Israel's Next War

by Martin Archer

  Then one of our captains walked up and reported to the majors, with a respectful nod towards me. He said he’d just spoken with a couple of Syrian officers who claimed our generals had all left Damascus early this morning in their cars because the Israelis are on the outskirts of the city and about to capture the airport.

  The captain’s uniform is ripped and filthy. If I had time I would have spoken to him about it.

  “Wait here.” I ordered the three officers as I pushed past them. “Don’t move.”

  Whatever is happening, there is no doubt about it, the Supreme Headquarters is in shambles with everyone blaming everyone else for what sounds like a couple of serious setbacks. I rushed up to a group of Syrians talking outside the briefing room door. They looked at me strangely as I butted my way straight into their conversation.

  “What’s happening?” I almost shouted. “Where is everyone?”

  What they told me seemed impossible. The Israelis have somehow broken through and the three Supreme Commanders and the senior members of their staffs have not been seen since they were suddenly called out of last night’s victory banquet. They left while the main course was being served.

  All sorts of rumors are flying about. One has Syria responsible for the destruction of our nuclear facilities and those of the Iranians. Another claims Syria has made a deal with Israel to turn over the Iraqi and Iranian officers in exchange for Damascus not being attacked. Another is that the entire war was a Syrian and Israeli plot to weaken Iraq and Iran.

  It was all just terrible and confusing and I didn’t even know about it until I got here less than an hour ago. I’d been up late with my Syrian colonel and decided to miss breakfast and sleep in. I don’t believe it’s a Syrian plot because I’m sure my friend would have told me. We’ve become very close.

  In any event, my country’s Supreme Commander is nowhere to be found and his office is deserted except for a handful of enlisted men and a couple of captains who quickly told me they don’t have a clue as to what’s happening. Then they asked me what they should do.

  Their questions made me quite angry; how would I know what they should do, for God’s sake?

  “Wait here for orders,” I snapped as I rushed out the office and headed for the staircase down to the lobby. I went down the stairs two at a time.

  Headquarters was rapidly emptying as I made my way back to the two majors and the dirty captain. They were still standing there just as I ordered.

  “How did you get here? Do you have transportation?” I asked.

  “Yes Colonel, we have a pickup waiting outside.”

  “Let’s go. Hurry.” I said as I made motions with my hands to shoo the three of them towards the entrance door. I’ve got to get out of here before the Israelis come.

  The driver of the pickup threw down a cigarette, jumped smartly to attention, and saluted as we approached. It was a fairly new crew-cab with a back seat and refrigeration.

  “You.” I snapped to the driver as I motioned toward the building entrance. “You go upstairs to Room 302 and tell the men there to stay put until I send for them. You are to wait with them. The rest of you get in. I’ll drive.”

  I slid into the driver’s seat and turned the key to check the gas gauge as the driver headed for the building entrance. Only half full. It wasn’t enough to get all the way to Baghdad.

  “You,” I shouted as I pointed to one of the majors who was starting to climb into the pickup and then to a Syrian army truck parked a couple of spaces down. “Run over to that truck and get its gas can. Hurry man, hurry.” Calm yourself. Can’t afford to get hysterical now.

  ****** General Christopher Roberts

  “Mr. President,” I said as I sat down next to the Secretary of State on a couch in the oval office, “we need to stay on the sidelines at this time.”

  “Mr. President,” the Secretary of State said with a great deal of agitation as he shook his head and waved his hands in disagreement. “We must get involved and support the Secretary General’s call for an immediate ceasefire and negotiations.”

  I had to respond. And get out of here so I can get to Andrews and fly to Israel

  “Well Jack, I certainly agree that’s what the world has come to expect us to do. And who better than you to hold a press conference and say it – even though it certainly won’t mean anything to either side. But, if you do say it, we need to be damn sure the Israelis and our allies know we don’t mean it.”

  Everyone waded in and the argument raged on and on. The Secretary of State and his deputy kept talking about how the possibility of an Israeli invasion of Syria will encourage the Kurds and other groups and has to be prevented before it “destabilizes the region.”

  Finally, I had enough so I twisted around on the couch to look at the Secretary of State and said, “Look Jack, you need to stop pretending we can order the Israelis to stop. We can’t and they won’t even if we try to pressure them—not this time. They’ve taken too many casualties and they’re tired of agreeing to the ceasefires State proposes only to be attacked all over again every next time one of the two-bit dictators you keep trying to salvage needs to distract his people from his failures.”

  The Secretary disagreed.

  “General, they’ll listen to the President. We can stop this war.”

  “Jack,” I responded, “I really think you should drop the idea of involving the President and the White House in a solution that won’t work. All you’ll do is to make the President look weak and stupid by giving orders to Israel that won’t be obeyed and advocating solutions that have never worked and never will—and aren’t even in the best interest of the United States in any event.”

  Then I leaned forward towards the Secretary and said it rather emphatically.

  “Being weak and stupid and trying to reestablish a status quo that virtually guarantees the Israelis will be attacked again is not the legacy this administration deserves.”

  Now I’ve done it. I’ve just called the President stupid if he decides he wants an immediate ceasefire.

  What brought up the heated discussion is the growing realization that the Kurds and others are once again making noise and encouraging each other to rise up against the militarily weakened coalition governments. They want to either establish their own states in the case of the Kurds or take over their country’s government again in the case of the Shiites in Iraq and the Sunnis in Syria.

  Making matters worse, or better depending on your point of view, the Israelis recaptured the Golan this morning and are in the process of pushing all the way up to the outskirts of Damascus. Even more importantly, a strong force of Israeli armor, a virtual army, is rolling north through the Syrian countryside towards Iraq in what increasingly looks like an effort to reach the Kurds and other groups and encourage them with military support.

  We’re here in the oval office because Turkey, a member of NATO but rarely an American ally, has just asked us to restrain the Israelis and get them to turn back without arming the Kurds. I’ve got to talk to the President privately.

  The President listened impassively as the arguments flew back and forth. Finally he raised his hand and cut off the Secretary of State in mid-sentence.

  "Enough. Here’s what we’re going to do."

  Chapter Twenty-nine

  It was early in the evening after a trying day and a very interesting private meeting with the President after the Security Council adjourned. At the direction of the President, Secretary of State Jack Billaud and I are on a plane to Ankara to meet with the Turks for what the media is now calling “urgent high level discussions to head off a possible widening of the war.” The Secretary is to meet with the Turkish President; I’m going to meet with the head of the Turkish military.

  Accompanying us is the Secretary’s rather large entourage of state department officials and friendly journalists. I’m traveling alone except for an interpreter and a couple of Secret Service agents. The Secret Service guys are my protection detail and are apparentl
y mandatory since I’m part of the White House staff.

  The Secretary ranks me in the White House pecking order so he gets the plane’s big bedroom and I get a lie-flat seat. Before we left I sent a message to Evans and Duffy telling them to meet me at the embassy in Ankara and to bring along their two Israeli interpreters if they are willing to come. I also had a long talk with someone I know in the Israeli government.

  ******

  Ankara was wet and windy on the concrete aircraft arrival area when we arrived at about 0830 local time. A beaming Secretary of State led the way as we climbed down the stairs to be met by an appropriate number of civilian and military officials, a line of limousines, and a host of reporters and television cameras being kept a distance by an even larger number of Turkish policemen. We all shook hands as our ambassador introduced us and the usual inane welcoming introductions were made. Then the Secretary of State led the U.S. ambassador over to talk to the reporters and hold an impromptu news conference. I hope he doesn’t shoot his big mouth off and hit the President’s foot.

  I didn’t stick around for the speeches. I got into a limo with my interpreter, the Secret Service guys, and the English speaking Turkish general who was there to meet me on behalf of the Turkish military. His name’s Alkan Polat and he’s a brigadier sent to escort me to my appointment with the Chief of the Turkish General Staff. And he certainly surprised me as we drive out of the airport.

  “I am sure you do not remember me, General Roberts, but I met you briefly in Iraq when I was but a lieutenant and you were a young brigadier. I was with the Turkish contingent in your United Nations Division until I was wounded and evacuated.”

  “My God. Really?” I am somehow greatly pleased. And for some reason I grabbed his hand and shook it again. “Then we must be friends and spend some time together so we can tell each other stories. Please try to find some time in your schedule for me so we can get together for a meal or at least a cup of coffee.”

  We absolutely beam at each other and it feels good. Old comrades are hard to find!

  ******

  Our reception when the Turkish staff car pulled up to the military headquarters was quite friendly. A little honor guard of MPs and several smiling staff officers were on hand to conduct me and Brigadier Polat to the office of the Chief of the Turkish General Staff, General Demir. It’s a large and impressive office befitting a man who in many ways is more powerful than his president. That’s why I’m here.

  A number of officers were in General Demir’s large anteroom. They all came to attention and saluted as we walked in.

  A big heavy set man stepped forward with his hand out. “I’m Okur Demir,” he said to introduce himself. “Welcome to Turkey.” And behind him came another officer with a friendly salute and his hand out – “and I’m Pamir Bezman. You probably saved my life last year in Bonn. I am indebted to you.” A Turkish officer shouted out a translation for the other officers in the room as we spoke. Good grief that man’s loud.

  I could see my escort, General Polat, whispering in General Demir’s ear while I was shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries, in English, with General Bezman. Demir suddenly raised both hands for silence and the crowd instantly went quiet.

  “General Roberts, I just learned that you and Alkan here,” he says with a nodding smile to my escort, “served together on the front lines together and that you were both wounded fighting the communists. Is it true?”

  “Yes General, it is true. I was there when General Polat distinguished himself and was wounded fighting the communists. That is where I learned Turkish soldiers are among the finest soldiers in the world. And that is what I have told everyone ever since.” It’s true; they are. If only the Turkish politicians were half as competent.

  By now the Turkish translator was absolutely beaming as he shouted out his translation and so were the other officers in the room.

  I wonder what he is telling them?

  ******

  After the pleasantries and introductions were complete we filed into General Demir’s conference room and prepared to take our seats. It was quite large and impressive as befits the power of the man who presides over it. Turkey might have been reduced in size because it backed the wrong horse in World War One, but its secular military came out of the war and the ensuing campaign against the invading Greeks with respect and power. It has used that respect and power ever since to keep Turkey’s politicians from imposing an Islamic state, although there certainly have been some close calls.

  The Turkish generals who accompanied us seemed a bit dismayed when they suddenly realized I was standing there by myself on my side of the table without a delegation of aides and supporting officials. It could be construed to be a deliberate slight towards the Turkish military or an indication that I don’t understand its importance.

  Demir himself immediately raised the issue even before we sat down.

  “General Roberts, we are surprised to see that you are here alone while your Secretary of State, Mister Billaud, is meeting our President with a large entourage of aides and advisors.”

  “General,” I replied with a nod of agreement, “the fact I am here alone is a measure of my President’s understanding of the supreme importance of the Turkish military. The absence of an entourage means you and I can talk without having to guard our tongues. We can exchange information and negotiate solutions to problems without our ideas and concerns leaking to the media or our enemies.”

  At that point I decided to hand him my credentials and did so. It was a handwritten note on the President’s personal letterhead. It was quite simple and direct.

  “General Roberts, and only General Roberts, has my complete confidence in all matters related to the Republic of Turkey and the Turkish military.”

  General Demir’s eyebrows went up as he read it. They went up even more when I quietly explained it so only he could hear.

  “What this letter means, General,” I told him, “is Secretary of State Billaud, although he almost certainly doesn’t know it, is providing us with cover to distract the media and politicians while you and I hold serious discussions regarding the current war and the future of Turkey.”

  The reality is that once again, ever since they got rid of their crazy president, Turkey’s military either makes or approves all major governmental decisions. The generals will have to approve any decisions relating to the role Turkey might have in ending the current war and in the peace that follows.

  The President’s letter and my explicitly mentioning ’the future of Turkey’ got General Demir’s serious and undivided attention.

  General Demir stood there for a moment as if stunned while the various Turkish generals in the room looked at each other and at me. Then he barked an order ending the meeting before it even began—and we adjourned to his private office, just the two of us and our interpreters.

  An hour later a thoughtful and highly pleased General Demir walked arm and arm with me to my limo which suddenly appeared. It had also sprouted half a dozen chase cars stuffed with highly attentive security personnel. Our parting was effusive and genuinely friendly as I’m sure his generals and the security people noted.

  I saw him rush back into his office and go up the entrance steps two at a time as we pulled away. Little wonder. He has a lot to consider and ground to prepare. We’ll have a lot to discuss when we meet again in a couple of hours for a late lunch.

  ******

  My arrival at the embassy to use its communications center was followed almost instantly by the appearance of a somewhat embarrassed Ambassador Romelly and one of his aides carrying a clipboard. I’d barely been handed a copy of the Morning Book and a pile of messages when the ambassador hurried in. He began chattering away as if I had somehow missed some important information by leaving the arrival ceremony before the Secretary’s “wonderful speech.” What he’s really come to tell me is, quite unfortunately, the embassy’s guest suites and rooms are all needed for the Secretary and his senior staff.


  “But we’ve been able to book you into the new wing of the Ankara Hilton. It’s just down the street and quite nice. Very American, you know.”

  “Oh how nice. Well that’s kind of you Mr. Ambassador, and I appreciate it. But my office has already made arrangements for me elsewhere. But there is something you can do for me. A couple of my aides, Colonel Evans and Major Duffy, will be arriving sooner or later. Please pass the word to the military attachés’ office and to the reception desk. I’ll leave the number where they can reach me with the communications center supervisor. They should be taken to the communications center to get it."

  "… Oh, and please make sure everyone at the embassy’s front gate and the reception desk are aware that my aides may be wearing strange uniforms and be accompanied by a couple of Israelis. They are all part of my official party.”

  The ambassador was more than a little surprised at my response but he carried on gamely.

  “Oh, I shall. I shall, indeed. And don’t forget the dinner tonight. The Secretary himself asked me to make sure you’ll be seated with some very important people. I’m sure you’ll be impressed.”

  “Well that’s kind of the Secretary. I certainly do like to be impressed by important people. Unfortunately I’ve already made other arrangements for this evening. You’ll have to enjoy the speeches without me. Please give your wife and the Secretary my regrets.” What a dork. Where does the President find these people?

  I took the reports and the Morning Book with me and left an envelope for the ambassador to give to Evans and Duffy. It contained the street address of the Bera Hotel with a note inside. “Room reservations in your names. Don’t tell anyone where we are staying.”

  Then I went back downstairs and my little convoy of Turkish army minders took me to the venerable old Hotel Bera so I could rest for a couple of hours before I go back for another meeting with the Turks.