Echo Six: Black Ops 6 - Battle for Beirut (9 page)

"There! It is the roof of our Madrassa, the Islamic school. If you can open the skylight, we could escape that way."

They ducked, as the firing grew more intense. He looked at Buchmann.

"It's the only way. If we stay here, they'll be all over us in the next couple of minutes. You loaded?"

"Yes."
                                                                                                                                                 

"Let's move!"

They grabbed the clerk and ran, but before they reached the skylight, the Islamists were on the roof, chasing them down with volleys of gunfire. Their AKs hammered sheets of 7.62mm rounds at them; chipping away concrete, and Talley felt two rounds hammer into his armored vest. The force of the blow flung him to the ground, and Buchmann knelt to lift him to his feet. He gave him a nod and carried on running. And then they saw the impact as a bullet hit the clerk. The man had taken a bullet to the upper arm, but nothing too serious. They were almost at the skylight, but the incoming fire threatened to overwhelm them any second. There was only one way.

He looked at Heinrich. The German nodded, and between them they dived through the glass frame, taking with them shards of glass and chunks of woodwork as the structure collapsed under their weight. The Arab screamed, but he was unable to prevent them dragging him with them. By a miracle, the three of them landed on a pile of mattresses. Talley took a fast look around and could see they were in a dormitory. It wasn't empty. There were scores of mattresses on the floor, and in most of them a figure lay under the blankets.

Buchmann reacted fast, untangling the slings of his HK and swinging it into the aiming position. Talley just managed to stop him.

They’re kids! Of course, this is a Madrassa, an Islamic school. Alongside reciting the Koran, there will undoubtedly be lessons on how to clean and fire an AK-47, introduction to the RPG7, and supplementary after hours courses on the construction and use of IEDs. But they’re still kids.

"They're just youngsters. I doubt they're even armed. Hold your fire."

The German looked disgusted, but he kept his finger off the trigger, and they ran toward the door, to find the staircase and a way out of the building. Talley reach it first, and he put his hand on the knob, just as a burst of gunfire echoed through the dormitory. Their pursuers were jumping down through the wrecked skylight and continuing to pour fire toward the escaping Westerners. The room came alive with screams of pain, as several of the boys climbed out of their beds and were cut down in the withering sheets of fire. If it bothered the Islamists, shooting their own children, it wasn't obvious.

The gunfire intensified, chewing splinters of wood out of the door, forcing them to take cover. They turned, rammed in new clips, and opened fire. Three of their pursuers went down.

Three more dived for cover, sheltering behind the beds, which still contained some of the children too frightened to move. It was impossible to shoot without chancing a stray bullet that could kill one of the boys. The Islamists may have no qualms about slaughtering their children, but they did. Even Buchmann, the ruthless, sometimes sadistic warrior, looked aghast at the wanton murder of children.

Talley managed to get the door open, and they dived through, drawing yet more fire from the hostiles. They went full pelt along the passageway and started down a flight of stone steps that could only lead to the outside. Already, they could hear the shouts of the Hezbollah fighters as they chased after them. They knew they needed a miracle to get out of this place, and yet when they hit the first floor and headed for the exit, they ran into more Hezbollah fighters.

They were waiting outside, ten men, and all of them alert to the infidel intruders inside the Madrassa. As they pushed open the front door, a hail of lead sliced up the air around them, and they were forced to draw back inside. Only to find three of the men who'd chased them from upstairs had just reached the first floor, and started to shoot at them. They returned fire, managing to put them down as some of the incoming fire hammered into their armored chests. But their Hezbollah captive wore no vest, and he screamed as a bullet took him in the shoulder, and a second shot ripped a piece from his right ear.

"We need to do something fast," Buchmann shouted, "There'll be more of them coming down from the roof, and those bastards outside won't wait forever before they come at us in a frontal assault."

Talley nodded. "I'm thinking. We have to get out." He looked at the Arab. He was sobbing in pain and despair.

"How do we get out of here?"

"There is no way out," he screamed, "Only through the front door."

"We're fucked," Buchmann murmured, "I say we go out there and hit them hard. They'll kill us, but at least we’ll take a few of them with us."

Talley almost smiled. The fighting spirit of his Germanic warrior ancestors was showing itself, the Prussian, 'do or die' mentality. But he shook his head.

"We're not done yet, and I don't intend doing a Charge of the Light Brigade."

And yet, maybe he was right, and they were out of options. Anything would be better than being taken alive by these enraged animals. He could hear more men running down the staircase, and the fighters outside continued to pour fire into the building, probably in the hope of a lucky ricochet. Buchmann was right, their only chance, and it was only a thousand to one chance, was out in the open. To charge out, hopefully sweep away the opposition, and get clean away. A forlorn hope, but it was all they had. He looked at Buchmann.

"We'll do it your way. We’ll go outside and try and take them."

The Arab was screaming, shaking his head, visibly shaking in abject terror. Buchmann ignored him and smiled with enthusiasm.

"Better that than die here like rats in a trap."

"Make sure you have a full load. We'll go on my count of three."

They checked the clips of their assault rifles and handguns, and waited just inside the door, sheltering from the incoming fire. He looked at Heinrich.

"One. Two..."

He didn't make three. There was an explosion of sound from outside, the roaring of a powerful diesel engine, and the renewed sound of gunfire. But this wasn't the slower, heavier rattle of Kalashnikovs. Talley could pick out the individual weapons. He heard two Minimis, more than a dozen HK assault rifles, interspersed with the sharp spits of sniper rifles. Arctic Warfare rifles, firing Lapua Magnum rounds.

Miracles didn't happen, especially in the godforsaken city of Beirut. Except this day, a miracle had happened. Unless there was an identical Special Forces unit operating in the city, Echo Six had arrived to save their asses. The incoming fire stopped. Instead, they could hear the shrieks and panicked screams of the Hezbollah fighters as they retreated from the heavy gunfire from Talley's men.

The vehicle stopped outside the door, and they heard a voice shouting to them.

"Come out now, and make it quick.”

Jesus Christ, it’s Guy Welland, but how?

“We can't hold them for too long. We need to get out real fast."

Talley looked out into the street to see an astonishing sight. A soccer team bus was stopped close by, no more than twenty meters away. The vehicle was emblazoned with Arabic writing and gaudily painted in the colors of a soccer team. Brightly colored ribbons hung from the mirrors and radio aerial. All of the smoked Perspex windows were smashed, giving the troopers inside a clear field of fire.

He shouted to Heinrich, "Take the prisoner and get moving. I'll cover you from here. As soon as you reach the bus, I'll follow."

The German nodded, grasped the frightened Arab with one huge arm, and sped out the door toward the bus. Hands reached down and dragged him inside, but before Talley could get moving, a rocket blazed from further along the street and ignited against a store window only a few feet to the side. He knew the next one would be a direct hit. He clicked on his mic.

"This is Echo One. Get moving now before they launch the next rocket. They'll forget about me and follow you. As soon as the hostiles have gone, I'll come and find you. I’ll call you when I'm in a safe place."

Guy replied instantly, "Boss, that's crazy, you…"

"That's an order. Get out now!"

"Copy that."

The big diesel engine roared, and the bus started away, just in time. A second rocket sped past the spot where it had been stationary a moment before. The Hezbollah fighters howled like wolves and chased after the vehicle. Within a few minutes, the street was almost deserted. Almost. There were still eight or ten fighters lingering in the area, and the street was in chaos. The air was cloudy with smoke and dust from the brief battle and exploding rockets, and people were milling around, cursing, wailing, and trying to restore some kind of order to their neighborhood.

He took a chance, stepped outside, and started walking in the opposite direction to the route the bus had taken. They didn't notice him at first, and he almost made the fifty meters to the first large intersection, but then shots whistled past his head. He didn't need to turn, didn't need to look at who were shooting. The entire area was full of Arabs with guns, and they would be looking for an infidel to point them at. Any infidel.

In that kind of situation, there was one standard tactic to use, and he took it. He ran, speeding around the corner and along the next street. Behind him, he could hear the shouts and screams, more shots fired, and engines roaring as they gave chase. He had to get off the street fast, and he swerved into a narrow shopping arcade. His muscles protested as his legs pounded along the sidewalk, and his lungs were almost bursting as he raced at full speed to get away.

When he reached the end of the arcade, they were still behind him. Shoppers screamed and ran for cover as pursuing Hezbollah fired long bursts from their assault rifles. He knew he had to slow them down before he turned into the next street, and he dived into a doorway and turned back to open fire. He went to squeeze the trigger, but suddenly his entire right arm went numb. He could hear them screaming in jubilation that they almost had him, and he did the only thing possible. He switched position, so he was firing the MP7 left-handed, and this time there was no hesitation. He emptied a full clip of the deadly 4.6mm rounds at his pursuers, and working one-handed, rejected the empty clip and slammed in a new one.

Further back along the arcade, he could see four of his pursuers were down, and the rest were looking toward his position, more wary now that he had returned fire. But they were still there, four men, building up the courage to go after him again. This time, he took careful aim and emptied a second clip. He knocked them down like skittles, and unless more were hiding in doorways or playing possum, he had a window of a few seconds to make his escape. Without stopping to change clips, he catapulted to his feet and ran out of the arcade and around the corner.

"Over here!"

He looked in the direction of the voice and saw Goldstein sitting at the wheel of his old VW minibus. He'd assumed wrongly that the Mossad man had abandoned them when the shooting started. Instead, he'd moved to a more secure position and waited. Talley raced across the street and clambered into the bus. Goldstein slammed it into gear, and the elderly vehicle wheezed away from the chaos and destruction behind them.

As soon as he regained his breath, he nodded to his savior.

"It's appreciated, Shimon. I thought I was in for a long walk."

He smiled. "There are no long walks in Beirut, not during a civil war; too many checkpoints, too many different factions. Sooner or later one of them will stop you, and dressed in that uniform, I promise you it will be sooner."

"How do you know which faction holds which area?"

"You don't. All you can do is pray."

"Pray! Is that it?"

Goldstein grinned. "And make sure you keep your weapon loaded at all times." He glanced down at Talley's MP7.

He suddenly remembered and slammed in a fresh clip. Only one more, he needed to resupply. It was awkward, and he had to jam the gun under his useless right arm and use his left to load. The other man said something that stopped him in his tracks.

"Back there, I saw you change hands to fire your weapon. Are you wounded?"

Talley shook his head. "It's nothing."

Goldstein grimaced. "It looked to me like you had a problem with your arm. Are you ill?"

"No, of course not."

"I see. Before I started work for Mossad, I did two years medical training."

"What made you stop?" Talley asked him. He was genuinely curious. It seemed like a big jump, training to be a doctor and then working undercover as a spy.

"Hezbollah made me stop. I was about to be married, a beautiful girl from Be'er Sheva. Rebecca came to Tel Aviv to visit me and caught a bus into the city to go shopping. A bomber, what the Arabs call a Shaheed, detonated his suicide vest, and I was never able to bury my fiancée. Only a few body parts were left to go into the ground. It was then I decided to join the fight against the Muslims, those who wish to create a second Holocaust for the Jews. So far, I've been able to consign many would-be Shaheeds to wherever it is they think they go in the afterlife."