The Deltas piled in. As their fields of fire cleared the Deltas already on board began pouring fire behind them. They couldn’t see their targets, but unlike the terrorists they weren’t firing blind. The tracers gave them a good idea where the firing was coming from. The bark of the SCARS and the ripping fire of the light machine gun made the Bronco shudder.
“All right go, go, go!” Killer yelled through his mike.
For Slade that meant everyone was secure, and he jammed the throttles up to the firewall. The Bronco leapt forward, spitting dust and gravel behind it. The aircraft bucked like its namesake. Slade kept the stick forward, keeping the pressure on the nosegear to give him better steering over the rough terrain.
Twenty-five, thirty, forty knots; the airspeed climbed quickly. All he needed was another forty knots and they’d be able to get airborne. Tracers flashed around the aircraft but Slade hadn’t felt any impacts. A blur of movement on his left caught his peripheral vision. One of the trucks was careening over the field, closing in on him and trying to cut him off. They were only forty yards to his left and the truck had a head of steam. The back of the truck carried about a dozen rag tag terrorists, swathed in loose fitting clothing and black schmaugs. One even carried a black flag with “spaghetti noodles” in dirty white.
The terrorists on the truck were firing, or rather they were trying to fire at Slade. In his determination to cut Slade off, the driver floored the gas pedal without regard to the terrain or his cargo. Every furrow, every hole, every hillock caused the truck to bounce and rock wildly.
The terrorists in the back should have been able to draw a bead on the Bronco as it accelerated, but the truck’s passage threw them around so violently they fired everywhere but at the aircraft.
One terrorist tried to steady himself with one hand on the plank rail of the bed and fire his AK-47 with the other. He almost had the automatic rifle steadied on the cockpit—Slade prepared to swerve—but the truck’s front right tire disappeared halfway down a hollow and then popped back up again, driving the front right quarter of the truck airborne. It came down with a crash, bottoming out the tire and digging the fender into the sandy soil.
All the while the terrorist squeezed the trigger of the AK on full auto. He sprayed his entire clip into the sky and even behind his shoulder as the truck bottomed out. He caught the flag bearer, shooting off the terrorist’s right arm at the middle of the forearm. The flag tumbled from the truck and into the dirt with the hand still attached to it.
The impact bounced two terrorists right out of the truck—it would have bounced a third—but he was manning the fifty caliber machine gun mounted on the bed of the truck. He held onto the gun for dear life, flying like a pennant in a violent wind. When the truck bottomed out he hit the deck hard. The force ripped his hands from the gun and he inadvertently fired off another burst straight up into the sky.
“What I wouldn’t give for a couple of JATOs right now!” Slade swore, meaning the old, old school way of getting an aircraft off the ground through disposable rocket assist engines.
“What?” shouted Killer, who was climbing into the back seat and was now on interphone.
It didn’t matter. The terrorist driver’s heavy handed tactics slowed the big truck down enough for Slade to pull the surging Bronco ahead of him. He watched the terrorist yank the wheel to the right, driving the truck through a line of shrubs and a shallow ditch next to the road.
“A present coming your way gentlemen,” Slade barked.
The driver of the truck apparently accepted that he wasn’t going to catch up to the Bronco over the fields; cutting the Americans off wasn’t going to work. So he opted to get back on the road and chase the aircraft from behind. It was a good plan. Even if the truck couldn’t catch the Bronco the road would give the terrorists a much more stable platform to shoot the Americans down.
Unfortunately, the terrorists hadn’t counted on the Bronco’s rear door still being open, giving the Deltas a perfect field of fire. The truck bounced onto the roadway but before the terrorists could get off a single shot they took the combined firepower of a very angry Delta Force right in the chops.
Slade heard the Deltas let go en masse. That was followed shortly thereafter by a large explosion. As he pulled back on the stick and labored into the air, Slade glanced back to see the ugly smear of black smoke amidst the bright flashes of flame.
“Now that’s a beautiful sight!” Killer laughed.
Pulling away from the killing fields and heading south toward friendly territory, the Delta added, “Okay boys, buckle up! I hope you enjoyed our free tour of the cultural hot spots of today’s new Caliphate. Feel free to enjoy our complimentary pork rinds and bacon bit chips!”
Slade shook his head and flew the airplane, ignoring the banter of the younger men. Their job was over. He still had to get everyone home safe and sound; he took that seriously and it showed.
Three hours later they landed in Kuwait City. Slade took the headset off his Aussie slouch hat and opened the canopy. The extreme heat of the cockpit gave way to the extreme heat of Kuwait. Soaking with sweat, he unstrapped, now feeling every hour of the mission. Exhausted, Slade started to lift himself out of the steel seat, Killer stopped him.
“Hold on Slade, we’re going to get a picture,” he said. Kincaid waved his troops to the side of the aircraft, calling down to one man. “Tommy! Tommy hand the Light Fifty up to Slade will you?”
Tommy, whose last name Slade didn’t know, smiled and lifted the heavy Barret up to him. “Nice shooting sir, but I bet you miss your flintlock!”
Another chimed in, “He’s gone from horses to airplanes. Just think of the changes you’ve seen since the Civil War!”
“No it was the Revolutionary War wasn’t it Slade?”
“He fought with the legions under Caesar, Shakespeare said so!”
Thus it went. Slade took it in stride. For the Deltas to joke with you was their way of accepting you. If they didn’t Slade couldn’t have gotten a colder shoulder from an iceberg. As it was, Slade was part of the photo; he was part of the team.
Slade took part in the debrief and the traditional after mission drink, but as the young guns recounted the adventure, all he could think about was how tired he was and how good it would be to be home for a while.
CHAPTER 10: The President is now the Man
President Patra Oetari, the first non-white President of the United States, whose father was a nationalist from Indonesia, had just gotten off the phone with the President of Turkey, Mustafa Ataturk. The president, an ardent Islamist and notoriously uncooperative NATO partner, was outraged at the assassination of his nephew. Oetari, who sympathized with the Islamists and was hardly any friendlier with his NATO allies was horrified; especially when it became clear that young Turgut was assassinated in an American Cobra operation.
“Who the Hell authorized this?” Oetari demanded of CIA Director Gann and General Mertzl.
“You did sir,” Gann told him calmly. “We had no idea Turgut Ataturk associated with terrorists. Certainly we had no idea why he was at that particular meeting.”
“Your sniper didn’t recognize him?”
Gann and Mertzl looked at each other. Gann’s expression made it clear that it was Mertzl’s turn to placate the president. The bulldog of a man, Archie Bunker in a crew cut and horned rim glasses, said forcefully, “Our sniper identified the two Tangos he was not supposed to eliminate and did his job sir. I doubt very seriously if he could have identified the young man if asked; certainly I couldn’t.”
“I have met Turgut several times,” the president complained, sitting heavily behind his desk. “He was a vibrant young man; full of life.”
“Associating with the absolute scum of the Earth has its dangers,” Mertzl commented bluntly.
Oetari seethed, but his political savvy saved him from betraying any more of his political philosophy than he had to. As much as he hated the military, Oetari still had to take care not to completely aliena
te his generals. He needed them.
Instead, he got up and paced the room. In reality, President Ataturk and Oetari were kindred spirits. They did not so much deplore ISIS as its brutal tactics. They both thought an Islamic Caliphate was the right of all Muslims, who they considered a marginalized people courtesy of capitalism and the West. They also thought a nuclear Iran was a much needed counterbalance to the Zionist state of Israel. Iran could, if the mullahs were properly mollified, check Israel and bring stability to the region.
That was Oetari’s conclusion based on a career that until his inauguration included absolutely no foreign policy experience whatsoever. The problem was, after over five years of on the job experience Oetari still held the same views. He’d learned nothing at all about the world.
So, the president forged ahead with his ideologically based policy. Oetari’s trick was getting that policy implemented by using or not using American power. It was a policy that had no chance getting support in the military or from the American people. To be realistic, it wasn’t a policy he could talk about openly with his party; it was too radical even for Democrats to consider it viable. It wasn’t that the world Oetari envisioned was necessarily bad, it was simply that his utopian view of things was not supported by the behavior of the people who had to live in that world.
So Oetari pushed it behind the scenes, and he played a very careful game with his military brass. He allowed them to think of him as a pacifist—even to the point of being phobic—while he hid his true intentions. Oetari dreamed of worldwide equality, forced if necessary, and he needed the military’s help to get it done.
That made his tightrope act very touchy indeed. The rough and tumble Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff was not one of the president’s favorite men. He and the directors of the FBI and the CIA were ardently serious about their duties and independent thinkers—dinosaurs of the Cold War, Vietnam and Desert Storm. President Oetari had not yet the opportunity to replace them with internationalists instead of outdated patriots.
He took a deep breath and put on the thoughtful mask of an ardent pacifist, which he was.
“This tragic event is why I am dead set against using American military might—period. You can’t make apologies to a dead man.”
“No, but you can make a celebratory call to the President of France,” Gann told him. When the president looked up in surprise, Gann informed him. “Our military forces rescued a French hostage, coincidence, but our team was there to take advantage of it.”
“I don’t remember that being part of the operation.”
“Our teams deal with locals and the locals are in the know. The team took advantage of the opportunity. Unfortunately, they also uncovered more atrocities by ISIS: mass killings, organized rape parties—and this,” he handed the president his iPad. The president’s brows furrowed as he read the translation of the poster.
Gann explained, “These signs have been posted at every street corner of ISIS occupied cities. The local populations have been directed to bring their daughters ages twelve and above to ISIS Islamic Centers so that they may,” he swallowed hard but his expression stayed calm, if cold, “So that the girls may service the Holy Warriors of jihad.”
Carrabolla turned white as a ghost.
“This is insane; this is not Islam,” the president muttered.
“It certainly is Islam according to the Fatwas put out by their mullahs,” Mertzl commented brutally. “Their opinion of Islam matters more than ours.”
FBI director MacCloud, agreed. “Sir, this is what the Islamists call ‘Conquest by the Right Hand.’ It is how they subjugate societies: taking their women, making them pay the jizya tax, restricting their rights, outlawing worship of other religions. It is documented to be taking place in Europe as we speak and we have seen traffic on the internet describing the same thing here in the United States since 2005. There are no doubt small rings of jihadists that have practiced this here already, albeit on a small scale.”
“That cannot be true,” the president said emphatically.
“It is true Mr. President,” MacCloud said in a tone that clearly unnerved the president. “In Dearborn, Michigan the Islamists are allowed to demonstrate but the Christian community is not. In New York City Muslim prayers block the streets every Friday—let the Catholic Church try and get away with that—and yet nothing is done.”
“They are showing their faith,” the president protested.
“Director Gann is absolutely right. If the Jews, Catholics, Protestants, anyone but the Muslims showed the same faith the media would be all over them,” Mertzl objected. “It’s a damn double standard.”
“There is no double standard,” the president insisted.
MacCloud insisted, “There is a double standard Mr. President and it’s getting dangerous. Mr. President, your attorney general has issued orders to me banning the terms “Islamic terrorist,” “honor killings,” and “jihadist.” He has interfered with investigations, with your blessing, to classify obvious terrorist acts as workplace violence to desensitize them.
“Mr. President, the beheading of a fifty-three year old grandmother in a bakery by a man yelling Allahu Akbar is no more workplace violence than the massacre at Fort Hood. Mr. President—let me be blunt—we do not need to be protecting people who by their own admission are trying to kill us.”
“Enough!” Oetari snapped. “There is no domestic terrorism problem! There is no Muslim terrorist problem—period! I’ll have no more discussion along those lines. Such talk is bigotry and I will not have that in my administration!”
“Then what would you like to do about the ISIS fighters and their—expressions of faith—Mr. President?” Mertzl asked frigidly.
The president glowered silently, muttering to himself.
Mertzl took a step forward and scowled. “Mr. President, you agreed that we could not allow ISIS free reign to expand their terrorist state. Thousands upon thousands of lives are at stake. Remember the civilian casualty figures from Fallujah and Mosul. Hundreds of thousands of civilians have been murdered, enslaved or become refugees. We have a responsibility to stop this.”
“History teaches us that adventures like this only inflame the Muslim population,” Oetari replied in an equally blunt tone of voice, but he would not meet Mertzl’s gaze. He retreated to the window, looking out over the White House lawn. “The world is a messy place. These kinds of things have been happening for years; Al Qaeda beheaded dozens of people on video after we invaded and occupied Iraq!
“I’m not sure why there’s such a hue and cry now, but the polls don’t lie, the American people want blood. With the Mid-term elections coming up in a few months I had to give them something; now I regret it. This is what happens when you seek a military solution.”
“Mr. President, with all due respects, it only takes one side to require a military solution,” General Mertzl insisted. “ISIS does not give us any other choice. You can’t negotiate with terrorists!”
Oetari turned on the chairman. “So you favor escalation; after this fiasco? The nephew of the Turkish President is dead at the hands of American forces!”
“Sir, he was consorting with terrorists and murderers,” Gann reminded the president. He added carefully, “This incident highlights a possible connection between a trusted NATO ally and the growing terrorist state in the Middle East. That is highly disturbing.”
General Mertzl piggy backed on the director’s comments, insisting, “We need to do more. The Iraqi’s are wholly incapable of meeting this threat, the Kurds are barely hanging on, and the Turks are simply watching ISIS slaughter innocent men, women and children. If we do not intervene ISIS will expand its so-called caliphate to encompass Syria and Iraq, maybe south-eastern Turkey.”
The general furrowed his heavy brows, adding gruffly, “If left unchecked, they will pursue their goal of absorbing Jordan and the Arabian Peninsula as well. Thousands more will die and millions will be persecuted.”
“A Caliphate is their
heritage, and as long as it doesn’t cause war with Israel or NATO I don’t see why it’s any of our business. Violence only begets violence.” Oetari reminded General Mertzl, glancing up at the block of a man with clear dislike. “I agreed to this operation because of the Iranian connection. I agree that we don’t want these people working together. However, that’s as far as I go!”
“Our profiles of the ISIS players,” Gann began, but that’s as far as he got before the president interrupted him.
“Profiles? Are you kidding? Profiles!” Oetari barked with disdain. “I grew up with these people in Indonesia, I understand them. Their entire lives, indeed for almost fifteen hundred years they’ve been held down by the West. Why don’t they deserve a caliphate, their own ‘Rome’ if you will? A united Muslim world is a dream of every Muslim, and why not?
“Certainly Christians have the same wish. Why should Muslims be treated with less legitimacy? I think it would be easier for us, the West, to deal with a proud Muslim world instead of an angry Muslim world.” He shook his head vehemently, adding under his breath, “You people simply don’t understand how the West has infuriated people all over the world!”
“How so Mr. President?” the general asked, seemingly genuinely mystified and miffed, but then the general was always angry at something.
“Desert Storm?” the president remarked hotly. “You do remember the invasion and occupation of Iraq don’t you?”
“I certainly do Mr. President,” the general replied.
“Where were the weapons of mass destruction?”
“Mr. President, you know very well that there were weapons of mass destruction: over five thousand chemical munitions were found!”
“Chemical munitions!” Oetari said with disdain.
“Chemical munitions are classified as weapons of mass destruction by the United Nation and for good reason,” Mertzl reminded the president. “Saddam Hussein used poison gas on the Kurds, his fellow Muslims, killing thousands. He not only had weapons of mass destruction, he used them,” the general replied with a partial dry laugh. “He was working on nukes. The United Nations decided that was too big a risk for the Middle East and approved Desert Storm.”
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