A Touch Of War

by Isaac Stormm

  “We may never get those words.” Zarin cut him off. “All communications is likely out. It could be days at the least before anything came our way. Now, get me a vehicle.”

  “Very well. I will not be held responsible for this, though.” He hurried back around the corner.

  Zarin wondered if he was going to go get someone superior or if he would follow through. For some reason, he sensed the latter. The man was confused and right now Zarin was likely the only one he’d met giving a sound order, however extreme.

  No more than five minutes later, they were on a road leaving Homs behind. The Hezbollah representative was right of course, the Israelis would be watching everything going into and out of Lebanon. He had to take that chance, though. He would walk all the way if he had to. Maybe, as he lay his head back in the seat, he wouldn’t have to and would make it all right. What were the chances? Not good. And for some reason, he didn’t give a damn, the anger did the thinking now. Just like when he was watching the guerrillas being slaughtered in front of him in the forest back in Iran. He had a mission and he was going to carry it out. Once it was underway, Tehran would have to approve, as he would be among the first of the nation’s soldiers to strike back. He even pictured himself storming the Al-Aqsa Mosque in Jerusalem, far-fetched as it was.

  Taking this route, he figured about an hour and 30 minutes. It wasn’t the same one he’d taken the first time. It was a bit more winding, rough and further north. Closer to the villages sympathetic to Hezbollah outside Beirut. He kept it on his mind as his eyes gazed warily skyward. He knew he wouldn’t see the missile coming due to its speed. It eased him a little though, that the airspace around their automobile looked clear even though at this moment he might very well be in a jet or choppers targeting reticule. Well, if they got hit, it would be quick and there would be nothing left but a frame of spent, smoldering metal and a black smudge on an ancient mountain pass. No pain at all.

  Tel Aviv

  5.42 P.M.

  Situation Room

  They each looked over the readout unfolding on their monitors. It was giving the post operation feed from satellites completing their orbit of the target areas. Metzer selected the images and when they enlarged, a description tag read in the corner. Natanz. All buildings now black stains against the desert floor. Isfahan. All buildings destroyed as well as a large pit where earth erupted from storage bunkers. Arak. All buildings destroyed. Same with Bushehr. Tehran. Strike damage contained only to the targeted houses. No more information. Qom. Buildings intact, entrance showed a lighter than gray glow of a massive fire still burning from the base of the mountain. Up came the tagline then a series of numbers below it.

  “These are the radiation readouts. It would show only if there is a danger level,” Metzer said. “At the other targets the readouts were normal. These are higher than usual.”

  “So the man was right,” Foxmann said, leaning in to just an inch from his screen.

  “Only to the point that there are elevated levels. These are not considered serious. However, we will maintain updates every hour.”

  Foxmann looked over to Grozner. “Just in case, Ariel, I would start considering what needed to be said if things get critical.”

  “Already taken care of. On the surface though, everything went according to plan. Now, if we can just confirm the leadership is wiped out, we may have a chance of permanently altering the scale of things for the better.”

  “I hope your optimism becomes contagious,” Foxmann replied. He knew Grozner thought he was still spooked. He knew there needed to be some more optimism in the room so he changed his tone. “I must say though, our strikes went off better than expected.”

  “To be remembered from this day forward as the most precise in history,” Metzer said.

  “Needless to say,” Grozner said, “we still have a lot to do on the diplomatic front. I’m going to venture something that may surprise all of you. I think our relationship with the United States is tenuous at best. Not that they won’t stand by us if we’re directly threatened. But until that time, they might even consider an embargo against us. If that becomes the case, we will have to be very careful about our next course of events as we may be without resupply of critical materials.”

  And the most basic of those was water, he knew. This came from Jordan. But, the Jordanians hated the Iranians as much as Israel did. So that shouldn’t be a problem unless there were some closet agitators in their government.

  What of the borders? So much time had passed, he’d expected the condemnations to flood in. Strangely, they remained silent. Not for long, he suspected. Even if they quietly applauded the success. Ancient hatreds always had to be exploited first. Decades ago it was through threats of war, today it would be words. Regardless, Israel was on its highest alert footing.

  Beiruit, Lebanon

  “Major, is it true?” Itaya said in the parking garage. Around him, his men loaded for bear, entered and exited vehicles preparing to head to their assembly areas.

  “This is a hell of a place for a meeting, Itaya but, yes, it is true. We were hit last night all over the country. I had to commandeer a vehicle from your men to get back here. Please excuse this hasty decision. In light of developments, I know you must understand.”

  “Yes. Of course. As for the meeting place, it’s best to keep everything tenuous. On the move. We’ll be moving to the forward areas where we will prepare the rockets and the drones. Unfortunately, we don’t have as many qualified drone pilots as we’d like. Until Tehran sends the necessary replacements, we’ll be undermanned.”

  “If I don’t hear from Tehran, I’m going to give an authorization, infrastructure in place or not, if it comes down to it, that will allow you to use chemical warheads on your rockets. But that will only be in later days. We must wage a terror campaign, maybe even getting them to invade Lebanon as a feint, before our next stage of combat. Then the Jewish state will meet its reckoning with Allah.”

  A smile spread over Itaya’s mouth. “Are you allowed to share with us?”

  “No. Of course not. I’m not even supposed to have told you. But in light of these developments, again it is necessary. Let this not get beyond us. No more talking about it.”

  “Of course, my friend. I will provide you with transportation and take you to a new forward control area for the drones. I think you’ll find that we have a much more coordinated set up now, in just these few days you’ve been with us.”

  “We will commence our first strikes tonight. The drones will be used to exploit their air defenses. We will do this sparingly, as there are difficult days ahead with no chance of resupply right now.”

  Itaya nodded. “As you wish.” He called one of his lieutenants over. “This man will see you to your destination. If Tehran doesn’t report to us, we will act alone.”

  “Wait for my authorization.”

  Itaya motioned for his driver to get ready. “What time for it all?”

  “Nine p.m.”

  “Very well.” The rear doors of the van opened and he entered. They shut quick and the engine gunned its power into a long skid mark squealing through the garage. Zarin turned to his new aide and said, “I need to get to a communications center different from Itaya’s or anything capable of long range contact.”

  “We have a smaller command bunker north of the city. The equipment is ancient, but works well.”

  “I will go there and stay for period of no more than one hour. If I cannot make contact with Tehran, I will leave for the drone control center.”

  A car skidded to a stop next to him as more vehicles sped by, vans, trucks, cars, all of various makes heading to predetermined rally points. The door opened and Zarin followed the lieutenant, scooting across the back seat. The door shut, and the car fishtailed as it peeled out, catching up to the last of the line exiting the garage.

  Tel Aviv

  The men were given time to make personal calls. For Foxmann, the phone call with Anna went well. He assured her he
was not directly involved in combat operations and merely coordinated small unit movements not yet underway. Terrible liar that he was, he knew she just pretended to buy it. Afterward, he went back to the situation room and found Grozner there alone, rocking a little in his chair having what appeared to be a simple conversation. Once he hung up the phone, he realized someone was in the room and turned.

  “Jessy. Good news and bad news. The good is that the Iranian President, Omera, the head of AL-Quds and the Pasdaran units are dead.” He stopped for a second letting Foxmann sit down.

  “The Supreme Chancellor Rustani is still alive?” Foxmann added.

  “Yes. At least likely. Their communications are still sketchy and just now small traces are coming back online. The first messages were that the Chancellor wasn’t at home. He was conferencing somewhere west of Tehran.”

  “The luck of the draw.”

  “We will still target him. But, yes it makes things rather difficult.”

  “You wanted regime change as bad as you wanted the nuclear capability destroyed, didn’t you?”

  “Yes. With them gone, it was hoped we could foment a revolution. At least put the country in turmoil for a while, if not change it for the better.”

  “Soldiers aren’t usually supposed to ask such things, but please permit me.”

  Grozner waved his hand, approving him.

  “How long do you think this thing will last?” Foxmann ventured.

  “Months. Some of our planners think it could last up to six.”

  “Beyond that, what then?”

  “The unknown I’m afraid. That is why we need the U.S. by us.”

  “We gave them a hell of a notice.”

  “In the end,” Grozner said, “they will understand. Wars are always foggy at first. Then once the objectives are determined and the fight made for those objectives, it becomes easier, even normal in day to day conduct.”

  “2006 never seemed normal.”

  “The Six-Day War didn’t for me either. Why we attacked at first, I mean. Then, later, once I was in government, I saw how the evidence compiled of the Egyptians building up outside our borders.” Grozner paused then added, “Listen, my friend. I know you have trepidations about our course of action right now. There is no time to worry about such things we now have no control over. Understand?”

  Foxmann knew Grozner could easily sense his nervousness. “Yes. I know. I must focus. In the interest of both of us, I’ll forget all the shit I can’t control.”

  “That’s the commander I need. Now, I expect Hezbollah to act within a few hours. Planners say it will be a repeat of 2006 and we’ll have to go into Lebanon.”

  “In my opinion, I don’t think we should be going into Lebanon so quickly. I think Special Operations and our Air Force can do most of the work. I also want to lead some of these.”

  “Get back to your men. You’ll likely have the opportunity tonight.” Grozner closed, just as the phone rang. On it was Metzer. “The Iraqis are shutting down their oil fields except for the ones servicing Russia and China.”

  Washington, D.C.

  “It’s confirmed. They shut down as of one and a half hours ago,” Lambert said. “In protest.”

  Anderson knew the U.S. would be affected by the act. Nearly 20% of U.S. imports were Iraqi. 20% of Europe too. But it was more the symbolism that bothered him. The Shias were uniting. Iraq comprised about 80 percent of the sect, and was the best ally of Iran. All the blood and treasure spilled to free the place apparently hadn’t achieved much and Anderson took it personally. This was a stab in the back with U.S trainers and Spec Ops based there. He could pull them out, but figured it unwise at this time. He needed them there, though he knew there was no way Iraq would let them carry out ops against Iran from their soil. As for the Europeans, they rode in the same boat too. Now, at least, there may be a reason for them to commit. And, by God, they would if he had to drag them kicking and screaming. No more getting off lightly after the Iraqi gesture. They were in it up to their necks.

  “Katrina, I want you to contact every head of state in the European Union. Impress upon them we may need their Special Operations units with conventional force support standing by for deployment into the Middle East. We will present a plan soon. And if they give any cloudy answers, just tell them from me the time has come to stand and be counted. No more of this watching from afar.”

  “Agreed. What am I to tell the Iranians? They just called.”

  “To please refrain from any kind of military action until we talk to the Israelis and get an agreement of no further action on their part.”

  “Mr. President, that’s a long shot. I can’t get them to say no against trying to strike against the Israelis.”

  “Try it anyway.” He gently set down the phone and rubbed the scruff of his hair through his fingers. A chill shot down his spine. I’m actually in it. A war to involve nations traditionally committed to fight world wars has come to my doorstep and I have to be the one to come up with answers. He ran President Franklin Roosevelt through his mind and what he must’ve felt after hearing about Pearl Harbor. That difficult coalition of forces he had to muster to fight both Germany and Japan. He figured this was going to be just as hard and involve more nations. My God, he was thinking this was practically a world war now. Even though he hadn’t fired a shot.

  Iraq

  Blayze Carlson was surprised his request for duty in Iraq went through so quickly. He’d been more than a little disheartened after the Thunder Saber debacle. And that’s what he considered it, no less. A well-intentioned, but futile screw-up. With that behind him now, he was looking forward to running ops against ISIS. And for this, he was going to a forward operating base just north of Baghdad known as Johnathan.

  He took a last thought about Quinn and his goodbye to him a few hours ago and looked out the small window of the C-17, at the breaks in the clouds. The landscape was dark even though the sun shone through with little difficulty. They were close to starting their landing pattern and he thought about the ancient civilizations that flourished and died here. The Babylonians, Assyrians, all once provided mighty armies for the region. Now it was just a blasted landscape of feuding Islamists and minority Christians living in terror from persecution. He knew nothing that he contributed would make that change. Instead, given the political climate in the United States, he’d just be making an appearance instead of winning the war. His victories here would be personal ones. A feeling that he did his duty and did it with honor.

  He looked back at the other three Delta force members sitting on the thin webbing the Air Force called seats. Bobby Huffman and Justin Wilson occupied two and new guy Larry Mustin occupied the other. He didn’t know Mustin well, but knew he was an experienced veteran who yearned for the fight like he, on this his twelfth deployment to Iraq.

  He continued looking as the C-17 banked just slightly over the airbase and began its approach. Carlson pulled the charging handle back on his M4 making sure a round was chambered and it was set on safety. He heard the similar mechanical slide of the handles among the other men.

  He’d heard about the Iraqi’s sudden embargo about an hour before and wondered if there’d be some hostiles they’d pass on the way to Johnathan. He was most worried about Iraqis inside the base, if any entertained thoughts of blowing U.S. servicemen up. He planned on trusting none, especially if used on patrol, and watching for security lapses. And at some point there was always one. And he always found them.

  The MRAP (Mine Resistant Ambush Protected) vehicle, a blocky structured truck that sat high off the ground met them upon debarking and took them along the highway to Johnathan. It let them off inside the gate and they made their way to their quarters. Instantly, they felt the relief from the sun by a massive box fan sputtering in a corner of the room that passed for a recreation area with a widescreen TV and Blu-ray player. There were six sleeping bays along with two lockers. Small, but good enough. He set the duffel bag on a bottom bed and proceeded to hang
his clothing in the locker. He laid his M4 down against the bed’s backrest.

  “Gentlemen, I am Colonel Sam Kearny, commanding officer of this base.” He turned and saw the voice’s source. “I belong to the 5th Special Forces Group. Since you boys will be doing some of the ultra-secret ops, I find it only fair to warn you that some of the men like to ride you Delta boys. Don’t take it personally, they get bored.”

  “They won’t do that with us.” Carlson put down the law. “None of these men are to be harassed in any way.”

  “I understand, Major. But it’s all in good fun.”

  “Not with us.”

  “Very well.”

  “How’s the grub here? Manky, tasty, what?”

  “We have good cooks here. You don’t have to worry about old outdated MREs. You’ll find our dining accommodations quite to your satisfaction. Is there anything else?”

  “What is the tempo of operations here?” Carlson asked. “How often do teams go out? How long do they usually stay?”

  “We never send teams out for more than three days. The tempo of operations has actually been reduced in the last few months. With what’s going on now we may see an increase, but until then we’ll keep a three-day maximum. We’re basically trainers. We don’t see much action. But, looking at you boys, I’d say you are going to get some hot stuff though.”

  “We don’t have any pending orders. We’re waiting just like you. How many Iraqis reside here?”

  “On base, none. We do have some senior sergeants and officers who come in to receive instructions here. They use our firing range in back, in fact.”

  “I’m more worried about infiltrators. I know you may know many of these men and they may seem honest. But I didn’t survive all these tours by trusting them. I take it you’ve kept your guard up as well?”

  “No, I’ve not posted any extra security. Don’t see a need for it.”