“We copy, can you land, repeat, can you land?”
“If I can land on a carrier, I can land on this road. It will be a little bumpy, but it looks flat and hard packed. I’ll land behind her,” Hinni said.
Hinni gave himself ample room, slowed and positioned himself for landing. He dropped his landing gear down and put the plane down onto the road way. He hit his rear thrusters and the plane slowed as he easily maneuvered it down the road. He taxied until he could clearly see the figure he’d passed in the distance. He moved forward and saw the person stop ahead of him. He grabbed a water bottle and opened the cowling over the cockpit. He took a slender rope ladder and slung it over the side. He climbed down the ladder and ran the remaining distance over to Madeleine.
“Legionnaire?” he shouted as he approached.
As he approached he saw that the person was female. She crumpled to the ground as he approached. He kneeled in the sand beside her and brought the water bottle to her lips. At first he splashed some onto her lips and a trickle into her mouth. She reached up her hand and guided the bottle to her lips. She drank in gulps until he moved the bottle.
“Careful, you have to go slow at first. I’ve got more in the plane,” Hinni said pushing the matted hair away from her face. He could see that she was trying to speak and moved his ear closer to her mouth.
“I thought you were another mirage,” Madeleine managed to croak.
“I’m not a mirage, but I flew here in one,” he said as he lifted her up in his arms and carried her back to the plane. “I have to put you over my shoulder,” he said as he grabbed the rungs of the ladder. She seemed light and wasted from dehydration. He easily lifted her up and into the navigation seat immediately behind his. “I’ll give you this water if you promise to drink it slowly,” he said as he buckled her harness. He managed to get a flight helmet on her, with the oxygen feed open and hanging from one side of the helmet. “I am going to fly low. If I tell you to, put this over your mouth like this,” Hinni said placing the oxygen feed over her mouth momentarily.
“Promise,” Madeleine managed to say.
Hinni slid into the pilot’s seat and strapped himself in.
“We’re in a borrowed plane. I am a Legionnaire,” Hinni said as he lowered the cowling into place securing it from the inside.
“Someone told me you’d come,” he heard as he pulled on his helmet and fired the engines. He taxied a short distance and pulled back on the throttle picking up speed. He proceeded cautiously until he was airborne and then pushed the throttle forward, gaining altitude. No more hiding, he thought as he pushed the plane back towards Jerusalem and his extraction point.
Israeli Air Force pilot Aaron Cohen turned his F-4 Phantom in the direction of the Judean Desert. He had been on routine patrol in Israeli airspace watching for any incursion by the Syrian Air Force. While he was on his way towards the Syrian border he was alerted by his command that someone had stolen a Mirage III from an Israeli testing facility. His information was that it went off the radar screen just short of the Judean desert.
He hoped the patrol would be uneventful; his wingman was some distance away and could be called in if he encountered any enemy aircraft or the Mirage. The only rational explanation for the loss of the Mirage was that either the Egyptians or the Syrians had stolen it. He knew the missing plane was still being tested, and he also knew it was fast.
Cohen looked at his instruments and scanned the horizon. He was about to report in when a shrill alarm went off in the cockpit. A jet had a radar lock on him and that meant it was ready to fire.
Turning his head, he tried to locate the position of the aircraft when he saw the missing Mirage blazed through the sky immediately in front of him. The plane that had him in its sights was behind him and ready to blow him out of the sky. Glancing at the picture of his wife and children pasted to the side of his instrument panel, he began evasive maneuvers and a prayer
Hinni was just exiting the desert keeping his Mirage low to the ground when he saw two Syrian MiG-21’s come out of the sun and engage a lone Israeli fighter. His cockpit alarm sounded that someone had a radar lock on his plane. In aerial combat involving jets, decisions were made instantaneously. The Israeli in the Phantom was as good as dead, unless he intervened. Hinni hit his afterburners and shot up off the deck. He armed his sidewinders. Locking onto the MiGs, he fired twice.
The sidewinders ripped out from the underbelly of the Mirage, tearing towards the MiGs. Both jets exploded
“Mirage, Mirage this is IAF Phantom A3 22, good shooting. I repeat, good shooting. Mirage please answer,” Cohen yelled into his mike. Hinni had been ordered not to engage the enemy and he wrestled with not answering the Phantom’s pilot. Making a snap decision, he keyed his mike and responded to the Phantom
“Israeli Mirage on special ops mission, glad to assist. Expect more MiGs in your vicinity. Scramble a sortie, your coordinates immediately,” Hinni answered.
“Who do I thank?” the pilot asked.
Hinni engaged the mike one last time, “Mirage returning to base.” Hinni held the mike open a few seconds longer and hummed a few bars of an old Legion marching song, before he disengaged the connection. He knew that might get him in trouble, but probably less than shooting down two MiGs. “What the hell,” he muttered, peeling off and resuming course towards his destination.
“You okay back there?” he said, pulling his air mask away from his mouth.
“Much better now, Legionnaire, that was exciting,” Madeleine said hoarsely.
“Do you mind not mentioning that to anyone right away? I’d like time to think of a suitable excuse,” Hinni said.
“I won’t tell anyone. It’s not their business,” Madeleine said.
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Hinni said.
“Call me Madeleine, please. And thank you.”
“I’m just the messenger. Somebody called my CO, somebody that wouldn’t take no for an answer. That’s all I know,” Hinni explained.
“I must have a guardian angel,” Madeleine answered, wondering who would have known to send the Legion. She was still wondering when her exhaustion took over and she drifted to sleep clutching the bottle of water to her chest.
CHAPTER THIRY-NINE
Berthold Hartmann found himself sitting in an emergency cabinet meeting called by Prime Minister Meir.
“The Egyptians and Syrians crossed our border, timing it to coincide with the start of Yom Kippur, a holy day,” Defense Minister Moshe Dayan said venomously. “Both Syria and Egypt sent fighters and ground troops in at the same time. We have been pushed back on both fronts and are suffering heavy losses.”
“Defense Minister,” Prime Minister Meir said, “It seems that you miscalculated the resolve and effectiveness of the Egyptians and the Syrians, expecting an easy victory. Given the current state of affairs, what do you suggest we do?”
“We should consider retreating to the Mitleh Mountains and abandon the Golan Heights, for now, regroup and carry the battle over the Jordan,” Dayan said.
“I disagree,” Hartmann uncharacteristically interrupted. “Our core military doctrine has been to take the war into enemy territory as soon as possible.”
“How will you accomplish that?” Dayan challenged.
“Give no more ground and push back. The Mossad is prepared to strike directly at the heart of the enemy as we speak. We will pursue a guerilla attack on a Syrian airbase, from within Syria, and simultaneously strike within Egypt. In my experience,” Hartmann said standing and turning to Dayan, the best strategy is to carry the battle to the enemy, not to retreat.”
Dayan stood, a retort on his lips, when Prime Minister Meir said, “Enough. We will not run, not to the mountains or away from the Golan Heights. Bring everything we have in reserve and push back. Scramble the entire air force and strike back all at once. Minister Hartmann, you have the full force of my government behind you. Send in your agents with my blessings and unwavering belief in their abilities.”
“May I speak?” Dayan said.
“Yes Minister?” Meir said in a tone clearly not inviting argument.
“I recognize that you have made your decision and I will not venture anything else on the subject at this point. But as Defense Minister I believe that I should be privy to any information we have concerning the Mirage that went missing and then was miraculously returned to a football pitch in downtown Jerusalem,” Dayan said, looking directly at Hartmann who looked right back at Dayan without expression.
“I was told the Mirage shot down two Syrian MiGs on our border,” Hartmann replied.
“You are saying you know nothing about it?” Dayan said.
Hartmann raised his palms and spread his hands as if to say, who knows?
Dayan was clearly not finished. “We intercepted this radio transmission between the Mirage and our pilot, Dayan pushed a button on the desk in front of him and a faintly audible but garbled recording of pilots Cohen and Hinni played over the speaker. The last audible tones of Hinni’s hummed farewell were heard as the tape ended.
The ministers looked at one another, clearly not recognizing the significance of the few bars of music. Hartmann and Meir knew what they represented; they were the opening cords to Le Boudin, the signature song of the French Foreign Legion.
“Does anyone know what this means?” Dayan asked.
Both Hartmann and Meir immediately took great interest in the sheaf of papers in front of them, avoiding Dayan’s gaze, but not before Meir shot a quick glance at Hartmann, catching his eye. The other ministers shook their heads along with Hartmann and Meir.
“Enough of collateral matters,” Prime Minister Meir said projecting her voice. “We have a counter attack to mobilize.”
When the cabinet meeting broke up, Prime Minister Meir pulled Hartmann aside as the ministers rose to leave and carry out their designated responsibilities. Meir whispered in Hartmann’s ear, “The French Foreign Legion? You are a resourceful man.” Hartmann gave Meir one of his rare smiles, gently patted her on the shoulder and walked out of the room.
Madeleine sat propped up on a makeshift hospital bed at the new safe house. A tube ran down from a saline drip into her arm as she looked at her husband and friends gathered around the foot of the bed.
“How do you feel?” Karen said reaching out and squeezing Madeleine’s foot.
“Fortunate, given the mistakes I made in the last few days. Physically, I feel better with each passing hour. I will be ready to get up soon enough.”
“Madeleine, you almost died in the desert,” Jack said abruptly. “We thought you were lost.”
“I was never lost, I just didn’t know if I’d be able to walk out of there after being stranded by the assassin our ‘friends’ sent out to kill me,” Madeleine answered. “I’ll give you the full story later. It suffices to say for now that if the Legion hadn’t shown up, I would have died. I couldn’t have walked much further.”
“The war started with the Yom Kippur holiday,” John said, moving closer to the side of the bed. “That means that our time schedule is being moved up. We need to retrieve Tracy now, while the Syrians’ attention is focused on the war.”
“Yes. While the war dictates our time table, it also allows the Mossad to openly assist us in rescuing Tracy. Director Hartmann has told me that he has been authorized by the Prime Minister and the Knesset to attack the facility where Tracy is being held. We can accomplish both missions at the same time. We may not be able to return to Israel, and will probably have to follow John’s escape plan and fly out that way,” Madeleine said. “We’ll have at least one other agent with us when we infiltrate the compound and retrieve Tracy.”
“The more help the better,” Karen said. “Knowing where they might be holding him makes the waiting so much harder.”
“Remember Karen, it’s our best intelligence only. We have no guarantee that Tracy’s there,” John cautioned.
“I can feel it, John,” Karen said. “It just makes practical sense that the Syrians would want to keep their hostage during the early stages of their war, so they can wait and use him when he gives them an advantage.”
“I agree,” Madeleine said nodding her head. “We must remember, whatever plans the PLO might have had for Tracy are trumped by the Syrians and what they think is the best course of action regarding him.”
“It’s clear to me that whatever they decide will happen quickly,” Jack said.
“Hartmann told me that the Israelis are going to push back hard in the next couple of days. Further, that since the Syrians and Egyptians were the aggressors, Kissinger and the White House have authorized significant support. I don’t know if there will be any assistance in rescuing Tracy. I haven’t been privy to that information,” Madeleine said.
“My guess is that the NSA or CIA or whoever, made a deal with the Mossad, charging them with the duty of retrieving Tracy,” Jack said.
“That could be,” John said. “Now they can kill two birds with one stone. I hope they’ve shared whatever information they have with the Israelis.”
“Then this is our best chance,” Madeleine said lowering her legs over the side of the bed.
“I know what your answer will be, Madeleine, but I have to ask the question,” Jack said sitting next to Madeleine on the bed. “You had a horrible ordeal all alone out there in the desert. Are you recovered enough to go forward?”
“I never felt alone,” Madeleine said. “I’ll make it. Besides, I have a debt to repay and my godson to find. Like the rest of you, I’m tired of this. I want to get Tracy and go home.”
“Then let’s get started,” Jack said. “I’ll phone Ariel and ask her to assemble her team. We will need to cross enemy lines and may encounter a battlefield. On the other side of it, we’ll be infiltrating a hostile country. We’ll need a foolproof plan to pull it off.”
“You make it sound so easy,” Karen said. “Madeleine, I’m sure you’re hungry. I’ll make everyone something to eat. Is there anything in particular you would like, Madeleine?”
“Wine.”
“Do you think that’s a good idea right now?” Jack said.
“Oh, the English,” Madeleine answered. “You would think by now, they would know better than to question the French about wine,” Madeleine said as the others laughed, happy to see her strength returning.
CHAPTER FORTY
Syrian Army Colonel Adad Al Diri sat behind a small metal desk in his office and looked at Al Lubnani. Al Lubnani sat on an uncomfortable metal chair and tried to plead his case. Al Diri commanded the Syrian Army base and was focused on the attack on Israel that had started. Outside of his window, equipment and troops were being loaded onto trucks destined for the front; now well inside of Israeli territory. He commanded several thousand eager young men, most of whom were children during Syria’s defeat during the disastrous Six Day War with Israel. In 1967 his country lost the Golan Heights. Egypt lost the Gaza and Sinai, while the Jordanians gave up the West Bank and East Jerusalem. It had been a costly defeat for all three countries. Al Diri had been in the Syrian army when it was pushed back over the existing borders. He took that as a personal defeat, and now there were far more soldiers eager for revenge.
Israel had been the aggressor at the outset of the Six Day War, any notion that it had been a preemptive strike was mere propaganda. The Jews had picked a fight that Al Diri was happy to revisit. The sneak attack on the Egyptian air force would not be repeated, and thus not set the tenor for the rest of the conflict. Perhaps this time, the whole of Israel would be taken. His troops would have the ample air support that was crucial to their success.
The PLO was a distraction that Al Diri could do without. He was a soldier, and he felt that they fought without honor, using terror tactics, and never directly faced their enemies. Al Lubnani was taking valuable time away from the early stages of what his superiors expected to be a resounding victory. Al Lubnani was an irritant and a member of an organization that he knew would lose favor once Syria�
��s victory was assured.
“We need the agent for an attack on the US Embassy, Colonel. Your superiors were made aware of that fact when we gave you our prisoner for temporary safe keeping,” Al Lubnani said.
“Things have changed. We will be keeping the prisoner and do with him as we see fit. The war is going in our favor and we don’t want to overtly antagonize the Americans at this juncture. They have already started to send all manner of supplies to the enemy,” Al Diri said, lighting a Russian cigarette with a match he struck on the bare surface of the desk. He extinguished the match and intentionally blew his smoke out directly at Al Lubnani in a dismissive manner.
“I must protest,” Al Lubnani said, moving his face out of the direction of the smoke.
“That may be, but when we and our allies stand victorious at the end of what may well be a short campaign, we will be the ones that decide your fate. I would think the Palestinians would want to do everything in their power not to anger the countries that are fighting their war for them. If Palestine is to be a sovereign nation, it will be because we allow it. So, go away and let me get back to the defeat of Israel.”
“I meant no disrespect, Colonel. I am merely suggesting that my organization would like to participate in the victory,” Al Lubnani said.
“Your organization, while good intentioned, is not a trained military fighting force. Leave that to us. I’m sure you will explain that diplomatically to your superiors. Now leave me, I have a war to win,” Al Diri said with a dismissive wave of his hand.
“I thank you for your wise counsel,” Al Lubnani said as he stood and left the room. Pompous ass, he added silently.
Tracy sat in a room in the security area of the Syrian base. The room was locked but was not intended for discomfort. He began to have some hope of making it out of his ordeal alive. He had observed Russian military advisors on his way from the transport helicopter into the building. This time he hadn’t been forced to wear a hood and his hands were loosely bound. He understood Russian, and picked up from their conversations that the Arab allies had won the first battles of the war. He could tell from the numerous takeoffs and landings that something big was underway.
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