by Isaac Stormm
From all over southern Lebanon, a distant buzzing was heard. Sounding like a swarm of maddened bees, hundreds of drones simultaneously rose into the air, stopping at the altitude of barely 100 feet. They remained stationary for a few seconds while algorithms electronically linked them all together. Then as one great flock, they began to accelerate toward the enemy forces a few miles away.
Patches of the sky became dark and growing. Those in the tanks couldn’t see it. But the infantry could. They looked up and saw the massive formation of the drones as they swept over them. Fighting with Hezbollah anti-tank teams halted momentarily as the sound became a deafening buzz, drowning out the sound of pulsing diesel tank engines. It took several minutes for the drones to pass, leaving those who witnessed it in awe of their numbers. Once they were out of sight, the age-old instinct of man killing man returned.
Tel Aviv
“Prime Minister, something’s happening. You need to see this,” Metzer said, and a radar image consisting of a black background with hundreds of bright tiny dots was displayed on the laptop. This was picked up by one of our AWACS. We don’t know what it is. It looks like a flock of birds. But moving much too fast.”
“Get a positive identification, Metzer. If they are enemy, are the Iron Domes built to handle these?”
The color left Metzer’s face. He breathed rapidly and shook his head.
Grozner bit on his fingernail and started gnawing away. His heart grew heavy like it was about to explode at his chest. “We’re going to have to go through this. Whether we like it or not.” He buried his head in his hands. “God forgive me.”
Metzer attempted to reach across and comfort him on the shoulder but he withdrew his hand when Grozner raised his head. “Do we know what their targets might be?”
“That many? Anything.”
“Make sure the country knows what to expect,” Grozner said.
“Already being sent.”
He picked up the phone. “We have inbound hundreds possibly thousands of hostile aircraft. Order evacuation of all border settlements until further notice.”
The sirens started to wail.
“Rocket attack again.”
“I’m staying here,” Grozner said. “You can go to the shelter, if you want.”
“I’m staying too. I want to see the results of this. You can call it macabre. But I want to know what they’re after.” He tapped on the laptop isolating the boundary line which separated Israel from Lebanon. Another radar readout arrived from the AWACS giving altitude which began to vary between one and 300 feet, with a top speed of 60 knots and increasing gradually about two knots higher every 30-second interval.
Beirut
Zarin listened to the coordinator next to him. “Crossing the border. Operators, prepare to take back control of your vehicles.” His fingers worked some more buttons and up on Zarin’s screen showed the list of targets with numbers between one and twenty-six: the list of Iron Dome batteries in the area of operations.
“The first group of drones has been released from their parent signal, sir. Their target will be outside Haifa.”
Iron Dome site #7 Battle Management and Control Center
“There’s more rockets incoming,” one of The operators told the young lieutenant. His screen continued to swell with tiny specks.
“There’s no time,” the lieutenant’s voice spilled rapidly. “Let’s get the hell out of here.”
The three operators and their commanding officer leaped out the door just in time to hear the buzzing all around them. The control center exploded as they ran for the cover of a small thatch of bushes. Thinking they were safe, they peered over and saw the swarm take out two launchers then the radar in fiery kabooms, spewing molten metal in great streaming arcs across the sky. Before they could get down, Lieutenant looked up and saw the drones high overhead like vultures looking for a carcass. They streamed down toward them. Just as Lieutenant opened his mouth to scream, they impacted their bodies, exploding them into bloody shards to stain their refuge into a dark crimson dew. Still others streamed down only to break off the attack and rise up again to their operating altitude seeking new targets. Just appearing overhead, a stream of a dozen contrails stretched across the sky heading toward a naked Haifa.
Metzer watched online as each site number turned red and blinked rapidly signaling a catastrophic failure. Throughout all of northern, Israel the drones descended and destroyed the Iron Dome Shield. A buzzer sounded and Metzer picked up the phone. “Yes, I’m aware of what’s happening. We’re suffering a complete failure all across the northern sectors.” He slammed the phone down. “Damn it. Damn it to hell.”
“How will we replace them?” Grozner asked, his voice rising. “Are we just going to lay before them like meat on the table?”
“After the first attack subsides, I’ll order reinforcement batteries into position. We should get some of the coverage back relatively quickly. That is unless they attack us again. In which case, we’ll do the same thing. That’s all there is left we can do.”
“I want every airplane capable of carrying ordinance to get into the sky and head toward Lebanon. We’ve got to find these launching areas.”
“It’s not that simple. These are not coming from vehicles or any kind of launching platform. Anyone could simply set one on a road or field or in their front yard, which is probably what has happened, and have it launch under the control of a parent datalink, which is likely what’s causing all the coordination.”
“We got to keep pushing forward. Advance quicker.”
“We’re trying, Prime Minister, but there are only certain avenues of approach suitable for tanks. If these passes are not taken, we lose our armored thrust. Our infantry will be unsupported. Much more costly.”
“If they’ve got more of this stuff, they can destroy our armor any way.”
“True. And I’m afraid that’s what’s coming next.”
“Get me Foxmann.”
The two fighters released their drone into the air, broad smiles on their faces as they went to join up with others. They ran back to their anti-tank gun position which consisted of a Russian-made Kornet launcher with ten tubes. The Israeli armor would be coming down a road across their line of sight. Their artillery had broken through the first anti-tank nests and this was where they were advancing the farthest. These two had never been in battle before but had trained for it constantly since they were assigned together two years ago.
Smoke curled up over a rise. The shooter estimated the time of arrival as being no more than two minutes tops. They would probably have infantry with them which meant that although missiles could be used, they would have to abandon them. But they were certain they could draw a substantial amount of blood before that happened.
“Look at that,” he said, but the other man already saw it, a plume of dirty brown.
The squat shape of a Merkava tank peaked above the rise. It seemed to be moving ultra-slow. The rest of its green form didn’t appear for another 30 seconds. They could see the exhaust, a plume of blue smoke coming out the side, and they centered the crosshair on that, the engine compartment. Hands made minute corrections to get the missile ready to fire. Then there was a whooosh as the missile leaped from its launcher. Now he tracked it, a bright red flare from the engine from where two almost microscopic wires uncoiled backward to the launcher. These provided the information from the shooter directing the missile’s path. And it yawed and circled around an invisible axis toward the Merkava.
The missile exploded feet away from the engine, setting the grass on fire.
“Damn it,” the shooter said.
The Trophy system remained active, still operable despite running a gauntlet of previous missile firings.
“Look.” A finger pointed to the sky.
Their eyes saw a dozen drones wheel down like a whip unfurling to strike. The Trophy system fired furiously, knocking several from the air but more got through and exploded all over the tank in great spumes of f
lame. Fire spurted from where the turret mated with the hull and sparks and molten steel sprayed like a fountain in all directions.
The hatches popped open. Four crewmen emerged covered in flames. A machine gun sounded in the distance. They tried to roll away from the tank, bullets nipping at them, kicking up spouts of dirt. Then they stopped. The machine gun sent bullets into them one more time for good measure, then was quiet.
“Get another tube, load me again!” the shooter declared. “There’s another one coming up behind it.”
More drones plummeted downward, the Trophy system killing several again but enough made it through to hit the tank in its engine.
The shooter set the crosshairs on the turret. He pressed the fire button and sent the missile on its way. It curved a little as he adjusted its flight and slammed into the driver’s compartment to the left of the engine. “Direct hit. He could not contain his enthusiasm. “This is beautiful! We’re killing them from the ground and the sky!”
Behind, the first two tanks more went up in flames. The infantry tried to engage the drones but to little avail. There were too many. Too fast. Almost anything that moved on tread or wheel was soon billowing smoke and flames with some of the crews screaming for help before anti-tank missiles slammed into the exposed armor to finish the job. The vehicles that remained, stopped where they were and twirled 180 degrees to flee, a general retreat coming over the radio.
Shouts and cheers erupted from hidden positions in front of the Israeli line. The drones left circled above looking for fresh blood. Some even dove at individual soldiers as they too fled backward in retreat.
The two men could not know it, but never in the history of Israel had such happened in so great of numbers in so short of time. There was not a single tank left on the march toward them, after a few minutes of the drones’ attention. Over 50 of them along the Israeli advance line lay smoldering with less than 30 more operable. They survived simply because they were further back in the advance. It couldn’t be happening. It simply couldn’t.
Outside Tel Aviv
“Yes, that’s it,” Foxmann told Metzer. He pulled the SUV over to the side of the road. “Haifa is being hit with poison gas even as we speak. One of my teams is staging there. Says it’s some type of nerve agent that destroys gas mask filters. The masks are proving useless.”
“How the hell are they talking then?”
“They witnessed it from a distance. People were tearing their masks off, screaming in agony then dropping. They pulled out before more hit.”
“Jessy?” It was Grozner. “Our forces are retreating back approximately five miles from their advance because our armor has been knocked out in massive quantities. We have to find the source of these drone signals. Report to your men immediately and stand by.”
“Will do.”
Tel Aviv
“Every available aircraft is bombing the areas of approach where our forces encountered the anti-tank missiles,” Grozner told Metzer. “We’ll level every hill, mound or mountain to get our advance underway again. We’re losing precious time.”
Metzer, for a second, didn’t appear to listen. Something on his screen caught his eye. “Satellites detecting massive columns of tanks and vehicles starting to cross into Iraq. We wondered about how they would respond. Well, we’re witnessing it.”
“We should take Lebanon before they cross into Syria. Be a better buffer to hit them from.”
“Also, I see the Saudi forces are mobilizing. They haven’t moved from their bases yet. They’re waiting for word from the government. Apparently all the pleas from the United States didn’t amount to much.”
“We will have to remove their Air Force. We can’t allow them to support the army in any way.”
“I’ll get on it.”
“I cannot understand why the Palestinians are not getting involved,” Grozner said. “I’m sure they have rockets that can cause some commotion. But they seem to be sitting it out.”
“I’ve ordered a blackout of all signals in the West Bank and Gaza. If they see that we are retreating in Lebanon that will embolden them to try something on their end. We may get some rockets out of this. That should be all. We don’t need to get tangled up in those territories with the storm we’re facing.”
The White House
“That’s the latest we have,” Mitchell told Anderson who was leaning over his shoulder looking at the screen. “The Saudis have pretty much shut us out. They tell us after what’s been done to their people, their motivation isn’t just justice, it’s revenge. You should see the size of the protests in Riyadh.”
“Has the danger of the cloud dissipated yet?”
“Yes, it’s no more. They’re also cleaning up the site. But we’re looking at up to five million people contaminated by it. There’s going to be a hell of an influx of skin cancers.”
“I want to personally call the King and appeal for him to stand down. I’ll also offer to protect the oil fields if he feels vulnerable to an Israeli strike.”
“Tel Aviv will flip if you do that.”
“Things are becoming too unpredictable now. I don’t care if they do flip. We have to contain this thing and snuff it as soon as possible. I’m on the final year of my presidency. I don’t want to go down as the man who watched the world burn before him and was helpless. What about Europe?”
“Car bombs all over Paris. Gunmen hitting an open marketplace in Berlin. More gunmen opened fire in London and Amsterdam.”
“We could be next.”
“I know. We’ve heightened our security in every possible way.”
“Back to the Middle East. What if the Israelis disregard our threat to protect the oil fields? They attack anyway even though we have men on the ground.”
“I shudder to think it. Then we have the option of running away with our tail between our legs or actually fighting back. If I do put people there and an Israeli strike is detected coming for them, they will fight back. That’s just common sense.” He sat down behind the desk. “By the way, how would we go about this?”
“A couple of brigades from 82nd airborne could handle guarding the fields. We equip them with Patriot missiles, give helicopters to scout with, our own aircraft stationed in Saudi Arabia will provided an effective defense.”
The president was thumbing through the morning paper when an article caught his eye. “Says the OPEC countries will gather to determine whether or not to impose an embargo against Israel. Why was this not included in the presidential daily briefing?”
Metzer shook his head.
“If OPEC starts flexing its muscles, it’s going to send prices sky high here. I mean this is the summer we could have six or seven dollars or even more for a gallon of gas.”
“Perhaps we need a representative to meet with them.”
“Won’t do any good. They get their mind set on a price, they won’t back away from it. Remember they hate the Israelis. They’re probably loving this.”
“We can order a release from the strategic reserve.”
“I thought of that. How much space do you think that would give us if they decided to embargo without end.”
“Well, ultimately it would hurt them. It would give us a few months. But there would be a rise anyway because of what’s going on over there right now. Have you checked the latest prices?”
“Gone up a few cents,” the president said. “We could be sitting on a stack of cards about ready to collapse. All it needs is one quick pull from the deck and the whole thing will crumble. We’ll see prices like we never imagined.”
“Perhaps if you put our people in those fields, the gesture may send some strong message for them not to raise prices. They might still embargo Israel but we could be spared a lot of the pain and we can still supply Israel with our oil.”
“I thought about that. On one hand, getting ready to smack them across the face if they try anything. On the other, sending them precious natural resources to survive. Quite a situation.” The president co
uldn’t recall any time in history when such a dilemma faced an administration. He slapped the desk. “I’ve got it,” he said, exuberance in his voice. Like he was about to reveal a long-lost secret. “What if we get the warring parties to meet. We broker a cease-fire only for as long as the meeting takes place.”
“I’d recommend getting the U.N. on board,” Mitchell said. “They made no noise since their first proposal. Maybe NATO as well.”
“NATO will be more useful if we have to hold the oil fields. But in your life, have you ever seen such a shit sandwich befall an administration?”
Mitchell shook his head. “Sometimes in history, calamity falls on those who want least to deal with it. We’ve been dealt this hand, we have to play it all the way to the end.”
“I’m going to get a hold of Rasmuth. I’ve never had a close relationship with him but maybe that works to my advantage. At least if he starts being difficult, I wouldn’t be expecting it.”
Mitchell chuckled. “That’s a good way to look at it.”
“Now on to other things. What of the situation of the embassy in Cairo?”
Cairo
5:17 P.M.
The embassy was a tall multistory office building that sat enclosed by a graffiti-scarred concrete wall. Next to it was the ambassador’s residence protected by those same walls. Ever since the place had been taken over, the captors had flown the black ISIS flag signifying their identity. Carlson knew they were not ISIS. They were probably Hezbollah trained and this would be considered probing the response of the United States. Now all those terrorists in the embassy knew they were not going to live. So be it to them. This was a test. And Carlson was going to make damn sure the U.S. passed it.