Tara sat in her aunt’s library next to the fireplace, feeling the warmth of the fire. B. J. Allison refilled her teacup and touched her arm. “There, there, dear,” she cooed. “These things do happen. You did exactly what I would have.” There were few higher compliments from the old woman. “But we must think about the future.” She sat down in the wing-backed chair opposite Tara and sipped at her tea, deep in thought. Allison’s strength was her ability to quickly reevaluate a situation and find new opportunities. Her thoughts did not follow a concrete, nicely ordered path from A to B to C, but rather she hovered over a problem and moved around it, darting in and out, looking at it from every viewpoint and finding a niche she could exploit.
At die same time, on another mental level, she was evaluating Tara. If she sensed the young woman had become a liability, she would dispose of her, taking whatever action was necessary. And she was very fond of Tara. Age had not diminished Allison’s thought processes but sharpened them, making her a formidable power.
“Dear, when all this breaks in the papers, I think you’re going to have to make a confidential phone call to a certain police lieutenant I know. Tell him you were the “mystery woman’ but that when you had left, Fraser was sleeping in bed. He’ll be expecting your call. Don’t be afraid to tell him your name but make him coax it out of you.” Allison gave Tara a tight little smile. By the time Tara made her phone call, the lieutenant would already have “discovered” a witness who would swear that he saw Tara leave well before Fraser could have died.
Allison set the cup down and folded her hands primly in her lap. “We must change directions,” she said. “I sank my money in a dry hole. Remember I had mentioned another person I thought you would like to meet? His name is Sheik Mohammed al-Khatub. Perhaps you know of him?” Tara‘s reaction indicated she did. “I will arrange for you to meet him tomorrow evening. Dear, it is very important that he take you into his confidence very quickly. I must know the timing of OPEC’s next oil embargo.”
Allison also knew how to many money out of that eventuality if she had a little warning. She gave an inward sigh. Exploiting an oil embargo was such a simple thing to do but she was only reacting to world events, not controlling them. She made a mental promise that she would settle matters with Pontowski at another time, another place.
The radio came alive as the first Israeli artillery salvo walked through the tanks advancing toward Shoshana’s position. She could hear the distinctive sound of Levy’s voice respond to the eager requests of his company commanders to open fire. In every case, he ordered them to hold. He knew how long the artillery batteries could continue to shell the tanks before they had to stop shooting and start moving to avoid Iraqi counterbattery fire. Almost on cue, the artillery barrage stopped and Shoshana could hear the rumble of jets as they rolled in on the tanks.
Three sharp knocks on the rear ramp tore her attention away from the battle going on in front of her and she spun the periscope around to the rear. A fully NBC-suited soldier was hosing down the APC with a hose leading to a small tank trailer while two others were scrubbing it down with long brushes. It was a decontamination team at work in the midst of the fighting.
When they were finished, the team leader gave her the hand sign to drop the ramp. The team checked them and the interior of the APC for contamination. The leader put her mask next to Shoshana’s and spoke in a normal voice. “You’re clean,” she said. “Keep wearing your suits, but you should be able to take your masks off in thirty minutes. Keep buttoned up until then. This stuff doesn’t last as long as we thought.” The team moved on to the next APC ambulance.
The radio crackled with urgent requests for support as the teams holding the northernmost sides of the valley came under heavy attack. Again, Levy did not respond. Now the closest tanks were less than two thousand meters away as the last F-4 pulled off. Two tanks exploded as the F-4s’ Maverick antitank missiles found their targets.
Now Levy ordered his blocking force to commence fire and the hillside exploded as his tanks opened up. Shoshana’s world narrowed as she watched, transfixed by three Iraqi tanks moving in a V formation coming straight toward her position. Levy’s tank surged out of its deep rut and slammed to a halt when its turret was clear. It fired two quick rounds and reversed back into its hole. Two of the tanks exploded but the third pulled around its burning leader and came up the hill,directly toward their position, its main gun swinging onto her.
“Hanni!” Shoshana yelled. “Reverse out of here!”
She watched in horror as the tank, which she could clearly identify as a T-72, fired. “Hanni! Go!” she shouted. The APC jerked and then stopped, stalled. The shell impacted thirty meters in front of them as the tube of the T-72 raised for die automatic loader to eject the spent shell casing out of the breach. Hanni ground the starter and Shoshana knew she was going to die. She had heard tankers talk about how the tube on the main gun of a T-72 would first raise to eject the casing and then point downward with a fresh shell to slam into the breach. Then the gun’s barrel would raise, retrain, and fire.
Levy’s tank roared out of its hide as the T-72's tube was depressing to reload. With maddening slowness the turret of the M60 traversed toward the T-72. “Fire! Damn you, fire!” Shoshana shouted as the M60's 105-millimeter gun cracked. The muzzle of the T-72's gun had raised and was pointed directly at her when it disappeared in a flash. The APC’s V-6 diesel came to life and now they were moving backward to safety.
The radio crackled. “Band-Aid, did you take a hit?” It was Levy.
Shoshana held the mike against her gas mask. “No damage,” she reported. She could hear the trembling in her voice.
“Hold,” Levy replied. “We’re going to be needing you.” Hanni slammed the APC to a halt. Levy did have that effect.
“Band-Aid,” the radio spat, “a TOW team four hundred meters to your left and one hundred meters downslope needs a medic. Go.” Hanni rolled the APC forward, past their last position and toward their first pickup. When they crested the ridge, Shoshana got her first clear look at the valley. Burning tanks and BMPs were sending up clouds of black smoke obscuring her view. Off to her right, she could see the Iraqis regrouping for another thrust up the slope. She swung the periscope to the rear to fix their escape route. A sickening feeling swept over her when she realized they had been well dug in and hidden in their old position. She had been looking at the battle through a raised periscope and had assumed that if she could see the tank, the tank could see her. Only Levy’ssharp command at the right time had saved them from running away from where they were needed.
A sharp clanging deafened the two women as machine-gun fire raked their right side. The Toga armor the Israelis had covered the APC with had done its job and they were okay. The lightweight carbon sheets could stop a 14.5-millimeter shell before it hit the main hull. “Where’s it coming from?” Hanni shouted, concentrating on driving and working her way across and down the slope toward the TOW team. Shoshana spun her periscope around until she found the machine gun. An Iraqi BMP on their right was racing them to the TOW team. The BMP had taken a hit on its turret disabling the 73- millimeter smooth-bore gun, but one of the troops inside was firing out of a gunport on the side, trying to take out the APC. Now Hanni could see the BMP.
“Don’t they see our red cross?” Hanni shouted. A heavier burst of machine-gun fire beat against the Toga armor, across the freshly painted red cross.
The two vehicles were on a collision course and would collide at the spot where the wounded Israelis were dug in. Another gunport on the BMP swung open and Shoshana saw the snout of an RPG aim at them. Their Toga armor and 30- millimeter thick aluminum hull could not stop the Soviet-made rocket-propelled grenade. “Hard right!” Shoshana yelled. Hanni slued the APC to the right, directly toward the BMP just as the RPG fired. The rocket-propelled projectile flashed past behind them. “Ram the son of a bitch!” Shoshana screamed.
Hanni gunned the engine and roared down the hill, gaining momentum,
headed directly for the BMP. Shoshana dropped to the floor and braced her back against the forward bulkhead. Gravity, inertia, and the slope of the hill worked in their favor as Hanni smashed the raked, heavily armored nose of their M113 into the left side of the BMP. The BMP lifted, slowly turned over onto its right side, and skidded down the hill. For a moment, neither woman moved, too stunned and bruised by the impact to react. Then Hanni restarted the engine and mashed the accelerator, ramming the bottom side of the BMP and turning it completely over. She backed away as flames licked out from underneath the BMP. They headed for the wounded Israelis.
Shoshana dropped the ramp when Hanni halted the APCand jumped into the shallow ravine where the TOW team had hidden their Hummer. They had taken a hit from a single mortar round and only one man was left alive. She tried to pull his clothes away from the wound to stop the bleeding but her NBC gloves were too bulky. Then the eyepieces on her mask started to fog. Out of frustration, she ripped off the mask and heavy outer gloves, still wearing thin rubber surgical gloves. Unencumbered, she quickly stuffed a compress bandage into the gaping wound on the man’s left side. Luckily his Kevlar flak jacket had taken most of the shrapnel from the mortar round. Hanni was beside her and the two women dragged the man out of the ravine and into the crew compartment of the APC where Shoshana could properly bandage him. Hanni headed for their next pickup.
After they had picked up six wounded, they headed back up the slope toward an aid station. The radio directed them to the rear area where the brigade was waiting for the order to counterattack. As they crested the top of the ridge, Shoshana stuck her head out the top hatch and looked back into the valley. Two kilometers away, she could see Israeli tanks coming down the western slope and cutting into the right flank of the second echelon of Iraqi tanks. They headed to the rear with their fragile cargo.
“Where is everybody?” Shoshana said to one of the medics who met them at the aid station in the brigade’s holding area.
The woman gave her a frightened look. “They pulled out the rest of the brigade to reinforce the Golan. We’ve made a major breakthrough and want to push the Syrians back.”
“My God, we’re here all alone,” Shoshana said. “Does Levy know?”
“He knows,” the medic answered. “Go over there.” She pointed to a decon area. “Scrub your APC down and change your suits. The nerve gas wasn’t as effective as we thought. It’s all gone.”
Twenty minutes later, they were back at their original jumpoff point. Two men and a woman were standing behind Levy’s tank in the comparative safety of his hide, talking to him. All four had their gas masks off and NBC suits open, trying to cool off. Shoshana joined them and listened as the outgoing sounds of artillery punctuated the conversation. At leastwe’ve still got some support, she thought. Then what Levy was saying hit her—the Iraqis were pulling back.
Slowly, the pieces of the action filled in. They had stopped the Iraqi advance just as the order pulling the rest of the brigade out to reinforce the Golan Heights had come down. Then the two companies had counterattacked on the Iraqis’ right flank to cut through the second echelon. But there it had all come apart and the Israeli tanks had taken heavy losses before they could cross through and regroup. Their counterattack had ground to a halt and only the withdrawal of the Iraqis had saved them. Levy’s Luck, Shoshana decided.
“Casualties?” Levy asked. Shoshana was horrified as the tally mounted. The two men and woman with Levy were platoon commanders; their company commander had been killed. The exact status of the other two companies down in the valley was unknown. “Shoshana,” Levy said, looking at her and then glancing down into the valley. She nodded and knew where she was needed.
The carnage among the tanks was the heaviest either of the women had ever seen. Two other Israeli APCs were picking up the wounded as medics worked furiously to save whom they could. A wave of a hand guided them to the eastern side of the valley where they could see numerous burning tanks and APCs. The first four tanks they came to were Iraqi. “Where are the Iraqi medics?” Hanni asked in frustration. Shoshana didn’t have an answer but suspected the Iraqi high command was relying on the Israelis to take care of all the wounded.
The position of the destroyed tanks told the story. Three Israeli tanks supported by two APCs had taken on an Iraqi company of twelve tanks and twelve BMPs. The two women moved among the bodies, looking for the living. Shoshana found the lieutenant who had argued with Levy only to fall under his spell. His body was badly charred but he was still alive and conscious. She knew the man was near death and stopped to administer a heavy shot of morphine. It was all she could do.
The lieutenant looked at her. “Tell Levy,” he whispered, “we never had a chance to regroup. But I didn’t run.”
“I will.” Shoshana stood and moved on. The lieutenant understood.
The staff officer on night duty was standing in the communications room in the basement of the White House sorting the early-morning message traffic when the telephone call from the Washington, D.C., police came through. He took the call and listened, trying to mask his emotions. He knew that he should be serious, concerned, and properly subdued by the news. But why was he feeling so good? He broke the connection and punched a number on the telepanel. “I had better tell the President immediately,” he said to the communications clerk.
“Without going through Fraser?” the shocked clerk blurted.
“I don’t think Mr. Fraser is in a position to do anything about it,” the staff officer said, giving up any attempt at burying his grin.
Pontowski listened to the report of Fraser’s death and thanked the young staff officer. He returned the telephone to its cradle beside his wife’s bed and pulled off his reading glasses. Although his wife was seriously ill, she was fully rational and the doctors were confident that her latest bout with lupus had stabilized and that she might improve. He knew it helped her spirits when he confided in her, a sure signal from him that she was on the mend. “Tom Fraser was just found dead in his apartment,” he told her. “Heart attack.”
Tosh looked at him, a deep concern in her eyes. “How unfortunate, the poor man.” Her voice was barely audible. She was thinking how unfortunate for her husband to lose a key man in the midst of the current crisis. “This couldn’t happen at a worse time.”
“We’ll survive,” Pontowski said. “But I’ve got to find a replacement. Someone good at crisis management, with credibility.” He paced the floor thinking. This should be the end of the illegal campaign funds affair, he decided. If I know Fraser, it died with him. But what message do I need to send now?
Then he remembered the report of the investigation on Bill Carroll that Fraser had ordered the head of the Secret Service, Stan Abbott, to carry out. The Secret Service’s investigation had included Carroll’s boss. “Tosh, what do youthink of Brigadier General Leo Cox as Fraser’s replacement?”
There was no answer for a moment as his wife mulled the name over. “I think that might be a very good choice. Why don’t you have him checked out?”
“He has been—thanks to Fraser.”
The APC jerked to a halt and Hanni dropped the rear ramp, kicking up a small cloud of dust. Two medics clambered on board and removed their last load of wounded Iraqi soldiers. Then the after-battle routine kicked in and Shoshana and Hanni went through the motions like robots, thankful they did not have to think. Shoshana drove to a service point and refueled the vehicle while mechanics checked the engine and tensioned the tracks. Hanni hosed out the crew compartment and the M113 smelled fresh and clean. Then they restocked their medical supplies and found a place to park.
They were eating their-first hot meal in twenty-four hours and thinking about a long sleep when the radio squawked and ordered them to the command post. Shoshana drove the APC while Hanni finished stowing the gear. Levy was waiting for them when they pulled into line.
Shoshana introduced Hanni and noticed that she was the same height as Levy. “I saw you take out the BMP,” he sa
id. Hanni only nodded, too tired to think. “Thai was a brave thing to do.” While they stood there, Shoshana told him about the lieutenant. The same sad look she had seen in his eyes before was back. “How much longer can I sacrifice them,” he said, dropping his head and staring at his feet.
The major who served as Levy’s second-in-command and had led the attack on the Iraqis’ flank came up and handed him a message form. “A message from headquarters North-em Command,” he grumbled. “They want an immediate reply.”
Levy scanned the long message twice and Shoshana could see his jaw turn to marble. “Did you read it?” Levy asked. The major nodded an answer. “What do you think?”
“Not much,” the major allowed.
“Those idiots want to know why we didn’t counterattack and want us to renew operations immediately,” Levy told the two women.
“What are you going to tell them?” the major asked.
“I’m going to ask them, ‘What do you expect me to attack with?’ before I tell them to go to hell. Then I’m going to dig in and hold this position. From now on, the war comes to me.
“That won’t be long,” the major said. “Intelligence says the Iraqis are moving more tanks and troops into position.”
23
The two lieutenants were standing at attention in General Mana’s office. Johar Adwan chanced a quick glance at his wingman, but Samir Hamshari’s eyes were routed on a spot on the wall above the general’s empty chair. Johar did the same. Thirty-four minutes later, they heard the sound of hard heels in the outer office and the shuffle of chairs as Mana’s aides and secretaries came to attention. The two men could hear Mana’s distinctive voice. “Are they here?”
“As you ordered, General,” came the reply. The two lieutenants stiffened even more, if that were possible, as Mana entered. He walked around them and laid his swagger stick and ornate peaked hat on his desk. The general concentrated on pulling off his thin leather gloves, ignoring the lieutenants. He sat down and picked up the letter opener on his desk, finally raising his eyes to focus on the two pilots.
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