Lieutenant Ayla turned to Mark Andrews, who was standing next to her.
She said: “It’s so beautiful. And now we are going to desecrate this lovely spot.”
“No. We are going to cleanse it” said Mark intensely. “Keep the right perspective, Ayla.” He suddenly realised the fragility of her temperament.
The gentle rebuke stung her and she looked hurt but quickly said. “You are right, of course.”
While the Marines and the communications crew were readying their equipment and Col Brow was posting lookouts in the surrounding trees, Mark Andrews seized the moment to go next to a tree some way up the rising hillside, lean against it and close his eyes and focus his awareness.
He gathered his mind together and his breathing slowed and he put his arms around the tree trunk to stabilise himself. In an instant he was free and the tendrils of his awareness reached out. He touched small creatures, hares and birds and two cats and then he was seared by a strong silent scream of fear and he was in someone’s mind. She was talking on her mobile and she heard her sister’s quavering voice saying “Therese, they are here in the concert hall and they are shooting at us.” And there was a loud report and her sister’s voice gurgled and was quiet and a slight noise as the phone dropped and then she heard a man saying in French directly into the mobile: “That’s the end of her, and we are coming to get you as well!” and he laughed and there was a bang and the phone went dead.
Andrews saw through the woman’s eyes and she was in a room, trying to sleep but racked by her dreams and her memories. He felt her fear: Now they are going to kill me as well, today! and he was suddenly out of her mind and back in himself, the ice-cold grip of fear no longer there.
Mark was himself shaken by the strength of the woman’s neurotic terror and he had to focus to bring his breathing back to normal. He went straight to Captain Taylor who was with the two Kurds. He was so wound up with tension that he blurted out what had happened.
Taylor looked at him, concerned. “Calm down Andrews. Now, from the beginning, what happened?”
“I must have touched the mind of one of the EU hostages, a woman. She is so frightened she is at the point of physical collapse.”
Taylor said: “That would be the French Cabinet Minister, Therese Duplessis.”
“I think she was re-living a call she received from her younger sister during the DAESH massacre in Paris at the Bataclan rock concert. Her sister died then, and she knows that they are going to kill her today and the poor woman is coming apart at the seams.”
“I notice you have stopped calling them IS or Islamic State” said Taylor.
“That’s because they represent an absolute distortion of Islam. They have their own evil identity, Captain.”
“We’d better get a move on,” said Taylor. They all gathered within the shelter of the trees for a quick briefing. The Chief Pilot explained how his instruments perceived the environment. “Straight ahead there is a small depression then another small hill and over that a lot of greenery and then a higher hill and from the top of that you should be able to have eyes on the farmhouse.”
Col Brow gave the group a few final words of encouragement and then he and the two pilots went back into the chopper to await the call for their assistance. Brow could stay in touch with his men by means of their sophisticated communications system and maintain control of the action. The rescue party began the trek through the woods, the Marines leading the way, silently agile as they moved among the shrubbery, making a minimum of noise.
The SAS men followed them, just as quietly, Mark Andrews behind Captain Taylor with the two Kurds beside them.
Mark kept an eye on Ayla because he noticed how easily distracted she was by the beauty of the beguiling greenery all around them. When a breeze came rustling through the woods, shifting the leaves, the rays of the rising sun stabbed down among the branches to create moving patterns of light and colour. Once he had to seize her by the arm and pull her forward as she turned to follow the glistening path of a small stream gurgling along.
They came to the foot of their final challenge, a higher hill, and they crept up it very quietly to the peak, which was craggy, but with a lot of shrubbery and a few small trees. The sea breeze swept strongly at them across the crest, which was reassuring because it meant that the sounds of the helicopter were highly unlikely to have reached this far against the wind.
Captain Taylor lay on his stomach and used his binoculars. The lone farmhouse was situated halfway up a gentle slope and it seemed that it was not so much a functioning farm as a holiday hideaway. In the front of it there was a large recreational space with chairs and tables and a barbecue area. Two SUVs were parked in the open. As he watched, a dribble of smoke emerged from the lone chimney. So they were getting up and probably thinking of food.
Taylor studied the farmhouse and its environs very carefully but there was no sign of any lookout or sentry. Good. This was not a truly professional team. They believed they were in a solitary spot and safe from intrusion.
Captain Taylor and his team and the Marines moved swiftly down the hillside. The foliage was dense so they had good cover. They came closer to the farmhouse and moved to encircle it, well-hidden among the greenery. There was still no sign of life at the house.
Sergeant Lee and Mission Specialist Andrews had found themselves a viewpoint among some bushes clustered at the hill-top, around a shallow depression. They could lie at full stretch and rest their scopes among the serrations of the rock. Andrews, as the observer/spotter, thought himself into this role. He cleared his mind of everything except the need to observe and report. His hi-tech scope brought the farmhouse right up close. He could see the barred windows clearly and through one he spotted a female figure, an elderly woman seated in a chair. He could even bring her face into relief. She was haggard, exhausted. As he focused his eyes he went within her aura. It was the same person. She was at breaking point. He wondered whether he could touch her awareness, give her a comforting thought.
He gathered his mind to a diamond point and he was within her own awareness and he sent her the words: You will be safe. Do not despair. We are coming to save you.
He saw the woman jerk in her chair and look about her, her eyes puzzled. Did he detect a flicker of hope, or would her innate cynicism overwhelm her?
But he must concentrate on the job. He consulted his instruments and he said to Henry next to him: “It’s 621 yards. Wind south-east, 1,2kms. There is no sentry I can find. They are just waking up. But there is a kind of dais in the recreation area which might be where they plan the executions.”
As he spoke he saw the front door open and a man came out with a camera and a tripod. So they were a step up from a mobile. The man, in bland civilian clothes, flannel trousers and a white open-necked shirt, looked about him and smiled. Perfect visibility. Now others began to emerge. Three men dressed all in black came out, with weapons slung over their shoulders. One went to the barbecue, took some firewood from a nearby stack, and placed it in the barbecue and set it alight while another set two tables with knives and forks and plates.
The third man, older and wearing a white cap, not carrying a gun, walked around the area, looking about him, and then climbed onto the makeshift dais. He moved about on it for a moment and then he walked back to where the cameraman had set up his instrument on a tripod near the front door. He spoke to the operator and then looked through the camera’s scope, moving it from side to side and working the zoom. Then he went into the house and soon came back, carrying food which he took to the barbecue and the cook laid it out on a small table.
Sergeant Lee focused his state of the art sniper rifle on each of the men in turn, bringing his powerful telescopic lens to full strength and examining their faces. All of them looked ordinary young men, in their early twenties except the older man, who was fiftyish.
He thought: Just a group of holidaymakers setting up a nice breakfast and preparing to take some holiday footage to show their famili
es. But they are really going to fill their stomachs before they slaughter two people on camera and then proudly show their handiwork to the world.
Two more men in black emerged and then finally a well built, tall man dressed in white, with a darker complexion than the others. Was this the Pakistani? Lee went in tight on him and saw that he held a colourful object in his right hand. He went to a table and sat there, waiting for his breakfast. He placed the object on the table. Henry Lee saw that it was a large Santa Claus mask together with what looked like a ceremonial dagger.
He was definitely the executioner, about to give two EU diplomats a nice DAESH* Christmas present.
*FOOTNOTE: "Daesh" is an Arabic acronym for "Al-Dawla al-Islamiya fi Iraq wa al-Sham", the full name of the group that calls itself the Islamic State in Iraq and Syria, or Isis. The acronym is preferred by conservative Muslims, who contend that the phrase "Islamic State" gives a religious dignity to what is simply a barbaric death cult. "Daesh" also sounds similar to the Arabic phrase "Dahes" - "one who sows discord" - and is therefore regarded as deeply insulting by Isis fanatics.
Taylor and his SAS team were well placed among the shrubbery and occasional tree around the house, mainly around the recreation area, interspersed among the Marines. They were all linked via their miniscule earpieces. Taylor examined the scene through his optics.
One of the men in black was cooking a meal of meat – chops, steak and sausages - and the smell came wafting enticingly across to the watchers.
Somebody inside the house pulled open a curtain and revealed a barred window. Standing there was a short, stocky woman, wearing a blue Muslim shayla headscarf and with a rifle over her shoulder. She moved away and behind her he saw an elderly grey-haired man in a chair, his hands bound, and near him an elderly woman, also with hands bound. They both looked very stressed and haggard. The man would be the German Cabinet Minister Claus Walters and the woman was the French politician, Therese Duplessis.
Taylor told Sergeant Vincent White to keep his eyes on the hostages while he checked on what else was going on. In the recreation area another black-clad man was frying eggs while the cook was still busy with the meat.
After a few minutes the woman in the shayla came out and took two plates and waited for the cook to place some food on it. He gave her one fried egg and one chop on each plate. At least they were feeding their prisoners, although not with any generosity, he thought. Taylor wondered whether he would be able to eat anything if he knew that he was about to be beheaded.
The woman went inside and came back swiftly to find her own plate and sit at a table and eat heartily. Then she went back for more. By now they were all seated, eating and chatting among themselves and occasionally laughing, and the hostages were alone in the bedroom. White could see them, looking at a small table which had been placed before them, with two plates on it. It would be difficult for them to eat, with their hands bound, but neither of them showed any interest in the food..
Taylor thought: We can easily get into that bedroom and secure the hostages but then we sacrifice the drama of the well-timed execution of the executioner. Best to wait.
Captain Bhutin and Lieutenant Ayla were near Sergeant Vincent and they could also see into the bedroom. Ayla turned to Bhutin and whispered: “Those poor people.”
Bhutin glared at her and put his finger to his lips.
Like all the members of the patrol, they had loaded three rounds containing a powerful drug which would knock out a man within 30 seconds. As soon as Sniper Lee fired the killing shot which would send Patel to his ancestors, they were to immobilise the terrorists nearest to them.
When they had all eaten and had cleared the plates, the woman guard went back to the bedroom and they prepared for the highpoint of their mission, the theatrical and melodramatic moment of psychopathic and bloodthirsty braggadocio.
The cameraman made another inspection of the dais and then went into the house and came out with a side table which he placed next to the centre of the dais. No doubt where the executioner would stand, centre stage. He got on it, testing it for stability and seemed satisfied.
The old man came up to talk to him and they smiled and nodded together.
Bhutin heard Taylor’s soft voice in his ear: “What are they saying?”
“The film man says he is ready and the old man says he wants to get things over with so they can get back home. He is saying that for some reason he is feeling nervous. The film guy says he couldn’t sleep properly because it is too quiet out here in nowhere.”
Commander Taylor spoke to Sergeant Lee on the hilltop: “It’s about to happen.”
“Roger that, boss. I see it.”
After a short while the woman guard came out, leading the two prisoners. Two of the men went to help her, supporting the French politician by the arms because she was unsteady on her feet and her face deathly white. The German was more assured however and held his head high and tried to shake off the hand of the man next to him.
They got to the dais and they stood there, with a man on either side of them. Now the executioner came out and got on his table and called out to the cameraman where he stood outside the front door of the house, with the camera steady on a tripod.
Bhutin said: “He wants to know if he is ready. Can he start? The man says yes he’s ready to go and tells him to start talking so he can check the sound. Now he says the sound is good and they can start.”
Lieutenant Pride spoke now: “Captain, we have a perfect picture and sound.”
The executioner, humble Patel from Pakistan, had been looking forward to this great moment in his life when he would become even better known to the world. He put his Santa Claus mask on his face with a nice flourish and then from his waistband he pulled out a long silver curved blade with an ivory handle.
He began to speak loudly in English, the universal language.
He said, in a nervous high-pitched voice: “In the name of Allah the All Merciful I say that the moment of truth has arrived for these two disgusting examples of Western depravity. I am proud to send their souls back to the devil who spawned them. But first I wanna tell the world why I feel so proud.”
He nodded to the man on his left who seized Therese Duplessis by the hair and jerked her head back so that her throat was bared.
At that moment Sergeant Henry Lee sighted in on the chest of the executioner as he raised the shiny blade in the air and Lee inhaled a deep breath, slowed his heart, and mentally recited his ritual prayer before eliminating an enemy target:
As my breath leaves my body so does your spirit leave yours, go well my friend on to your next journey. May God have mercy on your soul, and mine.
He gently exhaled and squeezed the trigger.
Simultaneously the woman guard, standing at the edge of the area, heard a loud ripping fart behind her and turned in alarm and glimpsed two eyes in the shrubs and levelled her rifle and fired a burst, shouting “There’s a man here!” The Marine who had farted rolled over, bleeding from his neck.
Another Marine shot her in the breast with a tranquilliser dart and she staggered but kept firing all around her and then she collapsed.
The executioner had his blade held high and his mouth open when Sniper Lee’s high velocity missile ripped through his chest, exploding his organs and sending him flying backward to land on the floor as the blade fell from his limp lifeless hand.
Now every IS man was firing his weapon into the surrounding bush near the fallen woman but within seconds they all began to stagger around and collapse except one burly man who ran towards the house. Captain Taylor shot him in the leg with a live round and he fell and then lay there, motionless but bleeding.
The soldiers all ran forward and released the captives and secured the unconscious terrorists. Captain Taylor and Sergeant White and the two Kurds went to the two hostages and Ayla put her arms around the quivering, weeping woman who was still trying to figure out what had just happened.
Captain Taylor took the German b
y the shoulders and said: “Are you all right Sir!”
Claus Walters said in a rush of emotion: “Thank God for you, man. Thank God. Thank God. I really thought our hour had come.” And then he too began to weep, great wrenching sobs of relief.
Gradually they took stock of what had happened and who was injured. The unfortunate soldier whose flatulence had got the better of him at the worst possibe time was dead. Two other Marines were wounded but not fatally.
Captain Taylor looked about him and said to Colonel Brow back in the chopper: “Mission accomplished.”
Brow said: “We’re on the way. Good work.” Within a few moments a gentle kind of roar could be heard and the powerful helicopter swept down to the farmhouse and landed on the greensward next to it, where the rough farm road led in. Colonel Brow got out and walked to the house for a debriefing that he was really looking forward to. He heard the voice of John Pride in his earpiece: “We got everything Sir, in glorious colour and nearly stereophonic sound.”
The treacherous body of the Marine who lost his life because he guzzled too many beans which created a cloud of gas which erupted from his bowels at exactly the wrong moment, was taken to the chopper and so were the two injured men, both of whom had flesh wounds only. The paramedic from the helicopter tended them first, and then paid attention to the leg wound of the terrorist and the rest of the drugged DAESH crowd, who had now been neatly trussed, hand and foot, and deposited in the bedroom.
SAS Para-Ops: MEGA SET - SAS Para-Ops Books #1, #2, #3, #4, #5 & #6 Page 31