by Isaac Stormm
“Get to the bunker.” Explosions propelled shockwaves from either side, knocking him over. A hand pulled him up and he ran as hard as he could, unaware of the bullets nipping at his heels.
The communications bunker door was wide open. No one guarding it. Maybe someone had already penetrated and was about to blow it. He flung another empty magazine away, inserted a fresh one and rushed through. A couple of M4 barrels came down right in front of his head, stopping him in his tracks. “Don’t shoot, it’s me, Carlson,” he cried.
The other men fell through the door, their chests heaving to gulp some of the stale air. Huffman closed the door, and brought a thick bar down across it to lock it. They were shut off from the outside world as another explosion ripped concrete particles from the ceiling to rain upon their shoulders. The barrels belonged to two terrified looking specialists who lowered them as Carlson looked around the room. That was it. No hiding spaces, no place to shoot back from. Just a big wooden table with computer monitors and a radio operator stuttering the words “We are being overrun” into a headset.
The two men lowered their rifles as Carlson swept by them to get to the radioman. “We need close air, helicopters, A-10s, you name it. No bombs. We need guns only. They’re all around us.” Someone started beating on the door. They had something metallic or maybe it was the butt stock of a rifle. He heard another join in the pounding.
“One of ours?” Huffman said.
Carlson shrugged. “Call to them if you can.”
“American. Are you American?” The pounding continued. “Are you American?” The noise stopped.
The door vibrated and jostled, pop, pop pop, on its heavy hinges under the smattering of bullets fired from more than one automatic weapon. There were no penetrations and another long burst sounded. The door still stood. And at that moment, Carlson thanked God for whoever made it.
“It’ll hold,” one of the radiomen proclaimed, a look of terror upon his young face. “Won’t it?”
“Maybe against small arms. Not an RPG,” Carlson replied. How true. Wherever there were lots of AKs the RPGs were not far behind. Another set of rounds clacked into the door. And the pounding, apparently by buttstocks, started anew.
The light flickered, went off for a few seconds then came back on.
“Oh, Jesus,” the radioman said.
“We can’t expect the light to stay on.” Carlson pulled his NVGs out. “Get on the horn again. Give our sitrep.”
“That’s not what I was referring to,” the radioman replied. “It’s something I heard over the headset.”
“What’s the matter?” Carlson asked.
“They’re hitting all over the world.”
“What about the U.S.?”
“Don’t know, but Europe is being lit up right now.”
Beiruit, Lebanon
4:28 A.M.
Zarin woke and saw the nurse checking a saline solution that flowed through a needle in his arm. Past her was Itaya. Their eyes locked, and Zarin realized he wanted to share news. “May we have a moment?” he asked the nurse in a weak voice.
She nodded and left. Itaya waited until she closed the door before he approached and smiled. “It is underway, my friend.”
“Attacks on Israel?”
“Partially. But our theater of conflict is but a part of something much greater. I received word we’re hitting the capitals of Europe, all in N.A.T.O. countries. And later on, something much more consequential will happen.”
Zarin was at a loss for words. “Tell me.”
The United States military is going to be hit as Iran closes the Strait of Hormuz. We will throw them into a panic.” He patted Zarin’s shoulder. “I have arranged for you to be released to us by this afternoon. You may resume your command of the drone offensive committing them to battle.”
“The command center was destroyed. The Israelis—”
“Have only temporarily stopped us. We have another being put in place now. Soon you will use it.”
“What’s going on?” Itaya seemed almost giddy as he smiled and nodded.
“Apparently, it seems, you were never told of this. But as I speak to you, thousands of soldiers are being infiltrated into Iraq. They’re not coming in great big convoys that could be hit. They’re coming in small groups by civilian cars. And train. Some even walking. All of them ready to become martyrs and seek the destruction of the Zionists. Many will join us. They are also going to overthrow the government of Jordan so that we can surround them on two sides.”
“They must’ve called up all the reservists. I never imagined they would commit everything so fast.”
“There is also something else that I was only made aware of before I came here. There is a large radiation cloud that was created when the Zionists hit one of the nuclear sites inside Iran. It’s become quite big and deadly, and heading toward the Gulf States. What I heard made me cry out in joy.”
“Please tell me.”
He produced a piece of paper from his pocket. “This is from OPEC. It was read to the world by the Saudi ambassador to the U.N., which is having an emergency meeting. We would never have known about it except he came out and read the proclamation to the press.”
‘Given the events of the past few hours, it is clear to us that we face a humanitarian crisis never witnessed in history, with tens of millions of lives at stake. All of it due to Israel’s clumsy attack against Iran which will now affect almost every man, woman and child in the region. Accordingly, we will not permit our people to suffer for something they haven’t done. Therefore, we will unite and declare a state of war against Israel. History shall record how the circumstances regarding this decision was reached.’
“Don’t you see, my friend?” Itaya smiled, “This is a gift from Allah. Perhaps his greatest gift ever to his people. He will use the apostates to help us destroy Israel.”
“A gift indeed.” How many millions more fighters will this make? Zarin felt the warmth of joy course through him. Whatever pain he felt momentarily disappeared. “We must make sure though, that we are the ones that liberate Jerusalem.”
“Absolutely. We will be at the forefront of the fighting. However, there is some growling within our ranks about who will liberate Jerusalem. Since we’ve been fighting Israel for decades, many are saying it should be Hezbollah that raises the flag over the dome of the Al-Aqsa Mosque.”
“I understand your concerns. However, you must remember that it is Iran that made the existence of Hezbollah possible. Without them, Hezbollah would just have been a footnote in the struggle. Please express that to any dissenters.”
“I shall my friend. I can assure you there will be no cracks in our armor as the war progresses.”
“Good.” Zarin caressed the IV in his arm. “I look forward to the future, then.”
“Yes, indeed. I will arrange to have a car waiting for you. Now if you’ll excuse me please, I need to get back to my headquarters.”
As Itaya turned to walk away, Zarin raised up in his bed. The squish of the mattress made Itaya turn around.
“Let us make a pact. Let us see each other in Jerusalem when this is all over.”
“I have every intention of being there, my friend.” He turned away and exited, not catching Zarin’s smile.
The majority of the world is Sunni. Though as a Shia he viewed them as the false Muslims, Allah had a way of using enemies of Islam to achieve his purpose. And right now, Zarin felt it had never been truer. He didn’t know what to say. The idea that tens of millions would gather on Israel’s border and storm the Zionists, the world would never see anything like it before nor see it again. He closed his eyes and said a silent prayer, ending it with “Allahu Akbar.”
Wonderful times.
Iraq
The two A-10 Warthogs zoomed beneath the cloud layer leveling their wings toward the bright orange flames in the distance. Their gray coloring faded into just a barely noticeable outline as F.O.B. Johnathan loomed larger causing their canopies to reflec
t the fires in shimmering pastels.
“We’ll direct your runs.” came the call over the radio. The voice was calm, nary a hint of panic. Maybe they couldn’t see what the pilots saw. Winging over, F.O.B. Johnathan, it was encircled by fractured walls and numerous buildings afire. Dots moved between the buildings while others remained stationary…Bodies.
“Can’t tell who’s who. You still may have friendlies down there.” The flight leader radioed back, bringing the A-10 around in a shallow bank looking out over his left wing at the some of the dots flashing with tiny tips of light. Gunfire.
“Anyone else from the base contact you?” Carlson asked. “We’re the building in the center of the base.”
“Roger that. Got some friendlies holding the northern perimeter. We’re going to divide our runs. I’ll have you guys.”
“Fabulous. Put your bird on an east to west run.”
“You got bad guys swarming all around you. I can’t guarantee my gun won’t penetrate your holdout. Get on the ground and pray. I’m coming in.” The radio went static.
“Everybody down!” Carlson motioned with the wave of his arm. Hell if he knew if it would hold. The 30mm was a seven-barreled Gatling gun, capable of spewing 4,200 rounds per minute. Hitting from the top, it could peel a tank’s armor back like a sardine can. This concrete was thicker but much more porous.
The pilot banked through a 90-degree left turn, the G-suit constricted around his waist and legs, keeping the blood above the torso instead of pooling in his feet. He exhaled the pressure and lined the head up display on the eastern perimeter. He watched the tiny pipper in the middle of the targeting reticle steady and the squat building begin to grow. His machine felt steady, the engines a low whine as he came down the slope of a 45-degree dive. He pressed the red button and the GAU-8 belched a spread of tracers earthward. They rippled in great sparks across the ground washing over several dots. It continued its fiery course up the side of the building tearing great chunks from its face. He yanked the stick back and the jet arced upward.
Brrrrrrrrrrrrp the long report of the gun delayed by distance rang in his ears. Carlson opened his eyes and looked around. He’d heard the ripping of some of the concrete, but saw there were no holes. It had held. So far.
“Give me another west to east. The report of the other A-10s gun sounded farther away, but no less powerful. He thanked God the A10s belonged to Uncle Sam. They’d saved his bacon more than once over the years in theater. Ugly and archaic looking in the sleek F-22 Raptor era, he wouldn’t trade the straight-winged demon for anything.
Brrrp Brrrrp. Two shorter bursts peeled more concrete away. He heard the strain of metal about to collapse. Maybe that was it. He really didn’t know if their bunker could take much more.
“Carlson, come in. Can you hear me?” The voice sounded strained but familiar. “Kearny? Is that you?”
“Yes. I’m on the northern perimeter. We got reinforcements coming. I’m sending someone for you. Stay frosty.”
“Do you know if we still have infiltrators?”
“Stragglers. The A10s broke their back.”
“Thank you. We’ll be ready.” He handed the headset over and stood upright. “Get what you need, they’ll be here for us in a minute.” Calm began washing over him loosening his taut nerves.
Brrrrrrrrrp. Another gun run. North to south.
“God, I’m glad I’m not out there,” the radio operator proclaimed.
Carlson crouched down looking at the door. A heavy knock came and he raised the carbine shoulder level, holding it with one hand while he stepped toward it. The free hand unlocked the latch and returned to hold the foregrip. He sighted through the sight. “Kearny’s people?” he called.
There was a pause, then “Yes. It’s us. Is this Carlson? Open up.”
Carlson kept his eye to the sight. He reached and twisted the knob. Somebody on the other side went ahead and pulled it wide open. He too had his rifle shouldered, red dot on Carlson’s forehead.
The rescuer looked little more than a teenager barely old enough to shave. Short, sweaty, adrenaline pumping, he looked much worse than Carlson. “Damn. You guys are lucky. That A-10 tore the shit out of here.”
Carlson heard the jets again but couldn’t see them because the cloud cover had become lower. Still, he knew they were orbiting above waiting for further instructions.
Carlson stepped past the man and surveyed the A-10’s work. Probably 40 or so men were blasted to pieces, the torsos separated at mid–section, heads blown off while underneath them ran rivers of blood filling in the hundreds of gouged holes from the 30mm shells. The sight made it appear that they died with the greatest possible violence that could be foisted on a man. It was wrenching. Sickening. And Carlson was impressed. But he tucked that away, looked back at the expressions of the team members likewise impressed and headed off to find Kearny.
He continued stepping over bodies and smelled that stale burning of wood drifting in a pall over the base. It stung his nostrils, as he found Kearny conversing with one of his men.
“That’s all it took. Somebody on the inside,” Carlson challenged. He was in no mood for pleasantries or hugs or congratulations that each had survived.
“Carlson, I don’t have to take that shit from you. I told you before, I firmly believe the Iraqis are on the good side. There are no traitors amidst these bodies. I’ll stick my reputation as an officer on that.”
The rest of the team walked up behind him. The whine of the jets faded into the clouds, the A-10s low on fuel, finally departing.
“Major, our rooms are gone,” Huffman said. “Must’ve used a big satchel charge, cause there’s nothing left but scorched wood.”
“I’ll need a chopper to get us back to Baghdad to the headquarters there.” Carlson ran fingers through his sweaty hair.
“You don’t know, do you?” Kearny shook his head like he was talking to somebody illiterate. “The bastards are hitting all over the country. All air assets are in use right now. They’re not going to send a chopper just for you.”
Carlson looked over at a man being bandaged around the waist. He grimaced as it was pulled tighter and little streams of blood trickled underneath it.
“You’ve got to get some wounded out by air. We’ll go on one of the Evac choppers.”
“And take the place of some of my injured? No way.”
“No. It’ll take more than one chopper and we’ll divide up so we won’t leave any wounded out. You won’t have to see my face again if you do this. When is the first one coming in?”
“We got two Black Hawks on the way.”
He turned to his men. “Mustin, Wilson on the first. Huffman and me on the second. We’ll give up our places if they have too many walking wounded. If that happens, we’ll go by vehicle.”
Tel Aviv
10:24 A.M.
“Well, that certainly blew up in the Americans’ face,” Grozner said to Foxmann. “Assaults, suicide bombers, vehicle IEDs. They now know what we know: That the Iranians never intended to have a cease-fire. I’m going to tell Rasmuth that due to the extremely dangerous situation out in Iraq, it is clear that even though they were not attacks against Israel that the Iranians are waging war.” He got off the screen showing international news, and returned it to the Israeli Defense forces unit structure tree. “Hezbollah’s building up in Lebanon again just like in 2006. We can’t let them. I want to send in a much larger force than back then and they are to clean the place out. Go all the way to Beirut if they have to. And I want special attention given to the drone operators. I’d like to take them alive if I could and find out how much of a bigger part they’re supposed to play.”
“We’ve got Special Forces teams already on the ground there. I’m having them wait until we get the authorization to go in. Once any main units launch, they’ll spring into action.”
“Good. Good.” Now on to a more pressing issue than even that. “How many hours do we have until the cloud reaches the Arabian Peninsula
?”
“Best guess is about six hours. It is moving along at about a twenty to twenty-five miles per hour speed.”
“We warned the Americans to get their forces out of the Persian Gulf. Is there any evidence that that’s taking place?”
“They moved their Navy back near Yemen. They’ll stay out of the path of the cloud unless it expands more.”
“Expands more. It’s already over fifty miles wide.”
“It’ll probably start spreading out more when it hits the coast when the warm currents from the Gulf join it. An order has already been given to evacuate the coastal populations from Saudi Arabia and the UAE. All the freeways leading from the Gulf are packed with civilians and military.”
Grozner suddenly looked solemn, the next question perhaps the most painful he ever asked. “I haven’t been keeping tabs. But how many Iranians are already affected?”
“Our best estimates are about five to six million. That doesn’t mean they all will die, much are expected to get sick. How many die will be unpredictable.”
“Come on, man,” Grozner chastised, “you know what they’ve been saying so why try to keep it from me.”
“I know they have said over million are likely to perish. But I have to be hopeful and say at worse maybe a tenth will die.”
“My God. That’s still a hundred thousand human beings. Men, women… Children.”
Foxmann suddenly found himself without anything to offer up. Grozner was past any of the invisible armor he wore that deflected any kind of criticism about the attack. How is history going to remember this? “We did our duty,” was his total effort to reassure Grozner.
“That’s the stance I have to take every time we get accused of being reckless. Even though there may be times I don’t believe it myself. Rest assured, my public face will remain stern.” Grozner bit on his lip drawing a touch of blood. He wiped it away, looking at the smear on the back of his palm and wondered how much of it was going to be shed in the coming days.