Warriors

by Barrett Tillman

  Ha’il, 2152 Hours

  Ed Lawrence wandered into the debriefing room, drawn by the noise and chatter. Despite the hour, he noted with pleasure that morale remained at a peak. Thirteen of the Tiger Force pilots who had been shot down were recovered. Those returned to Ha'il were greeted with a combination of hearty hugs and good-natured ribbing.

  In the comer, several Black Squadron pilots were singing the organization's theme song.

  He set up in the front quarter

  At a fairly respectable range.

  Hit the disappear switch, rolled out at Deep Six

  And the Fox Fifteen went down in flames.

  Lawrence walked over to join them in the hoarse shouting which passed for singing.

  DAY 10

  Near Jericho, 1220 Hours

  The mirage from — the midday heat shimmered in the distance as the binoculars focused on the West Bank. General Hassan Gamail rotated the knob and set the mil scale along the Israeli-held front. His Zeiss binoculars were a prized possession. He had carried them since 1984 when the Iraqi chief of staff had presented them to the new regimental commander. Gamail had proven himself an accomplished soldier at every command level, and despite his country's military stalemate with Iran, his career had flourished. He had outlived many of his contemporaries.

  The Iraqi corps commander carefully tucked away the valuable German glasses and edged back from the sandbagged emplacement.

  Motioning to his driver, he scrambled into his command car and gave directions to the nearby divisional headquarters.

  With two infantry divisions and a reinforced motor rifle division under his command, the veteran soldier believed he could make an option work for him. He needed to arrange supporting arms on short notice-artillery and air. But if he was correct, the opening he saw developing could turn this war around. It was Day Ten, and if Gamail's plan worked there would not be a Day Twenty. But first he had to talk to the combined headquarters in Damascus. This would require coordination on three fronts.

  Ha’il, 1455 Hours

  John Bennett tapped the map with his pencil. "You know, Bear, this war should be winding down pretty soon. The Arabs have control of most of Jordan again and the Israelis only hold this part of the West Bank anymore." He pointed to the slight bulge eastward toward the River Jordan.

  "What still surprises me is that the Arabs stuck to their plan so well." The ex-Marine rubbed his neck; he had gotten sunburned two days before. "Once the Israelis began to pull back to shorten their lines, I figured the Syrians and that bunch might try to press right through to Tel Aviv."

  Bennett glanced around. He did not want to be overheard.

  "There have been rumors to that effect all along, but since the Egyptians and Saudis have declined to back that move, the campaign seems to be living up to its press. The Arabs are playing this one smart for a change. By defining their mission and stating it to the world, they gained a hell of a lot of support. It'd be contrary to their interests to invade Israeli territory."

  Bear flashed a huge smile. "Bring the boys home by Christmas? Seems I've heard that one before."

  "Don't be so goddam cheerful," Bennett said with mock earnestness. "The day this shooting match ends, you and I are out of a job. "

  The big flier said, "Yeah, I know. But somehow being unemployed doesn't bother me much anymore. I guess the main thing we have to worry about is the State Department. They know we're here. Probably know what we're doing."

  "Well, don't sweat it, Bear. If necessary, we can dig up a sea lawyer to muddy the waters. After all, we're not in the same boat as the contract maintenance folks, or even the military attaches. We're working directly for the king of Saudi Arabia. State isn't going to rock the boat after that. If anything, the diplomats will be falling all over themselves to return to business as usual in Riyadh. If things do get tight, I think we can count on Safad to smooth things over."

  Bennett turned from the wall map and picked up a clipboard with operations reports. "I see the Saudis approved your rotation plan for the northern bases. Are the two Jordanian outfits flying from Green and Blue Bases now?"

  "Affirmative. And Black is supposed to rotate back here with Orange in a couple days. Now that it's about over, I guess Devil and Rajid and the guys will look forward to some Rand R in Bahrain or Riyadh."

  "Some of them will, but I don't know about Ed. He's having a real good time. He bagged another one a couple days ago and he won't be satisfied unless he gets the last kill with the last missile in this war." Bennett flipped the chart cover shut. "Besides, there's no kind of Rand R Devil would enjoy in any Muslim country."

  "I guess you're right. But what about the young tigers? I'd imagine Rajid is anxious to see his boy again. The kid must be… what, almost two years old?"

  "Not quite two." For the first time in days, Bennett thought of his own son, and of his granddaughter. God, I'm ready to go home. We've proved our point. ''Things still quiet along the border?"

  Barnes leaned back on the table, one leg dangling. "Pretty much. Some of the boys are saying the Israelis are afraid to come back in force after the big shootout, and I lit into a couple of them. I was polite, you understand, but firm. I guess we've both seen that kind of overconfidence backfire on a pilot."

  "Damn right, Bear. These kids need to understand the Israelis haven't been back because there's no reason for it. Hell, from their viewpoint there was no good military reason in the first place. The fact that the politicians panicked and ordered their air force south just means our plan goaded them into our hands." He thought for a moment. "There must be some mighty upset Israeli drivers up around Tel Aviv this week. I wouldn't blame 'em for dumping napalm on the Knesset."

  Bear consulted his notes. "Tiger Force is deploying standing patrols along the Jordanian-Saudi border, alternating with F-5s. I figure since the radar signature is identical for each type, the Israelis will have to assume all patrols are F-20s. At least, as long as the guys keep zip-lip."

  "Remind me to hire you as an ops officer sometime, Barnes. You show real promise. Now, I'm going to log some ACM with a couple of the guys. Is 001 ready?"

  "Right where you parked her last time, boss."

  Balhama Air Base 1458 Hours

  Colonel Solomon Yatanahu checked the communications from Heyl Ha'Avir headquarters again. He had informed the air staff that he wanted to consolidate his remaining Eagles into two squadrons instead of the usual three. Attrition had made the ordinary administrative division unwieldy. Now the base commander wanted to pool all his aircraft and assign them to pilots from the same squadrons in order to maintain maximum possible coordination in the air. He proposed putting up four-plane flights from two squadrons at a time, keeping the pilots of his third squadron on rotation.

  Yatanahu was reading the availability reports when his adjutant, Lieutenant Yoni Ben-Nun, entered the office. "Excuse me, Colonel. We've just had a bit of good news."

  The fighter ace turned around. "I could stand some good news, Yoni. What is it?"

  Ben-Nun waved a teletype form. "Word from the International Red Cross. Aaron, Colonel Hali-he's a prisoner of the Saudis. He injured his back on ejection but apparently he's all right otherwise. "

  Yatanahu, like many Israeli pilots, was not devoutly religious.

  But he closed his eyes and said a short, heartfelt prayer of thanksgiving.

  The aide saw the relief on his superior's face. "Evidently several other pilots were captured, too. We probably won't know full details until a cease-fire is arranged."

  "Well, that may be quite a while, Yoni. I just saw the kill-loss ratio from the first week. We're destroying eight to ten enemy aircraft for each loss in air combat. It's not as good as it used to be."

  The captain said, "We knew the Syrians were working hard to improve in the past three years. And the Iraqis have a lot of institutional experience from fighting Iran. Even the Iranians have produced a few top fliers. You recall that memo about their ace F-14 pilot who claimed sixteen k
ills against Iraq during the 1980-88 war. But-"

  "I know," the colonel interrupted. "The Saudis. We may be lucky to break even against them. They and the Jordanians are very good."

  Feeling defensive, Ben-Nun interjected, "But there have been only a handful of engagements, sir. We were fighting over their territory, close to their bases. My God, the Ha'il strike was a nine-hundred mile round trip. And the F-20 is so small. It's very hard to see. Many of our pilots never even-"

  Yatanahu waved a hand. "Yes, yes. I know all the pertinent arguments, Yoni. And each one of your points is valid. But we shouldn't have expected a pushover. Intelligence reported the Tigershark pilots were flying a minimum forty hours per month, often sixty. With the quality of their instructors, a fine airplane, and three and a half years, they were bound to build a first-class air force." The colonel looked sharply at his aide. "You remember your basic military doctrine? Never, never assume enemy actions based upon what he is likely to do. Assume the worst case he is capable of forcing upon you and proceed accordingly."

  "Yes, sir."

  "All right. Enough philosophy. What else do you have for me today?"

  Consulting his clipboard, Ben-Nun pulled out a notification of the next day's scheduled operations. "The army is moving some units from the West Bank to reinforce the northern front, where the Syrians are massing. We have to maintain standing patrols over the withdrawal area before daylight and maintain cockpit alert with every serviceable aircraft not assigned to fly."

  Yatanahu glanced at the order and initialed it. "Very well. What do you make of this, Yoni?"

  The aide hated it when his CO played military professor.

  "Sir, I suspect a deception. The Syrians already control all of Lebanon. The stated Arab goal in this war is to drive us from Jordan and the West Bank. If they follow von Clausewitz, they'll concentrate at the decisive point-the West Bank. This activity in Lebanon could be meant to draw us off."

  "Excellent!" The colonel clapped his aide on the shoulder. "It so happens I agree with you. It also appears the government wants to seize some Lebanese territory as a bargaining chip to retain a presence on the West Bank if we're forced out."

  The young captain asked in a low voice, "Colonel, can we hold the West Bank? If we have to pull back-"

  "I know, Yom, I know. There'll be hell to pay."

  DAY THIRTEEN

  CAIRO (Exclusive to Middle Eastern News Service)-Egyptian forces entered the thirteen-day-old Arab-Israeli war this evening, driving a two-pronged assault into the previously inactive Sinai front. The attack, apparently largely unexpected in Tel Aviv, is directed along the coast to the Gaza Strip as far as Ashqelon in the north. The southern flank seems aimed for Sedom on the shore of the Dead Sea. Reports indicate that favorable defensive terrain has slowed the Egyptian column in the hills near Dimona.

  Egypt's abrupt entry into the war came some six hours after an Iraqi assault upon an exposed portion of the Israeli lines on the West Bank. Low-flying jets reportedly spread smoke and chemical curtains ahead of a regimental-sized heliborne force which landed in the Israeli rear, cutting off the defenders from immediate aid. Though casualties among the Soviet-built Hip and Hind helicopters seem to be heavy, the follow-up infantry assault-allegedly supported by mustard gas from artillery-gained "considerable ground," according to Baghdad sources.

  The present Cairo government has been far more sympathetic to the Muslim alliance of Iran, Iraq, Syria, and Libya than its predecessor. Following the death of President Khalid Amad and many of his cabinet ministers in a still-unsolved air crash five years ago, Egypt has edged ever closer to an outright alliance with the hard-line Arab states. But sources in the capitol still expressed surprise at the size and scale of the Egyptian army offensive.

  Military observers in the Middle East have noted over the past two weeks that Israel's Jordanian front lines were overextended in the face of so strong an assault from Lebanon southward. The Iraqi attack should not have come as a complete surprise, say some analysts, since the corps which launched the combined-arms assault was known to be capable of such action. The corps commander, General Hassan Gamail, reportedly gained such experience during the eight-year war with Iran.

  Western military attaches, queried about the new development, expressed doubt that Israel could sustain its present position in Jordan.

  Without actually stating its aim, the Arab coalition seems to have abandoned its avowed goal of merely expelling Israel from occupied Jordan and the West Bank, said one diplomat. That same concern has been expressed in statements from Geneva, Paris, Washington and the United Nations.

  DAY FOURTEEN

  New York. 0100 Hours

  The Soviet ambassador's heels clicked on the concrete, echoing in the Second Avenue subway station. Twenty paces behind him two security agents kept pace with the fast-walking diplomat. Several blocks to the north was the United Nations Building. Anatoli Servenoff was one of the few old men left in the upper strata of the Soviet hierarchy. A new clique finally had replaced most of the World War II generation, but a few remained because of influence or ability. The United Nations ambassador had both.

  As a twenty-four-year-old, Servenoff had been a petty bureaucrat in the Ukraine when the Germans struck in 1941. He had saved himself from liquidation-the usual fate of Communist Party members-by offering to cooperate in locating and exterminating every Jew in his district. He had worked hard and effectively for two years before making a dash for Soviet lines. Taking with him information and marginally useful documents, Servenoff had ingratiated himself with his superiors, who commended him for his espionage work among the Nazi barbarians. By 1945 he was a security commissar, still rounding up "unreliable" elements among the Jewish population.

  The prospect of speaking directly and privately to the Israeli ambassador to the United Nations was distasteful to Servenoff. There was a metallic tinge in the Russian's mouth, and he spat several times trying to dislodge the bitter saliva. But the Soviet ambassador, like many of his Kremlin colleagues, was a master of expressionless demeanor. Secretary of State Thurmon Wilson had once remarked, "They may be a nation of chess players but their negotiating face would do credit to a master poker player."

  Servenoff glanced around to satisfy himself that nobody was within earshot. He had been directed by Moscow to present his message to the Israelis without a chance of being recorded or overheard. One hundred yards ahead, approaching from the opposite direction, he recognized the Israeli ambassador, Avrim Ran. As if on signal, the Israeli bodyguards stopped when the Soviets halted. The two diplomats continued walking toward one another, each with hands in his pockets.

  Neither man extended a hand in greeting.

  Ran stared unblinking at the Soviet. He knew Servenoff's life story, knew that this man could be relied upon at Politburo meetings to push for harsher treatment of Soviet Jews. Western efforts to increase Jewish emigration from Russia drew mixed reaction from Servenoff. On the one hand, he wished every Jew gone from the Soviet Union-even the "good" Jews who abounded in Russian life and the Communist hierarchy. On the other hand, a lifetime of harassing, prosecuting, and deporting Jews had become ingrained habit.

  Without preamble the Soviet diplomat spoke in near-perfect English. "Ambassador Ran, my government has directed me to convey to you in the most forceful terms the following: Because of our long fraternal relationship with the oppressed Arab peoples, Soviet friendship and assistance for them is a cornerstone of our Middle East policy." He swallowed but the metallic taste lingered. "We have viewed with alarm over the past twenty years the possession by your country of nuclear weaponry. Our intelligence is unassailable." He was sorely tempted to add that much of the information came from inside Israel. Some people would do anything to contact relatives still in Russia.

  "We know that Israel has approximately one hundred such weapons." This with a faint smile. But the Soviet was. slightly disappointed when Ran gave no sign of surprise.

  "Mr. Ambassador." Ran's voice
was even, controlled. "What has this to do with current events in my nation? After all, your client states have invaded Israel."

  Servenoff never tired of sloganeering. "After your own illegal invasion of Jordan, and the cruelties practiced upon the Palestinian peoples displaced from their homeland, the Arabs are united in opposition to Israel's military arrogance. We Soviets have no desire to see war come again to your region, but we will supply our Arab friends with whatever weapons are necessary for their legitimate defense. This is the message I deliver to you." He held up a stubby finger. "If you Jews-" He halted from force of diplomatic habit. "If you use atomic weapons against the Arab states, the Soviet Union will immediately provide nuclear-armed artillery shells which could reach almost anywhere in your country. I tell you in candor that these weapons are in position at this very minute."

  The Russian glared at Ran for a long moment. The Israeli made no comment. Then, without another word, Servenoff turned on his heel and walked briskly toward his waiting men.

  Washington, D.C. 2015 Hours

  That night Avrim Ran flew to Washington for an emergency meeting with Tel Aviv's ambassador to the United States and the chief military attache. Already a motion condemning the Arab invasion of Israel had been defeated in the Security Council by the Soviet veto. However, Ran now held no illusions about the power of diplomacy. He intended to help press the Arnold Administration as hard as possible to intervene in some form.

  Ran told his dinner companions about the Soviet decree. They dined in Mordechai Weissman's apartment, free to converse without distraction from other Israeli embassy personnel. But Ran was visibly shaken. "I think they mean it, Mordechai. This doesn't sound like a bluff."

  The diplomats turned to General Lom Olmert. They asked his opinion.

  "I don't see that we have any choice," Olmert said. "If we do not employ our nuclear force, we'll go under in a week-two at the absolute most. On the other hand, if we issue a pronouncement, threatening their use, that may provoke the Soviets into carrying out a preemptive strike."