Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (24 page)

"That's it, head for the BTR. Let's go get your girl."

Seconds later, they were approaching the BTR. Rovere's unit had already returned, and once again they squeezed into the cramped space. The only difference this time was the precautions Guy took against missiles. The sniper, Vince DiMosta, stayed out on top of the hull crouched beside the turret, his Arctic Warfare rifle deployed ready to take out anyone who posed a threat.

Guy took a last look around, and then gave the order to Roy.

"Move out, and head straight to the Gulfstream."

He stamped on the gas, and the big, ungainly eight-wheeler lurched forward. Talley keyed his mic.

"Shimon, this is Talley. How does it look out there?"

"The limo stopped next to the Gulfstream, and a few people climbed out and boarded the aircraft. It looks like they'll be starting engines mighty soon."

"Copy that. We're coming out now."

There was no need for handholds. They were packed in so tight no one could move inside the cramped compartment. There was nothing to do except wait for the APC to travel the length of the huge airfield to reach the Gulfstream. Jesse was only inches away from him, and he took the opportunity to speak to him.

"What?"

A sigh. "Boss, we've all seen you having problems with your arm. And you haven't been yourself lately. Putting two and two together, it's obvious you think you're ill. You think you have Parkinson's, is that right?"

He was about to deny it, but he stopped.

What is there to lose?

"Something like that. It doesn't look too good, does it?"

Jesse hesitated a few moments. “Is this the right place for this conversation? We’re about to tangle with another bunch of heavily armed camel jockeys. We’re not in the clear, not yet.”

“Battles are impossible to predict, Jesse. I may not come out of it, so I have to know.”

“You’ll be fine.”

“Not with a useless arm I won’t be, not this time. I’ve covered it so far, and you guys have helped me out. But a soldier who can’t look after himself won't last long in battle.”

Jesse sighed and nodded. “I think you’re wrong, but okay, here goes. My grandfather, Cochise Whitefeather, was our tribal doctor. Well, he was more of a healer; he didn't hold a medical degree. Some of our people had similar problems, and he became something of an expert."

"Cochise?" Talley asked, thinking of the famous Apache warrior, "Any relation to ‘the’ Cochise?"

"It's an Apache first name, no relation."

"Got it. You said he became something of an expert on Parkinson's."

"No, I didn't. I said he became something of an expert on the kind of symptoms you're displaying. The point I'm making, Boss, is that while it may be Parkinson's, there are plenty of other things it could be as well. It's a long list, and my guess is you have a better than average chance of it being a lot less serious than you think."

Talley thought for a few moments. He moved his head a fraction, and his eyes met Jesse's.

"You didn't want to follow in his footsteps? I mean; to become a healer."

Jesse chuckled. "My family tried to persuade me, but I thought it was too tame."

"So you became a soldier?"

A pause. "Not at first. I spent some time studying the mystical side of my tribe. You know, trances, second sight, that kind of thing. But I decided the military was more exciting."

Talley paused, remembering the man's uncanny knack of seeing what others didn't see.

"Are we going to get out of this?"

Jesse closed his eyes and appeared to be deep in thought. Then his eyes opened.

"We'll get out of it, but not because of anything I see or feel. We'll get home because we're the best." He smiled broadly, "We're the biggest, meanest motherfuckers on the block. And besides…"

He was interrupted by a shout from Roy, "They've started up. I can see the haze from the Gulfstream's engines."

Talley said nothing. The big APC was driving full bore along the tarmac. If it were possible to halt the Gulfstream, Roy would do it. He wanted to check the clip in his MP7, but there was no room in the cramped space. Then he remembered he'd changed the clip before the final action inside the palace and hadn't fired a shot, so he was ready. A voice came in his headset.

"This is Goldstein. The Gulfstream is starting to taxi. If you're going to stop it, you'd better make it fast."

The big turbocharged diesel engine roared as Roy gunned the vehicle along the strip, flat-out at more than fifty mph. Talley was grimly aware of the fast jet that was taxiing out, and about to take off at a speed three times that of the heavy APC. If Reynolds could position the armored vehicle across the runway, the take off would be impossible, and they'd have them. But it was close, too close. The noise was deafening, and he used the commo to speak to the driver.

"Can we do it, Roy?"

"Yeah, no sweat. We’re looking good. I know what those Gulfstreams can do, but they don't accelerate like a Porsche. It takes time to build up speed, and from what I can see we'll cut right across the front of them with room to spare. Don't worry. We’re gonna nail his ass."

He relaxed but only a fraction. He knew in combat many things could go wrong. Vince called in from up on the hull, "This is DiMosta."

Talley wondered how the hell the sniper managed to hang on to the bucking and rocking BTR. Guy replied.

"Go ahead, Vince."

"Could be a problem up here. Helo coming in from the west."

"What kind of a helo?"

"I'm focusing on it now. She's still a long way off. No wait, dammit! It’s a gunship. An Apache, AH-64.”

"On its own?"

"Yep, but one's enough."

It was true. A single well-armed Apache gunship, equipped with a Gatling-style cannon in the nose, could reduce the BTR to scrap in seconds. But Guy asked for a different reason. If the Saudi Military were involved, there'd be more than a single gunship sent in to investigate. More likely an entire squadron, with fixed wing ground attack fighters somewhere overhead. The Royal Saudi Air Force had a large number of F-15 Strike Eagles in their inventory. One gunship suggested al Saif had called in a favor from one of his contacts. He turned to Talley.

"What do you think?"

"It's your call, Guy, but if it was me, I'd ignore it."

"Until they start shooting," the Brit warned.

"Yeah, until then. Once they open fire, all bets are off."

Our only exit strategy relies on the Twin Otter. Up against a gunship, we may as well shoot ourselves now and save all the hassle.

He heard Guy tell Roy to ignore the gunship and keep heading for the Gulfstream. Reynolds acknowledged and began to give them a running commentary on what was developing outside.

"We're closing the Gulfstream. I estimate five hundred meters. The gunship is still two kilometers out, closing fast."

"You want me to engage?" Virgil called down from the turret.

Guy told him to hold his fire unless the newcomer fired on them. Why invite him to start shooting?

"Three hundred meters," Roy shouted, "It's going to be close. The jet is picking up speed. I can't squeeze any more out of this thing. If it comes to it, do you want me to ram?"

"Negative, negative. She'll be carrying a full load of jet fuel. The last thing we want is to risk an explosion that could kill everyone on board."

He meant Nava. As far as anyone else on board was concerned, they could go to hell, along with their sadistic slave master boss.

"Two hundred meters, I might just make it, if…"

The rest of the sentence was drowned out by the hammering of the auto cannon from the Apache high above them. Virgil responded automatically and sent a stream of heavy caliber machine gun bullets chasing after the attacker, but it banked and turned away, and his burst raked the sky fifty meters from its target.

The APC suddenly slewed and swerved to one side, as the speed dropped off.

"They shot out the tires on the port side," Roy shouted, "Hold tight. I don't know if I can hold it."

The heavy armored vehicle tilted up on one side and altered course, slewing around as the starboard wheels kept driving, and the shredded port tires performed a braking action. Through the dim interior, he could see Roy fighting the wheel, struggling to keep the APC from toppling. Virgil called down from the turret.

"The Gulfstream, it's getting away."

"Roger that," Guy replied. There was nothing they could do to stop it, "What about the gunship?"

"It climbed to about a thousand meters, and it's hovering. Watching, I guess."

Every man inside the armored vehicle knew what it meant. Al Saif would have ordered them to back off and hold their fire until his executive jet was airborne. As soon as he was clear, the gunship would come boring in, with the auto cannon spitting out heavy explosive rounds that would turn the BTR into a smoking coffin in a matter of seconds.

Guy looked around for Talley, and his expression was filled with sorrow.

"I'm sorry, Boss. We have to run for cover. They've got us beat."

Nava, don't give up. Whatever it takes, no matter how hard, I'm coming for you, and for the bastard who took you.

He realized Guy was saying something to him.

"Sorry, what was that?"

"We need to find somewhere we can defend ourselves from the gunship."

He nodded. They had to go back, to the one place with strong, stonewalls. Strong enough to stop cannon shells, al Saif's palace.

Guy ordered Roy to change course. The BTR swerved yet again and began speeding along the tarmac, heading back. Back to the ruined gates and thick, stonewalls, and away from the Gulfstream, which was picking up speed on its take off run; about to fly to an unknown destination, and with Nava on board.

Arar , Saudi Arabia

One of the guards threw her over his shoulder and ran up the airstair. She was back inside the same Gulfstream that had brought her here. Even the pretty cabin attendant was the same, but this time there was no polite and friendly greeting. Instead, she looked terrified.

The guard dumped her unceremoniously into a seat in the center of the cabin. Her ankles and wrists were still tied, and she couldn't move as the girl fastened the seat belt around her. She looked up at the immaculately made up face and was conscious of the dirt and sweat on her own tearstained face.

"What's happening? Please, will you tell me?"

The girl ignored her and buckled the straps.

"Please, I need to know. Was there an attack on the palace?"

She went away to the galley without a word. The guard who'd carried her onto the aircraft came back, and in his hand he carried a hypodermic syringe. He bent over her.

"No, there's no need. I won't try anything."

He leered at her. "Maybe I will."

She remembered the torture movie he'd watched on the way in.

Bastard! Scum!

She felt the sharp prick as the needle went into the skin of her neck, and everything started to go woozy. The cabin attendant returned and looked down at her. Through the fuzzy haze that had descended on her, she saw a twinge of sympathy on the girl's face. She leaned down.

"I'm not allowed to speak to you," she whispered, "but I don't suppose it matters much. A Special Forces unit attacked the palace. We don't know who they were, or where they came from. Only that they were Westerners."

Nava's hopes soared, and she fought the drug for a little longer. It could mean only one thing.

Talley. He brought his unit, Echo Six, to rescue me. And if there’s any justice in this world, he'll kill Malik al Saif and rid the world of his evil.

Even as she had that thought, she felt the jet lift into the air and heard the whine of the undercarriage retracting.

Will Abe be able to follow me to wherever the aircraft is going?

Her spirits dived again as she realized the near impossibility of his task. But then she remembered who he was. Lieutenant-Commander Abe Talley, the toughest and most skilled man she'd ever known. And he led a group of men who could travel to hell and bring back the Devil in chains if they were so ordered.

She had one last thought, just before she went under.

 
No matter where the aircraft flies to, somehow, Abe will find me.

* * *

The cabin attendant went to check on her during the flight. It was strange; the girl had been tearstained and stricken with terror. But now, it was as if someone had thrown a switch. The marks were still there, but she'd relaxed, and her lips had formed a slight smile. She dismissed it as the effect of the drug. At least the poor girl was out of her misery, even if it was only for a short time.

She went to the galley to prepare food for her master. She'd noticed how for the first time, al Saif looked fearful. She had no inkling as to the fate the girls suffered in his desert palace. She'd always assumed they ended up in a harem, which was legal in Saudi Arabia, even if it was distasteful. In addition, she knew he treated them badly, which always worried her.

Then she had a sudden thought. None of the girls had ever reappeared, never seemed to leave Arar. It was strange.

 
Is it possible something terrible happened to them?

She resolved there and then to quit her job. She'd give al Saif her notice and find something that didn't turn her stomach. Even as she made up her mind, another thought came to her.

Will the Saudi just allow me to quit after everything I’ve seen? Maybe it would be better to take a short vacation and disappear. Yes, that's what I’ll do.

She also decided to make a substantial donation from her salary to a Saudi battered women's charity, if there was such a thing. God only knew, Saudi women needed it.

* * *

Roy kept the wounded APC on as straight a course as possible, heading for the relative safety of the palace compound. Talley was conscious of the sniper still on top of the hull, completely vulnerable if the gunship returned. Then he smiled to himself, the formidable chain gun of the Apache would slice through the armored hull like a knife through butter. If it came back, they were all vulnerable.

The steel sides offered only the illusion of protection, and when the AH-64 opened fire, they may as well be standing in the open desert. They had to hold off the attacking helo until they could get behind the protection of thick walls. Talley was about to warn Guy, but the temporary commander of Echo Six was ahead of him.

"Virgil, you awake up there?"

A dry chuckle came over the commo. "Nah, I was taking a siesta. What's up?"

"That gunship, we have to keep it away from us. The moment it's in range, hit it, and keep hitting it. We're heading for the palace compound. Once we're inside, we can find some cover."

"Roger that," he replied.

Vince called down from the turret, "You want me to keep shooting at him? It might persuade him to keep a healthy distance."

Unlikely, but what the hell? We don't have anything to lose.

"Do it. You okay up there?"

"Just fine and dandy."

Inside the cabin, they all knew the reality of what they faced. The heavy machine gun in the turret fired 14.7mm rounds from a steel belt loaded with forty cartridges. The effective range was substantial, at least three thousand meters. In comparison, the M230 chain gun fitted in the nose of the Apache had an effective range of only one and a half thousand meters. But that was its only drawback. In every other way, the weapon was in a class of its own.

The chain gun fired 30mm explosive projectiles, fed from an ammunition store of twelve hundred rounds. The aiming system was more accurate and sophisticated than the primitive mechanism in the BTR. Attached to a fast and agile helo, flown by a good pilot, it would make short work of the APC. And the Royal Saudi Air Force had no shortage of good pilots.

Talley worked hard to pummel some life back into his useless right arm, but nothing worked. The only consolation of being packed into the steel cabin of the APC was that his arm was compressed between two troopers, which prevented it from shaking. But still, try as he may, he wasn't able to manipulate the fingers of his right hand. It was as if the cable of a computer mouse had been cut, so there was no communication to the CPU.

"Virgil, what's the status of that gunship?" Guy sang out on the commo.

Before he could answer, they all heard the roar of the twin turbojets as the Gulfstream's went to full power. A few seconds later, the noise began to recede as the jet flew away.

"He was stationary over the airfield, just watching and waiting," Virgil shouted back, "As soon as that aircraft took off, he started back in. Christ, he's coming right at us. It's an attack. Run! Motherfucker, let's see how you like this!"

The last was addressed to the Saudi gunship, as Virgil let fly a stream of heavy caliber machine gun bullets. Talley could imagine them arcing up into the sky, reaching for the fuselage of the deadly attack helo. The gunner gave them a running commentary.

"Shit, I think I missed. I need a loader."

"Caron, you're nearest. Get up there," Guy snapped.

The former Legionnaire scrambled to get to the turret. In the meantime, Virgil had replaced the 40-round belt, and the cabin echoed to the noise of the heavy machine gun fire as he opened up again; but only for a few seconds. A different, more terrible sound intruded on them. The AH-64 had opened fire with the chain gun. Cannon shells smashed across the tarmac, drawing nearer and nearer to the charging BTR as the Saudi gunner walked his fire into the target.

Vince had removed his suppressor for better range, and over the enormous racket of machine gun and cannon fire, he heard the single shots as he bravely tried to hit the gunship in some vital part. Then the inevitable happened, and cannon shells punched through the steel hull.

The explosive rounds smashed holes through the vehicle, enough to see daylight in several places. Apart from a few cuts and scratches from flying metal, there were no serious injuries, but it couldn't last.

"The bastard's moved away, and he's hovering out there waiting to hose us down. I'll see if I can reach him." The cabin echoed once again to the sound of heavy machine gun fire, and empty cartridge cases spilled and clattered around them, "Yeah, I clipped him. The Perspex canopy is shattered. I don't know if they took any casualties, but he's backing off."

"Half a kilometer from the palace," Roy shouted out from the driving seat.

Talley didn't know what instinct made him do it, but something tingled inside, and he shouted, "Swerve to the right, Roy. Now!"

The APC keeled over, and the left side went up in the air as he spun the wheel. At the same time, they heard the hammering noise of heavy cannon fire chewing up the tarmac at the point where the vehicle had been heading.

"Good call," Guy said, "but he'll be back. Virgil, keep firing. We're nearly there."

"Three hundred meters," Reynolds shouted.

Such a short distance, there was one more trick worth trying.

"Roy, swing right! As soon as the nose starts to turn, swerve hard left. Go!"

"I'm on it."

He almost lost it. The laws of physics were against them, as fifteen tons of steel and iron maneuvered one way and then jerked back the other. The right wheels lifted up, and up.

"Everyone, shift your weight right," Guy shouted urgently.

If their lives hadn't been at stake, it would have been hilarious. A bunch of grown men, tough, experienced soldiers, spilling over each other as if it was some kind of playground game. But it worked. For several meters the BTR plowed on, balanced precariously on the four wheels of the left side. It was only held in the air by massive inertia forces. Then the shift in weight slammed the right side back down, and they were running on all eight wheels.

The noise in the cabin increased, as the rubber of the shot-up tires shredded on three of the wheels and then disintegrated. More cannon fire smashed into the tarmac alongside them, but once again, it missed.

"One hundred meters. Damn, I reckon we might make it."

"Keep firing," Guy shouted, but it was unnecessary. Virgil was shooting as fast as Daniel Caron could load the clumsy 40-round belts. The gunner was shouting curses at the pursuing helo as he fired, and the inside of the armored vehicle was a cacophony of noise, roaring engines, the heavy machine gun, and vile curses shouted defiantly at the enemy.

"We’re through the gate," Reynolds called out.

They heard more cannon fire smashing into the perimeter wall, but he'd swung the vehicle to put them behind the protection of the thick defensive wall. He didn't slow down, but hammered toward the palace and drove straight inside, back through the wrecked glass windows, so they were out of sight of the gunship. Only then did he stop, braking to a juddering halt, and killing the engine. The climbed out warily.

Guy deployed the snipers to go up to the roof and establish observation points where they could keep watch on the enemy, and kill them if they came within range. Virgil Kane, the hero of the hour, extracted himself from the turret and grinned as they congratulated him for fighting off the gunship. Likewise, Roy Reynolds whose inspired driving, battling to keep the APC away from the cannon fire and on an even keel, made the difference between living and dying.

Virgil picked up his Minimi and found a niche where he could cover the approaches to their part of the palace. Reynolds had a spot in the hallway at the rear of the huge room, where he could guard against any hostiles who tried to come at them from the back. There were plenty more of al Saif's guards kicking around and desperate to extract revenge. Guy called the rest of the men together.

"We'll split up into three fireteams. Domenico, you take one, Heinrich, the second, and I'll lead the other. We'll scour the palace to flush out any of the Saudis still inside and secure our position. It would be preferable not to kill them if we don't have to."

There was a sudden silence, and Guy explained.

"You all know we're were doing our best to kill each other, but think about it. Those guys were employed to defend the palace, so they were just doing their jobs. My guess is that Malik al Saif was not an employer held in high regard by his people. Any man who kidnaps and tortures young women isn't going to attract much admiration from the people around him."

"He's a fucking Arab," Buchmann spat out, "They're all fucking Arabs. They’re a bunch of racist bigots."

They stared at him for a few moments, and Rovere started it. His lips twitched, and then he convulsed into laughter.

"What?" the German snarled, "What did I say?"

"You're absolutely right," Guy interjected. "They're racist bigots, yeah. But remember, some of them are professional soldiers, just like us. They won't all be bad. There's another problem. We're short of ammunition, so if you come across the armory, we need to help ourselves to whatever they have. A couple of RPG7s might even be enough to bring down the Apache if that pilot is fool enough to get close."