Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields (6 page)

“That’s a negative, Straightshooter. Our own wheels are in bad shape. We may need those trucks to get us home, but thanks for the assist.”

“My pleasure, we got all of them. You take care now.”

He was wrong. They hadn't got them all.

* * *

A man led a string of goats across the dunes, one hundred and fifty meters away from the blood-soaked battleground. It would have been reasonable to assume he was an innocent, a noncombatant, in the wrong place at the wrong time. That judgment would have been incorrect. They'd given Ahmed Rashawi a simple but important task, a sophisticated satellite phone with an eight-megapixel built-in camera.

Hasan Jafaar had made it quite clear. "My friend, you are to monitor and observe all foreign troops who enter the Syrian Caliphate. If you see them, you will report back to me with the details. I want the time, the date, the numbers, and the types of weapons they're using."

Rashawi was distressed. "Master, I know little of foreign weapons. How can I describe them to you?"

A smile. "It's simple, Ahmed. You take pictures with the satellite phone, along with the pictures of the men you see. Then send them to me. I will add them to my collection." He produced a photo with a flourish, "This man, if you see him, you need to call me. He is a NATO Special Forces officer."

"What is so special about him, Hasan?"

"Special?" He considered the question for a few moments, "He's a NATO officer, with the rank of Lieutenant Commander. His name is Abe Talley. And..."

"Yes?" Ahmed asked, waiting for him to go on.

Jafaar's expression was ice as he supplied the answer. "I want him dead."

Rashawi was excited. He'd taken the pictures as ordered, and he was certain he'd identified the man who Jafaar sought. He began to punch in the buttons to call him. His master would be pleased. It could even mean a reward. He'd been considering a new young wife for some time. His first wife was becoming old and ugly. He could divorce her in an instant, as Islamic law allowed, and take someone much younger. Not too young, about thirteen or fourteen years old would be enough, old enough to understand the importance of pleasing her husband.

The call connected. "Jafaar."

"I have photos for you, Master. Foreign soldiers, they attacked and killed some of our men. I am sure one of them is this Talley."

"Send them now."

The call ended, and Ahmed began the transfer as he'd been shown.

* * *

The nose of the gunship dipped a fraction, a friendly goodbye, and then it roared away to the west. He called his men together and started to give out orders.

“Drew, Vince, and Roy, the ISIS trucks are a few hundred meters away. Go and get them started. We’re taking them with us. Tadeus, Virgil, Guy, reverse those Rovers out and make sure they’re in a fit state to get back to Sykes.

“What if they’re not?” Bielski asked, “I mean, do we destroy anything not fit to make it back?”

The Pole had formed a real hatred for the Brit vehicles. He was liable to set charges under each of them and make sure they were beyond use, to rid himself of the nightmare of the maintenance problems bequeathed to them by the Iraqis. Which could take some explaining when they got back; then again, it wouldn’t do any harm to destroy the worst of the troublesome SUVs.

“Destroy the most damaged of the three, but before you do, transfer everything useful to the other two. Lose one vehicle, no more.”

Her grinned. “Thank you, Sir. You won’t regret this.”

Talley contained a grin. It was like he’d given him the go ahead to date his sister. He rushed away to select one of the Land Rovers for his attention and take revenge. Then Buchmann came into view. His gaze was stubborn as he started to go past him, but Talley put up a hand.

“Buchmann, a word.”

“Ja, Commander. What is it you want?”

He made it sound like ‘vot is it you vant?’ Some Germans overcame their problems with pronouncing the ‘w.’ Buchmann never bothered to try. He had other ways of making himself understood. Painful ways.

“I gave you a direct order. I wanted you next to the vehicles. Those flyboys would have chewed you up and spit you out if they’d seen you.”

“They did see me,” He faced Talley square on, like a heavyweight boxer ready to slug it out with his opponent, “I waved to them, so they’d know I was a friendly.”

He shook his head. “The next time you disobey an order, Heinrich, you’re out. Got that? You’ll go back to your unit.”

Buchmann’s original unit was the KSK, Kommando Spezialkräfte. They were a Special Forces military unit. Soldiers handpicked from the ranks of Germany's Bundeswehr and organized under the Rapid Forces Division, an elite outfit, except for the fact that NATFOR was the elite of the elite. An RTU, return to unit, would be seen as failure both by his colleagues, and by the man himself.

“I will do as you say, but there was no danger.”

Talley lost it then. “Listen to me, you damn fool. What if the enemy discovered the way to avoid a helicopter gunship was by giving them a friendly wave. They should have ignored it and shot the shit out of you. That would have been the right thing to do. If it happens again, you're finished. You get me, Buchmann?”

“Ach, Ja, I get it.”

He lumbered away, and Talley let him go. He’d chewed him out enough, any more and he’d build up resentment. He turned to see how Bielski was handling the destruction of one of their vehicles, but the man was standing right behind him.

“There’ll be trouble with Buchmann.” The Pole, like so many of his countrymen, had a thing about certain Germans, those who reminded him of the Nazis who invaded his country during the Second World War.

“I’ll worry about Buchmann. Did you put charges on the Land Rover?”

“I did. There were also a few parts worth swapping out, the battery for one. The Iraqis had put in a lead acid battery that was half the size it should have been. Probably they took the original for their own vehicle.”

“I guess so.” He went to walk away, but Bielski hadn’t finished.

“He’s a Nazi.”

He sighed and turned back. “What do you mean, he’s a Nazi?”

Talley knew what the man meant. Heinrich Buchmann. In another time, and another place, he would have joined the Nazi Party. Would have helped Hitler’s legions smash their way to the very gates of Moscow, and then fought a savage rearguard action all the way back to the Reich Chancellery in the center of Berlin. His views were extreme, no question. The German was racist through and through, and regarded his own people as superior beings.

Although there was a difference, Buchmann’s idea of an elite was white Europeans. On top were the troopers of NATFOR. At the bottom of his ideal society were not Jews and gypsies, Jehovah Witnesses, and Communists, but the Islamists who'd made it their business to undermine Western values. People like the men they fought in the burning sands of the Mideast. Enemies like ISIS.

“Forget Heinrich, he’s a good man. A little hotheaded at times, I agree, but he gets the job done.”

“Fucking Nazi,” Bielski insisted, “You want to know what happened to my family during the war?”

“Which war?”

He sighed with impatience. “There's just one war that matters, the Second World War.”

Talley lost it then and stood inches away from the other man. “Forget the Second World War. I’ll tell you what I told Buchmann. Follow orders, and do what I tell you. Otherwise I’ll RTU you in an eye blink.”

A pause. “I understand.”

“Good. Here’s one for you. Shut the fuck up about Buchmann, and get your Land Rover ready to move out.”

He left him to it. The guy had a point, maybe. Except out in the field, they had a single enemy, there wasn’t room for more. ISIS. At that moment, he heard the sound of engines, and a procession of Toyotas meandered along the riverbed. They had to bump over some of the bodies still strewn on the ground. Reynolds was driving the lead truck, and he pulled in next to him.

“They’re all good, all four of them. We are a damn sight better off driving these back to Sykes than those scrap heaps we drove out here.”

It took a split second to reach a decision. He had a point. The Rovers were crap. “Okay, we’ll put two Toyotas at the front, two at the back, and squeeze the Land Rovers into the center. If either of them breaks down, we’ll tow them in.”

“Roger that. What about the bodies?” He gestured to the fallen fighters, or what was left of them.

Talley shrugged. “We’ll leave them for their own people.”

“You reckon they’ll be along any time soon?”

He stared back at him. "This is ISIS we’re talking. You reckon they won’t be along any time soon?”

Reynolds grimaced. “Point taken. They’ll be along.”

They spread out into the six vehicles, and Talley led the way, driving the lead Toyota. Guy shared the cab with him. “I’ve about taken enough of their grousing. What’s the matter with them? There’s Bielski and Buchmann at each other’s throats, and Jean-Paul Casta suddenly decides to take a dislike to the Brits. At least, to one Brit in particular.”

Talley glanced at him in surprise. “He’s got a problem with you?”

“No, not me. Casta's a rarity, someone who's friendly toward Jews.” Welland was of Jewish descent and had been born a Jew. Although he didn’t practice his faith, he was always quick to defend it when the occasion demanded. Islamic threats to the State of Israel he took very personally, “It’s Martin Cross who’s taking most of the flak.”

“For what reason? What did he do?”

Guy grimaced. “It’s what they both did. A girl.”

“A girl? Jesus, when did that happen?”

“Last time we went back to Brussels, to NATO headquarters. They both fell for her, and they’ve been enemies ever since.”

“Shit. That’s the last thing we need. Half the men scrapping with each other while we're out on operation. Guy, it has to stop.”

“I agree, but you haven’t heard the worst.”

A pause. What the hell’s coming now? “Go on.”

She’s an Arab. A Muslim.”

“And?”

“A Palestinian Muslim. Her brother is currently serving a long sentence in an Israeli jail.”

“Oh, fuck.”

The drive back to Sykes was not a time for exhilaration. They’d hammered the crap out of ISIS, with a little help from the flyboys. However, driving in the Toyotas made them realize what they were fighting; an enemy who in some areas could field better equipment than the junk they were expected to go into battle with. The gates to the compound opened, and they drove inside and parked in a long line outside the office of the base commander. It was no accident. Without exchanging a word, each man was determined to underline the truth about the disparity between their Rovers and the ISIS trucks.

Talley climbed out and marched to the door of Colonel Petersen’s office. He didn’t knock, just opened it, and stormed inside. “Colonel, I…”

It was empty. He heard a voice from the small communications room in back and announced himself, “Colonel, Commander Talley reporting back. I need a word with you, Sir.”

The voice kept talking, ignoring him. He tried again, “Colonel, I’ve just got in. I’m hungry, I’m tired, and I need to talk to you about a couple of things.”

He didn’t go on. A man had appeared in the doorway of the comms room, and it wasn’t Petersen. He stiffened to attention, but he couldn’t keep the surprise out of his voice, and he threw up a salute. “Admiral Brooks!”

The man returned the salute. The Vice Admiral in charge of NATFOR, NATO Special Forces, was not tall. He was a fireplug of a man, with short, graying hair and a hard, intense face. Despite his lack of stature, or maybe because of it, he burned with restless energy, carrying the responsibility for NATFOR on his hard shoulders. His dark eyes had the intensity of a laser as he’d stared back at Talley.

“Yeah, I thought I’d come and check things out. I gather from your voice it was a tough one, Commander.”

“It was tough, yes, Sir.”

“Any losses?”

“None, they all came back. Admiral. A clean sweep, we got an ISIS war party out for scalps. Around thirty men, all dead.”

“With some help.” His voice was dry.

“With some help, yeah. The gunships did good.”

“I hear you, Talley. However, I came here to deal with Charlie Platoon. They’ve got more than a few problems. I came to see how things are panning out. NATO has a lot of commitments worldwide, and I don’t want to see any of my units being wasted on a stupid skirmish with local bad boys.”

“It was ISIS out there, Admiral, operating inside Iraq. That sounds like an escalation to me.”

"Yeah, I hear you." Brooks looked tired, and it was clear his mind was elsewhere. Finally, he looked up, “See anything else while you were out there?”

In that moment it all clicked in Talley’s head. It wasn’t just a problem with Charlie Platoon. It was something else, something big.

“No, Sir, nothing else. What should we have seen?”

Brooks sucked in his breath, as he weighed up how much to give away. “Did you see any Russians?”