The Coward's Way of War (42 page)

She heard the sound of missiles being launched as she reached the bunker and crawled down into one of the safest places on the base.  The Health and Safety Officer – and she had been astonished to discover that the military had such officers – had told her that the bunker could survive anything apart from a direct hit; it even had air filtering systems to keep out poison gas and other forms of chemical attack.  It struck her, suddenly, that she was walking right into danger and what had seemed like an adventure was really the chance to die horribly.  Had she ever been in so much danger in her life?

Absurdly, she began to giggle.  She’d walked into an infected hospital wearing only a protective garment, one that might have failed at any moment.  If she’d caught Henderson’s Disease, her death would not have been painless, not like being hit by a bullet from an enemy sniper.  Odd as it seemed, the sudden panic made her feel much better about being on the front lines...she just wished she knew what was going on.

“I got a flashed alert from the local net,” the old sweat announced, holding up a military-grade palmtop.  Mija hadn't been able to get her hands on one for herself, although they had been promised to arrive once the bulk of the military’s supplies had been amassed on the base.  “There are at least thirty incoming missiles.”

His voice was very calm.  “Don’t worry,” he added.  “They can't shoot for shit.”

Mija hoped he was right.

***

General Brent Roeder had been reading a status report from a 3
rd
Infantry Division Brigade Combat Team when the alert sounded.  “Report,” he barked, knowing that the trained personnel in the Coalition HQ would already be responding to the crisis.  The HQ was linked into a giant network of radars – both ground and air-based units – as well as orbiting satellites and other – highly-classified – sensor systems.  They would know if someone passed wind on the battlefield.

“General,” one of his female systems operators reported, “we have upwards of fifty incoming missiles from Saudi Arabia...correction, fifty incoming missiles and over two hundred aircraft.”

Brent looked up at the display, thinking hard.  The Saudi attack was already taking shape, a two-pronged attack aimed at both Kuwait and Qatar.  The pattern made sense; they wouldn't be able to break though the defences surrounding the carriers, while hitting Iraq would irritate the Iraqi Government to the point that they would send additional forces to aid the Coalition.  The missiles would soften up the defences, while the fighters would sweep through the remainder of the American positions...well; at least that was the plan.

“Order the CAP to intercept,” he ordered.  “And warn all of the bases along the border that they should expect unfriendly company soon.”

He sat back and watched as enemy missiles began to die.

***

“
Incoming, incoming,” the loudspeaker bellowed.  Sirens started to wail all over the base.  “I say again, we have incoming!”

“Hit the dirt,” Doug bellowed, as he threw himself onto the ground.  The reinforced platoon he’d been leading followed his lead, taking what cover they could from the incoming strike.  He spared a thought for his men - young soldiers who had never seen combat and older hands who’d seen and done everything – before he heard missiles start to launch from the missile batteries placed around the base.  “Stay down, stay down...”

An explosion flared up in the sky as one of the Patriots found its target, an incoming enemy missile.  Another followed, but a third missile somehow broke through the defences and struck the other side of the base.  Doug cursed as the ground heaved and a fireball billowed up in the distance, praying that it had only been high explosive.  No one was sure if the Saudis had chemical weapons – or if they’d decided to show off another biological weapon – but they were nowhere near their MOPP suits.  It didn't seem likely that it was a biological warhead – the heat of the explosion should have killed the bugs – yet there was no way to know for a while.  The blast site would have to be examined...

He winced as an aircraft flew low overhead, heading west, towards Saudi.  He’d barely gotten a glimpse of it, but he assumed that it was an American jet because the missile batteries hadn't taken a shot as it passed.  The shockwave from another explosion flared up in the distance and then the attack seemed to be over.  The sirens were still howling, so he ordered his men to stay on the ground.  If the Saudis were trying to stagger their attacks, they might have more missiles inbound.

Doug rolled over and peered towards the gate as he heard the sound of engines.  The Kuwaiti Army had insisted on providing much of the guard force for political reasons, something that worried Doug even though it was far above his pay grade.  Now a line of Kuwaiti trucks were making their way up to the gate, one far in advance of the others.  There was something about the scene that sent a chill down Doug’s spine, a warning from combat instincts he’d never lost, yet by the time everything clicked, it was too late.  The truck exploded, unleashing a massive fireball that wiped out the Kuwaiti guardpost and all of the guards.  He swore as the smoke faded, only to reveal enemy gunmen jumping out of the other trucks and opening fire on the American base.

“Return fire,” he snapped.  His M16 was already up as he crawled forward and started shooting towards the gunmen.  There was very little cover after the explosion, but his men made use of what they had, trying to plug the gap in the defences.  The gunmen seemed surprised by the opposition – he wondered, absently, if they’d believed his people would just roll over and play dead – yet they shot back.  Their shooting was better than the average terrorist – terrorists, in his experience, were rarely able to shoot straight – suggesting that they were actually Saudi troops in civilian outfits.  He gritted his teeth as he picked off two more with neat headshots, reminding himself that if they weren't in uniform, they could simply be shot out of hand.  “Take them out.”

The gunmen hit the ground themselves, using the remains of the guardpost for cover.  Doug unhooked a pair of grenades from his belt – the base CO hadn't wanted them carrying live grenades, but Doug and most of the other Sergeants had seen fit to ignore the order – and threw them towards the attackers.  Using the explosions as cover, his men rushed forward, driving the enemy away from the gate.  Doug heard the sound of RPGs being fired in the distance and realised that the enemy might have attacked the other gates as well, rendering the base vulnerable.  The attack might have put the invasion back by a week.

He heard another sound and hit the ground as a Stryker appeared, hosing the enemy positions down with its heavy machine gun.  The remaining attackers tried to surrender, holding up their hands and throwing away their weapons, but the Quick Reaction Force wiped them out.  Doug checked on his men as the QRF advanced through the gate – or where the gate had been – and circled around the base.  The attackers would be driven away by superior firepower.

“Check the bodies, carefully,” he ordered.  The older sweats had been terrorising the younger soldiers with stories about how insurgents in Iraq had booby-trapped their own bodies, just to try and take out yet another American soldier.  He keyed his radio and reported in.  Once the confusion died down, they’d be deployed towards where they were needed.  The Saudis might have started the war, but America would finish it.

***

Brent scowled as the reports came in, a litany of death and disaster only dulled by the fact that only a handful of the attacks had inflicted real damage.  Even so, the Saudis had rocked the United States back on its heels, a poor beginning to
the war.  And now their army was advancing towards the Kuwaiti border, intent on invasion and occupation.  The Kuwaiti Government, a reluctant participant in the war, was going to
freak
!  The only good news was that NBC weapons hadn't been used.

He picked up his radio and linked directly onto the secure net.  There was a contingency plan for this.  There always was in the military.

“This is the CO,” he said.  “You are ordered to commence Operation Blindside.”

If you don
’t know who the best pilot in the sky is, it sure isn't you
.

-Captain Edward (Ed) Patterson

Over Saudi Arabia

Day 37

Captain Edward Patterson checked his six as the F-22 Raptor lifted off from the USAF base in Qatar and fell into formation with the rest of the squadron.  Their orders were clear; once the local airspace was clear of enemy fighters, they were to rendezvous with the USN aircraft off the three carriers in the Gulf and prepare for offensive operations against Saudi Arabia.  The briefing officer who had outlined the plan had explained that it was important that everyone follow orders – a not-uncommon attitude in the USAF – but Edward suspected that the plan had one great failing; it was too clever by half.

The Saudi pilots who had made it through Qatar’s air defence network and the patrolling fighters hadn't bothered to stay and fight, much to his annoyance.  The few that had survived the experience had dropped their bombs – mainly on civilian population centres, rather than American bases – and fled back into the protective canopy of the Saudi Integrated Air Defence System.  The Saudi network – the best that Saudi money and American ingenuity could provide – was supposed to be a tough customer, but Edward wasn't so sure.  He’d worked with enough squadrons from the Arab world to know that it wasn't what they had, so much as what they did with it.  The Saudis had purchased the latest American, French and European fighter jets, but they had a long way to go before they had a properly functioning air force.

“The skies are clear,” the AWACS reported.  There were no less than four E2 Sentry aircraft hovering over the region, providing command and control for hundreds of allied ships, aircraft and fighting men on the ground.  Edward glanced at his HUD and was relieved to see that there was no civilian traffic in the air, not even the flight of fleeing transport aircraft taking wealthy Saudis away from their country.  Henderson’s Disease had done what the global economic crisis could not and grounded most of the civilian air fleets.  The airlines were, even now, trying to convince the government to bail them out, but the only thing the government had offered them was support in exchange for devoting their aircraft to helping with the crisis.  “You are cleared to proceed to the first waypoint.”

Edward nodded, acknowledging the signal and pulled his aircraft out over the Gulf.  It really was a remarkably beautiful patch of water and it seemed hard to remember, from such a height, that it was also one of the most contentious.  It marked the line between the Sunni-dominated world and the Shia-dominated world, which meant Iran and some parts of Iraq and everyone was wondering which way the Iranians would jump.  The official briefing had been that Iran wouldn't be willing to get involved, but no one had any faith in their rationality.  The Iranian population was just as incensed at the thought of American boots defiling Mecca and Medina as any other Muslim and Tehran had seen a handful of riots.  For once, the briefer had concluded, they didn't seem scripted. 

He shook his head.  The insurgencies and uprisings in Europe had grown considerably worse once the news was announced, with massive riots and terrorist attacks in Paris and Berlin.  London had seen its own outpouring of violence, while the British Army had had to be sent into many smaller British cities.  For Edward, it was a problem; the riots tied up European troops that might have been dispatched to the Middle East, where they would have fought beside his younger brother.  Edward had no idea why his brother would have chosen to join the Marines rather than the USAF, but he loved his brother dearly.  The thought of him being killed in the Middle East, or coming back a shell of a man, was terrifying.

The threat receiver pinged a couple of times, picking up radar sweeps from the coastline, but no threat materialised.  The Saudi Air Force didn't seem inclined to challenge the might of the American fleet gathered in the Gulf, a decision that Edward could hardly fault.  Three massive carriers, a Marine MEU and their escorting ships could put up a massive wall of firepower against any attack, even one flown by a suicidal pilot.  His HUD bleeped an update as the USAF aircraft encountered the USN aircraft, flying in formation near the carriers.  A handful of aircraft would remain on CAP duty, but the remainder were committed to Operation Blindside.  Behind them, heavy bombers – some stealthy and some not – were being launched from American bases and piloted towards their targets.  The Saudis were about to get a very harsh lesson on precisely why the USAF was the unchallenged king of the skies.

“Form up into formation,” the dispatcher ordered, firing off vectors towards the aircraft.  The two forces settled down into one formation, one that reminded him of the massed wave of aircraft from
Independence Day
.  It was funny what occurred to him as they prepared to go to war.  The war they were fighting was a clash of civilisations, between civilisation and barbarity, the kind of barbarity that would have shocked Napoleon or even Hitler himself.  No one in their right mind would unleash a disease that would, eventually, hit the Saudis themselves.  Edward wouldn't have bet good money that the Saudis were still uninfected.  “You may advance.”

Flying in formation, the massive wave of fighters turned and roared towards Saudi Arabia.  There was nothing subtle in their movement; indeed, ECM aircraft launched from the carriers were making damn sure that the Saudis saw them coming.  An American-trained sensor officer would conclude that the ECM aircraft were attempting to make the threat look much stronger than it really was...and the officer would be right.  The Saudi operators, who were American-trained, could be trusted to draw the right conclusion.

Edward smiled as the first enemy aircraft appeared on the HUD.  The Saudi Air Force was, at least on paper, powerful and capable.  Its actual status was far harder to determine, but there was no denying that they had the numbers.  If one judged by aircraft alone, the Saudis would be the most powerful force the US had challenged since World War Two.   On the other hand, Edward had gone through the harshest training program in the world and then actually served in combat, drilling endlessly with his peers.  Quantity didn't always have a quality of its own.

He prepared himself mentally as the Saudis reacted, their radars picking up the American fighters barrelling towards them.  The battle lines were being drawn...and only the USAF knew that it had been planned that way.  The trap was about to be sprung.

***

“
But what are the American infidels doing?”

The cleric was out of his depth and trying to hide it, a futile effort when it was easy to see just how terrified he’d been when the RSAF Sentry AWACS had lifted off from its air base and climbed into the blue sky.  He wasn't actually a bad person, as far as the operators were concerned, even though he was clearly far from qualified for his position.  He’d taken the time to harangue them on the virtues of fighting the Great Satan and praying to Allah at every opportunity, but apart from that he had been content to let the operators do their jobs.