by Jon Sedran
For Doud and Galla, things were suddenly not going well and were about to get far worse. Doud pulled back on the yoke, but it resisted his efforts. He pulled again, and still it would barely move. “What is wrong?” He muttered, as he gave a mighty tug. This time the yoke came rapidly back, the autopilot disengaged as it was supposed to do, and the plane soared skyward. The two men were terrified as they fought to regain control of the aircraft. The plane went up, then down, and then back up again, changing direction as it went. They had received almost no training on how to fly using only the cockpit’s flight instruments and the autopilot could not be reset until they got the plane back to level flight. “Allah Akbar,” exclaimed Doud in a now high-pitched voice. Fortunately for them as the plane climbed, the clouds disappeared below and they could see the stars.
They had been in Jordanian airspace when they dropped off the radar screens and air traffic controllers had lost contact. After several more attempts to contact them, the controllers called their air defense control center. They would direct an airborne fighter to that sector.
The two finally managed to regain control of the aircraft, but nothing looked right. The climbs and descents had caused the Velcro holding the portable GPS unit to pull loose and it had fallen to the floor. The plane’s heading indicator was now showing zero-seven zero degrees and changing. After three attempts Doud managed to re-engage the autopilot. But what should our heading be now? he wondered. Galla bent over and picked up the GPS, but the screen was dark. He turned the unit over and noticed the battery had fallen out.
“Curse Allah, why would he do this? Galla lamented, showing Doud the open case back.
“Just tell me the heading we should fly…look on the map,” instructed Doud, trying his best to stay calm. Galla, now shaking, fumbled for the chart and the flashlight. After a few moments he hesitatingly offered, “One two-zero degrees.”
“Are you sure?” asked Doud.
Galla looked at the chart again, “Yes” he replied. A nervous Doud inadvertently set heading one-five zero degrees into the autopilot control. It immediately began to turn the plane to that heading. This is better, Doud thought. It was just like he had been taught in flight school.
The aircraft’s abrupt climb which had enabled Doud and Galla to see the stars, had also allowed Israeli air defense radar to see their aircraft.
* * * *
The four air defense radar sites that watch the skies over northern Israel are tied into an overlapping and multi-level air defense system. It includes Patriot missile batteries, shorter range missiles which are part of Israel’s ‘Iron Dome’ air defense system, and fighters on alert twenty-four seven.
Data is fed from each site in real-time to the northern Israel air defense control center located underground at a far corner of Ramat David IAF Base. The radars’ coverage is set up so that the loss of any one site does not leave a blind spot.
Air defense radar had finally gotten a fix on the wayward cargo aircraft and were directing the nearest airborne fighter to intercept it. As fate would have it, Goshen and his brand new F-35 were it.
“Ram 37, East Sector One, turn to heading one-one zero degrees and descend to one-five thousand, best speed,” instructed the air defense controller.
Yes! best speed, awesome, Goshen thought. All fighter pilots are just big kids with very expensive toys. He read back the controllers instructions, lit the afterburner and turned his radar up to the maximum range.
In the small Israeli kibbutz of Afek, Ram 37’s sonic boom shook the houses and rattled windows, but there was no anger. They had heard the booms before and just prayed to God it was an IAF aircraft successfully defending their country.
* * * *
At IDF Unit 8200 in the Negev Desert, Herzog was finishing her shift and getting ready to head home, when the unit commander walked up to her.
“Sergeant Herzog, I thought you should know Mossad sent someone to snoop around the Beirut airport,” reported Abramowitz, reviewing a report on his tablet PC. “It says they were able to look inside a couple of the hangars, but found nothing that might be missiles or launchers. Just typical operations stuff, planes, tires, tools, spare parts, and so on.”
“Maybe they got there too late?” suggested Herzog.
“Or too early,” said Abramowitz, shrugging his shoulders.
* * * *
“Ram 37, turn right heading one-three zero degrees, descend at your discretion, target will be at your twelve o’clock, twenty miles, low. Goshen reset the F-35’s radar’s range scale to best identify and lock onto the SD-360 and armed the plane’s weapon systems. Once locked on, he would send a deadly AMMRAM missile streaking across the night sky and end the first crew’s mission.
But no sooner had Goshen readied for the attack, the controller called again, “Ram 37 disengage, fly heading three-six zero degrees and climb to flight-level two five zero” Goshen repeated back the instructions, dutifully taking the plane out of afterburner and pulling a tight seven g climbing right turn. Damn, I really wanted to fire a missile, he thought.
As it turned out, the incorrect heading Galla had given along with the wrong autopilot setting, took them back out of Israeli airspace and again into Jordanian airspace. Israeli air defense radars had shown the SD-360 aircraft leaving their airspace and it would now be up to Jordanian air defenses to continue the chase. As was protocol from the Camp David Accords, the Israeli air defense controller picked up the land line and contacted his counterpart in the Jordanian air defense system. He apprised him of what had just transpired and gave him the coordinates of the last radar contact.
In the dimly lit cockpit, Doud and Galla struggled to get the GPS working again. They had been flying for almost fifteen minutes, not toward Tel Aviv, but far out into the Jordanian desert. The clouds were gone and they could make out the hills just below them. But there were no lights, just darkness as far as they could see. Doud turned to Galla. “Let me see the map,” he said in a frustrated voice. Galla handed it to him. Doud could see Galla’s hand was still trembling. He looked at the map and then looked up at the heading indicator. “Najid, you said one two-zero was the heading, but the map is marked two one-zero.” Doud held the map out so they could both look at it.
Galla shook his head. “Forgive me Abba, I am sorry.”
Doud sighed, then added, “And I mistakenly set in one-five zero degrees…it is okay Najid, the auto-pilot is working well. I will just turn us back to two-one zero. Keep trying to get the GPS working.”
The turn would not take them to Tel Aviv as they hoped, for they were now several miles further south and east than they were supposed to be; it did take them back into the clouds.
* * * *
Perched on hilltop five miles north of the center of the Jordanian capital of Amman, the Al Jazeera news crew was finishing up their report on night life in a city teeming with a young and fast-growing Arab population. They had parked their news van next to a palm tree in a small vacant lot in a picturesque neighborhood of homes and villas. “Assam, very good camera tonight,” said Sabir, the station’s news director, who had decided to come along. She knew from his work, Assam Turay was the best news cameraman in the entire area.
“Thank you,” Turay replied, adding, “I want to get one more shot of the city panning east to west, then it should be a wrap.” He held the camera and looked through the viewfinder as he panned the skyline for about a minute to get footage he wanted.
“Let’s go home, it’s getting late,” said Sabir.
“That should do it,” Turay replied, powering down the camera and putting it into the van. They both stood and took one last look at the city lights before heading back to the studio. “The city looks incredible tonight,” he said.
“Yes very pretty, I love to look at the lights,” Sabir acknowledged.
* * * *
High overhead, Major Khan was piloting his Royal Jordanian Air Force F-16 fighter, call sign ‘Hamar One-Two’ on a routine air defense patrol. His airc
raft was about thirty years old but had upgraded avionics and radar. His was the closest Jordanian fighter to the last known position of the SD-360 cargo plane. The Jordanian air defense controllers had watched the plane fly off into the desert, but then lost radar contact having only limited coverage of that sector of their airspace. Earlier in the day a call had come through from Mossad to Jordanian intelligence, warning the Jordanians of a possible attack on a target in Israel likely using a cargo plane. A senior intelligence officer had passed the warning along to air defense system commanders. Now, the IAF had just apprised them of the SD-360 situation.
“Hamar One-two, air defense control, fly heading three-six zero degrees, descend and maintain one-two thousand. We have a Shorts SD-360 aircraft flying erratically and way off course...may have been hijacked...and we have lost contact.” Major Khan read back the controller’s instructions and turned the plane to three-six zero degrees. “Say type of aircraft again?” he inquired.
“It is a Shorts SD-360….a….a…twin engine cargo plane,” came the response.
“Understood,” Khan replied. A hijacking, haven’t had one of those in a while, he thought.
Doud and Galla again looked at the chart as they scanned the unfamiliar instrument panel in vain. They were lost and in the clouds and the improvised GPS was still dead.
“We must climb out of these clouds at once, Najid.” They were both exasperated; it seemed as if Allah had abandoned them.
* * * *
The crew of the second SD-360 were about to leave Lebanese airspace and their heading would shortly take them into Israeli airspace. The Lebanese air traffic controller saw this on his radar and was frantically trying to call and warn them. As they descended per Marid’s instructions, they dropped off the radar. Both men took off their headsets, set them aside and then disabled the plane’s radar transponder. Now they were flying low through the hills on the course they had been directed to fly; pale moonlight providing their only illumination. Kasim’s men had launched the drones to confuse Israeli air defense radars.
“Allah is with us tonight, Hana,” Mannan reassured his co-pilot.
“Yes,” replied Fayad. They would only need ten more minutes to get to Haifa.
* * * *
Goshen in his F-35 was back on station now and he had resumed his normal patrol pattern. Another 45 minutes, then done and back to base, he thought. Just then the voice in headset came alive again, “Ram 37 turn heading three five-zero degrees, descend to eight-thousand, target twenty-five miles…will be at your twelve o’clock, very low. Goshen read back the controller’s instructions as he pulled the plane’s nose hard around and again moved the F-35’s throttle into afterburner.
Northern sector air-defense radar had tracked the Hezbollah drones as they flew through their airspace and now saw another intermittent target heading south from Lebanon, they would take no chances. “Target’s heading is one-niner zero degrees, two-hundred knots, very low, no altitude readout.”
“Ram 37 searching,” Goshen replied.
Mannan strained his eyes as he looked off to the right past Fayad’s head. In the distance he could see the lights of a big city. Must be Haifa, he though. “Look,” he announced, pointing at the lights.
Shortly, he would turn the plane directly toward those lights and descend to a lower altitude. So far, so good, he thought, Allah willing, we will make it and deliver our cargo of nuclear hell to the Zionists.
The F35 could fly fast, but like all military jets, the engine’s afterburner had a voracious appetite for fuel. This wasn’t lost on Goshen as he looked at the fuel remaining on the digital display. But seconds count, he thought, as the plane smoothly accelerated to supersonic.
* * * *
Doud and Galla had set a higher altitude into the autopilot and their plane had begun to climb. After about five minutes they were again out of the clouds and both scanned the horizon for lights.
Khan in his F-16 continued to fly the intercept courses directed by the Jordanian air defense controllers whenever they were able to get radar fix on the SD-360. The plane’s higher altitude had again made it visible on radar.
“Najid, look out there, I see many lights just ahead, praise Allah!”
Galla nodded and smiled. “The Zionists will now pay for all they have done!” But was it Tel-Aviv, or could it be Jerusalem? Doud wondered. He looked at the chart again and then set it down, it must be Tel Aviv, he convinced himself. If only there had been time to learn how to use the navigational instruments, he thought.
As more lights began to come into view Doud set a lower altitude in the autopilot and they flew on, in and out of the clouds.
“Glory to Allah, Allah Akbar, we are almost home Najid!” exclaimed a jubilant Doud.
“Yes,” Galla replied as he looked down at the black metal box with the switch on top with its red safety cover. In just a few minutes they would be martyrs. Galla’s hand was shaking as he fumbled to lift the cover on the switch.
Doud looked over at him and smiled. “Do not be afraid my friend, we will soon be with Allah.”
Khan was now flying his F-16 through a broken layer of low clouds obscuring the hills below him. The radio came alive again. “Hamar one-two, turn right heading three-two zero degrees,” instructed the controller, adding, “Maintain visual separation from the ground.”
“Three-two zero degrees” Khan read back, as he crisply turned the F-16 to its new heading.
The Jordanian air defense on-duty commander aware of the warning received earlier from Amman, now authorized Khan to shoot down the off-course and unresponsive aircraft. “Hamar one-two, you are cleared to fire on this aircraft,” he directed.
“Understand, cleared to fire!” Khan repeated back, as he flipped the arming switch up. He had set the F-16’s radar to maximum range, but the low hills resulted in what is referred to as ground clutter. It prevented the radar from seeing and locking on to the SD-360 aircraft. “Hamar one two, turn to heading zero-three-zero degrees!” the controller now directed in a loud voice. This was followed a few seconds later by another command, “Disregard, turn to heading zero-one-zero degrees.” Khan yanked the F-16 back to the right. Finally, the controller told him he was one mile behind the SD-360 aircraft and closing. Damn, still no lock, Khan thought. He would have to forget about using a radar-guided missile and instead use a Sidewinder infrared homing missile. But the clouds presented problems with potentially degrading the missile’s infrared sensor.
* * * *
Goshen in his F-35 was now flying at one and one-half times the speed of sound. He was being directed by his controller to an intercept of the unidentified aircraft that had entered Israeli airspace from Lebanon. “Ram 37, maintain present heading, descend at your discretion, advise when you have the target.” Goshen repeated the instructions back as he lowered the cockpit display illumination level.
In the darkness he could see the lights of Haifa in the distance. His family was down there. His younger sister was at home getting ready for her final exams and hoping to get accepted into Jerusalem University. His mother was likely washing the dishes while his father surfed the internet and checked the local news. Goshen knew he had the most important job in the world to do.
“Ram 37 do you have the target? He’s at six miles at your twelve o’clock, very low,” asked the controller. His voice filled with anxiety.
“Yes, but no lock,” replied Goshen. His F-35’s radar had an intermittent hit on the intruder but ground clutter was preventing a positive lock. The cargo plane was flying low and weaving through the hills. Goshen maneuvered the F-35 lower, now going almost Mach 2, as he armed the plane’s weapons and continued changing settings on the radar.
* * * *
Khan selected the F-16’s Sidewinder heat-seeking missile and prepared to shoot down the SD-360 aircraft, which was now rapidly approaching the outskirts of Amman. He knew the plane’s wreckage would likely fall in pieces onto the city below, but he also knew he would not have been cle
ared to fire unless his action was going to prevent some greater catastrophe. He closed the distance between the two aircraft to about four-hundred meters peering through the inky blackness hoping for a glimpse of the plane’s silhouette still flying in and out the clouds.
Looking over at a trembling Galla, Doud spoke quietly in a reassuring tone, “Do not be afraid my friend, one more minute, then I will do the switch for you.”
“No, I will do it,” Galla replied, defiantly.
The F-16 broke out of the clouds at the same instant Khan finally got a tone in his headset indicating the missile had locked onto the SD-360 engines’ heat signature. He pressed the small red button on the left side of the control stick. He felt the missile leave the rail and watched as the bright white missile exhaust plume faded into the darkness.
Doud again looked over at Galla, “Today we bring glory to all of Islam, Allah Akbar!” Galla swallowed hard as perspiration dripped down his forehead.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
The U.S. Air Force RC-135 Rivet Joint aircraft was now orbiting off the coast. After detecting the large increase in Israeli and Jordanian military aircraft radio traffic, the pilot had altered course to better position the antenna arrays to monitor the signals. The on-duty commander in the back of the aircraft was rushing from console to console trying to sort out what was going on.
“Looks like two more IAF fighters airborne,” reported a console operator monitoring IAF radio traffic.
“Appears they’ve activated all their Patriot batteries,” reported another.
Still another reported, “We have three Jordanian fighters scrambled now too.”
“Are we uplinked to the satellite?” asked the duty officer.