Red Notice

86

Aided by their NVGs, the Blue team moved painstakingly slowly through the darkness. Only when they got to the train would the goggles come off and the SF-100 respirators go on. And then the ladders would go up and all hell would break loose.

Jockey was up front of the single file. Mentally, he rehearsed the sequence for the attack, from the moment the axe man in each four-man call-sign crazed the glass, to punching through the flash-bangs, to the entry itself, when they’d push, hit, elbow their way through the human shield with their 9mm Sig pistols raised.

To double the number of men dominating the battle space, a call-sign would blast in at each end of a carriage.

Gavin’s voice came through on the net. ‘All call-signs — stop, stop, stop. Blue One — confirm.’

Jockey halted and hit his pressel.

Click-click.

The men behind him came to a standstill too.

‘All call-signs, this is Alpha. Power will be turned back on in the train in less than five. I repeat, power back on in less than five. Blue One, acknowledge.’

Click-click.

‘Roger that. Blue Two?’

Click-click.

‘Roger that.’ Gavin went through the other call-signs before he pushed on with the rest of the information Woolf had relayed from COBRA. ‘The option is still a go. You will continue with the option. I say again, you will continue with the option. Blue One, acknowledge.’

Click-click.

‘Roger that. Can you talk, Blue One?’

Click-click.

‘What have you got for me?’

Jockey clicked his pressel once and spoke quietly. ‘Wait out.’ Whispering could carry further, and it was hard to understand over the net. Radios were good enough to pick up slow, gentle speech.

Jockey knew that as soon as they heard his instruction to wait, the team, the hangar and COBRA would all do exactly that. They could tell him to go and do the job, but not how to do it. They couldn’t see what he could see, or hear what he could hear.

Jockey raced through the options in his head. The route to target would be floodlit in less than five minutes. If they were still in the open, it would take a miracle for them to reach the carriages without being spotted. The op would go noisy. It would be a long, hard fight to get as far as the front three carriages. By then, all the Yankees and call-signs might be dead. To make matters worse, there was a gun position at the French end. If this kicked off, the gun would simply swing round and start hosing them down.

The decision took Jockey a matter of seconds. Realistically, there was only one option. He came back on the net, his voice quiet and calm.

‘Blue team, listen in. We will move to target in a new order of march. Blue Seven will take the lead. At the train, Blue Seven will make entry into the first carriage. It can then move forwards along the train, clearing the route towards the first three carriages.

‘All other call-signs will follow behind Blue Seven in the same order of march as now. Blue Seven will go static when it reaches Coach Four, the buffet car, which will be Blue team’s start-line.

‘On my “go”, Blue One to Six will exit on the right-hand side of the train and move to our entry point in double time — and make entry immediately.

‘Sierra call-signs: you will give cover forwards towards the gun position, and back onto the front three coaches. If at any time it goes noisy, Blue Seven will take on the threat while Blue One to Six bypass the contact and move to their target any way they can, in double time, and get on with the emergency response. Sierra call-signs will cover. Wait.’

Jockey gave the call-signs time to let it all sink in. He had more to say, and no one was allowed to come on the net before he spoke again. He gave it a couple more seconds. ‘Blue Two, acknowledge.’

Click-click.

Jockey ran through all the ground call-signs before addressing the hangar. ‘Alpha, acknowledge.’

‘Alpha, roger that.’

Blue Seven, with Vatu in the lead, were already on the way past him. Jockey and his assault group fell in silently behind.