Echo Six: Black Ops 4 - Chechen Massacre (9 page)

Once more, the Russian roared with laughter, "You think the North Koreans will stand aside and allow you to inspect their cargo? Believe me, if we don't shoot them to pieces the moment the train stops, our men won't stand a chance."

"Very well, open fire on the passenger coaches. We'll give you thirty seconds to subdue the defenders. Then we go in. Just do your best to cover us. How will you prevent the train from moving off? Once the shooting starts, they won't wait just because the signal is red."

Borodin nodded and pointed. In the distance, a huge truck was driving toward the railroad.

"It is carrying a full load of concrete, and the driver will stop the engine when he is across the line, so they will not be able to continue.”

Barrington looked at Talley. "It looks doable, Commander. Split the men into two groups. Send one group one kilometer back to search the rear wagons and finish off any other defenders. I'll stay here with the rest of the men, and we'll take the front wagon."

"Copy that, Major."

Talley gave orders to Guy who took one of the snipers, Nikki Toussaint with a Minimi, and seven other troopers, including Heinrich Buchmann, who carried some of the spare C4. It was a good mix. They should be able to take care of most situations. He prepared the remaining men for the attack on the leading wagon. Captain Falco stayed close to him, and he smiled when Lieutenant Rovere remained near her. Even in battle, he was drawn unerringly to a pretty face. Borodin similarly split his force, sending half the rocket launchers and machine guns to the rear, together with supporting gunmen. They looked tough and competent; no doubt all former military men, many of them Special Forces. They’d need to be; the plan required them to stop a 1000-ton train and overcome a crack company of fanatic defenders.

"I can hear the train," Domenico murmured.

"Yeah, me too," Reynolds growled. He was cradling the Minimi, and next to him Virgil Kane waited with spare ammunition boxes for the machine gun and his own assault rifle, an HK 416. Talley looked up, sensing movement. The light on the signal gantry had changed from green to red. It had started. He heard a click in his earpiece.

"Echo One, this is Echo Two. We're in position."

"Copy that."

Barrington came over to him and crouched down. "Are your men ready, Commander?"

Talley could hear the petulant note in his voice, the stress a man feels before he goes into battle, especially for the first time. He couldn't blame the man for it, but the MP officer should have been checking on Borodin's positions and the way he’d deployed his men. If they fouled up, the operation would be over almost before it had started, but it was too late to say anything. All he could do was trust the big Russian gangster.

The headlights of the Trans-Siberian Express came into view, perhaps a kilometer away. It was like the great Eye of Cyclops, a huge iron monster hurtling toward them across the bleak land. More than a thousand tons of steel, carrying two hundred troops, together with an unknown number of nuclear warheads, and their Chechen Muslim minders. The engine slowed as it approached the red signal. The iron brakes screeched like a tortured banshee, and then it halted fifty meters from their position. Exactly where they’d planned.

X marks the fucking spot. Maybe we’re in with a chance.

They could hear the dull beat of the enormous diesel engine as it idled, waiting for the signal to turn green. Borodin shouted to his men, "Fire! Kill the bastards!"

The roar of exploding missiles was deafening. Explosions lit up the night with great gouts of flame, as a succession of RPGs ripped into the passenger coaches. The machine guns started, and the clatter of continuous fire mingled with the lighter note of the assault rifles as they added their weight to the fight, ripping targets to shreds.

But it’s wrong, all wrong!
Why is there no return fire? They’re supposed to be elite troops. They should be ready for anything.

He heard more gunfire from the rear of the train, which told him Guy's squad and the rest of the Russians had begun systematically destroying their targets; the rear passenger coaches, carrying the rest of the all-important guard force. He turned his attention to the coaches in front of him. A large chunk of the bodywork of the rearmost coach was already ripped off, torn to shreds. As he watched, two more rockets flared and impacted on the stricken rolling stock. The barrage was almost continuous, and it was hard to imagine how anyone inside those coaches could survive. But there was still no return fire.

Where are the North Koreans?

He looked around for Barrington. The Major had stopped firing and was staring at the damage they'd inflicted; his face flushed with exultation.

"Major! There's something wrong. No one’s returning fire."

"What's wrong with that? They're probably all dead and wounded. Press on with the attack, Talley."

Anyone who had experience of battle would know it was nonsense. Soldiers were notoriously hard to kill, as had been proved time and time again. When the Nazis tried to destroy the Russian defenders at Stalingrad, they pounded the rubble again and again with sledgehammer blows. Mortars, artillery, and bombs rained on the beleaguered Russians, yet the soldiers would crawl out to start fighting again once the bombardment stopped.

"There's no way, Major. We've been…"

Talley felt a heavy caliber round punch into his back, striking the ballistic plate in his vest. It was like being hit by a sledgehammer.

Fired from behind!

He dived to the ground, shouting, "Take cover! They're right behind us!"

He swung around, satisfied that his men had reacted fast to the order and were hitting the dirt, turning to face the new threat. A new storm of gunfire tore the air overhead, as scores of machine guns and assault rifles fired at them in a massive fusillade. He saw three of Borodin’s men, slower to react, torn to bloody shreds, but the rest of the Russians took cover. They weren't wearing armored vests, and he knew they'd suffer badly from the enemy fire. He saw them beginning to melt away into the endless snowy wastes, and then a movement caught his eye. To his astonishment he saw Major Barrington was still on his feet, looking around as if to gauge the whereabouts of the opposing forces. He snaked toward him, grabbed his ankle, and tugged hard. The officer tumbled to the snow, and he dragged him away from the immediate line of fire and behind a heavy snowdrift.

"What the hell? What are you doing?" Barrington spluttered.

"You were standing in their direct line of fire, Major. I doubt you had another five seconds before they made you a target."

He saw the MP’s eyes were dilated, and it was obvious the sudden onset of intense gunfire had shocked him to the core. He grunted an acknowledgement.

"What the hell happened? Where did those people come from?"

Haven't you worked it out yet?

"It's a trap, Major. Somehow, they learned we were planning to attack the train here, and they were waiting for us. I'll bet that story of taking on fuel in Irkutsk was just an excuse for their troops to detrain and come up behind us. Those passenger coaches are all empty. We've been wasting our time and ammunition on nothing."

He left the MP to think on that while he crawled away to redeploy the men. They’d done everything possible to face the new threat, and he saw no sign they'd taken any casualties. Yet. But the fight was ferocious, and arcs of bullets, some tracers, cut through the night sky, chewing up the frozen ground around them. The North Korean positions were maybe two hundred meters away, and they'd prepared well. The enemy troops were firing from behind what looked like a steep bank, well defended against return fire. Echo Six had burrowed into shallow niches, ruts, and gullies in the snow. They were reasonably safe from the incoming fire, but the enemy weren't fools, and they would have a plan to overwhelm and kill them all. He estimated they’d use mortars, followed by a full-scale frontal attack when they considered Echo Six to be weakened. It was no time for them to be split into two small units, and he called Guy.

"Echo Two, this is One. How are things down there?"

"This is Two. We're holding them, but they caught us with our pants down. We can see what you're up against from here. I’d guess most of the hostiles are facing you."

"I concur. We both need to disengage and join our forces. It's our only chance to fight them off. We'll give them a few more bursts, then cross the line behind the train and work our way down to come up behind your attackers. I'll call you when we’re near."

"Roger that. Good luck."

He looked around for Barrington, ducking as two bursts of machine gun fire drilled into the snow next to him, churning up clouds of freezing powder into a white fog. He cursed himself for putting his head up. The Major was several meters away, aiming and firing single shots at the attackers. Presumably to conserve his ammunition, but it wasn't likely to frighten them too much. He crawled out over to him and explained what he'd planned with Guy. The MP glared at him.

"That's not the plan, Commander. Our job is here. We have to secure those warheads."

Before he could explain the reality of the situation, Rovere slid up next to them.

"It's getting too hot here, Boss. I reckon it won't be long before they hit us with a full-scale frontal attack. We can't defend it, no way. They’ll hit us with combined mortar and rocket fire before long, and then they’ll come."

"We have to fight them off," Barrington shouted. "Otherwise we lose the warheads."

The Italian looked at him incredulously. "Are you for real? There are no fucking warheads in those wagons. They set up an ambush. Do you think they'd be so stupid as to leave them in front of us, where there is even a slight risk we could take them? They’ve won this round, Barrington. It’s time to move on and plan the next one."

Before he could reply, Talley stepped in to end the discussion, "Get the men together, Dom. We'll stay out of sight and cross the line, underneath the train. When we're the other side, we'll use the train to shield us and work our way down to hit the men who are attacking Guy's squad."

"And then?"

"We'll worry about that later. We haven’t got there yet. Obviously, we can't stay here. We need to retreat and regroup. Get going, and I'll cover you. I'll join you as soon as you reach the train."

Rovere nodded and snaked away.

"I don't like it," Barrington complained. "I'm not happy about abandoning those wagons. Remember, I'm in charge here, Commander, and I say we should stay here and finish the job."

"There is no job, you damned fool!" Talley explained. He needed to shock the man, to make him see sense, "The warheads will be somewhere else on the train. The only thing I can guarantee is they’re nowhere near where they’re supposed to be."

He could see Rovere and the other men crawling rapidly toward the train under intense hostile fire. He loosed off a full clip of ammunition at the North Koreans, trying to keep their heads down, but it made little difference.

"Major, we have to join up with Guy's squad. If you stay here, the only thing you’ll be in charge of is a heap of bodies."

Without waiting for a reply, Talley began snaking across the snow-covered ground, following every fold and wrinkle to shelter from the enemy fire. He reached the train and slid underneath the wheels, then turned to see the North Koreans still firing enthusiastically; churning up the position he'd just left, saturating it with an intense blanket of machine gun and rocket fire. An RPG impacted only a few meters from Barrington and exploded. For a moment, Talley thought the MP was hit, caught inside the blast radius, but his head popped up at last. He'd been sheltering in a shallow depression in the frozen ground. As he watched, Barrington began crawling toward him. A few seconds later, he reached the train and snuck behind the shelter of the iron wheels.

"Let's go," Talley shouted to him over the racket of the NK barrage.

They wormed out the other side and emerged where Rovere and his squad were waiting. Without a word, Talley led them racing toward the back of the train. They were hidden from the enemy fire, although they could hear the North Koreans pounding the position they’d just left. He keyed his mic.

"Echo Two, this is One. We're heading toward your position, advancing behind the train. We should come up right behind your attackers.”

"Copy that. I'll order the men to pour it on to cover your approach. Let me know when you're about to go in."

"Roger that."

He glanced around. Rovere was right behind him, next to Captain Falco. Barrington was struggling along in the rear, floundering in the thick snow. He looked exhausted. The shock of the enemy ambush had hit him like a hammer blow. Reynolds plowed along with Virgil Kane in front of him, and the rest of the men were strung out in a line. They drove on, moving from snowdrift to snowdrift, and as they came up on the firefight, ducked under the wagons. The ground immediately in front of them was dark and empty. He keyed his mic.