by Ted Halstead
Well, at least now Chernin was sure he could get a lock if the American missile missed, and if he had time before the PL-15s’ arrival. He was close enough now that extreme low elevation and terrain masking would no longer save the helicopter.
Chernin only had time to wonder what was causing a bright light to envelope his aircraft, before thought and existence both ceased.
He would never know that the last Kinzhal missile he had fired had done its job, or that his DRFM jammers might have stopped one PL-15, but never two.
Chapter Twenty One
Doha, Qatar
Emir Waleed bin Hamad frowned as he read the news reports coming out of Saudi Arabia in his favorite penthouse apartment. Something was happening, but nobody seemed sure exactly what.
Prince Bilal bin Hamad strode into the room without knocking. If anything, Waleed saw, he was frowning more intently than him.
“So, do you know anything more than what’s on the news?” Waleed asked, gesturing at the several TV screens with news programs he’d set to close captioned.
Bilal nodded. “Al-Nahda’s man contacted me. He says that three targets were attacked with nuclear weapons. As we heard on the news, two were desalination plants on the Gulf coast. One of those attacks was successful, but the other was not. He didn’t know whether the weapon failed, or there was some other problem. The third exploded in the desert south of Riyadh.”
Waleed scowled. “So, they were lying about avoiding mass casualties.”
Bilal shrugged. “Maybe. But my contact says the explosion was deliberately well outside Riyadh, and that its purpose was to knock out power to the capital through an electromagnetic pulse.”
Waleed grunted. “An EMP. I’ve heard of them. So, do you believe Al-Nahda meant it when they said they would avoid mass casualties? Can we trust them, or are they lunatics we need to avoid?”
Bilal looked as uncertain as he felt. “The desalination plant that was destroyed was not near a city of any size, and it looks like the only people killed were working at the plant. The other plant was not far from a city of nearly a million, but we don’t know how powerful that weapon was, because it didn’t go off. I understand some are quite small.”
Waleed nodded grimly. “And Riyadh?”
Bilal shrugged. “It looks like some workers in an oil field south of Riyadh were killed. The prevailing winds blew most of the fallout into the desert.
The EMP has cut power to the entire Riyadh region, and the loss of one desalination plant has led to an order to use water solely for drinking and cooking. Not that I think gardening and filling swimming pools are probably high on anyone’s list at the moment.”
Waleed spread his hands. “Yes, but you’re not answering the main question. Did Al-Nahda intend to attack Riyadh and fail, or was the EMP the purpose as they claim?”
Bilal nodded. “You’re right, that is the real question. The answer is I don’t know. The EMP explanation is plausible, but it could be that Al-Nahda intended to destroy Riyadh and hoped we’d still go along with their attack.”
Waleed sighed. “Yes, and in spite of everything I’ve said, it would have been tempting.”
Seeing Bilal’s horrified expression, Waleed quickly added, “I didn’t say I’d give in to that temptation. I may have trouble resisting sweets and some of my cooks’ less healthy dinner creations. Mass murder of our fellow Muslims, even if it gives Qatar a strategic advantage, is another matter. So, do you or don’t you believe Al-Nahda?”
Waleed could see Bilal’s relief at his answer. “I don’t know, but when in doubt, I say look to the facts. The facts are that Al-Nahda has used all three of its nuclear weapons, and the result is that the Saudis are weakened, with casualties that are at worst in the hundreds.”
Waleed nodded doubtfully. "And what about the mysterious force that is supposed to join our tanks in attacking Riyadh?”
Bilal shrugged. “That’s a little more clear. My contact says it's an Iranian armored force that until recently was deployed in Syria, and turned south on its way home. He claims that they have already destroyed a Saudi armored patrol from King Khalid Military City, and shot down several Saudi planes attempting to attack it.”
Waleed frowned. “Shot them down? With what?”
Bilal smiled. “Now there is more than their word to go on. They used two S-300s armed with hypersonic missiles.”
Waleed just stared at Bilal. “And why should we believe them?”
Bilal’s smile grew wider. “Because two S-300s, hypersonic missiles and their crews have arrived on a ship in our harbor. I saw them myself just before I came here. I ordered them unloaded, because whatever you decide I think we’ll need them.”
Waleed nodded. “Agreed. So, the armored force is Iranian. The S-300s weren’t put on a ship by terrorists. Is this, then, an Iranian invasion?”
Bilal shook his head. “I don’t think so. If this was an all-out attack by Iran, they have ballistic missiles and aircraft that we could expect to see join the attack. I think Al-Nadha has the support of a faction of the Iranian government. Or ‘Al-Nadha’ is a cover name for that faction. Either way, the question is the same. Join them, or watch and wait?”
Waleed said nothing, and looked out at the lights of Doha spread out below. Finally, he turned towards Bilal.
“Well, they certainly kept their promise to break the blockade. They’ve used three nuclear weapons, but avoided mass casualties. And now they’ve given us the means to protect our armor from air attack.”
Waleed paused. “I don’t think we’re going to get a better chance to end the blockade for good. Order our tanks to execute the planned attack on Riyadh, in coordination with the Iranian force.”
Bilal nodded. “How many tanks do you want to send?”
Waleed shrugged. “All two hundred, brother. If we fail, keeping a few back will do us no good. And commit all our air assets to protect them. The S-300s can’t do the job alone.”
Bilal smiled. “Agreed. I hope this will finally end the Saudis’ attempts to strangle us.”
Waleed nodded. “One way or another, I’m certain it will.”
Jubail II Desalination Plant, Saudi Arabia
Anatoly Grishkov returned to consciousness with his eyes still closed, and his head pounding. He next realized that he was sitting against something, which hard metal against his back told him was probably a vehicle.
Someone was standing in front of him.
With his eyes still closed, Grishkov slowly moved his right hand towards his holstered gun.
Grishkov would not have been surprised by either a blow or a bullet in response. Instead, he was more than a little surprised to hear a laugh.
Grishkov opened his eyes to see the smiling face of the Saudi guard force commander. Vasilyev had dealt with him, and Grishkov didn’t even know his name. When the man had refused to take them seriously, Grishkov had decided there was no point in learning it.
Then he saw the man was holding his gun. With relief, as his eyes regained their focus he saw the commander was in fact holding the gun towards him.
“I didn’t want you to shoot me out of reflex as soon as you came to,” the commander said.
Grishkov nodded as he holstered his pistol and slowly stood. A sensible precaution.
“Where is my colleague?” Grishkov asked.
Now the smile disappeared from the commander’s face. “One of my men saw him drive a truck off the end of that service pier,” he said, pointing towards the water.
The commander paused. “Did it contain the nuclear weapon your friend was telling me about?” he asked.
Grishkov nodded grimly. “Is there any sign of him or the truck?” he asked.
“No,” the commander said, shaking his head. “I have just had a report back from two men I sent to the end of the pier. They said that if he hadn’t been seen driving the truck into the water, we’d have no way to know he did it.”
Grishkov scowled. “You will have men with the appropriate gear
check more thoroughly?” he asked.
The commander nodded. “Yes. There is a naval base not far from here, and divers are already on their way. But I think you’ll be gone by then.”
As he looked around, Grishkov could see Saudi troops and armored personnel carriers securing the scene. Well, better late than never, he thought acidly.
”What do you mean, ‘gone by then’?” Grishkov asked with an even deeper scowl.
“I’m sorry, of course you don’t know. A helicopter is coming to take you to a Russian carrier off our coast. In fact, I think that’s it now,” the commander said, pointing at a rapidly growing dot in the sky.
Now Grishkov simply looked stubborn. “I’m not leaving without my friend.”
The commander nodded. “They said you’d probably say that. I am to relay to you that your superiors wish to keep the involvement of your country from becoming generally known. They also said to tell you that your friend would have approved of this.”
Grishkov could feel tears stinging his eyes, and savagely brushed them away. Damn Smyslov, he knew the only thing to say that would make me agree to leave without at least bringing back Vasilyev’s body.
The Saudi troops had cleared an area for the helicopter to land, which Grishkov could now see would happen within seconds.
The commander hesitated and then said, “I along with everyone else here have been ordered to never say more about today than we succeeded in repelling a terrorist attack.” Then he pointed at the horizon, where a mushroom cloud was still rising. “I and those of my men who survived the attack know that we will be going home to our families only because of your friend’s bravery. We know he was not of our faith. But we will always keep him in our prayers.”
Grishkov nodded, and shook the commander’s outstretched hand.
As Grishkov boarded the helicopter, he wondered whether these nuclear attacks were now finished, or if this was just the beginning.
Jaizan, Saudi Arabia
Akmal Al-Ghars was nervous. It had been two days since he’d been handed the bombs, but he still hadn’t been told to plant them. There was little danger that the Saudi police would search his tiny apartment, but having the bombs a few meters from his bed had made it difficult for him to sleep.
A soft knock at the door made him jump. He had been about to leave for work, and as he went to the door, he hoped it would be word that the time had come to plant the bombs.
Akmal cracked the door open, and the man who had given him the bombs quickly slipped inside. He had never given Akmal his name, not that Akmal particularly wanted to know it.
“You must plant them today,” the man hissed in a low whisper.
“Remember the instructions. You must set them where we told you, the timers must be set to go off after an hour, and you must plant them in the order we told you. Tell me the color order,” the man said impatiently.
Akmal sighed. He might be a janitor, but he could read, and each bomb had a small but unmistakable piece of colored plastic next to the countdown clock. “Red, blue, and then green. I will not fail you.”
“Good,” the man said. “You will be met after you cross the border, and both you and your family will be rewarded.”
Akmal hoped that was true, but certainly wasn’t counting on it. First things first, he thought. I have to try to make it across the border within an hour, which isn’t impossible, but will take some luck.
Aloud he said, “I have to get ready to leave now if I’m not to arrive late for my shift. Today of all days, I don’t want to do anything that might attract suspicion.”
The man nodded approvingly. “Go with God,” he said, and slipped out the door as noiselessly as he’d entered.
Akmal had a large bag he’d carried for years in Jeddah, and now here in Jaizan. In it he had his lunch, a bottle of water, and a complete change of clothes. Before he’d become a supervisor he’d nearly always needed to change at the end of his shift to get access to any bus or taxi to return home, since after a day of scrubbing toilets paying the fare wasn’t enough. Even as a supervisor, sometimes his new maintenance duties left him covered in enough oil and grease that he faced the same problem.
Today the bag was quickly emptied, and its contents replaced with the three bombs, covered with a single shirt. Since becoming a supervisor Akmal had never been searched, though he was still required to go through the metal detector. Though ordinary employees were required to hand over their bags for inspection, as a supervisor Akmal had been told to just hold the bag with him while he walked through the metal detector.
The man had told him that the bombs contained very little metal, and certainly not enough to set off the detector.
Akmal hoped that was true, and at the same moment realized that particular hope was becoming a habit.
He willed himself to calm as the taxi dropped him off at the train station.
Most days he took one of the minivans that in Jaizan passed for the buses Akmal had been used to in Jeddah, but today he really wanted no chance of being late.
It was anticlimactic when the bored guard simply waved him through the metal detector, which as the man had promised remained gratifyingly silent.
Akmal went to his “office,” which was really just an old desk set against the wall at the end of the maintenance corridor. Though Akmal had plenty of paperwork such as time cards, salary worksheets and work orders to deal with, nobody in charge of designing this new station had thought the maintenance supervisor would need an office.
Well, after today he wouldn’t, Akmal thought grimly.
Checking to make sure nobody else was in sight, Akmal swiftly placed nearly all the contents of his large toolbox on his desk, and placed the bombs inside it.
Not for the first time, Akmal thought to himself that the planners behind this bombing knew their business. Each bomb location, like the main transformer junction box routing city power to the station, was designed to not only make the station impossible to operate but time-consuming to repair.
Akmal was certainly glad he wouldn’t be around to deal with the repair work.
As he planted each bomb and carefully set the timer, Akmal wondered idly why the man had insisted on their being placed in color order. The only thing that made sense was that the bombs were different strengths and needed to be matched to a particular target, but to Akmal it looked as though each contained the same explosive charge.
Well, I guess understanding isn’t so important, Akmal sighed as he placed the last charge and set the timer. His last thought as everything around him was filled with white light and a tremendous noise was that he had made a mistake.
In fact, Akmal’s only mistake had been in trusting the men who had designed and provided him with the bombs.
Seconds after the last bomb Akmal had placed detonated, the first two also exploded, as they had been instructed to do by the radio signal sent from the last bomb Akmal had planted. This was why the color order was so important. The clocks were only present to reassure Akmal that he would be able to escape after setting the bombs.
The bombs' designers saw nothing evil or treacherous in what they had done. The man planting the bombs would never be of further use to their cause, and had information about their organization that he would certainly reveal under torture. So, he had to be silenced.
Hundreds of Yemenis were dying of hunger caused indirectly by the Saudi blockade or directly by Saudi bombs and bullets every day. One more Yemeni death was a tiny price to pay to ensure the victory that their Iranian friends promised would come soon, and finally force the Saudis to leave Yemen forever.
Ministry of Defense, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
Army Commander Prince Ali bin Sultan was starting to feel like a ping-pong ball. Within hours of his return to Yemen, he’d been handed a summons from the Crown Prince to return to Riyadh for another urgent conference.
Adding to his annoyance was that Khaled bin Fahd, the Air Force Commander, had forced him to take the same Bell helicopter
back to Yemen that had brought him to Riyadh. He’d said he “had a few errands to run” and that “no aircraft were immediately available” for a flight to the combat area in northern Yemen.
Well, they’d certainly found one for the return flight to Riyadh. Ali had been put in the back seat of an F-15E, piloted by a grim fellow who hadn’t said a word the entire flight. Ali assumed that was because he was in shock, as they all were, at the attacks on the Kingdom by two nuclear weapons.
Ali looked around the conference table and frowned. Where was Khaled?
The Crown Prince strode in, looking even grimmer than the pilot who had brought Ali to Riyadh. Ali once again assumed it was because of the nuclear attacks, but quickly found out there was even more bad news.
Just behind the Crown Prince walked a pilot in a flight suit that looked new. The pilot failed to match his suit, sporting bandages on his neck and right hand, and was clearly exhausted.
As soon as they were both seated, the Crown Prince looked around the table at the assembled high-ranking military officers, and soberly said, “I am sorry to tell you all of the death in action of Air Force Commander Prince Khaled bin Fahd.”
A stunned silence fell over the room.
“I’m sure you’re all thinking that the commander was shot down in Yemen. He wasn’t. His plane was destroyed north of here. Sitting beside me is the only survivor of the three planes that accompanied the commander, Captain Hadi Al-Joud. I will let him tell you what happened, and then you may ask him questions. In view of his condition, I have asked him to remain seated for this briefing.”
Hadi made a visible effort to collect himself, and then quietly and clearly described what had happened when they encountered the SAMs. Once he concluded, Ali asked the first question on all their minds — “Can you tell us anything more about the force you encountered?”
Hadi shook his head, clearly frustrated. “I could see a dust cloud that was caused by the movement of a large force. My guess would be armor, but none of my instruments registered tanks or anything else. I don’t know how the commander got a lock, but like I said I saw him fire on one of the SAM launchers. I didn’t say this before, but I’m pretty sure he hit one.”