Flash Point

by James W. Huston

  Woods’s eyes narrowed. “You’ve done your homework.”

  “Skull and bones,” he said.

  “That’s us.”

  “I went to your school. I am a Topgun graduate.”

  Woods studied him more closely. “When?”

  “Oh, before your time. Class of 04/97, in F-16s.”

  “That’s why you guys are so good. Navy-trained.”

  “How do you like the F-14?” Chermak asked.

  “Best fighter in the world,” Woods said quickly.

  “You really believe it’s better than our F-15s?”

  “Depends on what you’re doing. Can you shoot down six planes simultaneously?”

  “No, but how often are you called on to do that?”

  “Not often enough.”

  “What about in a dogfight?”

  “We can beat anybody, except a well-flown F-15 or 16. Really well flown. And we’ll beat him about half the time.”

  Chermak changed the subject. “Have you enjoyed your time in Israel?”

  “Not really,” Woods said.

  “Why not?” the Major asked.

  Woods was silent for a minute before he answered. “Because I went to see where my roommate was murdered.”

  The Major hesitated. Then he asked. “How did it happen?”

  “He came to visit his girlfriend, in Nahariya, and was killed by that Sheikh.”

  The Major sighed. “He was the one on the bus?”

  “Yes, sir,” Woods replied, his gray eyes full of fire.

  “I’m sorry,” the Major said. Shrugging his shoulders, he added, “Americans don’t usually get involved.”

  “Shot him in the back.”

  The Major responded softly, “I’m sorry . . . but, you know, Israelis are killed every year. In cold blood. I don’t mean to minimize the death of your friend, but if it had been an Israeli man killed on that bus, you probably wouldn’t have even heard about it.”

  “You know, you don’t have a patent on suffering,” Woods said angrily. “Sometimes it seems to me like you’re proud of how much you’ve had to suffer. Well, we suffer sometimes too. Seems like it’s always for someone else, but we suffer too.”

  “Of course you do. I didn’t mean to say you don’t. But you must understand, we are in a unique situation here. There have been over fifteen hundred terrorist attacks on Israel since we became an independent nation in 1948. We are a country of four and a half million people, and we are surrounded by forty million Arabs, who have sworn to kill us all and push us into the sea. Sometimes some of them deny that. But never all of them.” He raised his glass and drank deeply. “We are in a constant state of war. Constant. They shoot rockets at us across the border, and hit schools and hospitals. They come ashore in rubber boats and murder families. They blow up buses and kill innocent women and children. And for that, they want recognition and respect.”

  “I didn’t mean to say you were wrong, or . . .”

  The Major waved him off with his hand. “I know, I know. . . . We just live it every day. You are feeling what we all feel, every day of our lives. We have all lost family and friends in the wars, in terrorist attacks, and in intimidation.” His eyes came alive. “But now as a nation we can do something about it. We don’t sit back and walk to the gas chambers like lambs to slaughter.” His voice rising, he said, “Deliver those who are being taken away to death, and those who are staggering to slaughter, hold them back. If you say, we did not know this, does he not consider it who weighs the heart? And does he not know it who keeps the soul? And will he not render to man according to his works?” He paused to look for recognition in Woods. “Do you know that? It is from the Meshalim. Your Book of Proverbs, in the Old Testament, as you call it.”

  Woods nodded.

  “Now, we do something about it. We strike back. Never again will Jews go to their deaths quietly.”

  “That’s exactly how I feel, but I can’t do anything about Vialli,” Woods said. Noticing the Major’s confusion he added, “My roommate.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I wanted to do something about Vialli. But I’m out of options.” Woods spoke out of frustration. “I just wanted to do something.”

  The Major took another sip from his glass. “Like what?”

  “To strike back. I wanted to go after the people who did it.” Woods’s eyes showed his intense disappointment.

  “Do you know where they are? ’Cause I think some people have an idea of where they are. Or where the Sheikh is.”

  “He’s in Lebanon.”

  Woods waited. He wasn’t sure if he was being asked, or told. “How do you know?”

  “We make it our business to know where terrorists are who murder Israelis. He isn’t always in Lebanon, but he is right now. His headquarters is somewhere else.”

  “How do you know he is in Lebanon?”

  “Our intelligence people are very good.”

  “Where in Lebanon?”

  “Eastern.”

  “I thought when he sent his statement to the press he signed it in Beirut.”

  “Maybe. But now, he’s in eastern Lebanon.”

  “You know the town?” Woods asked, wanting to get as much information as he could, whether he was supposed to know or not.

  “I do know the town.”

  “What town?”

  “Dar al Ahmar.”

  “Where is that?”

  “If I had a chart I would show you.”

  “Why are you telling me this?”

  Chermak shrugged. “We’re on the same side, aren’t we? Didn’t he kill your American roommate and my three countrymen?”

  Woods wondered what Chermak was getting at. Why did he feel as if he was being tested. “If you know where he is, why aren’t you doing something about it?”

  “What makes you think we’re not?”

  “Because nothing has happened. We’d know about it.”

  “You would know about it if we wanted you to know about it. If it was done some other way, you might not hear about it.”

  “I hope you hammer him.”

  “So why didn’t you?”

  “Why didn’t I what?”

  “You said you wish you could do something about it. Why didn’t you?”

  “It’s not up to me. I went way out on a limb. Even went to see the Admiral, to get him to launch an attack. Kind of stupid. I could have been court-martialed. I think everyone was giving me a lot of room since Vialli was my roommate. Then I had a brainstorm, and wrote to my congressman to tell him about it. I had hoped our government—Congress in particular—would do something. I should have known better. They never do. They say a bunch of words and go to their next party. I guess we’re supposed to just let it happen.”

  Except for Big, the other officers had drifted away as the conversation had become more and more serious. The Major looked around the room slowly, then back at Woods, as if considering something. He leaned forward slightly, saying on a soft voice, “May I talk to you outside?”

  Woods wasn’t sure. “What for?” he asked, trying to resist but without offending.

  Chermak didn’t respond directly. “Yes?”

  “I guess so.” He turned to Big, saying “I’ll be right back.”

  Big gave him a “be careful” look.

  Woods and the Major walked outside the club and into the star-filled night, from the loud cacophony of conversation to the deep quiet of the evening. It was chilly and Woods wished he had something on other than his polyester white uniform. He put his cover on his head and pulled the bill down.

  The Major started down the road. “Come,” he said.

  Woods walked beside him on the side of the field next to the club. “What’s this about?” he asked impatiently.

  “Just a minute,” the Major replied. “I want to make sure we’re out of hearing range of the building. You never know what is attached to a building or who is inside it.”

  Woods frowned but didn’t say an
ything. After a few minutes, the Major stopped. A single spotlight from a building hundreds of yards away lit the Major from behind just enough that Woods couldn’t make out his face. He listened carefully over the chirping of the crickets as the Major stood very close to him and spoke softly, almost in a whisper. “What are you doing tomorrow morning?”

  Woods was puzzled. “We sail early, then we’ll be conducting flight ops west of here.”

  Major Chermak said, “Can you fly in the morning?”

  “What?”

  “Can you fly in the morning?”

  “I told you, we’ll be flying off the ship in the morning. We’re pulling out.”

  “What time?”

  “I can’t tell you that. Confidential.”

  “What time is your first flight?” the Major asked again, undeterred.

  “What difference does it make?”

  “What time,” the Major repeated.

  Woods hesitated, then said, “I think our first launch is 0700.”

  “Can you be on it?”

  “Why?”

  “Yes or no.”

  “Of course. I write the flight schedule. I can put myself on it anywhere I want. But why?”

  The Major checked around them slowly in each direction obviously watching for any movement.

  “Can you meet us overhead right here,” he said, pointing up, “at 0730?”

  “What are you talking about?” Woods asked, his heart pounding as the implications of what the Major was asking sunk in.

  “Yes or no.”

  “I suppose I could, but what for?”

  “Tomorrow we go north. Into Lebanon. We will be after several terrorist strongholds in southern Lebanon, from where they launch their actions, including the place the rubber boats came from in the attack when your friend—”

  Woods cut him off. “Where was that?” he asked sharply.

  “Never mind about that. We also will be in eastern Lebanon. I will be leading that strike.”

  “Why eastern Lebanon if the attack was launched from the coast?”

  “We’re going to Dar al Ahmar.”

  “You’re going after the Sheikh himself? The one taking credit for Gaza, and the bus?”

  “The very one.”

  Woods felt goose bumps on his arms. “What would I do?”

  “You can cover me. We are expecting the Syrians to come after us this time. We will be baiting them. Just a little.”

  “They’re going to be sending fighters after you?”

  “Yes.”

  “What could I do?”

  “Keep them off me. I have to deliver a laser-guided bomb to our friend.”

  “Why don’t you want your own fighters doing escort?”

  “I do. They will be there. You can fly high cover, above most of the AAA and low SAMs.”

  Woods tried to keep his voice from shaking. “I’d never get permission.”

  Woods barely heard Chermak’s rueful laugh. “I didn’t expect you to ask.”

  Woods’s mind was spinning. “Are you serious?”

  “Very.”

  “I couldn’t be of much help. I can’t fire my missiles. Can’t very well go back to the ship without them.”

  “There may be a way around that too.”

  “Are you nuts?” Big asked, quickly glancing around for other squadron officers. “This is the kind of thing that they don’t think is funny. We’ll be making big rocks into little rocks.”

  “What’s up?” Pritch asked, strolling up to the two Naval officers she enjoyed being with the most. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said to Big.

  Big ignored her and, returning his focus to Woods, said, “You talk to Wink yet?”

  “No. I wanted to talk to you. If you’re in, we can talk to Wink and Sedge.”

  Big shook his head thoughtfully. Pritch looked at them in frustration. “We’d never pull it off,” Big said finally.

  “It’ll work. There’s not that much to plan. We just have to go along with them. Making it look like a regular hop from the ship will be the tricky part, but it will work. I know it will.”

  “Maybe you’re not the best person to decide that.”

  “Let’s find Wink and Sedge. I’ll go over the whole thing. Then we’ll decide.”

  Big spoke to Pritch. “Let’s go.”

  They moved toward the back of the room where most of the squadron was congregated, waiting to return to the ship.

  “Go over what whole thing?” Pritch said to their backs.

  20

  Big took off his white uniform and hung it in his closet. “We’re sticking our heads into a noose. They don’t need our help. If we don’t show up it won’t make any difference at all.”

  “Except we already said we would.”

  “I doubt they’d care,” Big said, sitting down heavily in his stateroom chair.

  “You having second thoughts?”

  “I’m way past that,” Big said. “I think these are fifth or sixth thoughts. I’ve done a lot of things in my life that I shouldn’t have done, some of them even illegal.” He leaned back in his chair, closing his eyes. “I’ve broken Navy regulations on occasion, when it suited me. I’ve even worn my belt upside down, contrary to Uniform Regulations. My being left-handed and all, it seemed like I should be able to wear it as a normal left-handed person would, not some arbitrarily drawn regulation.” He opened his eyes and studied Woods’s face. “But I’ve never done anything that qualifies as a felony before.”

  Woods stopped undressing and turned to Big. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I’m not going to talk you into anything. You’d hold it against me.”

  “Of course I would. I’ll hold it against you even if you don’t talk me into it,” Big replied. “Are we doing the right thing here, Trey?”

  Woods closed his closet door too hard. “Tell me what right is, Big. Is it right that some self-appointed Sheikh Assassin or whoever else it will be next time, can shoot one of our squadron mates and get away with it? Is that right?”

  “That’s a stupid question. I’m asking about us, not them. What’s right for us isn’t decided by what they do. It may make it harder, but it doesn’t determine it.”

  “They don’t care about anybody! Human life is not valuable to them, except maybe for the chumps who are at the head of their organization. I don’t see them doing the attacks themselves. Human life is valuable to me though. A lot. That’s my point.”

  “I don’t know, Trey,” Big said. He drummed his fingers on his fold-down desk. “What do you think Father Maloney would say about it?”

  Woods was shocked. “Since when do you care what he thinks about anything? Every time he sits down by us you get up and leave like he has leprosy.”

  “I get uncomfortable talking about religion.” He chewed his lip thoughtfully. “I guess I don’t like being put on the spot. I don’t know what I think. It shows fast.” He rubbed his mouth. “You ever think about dying?”

  Woods’s face showed his amazement. “What’s gotten into you? Mr. Cavalier, Mr. Cynic, suddenly you want to know the meaning of life?”

  “I don’t know, Trey. Thinking about tomorrow, it just occurred to me.”

  Woods sat down. “Sure, I’ve thought about it. The way I see it, I’m invincible until God wants me to die, then there’s nothing I can do about it.”

  Big reflected. “What does that mean?”

  “I don’t know. My father used to say it. I always thought it sounded clever . . . until he died. Then it wasn’t funny anymore.” His voice trailed off. “You gonna go with me or not?”

  Big sighed resignedly. “You’d probably get lost, or screw something up. I’ll have to be there to watch out for you.”

  Woods relaxed. “Thanks.”

  “Don’t thank me. We may both end up in Leavenworth.”

  “Bring it on. Let me testify in a court-martial about how no one cared about Vialli. If we end up in Leavenworth, it’ll be worth it.”
>
  “I hope you’re right,” Big said, climbing onto his rack for a short night’s sleep. “Somebody’s got to take care of these terrorists. I guess it’s time somebody took a risk to do it. It’s like Humphrey Bogart said in The Maltese Falcon,” Big added. He did a Bogart voice: ‘You’ve got do something about it. If you don’t, it’s bad for business, bad all around.’ “

  Woods thought he heard a noise and turned toward the stateroom door. He heard it again. It was a soft but determined knock. He opened the door a crack and Wink pushed it the rest of the way open and let himself into the room.

  “Wink. What’s up?” Woods asked.

  “We can’t do this,” Wink said nervously. He looked around the room to make sure they were alone. He acknowledged Big sitting on his rack.

  “Do what?”

  “Cut the crap.” Wink sat down in Woods’s desk chair and rubbed his hands back and forth on the tops of his legs like a schoolboy in the principal’s office. “We’ll never pull it off.”

  “Yes we will,” Woods countered.

  “Too much can go wrong—”

  “No doubt about it. But we will pull it off, Wink. You know we can do it.”

  “It’s not the escort part of it that worries me.” He was clearly struggling. “I don’t want to go to prison, Trey, not for some impulsive, feel-good revenge deal.”

  “We won’t go to prison!”

  “We’ll never pull it off!” Wink exclaimed, louder than he intended.

  “Yes, we will. What’s gotten you going?” Woods asked. “You said you were in—”

  “I was. I’ve been lying in my rack staring at the overhead. I can’t even swallow. Do you realize the implications if we get busted?”

  “Of course I do. But we won’t.”

  “Yeah. Right. Tiger has to do the fake symbols on the radar—”

  “You talk to him?”

  “Yeah.”

  “He said he could?”

  “Sure. But if someone looks close they’ll see the difference—”

  “They won’t. Nobody checks on Tiger. He’s the man.”

  “What if they do?”

  “They won’t.”

  “And we’ve got to get there and back in one cycle? One hour and forty-five minutes? Are you kidding me?”

  “Wink, I showed you the chart. You know this stuff. It’s one hundred eleven nautical miles to Ramat David. How long is that at five hundred knots? Thirteen point three two minutes, Wink. You did the calculation. And how far is it from Ramat David to the Bekáa Valley in Lebanon? Sixty-four friggin’ miles, Wink. How long does that take at six hundred knots? Six point four minutes, Wink. So far that’s about twenty minutes. And to get back? Another fifteen, or twenty minutes, depending. So forty or so minutes total, add a little time for air combat. What, ten minutes? Think we can squeeze that into an hour forty five? Sure, there will be some time between, but the timing works—”