A Touch Of War

by Isaac Stormm

  “They’re preparing for us,” Grozner interjected.

  “What of Iran itself? Has there been any heightened alert since the blast?” Houser queried.

  “No,” Philpot said.

  “Our intelligence failed us before. Can you give us assurances it is working now?”

  “Sir, we have a variety of means of determining whether they change their alert statuses. Much more than just human intelligence, we have satellites and listening posts in a whole section dedicated to deciphering what comes out of Iran.”

  “I want to also stress,” Grozner said, “I’m going to order a snatch and grab mission into Lebanon that will take place tomorrow night. We will only be there for a few hours but I want to see if we can find this BeeKeeper. Philpot tells me they have good intel as to where he’s staying. If we can get him, make him talk, we’ll know a lot more about Tehran’s intentions, any counters they may have to us.” He knew that Foxmann was out of the loop for this mission. He wouldn’t have had enough downtime to rest from tonight’s exercise. He’d let him choose who to go in his place.

  It became quiet. Only the sounds of breathing.

  “Is there anything else?” Grozner looked over at Houser. Maybe he would turn red and start his drama again.

  “I am satisfied. For now.” Houser rose and turned for the door. The others followed, leaving Grozner with his crew.

  “I hope that’s enough.” Philpot got up and folded the paper several times over until it was a small square and slipped it into a pocket.

  Southern Lebanon

  11:04 P.M.

  “Come with me, Colonel.”

  Zarin stepped out of the front seat of the Toyota. Its engine went quiet after an hour and half of sputtering over pebble strewn trails that someone had the foolish audacity to call a road. He really didn’t mind it, though it seemed like it took forever to find the final road to lead them to the current location: the burned-out structure of a long abandoned U.N. outpost. There were scorch marks ringed around absent windows and with the white paint flecking off the walls, it appeared unused for a long time. The aide led him over the sooty concrete floor and reached down and pulled up a trapdoor. A meager light shone from somewhere within and he started making his way down a wooden ladder. He turned and saw a wall of laptop screens, six in all, manned by men dressed like him: long dark robes and a turban. Their backs were to him and they were looking at their screens which animated their faces in a greenish hue.

  “We are ready to commence the exercise, sir.” The voice sounded familiar. He looked behind him and saw the aide from the schoolhouse. The man muttered someone’s name and one of the men got up for them and motioned for Zarin to sit down.

  The operator pressed a button and the screen divided itself into five smaller squares, each a dark blue as Zarin sat down.

  “You may begin when ready,” he said.

  “Start,” came a call from behind.

  Six miles to the south, a group of silent figures ran into a knee-high field, dove for the ground and crawled a short distance to pull away the camouflage netting on the devices. Their blackened shapes now exposed, the multiple engines started into a high-pitched whir as the men rotated on their stomachs and scurried away.

  The computer screens came alive in a greenish glow when the drones raised above the field looking over the edges of the stalks. It was still difficult to discern images so the operators slowly raised them higher until the entire field fell away enough that a 360-degree turn showed how large it was. The operators adjusted the heading and the four machines shot forward, gaining altitude.

  The landscape sped into a blur beneath the camera eyes showing on Zarin’s screen. A crosshair, barely discernible, occupied its center. The heading and the speed readout, approaching 30 miles per hour, streamed below each feed. The altitude remained steady at 20 feet. The speed readout shot past 40 in a click. The altitude still remained a steady 20 feet.

  Zarin couldn’t make out much of anything, as the drones at once climbed over 100 feet, the landscape slowing while the speed readout continued climbing.

  “Sir, straight ahead, see a string of lights?”

  He saw the lights blossoming into a lighter green and sliding closer. Then the drones plummeted to their height.

  Zarin almost shut his eyes as the lights bloomed into a solid color. Just then, they shot down out of frame.

  “That was the border fence, we are in Israel now.”

  God, it was that easy. He shook his head in wonderment seeing the altitude rise to 100 feet. The gray tracks of streets became defined by lights, the smooth box shapes of house roofs on either side as the drones plummeted to 20 feet, still in formation like one large object coursing down a selected street, the lights now on either side and above.

  “Seek targets.” The feed changed just as a car raced under them. A blur of black and he noticed one drone lining up on the 6 o’clock position. They had its feed now and the car closed faster, the crosshair on its rear window. The shape grew monstrous quickly then the feed went black, heading speed and altitude numbers returned to zero.

  “One impact,” came the call.

  “Have them all focus on one target. I’ll choose it,” Zarin said, excitement building inside him. “Gain altitude.”

  The operators moved their fingers over the track pads and the drones aimed skyward.

  Zarin counted “Three… two… one. Now, level off.”

  The altitude showed 400 feet. He saw a house in the upper corner of one of the feeds.

  “That target,” he pointed. “That house.”

  The operator next to him nodded. “My feed, sir. I’m passing control to you.”

  Some quick slaps of the keyboard and two more drones closed in behind Zarin’s.

  “Targeting now.”

  A giant crosshair appeared on the screen. Zarin’s mouth dried up and he made out small figures standing just outside the front door. He identified them as people as they zoomed in larger on the sight. Then he could make out facial features only for a moment. As the crosshair plunged between the two, the feed went black on the screens. That was it. Anticlimactic…and exhilarating.

  “Maybe it was enough to get them.” The aide hovered over Zarin’s shoulder. All readings read zero.

  “Yes. Maybe.” He figured they were the owners. They’d come out to see what the first explosion was. Three charges into the house, if it didn’t kill them, it sure rattled them off their feet. He took brief delight in imagining the Jews squirming around, screaming at their house in flames. Maybe some of them stayed inside.

  The aide quickly stepped back as Zarin rose. “For Allah,” he said.

  “For Allah.” They all looked at him expecting him to say more. He just smiled and nodded his approval.

  “Excellent.” He clapped his hands. “You have reason to be proud. I look forward to the day when you can put hundreds, even thousands up.”

  “We will. And sooner than the Jews can expect,” the aide replied. He hurried to his side. “I’ll see you to your car.”

  They rose up into the night, a cool breeze blowing in from the west where the Mediterranean was. It smelled sweet, refreshing. Life giving.

  Same time

  Airbase outside of Tel Aviv.

  Foxmann walked up to the top of the platform and looked out over the men. Years ago he remembered John Wayne doing a similar thing speaking to his paratroopers in the ‘Longest Day.’ He thought about saying the exact same thing. ‘Well, you’re as ready as we can make ya.” Instead, he looked at them and 124 sweaty, grease-black-faced warriors acknowledged him back with a smile and thumbs up. Then, placing his hands on the railing, he leaned forward and began.

  “If there was any doubt about the wisdom of Israel creating an expeditionary force of the Special Forces, tonight answered those questions. Though there were some mistakes which I will get to, our mission was a success. If it had been the real thing, then the target nation would have been severely crippled with its abil
ity to produce atomic weapons if by no other attack than this one.”

  “However, do not let our success overshadow what we need to improve. Our approach was almost detected. We had no problems breaching and entering the facility. Every centrifuge was destroyed. But the Golani was able to capture two of our perimeter team members. We all know what they would’ve faced if the situation had been real. Therefore, I have decided that we use our vehicles to run perimeter security instead of on foot, more firepower and much quicker response. Apart from that, I would give our mission success an A-. With that, we can now secure our gear, the exercise is concluded for tonight.”

  Metal rattled, and conversation flared up as the unit dismissed below him. Someone climbed the stairs to his side and whispered in his ear.

  “Colonel, there’s been an attack at a kibbutz. There are fatalities. The drones returned.”

  “Shit” was all he could muster. His feet traversed the steps onto the warm concrete floor and he headed for one of the maintenance offices. He went inside and didn’t bother turning on the light. Out came the cell phone. Reach Grozner.

  “Prime Minister, the same kind?”

  “Yes. Three dead. One in an automobile and a married couple in a house. We didn’t even detect the bastards.”

  “I sent a team in last night.They rendezvoused with the necessary people but have turned up nothing so far. They checked in this afternoon. They’ll be extracted out tomorrow morning. I’ll make them aware of what’s happened.”

  “We are vulnerable.”

  “We’ll fix it,” Foxmann sighed.

  He tapped some more numbers on the touchscreen, ringing up the signals station working the team. “This is Foxmann. Notify the team it’s critical we have a suspect brought back to us.”

  “Will do.”

  Foxmann left the hangar heading for his Toyota. He was going to go home and get whatever sleep he could. He knew it was going to be hard because the new weapon being used against them drew its first blood. He’d have a long day tomorrow, sorting this mess out then returning here tomorrow night for staging against Iran. But he loved how the boys performed, flexible and lethal. Their ability to achieve he’d put up against any unit in the world. He’d especially like to see how they stacked against the U.S. Delta or DEVGRU units. He knew that could never happen given the secretive nature of all involved. Nevertheless, a little friendly competition would be nice once they got through all this.

  He shook his head. All this? Why am I so dismissive? We’re up against the wall and I want to play war games. Ah, don’t worry about it. I have to deviate sometimes to keep my head clear. And stay calm. He wondered where he found the reserve. Nationalism? Yes. And Anna. And Sara. Through any murky mess, these were the lamps that guided him, and he always came out alright. He drove the vehicle through the gates of the base out onto the road. He got the phone out and was going to call home. Then nixed it and pulled into a fast food joint for a Subway sandwich. His first real meal since this morning. He thought of nothing else except while sitting in the parking lot downing the hot Philly cheesesteak, its meat juicy and dripping of cheese. A large Dr. Pepper completed the course and put the napkin to work, rubbing the corners of his lips and sucking hard on the straw. The warm and cold sensations tickled his stomach and he filled up quickly.

  He rolled the wrapping paper up, started the vehicle and tossed the remnants into a garbage chute, setting the Dr. Pepper into the cup holder and taking quick sips once back on the road. He followed the pale yellow of the lane divider into Tel Aviv, merging with traffic and slowing his speed almost in half, having to weave amongst the slow rubberneckers who gawked at a single car pulled to the side by the police. Once he exited the freeway, he sped back up and counted the minutes. Two…four, until he pulled onto his street.

  Anna was waiting in the foyer when he closed the door. “What’s going on?

  It’s all over the news. A border town got hit.” She embraced him, never minding the crusty sweat rubbing off on her.

  He needed it, and he squeezed her tight.

  “Sara said she would wait up for you but she dozed off about twenty minutes ago.”

  They held hands to her room. Her nightlight bathed her sleeping face in a gentle orange and he went over and kissed her on the forehead. She rolled to her side and rubbed her eyes, not bothering to open them. He turned as he left her and winked then slipped the door back to lessen the hallway light’s intensity on her.

  “I got to get out of this mess.”

  In 15 minutes, after a thorough scrub to remove the sand and dirt hiding in his pores, he was in bed, his mind still going over the exercise and his body spent and relaxed. He turned to Anna.

  “Listen.” It tore at him. Looking at her, a longing in his heart wanted to reveal so much about how close the country teetered on war. He couldn’t frighten her though. He looked around the room. This place. Someday soon it may not be here. We may not be here, he thought.

  “Jessy… What is it?”

  He packed the emotions away in that strongbox all married members of Special Forces carried inside them and did the one thing they were perfect at. Changing the subject.

  Only he was terrible. Nothing. He picked up the TV remote and flipped on the local Tel Aviv news, catching only the tail end of the sentence. “Attack on Kibbutz kills three.”

  “Any business involving you?” Anna said, propping her pillow up. She lay facing him.

  He picked up the cell phone and looked for messages, worrying that the ringtone was turned off or the vibration mode hadn’t worked. None waited. Unusual. He texted Grozner. ‘If needed, I’m here at home.’

  “You know where it came from?” she asked softly.

  “Probably Hezbollah.” He watched the news anchor show the map of the attack. It was too far away from the West Bank for it to be a Hamas doing. He turned the sound up a little more. The targets, a vehicle and house hit, got him thinking. Hezbollah wasn’t that good. A lucky hit was also highly unlikely. Drones. That’s all it could be. Now how was he supposed to get any sleep? His mind began racing harder. He wanted to head to the location, check it out and confirm it for himself. He decided to wait. Morning would tell him. In fact, when the anchor said ‘Unsure what weapons were used,’ that told him everything. “Yeah. That’s about right,” he said again. He turned the sound down and turned the picture off. Turning to her he said, “Hezbollah has gotten good over the years.” Maybe too good at the wrong time.

  “We have to make the world right for Sara.”

  Man, if she really believed that…

  “I would like to.” He tried make her understand. “But we’re Jews. Struggle is who we are. In time she’ll realize that, and take her place when she’s needed.”

  She looked off into space. “I wish it weren’t that way.”

  “I’m afraid there’s no alternative.”

  “You’re awful direct tonight.”

  “Am I? Sorry… I don’t mean to upset you. Being exposed to the goings on of the world firsthand does that to people.” He flipped off the TV.

  “Don’t get lost.” She leaned over and their lips met. He slid his arms around her and pressed her tight. He released her suddenly and smiled. “I won’t. I promise.”

  He turned and saw Sara standing there touching her lip, a playful smile widening.

  “I had a bad dream. Can I—”

  “Yes.” He reached out and yanked her over, putting her between them. She giggled. “Good night.”

  Both kissed her forehead and put their arms around her. Within minutes, sleep met them.

  The Oval Office

  4:27 P.M.

  “What do you think?” Mitchell asked, quickly reading the paper before handing it over.

  “There’s an ulterior motive to this, James. But if I refuse and they’re sincere, we’ll be the villains of the world.” Anderson scanned over the paper. The first detailed look at the Iranians’ mea culpa. “They are offering us everything we want.” He set it
down, folded his hands under his chin and appeared to look at the page and meditate. “The U.N. is already saying they would be willing to put pressure of renewed sanctions, pre-Obama nuclear agreement, if they didn’t adhere to it this time.”

  “Mr. President, if we get the U.N. onboard, it may well be the last crucial thing we need.” He folded his arms and rocked a little bit. “You know, I’ve been thinking. Since they want to get involved, it could prove to be our ace in the deck. I mean, we can ride their ass if they fail to follow through with their threats, and if the Iranians appear to be stalling, well, I think we could get Rasmuth to wash some hands in Moscow, maybe get them to apply pressure on Tehran. That may be farfetched, but it sure as hell beats where we were a few days ago.”

  “James, I’ve thought of that too.” Anderson scooted back in the chair. “I already called Rasmuth and said the same thing. He told me he’d get back with an answer tomorrow. What I want to know about is how quickly the Iranians will let us on the ground. I’ve heard nothing more from the Supreme Council. I’ll give them ‘til tomorrow after Rasmuth calls me. I’m going to put a deadline on it. If teams won’t depart tomorrow, I’ll put a deadline on it. Any suggestions?”

  “I like three days.”

  “Good. I was thinking four or five. But we’ll go with three.” He rose out of the chair, reaching his arm out. “If they agree, we may be on course to something positive.”

  Mitchell rose and took Anderson’s hand. “Why the handshake?”

  “For luck.” They’d need it, he figured.