by Isaac Stormm
They left the minaret and headed back to the courtyard. One of the men came running up to him. Alpha detachment concluded sweeping and were occupying the minarets and laying the Claymores. The other three detachments reported in over the radio.
David nudged Foxmann’s shoulder. “Jessy. Take a look.” It was the imam of the mosque, dark-skinned with a silvery beard complementing the pristine white keffiyeh and thobe he wore.
He mouthed “You’re the godless murderers from the occupied land. Get out of here this instant. You have already committed blasphemy.”
“Shalom,” Foxmann replied then he started speaking in Arabic. “I’m afraid your country will not let us do that now. We’re going to let you go though and I’d like for you to give a message to them. Tell them not to come within one hundred meters of this mosque. Anyone who shows his or her face will be shot. Any vehicle will be destroyed and that includes on the road or in the air. Do you understand what I just said?”
The man nodded. “Allah will surely provide a reckoning for you and your nation.”
“I haven’t got time to discuss my finer qualities now. Tell the police, tell the military, tell everyone not to attempt to enter the grounds of the mosque. Every entrance will be covered by weapons. The demands we want will be issued by our government.”
“I shall tell them what you said. And pray for you to be smitten quickly by the sword.”
“Hopefully, not too quick,” Foxmann smiled.
The man was led away and it always surprised Foxmann about how much the Israelis were hated by the Arabs. By Muslims in general. It was a kind of hate that came from beyond a mortal man’s consciousness. A product of centuries of evolution. And people believed this hatred would go away with the signing of a piece of paper. A peace treaty. Really? Just look at Egypt. There was a peace treaty with them. But the Egyptians hated the Israelis more than ever.
“Colonel.” He turned and Lehman approached. “My detachment is already getting the Claymores active. The men will provide an excellent field of fire for anti-tank weapons and small arms. However, we’ll need to use the roof to take anything down with the SAMs.”
“I expect we’ll be getting company soon. If there is a rush by sizable force and they manage to break through, retreat to the next detachment. If we lose contact suddenly with you, we’ll take it that everyone has been killed. Then I will order the timer on the nukes to begin counting down.”
An explosion sounded outside the walls. Not too loud but a detonation, nonetheless, outside the northern face. “Police car destroyed. Occupant terminated.”
“Now it starts,” Foxmann said. Thin strands of smoke whipped up high over the northern face while the vehicle burned and reflected off the buildings below. He was curious. “What did you use to take it out?”
“One of the XM25s.”
Foxmann had a feeling that particular weapon was going to become the handiest of all small arms they employed. Its 25mm shell was preprogrammed to detonate over a wall or through a window. It also packed somewhat of an anti-armor punch. Not necessarily against a tank, but something thin-skinned like a car or truck.
He decided to take an inspection walk to make sure the Claymores were being positioned properly. In front of every exit and anything that remotely looked like an exit, the small rectangular directional anti-personnel mines were emplaced. These could be either command detonated or they had a laser beam that could be crossed to enforce a detonation. Looking some over, he passed another group of pilgrims, hands on their heads, being led toward one of the open doors. It was then closed and a Claymore placed about ten feet behind it. He continued walking, and took another 20 minutes’ walk from downstairs to upstairs to make sure everything was in position. He saw no more pilgrims, thankful that all had been removed. He went up one of the minarets and found some of his men setting up a Gill anti-tank guided missile launcher with tubed reloads off to the side. He looked out over the city. It still went on about its business as usual. He knew the word was making the rounds and it wouldn’t be an hour before they either turned the lights off for police/military presence or both approached. “Send the success signal, keep sending until acknowledged.”
“Confirmed.” He heard the radio. “And good luck, they say.” He took one more glance out over the cityscape then went back downstairs. The place was quiet, only the sound of his footsteps on the immaculate floor then in the courtyard followed him. So did his reflection. He heard more footsteps off in the distance, shuffling about. More men getting into position.
Tel Aviv
Grozner heard the code word. He didn’t feel elation, just felt gratitude that there were such men capable of doing the impossible. No questions asked. “Inform the United Nations that an Israeli Special Forces unit has taken over Mecca. Tell them what the demands are,” he said to the Israeli ambassador over the phone. “Now the world will know what kind of power we have. And that we are willing to use it to save ourselves.”
“Islam is going to shudder tonight. I wonder what the actions will be in Western Europe and the United States by the Islamic communities,” Metzer said. Looking over the video datalink of Mecca through the different body cams the men wore, gave him a thorough tour of the once forbidden place without interruption.
Mecca
14 minutes later
“Everything is in position. We’re ready to go,” the headset said. Foxmann held the mic to his lips and said, “Now comes the waiting.”
He entered the eastern set of minarets and took up station in one, looking up at the massive Abraj Al Bait hotel, taking in its magnificent structure. He raised the binoculars to look at one of the hundreds of lighted rooms. He could see faces between the curtains looking back. The news was getting out. He saw the reflections of televisions behind the faces lighting the walls. He wondered if the local news station had already made the announcement. No time to worry about that now. He looked over the rapidly emptying streets. Some were already deserted. And some of the buildings across from him were extinguishing the lights. He looked back up at the hotel and thought what a shame such a fantastic creation was going to be leveled tomorrow. Beneath a crescent-tipped spire, its clock face was one of the largest in the world. And the sheer size of the building continued to impress him. He wished Israel had something of this magnitude. He’d remembered the international outcry when the old fort on the mountain was torn down to make way for the hotel. Right now, to him, it was a worthwhile improvement. The lights formed a majestic outline of the building and he read the clock face once more and made sure his own matched timewise. It did.
A soft wind blew through the minaret allowing a little relief from the warm, dry air. Tomorrow it could get up to 120 degrees or more. But at least they had shelter and didn’t have to stay out in the open.
“When do you think they’ll come for us, Colonel?”
“I don’t think they’ll try anything tonight. They might do a little probing. Check out what kind of strength we have. They leave us alone, we’ll leave them alone. Tomorrow is a different story. They may try to do a combined attack from the air and ground. That’s what we must be ready for.”
One of the men patted the tube of the Gill. “And so we shall,” he said.
Washington, D.C.
The Situation Room
9:00 P.M. EST
“All right, gentleman,” Anderson said, “the Israelis have control of the Grand Mosque in Mecca. Now do any of you have any suggestions on what we should do about it?” He was only being partially sarcastic. A bit of dark humor to match his mood.
“This changes the game considerably, Mister President,” Mitchell said. “There’s going to a backlash of unimaginable proportions as news of this gets around the world. We could see religious uprisings in every country where there is a substantial Muslim population. And when saying that, I’m not talking about here, I’m talking about Western Europe.”
“This is what I’m going to do. I’m going to be silent on this. The public face wil
l be that we want the Israelis and OPEC to agree to a cease-fire. We do not support any escalation of military action by either party. We’re not wanting to come out and condemn solely Israel for this matter. I’ll have a hard enough time as it is, dealing with Western Europe demanding we do something.”
Mitchell tapped his pen on the table. “Mister President, I believe we’re going to get hit. As right as Israel might be in their minds about taking Mecca, the Muslims are going to insist we are joined at the hip with them. Nothing we say will change that.”
“I agree. Make sure we have elevated security continuing in this country until further notice.”
“Just on a personal note, and forgive me for asking, but do you think the Israelis were right to do this?”
“From their perspective, they had an atomic bomb detonated that they were able to prove and that I believe occurred. They just suffered some of the most horrific attacks ever on one of their major cities. OPEC has declared war on them. So from their perspective, I have to agree. I think that if the roles were reversed that we may have acted similarly. It would’ve been too tempting a target not to exploit.”
“That’s surprising, Mister President. You believe we would’ve gone that far.”
“Still believing I’m weak?” He threw that out there, curious at the response.
“No, sir. We see things through a different lens than the Israelis do. They have no choice but to be tough.”
Someone raised their hand. It was Krause. “Look at the screen on the wall.” It came on and was segmented by the different channels. The BBC then went full-screen, a picture of the Grand Mosque shown from an archive photo. ‘We say again, it appears that the Israelis have taken over the Grand Mosque in Mecca. No further word is available but we will certainly present details when they are.’ It then turned back to a double screen where the host was asking a terrorism expert about the consequences of the Israeli actions. Just then it flipped over to an American channel, Fox News. What appeared to be a live picture of the mosque still lit in the darkness played over the words of another terrorism expert. Then came MSNBC and finally the first of the big three networks, CBS. Only the cable news channels were carrying anything about the takeover. Krause looked at the computer screen and it told him that the Saudis were beginning to cordon off the area up to one mile distance between any kind of security and the new wardens of Mecca.
“Don’t get too close there, pal.” Anderson watched as it showed a high-ranking Saudi Army officer standing there in the darkness waving his pistol, telling people to move out of the way. When the camera panned in the other direction, there stood at attention at least 40 Saudi Army soldiers.
“I predict we can expect one hell of a fight there not too long in the future,” Mitchell nodded. “Just like the Alamo.”
“I don’t think they would agree with that assessment. The Alamo defenders were overrun. They didn’t have a nuclear explosive stashed away somewhere.” Anderson brought Katrina Lambert up on his computer screen. “Katrina, what are you hearing from NATO?”
“I may have news for us on that front. Somehow the word got to them before us.” She paused, expecting him to speak.
Instead he said, “Go ahead.”
“The Egyptians know what happened in Mecca. They are already suggesting they may close the Suez Canal to all traffic.”
For the United States and Western Europe that was much more significant than Mecca. Closing down the Suez meant that all traffic would have to round South Africa to reach their destination. It would cost billions and the already climbing oil prices would skyrocket.
“If that happens, that’s when NATO would have to act.”
Mecca
6:47 A.M.
The night went by with surprising calm. Someone in the distance shot a glowing red flare up in the sky at around three o’clock. The Israelis prepared themselves for an attack, but nothing occurred. There were police cars that stayed a considerable distance away from the mosque. They positioned themselves about a half kilometer surrounding the mosque with their lights flashing. Now, as dawn began to awaken, the Adhan sounded in the distance. Foxmann always thought that the call to prayer sounded like like a call to purpose, something other nations didn’t understand.
He was too wound up to sleep. He stood up in the north minaret, raising the binoculars again. He swept the expanse and saw the cluster of police cars at the intersections with men mingling about behind as if waiting for someone to give them orders.
Heat mirages became more pronounced during the scan and he dreaded how hot it was going to get today. He wished they could’ve dressed in a thobe and headdress to ward off the barbaric heat.
“Colonel, we have something,” David called from the southern minaret. “What looks like two armored personnel carriers with soldiers behind them coming toward us.”
“Take them,” he said.
David looked through the electronic sighting unit on the Gill launcher. He lined its crosshair up on the lead vehicle which was still about 500 meters away. He heard no more reports of anything closing in and figured this must be some sort of probe to gauge their strength. “Here.” He turned it over to its operator, who continued to keep the crosshair centered. “Detachment, wait for my command.” Below him the detachment readied more anti-tank missiles as well as their carbines, sniper rifles and light machine guns in the zamzam windows.
The vehicles disappeared behind a hump in the road, then crested it slowly. They stopped. David raised his binoculars again to inspect them. They were Piranha eight-wheeled light-armored vehicles, each with a turreted 25 mm chain gun. He saw them moving left and right like they were searching for something before proceeding. Then the vehicles started moving forward again. “Only the launcher in the minarets will fire.” He nodded at the operator who pressed his eye once more against the sight.
“Open fire.”
The heavy missile ejected from its tube causing it to fly backward against the wall. The missile then ignited a few feet out of the minaret and began a long arching trajectory several hundred miles per hour that took it over the multitude of buildings down the street and down on top of one of the Piranhas. A massive cloud of fire shot upward beneath its turret which flung through the air like a child’s toy to bounce off one of the buildings.
The soldiers scattered left and right into the buildings. The other Piranha moved around, as the flaming hulk spurted hot diesel out of its exhaust, and raced toward the north face. Another Gill below the minaret fired its round arching it toward the vehicle. It impacted and exploded in the vehicle making it turn and roll over and skid several more feet before coming to rest on its side. The turreted hatch flung open and a blackened pair of hands pulled a man in flames out onto the pavement. He tried to roll to smother the flames. But it was simply too much and he stopped rolling, engulfed in his own funeral pyre.
“All right, hold your fire.” David scanned the area looking at the two kills then at the buildings. Nothing moved. The infantry support for the Piranhas were safe inside.
A shot rang out and the Gill gunner in David’s minaret ducked as the scorching thing thudded against the wall. “Sniper!” he called. David crouched down. More gunfire rang out below them.
“I see him,” David heard in the headset. A long burst ripped from one of the M240s. Then, “He’s on the roof at your eight o’clock.” Another burst ripped. David raised up with his Mark 18, flipped the magnifier and looked through the EOTech sight and rested its reticle on the roof of a building approximately 700 meters distance. He could just see the man’s head crouching behind something. He raised up a little bit more and as he raised up, the man fired a shot that tore off a chunk of masonry a few inches to David’s left. He instantly knew what kind of weapon he had. A 50 caliber sniper rifle that was too far for his weapon to reach.
“I need the M24 now,” David said. One of the operators unzipped the weapon and removed it from its case. It was a 7.62 caliber scoped sniper rifle and sufficient to reach
out to 700 meters. He took the weapon and balanced it on the edge of the opening next to the Gill.
“I’ll spot for you. He’s at 700 meters slightly to your left.”
The man ticked off the windage knob on the Leopold scope vectoring its ultrafine crosshair toward the target’s head, a tiny black oval with the rising sun to its back. He squeezed the trigger. The man sprang up a second later, pitching the rifle and jerking back against the wall, leaving a blood smear as he slid down it to lie limp on the floor.
David crouched down instantly and could feel the sticky liquid on him. “What the—” his gunner had a hole just below his neck and his upper back was a mush of shattered organs oozing blood. He raised up one more time and looked through his binoculars. He could see the man no more but he did see the muzzle of the .50 caliber sticking straight up. “Tango down. We got one KIA. Milton took a round at the same time that he fired.”
“Bring him down. We’ll have to find out how to dispose of his body.”
“I’ll need a couple of men.” David took a handkerchief and wiped the blood off of his combat shirt. Then he realized he had some on his face.
“You all right?” The Gill gunner asked, himself speckled with blood. “That’s a hell of a way to start something like this. Milton was a good man.”
“Yes, he was.” David sopped the remaining specks off his face and put the handkerchief away.