Echo Six: Black Ops 4 - Chechen Massacre (23 page)

"They just located it," Rovere replied. "About five minutes and they’ll have it in place, but it’s big and heavy."

"Copy that. We have to get going, so they'll have to handle it as best they can. We’ll take the second Minimi. Let's go."

He led the way across the scarred concrete and walked through the open doorway into the abandoned building. There was little need for stealth. Anyone inside would have heard them coming long ago, and if the place were guarded, they’d have showed themselves by now. Inside, the light was dim, dark in places and in others dappled by the shafts of sunlight shining through holes in the roof. In the center of the building a concrete structure rose from the floor to the roof, almost like one of the guard towers of a medieval fort. It was the only feature in the otherwise empty space. It could only be the entrance to the missile silos. He led them to an iron door set into the structure. It was fastened by a huge, heavy corroded steel wheel; something like the watertight doors on a submarine.

"It looks rusty. It could be jammed," Guy observed. "I'll give you a hand to open it."

He stepped forward, but before he got his hands to the wheel, Talley had turned the rusty metal and to his astonishment it turned immediately. There was no grinding noise, so someone had kept it well greased, but who? He turned to Josef, who was supported by Domenico and Alessandra.

"I thought you said this place was out of use? Someone's been here, and pretty recently."

The Russian pilot croaked a reply. "Sure, they'll have been inside here recently, but not for any military purpose. I told you; they use the place as a clandestine love nest."

"Okay, let's hope the lovers have given up and gone home."

He stepped through the heavy steel portal. There was a narrow landing, and at the end a flight of steps that descended deep into the dark bowels of the earth; to the missile silos that had never been used for their deadly purpose. Perhaps the purpose they’d been put to was infinitely more useful. Talley was a warrior, first and foremost, but the man who said ‘make love, not war’, had a fair point.

There was faint illumination, enough to light up the staircase. Emergency lighting, positioned behind thick Perspex and heavy metal cages showed at intervals, like fireflies embedded in the concrete. Designed to operate in the event of an attack that took out the electricity supply, they’d evidently stood the test of time. Ahead of him, he could see a long tunnel lit by more of the caged lights screwed to the low, concrete roof, the tunnel leading to the air base. He turned to the men.

"Let's go."

He started down the concrete steps; conscious they were in a relic of the Cold War. A silo built to rain missiles on South Korea to further the crazy plans of the first North Korean Leader, Kim Il-sung. Yet the missiles never came, and the multimillion-dollar complex had done nothing bellicose than host the trysts of air base personnel. Josef seemed to be managing better, although still helped along by Domenico and Alessandra. When he reached the bottom, Talley asked him if he was okay to go on. Without him, their chances were infinitely lessened.

"I'll manage," the Russian replied. "It brings back memories, this place. Good times and pretty girls. I wouldn't have missed this for the world."

The pilot's eyes were bright and feverish, and he suspected someone had given the Russian a strong dose of stimulants, maybe amphetamines, to help him through the mission. He probably carried the drugs himself. He wouldn't be the first bush pilot to carry the means of staying awake on long flights. Talley moved along the tunnel, noticing the heavy steel doors set in the wall at intervals. They were the entrances to the empty missile silos. He shivered as he thought what would have happened if the Russians or even the Chinese had supplied missiles to the NKs.

Without doubt, they’d have used them to start a second Korean War. They were that crazy. Maybe they’d have won it, spreading the Stalinist gospel over the entire Korean peninsula, and from there? A plague that could spread over the Asian continent, like the Islamic plague in the Mideast that causes so much misery to the people caught up in its evil tentacles.

He pushed on. The only sounds were their footsteps on the bare concrete. The tunnel seemed endless, and after ten minutes, there was no end in sight. Josef explained.

"They've extended it since I was here, but I'm fairly certain the next steel door leads into the bomb shelter beneath the control tower. It shouldn't be difficult to find. It'll be the one that’s been used most, and the paint will be worn."

They walked another fifty meters, and in front of him was yet another massive steel door. The paintwork around the steel wheel and locking levers was worn and chipped from hundreds, maybe thousands of people who’d passed through on their way to meet their lovers. They’d arrived. Talley put his head to the door, but there was no noise. It meant nothing. The door was thick enough to block the passage of sound. He drew his suppressed Sig Sauer P226 and spoke softly to the men.

"I'll go in first. Buchmann, I want you right behind me. Guy, get the men ready to come in hard and fast if we run into any trouble, but if nothing has changed, we should find an empty room the other side. Ready, Heinrich?"

The huge German nodded, his eyes gleaming with ferocity as he prepared to do battle.

"Ja, I am ready." He gripped his pistol in one hand; the other held his assault rifle.

Talley spun the wheel, moved the levers to unclip the steel door, and gently pushed it open a couple of inches where it stuck. There was still no noise, and he nodded to Buchmann who smashed his massive shoulder into the door. It swung wide open, and Talley dived through, rolling to one side. Buchmann charged through after him, searching for targets, his HK 416 assault rifle held ready.

He found his targets and opened fire before Talley could speak. The thump of suppressed gunfire was almost continuous as he fired short bursts at the enemy. There were ten of them, and it was obvious the place was used as some kind of a dormitory; rows of single berths, and alongside each a footlocker and a hanging rack for clothes. The NKs were only half dressed, obviously preparing to go on duty. It was clear from the insignia on their tunics they were all officers. It was also clear they were utterly defenseless and unprepared, their faces registering total shock and surprise.

"Cease fire, cease fire, Heinrich!"

The shocked Koreans were indeed throwing up their hands, pleading and babbling in their peculiar language, and the meaning was eloquent enough. They may as well have made their pleas to a deaf man. Buchmann ignored them, consumed by the battle fury that took over his psyche. He became the Angel of Death. It took him less than fifteen seconds, and they were all dead, every single man. The room was a slaughterhouse of shattered bodies and pools of blood. The German calmly ejected his empty clip and slapped in another.

"You want me to cover the door, Boss?" he asked nonchalantly. The killing rage had been satisfied, and once again he was the calm, competent trooper.

Talley realized he’d been holding his breath, eased it out. "Yes, but no more shooting, not yet. I think you've done enough."

"Good work, yes? I killed them all."

Talley didn't reply. He called in Guy's squad, still waiting outside in the tunnel. When Josef entered, helped by Rovere and Alessandra, he winced when he saw the bodies and pointed to one of the doors across the chamber.

"That's the door that leads out of this room, up to the control tower.”

“What is the other side?"

Josef didn't reply at first. He looked back down at the bloody handiwork of Buchmann.

"They look young. They must have been the trainee pilots. Did they have to die?"

Talley shook his head in irritation. "Damnit, Josef, it happened. Sure, Heinrich used more force than may have been warranted, but what do you expect? We're not running a debating society here. Echo Six is tasked to go behind the lines and fight the enemy wherever we find them, and there are precious few ground rules, for them, or for us. This isn't like the world you know. Fighter pilots with their complicated rules of engagement. This was brutal and hard, but the enemy we leave alive today is likely to shoot us in the back tomorrow."

"So you're not going to discipline Buchmann?"

He shook his head tiredly. "No, I'll talk to him. That's all. Now what’s the other side of that door?"

The Russian shook his head in disgust but finally explained there was a long concrete staircase, and the first floor of the control tower was twenty meters above it. There’d certainly be sentries, probably about four men, whose job was to guard the controllers from enemy attack. Another long flight of concrete steps led up to the control tower itself, with its wide view over the runway.

"You should know that if the controllers hear a battle downstairs, they'll seal themselves into the tower and call for help, and that place is almost impregnable when they close it down. It's essential to kill the guards without making a sound, otherwise we’re finished."

"Understood." He turned to Guy. "Take three men with you. That's four, one for each sentry, and make sure they don't hear you coming."

"Copy that."

He nodded his understanding as he opened the door and slipped through, followed by Jackson, Ostrowski and Buchmann. The German gave him a small grin as he disappeared.

He waited but not for long. Their soft boots were almost silent, as they started upward and inaudible when they were halfway up. Each of Guy's squad had their suppressors fitted, hard to hear from more than a few meters away. There was series of faint ' thumps' as the weapons fired. Someone cried out and was immediately gagged. Jerry Ostrowski ran back down the staircase.

"It's done. There were five of them, including an officer. We took them all, so we're clear to continue up into the tower."

He nodded. "Let's go."

Time was already running out. Every minute that went by was another minute for the enemy to discover them in their midst, time to realize some of their men were missing. Time to send in an armed squad to investigate. Guy was waiting at the foot of the staircase, surrounded by the bodies of the sentries.

"You want me to take point, Boss?"

He nodded. "Go. We'll be right behind you, and this time I want them alive. If that tower goes dead, they'll know something’s wrong, and we'll have every man turning up with a gun and looking for someone to shoot." He looked at Josef. "Can you make it up there? You know how things work around here. That’ll be invaluable."

"I'm okay," the pilot replied, his words faint and barely audible. Whatever drugs he'd taken were starting to wear off. His face was pale and clammy, and even speaking was an effort.

"Okay, I want two men to stay down here, and make sure they don't cut off our withdrawal. Drew, you and Jerry, stay out of sight. If anyone turns up, shoot them. Quietly," he added.

"Copy that," both men acknowledged.

Guy had already started up, together with Buchmann. He followed, with Domenico and Alessandra close behind, helping the Russian up the staircase. So far there was no shooting and no noise. When he reached the top and entered the tower, he could see why. It was a frozen tableau. Guy covered the half-dozen North Korean air force controllers, a pistol in one hand and his HK 410 in the other. Buchmann dominated the room with his huge size, standing astride a man he'd clubbed to the ground, and glaring at the rest of them. Daring them to make a move. They sat in front of their control positions, frozen. He looked around and raised his voice.

"Do any of you speak English?"

English is the universal language of air traffic control, so it was reasonable to expect at least some of these men to be fluent, but none replied. Each of them stared back at him with a blank, inscrutable face. He nodded at Buchmann.

"Heinrich, I'll ask each man in turn that question again. Any one who fails to answer obviously doesn't speak English, so they’re no use to us. Kill them."

The German smiled wolfishly, but suddenly there was a chorus of voices.

"I speak English! I understand. There's no need to shoot! Please, it's a misunderstanding!"

Talley smiled. "Good. First question, when is the next activity due on the air base?"

He looked at the clock; the time was already 1400 hours. It was taking too long.

"Excuse me, Sir," one of the controllers, a lieutenant spoke up. "We have a flight of helicopters, four of them, due at 1600 hours. That is all. There is no other activity scheduled for today."

"What kind of helicopters?"

"Mi-24s."