Black Ops

by Chris Ryan

  And then, suddenly, complete silence, apart from three sets of heavy breathing in the Hilux.

  ‘Targets down,’ Rollett said.

  ‘You sure?’

  ‘I said targets down, didn’t I?’

  Guerrero had stopped screaming and the tourniquets were doing their work, but he was clearly going into shock. His body was shaking. One hand on his neck told Danny his pulse was rapid and weakening. He was looking at Danny in terror. Danny, his hands covered in blood, forced a grin. ‘We’re going to get you out of here,’ he said.

  Guerrero couldn’t reply.

  ‘You know what that was?’ Rollett said, his voice high-pitched and tense.

  ‘Yeah,’ Danny said.

  ‘It was an ambush. It was a fucking ambush. They were fucking waiting for us!’

  He was right. An IED in the middle of the road. Gunmen in wait to provide attacking fire after the hit. It was a classic manoeuvre and they’d driven right into it.

  Guerrero groaned. Danny wished he had a morphine shot to give him. His eyes were rolling.

  ‘So who was it?’ Rollett said. His voice sounded accusatory, almost as if he suspected Danny of compromising the mission himself.

  ‘Barak,’ Danny said.

  ‘Fuck off, he could have been in the car with us.’

  ‘What if he tipped someone off after we left him. He knew our itinerary.’ He cursed under his breath. ‘It’s my fault. I didn’t trust the fucker the moment I saw him.’ Sweat was dripping into Danny’s eyes and he felt a cold creep of fury at the mistake he’d made.

  A moment of silence. Then . . .

  ‘Fuck!’ Rollett said in the back seat.

  Danny didn’t have to ask what the problem was. He could see it well enough: headlights approaching from the direction of the compound. Three sets. Distance, maybe seven hundred metres. Difficult to tell in the darkness. But one thing was clear: this ambush wasn’t over. Abadi’s people – because it was surely them – were closing in.

  ‘Get the Gimpy!’ Danny shouted. ‘Stop their approach.’

  ‘What about you!’

  ‘I’m staying with Guerrero.’

  ‘He’s fucked,’ Rollett said. But he didn’t argue. He opened the passenger door and exited. In the cracked rear-view mirror, Danny saw him running round to the back of the Hilux and then, twenty seconds later, sprinting to the side of the road. Looking over his shoulder, Danny saw why. There was a slight bump on the area between the road and the olive groves. It offered some protection as a firing point.

  The headlights were approaching fast. There was no gunfire from the Gimpy. Danny reckoned they were five hundred metres away. ‘Come on,’ he hissed. ‘Come on!’

  Suddenly, the machine gun burst into life. Its effective range was eighteen hundred metres, so Danny expected it to do some serious damage if Rollett managed to land the rounds accurately. The night air lit up as red tracer rounds, one in every five, burned a path directly towards the approaching convoy. Danny removed Guerrero’s NV sights and clipped them to his own helmet while the Gimpy fire continued to rip through the air. As he lowered the sights, the red tracer turned to glowing green projectiles, and Danny could see the convoy much more clearly. There were two vehicles at the front and one behind. Rollett’s Gimpy fire had ripped into one of the front vehicles: Danny watched as it swerved into the centre of the road and collided with the vehicle next to it. That swerve told Danny the driver had been hit. Rollett kept the rounds coming. They continued to rip catastrophically into the front two vehicles. Danny was certain the occupants, however many, were being ripped to shreds.

  But it was the third vehicle that alarmed him.

  Danny could see that, unlike the other two, it was an open-topped technical. And although it was still perhaps four hundred metres away, he could tell there was some kind of top gun rigged to it. He could just discern movement there, and he knew they were about to come under fire.

  There was no time to explain to Guerrero. He pulled his companion by the waist so that he was lying across the front seats of the Hilux. The engine block would give him some protection from the incoming fire about to rain down on them. Danny himself burst out of the vehicle and ran round to the back. There was a momentary lull in the bursts of fire from the Gimpy. Danny knew Rollett, who had no NV, was unlikely to have seen the top gunner. He roared at him: ‘INCOMING! HIT THE THIRD VEHICLE! THEY’VE GOT A TOP . . .’

  He didn’t finish, because at that moment, the incoming fire commenced.

  The tracer rounds had been effective in helping Guerrero land his rounds accurately. But there was a downside: they’d pinpointed his position for the top gunner. So when the enemy opened up, he didn’t aim for the Hilux. He aimed to neutralise the threat of the machine gun. He aimed directly at Rollett’s position.

  Danny saw it happen through his NV. The rounds from the top gunner’s machine gun peppered the ground around Rollett, causing little explosions in the earth. Rollett was about to counter-attack when one of the incoming rounds slammed into the top of his shoulder.

  The counter-attack never came because there was nobody to launch it. Rollett was slumped face down on the ground. Danny knew he was dead.

  There was a sinister silence. The top gunner’s fire had stopped. Danny was drenched in sweat. He gave it ten seconds, then peered round the back of the Hilux. He saw the technical had turned to the side of the road so it could bypass the two other vehicles Rollett had mashed up with his Gimpy. Danny assessed his options. He was in darkness. He could get to the Gimpy now without being seen. The enemy would no longer be expecting gunfire from that position, and the Gimpy would give him more firepower than the Minimi in the back of the Hilux.

  Decision made.

  Crouching low, he sprinted the fifteen metres that separated him from Rollett’s Gimpy position. He threw himself down alongside his dead unit mate. Rollett was a mess. The round had drilled deep into his shoulder blade and the wound had spewed several pints of blood. Danny rolled him out of the way and took up position at the Gimpy. There was still half a belt of ammo to be fed into the machine gun, which was hot from the rounds that had already gone through it. Danny placed his sticky, blood-soaked hands on the body and the trigger and checked out the position of the technical. It was in front of the two other vehicles now, and approaching. Danny fixed his attention on the top gunner, but now he couldn’t see him. It looked like he’d got into the vehicle, or was crouching low for protection.

  Bad move, Danny thought, because now he had a direct, unopposed line of fire on the technical. He’d seen the kind of damage the Gimpy had wreaked on the other vehicles – they were smoking, twisted heaps behind the technical – and he was ready to inflict the same.

  He would just let it get closer, because the nearer it was, the more damage he could do.

  The technical trundled slowly towards them, its headlights glowing bright green in Danny’s NV.

  Distance: three hundred metres. Did they think they’d eliminated everyone in the Hilux? Possibly. If so, they were in for a surprise.

  Distance: two hundred metres. Danny frowned. Now it was closer, he realised there was something strange about the shape of this technical. It was weirdly box-like, and he suddenly realised what he was seeing. Rough sheets of metal had been welded to the sides of the vehicle, and to the front. There were holes cut out for the headlights and a mesh grille over the windscreen. It was a homespun armoured vehicle, but those sheets of metal would be effective. The Gimpy wouldn’t have the same effect on it.

  Danny tried to work out how many enemy targets he could expect. At least two: the driver of the vehicle and the top gunner. Possibly more. He had a call to make. Should he fire and give up his position, in the hope that the machine-gun rounds would penetrate the armour? Or did he require a different strategy?

  He removed his trigger finger from the Gimpy and turned his attention to Rollett’s dead body.

  The shoulder wound was still leaching blood. Danny inserted his ri
ght hand into the wound. It was warm and wet, and he could feel the shoulder blade. He scooped out a fistful of gore and plastered it over his own neck and the side of his face, before going in for another handful and repeating the process. One man’s blood and tissue looked no different to another’s. Danny’s grim make-up would make it look like he’d been shot.

  The technical was 150 metres away now. Danny crawled back to the Hilux, pressing himself hard against the ground so he’d remain unseen by the approaching enemy. He removed his NV goggles, cast them to one side and took his pistol in his right hand. He lay on his side behind the Hilux, his fake wound visible, his weapon concealed under one arm. He fully closed one eye and half closed the other.

  Then he waited.

  From his prone position Danny could see under the Hilux but couldn’t establish the advancing technical’s exact position. All he knew was that headlights were getting closer and brighter and that the engine – a rough, low diesel growl – was growing louder.

  And then, suddenly, it was idling.

  A minute passed. Danny could hear voices, and then the sound of doors closing. Peering below the undercarriage of the Hilux, he saw two sets of legs blocking the beam of the technical’s headlights. He estimated they were twenty metres beyond the Hilux, and they were approaching.

  Danny inhaled deeply and held his breath. It was crucial that he remained utterly still. Through his half-open eye, he saw one of the sets of legs stop almost directly in front of the Hilux. The second set was walking round to its left-hand side. Five seconds later, he came fully into view.

  The target wore a red and white shemagh round his head and neck. Jeans and T-shirt. No body armour, but an assault rifle held loosely across his chest. He stopped five metres from Danny’s position, and Danny knew his fake wound had done the trick because the target stood there without raising his rifle to fire.

  Danny moved suddenly. He rolled on to his back, raised his handgun and released a single round into the target’s face before he even had the chance to register his surprise. Then he rolled on to his side again, arm outstretched, the handgun at ninety degrees, parallel to the ground. He released two more rounds in quick succession beneath the undercarriage of the Hilux. His marksmanship was on point. The rounds slammed into each of the legs. The target fell. Danny winced as more light from the vehicle hit his retina, but he kept his aim true. Within a second he had a direct line of sight on his enemy’s head. He squeezed the trigger and the target was eliminated.

  Two guys down. The vehicle was no longer advancing, which suggested to Danny that he’d taken out the driver. But he reckoned the top gunner was still in there.

  There was no sign of anyone else approaching. Danny scrambled to a kneeling position and moved over to the rear of the Hilux. The tailgate was down and the tarp was peeled back. He had direct access to the Minimi, which he grabbed. There was no time to set up the box magazine, so he took a standard M16 mag and loaded it. The Minimi was larger than a regular assault rifle, and heavier. It had a shorter range than the Gimpy – about eight hundred metres – but for this job it was fine. Danny felt his arm muscles straining as he hauled it from the back of the Hilux. There was a sudden deafening burst of fire from the technical. Sure enough, the top gunner was back in position. Danny crouched behind the Hilux, still holding the Minimi. Heavy rounds splintered into the vehicle and ricocheted off on to the ground all around. One round even thumped into the dead body of the guy Danny had shot in the face, making his limbs flap momentarily.

  Sweat dripped from Danny’s forehead into his eyes. He blinked heavily to clear it. The gunfire stopped.

  Silence.

  Danny only had a single mag. It meant he only had one chance. He needed guile as well as firepower. Moving slowly and silently, he reached out for the NV goggles he’d discarded on the ground. He breathed calmly for a few seconds. Then he threw the goggles to his right.

  The top gunner’s response was almost immediate. A brutal burst of rounds exploded on to the ground where he’d seen movement. Danny moved in the opposite direction, to the left of the Hilux. He thrust himself up to his feet, raised the Minimi to chest height, and fired.

  The top gunner was just visible behind the technical’s headlight beam. He’d clearly seen Danny, and was rotating his mounted weapon from the right-hand side of the Hilux to the left. But he wasn’t fast enough. A full clip of 5.56s spewed from the Minimi and slammed straight into him. The top gunner fell backwards and his gunfire stopped.

  And then there was silence again.

  Danny was gasping for breath. He threw himself back behind the Hilux and waited for any more sound of movement or attack. The technical was still turning over, but there was no other noise. Danny gave it two minutes, checking the view underneath the Hilux. There was no sign of personnel approaching, nor any indication of further threats.

  He dropped the Minimi, re-armed himself with his handgun, and stepped round the Hilux. The air was a pungent brew, stinking of cordite and burning flesh. He edged carefully round to the driver’s door and looked in to see what kind of state Guerrero was in. His unit mate was still on his back, with the horrific, bleeding stumps of his legs pointing towards Danny who knew, even before checking, that he hadn’t survived. He reached in and grabbed his wrist, checking for a pulse. Nothing.

  The rest of his team were dead. Danny was on his own.

  16

  Bethany’s hair was wet with sweat and her eardrums were numb. They hadn’t left the dance floor. They hadn’t even spoken. Bethany didn’t know her pick-up’s name or nationality. It was only when the young woman dragged her from the floor, put her lips to Bethany’s ear and shouted, ‘Let’s get some fresh air!’, that Bethany knew for sure she spoke English.

  Fresh air, of course, wasn’t the only thing on the young woman’s mind.

  Her name was Sophie. That, at least, was what she told Bethany as they stood outside the club sharing a cigarette. Was she telling the truth? Probably not, and she most likely knew Bethany was lying when she introduced herself as Krystal. Sophie stubbed the cigarette out on the floor. ‘We could go back in,’ she said, ‘or . . .’

  ‘Or what?’ Bethany asked, a flirtatious smile on her lips.

  ‘Or, you know . . .’ Sophie said. ‘Go somewhere else.’

  Which was how they ended up in the back of a taxi, giggling each time the taxi driver gave them a disapproving look in his rear-view mirror. Sophie was a little tipsy and Bethany was good at pretending. It was gone three in the morning when they pulled up at the end of the street where Bethany’s hotel was situated. She gave the cabbie a good tip and watched his vehicle disappear before turning to Sophie and saying: ‘This way.’

  ‘I don’t know this part of town,’ Sophie said. She appeared a bit unsure. La Lanterne had been in a glamorous area. This was anything but.

  Bethany gave her a shy look. ‘I like to stay somewhere where people don’t ask questions.’ Sophie burst into giggles again. Bethany took out her mobile phone and dialled the hotel’s number. She knew Sophie would just assume she was checking her messages. As they approached the entrance to the hotel, she saw the reception area was empty. They entered in time to hear the reception guy answering the phone in the adjoining room. Unseen, Bethany led Sophie to the stairwell, then killed the call.

  The hotel was quieter than usual. TVs were playing in a couple of rooms, but it was otherwise silent. As they walked along the corridor towards Bethany’s room, Sophie seemed nervous again. Outside the door, Bethany took her gently by one arm. ‘You okay?’ she said.

  Sophie looked at the floor. All her lightheartedness had suddenly disappeared. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before,’ she said.

  Bethany put one hand on her cheek. ‘There’s a first time for everything.’ She removed the key from her pocket and unlocked the door. The room was just as she left it: the TV playing quietly, the bed newly made, the little perfume bottle on the table. As Bethany locked the door again, Sophie walked further
into the room. Turning, Bethany saw her holding up the perfume bottle as though she was about to apply a squirt.

  ‘Leave that,’ Bethany said, her voice level. And when Sophie looked chastened, she added. ‘It’s a present for my mum.’ She walked up to Sophie, took the bottle from her, replaced it on the table and then put one hand behind her head, entwining her fingers in the curls of her hair. Sophie was trembling a little with apprehension, but she also had a faint smile.

  Their first kiss was tentative and short, a mere brushing of the lips. But their second kiss was more meaningful, a foretaste of things to come. When it was over, Bethany turned off the main light, so the room was lit only by the glow from the TV. When

  she returned, Sophie had already kicked off her shoes. She allowed Bethany to brush her fingertips lightly along her neck, then raised her arms as Bethany peeled off her top. She was wearing nothing underneath. She closed her eyes, inhaling sharply and excitedly as Bethany kissed her breasts. She made no complaint as Bethany undid the button on her jeans. When they were loosened Sophie wriggled out of them and stood before Bethany wearing nothing but a silk g-string. ‘Aren’t you joining me?’ she asked.

  ‘Lie on the bed,’ Bethany told her.

  Sophie did as she was told. Bethany stood at the foot of the bed and started to strip: T-shirt first, then jeans. She allowed Sophie to enjoy the sight of her in just her underwear, before unclipping her bra and dropping it to the floor. She joined Sophie on the bed, crawling hungrily towards her and kissing her again. Their hands started to explore each other, and the lovemaking began in earnest.

  Silence.

  Rollett’s body lay dead by the Gimpy. Guerrero and Ludlow were dead in the mangled Hilux. There were two dead gunmen on the ground, more in the technical, the two other vehicles in the distance, and in the olive groves. Danny – breathless, sweating and wired – evaluated his options amid the bloodbath. He was about a kilometre from the compound. Adnan Abadi, and whoever was with him, would certainly have heard the firefight. They would have been expecting the sound of gunfire, so they wouldn’t necessarily know their guys had been overcome. Danny had two options: withdraw or advance. He was hard-wired to keep pressing forward, but he needed to do it quickly before they worked out what had happened.