"We've got one more assignment." Variable said over the secured channel. "the Turkish president is giving a speech today in an open air plaza along with most of the heads of state. Jakob wants them eliminated."
"That would be murder…" Zilich objected before realizing they were at war. They were driving in a blacked out van toward the Istanbul plaza where the speech would be held.
"Avi says that they made their choice allying themselves with terrorists. It'll send a clear message that none who aids PLO forces will be safe."
"And who knows," Peled said darkly as he checked his weapon, "We might be taking revenge for Zion if those nukes hit."
"Nice to know you're an optimist." Dolan muttered and looked at herself. She was in a dress and burka like traditional Shiite muslims wore. She didn't see it as insulting as a woman, she knew that muslims saw it as a sign of respect and love. In fact she noted with an ironic chuckle for herself, the reason the burka had been instituted is because they felt that men were the ones who needed controlling. Looks weren't everything. The burka covered her from head to toe and concealed her entire body but her eyes.
They also concealed the MicroTar-21 automatic that was strapped to her right thigh and in a rather awkward place to draw it. The burka drew stares however, even in a muslim as a place as Istanbul people regarded traditionalists as radicals; it had appeared the age of terror hadn't left Istanbul either.
There were probably plenty of armed guards on the roofs of the city, a problem for Homer Johnston, their team sniper who would be carrying out the assassination of the president; Dolan strode briskly past a guard who checked what looked like a portable satellite dish but she recognized it as a heartbeat sensor. They weren't so good in crowded areas, but he would probably be bringing it to the roof where their sensor could tell them if someone was out of place. Of course she hoped that the man wasn't being too observant, she had her sensor disruptor activated at the moment so she would show up as nothing more than a blank spot on the scanner.
"Tangent- in position and on target…" Homer whispered through the radio. The plaza was full of bustling people in suits and dresses. It was usually a bustling open air market but it had been converted for the speech today. Dolan flicked her eyes toward the roofs and counted the guards.
"Cosine two here, I think there's at least a dozen guards."
"negative that." Peled interjected. "Sensor shows a dozen on the roof so there's more on the ground."
"How many do you think are dressed up as bystanders?"
"Probably a few, we might have to cut the whole mow them down thing." Variable admitted.
"Confirm that? You want us to only eliminate the head of state?"
"Confirm." Variable said firmly. "Cosine team move to the EV point and cover Tangent while he bolts. Secant do you copy?"
"Copy, Mr. C, I think we can pop a grenade from where we are. Should get a few of them."
"Don't do it JC, pull back."
"We'll be safe. I've got a cornershot."
Dolan mutely wondered how he'd managed to sneak that past the guards but then shook it off as she swiftly turned around and hurried back. She brushed into a guard roughly. He turned and chattered something in Turkish. Dolan shook her head and moved on but was roughly hauled back by the man. He was probably asking for an apology but Dolan didn't speak Turkish and tried saying something in Arabic.
The man lifted the strap off of his pistol holster and held out a hand in a gesture that said Identification.
"I'm in trouble here…" She whispered into her mike while she fumbled for her stuff. She didn't have identification, she had an assault weapon on her if they searched her…
Homer Johnston settled into his practiced sniper routine. It had been a long time since he had held a rifle in the field but he had done it so many times on the range it really was no different. His Remmington 700 had been cleaned and polished the night before and the 12x zoom optical was of his own hunting rifle from his home in Alabama. The ugly black Kevlar stock had soot rubbed onto it and the outer barrel slotted neatly into a drain PVC pipe. He had drilled that himself and had taken over an hour to do it without anyone noticing. He'd broken into this apartment building that happened to overlook the plaza and he had a perfect angle on the podium where the president now stood to give his opening speech.
The only way homer could even see him was the little slit in the bricks he had carved out so that his optics could see. He was sitting "Indian style", possibly the most awkward position a sniper could shoot from and the stand (not bipod) had to be placed in a very awkward place just in front of his crotch. It would help steady it. His eyes left the optic for just a second to recheck the rest of his equipment; his thermometer was very sensitive and the temperature had crept up just a fraction meaning he'd have to rezero the rifle just a tad. He did so with a few winds on the optics to ensure that the bullet would travel the right distance to the target which was roughly 800 meters away. If that were the case the travel time would be about a second and a half. He settled into the role again.
One shot one kill.
His breathing slowed, letting his lungs consciously expand and deflate to slow the passage of blood into vessels which even at this distance might throw his aim off just a fraction. He became aware of the beating of his own heart, he had to apply a perfect amount of pressure on the trigger edge (two pounds to be exact) between heartbeats to ensure the bullet wouldn't miss, the wind was negligible, a woman's hair flicked slightly in the breeze, a Styrofoam cup inched across a street. He lined up the crosshairs, centering them between the eyes of the president. In his prime, Johnston was able to put six successive shots into a hole the size of a dime at a range of a thousand meters. He hoped he still had it…
The crack of a sniper rifle boomed across the plaza and Dolan knew she had to act as the soldier turned for a second as it echoed through the streets. She pulled up her rifle from beneath her flowing robes and fired a three round burst into the man's neck before turning to run. The crump of a grenade followed shortly after.
Yes! The Turkish president's head jerked back as if hit by a car and turning his brain to pudding as the bullet passed through at a speed of 700 meters per second. Homer Johnston withdrew the big R700 rifle and quickly tossed it into the golfbag (he hated mistreating his rifle like that but needs must) zipped it up and strode briskly out of the room. He heard a grenade detonate in the distance.
Chavez saw the President's head jerk back suddenly and took his cue, squeezing the trigger of the cornershot with 30mm grenade attatchment to send the fragmentation exploding onto the stage where most of the Turkish heads of state were. He snapped the weapon off leaving him with merely the cornershot itself and not the grenade attatchment and sprinted out the building, snapping the 9mm attatchment. His escape route was planned and there was Stuart ready with the getaway car, door wide open to greet Chavez.
"Reaper check." Bronco Winters said in the morning light. Flying into the east was a disadvantage, he flipped down his mirrored lenses to compensate. It didn't help much.
"Disco check."
"Cataphract check."
"Baker check."
"Rodeo check."
"Jumper check."
There were around 80 strike planes heading over the irradiated wastes of Iraq and crossing into Iranian airspace for the first time in a decade possibly; and they were armed to the teeth: Reaper, Disco, and Cataphract flights were all F-35s and outfitted for air to and a limited air to ground capability with JSMs and AIM-10 quarrels. Baker was a flight of F-15 Stealth Eagles outfitted for air to air only and had explicit orders to attack whatever helicopters might show up. Rodeo of course flew their A-20 razorbacks and would hit whatever was on the ground. All the flights were escorting Jumper, the C-17 transport with its vital load of Mossad commandos.
"All flights, this is Oracle, we are picking up multiple radar signatures at one two zero angels twelve. Speed and profile matches Eurofighter typhoons. All flights stay on course."
"Eyes wide reapers." Bronco said and checked his weapons systems again. "This is Indian country. Jumper stay right behind us."
"I'm not going anywhere, American." Jumper's captain had a chuckle. "Just make sure you cover me."
"Will do Jumper."
"All flights, we are being hailed and ordered to turn around." Oracle interjected. "Bandits are plus twelve, Disco flight, snap to heading one two zero and splash me those bandits. You are weapons free."
"Copy Oracle." Disco's F-35s peeled away and headed southeast.
"Hang on, new radar sigs coming in at three three two." Oracle interrupted. "forty plus bogeys make them Sierra Uniform twenty sevens…They just dropped tanks and went Mach 1. Reaper, Baker, Cataphract, snap to intercepts; weapons are free.
Bronco brought his 8 Reapers around to head northeast and head off the enemy. The first radars began seeking locks…
"Time on Target, two minutes." The pilot said said. "ramps in thirty." Issad hauled his parachute onto the back. Was it the blue strap that was his primary chute or was it the red one? No red was for emergencies, that was a secondary chute. The chemical warfare suit was all black, covering him from head to toe. He heard they'd been of the same make the british SAS used in their Iranian Embassy raid in the 1980s; The gas mask inhibited breathing a lot and the goggles obscured vision, the suit itself reduced their movements ever so slightly but it might have been enough to throw aiming off. It wasn't the ideal commando operation. The alarm buzzed and the ramp opened, letting the light flood into the hold. The Captain held up his hand, five fingers spread out, then made a pointing motion. Issad was in the first group. He nodded and gave them the "Go go go" signal. Issad sprinted out and jumped.
If there was anything that could make a human felt like flying, Issad decided it was probably jumping out of an airplane ten thousand feet above ground. The way the wind felt as it whipped around his chemical suit was exhilarating. The Heads Up Display booted up its skyjump software and the altimeter appeared on Issad's viewscreen. He was falling roughly at terminal velocity, and he wouldn't fall any faster than that. The target was marked by a NAV point at least ten kilometers out, and took the shape of six circular shaped bunkers with a blocky building out in front. Even as he looked he looked, two fighters streaked in from the west and sent the buildings to building hell with a pair of bombs. Issad moved his arms so that he angled directly toward the target building, he could feel the Tavor -21 assault rifle slap his chest as he fell and his stun grenades rattled against magazines. The sunlight glared against his visor and when Issad angled his head to glance upward he swerved sharply to the left after glimpsing another few dozen shapes leap out of their plane.
At five thousand feet, Issad yanked the blue handle and it felt as though he slammed into a wall. The chute expanded quickly and retarded Issad's falling speed quickly and knocked the wind out of him. he fumbled for the steering handles and angled the parachute toward the landing site.
He was the first on the ground, reaching a running stop as he hit the quick release, rolled free from the parachute and snapped his rifle up and training on imaginary threats.
They suddenly weren't so imaginary, he saw a shape out in the distance drop and the sand kicked up around him as bullets snapped the air. "Contact tango!" he shouted and snapped the red dot sight onto the far off target, the TAR-21 was a 300 meter standing headshot and it didn't disappoint even now. Issad double tapped the trigger lightly and dropped the man far off.
What had started as one man suddenly became a dozen, and Issad's squad mates fell in around him as they landed and brought their weapons up. Israeli commandos began their infantry battle against their terrorist enemy in the sands.