by Eric Meyer
We’ve done well. If we can finish this fast, we can get back in one piece. We may not be so lucky next time.
“Domenico, we have to get inside that compound fast. As soon as Roy opens up on the patrol boat, we’re going in. We’ll have to blow the door. I’ll give you covering fire, be ready to move.”
“I’m on it.”
Talley called to the men still firing at the few men on the wall.
“Pour it on, Rovere’s going in. He needs cover.”
The firing increased to a furious intensity, and Talley saw the return fire from the defenders slacken as the hail of bullets from the submachine guns, the sniper rifles, and the Minimi reached a crescendo. Roy opened up with the second Minimi, and the shooting from the patrol boat stopped as they searched out the new threat. Domenico was almost there. Talley jumped to his feet.
“That’s it, let’s go!”
The run across the open space seared the breath from his lungs, and he winced as bullets pinged all around him, but he reached the wall without injury. The rest of his men made it safely, and he saw Sergeant Heinrich Buchmann, their demolitions specialist, preparing a charge.
“Heinie, I want that door opened now!”
“Jawohl, I’m on it, Boss.”
The German, a veteran of the elite German KSK Kommando Spezialkräfte, was almost ready. He looked around and nodded at Talley.
“Fire in the hole.”
They hit the dirt, and Buchmann detonated the explosive. It was a small explosion, but the door was punched backward inside the compound. Talley was already up and running through the smoke and debris.
“Move, move, before they recover. Domenico, take the other side. Don’t give them a chance to regroup!”
They followed him through the smashed portal. He dived right, and troopers hurtled to both sides of the entrance as a hail of gunfire from the defenders' submachine guns tore through the open doorway. He was already facing the threat. There were five men with TEC-9s, spraying poorly aimed bullets at Talley’s squad, and missing. The weapons were notoriously inaccurate at anything other than point blank range, and the hail of fire from Echo Six scattered them. Four more defenders went down, and the fifth ran into the main building. Talley glanced around for another way in, but there was only one entrance, an iron door that clanged shut even as he watched.
“Buchmann! Open it.”
“Ja, ja, Lieutenant, I’m on it.”
The German trooper ran forward and began to place charges against the massive iron hinges. Another burst of gunfire made Talley whirl around. A man was on the wall, aiming at the demolitions man. He clutched his chest as at least one of the bullets found a target. Every gun pointed upward at the shooter, and he was hit by a score of bullets that riddled his body. He stood up as the shock of incoming bullets made him jerk like a marionette. Then he tripped and toppled to the concrete below. His body hit the ground with a meaty ‘thud’, but there was no scream; the man was dead long before his feet left the roof. Talley ran toward the German.
“Heinrich, where are you hit?”
The trooper looked up at him. He was breathing heavily. “My vest, it stopped the bullet, Herr Leutnant. I’ll be okay. I just need some time to get my breath.”
He slumped back down, gasping in shock and pain. Talley looked around for one of his men to take Buchmann’s place.
“I want someone who can handle it to blow that door. The rest of you watch out for squirters up top.”
“I can take care of it.”
He nodded at Vince as the sniper put down his rifle and finished placing the explosive. He looked at Talley.
“That should do it. I’m not certain of the amount, so I used all of it.”
“Good enough. When you’re ready, Vince.”
“Fire in the hole!”
They flattened to the ground. A single shot ricocheted off the concrete, close to where Vince had hunkered down, and then the charge exploded. It was massive. Enough to shake the entire building, and Talley felt him lifted a few inches into the air. He looked up as he heard a scream and a nearby ‘thump’. A body had fallen from the roof. The guy who’d shot at Vince had been blown clean off as the blast wave knocked him off his feet and over the edge. This time, he’d been alive all the way down, hence the scream.
Maybe it would’ve been better if he’d been killed first.
The man gasped out his last breath and died. Talley looked up. The blast had blown a massive rent in the side of the building, fully three meters wide. The blast must have been paralyzing for the defenders. Talley jumped to his feet and started running.
“Charge, men! Let’s wrap up these arrogant bastards and go home.”
He meant one arrogant bastard in particular, Rodrigo. Smug and secure in his drug trafficking headquarters that he thought was safe from international sanctions. Comfortable and confident in his expensive designer clothes, surrounded by what he thought were impregnable defenses.
He was wrong, badly wrong.
As he ran, he heard Guy call him.
“Echo One, this is Two. The beach is secure, repeat, the beach is secure.”
“Copy that, Echo Two. Did you take any prisoners?”
One of their primary objectives was to take away at least two prisoners.
“Negative, One. They’re all dead. They wouldn’t surrender.”
“Copy that.” The SAS never did have a good reputation for taking prisoners. “Destroy anything of value, and come around and wait for us at the harbor. Look out for Roy as you fall back. He’s up there with the Minimi.”
“Copy that, we’ll be there soon. How’s it going?”
“We’re good, no serious casualties so far.”
“Give it time,” Guy warned.
“Yep. We’ll see you at the harbor. Out.”
Talley was still running, and so far there was no fire coming from the defenders.
“Domenico, take two men. I want a couple of prisoners while there’re a few left alive. You know what we’re looking for.”
“Copy that.”
Rovere shouted two names, and the troopers followed him into the wreckage of the building. Talley led the rest of his squad up the staircase to the upper levels. They ran from room to room, clearing out the last of the defenders. The hallways echoed to the sound of gunfire and ricochets as Echo Six relentlessly pushed the enemy back, slaughtering the defenders, giving them no quarter. He was satisfied. His men had a job to do, and they were doing it ruthlessly well. In this kind of close quarters battle, it was the law of the jungle, kill or be killed. He heard more shooting from the first floor, and keyed his mike.
“Domenico, I said take prisoners, not kill them all.”
“We’re working on it, Boss. We’ve kept one of them alive so far. He’s the guy that came out to talk to you. I guess he’s the ‘Jefe’. He was unarmed.”
“Understood, but be careful. Watch out for an ambush. These people are not giving up without a fight.”
“Copy that.”
At the end of the passage, Talley could see an open doorway. He signaled his men to spread out behind him and walked carefully toward the entrance.
“Whoever you are inside there, come out. If we have to come and get you, we’ll come in shooting, after we’ve tossed a grenade in first. It’s your choice, dead or alive.”
After a few seconds hesitation, a voice shouted to them.
“I’m coming out! I’m unarmed.”
“Just make it slow, buddy. Make sure we can see your hands, and they’d better be empty.”
The man appeared in the doorway, his hands held high, and palms open to show he was unarmed. Behind him, Talley heard someone say, “Jesus Christ!”
The comment was understandable. The man who emerged was a heavily bearded Muslim Arab. Yet by his clothes, his robes, he was more than just a Muslim. They’d all seen men like this in the newsreels, and occasionally in the field, on clandestine operations. He wore a black turban, long black robes, and a white,
collarless shirt, Iranian style. That was interesting. The Iranians banned ties after the 1979 revolution, as a symbol of American decadence.
“I guess you’re an imam. Iranian?”
“I am the Imam Rashid Fard.” The man scowled as he spoke, his words hissing out in anger. “You have no right to take me prisoner! I hold diplomatic immunity from the Islamic Republic of Iran. You must release me immediately!”
There was something wrong, something about the guy. Talley couldn’t pin it down. Behind the bluster, there was something else, guilt. The guy was red faced, sweating, as if he’d just emerged from a heavy session in a brothel.
What the hell has he been up to?
Talley mentally shrugged it off. It would come out later, in the interrogation.
“Yeah, right.” He turned to the nearest trooper. “Cuff the bastard, and make it good and tight.”
The Iranian reddened. “You cannot do this. I am accredited to the Iranian Embassy in the capital, Cockburn Town, on Grand Turk. I must return there at once.”
Talley stood over him. “Here’s the thing, Imam Fard. Since the Siege of the American Embassy in Iran, I reckon your people have given up all rights to diplomatic protection. Let’s call this a little payback, shall we? Take him out!”
His earpiece came to life. Rovere.
“Go ahead, Domenico.”
“We have our prisoner secure, and we’re exiting the building. You want us to cover your exit from here?”
Talley looked around, the place was little more than wreckage. They’d done what they came to do, and the shooting had died out. The defenders were either all dead or they’d run.
“No, go down to the harbor and choose a boat to take us out of here. Get the engines running and everyone aboard. We’ll join you shortly.”
“What kind of a boat?”
“Anything you like, but make it something big and fast. We’ll deep six it when we meet up with the sub, so we won’t need to risk the RIBs on the outward journey.”
“Copy that.”
He clicked off and looked around.
“Vince, does Heinrich have anything left in his pack to finish this place off? Something that’ll go off with a big bang?”
He nodded. “Sure thing. Jerry here was carrying a pile of his spare charges, so I can rig something good.” He indicated the Pole, who was close by.
“Do it. I want to leave this place a heap of rubble. There’s a helipad close by, so find it and make sure their helo never gets off the ground again. When you’re done, come on down to the harbor.”
Vince nodded, and he sped off with Jerry to finish the job. Talley followed the rest of the men into the open space that separated the compound from the resort hotel. The hotel wasn’t quiet, not anymore.
He looked at the crowd of people who were watching him, had probably been rubbernecking the battle.
It reminds me of those old photos. Civilians who’d ventured out to the hilltops to watch battles during the Civil War. To watch men being slaughtered. Ghouls.
Most were still clad in their nightclothes, women in filmy, silk negligees, men in striped PJs, and Ralph Loren monogrammed robes. He walked up to them.
“Show’s over, folks. If I were you, I’d make arrangements to leave. The service here ain’t gonna be so fast from here on in.”
One man stepped forward, older, in his sixties. Tall, gray hair, expensively trimmed, the security lamps showed off his Caribbean tan. He had the look of corporate America, a man accustomed to getting his way, to shoving people around. A bully.
“Who the hell are you, soldier? What gives?”
“Name’s Talley, Sir. I’m the guy who came to destroy the drug traffickers who own this resort; the guys who’ve been using it as a cover to flood America with illegal drugs. Our job’s done, so we’re leaving. If you don’t want to spend several days in a Caicos prison, explaining where you were when this went down, I’d get out of here. If you can, that is.”
The man grimaced. “I don’t like this, not one bit, Mister. I reckon you have a lot to answer for. We ought to call in the cops to talk to you.”
Talley smiled. “That’s a great idea, you go ahead and call the cops. They’ll just love talking to you. In the meantime, we have places to go, so I’ll say goodnight.”
The man ignored him and turned to someone in the crowd behind him.
“Billy, get onto the manager! Tell him to have my helicopter standing by. I’ll take care of…”
He stopped. They all looked toward the other side of the compound where the helipad was sited. The explosion lit up the sky for a few, brief moments, and many of the civilians ran screaming for cover as chunks of broken metal rained down over the resort. They were beginning to realize that the squalor and detritus of war was no respecter of wealth and position.
“Maybe you’d better consider going by boat,” Talley advised him as he walked away.
Guy and his men were waiting on the quay. They’d prepared a defensive position, in case the enemy had more soldiers ready to join in the defense of the resort. It wasn’t necessary. The battle had ended, the hostiles were either dead or on the run, and only civilians remained. He looked back at the chaos in front of the resort hotel. They were hurrying to pack their things, no doubt taking his advice and getting out before the police arrived looking for answers. Domenico shouted from a nearby pontoon. He’d chosen a thirty-six-foot Chris Craft Corsair. Fast, luxurious and very, very expensive.
It’ll be a shame to sink it when we're done, but it's too bad, this is war. Maybe some of those wealthy vacationers may even thank my unit when the supply of cocaine dries up, and the danger to their kids from illicit narcotics is lessened. But I doubt it
He noticed two men helping Heinrich Buchmann along the quay. He was still stunned by the force of the bullets that had impacted his vest. The Frenchman, a new man, Robert Valois was watching.
“Give them a hand, Robert. Buchmann is hurt.”
“He can take care of himself, Lieutenant. That arrogant Kraut bastard thinks he’s so tough, he can manage without my help.”
Talley sighed with frustration. The row between Valois and Buchmann had been brewing ever since both men, veterans of the conflict in Afghanistan, had joined the unit. It was something to do with an action in Helmand Province a couple of years before that had suffered heavy casualties, but it didn’t make his job any easier.
It's time they buried the hatchet. They're in the same unit, brothers in arms.
He fixed the Frenchman with a hard stare.
“That’s an order, Valois. He’s your comrade-in-arms. Either you help him, or you can transfer out as soon as we get home.”
He grimaced. “As you wish, Lieutenant.”
The Frenchman cursed beneath his breath, but he went to help out. A quote rushed into his mind, JFK’s address. ‘United there is little we cannot do in a host of ventures. Divided there is little we can do.’ He grimaced, thinking of another incident, when Valois had waved at someone stood behind Buchmann and the German thought he was giving him a mock Nazi salute. It had taken six of them to pull them apart that time.
Maybe I should direct Valois to that inaugural address. It's time the man realizes, in Echo Six, everyone counts. No man is left behind. No one. If someone ever asks me what my job really amounts to, it's that simple. To get my men back, no exceptions.
“Let’s get aboard, men, time to put some distance between us and this place.”
They ran along the pontoon and boarded the luxury craft. Less than a minute later, Vince and Jerry appeared, running like crazy from the hotel. They were pursued by a screaming, shouting horde.
What the fuck is this?
“We need to get out of here,” Vince gasped as he jumped aboard. “Jesus Christ, get this tub moving.”
Talley unslung his MP7 again and began searching for threats.
“What is it?”
“It’s those women, the wives! They’re going fucking crazy, threatening us with every
thing under the sun. I swear to God, they’re more vicious and aggressive than their husbands. I thought they were going to attack and tear us to shreds for wrecking their prized vacation. They sure are a bunch of tough old birds. I’m not staying to tangle with them.”
Talley laughed and lowered his gun. “I hear you. Domenico, take her out.”
The trim, fast craft sped over the calm sea. They were unopposed. No one tried to stop them, no patrol boats fired on them, nothing. Talley called up the Virginia. The sub was keeping a radio watch with the communications aerial on the top of the periscope, which was kept just clear of the water while they waited submerged.
“Virginia, this is Echo One. We’ve left the harbor, and we’ll be at the ten thousand meter mark in approximately twenty minutes. Acknowledge.”
“This is USS Virginia, Echo One. Skipper says we’re waiting for you,” the radio operator replied. “Captain Dawson asked how you are managing without the RIBs.”
“Tell him we borrowed a Chris Craft.”
“Nice. That’s the way to travel, in style.”
“It sure is. She’s going straight down when we leave her. We don’t want to leave any navigational hazards floating around the ocean.”
“Shame. They’re a beautiful boat. Have a good trip, Echo One.”
They transferred the shocked and cowed prisoners to the brig of the Virginia. The two men were clearly awestruck at the quiet, understated power of the huge, nuclear powered missile sub manned by quiet, professional crewmen, manning their consoles and stations. It gave the impression of power, a force that was unstoppable. Which was mostly true. When they’d been locked away, Ed Dawson glanced at Talley.
“Did you lose the boat? I don’t want some enraged vacationer making a claim on the US Navy?”
“All done, Captain. She’s on the way to the bottom, but only with great reluctance. She was a beautiful craft.”
Dawson grunted, “Yeah, and I’ll bet the owner thought the same thing. Pity.” He looked around the control room. “Prepare to dive, Commander. Make your depth fifty meters. It’s time to take these people home.”