Dick and Harry were wearing civilian clothes and waiting for me in the embassy lobby with one of the ambassador’s aides as I walked in. One of the ambassador’s assistants, a rather portly middle-aged lady with gray hair, led us to the elevator and accompanied us to a conference room on the third floor. As soon as she left I explained to Dick and Harry what I want them to do and sent them back to their hotel to get ready. Then I found my way to the embassy’s secure communications room to speak with Peter on a secure line and then with the President’s Chief of Staff. Good, the President’s on board.
After I finished talking to the White House I placed a call to General Demir and made arrangements for Dick and Harry to hook up with the Turkish Special Forces officer who will accompany them into Iraq. I also spoke with Bill Dorsey, the embassy’s CIA station chief, to get any updated information he might have and arrange for a briefing for Dick and his team.
Dorsey was initially hesitant about briefing Dick’s team, particularly when I mentioned two of the members of his team are retired Israeli officers. At first he wasn’t even willing to meet with Dick and his team—but a quick call from the White House to the CIA Director changed his mind.
******
It took more than an hour but it was finally arranged for Dorsey to meet with Dick and his team tomorrow morning and give them a thorough briefing. They need to know whatever the CIA can tell them about the current state of affairs in the countries bordering Turkey and the Kurdish situation generally. After they meet with Dorsey they’ll go to the Turkish headquarters for another briefing.
A couple of hours later my convoy of Turkish Army minders drove me and my two Secret Service agents to the Turkish military airfield outside of Ankara. That’s where I’m meeting a plane from Andrews Air Force Base to take me and my little protection detail to Tel Aviv.
My plane was waiting when I arrived at the airfield. It wasn’t the plane I arrived on. That plane left yesterday afternoon to carry Secretary Billaud and his party back to the States. He needed to get back so he can participate in today’s UN Security Council meeting. It seems the three members of the Islamic Coalition have changed their tune and are now desperately seeking a ceasefire and demanding an Israeli withdrawal—and in the best tradition of doing something stupid are asking everybody except Israel for a ceasefire.
Will Israel agree? I don’t think so.
According to the President’s Chief of Staff, we and the Brits, and even the Israelis, will be supporting the UN resolution because it’s been worded such that Israel will only be expected to withdraw after its security needs are fully met.
Hell, it might be the first unanimous vote about the Middle East in years, even if it is meaningless—because the Israelis have decisively won and are going to do whatever they damn well feel they need to do.
******
I felt a sense of satisfaction as I buckled my seat belt and the plane began taxing. It’s all been arranged. General Demir and a party of senior Turkish officers and officials will be standing by to come to Tel Aviv on short notice. It may be premature to arrange to bring the Turks to Israel but things are moving quickly.
If I’m reading the generals’ body language and comments correctly, the Turkish Army seems to be increasingly enthusiastic about doing a deal with the Israelis and Kurds to set up buffer states. I wonder how Turkey’s civilian politicians will react.
Chapter Thirty-one
My plane landed at the military airport outside Tel Aviv and an Israeli car took me straightaway to a meeting with the Prime Minister. He looked exhausted. Ari and Yossi were with him and looked pretty tired themselves. What they made abundantly clear, after they profusely thanked me for the aid the United States has been providing, is that Israel intends to do whatever it takes to decisively win. There was, they said, nothing anyone including the United States can do to stop the war until all three members of the Islamic Coalition are totally and permanently defeated—so please don’t even try.
I smiled and told them I wouldn’t dream of encouraging them not to cripple or eliminate any of our mutual enemies.
“To the contrary,” I told them. “I’m here because the President wants to know what else we can do to help you carry out your plans for when the war is over.”
“General,” the Prime Minister replied, “We appreciate your support. But the only plan we have at the moment is to win. Totally and completely win. It’s as I told my cabinet this morning—we’ve suffered enough casualties over the years. This time there will be no ceasefire and no withdrawal until we have a permanent and lasting peace. Either we establish the conditions now for a permanent peace by permanently weakening those who are our enemies or there will almost certainly be a nuclear war later so our enemies no longer exist.”
Then, after a pause to take a sip of coffee, he continued with a sigh.
"Your Secretary of State keeps calling and my people keep telling him I’m busy. I’m afraid I was a bit testy when I finally took his call a couple of hours ago. I told him I knew he’d been calling but that I’ve been busy; Israel has been attacked again in case he hadn’t heard. Then I had to listen while he gave me some absolute blather about a ceasefire and letting the United Nations work things out.”
“Well,” I finally interrupted, “that’s not why I’m here. Don’t confuse me with the Secretary of State who has his own political agenda and ambitions. I’m here because the President wants to know what else we can do to help you carry out your plans after you win.”
The Prime Minister promptly told me his plans for the war are pretty much along the lines his ambassador to the UK told the British Foreign Secretary two days ago when he was summoned. The Foreign Secretary called him in to warn him that underwriters of Lloyds of London, the big insurers of ships and cargos, are quite upset about the ships we sank.
“They want us to stop sinking ships and cover their losses,” he said with a laugh.
According to the Prime Minister, the Israeli ambassador responded by saying Israel cannot possibly be held responsible for their losses if the Lloyds insurance syndicates are so stupid as to insure ships and cargos of oil sold by countries whose policy is to kill Israeli children.
Then the Prime Minister laughed out loud as he mimicked how his ambassador kept jabbing his finger very undiplomatically towards the Foreign Minister’s chest to make his point as he proceeded to explain the facts of life.
“We don’t like people who kill our families and we are not going to lift a finger to help those who finance and insure them. To the contrary, we’re going to do everything we can to hurt our enemies and their friends until they permanently stop—including sinking every goddamn ship we find in Iranian, Iraqi, or Syrian waters no matter whose flag it flies or who insures it. So let’s talk instead about something useful like expanding trade between our countries or getting some of your banks to set up offices in Israel.”
Ari began by saying he is much too busy with the war to even think about what might happen after the war is over. But I don’t believe that; not now I don’t.
Finally, I leaned toward the Israeli defense minister and said, “Ari, Jack Billaud and the State Department may be blind to the implications of Israel moving so much armor and equipment to Erbil and Kirkuk, but I’m not. Frankly, I think it’s a good idea. The idea of establishing buffer states to reduce the size and power of Israel’s traditional enemies has merit, real merit.”
There was a long moment of awkward silence while the three Israelis looked at each other and then at me and then at each other again.
Finally, with a deep sigh, the prime minister asked, “How much do you know?”
“Enough to know that it might be a good idea if Turkey participates and the new states you help establish become autonomous states within a new Turkish Commonwealth.”
“Turkey? Would Turkey go along with that?”
****** Colonel Dick Evans
At least one Turkish Special Forces major is to accompany us when we go into Ira
q sometime tomorrow or the next day. We are supposed to meet him this afternoon at the Turkish military headquarters. That’s when we’ll get a briefing from the Turks about the Kurds. The name of the man I am to ask for is Brigadier Polat in General Demir’s office. That’s all General Roberts could tell me except that he expects the Turks to take us to the border sometime tomorrow or the next day. He also told me not to argue if the Turks want to send more men with us.
About 1330 we finished lunch at the hotel, crowded into a taxi from the taxi rank in front of the hotel, and motored off to meet our new teammate at the Turkish Headquarters. I rode in the front seat with the driver and the other three guys squeezed in the back.
Rank has its privileges no matter how small.
All of us were dressed in casual civilian clothes. I would have preferred wearing our uniforms but the stuff the boss says is coming from Israel still hasn’t arrived. The best I could do was arrange for the hotel’s concierge desk to accept delivery if it comes and put everything in my room.
Thank goodness the Boss thought to ask the Israelis to get our boots and clothes from our apartments. Walking into Iraq in new boots or civilian shoes would likely have been more than a little painful.
“We have an appointment with Brigadier Polat in General Demir’s office.”
That’s what I said to the Turkish MP in the guard shack after the taxi driver rolled down his window. The guard shack stood about ten yards in from the entrance to a driveway leading to an imposing building visible through the trees. The MP immediately said something over his shoulder to a young officer standing behind him.
We are obviously expected. That’s a good sign.
I got out of the front seat of the cab and stood there with the door open as the officer came out of the guard shack door and saluted.
“Colonel Evans?” he inquired in English. I returned his salute and nodded.
I think he is surprised to see we’re in civvies.
“Yes, I’m Evans and these men are with me. We have an appointment with Brigadier Polat in General Demir’s office.”
“Yes sir. I am Captain Gul. I am to escort you and your men to General Polat. Then he turned and gave some kind of order to our taxi driver in Turkish.
“I told him to follow my jeep,” he explained. Then I got back into the taxi and the captain walked over to a shiny like-new jeep waiting nearby with its driver sitting stiffly at attention.
Two minutes later we were at the front door of what was obviously a military headquarters, and quite an impressive one at that. I paid off the taxi driver despite the captain’s protestations that it was unnecessary. Then we walked into the building past two immaculate saluting sentries wearing highly polished stainless steel helmets and carrying vicious looking automatic weapons.
I’ve never seen weapons like those; I wonder what they are and if they’re for show or for real.
We walked through some kind of metal detector and into a fairly crowded lobby with uniformed people coming and going. There was a heavily armed three man “quick reaction” team behind a slightly raised podium on one side. Everyone in the lobby gave us a discrete sideways look except the quick reaction team—they looked at us directly and hard. Then it was into a large elevator and a brief trip up to a second floor office overlooking the main lobby.
A tough looking Turkish major in immaculately pressed battle dress and a Turkish brigadier stood up as we were ushered into the room. The brigadier, at least I think that’s what he is, promptly came forward with his hand out and a smile on his face. A silent civilian was also sitting in the room. He never said a word.
“Colonel Evans, I am General Polat. Welcome to Istanbul.”
“Thank you General, I’m pleased to be here with my team.” I say as I waved my hand towards the three men behind me. “As you may know, two of us are Americans and two are Israelis.”
I’m pretty sure he knows they are Israelis but I want to be sure there are no misunderstandings.
“Yes, General Roberts told us they would be with you. Welcome to you all,” he said with a nod and a smile to the guys. “And may I present Major Anil Hassan of our Special Operations Regiment. Major Hassan is fluent in both English and Kurdish. He has volunteered to accompany you on your mission.”
We both saluted and I held out my hand which promptly got a firm grip and a strong shake. “Glad to have you aboard, Major Hassan. May I introduce Harry, Si, and Solly, all majors. Si and Solly are Israelis and Harry is an American like me.”
Then General Polat said he would leave us alone for a few minutes to get acquainted while he made sure the briefing room was ready. The silent civilian remained seated and never once said a word. He just listened intently as we talked.
Anil is a muscular guy who looks to be in his middle to late 30s. He speaks fluent American English with a slight western drawl—which is not surprising since he graduated from Oklahoma State with a business major and was on the Cowboy’s nationally ranked wrestling team as a middleweight.
Major Hassan seemed to be forthright. According to him, he is a Turk in the eyes of the Turks because his father is a retired Turkish colonel; on the other hand, he is a Kurd in the eyes of the Kurds because they are matrilineal like the Jews and he has a Kurdish mother.
“As a result, unfortunately,” he explained with a sigh, “some Kurds consider me somewhat of a traitor because to them I’m a Kurd who became a Turkish officer like my father and grandfather.”
We talked about our individual experiences and assignments for about fifteen minutes. Anil was surprised when he heard me say all four of us had been on the Golan with the Israeli army and Harry and I had been wounded. Then the brigadier returned and we followed him to a much larger conference room at the end of the hall. The civilian in the corner never moved except to light a new cigarette.
******
General Polat led us about three doors down a wide and well lighted hallway to a conference room with a large table and chairs around the wall. Our entry was greeted in an almost eerie silence by a number of high ranking Turkish officers, thirty or forty of them and a couple of guys wearing civilian clothes. When we walked into the room they immediately stopped talking and looked at us intently. Indeed, there were so many Turkish officers in attendance and more arriving that it quickly became obvious we couldn’t all fit around the big table with the podium at the end.
General Polat responded immediately. He snapped something in Turkish, obviously an order for the table to be removed and more chairs to be brought in. That’s when the fun began. A hastily assembled group of enlisted men tried to carry the table out of the room. But it was too large to fit through the door. Finally, an increasingly pissed General Polat had them shove it up against the back wall and bring in more chairs.
Our briefing began with everyone sitting in sort of a semicircle facing a podium in front of a dusty window with dark blue curtains. Most of the Turkish officers were arrayed around and behind General Polat and another officer who seems to be quite senior and was never introduced. Just about everyone except me and my team settled into a chair and lit a cigarette. The five of us sat in a little group of chairs sort of facing the Turks with an interpreter standing behind us. I winced when I bent to sit down and did so very gingerly. I’m pretty sure Anil noticed when I did.
The atmosphere seems more than a little tense. I wonder why?
General Polat began by saying the Turkish Army has been asked to provide assistance to a joint American-Israeli team attempting to enter the Kurdish region of Iraq despite the dangers occasioned by the war. He said the Turkish Army was pleased to provide assistance including a Turkish officer, Major Hassan, who will be traveling with the team as a liaison officer. The general spoke in Turkish with an interpreter standing behind me repeating his words in English.
Attempt to enter? Attempt?
General Polat nodded at me when he finished his introduction. So I stood up and responded in the rapidly growing cloud of smoke with a short briefin
g of my own. A Turkish interpreter repeated my words as I thanked General Polat for his country’s willingness to assist us. I explained that my team’s assignment is to observe how the current war is affecting conditions over the border regarding the Kurds. What we are interested in knowing is how the Kurds outside of Turkey see their relationship with each other, with the non-Kurds in the Kurdish territories, and with the governments of Syria, Iraq, and Iran.
Got to remember to speak slowly and clearly so the interpreter has time to repeat what I’ve said.
Then I went on to explain that we’d appreciate anything they could tell us about the current relationship between the Kurds and the Iraqi, Iranian, and Syrian governments as well as between the Kurds and the Christians, Druze and Turkomen. I also said we’d greatly value the input of the Turkish Army as to whether they think we should go into Iraq armed or unarmed. I also asked them for their opinion as to whether or not we should identify ourselves by wearing our national uniforms or should we all wear Israeli fatigues or civilian clothes?
Finally I closed my little speech by asking what the Turkish Army thinks my team should carry in—particularly since I can’t carry anything yet because I am still recovering from an injury. I also said we’d like to know how the Turkish Army thinks we should explain our presence in Iraq to the Kurds.
These are the same questions I intend to ask the CIA station chief when we meet with him later this afternoon. Left unsaid is the obvious fact that I’ve got broken ribs that are still damn sore and the two Israelis are older and less physically fit. Harry and the Turkish major will have to do any heavy lifting that might be required.
******
What followed was quite interesting, if only because of the behavior of many of the senior Turkish officers who were attending and the lack of content in their comments. It quickly became apparent everybody in the room was there to listen and ask questions, not to provide information.
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