Flash Point

by James W. Huston

  They both glanced over their shoulders toward Alamut, which remained silhouetted against the night sky. “Looks intact.” Woods said, disheartened. He continued to climb the rocks heading for the top. The hill turned out to be more of a mountain than a hill. It was twice as high as Woods had thought when he’d seen it from across the valley floor. He looked back down from where they had come. Where they had been standing, Woods saw flashlights. He squinted. He could see several men standing around examining the ground for tracks. “They’re onto us.”

  “Shit,” Wink said.

  “We gotta find us a hiding place right now,” Woods said, surveying the surrounding area quickly. There were hundreds of boulders, but not one tree or large bush. Just hard ground, and harder rocks.

  “At least they don’t have dogs,” Wink said. “At least I hope they don’t.”

  Woods stood looking at a rock formation above them. He stepped toward it tentatively. “This way,” he directed.

  Wink limped along behind him. They knew if they didn’t find some place to hide in the next five minutes they’d be dead in ten.

  39

  Big tossed his helmet bag in the ready room chair and searched the room quickly for Bark. He saw him standing by the SDO desk on the phone.

  “Big!” Bark said, covering the receiver with his hand, still listening to the telephone. “What happened?”

  “ZSUs were waiting for us.”

  “E-2 says Trey and Wink got out.”

  “Yes, sir. Two good chutes. I talked to them on the ground.”

  “Admiral wants to see you. Sedge, you come too.”

  Sedge threw his helmet bag onto the chair next to Big’s. They both had sweat running down their chests and their hair was matted and sweat-filled. They had never been through anything like what they had just experienced, the best and worst of flying. Bark finished his phone call and motioned them to follow him out the back door of the ready room, turning left to walk up the starboard side of the carrier to the blue tile—Admiral’s country.

  Bark banged hard on the steel-reinforced door into SUPPLOT—Supplemental Plot—where the Admiral operated and monitored what was going on. A Petty Officer opened the door and ushered them in. The three Jolly Rogers stood next to each other behind Admiral Sweat, who was watching his three large projection screens showing the entire Middle East and every airplane, ship, and submarine in the area. The Air Wing Commander was next to him.

  The Admiral had dark circles under his eyes and had clearly been up all night. He had gotten as little sleep as anyone on the ship over the last three days. The entire operation and all the implications were on his shoulders. He turned around in his high-backed leather chair and studied the three of them. He was in no mood for small talk. What was supposed to be an easy mission had turned into a possible POW problem, the worst possible result. “What the hell happened?” he demanded.

  “The low level and the approach to the target were no problem,” Big said. “No hostile forces, no AAA, and no SAMs. The airplanes were sweet, although there was more drag with the GBU-28 than we—”

  “Tell me about the shoot-down.”

  “Yes, sir. When we broke across the Iranian border everything was fine. We were going through the valleys. As we got closer, and pulled up over a hill, we started getting tickled by an SA-6 radar—”

  “I didn’t think Iran had SA-6s.”

  “We didn’t either. Woods was in the lead, and did what I would have done. We were to do a gradual climb to a high-altitude drop—above any ground fire threat. But if we had pulled up high and cruised in, we’d have been in the heart of the SA-6 envelope. So we stayed low and did a pop-up mid-altitude attack. We looked for the laser designator from the ground, but he wasn’t there. We did it ourselves.” Sedge picked up the story.

  “And just kind of did the best we could at aiming, did our own laser,” Sedge said awkwardly.

  Big continued. “The SA-6 radar was on us, but no missile. We were releasing our bomb, heading back down to get out of the SAM radar. All of a sudden we got lit up by a ZSU radar. They tore into Trey. His wing folded over and his tail came off. Burst into flames and headed down to the desert floor. They jumped. The ZSU then tried for us and got three feet of our left wing, but we made it out. We raised Trey and Wink on the radio when they were on the ground. They’re okay, Admiral.”

  “How come we didn’t know they had ZSUs protecting this fortress?” he asked of no one in particular. “Did the satellite imagery show anything?”

  Big responded quickly. “No, sir, we reviewed all the photos before taking off. There was no hint. They knew we were coming. They moved some air defenses around the fortress at the worst possible time.”

  The Admiral considered the implications of that statement for a moment. “We’ll get them out.”

  Big volunteered. “I’d like to fly cover for the SAR effort, sir. I owe him.”

  “Relax,” the Admiral said. “We’ve been in touch with the Air Force Special Operations Command. They’ve got some people at Aviano who are ready to go.”

  “The Air Force?” Big asked.

  “It’s their mission, and they’re ready.”

  “When would they go?”

  “That’s one of the things they wanted us to ask you. Do you think they can survive out there until nightfall?”

  “They don’t have much choice. They’ll find somewhere to hide until dark. But I don’t know how you just fly in and pick up two guys sitting right next to a ZSU-23 that will be waiting for a SAR effort.”

  “That’s the Air Force’s problem.”

  “Let us fly fighter cover. Let’s put ten F-14’s overhead Trey and take on all comers.”

  “That’s not the way we’re going to do this,” the Admiral said. “It’s out of our hands. You guys go get some rest.”

  “Aye aye, sir,” they replied. They turned to leave the darkened room when the Admiral stopped them.

  “Did you get the Sheikh?”

  Big shrugged. “Not a chance. The laser wasn’t there. We had to do it ourselves. We had to jink away to keep from getting our asses shot. I don’t know if they even hit where we were aiming.”

  “They did,” Sedge said. “But we don’t have any idea if we aimed right. Probably just blew up a bunch of dirt.”

  The Admiral’s response had a flinty edge to it. “That’s the problem with declaring war against one person. If you bomb him and blow him into the next reality, how do you ever know for sure you got him? How the hell are we going to prove we got this guy?”

  “We’ve got to get out of sight,” Woods said, thinking of the Assassins making their way toward them.

  Wink sat on a boulder and rubbed his knee. “I sure hope I don’t have to get arthro. My knee is killing me.”

  “What’d you do to it?”

  “I’m not sure. I just hit the ground hard. You know they tell you to look straight ahead so you don’t know when you’re going to hit and you don’t brace for the impact?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I’d like to meet the guy who had that idea. I’d probably have been fine if I’d been able to prepare for the impact . . .”

  Woods suddenly noticed an overhang behind them that seemed to curl around and underneath a large boulder. He quit listening to Wink and scrambled onto the boulder to examine the crevice. It might be big enough for a man to get into, but it would be tight. He looked up into the sky. The stars were disappearing. Sunrise was approaching.

  He slid down the boulder and sat next to Wink. “I think we’re going to have to get in between these two rocks. It’ll be tight.”

  “Think we can fit?”

  “We’ll have to take off all our flight gear—”

  “We can’t leave it out—”

  “No, we’ll drag it in with us.”

  Wink was skeptical and crawled onto the boulder and stuck his head into the crevice. He pulled his Maglite out of his survival vest and shined it into the crack.

  “Are yo
u out of your mind?” Woods cried. “Shut that off! They can see that for ten miles!”

  Wink quickly turned it off and put it back where it had been. Not only had he just told everyone where they were, he had ruined his own night vision.

  “So, now that you’ve illuminated it, can we fit in it?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Great,” Woods said, feeling a quick flash of nausea. “You’d better try. Otherwise, we’re going to be sitting ducks.” He looked for the men crossing the valley. He couldn’t see anybody. “They’re already at the base of this hill,” he announced to Wink’s back as he watched him try to slide into the crevice.

  Wink struggled to slide into the hole, fearful he would get into a position where he couldn’t get back out.

  Woods watched him anxiously. Woods never saw the hand come around his head from his right that quickly covered his mouth. His arms flailed as he was dragged backward off the boulder and onto the hard ground.

  Two enormous, dark gray MH-53J Pave Low helicopters came over the horizon. They slowed as they approached the USS Saipan and positioned themselves for a vertical descent. The Saipan was a helicopter and VTOL—Vertical Takeoff and Landing—carrier that carried the Marine amphibious helicopters and Harrier jets.

  The sailors on the Saipan watched the approach. The MH-53Js were like many other H-53 helicopters flown by the Navy and the Marine Corps. They saw those all the time. But these helicopters looked different. They had bulges and bumps where the other helicopters didn’t, and they didn’t have Navy or Marine markings.

  The first Pave Low slowed as it neared the flight deck. The sailors strained to see the markings on the helicopter. There weren’t any they could see. The yellow shirt on the deck signaled the lead pilot where to put the enormous six-bladed helicopter. The pilot was very cautious; he had landed on ships before and knew he had to be careful.

  The pilot maneuvered the Pave Low gently over the flight deck twenty feet above it and steadied directly above the landing spot. The Air Boss watched it with some trepidation. The Air Force was out of its element at sea. The Navy didn’t trust the Air Force to get anything right when it came to ships. But the fact that they had found the ship put them in good standing with the Air Boss. His hand was on the radio transmitter ready to call out at the smallest deviation from procedures.

  The Pave Low III settled gently onto the deck, directly on the spot designated. Its landing gear compressed as the screaming plane’s weight shifted from the rotor blades. The deck crewman signaled for the pilot to shut down his port engine as another sailor put wood chocks in front of and behind the wheels.

  The second Pave Low approached the Saipan along the same path. Its spot was aft of the first one, and it settled onto it as effortlessly as the lead had.

  All of a sudden the deck was quiet. The rear access ramp of the Pave Lows opened and the pilots and aircrew stepped onto the flight deck. They looked around, then headed for the island.

  The sailors had started to turn away when the rest of the occupants began filing out—men in dark jumpsuits with no insignia or markings. Like the aircrew, they proceeded into the island and disappeared behind them, followed by another group carrying large boxes. The Air Force was coming aboard, completely self-contained. All they needed was gas.

  Woods was flipped onto his stomach, his face pushed down hard by a hand over his mouth. Suddenly he could feel warm breath on his cheek. A man whispered in his ear in gruff, accented English, “Don’t make a sound!”

  Woods stopped struggling and listened. Suddenly the man was gone. No one was holding him down. He sat up quickly and looked around in the still, dark morning. Reaching inside his survival vest, he took out his 9-millimeter Beretta. He rose and started toward Wink.

  As Wink finally freed himself from his aborted attempt to test the width of the crevice he had been eyeing, he too, was grabbed from behind. He panicked and fought as hard as he could as the strong arms pulled him backward, down the large boulder to the dirt. They tumbled off the last edge of the boulder and landed next to Woods.

  The man grabbed Wink by the head and whispered loudly in his ear, “Stop struggling!”

  The man, who had dark curly hair and a short beard, crouched next to them in unremarkable olive, army-like clothes. “You must be quiet,” he whispered.

  “Who are you?” Woods asked. Woods tried to place the man’s accent. It was distinctly Middle Eastern, but he couldn’t identify it. Young and vigorous, the man was clearly not a shepherd or local farmer.

  “Put your gun away!” the man said when he realized what was in Woods’s hand. “We must move.”

  “Why should we go with you?” Wink asked.

  The man looked at him, understanding. “You don’t have to. But they will find you.”

  “Who will?” Woods asked.

  “The Assassins,” he said quickly. “The ones coming from the valley to get you.”

  It was good enough for Woods. He put the Beretta away. “Where are we going?”

  The man didn’t respond. He unslung the M-16 that had been hanging across his back. It had a large clip of ammunition and looked well worn. He motioned for Woods and Wink to follow him.

  The man worked his way through the rocks silently, Wink and Woods stumbling along behind him.

  As they moved between large boulders making for the other side of the hill, Woods pulled his radio out of his survival vest and checked to make sure it was on the SAR frequency—282.8. The man turned and grabbed the radio from Woods’s hand, nearly pulling Woods off his feet by the lanyard attached from the radio to his survival vest.

  “What do you think you’re doing?” Woods said.

  “Do not turn on.”

  “Why not?”

  The man considered the question unworthy of response. He gave the radio back to Woods and began walking again.

  Woods stayed put. “I wasn’t going to transmit, just listen.”

  The man replied over his shoulder. “They will hear you!”

  “It plugs into my helmet,” Woods replied. He was growing annoyed at the man who had apparently decided to tell them exactly what to do, and expected them to go along.

  Woods glanced over his shoulder at Wink, who shrugged. The radio was silent except for the hint of static that reassured him it was working. He followed the man blindly while playing with his radio. He couldn’t have retraced their steps if called upon to do so.

  “We’re here,” the man said.

  Woods looked around at the boulders. The sun was approaching the horizon and giving off just enough light to make the mountain and its numerous boulders visible. “Where?”

  “Here you will hide. With me.”

  Woods studied the terrain, then stared at their escort. “So you’re the one. What the hell happened?”

  “What are you saying?”

  “You were supposed to put the laser on the target.”

  “There’s no time for talk now. First we must get out of the open,” the man insisted.

  Wink had had enough. “Who are you? How are we going to get out of the open?”

  The sky was lightening. “We must hurry!” he said, suddenly reaching out to pick up the bottom of a rock. Hinged on the uphill end, it came up easily. The fake boulder was five feet tall, six feet long, and five or so feet wide. Underneath was a large flat area.

  Woods and Wink stared at the space, invisible a minute ago.

  “Get in,” the man ordered.

  The space was large enough for all three. Woods and Wink hesitated, but seeing no other choice, they ducked under the frame and sat down on the dirt underneath. The man lowered the frame behind him and sat next to them. He put his M-16 on the ground near him and took a deep breath. Woods whispered to the man he couldn’t see in the near darkness, “So what happened?”

  “My partner was the laser.”

  Woods was stunned. “You’re with the Mossad?”

  The man considered, then responded, “I am Israeli.”
>
  “So what happened?”

  The Assassins found him yesterday. They stumbled on him and then killed him.”

  Woods wondered if it was true. “Why didn’t you do the laser?”

  “He had the equipment. Different hill. Different mission.”

  “Did they get his equipment?”

  “Yes. But don’t worry—it was untraceable. And he had no identification. There is no way they will know he was Israeli.”

  “I’m sorry.” Woods was now just able to make out his outline.

  “They are on the hill now, looking for us. They will be checking the boulders. We must wait. . . . Do you think your people will come for you?”

  “Tonight.”

  In the darkness the man reached behind him into something that looked like a duffel bag and pulled out a submachine gun. He handed it to Woods, then pulled out another M-16 and gave it to Wink. “Here. Be ready to use these,” he whispered. “If they find us, we will start shooting them right away. We will fire, open the rock, and rush out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “I cannot be captured. If you want to surrender now, go ahead. If you stay with me, you must fight.”

  Woods pressed his lips together anxiously. “I don’t even know how to work this.”

  The man looked at the weapon he had given Woods and took it back. “Here,” he said, picking up the M-16 he had put down next to him. “You know how to use this, don’t you?”

  “Yes,” Woods said. He looked at the rifle for a moment. “This is the safety here, right?”

  “No, here,” the man said, indicating. “When it turns dark again we can begin preparation. One of us at a time can sleep today. You first,” he said, pointing to Wink.

  Wink nodded. The last time he had fired an M-16 had been seven years before in summer training. Naval officers weren’t required to stay current with rifles.

  On the ground Woods noticed what looked like a sophisticated electronics box surrounded by black foam. It had numerous digital displays and readings. “What is that?”

  “No more talking,” the man said as he looked outward. Following his glance, Woods and Wink realized that the day had grown lighter and that now they could see out of the boulder. It was like a one-way mirror.