A Touch Of War

by Isaac Stormm

  Foxmann picked up on it immediately. “Look, there’s nothing we can do. Even if we had known that such an event would happen, do you really think we would not have attacked? You would’ve given the order and I would’ve carried it out. Our national survival was at stake.”

  “The opposition party is curiously silent. I would expect them to be banging the door down wanting to indict me as a criminal.”

  “Don’t ride yourself so hard. They are on our side. Any dissent now would be viewed immediately as political opportunism. The people would see right through it.”

  “Yeah? We have short memories. Remember how it was in the wilderness. Forty years because we didn’t listen.”

  “Yes. A stiff-necked people we are. But we’ve learned from the past and know when to unite for the good of the country. We work it out.”

  “Then make that cloud disappear. Or turn around. Or never exist. Calamity is calling our names.”

  “I wish I could, Prime Minister.”

  “Do that and I’ll take the forty years wandering.”

  Baghdad, Iraq

  11:07 A.M.

  The UH60 flared, tipping its tail downward as it slowed for the heli-pad. Inside, Carlson looked out from a window at the hundreds of personnel running back and forth from buildings. When the chopper’s engine started to shut down, he got out and moved out of the path of the orderlies rushing to get the wounded. Huffman followed behind and seemed perplexed at why everybody not medical was hurrying about. There seemed to be an air of panic in the blur of figures moving in all directions.

  Mustin and Wilson came up behind them. Carlson looked at Mustin and asked, “What the hell is happening?”

  “The Iraqis have evicted us. The Iraqi government wants us out immediately. The president has ordered an evacuation. Lots of Iranian Armed Forces are coming across the border now. The Iraqi government is welcoming them with open arms.”

  “Shit,” Carlson said. “You hear that?”

  “Yeah,” Huffman said.

  “We need to get in there.” Carlson pointed over at the multistory office building that served as U.S. headquarters in Iraq. Its twin doors were wide open and people carrying file cases emerged, hurrying to a line of trucks that stopped in front. They obscured them until they rounded the tailgate and handed the cases to someone on board. Then they ran back inside for more.

  “It’s like Saigon all over again. We’re leaving the same way. With our tail tucked between our legs.”

  He was serious. The Iraqis were getting ready to welcome the ones they truly cherished as allies, not the Americans. Even though they had given them the chance to determine their destiny with thousands of dead soldiers who came as liberators not as conquerors. It was a shame the Iraqis never saw it that way. Despite the sacrifices, Americans were just interlopers and anything that occurred afterward they would always link back to the American invasion as being the catalyst that started it all.

  “I must see if I can find somebody and get us some more transportation.” Carlson gripped the sling of his carbine tighter as they approached the entrance to the headquarters. More men and women with boxes, a veritable line, trudged past them not even casting a glance. They entered, feeling the cool circulation of air conditioning teasing their exposed skin. The room was massive with rows of desks and their occupants working feverishly stacking papers or typing on laptops. There was a man standing up behind a desk talking on the telephone. He was a colonel decked out in the complete ensemble of combat gear, weapon, ballistic vest, and helmet. Carlson figured he would be as good as anyone to see.

  They walked up to the desk. The colonel didn’t bother glancing at them. In fact, he turned his back to them.

  He watched the man gesture with his free hand about some problem he couldn’t get resolved. There were a few curse words then pauses to hear the response. Carlson tapped on the shoulder and he turned around, held a hand out and made a halting signal and muttered something nasty into the phone. Then he hung it up.

  “Sir, I’m sorry to bother you. But we are Special Forces operational detachment Delta. We have priority on any transportation that we need. Is it possible we could get a chopper out of here? If not, perhaps a truck?”

  “Look, soldier, I don’t know anything about Delta or any other Spec Ops unit. I do know that I’ve been talking to somebody at CENTCOM who’s been giving me the runaround since this morning. I can’t even get a chopper for a general out of this shithole. Damn it!”

  “Sir, if you’d allow us to call CENTCOM, they’ll ok transportation out of here probably by air. We might could get you on it.”

  The colonel chuckled at such absurdity. “Alright.” He pressed a button for CENTCOM, fully knowing it was wishful thinking on the Major’s part. He’ll get the runaround, too.

  A female answered.

  “This is Major Carlson. I want you to tell General Kohler this immediately… ‘Tobasco.’ I’ll wait for his reply.” Tobasco was his code word for critical emergency. He listened as she handed the phone over to someone else.

  “Blayze? Get through Johnathan all right?”

  “Yes, sir, barely.” He recognized Kohler’s light but gravelly voice. “We need a chopper out of here ASAP. I have a colonel who wishes to go as well. He’s been a help to us.”

  “Most of the choppers are busy right now. But I’ll see if I can get a Night Stalker to drop and pick you up. If it works out, they’ll be there in less than an hour. If not, call me again. Most of the forces are leaving for Kuwait. You’ll go there and contact me again. I’ll see to it that you’re on the first plane headed to Europe. The colonel with you can only go so far as Kuwait, I’m afraid.”

  “Yes, sir. Many thanks. We’ll be waiting.” He handed the phone back over. “Pack your shit and follow us,” he said to the colonel.

  “Already done.” He didn’t notice the colonel’s green duffel bag behind the desk. The man heaved it around to his back and wrapped the strap around his shoulder. He stepped out behind the desk and followed the team out into the sunlight.

  The car made its way down a dirt road before leveling off and finding pavement again. The quick bump caused Zarin’s stomach to rise in a quick lurch. But he paid it no attention. He looked at the typed communique sent by vehicle from Tehran. It was a personal order from Rustani.

  ‘If the Sunnis enter the war, it will take pressure off our army which is filtering into Iraq. This is deliberately slowed down in case the Israelis target us. We’re going to continue to play the diplomatic game with the west and particularly America to allow us the necessary time to mass our forces into Syria. I’ve called off attacks on the U.S. homeland for now, we will focus our efforts against the Strait of Hormuz. As for you, you will prepare for the Hezbollah offensive by utilizing chemical weapons in the rocket and drone attack starting tonight at 11:00 p.m. Do not get caught.’

  He figured the Al-Fajr 4s were being fitted with the warheads right at this moment. They were the longest ranged rockets in inventory and the only ones that could reach Jerusalem. They also could carry a large enough payload to do a fair amount of damage—if they could get past the iron dome. That was where the drones would come in. They would hit the settlements and towns just across the border first then gradually make their way toward Tel Aviv. The drones would take out Iron dome systems to create a safe corridor through which the rockets could fly. He estimated such a shock would entice the Zionists to launch an attack into Lebanon, thereby losing some of their forces to fight the Iranian offensive after it started. He needed to keep them tied up as long as possible. He didn’t have to win, just keep them busy. That he was sure he could do.

  The mosque was topped with a Golden dome reminiscent of Al Aqsa’s in Jerusalem. On both sides it was complemented by two minarets topped with golden spires. The face of the building was a beautiful clear palate of white not yet scoured with the grime of the passing highway. It was the largest Shia mosque in Beirut and one of the newest, being completed less than five years ago
.

  As one walked up the steps, they entered a great hall rimmed with Islamic sculpture and a massive rug sitting beneath where hundreds would pray at once. Circling the hall was an unusually large amount of doors. Not unusual to the casual eye, but compared to other mosques in the region, it held secrets behind those doors. For below the hall, lay the Supreme headquarters of Hezbollah in Lebanon.

  All underwritten by the organization, the massive building was the perfect hideout for the most sophisticated and busy central station for the group. Did the Israelis know where it was? There were bets they probably did. But the Israelis, like their passive partners in the west, respected religious sites and would not bomb them. So far. Maybe another testament was that it was located in the heart of downtown Beirut with buildings so close, mere alleys or pathways instead of streets separated them. So as Zarin laid eyes on it for the first time, he was impressed. He also wanted to get to work.

  He looked around the room which was circled by connected desks with either computer workstations or servers. Every seat was occupied with some 50 or so men with their backs turned to him watching the development from what area they were assigned to.

  “Not bad, eh?” Itaya offered, a smile on his face.

  The painkillers were working, and Zarin at least offered a half-hearted upturn of his lip in acknowledgment. “I am impressed, my friend. You have the perfect site to carry out the offensive.” He stepped forward and slowly started making rounds past each individual trying to eye a bit of information on their screens. “How many men do we have in the field today? A general number, I mean.”

  “Over eight thousand. We have decided to use a layered defense much denser than we did when we drove their tanks out in 1996. It will come down to man to man fighting, with us having an advantage in being fortified and knowing the terrain.”

  “I really wish we could go on the offensive. But your manpower number is the reason why. Unless—and don’t tell anyone what I’m about to tell you—we see a moment of vulnerability then we will go on the offensive to take back any territory lost.”

  Itaya clapped his hands and those seated stopped what they were doing and rose immediately.

  “This is Colonel Zarin. Tehran’s gift to us. He will be in charge of the offensive.”

  “These are eventful times, brothers. We must use our abilities on behalf of Allah as he smites the Zionists. We shall be the cutting edge of his swift sword and we will triumph due to his will.” He paused then added, “I am not good at speeches. But I hope I can persuade you with my ability of command. I know each one will do his duty even unto his death. But let us hope we live to see the wonderful miracle Allah has in store for us. So lift up your eyes and let him give stoutness to your hearts, for we are right.” The room broke into applause then someone shouted “Allahu Akbar” and the rest joined in. There was no rhythm to the shout as it all melded into one. Itaya smiled and Zarin’s heart beat a little faster in satisfaction. Tonight many Jews will die, and the thought raced like icicles down his spine. Itaya noticed it and nodded in triumph. Zarin nodded and motioned for them to quiet down. It did no good. They were lost in the feverish intensity of mortal joy, rarely experienced except when man desires to accomplish something he knows is worth fighting for.

  Upstairs, the noise was unheard as the imam’s evening prayers sounded from the minarets to echo off the walls of the many buildings and cars of the unknowing Beirut populace.

  Kuwait

  At a collection area for U.S. forces leaving for Kuwait

  The team left one Black Hawk for a tilt rotor MV-22 Osprey after Carlson made another call to Kohler. The colonel hitching a ride had wished them luck as he disappeared into the similar camouflaged hordes congregating around their vehicles.

  This was a damn retreat, Carlson thought as the new ride lifted skyward. There, he could see miles in every direction and from the north a long if somewhat winding and dusty circuit of vehicles making their way toward the collection area. He wondered if they would receive movement orders again to take them to Kuwait City where they’d all be loaded onto cargo ships or stay until needed back in Iraq. He figured they would go back, maybe joined by reinforcements. But that was a future uncertain. Either way, he was glad to be airborne and heading for his new destination. An assault ship in the Persian Gulf to join up with more Delta members and even some Seal Team 3 platoons. “We’ll be back in action soon…I believe,” he yelled over the engine to Huffman who nodded in agreement.

  After skirting the Saudi coast, a quick refuel and flying over the UAE, the aircraft twirled around in a semi-circle maneuver and began to gently descend. It sat down on the USS Gettysburg in the Red Sea guided by the expert guidance of a landing signal officer whose hand movements walked the pilot through the shutdown procedure.

  As the rotors died down, Carlson and the others stepped onto the deck and made their way past other ships’ crew and pilots to the door open at the base of the island. From it stepped General Kohler.

  “What the—I thought you’d be in the states,” Carlson exclaimed.

  “This is turning into a shit storm bigger than we can imagine. I need you and the others down in the landing deck area. Just follow the signs. If you get lost, ask somebody. I got a hundred more other guys that need to hear what I’m going to say.” He turned and headed away from them.

  The launch deck was deep within the ship. It was a giant hollow cavity that opened from the stern to let the sea feed in when it was going to launch landing craft. It also was perfect for a large group of men to gather without being separated by walls or bulkheads. They made their way down over a period of ten minutes ducking through the passageways. When they arrived, Carlson walked out and saw the others, about 120, he guessed. All stern looking with a professional air about them plus that fabled thousand yard stare of men who’d killed plenty during their tenures.

  “Which one of you are Delta?”

  Several hands went up.

  “I’m Colonel Seger, ranking officer here,” someone said off to his left.

  Carlson slowed and extended his hand. “Colonel. You know what’s going to be spoken here?”

  “Haven’t a clue. Just told us to show up. I reckon he—”

  “All right, gentlemen.” Kohler entered. “This is our situation.”

  “We got that big ass cloud that’ll make land fall in the United Arab Emirates and some of the Saudi coast. We’re out of the danger zone. So are all our people in Kuwait. But the president wanted to get us out of Iraq because it is becoming nothing more than a Shiite stronghold. And with the Iranians being given a free run of the country, nobody is safe. We are vastly outnumbered. And that’s what brings me to this: ever since Iran started movement of forces on the ground, it’s activated numerous terrorist cells in the region. In the Sinai, we have a United Nations outpost with American advisers there that is surrounded. None of you heard of this and it was deemed to keep quiet so that we would not let the Iranians know how successful they’re being. But this is a place out in the middle of nowhere where a terrorist unit is holed up in the same compound. Something similar to what Colonel Carlson experienced earlier. What we’re going to do is fly you ahead of this cloud into Saudi Arabia, refuel you twice and get you into the Sinai Peninsula. You will be a rapid reaction force to take back the compound. Its call sign for this op is Dogpatch and yours will be Starling.”

  Carlson raised his hand. “Excuse me, sir, can’t the Egyptian Special Forces handle this? They’ve got plenty of them. What about the regular Army? Surely they could send in a reaction team of some kind.”

  “The Egyptians won’t budge. They say that even though it’s their territory, they are not getting involved. They’re also beating the drums of war like the Saudis. They may join in solidarity with them should the Saudi government declare war on Israel. That’s why they’re not being informed that we’re coming across the border.”

  “How many Americans are in this compound?” another asked.

 
“Seven. Five men and two women. There are also fourteen Canadians, two of which are wounded. I don’t know how many have been killed. They holed up in one side of the place and the terrorists took the other side. They’ve been exchanging fire for hours. It’s only a matter of time before the bad guys try a push.” He paused to clear his throat then added, “The location is on a hilltop. There is not going to be any level ground to land a chopper close so you’ll have to rappel in.”

  God. That was risky, Carlson thought. He hoped it was at night. “What time do we go?”

  “In the middle of the night. About 2:30 should the weather hold up and we think it will. I don’t know if these terrorists have night vision but they do have RPGs so we want to get you guys in as quickly as possible without choppers. That means a HALO op.”

  “Still can’t get over the Egyptians. Isn’t that kinda odd to have some sort of Shiite terrorist group operating in their land and them not wanting to do anything about it?”

  “The Egyptians are in full publicity mode. They don’t care if Shiite or Sunni is doing it. It doesn’t affect them directly so the best we can get is them letting us take it down. Plus, I don’t think it’s going to go down well about them having a terrorist attack, possibly Iranian backed, getting out to their people.”

  “Suppose that cloud starts heading north toward the Gettysburg. Will we be able to find safety?” Colonel Seger asked.

  “In plain terms, no. But I’ve been reassured time and again that is unlikely. So you can take that for what it is. Now, follow me to the operations room, they’re getting the recon photos set up. Oh yes, Colonel Seger will lead this one. Carlson will be exec. Any questions?”

  Carlson always hated spur of the moment missions. No time to rehearse, but hell, it was that way 99 percent of the time.