Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (8 page)

"It's a long shot."

They both knew there was only one way to take out the sentry, a shot from one of their suppressed assault rifles. Buchmann carried an HK 416, with the shorter 10-inch barrel. It had an effective range and accuracy that was little different from Talley's MP7, but there was a difference. Talley was the better shot, and the tiny 4.6mm rounds would pierce body armor.

"We don't have any choice," he replied, "Be ready to run as soon as he's down."

"Copy that."

He lay prone and rested the barrel of his rifle on the line of bricks cemented to the top of the roof. It was as stable a shooting stand as he could hope for, and he sighted on the man on the roof. He was about to take the shot when a strident clamor sounded from somewhere nearby. He took his finger off the trigger. It was only a muezzin calling the faithful to prayer.

He calmed himself and prepared to take the shot. The man moved, probably to stretch his legs, so perhaps the interruption had been opportune. The sentry settled back down and was still. Talley tested the wind, carefully aimed, and took up the pressure on the trigger.

The thump of the shot sounded loud in the quiet of the dawn. The sentry spun around; obviously the bullet had found its target. As Talley looked through the optical sight, seeing the red dot of the laser-aiming module moving around the target’s body, the face came into focus. He was still alive. The sentry was maybe twenty years old, with the inevitable scraggly beard. Talley could even see his teeth through the optics as the victim tensed and sucked in air, ready to scream; teeth that were brown and rotten, apart from the two front molars lit up by the splash of red laser light. He fired, once, twice, and before the man went down, saw the blood and tissue fly out as his first bullet and then the second struck the target. He jumped to his feet.

“Let’s go. Keep alert. There may be other sentries.”

“Roger that.”

He raced away across the rooftops, his feet barely touching the dusty concrete. Between two of the buildings there was a wide gap. He didn’t even stop to think, just rushed forward and jumped. He landed with inches to spare, and Buchmann grunted beside him as his heavy body smashed into the parapet. He started to slip back.

“Boss.”

Even in deep trouble, he’d only spoken in a whisper. He whirled and gripped the German’s wrist, then hauled his heavy body to safety. He nodded his thanks, and then they were up and running again. Seconds later, they were on the roof of Hezbollah's Central Office, the holy of holies of Middle East terrorism. This was Jihad HQ, the fountain of death and misery for much of the civilized world, and most of the uncivilized world.

They passed the body of the sentry, who lay in a pool of blood. His face was unrecognizable where Talley's second shot had hammered through his teeth and turned his head into mush. They ignored the gruesome remains and stepped inside. A flight of wooden stairs, little more than a ladder, led down to a long concrete passageway that ran the length of the building. They were in an attic, with doors leading off on either side; all of them closed. At the far end, they could see the staircase that gave entrance to the main upper floors. Talley pointed forward.

"I'll go first. Cover me."

"Copy that."

He felt secure with Buchmann keeping watch. The fierce German would not hesitate to crush anyone who threatened. He was only a half dozen paces from the end of the passageway when he stopped. Voices on the staircase, two men, coming toward him. He flattened against the wall as they rounded the corner and walked toward his position. The building was dim, and at first they didn't see him, but then they stopped, their jaws open in disbelief. A Westerner, a soldier, inside their building!

They started to unsling their weapons, but their hands had barely started to move when Buchmann opened fire. The range was short, and his burst was lethal. He double tapped each of them, and before they could crash to the floor, Tally ran forward and lowered them down without any sound. He glanced down the staircase, but it was empty. He turned back to Buchmann and gave him the signal to come ahead. Seconds later, they were on the next floor, which was thickly carpeted. There was no noise yet, but it was obviously the part of the building where the senior commanders worked. In the center of the passage, one door was different from the others. It was surrounded with rich, ornamental carvings, and at the side there was a small desk for a receptionist.

"That has to be the head honcho. We'll start in there," he murmured to Buchmann, "Same as before, cover me."

He crept along the passageway in total silence. The carpet was thick enough to mute the sound of an APC. It was almost like wading through soft mud. The air was scented with the odor of spices and perfumes, which combined with the gloom to give an effect not unlike a Christian Orthodox Church, which was probably not the intention. He smiled to himself.

When they find out a Christian has penetrated their headquarters, they'll be pretty pissed.
Too bad!

He waited for Buchmann to come up with him and then put his ear to the door. Nothing. He nodded to the German.

"I'll go in. Stay here and keep watch."

"Jawohl. Boss, if anyone comes, you want me to kill them?"

"Yep. We're in Satan's living room. If you don't get them first, they'll sure as hell kill you."

He tried the doorknob and found it was unlocked. He shouldered his MP7, took out the suppressed 9mm P226, and stepped inside. The room inside was large, almost as dark and gloomy as the hallway outside, except for a single light over the desk; a light that illuminated the man sitting behind it; his eyes close to a document he was reading.

At first, he didn't appear to present a threat. He was a tubby figure, who wore a black turban with wisps of gray hair showing beneath it, and a brown robe. His face was part covered by a gray beard, and he wore thick, plastic glasses. The first impression was how ordinary the guy looked. Apart from the Islamic dress, he could have been a store clerk or janitor in an office building back home, until he looked up.

It was the eyes, coal black, burning with an intensity that was laser-like. He rasped out a single, incomprehensible word in Arabic.

"Do you speak English?"

The man didn't answer at first, and then his eyes widened, as the door burst open and Buchmann came in with another Arab held under his massive arm.

"He was heading this way, and I thought he could be useful," he said.

Talley nodded. The man wore a cheap suit and the kind of collarless shirt popular with Iranians. His beard was thin, and he wore glasses so thick, his eyes were almost hidden behind them.

"He looks like a clerk or a secretary. Keep him quiet, and if he makes any noise, kill him."

Buchmann smiled, but his captive shook with terror, and there was an odor of ammonia as his bladder opened and he pissed himself. The man behind the desk spoke, this time in English.

"Does that please you, to terrify an innocent man?"

Talley wasn't in the mood for discussion. "No more than it does you, pal. I take it you're in charge of this outfit?"

A pause. "I have the honor to be the third Secretary General of Hezbollah."

He seemed to swell with pride as he spoke.

"The third? What happened to the others, did you murder them?"

He scowled. "I took this post when Israel assassinated our previous leader, Abbas al-Musawi, in 1992."

"So you're Nasrallah."

"I am al-Sayyid Nasrallah, a descendent of the prophet Muhammad, peace be upon his name, through his grandson Husain ibn Ali."

"That's impressive. Where are you holding the hostages?"

Nasrallah smiled, but there was no warmth. "They are going to hell, like you, infidel."

"I get that. But where are you holding them?"

The turbaned man stared back at him, and his mouth molded into a sneer. He folded his arms and sat silently. Talley was about to question him some more when he heard shouting from below, and then the noise of footsteps running up the staircase. He flicked his gaze to Buchmann.

"We have company. Hold them off while I finish off in here."

The German smiled at Nasrallah, expecting the Hezbollah leader would soon pay a visit to his friends in paradise. Then he ran out of the door, and a few moments later, the sound of gunfire echoed through the building.

"You're too late, infidel," Nasrallah spat at him, "You will regret the day you came here. My men will tear you into a thousand pieces." He misinterpreted the look that Talley gave him, "You think it will make any difference if you kill me? I'm not frightened to die. My men would seek to avenge my death with ten thousand, a hundred thousand infidel lives. Nothing would give me greater pleasure."

Talley ignored him. If the mad bastard was trying to impress him, he was wasting his time. He'd seen enough bloodthirsty Muslims to last a dozen lifetimes, and one more would be like spitting into the wind. Besides, he had other ideas. But first, he had to secure their retreat and silence this murderous old windbag. He crossed behind the desk and chopped the cleric behind the neck, and he slumped forward, unconscious.

The other man, who he assumed was a clerk, was still standing in the office. His face was a mask of abject terror, and if it were possible, he would swear he heard his knees knocking. Talley grabbed him and dragged him toward the door.

"Please, I know nothing. Don't kill me. I have a wife, two wives, and nine children."

"Yeah, sure. Why not make it three wives and a dozen children?"

The man looked puzzled, but he ignored him and half carried, half dragged him to the head of the staircase where Buchmann was firing short bursts to hold off the newly arrived hostiles.

"How many?"

The German answered without turning, "I reckon half of Beirut is down there, and they're all desperate to demonstrate their commitment to Allah. I've sent a few of them to join him, but you knock one of these bastards down and ten more pop up. We need a plan, Boss."

"We need grenades, Heinrich. Are you carrying?"

"I have two," he growled, "I thought this was a light reconnaissance mission, not an all out war."

"Use them. Toss both of them down the staircase. Then we'll leave over the roof."

The German shrugged, took the two missiles from his pouch, and armed them. He flattened himself against the wall as a renewed burst of gunfire blasted chips of masonry all around them, and then he threw both grenades.

"Let's go!" Talley shouted.

He pulled the frightened clerk behind him and ran straight for the narrow wooden stairs that led up to the roof. Behind him, Heinrich emptied a magazine and followed, moving with astonishing speed for such a huge man. They reached the roof, and Buchmann slammed the door shut and slid the bolt across.

"It'll hold them for a minute, maybe two. No more."

Talley nodded. "A minute for us is one minute less for them. We'd better pray that Goldstein is still waiting with the VW. If he's not there, we’re dead."

Buchmann grunted as they ran, moving swiftly from roof to roof until they came to the gap. Talley jumped and landed the other side. The clerk stared at the sheer drop, understanding what they wanted from him.

"No, no! If I try to cross that, I will die. I'm not a soldier."

"I'll deal with it," Buchmann shouted across.

He pulled the man back a dozen paces, then turned him to face the gap.

"You're going to jump it."

"No, please. Don't…"

"Otherwise, you'll catch my bullets in your ass. Start running!"

He fired the first shot into the concrete of the roof, close the Arab. The next shot was nearer, and the next only a couple of inches from his feet. The man moved away, and Heinrich fired a short burst that chipped concrete all around his feet. He broke into a gallop as more bullets whistled around him, and when he reached the gap, he launched himself into space and landed safely on the other side.

Buchmann followed, and this time there was no mistake. He hit the next building, clearing the gap by two feet. Talley helped him up, and they each took one of the Arab’s arms and headed for the exit. They reached the stairs and started down, but the hostiles were one step ahead of them. This was Hezbollah territory, and they would know every inch of the area. No doubt their supporters lived in the surrounding apartments and had alerted them about the Westerners. There was only one thing to do; the sheer volume of gunfire would be like walking into a hurricane of lead. They retreated back to the roof.

"We'll have to find another way down," Talley shouted above the tremendous noise of the fusillade, "Stay here and stop them getting to the roof. Watch this bastard. I'll take a look around and find another way out."

He raced around the rooftop, but there was no way out. They were trapped. He went back to where Buchmann was doing his best to fend off the furious assault from below. He grabbed the clerk.

"We have to get out of here, is there another way out? If we die here, you die with us."

The man thought for a few moments and then pointed to a skylight that lay almost unseen behind a row of chimneys.