Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (26 page)

"What is it?"

"Helo. Coming in from the north. They've found us.”

He glanced up into the thick, slate gray sky. At first he thought it was an Apache, the US helicopter gunship, but it was a Chinese gunship, different, but every bit as lethal.

“She’s a WZ-10,” Brooks informed him, “Bad news, they mount a 30mm autocannon in the chin. Enough to turn us into mincemeat.”

He nodded. They only had one defense against the formidable machine.

“Run!”

There was only one way to travel. Up. They were on a wide plateau. To the east the mountain sloped away, and in the west there was a ledge and then a sheer drop. Ahead of them the going was a gradual upslope that threaded through granite crevasses, and maybe enough to hide them from the gunship. Maybe.

They left the crash site with half the men in the rear, half at the front, shepherding the civilians along. Not without difficulty, Talley could hear loud complaints. He looked at Grace.

“What’s their problem?”

She grimaced. “I expect some of them want to stay with the Rinpoche.”

“They’d die with him, you know that. The gunship won’t wait for long before it opens fire.”

“Yes, they would die, but the next life may be better, Abe. That’s what we believe.”

He’d had enough. “The answer is no! Keep them moving. I’m not leaving anyone else behind. Tell ‘em anyone who won’t walk gets carried.” He shouted across to Guy, “Keep moving. Any civilians who refuse, carry them. Drag them if necessary.”

“Roger that.”

He looked around for Rovere, leading the rearmost group. Buchmann was alongside him, huge and dependable. It was too far to shout, so he keyed his mic.

“Dom, don't let any of them fall behind. We’re not leaving anyone for that gunship.”

“What about the old guy, the Rinpoche?”

“There’s nothing we can do.”

He could see Rovere incline his head and speak into his headset. “That we shall die we know; 'tis but the time, and drawing days out, that men stand upon.”

They plowed on, and there was only the howling of the wind. Talley thought of Tampa Rinpoche. He'd last seen him sitting alone, cross-legged in the lotus position.

Does he feel the cold, or does their
religion somehow protect them?

It had rankled to leave him, but the Buddhists were adamant. It was his choice, a sacred duty he felt he had to perform. He looked back at the gunship. It hovered over the wreckage, watching. Waiting.

But what for?
It can wait for the rest of the night. Time is a precious commodity, and I intend to snap up as much as possible.

"Keep moving. We have to make it to cover!" he shouted, "Hurry it up."

The men in the rear had to push and coax the Buddhists, but they kept moving. Away from the solitary, lonely figure of Tampa Rinpoche, sitting proud and erect on the icy mountaintop.

* * *

"What is the fool doing?" Xilong exclaimed, more to himself than as a question, but the pilot assumed the Major was talking to him.

"I believe he is praying, Sir. It is the way these Buddhists worship their deity."

The pilot worked hard to keep the emotion out of his voice. He knew exactly what the old man was doing. The self-sacrifice should be obvious, even to a sadist like the State Security Major sitting below him in the gunner's seat. The pilot knew much about Buddhists, and about their holy men. He'd kept it a secret all his life. In China, religion was frowned upon, and when his parents explained to him about his Buddhist ancestry, they'd insisted he kept it secret. A secret he would need to take with him to the grave.

"I didn't assume he was waiting for a train," Xilong snapped, his voice as icy as the temperature outside the Perspex canopy, "It's time to put an end to this nonsense. I'll deal with him first, and then take out the rest of them. Go lower. I want you to hover near enough for me to get a clear shot. I need some practice with this gun."

"But… he's a priest," the pilot retorted, forgetting himself for a moment.

"I don't give a shit if he's the Dalai Lama. Obey my order, Lieutenant Li, or do I need to inform Beijing of even more treachery this night?"

"At once, Major."

He adjusted the collective, pushed his feet hard on the rudder pedals, and the gunship neatly sidestepped toward the mountainside. Toward the lone figure that sat staring into time and space. Staring into eternity.

Xilong had worked out the control systems for the cannon, and as the gunship slowed to a hover, he depressed the fire button. A line of shells hammered out of the barrel, and the tiny cockpit was assaulted by a deafening cacophony of noise as the heavy projectiles hurtled to their target. He cursed. He'd miscalculated badly, and the burst he'd intended to walk into the target missed by at least ten meters. He guided the barrel back on target, adjusted the aiming point five meters in front of the man, and pressed the fire button again.

This time he ignored the deafening noise and concentrated on walking his shots into the target. The first shells impacted the ground and tore up the surface in sprays of snow mixed with chips of rock. It was easy, so easy he smiled with delight. Using the fall of shot as a guide, he walked the burst straight into the target, through it, past it, and back. He concentrated on churning the target into a mixture of bloody ruin, torn flesh, snow and rock.

He was unaware that above his head the pilot, Lieutenant Li, was struggling not to vomit his supper over the cockpit floor. The aircraft lurched as Li jerked the controls aside and vectored away, soaring high into the sky, as if somehow to atone for the act of killing the holy man.

"What are you doing?" Xilong shouted, "I'm not finished. Get us back down there, Lieutenant. I think I've got the hang of this. I should be able to finish them all, and then we can go home."

"At once, Major."

Slowly, very slowly Li adjusted the controls to take the gunship back down. Within seconds, they were closing on the rocks where he knew the fugitives had taken shelter.

"Lower, lower!" Xilong exclaimed, unable to hide his excitement. It was fun! He'd never known how enjoyable it could be, firing a 30mm from a hovering gunship into a target that was defenseless.

The gunship hovered over the snow-covered rocks as he searched for the fugitives.

There!

He saw movement, someone slipped into a shallow cave between two huge rocks. He could see their footsteps now, betraying them. Deep imprints in the snow almost like signposts. Yes, it was perfect. His finger hovered over the fire button.

* * *

"He's coming again."

They'd watched in horrified fascination as the gunship swooped in on the wreckage. The first burst that went wide gave them faint hope. It was dashed when the remorseless hammer blows of the cannon rounds smashed into the body of Tampa Rinpoche.

"Bastard!" Talley shouted to the evil mechanical machine of death hovering in the sky above them, as if it was gloating at the wanton destruction of a defenseless old man.

"If I could get my hands on that gunner, I'd..."

He shook his head to clear it. Tempa was dead, and he had to take care of the living. But the nuns were in a partially exposed position, easy meat for the cannon. He looked for his number two, who was crouched under a rock, covered in the snow he'd piled around him for camouflage.

"Guy, we need to get those nuns moving."

"I know, but some of them are real slow. They can't help it. They're old. When he comes in for the next pass, the cannon fire will spray hot metal all around them. There's no way they can survive. They need somewhere better to hole up."

He glanced up. The gunship had gone around and was barreling in for a new pass. Evidently, the pilot found it hard to hold the craft in the hover. It gave them something to work with; the precarious winds at high altitude were difficult to contend with.

"Admiral, Virgil, try and put him off his aim. If it works, we'll move off again, and it could force him to go high to get control. The second he turns away, we'll try to find a better place for them to shelter."

"Roger that."

They took up a partially exposed position behind the rocks, aimed the barrels of their Minimis up at the approaching helo, and opened fire. It was an uneven contest, but it surprised the enemy, and it had the effect of forcing the gunner to change his aiming point to return fire. The two machine gunners ducked down and huddled behind cover as the heavy cannon shells hammered all around them, but they were behind a meter of solid rock, so as long as they stay put, they were safe.

The gunship rocked in another fierce crosswind and wobbled precariously as the pilot struggled to regain control. Brooks and Kane fired again, sending another hail of 5.56mm rounds at the armored craft.

They knew the Perspex canopy would be designed to withstand fifty-caliber gunfire. All they were able to do was literally 'knock on the door' with their gunfire, but they had one chance, a tiny chance. The so-called, 'Fierce Thunderbolt' did have a single weak point. The rear nacelles of the mighty turboshaft engines were vulnerable. A lucky shot, an extremely lucky shot, could enter the housing and strike one of the finely balanced vanes, causing a catastrophic engine failure.

They watched as the aircraft banked hard and raced away into the night sky. They fired after it, but chasing it away for a few seconds was as much as they could hope for. Soon, it would be back.

"Get 'em moving!" Talley shouted, "We only have a view seconds."

Buchmann took the lead using his massive power and strength. They dragged the nuns out of their hiding places and bundled them away further up the mountain plateau, toward the jagged rocks that offered better shelter from the deadly cannon fire. Talley waited with the two machine gunners, their task to deter the gunship for a few seconds more to give the civilians a chance. Grace stayed with him, as well as Jesse and Vince. They had their long rifles pointed up at the sky, watching and waiting.

Yet he knew it was pitiful. Their chances against the armored helo were negligible, but if they could gain a few more precious seconds for the others to reach cover, it would be worth it.

He looked at Guy. "I guess this will use up the last of our ammunition. We were already low."

The Brit nodded. "Just about. The Minimis are down to their last few rounds. After that, it's up to the snipers." Talley grimaced and Guy nodded, "Yeah, I know, it'll take more than a few well-aimed shots to bring that bastard down."

"You're right." They looked ahead to where the civilians had almost reached the sheltering rocks, helped along by some of the men. They all knew it wouldn't work again. The helo would stand off at a higher altitude and pour shot down on them until they were all dead.

"I guess this is the end," Guy murmured.

He nodded his agreement and looked again at the line of rocks they needed to reach to get into deep cover; still five hundred meters away, and much higher than their present position. He looked at his GPS and whistled.

"The altitude of those rocks must be seven thousand meters. Some of those civilians are going to be in trouble up there. The altitude will hit them hard."

Grace smiled. "They're Tibetans. They're more than used to living at high altitudes."

"That gunship isn't," Brooks growled, "I recall an intel pack about the WZ-10 that came across my desk at NATO Headquarters. It was just last year. As I remember, the service ceiling is a tad over six thousand meters. The pilot is already pushing the envelope at this height. If we could reach that line of rocks, we may be safe. At least, until they bring up reinforcements, and that'll be difficult in this weather, and at this height. It could give us the time we need to cross over into Nepal."

They looked at each other. Guy smiled. "We could do more than be safe. If we could tempt that helo a little higher, he's likely to lose control. At the very least, it could be a chance for the snipers to nail his ass if he's struggling."

Admiral Brooks nodded emphatically. "On the sea, they call it 'in irons'. It's when a sailing ship loses the wind during a maneuver, and the sails flap uselessly. They're helpless."

"So let's take the wind out of the bastard's sails. We need to get across that last five hundred meters." He looked across at Rovere, "Tell the men we're moving. We'll hug the contours in the ground. It should help us, and it's better than staying here. Let's go."

The helo was still some distance away. It was all or nothing. They leapt to their feet and raced for the distant peak. Five hundred meters of steep, snow-covered slope, the distance between safety and death. There were a few outcrops and rocks where they could make short dashes from cover to cover. And they started to work their way up the mountainside. Twice, the deadly gunship came boring in, and the angry rattle of the cannon fire was cut short as the pilot battled to keep his craft stable and veered away.

They kept moving, short spurts from cover to cover. They were almost there when he saw the gunship coming in yet again. They were only one hundred meters from safety, so near, and yet so far. The engines roared, echoing over the mountain as the pilot took the bait and climbed higher and higher. Until at last, he was right over them, helped by a favorable wind current. He gently guided his craft into a firing position, and they waited for the end.