Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (14 page)

There was a silence that lasted a few seconds, as Brooks considered. "I don't know what we could get to you at short notice. How about we contact the Free Syrian Army to lend a hand? They're pretty strong around Aleppo, so they'll be more than happy to help out with weapons and even some men."

Talley phrased his reply carefully, aware of the unencrypted line. "Admiral, I mentioned about knowing who was the enemy. I can assure you the Free Syrian Army isn't friendly, Sir. As enemies go, they don't come much more hostile than these rebels. They did their damnedest to kill us."

Brooks' face fell. "I don't get it. The operation was intended to help them. Why would they be hostile? They should have welcomed you with open arms."

"They welcomed us with loaded Kalashnikov AKMs, shoved under our noses."

He explained about the bloodthirsty butchers of the FSA. The rebels had persuaded the West they were a force of reason and change in the Islamic cauldron of the Middle East. It was a lie. They were anything but reasonable. If they hadn't escaped, they’d have shot the men of Echo Six out of hand, on the pretext they were spies.

Brooks grunted his understanding. "It puts things in a new perspective. I'll run it past the NATO Supreme Commander, and he'll need to talk to the heads of government. Even so, nothing's changed. The operation is even more urgent. That CX9 has to come off the table."

"I understand, Sir. But the Syrians will defend that facility with everything they have, and the Free Syrian Army is just as desperate to get their hands on it. We're kind of stuck between the two opposing forces, and right now all we have to fight with is a couple of pistols and some assault rifles we took off the men who were guarding us. We're almost down to throwing rocks at them. We need weapons and equipment. And I need more men."

He sighed. "Now that they know we have an operation running, sending in more troops would give the Syrians the wrong signal. They’d know for sure we're mounting a major military operation against Sheikh Najjar. They'll blame the Israelis for sure, and we'll have all out war in the Middle East. I cannot allow that to happen. You'll have to do manage with the men you’ve got. As for weapons and gear, call me in an hour, and I'll talk to the Israelis about getting you supplies. But remember, whatever I do will be limited. This operation is balanced on a knife-edge. Sending in heaps of men and equipment could provoke a major war."

"The alternative would mean sending my men to their deaths, Sir."

"I know, I know.” He sounded unusually anxious. “Give me an hour, and I'll see what I can scrounge up. But it's gonna be tight, very tight." He shook his head in frustration. "Brooks out."

The screen went blank as he ended the call quickly, not wanting to risk the chance of the Syrians intercepting the signal. Talley switched off the laptop.

So we're on our own, which is nothing new.

He went to check on his men. They'd endured another night without sleep, and they'd found themselves comfortable positions in the shade to catch up with a few Zs. Drew Jackson and Julio Garcia had finished their spell on sentry. They were dozing under a palm tree at the side of the well. Guy was sitting on the ground nearby, talking to Roy Reynolds. They nodded a greeting as he came up to them.

"I managed to get through to Brooks, and the operation is still on. There's no chance of reinforcements. The best we can hope for is a weapons drop. He'll do his best and come back to us."

Guy grimaced. "It's not optional, Boss. We need weapons if we're to have even half a chance of taking down that place. As for more men," he shrugged, “it’ll be touch and go with them. Without them…”

"There won't be any more troops. At best, he'll arrange the weapons drop. I reckon he has his own difficulties. Politics. They’re called politics.”

Roy was standing nearby, and he cursed under his breath, "Fuck the politics. He ain’t here. We go back in there with half our men missing, and we'll get sandwiched between two bunches of crazies." He shook his head in anger. "The bastards back at HQ expect us to pull off miracles, but this time it ain't gonna happen. They'll tear us apart and spit out the pieces if we go in."

"I agree," Talley replied, "but this outfit never disobeyed an order. Never has, never will."

"It's like the fucking Charge of the Light Brigade," Roy grumbled. "They want us to charge the guns and go down in a blaze of glory, is that it? It's all bullshit."

Guy suddenly jumped to his feet. "We have to even up the odds. It’s the only way."

Roy snorted. "What're you saying? Tell them to parachute in a squadron of M1 Abrams?"

"Not exactly," he chuckled, "but maybe something similar.” He glanced at Talley. “It all depends on Brooks, on how far he's prepared to push the Israelis. We’re going to need a whole lot of firepower, and those people have it. ”

“Have what?”

“For starters, we’ll need drone support. Armed drone support. Second…”

“He won’t wear it, Guy. Everything has to be done undercover. If the enemy catch sight of NATO and the Israelis transporting a heap of sophisticated weaponry to send over, we’re all in the shitter.”

Guy grimaced. “We’re already in the shitter, Boss.”

“True, but as far as the Syrians are concerned, we’re a small recon unit, not a major force escalation.”

His second-in-command wore a determined expression. “We still need the tools to do the job. To start with, armed drones, at least three, with laser designators on the ground.”

“Three! Why so many?”

“We’re up against the CX9 plant, the Syrian Army, and the FSA. Three separate entities.”

Talley nodded his understanding. “They’ll never wear it, but go on.”

“We need heavy firepower on the ground, something that can hit back at enemy armor. I’d suggest a couple of .50 caliber M2s to handle the APCs, and NLAWs for anything heavy.”

NLAWs, Next Generation Light Anti-tank Weapons; the latest short-range anti-tank missiles and capable of destroying any Main Battle Tank with a single shot.

"Is that all?" he replied acidly.

"No, it's not all. We've lost most of our gear, so we need assault rifles, pistols, a couple of SAWS, grenades, and breaching equipment. I guess that about covers it."

Talley sighed. "I'll do my best, but it'll take a miracle. Where the hell will he get hold of all that gear at short notice?"

“Remember that hangar at Lod when we first got there?”

He nodded slowly as it hit him. “Yeah, I do.” The stack of wooden crates, wooden crates that contained exactly the weapons Guy had described. UCAVs, the Harops drones, guided aerial bombs. NLAWs, the modern anti-tank missile systems, M2s, .50 caliber machine guns, and a host of other weapons, as well as SIMON breaching grenades. “I’ll be damned.”

Guy nodded. “It’s all there, neatly stacked at Lod Air Base. All they need do is load up an aircraft and airdrop it to us."

"Assuming the Israelis haven't already deployed it in the field."

"In that case talk to the Admiral. It's that or nothing."

Talley felt a flash of irritation at the ultimatum, but he dismissed it straight away. The former SAS man was right. Even with the munitions from the Israeli hangar, they would be up against it, but at least they’d have a chance. He strode back to the hut with the satellite connection and booted the laptop. Two minutes later, the face of Admiral Brooks appeared on screen, looking flustered.

"I'm still working on it, Commander. I need more time to locate what you need."

"No, Sir, you don’t. I can tell you exactly where it is. Inside the hangar at Lod, packed in wooden crates, ready to send into the field."

He went on to describe what they'd seen when they flew in from Cairo. Brooks listened intently and made notes. “I’ll do my best, Commander. Although, I can't see the Israelis parting with weapons they have ready for an entirely different operation. Contact me at 1800 hours, and I'll let you know. But in the event they do agree, you need to locate an LZ for the drop. Any questions?”

About a hundred, and then some.

“No, Sir.”

“Good. Brooks out.”

He switched off and caught sight of Mahmoud standing just inside the hut with Nava. Once again, her simple beauty struck Talley.

“I guess you heard most of that.”

“Yes, and we can assist you with a landing site if you wish. There is a place out in the desert, Wadi Marat, about ten kilometers from Salmeh.”

“That would be helpful, but I’ll have to look it over. I need to check the type of ground, local crosswinds, and so on. Can you arrange that?”

“It’s no problem.” He looked at his niece. “Will you take Commander Talley to Wadi Marat?”

“Of course. If he’s up to it.”

What the hell? Is this some kind of a challenge?

She regarded Talley or a few moments, her face breaking into a mischievous grin. “How do you feel about riding a motorcycle?”

He remembered his youth, riding big Harleys along the wide, open roads of California.

“Ma’am, there’s nothing I’d like better.”

Both Syrians smiled, and he wondered why. A half hour later, he knew. It was Nava’s motor scooter, a tiny, 50cc machine. He’d had new dressings put on his wounds and changed out of his camos into a borrowed shirt and pants. Mahmoud had wrapped a long Palestinian scarf over his head. It was enough to make him look like a local, at least, from a distance. But he tucked a pistol under his shirt. If anyone came inside fifty meters, they’d make him for sure.

With two adults on board, the bike barely made thirty kph across the bumpy, rutted surface of the desert, and when they reached the Wadi, he felt as if he’d traveled ten times the distance. She parked the bike next to a heap of stones that rose up out of the sand like a small medieval fortification. He looked around, put a wet finger up to test the wind, and found calm, almost still air. The site was near perfect. Maybe a little too open if a wandering patrol happened along, but otherwise it was fine. He looked around to give her the good news and found her checking the amount of fuel in the tank, using a wooden stick.
 
Obviously, the fuel gage had long since ceased to work, if the machine had a fuel gage.

“This is a good site, no problems. Do you mind if we take a break for a bit?” he asked ruefully. “I’m saddle sore after that ride.”

She chuckled. He noticed her voice was tinkling and melodious. It sounded like a mountain spring bubbling through the rocks.

“I am more than happy to stay awhile, Commander. I love this place. It is so peaceful. Far from the violence and brutal infighting that has bedeviled this country.” She sat down on the sand, indicating a spot next to her. “Please, sit here and rest.”

He wanted to stand, to ease his aching ass, but he couldn’t say no. Not to her. He joined her, thinking how unreal it was, sitting in a remote desert, thousands of miles from his home in California. Next to a girl who was almost a clone of Kay, yes, that was who she reminded him of, although she was leagues ahead of his ex-wife. He lost himself for a time, thinking of the mother of his two sons, and how good it had been when they’d first met.

“You’re a long way away. Are you thinking of home?”

He jerked back to the present.

I was thinking of a pretty girl who looked just like you.

“Something like that. Tell me about you, and about Salmeh. Are you planning a future here?”

She laughed. “You mean because it is such a poor place with nothing to offer?”

“Yeah, I guess that’s what I meant.”

“One day I will leave. I have to. I intend to complete my studies to become a doctor.”