty component in the aircraft. He felt the numbness in his arm starting to return and flexed it automatically. It was minor compared to the terrors she would be suffering in her captivity.

Just hold on, and I'll get you out. We're on the way.

But he knew time was running out. They could storm the camp, only to find a pile of headless bodies, and a snuff video circulating on the Internet.

The Lebanon, east of Beirut

The minutes trickled by slowly, each second a lifetime as she counted them one by one. She had no other way of knowing the passage of time, unsure even of what day it was. The truck became hotter and hotter, and she forced herself to close her mind to the agony of the hot metal that burned her body, as she prepared to die.

Sometimes she heard voices from outside as people walked past, but still she was unable to cry for help. She slid into semi-consciousness and began to dream. She was walking across the hot sands of the Syrian Desert, and she'd lost her shoes. The red-hot sand burned the soles of her feet, but it was impossible to stop. The only way to mitigate the pain was to keep moving. Her mouth was blocked with sand and lack of moisture, so she couldn't cry out, even when she saw him coming toward her. Abe Talley.

She tried to wave but didn't possess the strength to raise her arm. She couldn't shout, couldn't make any noise, or anything to attract his attention. He couldn't see her. He walked right past, and his figure began to recede into the distance. She screamed, but it was inside her head.

Abe, I don't want to die here alone.

But it was an illusion. Soon, he became one with the distant shimmering haze of the desert. Then she awoke. Someone was opening the doors. A voice barked at her, harsh and cruel.

"Who are you?"

She tried to answer, but the inability to produce any noise from her parched mouth was no illusion. She heard another man speak.

"She must have been captured by those two Christians we killed. They said something about her being a Jew."

The voice that answered was chilling. "In that case, kill her."

"She's worth more to us alive. If we clean her up, she'll be worth a lot of money."

"The Saudi?"

"Of course. Although why he'd pay money for a girl is strange. Why doesn't he take them, like we do?"

"I don't know. She looks in a bad way. Get her out of there."

They lifted her out of her oven prison, and she felt a tremendous surge of relief as she lay down in the fresh air, her skin no longer scorched by the hot metal of the truck. One of the men roughly pushed a bottle of water between her lips. She drank greedily, and when he tried to remove it, she put her hand up to prevent him taking away the life-giving fluid.

They both laughed. "The poor cow. She's almost done in."

"Who cares? She's a Jew."

"The Saudi would care."

A pause. "You're right. We'll put her in the trunk, and I'll call ahead and let him know we've got one for him."

She felt them lift her and toss her into their vehicle. She lay on a bed of greasy tarpaulins and felt some relief that she was protected from the hot metal of the bodywork. Until they slammed the lid shut, and she was sealed inside the cramped space. There was nowhere for air to enter her dark tomb.

No one will find me in here. Either I'll die on the way, or my next stop will be when I am delivered as a slave.

* * *

The arguments were long and bitter. Time was running short if they were to reach Masnaa before dawn and carry out the assault. Werner Best insisted there was no way his men would travel in the garish, shot-up soccer bus.

"Who the fuck do you think we are, Talley? We're soldiers, not soccer hooligans or clowns. If you want to use that thing, you ride in it."

They stood in the pouring rain almost toe to toe, like two heavyweights squaring up for a bruising encounter. Behind him, Echo Six were lined up, fingering their weapons anxiously. Behind Best, his men looked eager to start shooting, much too eager. But he stood his ground. It was the only way with the Alpha Six Captain.

"It's Lieutenant-Commander Talley, Captain. You'd better not forget it. Otherwise, I'll stand your men down, and you can get out of here."

"You need us. You know that."

"I don't need a loose cannon. Either you toe the line, or you're out of here."

He could almost see the German’s mind ticking over. If Talley ordered him out of the theatre of operations, his career would be in ruins.

Best gave a terse nod. "We'll do it your way, Talley, but only for now. If your bleeding heart puts my men in danger, things are going to change."

It was as much as he could expect. "Get your men aboard the bus, Captain. We're already running out of time. If we don't reach Masnaa and finish the rescue before dawn, we may as well pack up and go home."

Best stomped off without a word and began shouting orders to his men. They piled onto the bus, laden with crates of ammunition and explosives. He knew Admiral Brooks would have included resupplies for Echo Six, yet the German had made no mention of it.

He turned to Guy.

"Talk to their number two. His name is Lieutenant Philippe Giraud. Make sure our men have fresh ammunition and grenades, everything they need."

"I'll do that. What do we know about this Giraud?"

"Not much, but I guess if he's Captain Best's number two, he's a 'shoot first and ask questions afterward' kind of guy."

"Got it."

"And Guy, I want you to travel in the bus. Keep an eye on them."

"Copy that."

Talley found Lieutenant Rovere and told him to split Echo Six between the vehicles.

"I'll travel with Goldstein in the VW. We can take two more men. Make sure one of them has the Minimi. We're sure to hit at least one checkpoint, so we'll need to blast our way through."

"Roger that," the Italian acknowledged, "I'll travel in the Peugeot, along with Reynolds, Jackson, and Jesse. I'll put the other sniper, DiMosta, in the bus with Guy, Buchmann and the rest of the men. I reckon if we have any problems with Alpha, Heinrich is the man to deal with them."

He chuckled. "Because he's German, like Werner Best?"

"No. Shakespeare said, ' These violent delights have violent ends, and in their triumph die, like fire and powder.' It's a simple equation. Alpha Six think they're the baddest boys on the block. They just haven't met Heinrich Buchmann yet."

"That's good thinking. It's almost dark, and we need to get moving."

* * *

As they bumped along in the VW, he was at least grateful that Alpha Six traveled in the bus. Werner Best was a man he wanted as little to deal with as possible. He started to think about the hostages. As far as he knew, most rescue attempts inside the Lebanon resulted in a bloody fiasco. He had to make certain this time it was different. The diversionary attack with Alpha Six should work; there was no question that the unit's propensity to use astonishing unnecessary levels of violence would hold the attention of Hezbollah. It would hold the attention of the Devil himself. So it would all depend on their being able to infil the camp without being seen. It came to him in a flash; they needed someone on the inside. He looked across at Shimon Goldstein.

"We're going to need an edge for the assault into the camp. Is there anyone on the inside? Someone who might be prepared to help us out?"

A pause. And then the Jew nodded. "He is not on the inside, but he used to live there. I believe it may be possible to persuade him to help us." He took out his cellphone and checked the signal; "We're too far from the cell tower right now. As soon as we reach the next town, I'll call him."

"What's the story?"

Over the next few minutes Shimon told him about Zaki Nassif. He was a Muslim, the only son of a wealthy family, tall, slim and good-looking. He had everything that money could buy, and his family sent him to England for an education. While he was there, he fell in love with flying, and after he graduated university began training as a pilot. Eventually, he became First Officer with Middle East Airlines, flying Boeing jets around the world. During his career, he married a local girl, and they had three children.

His marriage was the start of his problems. She was Christian, and although Zaki wasn't religious, his neighbors were. He also had a huge flaw. He was naive. Too naive for the scheming plots that seethe inside a Muslim country. He fell in love with Christianity, after observing at close hand the needless violence perpetuated by the Imams and Mullahs in the Lebanon. He converted to Christianity, and at first there were no problems, until he returned from a flight to the Yemen.

On his return, he found his house a still-smoking ruin. All that was left of his family were the charred corpses inside. After he'd buried them, his employers contacted him. They'd received threats from an Islamic faction in the Lebanon. The message was simple. If they chose to employ an apostate, it would be open season on their airline from groups like Hezbollah.

Zaki was fired from his job and was only able to work on a freelance basis for any airline that would employ him. It meant he flew rickety aircraft, often carrying cargo in Ilyushins and Antonovs that were long past their maintenance dates. He'd stayed in the Lebanon, and Shimon assumed it was to be close to the graves of his wife and children.

"That's an interesting story," Talley affirmed, "I can see how he'd despise them. But how does it make him useful to us?"

"His childhood home was in Masnaa before it became a refugee camp for Palestinian and Hezbollah fighters. His father was an architect, and Zaki spent most of his childhood helping him with building projects inside the town. He knows every street, building, and alley in that place. He lives in a town named Bar Elias. We have to pass it on the way. With any luck, he'll be there. He doesn't work much these days. I may be able to persuade him to help. God knows he'd like to do something to hit back at those bastards."

Talley nodded. "He sounds perfect."

He relaxed. It was the kind of edge they needed. He looked behind. They were in the lead with the Peugeot right behind, and the bus trailing in the rear. Two troopers were in the back of the VW, Raul Gonzalez and Virgil Kane. Virgil had the Minimi ready for instant use, and Raul would act as his loader. If they ran a checkpoint, the machine guns would flatten the defenders after they'd driven past. He’d been in contact with Rovere in the Peugeot truck, and they had the second Minimi deployed. He’d tried to talk to Captain Best about plans for dealing with any ambush, but the German had told him he’d take care of it himself, and he didn’t need any help from an American.

Talley smiled to himself. He could deal with Best, provided he obeyed orders. He thought of the coming operation.

If the rescue is to succeed, it’ll need both elements to work with split second precision, Alpha Six’s diversionary attack and Echo Six’s infiltration to the camp. As for that, it may all depend on Nassif, Goldstein’s contact. Without him, it will be that much harder. If we can…

“Checkpoint! Five hundred meters ahead.”

He snapped out of his reverie. They’re fighters had bulldozed heaps of rubble across the road, and a saloon car blocked the only way through, a narrow gap about two meters wide.

“What do you think?” he asked Goldstein, “Is it Hezbollah, or one of the other groups?”

“I’m not sure. We need to…” he looked in the rear view mirror and cursed, “Your man Best, did you order him to come past us?”

He glanced around, just as the roaring of the big diesel engine announced the bus coming up on them. He was astonished. The vehicle was overtaking them, and it had already forced the small Peugeot truck off the road.

“Alpha One, this is Echo One. Pull back. Pull back! That’s an order, Captain.”

The only reply was a jerky burst of static, as if there was a fault with the commo.

“The bastard,” he breathed to no one in particular.

It was an old trick, pretending a radio fault to ignore an order. The bus came level with them, and Goldstein shouted, “There’s not room for both of us, Talley. If I keep going, we’ll crash.”

“Let him pass.”

It was the only way. Otherwise, they’d wind up a twisted heap of metal. The big, shot-up bus roared past on their left, and he could see Best standing next to the driver, his lips open in a grim, satisfied smile. He saw Talley and gave him a taut nod, and then turned to look forward at the checkpoint. The target. The rest of the long vehicle came past. Best had stationed his men at each of the broken windows so that it looked more like a land battleship, the sides bristling with guns poking out of the ports. Then it was past, and it hit the checkpoint at full speed. The big bus shoved the blocking vehicle aside as if it was no more than a toy, but it slowed them down; enough for Best’s men to take on the defenders. As the vehicle squeezed through the tiny gap in a screech of metal and a shower of sparks, the troopers inside opened fire.

The men manning the checkpoint numbered five or six at each side. They didn’t stand a chance. Best’s improvised attack craft picked up speed, and the troopers inside fired volley after volley. The defenders died, unable to deal with the intensity of the gunfire. Then they were through. The bus slowed a few meters on the other side of the gap and halted. Goldstein slowly eased through the gap, and the Peugeot followed. They came to a stop next to the bus. Talley leapt out of the VW and ran to the door. Best stepped down to meet him, a sneer plastered on his face.