Cold Black

by Alex Shaw

  The Bedouin’s conversation lasted just over a minute before he closed the antenna and put it back under his robes. The missioners were now being given water, they were all there. Lermitte sat as straight as he could and tried to be defiant whilst Kennington thanked his keepers profusely for the water. Some of the missioners whimpered but none spoke, the life all but bleached out of them by the desert sun. It had been more effective than any torture they could have inflicted. Snow could see the hostages but could not rescue them, could see the phone but could not take it and could see the water but could not drink. He clenched his fists in anger; he hated not being able to do anything.

  Surprisingly there was no guard to the entrance they had used and where Snow was now observing, the Bedouin were obviously satisfied that no one knew they were there. This however could not hold for long and sooner or later, a man would be sent up as sentry, to check on the perimeter. This would be his chance. With the fire starting to burn, casting hypnotic shadows against the rocks Snow felt his eye lids grow heavy and his head start to drop, white specks flashed before his eyes. He battled to stay awake, to remain conscious, again the lack of water muddling his brain. He shook his head violently and in an attempt to stay sharp, to stay awake and instantly regretted it, as pain surged through his neck. He was however sharp again until eventually his head dropped.

  Eyes snapping open, Snow didn’t know how long he’d been out, seconds, minutes, hours? Suddenly he felt it, an almost imperceptible change in the air pressure behind him, the faintest of scrapes of gravel. Snow tried to turn but felt a heavy gloved hand grip the back of his neck and force his face into the sand. A knee pushed him in the small of his back. Warm breath in his ear, then a whispered voice.

  “Identify yourself.” The words were in English, accented, Welsh valleys.

  Snow tasted sand and had to spit. The voice spoke again.

  “Identify yourself.”

  “Snow, Aidan.”

  “Which Squadron?” The voice persisted, pressing down harder.

  “D squadron, Boat Troop.”

  “Correct.”

  The pressure left the neck and Snow was pulled up and backwards by his shoulders, away from the vantage point. In the darkness he could now make out the SAS team in full desert fatigue with NVGs. One slid on his belly and retook Snow’s vantage point whilst the rest hugged the shadows in the dead ground.

  “Had to be sure you weren’t a Rag Head. We’re the Calvary.” The Welshman held out his water bottle.

  Snow took it and drank greedily. “We’ve got eleven X-Rays and ten hostages.”

  Sergeant Lewis nodded. “O.K. anything else I should know?”

  Snow took another swig. “They think they’re secure. The leader’s got a sat phone, he’s the biggest.”

  “Loney’s our tail end Charlie, stay near him.”

  Snow wanted to be involved in the hostage rescue but was in no state to use a weapon with the accuracy demanded. He moved back down the path further into the dead ground and was patted on the shoulder by several team members. He sat down heavily in the shadows next to a crouching trooper, Loney. The SAS trooper ripped open an electrolyte sachet and poured the contents into his water bottle, replaced the lid, shook it then handed it to Snow. Too tired to thank him, Snow undid the lid and drank in sips – he already felt nauseous from gulping down the first bottle. Loney handed him a high calorie ‘power bar’, the type weightlifters and athletes used. Snow bit into the gooey, chocolate flavoured, synthetic block.

  “Just like mum used to make.” Loney said with a straight face half to himself.

  As Snow ate, the rest of the team stood in silence not needing to say anything, leaving the lookout and the team leader checking on the camp. It felt good to be with the Regiment, Snow wished he hadn’t been forced to leave a decade before. Lewis, the Welsh team leader, re-joined the group and traced a quick circle on the ground with his gloved index finger.

  “Davies you are lead sniper, Jim, take the opposite arc. Site your targets. Kyle and Steve, work your way down into the camp. I’ll illuminate if I can. I’ll toss two flash-bangs in as soon as any X Rays return fire. Davies, Jim and I will cover you. Loney, you stay tail end but ready to take on any opportune targets, or runners – there may be an exit we can’t see. Questions?”

  The planning session although hastily convened on the mountain floor was a version of a well-rehearsed drill. In theory it would all be over with in under a minute. Maximum surprise, maximum aggression. The team got into their ready positions, the air around each man buzzed with adrenalin. Davies joined Jim, who had been lookout, but moved to the left of the ridge taking his pre-assigned arc. Kyle and Steve belly crawled over the lip and into the shadows towards the camp. Their comms units switched on, Lewis spoke into his throat mic.

  “Davies do you have a shot?”

  Davies did not give a verbal reply, rather depressed his pressel switch in the affirmative.

  “Jim?”

  Another squelch of static.

  “Kyle?”

  Squelch

  “Steve?”

  Squelch.

  “Stand by…Stand by…GO …GO…GO!”

  Two rounds in quick succession left the rifles of Davies and Jim respectively. The bullets hitting the targets before the sound had time to ricochet off the opposite side of the mountains. The two Bedouin nearest the hostages dropped, instantly becoming sacks of skin and bone. The third spun and grabbed for the AK slung over his shoulder but before he could put both hands on it was propelled back against the rock face by at least three rounds hitting his torso and head. Kyle and Steve opened up with their assault rifles firing controlled bursts at the nearest sited Bedouin. The camels reared up from the ground, frantically trying to loosen their cobbled hind legs as the men who sat by them were drilled with rounds. The nearest camel broke its legs free and stood only to be hit by a fully automatic burst of 7.62 rounds from its owner’s Kalashnikov who was cowering behind it. The camel bucked and fell back crushing the Bedouin against a large boulder.

  Through the green of his night vision scope, Lewis could see that the hostages had started to move. He had to keep them still.

  “Flash bangs in.” He ordered into the mic.

  Kyle and Steve dropped and shut their eyes, so did the rest of the team, as Lewis hurled two deodorant sized grenades into the camp. Designed for room clearance their effect would still be considerable on this enclosed rocky bowl. Boom – night fleetingly turned to day as the white phosphorous burnt, momentarily disabling all those who had not known it was coming. Night vision completely destroyed, balance affected and hit by pressure waves the Bedouin staggered, fired wildly or just fell over. Eyes back up, Davies and Jim took easy targets dropping the two men still illuminated by the fire, one falling onto the burning wood and impersonating a bonfire Guy Fawkes. Kyle and Steve moved further into the camp trying to locate the surviving tangos. Kyle went down as from behind a rock an AK opened up.

  “Man down! Man down!”

  Lewis snapped off a volley of rounds at the muzzel flash. Steve bounded forward and put rounds into another Bedouin. Lewis scanned the area for the leader and suddenly saw him crouching in a corner tapping furiously into his handset. He steadied his breathing and took the shot. The leader seemed to sense something as he looked up and shifted to the right. Too late. The high velocity round skimmed the underside of his jaw and exploded into his shoulder. Instantly the phone fell from his hand. The leader slid down the rock face and onto his side, feeling more pain than he ever though imaginable. One Bedouin was still unaccounted for, all eyes and muzzles searched the killing ground. Suddenly he popped up – a sword held aloft in both hands and ran at Steve. Briefly losing the target Lewis and the snipers did not shoot. Steve held his rifle in front of him. The Bedouin got nearer.

  “Allah Akbar!!!!!!!!!!” He yelled at the top of his voice.

  “I agree, but you’re not!” Steve applied second pressure to the trigger and a dotted line of lea
d punched its way across the Bedouin’s chest. The swordsman folded, almost cut in two.

  “Clear.” Lewis was on the net.

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.”

  “Clear.” Each member confirmed except for Kyle.

  The team moved into the camp, Jim crouched next to Kyle. The rounds had made a mess of his thigh but not hit the artery, he may not be able to fight again but he was alive. Jim, who also doubled as the team medic, injected morphine, applied a trauma pack and immobilised the leg. Steve moved to the hostages and stood over them, M202 raised as Davies made them lay flat on their faces, fingers crossed and hands on the back of their heads. It was usual practice until all the missioners could be identified; it was not unusual for kidnappers to attempt to pass themselves off as hostages or even for the hostages to shelter them. There was however no risk of ‘Stockholm syndrome’ here. Davies frisked them, just to make sure, for weapons or potentially any concealed IEDs. Snow, now having found a new energy, bounded into the camp with Loney and made directly for the missioners.

  “You know them mate, down to you.” Davies spoke, his West Country accent sounding very out of place in the dessert.

  Snow looked at the rescued mission members. He didn’t need to check their faces; he had been eating drinking and ‘surviving’ Saudi hospitality with these people for the past week. “Clear.”

  “Sure? O.K. you can get up.”

  Davies helped the nearest women to her feet. Her body shook with terror. Jim arrived to check for any injuries.

  Lermitte rubbed his eyes and struggled to his feet, his voice raw. “Aidan? How the…we thought you were dead?”

  Snow now handed Lermitte a flask. “What, die before ordering my bio-fuel generator? Couldn’t let it happen.”

  “But…how?”

  “I’ll explain later, check the rest are all right for me.” Snow slapped Lermitte on the back.

  “Over here Jim.” Lewis called the medic. The Bedouin leader was losing a lot of blood, not that the Welshman cared, but the ‘Spook’ would probably prefer him alive. Jim’s hand was about to plunge a morphine filled syringe into the Bedouin.

  “Wait, Snow will want him talking. Just stem the blood flow.”

  “Ok boss.” The trauma pack and white bandage all but glowed against the grime encrusted dish dash.

  Snow joined Lewis.

  “One leader. Check. One Sat Phone, second hand but serviceable, check.”

  Snow took the phone. It had been brand new, the latest model in fact, but was now scuffed and encased in dirt.

  “I need to check the numbers, upload them if I can. The same people may have Fox and the other missing Brit.”

  “Stay still, you amateur transvestite!!”

  Snow and Lewis turned their heads. The Bedouin leader, robes stained crimson by his blood loss, was trying to push Jim away.

  “Allah Akbar…Allah Akbar….Allah Akbar…” although weakened and in shock he was putting up a fight.

  “Who were you calling?” Snow kicked him in the stomach.

  “Allah Akbar…Allah Akbar….Allah Akbar…”

  Snow placed his boot on the injured shoulder, the man screamed. “Who were you calling?”

  Through gritted teeth he yelled, “Allah Akbar…Allah Akbar….Allah Akbar…”

  Snow transferred his entire body weight to the bloodied shoulder. There was crunching noise, as broken bones scraped together sending red hot flames of pain to the Bedouin’s brain. The Arab passed out. Jim looked up shocked, Snow knew the question.

  “We’ve got the number. No morphine, he’ll talk.”

  There was a distant sound of rotor blades, Snow looked skywards. “Ours?”

  “Yep, but we had to do deal with the Saudis. We were given an hour to get in and get clear before they arrive with their own HRT and the state media – the Foreign Office made them a deal.” Lewis shrugged. “Another place we never were.”

  “And the hostages?”

  “The Saudis insisted on debriefing them, and on filming their safe rescue.”

  “Shit. We can’t let the insurgents know we’ve got them!”

  Snow looked at his watch; it was almost ten in the evening. They had two hours until the first deadline arrived. Would Fox now be executed in place of one of the missioners if the other kidnappers learnt of the raid? He had to move and fast.

  “I’ll take charge.” Kennington had found his voice.

  Lewis gave Snow a questioning look. Kennington held out his hand. “Raymond Kennington, late of the FCO now Mission Leader. You SAS lads get out of here. They’ll be fine with me.”

  COBRA, Whitehall, London, United Kingdom

  Patchem let his head fall back and exhaled deeply. The team were safe aboard the RAF Chinook. Snow had, following instructions from an SIS techie, downloaded data from the Iridium phone. Several messages had been sent by the Bedouin, with the compromised code. They had Fox. The dialled numbers were being examined and their locations triangulated. The last number dialled also belonged to the same Iridium phone that had received the messages. The location was the oil refinery port of Dammam. At a push the Chinook could just make it.

  “We have a potential fix on Fox.”

  Back in her own office Knight sipped her green tea and listened. “Go on.”

  “I want to divert the SAS team to get him out.”

  Knight looked at the clock. The midnight deadline drew ever nearer. “We don’t have time to get it officially sanctioned.”

  “Not if we involve the Foreign Secretary and the Saudis.”

  “Is this your idea or Snow’s?”

  “He wants to go in and the team have agreed.” There had been no hesitation in agreeing to the second insertion. Fox was Regiment.

  “I see.” There was a pause. “Do it. My call.”

  Patchem hastily called Slinger-Thompson who got hold of the British Trade Office in the neighbouring town of Al-Khobar. An LZ was agreed upon, the compound was owned by a British Oil company.

  AB Oil compound, Al-Khobar, Kingdom of Saudi Arabia

  Clouds of sand swirled up from the AB Oil compound as the Chinook touched down. Snow was first off, running at a crouch towards cover. Quickly followed by the rest of the SAS team, minus Kyle. The Chinook was to take off and immediately RTB before anyone had time to learn of its visit.

  The company canteen had been given over to the team. The local staff told to go home. A white haired portly ex-pat in a light coloured suit strode purposefully towards Snow and Lewis.

  “Aidan Snow?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “This is all a bit of a fastball. I’m Bob Knowles. I’m with the British Trade Office here in Al-Khobar.”

  “We haven’t come to buy or sell.” Lewis replied without humour.

  “Indeed.” Knowles spread out a map on the table in front of them. “Everything we have is on here.” The map showed the oil refinery town of Dammam. A red circle had been drawn around the surrounding area. “This is where the signal emanated from. A Sat phone used in an open environment like this is easy to trace. This area is deserted, an unoccupied piece of land that was once the property of a local Saudi family before they sold it to AB oil. I’ve checked with the company, there are three outbuildings and nothing more. I’ve also cross checked the buildings with images I’ve received from Vauxhall Cross and there is a match.”

  “How far away is this from here?” Snow traced his finger on the map.

  “Eight miles give or take.”

  “And how do we approach?”

  Knowles smiled. “Helo. I’ve twisted the arm of AB oil; they’ve kindly agreed to lend us one of theirs. It should raise no suspicion, as they make several flights a day in the same direction, they own both land here and at the target. This is not Iraq. Any military transport raises suspicion here especially foreign military. There are eyes everywhere.”

  “O.K. We’ll take the AB helo, and put down at a safe distance.” Snow felt dizzy and had to steady hi
mself against the table.

  Knowles grabbed his elbow. “You OK?”

  “I’ll be fine.” Snow sipped his water. “Carry on.”

  Knowles placed several enlarged photographs on top of the map. “These were taken a while back during an aerial survey. I’m sorry we don’t have anything more on the schematics of the buildings.”

  Lewis called over the rest of the team who crowded around the table. The three buildings he logically designated by numbers ONE, TWO and THREE. He then divided the men into three teams, ALPHA, BRAVO and CHARLIE. ALPHA and BRAVO for the assault and CHARLIE, to act as a sniper.

  “Snow you are CHARLIE with Davies, once the hostages are secure you’ll go in.”

  ”No. I need to go in.” Snow stabbed his finger at the map. “Look we’ve got three target buildings and two teams we have to move together.”

  Lewis shook his head, his light brown eyes flashing. “You’re in no fit state to take part in an assault – and you know it.”

  Snow knew the SAS team leader was right. He’d stay with the Sniper.

  Lewis continued “ALPHA you take ONE, BRAVO will take TWO. It’s a risk but THREE is by far the smallest target and looks to be storage hut of some sort. Agreed?”

  As was the culture in the Regiment, all men regardless of rank on ops were equal and had the right to speak.

  “Agreed. When we get in range we’ll scan each target with the ‘thermo’ if there is anyone in THREE we’ll see them. So once more, we’ll put down here, fan out and approach from the South and West. CHARLIE eyeballs the target as we approach. We then take our assigned targets. Until we ‘thermo’ we’ve no idea of the size or strength of the X-Rays or if they know they’ve been compromised. I don’t need to tell you that we want to stay covert for as long as possible, but when we go noisy, we go noisy. Fellers this is one of the most dangerous things we’ve been asked to do, let’s not turn it into a ‘Gang F### ’ lives depend on us.”

  Twenty minutes later the depleted team of six, five SAS and Snow were aboard the AB Oil ‘helo’. The pilot, an ex-Indonesian military AB employee kept the bird steady and on an arched course before dropping to within fifty feet of the desert floor and heading for the drop point. Now with lights off and flying on a loaned pair of NVG’s, the pilot brought the bird to a hover within six feet of the swirling sands and scrub before the team dropped into the night. As he sped away, back onto his normal heading and Dammam, the team fanned out and listened for any sign of company.