Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (14 page)

“Commander, what is it this time?”

“Fuck you, Best. I told you to hold back.”

The eyebrows rose. “You did? My apologies, I did not hear you. A malfunction, perhaps?”

He gave the German a withering glance and then looked at Goldstein. The Mossad man had walked over to check the bodies strewn around the smashed checkpoint. He stood in front of Best.

“They weren’t Hezbollah. Your men just killed a bunch of Maronite Christians. I doubt they would have been a threat to us.”

Best shrugged. “In that case, the stupid bastards shouldn’t point guns at us.”

Talley fought to control his urge to punch the smug, arrogant German on the nose. His vision blurred, and he could already see the man bleeding in the dust. His fist was bunched ready to strike, and then it cleared, and he stared at the man in front of him. His hard, thin sneering face, showing the bristles where he hadn’t had time for a shave. The Gallet style half helmet hid his hair, but he could see the man was almost shaved bald, like a Marine recruit. The bulky Kevlar vest concealed his slim, rock-hard body.

A
fucking Action Man, who looks every inch the warrior, and knows it.

He mentally stopped himself from taking the swing, but as he did, the feedback from his arm came back to his brain. It was one thing didn't need. Numbness.

Fuck!

He forced himself to get control and stared at the German.

“Next time you disobey a direct order, it’ll be the last one, Best.”

“Sure. You’ll go and rescue those hostages all on your own. Lieutenant-Commander.” Before Talley could reply, he went on,
 
“Face it, Talley, you need us. My men are the finest, toughest fighting unit in the world.” He gestured at the Maronite bodies, “Ask them if you’re in any doubt. Anyway, my men needed the practice. I suggest we stop wasting time and move on to our objective. Or was there something else you wished to discuss?”

“We’ll move out now, same formation as before. And this time, don’t change the orders, not without my permission. Clear, Captain?”

Best grinned. “Of course. Lieutenant-Commander.”

Talley spoke into his mic, “We’re moving out.”

* * *

They approached the outskirts of Bar Elias, and as the town came into view, the rain started again. Talley had been quietly massaging the circulation back into his arm, but for a time there was nothing, no feeling, and no motor function. Nothing. After a half hour, it started to return, but slowly.

The Mossad man kept glancing across at him, his eyebrows raised. He knew. Talley resolved to keep his problem away from his concerned eyes. He had enough problems, without the sympathy of some failed medical student. Goldstein halted the vehicle and looked across at him.

"We'll be in cellphone range now. I'll call Zaki and see if he's prepared to help us."

He dialed the number and someone answered. They spoke for several minutes in Arabic while Talley thought about the man at the other end. Another tragedy of Islamic terror, his family destroyed, his life ruined, and all he had left was to pick up odd scraps of work and subsist on a diet of bitter hatred. Finally, Shimon ended the call.

"We're in luck. He was due to fly out yesterday, but the aircraft developed a fault. I explained to him what we wanted, and he's prepared to help us get into Masnaa camp. We'll pick him up outside the town. For obvious reasons, he wants to make sure he's not seen joining our convoy."

"That's it? He'll come along and help us? What's in it for him?"

The Jew grimaced. "Revenge, the oldest emotion in the book. If there's a chance to rub their faces into the dirt, and kill a few of the terrorists along the way, he'll take it. What other way does he have to honor the memory of his family?"

He nodded and keyed his mic. "This is Echo One. We're going to pick up the guy who will help us get into Masnaa. I want both vehicles to wait here for us. Sergeant Welland will be in command until we get back."

He expected it, and when it came, he smiled, the guttural, Germanic tones of Werner Best.

"I am the senior man while you are away, Commander. I will assume command."

"We've been over this, Captain. Your job is to do what I tell you. In this outfit, your rank counts for nothing. Either you take orders from Sergeant Welland, or you can get out now."

There was silence on the commo, which he took as an acceptance. He looked at Goldstein.

"Let's go."

They drove through the town of Bar Elias, passing empty streets that were rapidly turning into small lakes. Several times, the VW splashed into deeper water, and spray lashed the underside of the vehicle. On one occasion, the water must have reached the engine, for the steady beat of the motor faltered, and it ran ragged for a few minutes. But it recovered, and they drove up a long slope that led out of the town. Goldstein stopped at a small olive grove. A man wearing a long navy blue raincoat and pilot's cap stepped out from under the trees and came toward them. Talley instinctively began to raise his MP7, but Shimon put a hand up to stop him.

"It's okay. It's Zaki."

The side door of the minibus opened, and the man climbed inside. Goldstein turned to greet him.

"It's good to see you again, Zaki."

The other man took off his raincoat and hat. Underneath he wore jeans and a leather A2 fighter pilot's jacket. Talley contained a grin.

 
Is there ever a pilot who doesn't own one of those iconic horsehide jackets?

"You could have picked a better night for it, Shimon," the man replied with a cheerful smile, "You know what this place is like. No rain for several months and then the place floods."

He spoke English that was almost completely fluent, which was no surprise. English was the language of Air Traffic Control worldwide, and it would be a fundamental requirement for any would-be flyer.

Goldstein began to drive away before he answered. "My friend, it wasn't my choice. Hezbollah forced all the moves that brought us here. This is Lieutenant-Commander Abe Talley and two of his men."

He shook hands with them and made himself comfortable. Talley glanced across at him. He was tall and lean, with the kind of solid, good looks that make passengers feel comfortable and safe on airliners. The Lebanese looked to be about forty years old, and when the minibus passed one of the few lit-up buildings, he could see the many streaks of gray in his hair.

Life as an Islamic apostate is not an easy path to take in this land; that much is obvious.

"You know what we're planning?" he asked him.

"Oh, yes, Shimon told me. You intend to pay a visit to the Masnaa camp, and remove a number of hostages from several hundred homicidal fanatics. Or did I miss anything out?"

"I reckon that about covers it. Have you any idea where they may be held?"

"Yes, my best guess is the old Lebanese Bank. I heard Habeeb was using it as a headquarters. It's a strongly built structure, and of course, it will have a secure vault."

Talley nodded. "A good place to hold hostages. Can you get us into the camp?"

He gazed out the window and was quiet for a few moments as he thought about the problem. Then he looked back at Talley.

"There is a way, or at least, there used to be. I imagine it is still there. There's an old well outside the town. The watercourse used to supply fresh water, before it dried up some time in the nineteenth century. Ever since, it's been a place where kids can escape the town and meet each other outside, away from the gaze of the Imams and Mullahs. You understand how they view youngsters getting together to make out?"

"They take a pretty dim view of it."

"A dim view? That's one way of putting it. You've never seen a young girl stoned to death, have you? It's not a pretty sight."

He didn't reply. Shimon steered the VW past the worst of the floods until they reached the Peugeot and the soccer bus, still parked at the side of the road. He called Guy.

"This is Echo One. We picked up our guide, and we're going straight on to Masnaa. Any problems?"

"No."

Something made him look across at the bus, and he saw someone staring out of the window at him. At that moment, there was the crack of thunder, followed by a jagged streak of lightning that lit up the scene. He made out the hard face of Werner Best, and the German was not happy. His expression was filled with hate and anger, so there'd obviously been something between him and Guy. He didn't want to discuss it over the commo, but it would make for interesting listening later on.

"Understood, get moving and keep station behind us."

Shimon Goldstein had seen the face as well.

"Your man Best, he didn't look too happy. A problem?"

"I doubt it. When people run into Guy Welland, problems tend to disappear."

The Mossad man nodded his understanding. He started the engine, put the vehicle into gear, and drove away. With some relief, Talley saw the other vehicles pull into line behind them.

The journey to Masnaa was short, only fifteen klicks. Even so, the rain hammered down in torrents, and they repeatedly had to divert from chunks of road that had become flooded. The route eventually led uphill, and all they had to contend with were fast running streams that swept past them, bringing down debris, tree branches, and small stones in their wake. They slowed even more, and he began to grow concerned about the coming day. There was no way they could make the attack in daylight, so it would delay everything by another twenty-four hours if they couldn't go in tonight. Twenty-four hours the hostages didn't have.

* * *

The VW finally reached the top of the long climb, and Goldstein braked to a stop. From behind, the other two vehicles came up on them suddenly through the mist and driving rain, skidding and swerving across the wet road as they jammed on their brakes. Eventually, the drivers halted their vehicles, and Talley climbed out to look down on the target. Shimon Goldstein and Zaki Nassif joined him. Guy came across, together with Werner Best. They stared down through the poor visibility at the dimly lit town two klicks ahead from where they stood.

Like most other refugee camps, it wasn't a camp at all. Instead, it was a typical Arab town, with row upon row of flat roofed houses huddled together. Many of these places were taken over by the Palestinians when they fled Israel, and over the years had developed into hotbeds of Islamic terrorism, after the rise of Hezbollah. Even hidden by the downpour, the squalor and dereliction was obvious.

"Once you get inside, it gets worse," Zaki said, "It used to be a place where people could live. There was work, education, and most important, peace. Until the Palestinians and then Hezbollah turned it into the shithouse it is now."

Goldstein touched his friend on the shoulder in sympathy. "We know the history, but the place you knew has gone forever. We're going in to bring out the innocent hostages, and maybe kill a few of these fanatics. That would be a bonus."

He turned to look at Talley, as if for confirmation. The Echo Six commander said nothing. He was staring down at what faced them. They'd reinforced the camp, which was clear, even through the rain and mist. In normal times, there would be no tactical value in positioning fighters in the tight ring around the town. But now there were scores of armed men in evidence. They'd used burned out cars and trucks to form barricades, and the Islamists were positioned behind them with their guns ready. He counted four heavy machine guns, Soviet DShKs, the old heavy infantry weapons. Even though they were now obsolete, they fired a heavy12.7mm round, fed from a box magazine attached to the breech. With a range of almost two kilometers, they still had enormous destructive power. He looked at Best, who nodded.

"We'll deal with them."

Talley nodded. "Do you have the tactical tablet? You'll need to vector in the Hellfires onto those DShKs. Otherwise you won't stand a chance."

"That's no problem. We're carrying laser target designators that will uplink to the Predators. You worry about getting the hostages out, and we'll do our part."

That's what I'm afraid of. You do your part, and a few dozen innocents get killed.

He looked at Zaki. "Do you see the well? Is it still there?"

The pilot shook his head. "Negative, the visibility is too poor. It'll be there, never fear. These people aren't big on making repairs. They're more into demolition."

He smiled and was about to walk away, when they saw movement below. A line of vehicles was heading in from the border toward Masnaa. They stopped just outside the camp and discharged a cargo of heavily armed fighters, definitely reinforcements. A man walked out to meet them. He wore a brown robe and a black turban. The face was invisible, not just because of the torrential rain and poor visibility. His beard was huge, almost as if he had a hairy, wild animal clinging to his chin. An entourage of armed men trailed behind him. It had to be the man in charge of the defenses, probably Jihad Habeeb in person.

A pity the range is too far. Half the distance, and one of the snipers could have taken him.

Talley glanced at Best. The German wore a savage grin on his face, and there was no doubt he couldn't wait for the slaughter to begin.