Desert Claw Page 3

  They planned to leave all of their heavy weaponry with the Land Rovers. The GPMGs and 50-cal heavy machine-guns, plus their light anti-armour weapons (LAWs) 66 m.m. rockets. If the mission went pear-shaped the plan was to head back to the vehicles. Then make their getaway into the desert. It would be hardest for the terrorists to follow them across rough country. And if they were pursued, they’d be able to unleash the big guns.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MICK GLANCED AT his watch. It was 6.00 p.m. Two hours until the attack. Just as Bill had predicted, the drive across the desert had gone like clockwork. The Land Rovers were tough, powerful workhorses. Whether it was ploughing through desert sands or fording dry riverbeds, they had been unstoppable. For the last twelve hours they’d been lain up in a desert wadi. The vehicles were covered in camo netting, the men resting in the shade. But now Mick could feel the adrenaline of the coming attack kicking into his veins. It was time to start getting the men ready.

  ‘OK, final mission briefing,’ Mick remarked quietly.

  Eddie passed the word along. Soon all the men were gathered together for a heads up. Mick glanced around at his team. There were the eleven special forces soldiers, plus Mick. Then there was Omar the Iraqi translator, and big Bronco Bill. Fourteen of them in all. Mick couldn’t have wished for a better team. He grabbed a stick and started sketching a diagram of the target in the sand.

  ‘All right, I know we’ve been through this a dozen times,’ Mick began. ‘But, fail to plan and plan to fail. So, listen up. Here it is, one last time. You all know your call signs and frequencies?’

  Mick received a series of affirmatives from the men.

  ‘Good. Now from here it’s a mile overland across flat desert to the target building. We move out at last light, around 8.00 p.m. Fire Team One, that’s my unit, lead. Fire Team Two, that’s Bill’s lot, follow. Fire Team Three, that’s you Guy, your lot take up the rear. Keep well spaced apart, in case we meet any hostiles. As soon as we move out we’re on silent routine. No talking or radio use unless it’s an emergency. Keep to the low ground, any cover and the shadows. We’ll move tactically, so it’ll be slow progress. We’ll advance, take cover, watch out for the enemy, then advance again. I reckon we’ll take an hour to reach the target. That means we’ll be there by around 9.00 p.m. By which time it’ll be pitch dark. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ the men replied.

  ‘Right – the assault,’ Mick continued. He pointed at his diagram in the sand. ‘This here’s the target building. It’s crucial we reach it without being detected. Surprise is everything. Our latest intel says there’s no sentries on the outside of the building. But don’t count on it. Inside, expect anything from ten to twenty hostiles. We expect them to be alert. We expect there to be guards. The painting is reported to be on floor three, here.’ Mick pointed at the top floor of his diagram. ‘That makes sense, as it’s the most secure place to keep it.’

  ‘Now, all three fire teams advance to this point, here. It’s a patch of bush about thirty yards short of the target. Once there, we all take cover and wait out. We wait for as long as we need to properly observe the target. If we see any movement, anything suspicious, we stop and reassess the plan. If not, we go ahead. First, Fire Team Three, you get in position to cut the power lines. OK? Once you’re ready, you signal us. The signal is three flashes with your infrared torch. OK? Fire Team One then heads for the front of the building. And Fire Team Two heads for the rear. Once in position we radio we’re ready. As soon as all Fire Teams have done so it’s game on. Fire Team Three, you then cut the power. As the building goes black, that’s the signal for us to attack. OK?’

  The men nodded their confirmation at Mick. After what Bill had said back at the villa, Mick had a problem using the Sarin. If the Iraqis weren’t terrorists it was wrong to go gassing them. But he’d made a decision not to share his concerns with the lads. And it was too late to reconsider now. Or to show a moment’s hesitation. The mission was going down and that was that. Mick thrust his worries to the back of his mind. What the lads needed from him was leadership. Firm, rock-solid, fearless leadership. And that was what he was going to give them.

  ‘As soon as Fire Team Three cuts the electric, it’s going to go very dark in there,’ said Mick. ‘Hopefully, the enemy will think it’s just a power failure. The moment it goes dark we get the Sarin in through the windows. We then wait twenty seconds. Should be long enough for the gas to start taking effect. Fire Team One then goes in through the front door and hits the stairs. As soon as we hit floor two we start gassing the rooms there. Fire Team Two, you hit the rear door and clear the ground floor. Fire Team Three, you keep both exits covered in case any enemy try to make a break for it. Got it?’

  ‘Got it,’ the men replied.

  ‘Right. That’s about it. We clear the building. Seize the painting. And get the hell out of there. Remember, there’s to be no survivors. As you clear the building, you make sure the enemy is dead. They fucking should be. Sarin doesn’t take any prisoners. But don’t take any chances. If any are still alive by the time we’re done, you shoot them. All our weapons are silenced. And I want this to be over as quickly as possible. We got a long drive back to Baghdad afterwards. All right?’

  Mick looked around at his team and got a series of thumbs up.

  ‘You all know the emergency plan, in case of a fuck-up. But there won’t be one. We keep it simple, so nothing can go wrong. Any questions?’

  ‘One thing, mate,’ Eddie said. ‘When do we suit up? Make like the Michelin Man? That’s heavy gear. We don’t want to be struggling with it when we’re on top of the target.’

  ‘Good point,’ said Mick. ‘We leave here fully suited up. Only thing you leave off is your gloves and gas mask. We’ll put those on just before we hit the building. OK?’

  Mick glanced around at the faces before him. The men were serious now. Psyching themselves up for the coming attack. They exuded the confidence of highly trained special forces soldiers. The atmosphere was one of an icy, killer calm.

  Mick glanced at his watch. It was 6.45 p.m. ‘OK. We’ve got ninety minutes. Let’s make use of them. Check your weapons. Your explosive charges. And your protective gear. I want each man going in with at least five hundred rounds. Just in case of any real trouble.’

  ‘And one last thing,’ Mick added. ‘I hope you all had a good shave this morning!’

  There was a ripple of laughter. Then the men turned to begin their battle preparations. Mick paired off with Eddie. Together, they began punching rounds into fresh magazines. They were silent for a while, as they contemplated the coming mission. But Mick couldn’t get the worries out of his mind about using the Sarin. Finally, he broke the silence. He figured he knew Eddie well enough to tell him what was eating him.

  ‘Bill told me something back at the villa, mate,’ Mick said. ‘Been troubling me ever since.’

  ‘What?’ Eddie asked.

  ‘The Iraqis in that building. Well, they ain’t terrorists. Just petty criminals and stuff. I got no trouble gassing terrorists. But a bunch of muggers and car thieves? Bit bloody evil, ain’t it, mate?’

  ‘Is it?’ said Eddie. ‘Let me tell you somethin’. Last month my gran was mugged. She’s seventy-eight. Bloke broke into her flat, banged her on the ’ead. Stole all her jewels. All to feed his heroin habit. She’s in a home now and can’t look after herself no more. If I had the chance to gas that bastard, you think I’d hesitate? Instead, he got six months inside. ’Nuff said?’

  ‘Yeah, all right, mate,’ Mick replied. ‘Enough said.’

  CHAPTER SIX

  FROM THE COVER of the bushes Mick stared at the target building with unblinking eyes. It was barely thirty yards away. Their approach across the desert had been slow but sure. No one had noticed their passing. In spite of the chill desert night, it was hot and sticky inside the bulky suit and he could feel the drops of sweat trickling down his neck. He wiped the eye-piece of his night vision unit. Four windows were lit up in the ta
rget building. Every now and then he could see a figure flit across one of them. People were awake and active in there. But that was as he had expected. Everything seemed normal.

  Mick scanned the building’s perimeter. To one side there were a couple of pick-up trucks parked up. But they were deserted. He moved his night vision unit up to inspect the top of the building. It had a flat roof. That was one thing he hadn’t been briefed on. If it had a flat roof there could be men up there. Guards. It was the obvious place from where to keep watch. He scanned the top of the building carefully. The eerie green glow of the night vision unit showed up the flat roof clearly. For a full minute he kept his eyes on that part of the target. But there was no movement. It looked deserted up there.

  Above the flat roof it was a brilliant, starry night. There was far too much moonlight for Mick’s liking. But there was fuck all he could do about that. It was time to start the attack.

  Silently, he signalled for Fire Team Three to advance to the power line. With his heart in his mouth, he watched their hunched figures flit through the darkness. Barely thirty seconds later there were three red flashes coming out of the night. They were signalling they were in position and ready. Mick thanked his lucky stars that Bill was on the team. Fire Team Three were using one of Bill’s special gadgets to cut the power to the target. It would send a massive electric surge through the line into the building and blow all the fuses and light bulbs. Even if the terrorists had a back-up generator, it wouldn’t be of any use, the whole electrical circuitry of the building would be fried.

  Mick glanced across at Eddie, Kiwi Jim and Jock. He placed the palm of his hand on top of his head. It was a sign that meant ‘on me’. Then he turned and headed towards the front of the building at a crouching run. His heart pounded in his head. If there was one moment when the mission was most likely to be blown, this was it. He rounded the corner and flattened himself against the wall. A split second later Eddie was at the opposite side of the window. Then Kiwi and Jock were on either side of the front door. Quick as a flash Mick whipped out a Sarin canister from his chest webbing. At the same time, Eddie unhooked an axe from his belt. Mick looked across at Kiwi and Jock. Kiwi gave him the thumbs up. They, too, were ready.

  Mick glanced down at the Sarin canister. He grabbed the pin holding the retainer clip. It glinted in the light from the window. Once he pulled it the canister was primed to pump out its deadly gas cloud. This was the point of no return. Gently, he eased the pin free. Only his hand was holding the retainer clip now. Once he released his grip, the clip would fly free. Then there were five seconds before the gas would start pumping. He pressed the ‘send’ button on his personal radio. The radio pick-up was pressed against his neck. It was so sensitive it would transmit even the faintest voice message.

  ‘Alpha One, ready,’ Mick whispered into it.

  ‘Alpha Two, ready,’ came the whispered reply from Bill.

  ‘Alpha Three, ready,’ came Guy’s reply.

  A split second later there was a fizzing and a popping of light bulbs inside the house. Then the whole building went black. At exactly that moment Eddie swung the axe through the window. The noise of breaking glass was covered by Arabic cursing, as the men inside crashed about in the darkness.

  Mick heaved the Sarin canister in through the broken window.

  He began counting, silently, in his head. One. Two. Three … As he did so, he grabbed his gas mask off his belt and pulled it over his head. He covered the filter with his hand, and took a sharp intake of breath. It sucked the mask tight against his face, proving that it made an airtight seal. He pulled on his thick gloves and continued counting. Ten. Eleven. Twelve. He could hear a faint hissing from inside the building, as the canisters released their deadly gas. And then there was a gasping and choking from inside the room. Bodies smashed into furniture. Mick heard a man vomiting violently. Another thrashing about as he struggled to breathe. Another’s strangled screams as the gas took hold.

  For an instant Mick was struck by a terrible image of what it must be like in there. Darkness. Total confusion. Then the first gasp of the gas. A moment’s terror and panic as each man tried to flee. And then the gas had got them. Burning down their windpipes and choking their lungs. Mick knew what nerve gas did to people. What a horrible death it was. He tried to blank the images from his mind. Images of writhing bodies. He tried to tell himself that they were terrorists. That they had it coming. But Bill’s words kept ringing in his head: ‘Sheikh says they’re no terrorists, buddy … Just low-life thugs and petty thieves …’

  Seventeen. Eighteen. Nineteen, Mick counted.

  Twenty! Mick smashed his boot into the front door with all his strength and violence. The cheap wood splintered and then he was kicking his way into the dark interior. He had his MP5 machine-gun at the shoulder. The torch attached to the weapon swept the room with a beam of light. The air was thick with an oily, white gas that danced in the light of the beam. Bodies writhed in front of him, clawing at the floor. No one noticed him. No one cared. Their eyes were blinded by the searing gas. They were dying.

  Mick jumped over a figure heaving and vomiting on the floor in front of him. Two quick strides and he was at the rear of the room. The stairs lay up ahead. Instantly, Eddie was at his shoulder. Kiwi and Jock were on the far side of the stairwell. Mick paused as he and Jock grabbed a Sarin canister each. They pulled the pin and held down the retainer clip.

  Mick signalled to Eddie and Kiwi to hit the darkened stairs. The two men pounded up the wooden staircase, sweeping the area above with their weapons. Mick and Jock followed, right on their heels. They could have done this with their eyes closed. Back at Bill’s villa they had memorised every detail of the building’s layout. Two doors lay off the top of the staircase, one to the front and one to the rear. Mick let the retainer clip fly on the Sarin canister. And then Eddie hit the first door, his boot crashing into the wood. The second he did so Mick tossed the Sarin inside.

  A ghostly figure appeared at the dark doorway, cursing in Arabic. He raised an AK47. But as he did so, Eddie fired. Thwoop! Thwoop! Thwoop! Three silenced bullets at point-blank range from his MP5. For a split second the young Iraqi’s eyes bulged outwards. Then his face caved in where Eddie had shot him. He keeled over and hit the floor. A horrible choking and gasping came from the room behind him. Mick knew that the gas would deal with the others.

  Clearing floor three was their priority now. And getting their hands on that painting. It was up there somewhere. And Mick needed it intact and unharmed. The four men paused for a second at the bottom of the stairs. Mick and Jock grabbed a third Sarin canister. On Mick’s signal they hurled them up the stairwell, into the hallway above. He didn’t want any shooting up there and risk harming the painting. He was going to use Sarin overkill instead. He grabbed a fourth Sarin canister. Carefully, they crept up the stairs. At the top there was still no sign of the enemy. In a repeat of the attack on the floor below they hurled canisters into the rooms. But still there was no sign of anyone.

  ‘I can’t see a fuckin’ thing with all the gas,’ Eddie yelled.

  ‘Got to search the place,’ Mick yelled back.

  Covering each other, Mick and Eddie moved through the front room. Kiwi Jim and Jock were doing the same at the rear. But still they could find no Iraqis. Then Mick heard a faint burst of static on his radio, which meant he was getting a call from one of his men.

  ‘Mate, there’s a stairway back here that goes up to the roof,’ came Kiwi Jim’s voice. ‘Reckon you better come join us.’

  Mick and Eddie hurried across to the back room. Kiwi Jim and Jock signalled them over to one corner. A flight of metal steps led up to the roof. A trapdoor in the ceiling was open. Through it Mick could see the starlit sky. Clearly, the metal steps would only take one man at a time. Mick glanced around at the other three men.

  ‘Volunteers?’ he asked with a grin.

  ‘I’m right behind you, mate,’ Kiwi Jim replied.

  ‘Jock, you’re an effing
nutter,’ said Eddie. ‘You go.’

  ‘Fook it,’ Jock replied. ‘A’right.’

  Before Mick could stop him the big Scot put his foot on the steps and started climbing. As his head neared the top he switched off the torch beam on his MP5. He reckoned there was enough moonlight up there to see and kill by. The torch beam would simply make him an easy target. He brought the weapon to his shoulder. With one hand he held onto the steps and with the other he kept his gun aimed. As he crept up the last few steps, Kiwi Jim joined him below. As Jock’s head emerged from the trapdoor on the roof he tried to stay as light on his feet as possible, already searching for the enemy.

  He scanned the roof. There was not a lot of cover. A pile of wood to his left and an old bicycle leaning against it. Lines of washing right in front of him. Some oil drums off to the right. With just his head and shoulders above the roofline Jock kept scanning for the enemy. They had to be up here somewhere, he just knew it. For several seconds he stayed like that, silently listening out and watching. Finally, Jock placed one hand on the deck and vaulted onto the roof. As he rolled away from the trapdoor, he heard a crash. One of the oil drums had gone over. A moment later there was a deafening burst of gunfire.

  Jock came to his feet in a crouch, his weapon at the aim. Bullets were tearing all around him and ricocheting off the roof. Instantly he sighted on the muzzle flash, just above the oil drums. He squeezed off three silent rounds. A double tap. Two to the body to drop him. One to the head to make sure he was dead. In this game it was about being first on the draw with accurate fire. The Iraqi’s had been way off the mark.