by Eric Meyer
Ryder amazed them by locating a loose patch of pebbles scattered across the roadway. He heaved on the parking brake, spun the wheel over, and without stopping, the Land Cruiser was pointing in the opposite direction. They picked up speed, heading out of the city. Once Nolan spotted a flight of helicopters in the distance, and he had a shrewd suspicion he knew what they were.
“Aircraft, helicopters coming in from the south, probably Syrians. John-Wesley, you need to get off the street.”
“Chances are they’ll have barrel bombs slung underneath, and they’ll be looking for likely targets to drop them on. Driver, you need to find cover.”
Ryder turned toward the plate-glass window of a huge agricultural goods store. Tractors and implements were behind the glass, probably amongst the last unbroken glass in the city, until now. He smashed through, and the window disintegrated. A moment before, a thick glass curtain ten meters long and four meters high, now no more than the pile of shards scattered over the floor. Ryder drove on, weaving past gleaming new tractors, knocking over displays of smaller implements, until he reached the back. Then he stopped and switched off.
Without the engine running, they could hear the roar of the rotors as the helicopters swooped in. No doubt they’d seen them and decided the Land Cruiser was a likely candidate for an attack. The first barrel bomb dropped a few meters outside the front of the building. The huge blast lifted heavy agricultural tractors into the air and smashed them back down onto the concrete floor. A second barrel bomb landed, and several tractors skidded across the floor toward them, their once proud bodywork a twisted and ruined heap of scrap.
They were lucky. The heavy iron machinery had screened them from the worst effects of the twin blasts. Apart from several dents in the bodywork from flying metal, and the rear side window starred after the steering wheel of a wrecked vehicle smashed into it, they were unscathed. The Land Cruiser had done no more than bounce up and down on it springs, and they all breathed a sigh of relief.
“We were lucky,” Stern murmured in the silence after the beat of the rotors and roared the engines had faded.
“Not just lucky,” Nolan corrected him, “I reckon it had a lot to do with Petty Officer Ryder. Without him, we’d have been toast.”
He inclined his head. “Agreed, and my apologies. You saved our necks.”
Ryder gave him a brief nod. “Whatever. Is it safe to go back out?”
“I’ll check.”
They stared at Rachel Dayan in surprise as she opened the door and skipped to the front of the building. She looked up at the sky several times, both ways along the street, and came back.
“We’re in the clear. I guess they all took cover when the helicopters came.”
“That’s good enough for me.”
He started the engine, engaged drive, and stamped on the pedal. He weaved his way back out of the showroom, past what a few minutes before had been gleaming vehicles awaiting an eager owner, and was now no more than broken scrap. He drove back the way they’d come, heading out of the city.
“Where exactly are we headed?” Stern asked.
“It’s a suburb of Aleppo called Al Zarzur,” Waverley replied. It was the first time he’d spoken since the raid.
“Are you sure?” He stared at Waverley, “Do I take it you believe Al Zarzur is still in the hands of the Kurds?”
“That’s correct.”
“You’re wrong. In the briefing before we took off for our reconnaissance sweep, Al Zarzur was mentioned. The Syrian Army staged a counterattack several days ago, and yesterday they took control of the entire area. Whoever it is you’re planning to meet there, I don’t think you’ll find them. If they’re still there, they’re probably dead.”
A pause. “I’ll check it out,” Waverley said. He took out his satphone and punched in a number. They heard a faint crackle as someone answered the other end.
“I need a sitrep on Al Zarzur. You heard me. It’s a suburb of Aleppo. I’m due to meet some people there on State Department business.” While he waited, he glanced up at them. “This is my Pentagon liaison. We’ll find out the truth.”
He listened while they spoke several times, muttered a brief thank you, and ended the call. He looked at Stern.
“That’s bullshit, Colonel. Our people have assured me nothing has changed. Driver, we proceed as planned.”
If Ryder heard him, he didn’t reply, and carried on driving. Stern shrugged his shoulders. “As you wish. I don’t know how you gather your intelligence, Mr. Waverley, but I assure you my briefing came from people we have on the ground. Whatever your Pentagon says, Al Zarzur is no longer in Kurdish hands.”
“I don’t give a shit about your people on the ground. The Pentagon says no change, and there’s no reason to disbelieve them.”
Ryder gave Nolan quick glance, and he nodded. “You’d best do as the man says. But if he’s wrong, we’ll send him out to negotiate with whoever is in charge.”
The State Department courier didn’t respond. He sat silently in the back, refusing to look at anyone, just staring through the windshield into space. They skirted the city to the south, and without anyone shooting at them or dropping bombs on them, Nolan had time to think about something that had bothered him.
“Colonel Stern, how come they sent out a full Colonel as a gunner on an Apache helicopter?”
“I already told you, it was a reconnaissance mission.”
“What were you looking for that the regular crew couldn’t look out for, or they couldn’t monitor on the onboard cameras?”
He paused for several seconds, and he thought he wasn’t going to answer. Eventually, he seemed to come to a decision.
“Very well, there was more to it than that. I talked about our people on the ground, and what I didn’t say is one of them is a relation of mine. An Israeli, of course, and I was worried they could be captured by the Syrians. As you may imagine, they treat captured Israelis harshly, and if there was any risk, I volunteered to lead a team in to get this person out.”
“And what did you find?”
“I don’t believe they’re in any danger. At least, I hope not.”
He glanced at Ryder, who looked back at him. As stories went, it didn’t sound very likely. No, more than that, it sounded very unlikely. A cross-country sweep in a gunship to look out for an endangered Israeli agent was more than suspicious, but Nolan reserved judgment. He was suspicious of Stern but didn’t regard him as an enemy, just a guy with a different agenda to their own.
Ryder kept his foot on the gas, and they were soon approaching their destination, Al Zarzur. There was more evidence of the major battles that had been fought around Aleppo. Burned-out tanks and wrecked armored personnel carriers. One place, the broken fuselage of Sukhoi Su-25 ground attack fighter. Nicknamed the ‘Frogfoot’, both Russians and their enemies referred to it as a flying tank. Like all tanks, they were vulnerable, as this one had proved. The blackened shape inside the cockpit suggested the pilot hadn’t got out before his aircraft hit the sand. There were bodies scattered nearby, unburied. Bundles of bloodstained rags, their weapons lying nearby where they’d dropped them when they got hit. Probably victims of an aerial attack, for if it had been a ground offensive, the enemy would have taken their weapons and ammo.
The suburb loomed in the distance, no more than two kilometers away. Ryder kept the speed up, anxious to arrive before another air attack came in. They were one kilometer away when his hunter’s vision saw what they hadn’t yet noticed. He jammed on the brakes, and they fell forward as the Toyota lurched to a stop.
“What is it?”
He pointed ahead. “I reckon the Colonel is right. Look, up there.”
At first, he didn’t see it, but a breath of wind made a shape in the distance flutter. He recognized it as a flag, fastened to a pole on top of a building. The flag was black, white, and green, with three red stars in the center, the national flag of Syria.
He turned to look at Waverley. “Your Pentagon liaison
was wrong. They’ve taken the suburb, and like the Colonel said, your Kurdish contacts are either dead or captured. The Syrians are already there.”
“Lieutenant…”
He turned to look at Stern. “What is it?”
“Troops, they’re coming toward us.”
A jeep was racing toward them, and one hundred meters behind, an armored personnel carrier, a Russian-built BTR-90.
“Shit. Ryder, turn her around and get us out of here, fast!”
“We can’t leave!” Waverley shouted, “I have to make contact…”
He turned his head. “Contact with who, you stupid bastard, contact with the Syrian Army? What do you think they’ll do with the money in that flight case? I’ll tell you what they’ll do. They’ll thank you with a bullet in the head for each of us, divide the money, and they’ll be off to Damascus working out how to spend it.”
“Lieutenant! They’re people coming at us from the west, and they ain’t Syrian soldiers.”
“Then who?”
Stern leaned forward, squinting to get a better look. “Perhaps they’re Kurds, and your friends managed to escape the Syrian attack.”
“They’re not Kurds.”
They all stared at Ryder. “How come?”
“I can make them out from here. Most of ‘em are wearing black. Black pants, shirts and sweatbands, and the guy at the rear has a black flag with Arabic writing. They’re ISIS.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Get us out of here.”
“Which way?”
Stern replied. “You have Syrian Army to the east, ISIS to the west, and Turks to the north.”
“The road south leads to Damascus,” the Israeli said.
“Ryder, head south.”
Waverley’s voice was loud, almost panicked. “I’m ordering you to continue south until we’re clear of ISIS. As soon as you’re certain, turn west.”
Nolan countermanded the order. “Stay as you are, John-Wesley. South.”
A pause. “Are you sure?”
“Nope, but I’m sure about the other three directions. So far, they’re not coming at us from the south, so that’s the way we’ll go.”
Waverley didn’t look happy, but they ignored him. He stamped on the gas pedal, and they slipped away from the two groups of hostiles encroaching on them. They reached the main highway, the M5 that ran south all the way to the capital, via Homs, another battleground until recently, unless the Free Syrian Army had taken it yet again. It was too far south for the PKK and the Turks, and ISIS was in retreat. With luck, they’d be able to get past the city. He was still thinking about the cash they were carrying in that flight case. Money intended for the Kurds, who were up against it.
“Waverley, what do you plan to do about the Kurds?”
“Do? There’s nothing we can do. I’ve decided to make…alternative arrangements for the money. But first, we need to get out of here. I tell you, the only safe way out is west, and we can cross the border into Lebanon.”
Nolan shook his head. “They need that money. Those poor bastards must have it to keep fighting. Otherwise, they’ll go under.”
The State Department man’s lips twisted into a sneer. “And how you plan to do that, Mister Navy SEAL? I tell you, it’s not possible. We’ll head west and cross the border into Lebanon. That’s the only safe option.”
“But the Kurds…”
“Fuck the Kurds.”
“Fuck you, you bastard. You’re the State Department guy. Contact your people, and find out if they have a backup plan to deliver that money.”
“I’ll decide whether it’s necessary to contact the State Department.”
“Either you do it, or I’ll toss you out of the vehicle, and you can walk.”
His face flushed. He stared at him for a few seconds and looked away. “Very well, the moment we’re clear of Aleppo, stop the vehicle, and I’ll make the call.” He gave him a significant glance, “In confidence.”
Nolan nodded. “State Department business. Hush, hush.”
His expression darkened. “It’s not funny. This is serious business.”
“Sure it’s serious. Like your intelligence about Al Zarzur.”
* * *
“How do we get out of here?” No one replied, and Custer looked around wildly, “They told me you were the best, that no matter what happened, I’d be okay because you guys could handle it. This was supposed to be a simple operation, in and out, no sweat.”
“There’s no easy day, not in the SEALs.”
Bryce felt sorry for the guy. They’d sent him out on what should have been a straightforward operation, and now he’d fallen into the shit along with the rest of them. Or at least, fallen into the invisible but deadly radiation seeping out from the next room. His men could handle anything that came along, anything they could see and could shoot, but not this. Not find themselves like rats in a trap.
“Lt, maybe you’re right. It could be the radiation’s getting to us, but we need to square up to this. There’s always a way out. All we gotta do is find it. Start looking.”
An hour of crawling around the bare room produced nothing.
“There isn’t a way out,” Merano announced.
Chapter Six
When Waverley had finished talking to his people at State, he returned and told them there was no backup plan. They were insisting he kept to the original arrangement, located the Kurds, and handed over the money. Nolan ordered Ryder to continue south. They still went, certain they’d managed to avoid their pursuers, the Free Syrian Army and ISIS. Every kilometer they drove, they were heading nearer to Damascus, and he was racking his brains trying to work out a solution to an insurmountable problem.
Behind them, more enemies than you could shake a stick at. In front of them, Damascus, the Syrian capital, and if they fell into their hands he didn’t like to think about the kind of reception they’d get. One thing was for sure. It would be a brief encounter, and very painful.
He was still thinking, considering the options, bringing up everything he could remember about the geography of the area, and failed to think of a way out. They weren’t just deep in enemy territory, but unique in his experience, deep inside territory under threat by several enemies. Apart from their pursuers, and the Syrians, there was always the possibility of an air attack by the Turks. Apart from the disparate groups of bandits who took advantage of the lack of any security to rob, pillage, and murder.
Rachel’s voice impinged on his thoughts. “We’re being followed.”
“Followed?” He turned his head to look behind, spotting them at the same time as she spoke.
“It’s a truckload of fighters. They’ve been keeping up with us for the past ten kilometers, but until now, I wasn’t certain. Now I am. They haven’t slowed, and they haven’t overtaken. All they’ve done is keep the same distance behind us. My guess is they’re Free Syrian Army.”
He thought back to that confrontation outside Aleppo when they were heading for Al Zarzur. It could have been a simple coincidence, but now he knew different. This was confrontation, also known as enemy action.
“I see them. Ryder, step on it.”
“Copy that.”
The hood lifted as he stamped down on the gas pedal, and the Toyota picked up speed. But Rachel leaned over and tapped him on the shoulder.
“Driving faster may not be enough. I was about to tell you about the others. They’re circling around us.”
“Where?”
She pointed to the west, and he saw them on a narrow track, about two klicks away. Several SUVs, the open backs crammed with men.
“Isis?”
She nodded. “ISIS, there’s no question. Why is everyone chasing us?”
He didn’t reply, and Stern gave him a keen glance. “Lieutenant Nolan, that’s something I’ve been asking myself for a while. Why exactly are they taking so much trouble over a single vehicle carrying a few civilians? What is so important?”
/>
Before he could answer, Waverley muttered something about it being none of his business. Nolan had a different take on it. Men with guns were doing their best to hunt them down. He had little doubt if they managed to catch up with them, their rifles would spit flame, and they’d die, outnumbered, and outgunned. A man or woman whose life is threatened is entitled to know why. He explained what they were carrying in the aluminum flight case in the trunk, that they were conveying it to the Kurds to help them continue their military campaign against ISIS.
“How much is involved?”
He wasn’t entirely certain himself, so he just shrugged. “A lot. Millions of dollars.”
Stern raised his eyebrows. “Millions of dollars, in this region? That’s a lot of money, but to these people, it’s enough to keep fighting for many years to come. You know what’ll happen if they catch up with us? They’ll take the money, and if they haven’t killed us already, they’ll make sure we’re dead so there’s no one to tell any tales. You know what’s about to happen?”
He nodded. “I know. A sandwich, two slices of bread, and we’re the meat in the middle.”
“Right. Two groups of enemies, each determined to kill the other. The hammer and the anvil, and we’re the people squeezed in between. When they catch us, it’s going to be a particularly nasty firefight.”
“Colonel, you know this region, what do you suggest?”
He frowned. “In normal circumstances, an airstrike would be the answer. Except these aren’t normal circumstances, this isn’t a military operation, and we don’t have air assets available to us. The way I see it that leaves us with two options. Fight or flight.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ve never believed much in flight, so that leaves us with a single option. We fight. How far before we reach Hama?”
“Hama? Not far, a few klicks. Five, maybe ten at the most.”
“John-Wesley, can you stay ahead of them that far?”
“Just about, but it’ll be close.”