Echo Six: Black Ops 8 - ISIS Killing Fields by Eric Meyer Page B
Authors: Eric Meyer
Tags: thriller, Literature & Fiction, Action & Adventure, Mystery, War & Military, Genre Fiction, Mystery; Thriller & Suspense, War, Men's Adventure, Thriller & Suspense
Ads: Link
grenade fragment, and a bullet had torn away his lower lip, giving his face a nightmare appearance. He'd shrugged off the injuries and kept on fighting. Perhaps his terrifying appearance was a sound reason to go on. Whatever it was, he was a good officer and a cruel and vicious fighter. He came close to al-Khalil, who moved his position to stand a meter upwind of him. Abbas was not a man who considered washing or any other personal hygiene a matter of importance.
"Tell me how you plan to kill them, Khalil."
"We will attack them from both sides, my friend. I will command the main force, fifty men, which I will position to the east. You will go to the west and hit them from that side. They will naturally fall back to the west, and when they do, I will be waiting for them."
Abbas pondered the statement. "There's no guarantee they'll go west, Commander."
Khalil stifled his irritation.
It is obvious which way they'll go. Can't this fool see it?
"They will head west, back to their treacherous allies in Iraq, along with the Iraqi traitors who've joined them."
The other man inclined his head. "As you say, Khalil, but be quick." He twisted his grotesque features in an approximation of a smile, "Otherwise, we'll kill them all before they get to you."
"They will flee in terror when they see you coming, Abu. Your bullets will scythe them down like corn before a thresher, but I'm sure there'll be enough for my men to satisfy their appetites for infidel blood. I will leave now and get my men in position." He looked at his wristwatch, "You will attack in one hour. By that time, we will be ready to hack down any survivors who come toward us. Remember that man; the one named Talley, I want him. Good luck, and Allah be with you. He will look favorably on what we achieve this day. The blessings of the Prophet on you and your men."
"Bless His holy name," Abbas replied automatically. He ran to where the men waited, selected thirty of the toughest fighters, and told them of the victory they would achieve that day. He ordered the remaining fifty to board the trucks. Several minutes later, they drove off into the desert, taking a roundabout route get behind the foreigners. Abbas checked his weapons, a battered AKM which he'd wrested from the fingers of an Iraqi officer, and a 9mm Stechkin automatic. The Stechkin was his preferred method of killing. Capable of firing on full automatic, he could empty the twenty-round magazine in the blink of an eye. He'd once killed a group of five prisoners in two seconds flat. An achievement, and his men were in awe of the skill with which he handled his weapon.
He waited and watched as his men went through the familiar rituals, finding the direction of Mecca and kneeling to pray. Many chewed on Khat, the leaves native to the Arabian Peninsula that stimulated a man's mind, yet relaxed him at the same time. He didn't discourage its use, quite the opposite. If he wanted to send a man into a suicidal encounter with a superior enemy, what better way than to have him already in a drug-induced stupor, believing in his own invincibility.
Not that he took the drug himself. It was for the cannon fodder, the cattle. Men who were worthless, other than in their ability to pull the trigger or detonate a bomb vest. For a man determined to live, to indulge his particular hobby of causing pain and death, it was counterproductive. He got his kicks in different ways, more satisfying ways. He looked around as he heard a voice addressing him from behind.
"Abu Abbas, we have been waiting here for a long time. When do we attack?"
Mustafa was one of his younger fighters. The boy was enthusiastic, and his eyes had dilated with the Khat he was still chewing so that they looked like dark moons.
"Ten minutes, and we go. Tell the others."
A big grin, "Yes, Abu. Allahu Akbar!"
"God be praised indeed. Another ten minutes, then your name will become legend. Patience, the time is almost upon us."
The boy rushed away. He was
"Tell me how you plan to kill them, Khalil."
"We will attack them from both sides, my friend. I will command the main force, fifty men, which I will position to the east. You will go to the west and hit them from that side. They will naturally fall back to the west, and when they do, I will be waiting for them."
Abbas pondered the statement. "There's no guarantee they'll go west, Commander."
Khalil stifled his irritation.
It is obvious which way they'll go. Can't this fool see it?
"They will head west, back to their treacherous allies in Iraq, along with the Iraqi traitors who've joined them."
The other man inclined his head. "As you say, Khalil, but be quick." He twisted his grotesque features in an approximation of a smile, "Otherwise, we'll kill them all before they get to you."
"They will flee in terror when they see you coming, Abu. Your bullets will scythe them down like corn before a thresher, but I'm sure there'll be enough for my men to satisfy their appetites for infidel blood. I will leave now and get my men in position." He looked at his wristwatch, "You will attack in one hour. By that time, we will be ready to hack down any survivors who come toward us. Remember that man; the one named Talley, I want him. Good luck, and Allah be with you. He will look favorably on what we achieve this day. The blessings of the Prophet on you and your men."
"Bless His holy name," Abbas replied automatically. He ran to where the men waited, selected thirty of the toughest fighters, and told them of the victory they would achieve that day. He ordered the remaining fifty to board the trucks. Several minutes later, they drove off into the desert, taking a roundabout route get behind the foreigners. Abbas checked his weapons, a battered AKM which he'd wrested from the fingers of an Iraqi officer, and a 9mm Stechkin automatic. The Stechkin was his preferred method of killing. Capable of firing on full automatic, he could empty the twenty-round magazine in the blink of an eye. He'd once killed a group of five prisoners in two seconds flat. An achievement, and his men were in awe of the skill with which he handled his weapon.
He waited and watched as his men went through the familiar rituals, finding the direction of Mecca and kneeling to pray. Many chewed on Khat, the leaves native to the Arabian Peninsula that stimulated a man's mind, yet relaxed him at the same time. He didn't discourage its use, quite the opposite. If he wanted to send a man into a suicidal encounter with a superior enemy, what better way than to have him already in a drug-induced stupor, believing in his own invincibility.
Not that he took the drug himself. It was for the cannon fodder, the cattle. Men who were worthless, other than in their ability to pull the trigger or detonate a bomb vest. For a man determined to live, to indulge his particular hobby of causing pain and death, it was counterproductive. He got his kicks in different ways, more satisfying ways. He looked around as he heard a voice addressing him from behind.
"Abu Abbas, we have been waiting here for a long time. When do we attack?"
Mustafa was one of his younger fighters. The boy was enthusiastic, and his eyes had dilated with the Khat he was still chewing so that they looked like dark moons.
"Ten minutes, and we go. Tell the others."
A big grin, "Yes, Abu. Allahu Akbar!"
"God be praised indeed. Another ten minutes, then your name will become legend. Patience, the time is almost upon us."
The boy rushed away. He was
Similar Books
