by Isaac Stormm
“No. That’s why we can’t send you in by chopper. You’ll have a Russian made Jeep dropped with you. It’s too far to sling load it under a chopper so that’s why you must go in by parachute. Supplied with it will be cameras, thermal imaging scopes and enough supplies to last two days. You will have the capability of uploading your images immediately with your tablets. It’ll send us the info all the way back to the Secretary of Defense’s desk. And I assure you he’ll be expecting it.”
“I assume no enemy contact,” Foxmann asked.
“None. If you do get discovered, call for an extract immediately and get the hell out. You’ll leave tonight at 2200 hours. Be taken to an airbase we’re using not far from here.” He walked to his desk and picked up a manila folder and handed it to Carlson. “There’s satellite photos of the base and the terrain around it. You boys study it good… Sergeant Ormsby?”
He appeared at the door in a second.
“Oh, yes. Forgot to mention that the Iranian’s have a large armored force in Syria, now. Doesn’t relate to you directly, just wanted to let you know the latest news. They have Russian jets providing air cover, even though Moscow denies it”
He looked over to Ormsby. “Take these gentleman to the supply hut and see that they get what they need.”
“Yes, sir… Major, if you’ll come with me.”
Carlson rose and shook the general’s hand.
“If I don’t see you no more before you go…Well you’ve heard it all before.”
“Thank you, General,” Carlson said and received a pat on the back from the man. Kohler shook the others’ hands as they passed.
The group stepped out into the sunlight and headed toward one of the large tan tents that was being powered by a low revving generator sitting off to the side. Ormsby held the flap open and let them enter first. “Gibbs!”
There was a long desk with aisles of clothing and equipment behind it. From the back of one of the aisles, a short balding man in a tan T-shirt and camo pants hustled toward them. “Yes, Sergeant.”
“These men are Special Forces. You know the drill.”
“Yes, Sergeant.” He motioned to them. “Come with me, sir, I’ll help you with what you need.”
Right then, Carlson thought back over the incredible tempo of actions he’d been in these last days. Somehow, everything was lining up with Russia. Even the Egyptian sideshow with ISIS. He needed to know more, and he surmised the coming mission would fill in a lot of the blanks.
Mecca
9:47 A.M.
“Colonel,” the radio called.
Foxmann saw the solitary figure with a white flag slowly walking down the street just off to his left, his shadow casting like a giant off the building sides and street before him. “Stand by.” Foxmann hurried down the stairs into the courtyard. “I need someone down here, now.”
A man came running out to him. “Yes, Colonel.”
“Stillman? I need a man to go out. We got a white flag situation. We’ll make sure you are well covered.” Foxmann placed his hand on the man’s shoulder. “They stay outside this time. Ask them what they want then relay their response over the radio.”
“Will do.”
“Open the eastern door.”
Foxmann went up on the second story to look out the window at his man as he approached the Saudi who he saw was not an officer but enlisted man.
When Stillman was a few feet away, the Saudi began speaking perfect Hebrew to him. “Shalom,” he responded. Then he started speaking Arabic. “What do you want?”
“My general says there is no point in further bloodshed. It is time we end this hostility for the benefit of all. Our proposal is that you surrender within one hour. You have the guarantee of not only my general but the Saudi government that you will be treated in accordance with the Geneva Conventions if you do. If you don’t, there will be no mercy shown.”
“My dear fellow, look around you.” He nodded his head toward the nearest fire truck blasted and burned black, still giving off whiffs of smoke. The stack of bodies was becoming ripe and the smell strong to the nostrils. “You seem to have a knack for underestimating our capabilities. The Israeli government says halt any type of military action underway or planned against Israel and you can have this beautiful place back. We will leave. But if you don’t, you know what will happen.”
The Saudi took a step further and Stillman stepped back and with one hand curled around the grip, pointed his carbine at the man’s belly.
“It is alright,” the man said, throwing his hands up. “I just want to speak to you soldier to soldier.”
“Go ahead.”
“This war we have going on here has grave consequences for the Jewish people. The religion of Islam has been awakened, and its followers want vengeance for you blaspheming this most holy place. Give up now or see the entire breadth of Islam destroy your nation.”
Stillman nodded slightly. “There’s a flip side to that coin. Israel has the capability to destroy any threat large or small. Do not push us. And here, we are not afraid of becoming martyrs for our land. Whether you storm us or try to outwait us. In the end, we will be victorious.”
“Then in one hour, perhaps we will see.” He rolled the white flag up, tucked it under his arm and turned to walk away. Then he stopped, turned around and said in Hebrew, “You really don’t understand the consequences of what you’ve done, do you?”
“We know enough.” He responded in his native tongue and watched the man walk off for a few more seconds with his finger still on the trigger, then he too turned around. “How did I do, Jessy?”
“Very good. Better than I would have.” The two met as the gate closed. “Thank you, Stillman. You can return to your post.”
The enlisted man laid the flag on the hood of a Humvee as Al-Bashir approached. Standing behind him watching like surrogate parents were the Crown Prince and imam. When he met the enlisted man he took him to the two.
He stood at attention. “I gave them your demands. They still refused,” he said.
“Then we’ve no choice. We will attack in one hour.” He squinted his eyes at the Crown Prince. “I have your permission of course?”
“Absolutely,” he nodded. The imam did too.
“We already have missile teams in place to take out the minarets. They will be the ones who initiate the attack. The ground and air will hit simultaneously one minute afterward.”
“I will lead the ground element in prayer just before,” the imam said. “I want the missile teams and air units to hear me by radio.”
“That will be arranged, of course.” Al-Bashir looked at his watch. “We have less than fifty minutes to go.”
Foxmann made a deep sigh. “I’m preparing for what may be the largest and final attack. Don’t know if we’ll be able to hold it off. I am going to take up position near the weapons so I can set the timers at short notice. I figure it’s less than an hour before they come.”
“Foxmann, we have figured there may be a way out,” Metzer said. “It can’t be done in less than an hour, however. The only way is if you can hold them longer. Up to fifteen minutes beyond and we should be there.”
“Should is not a very reassuring word, Metzer. I need something more concrete.”
“Can’t give it to you.”
“Ok. How?”
“We’re going to blast a path through for you. Every identifiable target outside the mosque will be hit. So will every structure along all of the roads, except one. You’ll use the road directly in front of the south gate to get away, head straight to the coast for rendezvous with a submarine. Get a pen and right down the coordinates I give you.”
“I don’t have any way to get all my men out. Just a single ATV.” He started writing the coordinates on a notepad.
“I’m afraid that’s all we can do, Jessy. You’ll have to come up with a way.”
“That’s not feasible. I’ve brought most of my men to truly die here. So will I. It’s only fair.”
&nb
sp; “No, it isn’t, Colonel.” Another voice he couldn’t see on the tablet. Then the view shifted to Grozner. “You wanted a way. And you’ve got one. You are ordered to take it. You—”
The screen went blank.
He tried tapping the on /off button. The tablet worked, the communication didn’t. Something was wrong. It wasn’t the batteries, it just came off the charger. No, this was deliberate. “All sections check your tablets.” All reported negative feeds. It was jamming. Somehow, the Saudis had found a way to intercept the frequency. Worse would be if they had spied on his previous commo with Tel Aviv. “Do you still have drone feeds?” “Negative,” came the reply. That also meant The GoPros operating on the same frequency were also useless. He ripped his off and ordered the others to do the same.
The shit was hitting the fan a lot sooner than he anticipated. He tapped his mic button. “I want everyone to hear this if you’ve ever heard anything I’ve ever said. We came here to do a job that we all knew we would likely never come back from. You all have performed only as heroes could. And you will be remembered as long as Israel exists. I received word from Tel Aviv that we will have help arrive, but it might not be in time. I’ve been ordered to get out if it does. But doing so means I could only take a couple of men with me. I’ve decided it’s not worth losing the rest of you. So…We will all go down together if it comes to that.”
“Don’t do it boss.” The sound came in back of him. It was David, carrying his tablet under his arm like a school book. “I think I’m speaking for everyone when I say somebody has to make it out of here. They have to at least try to get back to Israel and tell the story firsthand of what happened here. Please. It can be like Masada, but we don’t want it to be. You are our best representative. I pledge that we hold it until aid arrives and you get your chance.”
“Gil, I—”
“Please, boss,” he interrupted. “You go and we stay and try to hold this place as long as possible.” He produced his code. “I’m ready when you are.”
Foxmann couldn’t say anything. David had floored him. What does one say to such devotion. He knew all of them had it all along and it only impressed him more. He reached into his pocket and retrieved his code.
“When the next attack starts, meet me at the nukes.”
“Will do.” He left him and disappeared into a doorway.
“Damn it,” Foxmann muttered. Was he going to take the chance and go when the time came? His conscious leaned on him to do it. It was befit with the agony that he would be leaving his command to its fate. Yes. He had to. That’s what everyone was expecting him to do. He would take a couple of people, but knew he could fit only three. Who would be the other two? He couldn’t make that choice. Somebody else had to. He rubbed the sweat from his eyes and just as soon wished they were tears. His heart wanted to explode in frustration from his chest. This was the penalty of being a commander and he knew he must bite down on it and face the impossible questions. He looked up at the sky absent of cloud then back over the still immaculate courtyard and architecture. Thus far, the mosque had shrugged off the worst of battle. He shook his head in knowing things wouldn’t remain that way long, as he expected the Saudis would try to blast them out this next time.
“Is there any way to reach them?” Grozner demanded. Dread filled his conscious with each passing minute. His force was on its own for the time being. Surely, Metzer and Philpot’s people could find some way to reconnect with Foxmann. They had to.
“This was most unexpected,” Metzer shook his head. “Every scenario we tested showed the signal was secure. Somehow they found a way. And I don’t know how.”
“Level with me. Do you think any of them have a chance in hell of getting out?”
“Prime Minister. Frankly, no. Not a chance in the world. My guess is if they did get out, they’d be killed before they reached the coast. Another thing is, we’ll be putting our sub at risk for this.”
“We’ve at least got to try.” Grozner’s brow was bent in a v shape intense in thought. “It’s worth the risk.”
The sub would be on its return route through the Red Sea. It would send a shore party to retrieve the men. How long they could remain there was being determined, but not more than a few hours. Metzer showed Grozner the layout of the extraction site. It was spartan and rocky, absent of any nearby human dwellings. Didn’t matter though if Foxmann had the Saudi army on his tail. He could see it now, a huge plume from a hundred vehicles covered by roving choppers or aircraft chasing him to the coast.
The signal flickered on the laptops’ screens. “We’ve got something, Prime Minister,” Metzer said, excited. “The feed is coming through. We found an alternate signal, but we don’t know how secure it is.”
“Foxmann, can you hear me?” Grozner’s voice was elevated like he was speaking in an empty hall.
“Yes. But I can’t see you.”
“Very well. This line may be unsecure. You will be given cover until you leave the city. After that you’re on your own, until you reach the coast. You have the coordinates. A shore party will be waiting. There will be no further contact until then.”
“As you wish.”
“Good luck, my friend.”
“Section commanders, give me a sitrep on your wounded.” Foxmann wanted to visit each section, make them play an age-old game—rock, paper, scissors—to determine who went with him. That way, crude as it may have been, it would avoid the agony of personally selecting someone.
When he reached Talbert’s, the consensus was Talbert should go. None of the wounded wanted to make the trip. No way. They wanted their commander in their place. Talbert pleaded with them to play the game. They would have none of it. So in the end Talbert was selected. And finally, Gil David, who protested the most. The second-in-command officers would assume the commanders’ position once they left the gates.
“I don’t approve of this,” Foxmann said when the three gathered. They had the sullen look of having the rug pulled out from under them. The disappointment showed in their half-hearted scowls “But there it is. That’s what they want. We have to try to see it through. When the shooting starts, we stay with our men until help arrives in the form of an air attack. Once that begins, make your way to the vehicle and pray at least one gate is clear. If not, we fight where we stand.”
Foxmann looked at his watch. He had no doubt the Air Force was good. He only hoped they could tell time. “Ok. Now let’s keep our sanity while the wait goes on.” He knew over the past 24 hours that he would never again serve with finer commanders or men. No, it was longer than that. Ever since the attack on the nuke site in Iran. That was when he knew how well they gelled when in combat. Their first time testing the expeditionary capability. Virgins until that mission was complete. Now proven, they were magnificent.
The two men returned to their posts and Foxmann went and looked the ATV over. Full tank. Check. Extra cans of gas. It had two. Now he hoped the designer’s specifications of 60 miles per hour which he hadn’t quite ever gone would match reality. It better, he’d be driving.
“Chopper!” the headset blared. He darted back toward the minaret, hearing the distant engine between the pounding blood in his ears. He stopped on the second story, got down on a knee well away from the window ledge and tried to spot it. It was a Black Hawk. They drifted past his field of view for a second, then continued in a circle around the mosque keeping distance of about a mile. Death wish. He was well within Stinger range. Down the hall about 60 feet one was prepped to fire. The operator placed it on his shoulder, cocked the homing lever and a barely audible buzz lasted about five seconds before it became a loud whistle in his ear. His finger began to squeeze the trigger. His head exploded in large crimson chunks that sprayed upon his comrades, who gasped in horror before they slammed themselves to the ground.
Foxmann watched the limp body gyrate then twirl into a headless heap to the ground. Snipers were active again.
His eyes turned away from the bloody sight. He never hear
d the rifle’s distant report like he had the others before he was up and running past the mess on the way to the minaret stairs.
“Can we still use the drones?”
“We got them back online,” came an answer.
The four drones lifted off one by one and sped off over the walls of the mosque.
A shriek grew by the second followed by a muffled pop, then a hissing sound that could be heard from inside the mosque. More pops and the hissing grew louder. A white cloud began to form, shapeless at first then morphing into a giant wall which descended like a giant cape over the mosque.
Foxmann’s tongue tingled and his throat burned. “Gas!” he yelled, and whipped out his mask from the small pack riding behind his left hip. He took off his helmet and pulled the rubberized device against his face, securing the straps tight. He looked out from two polycarbonate lenses and saw the fog creep through the windows and swirl about inside. He looked back and saw it fall silently onto the courtyard and spread across it like cream over a dessert dish. He saw men running through it, the gas curling about the wind their bodies produced. Then he realized this was the prelude. “Everybody prepare for attack.” More pops echoed over the courtyard and the cloud continued to expand over the mosque. Foxmann could taste its acidity on his tongue, the odor teasing his nostrils to begin pouring and the involuntary heaving he was on the verge of. So, slow and deliberate through the filter he breathed. The warm air being inhaled kept the choking away, allowing his respiratory system to function.
Then the hissing subsided, the sound replaced by turbines, many and distant.
“Choppers inbound. This is it,” he called. He could see nothing out the window. He rushed to the ledge and stuck his head out trying to find any opening in the gas cloud. Nothing but white.
The turbine hums were replaced by the sound of thrashing blades. There was no method of determining direction. It was all around and the floor underneath him began to vibrate. He headed for the minaret stairs and began his climb. There was a loud bang above him. He heard the debris coming down. He turned and sped down the steps, losing his balance. The wreckage of the minaret slammed into him and covered him as the rocks rolled over. His arms hurt and were scarred by streaming blood streaks. He rose to a knee and shook off the debris. His whole body ached like it had been pummeled by a sledge hammer.