Echo Six: Black Ops 7 - Tibetan Fury (8 page)

He shook his head. "Sooner or later, we're going to run into some of their men. A few boot prints could be explained away, but half a dozen dead bodies in the snow would be something else. We need to keep clear of them, get to that prison, get Campbell out, and be away from here before the end of the night. By the way, how do we get out, Admiral? We don't have the truck from Nepal."

"When we reach the prison and break Campbell out, I intend to put a call through on the satcom. I'll arrange for them to start moving. One way or the other, that truck will be waiting for us."

"If there's any shooting, the Chinese could close the border."

"Yeah, I thought of that. If it happens, we'll have to find another way."

Talley noticed he failed to mention what that 'other way' might be.

Is there another way out of here?

Guy called him, "Boss, I just sneaked a look. Those trucks are unloading some of the troops and moving on. They may be about to encircle the area; they're driving out into the countryside, probably to start swinging in again. I believe they're setting a trap, and we may be walking straight into it."

"Roger that. Everyone, eyes skinned for any sign of those hostiles."

He stopped for a second and scanned around with the NV goggles. Lots of eerie, green shapes, trees, buildings, but nothing moved. He looked at Brooks.

"I think we're…"

It was a slight sound, an almost inaudible 'thunk, thunk' from behind him. He threw himself down, dragging Grace with him. Brooks was a half second behind him. Three meters ahead, a Chinese soldier tumbled to the snow, his uniform smeared with his own blood. Jesse Whitefeather ran up to them a few seconds later.

"I thought I saw someone out there, and I was exploring the terrain through the night scope. The bastard was hiding behind a tree. He heard you coming toward him and started to raise his rifle, so I nailed him. He…"

He stopped speaking, as Guy Welland raced past them, his HK 410 blazing. The suppressor kept it relatively quiet, yet in the still night air, the shots spat out of the barrel sounding like thunder. Three more Chinese troopers had appeared almost from nowhere, only to be killed by Guy before they could open fire. Their uniforms were not green like the first man Whitefeather had shot. These men wore white Arctic camos, similar to those worn by the Echo Six troopers.

Talley checked all three were dead and picked up one of the rifles. He whistled softly. These were not crude PLA copies of obsolete Soviet weaponry. The matt black weapons were rarely seen by Westerners, Bullpup Type 95 Assault Rifles, firing a specially designed 5.8mm round; an efficient and sophisticated weapon in use with Marines and Special Forces; and one other unit.

"Ministry of State Security, has to be," he stated, "How come you spotted them?"

His number two shrugged. "It was luck, I guess. Some of the men were moving toward your position, and I went to ground to cover them. I was about to move again when I got sight of them, four men coming in from our front, out on the left flank. I had to make it fast. You were about to run straight into them."

"Nice shooting." He grinned, "I must be getting old."

"It's the sensors," Guy explained, "It’s giving them an edge. They were coming straight at you even though they couldn't see you. We're sitting in a trap."

"Time to get clear. Move out."

Something jogged at his memory, and then it came to him.

Jesus Christ, Guy said he
saw four men. Yet
there were only three bodies.

During the fast and furious night action, they'd lost sight of the fourth man. They started hunting for him, and Talley almost stepped on him, hiding in his Arctic White camo kit. There was no warning. The man jumped up, and he saw a short, stocky soldier leaping straight at him. By some trick of the night vision goggles, the gaps in the man's crooked teeth were the dominant feature of the hard, brutal face. The next moment he was in a life and death struggle. The man must have been trying to crouch low in the snow and hope the hated Westerners would go past, but now, it was kill or be killed.

The Chinese wrapped a thick, muscular arm around Talley's throat. He pulled the Echo Six commander down to the snow, and the blade of a large knife glinted in the moonlight.

There was no time for anything sophisticated. He blocked the thrust with his left forearm and used his right to attack. He'd dropped his MP7, and so his right hand was empty. But before he could use it, the Chinese connected with a hard strike to the side of his carotid artery, and he felt everything start to go black. Then the man gripped his neck with both hands and started to squeeze.

He was on the point of unconsciousness, and all he could do was grope around with his right hand until he found a target. He felt the man's crotch, the only part of him in reach, and he took advantage of it. To be more accurate, he took a handful of the man's genitals and viciously squeezed and twisted. His attack had the fury and desperation of impending death, and the soldier screamed in agony. The pressure on his neck eased as the soldier dropped his hands to protect his manhood. Big mistake.

Talley used both hands in a double knife strike to the neck, an iron-hard clubbing blow that dropped the soldier in an instant. He catapulted to his feet and instinct took over. He brought down his right hand in a follow-up knife strike that had every ounce of power and strength in his body behind it. The man jerked as the powerful blow hit him, and if he wasn't dead, the next move, a head wrench that almost turned the Chinese's head through a hundred and eighty degrees, severed his neck. The click was audible, signifying it was over.

He got back to his feet, breathing hard. Guy had appeared with Brooks and several of the men, their suppressed handguns ready to fire.

"We couldn't shoot. You were both moving too fast to be sure of a hit. Are you okay?"

"I'm fine. Next time, I'll learn to count."

"My fault," Guy insisted, "I saw four, and I killed three. That's a mistake you only make once. You don't normally survive to make it a second time."

Talley nodded and surveyed the scene. The soldier he'd just killed was dressed in white camos and unmarked by any bloodstains following the hand-to-hand fight. He stripped off the white uniform and handed it to Brooks.

"Put it on, Admiral. He doesn't have any more use for it."

 
There was no time to hide the evidence of the struggle, the mess of churned up snow. Rovere and Lipinski dragged the body into a drift and endeavored to cover it, but it wouldn't fool anyone if they looked hard. And the Ministry of State Security would be certain to look hard. He checked his wristwatch. It was all taking too long.

"Leave it. We're moving on. They'll come looking for their men when they don't report in, and we need to be a long way away."

They moved off again. This time, he moved the flankers further forward, so they were adjacent with him and Grace, who stayed on point. There was no sign of any more sensors poking out of the snow, and they seemed to have escaped the Chinese encirclement. But there was a further problem. Grace explained she'd had to route them further away from their target.

"I had no choice. The shortest route would have taken us across a flat plain, and the soldiers would have spotted us immediately."

She stopped speaking, and they dropped to the ground and froze. The noise in the distance was the loud beat of a helicopter's rotor blades. Talley looked up at the night sky and saw the winking navigation lights of a military helicopter.

"That was a good call. They'll be using both night vision and infrared on that helo. There's no way we could have escaped them. On the new route, what's our ETA for the prison?"

She worked out the figures, and when she replied, she looked grim.

"It'll be tight. I doubt we can make it before 0500 hours."

He stared at her. "0500! Jesus Christ, that's almost dawn. If we can't get there sooner than that, we're well and truly screwed."

Brooks and Welland had come up to join them, and they’d overheard what she said. The Admiral held up a hand.

"Hold on there. If there's no other way to reach the target before then, we'll have to find another way." He looked at Grace, "You're the one with local knowledge. What do you suggest? Is there any kind of a shortcut?"

She shook her head. "Admiral, believe me if there was any other way, I'd have suggested it. There are only two choices, the open ground or the alternate route we're on now, which is broken up with gullies and thickets that will hide us."

Brooks nodded. "So be it. But it may mean we'll have to hole up for the day and make the attack after nightfall."

"Admiral, that's fifteen hours from now," Guy pointed out.

"I realize that, son. Let's see what the lady has to suggest. Grace?"

"The only place we may be able to hide is the Buddhist nunnery. It's on the route to the prison."

"Surely it's the first place they'll look, once they find their dead soldiers," Brooks said.

"That's true," she agreed, "but it's built on top of a honeycomb of caves. The entrance to them is well hidden, known only to a few trusted people. We'll be safe down there."

The Admiral nodded and looked at Talley and Welland.

"You men are running this, what do you think? And before you answer, let me say I think we may have bitten off more than we can chew with this one. We haven't even reached the target, and we've put half the Chinese Army on full alert. There's a damn good case for heading south, back over the Himalayas. I can call that truck to meet us somewhere along the route, and we call this one a bust."

Guy nodded. "I agree. It could be that or we get killed. Admiral, it's time we got to the bottom of the intelligence failures, so the next time we go into the field, we stand a better than even chance of getting back alive. I say we pull out. We should keep heading away from Lhasa."

Talley was about to answer them, but Grace Ferraro interrupted.

"I don't agree. A man's life is at stake, and there's something you've all forgotten. He's the stepson of the President's Chief of Staff. And the President himself has made it clear he wants him back. We have to go on."

She seems tense, as
if there’s much more riding on the success of the operation than the rescue of a single man from a Chinese prison, but what?

"Grace," Talley said gently, "Sometimes you have to accept that continuing with a mission carries too high a price. We could lose half the men, maybe all of us. We've lost one man already, and there are seventeen of us left, eighteen, with you. Do you want to see everyone die?"

"I want to see
Tenzin Davaika
live. That is all. I'm sorry, but if you turn back, I won't be coming with you. I'm going to get Davaika out of that prison."

"Grace," Brooks said, "If you stay here, you'll die. There's no other way it can end."

"I came here for Tenzin Davaika. I will leave with him, or not at all."

Talley stared at her for a moment. Once again, the specter of religion had appeared to make a major impact on his life. He knew in his head they should pull out; it was the only sensible way. Maybe they could put together another mission to bring out the prisoner, although he admitted to himself the time constraints made that unlikely. He'd be dead long before they could do anything. He also knew they had to take Grace out with them, if necessary by force.

Then he thought of the American, the monk, Tenzin Davaika; alone, tortured, and brutalized in a Chinese prison, facing a terrible death. He saw Grace's expression, serene yet determined, and he knew there'd be no changing her mind.

Brooks stared at him. "It's your call, Commander Talley."

Guy was waiting for the order to pull out and head south.

He stared at both of them in turn. Then at Grace, and at the men, who were waiting for orders, whatever those orders were. He knew they'd follow him into hell. And hell was where David Campbell was right now, waiting for execution. Something shifted in his mind at the thought of the American rotting in a fetid cell.

No, I
can't allow it to
happen. It’s time
to do the right thing
.

"We're moving on."

"South?" Guy asked.

"No, we're heading for the nunnery. We'll lie up there through the day and make another attempt to reach the prison after dark."

He heard Heinrich Buchmann mutter, "Verdamt!"

Damnation, yeah. He may have a point. What is it about Tibet, is it something in the air?

He awoke, and his body felt numb. For a few seconds, he forgot where he was and assumed he'd been in an accident. And then the full severity of what he faced became real.

Twelve days. That was all that remained of this life. Twelve days of harsh treatment, starvation rations, and frequent beatings. He looked up, and they were watching him. Lobsang Cho inclined his head in greeting.

"Tenzin Davaika, you are awake. Welcome to the new dawn."

He managed to half rise and returned the greeting.

"It would have been better if I never woke again," he replied, then regretted the bitterness. They only meant well.

Cho winced. "Not so. Twelve days is more than enough to enjoy the riches Lord Buddha has bestowed upon this earth."

"Yes, of course."

He managed to climb from the hard wooden bunk and pull on the thin cotton jacket they'd given him to wear. The movement eased the numbness and pain in his body, and yet it caused him even worse problems as feeling returned to him. The harsh cold hammered at his body, almost like a physical blow that threatened to knock him back down.

"Would you care for some breakfast, Tenzin Davaika?"

"Breakfast?"

"I thought you might be hungry. It is always difficult, at first. When you…”

Cho tailed off, with an embarrassed expression. He’d meant to say, ‘until you get used to it.’ But twelve days is not enough time to get used to anything, except the anticipation of death. Even so, Davaika took the proffered chunk of bread and wolfed it down. The mold was not a problem. Not here, not in this place.

“Roll call!”

Someone outside was blowing a whistle. Cho looked apologetic.

“We have to go. The guards...”

Yes. They’ll beat us. It is their currency, the language of the camps. The only one they know, harsh, physical cruelty.

He swallowed the last crumbs of bread and followed Cho outside into the icy dawn. The parade ground was already filling with prisoners, emaciated skeletons, ragged, filthy, and yet they still possessed something their jailers hadn’t been able to take from them. Their faith, their belief; an inner strength that flowed from them like an aura, as if to deny the Chinese the absolute victory over the very souls of Tibet they craved so dearly. The prisoners wore that inner strength like a badge, and their captors were enraged.

Soldiers with clubs moved along the lines of emaciated scarecrows, the hardwood staves moving up and down, slamming into bodies already broken by the physical hardships they'd already suffered. Trying to hammer sense into the puzzling minds of these Tibetans. Yet they refused to kowtow.

Davaika felt a surge of hope. A pall of death hung over the camp, and over him. Yet he felt a renewal of faith in this place, a renewal of life. He went forward.

He stood for an hour, shivering in the Arctic conditions. One by one they were counted, then counted again when their jailers made an error. At last they finished, and the long line of men started to march out through the gates. He felt himself carried with them, a leaf borne on a torrent of souls. He saw the open countryside in front of him and the worksite nearby, heaps of boulders waiting to be broken up. The work would be hard and terrible, but at least he’d be out of this place for a short time.

And then he saw a familiar figure waiting. Immaculate, even at this time of the morning, the green uniform carefully pressed, as if to drive home the abject squalor of the prisoners’ rags. Major Xu Xilong, of the Second Department, Ministry of State Security, flanked by two of his men. He smiled when he saw Davaika and then turned to his men.

“Bring him.”

They grinned as they dragged him from the column, shark like, smelling their prey. He saw the blow descend as one of them brandished the club, and then everything was dark as the stars in his head spun and receded.

* * *

They raced on through the bitterly cold Tibet night. He kept checking his wristwatch; conscious that time was running out, and fast. Overhead, more Chinese helicopters had been brought in to search for the unknown intruders, more than would have been used for a routine search. Guy caught up with him, and his expression was grim.

"You know they must have found the bodies."

He nodded. "It was too much to hope they'd stay hidden for long."

"They'll soon have more troops in this area than you can shake a stick at. You know they could be out scouring the countryside around this nunnery even before we get there."

"Yep. What do you want me to do? No one ever said it was going to be easy."

Rovere came up with them and overheard the exchange.

"It's not too late to turn back. We've pulled off some difficult ones, but this beats all. We arrived in country without most of our equipment, and with the enemy on full alert. It's not a good start, Boss."

"No, it's not a good start, but I still think we can pull it off."

"Without getting half the men killed?" Guy asked, unusually skeptical.

"I'm sure of it. Grace knows the terrain, and if we can hide up through the day, we should be able to keep to the original plan and make it in tonight. We need to be patient."

Rovere couldn't resist. "How poor are they who have not patience! What wound did ever heal but by degrees."

They glanced at him. "It'll be more than fucking wounds if we run into a State Security battalion," the SAS man murmured, "It'll be dead bodies. Ours!"

"Okay," Talley stopped them, "Let's keep moving." He turned to look at Grace, "How far to this nunnery?"

She shook her head. "I'm not absolutely sure, but I'd guess about five kilometers."

He nodded. "Keep moving."

They trudged on, keeping up a fast pace. The snow got deeper as they moved further from the city and into the countryside. They started up a small hill, and when they reached the top, the area for several kilometers south of Lhasa was spread out in front of them. It was like a Christmas card, buildings and small trees covered in snow. Here and there, pinpricks of light.

"They'll be the army guard posts," she told them, "I doubt many of the peasants who live out in the country would be burning oil lamps at this time of the night. It would invite a visit from the police."

So much for the Christmas card scene.

They marched another kilometer, and then the back marker, Heinrich Buchmann, called up.

"I can hear helos coming in from the north, three, maybe four. Wait, I can see them. I can't be sure, but they look like troop carriers."

The aircraft were downwind of them, and they hadn't heard them until they were almost on top of them. Soon, the roar of the engines shattered the quiet of the snow-covered landscape. Talley glanced back and saw a flight of four helos heading toward them at speed. They were medium-sized troop carriers, probably Harbin Z-9s. The craft wouldn't be mounting machine guns or missiles, although they'd carry something far more dangerous. Troops. Nine or so in each machine, and they were dropping toward the ground in front of them ready for a landing. Which meant more than thirty men would be deployed between their position and the nunnery.

Further away, about three kilometers to the east, trucks were moving along a highway.

"These guys mean business," Admiral Brooks said quietly to him.

"They must have found those men we killed. We won't make our destination, not until we're able to work out a way to slip past them." He turned to Grace again, "We need to take shelter, now! Until they've cleared the area."

She thought for a few moments. "There's a Buddhist shrine about a kilometer ahead of us. You should be able to see it soon with your NV goggles. It'll show up as a hump in the ground, about two meters high and a little less than a meter square. You can get inside. There’s a hidden entrance."

"It doesn't sound large enough to take more than one or two men."

She nodded. "What isn't visible is an underground room beneath the main shrine. It was dug shortly after the invasion so that priests who were worshipping at the shrine could hide from those who would do them harm. As I recall, it will be large enough for all of us."

He nodded and looked ahead. The helos were even lower, and then they landed about two and a half klicks away. He could see the shrine too, a solitary shape that stuck out above the flat landscape. It was on almost a direct line to the helos, which were now discharging their troops. It was going to be a close run thing, but being caught out in the open would be the end of them all. He called Guy to him and pointed out the shrine. His number two had already spotted the troops.

"That's where we're headed," Talley told him, "There's a place to hide. We'll go single file, and I want two men in the rear to camouflage our back trail. It's going to be close."

Guy didn't reply for a moment. He was studying the ground intently. Then he turned to Talley.

"There's a narrow irrigation ditch a few meters away, and it goes right past the shrine. If we follow its course and brush over our back trail, we may be okay. May be."

Grace nodded eagerly. "Yes, that's right. The ditch runs as far as the nunnery. In the rainy season, it helps to water their crops and gardens. We could follow it all the way in when the troops have moved on."

"That's the way we'll do it. Lieutenant Rovere, you heard?"

"Roger that. I'll make sure Heinrich has some help with the back trail."

"Put Jesse Whitefeather with him. Indians are good at that sort of thing, or so they tell me."

He grinned. "Let's hope so."

It took them thirty seconds to assemble in the bottom of the ditch, which was less than a meter deep. But they were almost out of sight, and they could drop flat to be invisible if the enemy came near. Talley took the point once more, with Grace behind him, followed by Guy leading the rest of the men.

He led off at a crouching jog. It would be a near thing. The enemy troops had already formed a skirmish line and were starting to march across the landscape, shouting to one another as they walked. The helicopters took off, and he was in no doubt they'd be back soon with a second platoon of security troops. The noose was tightening.

At first, he thought they'd make it without too much trouble. The Chinese were fanning out to the east and west, rather than north to the shrine. It started to snow again, and the wind picked up. It was blowing from the south, sending flurries of thick snow across the open ground, hiding their tracks and making progress easier. He picked up the pace; the miniature snowstorm was like a gift from the Gods.

It also hid them from returning helicopters. They'd almost reached the shrine, maybe two hundred meters away, when the returning Harbin Z-9s came back. Jesse Whitefeather heard them first and shouted a warning.

"Helos coming in. They'll pass right over our heads. Take cover!"

They dived to the bottom of the ditch and pressed themselves flat as the streamlined, modern troop carriers flew overhead. They started to descend about six hundred meters in front of them, and as their wheels touched the ground, troops poured out to reinforce the search party. The combination of their white camos, the snow-covered landscape, and the snowstorm made them almost invisible. Talley realized the danger at once.

If they didn't get out of sight fast, the chances were they wouldn't see the Chinese coming, and they could walk right into them. Killing them would make matters worse. Much worse. And there was something else, he knew where there were troop-carrying helicopters, there'd be gunships. Always. They had to get to the shrine before the Chinese had a chance to get close. He keyed his mic.

"Run! If we don't make the shrine now, we're done for."

He broke into a sprint, racing along the uneven floor of the ditch. The snow covered and smoothed the worst of the rocks that littered the base, but even so, every couple of paces his boot landed badly and threatened to twist an ankle. Too bad, he'd fought with a twisted ankle before, and got out. A Chinese prison, on the other hand, would be the end.

All efforts to maintain stealth and silence were abandoned. If they didn't take advantage of the snowstorm, they'd be lost. He heard the men cursing behind him as they tripped on the uneven surface, but the roar of the helicopters engines, twin turboshafts as he recalled, drowned out any possibility of them being heard. Even the voices of the security troops, still shouting to each other as they beat across the countryside, were inaudible. Then the helos lifted off the ground, and the roar became even louder.

"Down!"

They threw themselves back into the bottom of the ditch, panting with the effort, as the flight of Harbins roared away. The second they were gone; they were up and running again. The shrine was only fifty meters away, yet in the distance, he could make out the first of the hunters. Ghostly green shapes, flitting across the snow, turning to each other as they shouted orders and messages.

He almost called a halt ten meters from the shrine when one of the green faces turned and seemed to be staring right at him. But then the soldier moved in a line diagonally away from them, and he knew they hadn't been spotted.