Echo Six: Black Ops 5 - Strikeforce Syria Read Online Free PDF Page A

He keyed his mic. "This is Echo One. We're pulling out. Get the survivors together inside the main entrance. Guy, we're going to need transport to get away."
    His second-in-command replied, "A truck or a bus, something like that?"
    "Yeah, but make it quick. The Egyptian cops are not known to be fast, but they’ll get here sometime soon. And Guy…"
    "What is it?"
    "When you find us a vehicle, try not to kill anyone. They take a dim view of it here in Egypt.”
    “Except here in the Israeli Embassy. I'll do my best, Boss. Give me five minutes."
    Guy's squad raced down the staircase, and he followed, motioning the Ambassador to stick with him. "Roy, take care of the Ambassador. Jesse, cover our six. I think we got them all, but if anyone so much as breathes a hostile noise, waste them."
    "Copy that."
    When they reached the lobby, two of his men were guarding the shattered door, which was open to the street. The warm evening air blew in, carrying with it the smells of the Cairo street, a mix of spice and sewage. Right outside the doorway laid the body of the suicide bomber; the one who spearheaded the assault. It was shredded and unrecognizable, except for the head.
    A kid! Dear God, what is it with these people?
    He turned away and looked around the lobby. Bodies of dead Israelis and Palestinian terrorists were strewn around the floor.
    More wasted life, he reflected bitterly.
    Many of the Israeli staff had perished, and there were no reports of terrorist survivors. He keyed his mic.
    "This is Echo One. Stay sharp, there could be hostiles still unaccounted for. We're waiting for Guy to locate transport to get us out, so we’ll use the time to secure the area. I don’t want any squirters popping up. Did we take any casualties?"
    A chorus of negatives came back.
    Thank Christ for that. A hot zone in the center of Cairo is not the best place in the world to suffer a wound. How do these people live like this, the filth and the stink?
    He was about to ask Perlman again about Benjamin Rothstein when he heard a slight sound from behind the Embassy reception desk. He motioned to his men.
    "Roy, watch the Ambassador. Jesse, cover me. There's someone moving back there. I'll check it out."
    Whitefeather held his rifle ready. He carried a Heckler & Koch HK417, his preferred choice. The weapon was a designated marksman rifle with a 20-inch barrel, loaded with heavy 7.62x51mm NATO rounds. He'd proved himself capable of hitting targets at vast distances in training, and on his first live mission, he’d already proved himself with the kill in the Ambassador's office. Talley felt reassured to have him watching his back. He crept forward and poked the barrel of his MP7 around the desk. On the floor lay the bloodied and ruined body of a boy, maybe eleven or twelve years old. He was wearing typical Palestinian dress with the iconic keffiyeh wrapped around his neck. He felt his guts lurch.
    Another kid! Dear God, he's only a few years older than my own son, Joshua; just a kid who's been suckered into picking up a gun to sacrifice his young life for the sake of the ideals of a bunch of Islamic crazies.
    He was sick and angry at the waste of another young life and vowed to get the kid out alive. Maybe if he were treated, he’d recover from his wounds and begin to understand that not everything in the West was as bad as his fanatical leaders painted it. He felt a flicker of anger at Palestinians for the way they recruited children to do their dirty work. The boy's eyes opened, and Talley leaned down over him to speak.
    "Where are you hurt, son?"
    The deep brown eyes gazed at him, filled with both pain and loathing, but he was silent.
    "You speak English? I may be able to help you, get you to a hospital."
    The boy's lips moved, and Talley had to bend down closer to listen. He could see the deep wound in the kid’s chest. Blood was bubbling out, mixed with escaping air from his lungs. If he didn't get help soon, he'd drown in his own blood.