The ISIS Gambit

by Brad Carlson

  The

  ISIS Gambit

  by Brad Carlson

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and/or events are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to any person, living or dead, is entirely coincidental. However, in order to add credibility to the story and the characters, I have drawn from real events in contemporary history.

  Copyright © 2019 by Brad Carlson, Aloha, OR

  All rights reserved. Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  ISBN-13: 978-0-9982594-4-4

  Visit Brad Carlson’s website at: Bradcarlson.net

  Cover design by Bespokebookcovers.com

  To Carl, Thomas and Jonathan: You three boys, young men really, inspire me in ways you cannot possibly imagine!

  A man who has nothing which he is willing to fight for, nothing which he cares more about than he does about his personal safety, is a miserable creature who has no chance of being free, unless made and kept so by the exertions of better men than himself. As long as justice and injustice have not terminated their ever-renewing fight for ascendancy in the affairs of mankind, human beings must be willing, when need is, to do battle for the one against the other.”

  ― John Stuart Mill, Principles of Political Economy

  “War must be, while we defend our lives against a destroyer who would devour all; but I do not love the bright sword for its sharpness, nor the arrow for its swiftness, nor the warrior for his glory. I love only that which they defend.”

  ― J.R.R. Tolkien, The Two Towers

  “Out of every one hundred men, ten shouldn't even be there, eighty are just targets, nine are the real fighters, and we are lucky to have them, for they make the battle. Ah, but the one, one is a warrior, and he will bring the others back.”

  ― Heraclitus

  Prologue

  CIA Headquarters

  Langley, Virginia

  “Have we been able to get anything out of either Suleimani or Rafsanjani?” Director of National Intelligence Felix Jones, asked James Carmichael, the Assistant Director of the CIA.

  “No, we haven’t. Just the other day Rafsanjani made mention of another attack that we could expect. He didn’t mention anything other than that one more would be coming and we haven’t been able to get anything else out of him. Suleimani, for his part, simply sits there and grins at us. He knows that since he’s at Gitmo, we won’t be sending him to any black sites we have overseas, plus, the enhanced interrogation techniques we used after 9/11 are off the table as well—and those techniques worked.”

  “Well, if there’s one more attack coming, it’s obviously already been set in motion, otherwise he never would have told us. Probably likely to hit any time as well.”

  “Exactly. I’ve left Stonewall in Tel Aviv to see if he can root out any remaining Quds and Republican Guards in Syria. It looks like we’ll have to expand on that to see if his Mossad contacts can drum up any intel on a pending attack.”

  Six weeks earlier, Colonel Ashkan Rafsanjani led the Iranian Quds force in a daring three pronged unconventional attack against the homeland of the United States. He now claimed that a fourth attack was imminent. Two of the first three attacks hit the west coast of the United States particularly hard. Carmichael, with the help of a friend of his in the 5th Group Special Forces, Colonel Tom ‘Stonewall’ Jackson, and some new found friends in Mossad, helped stop the third, as well as topple the Iranian Islamic Republic and capture both Colonel Ashkan Rafsanjani and General Qassim Suleimani.

  “You really believe there’s another pending attack?” Jones asked his deputy.

  “Yes, sir, I do. Rafsanjani has no reason to lie to us at this point. Actually, it’s almost like he’s gloating—here he is in Gitmo and he thinks he can still hurt us.”

  “Well, he hit us hard the first time. I’ll let the President know.”

  I

  Sunday, September 9th

  Boston, MA

  1:15 PM Local Time

  “The rivalry between the Yankees and Red Sox has always been special, and this year poses no exception,” Butch McAlister announced to his radio audience. “With three weeks left in the season, the Red Sox hold a game and a half lead over their division rivals, the New York Yankees, as we’re about to begin this four game series.”

  “That’s right, Butch,” his partner, Jack Weaver commented. “And a sellout crowd of over 37,700 is expected this afternoon for the series opener. If the Red Sox can stifle the Yankees here and take advantage of the home-cookin’, they’ll clearly be in the driver’s seat for the remainder of the season as we head into the playoffs.”

  Foxborough, MA

  1:30 PM Local Time

  The season opener for the New England Patriots always brings out a sellout crowd of over 66,000. The Tom Brady – Bill Belichik era would soon be over and every Patriots fan wanted to be a part of what could be the last season for this quarterback-coach tandem. Obviously, every Pat’s fan expected this opener to be like most every other one had been for the past seventeen years: another ‘W’ for the home team on their way to hopefully another Super Bowl season.

  35 Miles off the coast of Long Island

  3:58 PM Local Time

  “How soon can we launch, Captain?” First Mate Aleksander Gozni asked.

  “Our orders indicate that we are to launch every one of the missiles at precisely four o’clock local time,” Captain Kanokov replied. “Have you double checked to make sure that all of the target coordinates have been programmed into each of the missiles?”

  “I have, sir. The target coordinates for each missile have been programmed as expected and we are ready to go, sir,” Gozni replied.

  “Very well, open the containers and prepare to fire on my mark.”

  “Excellent, sir!” Gozni replied with more than a little nervous excitement in his voice.

  “Have you done anything like this before?” the captain asked his first mate.

  “No, I haven’t, and it’s an honor to be a part of this.”

  “Well, seaman, let’s just pray that this isn’t your last one either. Once the Americans realize where these missiles came from, they’re not going to be too concerned with asking questions first.”

  “I’m not worried. Allah will protect us.”

  “If he doesn’t, you’ll have an appointment with seventy-two virgins very soon. Are we ready to fire?”

  “All containers opened, sir! We are ready to fire.”

  “Very well, then. May Allah forgive us. You may commence firing.”

  And with that, the first Tishreen missile left its launcher aboard the container ship MV Admiral Ushakov. Ninety seconds later, Ushakov, along with the container ships MV Tibor Szamueli, the Bomar Hermes, and two hundred miles to their southwest, the Falcon Trident each lay completely obscured by the smoke from the exhaust plumes of fifty Tishreen missiles launched from each of their decks.

  The USS Minnesota off the coast of Long Island

  4:02 PM Local Time

  “Commander, let’s get some last minute training for this crew before we get back to base,” Captain Richard ‘Yank’ Hudson said to his executive officer, Commander Jessica Knox.

  “Yes, sir, this crew can certainly use it. It’s been awhile since I’ve seen a crew this green.”

  “Ensign Taylor,” Commander Knox called out to the junior Weapons officer.

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “We’re about 120 miles out of the port of New York City in one of the busiest shipping channels in the world. Let’s see if you can’t hone in your targe
t acquisition skills on a few sitting ducks.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Sonar, what do we have?” Ensign Taylor called to his sonar technician, Petty Officer Jennifer Pope.

  “Sir, we have several contacts in the channel. Designate Sierra-1, surface contact, bearing three-one-five at ten knots, course two-six-five, range 14,000 yards. Designate Sierra-2, surface contact bearing two-seven-five at ten knots, course two-seven-zero, range 9,000 yards. Okay, someone just dropped anchor. Designate this as Sierra-3, bearing three-five-five. . . . Whoa, sir! I’ve got something like a muffled explosion, lots of them, bearing one-one-three, range is close, call it 2,000 yards, target appears to be stationary. There goes another one, multiple explosions! This one’s bearing one-zero-eight, range 3,500 yards. Again, the target is stationary.”

  “You sure these ships are stationary and didn’t run into each other, Pope?”

  “No, sir, I mean yes, sir. I’m sure. Both of these are stationary targets. We’re not getting any engine noises from either of them. There goes a third one! This one’s real close! Multiple explosions bearing one-zero-zero, range 1,500 yards!”

  “Captain to the bridge!” Commander Knox announced over the intercom. “Conn, bring us to course one-zero-zero. Up scope! I need to take a look at this,” Knox added as she now really began to wonder just what they had.

  “Okay, what do we have?” Captain Hudson asked as he entered the bridge.

  “Captain, sonar reported multiple explosions from three different ships bearing from one-zero-zero to one-one-three, that last one was real close. I’ve changed course to get us in real close. Oh, WOW!! Captain, I’ve got exhaust plumes coming off of this ship—she’s launching a bunch of missiles, sir!”

  “Let me see that. Comms, get me Admiral Hart on the radio! Commander, bring us around to the other two,” Hudson ordered as he handed the scope back to Commander Knox. “Weps, I need a solution on all three of these ships,” Hudson ordered his senior Weapons officer. “Sonar, are you picking anything else up? It looks like they might have ceased firing.”

  “Sir, it looks like you saw the last one get off. Nothing we can do to stop them at this point. Each ship remains at anchor, sir.”

  “Any idea as to how many they launched?”

  “Negative, but the entire ship’s completely obscured by the exhaust smoke from all of the missiles they launched. Weps, are you ready?” Hudson demanded. “I need a solution on each one of those ships!”

  “Working on it.”

  “Weps, if it even looks like they’ll launch again, I intend to fire!”

  “Commander, let’s keep circling. I want to get as many pictures as we can to get an ID on each of these ships.”

  “Admiral, Yank here,” Hudson began as Vice Admiral Hart, Commander of Submarine Force Atlantic, took the call on his cell phone. “We just witnessed three container ships at anchor off Long Island launching a series of missiles towards the mainland. We weren’t able to stop them but we’ve got firing solutions on all three of them.”

  “What?!? Back up a second, Yank. You’re saying that you saw three container ships launching a missile attack on the US?”

  “That’s right. We picked it up on sonar first and couldn’t really identify what was going on. By the time we could eyeball what was happening, each ship had completed their launch. So far, none of them are even attempting to get underway.”

  “Okay, keep an eye on these guys. It’ll take me a few minutes to get to the office. In the meantime, I’ll get ahold of the SecDef and let him know you’re watching these guys. If it looks like they’ll be launching anything else, go ahead and sink ‘em. If not, keep an eye on them. I’ll alert Huntress if the Air Force hasn’t already scrambled something to look for these guys,” – a reference to the Eastern Air Defense Sector, one of the two air defense sectors for NORAD – “and get some Eagles out of Barnes up to watch over these guys.”

  “Roger that.”

  Fenway Park, Boston, Massachusetts

  4:04 PM Local Time

  “Okay, folks, that wraps it up for the Yankees in the top of the eighth inning,” Butch McAlister broadcast to the Red Sox faithful as the Yankees' catcher had just flied out to left field for the third out of the inning. “Ladies and gentleman, we have a special treat for you today. None other than Neil Diamond is here to lead us in our anthem, ‘Sweet Caroline’! So, everyone, on your . . . .” Before McAlister could finish his sentence, the first missile impacted the top of the right field bleachers, collapsing the lighting tower and part of the roof onto hundreds of fans in the seats below. Similar explosions followed in quick succession, tearing through the center field bleachers, the stands behind home plate and along the third base line. The Green Monster buckled under the impact of another 1,100 pound warhead. It was all over in less than two minutes. Thirty Tishreen missiles had been fired at Fenway Park; a few fell short, some hit the ball field itself cratering the field but twenty-one of the missiles actually hit the stands or the bleachers. In short, Fenway Park ceased to exist as a baseball stadium coming under the withering impact of the 1,100 pound warheads. The carnage wouldn’t be known for days.

  Gillette Stadium at Foxborough, Massachusetts; Citi Stadium in New York City, hosting the Mets – Braves game; and Arthur Ashe stadium hosting the US Open in Flushing Meadows all came under a similar withering onslaught. In all, 150 missiles targeted these four sporting events with a total of over 150,000 spectators in attendance. In Washington, D.C., the targets were obvious: the White House, the Capitol building, and the Pentagon. However, unlike Boston and New York, the nation’s capital had a little more protection. The Patriot missile defense radar’s picked up the missile barrage and, in conjunction with the newly installed SeaRam missile defense system the Navy uses on many of its ships, the nation’s capital emerged relatively unscathed.

  23,000’ over Homs, Syria

  1:00 AM Monday Local Time

  “How are we doing, Boaz?” Major Ari Cohen asked his electronic warfare escort.

  “All systems nominal, Jericho lead,” came the response. “So far, all we’re seeing is Syrian radar and we know how to handle that. Right now, everything looks good.”

  “Outstanding, let us know if you detect anything else out there.”

  “Will do,” Boaz replied. The call sign Boaz might seem somewhat of a misnomer. In the Old Testament Boaz is more commonly known as Ruth’s husband. However, as part of the 122nd Nahshon Conformal Airborne Early Warning squadron, Boaz couldn’t have been more appropriate. Boaz was the grandson of Nahshon, one of the first captains of the tribe of Judah and, according to Jewish tradition, the first man to enter the Red Sea during the Exodus. Carrying the call sign of Nahshon’s grandson was indeed a great honor.

  “Whoa! We just got hit with a Big Bird radar, Jericho. They know we’re here.”

  “Yeah, we picked it up, too. Can you jam it?”

  “Workin’ on it. We haven’t seen this type before.”

  “What’s the range?”

  “Looks to be something like 230 kilometers. I expect we are in range of their—Jericho flight, they just launched a four missile volley! Still working on trying to jam this thing.”

  “Jericho flight, figure we’ve got about three minutes until those missiles arrive,” Major Cohen radioed his strike team. “Let’s bring it in close and make one big target for them. On my mark, we’ll break.”

  “Boaz, how you doing?”

  “No joy, lead. Estimate time to impact now at forty-five seconds. Keep your eyes open.”

  “Roger that. Flight, break on my mark . . . there they are . . . three . . . two . . . one . . . BREAK!”

  The compact formation of the four F-16Is only slightly confused the missile volley: as the four ship flight broke up, one missile completely missed its target; another scored a direct hit on the flight lead, killing the two man crew outright. The remaining two missiles’ proximity fuses each detonated their warheads while their respective targets’ perfo
rmed one last, fleeting evasive maneuver. Both fighters received catastrophic damage as the missiles detonated though the two man crew in each plane successfully ejected.

  “Boaz, this is Jericho Two,” called the only remaining pilot. “I count four good chutes. Do you have anything else on radar?”

  “Negative, Jericho Two. Everything’s clear.”

  “Roger that. Alert the Guardian Angels for the search and rescue. I’m going to hang around here until all four land and see how they make out. I’ve got enough fuel to hang around for a little while and see what help I can give them.”

  “Calling the Angels now. We’ll keep on station to monitor air traffic for you.”

  “Angel One, Jericho Two. We have four men down outside of Palmyra. All four landed practically on top of an ISIS outpost. I’m Winchester and bingo fuel. Appears that all four have been captured. RTB.”

  “Roger that, Jericho Two. Please confirm all four have been captured,” came the response from Angel One.

  “Angel One, that’s affirmative. One, two, three, four. Four survivors, and all four have been captured.”

  The Russian S-400 air defense system had scored its first victories.

  II

  The White House Situation Room

  6:30 PM Local Time

  “Talk to me people, what the hell just happened?!?” President Jack Barre demanded from his hastily assembled national security staff. “I was watching the Patriots game, saw a large explosion in the stands and then the network just dropped the feed. Then, all of a sudden I hear a rumble from outside the White House and the Secret Service hauls me down to the bunker. What’s going on?!?”

  “Mr. President, it seems four different container ships had several containers modified to house mobile launchers for a form of a Scud missile. They were able to launch these while the ships lay at anchor. One ship lay at anchor off the coast of Delaware. This one launched fifty missiles all at the DC area. The Patriots and the SeaRams took out virtually all of these—that’s the rumble you heard Mr. President. A few got through that were headed out of the area. Three other ships located off the coast of Long Island fired another 150 missiles at Boston and New York City with devastating effect. I’ll let Bob fill in the details here,” Defense Secretary Eric Axelsson finished.