Echo Six: Black Ops 4 - Chechen Massacre (5 page)

The hurricane of heavy projectiles struck the enemy before they realized where the attack was coming from. A rain of heavy shells smashed into the ground and chewed up everything in its path, men, weapons, equipment, rocks, everything. And just when any survivors may have been praying for deliverance, the second aircraft roared in for a repeat performance. Their prayers weren’t answered; the A-10 pilots weren’t tuned in to Allah’s frequency.

Once again, the night was shattered by the roar of the heavy shells punching out of the sky, smashing into their targets over the background of high-pitched jet engines. It was enough. The incoming fire stopped, and the Warthogs flew on to seek out their next targets, the Taliban fighters coming to join the party. It was likely to be their last. Talley called up the E3 Sentry overhead.

"We’re clear. It looks as if the enemy is destroyed. We need the helos and that Medevac to get us out before any more turn up to join the fun."

"Roger that, Echo One. Score one for the good guys. Your ride is on the way. I've homed them in on your coordinates, and we’re trying to locate the nearest LZ. If not, we’ll winch you guys up. I'll let you know when they're close. Good luck, and well done with those POWs."

Talley clicked off.

What did he say, score one for the good guys?
I don’t feel good, and maybe he wouldn't have said that if he knew about the Inquiry I’m facing back in Seoul.

He shook his head again to clear it from the dust and debris. But they were still in his head, the grainy images from the CCTV. Even in the heat of battle, he couldn't put those poor girls out of his mind. With an effort, he brought himself back and called his men to check there were no casualties. It had been a successful operation, even better if the two severely injured men they'd released would survive.

“Excuse me.”

He looked around. It was the Marine Lieutenant, barely recognizable as such, emaciated and ragged, although he’d obviously been hard and fit before his imprisonment. He looked at the man’s eyes, dark, intense, and smoldering with intensity; a guy who hadn’t given in, would never give in. He looked like a Native American.

“How can I help?”

“I wanted to say thanks, Commander. You saved our lives. We were pretty far gone down there.”

“No problem. You’d do the same for us,” he smiled.

“Yes, I will. When you need help, I will be ready.”

“Sure, thanks.”

He went to turn away, but the man continued staring at him. “You misunderstand. I will be ready.”

“Sure.”

“It will be soon.”

He saw Talley’s puzzlement. “When you need my help, I mean. It will happen very soon.”

The marine’s expression was unreadable. His dark eyes seemed to stare into the distance, into a place that was both of this world, and not of this world.

What the hell?

He felt a shiver inside him.

Am I going crazy, or is he? Or do some Indians have a kind of inner power, something most men don’t understand? It sure felt like it. It was nice of him to offer, even though I can guarantee our paths will never, ever cross in the future. Will they?

They waited for twenty minutes, and the first of the Black Hawks, the Medevac, touched down on the only half decent stretch of ground for hundreds of meters around. It wasn't an easy landing, but Talley had insisted the casualties couldn't be carried any distance. In less than a minute, his men had lifted them aboard, aided by the medics. The helo took off, and the second aircraft swooped in to pick them up. Buchmann managed to squeeze in next to him inside the fuselage.

"A clean sweep, Mein Herr."

Talley almost smiled. Almost. The German often garbled his English when he'd been in action. He nodded.

"Yeah, a clean sweep, Heinrich."

But he was on the first part of his journey back to Seoul, to the Inquiry, and the reality of the bloody slaughter of the innocents; committed by a man he brought back from North Korea. Was it his fault? He'd done everything by the book. But still, he should have had some warning. It happened on his watch.

Their blood is on my hands. How can I ever wash it off? One day, I’ll kill the bastard who did it. But will it be enough? I just don’t know. I only wish I could sleep again.

"Commander," he looked up. One of the flight crew was tapping him on the shoulder, "you're needed upfront. Skipper said it’s a call for you, on an encrypted channel. We can't patch it through to your headset."

He nodded and followed the man through to the flight deck. The pilot and co-pilot sat either side of a center console that looked big enough for the Space Shuttle. A crewman handed him a boom mike, already plugged into the aircraft communications system. He clicked the transmit button.

"Talley."

"I gather it went well."

Vice Admiral Carl Brooks, his boss. He'd be waiting for them back in Seoul.

Is this about the Inquiry? Jesus Christ, why can't it wait until we get back?

He kept his voice even. "Yeah, it went fine. We got our guys out. Five."

"So I heard. I've been listening to the feed from the AWACS Sentry. You've done well. I intended to suggest your unit stopover in Kabul for the night before you catch your ride back to Seoul in the C-17. You boys could wind down with a few beers..."

In Kabul? Is that the Admiral's sense of humor spilling over?

"But something’s come up. We have a situation here. The Globemaster is refueled and waiting for you on the tarmac."

So it isn't the Inquiry, but it doesn't sound like anything good either.

He smiled at the thought of a few beers in Kabul. A punishment detail, for sure. He didn't feel he'd done that well. It was just another operation, and they’d got back with the unit intact. Isn’t that what they paid him for? For him, it was just one more interlude between the nightmares. By day, he had to watch Heinrich Buchmann, to make sure he didn't try too hard to emulate his Nazi forebears. And the new man, Nikki Toussaint; he had some concerns about him too. He took chances, too many chances. What did he think he was, some kind of John Rambo? The nights were the worst when the demons returned, and they had faces. He knew them well, each of those girls. He'd seen them on the video. Moving images that were etched on his mind. Brooks continued.

"It's about that North Korean who went crazy and escaped back over the border. The guy that caused us all the trouble."

So it is about that business in Seoul. Is that what you call the deaths of eight innocent girls serving their country? Trouble!

"Colonel Ho," he said softly.

"Right. Look, Talley, I know how you feel about those nurses he killed, but you have to go past it. We have something far more serious. You know he went back to Pyongyang, of course. We don't know how the bastard managed it, but somehow while he was here in Seoul, he made contact with a bunch of former KGB people with links to the Chechens."

Chechens!

Yet more Islamic terrorists, and some said the Chechens were more ferocious, more fanatic than even the Afghan Taliban or Al Qaeda. Their most infamous act of depravity was in 2004, when they attacked Beslan, a town in North Ossetia. More than three hundred people died in the three-day siege, most of them children. If they were looking for the word Chechen to become linked to mindless, bloodthirsty violence, they succeeded on that day. Talley tried to picture the scenario of the fanatic North Koreans legions, linked to the brutal savagery of the Chechens, but he failed. It was beyond imagination. Admiral Brooks waited him out this time.

"What's he gone and done with the Chechens?”

A long pause. "Imagine the worst scenario possible. That's what he's gone and done. He’s managed to negotiate with the Chechens to supply the NKs with the thing they want more than anything else in the world."

The temperature inside the cold cabin seemed to cool even more, a drop of several degrees.

"You're not serious! Don't tell me it's happening again."

“I'm serious. It's happening again."

Dear Christ, no! Do these people never give up?

The Black Hawks landed at Bagram, close to the waiting C-17 Globemaster, its engines already idling. A bunch of MPs stood guard between the helos and the big Boeing, and Talley was left in no doubt time was critical. They hustled across the concrete, up the ramp, and before they could even start to find somewhere to settle for the long journey, the ramp began to close and the aircraft was taxiing out to the strip. His number two, Guy Welland sat next to him.

"What gives, Boss? Why the VIP welcome, what’s the rush?”

"North Korea."

"Again?" Guy raised his eyebrows. "What's it all about?"

"Admiral Brooks said something about, 'The thing they want more than anything else in the world.' His words."

"I don't believe it. It’s not possible."

Talley nodded. "I hear you. We’ll know more when we touch down in Seoul.”

He dozed during the journey, only coming awake when the nightmare reappeared. He remembered the last time they'd gone up against the North Koreans, and the worst of them, the most savage, the most depraved, and the cleverest of all of them. Colonel Ho. He pictured him in his mind, about five feet four inches, with broad bull-like shoulders that made him look immense, threatening. He had a flat, hard face, with tiny, black pig-eyes. People who saw him would assume he was one mean operator, a vicious bully, a killer, and they'd be correct. Talley could picture the Colonel standing over the eight females, his lips pulled back, exposing a mouthful of white teeth fashioned into a manic smile as he shot them dead, all of them. And he still lived, summoning up a heap more misery for the West to worry over.

Abruptly, his mind flipped over to Kay, yet another problem he had to grapple with. Kay Talley, his ex-wife and mother of his two kids, Joshua and James. The day before they took off, Kay’s sister, Connie, had contacted him. What she’d said left him reeling in shock.

"Abe, you knew Kay was making a new life for herself and the kids?"

Of course I knew. I even met the guy. Didn't like him, but the boys seemed reasonably happy.

“Sure, is everything okay?”

"They split up," Connie continued. "It happened several weeks ago."

He hadn't known that. "Is there a problem?"

A pause. "She found herself another guy, and he's moved in with her."

That’s fair enough, I suppose. She’s entitled to live her life anyway she pleases, and her home is a big house with plenty of play space for the kids.

He knew it well, because he'd bought it.

"You worried about him?"

"I am. He was released from prison just two weeks before he met Kay. His business is drugs; he did eighteen months for supplying crack. It's a terrible influence for the kids, Abe. And another thing, I think he may be hitting her. Lately, she's taken to wearing huge sunglasses, and she covers her neck with a scarf. I'm very concerned."

What the hell can I do about it? Of course, I’ll pay them a visit and lay it out for this guy, if he ever uses violence against Kay or the kids I'll bury him. But right now, I’m thousands of miles away and not due home anytime soon. And even if it came to a question of custody, how can I take care of Joshua and James with the kind of work I do? Damnit, Kay! How could you?

"You think he's still dealing?"

"I do. The last time I went to the house there were some people visiting. They looked like thugs, not the kind of people you'd want around the boys, and I believe they were carrying concealed weapons. I mean, you know. You can tell.”

You sure can, the bulge under the coat, the butt of a pistol showing when a man leans forward.

“I wasn't sure whether to report it to the police, but I didn't want to make any trouble."

"I appreciate the call, Connie, and I'll sort something out. I won't finished with my current assignment for a couple of weeks at least, but as soon as it ends, I'll fly over and go talk to them."

"I hope you will, Abe. I'm real worried."

And me. A drug dealer and his armed henchmen in the house where my two sons live. It has to end. It will end, one way or the other.

Admiral Brooks was waiting on the tarmac as the Globemaster taxied to a halt at Seoul Air Base. The wide expanse of concrete and barbed wire surrounded by headquarters and support buildings was a strategic South Korean Air Force facility, as well as home to NATO forces in the northwest corner of the air base. As the Globemaster taxied to a halt, he beckoned to Talley to join him in his Humvee and indicated a truck waiting to transport the rest of the men. They shook hands as they walked to the vehicle. Inside, a civilian waited, sitting in the shadows at the rear.

"This is Jonas Barrington. He'll be helping you with the operation."

A fit looking guy in well cut civilian clothes. Shit, I don’t need this.

"Admiral, I don't know what this operation is all about yet," he grimaced.

Brooks smiled. "No, I guess you don't, but you will, soon enough. First, I wanted a chance to get you and Jonas together."

He climbed into the passenger seat and turned around to shake hands with the man in back. He was perhaps in his mid-thirties, a smooth faced, slim, handsome man with a two hundred dollar haircut and a ten thousand dollar smile when his lips parted. He looked confident; a man who knew what he wanted and was prepared to do anything it took to get it. Some people may have called it arrogance, but Talley reserved judgment. He noticed the guy's smile didn't reach his eyes. Even in the dim light, he was able to inspect the clothes more closely, a Bush jacket, probably Ralph Lauren, over matching beige pants. The cuffs were tucked into laced, leather boots, something like a fashion designer's idea of what a paratrooper wore when he jumped out of an airplane. His grip was tough enough, though, not the soft handshake of an Ivy League fashionista. The hands too, they were not those of an effete, deskbound operative.

So who is he? Has to be Agency. What else?

"Pleased to meet you, Commander Talley?"

The other man pushed out his hand like it was a knife thrust, and they shook.

"Lieutenant-Commander Talley. Call me Abe. What are you, CIA?"

He looked miffed. “I’m Military Police, Special Investigator, with the rank of Major. Lately, I've been liaising with the CIA Head of Station, Vladivostok, about a security problem that landed in my lap. That’s why I’m here."

A cop! Fair enough, but it doesn’t explain why a military cop is involved with a NATO SpecOp mission.

He glanced at Brooks.

"Admiral, I’m confused. What gives? Why are the MPs involved in our business?"

"I'll spell it all out for you when we get inside my office. It's Ultra-Secret. Some of it you’ll be able to tell your men, but not all. Be patient for a few minutes more."

It was less than three minutes before he braked to a halt outside the building that was the Seoul, South Korea headquarters of JSOC, Joint Special Operations Command. They followed him to the room at the rear that was Brooks' secure office, guarded by a serious looking Marine Sergeant who sat behind a desk with a pistol the size of a small artillery piece in his holster. He jumped to attention as they arrived, and Brooks nodded, "At ease, Sergeant."

When they were inside, he closed the door behind them and sat behind his desk. There were no other chairs in the office, and they were forced to stand. He stared at them, and he wasn't smiling.

"First, you'll be happy to know the two badly wounded POWs look like they're going to pull through."

"That's good news, Admiral."

"Yeah, Talley, about the only good news you're going to hear today. The NKs are up to their old tricks again, and this time it's for real. You know what I'm talking about."

He nodded.

I know. How could I ever forget, after the last time?

"Right, that bastard Colonel Ho got busy during the time he was here posing as a defector. He contacted a bunch of Chechens, a Muslim gang that sells guns and equipment to the highest bidder, stuff that once belonged to the former Soviet Union. The jewel in the crown, of course, is nuclear-armed warheads. They tried before, and we thought we'd headed them off, with help from our counterparts in the Russian FSB, their domestic intelligence service. Until our intel people started picking up noise about this shipment. The MPs were already involved with a related case, and we put the threads together. It turns out that fruitcake Kim Jong-un bankrupted his country to pay for this consignment, as if they weren't already struggling to feed their people. Our intelligence suggests they paid the Chechens one hundred million dollars. Our problem is this; the weapons are already on the way by rail from Chechnya."

"From Chechnya to North Korea! Jesus Christ, that's one hell of a long way overland," he observed.

"You're right. There’s a direct route, the longest railroad in the world, the Trans-Siberian Railroad. What do you know about it?"

He shook his head, "I've heard of it. That's about it."

Brooks looked at Jonas Barrington. "You know about it, Jonas. Tell him."

The MP spoke with a slow drawl, without doubt he hailed from somewhere south of the Mason-Dixon line.

"I’ll give you a quick sketch. The railroad is not one single line; it's a rail network that runs from Moscow to the Sea of Japan. Tsar Nicholas the Second gave orders for them to build it at the end of the nineteenth century. It nearly bankrupted the nation, and a few years later when they entered the First World War against Germany, they were almost out of cash, steel, and equipment. Most people reckon it was the big factor that lost them the war on the Eastern front and allowed in the Communist Revolution." He shrugged, as he thought for a few moments, "I could bore you with a heap of facts and figures, but it's enough to know the journey takes seven days, end to end."

"Why are the MPs so interested?"

Barrington nodded at the Admiral. "Sir, perhaps you'd better explain how this links together."

"Right. As I said, they bought the warheads from the Chechens. They’re Muslims, of course, so they'll be more than happy to see those nukes deployed against the West. The bastards want a worldwide Caliphate, and they won't care if the North Koreans torch half the West to do their dirty work for them. It’s nothing new, just the politics of the crazies; something we've been fighting for many years. But what is new is this shipment of warheads; we're guessing four of them are on the way. In less than five days, they'll be inside the border of North Korea, and I've no doubt they'll surround them with a couple of divisions of their troops. They'll be untouchable."

"Five days! I thought Major Barrington said the journey took seven days."

"It does, but they’re already on the way. In four days time, the train reaches Vladivostok, and the wagons with the weapons will be shunted onto the line that runs down to Pyongyang. Twenty-four hours after they leave Vladivostok, they'll be in Kim's backyard. That means we have five days. We’re still putting the finishing touches to the operation because it's such short notice, but your job is straightforward. You have to stop them. No matter what it takes, no matter what the cost, they have to be stopped. You will locate them and destroy them.”

“And the connection with the MPs? Why are they involved?”

“Major?” Brooks asked.

“The one thing the Chechens weren't able to supply was advanced targeting software. The Soviets were damn good at building the warheads, and the North Koreans have put a lot of effort into the missiles, the delivery systems. But back in the days when those warheads were built, the software was pretty crude. The Chechens went shopping for something more up-to-date and bought what they wanted from a traitor inside the United States military. We don't know which branch of the service this person came from, but you can imagine we’re keen to locate and incarcerate them for a very long time, after we’ve sucked every piece of information we can from them during interrogation.”

“So you’re waiting to give them the rubber cosh and the waterboarding treatment,” Talley murmured drily. Something about the MP irritated him.

"You make us sound like the Gestapo," the MP objected, looking angry.

"As I recall, the Gestapo was on the losing side. I hope you do better than that, Major Barrington," Brooks added.

"We intend to, but the trick is locating the traitor." He looked at Talley; "We believe the best way to do that is to assist with the operation to intercept the warheads. Once we can take a look at the targeting codes they have, we’ll be able to work out where they came from, and that means we find our culprit."