A Touch Of War: A Military Thriller Novel

by Isaac Stormm

  “I know. Thank you for your concern.”

  “If things start becoming positive, after three days you can head home for a couple, and I’ll give you some quality time.”

  “That would work.” He knew that Grozner knew better. Their ambassador would make his presentation within the three days and meet with the U.S. and other western allies about Iran. Enough time passed that he figured the only talk from his side would be one of conflict. He didn’t envy Mordecai Lesnar, the U.N. Ambassador and mused how he’d like to be there to get a feel of things before and after the evidence was presented. Right now though, he had to run home and get his duffel bag before heading to the airport for a waiting chopper. He wondered just how hot it was going to be at the training facility. One hundred and twenty degrees easily. Yes, it was a dry heat, and when inside the massive underground caverns, the temperature only eased back to maybe a hundred. Manageable, except for the air which felt humid where there wasn’t any, an added burden in full combat gear. It felt like your chest would implode from all the deep draws of breath you took after being timed for the twentieth or thirtieth rehearsal in a row. He figured there had to be some moisture somewhere because the hewn out walls felt wet on occasion. Either that or their sweat was condensing on the face of the rock.

  The elevator opened and the Toyota was about thirty meters away. As he withdrew the keys from his pocket, the whooshing sound made him look up and to his left. Far away, racing from beneath the skyline, thin white trails of two Iron Dome missiles streaked up and disappeared into a low hanging smattering of gray overcast. The electronic siren began wailing from several directions as he opened the door, got in, and started the engine. He decided he wasn’t going to the shelter this time as people darted across his field of view, their heads tilted, eyes watching the sky. He heard no screams or shouts because of panic and they just as quickly disappeared as they had appeared. Thoughts flashed to Sarah and how she never cried when the sirens went off when she was with him or her mother. He envisioned them hugging in the shelter with the rest of the neighborhood, ready for the all clear warning which was the same siren pattern when no more incoming projectiles were detected. He eased the Toyota back out of its spot and took the exit road to the intersection. There were still cars going by, oblivious to the sound, though all Israeli automobiles had the emergency warning that beeped and interrupted any broadcast when under attack. He flipped his on, hearing a bit of static and the tail end of ‘proceed to your nearest shelter.’ He knew most of the automobiles on the road would just keep going about their business unless rockets impacted nearby. This was an unwritten rule about these attacks. If no shelter, no need to make yourself stationary.

  He glanced at his watch just as the sirens stopped. Provided there were no traffic hang-ups, he would be home in about ten minutes. He estimated that the all clear would sound before then and he was optimistic he wouldn’t have to reunite in the shelter for what might be the last time of his life. God, that thought ripped at his insides and he almost took his foot off the gas. Dismiss it. I have to, he thought. Everything will turn out alright. I’ll make it up to them, I swear. Damn it, I might even resign when all this is over. Sure. You can’t live without this command. You know that.

  White House Press Room

  4:02 P.M.

  Washington, D.C.

  Anderson waited just behind the door, tugging his tie into an almost semi-constricting state. This was out of habit learned on the campaign trail, when they seemed so loose they would slip off if he moved his head even a little bit. He knew they wouldn’t, yet he still wanted to feel as sharp as he looked.

  He watched White House Spokesman David Tipton finish his portion of the briefing, giving a rundown of the day’s events. The economy grew by two points this last quarter. Unemployment was down by 1.3 percent and the administration was encouraged by the news of lower interest rates from the Fed. As he turned to international news, Tipton looked over and Anderson caught his eye and stepped onto the stage beside him. The eagerness in the faces of the reporters, most of whom he knew by first name, showed with quick movements to adjust cameras and ready notepads.

  He knew the cable networks were covering this though he didn’t think the big three stations were. They should, he thought. He was going to surprise everyone.

  The mechanical click of camera shutters rattled in front of the stage.

  “I would like to start this conference by saying that the last few days have been quite eventful for this administration. Iran approached us requesting new amendments to our nuclear agreement. These amendments remove practically all of the issues that had caused trouble with Congress and other critics in the past. Primarily, the offer to let IAEA inspectors have access to questionable sites is a huge leap forward in the road to trustworthiness for Iran. Certainly, the militancy of terror continues to weigh heavily on future negotiations. However, this is a positive first step and I might also add that, as I speak, inspectors are already on their way to Iran. If Iran truly seeks a peaceful path to coexistence with other nations, trust but verified, to use a well-known phrase by President Reagan, seems imminent. Granted, Iran is still the main sponsor of terrorism in the world. And we will not look at the concessions they have made through rose-colored glasses. Iran must allow unfettered access at the request of inspectors to any suspected or known site where nuclear research has or is taking place.” He exhaled a little, resting his hands on the lectern, then added, “That concludes my statement. now comes the most disturbing part that had existed a few days before being approached by the Iranians.” He looked out and saw eyes widening, hearing the shutters stop clicking and the silence muffled enough to hear a pin drop. “It is this administration’s belief as well as the Israeli’s that there is the possibility that Iran detonated a nuclear device as part of their desire to weaponize enriched uranium.”

  Jaws dropped and whispers filtered in a brief but audible moan. Shutters raced again.

  “The Israelis claim that they have the evidence. From what I have learned, this evidence does raise serious questions the Iranians need to answer, and will be presented to the United Nations Security Council. And with that I know you have questions and I’ll be happy to take a few.” Most of the press members raised their hands and began speaking at once, their voices becoming unintelligible garble.

  Negev Desert

  1 hour later

  Inside the mountain’s spacious interior, the air still seemed heavy with remnants of the day’s heat and the stinking mixture of gunpowder and sweat from the traverses of 100 armed men who’d been at it for four hours with few breaks. They’d been assaulting several rooms on different floors, firing quick bursts and shredding the white paper targets resembling masked gunmen and leaving the others, imprinted like an unarmed man or woman, unscathed. They did this both under the bright track lights of each level and completely dark, depending only on their night vision goggles to search.

  Deeper still in the bowels of the mountain was a darkened control room with a massive high-definition screen behind which in theatrical style seating Foxmann and two other officers watched live feeds of each room to look for mistakes. As for Foxmann, he found none. Not one time in the four hours had any showed any weakness in the areas of speed, accuracy and agility. By now, any other group, even in the Special Forces, would probably be showing signs of fatigue, but not these men. The only signs they showed were that they breathed a little harder after each session which they ridded themselves of when they started anew. Then, the robotic-like breaths of thousands of hours of training took over, dedicated to only one thing in the universe. Completing the mission.

  Foxmann’s phone vibrated against his thigh. He pulled it out and saw a text message sent from Grozner’s office.

  ‘Most unexpected. Anderson tells the world during speech.’

  He texted back ‘will contact you in few minutes.’ He put the phone away and turned to the two men. “Yes. Damn good. Excellent. Much better than I expected them to do.
Let’s wrap it up for the night.”

  One of them shouted, “Lights.” And the ceiling lit up as the images on the screen froze then disappeared into blackness.

  “I have to hand it to them. They are much better than I realized,” Foxmann said through a smile. “How many times did they storm those rooms? I lost count after fifty.”

  “Fifty-eight to be exact.” Major Johann Friedman said. “They’re good, but I believe we can shave a few more seconds from their speed. They seemed to have pepped up when you led the first few runs.”

  “Tomorrow we’re going to run everything through from insertion by the C-130s to the extraction. I’ll lead that exercise too. How was I earlier?”

  “Still able to keep up,” Friedman snorted. “But seriously. It’s kind of an open secret that we will be hitting some major facility. Say somewhere in Persia.”

  “Tomorrow we’ll hit something completely different than this place. It’ll have buildings and an underground storage area where the targets are. We’ll do it at night then view a model of the real thing to see where we need improvements. You’ll know what it is then, officially.”

  He knew that they probably figured that it was centrifuges.

  Taking the elevator to the top floor, he stepped out onto the sand-covered concrete floor, the men there forming line abreast, four rows deep at attention. A massive steel wall covered the gaping exit, reflecting the rays of halogen lights, leaving just a small door opening to the outside.

  Foxmann began his inspection, walking past each column, eyes looking for anything unusual to bitch about. Looking at their gear, the uniforms were new, just used today. They were multicam patterned with olive shemagh scarfs around the necks to complete the set. Their eyes, protected by clear Revision ballistic eyeglasses, looked straight under and behind the massive 4-tube night vision goggles anchored on the front of their bicyclist-styled helmets. Their ears were covered in slim headphones with a boom microphone across their lips. Fitted body armor covered the torso with magazine pouches stretching across the stomach. Hanging off their shoulders, secured by multi-point sling, was their preferred weapon. M4 carbines with a 10-inch barrel enclosed by a 9-inch accessory rail and affixed with an Aimpoint sight. They called them by their official designation given them buy U.S. Special Forces. The Mark 18 SOPMOD.

  “Listen up,” Foxmann walked from the back to confront them. Everybody fanned around for a better view. “I’m impressed by what I see. Tomorrow will be reflective of the real thing and I’ll be right beside you all the way. We’ll do the insertion by plane once, the trek to the target area and breaching the wire and assaulting one time only. We’ll practice breach and assault many times so that you know the layout of the target like the back of your hand.”

  Like them, he looked forward to the challenge. Tiring and monotonous as it might’ve appeared, their moves were not unlike a choreographed ballet with violence as the music they moved to. Everybody knew his place down to the inch. He would be the conductor.

  “Tomorrow, and I figured I’d tell you now, after we leave, our new practice area will be guarded by elements of the Golani brigade, who feel an extra need to embarrass us. They want bragging rights that they were the first to fuck up the Depth Corps and prove the new department’s a waste of time.”

  The Golani was an elite unit with a storied past full of triumphant achievements in war. Well known among all Israelis, as it so happened, they had been out of action since the 2006 Lebanon incursion and were looking for a challenge. Foxmann got 400 of them, along with a few vehicles to guard the perimeter and sweep its surroundings. On the plus side, they were not aware of the exercise’s objective, just told to stay a few days. To them it might be tonight or next week when the attack started. Surprise was the only thing that gave the attacker an advantage.

  “Are there any questions?” he asked. Two raised their hands. “Yes?”

  “Can the Golani be taken captive if they come across us?”

  “No. They’ll be wearing laser engagement gear just like we will. We take them out if they stumble upon us. Securing prisoners will slow us down.”

  In Iran, should a Bedouin or villager come across them, he personally would take them out. He didn’t really want to put killing an innocent on his boys though they were more than capable of doing it. He preferred to shoulder it this time.

  The other asked his question. “All of us have an idea what it is and where it is. Our greatest fear is we get stranded. What then?”

  “You’ll know the answer tomorrow.” The soldier’s attempt to wean a little more from him brought a chuckle, and then they started lining up to head out the door to waiting trucks to drive them to the staging area at an airbase outside Jerusalem. There the C-130s waited.

  Foxmann watched the last of them leave from inside the Toyota as he piled the sunshield up in the passenger seat. He followed up behind them onto a winding sandy stretch that took them through parted dunes and over a hill to a lonesome highway.

  His thoughts turned to Grozner, just how much he was going to let Washington and New York do before he let them loose. He hoped not much. He’d come to accept Iran was on a one-way street and he needed to be a speed bump that stopped them, not just slowed them down. He and the boys would do it. Not the Air Force. He’d done some more checking and wondered how they would take the surprise he had for them tomorrow.

  10:24 P.M.

  Over the Mediterranean

  The Boeing 757 leveled off at 37,000 feet. Near the rear of the plane, Grozner got up and walked to an oval conference desk in the middle of an aisle, bolted to the floor. He sat down along with Philpot and Metzer, the two men setting up their laptops.

  He produced from his pocket a clear glass vial containing the crystals and held them up to the light. They didn’t shine and he could see right through them. “My God,” he said. “Can you believe our fate hangs with this shit? Some salt crystals with funny readings?”

  “Just don’t throw it over your shoulder for luck,” Philpot quipped.

  “That’s not funny, Michael. But I might end up doing it in New York if we can’t get a commitment to some resolution with teeth in it.”

  “Prime Minister, with the Americans back on board negotiating with Tehran we have about as much chance as the luck that throw would give us,” Philpot responded, a smile fighting to leave his face.

  “I’m putting everything we can muster into it. Besides the emergency session, Anderson has agreed to let you meet with your counterparts in the U.S. government.”

  “But you won’t be meeting with Anderson?” Metzer said.

  “He told me that going before the Security Council with such an offer Tehran is giving at the moment would make him look like a warmonger. Like how they ended up not finding weapons of mass destruction in Iraq after going before the council and arguing for war.” He paused a couple seconds then added, “That’s what the end result is going to be no matter what deal he gets.” He exhaled, rubbing his lips. “I’m just trying to make it more likely we’d win, and Tehran would never threaten us again.”

  “We’ll have to take out the government,” Metzer said.

  “That’s exactly what I plan on doing. If we can’t get the Americans or anybody else aboard, we’re going to hit them when they’re all together. The hawks, the doves, the hardliners and reformers, everybody.”

  “God in heaven. When did you come up with this?” Philpot squinted at him, shaking his head, clearly worried.

  “The day I took the oath. We have to view this as similar but far more grave as the situation before the Six-Day War.” Grozner thought briefly about the event of 1967, when Israel preemptively struck Egypt after watching her forces mass near its border. After six days of heavy fighting that saw the Jordanians and Syrians jump in, a cease-fire was reached. Israel still kept most of its gains from the event, the most notable being all of Jerusalem, the West Bank and the Golan Heights. Sure there were jeers and condemnation from the U.N. but little else.

>   “Anderson told me the Iranian parliament will meet in three days. Given our intelligence failure about the detonation, I am leery of using our contacts in the country. But we have no choice. If they can confirm the hour, hostilities will begin the second after we strike. I intend to cut the head off the snake. As this happens, the rest of our strikes will begin all over the country. And as for cyberwar, you’ll have to fill me in, Michael.”

  “Uh…Yes,” Philpot said. Grozner sensed the man shake in disbelief. “We have the necessary software to infiltrate their information and electrical grid. We can turn off the whole country if we like. But there’s one more thing I’d like to ask. What about our intel mission into Lebanon? About the drones?”

  “Will happen at the same time. But it will be a by-product of an offensive. As such, I will order our forces into the southern portion of the country, far enough so their rockets won’t hit us.”

  “That could be just outside Beirut,” Philpot said. “And if they’ve got enough drones, beyond that.”

  Grozner rubbed his chin, the tiny pricks of stubble making his hand seem like it was brushing across sandpaper. “Look, I know that what I’ve just said sent you for a loop. I needed to get it out. This time when we strike, we have to go all the way and change the dynamic of the region. We are doomed if we do anything less. That’s why I’m so adamant.”

  “If it’s any consolation, I’m with you one hundred percent Philpot said.

  “Me as well,” Metzer added. “Although I think relaying how serious this is going to be will be tough to do in light of Tehran’s openness.”

  Grozner tapped the table. “I need to speak privately with Anderson. Give it a final try.” He then looked at his watch. “Now I’m going to get some sleep. These red-eye flights always destroy me if I don’t.” He left them and walked to a narrow sleeper beside a set of windows. He took his shoes off and lay down, sinking a little bit into its plushness. He paid little notice to the twinkle of starlight in the deep black and the endless carpet of milky clouds scudding by. Within two minutes, he sighed and fell asleep, the last thought that New York was still seven hours away.