Warriors by Barrett Tillman (14 page)

       "At this point I should say a few words about the F-20 systems."

       Bennett glanced around, for he knew some men in the room would disagree with his proposal. "The Tigershark has a superb radar. It can distinguish buildings on the ground and even individual aircraft parked on a field from a considerable distance. But I do not intend to purchase many aircraft with radar." He raised a cautioning finger. "I'll tell you why.

       "My own experience tells me that a well-trained fighter pilot can survive and win in combat without relying on radar. And because all major air forces now have powerful jamming capability, I'm convinced that the radar option will be denied both sides. That puts us back to square one. The battle will most often be decided by individual skill, training, and aggressiveness.

       "However, to hedge our bets I'm recommending acquisition of radars in one-quarter of our aircraft. Selected students will be trained in its use--those most likely to become flight leaders. But the extra investment in training and resources would add nearly two years to our initial operational date if we were to go for one hundred percent aircraft and pilot radar capability. 'We can use low-cost part-task simulators for teaching switchology and radar technique, while our own radar-equipped F -20s-and maybe with help from some F-15s-should afford an adequate capability. But I stress again: In a major war neither side will have unimpeded radar. Victory will go to the side with the best-trained pilots who use their assets most intelligently.

       "Finally, a word about maintenance. This is the overlooked aspect of military aviation, but it is the most crucial since all other factors depend upon it-training no less than combat.

       "We expect a total of two hundred and fifty mechanics and other specialists to train under our maintenance instructors already on hand. We have identified sufficient other qualified people to expand the maintenance program at a rate equal to pilot training. Each student pilot class will have a parallel class of about thirty Arab mechanics graduate about the same time. In the beginning this will require pulling some of the existing Saudi mechanics off other aircraft-most notably the F -5 program, which, of course, is phasing out. Here again, we will return the better students to the system for use as instructors themselves."

       Bennett paused and looked around the room. "Gentlemen, this concludes my initial presentation. His Majesty has told me we will break for lunch and resume the briefing thereafter."

       There was complete silence. No one said a word-not the king, nor his air leaders, nor his ministers. Then Bennett caught Safad Fatah's gaze and the aviator recognized what he saw in the Arab's face; a wide-eyed realization. In this room John Bennett, American, had just laid down the key to the box containing the balance of power in the Middle East. "Tiger Force," as it would be called, could become a deciding factor in the future of this region.

       Glancing about in concern, Lawrence turned to his friend and leader. He noticed that Bennett's hands were contracted tightly into fists. The redhead slid back his chair as if to rise, but did not, aware of the breach of decorum to stand before the king arose.

       However, the movement stirred the Saudis. They slowly filed out behind their monarch and Bennett trailed after them. Lawrence matched him stride for stride, then could stand the silence no longer. "What's eating you, Skipper? I thought your briefing went very well."

       Bennett walked a few more paces, then abruptly stopped. His gray eyes met Lawrence's. "I was just thinking. There was a French philosopher who said something I've never forgotten. He said, 'Be careful what you wish. It might come true.' "

Bahrain

      
Mild pandemonium was in progress in the Tiger Force auditorium. Men who had not seen one another in years grasped out-stretched hands, shouted across the large room, or searched out old friends. Forty of the best fighter pilots on the planet were gathered to hear their commander brief them. But for the moment there were handshakes, loud voices, expressive hands, and laughter.

       John Bennett walked among the men, greeting several and calling by name those he recognized. He particularly responded to those who once knew him as their squadron commander and still called him Skipper. Bennett warmly shook hands with Dennis "Masher" Malloy, late of the U.S. Navy's Fighter Squadron 143, and hailed George "Bear" Barnes, whom he had known during an exchange tour with the Marine Corps. Bennett also took note of a few others, recalling names and faces from the personnel folders. The second-tallest man in the room, after Barnes, was a former Air Force pilot with blond good looks-Tim Ottman. Bennett couldn't recall the man's callsign.

       The Brits stood out from the crowd, both by dress and demeanor. Whereas most of the Americans wore well-used flight jackets, the former RAF and Royal Navy fliers were impeccably dressed in coat and tie or razor-creased tropical kit. Bennett made a point of greeting Peter Saint-Martin and Geoffrey Hampton, each sporting a regulation mustache.

       Slowly the noise subsided as Bennett strode to the front of the auditorium and mounted the podium. Those who had never even seen a photo of the man instantly recognized his position. Anyone who had spent time in the military would describe Bennett's posture with the identical term: command presence. Bennett himself thought of the phrase as he looked out over the audience. Occasionally he told intimates that every leader has to be part entertainer. Some leaders are frightening entertainers, others are personable entertainers. Bennett could be either.

       "Gentlemen, welcome. My name is John Bennett. Callsign Pirate. I'm a fighter pilot." This elicited a ripple of enthusiasm and a scattering of applause from those who knew him. "Each of you can call me by my first name--Colonel." Laughter rolled across the audience. It was a familiar gambit, but a welcome one in this strange setting where so much was unfamiliar. It was also to be taken seriously.

       Bennett allowed the response to die out, then continued. "This is a great opportunity for us and, I might add, a lucrative one."

       A chorus of agreement washed over him. A couple of fliers shouted, "It's about time!" Most of these men had pursued other careers but their first love was pushing a fighter plane to its absolute limits, outmaneuvering another man similarly motivated and similarly equipped. No other part of their existence so absorbed them. Bennett knew that, for some, this was a last hurrah. A last time to bend the airplane and see the other man out in front, to know that you were better than he. The feeling in the air was electric.

       "Guys, I won't keep you here too long today. I know most of you are just getting settled in. But we're here to build the best air force in the world. It'll be a small one, but the product we turn out will be the finest on earth because you will make it so."

       Bennett paused, wondering how much to pursue this line of thought. He decided on a short diversion. "We've all been to pretty much the same places and done pretty much the same things. I guess in a way that makes us special. Certainly it makes us different. I like to think that we know how to do what the admirals and generals and budgeteers wanted us to do--but usually wouldn't let us."

       This brought .a staccato rush of endorsement for the sentiment. Bennett continued. "Well, the Saudis have given us the best chance we'll ever have to prove our point. We're going to make the most of it. By the time we're done, the bean-counters will know they missed a bet when they held us back. We're going to push our concept just as far as it will go--burning lots of gas, shooting lots of ordnance, and yanking and banking till hell won't have it." There was a smattering of applause. "In fact, I hope that at the end of two years-certainly four-we'll all be so damned tired of flying that we'll be glad to hang up our G-suits."

       Bennett knew he had made his point. "I'd like to introduce Lieutenant Colonel Ed Lawrence. He answers to Devil on the radio. He's my exec and in charge of instructor training. Ed, stand up."

       Lawrence raised himself from the front-row seat and waved laconically.

       "Colonel Lawrence will distribute the schedule tonight. You'll begin groundschool day after tomorrow, after your jet lag wears off. Certain of us will take the role of students both in the simulators and upstairs, with two flights in each phase. My feeling is that by the time we each have about fifteen hops we'll be up to speed and ready for our first students. Most of the F-20 two-seaters have been delivered, and we'll have the first single-seaters in a couple more weeks.

       "Now, this is important, so listen tight. Here in our compound and among ourselves we'll have the informality we're used to. But outside the compound, and especially among the young cadets and Arab officers, we
must
maintain a military bearing. One breach of etiquette means a warning and loss of a month's pay. A second time, even for a different offense like boozing or skirt-chasing, and you're gone with the wind, gentlemen. No appeal, no exceptions."

       He paused to let that sink in. Then he continued, with a lighter tone to his voice. "I've been reading the Koran as time allows, and that combined with close contact with the Saudis has shown me a few things." He paused to glance at his notes.

       "The Muslim religion is a warrior's religion. Death in battle is exulted. One
sura
says it all: 'Prescribed for you is fighting, though it be hateful to you.' The faith is characterized by extreme fatalism, and this trait must be handled carefully when dealing with your students. Many Arabs believe that when your time is up, there's nothing to do but accept the decree of God.
Inshallah
is a phrase you'll hear often. It means 'God's will.' Naturally, this attitude does not go well with military aviation. You must impress upon these cadets that they can
never
give up, never quit trying.

       "Another phrase you'll hear a lot is
mafi'misula.
It's the Arabic equivalent of
manana,
meaning 'no problem.' There's a widespread tendency to let things slide, to go around them rather than solve them. It's a cultural difference we will have to deal with, firmly but tactfully. Westerners are far more direct than Arabs, who always want to exchange pleasantries first. Similarly, briefings and debriefings tend to be extremely lax in Arab air forces because it's impolite to praise one person over another, let alone to imply criticism. Consequently, you must
always
seek to balance your debriefs with something positive, to keep encouraging the students at every stage of the syllabus.

       "We've arranged briefings to better acquaint you with Arab philosophy. But there's room for optimism. The students we're getting are barely more than kids, so their minds are relatively open and I'm assured there will be a minimum of culture shock. But get this: We're receiving the cream of this country's crop. I guarantee, if you produce for these boys, they'll break their hearts trying to please you.

       "Overall, just one thing to remember tonight. The Arabs will respect strong, quiet men who lead by example. Polish up your Gary Cooper impersonation and you won't go far wrong."

       Bennett looked around the room. He was confident he'd made his point. "All right. Last one to the bar buys the first round. "

       Colonel Bennett made sure he was the last to place his order.

Washington, D. C.

      
Secretary of State Thurmon Wilson was angered by the Israeli ambassador's suggestion that some obscure retired naval officer might be breaking the U. S. Code. Wilson pressed the button of his desk phone and asked his secretary to put him through to the Secretary of Defense.

       "Ben, good afternoon. The Israeli ambassador just left my office in a huff about some of the U.S. citizens under contract to the Saudis. You recall it was discussed at the cabinet meeting last time."

       The defense secretary listened to Wilson's New England accent with controlled petulance.
Oh, Christ,
he thought.
The Israelis again
. "Yes, I remember. We decided there was no harm in the arrangement. "

       "That's right," Wilson said. "But the Israelis seem especially interested in one man, apparently the leader. He's a retired Navy commander named John L. Bennett." Wilson spelled the name. "He's from the San Diego area. The Israelis seem to know a lot about him, and they suggest he may be in violation of U. S. Code."

       "In what way?"

       "Employment by a foreign military power, which technically could define him as a mercenary. But that's the broadest possible interpretation. If some lawyer wanted to push it, he'd make a case against every instructor or civilian tech rep we have outside the country. It wouldn't stick, of course, but that's the theory."

       Benjamin Wake interjected. "Did the ambassador make reference to the Saudi F-20 buy?"

       Wilson paused, uncertain of the aircraft designation. "Is that the airplane we discussed previously?"

       "Yes, it's designed by the Northrop Corporation. Long ago we gave permits for export to most of the friendly third world countries and it's also in production abroad. It's called the Tigershark."

       The Secretary of State remembered Tom Wolfe's description of the macho appellations given to combat aircraft: a mixture of sharp teeth, cold steel, cosmic warlords, and evil spirits. "Yes, that's the one. The Israelis are trying like hell to slow down the Middle East exports. They're lobbying heavily in Congress, you know."

       Wake knew where this conversation was leading. "I know. But do you know how many people are employed by that company? The president said last week that with our balance-of-payments deficit and with the unemployment in Southern California, there was no way we could reduce foreign military sales. It's politically as well as economically unfeasible."