Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields (29 page)

He kept his head down so they couldn't see him. He watched the monstrous Oshkosh truck race toward Khalil, knowing he could engage four wheel drive and race up the dune to pick him up and drive him to safety. The Toyota was faster and more nimble than the huge Oshkosh. He did none of it. Khalil had blamed his men for failure and called them cowards in front of other men. He'd insulted their honor, sullied their names, and for that alone, he deserved to die. He watched the huge tire roll over him, and then the truck maneuvered so that the rear tire settled on top of him. The screams were like nothing he'd ever heard. For a few moments, Khalil had glimpsed the very gates of hell. He saw Hasan Jafaar running hard a half a kilometer away, trying to escape, but he ignored him. He'd had enough of these incompetent, bloodthirsty ISIS fools. Abu started the engine and drove off, the noise of the small truck drowned out by the roar of the big diesel engine in the Oshkosh as it bore down on the fleeing Jafaar.

* * *

It was three days after they got back. He stood in Petersen's office, trying to ignore the venom that slashed at him from behind the desk.

"You lost my fucking LSVs, Talley. You know how long it took me to requisition those things? Now you've left them out in the desert for some camel jockey to joyride in. You lost men, including more than half of the Iraqis you were supposed to train and bring back safe. You're a fucking disaster, Mister. A total waste of space, I'm going to contact Brussels and arrange for your immediate recall!"

Talley let it ride over him. A week ago, his brain would be screaming at him to break out the bourbon once he'd left this office. He'd sip the whiskey and feel the familiar melancholy wash over him. The certain knowledge he'd failed. Failed his unit, failed his family, and all that waited for him was a life that would be a rollercoaster descent into oblivion. He'd changed. They'd all changed.

Was it the tunnel? The mind-numbing, terrifying crawl along that shaft, knowing the roof would collapse and bury them at any second? It had changed a lot. He knew that. What was it some famous philosopher said? 'For authentic living what is needed is the resolute confrontation of death.' Hegel, Kant, Heidegger? One of those Germans, he couldn't recall which, only that the man could have been right. He'd come out of that shaft different than when he went in, although it wasn't just that.

Guy had shown him the support he needed, just when he needed it. No so much advice, more a firm hand. He'd taken his flask and threatened to keep taking it, until he came to his senses. He grinned to himself. It was the right thing to do. At first he'd said to Guy that he was the wrong man to try to help. He was a failure, a man with so many flaws and faults he didn't deserve the job they'd given him, leading elite forces into battle.

Guy gave him a meaningful look. "The person who only accepts friends without faults will never have any real friends."

"That sounds like one of Rovere's Shakespearean quotes, my friend. Not you, too."

"Much older than Shakespeare. As old as Judaism itself."

"A Jewish quotation?"

"A proverb. God knows we need some good ones, after what we've had to endure over the centuries."

"Amen to that. And now you have the Arabs trying to murder you."

He shrugged. "They're always trying to murder someone. When they run out of enemies, they start killing themselves. They’ll never change."

"I guess not. Guy, I'm going to see Geena. I'll look you up later."

"I'll come with you and wait outside. When you’re done, I need a word."

"Okay, until later."

She was sitting propped up in bed, and they'd cleaned her up well. She still looked battered to hell but more human. And she was awake. He gave her a smile.

"Hi. I didn't bring any fruit or flowers."

She returned the smile. "You can bring those later when we get to civilization. You know I’ll be staying in Baghdad to rest up until the wounds heal. I was hoping you'd be along to visit."

He nodded. "We're all a bit beaten up, so for the time being we'll be on indefinite leave, a few weeks R&R. Baghdad sounds fine."

"Good. Where will you stay? Not in barracks?"

"God forbid. A hotel room, I guess."

She didn't answer at first, and then she gave him a searching stare. "Abe, kiss me. Gently, I'm still sore."

He leaned closer and brushed her lips. Something, he couldn't say what it was, something electric, passed between them. "Sorry if I hurt you."

"You didn't. Abe, they said I’d be well on the way to healing by the time I get to Baghdad. They're talking about some therapy for me."

"Uh, huh, that's good to know."

"Do you remember the promise you made to me, inside the fort?"

He felt his cheeks glow red. "Er, yeah, I do."

She grinned. "I was afraid you'd forget. Abe, that hotel room, I want it to be a double."

He couldn't help it and laughed out loud. "Geena, it’ll have the biggest bed outside of the King of Saudi Arabia's harem."

"With soft sheets."

"You got it."

"And good room service, I don't want to go outside while I'm recuperating."

"Recuperating from what?"

"From you, Abe, from you. Make it memorable, something to drive away the nightmare of that tunnel. When I feel bad, I don't want to think back to the qanat. I want to think of you, fucking me on a huge bed in a luxurious hotel."

His face was serious. "Geena, you've got it. All of it."

"Is it what you want?"

She explored his eyes, and in her own eyes he felt all her anxiety and uncertainty, the terror that still lurked close to the surface. He met her gaze and held it. "More than anything. Geena, right now I’m sorry, but I have to go, I have some messages to send out. Take care now. Until Baghdad."

"Until Baghdad."

"Copy that."

He turned to leave, but Guy was standing in the doorway. “You mind if I come in for a moment.”

“Sure.”

She was staring at him, her eyebrows arched in curiosity. Guy strolled to her bedside and looked down at her.

“Hello, Geena.”

“Guy.” Her look was uncertain.

“I just wanted to say something before we leave. It’s about what happened out there, out in the desert.”

“I don’t understand.”

“I didn’t trust you.”

“Yes, I know. I was never sure if was because I’m Syrian, a Muslim, a woman, or CIA. Or was it all of the above?”

He shrugged. “Probably. You know I’m Jewish.”

“Yes.”

“We’ve had a hard time with the Muslims, including Syrian Muslims.”

“I understand.”

“No, you don’t. I was wrong. I guess women have a hard time in Arab countries. You didn’t need me making it worse.”

She tried to smile. “It’s okay, Guy. It’s really okay.”

He looked at Talley and back to her. “What I’m saying is, I’m sorry, real sorry. I was wrong not to trust you, and if there were a few more women like you around, the world would be a better place. You should have been born Jewish. Maybe I can talk to them in Jerusalem about a conversion.”

“Jerusalem is also a Muslim holy place,” she pointed out. She looked at Talley. “Also a Christian one.”

Welland nodded. “Point taken. It’s time some of these people got together and started talking.”

“I don’t know how ISIS would take that proposition,” she said, her voice light, “In fact, my guess is they’d kill anyone who suggested it. At least I’ll always have a job with CIA as long as those assholes stay in business. Not a good…” her voice faded, and her eyes closed. A nurse bustled into the room and shooed them out. As they were strolling back to their vehicle, Guy paused.

“Before we take off, I wanted a word. That problem of yours, with the booze, how is it?”

At first, he was angry, but he stifled it. He’d let them down and almost cost them their lives. Guy was entitled. “It’s over.”

“Good.”

“I’m sorry, Guy. I know it was…”

He held up a hand. “Hey, remember what I said? The person who only accepts friends without faults will never have any real friends. They’re not always perfect, but hell, they’re what we have. You’re the best, Abe, better than you think, and not a bad guy, either. You’re up against it, what with fools like Petersen, and the constant budget cuts. They’re harder to fight than the Islamists.”

Talley smiled. For the first time in a long time, it was a smile that came from deep inside. His demons were on the run. They shook hands. Friends, the way it was with the rest of the men in his unit. As he walked away, Talley realized something else. His kids, no matter what Kay and her shyster lawyer pushed through the courts, they were his kids.

I’ve been a fool. They’re what I have, my flesh and blood. I’ll go and see them. Somehow, I’ll reconcile the problems, and to hell with the money! Christ, it can’t be harder than taking on ISIS. Can it?

* * *

The escape from certain death was a miracle. Colonel Petersen was inside his office working through the evening, a man who took his job seriously. Major Kris Gregson was with him, and it emerged they were making plans to refit the briefing room. The Major felt a change of furnishings and wall colors would help the men assimilate the information he handed down to them.

It was dark, and they had the office lights on, so they failed to spot it rolling toward them across the compound. The huge truck, a General Motors Combat Engineer’s earthmover, carried no lights, which was a violation of both military procedure and the Colonel’s strict rules of health and safety. They didn’t notice it, until the monster plowed into the prefabricated building, rolled over Petersen's desk, and out the other side. He escaped with two broken legs and compound fractures both hips. Gregson dislocated a shoulder trying to pull open a door that was jammed. There was talk of Petersen complaining he’d run out on him, leaving him trapped under the wreckage until help arrived.

It was enough to get Petersen shipped home to the States. On his recommendation, Gregson was assigned to parachute training. To ‘give the yellow bastard a chance to find some guts.’ Shortly after his first jump, he resigned his commission.

Army investigators concluded some Arab kid had been joyriding and lost control. Someone said they'd seen a huge white man enter the cab of the truck shortly before, and they went looking for Buchmann, the biggest man on the post.

Every man in his unit swore he'd been with them all evening. So it couldn't have been him. Besides, there were plenty of Arabs who were big men. It could have been anyone, although not so many with pale, Teutonic skin. They had no choice but to clear him, but there was a vague report of the driver screaming curses in German just before he hit the building. When they spoke to Talley, he'd shrugged.

"Sound does weird things at night. If I were you, I'd look for a big Arab who speaks German."

The investigator, an MP major, had given him a leery look. "You're not serious?"

"I am. I can guarantee Heinrich Buchmann would never attack a loyal and conscientious officer, no way."

"Sure he wouldn't."

"Was there anything else, Major? I have an appointment in Baghdad."

He shook his head. "Your man is in the clear. Just tell him next time he has a grouse to put it through channels. Jesus, I hope to Christ I don't ever upset your guy."

"That's good thinking, Major. Very wise."

He went away, thinking hard. He’d come through a lot, and only because of the support of his men. Why would he do anything less when they needed him? At that moment, he came to a decision. He’d draw a line in the sand under the sorry mess his life had become. It was time to start living again.

* * *

It was a month later when he went to the Babylon Warwick Hotel in Baghdad. In that time, his unit had seen out the rest of his tour in country, and they’d given Echo Six five days leave. To their surprise, he elected to take it in Baghdad. She’d beaten him to it and moved into a double room. When she called and told him where she was staying, she also said it had a king-sized bed. It was as good an invitation as he’d heard in a long time. Although he wasn’t sure how she’d be. Physically scarred, mentally scarred, he’d no idea how well she’d recovered, if at all.

Will I be able to touch her without hurting her physically, without awaking inside her mind the nightmare of her suffering?

The weather was fine, the sun burning down brightly from the heavens, and he found her sitting in a lounger at the side of the pool. The five-star hotel was new, a nod toward the new affluence that had reached this capital city. It also had a full complement of guards; both local cops and heavily armed private security men, a perfect venue for her R&R. She was wearing a white bikini, which was brave. The girl looked like a catwalk model, if you tactfully ignored the remainders of the scars crisscrossing her body. They were fading fast, so she’d had some good treatment, but when you got close, they were still there if you knew where to look. The other scars he couldn’t see. No one could.