Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria (32 page)

While the bastard who did this to her is getting away. The longer we wait to get that door open, the more of a head start he has
.

And then it struck him like a bolt of lighting.

The door isn’t going to open. Hafiz used his knowledge of the system to hold us up, giving me false hope that the door would open when the contamination levels dropped, but they’re not going to drop. And he’ll have some other nasty surprise on the way. If my people stay in there, they’ll die. Why did he brutally attack Rebecca? Because that’s what he is. I should rephrase the question. Which Arab ever needed an excuse to take out his anger on a female?

“Drew, you have to break out of there. I’ve got a bad feeling about it. Can you blow the door?”

A pause, while he considered. “It’ll be risky. You know the kind of stuff they have stored down here. Those CX9 shells for starters. We don’t want a sympathetic detonation.”

“Have you seen them? The shells?”

“No, we took a look around, and they’re not in evidence.”

“They’re not there. I reckon the bastard has suckered us again. At a guess, I’d say they’re already deployed with the artillery, ready to fire into Israel.”

“Jesus Christ!”

“Yeah. Get that door open, Drew. I need you up here to take care of Rebecca, so I can go after him.”

Al Jasan – The Sixth Day

He waited less than five minutes, doing his best to keep Rebecca alive while Drew rigged the door with explosives. He knew his efforts fell a long way short of what was needed and was relieved when he heard the warning in his earpiece, "Fire in the hole."

There was a muffled 'crump' from deep underground. Within seconds, his men were pounding up the staircase. Guy appeared first.

"What gives, Boss?"

"He's out there on the loose, and the CX9 shells are already stacked with the artillery. I reckon the crazy fuck is about to start the war early.”

"He could be anywhere. How the hell are we going to find him?"

"He won't be just anywhere. The artillery is located somewhere close, so they can transfer the shells without Israeli reconnaissance flights taking notice, somewhere on the outskirts of the town. Four of us will be enough. We’ll take Buchmann and Whitefeather. The rest can stay here in case any of the Syrians survived the gas and come poking around."

He nodded. "I'll get them to set up a defensive position. There are a couple of light machine guns, Russian PKs, down in that basement. They should be enough to hold them off for now. But as soon as the gas clears, they'll return in strength, considering the importance of this place. We were lucky the last time. Their fire killed their own people when they fired the shells. We won't get lucky next time."

Talley nodded. "I’d guess we have a couple of hours before they come, so we'd better get moving."

He gave the orders, and Rovere and Brooks sprinted down to the basement and returned a few minutes later with the PK machine guns, box fed 7.62mm PKMs. They positioned the weapons at the approaches to the mosque, and Vince took up a position in the minaret to watch for the enemy. Drew was still working feverishly on Rebecca, attempting to stabilize her wounds. Satisfied everything was covered, he nodded to Guy.

"Let's find Hafiz. Everyone make sure you're wearing gloves. Remember, the CX9 is lethal if it touches the skin."

They exited the mosque and entered the square of Al Jasan. Israel lay to the west, and he assumed any artillery emplacement designed to attack it had to lie in that direction. There was no sign of any gas. After the wind changed, the poison blew to the northwest to blanket a remote corner of Syria. It meant they were able to make good progress, and Talley led them at a run to the west side of the town. The rolling hills lay ahead of them and beyond their peaks, the State of Israel. There was no sign of any artillery emplacements, and the land lay bleak and empty.

“Maybe we’re looking in the wrong place,” Guy suggested.

"Maybe. I could have made a mistake about the guns being sited this side of the town," he admitted.

"You didn't make a mistake. We’re going the right way," Whitefeather assured him. "Look at the ground."

The footprints in the sandy soil were unmistakable. Scores of them, suggesting frequent use of the path. Of more use to them were the twin ruts in the ground where a small-wheeled vehicle, maybe a handcart even, had crossed recently, or maybe an ammunition bogie.

"There." Jesse pointed to a spot two hundred meters away, a tiny fold in the ground. "There’s something there, and it would be an ideal place to position artillery. Invisible all round; yet with a good field of fire toward Israel."

Even with his binoculars, he couldn't make it out.

Is it just phenomenal eyesight or something else?

Talley had experienced the American Indian's astonishing abilities before, although it was a mystery how he appeared to see things invisible to other men.

"Roger that. We'll assume it's the right place. There are no tracks leading anywhere else. This Major Hafiz is no fool, and we can assume he will have set up a defense to cover any approach from the town. He knows we're there, and he will have made allowances for us getting out. Jesse, take the point."

"Roger that."

Whitefeather moved forward, making fast progress across the uneven ground. He didn't follow the track but walked along the side, working from cover to cover as he neared the target. Talley followed with the others, well spaced in case an enemy machine gun caught them out in the open. The silence was uncanny, for the CX9 had done its grisly work well. This was no longer a place of life, but of death. They pushed forward, and no sudden burst of bullets slashed into them. No sentry shouted a challenge. Those who had once walked this place were gone, and only the fortunate few who’d sheltered from the gas had survived. But where were they?

Jesse was almost on the target, a slight bulge in the ground. A very artificial bulge in the ground, like soldiers built to site hidden artillery. Jesse dropped flat and inched forward. They dropped down too and waited.

They almost had him. A stream of machine gun bullets tore up the ground around Whitefeather. He rolled into deeper cover, pressed to the ground to protect him from the hurricane of steel-jacketed rounds smashing all around him. The burst ended, and there was silence, probably while the gunner was reloading. He called softly to the Indian.

"You okay, Jesse?"

"They weren't even close. I can see it from here. It’s an artillery emplacement, but they have the entrance covered with that machine gun. It’ll be hard getting in."

"We'll have to take them with grenades." He looked at Buchmann. "Can you hit them with grenades from where Jesse is lying?"

The German nodded. "Ja, that’s no problem, but they'll see me coming."

"We'll give you covering fire. Jesse, as soon as we start shooting, hit them with everything you have. Heinrich is coming forward to join you. He’s going to toss them a surprise.”

"Copy that."

Talley took a last look around, but there were no soldiers in sight, just them and the bunker. It was time.

"Go!" As he shouted, he pulled the trigger and emptied an entire magazine at the emplacement. The others opened up. There was no chance they’d hit an enemy, but Buchmann's grenades would give them something to chew on.

They continued firing, and Jesse was trying to find the weak points of the emplacement, the viewing slots. He fired single well-aimed shots, shooting at shadows inside shadows. Talley didn’t expect much. Whitefeather’s borrowed AKM was no sniper rifle. Although he was a brilliant marksman, his weapon lacked the pinpoint accuracy of his regular sniper rifle. Even so, some of his rounds did penetrate the slots, and they all heard a scream of pain when he found a target. The rest of them fired continuously, burning up ammunition in a furious effort to cover Buchmann's approach. He made it and called in.

"Echo One, do you read?"

"Go ahead, Heinrich."

"I'm in position. Are you ready to go?"

"Affirmative, hit them now! The rest of you, as soon as the grenades hit, move in and nail the survivors. We have to take them before they recover. It's our only hope to beat those machine guns."

Although he couldn't see the German, he saw his arm rise up in the air and throw. The missile arced high and dropped toward the emplacement. Four times his arm went up, four times he threw, and four grenades exploded against the hardened structure. Some of the fragments penetrated the vision slots, and then they heard the screams.

He was up and running, reloading his empty assault rifle as he charged across the ground, realizing he’d just slapped in his last clip. The grenades, together with Whitefeather’s shooting, had been enough to suppress the enemy fire, and they reached the side of the emplacement unscathed. There was a low trench, one meter deep. The entrance was halfway along the trench, a reinforced steel door, but it wasn't the only way in.

"Heinrich, how many grenades do you have left?"

The German checked the bag. "Two, Boss. Then I'm out."

"Two should be enough. There’ll be a wide opening for the gun barrels, the mouth, around front. Drop both those grenades inside. When they detonate, we go in and finish them. Let's do it."

Buchmann snaked over the edge at the top of the mound and turned back to Talley.

"Verdammt! I can’t see the opening. There’s a ledge, and the opening is at least a meter below it. I only have the two grenades, not enough to guess and maybe waste them."

He inched forward and saw the problem. The hard concrete roof of the emplacement, camouflaged in a thin layer of sand, ended in a sheer drop. The mouth for the guns was positioned part way down, sheltered by a ledge. Tossing a grenade accurately enough to go inside was another matter. Talley had a sudden thought and grinned. Buchmann was going to love it.

"Jesse, watch our six. Guy, give me a hand. We'll grab a leg each and lower him down past the ledge, so he’ll see the opening."

The German’s face fell. He looked worried. "I weigh as much as a Mercedes truck, Boss. Are you sure?"

Guy smiled at the big man's unexpected attack of nerves, although being dropped headfirst in front of enemy artillery entitled him to a few reservations. "You'll be fine, Buchmann. Get in position."

He nodded and slid to the edge. Talley took one leg, Guy the other, and they eased him forward so his body slid down, held perpendicular to the ground and staring into the mouth of a howitzer. They struggled to hold him, digging in their boots to stop themselves sliding forward.

They heard a shout, "Fire in the hole." Then the grenades exploded, and the ground vibrated, shaking loose their grip. The big German's legs slid out away from them, and he fell with a loud cry. They followed him over the edge and dropped to the ground next to him. He’d landed on his ass in a deep pit in front of the emplacement, a grenade trap, designed to catch missiles so they’d explode harmlessly without killing the gun crew. He was already getting to his feet, cursing and swearing.

"Schweinhunds! You could have killed me."

“You’re alive, Buchmann. Move in.”

The mouth was only a meter and a half above them, and both men climbed up and clambered into the battery. Heinrich followed a second later, and they were face-to-face with the Syrian guns. A battery of D30s, massive 122mm mobile howitzers; poised to throw the deadly CX9 shells as far as fifteen kilometers over the border and into the middle of the Israeli defenses around the Golan Heights.

The emplacement had concrete hard standings for four artillery pieces, but one was missing. The one they’d deployed to fire the shells that almost wiped out Echo Six and wound up killing their own men. The dead artillerymen lay strewn over the floor. Talley looked around, ignoring the broken bodies, victims of Buchmann's grenade attack. Dead soldiers were no threat to them or anyone. They wore NBC suits, which would have been part of the equipment for these guns. Hence they’d survived the gas cloud, but the thin suits offered no protection against steel grenade fragments.

Crates of shells were stacked against the rough, reinforced concrete walls. At a quick estimate, there were fifty cases. Each was large enough to carry four of the nerve gas projectiles. At last they’d found the target, the shells shipped out from Sheikh Najjar, designed to start a war that would obliterate Israel. He turned to Guy.

"We can't destroy these, not without causing thousands of deaths. There's only one way we'll get them out of here."

His number two nodded. "The Israelis. We need Brooks to call that contact of his. You want me to go back and talk to the Admiral?"

Talley tried his commo first, but all he heard was static. He nodded to Guy.

"Do that. We'll stay here and look around for any more of these shells. There are a couple of doors at the back, so we'll take a look there. I doubt you need to remind him the Syrians will turn up in strength as soon as they think it’s safe. But we're only a few kilometers from the border, so the Israelis could send in a couple of trucks to remove this stuff, and we'd be out of here."

"Roger that." Guy unfastened the heavy iron personnel door and slipped out. Jesse called in, but he told him to stay outside and keep an eye out.

"And remember, this CX9 is heavier than air. The ground is sure to be covered with the stuff, so don't touch it with bare skin."

"Copy that. I kept my gloves on."

They all had. The fear of an agonizing death as the lungs and internal organs collapsed was a powerful incentive, a stark reminder of what the weapon was capable of. Sweaty palms were a small price to pay. He turned to Buchmann.

"We need to spike these guns. The last thing we want is the Syrians lobbing shells as we leave. Look for some propellant or conventional shells we can use to rig them with charges. But first, make sure they’re all dead. I don’t want any miracles, not today.”

"Jawohl."

The German checked each of the bodies. One man was still alive, although the grenade had ripped a huge hole in his stomach. Buchmann pointed his assault rifle at the man's forehead, and Talley watched the Syrian’s eyes open, sending a message of gratitude to the man about to kill him. The shot was abnormally loud in the enclosed space, echoing off the hard concrete walls. Which is why they didn't notice the door in the back open. At the last second, Talley whirled as a man stepped out through the doorway. He wore the uniform of the Syrian Army, with the unit badges of Third Corps.