by Isaac Stormm
Iran
9:18 P.M.
The rain was pouring heavily, reaching down through the woods now, when David tapped Foxmann’s shoulder, motioning him to go over the rise. He followed him through a series of low overhanging branches before parting the last and seeing a clearing deep in a carpet of leaves. He sighed in relief when it appeared large enough for the chopper.
Both men entered the clearing in a crouch; the opening made the rain almost like a funnel soaking them to the skin. They scanned its perimeter. Lightning flashed high over them, causing their goggles to blur into white for a second. Satisfied all was clear, David headed back to get Carlson, Quinn, and Talon. When they emerged, a familiar sound began to grow.
They dove back into the woodline as the rotors, much faster than the Mi-17s, spun into a continuous throb. It rushed overhead, only the pale glow of navigation lights defining it. Then it disappeared. Not fast enough for Foxmann who knew what it was. The brief view of stubby wings and slimmer fuselage revealed it to be a Mi-24 Hind helicopter gunship. Possessing thick armor and armaments, it was a Russian Cold War design with a two-man crew. The wings mounted four missile pylons and four rocket pods, two under each wing, and a 4 barrel .50 caliber machine gun in the nose. If that wasn’t enough, it could carry eight fully equipped troops. Foxmann had only seen them on the news, and what made him worry was whether the gunship possessed a Forward Looking Infra-red system that highlighted heat signatures. If it did, no amount of camouflage would protect them. They would be at its mercy.
Another helicopter sounded further away, from the direction of the Hind’s approach.
“Hebrew soldiers.” A loudspeaker blared, echoing each word. “If you are discovered, you will all be killed either from the air, the ground, or both. I want to take this opportunity to appeal to your common sense.” There was a pause of several seconds. “I am Major Rashid Zarin, of the Revolutionary Guards. I will offer you a way to save your lives.” The sound grew a little more distant. “You can fire a single shot. That will lead my men to you. You shall be treated with respect and dignity. From the moment of capture to your release. Yes, you will be released. This is an opportunity to see your families again. I urge you as a fellow soldier to take it.”
“Yeah, right,” David said.
Foxmann and Carlson raised middle fingers toward the sky.
“I’m sending word,” Carlson said. “We need those F-22s. Choppers are active.” Foxmann watched him turn back on a feature of the tablet that only allowed night vision to see what was being typed.
“Listen to that,” David said. “Must be a recording.” They could all make out the same words being repeated maybe a half-mile to their North. They stayed in the tree line and heard the Hind coming again. They spread out, taking refuge behind some of the bigger tree trunks close by. The Hind didn’t quite pass overhead but was close enough for them to worry if it did have FLIR and might have picked them up.
It didn’t go away either. They heard it turning and coming back again.
“Everybody break up but stay near the LZ,” Foxmann yelled, feeling an impending attack. He flipped the NVGs up and raced across the clearing with David on his tail.
Rockets impacted their former position, flashing in quick spurts of blinding sparks and smoke. The salvo walked halfway across the clearing and stopped when the Hind passed directly overhead. The wind blew the smoke residue over them, filling their nostrils with the smell of explosives, strong and sour like those of fireworks. The Hind started banking again, bringing its nose back on target. The .50 caliber lowered, homing in on the clearing. It began spewing gouts of flame, sending a line of tracers tearing through the blackness.
Bullets chewed the foliage over Foxmann’s head, causing him to press his face deep into the drenched leaves. When he raised up as the Hind passed, he was caked thick in mud which began washing off as he looked skyward.
“David!” He hollered in a freakish high pitch.
“Get out, form up on my voice.” He flipped the goggles back down and plunged through foliage. “Come on!” he screamed, the words straining his throat with pain. He dove to the ground, rolled, and noticed David right behind him and the other two crashing through branches.
“Cover!” He finished the word just when rockets slammed into the woodline. Explosions seamed together into a giant roar as they walked across the clearing, sending smoking metal shards spent of their velocity to fall, scorching onto their clothing, taking just a second to burn through to the skin.
David slapped at the biting heat, trying brush it off. The sudden downdraft of the Hind’s rotors washed him with warm air, spreading the rain away from him as the gray slender fuselage raced over not 60 feet above. The wetness closed over again as the Hind sped away to set up for another run.
“Gil,” Foxmann called, looking around. His foot tripped over David’s back causing him to hit headlong and hard into the muddy leaves. His NVG straps ripped off his head and he rose to his knees, his outline visible in a flash of lighting. “I took some fragments.”
“How bad? Wait.” David heard the engine spooling higher and he imagined the Hind coming in at a steeper angle. It swooped directly above, trails of bright flame spewing out the rear of its four launchers, sending lines of thin wispy white trails for the clearing.
David looked back over his shoulder and could see the location of the clearing, the flickering fires burning out as quick as they started under the deluge of rain. The last run must’ve included some phosphorous, guaranteed to spread flames in just about any condition, but the strong winds struggled with the blinding rain to smother it.
Carlson pressed the backlight on the tablet, seeing a lone sentence spelled out on the screen. ‘Fox 3 on the way.’
He showed it to Foxmann. “How long do they expect us to live through this. We can’t wait for Fox 3 or whatever else the F-22 drivers call themselves. We’ll have to find another location, damn it!” he yelled, hiswords mixing with a clap of thunder. “Spread out.”
The tablet displayed “Is site overrun with enemy?”
“No. No, it’s being strafed by a Hind.” Carslon said.
‘Stay near site, then...Only take a minute. Fox 3 on the way.’
The Hind was coming in again. He knew they were only about 80 yards from the clearing. It was curious as to why he only focused on it. His FLIR should easily see their heat signatures, unless the flaming particles from the explosions were throwing him off so that he couldn’t define them well enough. Maybe that was it, unless now he was about to correct the error.
“Give me that thing.” Foxmann took the tablet from Carlson. He tapped an icon in the shape of an eye and looked close into the black screen.
“This is Foxmann. He’s coming in. Damn it, we can’t stay, we don’t have—”
The explosion blotted his words with a mighty shockwave louder than thunder, and a blinding glow that expanded outward as it climbed high above the tree tops. Engulfed in flames, it spewed a trail of burning gasoline behind it, bursting into a donut shaped ring of fiery red streamers just before it touched the clouds to come raining down over the forest. Parts of it caught in the trees, setting limbs alight, while the heavier remains crashed into the floor, the octane smell the only marker the Hind existed.
Foxmann coughed out the odor and looked around. Many trees dripped of molten metal that fell off and extinguished in the wetness. A smell of burning wires in the dizzying smoke curled about him. “I know what Fox 3 means now,” he said. “A damn inbound missile.” He worked on the NVGs, his ears still crackling back to normalcy. “Let’s get back to the clearing.”
The others rose and lined up behind. They climbed over parts of the Hind’s smoky fuselage split and open like an animal’s carcass. It provided a little warmth for their return to the clearing pocked with small craters and smaller burning metal.
They heard another roll of sound at least a couple miles out and saw that quick glow, which they could not discern.
“
Another missile?” Foxmann said.
“Yeah. Maybe it was the Hip this time,” David responded.
“Gil, look.” Foxmann pointed skyward. Through the NVGs they saw a dark shape, slender, still moving and growing closer. Everyone smiled as the hot smoke in the clearing began to flatten and rush around their ankles. Pegasus looked majestic, its wheels locked and floating down past the tree line. More wind and rain blew about them and they held their mouths until the Stealth Hawk, with its left door slid back, set down like a conqueror amid the Hind parts. They saw hands reaching out from the pilot’s compartment, waving them forward and the men started running, Talon received assistance from Quinn and all made it to the door where they piled aboard just as the chopper revved and lifted off again. Everyone’s stomach fell to the bottom as it ascended in a sickening ascent much faster than its landing approach. It dipped forward and propelled over the tree line, climbing every second until it stopped and steadied, picking up more speed.
“Fox 3. Very cute. Should’ve said it was a missile.” Foxmann watched David exhale, seeing his happiness at their extraction. It was countered by his glum expression, knowing the mission had failed and now there would be an international incident created with the destruction of the choppers. Would they blame Israel? America? They might. Or they may write it off as an unforeseen circumstance, not wanting to draw attention. Anyhow, he needed to get to the point.
“Somebody blew your cover.” Foxmann looked over at Talon. “And I think that is our prime suspect.” He nodded toward Talon who didn’t notice as his leg was being bandaged by Quinn. “He told someone.”
David looked over at Talon and was about to tap his shoulder when Foxmann stopped him. “No. Not now. We’ll take him as far as Azerbaijan. That’s it.” He knew the revelation stunned David. But it didn’t take much to deduce. Though he didn’t think Talon was a double agent, perhaps he’d become too trusting of the guerrillas and let it slip he had a greater role to play than they. Whatever it was, the reason for the mission’s failure lay with him, he was certain.
“I know this thing didn’t go down as planned.” Foxmann’s voice took him from his thoughts. “All may not be lost. We still have the salt or whatever sample caused the Geiger to race.”
“Going to be hard to prove. It may get the Americans back on board though,” David said.
“I’m hungry,” Talon said as lightning flashed outside the cockpit, illuminating everyone’s faces. The darkness returned and everyone settled in, finding what space they could to stretch. Small talk started, but soon quit. All stayed quiet and remained so as the chopper hugged the tops of hills holding steady in the wind currents which occasionally knocked its tail askance which Ashford rode back into line with a boot full of rudder.
Tomorrow. What would tomorrow bring? Foxmann closed his eyes and imagined the Iranians trying to make sense of incursion. Would they protest? More hot air from the Ayatollah’s about destroying Israel. No, they would act smarter. Today showed that.
Chapter Ten
Tel Aviv
May 17
8:04 A.M.
Grozner recounted listening to last night’s conversation with the reporter, relieved it went well. It wasn’t him who did it, though. He’d decided to ask one of the editors at the Jerusalem post and a staunch Likud supporter to do it instead. He asked her a series of questions and she was most gracious in the exchange. She didn’t seem too suspicious about why he wanted to know who the Iranian was that told her they were talking to the Americans again. He insisted that they’d like to run her story and would ask the A.P. for permission. He also hinted at working with her in the future so as to make her believe her reporting was so good, it needed more publicity.
Her information came from an assistant to the U.S. Ambassador to Switzerland, Troy Dempsey. Dempsey had played a major role in getting a workable framework for the nuclear agreement, even visiting Tehran after they threatened to walk out. And he knew before leaving it was all a dog and pony show, that Tehran had no intention of honoring regardless of who and how many signatures might rest on a piece of paper. It was Anderson politics at work. Put on a happy face touting the agreement as an achievement. It may open doors for future talks to really get things done. He knew Dempsey believed that because Anderson did. And it was because they monitored the email exchanges between the two and several others during the negotiations, that image and legacy for Anderson’s final years guided decisions which did not bode well at any turn for Israel.
My God, wasn’t the good of the world above politics? Even when extermination on a scale never seen before may result? Grozner couldn’t decide if Anderson was that naïve or incompetent. He was the most reluctant Commander in Chief in recent memory. Far worse than Carter, and he wished his words about believing a nuclear detonation would be ones in stone. With this new story of resuming talks, he doubted it. More appeasing and underestimating lay ahead.
Unless Israel acted first.
Azerbaijan
9:02 A.M.
The Stealth Hawk was already dismantled and pushed aboard the C-5, points of it being lashed to the cargo bed. The communications truck was also gone, leaving the hangar as bereft, but well-kept as it was before. In the center, where the Stealth Hawk once sat, Foxmann and Carlson bade farewell.
“That cat you brought back, then turned over to the MOSSAD, Talon, you going to work him over now that he was the stooley?” Carlson’s slang confused Foxmann who squinted in bewilderment. “Sorry, the one that talked,” Carlson clarified.
“Your people should know,” he smiled, referring to the C.I.A. rendition program. “In fact, maybe we’ll turn him over to your people anyway. In all seriousness though, I think he talked too much and trusted too much. Should we waterboard him? No, won’t happen. I suspect he’ll end his work for us here and be kept under house arrest for a while. After that, they’ll probably let him immigrate to Israel. I mean we can’t send him back, he knows too much. He can’t stay here because nobody wants him, and we’re not going to pay for room and board forever.”
“I say he meets with a terrible accident before all that,” Carlson countered.
“You’re too pessimistic. Not out of the realm of possibility if he was up the chain, but I think our boys will hold off on this. He’ll come to Israel and begin a new life, I can almost assure you.”
“And of Depth Corps?”
“Stay tuned. You never know when or how we might show up. Which reminds me,” he needed to let Carlson know, from the heart, “I’m sorry you didn’t get in on this one. I’ve been there myself, more than once, only to have the rug pulled out from under me.”
“Thanks, Colonel. Somehow I think the Special Forces of our two nations are going to be used far more in the coming months. If not, they’ll find a place for us over in Iraq, a country I wouldn’t recommend. Been there? Don’t bother. I did two tours during the war. Ungrateful people who didn’t give a damn that we came in there and bled for them. Except maybe the Kurds, who had their own axe to grind. Add to that a corrupt government from the moment it was put in place, our pullout, the rise of ISIS and our president who is too hesitant to finish them off and you have the perfect recipe for a clusterfuck. And it’s something only the Special Forces have to endure because they are the ones on the ground.”
Foxmann sensed the bitterness. “The Palestinian territories are the same. Except they are right next door. You have oceans to protect America. We’ve just got a fence.”
“Do you guys ever get tired of the hatred? I mean, how the international community always rushes to blame you when Palestinians die.”
“Used to it. We don’t let it phase us. We have people that want to exterminate us, just like the Nazis. They’re just as overt about it but still win points because of our occupation. If the Palestinians had real leaders, the ones that genuinely wanted peace, then our troubles there would be over and maybe we could live as neighbors.”
“From an outsider’s point of view, I don’t think it w
ill ever happen.”
“And from one on the front lines there, I would say you’re right. The P.L.O. and Hamas are too entrenched. Anyone who preaches peace is eliminated. This is a sore that is going to be on our ass forever more.”
He glanced off and saw the C-17s ramp vacant of personnel around it. “I believe your ride is waiting.”
“Quinn, let’s go.” The team moved away from Foxmann and Quinn said, “Good luck to you, Colonel,” as he passed. Foxmann acknowledged him and watched them trot up the ramp and have it close immediately behind them. The four turbofans began to kick into a low whine.
“Good people,” David said.
“I know. And Carlson knows he’s going to be back in this part of the world before too long.” He scratched his cheek. “Let me see the samples.”
David slid his hand into a pocket over his left breast and pulled the rumpled bag out. Foxmann took it and held it up in the light. He could see the tiny crystals and concluded they had to be salt of some sort. It would be up to the lab back in Tel Aviv to prove it conclusively. What meaning they may become he wished he knew right now. Because, after the tests and he read the findings, he wondered if a logical conclusion might still be missing and any chance they had before the U.N. go up in smoke.
“I’ll keep this.” He ran fingers on the seam making sure it was sealed, then rolled it back up and placed it into his pants pocket. “We did well. I know I didn’t say that back on the helicopter, but we did as well as anyone could expect. And we probably saved the state from great embarrassment by coming out with these crystals.”
“I need to confide something that I’ve been feeling ever since we got back.” David shook his head. “My mind is blurry about what is going to be coming down in the not so distant future. I’ve never felt that kind of uncertainty.” He paused trying extra hard to search for the next words. “Why do we keep avoiding it, Jessy? We’re going to war…that’s it. We keep trying to avoid the truth like it’s some sacrilegious thing. To put it bluntly, my feeling is fear.”