Warriors by Barrett Tillman (38 page)

       Pulling the telex from his file once more, Ran reread the starkly objective report which still was less than twelve hours old. The Wailing Wall destroyed and the Knesset damaged. How were such things possible?

       Despite the emotions seething within him, Ran knew that the Arab outrage was calculated in its objective. The television news early this morning contained vivid images: the crumbled stones of the Wailing Wall open to Israeli cameramen anxious to show the world what the Jewish State now faced. No scenes were permitted of the Knesset.

       Ambassador Ran was enough of a realist to know that air strikes against military facilities were more important than cultural or political targets. But wondered what his brother would think of the retaliation orders which were certain to follow.

Hovda Air Base

      
"The fools! The goddam idiots! Not even those imbecile politicians can be this insane!" Lieutenant Colonel David Ran brandished the warning order alerting his squadron for strikes against Mecca and Riyadh. "It's playing straight into the Saudis' hands. Don't they realize that?"

       Ran vented his anger at the desk, at the walls of his office, and peripherally at the two flight commanders standing before him. His face was flushed and the veins stood out in his forehead and temples.

       "Sir, maybe headquarters can get the order rescinded." It was Major Yarom Sarig, the senior flight commander, second in command of Ran's Kfir squadron.

       "That's already been tried," Ran snapped. ''The Knesset is running-scared right now. The damage was minimal but you know politicians. They're hellfire orators when they send somebody else to get shot at. But let a couple of bombs fall near them and they start thinking about their own skins."

       The political fallout in Israel was beyond all magnitude of the actual damage inflicted. When the six Saudi Tornadoes struck within minutes of one another, the full spectrum of the nation's vulnerability lay exposed: political, cultural, and military. Most of the military professionals recognized that loss of the sacred Wailing Wall was trivial in practical terms, even less so than targeting of the legislative assembly. But the Saudis had struck a nerve. David Ran bitterly wondered what hard-eyed intellect was behind it.

       At length the squadron CO calmed down. He heaved a sigh which spoke volumes. He was physically drained and mentally spent. Both flight commanders recognized the symptoms; they had only to look in the mirror to see the same strain on their own faces. They had been flying multiple sorties for three days, with no letup in sight.

       "Well, I have to say one thing," Ran declared. ''The Saudis did a professional job on this mission. It's now apparent that they sent in the first two Tornadoes to focus our attention on Jerusalem while the other four went after the wall and the Knesset. Their electronics coverage and deception tactics across the Jordanian border were well conducted. We can't assume they are anything but first-class opponents. "

       Captain Uzi Nadel, the second flight commander, spoke up.

       "Excuse me, sir, but isn't it true that we shot down two Tornadoes? That's a thirty percent loss rate on this mission."

       Ran lanced the captain with a frosty glare. "Wouldn't you trade two aircraft for a shot at an enemy's primary political and cultural centers, with a major airfield thrown in?" He let the question dangle momentarily. "Of course you would! It's partly our fault that they succeeded as much as they did, anyway."

       "How is that, sir?" Nadel asked.

       "We've known for the past few years that the Saudis were buying Tornadoes from Britain. We know the performance and ordnance capabilities of those aircraft as well as the designers. It's basic doctrine to evaluate the threat based upon what the enemy is
capable
of doing, not what you
expect
him to do."

       The captain knew his CO was right. The twin-engine, two-seat Tornado, built by a consortium of British, German, and Italian firms, was one of the world's premiere strike aircraft. It regularly won NATO bombing competitions, and with a two-man crew it was capable of delivering precision weapons at low level in any weather. "Do we know how they conducted the strike, sir?"

       "Pretty much, based on known capabilities." Ran's voice was flat, almost toneless. "Their Tornadoes are configured for the French AS.30 missile, directed by the Atlis laser pod. This system gives at least a ten-kilometer standoff launch capability with accuracy of under two meters. Apparently both missiles launched at the Wailing Wall scored hits, but it was risky from their viewpoint. They passed within two hundred meters of the Dome of the Rock."

       The two officers instantly grasped the significance of that fact.

       The Dome of the Rock is a mosque covering the site where Muhammad was said to have ascended to heaven and therefore is the oldest monument in Islam. But the site also is sacred to Jews. Abraham, patriarch of the Hebrews, prepared to sacrifice his son Isaac on the same spot. The Wailing Wall, also called the Western Wall, formed part of the 60-foot-high perimeter around the Dome, but now most of its 160-foot length was reduced to rubble.

       Sarig spoke up. "Sir, is it known why the missiles launched at the Knesset fell short?"

       "Supposition. We know that one Tornado was shot down during its approach. The second was hit, apparently after launch. Evidently that hit caused the laser operator to flinch off-target just before impact. The AS.30 struck about fifty meters short of the building but there was still a lot of damage." The missile's 528-pound warhead, impacting at nearly 1,500 feet per second, was capable of penetrating two feet of concrete. Blast damage alone would have been considerable. "Anyway," Ran continued, "we still have to plan for the Mecca and Riyadh strikes."

       "We're going after Muslim shrines, then?"

       "No, I don't think so. My guess is the government wants to present a high moral tone to the world, so we won't retaliate that way. If that were the case, we could use the upgraded Jerichos. But the Saudis have surface-to-surface missiles from China and since nobody can defend against them, nobody is likely to use them."

       ''Then what is our target, sir?"

       "I don't know yet. Evidently we'll be told when Tel Aviv condescends to let us in on it." Ran's voice dripped bitter sarcasm. "Meanwhile, pass the word to the maintenance and armament sections. And get Asher in here to start work on mission profiles and planning. That's all."

       The two flight commanders had been dismissed, leaving the CO to rub his temples with his fingertips, closing his eyes. David Ran, warrior, prepared himself for an unnecessary mission from which he quite probably would not return.

Chapter 14

DAY FOUR

Ha'il

      
JOHN BENNETT AND BEAR BARNES CHECKED THE TIGER Force status board, pleased to note that aircraft availability was running at more than 90 percent full-mission capable going into the crucial test. There were ample stocks of fuel and ordnance, including Sparrow radar-guided missiles. The two-seat Tigersharks attached to each squadron were ready with radar installed. The General Electric APG-67 system was capable of detecting a five-meter-square target 85 percent of the time at more than forty miles, and this day the F-20s would employ their Sparrow option.

       Bennett asked his operations officer about coordination with other Saudi units.

       "We're all set," Barnes replied. "The schedule has been passed by discrete land line to the F-5 and F-15 squadrons, which will move to the northeastern bases. We've confirmed authentication codes with every unit, and the Eagle drivers understand they're not supposed to engage. They're only Sparrow shooters today."

       Bennett concurred. With F-15s on both sides, the Saudis did not want any of their $35 million Eagles shot down by F-5 or F-20 pilots. Instead, the Eagle's outstanding long-range Sparrow capability was to be used as a preliminary means of breaking up the anticipated Israeli strikes. Bennett was less enthusiastic than the Saudis themselves about the prospects for scoring many kills with radar missiles, but that was beside the point. He knew that "the great white hope," as the AIM-7 was called, would force the Israelis to' concentrate on evading the initial shots. That would give the Northrops time to position for an advantage when the close-in, cut-and-thrust dogfighting began.

       Barnes was smiling to himself for no apparent reason. "What's so funny?" Bennett asked.

       "Oh, I was just thinking of what Tim Ottman used to say. You remember? He said he'd just as soon have a cardboard tube filled with a smoke generator to get the opposition's attention. It'd be a lot cheaper than a radar missile and accomplish the same thing."

       Bennett chuckled aloud. It was a reassuring sound; Bear had not heard the CO laugh since Claudia died.

       "Yeah, I remember. And that's from a thousand-hour Eagle driver. I just hope none of our 15s gets buck fever and piles in. The way the Tiger Force honchos are keyed up, not to mention the F-5 troops, I wouldn't want to get within visual range of an Eagle today. "

       Bennett recalled the briefing from the night before. The Israelis would come with everything: F-15s, F-16s, Phantoms, and Kfirs.

       Bennett's word on aircraft recognition: "If it isn't built in Hawthorne, California, shoot it!" It shaped up as Northrop against nearly everything in the Israeli inventory.

       Rubbing his back, Barnes straightened up from the table. "You know, Skipper, this is going to be one hellacious donnybrook. There will be bogeys all around the clock, heat-seekers and radar missiles, heavy ECM from both sides. It's going to be a jet-propelled
Dawn Patrol."
He grinned. "I'm almost sorry I won't see it."

       Bennett did not respond for several seconds. Then, softly, he replied, "I used to feel that way. But I think a lot of good drivers are going to die pretty soon. The desert's going to be littered with smoking piles that once were beautiful flying machines." He raised his gaze to Bear's face. "You know something? I'm
glad
I won't see it." He noted the concern on the ops officer's face, and understood. "Oh, don't mistake me, Bear. I'm not having second thoughts. After all, it's my plan. But whoever was behind Claudia's killing, it wasn't any of the guys in cockpits over there. No, I'm just glad I won't have to watch it, that's all."

       Bennett turned to the situation map in the briefing room. The forward lines were revised every two or three hours, according to field reports and photographic reconnaissance. It was obvious that the Israeli Army, overextended into Jordan, had been unable to hold its ground in the face of the massive, violent assault. The units in danger of being encircled had made a reasonably orderly withdrawal toward the West Bank, fighting hard all the way. Low-flying jets with the Star of David had inflicted heavy losses on Arab troop columns, and antitank helicopters made sizable dents in enemy armored columns.

       But from Amman to Al-'Aqabah, Israeli units had been forced to pull back in the previous three days. Those not actually in contact often were left in precarious positions, one or even both flanks exposed by the withdrawal of adjacent regiments. Fighting had stabilized on the East Bank of the River Jordan, mainly helped by Israeli armor and airpower. But nearly half the
Heyl Ha'Avir
tactical aircraft had been siphoned off for the massive retaliatory strikes ordered by Tel Aviv. The air force professionals recognized it as a blunder. And so did a young paratroop captain fighting near Amman.

Amman

      
Captain Levi Bar-El had had no time to think of his fixation on the American John Bennett lately. The intelligence officer had been fully occupied identifying nearby Syrian and Iranian units, interrogating occasional prisoners. Other than that, it was. a constant routine of filling in small pieces of the overall puzzle, making some order out of near-total chaos.

       Bar-El was leading a recon ground patrol that afternoon, searching a gully south of the Jordanian capital. He was aware of the jets almost constantly overhead, but he paid them little attention. Israeli infantry were accustomed to having friendly aircraft around, and Bar-El's unit had only suffered two attacks from enemy aircraft:

       Syrian MiC-21s which strafed the area before being run off by F-16s, and Iraqi Mirages which bombed and rocketed.

       The point man in the patrol knelt at the bend of a ravine, scanning the area ahead. Bar-El had just placed the handset back on his radioman's harness when a movement caught the patrol leader's attention. Hefting his Calil rifle, Bar-El stood up and walked four paces to his left. He intently searched the scrub brush topping a small sand dune, signaling his corporal to spread out to the right.

       Abruptly three Syrian commandos broke cover near the crest of the dune. Two opened an undisciplined fire with their AK-74 automatic rifles, wounding one of the Israelis. Bar-El's men returned fire with better accuracy, toppling the two in a cloud of noise, dust, and blood.

       The third Syrian was visible from the belt up, perhaps twenty-five meters from the captain. Bar-EI saw the man retract his right arm to throw a grenade.

       Despite its boxy appearance, the Calil rifle is an excellent-handling weapon. With his folding-frame stock extended for proper use, Bar-El instantly mounted the rifle to his shoulder, got a quick glimpse of his front sight settling on the man's pinkish camouflage shirt, and took the slack from the trigger. .

       The Syrian's hand already was moving forward, loosening the grip on the grenade which arced toward the Israeli officer.