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Brigadier General Leo Cox was sitting next to the President on one of the sofas in the Oval Office, going over the agenda for a meeting of the National Security Council that would start in a few minutes. It was his first day on the job as Zack Pontowski’s chief of staff and he was impressed by the efficient organization Fraser had left behind. It had been easy for him to step in and take over the position. But he would have to make some changes. “This, Mr. President”—Cox handed him a briefing book on the Arab-Israeli war—“is how the CIA sees the current status of the war.”
“I take it you don’t agree,” Pontowski said, surprising Cox.
“Not entirely. But I usually disagree with the CIA’s interpretation of events in the Middle East.”
“Why do you disagree with them?” The President was interested.
Cox gave a little laugh. “Well, Mr. Burke will tell you that I’m too pro-Israeli and spout their party line.” Bobby Burke as the director of central intelligence was the President’s chief adviser for all matters on intelligence and Cox knew he was trespassing on his preserve, a sure way to earn enemies in Washington, D.C.
“Are you?” Pontowski asked.
“Yes, sir, I am.” He decided to be totally open with his commander in chief. “It’s because I have many personal contacts with Mossad and Israeli military intelligence and rely on them.”
“What are those contacts telling you now?”
Cox took a deep breath. “I was contacted this morning. The Israelis now have a thermonuclear weapon and one warhead is deployed. It has been targeted to hit one of two targets–”
“Either Damascus or Baghdad,” Pontowski interrupted. Cox nodded, surprised at the President’s ability to make instant connections. Cox had much to learn about the man. “No doubt,” Pontowski continued, “they will use it if the Arabs employ chemical weapons against Israel’s population.” Again, Cox could only nod in agreement. “How’s Ben David holding up?”
“Not well,” the general answered, his mind racing to keep up with the conversation. “He wants a military solution that will guarantee Israel’s security in the future. He’s pressing the war as hard as he can, before a cease-fire is imposed on him.”
“The Arabs won’t accept a military solution like that,” the President said. “They’ll fight with everything they’ve got, including the new nerve gas the Iraqis have developed. Leo, in a few minutes, I’m going to have to make some hard decisions. I’ve got to know who your sources are.” Pontowski knew the answer. It was Cox’s first test.
Cox did not hesitate. “He’s the chief of Mossad,” the general explained. Pontowski stood up, ready for the meeting with the NSC. “Mr. President, why did you select me to be your chief of staff?”
“I think you can figure it out,” Pontowski replied.
The briefing was finished and Shoshana walked out of the make-shift command post with most of the battalion’s officers. Outside, she leaned against Levy’s M60 tank and waited for Hanni to come out. Her partner seemed to be taking a very special interest in Moshe Levy lately. She watched Levy’s driver and loader clean and reassemble the tank’s air filter. Amos Avner, the loader, kept up a constant barrage of bickering and complaining as Nazzi Halaby, the driver, did most of the work. Finally, the gunner, Dave Bielski, climbed out of the turret and scampered down the tank’s hull. “For God’s sake, Avner, SHUT up!” he bellowed.
“They don’t seem to get along at all,” Shoshana observed.
“That’s because Halaby is a Druze and Avner’s Orthodox,” Bielski explained. “Orthodox Jews don’t trust the Druze.”
“I knew a Druze once,” Shoshana said, thinking of Zeev Avidar and the time she was in Iraq. Such a long time ago, she thought. Again, out of the mists of memory, Gad Habish’s voice came to her. “His loyalty spoke for itself,” she said.
“So does Halaby’s,” Bielski said. “But Avner is so thickheaded that he can’t accept it.”
Hanni joined them. “Levy thinks the attack will start soon,” she said.
“He’s usually right,” Bielski said.
“What’s it like being on his crew?” Hanni asked.
“It’s hard to describe,” the gunner answered. “One time he got so sick and fed up with Avner for the way he treated Halaby that he was going to replace him. Avner broke down and cried like a baby. He said he would do anything to stay on the crew. They cut a deal, Avner could stay as long as he shut up about Halaby being a Druze and cut out the Arab jokes. You know we never bad-mouth the Arabs in the tank.”
The three of them walked up the deep cut the tank was hidden in to the berm and looked over the long valley with its grisly reminders of death and destruction. The wreckage of tanks and APCs still littered the valley floor from the first battle. They crouched down, covered by the camouflage netting that covered the tank’s hide, and Bielski swept the valley with binoculars. “Looks like the retrieval crews have all pulled back.” They all knew that was an indication the fighting would soon start.
The tank’s radios squawked, warning of low-flying, inbound RPVs. ‘ ‘Probably the reconnaissance drones they send over for a last look-see,” Bielski said as he walked back to his tank.
Shoshana and Hanni headed for their nearby APC to wait for the orders to pull back after the drones had flown over and before the artillery barrage started. “Levy says they are very predictable about the way they begin,” Hanni said.
“I wish that was reassuring,” Shoshana replied and climbed into her NBC suit, pulling it on over Matt’s flight suit.
The secretary of state was looking at his notes as he talked while the rest of the National Security Council assembled inthe Cabinet Room fidgeted and waited for their turn. “In short, Mr. President, the Arabs are now united in their support of a United Nations resolution calling for a immediate cease-fire. However, Israel is adamant in its opposition now that they are winning. Perhaps it is time to change our position and force them into a more rational stance.”
“What are you suggesting?” National Security Adviser Cagliari asked.
“That we immediately curtail our resupply of arms and supplies to Israel,” the secretary of state answered.
“That will have an effect down the line,” Admiral Scovill, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, said. “But as of now, the Israelis have received enough logistical support to continue the current pace of the war for another week.”
“What can the Israelis accomplish during that week?” Pontowski asked.
Now it was the turn of Bobby Burke, the DCI. “We calculate the Israelis will have pushed across the Litani River in Lebanon, be off the Golan and within ten miles of Damascus, and have encircled all the Syrians and Iraqis that have not retreated out of Jordan. It looks like the Arab front opposite Jerusalem is collapsing.”
“And the Arab reaction?” Pontowski asked.
“They could use chemical weapons to stabilize the situation,” the admiral speculated.
“That means the Israelis will retaliate with nuclear weapons,” Cagliari said.
“We can’t be sure of that,” Burke protested.
“That’s a firebreak I don’t want to chance crossing,” Pontowski said. “How do we keep it from happening?”
“I can pull out all the stops,” the secretary of state said, “and launch a full-scale diplomatic offensive to get a ceasefire in place. It will take some doing, but if we halt all supplies to Israel …”
“Do it,” Pontowski said.
“There’s another option,” Scovill said. “We can give the Israelis the missiles necessary to eliminate the worst of the threat. I’m referring to the Iraqis’ nerve gas facility near Kirkuk. The Arabs’ previous experience with using gas in Lebanon proved to be quite ineffective. Without the new nerve gas, they know it would be a one-sided exchange.”
The secretary of state almost panicked. “Mr. President, we cannot, I repeat, we cannot use missiles of any sort at this point because of the situation in the Kreml
in. We have indications that the hard-liners are prevailing under Marshal Stanilov. He’s of the old guard and, to him, the use of missiles equates with a major escalation against Soviet allies and is a prelude to nuclear weapons. We cannot afford a misstep at this time. Using missiles of any sort against Kirkuk could well give him the excuse he needs to consolidate power in the Kremlin and maybe actively intervene in the war. He would like nothing more than an external threat to force an internal peace.”
The consensus around the room supported the secretary of state.
The President looked around the table, capturing the attention of each person. “I firmly believe Yair Ben David will not use nuclear weapons unless the Arabs resort to the widespread use of chemical weapons against Israel’s population. To keep that from happening, we will push on the diplomatic front for a cease-fire. But as a backup option, I want to be able to destroy the Iraqis’ nerve gas arsenal without the use of missiles.” He turned to Admiral Scovill. “How can we do that?”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff shuffled through his notes until he found the “talking paper” that had been prepared for him on that very subject. “The Air Force has been preparing for that contingency,” he began, reading from the talking paper. “The Forty-fifth Tactical Fighter Wing at RAF Stonewood”—he glanced up a the President in time to see him stiffen; everyone in the room knew his grandson was assigned to the 45th—“ah, has prepared an operations plan called Trinity using F-Fifteen Es launched out of a Turkish air base, ah, Diyarbakir. Training for the mission is well advanced and the attack force can deploy and be in place within twelve hours. Only the permission of the Turkish government is required.”
“Who directed the Forty-fifth to prepare that plan?” Pontowski asked, his voice low.
Scovill caught all the danger signs. “Sir, the deputy for operations at Stonewood, a Colonel Michael Martin, did it on his own. I am told he is a most unique individual and islike a firehorse. Any time he senses a fire, he gets ready to fight it.”
Pontowski’s stomach twisted and knotted as he clenched his fists. “Get permission from the Turks. Order the Forty-fifth to deploy and await an order to execute.” His voice was low and unemotional. But he knocked his chair back as he rose to leave.
“Sir, are there any special instructions for the Forty-fifth, personnel considerations … ?” Admiral Scovill asked. He wanted to know if he was to specifically exclude Matt from participating in the mission.
“None,” the President answered. “Colonel Martin planned the mission and he will select the men he wants to execute it.” He gestured for Cox to follow him.
Once inside the Oval Office, he stood looking out the windows at the President’s Park. “Leo, I want you to use your contacts with Mossad to get a message to Ben David. Tell him that we are going to take out the Iraqi nerve gas arsenal and that I expect him to absorb any minor chemical attacks as he has in the past without retaliating. Also tell him that if he employs a nuclear weapon on the battlefield without consulting with me first, I will break all relations with Israel. Further, if he uses a thermonuclear bomb on an Arab city, I will seriously consider active measures against Israel.”
Cox could only stare at Pontowski’s back in shock. And suddenly he knew why the President had chosen him to be his new chief of staff.
The Iraqi artillery barrage was much heavier than expected and the APC rocked with a near miss and concussion of an exploding shell. Luckily, Levy had pulled most of the battalion well back from the valley and they were out of range of most of the Iraqi guns. Still, an occasional round reached their position. From the babble on the radio, Shoshana could tell that the Israeli counterbattery fire had not discouraged the Iraqi gunners and it was turning into a bloody artillery dual. Now calls for medics started coming in as the Iraqi shelling chewed up the battalion’s forward positions. Shoshana started the M113's engine and jammed it into gear. “Tell Levy,” she shouted at Hanni, “that this Band-Aid is going forward.”
She could hear Hanni’s cool voice relay their intentionsover the radio to Levy in his command tank. “He wishes us luck,” Hanni said.
We’ll need it, Shoshana thought.
Matt and Furry were flying their second mission in Stone-wood’s simulator when it froze and Stigler’s voice told them that they had an urgent phone call. Matt popped the canopy and scrambled over the side to take the call. Leander was asleep in a chair, his head resting on the console, and Stigler looked gaunt and worn. Matt listened, dropped the phone into its cradle, and shouted at his wizzo, “Amb, get your ass out of there. Martin wants us in Intel. Like five minutes ago.” The two men ran from the simulator building, leaving both Leander and Stigler asleep at the console.
The big walk-in vault in Intelligence was jammed with bodies as Matt and Furry squeezed through the door. Martin was pacing in front of a map with their route of flight to Turkey. When he stopped, the room fell silent with anticipation. “For a change,” he began, “someone in the Pentagon read their incoming mail instead of shoveling bullshit out the door. They bought Trinity.” The room erupted in shouts, whistles, stomps, and applause.
“Okay, here’s the lineup.” Martin pointed to a chart on the wall that listed the twelve crews who would fly the mission. The call sign for the flight was Viper and it was organized in elements of two. As expected, Martin was in the lead ship as Viper 01. But what surprised everyone, except Matt, was that Sean Leary was his wingman, Viper 02. The young lieutenant had proven himself since he had almost killed Matt and was turning into an outstanding stick. Matt and Furry were Viper 03 and had been selected to lead the second element of two. “Start engines in an hour,” Martin told the men. “Get moving.”
The room rapidly emptied as Martin motioned for Matt and Carroll to join him. “Bill,” Martin said, “I want you out on the first tanker. After they refuel us, it’ll recover at Athens. The RC-One-thirty-five will be on the ground and waiting for you. Are you sure you can hack it?” The plan called for Carroll to be airborne in an RC-135 monitoring Iraqi communications when the F-15s flew the attack. He was to relay information to the orbiting E-3A AWACS controlling the mission. The problem was that Carroll would have to stayon board the RC-135 until the mission was launched. When the reconnaissance version of the Boeing 707 did land to switch crews and refuel, it would be immediately relaunched with Carroll on board. He might be airborne for days and Martin was worried that Carroll would become overly fatigued.
“Not to worry, boss,” Carroll assured Martin. “I used to do this for a living and can sleep like a baby if I’ve got a sleeping bag. In fact, my first assignment was on an RC-One-thirty-five and Muddy Waters was my module commander.”
“I’ll be damned,” Martin said, pulling a face. Of all men, Martin was not given to sentimentality, but it pleased him to be linked to one of the legends.
“Where’s the Gruesome Twosome?” Martin asked Matt.
“Last I saw them, they were sleeping like babies,” Matt replied.
“Let ‘em sleep,” Martin decided. “They did good. Thanks to them, we’ve got half a chance.”
Matt and Carroll exchanged glances and an unspoken thought passed between them. The colonel, like them, knew just how tough it was going to be.
Twenty minutes later, a crew van pulled up in front of twelve waiting F-15s and the eight men flying the first four jets clambered out. Martin followed Matt down the steps, took one look at the jets, and roared out a deafening “Shit hot!” A stork and an elf dressed in civilian clothes were under Martin’s F-15 hunched over one of the GBU-24s slung under the wing, stenciling in neat red letters, “Courtesy of the Meatheads.”
The APC clanked to a halt outside the aid station and the rear ramp came down. Two medics were waiting and rushed on board, carrying out the sole casualty. The explosions of incoming artillery washed over them. “I’ve never seen a barrage last this long,” one of the medics told Shoshana. “How bad is it up there?” The female medic looked in the direction of the valley.<
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“It’s constant but not heavy,” Shoshana answered. “Only a few casualties.”
“Levy’s Luck,” the medic said.
Shoshana added a mental, I hope so.
The radio rasped with a hard metallic voice warning them of an air attack. Shoshana jumped into the driver’s compartment and gunned the engine, heading for a nearby camouflaged cut a bulldozer had scraped out only hours before. She nosed the APC under the netting with only moments to spare as the first Syrian MiG-23 rolled in. A feeling of utter helplessness captured Shoshana as she watched the fast-moving jet sweep down on them. Two 550-kilogram bombs rippled off and bracketed the APC, stunning her. Then it was deathly silent. She shook her head and slowly sound returned; both she and Hanni had been momentarily deafened by the concussion.
The two women lay on the floor of the crew compartment as more bombs fell, holding on to the old-style tanker helmets they wore in the APC. Again, the radio came to life as warnings to don NBC gear were passed. Now the bombing stopped and they could hear artillery again. Urgent pleas for medics came in and Shoshana started the APC and headed back for the valley to pick up wounded. How much longer would this go on before they attacked? she wondered.
The Syrians and Iraqis were working together to soften up the Israelis and break Levy’s Luck.
Melissa Courtney-Smith escorted the Navy captain into the Oval Office. “Mr. President, Dr. Smithson.”
General Cox rose to leave and nodded at Melissa, his way of saying he approved her handling of the President’s visitors. She turned to follow him out but Pontowski said, “Please stay, Melissa.” Cox closed the door behind him, leaving the three in private.
“Mr. President,” the doctor began, “I’m afraid your wife has suffered a relapse and is much worse.”
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