Israel's Next War

by Martin Archer

  The good news is tonight’s mission will be our last one. Both of the remaining Antonovs are to go for the same objective. Sending them both probably means the air war is winding down—because the explanations I’ve been getting for not evacuating the professor and not hitting tonight’s target have been that there is still too much radar coverage and too many planes shooting at anything that moves.

  I’m going to tell my men both planes are going because things are getting better. But sending two planes to the same target at the same time from two different directions is just as likely to mean the air war is getting even more dangerous for our planes and they hope one will get through.

  In any event, we are sending our last two planes tonight. That certainly works for me and my men; it sure does—it means we can all leave as soon as an evacuation plane gets here, if it ever does.

  Hopefully we’ll be evacuated in time to save the professor. We’ve been getting instructions via the satellite phone as to how to treat him. According to the telephone diagnosis, the old guy probably had a heart attack, a pretty bad one from the sound of it. But today he seems a little better for the first time. Thank goodness someone decided to send a pretty complete medical box with us. We’ve got him on an oxygen bottle from one of the planes and, of all things, heavy doses of Aspirin.

  I wonder why they’ve got him on Aspirin. He doesn’t seem to be in pain, just really tired.

  ****** The Professor

  I tried to get up when the order for tonight’s operation came in from the minister; but the colonel told me that he is in charge now and he won’t allow it no matter how much I beg and threaten. So I have to content myself by watching and listening from the little cot they moved into the control van and put in the open space behind the three big electronic racks. I feel so useless lying here with all these tubes and bottles taped to the backs of the electronics racks – and I am still unhappy that someone told our medic to hook me up to the fluid bottles while I was out. And now, goddammit, I need to poop and can’t move.

  ****** The Iraqi Lieutenant Colonel

  Something important must be happening. It’s Friday night and Syria is hosting another victory dinner. I wanted to stay because the dessert will be a nice chocolate cake and, of course, to hook up my Syrian colonel after dinner. But it was obviously not meant to be. It wasn’t until everyone stopped talking and began looking towards the head table that I realized people were getting up and hurrying out even though dessert hadn’t been served. Something’s up. But what?

  My general obviously saw me look up as he marched past on his way out because he gestured for me to join the string of generals and colonels who are following him. He probably saw my uniform and doesn’t even know who I am.

  I jumped to attention and fell in at the rear of his followers.

  I’m disappointed because I was looking forward to spending some time with my Syrian friend after dinner. But now, of course, that’s probably not going to happen. I’m sure he’ll be disappointed; he helped organize tonight’s dinner and he was looking forward to knowing what I thought of it. At least that’s what he told me last night.

  ******

  There was much argument and shouting behind us as I followed my general and his entourage into the briefing room. I didn’t understand what was happening until a kindly Iraqi brigadier walking ahead of me, a distant cousin of my mother I think, saw the confused look on my face. He took pity on me and explained the problem. Apparently the president of Syria is upset and his supreme general has called an emergency meeting of the troika. It seems a force of Jews have somehow gotten into Syria north of Damascus and President Maher Assad is upset because he thinks Damascus is cut off and he and his family are in danger. He wants the Syrian army and the Hezbollah militia sent back to destroy the Israeli forces.

  A semblance of calm returned to the room after the three supreme generals retired to discuss the matter privately and consult with their presidents. My problem is more mundane—our senior air force general is nowhere to be found and I have been ordered by one of our generals to find him and get him here. Everyone I asked said they hadn’t seen him. So I went out and walked the halls looking for him. I don’t really have much hope but at least I can say I tried.

  An hour later and here comes our missing air force general bustling along the hallway. I didn’t even have time to introduce myself before he rushed into the briefing room with a couple of air force officers and me tagging along behind.

  I wonder what the troika will decide to do. It appears we have no plans for countering such an Israeli incursion and the three supreme generals and their presidents are trying to agree as to what should be done.

  ******

  More than three hours later a decision was announced to the increasingly packed and smoke-filled briefing room. Our supreme generals, with the approval of their presidents, have decided to launch an all-out “maximum effort” air attack in the morning to destroy the Israelis who have somehow gotten into Syria. There is much clapping and cheers when the briefer announces that the Israeli plot to get the Syrian army and Shiite militias to withdraw has failed.

  Not that there is much left of the Syrian army to withdraw if today’s briefings mean what I think they mean.

  Our own air force general, the one who was initially missing and I could not find, stood up from his seat in the front row and waved an acknowledgement to the applause. Then he loudly explained why, even though our air forces have been seriously depleted as a result of the combat needed to destroy so many enemy planes, he is certain our brave pilots are up to the job. He is sure they will inflict such massive casualties on the invading Jews only the police will be needed to round up the survivors.

  According to the general, sometime tomorrow, probably after the Israeli dawn patrols return to their bases for breakfast, we will simultaneously sortie all of our remaining planes and overwhelm the Israelis in the Syrian Desert and the Israeli planes covering them. There was quite a bit of clapping and cheering when he finished. Then we all left to go to our quarters and get some sleep. It has been a long day and my Syrian colonel is nowhere to be seen.

  ****** The Colonel in Somalia

  I’m doing my best to run the Somali operation now that I’ve taken over from the professor. As soon as the sun went down I expanded the guard perimeter and had the two old Antonov turboprops pulled out of the hangar. Then we pushed the last of our fuel trucks around to fuel them. The Antonov is parked out beyond the hangar to the left. It will be fueled first and take off as soon as it’s ready to go. Then we’ll fuel the Antonov parked off to the right and repeat the process.

  We are sending two planes on the same night and the men are really hustling. I didn’t have to tell the men what’s at stake; they know we’re on a tight schedule to get them started on their final flights. Both planes have got a long way to go—from here they’ll fly over Yemen and the empty quarter of Saudi Arabia, and then over Iraq and on to their shared objective.

  The plan is for the two planes to travel to the target by separate airway routes and arrive at the same time. If all goes well they’ll be coming in low from different directions and hit the target simultaneously before the sun comes up in the morning.

  So far everything seems to be working. First one and then the other of the Antonovs was towed to the end of the runway and took off as soon as it was ready. It’s a drill we’ve followed before and it’s been going off smoothly except for the trouble we had starting the right inboard engine of the first plane. It gave us all a bit of heartburn for a few minutes but it finally started and, a little before midnight, the plane lifted off as if nothing had happened. The second Antonov followed about fifteen minutes later.

  Everyone seemed surprisingly subdued as the sound of the second plane receded in the distance as we walked back to the hangar for the last time. The plan is for us to take everything with us, even the vans and fuel trucks, and wipe everything clean so not a trace remains, not even a fingerprint—except, of co
urse, the piss and shit in the hole we dug out back to use as a latrine. We’ll fill it in and leave it.

  That may be the plan but the unexpected war between Israel and the Islamists, or whatever the hell they are calling themselves these days, may have changed our ability to get enough big cargo planes in here to get everything out—so I’m going to prepare everything for demolition just in case.

  ******

  Once again the government ministers and senior officers crowded into the operations center to watch an attack launched by the special team in Somalia. The center director quickly explained to each of the dignitaries as they arrived about a problem, an engine failure on one of the planes. It means the planes will not reach their target at the same time.

  Three hours ago the first Antonov to take off lost one of its engines over Saudi Arabia. It was already up and had burned off enough of its fuel so it will still be able to get to its target on its three good engines—but it is flying too slow to keep up with the other plane. At the moment it is about thirty minutes behind schedule and is now being projected to arrive forty-one minutes after the first plane, just after the sun comes up. I’m the one who decided the first plane should not wait—better one at night in the dark than two after the sun comes up.

  We were all listening intently to the speakers in the operations center as the second Antonov, flying on a flight plan filed in Dubai for a cargo flight originating in Pakistan, identified itself and requested clearance to land at Baghdad International. Then we all held our breaths until the tower operator approved its request.

  “Dubai Cargo Three One Seven, cleared to land runway Twenty-seven East. Wind from the east at seven knots.”

  “Three One Seven. Thank you.”

  “Uh. Baghdad. Dubai Three One Seven. We’re are not getting a green light on our front landing gear. Request permission to go around. Uh. Baghdad please take a look as we go around and tell us if you can see our front wheels.”

  “Roger Dubai Three One Seven. Go around approved. We’ll try to look but it may be too dark.”

  Antonov number two poured on its power and pulled up and to its left as it would in a real failed approach. Two minutes later it dove straight into Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor.

  The sleepy soldiers monitoring the radars in the control centers of the two anti-aircraft battalions defending the nuclear facility didn’t react in time to deploy their American-made Hawk missiles from their mobile launchers. Indeed neither of the Iraqi missile units even realized something out of the ordinary was happening until the Antonov slammed into the reactor.

  The tremendous explosion rattled windows and was heard and felt as far away as on the other side of Baghdad.

  ******

  The commanders of the two missile battalions were just rushing into their mobile control centers when the Antonov running on three engines was detected twenty-two minutes after the first explosion. Both of the Iraqi colonels were extremely upset and rightly so. They know they are almost certainly going to be severely disciplined for letting the first plane get through their defenses.

  Neither of the colonels expects the fact that the reactor complex was built too close to the Baghdad airport and the fact that the Hawk missile system takes four minutes to deploy and fire will be enough of an excuse to protect them and their families from their President’s legendary rage. Both are desperate and don’t have any idea of what they can do to save themselves. The commander of the battalion closest to the reactor complex was on the phone telling his wife to take the children and go immediately to her uncle’s farm when the second plane was spotted by his radar operators.

  The second Antonov was coming in slow and low from the south on three engines. The original plan was for it to come in even lower and shelter in the ground clutter of the Hawk’s radar to avoid detection until the last moment. But with only three engines the plane was flying slightly higher than planned because it didn’t have as much power to go up and down as it followed the lay of the land. The remote control pilots had no choice but to fly it higher.

  Operators at both of the now hyper-alert missile control centers saw a blip appear on their screens for a couple of seconds as the late arriving Antonov came over a little hill and then disappeared as it moved lower. Normally they might not have even noticed it in the ground clutter and probably would have disregarded it as an anomaly if they did. Not now.

  The Antonov was just starting to descend from a slightly higher altitude caused by another little hill when the first of six Hawk missiles hit it and dropped it into some farm land along the river just outside Baghdad. The other five Hawk missiles just kept right on going until they crashed out in the desert.

  Chapter Twenty-five

  ****** General Christopher Roberts

  Dorothy and I were awake and watching TV when the call came in from the Situation Room duty officer, Jim Kistner. He informed me Iraq’s Osirak nuclear reactor experienced a massive explosion in or near it at 0437 this morning. I thought about calling the President but decided there was no need to wake him up. There was nothing he could do.

  I wish I knew for sure who’s doing this and why? Is this a tit for tat situation or is some kind of plan being unrolled? Whoever is doing it is sure cutting into my sleep.

  ******

  The Morning Book I read on the way in to work reported yesterday was another big day for the Israeli military. On the political front it seems that India and China, big buyers of Iranian crude and supporters of Iran, are going to jointly request another emergency meeting of the United Nations’ Security Council. China apparently intends to introduce a resolution asking for an immediate cease fire and for the Israeli navy to be ordered to leave the Gulf so Iran’s oil shipments can resume.

  The Secretary of State got quite excited when the situation was discussed by the Security Council about an hour later.

  “The concern of the Chinese is understandable and good news. It gives us a chance to show our support for peace and commerce by announcing we will support the resolution instead of vetoing it as everyone expects us to do in order to support Israel. It will encourage the Iranians and Israelis to make peace and give us a chance to reset our relations with China and India.”

  The President listened intently as I responded.

  “Let me make sure I understand, Jack.” I said. I find it hard to suffer fools.

  “State wants Israel to withdraw from the Gulf so Iran can restart it oil shipments to China and the other countries whose oil purchases helped finance Iran’s attack on Israel. How do you propose to get Israel to agree to pull its navy back?”

  “Well General, besides announcing we will support the Chinese resolution, the President and I can issue statements encouraging the Israeli navy to vacate the Gulf so Iran and Iraq can make the necessary repairs and restart the oil shipments the world needs.” He says nonsense with such enthusiasm.

  “Jack, I hate to tell you this but a speech by you isn’t going to get the Israeli navy out of the Gulf and getting them out of the Gulf isn’t going to restore Iran and Iraq’s oil shipments to China or anywhere else for quite a while. It looks to me from the satellite photos I’ve seen it’s going to take the Iranians and Iraqis years to remove the sunken tankers and repair the damage to their port facilities. … and that’s assuming the Israelis will let them which isn’t likely to be the case no matter how many press conferences you hold.”

  And then I suggested with a straight face, “Perhaps you should pursue your ideas to help the Iranians and Iraqis with the Israeli leadership. Maybe you can catch them between funerals.”

  I probably shouldn’t have said that; the President just gave me a funny look.

  ****** Sergeant Dov Lindausky

  We stopped northwest of Damascus near the Lebanese border to once again rest, refuel, and clean the air filters. That’s when Herb my new loader and Ron my new gunner come out for some fresh air despite the heat. We all jumped down on the shady side of the tank to get out of the sun and take a pis
s.

  Our tank is incredibly dusty and dirty—and so are we, for that matter, even though we are all wearing gauze face masks and goggles. I’ve been riding exposed up in the turret because that’s where Israeli tank commanders always ride, even in combat, and Herb’s been driving with his head out of the drivers hatch so he can see better. So Herb and I look sort of funny because our eyes and mouths are outlined by the dust and dirt when we take them off. We look like chipmunks.

  “Hey Ron,” I asked with a grin as I waved my hand in front of my face and then sort of flapped it towards Herb’s. “You ever heard of the loyal order of chipmunks? Let’s start a chapter.”

  We all laughed and that sort of broke the ice. Joel was still sleeping and we were waiting to pull forward for our turn at one of the big fuel carrying APCs. So we decided to get to know each other by looking at the family pictures each of us carries in our wallets and on our cell phones. It’s actually the first time we’ve had a chance to talk. I’m the outsider. They’ve all been together in the same crew for almost seven years and, like me, this is the first time they’ve ever seen action. Both of them live in Tel Aviv. Herb’s a draftsman working in an architect’s office and Ron is the produce manager of a grocery store.

  Joel, our driver, is my new tank’s full time crew chief and mechanic. It’s his name on the side of the tank. The crew had obviously been close to the dead tank commander but no one mentioned him and I didn’t either.

  It was a shock when it suddenly dawned on me I have been so busy conning my new tank across the desert I haven’t thought about my old crew for hours. Poor bastards.

  ****** Chief Warrant Officer Harry Duffy

  Dick still has sore ribs and his cast itches but otherwise we’re fine and on our way to the embassy in a taxi. I know Dick’s okay because I slept on his sofa last night just in case. We’re anxious to know if there is any word about Si and Solly. The last we’d seen of them they were climbing into trucks with the wounded just before we left.