Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields (17 page)

"Rovere, I want every man returning fire. Make sure we hold them back until we can find a way out."

"Roger that. Any ideas?"

"I'm working on it."

Men flung themselves to the floor, poked the barrels of their rifles outside, and started to shoot back. Talley risked another quick glance and ducked his head back inside. He counted around twenty-five fighters pressing around them, too many to trade shots with if they were to have any chance of surviving. There had to be another way. And that way had to be below ground. He needed to see for himself.

"Domenico, I need to take a look below, see if Guy's found anything. Can you hold them back?"

He grimaced. "As the great man said, 'If you have tears, prepare to shed them now.' Boss, I'll do my best, but whatever you come up with, make it quick."

"I will."

He almost vaulted the stone stairs, and when he reached the bottom, he was already running. Guy and Drew were examining the door, and he stooped to take a look.

"What's the deal, why won't it open?"

Drew Jackson shrugged. "Normally, I could open it, but this baby's made of toughened steel. It would take a lot more explosive than I have with me. I left most of my gear back at that rock cairn."

"So you can't get inside?"

He grinned. "I didn't say that. I have a small quantity of C4 and a detonator in my pockets. It's just a question of working out where to place the charges. It's a onetime chance, Commander. If it doesn't work, we're screwed. We won't get another one."

"Okay, but you know they're up against it up there."

"I know."

"Okay. I'm going back to the qanats, see if there isn't some other way through."

Both men shuddered. Guy gave him a look. "I don't think Geena would make it, not back the way we came."

"I know, but I'll keep looking for some other way. I'll be back."

With the door open, it was easier to navigate the stone corridor. He passed the door to the qanat they'd emerged from and went on until he came up against a solid wall. There was no way out, other than the way they'd come in.

Could Geena make it
through? Could the others make it out with the fort on full alert? I doubt it. ISIS would do everything in their power to stop us. They could pour gasoline into the tunnel and set fire to it. Alternatively, poke a machine gun
through the
entrance and fire magazine after magazine, tearing us to shreds. It has to be that door. There has to be a way through, has to be.

He started jogging back to Guy, just as Drew exclaimed, "Fire in the hole! Hit the deck!"

He dived to the concrete floor, and a second later the explosion sent a shockwave along the narrow passage. When he looked up, the door hadn't moved.

Drew climbed to his feet to inspect his handiwork, shaking his head. "Shit, Boss, I reckon this must be four inches thick, maybe more. What the hell do they have behind that door?"

"If that's the last of your explosive, we're never gonna find out," Guy said. He glanced at Talley. "Any luck down there?"

"None. Only the way we came in."

His number two was unimpressed. "That's not good, Boss. I doubt we'd make it back down that tunnel. The girl wouldn't, no way. She was pretty shaken up, scared to hell when we came through. She almost died of fright."

"No. Keep trying the door, see if you can find a way."

"Roger that."

When he left them, Drew had taken two grenades and started to unscrew the detonators. Up on the surface, the situation looked grim. The insurgents seemed to have unlimited ammunition. A constant stream of bullets from assault rifles and light machine guns lashed around the doorway, so it was almost impossible to return fire. The best they could manage was to take quick shots, peer around the corner to find a target, and pull back when the furious incoming fire intensified.

Rovere had just let loose a burst when he grunted in pain and jerked back. "It's okay, I'm not hit, just a stone splinter. Boss, we’ve got more trouble."

He felt the weight of failure settle even harder on his shoulders. "Tell me."

"There're more of 'em coming in. At a guess, I'd say about another thirty men, could be forty. Now would be a good time to find a back door. Any luck down there?"

"None."

"Shit. In that case, it'll have to be the tunnel."

Behind him Geena muttered a sob of terror. "I can't go back that way. I'd sooner die."

"If I must die, I will encounter darkness as a bride, and hug it in mine arms."

She stared at the Italian. "What was that?"

He looked embarrassed. "Shakespeare, a quotation about welcoming death." He gave her his beaming smile, "Ms Blake, you're too young to die. We'll get you out, one way or the other."

"Not the tunnel Anything but that."

He shook his head. "Not the tunnel, no."

The two men swapped glances, and Talley thought of that moment when he'd been about to put a bullet in her, when everything appeared lost, and it was the easy way out. That moment was almost back. His eyes conveyed a message to Rovere, who nodded his understanding. He'd make sure she never suffered the agonies of the tunnel or capture by ISIS.

A sudden increase in noise made both men swing back to the doorway. DiMosta and Kane had taken their turn to return fire, but peering out to find a target was like staring into the face of a hurricane. Only this one was of lead not wind and water. DiMosta pulled back behind cover. "They're coming, and there's a lot of them. We can't hold them, Boss."

So we can't hold them here, Guy and Drew have failed to get past that door, and the qanats are a no go. All there is down here is a place to die.

"Keep it up for a little longer. Hold them off."

DiMosta looked him in the eyes. "And then?"

He turned away without a reply. All that was left was the truth.

Then we're fucked, Vince. We're all fucked. We're gonna die unless a miracle happens
.
 

Despite his contempt for these pretend soldiers, he could hardly believe what he saw when he reached their position. Their officer, Captain Salim, was sitting on a folding chair outside his Humvee in the shade of a camo shelter. He was sipping a soda so cold the moisture was condensing on the sides of the can. He looked up as Buchmann arrived, red faced and gasping after his hard run, and cast his eyes away. Salim's men lounged around, watching him, apart from a couple that appeared to be asleep.

They couldn't have missed the battle. Even at five kilometers away, the noise of gunfire was loud, echoing across the flat surface of the endless sands. One man looked to have remained awake, his second-in-command Lieutenant Bino. However, he wasn't the man he needed. He planted himself in front of Salim and waited. His massive bulk was as intimidating as an out of control truck.

The Captain flinched. Then he raised his eyes. When he saw the extent of the man mountain, he flinched.

"What is it? What do you want?"

He gestured to the distant fort. "I want you. You have to attack, and now! Look at the fort. They're outgunned and outnumbered. Load the men in the trucks, and get down there, before they're all killed."

Salim kept his emotions under control as he took another sip of his soda. He looked at the fort and back at Buchmann. "I think not. If we go to help, my men will all be killed. It is far too dangerous. We have no reconnaissance, no idea of what we'd face if we tried to attack an unknown enemy. No, my friend, we wait."

Lieutenant Bino hurried across to them and looked down at his Captain. "Sir, we cannot sit here and do nothing. Those men need our help."

"It's too dangerous," Salim repeated, "Of course, if I had a choice, I..."

He didn't finish. Buchmann grabbed the front of his jacket in a huge paw and dragged him out of his chair. The soda fell to the ground, unnoticed.

"Listen to me, Herr Kapitan!" In his anger, his speech became even more Germanic, "Those men are dying while you sit here, and do nothing. You call yourself Special Forces! Look at you! You're nothing but a bunch of cowards." He spat on the ground to emphasize the point and released the Captain.

"You're pigs, all of you!"

It was fortunate that most of the man didn't speak English. Otherwise calling them pigs may not have helped. Bino understood.

"Captain Salim, I'm sorry, but we must go down there. We can’t allow our allies to die at the hands of ISIS. If you're too..." he swallowed what he was about to say, "If you prefer to hold this position, I respect that, of course. But let me take the men down there and help Commander Talley and his men."

There was a silence, and then Salim mumbled something about, 'too dangerous.'

Bino refused to give up, and he tried another tack. "Sir, you should stay here and monitor the fight. It's what a responsible leader would do. I will lead the men in, apart from a small guard to protect you, naturally. It would impress the General Staff in Baghdad, Captain. A small victory here would guarantee your promotion. They’ll make you a Major at the very least, Sir. If we destroy them, an entire ISIS command inside Syria, it would send a message that would resonate around the nation. Colonel Salim, perhaps."

"Maybe we should do something to help them. I will hold this position, with half the men." He waved his hand in the direction of the fort, "Go down there, join the fight against ISIS, and rescue the NATO men from disaster."

"I'll need most of the men, Sir, thirty at the least. That will still leave enough to defend this place in case of any attack."

He knew when he was cornered. "Very well, I shall have to do my best with the few men left to me. Good luck, Lieutenant." He glared at Buchmann and looked away without speaking. Bino gave an order to a sergeant, who issued a stream of commands to the men. The Iraqis came out of their somnolence to start boarding the truck.

Bino indicated his Humvee. "Sergeant, if you'd care to join me, we'll take the lead in my vehicle. There's room in the back."

"Yes, but make it quick. They won't hold out for much longer."

"I understand."

They squeezed into the cramped interior. The Lieutenant gave the order, and his driver put his foot on the gas. The Humvee lurched away, and the truck followed behind. Bino turned to shout at Heinrich, "They still have the main gate closed. How do we get inside?"

"Send in the truck first. The gate is built of timber, so it'll smash it open."

"Very well." He ordered the driver to halt. Bino rushed to the truck, which had also halted, and spoke to the sergeant in the passenger seat. The man nodded, and the truck drove past them, the Humvee trailing behind.

Buchmann’s glance was suspicious. "What was all that about?"

"I was giving them the order to take down the gate."

"Why not use the radio?"

Bino sighed. "I'm sorry, we had a misunderstanding about maintenance procedures. The radios have malfunctioned."

"All of them?"

"All of them. It seems someone replaced the batteries with older units that don't hold their charge."

"You mean they stole the good batteries and swapped them with crap."

A pause. "It is not uncommon in the Iraqi Armed Forces, yes."

Buchmann glared at him. "I suggest you make it less common. We're going into battle with no communications. That means men will die because of your stupidity and dishonesty. Keep going that way, and it won't be long before you're part of the Caliphate."

Bino looked shamefaced. "I'm sorry, Sergeant. Tell me, why are they not shooting at us from the fort? They must know we're coming."

"They're not shooting at us because real soldiers are giving them a hard fight."

He didn't reply. The truck in front had picked up speed, and they'd crossed the five kilometers of open ground in a matter of minutes. The packed infantry truck was close to the gate, and he shouted to the Lieutenant, "I need more grenades, fast."

"In the trunk, there is a box of 40mm grenades. Help yourself. My men don't use them much. They're worried in case something goes wrong."

The German shook his head and leaned over the back of the seat. He dragged out the case of grenades, checked to make sure they were what he needed for his launcher, and filled the pockets of his camos with the deadly missiles. Then he watched through the windshield as the truck covered the last few hundred meters, plunging toward the gates at speed, what looked like about sixty miles an hour.

A moment later, the massive, reinforced steel fender of the Oshkosh smashed into the woodwork. The truck kept going, sweeping the massive timbers aside. It was as if they were made of papier-mache. There was never any contest. The truck disappeared inside the fort, and Bino's driver followed in the Humvee into a world of smoke, bullets, and chaos.

* * *

Talley returned to the outer door to the fort. DiMosta glanced at him. "Anything?"

"Nothing, nothing with any certainty of getting through. Guy and Drew are still trying, but it doesn't look good."

"The qanat we crawled through to get here?"

"It could collapse at any time. And there's Geena, she wouldn't make it back that way."

He looked thoughtful. "Seems to me, if we can't go out underground, we use what we have. Leave by the front door."

"ISIS would disagree."

"Fuck ISIS, we go out fighting, Boss. You know there's no other way."

"We don't have any vests, Vince. We're outnumbered, outgunned, and without armor."

"It means we fight like men. No matter what the outcome."

He wanted to tell them the truth. That he'd failed them. "I shouldn't have got us into this."

The sniper shook his head. "Nope, you shouldn’t. You should have made sure the Iraqi Special Forces who came with us knew what they were doing, instead of being as yellow as a bucket of piss. You should also have ordered the NATO air assets to put two fingers up to the Russians, and say, 'fuck you, Ivan. NATO doesn't take orders from a bunch of commies.'"

"They're not commies," he replied automatically.

Vince grimaced. "If they look like commies, smell like commies, and act like commies, they're commies. However, that's beside the point. You did what you did because there was no other way. You've always done the best for us. Now we have to keep fighting until the last man and the last bullet. It may not come to that, of course, but..."

He'd heard enough. "Call Guy and Drew to come up here. We're leaving. And Vince...thanks."

"Forget it."

A moment later, his number two joined him. "So we're doing it the hard way?" He was grinning, like they were about to embark on a Sunday school picnic.

"Right. Lock and load, we're going out in sixty seconds."

He checked his own M4 and peered again around the door. There was less ISIS visible, but still enough of them to pour a withering fire down on their heads. He jerked his head back. "Thirty seconds."

The firing outside slackened again. Drew dug in his pockets and produced a small object. "It's a tiny chunk of explosive with a miniature detonator. Wouldn't have made any difference with the door, but I could use it as a grenade, just before we go out. It'll make a lot of smoke and noise, not much more, but..."

He checked his watch. Ten seconds. "Do it. Stand by! When that thing goes off, we're outta here. Five, four, three, two, throw it, Drew!"

The explosion from the improvised grenade was loud, and Talley was already running into a world of smoke, bullets, and chaos. The enemy fighters were in big trouble. It was obvious they still hadn't fully recovered from the air attack, and some were tearing at fallen masonry, trying to rescue their comrades trapped underneath. Others were on the walls, shouting and gesticulating at something outside the gate. A small number remained to shoot at them, but they were armed with semi-automatic rifles, more than enough.

Bullets peppered around him. He was conscious that a single hit could incapacitate or kill him. Without his armored vest, one shot in the wrong place and he'd go down. The ISIS shooters had hunkered down behind a collapsed wall, and he veered to the left to try and flank them. Their gunfire tracked him, and he had to roll behind a pile of bombed out rubble to take shelter. More bullets pinged and whined overhead. He glanced at his men, still trapped close to the doorway.

Guy signaled he was about to sprint the opposite way to draw enemy fire. Vince diMosta was lying prone in the doorway, oblivious to the gunfire, taking single, aimed shots at the enemy. Talley emptied his rifle at the hostiles, and Guy sprinted away. He'd chosen a bad time to make his move. The vicious chatter of a machine gun was loud above the shouts, confusion, and sporadic gunfire. As Guy ran, a long burst spattered the sand close to his legs, and he staggered as at least one bullet grazed his leg. The long burst went past him, and as the gunner decided he had the target bracketed, started to come back.

Guy was limping, leaving a trail of blood in the sand. The bullets spouted up fountains of dust three meters ahead of him. Two meters, and they crept back toward him. He dodged to one side, and the next few rounds went past him, but he tripped on a piece of loose stone and went down. The gunfire stopped, started again, and edged closer to him. Talley aimed and fired, emptying a magazine at the machine gun position. His bullets wasted themselves against the concrete of the improvised emplacement. He reloaded and fired again, but when his magazine emptied, he looked at Guy. He was trying to crawl toward cover, a heap of stone blocks about three meters away. Probably put there to make repairs to the walls when needed. He wasn't going to make it.

Talley grabbed for another magazine and started to reload. He had a sickening realization it was too late, much too late. His good friend and number two, Guy Welland, was about to die in this godforsaken flyspeck in the Syrian Desert.

I failed my men. When that happens, they die.

He froze for a moment and then raced out into the open, a chance, albeit a tiny chance to draw the fire of that machine gun. That was when the 'boom' rolled across the ground inside the fort. He jerked his gaze to the gates. Something had smashed into them, and a second later, the 'something' appeared, an Oshkosh truck laden with Iraqi Special Forces. The men in back were already leaping out as it slewed to a stop. They started directing their fire at the ISIS fighters, whose gunfire had dwindled as they gaped at the new arrival.

A Humvee rolled through the smashed gateway and skid to a stop close to the truck. Lieutenant Bino jumped from the passenger seat, shouting orders to his men, and then incredibly, Buchmann appeared from the rear, armed with his grenade launcher. The defenders tried to regroup around the machine gun, but they fired less than a dozen shots before they gave up. Two of the Iraqis got in the way of the bullets, too slow to find cover, but it was a one-sided fight. ISIS had for the most part given up, after the shattering blow to their morale of a certain victory plucked from them at the last moment.

Their leaders bellowed orders, imploring them, threatening them if they failed to attack the new enemy. It was too late. The gunfire knifed into them, and men fell to the relentless gunfire of the Iraqis. Buchmann opened up with the launcher, and after he'd sent three grenades into the enemy position, it was all over. A few survivors, including the machine gunners, threw up their hands in surrender, and Bino’s men drove them into a huddle. Talley walked over to Guy, who had climbed to his feet. He glanced down at the tear in the camo pants.