Echo Six: Black Ops 4 - Chechen Massacre (20 page)

They both climbed out of the cab and walked around to the rear of the truck. Four of the men were gently manhandling Josef between them, lifting him out onto the ground.

"He said he wanted to die out in the fresh air," Alessandra explained, her face grey with stress and fatigue; mixed with a fair amount of grief for the skilled pilot who'd saved all their lives but seemed to be losing his.

"I need to talk to him. We have a problem."

"You're not serious, Abe? The poor bastard's dying!"

"I am not dead yet," Phillipov croaked. As he spoke, more blood trickled out of his mouth, staining his huge white beard an ominous shade of red.

"You need to rest," she urged him. "If you try to move, it could make your injuries worse."

He tried to smile, but it came out as a ghastly rictus. "What is worse than death? No, no," he hastened to cut off her interruption, "I know I'm dying. It is only a matter of whether my death can make a difference. What do you want from me?"

"There's a North Korean helicopter put down in the rail yard. It's a big Mi-26. The crew is doing something to the internal mechanics, and I wanted you to take a look. An opinion, that's all we need."

"Of course. If your men can carry me to where I can see it, I will do my best."

They carried him forward and lay him flat at the edge of the hill where he could survey the whole area in front of him, including the switching yard. He smiled when he saw the huge Russian built helicopter.

"Yes, that's an Mi-26, for sure. Heavy lifter, long-range helicopter, they'll use it to transport the warheads to Pyongyang. There’s no doubt. Do you have any binoculars?"

Talley handed them over, and he focused on the crew clustered around the helo. He nodded, mumbling to himself, and then looked up slowly; every movement obviously causing him pain.

"I thought so. It's a big problem with that model when they don't maintain them properly. They’re probably not sure what caused it, but they're stripping out the swash plate bearings, directly above the main transmission. It's a bastard when you're flying long distance and you hear a grinding noise. It means the bearings are overdue for maintenance or replacement. Either that, or you'll drop like a stone when the couplings seize up. That's what they're working on now. I guess they'll have a spare set in the cabin, but it'll take them time to fix it."

How long?"

He looked through the binoculars again. Rovere had come up to watch with Reynolds, and they almost held their breath waiting for his reply.

"At least twelve hours. Maybe more. It depends on how difficult it is to extract the worn bearings, as well as the extent of their engineering skills. I'd say twelve hours minimum, eighteen hours maximum."

Talley looked at his wristwatch. It was already 1430, so the big helo would be on the ground through at least most of the night. And Special Forces owned the night.

"We'll take them after dark," Talley murmured to them. "Guy, get that truck out of sight, but not too far away. We'll need it later. Domenico, tell the men we'll be attacking after dark."

"Boss, they've got broken bones, concussion, and Christ knows what else. Most of them aren’t going anywhere, not for some time."

"Understood, but I have to have men to fight. So get everyone together who’s able to stay on his feet and carry a gun. The rest of the wounded can form a defensive position right here, and we'll pick them up when we're done."

He felt Alessandra's eyes on him and turned to meet her angry gaze. "What?"

"You've got barely half the men able to fight, yet you're planning to go down there and take on more than a hundred crack troops. How do you suggest we get home when you're all dead?"

He shook his head. "I don't have all the answers. All I can suggest is you and Josef surrender to the NKs and fall on their mercy. Maybe they’ll take care of him." She gave him a sharp glance. "As for Echo Six, we came here to do a job, and we'll keep doing it as long as we’re able to keep going forward."

He could see tears forming in her eyes. He went to her and pulled her to him. "Listen, we're not finished yet. I believe we have a chance of pulling this off, and if it succeeds, we'll all get out of here and make it home together. We don't have any choice, Alessandra. It's what we're paid to do."

"And you'll do it!" she hissed back at him. "Like a fucking toy robot, always obeying orders! No matter what the cost, or how many more of your men are killed, you'll keep going."

"Yes. Until those warheads are destroyed, and…" He stopped speaking, realizing what he had been about to say.

"And what? You think I don't know what you were about to say? My God, Abe, you've done enough. Leave it to someone else to destroy the warheads and kill Colonel Ho."

He shook his head. "I'm sorry. That's exactly what Echo Six is. Someone else. We go in when nothing else has worked."

He left her then, to begin making preparations for the assault. Guy returned shortly after and reported he'd hidden the truck two hundred meters away in a narrow cleft in the hillside, ready for use at a moment's notice. All they needed now was to wait.

He stayed with Josef Phillipov, and the dying Russian observed the progress of the repairs to the giant helo. Alessandra worked to make him more comfortable and prevent him from any further loss of blood.

Or as she spat out bitterly, “You’ll want to keep him alive long enough to use him.”

Further back, well out of sight, the men were ready. Weapons checked and reloaded, and their remaining ammunition shared out. They watched the sun creeping slowly across the sky toward the distant horizon. Down in the rail yard, squads of men carried four heavy wooden cases from the rear cab of the locomotive across to the cargo hold of the helo. It meant the warheads were loaded ready to leave as soon as the craft was repaired. Whoever was in command, presumably Colonel Ho, had organized the men into patrols. They spread out over a large area, about one kilometer square. Sentries marched up and down at regular intervals, making any chance of infiltration difficult, but Talley had decided on a different approach. He went back to the men to explain how he wanted it done. They were too professional to complain, but he could see the tiredness in their faces, the numbness, and the acceptance of their inevitable fate.

He was convinced an attack pressed home with sufficient ferocity might, with luck, enable them to reach the warheads and plant demolition charges. Yet they were far-gone, and their skepticism was clear. They were men who’d been driven too far. Still, they had to go further. He made a final effort to convince them.

"Listen, we’re going to board the truck and just drive into that rail yard, as if we own the place. They’ll assume we’re carrying routine supplies. They must be expecting something like that. They need to eat, so they’ll be waiting for deliveries of food and drink.

Domenico leaned forward, a smile on his face. "I would give all my fame for a pot of ale."

"Not that mother again, Shakespeare?" Reynolds rumbled, his voice low and threatening.

"Sorry," the Italian murmured.

No one laughed, and Talley kept a smile off his face as they waited.

He checked his watch yet again.

"I reckon it’s almost sundown. Josef said they're working quicker than he first thought. His best guess is the repairs could almost be complete real soon. We have to be ready to launch our attack the moment that aircraft is back in one piece. One thing in our favor, it should all come together with the light being sufficiently poor to mask our approach. Rovere, make sure the wounded are behind cover inside a strong a defensive perimeter. Guy, better bring the truck up now. We’ll get aboard ready to move. What about the driver?"

"He's hogtied in the back. Probably hungry and thirsty, but he'll live."

"We're all hungry and thirsty. It can't be helped. He’ll have to manage."

A few heads nodded. They hadn't eaten in a long time and were all grimly aware they may never eat another meal again. He did another time check and looked at the rapidly darkening sky. He looked at Josef last, who nodded. “They’re almost done,” he whispered.

It was time.

“Let's get this show on the road, men. Jerry, stay up here and find targets of opportunity. You won’t have any shortage."

Jerry Ostrowski, one of the unit snipers, nodded his understanding. The other sniper, Vince DiMosta, was with the wounded. One of his legs was broken, and he had compound fractures in both his wrists. They didn’t know about possible internal injuries. They couldn’t know, not until they got back, if they got back.

"A couple of questions," Domenico asked him. "Trying to make a quick getaway in a tired, old Korean-built Gaz won't get us far. How can we stop the survivors coming after us? Don't forget, they have that helo as well, and we can be sure it's armed. I assume we'll disable it during the attack. And what about the warheads? When do we transfer them, or do we destroy them on the spot?"

Talley grinned. "None of the above. We’re handling it in an altogether different way. Do not damage that Mil. I intend for us to ride out of here in it. If we create enough panic and confusion, we should be able to disable the crew and get it in the air. The big danger will be from their RPGs, so make sure we target them early.” He gave Jerry a significant look. The Polish sniper nodded. “If our attack succeeds, I'll fly that Mil-26 out of here, land on this hill, and take the wounded aboard. Then it’s a straight run for the border, and home."

They stared at him in astonishment.

"Of course, the Mil," Rovere exclaimed. The other men looked up with interest and a new hope. "It may just work. Have you ever flown one of those things?"

"Stupid question, Domenico. Of course not."

That raised a chuckle. Now, at least, they had a chance. Not much of one, but still, a chance. The truck came slowly toward them, and Guy braked to a halt. Reynolds and the other men began helping move the wounded into position. They wouldn't be able to fight off a half company of security troops, but there were enough of them to kill any small patrol unlucky enough to approach. It was the best they could do. They’d have to manage, all of them. The fit and the lightly wounded boarded the truck and then waited.

The light was almost gone when Phillipov held up a hand in the agreed signal. The crew was closing the inspection hatches, which meant they'd completed the repairs. The machine was ready to fly. Guy sat waiting in the driving seat, the engine ticking over quietly. Talley nodded to him.

"Let's pay our friends a visit."

Guy put the truck into gear and moved slowly forward. When they hit the rutted, pot-holed highway, he turned downhill toward the rail yard. The NKs had temporary overhead lights fixed next to the road running from a portable gas generator. Beneath their bright glow, they could see half-dozen troopers with fixed bayonets, waiting to pass them through. There was no sign they were concerned. Why should they be? It was an innocent North Korean-built truck, driving along a North Korean highway, a familiar sight. No doubt, there’d be rations on board, the chance of a hot meal. As they drew near, Talley gripped his suppressed MP7, praying that none of the sentries had their fingers on their triggers. It would only need one panicked shot to end everything. One of the soldiers stood in the road, his hand held up in the universal gesture to halt.

Guy obeyed, gently braking to a halt. He put one hand through the open window of the cab and shot the man twice in the head. The only sounds two ‘pops’ as the bullets spun out of the barrel. Immediately, Talley opened fire, and the other five soldiers were slammed into the dirt; the noise smothered by the racket from the gas generator and the shouting, cursing men, working to prepare the helo for flight. Guy switched off the engine, pocketed the key, and left the truck where it was. They dragged the bodies out of sight and went looking for targets. The attack had started. Silently.

The crew of the helicopter suspected nothing until they were mown down in a hail of almost silent gunfire they barely heard. It shredded their bodies into bloody ruin. Talley ran forward to the helo, alert for Colonel Ho. If the wily Korean got wind of the attack, he’d rally his men, and they could be quickly overwhelmed. Guy led four of the men to start taking out the defenses. The first machine gun nest was close. They overran it within seconds and smashed the breach of the gun, leaving the bodies draped over the now-useless weapon. A few meters away, one of the missile shooters looked around nervously, searching for a target. Talley saw him and popped him with a short burst, then ran toward him to disable the rocket. He had second thoughts, scooped it up, and began running forward again. His other four men, led by Rovere, reached the helicopter. The enemy was already starting to recover from the silent, twilight attack, and Rover’s squad fired on the run, mowing down the luckless troops searching wildly for the source of the attack. When they reached the Mil, they turned to defend it, just as Talley arrived and leapt through the door. He rushed forward to the cabin, pausing only briefly to glance at the wooden crates stacked on the floor. The warheads.