Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields (25 page)

Lieutenant Bino ran up the steps and joined them. “Commander, I have some questions for you.”

“Shoot.”

“First, Captain Salim, he asked me to release him if he would give his parole not to attempt to escape. He would swear to it on his honor.”

Talley looked at Guy, and both men chuckled. “On his what?” the Brit asked.

Bino looked from one to the other and managed to keep his face straight. “I told him I’d ask you. I assume the answer is no.”

“You assume correctly,” he told him.

“Yes, as for leaving this place, my men are starting to grumble, and to know when we can break out of here and head back to Iraq.”

“Tell them in three days.”

The Iraqi stared back at, and his mouth dropped open in astonishment. “Three days! Can we hold out here for that long?”

“No. But that’s what you’ll tell them. We’re leaving at dawn. Your men can start dismantling the wall after dark. For the time being, keep them working. If anyone’s watching us, let them think we’re digging in.”

“I understand. We leave at dawn, but I will tell my men three days. Yes, perhaps that is wise.”

He turned away to leave, but Talley was instantly on alert. When he said they were leaving at dawn, there was something in Bino’s eyes, an expression he couldn’t work out.

Was it just he’s glad to be getting out, or is it something else? Jesus Christ, I hope not. First, Captain Salim, who is about as trustworthy as a wounded bear, and now Bino, or did I imagine it? Whatever, he’ll bear watching.

He spent what was left of the daylight patrolling around the fort, checking the defenses. The idea was to give the Russians and anyone else who may be watching, including their own Iraqis that they were there for some time to come. The Arab guarding the remaining anti-tank missiles, still clad in the NBC suit, pleaded with him for some relief. To which he told him he could have permanent relief, he still had a choice. He looked heated almost to boiling point inside the protective suit, but he readily agreed. “I will continue to stay with the missiles, Sir.”

“That’s good. Any time you change your mind,” Talley fingered the trigger of his M4, “You come and talk to me.”

“Please, there is no problem.”

He gave him a curt nod and went away. Another check on Geena, and Bielski informed him she’d been conscious was some time and had talked. He was under the impression the trauma of her terrible underground journey would fade in time. He wasn’t sure, but he looked in on her. She was sleeping, twitching and shaking in her sleep. One thing was sure; it was going to be a long recovery.

One of the Iraqis, a private soldier, brought food, some kind of stew in a can. They had no means of heating it, although it was lukewarm from the heat of the desert sun. The mixture stank, and he didn’t like to ask what was in it, but he was famished and wolfed it down. A few sips of brackish water, a final glance around the defenses, and satisfied, he settled down to doze.

He dreamed, and in the dream, he was in the qanat with Geena. Sharing her terror, and then trying to drag her out when the roof caved. She’d disappeared under tons of sand and rubble, and although he screamed for her, he couldn’t find her. She’d disappeared, and he raved like a maniac, digging away with his fingers at the hard, unforgiving sand. He spent hour after hour, fruitlessly trying to reach the place where he thought she’d disappeared, and then his hand touched something soft. A foot, he’d found her,

“Geena! Geena!”

He pulled and pulled, and the foot came away, completely. He screamed as more rubble fell from the roof, and then he was choking. His lungs were blocked by the weight of earth pressing down on his chest. He was dying. He knew he was dying, and his sole wish was to be somewhere other than this place.

“Boss! Wake up!”

He looked around. Could it be they’d pulled him out? But it was Domenico Rovere. “What is it? Did you…”

“You were dreaming, some kind of a nightmare. It sounded like you were trapped underground. Does that ring any bells?”

He rubbed his face and tried to clear his head. “No. Yeah, Christ, I don’t know. It was just a dream, Domenico, nothing to worry about.”

“Things without remedy should be without regard; what is done is done.”

“Lieutenant Rovere, how do you like to take over that duty with the missiles? That suit gets mighty uncomfortable after the first few minutes.”

He gave a mock look of alarm. “I’m sure Mr. Shakespeare would have something to say about that. I’ll let you know.”

“If I were you, Lieutenant, I’d give it a miss. It’s been one hell of a day.”

“I’ll take your advice, Commander.”

“Yeah. What time is it, Domenico?” It was night, and the sky was as dark as ink, apart from the pinpricks of illumination coming from the host of stars. Except for one patch of sky that was dark where clouds covered the moon.

That’s a good omen.

“We’re ten minutes past midnight. I guess we’ll want to make preparations to pull out. The Iraqis don’t know we’re going out, so it may take some time to get them on their feet.”

“Bino knows. I hope to Christ he’s carried out some basic preparations. Where is he?”

He grimaced. “Last I saw, he was praying, along with his men.”

Talley glanced at him. “Praying, he’d do a lot better to spend his time working on getting us out of here, as well as checking his men are covering sentry duty and not falling asleep.”

“They’re all praying. I don’t know why they’re doing it at this time of night, but that’s the way it is. The rest of our men are keeping an eye out for the enemy.”

“Any sign of them?”

“Not so far, but something tells me they are not far away. Mid-evening we heard the sound of diesel engines running several klicks away. It has to be the Russian armor.”

“So they haven’t given up.”

“Nope, they haven’t. They’ll be back.”

“What about ISIS?”

“In this neck of the woods, they’re like camel shit scattered all over the ground. Wherever you tread, eventually you'll step on it, either a camel turd or a bunch of ISIS. Same thing.”

He smiled. “I’ll check on Geena. How has she been?”

“Sleeping on and off, she’s not too bad, considering what she went through.”

“Thanks, I’ll go and see her now.”

Talley went to the Humvee where Geena still lay on the back seat. There were two men with her, Tadeus Bielski and Drew Jackson, and he felt grateful they were keeping an eye on her. They’d waved a greeting as he approached and then stepped aside. He looked inside the vehicle, and he saw the glitter of her eyes staring at him from the rear seat.

“Abe.”

“Geena, how do you feel?”

“Ready to make the journey out of here, if that’s what you mean. Do we still leave before dawn?”

“There’s no change, provided the enemy doesn’t put in a new appearance.”

“Do you think they will?”

That was the question they were all asking, and he had no answer. “We’re talking about Russians and ISIS. They’re both unpredictable. You may as well toss a coin to decide what they’re up to. But as long as we get well away from the fort before daylight, we have a good chance of getting away.”

“That’s good to know. What about the WMDs in that underground room? They’ve been talking to me during the night, and it sounds like something I should speak to Langley about.”

“You don’t need to worry about them. Soon after we leave, this place will explode like the biggest Fourth of July party in the world. They’ll be beyond use, believe me, as well as the fort. If the blast is big enough, it’ll blow this place apart.”

“But surely that’ll scatter mustard gas and radiation over a wide area. The ground will be uninhabitable for years.”

“Won’t it just.” He grinned, “I’m counting on it. The last thing I want is to leave this place for ISIS to come back in and use it.”

“Oh, yes, I see what you mean. Abe, I…”

That was as far as she got, and she lapsed back into an uneasy sleep. He made sure she was covered, closing the door of the vehicle quietly so as not to awaken her. He glanced at Drew. “How did you get on with the charges?”

“All done, Boss. I managed to rig up a timer, and I’ve set it for a thirty minutes delay after I start the clock.”

“Plenty of explosives?”

“More than enough. I’d like to have used the warheads from the anti-tank missiles, but I couldn't touch them because of the contamination. I managed to find several boxes of grenades and plenty of spare warheads for the RPGs. Oh, yeah, there were also a half-dozen suicide belts stashed away. A prisoner led me to them. So, yeah, we’re good. When that lot explodes, this place is history.”

“Roger that. I’m going up onto the wall. First, I’ll go talk to Bino to tell his men to start making a gap so we can drive out of here. Keep your eyes on her. She has a long way to go.”

“Copy that. Don’t worry, she’s in good hands.”

“I know.”

The Iraqis were still kneeling on the ground. Most had pulled improvised prayer mats from their packs. He left them to it, wondering what place a prayer mat had with Special Forces. Then again, they had a lot of work to do before they could claim that title. He continued to the stone steps that led up to the wall. Guy was at the top, waiting for him. His expression was grim.

"What is it?"

"They're back."

"ISIS or Russians?"

"Both!"

"We attack at dawn!"

Major Rostov glared at his second-in-command, daring him to argue. The man inclined his head in a reluctant nod. "Yes, Sir, if you think that is the best way."

"Of course I do," he roared, "Otherwise, I wouldn't have just given you the order."

"No Sir, of course not, but I must say there are more than a few problems we need to deal with."

A new voice intruded on them. "The first of which are those fucking anti-tank missiles. Major, why did you not tell me they had missiles?"

Captain Jesus Maria Fuentes stood a foot away from him, and his face wore a look of thunder. He'd lost half his tank crews in the devastating avalanche of missiles. He hadn't spoken to Major Rostov since they'd halted out of sight of the fort. Rostov would have preferred he'd kept his silence for a while longer. The volatile Cuban had the look of a man who would happily shoot a man dead, superior officer or not, if he thought the 'honor' of his unit had been impugned. Or his men slaughtered needlessly by a foreigner, even if he was a Russian, a fraternal brother before the collapse of Soviet communism.

He met the Captain's eyes, although it was an effort. "Captain, had I know they had missiles in there, I would have told you."

The Cuban's glare didn't diminish. "Major, it's your business to know. You told us they had RPGs in that place, nothing heavier. Nothing about anti-tank missiles."

Rostov shrugged. "An oversight, I'm sure. If you wish, you can take it up with our reconnaissance people, or intelligence."

"Perhaps if you'd done that before you sent us in, my men would still be alive. When do we return to Damascus?"

The Major knew this would be the tricky part, and he tried an ingratiating smile. "As soon as we've taken the fort, Captain. Those are our orders, and I will make sure we obey them."

Captain Fuentes seemed to hesitate. He kicked up some sand with his boot, looked around to make certain they were not overheard, and then lowered his voice, "Tell me, is it true those soldiers in the fort were NATO? Some of your men were talking. Evidently, they don't believe an ignorant Cuban can understand the Russian language. Is it true, Major? Did you give the order to attack NATO troops?"

A pause. Rostov should have known the Cuban would learn the truth eventually. He'd just hoped it would be later rather than sooner. He looked back at the swarthy, Latin face. "It may be true," he said, "We know the fort was an ISIS stronghold, there is no question. You have to understand, Captain, the Russian Air Force went in first on a bombing raid. My orders were to finish the job. There was nothing said about an exception for NATO or anyone else. Who knows, it could be a rogue NATO outfit that has allied itself with ISIS? Or possibly an American plot to undermine the credibility of our operation inside Syria."

Fuentes’ gaze was withering. "If you believe that, Major, you must be more of a fool than I took you for."

Rostov flared. "Careful, Captain. I am your superior officer in the field."

"And I am an officer of the Cuban Revolutionary Armed Forces. Your jurisdiction here is questionable, Major Rostov. In any case, what's done is done. What I don't understand is why you want to attack again."

"Housekeeping, Captain Fuentes. It is important that NATO never makes public what has happened here. Yes, it's true we attacked NATO troops. However, at the time I was obeying orders. If, on the other hand, any witnesses appeared to attest to the attack, things would become very uncomfortable for our leaders in Moscow."

"And for you, Major."

He inclined his head. And for me," he agreed, "That is why it is essential we go in and finish the job. Except this time, things will be different. I want your tanks…"

"My three surviving tanks."

"Yes, your three surviving tanks, to stand-off and batter down the walls from a position where they can't be reached by those missiles. Once the exchange of fire becomes intense, the entire area will be shrouded in smoke and dust, and under cover of that screen, I will lead my Tigers in through the breach you have created in the wall."

"So you will undertake this task yourself, to enter the fort first. What then for my armor?"

Rostov held up his hands, palms upward, as if to underline the honesty of his reply. "Once you have battered down the walls and created a breach, your work is done. You can return to Damascus if you wish. My men will enter what is left of the place and ensure the evidence is destroyed. Then we can go home, and the operation will be complete."

Captain Fuentes grimaced. "So when we get back, you can report you took the objective with your Tigers, while my T-80s returned to the depot as if they were fleeing the fight." The smile disappeared, "No, Major, that's not the way it's going to be. We’ll smash down the walls and create a breach, but the breach will be large enough for my tanks to pass through. When we take that fort and declare victory, it will be a victory for all of us."

The Russian inclined his head. "As you wish, Captain Fuentes. You may accompany us, and we will claim a shared victory. Who knows, your crews will enjoy some target practice for their secondary armament once we are inside the walls."

The Cuban frowned. "We're not inside yet. I prefer to await the outcome of the battle before I start celebrating victory."

"As you wish. We will leave soon and make sure we are well positioned for the initial bombardment. Good luck, Captain."

Fuentes saluted. "And you, Major. I suspect we will all need it before this is over."

* * *

He took a last look at the sky, checked his watch, and gave the order. It was the perfect time to leave. Thick clouds had rolled across the night sky, blotting out the waning moon and most of the stars in that quadrant of the sky. There was little or nothing to eliminate the gateway, which the Iraqis had struggled to clear of the huge blocks of stone they'd sweated to put in place earlier. At first, there'd almost been a riot when he gave the order, but when they knew they were going home, the work seemed less daunting, and they picked up speed.

Talley was about to give the order to start engines, when Bino approached him. "Commander, before we leave, it is important to my men that we pray. Who knows what we will encounter on the way.”

"Make it quick. Every minute you delay is a minute you’re handing to the enemy."

"Yes, I understand. Thank you, Commander."

Is it my imagination, or did he just smirk when I gave him the go-ahead? I don’t know. What is it with these Muslims? Can anyone ever trust them? Not really.

He put it out of his mind and climbed into the passenger seat of the Humvee. Geena was in back with Drew tending to her, and Bielski was sitting in the driver’s seat, waiting for the order to go. At first, Bino had kicked up a fuss when Talley gave him the order to travel in the Oshkosh truck with his men, but he overrode him.

"Besides, Lieutenant, I need you to keep an eye on Captain Salim. You’re the senior officer present, and I don't think your bosses would be impressed if you left him on his own. Stay with him. It's the right thing to do."

Besides, there's no way I'd let you or any other raghead travel with Geena Blake. She's had one hell of a time, and at bottom of it, there's always a Muslim. Always a
fucking Muslim, no matter what uniform they wear, no matter whose side they say they are on, they’re always there. Always."

He turned his head to look around at Drew Jackson. "The charges all set?"

A groan. "Boss, that’s the fourth time you’ve asked the same question. I ran out a cable with a switch next to the main gate. Just before we go through the gap, I’ll hit the switch, and it starts the sequence."

"You're sure they can't stop it if they come straight in here after we've left?"

Talley saw him shaking his head in the darkness. "Not a chance. Did you hear that god-awful banging? That was Heinrich Buchmann repairing the damage to the steel door to the armory. He made it as tough as before he started breaking it down. If they've got a Buchmann with them, sure, they may get it open, but it'll take him just as long as it took Heinrich. At least an hour, and inside of thirty minutes, it'll blow."

"There's no other way they could get that door open? What about a direct hit from a tank shell? There's always a chance one could ricochet down that passage and hit the door."

Jackson chuckled. "Sure, a tank shell would blast the door open. Unfortunately for them, the kind of tank shells they'd use inside the walls would carry a nice little explosive charge. All they'll do is hasten the inevitable by a few minutes."

Talley relaxed. "I get it. I guess I'm feeling wound up. We've been here too long, and getting out won't be easy. We know ISIS is watching from a high point five klicks away. If the clouds move in the wrong direction or the wrong time, we'll be lit up like a fairground ride on Coney Island. If they come after us, we’ll have one hell of a time getting out of here. I reckon we've used up more than enough luck for ten lifetimes."

Jackson laughed again. "Don't worry, we can estimate the movement of the cloud, and we’ll leave when we know we have maximum darkness. We'll make it, Boss, and get her to a hospital."

"Yeah."

He went back to Geena, and once more found she was awake, so he spent a little time talking to her. She sounded better, and as far as he could tell in the darkness, she looked a lot better. Although when he touched a skin, he could detect the shivering and the sheer terror that lay close to the surface. All he could think of was to try and give her some reason to hope, thinking that better things were not far away. "I hope you haven't forgotten those cold beers I promised you," he told her, stuck for anything else to say.

"And the meal."

"And the meal, sure."

A pause "And afterward."

His reply was immediate. "That's a promise I'm gonna keep."

There was little else to say, and he just stayed with enjoying being close to this petite girl with the courage of a pride of lions. When her breathing became regular, and he was certain she slept, he strolled across to the Oshkosh where Guy and his operators lounged by the cab. That had been another thorny problem to resolve. He wanted his men in the cab of the truck, with their eyes open and guns ready if they ran into the enemy. Not some Iraqi son of a bizarre merchant, who'd run out on them at the first sign of trouble.

He'd used the rationale about needing to keep an eye on Captain Salim. Bino gave him a disbelieving look, but eventually agreed. Now they were ready. The Iraqis were milling around on the sand, muttering to each other in low tones. He assumed it was something to do with their weird religion, and he didn't ask. Guy was waiting for the word to go, and Talley gave him the nod.

"It'll be first light in about half an hour. Let's do it, and don't come back here for anything! If the truck breaks down, get away as fast as possible. You know what's gonna happen thirty minutes after we drive through that gate."

"I know," he replied.

"Okay, you'd better tell the Iraqis about the slight change of plan. They still think we're heading due east; so you need to warn them we’ll be turning south. Otherwise, they'll start to worry."

"I'll tell them. What about the Arab in the NBC suit? I expect he’d give anything to be able to take it off. The last time I saw him, his faceplate was so misted it was like staring into thick fog."

Talley chuckled. "Yeah, give him a break. We won't need him to stay suited up, as we're not taking anything toxic along with us. At least, not knowingly."

Guy nodded. "We went over the gear with the Geiger counter, and we're clear. As far as the mustard gas is concerned, if there were any traces, it would have showed up by now."

"That's good to know.”

Talley looked up at the sky and made an estimate of the thick band of cloud that covered the moon. It was moving slowly, not likely to allow the moonlight to reappear at any time before dawn. It was another good omen. Talley went to the Humvee and took a quick look in the rear. Geena was awake, and she braved a smile. He climbed into the passenger seat and turned to Bielski. "Time to start the engine. We're leaving."

They edged toward the gate, with Bielski picking his way over the rubble. He parked in the gateway while Drew activated the timer for the charges. Then he drove through the ragged gap in the wall. They were out in the open desert. Bielski headed south, leaving the Russians behind in the west. ISIS was somewhere over to the east. Over his shoulder, he called to her, "We're going home, Geena. Next stop, FOB Sykes."

She didn't hear him. She'd lapsed back into unconsciousness. Her breathing was ragged, and the progress she'd made seemed to have come to a stop.

Maybe I've used up all of the good omens, and now the bad ones are about to come in thick and fast.

* * *

Hasan Jafaar glanced at the text message that had come through on his satellite phone. It had taken an hour to reach him, and he cursed the roundabout communications system, bouncing important data around airwaves to and from a satellite somewhere in space. Despite its means of delivery, the message meant victory was assured. He could hardly believe it. The NATO men and their Iraqi dogs were abandoning the Fort. He'd been looking forward to watching the Russians return and smash them to pieces. It would have meant they’d no longer have to risk valuable ISIS fighters against the tenacious Westerners. Not that it mattered now. He still had one huge advantage; a resource the enemy had no idea he possessed, a man in the enemy camp.