Black Operations- the Spec-Ops Action Pack

by Eric Meyer

  “Yes, Sir!”

  The Sergeant started barking orders, and the trucks started up and drove outside, the gunners already swinging their machine guns into position and ready to fire. Seconds later, they were in action, and all four SUV mounted M60s were firing at the attackers.

  “Boss, up here!” Talley looked up to see Brad Rose at the foot of an iron staircase. “We’ve set up a command post on the roof. There’s a good observation point up there.”

  Talley ran up the stairs, through a narrow doorway, and out onto the flat roof. He immediately dropped to the floor as bullets whined overhead, but there was a low wall of about eighteen inches high that would protect a man, as long as he didn’t stand. He crawled across to a sandbagged position the traffickers had prepared in the center of the roof where there was a good view of any attack to the front of the building. Brad followed him inside.

  “What’s happening?” the Lieutenant asked Will Bryce who was in command.

  “I detailed some of the men to take over the SUVs and M60s. Chief Nolan and Vince Merano are at opposite ends of the building, and they’ve established a sniper stand apiece. Zeke Murray is at the back of the roof, making sure they don’t make an approach from that way, but so far they’re coming in from the front.”

  Talley nodded and peered over the side. The scene was one of utter chaos. The Seals’ two SUVs were busily firing their M60s at a determined group of attackers who’d arrived in a series of heavy trucks and slewed them across the road. They made a barricade to protect their men and stop what they thought were the survivors from the attack on the Salazars’ warehouse removing their stocks of hoarded cocaine. Castro’s men were firing back, and a hail of bullets buzzed and whined through the air from both sides, turning the whole area into a hurricane of death. At either end of the roof, Nolan and Merano fired accurate, single shots. They took a higher toll of the enemy than all of Castro’s massed fire from his men’s assault rifles. While he watched, man after man cried and went down as the 7.62-millimeter bullets struck their bodies and killed them.

  “Any estimate on numbers?” Talley asked over his shoulder.

  “I reckon there’s a hundred of them out there, or there was before we started shooting. Now, I’d guess we’ve whittled them down to about sixty.”

  “That’s still a lot of firepower,” Talley muttered, as much to himself as to Will. “That Reaper up there had a Paveway five hundred pound bomb left on the racks, as I recall. I’m calling it in. Tell Captain Castro to pull his men back inside. There’ll be a hell of a blast when it arrives.”

  “Copy that.”

  Will crawled off to speak to the Colombians while Talley booted his tactical pad and zeroed in on the scene in front of him. It was strange looking down on the scene of carnage. He could see the attackers blazing away; they were all civilians, wearing colorful shirts. They gestured and shouted, and he could even see their lips move. He centered the cursor on the barricade and called Creech on the satcom.

  “Go ahead, Bravo.”

  “I have a fire mission for your remaining Paveway, Creech, sending you the coordinates now.”

  “We copy that, Bravo. Confirm your clearance to launch the bomb.”

  “That’s confirmed Creech. Affirmative, go for it.”

  “On the way.”

  Talley saw Castro’s men falling back in small groups, each covering the other. The two SUVs overtook them and rolled inside the warehouse. He looked around and checked. It was too late anyway, but as far as he could tell, the good guys were under one sort of cover or another. The attackers, realizing that the defenders had pulled back, made the fatal error of assuming that they were winning. They scrambled to their feet and bunched up ready to make a final attack on the warehouse; just as the Paveway struck, and their world was blasted to small pieces almost in the blink of an eye. The Seals closed their eyes to prevent temporary blindness from the explosion. Forewarned, they’d tracked the missile exhaust just before it hit. When they heard the roar, they waited a couple of seconds and opened their lids to survey the effect of the five hundred pound Paveway. Where the barricade had been was just a twisted junkyard of scrap metal, mixed with bloody, broken bodies of the dead. By the mysterious physics of blast radii, half a dozen of the Colombians had survived and were staggering around like zombies in some ghastly post-apocalyptic scenario. But they differed from the TV and film image of zombies as most still carried assault rifles, and therefore were possibly able to recover their wits.

  “Finish ‘em,” Talley shouted into his mic. “Don’t leave any of them alive. If they start blazing away with those assault rifles, we’ll have it all to do again. Besides, we don’t want them calling for reinforcements.”

  The Seals needed no further encouragement. Merano and Nolan started their deadly killing rhythm, and almost before the others could pull the trigger, four of the survivors were down. The rest were quickly dispatched. The Colombian Special Forces hadn’t even opened fire.

  Talley climbed to his feet. “Regroup down in the warehouse, men. We’ll be leaving soon. Brad, there’s no need to watch the back. I think we got them all.”

  “Copy that.”

  They ran down the iron staircase and onto the warehouse floor. Talley spoke quietly to Nolan and then called his platoon around him to listen to the next phase of the operation. The Colombian Special Forces watched from the sidelines.

  “The next phase of the operation is to go after the next narco trafficking gangs, the Olveras or the Barreras. We’ll be pulling out in a few minutes, just as soon as I call in our mission progress.”

  “Boss, what about this warehouse,” Nolan shouted on cue. “If we leave it empty, they’ll come back for the coke.”

  Talley nodded. “Yeah, you’re right. Captain Castro, we need you and your men for the next part of our operation. Taking on two families, the Olveras and the Barreras, will be too much for our platoon. Could you accompany us and leave a small guard force here. Say, a sergeant and three men?”

  Castro looked mystified. “You think that’s necessary? We have a lot of work still to do.”

  “I do think it’s necessary, yes. It’ll need someone you can rely on. Sergeant Vidal looks a good man.”

  The Sergeant nodded his scarred face enthusiastically. “Sure, I can do that, Captain. It is important that we guard the Salazars’ cocaine.”

  He gave Castro a meaningful look; a look that said ‘your family will be endangered if anything happens to it’. The Captain nodded his agreement.

  “Very well, Vidal. Take three men you can trust and set up a perimeter. No one is to come in here, no one. Is that clear?”

  Vidal smiled. “Of course, Captain. I will see that the cocaine is looked after.”

  Castro looked at Talley. “In that case, my men are at your disposal.”

  “Good.” Talley looked around. “I’ll call in while we’re on the way. Let’s go. Captain, you can ride with me.”

  They started heading out of town to the west. Castro turned to the driver, Carl Winters. “No, no, this is the wrong way. Their operations are centered to the north and north east of the town.”

  “We’re not going to attack the other two families, Raoul,” Talley said quietly.

  “No? But where are we going?”

  “To Copacabana, and we’re going to get your family out.”

  The Colombian started abruptly, swiveling around to stare at him. “You are not serious? You’ll get them all killed.”

  “No, Raoul, we won’t. If they stay with the traffickers, they’re likely to get killed. We’re going to get them away.”

  “But, what you say is impossible. They are in a part of town that is entirely under the control of the traffickers. If we even go near, they’ll kill them.”

  Talley noted the ‘we’. It was promising. “In that case, we’d better make sure they don’t see us going near.”

  Castro scowled, but made no reply, and the truck coasted along the road between Medellin and Copacaban
a in silence. But Talley could see the Colombian Captain was unhappy, and finally Raoul turned to look at him.

  “Lieutenant Talley, you know nothing of the drugs trade in Colombia, do you?”

  The Lieutenant thought about that. “I’ve taken in a lot of intel about the drug infrastructure, so I guess I’d know a fair bit,” he objected.

  Raoul shook his head. “But when your work is done, you can go home. Do you have your home town ringed with hundreds of men paid by criminals, and carrying AK-47 assault rifles?”

  “No, I’d have to say that San Diego isn’t like that,” he grinned. “We get the odd problem, mostly Saturday night specials, and the odd crazy with a semi-auto.”

  “No, I guessed that was the case. Let me tell you about life in Colombia, my friend.”

  As Carl kept the wheels turning, Castro gave Talley and him a quick lowdown on life in the world capital of the cocaine trade.

  “Many of our problems exist because of the Central American countries. You know of course that the US is the biggest customer for Colombian cocaine?”

  “Yeah, but what’s that got to do with Central America?”

  “Wait, I will explain. During the Cold War between America and the Soviet Union, Russia shipped tens of thousands, maybe hundreds of thousands of weapons to Central America, in the hopes of supporting a communist revolution. As a result, there are warehouses in those countries stacked with brand new, unused weapons. Machine guns, pistols, assault rifles, RPGs, and grenades, the list is endless. Take Honduras, it lies directly on the route between Colombia and the US. They have enormous stocks of the AK-47, and the exchange rate for these guns is between three and eight kilos of cocaine.”

  “For each gun?”

  Talley was astonished. It sounded like a lot of coke.

  “For each gun, yes, and for an assault rifle worth maybe five hundred dollars, they exchange twenty thousand dollars of cocaine. Why not? Cocaine is plentiful, and there is no risk. It means that the cartels are equipped with massive amounts of heavy weaponry, often far more than our own military. It is the same in Mexico, is it not? The traffickers are heavily armed?”

  Talley thought about Ciudad Juarez on the Texas border, the murder capital of Mexico and therefore continental America. He nodded.

  “Yeah, I guess it is.”

  “Yes. The town I live in, Bello lies between Copacabana and Medelli My family has a bungalow in the military barracks, so they are safe when they are at home. But they have to go out, to school, shopping, visiting friends and family. When they do, they are at risk.”

  “Is that when they took them?”

  “Yes, my wife was taking our son home from school when they were taken, and even now the town is patrolled by soldiers of the narco traffickers. Our own troops are unable to go where they wish inside the town for fear of being shot by the gangs. You have to understand that when you go home, I still have to live here. They will come for me again, no matter what happens to the Salazars.”

  “Raoul, listen.” Talley stared intently at the Colombian. “I can’t solve all of your problems. If it’s as bad as you say, you’ll need to consider witness protection or something like that. It must exist in this country.”

  Castro nodded. “Yes, it exists, as a last resort.”

  “It’s better than dying, buddy. And it’s also better than living the life of a frightened man under the cosh of the arrogant scum who threaten you. Is that what you want for your son, an existence as a terrified slave of these people?”

  For several minutes Castro didn’t answer as he thought about what Talley had said. Then he leaned across to Carl Winters. “Take the next turning on the left, Senor. I will direct you from there.”

  Carl glanced at him. “We just passed a sign that says Copacabana is to the right. What gives?”

  “If we are to do this job properly, these vehicles will not be enough. There is a man in my town, Bello, who has something that may help us.”

  “In what way?” Talley asked him.

  “Wait and see, Lieutenant. Believe me, this is important.”

  Carl looked at Talley for instructions.

  “It’s okay, Carl. Go where he says, and let’s see what this is all about.”

  They drove along the crowded, dirty streets of Bello. It was early in the day and few people were around. Outside a crumbling apartment block, a man looked up and stared at their convoy. He didn’t carry an AK-47, but they clearly saw the large automatic pistol tucked into his waistband. He took a cellphone out of his pocket and made a call.

  “They know we are here,” Castro said to the men in the cab. “Now we have to get off the streets as quickly as we can. The presence of so many armed men in the town will alert them that something is happening. Fortunately, we are nearly there. Senor,” he turned to Carl. “Take the next turning on the right, yes, yes, that’s it. Now drive through that arch.”

  They stopped inside a large, enclosed courtyard with room enough for their vehicles. Castro jumped down from the truck and shouted for his men to close the gates. They ran to obey him just as a man in greasy mechanic’s overalls came out of a workshop just off the courtyard. He was short, muscular, very dark, and with crew cut dark hair and a flashing smile. He walked up to Castro, smiling.

  “Raoul, my friend. What’s all this? Are you planning on starting a war?”

  “It’s already begun, Jorge.”

  The man nodded solemnly. “Yes, we all heard the gunfire and explosions from Medellin. What’s it all about?”

  Castro explained the problem, the presence of the American Navy Seals, and his family held by the soldiers of the Salazar cartel in Copacabana. Jorge nodded, taking it all in. Nolan came up with Talley to listen, and Castro introduced them.

  “Jorge, this is Lieutenant Talley and Chief Nolan. Gentlemen, Jorge Montenegro.”

  They shook hands, and Castro explained why they were there. What astonished the Americans was the matter of fact way they discussed the local affairs. Talk of murders, kidnappings, and the huge, private armies of the traffickers was so matter of fact. Jorge nodded as the story came to an end.

  “So you’re going to get your family back? And then what, a new identity?”

  “It is the only way, Jorge. These people cannot be allowed to win.”

  “It is a terrible way, for you to have to go permanently into hiding.”

  “It’s the only way to fight them. Otherwise, they will win. Is that we want?”

  “No, I guess not. But you will make sure that Juanita is safe? And Jaime.”

  Talley had been listening. “Is that your wife and son, Juanita and Jaime?”

  “Yes, that is correct,” Castro replied. “Jorge here, he is Juanita’s brother. He is my brother-in-law.”

  “Right, so how can he help us?”

  The Captain looked at Jorge. “Do you still have that vehicle?”

  “The one I salvaged from the Army when they were forced out after that firefight?”

  “Salvaged? That’s one way of putting it.”

  Jorge smiled. “Whatever. Yes, I have it. You think it could be useful?”

  “Yes. May I borrow it?”

  He grinned even wider. “I guess it belonged to your army in the first place, so how can I refuse? I’ve repaired it, and it’s all running well.”

  “What vehicle is this?” Talley enquired, curious.

  “Show the Americans what you have, Jorge.”

  The greasy little man led them over to a pair of double doors that led off the courtyard. They were locked with a huge, high security padlock and chain. He unlocked the padlock and dragged open the doors. They stood looking dumbfounded at the vehicle that was inside.

  The BTR-70 was an eight-wheeled armored personnel carrier developed during the 1960s. Powered by two V8 gas engines, the vehicles were exported all over the world by a Soviet Union desperate to help revolutionary regimes succeed. The vehicle was heavily armor plated, fully amphibious, and capable of carrying ten men over any s
urface, land or water. It was also served by a heavy machine gun, the KPV 14.5 millimeter. In addition, it mounted a coaxial 7.62 light machine gun. With a top speed of almost fifty mph over land, and five mph over water, it was a go anywhere fighting vehicle capable of inflicting a great deal of damage whilst offering the men inside the maximum protection from external threats.

  “What the hell is this?”Nolan asked. “Surely it’s not still functional?”

  Jorge grinned. “I have kept it in working order. When the Colombian Army abandoned it, one of the engines didn’t function properly, and there was a leak in the hull. They tried crossing a river, and when it started to sink, left it abandoned in the shallows. I towed it out and brought it here. It’s one hundred percent ready to go. If you need it to get Juanita and Jaime back, it’s yours.”

  Talley nodded at Nolan. “Check it out, Chief. I’ll start preparing a plan for the assault, along with Raoul. We’re going to need as much local knowledge as we can get for this one. I’ll assign Carl to help look it over. He knows more than any of us about mechanical and electrical systems.”

  Nolan nodded and climbed through the access door into the iron monster. Carl followed him. Inside, they were in the dark womb of the cold war relic, steel green paint and the unmistakable firing handles of the 14.5 mm machine gun. The interior of the hull was painted in a dull gray, and it all looked like something of a throwback to a bygone age, which in effect it was, despite it having been restored to full fighting condition. The gunner position was inside the turret where he could direct fire from both machine guns. There was a driver’s position, a commander’s seat, and several dark gray vinyl seats for the soldiers who fought from the vehicle. It was dark, almost claustrophobic, and forbidding.

  “Like something out of a science fiction film,” Carl shuddered. “Boy, I’d hate to have to spend much time in one of these. And that hatch, bailing out on the move could put you under the wheels.”

  He started the engines. They rumbled into life with a mighty roar and throbbed with a deep, menacing note as he reduced the revs to tick over.

  “It all seems okay, but I’d like to know how it’ll run when it goes out on the road.”