The Chosen One

by Walt Gragg

  “That’s excellent news.” The president turned to the director of the CIA. “What about Mourad, have we located his headquarters?”

  “Not yet, Mr. President. We’re certain he’s near the front. Beyond that we haven’t a clue.”

  “Okay, Chet, keep looking for the sorry bastard. Original orders remain—find him and kill him.”

  “Yes, Mr. President.”

  “Unfortunately, Mr. President,” the secretary of defense said, “not finding Mourad isn’t the only bad news, I’m afraid.”

  “How so, Mr. Secretary?”

  “We’ve got a major problem on our hands, sir. One that could spell disaster if the Chosen One identifies it and moves swiftly to press his advantage.”

  “I’m almost afraid to ask,” the president said.

  “In order to keep Cairo from falling, we put every unit we could get our hands on inside the city. That left our flanks totally exposed. Both north and south of the capital there are only a handful of Egyptian infantry guarding the Nile. It would take no effort for Mourad to defeat them. We know his ultimate goal’s to drag Israel into this war. If he takes advantage of the situation and succeeds in attacking Israel, we’re going to have a new set of problems on our hands.”

  The smile was gone from the president’s face.

  “I knew General Greer’s news was too good to be true. Have there been signs of enemy buildups near the weak points?”

  “Not yet. Maybe we’ll get lucky and Mourad’s intelligence folks won’t spot the opening we’ve left.”

  “What do you and General Greer propose we do?”

  “There’s not much we can do for the next day or so. If we pull rifles from Cairo to protect the flank, we’re making ourselves vulnerable within the city. Despite the good things that have happened, Egypt may fall if the Chosen One launches a massive assault and we’ve weakened our forces inside the capital. So that’s no option. We’ve got to leave our units where they are.”

  “There’s no one we can use to reinforce the flanks?”

  “Not if he strikes soon. All we’ll have is airpower to harass his tanks as they cross the Sinai. That’ll slow them. And I’m positive we’ll exact a heavy toll. But I’m also certain it won’t stop them. Airpower alone never will. You’ve got to have boots on the ground.”

  “What do you suggest we do, Mr. Secretary?”

  “For the next forty-eight hours pray Mourad doesn’t figure out how tenuous our position is. Because if he does, we’re in serious trouble. Beyond that, we may be okay. We’ve been holding the 1st Infantry for such an emergency. They’ll have to go without the majority of their heavy equipment, of course. But along with the arrival of the Gerald Ford and John F. Kennedy off the Egyptian coast, we should be able to hold the line against all but the most determined attacks once they get there.”

  “All right, Mr. Secretary. Get the 1st Infantry on the move. Let’s look at the next topic. Where do we stand in northern Egypt?”

  “We’re fifteen miles closer to Cairo than we were yesterday, Mr. President,” General Greer said. “Both British armored divisions have landed. The first entered the conflict sixteen hours ago. The second moved south a few hours later.”

  “Fifteen miles in sixteen hours, that’s impressive. At that pace we should reach the city in three or four days, right?”

  “Mr. President, I wish it were true. Despite the progress our forces made, they’ve been stopped cold by an endless succession of minefields. They’re absolutely everywhere. British tanks armed with minesweeping equipment have moved forward to clear them. But some of the minefields are quite extensive. It’s going to take hours to create safe passages. And no one’s anxious to undertake such delicate operations in the dark. They’re going to wait for sunrise to begin establishing paths through them. And Mourad’s using that to his advantage. He’s finally recognized he’s on the defensive. His armor’s digging in. So unless I’m mistaken, the northern Egyptian battlefield’s going to turn into a time-consuming war of attrition.”

  “That doesn’t sound the least bit encouraging. Even so, you haven’t answered my question. What’s the best estimate of when the Marines will reach Cairo?”

  “Based upon what we’ve run into today, it’ll be anywhere from five days to two weeks before we defeat Mourad.”

  “Not exactly the answer I wanted. But we will win, won’t we, General? No more of that ‘fifty-fifty’ stuff, right?”

  “There are lots of variables, but yes, Mr. President, we should win. That, of course, is contingent upon what happens in the next few days. If the tactical situation stays where it is and the Chosen One doesn’t attack Israel, we should be okay.”

  “All right, I guess I can live with that. Let’s move on. How are we doing in Saudi Arabia and Kuwait?”

  “Iraqis and Iranians are keeping the pressure on, but with the entire 3rd Infantry and most of the 1st Armor Division in place, we’re more than holding our own. The enemy’s not made any progress in the past three days.”

  “That’s good to hear. Anything else?”

  “Lots of things, Mr. President. The interrogation of the Iraqis and Iranians we’ve captured has provided some real insight into what’s going on with our adversaries.”

  “How so, General Greer?”

  “There’s apparently a rift forming. We’ve always known the Iranians were far more fanatical than the Iraqis. That is causing the two sides to bicker over the proper course of action. The Iranian leadership continues to push for one attack after another. They don’t appear to care how suicidal their efforts are. The Iraqis are more concerned with staying alive. They’ve been advocating for a more cautious approach. They only want to attack when the odds are in their favor. The Iranians are frustrated with the Iraqis’ refusal to continue taking the fight to us. And the Iraqis are upset with the Iranian insistence they keep fighting even when there’s nothing to be gained.”

  “Can we use that information to our advantage?”

  “We believe so, Mr. President. The Iranians are so upset they’ve taken matters into their own hands. They’re gathering a half-million men with lots and lots of armored vehicles near the front lines in Saudi Arabia. Their best units, spearheaded by five divisions of Revolutionary Guards, are involved. It looks like they’re planning a huge attack. The prisoners told us the Iranians are expecting the Iraqis to hold the flanks while they unleash their massed army on the center of our defenses. They’re certain with so concentrated an attack they can smash through our lines and race to capture Riyadh and destroy the Saudi oil fields before we figure out what hit us. The final Iranian units should be in place and the attack undertaken within the week. Our satellite photos confirm what the interrogations told us about the Iranian intentions. We’ve suspected they might try something like this. So we’ve been perfecting an approach to counter it.”

  “The ships carrying the rest of the 1st Cavalry Division, 101st Airborne, and 25th Infantry will arrive in Saudi Arabia in three days,” the secretary of defense said. “Once they do, we’re going to put our plan into motion to destroy the Iranians. We’ll launch an attack on the thin Iraqi flanks five days from now. Our forces will breach the Iraqi lines and race to encircle the Iranian army. The trap will be sprung before they know what hit them. With the Iranians surrounded, the 1st Armor and two French armored divisions will hit them head-on. The destruction of half a million of Iran’s best soldiers will be under way.”

  “And the best part,” General Greer added, “is we’re going to make sure what few Iranians survive know the Iraqi failure to hold the flanks was the cause of their slaughter. That should put an end to their questionable partnership.”

  “Are our divisions and the French units enough to handle the task, General Greer?”

  “Along with the airpower we’ve assembled, it’s more than enough. Our forces will destroy the Iranians with relative ease
. And we’ll keep the 3rd Infantry in reserve to protect the Saudis should our efforts come up short. If the Iranians break through and the 3rd Infantry somehow fails to stem the tide, we’ve got another answer. The 4th Infantry’s ships are scheduled to arrive the day after the battle begins. The 10th Mountain Division’s a day or two behind them. So the Iranians will run head-on into two fresh divisions. The M-1 tanks and Bradley Fighting Vehicles of the 4th Infantry and the highly trained soldiers of the 10th Mountain will stop them in their tracks.”

  The president turned to the secretary of defense. “You’re certain this will work, Mr. Secretary? I’d sure hate to have to explain to the public that we’ve lost the Saudi oil fields.”

  “It’ll work exactly like we said it would. We’re going to move fast and hit hard. The enemy’s got a snowball’s chance in hell of surviving our ambush, Mr. President. And even if they do, we’ve got two top-notch divisions arriving to finish them off.”

  “In fact, Mr. President,” General Greer said, “we’re so certain of success we’d suggest not unloading the 4th Infantry and 10th Mountain until we see how the battle’s progressing. If things go as we suspect, we probably won’t need them in Saudi Arabia. If that’s the case, we’d like to divert their ships to Egypt. Have them rush across the eastern desert to hit the Chosen One south of Cairo. We figure they’re just the force necessary to put an end to things.”

  48

  6:21 P.M., OCTOBER 27

  ODA 6333, CHARLIE COMPANY, 3RD BATTALION, 6TH SPECIAL FORCES GROUP (AIRBORNE)

  IN THE WINE CELLAR, THE HOTEL LOURAINE

  CAIRO

  Charlie Sanders relit the candle. He glanced at his watch. The dinner hour had arrived. He looked at Reena. She made no attempt to pretend to be sleeping.

  He reached into his rucksack, withdrawing the final packet of MREs. He opened it and got out his canteen. The evening meal was soon ready.

  Sanders helped her into a sitting position, with only a modicum of pain involved. As he’d done at every meal for the past four days, he handed her the food. She looked at him and smiled. Reena was certain he hadn’t eaten in all that time. She held the food up, indicating she wished for him to share. Yet, as at each previous meal, he declined her offer. She couldn’t comprehend his generosity. Even though she’d attempted to kill him, he’d done nothing but treat her with kindness and dignity since. He’d given her all the remaining food, turning down even a single morsel. For ninety-six hours he’d gone without. He held up the canvas bag so she could see it was empty.

  “That’s the last of it, Reena. I’ve stretched it as far as I can. There’s none in my rucksack and I’ve searched this place from top to bottom. There’s no food in the hotel.”

  She looked at him while she ate. His strange words meant nothing.

  “I wish I knew what’s going on. The last time I went into the kitchen for water I didn’t hear anything remotely sounding like gunfire. I guess the city’s surrendered and is under Mourad’s control. All of Egypt’s probably fallen. It’s possible most of his army moved on days ago and are hundreds of miles from here. I’m thinking about a trip outside the hotel to see if I can find something to eat. It’d be real dangerous, but maybe late tonight I’ll sneak out and take a quick look around. To be honest, I know it’s not a very good idea. Even if most are gone, Mourad’s bound to have a few guys hanging around. And I’d probably be spotted no matter how cautious I was. Besides, I really wouldn’t know where to look. I’m willing to bet when they left, his soldiers cleaned out every kitchen and food stall within fifty miles of this place.”

  She continued to eat the final meal. He watched as she consumed the last of the MREs. She returned his gaze, the hostility in her eyes a distant memory.

  “God, Reena, you’re even beautiful when you’re eating. I don’t think I could stand watching while you starve to death. I’d have to do something. But let’s face it, we both know a trip outside the hotel would be plain stupid. And my mother didn’t raise a stupid child.”

  Reena continued looking at him. A pleasant look came to her face.

  “Look, I didn’t want to bring this up, but I know of a plentiful food supply well within reach. I’ve waited to mention it until I absolutely had to. There’s lots and lots to eat right over our heads. The kitchen’s only a few feet away. And it’s full of big, fat rats there for the taking. It wouldn’t take much to kill a few. The only problem is we won’t be able to build a fire down here, so we’d have to eat them raw. I know that probably doesn’t sound too good when your belly’s full. But wait a day or two. After a while you won’t care what you’re putting into your mouth. I ate worse things while going through Special Forces training. And it isn’t so bad when you’re as hungry as I am right now. Look . . . I’ll tell you what. I can hold out a little longer. Let’s wait a bit before I start catching them. That way you’ll be good and hungry. How’s that sound?”

  Her expression never changed.

  “All right, it’s a deal. I won’t go outside the hotel until it’s totally necessary. Instead, I’ll catch our meal each night at the top of these stairs. That should work for quite some time.”

  She took the last bite of food and slowly chewed it.

  “Looks like you’re about done; time to extinguish the candle.”

  The flickering light was soon perched in front of his lips. As he prepared to blow it out, she motioned for him to stop. For whatever reason, she didn’t want him to douse the light. He didn’t have the slightest idea why. She struggled to her feet, signaling for him to stay where he was. Reena leaned against the wine racks and stepped toward where he was sitting. It wasn’t long before she was standing over him.

  “Reena, what in the world are you doing? You need to sit back down.”

  She smiled at him. Surprisingly, she bent over and gave him a gentle kiss on the cheek. A grin came to his face. It soon turned into a devouring smile. She dropped to the floor and moved around until she was next to her captor. She returned his smile. Scooting up close to him, she took his arm and placed it around her uninjured shoulder. She reached over and blew out the candle.

  Sanders’s dream of a marvelous life with the beautiful Arab girl was taking form.

  49

  9:15 A.M., OCTOBER 28

  4TH PLATOON, ALPHA TROOP, 1ST BATTALION, 5TH CAVALRY REGIMENT, 1ST HEAVY BRIGADE COMBAT

  (IRONHORSE), 1ST CAVALRY DIVISION

  DHAHRAN, SAUDI ARABIA

  Walton and Sanchez stood near the busy docks. They were watching the cargo ships unload one armored vehicle after another. The 1st Cavalry Division’s remaining brigades were coming ashore. By midafternoon, the entire Texas division would be on dry ground.

  The fifteen thousand soldiers of the 25th Infantry Division, with their three hundred Abrams tanks, an equal number of Bradley Fighting Vehicles, and scores of Strikers, already had unloaded. Along with the 25th were stretching lines of artillery pieces, attack and transport helicopters, air defense weapons, and ordnance and support elements of every kind. The first of the arriving divisions was moving to its designated staging area.

  By sunset, the 101st Airborne Division would also be ashore.

  Sanchez spotted someone he knew from the 1st Cavalry Division’s 3rd Brigade. The cavalryman was sitting in the open commander’s hatch of an M-1 Abrams easing past their position.

  “Hey, Smitty!” he yelled. “Sure took you long enough to get here. Where the hell you guys been? Did you figure 1st Brigade could whip the Iraqis and Iranians all by ourselves so there was no need to hurry?”

  “What we heard was you guys were sitting on the beach getting a tan while the 3rd Infantry did all the dirty work. So we took our own sweet time. Didn’t want to cut short you 1st Brigade prima donnas’ leisure time.” The tank commander laughed.

  Sanchez raised his middle finger to indicate his displeasure with the snide comment. “You wish. I’ve killed
more tanks than the entire Army did during Desert Storm and the second Iraq war. I’m told the enemy’s so afraid of me that when they want their children to behave, they just mention my name.”

  “Or show them a picture of that ugly face of yours. That would scare the hell out of anyone.” The M-1 drove away before Sanchez could respond to this latest good-natured barb.

  Walton burst into laughter. “He’s got you there, Miguel.”

  “Forget him, Sarge. He’s just some second-rate tanker who couldn’t hit a T-72 with a water pistol from three feet away. Besides, I know what you’re doing. And it won’t work. You’re trying to change the subject so you won’t have to admit my information was right all along. What’d I tell ya? Our division’s unloading. The 25th’s already here, and see those ships offshore? The 101st is in those. Three divisions, like I said.”

  “You were right, Miguel. I don’t know why I ever doubted you.”

  “Two days and we head north for our top secret mission to destroy the Iraqis and Iranians.”

  “Seems to me you first told me about this so-called plan on our last night outside Sakakah. After more than a week of fighting, I thought you’d lost what little was left of your mind. Some wild idea about a top secret mission. It sounded so crazy. But with your recent batting average, I’ll bet you were right even then. Looks like your info’s coming to pass. I’ve been ordered to assemble the platoon in the staging area this afternoon to outfit our Bradleys for combat. There’s a battalion briefing for all platoon leaders and platoon sergeants set for three. We should know for sure after that.”