Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (2 page)

His black 'chute rippled above him as a crosswind took hold, and he corrected again. He checked his wrist mount GPS and confirmed he was on course. He was dropping fast, height 1260 meters, and he'd soon be on the ground. Below, he knew everything was covered with snow, showing a pale green through the NV goggles. They were dressed like white ghosts in their mottled arctic camouflage, their weapons similarly camouflaged.

Maybe the Arctic warfare exercise was useful. We're used to freezing our butts off.

 
He surveyed the ground. There were no lights immediately below, just a small town in the distance, maybe ten klicks away. That was strange. In the briefing, there was supposed to be a small town, less than five kilometers from the LZ, and the target should be on the outskirts. Towns meant there'd be outlying farms. Roads, maybe tracks, motor vehicles, a shepherd's hut lit by an oil lamp to deter wolves. But there was nothing. He touched the transmit button.

"This is Echo One. Heads up, the area surrounding the LZ is in complete darkness. Take extreme precautions. We could be dropping into a hot zone."

A bunch of clicks acknowledged. They'd be ready. He touched down in a deep snowdrift, hit the quick release on his harness, and swept up his weapon to check for any signs of hostiles. If he did see anything untoward, the Heckler & Koch MP7 was more than capable of dealing out death and destruction to whatever faced them on the ground, both soft and hard targets. The compact, lightweight assault rifle was a product of the German arms manufacturer's genius. The ammunition was as lightweight as the gun, tiny 4.6mm rounds, yet toughened enough to penetrate body armor. Against most targets, personnel or even lightly armored vehicles, it was devastating. Talley's gun was fitted with the tailor-made suppressor, which did not interfere with its accuracy or rate of fire. Fitted with Tritium-illuminated flip-up night sights, the MP7 could and did deliver invisible, silent death.

He swept the surrounding area, but the NV goggles only returned the ghostly, green glows of hills, both near and distant. And snow. Nothing moved. Until one by one, the rest of the unit touched down, all within a radius of fifty meters, guided by their GPS units. Inside of five minutes, they had their 'chutes hidden, and the men were ready to move out. He signaled to Jesse Whitefeather, one of the two unit snipers.

"Take point. You know where we're headed. And Jesse..." The Indian turned and waited, "Stay alert, even more than usual. There's a lot I don't like about this."

He nodded and jogged away. The Marine Lieutenant, a tall Apache Native American, had a brown, implacable face and dark, almost jet black eyes that seemed to see through you. He was a first class sniper, considered one of the best in the entire US Military by his Marine Corps General. But he had something else, skills that right now Talley needed more than ever. He could move through terrain in total silence, and perhaps more important, he possessed a sixth sense for trouble that was almost uncanny. He waited until the sniper disappeared and then prepared to move out. He turned to his number two.

"Guy, take the back marker. Jesse is up front scouting for trouble, and we'll put a Minimi front and back, just in case." The SAS man gave him a quizzical look, "I smell trouble."

"Roger that. I agree. Something's not right here."

He loped off to take up position in the rear. Talley turned to the second sniper, Vince DiMosta, the short, dark, second-generation Italian American. "Vince, close up, I want you with me. All of you stay alert."

He couldn't shake off the feeling that something was badly wrong. Ever since that Air Force colonel, and his breezy confidence about operational security. Just before a sniper drilled a hole in his head.

They moved off and covered the terrain fast and in almost total silence. The ground was thinly covered with snow, and their footprints were a giveaway, but there was nothing to be done about it. They would be in and out in a single night before the harsh light of dawn betrayed them to a watching enemy. When the signs of their passing were discovered, they'd be long gone. They moved fast, and soon Talley saw the ghostly outlines of buildings, a town up ahead where they'd expected it. Yet no lights showed. It explained why the countryside had showed so dark from above, but it was strange, very strange. They passed a series of irrigation channels hacked out of the hard, stony ground, and then the track began to descend toward the town. In the distance, he swore he saw something move.

"Echo Five, this is One. How're we looking, Jesse?"

A pause. "I'm...not sure. Hold it." They waited, "Hostiles! They're everywhere. Jesus Christ, hit the dirt!"

The snow around them erupted as a chatter of gunfire spewed bullets around them, chewing up the snow. They were already flat on the cold, white surface, sheltering from the incoming fire and searching for targets. A second later, Roy Reynolds pulled the trigger of his Minimi and began to return fire. Talley keyed his mic.

"Jesse, what's going on up there?"

"I'm coming back in. Heads up, I'm ten meters ahead of you."

He kept watching as Whitefeather fast crawled across the snow and joined him.

"They're all around us, well dug in, almost as if they were waiting for an attack."

"An ambush?"

Jesse paused, took aim, and squeezed the trigger of his Accuracy International Arctic Warfare rifle. The heavy .338 Lapua Magnum round spat out of the barrel, and the wind carried the shrill scream back to them. He nodded in satisfaction.

"That bastard was asking for it. He was their sniper. I noticed the Dragunov first, once seen, never forgotten. Yeah, they were about three hundred meters ahead. They were so close I couldn't even use the commo."

"What's your take?"

"I don't know yet, but they've learned a lot. I'd guess from the tactics our ISAF soldiers use in Afghanistan. And they're using night vision gear."

"Fuck."

"Yeah, it kind of loses us the advantage. They're coming in, Boss."

"Roger that."

Talley could see them now, and they hadn't learned everything. Like not to leave a good defensive position to mount a full frontal attack. He popped a double tap at a man who seemed to be leading the charge and watched him go down. Reynolds had got into a steady rate of fire, short, accurate bursts, and the hostiles were starting to go down. The rest of his men instinctively found tiny folds in the snow-covered ground from which to fight back, and the night was torn apart by the sounds of gunfire and the screams of wounded men.

Guy slid across to join him, firing furiously from his HK410. Virgil crawled over to add the second Minimi to their firepower, and Vince found a low hillock off to their flank to make a usable sniper stand. Talley looked at Guy.

"What about the rear, who do we have back there?"

"Drew Jackson and Kaz Lipinski are at the back. Heinrich Buchmann rounded up a couple of men to cover the left flank, and Rovere has another two out on the right. We're well covered, Boss."

As he spoke, they heard the sound of Buchmann's weapon, the explosive 'thud' as he launched a grenade at an enemy position. The huge, menacing German was using the experimental XM25, in military parlance a 'Counter Defilade Target Engagement System'. AKA, the 'Punisher'. It sure dealt out punishment wholesale, and the enemy was suffering from his barrage of grenades, but still it wasn't enough. Talley started moving to a better position, but then ducked his head as a mortar round exploded only meters away.

"Jesus that was close! We have to pull back and find a better defensive position. We'll be wiped out if we stay here."

"Those irrigation ditches a few meters back looked possible," Guy suggested, "Until they bring up more mortars."

"It'll have to do for now." He keyed his mic. "This is Echo One. Start pulling back. I'll cover the center with Roy. Domenico, Heinrich, stay on the flanks but work your way back."

A series of acknowledgments followed, and their gunfire began to ease back as more men slipped away. Two more mortar shells exploded nearby. The first was a resounding miss. The second landed close to Rovere's position. Seconds later, the Italian came on the commo.

"Boss, I lost two men, Claude Vartan and Ludwig Fromm."

A Frenchman and a German, both good men. Dear Christ, they haven't been with the unit for long.

"Both dead?"

"Affirmative, the mortar shell landed right on top of them. I'll need help to get the bodies out."

"I'll give it to Buchmann's team. Stay in position."

"Copy that."

The enemy had other plans. A series of shouts and screams preceded a second wave of attackers, and this time they came in much greater numbers.

"Boss, this is Vince. We need to pull out now. I can see fifty or more fighters heading straight for out positions. They came pouring out of the town like woodlice. They'll be on us in about half a minute, maybe less."

"Roger that. Keep firing. Buchmann, belay that last order. I want you and the men you have with you to join me in the center. Rovere, you come, too. It's the only way. We have to concentrate our firepower and hit them hard."

"Copy that." Buchmann's voice, laced with a heavy, Germanic accent, which always became stronger in the heat of action. Seconds later, he threw himself down and resumed firing with his grenade launcher.

But they still came. Green ghosts racing toward them, firing their AKs from the hip. A short, bearded man was in the center, firing a big automatic pistol, shouting, urging them on. Jesse hit him twice, and the heavy bullets knocked him to the ground. The combined fire from Echo Six’s assault rifles, machine guns, and sniper rifles took a fearful toll of the attackers, and they slowed and then halted. But still more fighters could be seen pouring out of the town. A second wave was forming, and it wouldn't be long before they renewed their attack. It needed a decision, and fast, a hard decision.

"Pull back to the irrigation ditches," Talley shouted, "Don't stop for the bodies, or you'll join them. We'll regroup and set up a new defensive position."

Another mortar shell landed, this time only a few meters in front of them.

"I'm hit!"

He turned at the scream. One of the Minimis had gone silent, and Roy Reynolds, the big, tough African American, was clutching his shoulder. He looked at Talley and grimaced.

"Sorry, Boss. Shoulder wound, I'll be okay."

"Get moving, Roy, and stay low."

"I'll take the machine gun, "Guy shouted, "Just get out of here."

The trooper nodded and crawled away awkwardly, unable to use his right arm. Talley made a quick assessment of their position; he could ill afford to lose any more men. Reynolds’ wound was a blow. The big, black trooper was a rock that underpinned the entire unit. When everything went south, he could always rely on Reynolds to keep going, keep fighting, and bail them out of trouble. And now he was wounded, out of action. He glanced at Guy, who returned the look with an expression that needed no explanation. They were screwed, no question. He called Drew Jackson, their communications man and demolitions wizard, still covering the rear.

"This is Echo One. Drew, crank up the radio, and call in for an exfil."

A pause. "That bad?"

"Worse. Tell them we'll need those helos to pick up ASAP. We'll work our way out of here and find an LZ where they can put down. We can't use the first one. It's compromised. Tell them to call when they're in the air, and we'll pass on the coordinates."

"I'm on it."

"And then get everyone around you under cover in the irrigation ditches, if they haven't done that already."

"Copy that."

He emptied a clip into the crowd of fighters that had moved nearer. They were only two hundred meters away. Then he reloaded, slung the MP7, and took the Minimi from Guy. Known in the US as the M249, it was a rugged platoon weapon, lightweight and capable of immense firepower from the 200-round mags. Reynolds had left a canvas bag with the spare clips. He looked inside. Five left, he'd need them all.

"Guy, get out of here. I'll hold them off."

The Brit grinned. "No way, Boss. When we go, we go out together."

He paused to fire another clip into the bunch of hostiles in the distance. Most of the enemy did not have the luxury of NV goggles and probably thought the night gave them invisibility. Bad mistake. Four men screamed as the nickel hard bullets ripped into them, and the rest dropped flat. He keyed his mic.

"Rovere, DiMosta, Whitefeather, it's time to go. Guy and me will cover you, so get out now. Set up a defensive position as soon as you're clear, and we'll pull back through you."

"Copy that."

Their firing slackened as more men pulled back until there was only Talley, Welland, and Buchmann. The big German was using the launcher again, firing the small 25mm grenades in groups of four, spread across the enemy's front.

"Buchmann, your turn. Get moving. Cover us when we pull back."

He nodded and raced away at a crouch. When he was a hundred meters back, he opened fire again, and the lethal grenades flew overhead to devastate the enemy positions. He nodded in satisfaction; they had a good chance to get clear of this mess, until the next message came in.