by Jack Leman
Avitan was eying the clock on the top of the security booth. Another hour and he would be free to take Dolly for a walk. Once he was out of view of the officers, he would have the cigarette he was craving for. All these posh cars! They all had their own specific smell of leather upholstery. He was only familiar with the Honda his family owned, and he would never have another chance to discover the inside of these luxurious cars. Sometimes a passenger got scared of Dolly and asked him to hold her away from them. He couldn’t understand those people. He found dogs behaved better than most humans. Deep inside, he felt like goading Dolly on them.
The line of cars arriving was growing. He was expecting the queue of cars to increase as the beginning of the ceremony approached. The passengers were already edgy because of the slow security process. In a moment they would shout indignantly and scold him as if it was the dog’s fault they were late. He had learned that the hard way.
Another hour to go.
52-Sunday 12:40 pm
PIJ
Gaza
Abu Dawan reviewed the plan in his head. There were three launch pads aimed to Beersheba, two to Sderot, two to Ashkelon, three at Kiryat Gat where there was an army base, two to Nevinot and two to Tel-Aviv. Fourteen stations with 36 short and middle-range rockets and six long-range rockets, making a salvo of 150 rockets at a time. He hoped there would be no misfiring’s. Once the rocket was fired, and if for some reason got stuck in the launching pad, it could blow up at any time. His militiamen had instructions to disappear as soon as the rockets were launched, but in that case, they had to remain on the ground and prevent anyone from approaching or touching the failed rocket until a special disposal team arrived. He knew by experience that even though the instructions to secure the place were very precise, his men would leave the premises because of the risks of the Israelis finding the source of the launching and bomb it with precision ammunition.
The bulk of the rockets were made of improved al-Quds-102 rockets, called Qassem rockets by the Israelis. They could reach targets within a range of 24 km and could carry a warhead of 17kgs. They were inaccurate but made the desired effect of terror in the cities they were aimed at. Then, there were the Russian made BM-21 Grad rockets, similar to the al-Quds-102, smuggled in through the tunnels under Rafah. They had a range of 35km and carried a warhead of 18kgs. The big surprise awaiting the Israelis was the long-range Khaibar-1 artillery rocket. They would fire six of them towards Tel Aviv. Abu Dawan knew the Iron Dome would intercept most of these rockets, but there was a probability that a few would go through the barrage of interceptor missiles and reach their target; that would be enough to create the effect he wanted. The Israelis would be terrorized, and the public opinion would pressure the government to invade Gaza and clean up the workshops that produced the rockets. But he knew that the actual government, other than the usual loud threats, would not dare invade Gaza. The barrage would boost the Palestinian morale. The PIJ expected to have a large popularity surge compared to Hamas, which proved incapable of mounting military operations against the Zionist occupants.
But there was another reason he wanted to launch all the rockets at the same time. The aim was to saturate, and even deplete, the Iron Dome anti-rocket system the Israelis relied on to protect their people and their cities.
After his call from Abu Amr, Abu Dawan dismantled his cell phone and took a new burner from his reserve of cell phones, inserted a battery and a Sim card, and powered it on. He dialed the number in Cyprus, went through the same protocol of access, and waited for the call to be patched to Syria. While he listened to the clicks and clacks, he wondered at today’s technology. There were no borders for communication anymore. He could contact Syria from Gaza without a problem.
Abu Amr answered the phone after the first ring.
“Is the fighting still going on?” asked Abu Dawan.
“They stopped just a moment ago. I still don’t know who they are. We didn’t get involved at all. I don’t even think they know our presence here.”
“My friend, deploy your men to protect the launching; you have enough men to secure the truck. I am sure you can do that successfully. You will be a hero for the Palestinian cause.”
“Inshallah,” responded Abu Amr thoughtfully.
“Take note. These are the coordinates you need to insert in the guiding system. 35.7762366… got it?”
“Yes, I repeat, 35.77…..”
“Correct. Now the timing. I want you to enter the data now and go to your launching position at 1.40 pm and launch at 2 precisely.”
“We have a minor problem. To enter the target data, we need to get the truck out and link it to the city’s power grid. We have a problem with the generator. That means we need to take the truck out about ten minutes earlier. We also need to make sure we don’t become a target for the people outside.”
Just before disconnecting Abu Dawan said, “My friend, I am sure you will do whatever is necessary. I count on you. May God be with you.”
With that, Abu Dawan put the phone on the floor and hit it with the handle of his gun and broke it into pieces.
He fished out another burner phone. He had a bag full of them, one for each firing station. One after the other, he called his boys to start the rocket barrage over Israel.
53- Sunday 12:45 pm
Al Kisweh
After the phone call, Abu Amr had tears in his eyes. He was proud to be Palestinian and proud to be part of the PIJ, the only group rising to the challenge of teaching the Zionists a lesson. It was also a revenge for all the pain and shame they had inflicted on his family when they had expelled his grandfather from Gaza to Lebanon. His father had been a kid then, but later he had been one of the founders of the PIJ in Lebanon. When Abu Amr was sixteen years old, the Israelis killed his father in the Shouf Mountains. Since the Lebanese government and its army could not provide protection from the Israelis, he moved to Syria. With a group of friends, he had asked for permission from Hezbollah and they had moved to Syria under their protection. Now it was the give-back time.
Abu Amr called his troops around him.
“I have received instructions to launch the missile.”
“Allahu akbar!” exclaimed his smiling soldiers. “It was about time!”
“Now listen carefully. We have to go out and secure the perimeter. The truck will be on the ramp for half an hour, and we have to hold the area during that time and protect the truck. Your orders are to engage anybody that shoots at you, but only if they shoot at you. You must not provoke an attack. If you see someone, you must report to me immediately. Is that all clear? Ok, go now.”
He watched them separate into two teams and cautiously go up the ramp. He wished them good luck in his mind.
He saw Karim looking at him from the truck. He made a sign for him to come.
Karim approached with a grin on his face.
“Commander, it looks like it’s time now…”
“Yes, Karim. Did you get the information from the Major about the procedure to enter the target coordinates?”
“Yes, he and Sergeant Fuad have to enter them jointly, but first we need to rig the truck to the electrical grid.”
“I know. How long do you need to do that?”
“20 minutes should do.”
“Karim, you only have ten minutes. Then five minutes max to enter the coordinates. Can you do that?”
Karim thought and calculated.
“I think it can be done. I will push them.”
“Ok, get ready. Tell the Major to come here.”
Ghassan saw the tension rise among the soldiers and understood that the launching countdown had started. He walked to Abu Amr at a resolute pace.
“I want to talk to my family before I do anything else.” He said boldly, despite the fear in his guts.
Abu Amr looked at him in silence and then pulled out his cell phone. He turned his back to Ghassan, dialed a number, and spoke in a hushed voice. When he faced Ghassan he said,
“They
will fetch your father and call back in a few minutes. Now get ready with the launching procedure.”
It didn’t take long for Abu Amr’s phone to ring. It sent deep vibrations in Ghassan, who held his breath.
“It’s your father.”
He took the phone with trembling hands.
“Father? Is everybody all right?”
“Yes, my son, everybody is fine. How about you?”
“I am fine, father.”
“Okay, enough!” interjected Abu Amr and extended his hand to get the phone back.
“God bless you all!” was all Ghassan muttered before Abu Amr took the telephone from his hand and ended the call.
Ghassan wanted to talk longer and ask about his children, and he exploded.
“How do I know you will respect your word and let me go with my family to Lebanon?”
After a moment of silence Abu Amr pointed a finger at Ghassan’s chest and whispered with conviction:
“Our word is our honor. If we get out alive from this place, you are free to go to your village and to your family. From there, my comrades will escort you to Lebanon, where you will be free to settle wherever you want. You will also get some money. Trust my word. I have already given these instructions to all my men here in case something happens to me.”
“What about Sergeant Fuad? Will he be allowed to come with me to Lebanon?”
Abu Amr hesitated,
“Yes, he will go with you. I will let my men know about that.” he said.
“Now, you get to your truck and get ready to roll. You will be on the ramp in ten minutes and Karim will help you rig the truck to the electrical grid. Then, you and Fuad will enter the coordinates into the system.”
“Look,” he pleaded. “There is an ongoing battle outside, and we don’t even know who they are. In a moment, I will have to go out, and I will be an open target. I need at least some ammunition for my handgun to protect myself if anything happens; and if I am lucky enough to stay alive, I want to be able to reach my family. I also need my mobile phone.”
“How can I trust you with ammunition when you can use it on me?”
“I give you my word that I will use it only to defend myself. Trust me; and I wouldn’t do anything to harm my family.”
Abu Amr looked straight into his eyes. He didn’t care about the phone anymore; it was too late to prevent the launching.
“I am sure you will behave now that you talked to your father and you know that your family is well cared for.” and he handed over the mobile phone, and a handful of bullets for Ghassan’s handgun.
He still had chances of avoiding a disaster; so far, so good. He still had another trick up his sleeve.
54- Sunday 1:10 pm
Israel Air Intelligence Group (IAIG) HQ,
Tel Aviv
Naama saw on her screen the beginning of thin red lines, designating rockets rising from Gaza. They were originating from different locations. The number of red lines increased and soon looked like bouquets of red flowers. They were concentrating against the major cities of southern Israel. Beersheba, usually spared from rocket attacks because of its Bedouin population, was getting its share of rockets this time. Green lines started appearing on the screens from the opposite direction. There was an even greater number of green lines advancing to meet the red lines. The Iron Dome came into action, and everybody in the room silently crossed their fingers. One by one, the red lines and green lines disappeared from the screen. Some red lines continued to expand towards their targeted cities. Suddenly, six new red lines appeared and took a different trajectory, and she heard the alarm sirens going on in the IAIG compound. Tel Aviv was under attack.
The whole IAIG site was safe because it was underground and bomb-proof. Naama saw the operations room started filling up with the crews who were supposed to be resting or smoking outside. They came to see the action in the operations room. The officers were too busy to shoo them off.
It was a major attack. Everybody was looking at a large overhead screen where six red lines got relentlessly closer to Tel Aviv. Green lines were arching to meet the incoming rockets. Some red lines disappeared, but two red lines got through the barrage and continued their flight towards Tel Aviv. Naama could imagine the panic at the beaches where families were enjoying the hot summer day: parents trying to get their children out of the water, others asking desperately where the closest shelter was. Unlike the cities in the south, Tel Aviv was not used to rocket attacks.
Countering the Qassem rockets fired from Gaza in the south, there were so many green lines that they were indistinguishable from each other. A great number of Iron Dome interceptors had been launched, and they appeared on the screens as a solid green stem. There were eight batteries of Iron Dome interceptors in the south. Each had three active canisters with 20 Tamir interceptors, and at this rate they would soon be depleted. It would take at least an hour to refill the canisters with the spares.
Naama could hear her heart beat as if she had run a marathon. The red lines were getting closer to Tel Aviv and the green lines became sparser. She wished she could phone her mom and dad and make sure they were out of harm’s way. She brought her hands to her mouth as she watched in horror the advancing red lines and she realized they were not mere red lines but real deadly rockets, and that the IDF building in which they were located could be hit soon. Suddenly new green lines appeared from the north of Tel Aviv and shot towards the incoming red lines. One of the red lines disappeared and the second line swerved towards the sea, where it disappeared from their screen. The disaster had somehow been avoided.
55-Sunday 1:25 pm
Nevatim Air Base
Israel
Captain Gideon Yoti led the wing of two Golden Eagle F-35 Adirs flying towards Gaza. They could see from their cockpits the remains of the rocket plumes and the smoke puffs left by the Iron Dome interceptors when they blew up at the proximity of the incoming rockets. There were no more rockets in the sky, only their traces. Even if some were in the air, the Tamir interceptors of the Iron Dome did not threaten the F-35s. Their tracking radar would distinguish friendly Israeli aircrafts from the enemy. All the sensors on the F-35 were activated, allowing Gideon to notice any rocket activity and take evasive measures. But the sky remained clear.
Gideon had little time to think, but having seen on his visor the number of rockets launched, he feared it would be a memorable day for Israel. The Iron Dome shot down most of the incoming rockets, but not all of them. Some rockets had gone through the barrage and landed somewhere in Israel, hopefully away from inhabited places.
He checked the data reflected in his visor. The launch sites had been pinpointed and marked as blinking red dots on his situation map. His left hand rested on the throttle. With his thumb he scrolled a little wheel and chose the function of targeting, and a green square superimposed itself on the red dot on his screen. He ordered “bomb one, target lock” and the green square now moved with the red dot. The target data was relayed successfully to the memory of the smart bomb the plane carried in its bay. He pressed the fire button on his joystick and he felt the bomb drop and two seconds later he saw a small flash signaling the successful kick-in of the bomb’s engine. He followed through the canopy the streak of his missile joining those fired by his partner, Eagle 2. Out of his eight missiles in his bay he had locked and shot six on the launching sites in Gaza when he received an order through his radio. “Eagle one, this is Nest one, over”
“Nest one, go ahead, over.”
“State ammunition left in your bays.”
“Eagle one, Spices are out, two sticks left.” He just confirmed two Paveway II laser-guided missiles remained in his bomb bay.
He turned instinctively to look at his wingman.
“Eagle two, same here, two sticks left.”
“Eagle wing, abort mission. Go in stealth mode, new heading is zero-three-six, get in touch with North Command on 222.0.”
“Copy Nest one, abort mission, zero-three-six, 222.0
, over.”
He toggled the radio switch and spoke to his wingman.
“Eagle two, did you copy that?”
“Yes, Eagle one, abort mission, zero-three-six 222.0, over.”
He entered the new heading in the autopilot and looked at the smoke plumes over Gaza disappearing as both planes banked north. He switched his second radio on UHF frequency 222.0.
“North Command, this is Eagle wing. Heading zero-three-six, stealth mode.”
He looked at the data projected on his visor. His heading took him just over Mount Hillel, a huge listening base in the country's north.
“ETA Mount Hillel 1340.”
There was apparently an emergency in Syria. He hoped the North Command would have enough time to upload the mission information on their computers. Just as he thought about it, he heard a buzz in his headset:
“Eagle one, this is North Command. Mission uploaded. Confirm, over.”
He toggled to computer view and a new window opened up in his visor. It was the details of his new mission. As the data scrolled on the visor, he saw they ordered him to a spot south of Damascus and that he had to get in touch with a Sayeret Maglan team on the ground. They would illuminate a target for him to shoot. He was still too far to get in touch with the Sayeret team. Suddenly, red blotches appeared on his visor. They were the Syrian defense positions. North of the Israeli border swarmed with SAMs (Surface-to-Air missiles) and Russian made S-300 anti-aircraft missile batteries. It wasn’t his first time over Syria. He trusted his aircraft, and he knew he was invisible to all their detection systems. He made sure again that the bomb bays were closed.