Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (5 page)

“I can’t talk. There’s a battle raging around me. I’ll call you when I reach the city.”

“No, don’t hang up. I need you to stay where you are.”

“What? I’m heading in to locate Nava.”

“Not now you’re not. We have a situation at the airport, and you’re the only man I have in the right place.”

He felt irritated. “Sir, I can’t go back to the airport. The place is crawling with hostiles. I have to go…”

“Hold it, Son. Who said anything about going back to the airport? You can’t go there. It’s been taken by the Islamists, Hezbollah.”

He was silent for a few moments. With the airport taken, it meant the initial skirmishes were developing into full-scale civil war.

Why the hell does Brooks want me to stay in place?

“What do you want me to do?”

"I’m sending in your men. You'll meet them at the LZ. They'll be landing on the beach. It’s close enough for them to infiltrate the city the moment their boots hit the ground. We’re working on the exfil right now.”

He shook his head to clear it. There was something here he didn’t understand. Mixed messages.

Sending in Echo Six? Do they think I’m in trouble?

“Sir, I can get into the city and get out with them being any the wiser. You…”

“Talley, this is Hostage Rescue. You will locate and rescue Commissioner Andreas Jensen. He’s the…”

“I know who he is, but he’s at the airport. I left him...Oh, Christ, Hezbollah!"

“Hezbollah took him. The bastards kidnapped a United Nations Commissioner, would you believe? And they’re threatening to kill him, unless we agree to a heap of conditions.”

"What conditions?"

"Conditions we can't possibly fulfill. The release of two thousand prisoners from Israeli jails, for starters. And every single one of them is a hardened Islamist, dedicated to destroying the State of Israel."

"Shit!"

"That's one way of putting it. They've given us a timescale, five days. The clock started ticking one hour and fifty minutes ago. Today is Saturday. At dawn on Thursday they're going to cut off his head. The live recording will be posted on YouTube. So I don't need to tell you you're up against it. Find him, Talley. Get him away from those bloodthirsty bastards."

"I'll do my best, Sir."

"I know you will. Forget about those girls. They're probably partying in some wealthy Lebanese's apartment in the city. Find Andreas Jensen, while there's still time. The furlough's ended, Son. This is now a full-blown military operation."

The call ended, and he lay hidden in the rubble, trying to work out the next step. He knew Nava wouldn't be at a party, no way. Her whole life had been focused on the journey to Israel and their reunion. Maybe they were holed up somewhere, sheltering from the gunfire. Wherever they were, he knew they'd need his help. And now he'd been sidetracked to locate a UN diplomat who should have known better.

He thought about Andreas Jensen and his dry lecture about the luxurious Gulfstream. If he got back, maybe he'd reconsider and look at an M1 Abrams instead.

Beirut, Lebanon

She forced herself not to choke, while remaining still under the stinking, rotting pile of garbage. She heard their voices, loud and a strident. The shrill Arabic curses reminded her of the cruel land from which she had escaped.

How can this be happening? It doesn't seem possible that the moment I’ve lived my entire life for is about to be ripped away.

Something struck her leg, and she forced herself not to cry out. They were using the butts of their rifles to beat at the garbage pile, looking for her. Another rifle butt smashed into her thigh, but still she remained frozen. The voices receded, and she prayed they were going away. But they came back into the room, and she heard them discussing the body of Hannah.

"She looks Jewish to me. A pity she's dead, we could have had some fun with her."

"How did she get down here?" another man asked, "She's has a severe wound to the head, which must have knocked her unconscious. Someone dragged her inside. They could still be here."

There was a silence, and all she could hear was the thump, thump, thump of her heart beating. The wait seemed to be forever. Surely they wouldn't search the garbage heap again. And then a hand gripped her ankle, and she felt herself being pulled out from under her hiding place into the open. She stared into their faces, both men looking at her in equal measures of surprise and anger. One of them leaned down and slapped her hard across the face.

"You fucking cow! You thought you could escape us! All you've done is cause more trouble. There's a war going on out there. We could have been killed coming back for you." He stopped and thought for a moment and then giggled, "Like your friend here."

The other man joined in the laughter, and for several seconds they were almost incapable of movement, their eyes streaming tears of mirth. The first man stopped laughing and looked at her again, his expression cruel.

"You wasted your time bringing the body down here. Look, she's dead."

To make the point, he started kicking Hannah's dead body, chuckling to himself. "Don't worry; she won't feel a thing," he shouted to her, "Hey, Yasser, why don't you join in? This is good fun."

The second Arab began kicking the body like it was a football. Nava had to control herself, to stop herself from leaping at them and tearing them to shreds. It would only result in her early death, and she had to stay alive.

In that moment, she resolved to escape, and one day she'd return and find these two men. To make certain they suffered the consequences for desecrating her friend’s body.

At last, they stopped kicking Hannah's body and turned their attention to her. Without a word, one of them produced a length of coarse rope and began tying her arms and legs. The rope bit into her skin, and she could feel the agony beginning as her circulation was blocked. The two men lifted her, carried her outside, and dragged her a battered old truck with a closed back. One of them opened the doors, and the other Arab tossed her inside.

"Make yourself comfortable. We're going on a journey." He turned to his companion, "We need to make certain she isn't damaged. The Saudi will pay plenty of dollars for her, but only if she's unmarked. Maybe we should tie her down?"

The other man nodded. They climbed into the vehicle and used lengths of canvas webbing to tie her body to the floor, looping the ties through steel rings.

He saw Nava staring at him, "You're wondering where you're going, yes? A friend of ours, a wealthy Saudi, buys girls like you. You should be honored. He'll give you fine clothes, and you'll have an easy life, provided you do as you're told. In the meantime, we're taking you somewhere safe, where we can hold you until we've agreed a price. Enjoy the ride."

They roared with laughter as they slammed the door shut. A few moments later, she heard the engine start, and the vehicle bumped its way along the street for the start of a journey to a place unknown, and a fate that she would rather kill herself than suffer. She began to weep, wet tears running down her face, but she soon stopped herself. It was not her way.

She closed her eyes, starting to think about how she could escape. In her mind, she saw a face, the face of a man she wanted to be with her more than anything in the world. Lieutenant-Commander Abe Talley.

Abe, where are you? I need you so much. Please, come and rescue me. I need you.

Yet in her despair, she was moving further and further away from Beirut, making it impossible for him to find her. She was lost, doomed to a life of servitude and slavery to a rich Saudi. There was only one way out, and she'd take it when the opportunity arose. Death.

* * *

There was still no let up in the fighting. As the night drew on, it escalated as more and more fighters arrived to join in the fun. Talley crept toward the beach, cursing the need to keep making so many detours as the opposing factions slugged it out with each other. He needed to speed up, and at last he reached a stretch of ground that appeared to be clear of any hostiles. He climbed to his feet and began to run. Time was short, and his unit would be on the beach soon. He could miss them if he didn't hurry.

"Halt!"

Two men stepped in front of him. They'd been hiding behind an abandoned, burned-out vehicle. He put his hands up and waited.

"Who are you?"

They spoke English. His uniform, similar to that worn by the American military, was the giveaway. He looked at them closely. They were young, maybe nineteen or twenty, and both wore an expression he'd seen many times before. They were hyped up on drugs, alcohol, or even some religious lunacy. Either way, he knew their fingers would be tight on the triggers, ready to take up the final pressure.

"I'm heading for the beach, guys," he replied, adopting a friendly tone, "A couple of friends of mine got lost, and I'm looking for them."

It was worth trying the truth, well, part of it. He may as well have told them Mohammed was a rattlesnake, for all the good it did. They were out for one thing that night. Blood. To kill anyone, and a Westerner was a gift from Allah.

"You're a mercenary!"

He smiled even wider at the man who'd spoken. "That's crazy. I've never fired a gun in my life. I'm just a clerk."

They smiled at each other. They knew this one was going to be easy. Then they turned back to him, and the expression on their faces was like stone.

"That's too bad, clerk. You could be a spy for the Christians. Say your prayers before we kill you."

It was time to put on the performance of his life. He stumbled toward them, fixing a look of blank terror on his face. He delved into the pocket of his coat.

"Hey, Guys, there's no need for that. I'm rich. Look at this. I'm about to close a million-dollar deal. It could all be yours!"

The rest was easy. They allowed him to get close. Fatal mistake. He used both arms to sweep away the barrels of their assault rifles. First, he hit the man on the right with a finger strike to the belly, and then he pivoted on his left leg, smashing the man on the left with the blade of his right foot. Inside of a second, both men were on the ground, gasping for breath. They were still holding their assault rifles, and he kicked them away before they fired any shots that would warn their friends.

He bent down, took the head of the first man in both hands, and wrenched. The crack of the neck vertebrae breaking was loud in the night. The other man heard it and whimpered.

Too bad.

Talley moved over to him and hammered a strike on the back of his neck that rendered him unconscious. He landed on his back, and he finished him off with a snap kick to the exposed throat.

He knelt and checked the bodies for a pulse, but they were both dead. He left them where they were, for there were plenty of bodies strewn around Beirut this night. He picked up their AK-47s and jogged away to the beach. If he ran into any trouble, the Russian built assault rifles would at least give him an even chance.

He crested a low hill and a few hundred meters further saw the surf curling in off the Mediterranean and breaking on the long line of sand. The scene was peaceful, as if he was in a time machine. Behind him, the noise of battle, the wreckage, and the bodies and detritus of war - bodies in the streets, ruined lives, misery, and hunger. In front of him, the beaches that once made Beirut a contender for the title of the most beautiful vacation city, in competition with Paris and Rome. He could step forward cross an invisible line to the tranquil beauty of the water's edge, or step backward into hell. He stepped forward.

"Stop!" He stopped. The accent was English, the voice familiar to him, and the tone was amused. "You should be careful carrying AKs around here, Boss. We could have mistaken you for a hostile."

Guy Welland stepped forward from cover. A product of the SAS, Guy had the uncanny ability to appear and disappear at will. They shook hands.

"It's good to see you, Guy. Any problems?"

"Other than coming to this shithole, you mean?"

He smiled. "Other than that."

"We're all on the ground, ready to go. We brought your gear, by the way. You can't go to war dressed in your best duds."

His men came out of the shadows to greet him. Domenico Rovere, wearing his usual smile. Heinrich Buchmann, gloomy, massive, and bristling with menace; like the iceberg that sank the Titanic. Roy Reynolds, the tough black sergeant, alongside Drew Jackson, the unit demolition wizard. Virgil Kane with his trust Minimi squad automatic weapon was with the snipers, Vince DiMosta and Jesse Whitefeather. They carried their Accuracy International Arctic Warfare rifles, fitted with suppressors and night vision optical sights. Raul Gonzalez was talking to one of the new men, a Frenchman. Daniel Caron learned his trade in the Foreign Legion as a paratrooper, before he volunteered for the French elite BFST, and subsequently joined Echo Six. They were all familiar faces, all elite Special Forces. The best of the best. And in this war-torn hell, he knew they'd need every ounce of their skills to survive.

Some of the old faces were missing. The nature of their work meant casualties were inevitable. Each time they were called into action, the ranks of the unit had changed, as replacements were brought in for those men who didn't get back. There was no time to dwell on it. They all knew when they signed up that the odds were sooner or later their bodies would fall on some foreign field. It was the price of freedom.

Domenico handed him his camos, together with his armored vest and canvas jump boots. Within minutes, he'd changed and felt better wearing his working gear.

He looked at the Italian. "My gear and weapons?"

Rovere grinned. "As a great man once said, 'I'll fight till from my bones, my flesh be hacked, give me my armor'. You want the MP7 first or the handgun?"

"I'll take the assault rifle, Dom."

He passed over Talley's HK MP7, the stubby sound suppressed submachine gun that fired a special round. The magazine carried twenty bullets, but these were no ordinary projectiles. Specially developed for the gun, the ammunition consisted of hardened steel penetrators, making the rounds capable of piercing armor. Lightweight and compact, the MP7 had fast become a favorite of Special Forces worldwide.

His handgun was the more conventional P226, a 9mm automatic made by Heckler and Koch. Accurate and totally reliable, it was indispensable. Especially when there was a need for silent killing at close quarters. Like the MP7, the P226 was fitted with an effective sound suppressor. Echo Six was a unit that operated mainly at night, bringing silent death to their enemies. Dressed in dark camos, carrying weapons that were whisper quiet, and using advanced night vision goggles, they were able to strike at will, and disappear into the shadows.

Despite his grave concerns about Nava, he'd at least be in a better position to go looking for her once the business with Andreas Jensen was concluded. Provided he could persuade Brooks she was a legitimate hostage in need of an SAR mission. Echo Six was here to locate and rescue the UN Commissioner, not go hunting for his girlfriend. Even so, he made a promise to himself.

Whatever it takes, I’m not leaving without her. No matter how many of these Islamic thugs I have to tear apart in the process.

He felt someone behind him and looked around. Guy.

"We're ready to move out. Admiral Brooks said we're to head for the Rafic Hariri Stadium and use it as a base. We're due to meet one of his contacts there."

He stared at the Brit. "Rafic Hariri Stadium? What the hell is that?"

Guy grinned. "I understand it's a football stadium. The guy we're going to meet is head groundsman. That's his day job. He also moonlights for the Israelis."

"Mossad?"

Guy nodded. "Mossad, yep. Brooks contacted them for help when he heard the Commissioner was missing."

"It sounds promising. He should be able to fill us in on the local setup, where they may have taken Jensen. We'll move out right away. I want someone sharp on our flank. This place is crawling with hostiles."

Guy nodded. "I'll put Jesse out there and Raul Gonzalez on point. He's pretty good with a knife. Heinrich is covering our six. If they get past him, we're in serious trouble."