Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (21 page)

"We're ready."

"Hit them."

The guards clustered around the barrier didn't see it coming. Inside four seconds, four men were dead, and as far as Talley could see, not a single shot missed. But there were still more guards inside the concrete blockhouse, and as they neared the steel barrier, the wailing sound of an alarm siren started echoing across the countryside, and more men dashed out to man the defenses.

They moved so fast, the snipers had little time to respond. Even so, Jesse managed to knock down another soldier before they crawled safely behind cover, a sandbagged machine gun emplacement.

"Now the fun’s going to start," Guy murmured.

"I reckon this would be a good time to use the Minimis." He turned to the rest of the men. "As soon as we come along side the guard post, blast them!"

His number two shouted for Virgil Kane and Roy Reynolds to come forward. The others were already lining the side of the bus, ready to deliver the modern equivalent of an old-fashioned naval broadside as they went past. But the Lebanese fired first, and their PK machine gun began firing. A hail of 7.62mm rounds hammered through the bus, too high to do any damage. Next time, they mightn't be so lucky.

Roy and Virgil were almost ready, the barrels of their weapons propped through the front windshield, adjacent to the snipers. He was about to order them to shoot, but there was no need. The Minimis began spewing out 5.56mm rounds from their 200 round box magazines. Talley saw the bullets smash into the machine gun emplacement, forcing the gunners to duck down behind cover.

"Keep firing. Don't let them get up. We're nearly at the barrier, and when we go through, we'll be able to pour fire directly on top of them."

They needed no encouragement. The two men used the weapons to their most effective, short, raking bursts, designed not so much to kill as to pin the defenders behind their defenses and keep them blind. He shouted at Zaki.

"Hit the gas pedal. You'll need plenty of speed to get through that barrier."

"It's too strong!" he shouted back, his face bathed in perspiration, "We won't make it. It'll crash the bus and kill us all."

"You have two choices, my friend. Crash through the barrier and you might die. But if you don't make the effort, I'll kill you myself."

The Lebanese pilot muttered a series of curses in Arabic, causing Goldstein to smile, but he obeyed and stamped his foot down hard on the gas. The bus surged forward, eating up the distance between them and the barrier until they were only meters away from it. One of the machine gunners popped his head up, and immediately ducked down as Roy shifted his aim and stitched a line of bullets along the sandbags next to him. Talley added the weight of his fire to help keep the men pinned down, and he was quickly out. Immediately, he slammed in a new clip.

And then they were adjacent with the sandbagged emplacement. A dozen Echo Six troopers were lined up along the side of the bus, their assault rifles already poked through the windows. As soon as the vehicle was level with the emplacement, most of them had a clear view of the gunners crouched down inside. The storm of gunfire churned up the Lebanese position, and the bodies of the two defenders jerked like marionettes as the hail of lead tore them to bloody scraps.

The bus smashed into the steel barrier, and the massive inertia forced it to rear up against the solid obstacle, but then the metal gave way, and it crashed its way through, the metal screeching like a tribe of banshees. Talley looked behind, and he could see the vehicle's bodywork was ripped off one side as if by a gigantic can opener, leaving behind a strip of metal ten meters long and a meter wide entangled with the collapsed barrier. A man emerged from behind the guardhouse, a soldier. He had an odd-looking submachine gun in his hands and a look of rage on his face.

He aimed the weapon, and Talley was looking straight into the black hole of the barrel. He recognized the odd, futuristic shape of a Belgian made FNP90, the personal defense weapon favored by security troops and police. Firing a 5.7mm round, the gun fed from a capacious 50 round magazine, and could do serious damage at short range. The man fired. He felt a series of blows to his chest, and something stung his neck. He managed to draw a bead on the shooter and let loose with the whole clip.

The man, he looked like an officer and probably in command of the post, slammed back against the concrete building and then slid down the wall, bleeding from almost a dozen hits. And then they were past, and the bus was speeding along the short stretch of road that led to the main entrance to Zahle airfield.

Zaki started to slow again, but the simple application of the steel barrel of Talley's handgun to his head worked wonders. He kept the bus going at full bore.

"Go straight out onto the tarmac across to your aircraft. Don't stop for anything."

The Lebanese nodded, screwing up his face in concentration as he threaded his way across the stand, past parked aircraft, and stopped next to the de Havilland Twin Otter. It was parked outside a large and decrepit hangar with a rusting sign, its paint peeling. The lettering announced the name of his operation to the world, Nassif International Air Charters.

The airport security people were already starting to respond. The furious gun battle so close to the airfield had put them on alert, and a half dozen of them were gazing at the partly destroyed soccer bus. So far, none had made a move. Zaki braked to a stop, and they tumbled out of the bus. The Twin Otter was low to the ground, and the pilot went across, pulled open the door, and unfurled the short airstair. They began climbing aboard, except for the two snipers, who kept a careful watch through their 'scopes on the distant security men. Talley followed them inside and found it loaded with wooden crates. He turned called to Zaki, who was in the cockpit, beginning his pre-flight operations.

"We have to ditch these. Toss them out onto the tarmac."

The pilot rushed back into the cabin. He looked horrified. "I can't do that. They're the property of Sheikh Malik al Saif. He'd go crazy if he thought I'd ditched his cargo. We'll have to unload them gently."

Talley gripped the front of his shirt and pulled him closer. "You still don't get it, do you? When we've finished with him, there won't be any Malik al Saif. He'll be as dead as Osama bin Laden."

"And if he isn't?" The Lebanese said, screwing up the courage to object.

"If he isn't dead, Zaki, we will be. And that includes you."

The men were already dragging out the crates and tossing them onto the tarmac, where some of them splintered and broke open. The Lebanese looked on, appalled, but finally he came to his senses. He gave Talley a rueful smile.

"I'm sorry. I've been stupid. Animals like Hezbollah wiped out my family, yet all I've been able to think about is my business and the deals I have to make with them. I had to fight and struggle just to survive inside Lebanon, and sometimes I forget that it's men like Malik al Saif who pay for their reign of terror. It ends now. I'm committed to getting your girl back. Please accept my apologies." He held out his hand, and Talley shook it, "I'd been trying to figure out a way to get out of it, all the way from Masnaa."

Talley nodded. "I know."

"Yes. But I make you a promise, Commander Talley. From here on in, I'm with you one hundred percent. You wouldn't know, but al Saif holds the mortgage to this aircraft, as well as the lease on my warehouse. It means that when he is destroyed, my business is destroyed. But it makes no difference. I vowed to find justice for my family, and destroying him will be more than sufficient to carry out that pledge. Besides, after everything we've done, I'm finished in the Lebanon."

"You're right about that."

"Would you have shot me in the head back there?"

Talley stared at him. "You wouldn't have been the first."

It was all the answer he'd get. The last of the crates were on the concrete, and the cabin rapidly filled up with his troopers. Zaki told him he’d warm up the engines and contact the control tower to file a flight plan and ask for take off clearance.

Talley smiled. "They won't give it to you. After what we did to their guard post, they'll try to hold us here until the Army arrives to finish us."

He gave him a rueful glance. "No, of course, you're right. Commander, I’m sorry for what I tried to do. Real sorry.” His face took on an earnest look, “I know now these people need to be dealt with. After that…”

“Zaki.”

“Yes?”
                                                                                                    

“Get this fucking plane in the air. Save the philosophy for later.”

“Right. I'll start up, and we'll go straight out."

“Good idea.”

He ran forward to the cockpit. Seconds later the electric starter began whirring, and the starboard engine coughed into life. The port engine followed, and almost immediately, the aircraft began to taxi toward the strip. Guy and Domenico slammed the doors closed as the Twin Otter picked up speed, swung onto the runway, and went to full power for the take off roll.

Talley watched anxiously, but there was no sign the airport authorities were making any attempt to stop them. It seemed strange until he remembered where he was; Lebanon, the war-torn nation where fragile alliances were made and broken almost on a daily basis. They'd be asking themselves who shot up the guard post. Could it be the soldiers of some powerful warlord? They’d want to make certain before they began to take retaliatory action. By the time they'd made up their minds, the Twin Otter would be winging its way toward Saudi Arabia, and Nava.

* * *

He squeezed into the small cockpit. Zaki was in the left-hand seat, and Goldstein sat in the first officer's position. His spirits soared. They'd escaped the Lebanon, and the aircraft was on course for Arar, al Saif's private airstrip in the Saudi desert. The big question was how to infil the palace when they arrived. He talked to Zaki about it, the only man with any knowledge of the layout.

"The warehouse is two kilometers from the palace walls," the pilot explained, "and normally, I don't go near the main complex. They don't allow it for security reasons."

"In that case, we'll have to make a night approach. Any ideas how we can play this when we land?"

"The ground staff are mainly Saudis, and they're not keen on working after midday. It's likely the aircraft will sit on the ground until morning. That's when they unload and load the new cargo."

"That's all we need. What kind of cargo are you loading?"

He grimaced. "People. Al Saif has a mining operation in Yemen. A goldmine, and he imports low paid workers from Bangladesh, India, Pakistan, and Sri Lanka. They arrive in Riyadh, where their documents and visas are processed. I carry them in this aircraft to Yemen."

"It sounds complicated. Why not fly them direct into Yemen?"

Zaki chuckled. "You don't know how this man operates. By flying them into Saudi Arabia first, he is able to sequester their documents, passports, and ID cards. It means they're forced to work without a break until the contract ends, which is normally two years. It's a hard life for those poor bastards, very hard."

Talley thought about that for a few moments.

Men forced by starvation and poverty to separate from their families for such a long period sounds suspiciously like slavery, but nothing new for Saudi Arabia.

"At least they have their wages to send back."

"If they're lucky. Al Saif is skilled at making promises he has no intention of keeping. Plenty of them go back with only a fraction of the money due to them. He makes deductions for living expenses, transport, and visas, even things like tools. All they take back is a deep pool of bitterness. He's a bastard, a real piece of scum."

This is the man who's holding Nava prisoner. When I get him in my sights, I’ll pull the trigger and keep pulling it until he's dead.

He went aft to the cabin and explained what Zaki had told him.

"We can't plan anything until we see what we're up against. But at least we’ll have the night in which to make our attack."

They were scattered around the floor of the cabin, taking the last chance of a rest they'd get for a long time. It promised to be a long, busy night. Goldstein came through from the cockpit.

"We're on final approach to Arar. If you want to come up front, you'll get a good view of the layout."

He followed him forward to the tiny flight deck. Zaki was talking to the local air traffic controller, but he ignored the chatter to gaze down on the target. The palace was huge, something like a cross between the Taj Mahal and the White House in D.C. Only a Saudi billionaire could conceive of such a vulgar monstrosity. Built of white stone and marble, it was two stories, and with enough space for forty or fifty bedrooms. The edifice was surrounded by a high perimeter wall, and even from three thousand feet, he could see guards patrolling both inside and outside the compound.

The airfield was as Zaki had said, long enough to allow commercial jets to land and take off. The strip close to the palace and the tiny terminal building and control tower were connected by a wide tarmac road. At the other end of the strip, two kilometers from the palace walls, he could make out the hangar and warehouse buildings. Of course, al Saif wouldn't want the bustle and noise of cargo and maintenance operations to intrude on his peaceful life inside the palace.