The Sahara Intercept

by R G Ainslee

Ramat David Air Base, located southeast of Haifa, is one of the principal airbases of the Israeli Air Force. Its northern location makes the base suitable for covert operations into Lebanon. Our team spent the night in a hangar with our aircraft and equipment.

  We slept late into the morning. It would be a long night. As we ate breakfast, Ari said, "We are now in the Jezreel Valley where the ancient Israeli warrior Gideon attacked the enemy with a small select force. A fitting analogy for our operation, don't you think?"

  "Yeah, but I seem to remember in our Bible, it's also the site of the battle of Armageddon, you know, the one between the forces of good and evil that signals the end of time." Sunday school was a long time ago, but the idea of a big final shoot-out always fascinated me.

  Ari responded with a cynical smile. "Well for this operation, let us hope my version prevails."

  Whatever … its' gonna be Armageddon for Marsden when I get my hands on the SOB. As far as I'm concerned, the gateway to hell sits on Mount Hermon and I'll kick it wide open, shove his sorry butt thorough the door, slam it shut, and padlock the joint.

  "Late in the evening we fly to the Golan below the ski area and wait until time to strike." He noticed the question in my eyes. "We do not wish to arouse undue interest with a midnight takeoff from the base. Everything should appear routine until the last minute."

  * * *

  Jacobs and Major David arrived early in the afternoon for a final briefing. The Mossadnik pulled me aside and spoke in low tones, "You might be interested in the latest news from Africa." He hesitated a moment with a wry smile and continued, "It seems the Škorpion Brigade team in Zaire suffered a disaster. They had a disagreement of some sorts and two members killed each other in a knife fight. Four others died in a car bomb incident and the resident member in Kisangani disappeared. The jungle base camp was evacuated three days ago, and the entire Zaire operation has collapsed."

  "Sounds like German efficiency ain't what it once was."

  Jacobs tilted his head and shrugged. "Yes, so it would seem."

  We rejoined the others and Jacobs asked Ari, in English, "Are you prepared?"

  "Yes sir."

  "Brief me on the current operational plan."

  Ari began in Hebrew. Jacobs interrupted, "English," and nodded towards Jack and me.

  Ari's discomfort with Jacob's presence was obvious. He cleared his throat and began again. "The camp with the radar and missiles is in an isolated area near the border from Syria, on a small ridge at the foot of Mount Hermon. The site is southeast of the village of Rachaya. The town is a few kilometers down the wadi and is home to a contingent of Lebanese troops. The people are Druze and Christians. The nearest settlement is 2,500 meters to the north, six kilometers by road. The Syrian border is ten kilometers to the east, and fifteen kilometers to the nearest military.

  "The flight path is twenty-eight kilometers and will be shielded from Syrian radar by the ridge separating Lebanon from Syria. We will encounter snow-covered terrain all the way to the target. The site is at 1,575 meters. The landing zone is eighty meters west of the site at the same altitude. Sector-2 is 750 meters south at 1,550 meters altitude.

  "The operational plan is as follows: The target has been divided into two sectors, the radar and missile site and the living encampment below. An eight-man force from Unit 5101 along with the American, Brannan, will depart at H-hour, 0200, and land at Sector-1. They will capture the site, remove available intelligence materials, eliminate the technical personnel, and destroy the equipment before departing.

  "A second eight-man force will depart five minutes later and standby in the immediate vicinity of Sector-2. The second force will engage only if necessary. Evacuation will be carried out along the original route and return directly to Ramat David. If problems arise, Unit 669, standing by at the jump-off point, will assist. The entire operation should last no more than forty-five minutes from lift-off to crossing back into home airspace."

  "And the weather forecast?" asked Major David.

  "Fog, rain, drizzle, and snow are expected." Ari hesitated then smiled. "Optimal conditions for a surprise operation."

  * * *

  The helicopters arrived at the lower parking lot of the ski area at 2300 hours. The night was cold and dark, the sun long set, and it would be a moonless sky. The anticipated drizzle turned to a light dusting of snow.

  "What'd you think?" asked Jack, standing beside the Huey.

  "I think it's colder than a penguins' butt. Sure glad they loaned us some winter gear." I noticed soldiers wearing white parkas patrolling the area and asked Ari, "Who's those guys?"

  "They are from the Unit Alpinistim, an all reservist unit trained in ski and mountain combat. Their main task is to protect the Mount Hermon electronic establishment."

  "Looks like rough duty."

  "They have many volunteers. One of the benefits is overseas training in America and Europe. A free ski trip, if you please."

  "Sounds great. What's the latest on the target?"

  "My most recent report said the radar was last photographed at 1423 hours, but the signal ceased transmitting at 1937 and has not resumed."

  "They could be down for maintenance. The radar is on a tracked vehicle and I imagine the drive over dirt tracks would take a toll on the equipment."

  Ari paused and looked over at the Huey. "Or they could be preparing to move to a different site."

  "Yeah, we may have a narrow window of opportunity. How's the weather look?"

  "I spoke with the pilots, they see no problem. They are the best and can fly in even worse conditions. We will leave from here, fly over the ridge, and traverse the slopes of Mount Hermon below the sight of the Syrian radar."

  Jack asked, "Will they be able to find the target? It's awfully dark."

  I was thinking the same thing. "Yeah, do they have some of those night goggles?"

  Ari answered with a hint of nervous confidence. "The pilots are equipped with the latest night vision devices … I do not anticipate problems."

  Jack asked, "What models are they?"

  "I am not allowed to say." As he turned away to go to his men, he said, "But you may be assured the devices are the best."

  The Israelis still regarded us as a risk. We hadn't trained with them, and they didn't know our capabilities. I had the same reservations. They seemed to have good visual intel, the photographs from the UAV's and the intercepts were solid. However, there was always the unknown, the black hole you didn't anticipate.

  * * *

  Freezing your butt off doesn't make time go by any faster. We walked and occasionally jogged to keep our muscles warmed-up. Ari said we needed to be ready to move when the chopper landed, our lives might depend on it. At long last, 0145 arrived, not a minute too soon. The team stood on the tarmac, in two columns, each soldier inspected the gear of his teammate. Everyone appeared calm, but an air of tension flowed beneath the surface. I racked the slide on the Hi-Power and slipped it inside my flak jacket.

  Ari checked each man, looked him in the eyes, and strode to the head of the formation. The Huey's engines revved, blades spinning as they warmed-up. We were almost ready. The pilot signaled with a raised palm and parted fingers in a Vulcan salute. Ari grinned and yelled, "Aharai! … Let's move out."

  Tuesday, 11 November 1980, Beqaa Valley, Lebanon

  At 0200, the first Huey lifted off from the lower car park, climbed up the valley, past the ski area, over the ridge at 6,300 feet, and cleared the border into Lebanese airspace. We were in total darkness, the Huey's interior and navigation lights turned off to make the chopper hard to spot from below.

  The drone of the engine and the faint luminous effect from the snow produced an eerie sensation as the pilot hugged the ridge to the right. Stuffed into the middle of the cabin, unable to have a clear view, I hung on, numb from cold and fear. I wondered how Jack, flying in the chopper behind us, would feel. The soldiers took everything in stride, no one complained, and no one spoke.

  Fifteen m
inutes after crossing the border, it seemed longer, an eternity, I sensed the Huey losing altitude. We swept to the left, then corkscrewed to the right. I could see nothing. The chopper approached the landing zone. The pilot reported it was clear. We all checked our weapons one more time.

  Everyone tensed as Ari yelled something in Hebrew. The chopper's skids touched the rocky surface creating a whirl of snow that further obscured the moonless night. Seconds after the first man hit the ground a hail of bullets peppered the fuselage. The soldier next to me slumped to the deck. A second bullet struck the edge of the door opening at my side. A jolt of searing hot pain shot through my arm. A jagged metal fragment had lodged in my upper arm, sticking out like an arrow. The door gunner returned fire with a line of tracers and armor piercing rounds. The sniper went silent.

  I reached over, jerked out the inch-long sliver, and flipped it out the door. A small stream of blood oozed from the painful stinging wound. I wiggled my fingers — they worked. Moshe, the medic, yelled to the soldier on the deck. He said he was okay. His flak jacket saved him.

  I exited, joined the team as they spread out, and took up defensive positions. I stayed close to Ari, as instructed. The Huey lifted off and disappeared into the night, the sounds of the engine echoed as the chopper hovered overhead.

  A tracked vehicle with a familiar antenna, a Long Track radar, sat on the ridge less than one-hundred yards away. The antenna was stationary, but the generator chugged away, the unit still operational. Another tracked vehicle with missiles was visible further down the ridge on the other side. A truck sat parked in front of the radar.

  Something caught the attention of the point man. He signaled with his left hand, and then a volley of fire erupted from the vicinity of the truck. Multiple rifles chattered away, AK-47's for sure. Muzzle-flashes betrayed their position.

  Ari shouted a command, the men returned fire. One of the commandos deployed a LAW anti-tank weapon, aimed, and fired. The truck erupted in a ball of flame and we charged across the open ground towards the Long Track. The firing stopped. One man ran from behind the radar only to be cut-down by a well-placed shot. Another escaped into the darkness.

  We reached the radar in seconds, two men headed down the road to cover the approach of reinforcements from the camp below. A team of three circled behind to search for stragglers, secure the missile launcher, and place demolition charges. Moments later a shot rang out, another, and then silence. I checked my arm. It was bloody, but only a minor wound.

  Ari grabbed the handle of the side hatch, jerked down, and swung the door open as we stepped away from the line of fire. One of the soldiers yelled something in Arabic with no response. Ari shouted in Russian, still no reply. Movement could be heard from inside.

  I had a hunch and screamed, "Marsden get your sorry butt out of there or I'm gonna toss in a grenade."

  It worked. "No — No — I give up don't shoot." It was Marsden's voice.

  "Step out with your hands up. One false move and I'll blast you to hell." Adrenalin coursed through my veins at a frantic pace, I experienced a strange sensation bordering on evil.

  Two soldiers took up positions to cover the exit. In a moment, a figure emerged headfirst. Ari grabbed him by the collar and threw him to the snow. Marsden whimpered and curled up in a fetal position.

  "Are you alone?" shouted Ari.

  Marsden trembled, shook his head, looked up, and saw me. His eyes grew wide in astonishment, electric with panic. I gave him a kick in the ribs as a goodwill gesture.

  One of the soldiers ran forward and covered Ari as he peered inside. He shouted something in Hebrew and crawled in. Seconds later, he called for me to join him.

  I kneeled and told Marsden, "Don't go away, the fun ain't even started yet."

  Inside, the pale cream interior glowed from the dim overhead light. An equipment rack was open, he had been working on a module, the reason the antenna stood still. I checked the component but had no time to make a positive identification.

  "We need him up here to show us what to take."

  Ari yelled to the soldier and Marsden's head appeared in the hatchway.

  "Which one is it? We're going to take it. If you want to live, you'll tell me. ¿Comprende?"

  "The rack … the one pulled out … the one … for the love of God."

  "God ain't the one you need to worry about, just me, and if you tell me wrong, the devil himself won't be able to save you."

  "It's all there, the manual … my notebook … the … the one on the desk."

  A volley of gunfire interrupted our conversation, a mixture of M-21 and AK-47. A soldier shoved Marsden aside and shouted to Ari. Marsden tried to escape only to be intercepted by a second commando.

  "A group is moving up from the camp, we need to go." Ari said something to the soldier in Hebrew. "I instructed the radio operator to call for evacuation." A clatter of heavy machine gun fire echoed across the ridge. "The second helicopter has arrived and is providing covering fire. Get what you need, and we must go."

  "What about him?" I pointed to Marsden.

  "Do you need him?"

  Ari's question triggered a dilemma, a choice between conscience and revenge. I could take Marsden with us to face an uncertain future, he had escaped justice before, or I could just kill him on the spot. The decision was mine.

  I pulled out the Hi-Power and aimed at Marsden's face. The faint glow of light reflected terror in his eyes as they pleaded for mercy, his brows drew together, and he made a slight nervous jump, as if trying to escape his fate, and let out a pitiful howl. I felt the trigger, started to squeeze, but let up — I couldn't do it. —I had dreamed of that moment for years, but I could not kill him in cold blood. Murder is not an act of self-defense.

  I didn't start out to be a cold-blooded killer. Something inside of you changes when you kill, even in self-defense, a compromise with evil, then it spreads, you rationalize evil. No one starts out evil, you choose it, and once you choose evil, you must deal with it before it consumes you.

  "We'll take him. There's an empty jail cell waiting for him in Mexico." Marsden breathed a sigh of relief. I stuck the muzzle of the Browning under his chin. "If you even think about escaping, I'll blow your head off. ¿Comprende pendejo?"

  I didn't hear his answer as the incoming helicopter drowned out all other sounds. I shoved the pistol inside my flak jacket, grabbed the module and manual, and stuffed the thick notebook in my parka pocket. One of the soldiers hustled Marsden in the direction of the chopper.

  The leader of the two-man demolition team reported to Ari. He said the charges were set for two minutes. Ari yelled commands to the other soldiers and they began to converge on the chopper. Machine gun fire from the second chopper poured a stream of tracers down slope as it circled providing covering fire.

  I scrambled up inside the Huey, deposited the gear, turned, and reached back to pull Marsden up, I grabbed his hand and lifted. A burst of gunfire erupted from the cab of the Long Track. Marsden halted in mid-air, an expression of shock frozen on his face, and he slumped out of my grasp to the snow. Blood oozed from a gaping wound in his back.

  My gaze focused towards the tracked vehicle. A spotlight from the copter shone on the cab. Helga Bremmer, AK-47 at the ready, leaned out, aimed at me, in a split-second the muzzle of her weapon flashed. My chest received a hammer blow, then a second. A burst of machine gun fire from the door-gunner slammed into the cab.

  I sank to my knees, gasping for breath. A bullet imparts a great deal of kinetic energy on impact, it felt like a freight train had hit me head on. I thrashed about on the floor of the chopper writhing in excruciating pain. Moshe grasped my arm to pull me away from the door.

  "You're gonna tear my arm off." I wheezed.

  The medic kneeled, examined the parka, there were two holes, but no blood on the outside. Moshe pulled open the flak jacket. The first bullet had struck the steel receiver of the pistol and lodged in the inner lining of the jacket. The second bullet penetrated the flak j
acket and lodged in my chest, a half inch from my heart. My chest burned in pain as the 7.62 round dislodged, fell from the wound, and dropped to the deck. Moshe picked up the bullet, stuffed it in my pocket, and said, "The round did not entirely penetrate, you are a lucky man." He applied a battle dressing, before checking on a soldier with a leg wound.

  Ari was the last man in. He counted the men, spoke to Moshe, and yelled to the pilot. I lifted my head, looked back at the radar, and wondered what happened to Helga Bremmer. Marsden was dead, that was for sure. His death had been a long time coming, but there was no satisfaction. Too many people died along the way.

  The Huey lifted off, my head spinning, people talking, and then a deep chill came over me. The initial stages of shock crept in, gradually, my vision became foggy, a ringing in my ears, I felt a floating sensation.

  Moments later an explosion, followed by a second more powerful blast. The radar and missile launchers were history. The chopper thumped along, back towards Israel and safety. It was over.

  Moshe leaned over to ask a question, it was too late — I passed out.

  Wednesday, 12 November 1980, Tel Aviv, Israel

  "How you feeling now?" asked Jack on his first visit of the morning. I lay flat on my back in a hospital bed. Yesterday, he told me they transported me to a private clinic. The past two days passed in a fog brought on by large doses of painkillers.

  "Better … the doc was just here. He said I was fortunate to have no permanent damage and I'll take several weeks to recover. Got a shallow puncture wound a few centimeters from my heart, but the shock penetrated deep into my chest and bruised the heart, and I've got a big bruise where my ribs were broken. If it hadn't been for the flak jacket, I would've been dead for sure."

  "You still haven't had other visitors."

  "Nope, looks like they just want me to go away."

  He frowned. "That's what they want us to do."

  "What do you mean?"

  "They gave me two tickets on an El Al flight to Athens that leaves this evening … one for you and one for me. Moreover, they returned our passports with exit stamps from Cyprus and entry stamps to Israel. You think you'll be up to travel so soon?"