Warriors by Barrett Tillman (4 page)

       But some, like Bennett, sensed an implied message.
Hancock's
proposed reinforcement would amount to about 20 percent of the prewar Israeli Air Force, and it was axiomatic that no air arm could sustain a 10 percent loss rate for long. Bennett thought back to what had seemed the sweetheart deal with the MiGs in Nevada now maybe it made sense. Perhaps payment had been deferred.

       After Tatum finished his briefing the squadron commanders got together. One Skyhawk CO said, "I can understand us giving the Israelis A-4s. They've flown them for years. But F-8s? Come on!"

       The fighter skippers agreed. The
Heyl Ha'Avir
never had owned Crusaders. None of the Israeli pilots had flown the Voughts and there was no maintenance or logistic support in place to keep them operational.

       Bennett summed up the situation in a sentence. "If they need F-8s that bad, they're really on the ropes."

DAY TEN

Sinai

      
At dawn on 15 October, jets bearing the blue Star of David lifted off their runways. With the new electronic countermeasures (ECM) gear, the Mirages, Phantoms, and Skyhawks had gained a large measure of protection from Arab tracking and fire-control radars, and the results showed. Daily aircraft losses had dropped to two or three-well within limits. But not even massive American replenishment could offset the staggering losses of the first week.

       Lieutenant David Ran was as well aware of the shortage as anyone. He had seen squadron mates die and he knew how the ground crews slaved to keep remaining aircraft in commission. He' was tired-tired in his bones-but he surprised himself with an unsuspected reservoir of stamina. A brief meeting with his diplomat brother Avrim told the story.

       "Papa, you would hardly know David anymore," Avrim had told their father. "He's changed so much since I last saw him. There's still that shyness about him but he's also, well, so
confident.
I think he's learned a lot about himself these recent days. You know he's now a flight leader? Amazing." Avrim paused, uncertain whether he should tell his father what else had appeared in David's personality. Well, a parent is entitled to know. "Papa, there's something more. The war. I think he
likes
it."

       David had been promoted to section leader, and while he did not like the war he found that he savored combat. It was a distinction that only warriors could understand.

       Concentrating on the mission at hand, he frankly relished the prospects. Egyptian armored columns thrusting for Mitla Pass had outrun the coverage of their fixed SA-2 and SA-3 missile batteries. Now the narrow bridgehead afforded Israeli pilots a densely packed hunting ground.

       Flying number three in the four-plane flight, Ran kept impeccable formation on his leader. The A-4s approached the target area at 300 knots and Ran checked his armament switches, then adjusted the rheostat of his gunsight. He had developed a passion for tankbusting and had told a former flight school classmate, "It's the most fun you can have in an airplane."

       More fun was at hand. The Skyhawks broke up to approach the enemy armored column, two each from different directions. Anti-tank helicopters hovered nearby, awaiting the cover of the jet attack to make their own move against the Soviet-built T-54s and T-62s. With other aircraft dedicated to chaff and flare dispensing, and still more conducting standoff jamming of the higher radar frequencies, the mission was a complex endeavor. But recent experience showed that it worked most of the time.

       From 8,000 feet Ran led his wingman down on the low-slung silhouettes of Egyptian tanks. As usual, the sky erupted with flak bursts, missile plumes, chaff, and flares. Ran went for a circle of T-62s, jinking only slightly during his run. He felt bulletproof.

       Tanks are built to engage their own kind, and therefore are most heavily armored on the front and sides. They are most vulnerable from above and behind, and Ran took advantage of that fact. He arced around for a favorable angle on several of the forty-ton monsters and initiated a fifteen-degree dive. Waiting until his slant range was less than 2,000 feet, he placed the pipper of his gunsight reticle on the hull of the nearest T-62 and barely stroked the trigger.

       Eight 30mm shells left the muzzles of his twin DEF A cannon, and six hit the target. They penetrated the 11/4-inch armor covering the top of the Egyptian tank and destroyed it.

       Ran instantly jockeyed stick and rudder to line up another and fired a similarly economical burst. Flames and smoke erupted from its engine compartment but Ran hardly noticed. He had learned what every snapshooter knows: Once you have engaged a target, ignore it. Just shift targets and shoot again-there is no time for sightseeing.

       The two A-4s bottomed out of their runs and hugged the deck, scooting for safety behind every sand dune and depression. Ran had a brief image of helicopters launching missiles into the massed enemy armor. It looked like a good job.

       Ran was eager for another pass; he felt sure of one kill and probably another. He had the best record in the squadron for rounds fired to tanks killed, as the
Heyl Ha'Avir
kept meticulous records on combat efficiency. David's armorers proudly boasted that their pilot was destroying one enemy tank with fewer than ten rounds of ammunition. His gun camera films were being shown as examples of how to do the job, and he was only getting better.

       The flight leader pulled up at a safe distance and assessed the situation. He judged that the Egyptians were still preoccupied with results of the first attack and decided to risk another. A terse radio command told Ran what to do. The A-4s varied their roll-in headings from the previous pass and once more dropped into the seething caldron of missiles and flak.

       A lucrative target offered itself in the form of a Gun Dish antiaircraft unit. Ran destroyed it in one pass while his wingman damaged another T-62. Both A-4s were down to sandblower altitude again when Ran felt a moderate
thump.
He thought it came from the rear of his aircraft. He scanned his instruments. Fuel state, hydraulic pressure, engine RPM and tailpipe temperature all registered normal.

       Climbing back to altitude, Ran asked his wingman to look him over. The brown-and-tan Skyhawk dropped back and smoothly slid under Ran's tail, reappearing on the opposite side.

       "You've got some battle damage to your stabilizer, but it looks all right. Any instrument fluctuation?"

       "Negative." David thought he'd probably taken a near miss from a hand-held SA-7, but in flight there was no point speculating. After landing, the two fliers examined the torn aluminum of the Skyhawk's tail. Ran's wingman was in a chipper mood.

       "You see what happens when you develop a reputation as a sharpshooter? People start shooting back."

       David Ran turned on his heel and paced off to debrief.

       THE 1973 WAR ENTERED ITS THIRD AND FINAL PHASE on Day Eleven. Two-thirds of the Egyptian and Syrian missile batteries were knocked out, freeing more Israeli aircraft for direct support of ground forces. Additionally, Iraqi and Jordanian forces were contained along the Golan Heights so the emphasis of Israeli operations shifted westward.

       Suppression of Arab air defenses had badly affected IAF efforts.

       Though hundreds of sorties were flown daily, the early portion of the war required the large majority to be devoted to auxiliary tasks: flare and chaff drops, ECM and actual attacks on flak and SAM batteries. Now that had changed.

       Captain Solomon Yatanahu explained the new situation in a briefing to his flight crews.

       "Our tank forces are launching Operation Gazelle, designed to cut off the Egyptians in this area." He tapped a large-scale map with his pointer. "Bridging and bulldozer units are providing crossings over the Suez Canal in order to put our armor in the enemy's rear." Yatanahu smiled broadly. His fliers knew him as a determinedly cheerful leader, despite fatigue and losses.

       "Boys, this is an historic moment. It's only the second time in Jewish history that we've crossed the Red Sea without getting our feet wet."

       The aircrews shared the mirth. Yatanahu thought it was good to hear laughter again. After what they've been through, he thought, if they can laugh they can win.

DAY EIGHTEEN

USS Hancock

      
Commander John Bennett attended an intelligence briefing with the other squadron COs. The contingency delivery of F-8s and A-4s to Israel had been canceled because the situation was stabilized but the air wing "spy" kept the aviators up to date as a matter of course.

       "Since the war started eighteen days ago, things have changed drastically," the intelligence officer began. "It's a weird setup, with Egyptian units on the east bank of the canal and Israeli forces on the west side. This armored column"-he pointed to Suez Town on his map--"has cut off most of the Egyptian Third Army. Everybody seems to be holding in place with the impending cease-fire."

       Bennett leaned forward, chin in his hands. "When's the shooting supposed to stop?"

       "Sometime tomorrow, evidently. I don't have full info on that, but my guess is that Washington and Moscow have reined in their surrogates and finally made them behave. That's probably what's behind this cease-fire in place, as confirmed by national reconnaissance assets."

       Bennett smiled to himself. He liked to read for pleasure, and as a history lover he had acquired a regard for the English language as it was intended to be used. The subspecies called Pentagonese left him cold, even after sixteen years in the Navy. He knew perfectly well that "national reconnaissance assets" meant satellite photography, which, combined with radio monitoring from ships in the Mediterranean, provided a good picture of developing events.

       The intel officer continued. "What this means is pretty obvious.

       The Israelis pulled things out of the fire by a damn narrow margin. We estimate they lost 50 percent of their frontline tactical aircraft in this war. Remember, it's lasted three times longer than the '67 war, with attendant heavier losses."

       Bennett recalled the paper he had written at the Naval War College. Airpower was the key to the Middle East, and Israel could not afford a prolonged war. This current conflict, evidently headed for conclusion, was proof positive if further evidence were necessary. He reached in his shirt pocket, produced a notepad, and scribbled a few lines. John Bennett had certain opinions on the nature of airpower-attitudes not wholly in keeping with American policies. He was not sure what to do with his concepts, but he felt someday they might be put to use.

DAY NINETEEN

Sinai

      
The shooting on the Egyptian Front ended 24 October. However, clearing up the human and technological debris took longer than it had taken to produce the carnage. A few well-connected military attaches from nonbelligerent countries were able to examine the residue of combat, noting the effects of modem weapons for future reference.

       Among those inspecting the battlefield around Suez was a Saudi Arabian Air Force officer, Major Mohammad abd Maila. He saw the charred, gutted hulks of trucks, tanks, and personnel carriers. He tasted as much as smelled the residue of burned rubber, diesel, and gasoline--and roasted flesh. It was not difficult for him to imagine. the Israeli aircraft descending from the sky to destroy what had once been a powerful armored column. The screech of jet engines, the staccato pounding of antiaircraft guns, the high-pitched ring of armor-piercing rounds penetrating tempered steel.

       Maila turned away from the wretched sight. He had excellent contacts in Riyadh, including well-placed members of the royal family. Perhaps he could spare his own countrymen some of what he had seen. Walking back to his jeep, the phrase echoed in his consciousness,
This must never happen again.

PART I

To steer an aircraft is nothing. To fly It is difficult.

••••••• French Fighter Tactics Manual, World War I

Chapter 1

       ANGER WAS EVIDENT IN HIS LONG STRIDE AND THE force of each heel on the sidewalk. But there was something else-embarrassment. He had not seen his friend in a long time, and to learn how a once-valued comrade had turned out was cause for embarrassment and anger. Pausing at the intersection, he unbuttoned his blazer and stepped off the curb. Both hands were thrust into his pockets, and the angry stride slowed to a more casual gait.

      
Damn, they were right,
he thought.
All of them. Old John Bennett just can't stop tilting at windmills. You're not in the Navy anymore, Bennett. It's no longer your problem. Why can't you let it go? Dave only had a few hours, and you led him into another argument and started the whole thing over again. Poor bastard only wanted to see some old friends and have a drink, and you start lecturing again on what's wrong with naval aviation.

      
A brief smile creased Bennett's tan face.
God,
he thought to himself,
it's true. They do breathe helium in Washington.

      
It was an old joke in the operational forces that when a good guy-somebody who understood what was important-got orders to D. C., his personality changed. Damn, in a few months it was like they gave him a prefrontal lobotomy. When you saw him next he was mouthing inane ideas in Pentagonese.