Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  “We’ll have to wait until a guard comes back. We have a gun, so we can break out then.”

  He stared at her. “My platoon is fighting its way through to us. They need those targets lit, and the Admiral could be killed at any moment.”

  As he finished speaking, they both looked at the screen, but so far there was no sign of the execution. Nolan slumped to the floor in despair. He wanted to blast away at the door, to get out of the room and help his comrades, but it was as heavily built as the door of a bank. Gracia sat beside him.

  “You can’t do everything, Chief Nolan. Sometimes you have to take a back seat and allow people their fate.”

  “There’s no such thing as fate. We have to get out of here. Nolan prowled around the huge chamber, searching for inspiration, anything that would give them hope. Waiting for a guard to open the door could be too late; too late for Bravo Platoon, and too late for Admiral Jacks. Gracia was leaning against the wall behind the door with her slim knife in her hand, ready to strike if anyone came in.

  “You didn’t answer my question.”

  He looked at her. “What was that?”

  “I asked you about relationships.”

  “Jesus Christ, this is hardly the time.”

  “It may be all the time we have left, Chief Nolan. Surely it is better to enjoy it rather than end our lives in misery.”

  “We’re not going to end our lives.”

  “So you say. But it may not be your choice to make.”

  He was appalled at her fatalism. And yet, maybe she had a point. When the door opened, if there were four or more armed men outside, they’d find it impossible to overcome four automatic rifles with a tiny pistol and a knife. Except that the door hadn’t opened yet, and there were no armed men about to torture and kill them. He looked again at Gracia and saw how desperately she needed some warmth from him; some sign of their humanity, and of what they’d shared, both in and out of bed.

  “Gracia, if we get out of this, there’s no one I’d want to be with more than you.”

  She brightened. “You mean that?”

  He thought briefly of Carol Summers, the detective in San Diego with whom he had an on off relationship. But she wasn’t here, facing death in a Colombian torture chamber. And besides, Gracia was, well, fabulous. A girl he was growing to like more and more with each hour he spent with her. And these bastards wanted to kill her. He raged inside.

  I can’t let it happen. Even if I have to rip that door off with my bare hands, like they used the rack in here to rip peoples limbs off. Wait, the rack!

  He looked at the mechanism, pulleys, ropes, and gears. He thought back to his physics lessons, was it possible? It was sure worth a try.

  “Gracia, your knife, cut these ropes on one side of the rack.”

  “Why? They will only be angry and make us suffer even more if they beat us.”

  “Just do it. We’re going to rack the door off.”

  She looked up with dawning comprehension. And doubt.

  “Are you sure?”

  “Would you sooner stand here and wait to die?”

  She rushed to cut the rope fixed to one side of the contraption. He was encouraged to see how strong it was. She had to use the serrated side of the blade to saw through it.

  Human limbs are sure strong, he mused.

  The rope would have to be pretty tough to withstand the strain, tough enough to pull the door off its hinges? That remained to be seen. The heavy oak door had iron fittings, so perhaps they were used for some kind of torture. They appeared to be bolted all the way through it, so he tied the rope to four of the rings. Then he walked to the rack and started to turn the spoked wheel that tightened the ropes. They creaked as they took up the strain, and he turned it further, feeling the pressure mount. Gracia threw her strength against the spokes, and the ropes tightened even more. Nolan felt the muscles in his arms bulging as he gave every ounce of his strength to turning the spokes. There was a slight ‘crack’ from one of the hinges as the metal fractured internally, but still the door held fast. He knew his strength was at its limits. He was giving it all he’d got, and it still wasn’t enough.

  “Gracia, we need to give it one last push, everything we have. Think of something that makes you angry. These bastards are kidnapping babies for their organs, stabbing pregnant women, hacking the limbs off old people, now one, two three, heave!”

  They both threw the last reserves of their draining strength against the spokes and held it. Nolan thought his arms were about to fall off. He’d never known such exquisite agony, not even during the Seals training course, the infamous Basic Underwater Demolition School, BUDS, at the Naval Special Warfare Center in Coronado. His brain fogged with a multi-hued series of images that spilled through it, almost like a psychedelic illusion. And then the door moved.

  “Keep the pressure on. We’re nearly there!”

  He heard Gracia grunt, and he pushed with the very last dregs of his strength, and suddenly it gave. With a huge crash, the door popped off its hinges, ripped out the lock, and hurtled inside the room. They were free.

  They both had to stop for precious minutes to regain the feeling in their aching muscles. The sound of gunfire was loud, automatic fire, pistol shots, and the occasional thunder as a grenade exploded. The attack had begun. They rushed out of the door and along the passageway. There was a window overlooking the rear of the grounds. Nolan tried the commo again.

  “Bravo One, this is Four.”

  The reply came straight back. “Where the hell are you, Four?”

  He explained they’d been locked in.

  “You’re clear now?”

  “That’s affirmative, One.”

  “We need some of those targets taken out, Chief. We’re still outside the main gate, and they’re pouring down fire from the four machine gun towers.”

  “Copy that. Are we patched through to the AC-130?”

  “Yeah, they can hear everything.”

  “Good. Give me a few minutes. We’ll recover the LTD and get up on the roof. Out.”

  They ran out to the foyer. There were two men standing inside the main door, both carried M4s. Nolan shot them both on the run, hitting them with the small Beretta bullets with shots that took both men in the heart. There wasn’t time to aim for a more definite killing spot, but he got lucky, and they both went down. He picked up their M4s, removed the spare clips from their pockets, stuffing them into his own, and looked around for the LTD. But Gracia had found it behind the reception desk. She gave him a questioning glance.

  “Do we go straight to the roof, Chief Nolan? The Admiral is still in a lot of danger.”

  He hesitated only for a fraction of a second.

  “We have to take those guard towers down, or none of us will escape. We’ll come looking for the Admiral when the job’s done.”

  He handed her one of the M4s. “I’ll lead off. Just don’t let anything happen to that LTD.”

  She nodded, and he rushed for the stairs. They raced out onto the roof, straight into a group of four Colombians who were grouped together, preparing to pour fire down on the Seals and Castro’s men assaulting the gate. Nolan fired a short, accurate burst and cut down all four.

  “Gracia, the laser, quick!”

  She handed him the device, and he switched it on immediately.

  “This is Bravo Four. I have a fire mission. I’m about to light up four successive targets.”

  A voice broke in and answered in a calm, Alabama drawl. “Bravo Four, this is Hammer One, we’re waiting on your call. How much longer before you can activate that laser?”

  “I’d guess one minute, Hammer One. Wait one.”

  He checked the optical sight and pinpointed the first tower, nearest the gate and the most dangerous. He keyed the mic.

  “Hammer One, this is Four. Target is illuminated.”

  “Roger that, Four. Firing now.”

  Nolan turned to Gracia. “Get your head down low. There’s gunfire coming in.”


  It was as if God was shouting his rage, sending down his displeasure on those on earth who had displeased him. The heavy cannon fire hit the tower, and it disappeared in a thunderous barrage of heavy caliber shells. Nolan immediately shifted the optical sight to the second tower.

  “Hammer One, second target is illuminated.”

  “Copy that.”

  For the second time, the thunderous roll of gunfire rained down from the heavens. The AC-130 was barely visible in the sky, sliding in and out of low cloud, but it was doubtful if any of the targets even glimpsed the instrument of their deaths before it ripped them into small pieces. Nolan shifted again. It was more difficult. Someone more knowledgeable than the others had put two and two together and made four. Nolan could see a man pointing up at the rooftop, directing his men to fire on them. Manuel Rivera, of course. Other than Victor Salazar, he would be the most dangerous opponent. A stream of automatic fire slammed into the masonry just below the parapet where they crouched. He threw himself at Gracia, forcing her to take cover low on the rooftop. He ran fifty feet to the other end of the roof and sheltered behind a chimneystack. He could see the next tower, but he was almost invisible from the ground.

  “Bravo Four, this is Hammer One. Where are you, boy? We’re waiting on our next target.”

  “This is Four, lighting up now, Hammer One.”

  “We’re ready for you.”

  He sighted the LTD on the third tower and radioed the fire order. Like the previous towers, it erupted in a hail of cannon fire. Already, the defensive fire was beginning to slacken as Salazar’s men began to suspect that there might be a power more awesome than their employer’s at play today. Some of them were already melting away. They were backlit by the eruption as the fourth tower, painted by Nolan’s LTD, erupted in a hail of heavy caliber rounds. Then he ducked as a long burst of automatic fire chipped stonework from the low parapet next to his head. He crawled back to where Gracia had stationed herself. There was a small hole in the stone parapet, probably to drain rainwater off the roof when the storms lashed the surrounding countryside. Gracia was using the M4 to take single, well aimed shots at Salazar’s men. While he watched, he saw Rivera leap aside as a bullet chewed up the ground between his legs.

  “Damn, I thought I’d aced that bastard.”

  “Men like him, they don’t go down easily,” he told her. “Where the hell is the Platoon?”

  As if in answer to his question, he saw the heavy gate burst inwards, and a BTR-70 come racing into the yard. They saw Rivera point to it and watched him urging his men on to make an attack on the armored vehicle, but equipped only with assault rifles, they drifted behind cover. Then Rivera saw the danger of his exposed position and joined them. Bravo Platoon had arrived, together with Castro’s men in a half dozen trucks that followed the APC in.

  “We need to get downstairs, Gracia. It isn’t over. We have to free Admiral Jacks.”

  She nodded. They scooped up the M4s from the fallen Colombians and hurtled down the stairs. The foyer was empty of guards, but a man with an MP5 ran right into them from inside the West Wing. His eyes flared in astonishment, and he raised the machine pistol, but Nolan and Gracia both took him down with short bursts. Nolan glanced at the open front portal to the outside where the battle was raging.

  “If they come through that door, we’ll be trapped down in the basement. Sooner or later, Rivera is sure to organize a retreat into this building. It’s an obvious strong point.”

  “I’ll stay here and cover you, if you can make it to the stairway.”

  He didn’t like it. She would be on her own until Bravo arrived to reinforce the position. But he had no choice.

  “Make sure you stay under solid cover. Rivera could come in here at any moment.”

  “I will. Good luck, make sure you kill Salazar.”

  He grinned at her. “I will.”

  Nolan raced into the West Wing and found the stairs that led down to the basement, to the Situation Room. It was unguarded, and it occurred to him that with most of Salazar’s people tied up in the battle outside, he was probably running short of men. Then he arrived at the entrance he sought. It was even emblazoned with the seal of the President of the United States, another of Salazar’s poor attempts at humor. He opened the heavy, armored door and walked in.

  Jacks is still alive. Thank God!

  The Admiral was tied to a chair at the end of the room, his mouth covered with a gag. The chair was positioned underneath a huge flat screen TV. He looked up when he saw Nolan. He looked around the room cautiously, but there didn’t seem to be anyone else around. It seemed crazy to leave an important hostage unguarded, but there was no one. He ran forward and reached the Admiral.

  “Sir, you’re okay. This is Chief Nolan, Bravo Platoon.”

  One eye opened. The Chief was shocked to see that he’d been beaten badly. The other eye was closed and covered in a huge bruise. There were cuts on his face that had been left untreated. He cut away the gag, and the Admiral sucked in air greedily. Then he managed a faint smile.

  “What took you so long, Son? I thought you’d be here hours ago.”

  “I’m here now, Sir. We’ll get you out of here.”

  “Yeah. How did you get past Salazar?”

  “Salazar? I didn’t see him. There’s no one here. They’re all outside trying to defend the ranch from our people.”

  “But, he has to be here. His security center…”

  He stopped at the sound of a man’s hands clapping together. Nolan whirled around to see a man had come through an unnoticed door at the side of the main entrance. He stood there watching them. Victor Salazar, flanked by bodyguards on either side. He carried no weapon, but each of the four guards carried an A4-M1, the four barrels pointed directly at Nolan and Jacks.

  He didn’t raise his own weapon. It was obvious the four men were waiting for an excuse to fire, and even if he could dive under cover, Jacks was unable to move. For several seconds they stared at each other. The bodyguards’ gaze was hard and feral, like panting dogs about to fall on a wounded prey, and Victor Salazar seemed quite relaxed for a man whose ranch was systematically being destroyed by an invading force of well-equipped soldiers. Then he spoke.

  “Put down your weapon, American, you are clearly no Commandante of the FARC. Unless, of course, you and your Admiral wish to die here.”

  Nolan hesitated. Would Gracia come looking for them? No, she would stay at her post, covering their back against being cut off by Salazar forces coming into the house. Could he take these men, before they cut him and Jacks down? No, they had that special alertness that was common to elite troops the world over. They were alert and watchful, ready to open fire in a split second. He weighed his options. It would be better to try and beat them with guile rather than guns. He laid down his M4. Salazar smiled coldly.

  “You are very sensible, American. Tell me your real name.”

  Nolan stood silent until Salazar nodded at one of his men. “Shoot the Admiral in the knee if he hasn’t answered me in five seconds.”

  The bodyguard started walking towards them. The Chief knew he was beaten.

  “Nolan.”

  His eyes widened. “Nolan? So you are the man who was responsible for destroying my operation in Ciudad Juarez. That is incredible, that you should take the trouble to come to me. I am so pleased to make your acquaintance at last.” He turned to his bodyguards and snapped out an order. “Two of you, go and search this Mr. Nolan, then tie him to a chair. He is in time to watch the show. If I wanted anyone to join us for the execution, it would be him.”

  Nolan noticed the video camera erected on a tripod in the corner of the room. Salazar saw the direction of his gaze.

  “Yes, the camera. It will broadcast my little entertainment for the whole world to see. How do you think your American compatriots will react, Mr. Nolan? A full Admiral executed on prime time television. I’m sending it over the Internet too, so that no one can miss it. And when that is over, I have s
ome further entertainment for you, Mr. Nolan.”

  “You’re wrong, Salazar,” Jacks croaked. “I’m not a full Admiral.”

  “No? What then, a Rear Admiral? Yes, of course, that is it. But you will do, my friend. You will be quite sufficient to teach your countrymen a lesson they will never forget.”

  The bodyguards took hold of Nolan in an iron grip and searched him. It was a thorough search, and they missed almost nothing. The men piled the contents of his pockets on the table and then tied him to a chair close to Jacks. He tested the knots. The guards knew their business, and there was no way he was going to escape without help. Salazar walked towards them.

  “Do you know who will pay for all of this damage to my property, Mr. Nolan? The Americans. Yes, they can create havoc with their bombs and machine guns, and I shall meet with my associates and merely put up the price of my cocaine to pay for the place to be rebuilt. You may wonder how long it will take me to recover the money. No more than a month at the increased prices. So you see, what you have achieved is, nothing.”

  “You’re wrong, Salazar. There are a lot of troops out there, and when they’ve finished off your men, they’ll come down here and start looking for you.”

  Salazar yawned. “Is that right? Do you take me for a fool, Mr. Nolan? Do you think I haven’t prepared for something like this? After the execution of the Admiral, I have prepared a tunnel that leads from the basement to a helicopter pad in the jungle. It is a secret known only to me and my bodyguards, and a comfortable way to leave all this nonsense behind. And when I have gone, I have a surprise for your men.”

  He took a small, black box out of his pants pocket, like a cellphone.

  “This is my doomsday device. The house and grounds have been prepared with explosive charges. As soon as I leave, I shall use this device to start the timer. Twenty minutes after I send the signal, the explosives detonate, and the house and everything around it will be destroyed. After all,” he smiled coldly, “if I am to rebuild, I do not want the expense of demolition. I may decide to build something better than this American monstrosity, something modest, of course, like the Palace of Versailles, in France. The Sun King, Louis the Fourteenth built it, I believe.”