by Harold
The rock exploded with abrupt violence, sending shattered stones in all directions.
Everybody hit the deck.
Breezy found himself cheek by jowl with Rami Hamadeh, the IDF liaison officer for the Amasha militia. The American raised his face from the sandy soil. “Welcome to the war, Lieutenant.”
Hamadeh crayfished several meters along the base of the rock wall, then raised his head for a quick look. Breezy was quick to offer an opinion. “Nothin’ to see out there?”
“The sniper could be anywhere. He will keep up a harassing fire until he tires of the game.”
“Or until we nail his sorry ass.” Breezy looked around for Leopole or Barrkman. “That’s the trouble with countersnipers. They’re like cops. Never one around when you want one.”
Lacking an appreciation for American humor, Hamadeh ignored the flippant statement. Instead, he rolled onto his back, cupped his hands around his mouth, and shouted to the Dashika crew atop the nearby house. The gunner replied with a question while his loader and spotter seemed awestruck. In moments it was apparent why.
Pointing to their right, Hamadeh said, “Go there, ten-fifteen meters and watch for snipers. Anywhere that looks possible.”
Once Breezy was in position, the Druze officer stood and pulled his binoculars from their case. He began scanning the terrain, seemingly looking for the offending Hezbollah shooter or shooters. In a few seconds he lowered the glasses and began walking along the wall.
Mark Brezyinski had seen enough displays of bravado in his life to recognize genuine courage when he saw it. He thought: Great big brass ones. Those gomers got the windage dialed in. All they need is a little elevation and this guy’s bore-sighted. Then he returned his scan to the surrounding terrain.
Hamadeh stopped, turned around, and jogged back. He passed behind Breezy and went several more paces in a long, slow lope, then halted again.
Another rifle shot split the air. It passed somewhere above the living decoy.
Hamadeh remained in place, peering through his binoculars again. He remained until another round snapped out, apparently from a different location. The IDF man went to his knees and turned toward the elevated machine gun. At that moment the Russian weapon pounded out an authoritative tattoo: six- and eight-round bursts traversing a couple of likely spots.
Breezy crawled on hands and knees to join the officer. “I couldn’t see anything. But, Lieutenant, you’re gonna check into a Dragunov round one of these times.”
Hamadeh unzipped an ironic grin. “Ah, yes, yes. Your special forces men say, ‘Rami, you will swallow a 7.62 pill.’”
“Fershure, dude.”
“Pardon?”
Breezy returned the smile. “It means, my green beanie colleagues knew what they were talkin’ about.”
Hamadeh shook his head decisively. “No, no. I will die in bed many many years away. My mother’s mother read my hand when I was born. She was never wrong.”
The former paratrooper absorbed the serious sentiment from the officer who appeared so supremely confident. “Well, I loved my grandma but I wouldn’t let her place a bet in Vegas for me, let alone set the odds on a freaking sniper!”
“Well, yes, Mr. B. Your grandmother, she was not a Druze!”
* * * *
27
NABATIYEH GOVERNATE
Essam Tawfiq was an experienced fighter but he had little knowledge of mortars. Consequently, Esmaili sent him to learn by observing so he watched closely while Rezvani’s number-two team set up its 2B14 weapon. The four men worked quickly, obviously well drilled in the process. The gunner and his assistant had established a prominent tree stump on the near horizon as their marker stake, and they could shift aim from there.
The A-gunner was friendly, apparently proud of his weapon and his role. “We can traverse a total of eight degrees, which is adequate for our need. The elevation varies between forty-five and eighty-five degrees.”
“Why is this called the Todnos?”
“I am told that it is the Russian word for ‘tray.’” The man pointed to the base plate which in fact resembled a circular serving tray.
In the gathering dusk the crew set out a pile of 3.1-kilogram shells. Meanwhile, the lead gunner consulted his compass and a topographical map of the area. He was satisfied that he had identified his firing position within several meters and felt confident of putting the first round close enough to hit with the second or third. After that he would fire three for effect, dismount the tube, plate, and tripod, and be gone in the Toyota “technical” in a matter of minutes.
As leader of the security element, Tawfiq was responsible for getting his flankers and the forward observer back to base. It was not a cheery prospect. He sidled up to Hazim. “Be prepared to move as soon as the weapon is loaded in the vehicle.”
The youngster nodded silently, fondling the case containing the dead Israeli’s night scope. The sky was still too light for the specialized optic, and much as he relished the thought of using it on a genuine target, he did not want to use up valuable tube life unnecessarily.
* * * *
NORTHERN ISRAEL
Yakov Livni was about as grumpy as a colonel can be in a general’s office. After twice insisting to Solomon Nadel’s chief of staff that a meeting was urgently required, the visitor from special operations was politely invited to cool his heels until the staff meeting was over.
Ninety-five minutes later the officers began filing out of the inner sanctum, bringing Livni to his feet. Since he outranked most of the conferees, Livni felt little reluctance in bulling his way past the juniors and barely excusing himself when he collided with other colonels. He reached the door of Nadel’s office to find the brigade commander engaged in conversation with a lieutenant colonel and a major, neither of whom took much notice of the interloper. From the murmured conversation, Livni inferred that the subject was less important than his own, so he barged ahead.
“General, thank you for seeing me on such short notice!” Livni stomped into the room, displacing the light colonel en route, and plunked a manila folder onto the desk with a resounding thud. “Since we both know that time is short, I’ll get right to the point.” He helped himself to the nearest chair, still warm from recent occupancy, and flipped the folder.
The major craned his neck, trying to assess the import of so rude an entry, but Livni slapped the folder shut. Looking up, he declared, “I’m sorry, gentlemen, but you will have to excuse us. This material is for Sol’s eyes only.”
Nadel’s expression turned from displeasure to indulgence as he nodded to the officers. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning, boys.”
When the major closed the door behind him, Nadel leaned across the desk. “Yakov, what in the hell is so damned important that you have to . . .”
Livni held up a reconnaissance photograph. Nadel took it, examined it, and handed it back. “Where was that taken?”
“Twelve kilometers south of Hasbaya. You recognize the layout.”
“It looks like an excavation for a missile site.”
The smile was back on Livni’s moon face. “You missed your calling, Solly. You should have been a photo interpreter instead of a general.”
Nadel tapped the folder. “What else do you have in there? And where did you get this material, anyway? That sort of intelligence is supposed to come . . .”
“Oh, never mind. You would see this information eventually, but because of my uncommon intellect and special connections, sometimes I get interesting items ahead of some important people. Even generals.”
Nadel sat down and opened the folder. It contained other photos and some intelligence summaries. At length he looked up. “Yakov, you’re not telling me something. This is all very interesting—even important. But it’s beyond my area of operations unless we’re about to invade Nabatiyeh Governate. And unless you just got a huge promotion, you don’t give that order.”
“Sol, let me tell you what I think.”
“As if I have a
choice.”
Livni ignored the good-natured quip. “These recon images show at least two sites within several kilometers of Hasbaya with evidence of surveying a third. Now, of course Hezbollah has long-range missiles, and certainly is willing to use them. But to what purpose? I mean, unless they’re content just to lob some occasional rockets at your headquarters and the surrounding area, what’s the point? They know it will invite retaliation.”
Nadel frowned in concentration. “Well, depending on the type of missiles, basing them there, they could hit as far south as—”
“A Fajr 5 wouldn’t reach Haifa but a Zelzal could hit Nablus, or even farther depending on the model.”
The general stood up and began pacing, as he often did when he wanted to think. “Yakov, it just doesn’t make much sense. Hezbollah doesn’t telegraph its blows like this. There’s not even any attempt at camouflage.”
“Correct.”
Nadel pulled up short. “Well then?”
“Well then, I think your boys should be more worried about what’s not evident in these pictures than what is.”
“You believe this is a deception? Something to move our focus elsewhere?”
Livni slapped the desk. “General, you show real promise. Remind me to recommend you for a promotion the next time I dine with my cousin, the deputy defense minister.”
“All right, all right. I’ll put the brigade on enhanced alert. We’ll increase patrols, looking for more infiltrators, that sort of thing.”
“It’s a good start, Sol.”
“Sure, but it’s only a start considering I don’t know what I’m looking for.”
Yakov Livni picked up the folder and prepared to leave. “That makes you a member of a big club, my friend.”
* * * *
EL-ARIAN
Two groups of men hunted through the Lebanese night, each seeking its prey without full knowledge of the other.
Using a commercial GPS unit purchased in Beirut, Tawfiq directed Rezvani’s mortar team to its predetermined firing position almost three kilometers from the village. The experienced crew needed only minutes to set up and prepare to fire, but establishing radio contact with the forward observer took longer. That vital member of the team had carefully selected his vantage point well away from the weapon site.
After ensuring that his security element was properly positioned, Tawfiq hastened back to the firing point. He found Rezvani on the radio to his FO.
“Jinn, this is Dancer. Reply.” Rezvani double-clicked the transmit button to ensure that the listener knew the message was ended. He pressed his earphones with his left hand, as if squeezing more performance from the set. Finally he looked at Tawfiq. “He was preparing himself just a moment ago.”
* * * *
Two kilometers to the west, a Litton night-vision scope was put to use. The image glowed greenly on the CRT, showing a human form via infrared heat. The viewer tweaked the focus knob. Finally Josh Wallender turned to Captain Fares. “They came where you said they would. Confirmed hostile. He has a radio and a guard.”
The Israeli Druze nodded in silent acceptance of the compliment. In truth, however, he did not consider his coup a significant achievement. Once it was known where FOs had operated previously, it was a safe bet that they would not return to those spots very often. Then it was a matter of deducing which new vantages were most useful and assigning the other two teams accordingly.
“We will wait a little,” Fares whispered. “Ayoob Slim’s team might find something as well, and we could take two observers.”
The American rolled his shoulders to ease the muscular tension. He was accustomed to hunting humans in the dark, but the stationary position led to cramps. “It’s up to you, Captain, but the longer we wait the more likely they’ll drop some rounds on the town.”
“Yes. But the first shells are almost always off target. That gives time to decide the best course.”
“But how do we know where the first rounds hit? We can’t see what the observer does because he’s always in position to do just that.”
A gunshot shattered the night. Wallender’s pulse spiked at the sonic blast. Its piercing decibels startled everyone in the group, all of whom would have dived for cover if they were not already prone.
Fares turned, immediately grasping what had happened. He asked if anybody were injured. Receiving negative replies, he loosened a stream of heartfelt invective at the militiaman who had carried a rifle with a round chambered, safety off, and finger on the trigger.
The offender was simultaneously appalled at his slovenliness and the humiliation heaped upon him. Belatedly he complied with the Israeli’s order to lay down the AK and step back. Despite the darkness, in one fluid motion Fares scooped it up, pulled the magazine, and cycled the bolt. A cartridge was ejected from the chamber, tumbling to the ground.
Fares handed the empty rifle to another Druze, then turned to Wallender. “We cannot stay here very long. Do you still see the men?”
Wallender returned his attention to the Hezbollah team’s previous position. He scanned left and right. “Nothing. They’re gone.”
* * * *
Three hundred meters away, Rob Furr and his companions heard the shot. He knew the hunter’s conventional wisdom: One shot, meat. Two shots, maybe. Three shots, none. He thought: Somebody just got whacked.
In moments Wallender’s baritone was on the tactical frequency. “Trigger, this is Scope, over.”
Furr keyed his mike. “Scope, Trigger. Go.”
“Ah, be advised. We had some tangos but one idiot just had a November Delta here. We’re moving. Over.”
Furr indulged in some heartfelt blasphemy, angry at missing an opportunity. He forced himself to concentrate. “Roger, Scope. We’ll stay put for a while in case something comes this way. Out.”
The sniper turned to Ashcroft and the English-speaking militiamen. “One of Josh’s people just had a negligent discharge. They’re moving to the fallback position.”
* * * *
Rezvani heard the carrier wave and concentrated on the cryptic message. Then he looked at Tawfiq. “There was a shot somewhere near the observer position. My men are taking a circular route back. We will fire a few bombs on the approximate azimuth and displace.”
Before Tawfiq could reply, Rezvani was hissing orders to the mortar team. The gunner spun the traverse wheel, checked the elevation, and nodded. The A-gunner had prepped three rounds and had them close at hand. All three went down the tube in less than five seconds. Before the last one had landed, the tube was being dismounted from the base plate. Thirty seconds later the bipod was disconnected and being carried to the vehicle.
Rezvani grasped Tawfiq’s arm. “I will take one security man to help guard the weapon. You take the other and meet the observers at the alternate point. They do not know the terrain like you do. We will drive there and return you to the base.”
Tawfiq was unconvinced of the wisdom of separating the team in the darkness, let alone possibly near an alerted enemy, but there was no time to argue. Rezvani was on his way, leaving Hazim with Tawfiq. The commander and his lead sniper set out cross-country.
* * * *
Josh Wallender had the point with the best night-vision optic. He moved steadily but cautiously, stopping occasionally to allow the rest of the team to keep up with him and maintain proper interval. Fares was next in line, better to communicate with the Arabic speakers. Since he could not read a compass with the NVG in place, he navigated by guesstimate.
Without realizing it, en route to the alternate position, Wallender took a wrong turn. He moved more northerly than intended, owing to a stony crag that blocked the direct line. Though he intended to resume his previous route, the erratic outline of the crag conspired with darkness and poor footing to put him thirty degrees off track.
Salah-Hassan Fares knew the area far better than the American but had seldom ventured out at night. Using a red-lensed penlight, he took occasional compass readings to their direction
but could not consult his topographic map on the move. He made a mental note to bring Wallender back on course once the terrain evened out.
Half an hour later there occurred what military professionals call a meeting engagement.
* * * *
Essam Tawfiq never would have admitted that he was lost. But beneath a quarter moon, the ambient light was insufficient to find his way visually, and the often rough terrain had forced several detours. When he realized that he could not recognize any landmarks, enough time had passed that he knew he had missed the forward observer team.
Tawfiq stopped, gesturing Hazim to keep back. The leader then knelt behind a tree and pressed the transmit button. “Jinn, this is Tawfiq. Reply.”