by Isaac Stormm
He picked up the tablet and checked all positions. He knew they were probably getting annoyed with him contacting them again almost every hour, as he had never done so in the past. But he never had any kind of operation in this hostile of land with the prize below his feet so meaningful.
He ran through them then tucked the tablet away and headed downstairs. The zamzams were already dark and he stopped and mounted the NVGs. The green ochre of the hallways were interrupted only by the black shadows of men he passed, rock still with eyes on the horizon. He completed his inspection some 20 minutes later, and returned to the minaret.
Across several hundred meters of buildings, Al-Bashir completed his inspection, patting the side of a fire engine. “I want you to turn on your lights. It’ll help dazzle their night vision.” He turned to the men whose faces wore black balaclavas with only the eyes showing. They were the cream of the Saudi military, many of them training abroad including the Special Forces courses in the United States. Most had already seen combat in Yemen and were ready to go toe to toe with the vaunted Israelis. “Allah be with you,” he said. The imam repeated the phrase. Then the street lights were turned out and the force took a knee lowering their NVGs making last minute checks of their weapons.
Al-Bashir donned his helmet, fitting his chin tight into the strap. It was similar to the ones the Israelis wore, derivative of a bike helmet. Except the Saudi’s helmets were a matte black. So were the NVGs and their boots. Only the uniform was camouflaged various shades of tan and brown and even that was subdued by black load bearing vests.
Al-Bashir looked at his watch. 9:02 p.m. He was handed the radio, wiped the sweat from his forehead and said with a firm voice, “Move out.”
From eight different staging areas around the mosque, a tank moved into the lead of two fire engines, for a total of sixteen. Men hung off their sides and were tasked with training the ladders onto the roof and were followed fifty meters back by those on foot advancing on either side of the streets, a long line ready to gather rapidly and push like a giant anvil once reaching the doors of the mosque at ground level.
Al-Bashir listened to the motors fade into the night, replaced by silent movement of the foot units who advanced, hunched over weapons ready to be raised to their eyes in a split second. It was going to be costly. He had accepted that the moment he arrived here. He knew a lot of men were going to be killed the night. And somehow he couldn’t rid his mind of the notion that the country had their eyes only upon him and not his soldiers. It made him sweat a little more as breathing grew a little heavier. He flung off the feeling and looked at the mosque’s greenish outline and that his men were no further than 500 meters away.
“Coming in, eight different lines from all directions heading our way,” the radio warned Foxmann. “Roger. Got that.” He almost slid down the stairs heading toward the second floor and arrived there just as the anti-tank missile units fired their first rounds. A few seconds later a brilliant light flashed in a window flooding his night vision and reminding him that the ATGM gunners had scored a hit. He peered around the corner of the window and saw flashing lights. Then he saw the unusual vehicles. It was fire trucks. Long ladders starting to train upward in a slow arc. The mosque is like a ship and they were the boarding party. Foxmann just shook his head. “Get on that.” He ordered. More whooshes from the anti-tank missiles lit up the night. Then he heard return gunfire from off in the distance. Their snipers were active again. “Get the damn drones up.” He hurtled toward Gil David’s position nearly sliding down as his feet skidded over the smooth floor. A tank exploded a hundred meters away and the fire engines turned to their right to take temporary shelter from the missiles. They emerged around another corner and gunned their engines. One exploded, heaving its human cargo through the air like rag dolls. The other drove around it, pieces of the flaming wreckage raining down about it. Then it was free, roaring toward the gate. Those on foot rushed forward like an isolated wave to join it. It parked parallel to the mosque. As 240 gunners opened up on it, it started spewing sparks as the tracers stitched the torsos of its riders. The rest of the commandos began firing their weapons into the windows above them. There tracers crisscrossing with the Israelis who continued pummeling the vehicle with hundreds of holes until it caught fire. Yet, its ladder began to train toward the second floor, men already mounting, trying to rush up it to gain a foothold.
Two Israelis emerged at the target window with their silenced MK18s spouting 5.56mm death begin firing single shots knocking the climbers back down into each other as the others came on up climbing over the dead bodies. They too took bullets in their torsos and crumpled lifeless before the window.
Foxmann wanted to get up there to his boys. In the din of the roaring and popping sounds, he tried to contact them but could hear nothing over the radio. When he finally made it, he looked down on the scene; more men coming up and the two Israelis firing at them again. This time one tossed a grenade and Foxmann saw the strangest thing. One of the Saudis caught it and as he looked at it, it exploded him into pieces knocking several more men off of the ladder. Foxmann flipped up his NVGs from the light’s glare, brought up his Mark 18 and shot a man dead square between the eyes just as he tried to run up the ladder. The engine exploded into a massive flame without the sound. It stood there clueless, its ladder still reaching up, unable to deliver its cargo.
One of the Israelis jolted back, flinging his gun against Foxmann’s chest knocking him back as well. The two fell to the ground and Foxmann rolled over to see the Israeli pulsing heavy breaths, blood spurting out with each exhale. He rolled the other way and rose up on his knees, then pushed up and looked back down at the man and saw he was still.
Another truck’s ladder began its slow arc, squealing through its gears as it moved toward another window. The Saudis surrounded it, firing up at the windows on full automatic, forcing the Israelis to back away from the ledges. When the ladder was in position, a train of men rushed up, their leader firing one-handed as he held on and pulled over each rung.
Over their heads fell three grenades that bounced off the engine and exploded around it killing several men. Those on the ladder continued climbing seeing the opening of the window vacant just feet away. Their leader leaped the final two feet and came down inside; his NVGs gave him the last view he had on earth of an Israeli looking down his sights at him from no further than a foot away.
Foxmann squeezed the trigger and the outline of the man fell limp at his feet. Another Israeli stepped beside him and the two fired a single shot as each Saudi came through the window and began to pile up.
“Allahu Akbar” the next one hollered as he went midair firing his submachine gun. He landed on the pile of bodies and before he realized what they were, two shots dropped him.
Foxmann pressed the magazine release and had a fresh 30 rounder shoved up into the magazine well in under two seconds. He stepped on the pile of bodies and could just see over the ledge. There were more coming. He raised the MK18 to get a better angle of fire, and without aiming fired back down the ladder catching another group midway up who fell over each other and crashed down onto the truck’s deck.
“Move away from the windows, let them come in, then take them out.” He didn’t know if anybody heard. Maybe they didn’t have to for he flipped down the NVGs, looked down the hallway and saw the outlines of Israelis backed off well from the window ledge. Another stack of bodies were just feet away from where they’d halted another entry. Bloody marvelous.
“All right people, talk to me. Has there been any breach?”
“Negative,” came the repeat from the four detachments.
“Casualties?”
“Two killed from Bravo. Two wounded.”
“One from Charlie. Zero wounded.”
“One from Delta. One wounded.”
“One from Alpha. Zero wounded.”
“Let’s start putting the bodies back outside.” Foxmann was glum for he knew it meant more Israeli dead placed among th
eir enemy. Curse this damn arrangement.
He kneeled down, picked up the dead Israeli by the shoulders just barely lifting him off the floor. After the other bodies were maneuvered over the ledge, with as much grace as they could, they gently slid him over as well.
Pulling the tablet back out, he pressed his back against the wall and looked at the drone feed.
All he could mainly see was blackness. Saudis enforced a dusk to dawn curfew and there was very little light to get a reference point. He wondered if the TOW missile gunners were still in the building that they couldn’t get to. After asking the operator to fly and investigate, he was rewarded with only more darkness and outlines of buildings. He wished the drones were infra-red versions that could detect thermal signatures. Not advanced enough yet for something so small in size, and their limitations were showing themselves right now. “Bring the drones back in, we can’t see anything.”
Al-Bashir looked at the flaming vehicle near the front of the mosque. His nerves were fraught with anger after he had decided to call off the assault when the casualties got too high. He needed them for tomorrow. The imam looked at him as if to question the decision. And he explained there was no other choice if they were to have a better chance tomorrow.
“The mosque must fall no later than tomorrow. I will demand new leadership if it does not,” the imam said, shaking his head.
Al-Bashir acknowledged with a nod. He was in no mood for arguing, for arguing with an imam of such stature put a timer on his life expectancy. He sucked it up and called the Crown Prince. He planned on making the defeat as subtle as he could.
“Your Excellency, we were unable to completely breach the mosque. I ordered a retreat because the casualties were so high. We need them for the next assault.”
“I am coming to personally oversee it,” he warned. His life just got a little shorter. Maybe he could turn command over to the Prince and finish the operation as a bystander. He knew that would never happen, though; there had to be the fall guy, the one whose head would cut cleanly off its shoulders. That was him. There would not be any other.
“That’s how it went,” Foxmann said to Metzer on the screen. “Don’t like to do my boys that way. Put them out there with the other swine.”
“Necessary though. Our dead would look at the mission and forgive us.”
“Affirmative. But I don’t get a chance to mourn for them. Which hurts. I have to quit being sentimental. Forgive me.”
“You’re human like the rest.”
“Is Grozner there?”
“No.”
“Good. Don’t tell him I let my guard down momentarily with those words.”
“Grozner’s on the phone with the U.N. They’re trying to get that unilateral cease-fire to be recognized and get some diplomacy rolling. It does not apply to your situation. Just the forces in Lebanon. And they can defend themselves if they are attacked.”
“Isn’t that a bit chancy? Unilateral cease-fire?”
“He thinks not really. He’s convinced it’s the only option we have now.”
“I’ll never understand politicians.”
“That makes two of us.”
“You think you could get a resupply drop in here if we really needed it?”
“Likely. When would you want it?”
“Just after midnight.”
“That’s a little soon but I’ll see what I can do.”
Foxmann put the tablet away and just then noticed he was breathing heavy. The last attack had spooked him some. They had breached, though not successfully. They might not be so misfortunate again. Their best was hurled against them. He could tell that by their clothing. In the giveaway black helmets and balaclavas. How many more were out there?
“Jessy.” It was Gil David. Foxmann turned and saw there in the darkness a man bloodied from head to toe and clutching his arm.
“What the... What the hell happened to you?”
David shook his head. “One of the little bastards was faking it. Stabbed me in the arm, sliced me from the shoulder to the elbow. Don’t worry, I can still shoot.” Another Israeli ran up to him and produced some more bandages. He proceeded to wrap David’s arm several times.
“You’d better be able to shoot,” Foxmann said. “The next attack will be their strongest yet.”
“I’ll be alright,” David said. “I heard you talking to Metzer. Grozner trying the peace route again?”
“Yeah. Fancy that. After all that’s happened up to now.” Foxmann bit his lip, then added, “I’d say the Arabs on the other side of this wall would have something different in mind.”
“If they can keep up this kind of pressure, they can wear us down. I hope they don’t realize that.”
“They do. But they’re not going to wait that long. I bet their head guy is on a clock. He has until twelve noon tomorrow. They’ll come at us in waves. Not counting coming in from the air.”
“We can hold them off for little while.”
“Yes, but that’s all.”
“We can do it again.”
“If they come at us in the same strength again and we don’t have a resupply drop, it’ll be chancy at best.”
Gil David motioned the medic away. “I want to speak with you about that.” He moved closer. “I know it is not conduct becoming of a Special Forces member especially an Israeli concerning his commanding officer, but I have a hard time believing that you just took the fact that this was a suicide mission lying down. Do you mind if I ask, did you?”
“You’re very perceptive. No, I did not. That’s why I’ve requested they get off their asses and find a way, if they can. I can’t guarantee anything and I don’t want the men to know about it.”
“Thanks. I, at least, can put that to rest. I’ll tend to the rest of the guys.”
The inquiry from David he knew was just a man making a simple though hidden request for his life to be saved. He’d made it too, and he hoped that the planners back in Tel Aviv were figuring it out as he walked toward the northern part of the mosque. His thoughts now turned to the Arab he confronted. He was out there with binoculars looking upon his yet to be claimed prize, getting antsy that he hadn’t taken it yet.
He was right.
“What happened?” Al-Bashir bellowed at the tablet. “Get me a report.” He turned and the imam was right in his face.
“The Crown Prince is coming here. He wants to be among the warriors who reclaim our holy building.” The imam had a determined look as if he wanted Al-Bashir to challenge the statement. He appeared to be getting agitated. He didn’t care. He had no knowledge of military matters and doubted if the Prince did either. He would have to walk lightly among them so as not to stir their doubts. He decided to address the imam in the practiced manner he had when confronting religious figures and royalty over the years. “That would be most welcome. I would want him to be part of our conversations.” That took the sting out of any barbs the imam might be trying to throw.
The tablet woke up. On the other end was a youthful bearded officer who blinked nervously. “Casualty report, sir.”
“Go ahead.”
“One hundred and two dead. Twenty-eight wounded.”
“Allah, be merciful.” Al-Bashir muttered under his breath. Three-fourths of the assault force was dead. The higher number of dead to wounded meant that men who might’ve been hit, found ways to continue the fight. Damn admirable, but still a failure.
The Israelis were much stronger than he anticipated.
His last option was that of a new tactic, one he thought of even when formulating the current one. He would wait until the Crown Prince arrived and discuss it with him, ensuring that if it failed, it would at least be known ahead of time of the tremendous risk involved. Right now he needed to think. Watching the first of the walking wounded approach, he more than ever needed to do it alone.
“That’s the last of them here,” David reported about the body disposal. They all were dumped in a pile next to the fire engines. Foxmann had
wanted to call a truce to have them removed, but since they wouldn’t accept any of his boys’ corpses, he’d let it go.
After completing his rounds, he made his way back up the minaret and flipped down the NVGs and peered over the ledge to spy down the vacant streets where the attack had progressed. Save for a pulsing red light of a police car in the distance, the sight was reminiscent of the abandoned streets of Beirut, Lebanon, circa 1982 when the civil war raged. He’d looked at the footage both on film and photograph and only the decrepit battle-shattered buildings made it look that much different from Mecca right now. He thought again and figured a ghost town was more fitting. How many had actually left their dwellings and were not above watching the whole event unfold right out their windows? The Israelis had never been this close to them before. He knew some would have been defiant, even volunteering themselves once they knew who the mosque’s new occupants were.
“We’re going to get hit again in the morning,” he said out loud. “Bigger than before. I think our big general out there is running out of time.”
At that moment looking through his NVGs, Al-Bashir was thinking the same thing as the Crown Prince’s black Mercedes limousine pulled up.
Out emerged the man who now carried the future of the Saudi Kingdom on his shoulders. The imam gave him a greeting kiss as did the adjutant who pointed the way toward Al-Bashir walking stiffly toward the man.