“Where is that, do you know?”
“Not exactly but I hear it is just across the border from here in Syria, not at Raqqa.”
“How interesting, it just shows how wrong people can be with their speculation.”
There was an agonised scream and then another awful shriek from the office and Shahirah came running out and looked at them and shouted: “He sliced off her breasts and then he…” and she fainted and fell forward on her face.
They ran to find Ali and as they moved into the room they saw the splatters of blood and the shredded corpse of the young woman. Ali was washing the blood from his face and hands and naked body and from the knife he held in one hand and then he pulled on his clothes and stood before them.
“What happened?” asked Abdul. Fayha was bending over the corpse but it was clear that there was nothing that could be done.
“She wanted me to do ugly things to her, Uncle. And anyway she was Russian and the Russians are bombing us to pieces everywhere. Good riddance. And now I want to get back to work. Now that is what I enjoy. Not dirty sex. I enjoy killing the evil ones.” Ali stood up and extended his arms and said in a sibilant rush of words: “I am the Sword of Justice! I bring death to the unworthy.”
Abdul looked at his nephew and he felt a chill along his spine. He is insane! he thought and turned away in case his eyes betrayed him.
Ali strode out of the room and Fayha said, but quietly: “Get that monster out of here!”
Abdul looked at her: “He is what he is—a killing machine.”
The two men gathered their weapons and their ammunition and were about to leave when a man came running down from the upper level shouting: “There is a mob outside and they want to burn us all to death. What are we going to do?”
Ali and his uncle looked at each other and they knew what to do. Abdul said to Fayha: “Is there a place upstairs where we can see the front of the house?”
She nodded. “I’ll show you.”
They followed her up the stairs to the top floor and to a narrow room, sparsely furnished, which ran behind the gabled façade. They could hear the chanting of the mob and someone was using a loud-hailer.
Fayha said: “When we moved here we thought of everything. Here are the viewing slits, one on this side and another on the other. From the outside they look like the mouths of two statues. You slide these covers back to reveal them. Now I must get that mess cleared up” and she ran back down.
“You take them from to left to right and I’ll do right to left” said Abdul. “First, the one with the loudspeaker and then those in the front and making the most noise. Single shots to the head or centre mass and do it quickly.”
They pulled up two chairs and got in position. There was no need for expert markmanship – this was point blank stuff.
The man on the loud hailer was shouting: “You are the spawn of Satan. We will send you back to Hell” but just then Ali pulled the trigger and the man’s head broke open like a burst melon and the loud-hailer fell from his hands. At the same time a tall man who was waving his fists around was felled by a bullet in his throat and blood gushed forth where he lay. More bodies fell within seconds until there were bleeding corpses in the road and the rest of the mob were in full hysterical flight, screaming and cursing as they disappeared into the night.
Fayha went to the special emergency phone she had been given, rang the number, spoke briefly and within the hour the mess of corpses cleared and the house was discreetly protected by armed guerrillas.
Chapter Four – Chopper Down
In the shadow of a hill, in a dense grove of bushes on the outskirts of Kobane, the Turkish border town recently retaken from Islamic State by the Kurds, Captain Taylor regarded his small team of SAS warriors. They knew from the expression on his face that he had important information to impart.
These men were all dressed as local Arabs in keffiyeh head scarves and the famous Dishdash, long white robes. They also had full beards in various stages of growth. They had been through many conflicts with Taylor and they knew each other’s character with the kind of deep understanding which only comes when your lives are on the line and you have to know that you can rely on your comrades.
Facing Captain Taylor were Sergeant White, Taylor’s second in command, Sergeant Lee, (3IC) Corporal West (explosives) and Mark Andrews, “Mission Specialist.” Lance Corporal Danny Jones who doubled as a medic was now a look-out, halfway up a tree, scouting for hostiles and unpleasant surprises.
Waiting in the small van parked out of sight, a good distance away around the curve of a hill was the team’s fixer, Iqbal (the Prosperous) who dealt with the locals, gaining information, and who was generously rewarded, even though Taylor knew that he was probably double dealing, selling intel to the enemy. This made him a convenient channel for misinformation. With him was the driver, Jibril (the Archangel).
“I want you to know that we are not alone.” Taylor looked from man to man to assess their reaction, savouring the theatrical moment.
“Is that a good thing or a bad thing, Sir?” asked Corporal West with mock alarm.
“Only good, West. We have allies here. As you know, for some months our Special Forces have been part of a joint special operations unit with the Americans. It is not an official UK mission, instead operating under US command.
“Today my special good news is that we have the support of AC 130 Hercules planes fitted with 105 mm light guns and A10 Warthog gunships, as well as F-16 fighter jets from a number of supporting nations, including Jordan. They’re up there now, as we speak, on the ‘highway’ as they call it.
“In eastern Syria, US forces have been using special sniper units. We also have our very own British naval warship not far away in the gulf. It has missile capacity, which we can invoke.”
This announcement was met by awed silence.
“But now that we have this level of devastating force at our command, what we have to do is very simple -- to seek and find, no more than that. But nothing less than that. We have to identify exactly where that IS rats’ nest is and then we can call in the exterminators.”
He paused for effect and then said: “But if we get it wrong, and we blow a bunch of civilians to Hell, the shit will really hit the fan in big messy chunks.”
Taylor looked at Andrews and other heads swivelled towards him as well.
“Thanks a lot, Captain,” said Andrews. “The whole bloody burden falls on me.” He put a hand to his forehead: “I feel a migraine coming on—which means I’ll have to go and lie down.”
There was a foul-mouthed outbreak of banter and jeers from the other men.
“Just one moment” said Captain Taylor with an intensity which focused all their attention. “I want to make something very clear to all of you. The service which Mark Andrews gives us has been recognised at the top of our command structure for its unique value. It saves lives and it enhances our strike efficiency.”
Mark Andrews had gone pale and he sat in silence as all eyes were on him. After the festering sense of inadequacy which had eaten at his self-esteem in previous operations with this SAS team, this public expression of military confidence in him was like a transfusion of confidence and he felt a smile burgeon on his face.
“What’s more, I can reveal now, because I think that this is the right moment, that Andrews is to be recommended for a special award in recognition of his valuable role in her Majesty’s Forces.”
Now the jeers turned to warm applause and Mark Andrews stood up and made a few mock bows.
“And now to get back to business, there is something more” said Taylor. “We have drone strikes available.”
“Well I’m buggered” said West. “With missiles and drones I feel bloody useless. We might as well all go home—except for his Mysterious Majesty King Andrews who is going to invade the IS in his ghostly form.”
Now Sergeant White had something to say: “I thought that we, the UK, can’t strike in Syria without approval from Parliament
?”
Captain Taylor smiled cynically. “You know how these things work. There are different levels of reality. Didn’t you notice that the Cabinet were accused of deceiving the public after it came to light that three Royal Navy pilots had been busy killing IS fighters in Syria, even though MPs voted against military action over there?”
“I think I read the wrong newspapers” said Lee.
“Also,” said Mark Andrews “in the newspapers I read, I saw that those two Indian blokes, one from Cardiff and another from Aberdeen, were blown to bits in Raqqa in the first targeted UK drone attack on British citizens. The PM said they were terrorists directing murder on our streets and there was no other way to stop them.”
“Now wait a minute” said Captain Taylor. “I am not finished. There is more.
“Now the Coalition of which we are such an important part will mentor Iraqi and Kurdish forces in a big ground push towards Raqqa in the north. And a rather half-baked idea is gaining support, even being seriously considered by Whitehall, to make a kind of safe haven in Syria – a 1,500 square miles area protected by the deployment of a Royal Navy Type-45 destroyer tasked with shooting down Syrian state helicopters.”
Mark Andrews interjected: “I’m sorry Captain but that sounds like wishful thinking hogwash. What’s the motivation?”
“It’s a cold fact that indiscriminate bombing by Syrian forces, especially using barrel bombs, is the main factor forcing up to seven million Syrians to leave their country. The idea is to secure a 1,500 square kilometre area north-west of Aleppo, which could be used to resettle up to five million Syrians.
“The region is controlled by Free Syrian Army groups, and is not near the Russian sphere of influence. It would require a Type-45 destroyer to be deployed off the coast of Turkey. Such a ship, HMS Defender, is due in the region shortly.”
“What about the ‘Ghost,’ the Arab one, the sniper, Captain? Are we still after him? I owe him something” said Sergeant Lee.
“Always. But he is not our priority this time.”
“Do we have any idea where our target might be?” asked Sergeant Lee.
“I’ll get around to that, but I want to give you the broad picture of what is about to happen in this hell-hole. American intel is that Putin’s crack Spetsnaz units are getting ready for a ground assault on rebels fighting the Syrian President. So this is becoming a battleground between the United States and Russia, and there has just been an official announcement by the White House that Special Forces teams will lead the efforts of resistance forces.”
The Commander wiped his forehead in an impatient gesture. “But of course a lot of this of is just speculation—although it is a fact that US Special Forces are already here, and we are under their umbrella. And the Russians are also bombing everyone. That’s enough of that.”
He turned to Lee: “Our current target. All we have is intel about talk among the locals. There is agreement that something very secret has been going on in this immediate area. Some talk says there is a hidden HQ, perhaps camouflaged. One source is convinced that they are imbedded in the side of a hill so we are going to have a look at that first. So let’s get back to the van.”
The voice of Jones crackles in Taylor’s ear: “Two spooks in the trees to your left.” Taylor gestures and his men hit the ground and raise their weapons. “Hold fire” says Taylor as they hear the sound of two figures approaching without any attempt at being discreet. Then to their surprise they hear the peal of a woman’s laughter and into view come two figures, a tall man with his hands in the air and a shapely female with white teeth revealed in a broad smile.
The man’s strong voice rings out: “Don’t shoot. We are Kurdish officers. We are here to help.” He has an educated English accent.
“What’s your name and rank?” demanded Captain Taylor.
The stranger, smiling broadly, walked closer and stood with his hands aloft. “I am not suicidal, Captain Taylor, I assure you. I am here to help and to warn you that we are probably being watched. I suggest we get among the trees.”
“Let’s move it” said Taylor and the Kurds were surrounded by the SAS men and it did not escape the notice of the testosterone-charged warriors that the Kurdish woman had an hour glass figure and sensuous features and long, richly black hair tied back.
In the shelter of the trees the new arrival faced Taylor and said: “I am Captain Rojya Bhutin of the Kurdish Liberation Front. I have been seconded to the US Special Forces so I am aware of your mission and I am here to advise and help in any way I can.” He gestured to the woman: “This is Freedom Fighter Ayla Khano of the YPG, the Women’s Protection Front.”
Ayla (the Shining One) nodded an acknowledgement. The men noticed that her lustrous eyes looked amused as she glanced at all of them in a brief assessment.
“Welcome to you both. Do you have any documentation?” said Taylor.
“Not with us, naturally. But I suggest you check with US Colonel Walter Brow. I must admit we came here on sudden impulse when one of our men spotted you here.”
Captain Taylor nodded at Lee who walked off to talk into his arm.
“At ease” said Taylor and his men lowered the muzzles of their MP5 compact machine guns with a collapsible stock for close quarter combat.
“You speak cut-glass English, Captain,” said Taylor. “How is that?”
“You are surprised! I was at Oxford for a long while but I did not devote my energies to scholarship. I was a rather wild young man, to the despair of my father, who was a diplomat posted in London.” He gestured to his companion. “Lieutenant Khano graduated with English honours so she too is quite articulate.”
“Yes, Captain Taylor,” said the Shining One. “I admire your beautiful language although I am perplexed by its eccentricities, such as the illogical spelling which drives foreigners crazy.”
Taylor laughed. “And us Britons, let me tell you!”
Sergeant Lee appeared at Taylor’s side and announced: “The Yanks say he is kosher.”
Ayla laughed, a musical glissando. “But he is not Jewish!”
Captain Khano smiled and said quickly: “No I am not. But I admire the Israelis immensely. In many ways they are an elite.”
Ayla glanced at him, surprised.
Taylor looked at Lee and said: “Sergeant Lee shares that view because he uses an Israeli sniper rifle.”
“It has armour piercing ammo. I can stop a truck in its tracks” said Lee with a broad grin.
Mark Andrews had been studying the Kurdish woman and she noticed his attention and smiled warmly at him.
“Do you actually enjoy combat, Lieutenant?” inquired Andrews.
“Not always” she said. Mark savoured her voice which had a rich, feminine tone. “But I really love being at the front, in action, because I am free. In ordinary life in this conventional society I am not free.”
They all fell silent, listening. There was the sound of an approaching helicopter. “Take cover” barked Taylor and they moved deeper into the wood. The chopper came closer and they realised it would pass directly overhead.
As it flew on Captain Khano said with disgust: “Those bastards are heading for the village and they’ll be dropping barrel bombs. These people are utter swine, slaughtering people.”
Then they heard another helicopter on a slightly different course, its flight path some distance away.
“They should be over the village about now” said Khano and then they heard the sound of explosions, one, two three and then a pause and another three blasts.
“My God” said the Kurd, “I wish I had a missile launcher.”
The sound of a helicopter began to come closer again.
Lee asked his Commander: “Can I waste some ammo Sir?”
Taylor got his drift and at once he said: “Be my guest, Sergeant.”
Lee ran to his pack nearby, rummaged inside and produced and loaded his Israeli Weapons Industries, or IWI, DAN.338 Lapua Magnum Bolt Action Sniper Rifle. His wife.
&n
bsp; He went to a tree on the fringe of the open area and looked up, cradling the rifle against a small branch.
The chopper came closer, the noise of its whirring blades intrusive, as it retraced it exact path.
As it was directly overhead and they clearly saw its Syrian Air Force logo, Lee fired three successive rounds. The aircraft flew on and then its engine spluttered and coughed, then coughed again and then it dived headlong into the trees and as it fell through the branches it caught fire.
“Lucky shot, hey Sarge?” said White.
“Fantastic marksmanship Sergeant! I see what you mean about that rifle” said Khano, his eyes blazing. “Those butchers deserve to burn.”
Mark Andrews felt dizzy and spun around to cry out: “They’re coming to bomb us. We must get out of here Captain.”
“What do you mean?”
“The other chopper, they saw the crash and registered the sniper fire and they are heading to bomb us.”
“Sergeant Lee, radio Iqbal and Jibril to leave the vehicle at once. They’ll see the van.”
Lieutenant Ayla asked of Andrews: “How did you know that?”
SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6 Page 27