Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields (15 page)

Her eyes were like saucers. "I can hardly believe it. You hit it at twenty meters."

He shrugged. "Stationary target. I may have needed two shots if it had been on the move. Nasty things."

She was still staring at him, like she was some schoolgirl smitten by the team quarterback. He flinched as her arm came out, but she touched him on the face. Her hand stayed there, and he marveled at how cool and smooth it was after the long, hot crawl over the surface of the desert. Their eyes met. "Now I know I don't need to worry about snakes."

"Only the two-legged variety that wear black outfits and answer to the name ISIS."

He watched keenly for her reaction. Her grin stayed on her face, and she replied, "Fine with me. Maybe I'll earn some Brownie points back at Langley if we kill enough of them."

He hadn't realized she carried a gun, but he could have kicked himself for his stupidity. Of course she carried a gun. She was Agency, on assignment in a war zone. It would have to be a very slim, fat automatic; otherwise he'd have seen the telltale profile under her clothes. He tried not to make it too obvious he was scanning her clothing, but she guessed.

"It's in a special holster underneath by bra. A Beretta Storm PX4 Subcompact, chambered for the 9mm shell, so I can swap ammunition with most of our people."

"Is it any good?"

"Not like your Sig, no, but it's lightweight and reliable. No suppressor, of course, but the big advantage is the rounded corners. Means I can pull the weapon without ripping off my bra and showing the enemy my tits."

He couldn't keep the smile off his face. "Let me know when that day comes. Hey," he realized he'd gone too far, "I didn't mean that. Let's get down that shaft. I'll go first and deal with any snakes. With or without legs."

"I'd like that."

Did she mean killing the snakes, or ripping off her bra in a quick draw and showing her tits? Now that would be something. Don't be stupid, Talley. She meant the snakes. Watch it; you're sailing close to a sexual harassment charge.

"Hold the flashlight. I'll tell Guy we've found it."

"Sure. Abe, I'll feel safe with you in the lead."

There she goes again. If I didn't know different, I'd say she's flirting with me. Not the time, and not the place for it. Later, maybe!

He found Guy outside with the men clustered around the entrance to the tunnel. "I'm going in with Geena. Follow us down in five."

"Roger that. You want me to leave a sentry here, just in case?"

He thought about that but decided against it. "The Iraqis are watching from the other side. If they see anything, they’ll deal with it."

"They'll wimp out again, Boss. You know that. They don't have the guts."

He winced. Guy was right, but his choices were limited. "They may, but if they run, we screwed anyway. Better to have our unit intact when we go in. No sentry."

"Roger that."

He ducked back through the opening and rejoined her. A splintered and rotten ladder descended into the depths, but he ignored it and fastened a long, thin rappelling line to an outcrop of rock. Then he started down, clutching the rope with both hands and Geena pointing the flashlight at the base. A meter above the earth, he drew his Sig and aimed at another viper. The snake had detected the vibrations of his approach and was threshing its tail in anger at its home being invaded. He aimed, an easy shot, and pulled the trigger. Another one down, but he cautioned himself to conserve ammo. Once they were all down, they'd have to use their knives and boots to deal with the poisonous serpents.

She followed him down the rope and cringed at the snake bodies on the ground. "Ugh, I hate snakes. I hated them last time I came here, and I hate them this time."

He put a friendly hand on her shoulder. "There won't be many more. Most of the varmints saw what happened to those two I shot and took off."

She grinned. "Sure they did. Abe, the shaft is still open. Look."

She pointed the beam into the entrance to a dark hole. The roof was low, less than a meter high, and it was narrow, barely wide enough to squeeze through. If it didn't thin out further along the passage, they might make it. Just, except for one man.

"Buchmann won't fit inside there, no way."

"The big German, no, I guess not."

"Okay, he'll have to stay this end. How long is that tunnel?"

"Two kilometers."

"Got it, a walk in the park." He hit the transmit button, "This is Echo One. Buchmann, you'll stay this end. There's no way you'll make it through. Everyone else, get your asses down here ASAP."

"Commander, I will get through, believe me. You need me for this..."

He cut off the Germanic tones, "You're out, Heinrich. As soon as we've made the breach and the shooting starts, I'll call. Come over with Salim's Iraqis. We'll need every gun to finish the job. Okay, let's get this one. And watch out for snakes. If you see one, use a knife. Conserve ammo, and only use a handgun if it's a last resort. Move, people. We don't have all night."

Guy was already shinning down the rappelling rope when he took the flashlight and crawled into the narrow tunnel. There were no more snakes. Maybe he'd been right. They'd seen what happened to the other two and found somewhere more sensible to hide out. Behind him, Guy shone his own flashlight into the tunnel.

"Two klicks, Boss?"

"Two klicks."

"Shit, it's gonna be hard. We won't make it through there with our Kevlar vests, too bulky."

Talley began stripping off. "Lose the vests. And the NV goggles, there's no way we'll be able to get through wearing them. They'll snag all the way.

He shrugged out of his own armored vest, unfastened his goggles, and clambered into the narrow tunnel. It was long, hard slogging work. After they'd crawled a kilometer, he was all in, and yet they were a mere halfway. The walls of the qanat seemed designed to trap their clothing with constant, sharp projections. It was hot and airless, and he was sweating like crazy. They all had their combat knives out. The snakes hadn't gone away. Every few meters a reptile would appear out of a hole in the rocky side or roof of the qanat, hissing, waving its head in anger, until they cut it off.

And then they reached the end of the tunnel. A rock wall faced them, a dead end. It was too soon. He called back to Geena. "There's just a heap of stones ahead of us, but we can't have reached the end."

"It's a roof fall," she replied, "I was afraid of this."

"Any guess on the length of the fall?"

"Nope. Could be a meter, could be all the way to the fort, almost a kilometer."

He felt the familiar feeling of failure begin to grip his mind, but he shoved it aside. It wasn't just him. He had his men depending on him, as well as Buchmann back at the rock cairn. He kicked away the black dogs of despair and wrenched at the loose rock.

"I'll pass the debris back. We'll dump if behind the last man."

Guy coughed. "Excuse me, Boss. What if it's the whole of the way to the end? That's a lot of debris."

"In that case, we'll have to work quicker." He passed the stone back to Geena and ripped out the next one. The process was long and painful. After an hour, they'd barely made a meter of progress, and he began to worry they wouldn't make it before dawn. Assuming they made it at all. Another hour, another meter, and then they hit more solid rock. A huge boulder that refused to move, no matter how he tried to prize it free. In the end, Guy had to wriggle past Geena to join him at the front, and together they hacked and pulled at the stone.

"We're not going to make it," Guy murmured, as they took a breather. The flashlight beam was on the SAS man, and he was drenched in sweat and dark streaks of mud.

"We'll make it. Once we clear this boulder, we'll find we're past the fall. This has to be the worst of it."

"That's good to know. I have just one question, Boss. When we've loosened the boulder, how're we going to get past it?"

"I can answer that."

He'd been worrying about that for the past few minutes, ever since he'd felt movement in the blockage. He turned the flashlight beam to light up Geena. "Go ahead."

Her face was almost as sweat streaked and filthy as Guy's, and presumably his own.

"We make a hole in the tunnel wall, move the sand and debris to the rear, and push the boulder into the hole."

He looked at Guy and grinned. "That should do it."

"Yeah, about a kilometer to go. No problem."

Maybe he's right. Is it
time to give up this fool idea, before we get into serious trouble? A roof collapse, it could happen at any time, and we'd be buried alive.

The past weeks flashed through his mind in a kaleidoscope of confusion and tumbling images. The disaster his personal life had become, the casualties mounting up, like the last two men, Cross and Casta. The booze he'd used trying to escape, at least escape inside his head. With an effort, he curbed his racing thoughts. They weren't about to be buried alive. They’d make it to the fort.

"We'll get past this in a few minutes, Guy. I promise you, we're nearly there."

They dug and hacked at the loose scree surrounding the boulder, and at last, it started to move. They pushed it out of the way while each man passed back debris from the hole they'd dug. When they dragged the boulder clear, he shone the beam into the blackness, and he saw ahead of him a dark shaft.

It’s clear!

He turned back to Guy. "We're there. The boulder was the last of the roof fall. Give me a hand to move it."

"Sure." Welland's expression was peculiar. He didn't sound so enthusiastic.

"What is it?"

"You checked the time? It's past 06.30. It's dawn outside."

He fought back the fingers of despair that plucked at him. "In that case we'd better crawl faster. Move it, we're almost out of time."

"Almost?" his number two murmured.

"Almost. Haul ass, people. It's time to kick some ass."

He was crawling away from the area of the roof fall, and Guy was right on his tail, followed by Geena and the men. He'd doubled their speed, gambling there'd be no further obstacles, and he estimated they'd be under the fort in around fifteen minutes. That was when the earth heaved, as if they were in the grip of a mighty cataclysm. As the ground bucked and heaved, the noise of a massive 'boom' came to them.

It felt as if it had come from above, but no doubt it was an illusion. Deep underground it was impossible to pinpoint the source. It had to come from deep below the earth's crust. Something to do with tectonic plates, or the escape of pressure built up over the centuries. Chunks of rocks mixed with sand poured down over their heads, and in that moment, he knew their worst fears were about to be realized. They were going to die in this tunnel, buried alive by an earthquake.

Captain Yuri Semyonov led his squadron on the long flight east, out of Damascus. They passed the smoking wreckage that was Palmyra, after their earlier raid. He glanced out to starboard and relaxed. There was his wingman, First Lieutenant Vladimir Borodin, keeping station a few meters off his starboard wing, and ten meters back as the rulebook demanded. Borodin sensed his look and waved a gloved hand at him. They were flying low, too low for the amount of ordnance they carried under the wings.

The Sukhoi SU-25 was cruising at around three hundred kilometers an hour to save fuel. At low altitude, they were very vulnerable to anti-aircraft fire from the ground. A shoulder-launched missile could bring down one of his Sukhois. They were nicknamed the 'flying tank' because of their armored construction. Yet a missile could destroy a tank or down a Sukhoi in the blink of an eye. At reduced speed, the risk was quadrupled, but they had no choice, the target was at the limit of their range. Getting home was a major priority. The prospect of a forced landing in ISIS controlled territory was something that sent shivers down the spines of all of them.

Leaving Palmyra, they came across the plume of sand and dust that indicated a convoy moving along the main highway, the M20 that ran from Palmyra all the way to the Iraqi border. Their objective was a few klicks south of the road. They were flying so low it was easy to make out the vehicle marking as they flew past them. Major Rostov, The Pig, was in the lead. It was easy to make out his distinctive GAZ Tiger, with the array of aerials and the unit pennant flying.

Behind him, his company rode in two trucks, and he'd managed to bring along an APC, A BTR -90. Equipped with a 30mm Shipunov cannon, a 7.62mm PKT machine gun as secondary armament, the armored vehicle also deployed a Spandrel AT-5 anti-tank guided missile, as well as a 30mm automatic grenade launcher. A formidable piece of armor, yet a single RPG missile would turn it into so much scrap. The briefing in Damascus had warned them of the enemy's possession of a number of RPGs, deployed to defend the fort. If the bombs and rockets of his Sukhois didn't wipe out the missiles, he could be driving into problems.

The Captain flew on, enjoying the blue skies above them and the air venting into his cockpit from the AC, which for once was working well. A warning sounded in his headphones. He checked the panel and thumbed the transmit button.

"Heads up, we're coming up on target, about three minutes."

"I see it," the voice of his wingman exclaimed. Against orders, Lieutenant Borodin had climbed a hundred meters higher for a better view, "About ten klicks. We're right on target."

He cautioned himself at the exuberance of youth. He was about to send an early warning to the defenders.

"Vladimir, get back down here. Keep formation. This is war, not a Sunday morning lark."

"Yes, Captain. My apologies, Captain." He sounded anything but apologetic, "I will make up for my mistake, a bomb planted in the middle of that fort. I'll show them how a Russian attack aircraft can put a bomb in the bull’s-eye. Shake up the anti-aircraft missiles, if they have any."

"They have RPGs, you know they do. That's why we're flying low."

"Even better if I blow them off their feet, my Captain. An anti-missile strike, what do you say?"

He meant to reply, 'Yes, that may have been useful, but not here, and not now.' But as he got out the first word out, Borodin went to full throttle and soared up into the sky for his attack run. Semyonov went after him. That first glimpse of the incoming Sukhoi could have alerted the missiles, and there was a good chance they'd be waiting for him.

At three thousand meters, the target came into view, an ancient stone fort. There were men running around the walls, and he knew his worst fears had just been realized. They were fully alerted. Borodin dived straight in for his bombing run, but half a kilometer before the fort, heavy machine gun opened up on his aircraft. The Sukhoi popped a long stream of flares to decoy any missiles, and sure enough, three plumes of smoke announced their launch. Flares can't decoy machine gun bullets, however, and the gunner was clever. He led the stream of 12.7mm bullets just ahead of the nose of the diving Sukhoi as it swooped, ready to toggle the bomb.

Semyonov pushed the throttles all the way to the stops, and his engines screamed as he went to the aid of his wingman. He placed the pip of the gun sight on the big machine gun and pulled the trigger. Shells lashed out of his cannon, but they all exploded wide of the mark. The ISIS gunner scored a hit. The long, continuous stream of heavy caliber bullets tore up the sky. The hail of lead tracked ahead of Borodin's Sukhoi, and the inevitable happened. Some of them found the target, and the entire aircraft seemed to stagger as chunks of lead slammed into the fuselage. Into the cockpit, and they were enough to penetrate the armor.

He didn't see the moment Borodin died. He was still trying to kill the machine gun and protect his wingman. At last, a burst of shells hammered into the target. The barrel of the gun swung straight up into the air as the weight of the gunner's body fell on the breech, but it was too late.

He observed the young Lieutenant's Sukhoi suddenly point up into the sky. It must have happened at the instant he pressed the release for his bomb. Rather than plunging down inside the fort, the kinetic force of the aircraft's abrupt change of course forced the bomb out at a steep angle. Instead of a smooth trajectory, the black object was lobbed up into the air to travel far out into the desert. He saw it explode about a kilometer away.

Borodin's aircraft continued its upward climb, then by some miracle leveled out, starting a long, slow glide to earth. It would hit several kilometers away, and he knew there was nothing he could do to save the pilot. The cockpit canopy had taken the full force of several 12.7mm bullets, and Borodin had slumped down, his head a mass of blood and tissue. With an overwhelming feeling of rage, he flipped his aircraft around and began to bore in on the fort. If anyone moved down there, he'd kill them, and if any of them survived his fury, the other Sukhois were circling a kilometer to the west, waiting to go in.

The damaged Sukhoi hit a low range of hills about ten kilometers away, exploding in a fury of smoke and flame. There'd been no sign of an ejector seat, no parachute. Borodin was dead. He tried to control his anger, and lost. Slammed the stick forward, thumbed the flare release, and rammed the aircraft into a hard dive, straight at the fort. Bullets licked out from the machine guns, but he ignored the heavy caliber shells punching the air around him, centered the gun in his sights, and pressed the fire button. A stream of cannon shells punched from the nose of his Sukhoi, and he kept the fire button depressed until the electric Gatling mechanism was rotating on an empty drum.

The machine gun had disappeared, and he'd also had the satisfaction of taking out two men attempting to set up a missile launcher.

Good, it
will clear the way for other aircraft. At least I’ve achieved some measure of payback for young Lieutenant Borodin.

He pulled back on the stick, and his aircraft zoomed up into the clear blue sky.

"All units, attack in formation. I've cleared most of the triple-A, but there could be more, so be careful. As soon as you've released your bombs, go around for a second pass and hit them with the cannon." He knew it was wrong, but the rage was like a thick, dark cloud that had encircled him and taken over his whole being, "Kill them all. Anything that moves, kill it. I want to send them a hard lesson, not to fuck with the Russian Air Force. Bastards!"

He circled at two thousand meters and watched as one by one, his Sukhois dived down and delivered their ordnance. Every bomb dropped inside the fort, and as ordered, they circled around for a second pass to use their cannon. When the last aircraft climbed to join formation, the place was a smoking ruin, although he could see the walls still stood.

A pity, maybe we can come back and pay it another visit. Finish the job, permanently.

He set course for Damascus. There was a single thought on his mind. The letter he'd have to send to Vladimir Borodin's parents. They were friends of his own parents, and had been ever since he could remember. Borodin and his sister Tanya had even planned on an engagement.

Thanks to some filthy raghead in this desert shithole, it will never happen. Bastards!

* * *

"Abe, save me, we're dying! The roof's coming down, and it's burying us alive."

Although it was impossible, she'd clawed and wriggled her way to Guy’s back to reach him, and he’d allowed her to squeeze past. All hell had erupted inside their tiny crawlspace, and he let her come to him. He held her as they started to die. Small chunks of rock, sand, pebbles, and even several snakes rained down on their heads. As he held her, he wondered if he should do the decent thing.

A fast bullet beats a long, slow
death anytime.

He reached to the holster and pulled out the Sig. Everything was difficult. He'd lost the flashlight, and he had to grope his way through the sand and stones sealing them into their tomb. For tomb it was, there'd be no escape, not this time. Already, the air was starting to taste foul. He sucked in short breaths, and next to him, her body writhed and shook as the terror gripped her. They were seconds away from suffocating. From enduring an awful, panting, lung searing death in the sand that buried them all.

He found the gun and worked it out so it was next to her head. It was best she didn't know what he was about to do. Afterward, he'd put the barrel in his mouth and do the same to himself. The outcome would be the same. Death. He found her hair and groped for the top of her skull, where he could best place a bullet. The ground moved again several times, although whatever caused it was further away, and the shockwaves did little damage to the tunnel. He took up the pressure on the trigger.

Then he hesitated.

Is there a way out of these graves? The earth’s no longer shaking, and debris has stopped falling from the roof. We're not dead. Not yet.

He reached out with his hand and touched the new blockage. It wasn't a full-on tunnel collapse. More like a heap of loose debris, and when he ran his hand around it, there was empty space on the other side.

There’s a chance, a small chance, but a chance.

He eased the Sig back into the holster. She hadn't seen it. He was certain of that.

"Guy, pass me a flashlight. There may be a way through this."

* * *

Heinrich Buchmann watched the Russian aircraft bank for the attack on the fort. The heavy machine guns on the walls roared, and streams of tracers lit up the sky. One of the diving Sukhois seemed to shiver in the air and make an abrupt change of course. He knew what had happened. The heavy machine guns had scored a hit. Maybe the pilot was dead, maybe not. The next few seconds would decide whether an ejector seat left the stricken fuselage, carrying the pilot to safety. What happened next was unexpected. A bomb left the hardpoint under the fuselage, and instead of tracking down to the fort, adopted a slanting trajectory, more of a lob than an aimed piece of ordnance.

He was enjoying the show. The stupid Russians had fucked up. No surprise there, except his amusement changed to horror as the black object, a laser guided bomb, prescribed a path toward a point midway between the cairn of rocks and the fort. It happened in an eye blink. One moment, there was just smooth, unbroken sand. The next, the ground erupted. A ten-meter square piece of the earth seemed to rise up and then crash down, forcing a plume of smoke, dust, and sand high into the air.

He had to make a fast decision. Most of them would be dead. A huge explosion like the one he'd just seen would bring down the roof of an old tunnel beneath it.

Will any of them survive? No, they had no chance. All for the sake of this shithole fort in the Syrian Desert, to help the Iraqis fight off the threat to their shithole country.

He glanced back at the Iraqi position, but there was nothing. The bastards were cowering behind the rocks, doing nothing.

Nothing!

They'd sat and watched while a Russian bomb wiped out his unit. When the planes left, it would be a perfect opportunity to storm across the sands and hit them hard before they recovered.

Will they do it? No way
will they, they’re ragheads.
Backshooters. No honor. On the other hand, they may change their minds if I am able to persuade them.

He flexed his mighty fist; he'd use it if necessary. It had served him well in the past. People tended to take notice when he slammed his meaty paw into their belly. The smoke was a perfect cover, and he jumped to his feet and started running. The Iraqis had men, weapons, trucks, everything they needed. Except for a little something called guts.

I'll give them guts. Either that or I'll rip them out of their yellow bellies.

* * *

"What can you see?"

“The tunnel. When we've cleared this debris, it looks like we can keep going. Unless we hit any more problems, this'll take us right under the fort."

"We'll be inside in broad daylight," Guy pointed out.

Talley was already pulling at the sand and rock, clearing the crawlspace. "Broad daylight suits me after being inside this. I'm happy to fight anywhere except in the dark. Keep passing the debris back. I'm nearly there."