“The GBU-12s are enroute to Incirlik and should arrive there in four hours.”
“Good enough. Put these in the message file. Make sure Leachmeyer sees them about the time the GBUs arrive. Overtaken by events.” Both men were playing the time-honored games the Pentagon’s bureaucracy engaged in. Cunningham was pleased with the way his aide had not hesitated and had done what was necessary. Too many of his officers would have started asking irrelevant questions, trying to fix blame, telling everyone that the snafu was not their fault. He would worry whose fault it was later. “What’s on the agenda for today?”
“Battle Staff briefing at 0800 hours. Kicks off with an intelligence update.”
“Who’s running the show?”
“JOSA. General Leachmeyer has command.” The aide regretted adding the last as he said it. Cunningham hated being told the obvious.
“Dick, I’m not senile yet,” the general said, going easy on the colonel, who had been on duty for over twenty-four hours. “I’ve got a problem, though. Leachmeyer is still chomping at the old bit and wants Delta Force to take the mission. He’s a good man but suffers from tunnel vision. I’ve got to convince him we’ve run out of time and need to act now.
A slight smile worked at the corner of Stevens’ mouth. “I brought in some ammunition to help ‘convince’ him.” Cunningham’s eyebrows went up. His aide may have been tired but he was still cooking. “Task Force Alpha’s intelligence officer is waiting outside. I thought you might want to talk to her.” The general stared at Stevens. “I had Miss Rahimi flown in from Nellis last night,” Stevens said. “Thought she might be helpful.”
Try as he could, Cunningham honestly did not approve of women in the military, especially civilian specialists. But that bias did not stop him from using them. “Show her in. Also have the DIA send someone up. I want an independent update from them before the Battle Staff meets. Call Ben Yuriden. I’d like to talk to him.”
*
An hour later Cunningham was still talking to Dewa Rahimi and the brigadier general from the DIA. He was turned around in his swivel chair and they had pulled chairs up next to him. “Excuse me, general,” Stevens interrupted. “The Command and Authority Room…” He nodded toward the glass enclosed room to the right. The President was standing there with the Secretary of Defense, his National Security Advisor, Bobby Burke of CIA and Admiral Scovill. “They’re early,” Stevens said.
“I’m not surprised.” Everything that Rahimi and the general from DIA were telling Cunningham indicated that the raid had to go within hours or the well would be half-dry at Kermanshah. Obviously the President’s advisors were staying on top of the situation.
The President sat down and Scovill bent over a microphone. “General Leachmeyer .” His voice quieted the soft buzz in the command center. The tension and expectation could be felt—a physical presence in the room. “Please proceed.”
Leachmeyer took the center dais and introduced an Army colonel who reviewed their latest intelligence. It was the standard stuff that Cunningham had expected—nothing to base a decision on. While the Colonel was talking, Stevens was handed another message. He gave it to Cunningham, who scanned it and passed it on to Dewa. “Why’s it so important that the radar site at Maragheh is off the air?” he asked.
Her face tightened as she read the message. “It means the ingress corridor to Kermanshah is wide open,” she said, and knew as she did so that Stansell was now closer to the danger waiting for him in Iran.
“Charlie”—it was the President’s voice—“this doesn’t give me much to go on. I think it’s time we stop cutting bait and start fishing.”
“Sir”—Leachmeyer’s voice was calm, reasoned—“this is the latest we have.”
You son of a bitch, Cunningham thought, still stalling for time. You want Delta to take it so bad you’re pissing your drawers. It was time to shake the tree. “Our best window is tonight,” he said into the mike at his position.
“Nothing we have supports that,” Leachmeyer said. The two generals stared at each other from across the room as heads twisted back and forth.
Admiral Scovill bent over his microphone to end it. The President placed his hand over the mike and shook his head. He wanted to hear the two men out. Bureaucrats glossed over. A heated argument often got at the truth.
“I just received a message that says the radar site at Maragheh is off the air,” Cunningham said. “That opens a corridor for us.”
“If you were ready to go,” Leachmeyer came back at him. “I understand you do not have the appropriate munitions in place to breach the prison walls.” He almost added a dig about piss-poor planning by the Air Force. Round one to the Army.
How in the hell did he know that? Cunningham wondered. Stevens had the only messages. Had someone back-doored a copy to Leachmeyer? Was it Mado? “But the GBU-12s we need will be at Incirlik in less than”—he made a show of checking his watch—“two hours. No problem.” Round two to the Air Force, thanks to Stevens.
“You need northerly winds to insert your ground team,” Leachmeyer said, still pressing. “And as of twenty minutes ago they weren’t there.” Leachmeyer had done his homework.
“They will be tonight when we need them. The high-pressure system we want is building over the eastern Med as predicted.” Round three was a draw.
“Gentlemen, time out,” the President said. “I want to go over the status of Task Force Alpha and the details of the mission. Run it.”
As two Air Force colonels who worked for Mado took the dais and started a detailed briefing on the plan, Stevens handed Cunningham a note saying Yuriden was waiting for him outside. Cunningham walked out of the command center, found the Israeli colonel in a small office. “Thanks for coming over so quickly, Ben. Have you got anything new for me?”
The Israeli colonel’s face was impassive. “Trucks and tacan are at Kermanshah. Our agent is with Carroll and knows how to work the set.” He paused, trying to decide if he should reveal what else he knew. “General, there’s an airliner on the tarmac at Kermanshah’s aerodrome. It’s for moving half the POWs…” He turned and walked out of the room. Cunningham stared at the door, Yuriden had just played a card he wasn’t supposed to. Israeli intelligence was the best in the Middle East and like all intelligence organizations, the Mossad was very careful about releasing information that might in any way compromise its sources. Cunningham understood that as well as the significance of what Yuriden had done. The Israeli was trusting him not to reveal where he had learned about the airliner.
Cunningham returned quickly to the command center. The two colonels were finishing their briefing. “Miss Rahimi”—he motioned to her to move her chair closer to his—“I’ve just received news that the Iranians have an airliner at Kermanshah for moving the POWs. Can’t reveal my source. Can you back me up? The President has to order a Go for tonight if we’re going to get them out.”
Dewa froze. The danger for Stansell was even closer.
*
Langley, Virginia
Camm paced the floor of his office, ignoring Susan Fisher as he reread the latest reports out of Iran: the airliner for transfer of POWs was in place at Kermanshah with CIA agents aboard as guards, ready to hijack the aircraft once in flight; the transfer of POWs was expected this night or next day; and Iranian soldiers were occupying the barracks behind the prison in company strength.
“Director Burke is with the President right now,” Fisher said. “I suspect that the POWs are being discussed. Should we tell him about the airliner and the soldiers? We can always claim we monitored a telephone conversation.”
“We’ve got to rescue the POWs…These reports from the prison about troops occupying the barracks…did we ever get confirmation from another source?” Fisher shook her head no. “So they might not be there…And Defense does know about the armored regiment at Shahabad…” Fisher nodded…Of course, Camm told himself, he didn’t want American lives sacrificed needlessly, and since the attacking force knew ab
out the armored regiment, he reasoned that they were certainly prepared for immediate withdrawal in the face of determined resistance. So…
“Considering the source of our information, I think we should say nothing at this time,” Fisher said, telling him what he really wanted to hear.
*
Kermanshah, Iran
Mokhtari’s rage filled the hall as he stomped his way toward the basement. His selection of POWs for transfer had been changed, and Mary Hauser was to be turned over to the IPRP. He especially hated this woman who no matter what he had done to her, somehow managed to defy him. Well, he still had Landis…
“Bring them into interrogation,” he ordered, then slammed into his chair, grabbed the phone and dialed the main cell block for Mary’s special “interrogator.” He was beginning to feel better as he planned the last “interview” of Mary Hauser.
*
“What’s that?” Carroll asked, looking into the bed of a truck. He was with Zakia and her contact in one of the numerous warehouse garages that crowded the outskirts of Kermanshah.
“A portable tacan,” the man explained, pointing out the antenna and power unit. “You’re supposed to set it up north of town and turn in on for the next three nights.”
“Why a tacan?”
“For an airdrop,” Zakia told him.
“Zakia, who the hell are you?” No answer. She could never tell him that she was a Mossad agent.
*
The Pentagon
“Miss Rahimi, then you have no hard evidence that a movement of POWs is imminent?” This from Director Burke of Central Intelligence. Dewa was standing on the low stage, a microphone in her hand. Whenever the Joint Chiefs or the President were in the National Military Command Center, every word was taped in case a controversy came up about who said what. And that brought out Burke’s formal speaking style, intended to enhance him for the record but tending more to make him sound like a rather pompous speaker in the well of the House.
“No, sir.” She had to protect Cunningham’s source. “But events inside Iran follow a rhythm, and the political beat points to a deal being finalized between the Islamic Republican Party and the IPRP. It may have already happened. The contract will be sealed by the transfer of half the POWs to the IPRP’s control. And that will happen very soon, no later than forty-eight hours from now, certainly before their sabbath, which is Friday.”
“Pardon me, Mizz Rahimi”—everyone could hear the DCI’s patronizing tone—“but my analysts do not agree with you.”
Dewa said something in Farsi and left the stage, handing the microphone to General Leachmeyer. “You did good,” Cunningham told her.
“Miss Rahimi, we missed your last comment,” Admiral Scovill said from behind the glass.
Cunningham handed her his mike, waiting expectantly. “I beg your pardon, I spoke in Farsi. I said, ‘That’s a shame because events will prove them wrong.’” Cunningham half-smiled.
The President turned to his advisors. “It comes to this. Do we go tonight or not?”
“Wait until Delta gets into place,” Scovill said. “Then use them.”
Burke stared out through the glass. “Hold. Wait for developments.”
“Go with Delta,” the Secretary of Defense advised.
“Turn Task Force Alpha loose tonight,” Michael Cagliari, his National Security advisor said.
“We know how Leachmeyer and Cunningham would vote,” the President said. “But this isn’t something that gets voted on.” He looked out the window, studying the men and women waiting for his orders. Instinct told him to act now, to go with Task Force Alpha. He liked what he had seen in Nevada…but they were still the second team. “How soon can Delta be in place and ready to go?”
“Day after tomorrow,” Scovill said.
There were no safe decisions. Again, he looked over the room, coming last to Dewa. She’s right, he thought. And said: “We go with Task Force Alpha tonight. Make it happen. I want to be here when the raid starts.”
*
Kermanshah, Iran
Hauser and Landis stood at attention in front of Mokhtari’s desk. and for a moment, Landis found himself clinically evaluating the man, like a crazy patient in an emergency ward. Mokhtari ended that.
“Bring him in,” he ordered in Farsi. One of the guards opened the door and the Iranian prisoner, the dissipated rapist of Mary Hauser, was shoved into the same corner where he customarily waited for her. At Mokhtari’s order the man shed his clothes, sat down, and bowed his head. He did not raise his eyes from the floor.
“No more lies, damn you. Now, why were you assigned to Ras Assanya?”
“Sir,” she began, trying again to convince him she was telling the truth, “I was assigned because my superior officers were tired of my complaining, they wanted to punish me…”
“So you said. I did not believe you then, I do not now.” He pointed at a guard who grabbed hold of Landis’ shirt and stripped it off. “Have you ever seen one of these?” He picked up a cattle prod from behind his desk. He walked behind Landis, touched one end of the prod to his bare back and mashed the button in the handle. Landis flinched, moaned. Mokhtari turned a small dial. “It was set on low. Now again, why were you sent to Ras Assanya?”
“I told you the truth, must I lie to you?”
Another order and a guard drew a knife and slashed at Landis’ trousers. Mokhtari touched Landis’ genitals, mashed the button, and watched Landis collapse to the floor.
Mary had to stop it. “…I was to see if the GCI site could be used as a communications listening post…”
“I believe you, but you hesitated. Now tell me exactly what you did and what you learned.” This time Mary did not hesitate and told everything she knew, pouring it out as fast as she could until Mokhtari held up a hand.
“A pity that you didn’t think of all this from the first. A debt must be paid, not, unfortunately, by you.” His voice hardened and he spoke in Farsi. A guard grabbed Mary and pushed her out the door. Her last view of the room was of Doc Landis bent over the desk on his stomach, and the Iranian prisoner hunched on top of him.
*
Incirlik, Turkey
THIS IS AN EXECUTE ORDER BY AUTHORITY
OF SECRETARY OF DEFENSE.
UNIT: TASK FORCE ALFA
EXECUTE: OPORD WARLORD
H-HOUR: NO LATER THAN 2400Z THIS DATE
OPTIONS: NONE
SPECIAL INSTRUCTIONS: JOINT TASK FORCE COMMANDER WILL INITIATE OPERATIONS WHEN HE JUDGES ALL MISSION PARAMETERS ARE FULFILLED.
Gregory was the first to break the silence that held the small group clustered in Incirlik’s command post. “A Go, a goddamn Go.” His voice was little more than a whisper. “Are we going to have the northerly winds we need?”
Mado took the message, his face hard. “The weatherman tells me the winds at altitude are becoming more and more northerly and building. That’s what we need, but I’m still worried about the weather. Satellite photography shows a low cloud deck hanging in the Zagros Mountains.”
“Right now we’ve got enough ceiling and forward visibility to fly a low-level route through the mountains,” Stansell told him. He turned to the men for their inputs. “The OPORD calls for a two-thousand-foot ceiling and five miles forward visibility. Can you go with anything lower if the weather gets worse?” He watched their faces, suspecting reactions would be the best indication of their confidence. Most of them were entering unknown territory—combat. Experience had taught him that men changed when the fighting started. All bets were off.
“The C-130s can go with a thousand and three,” Duck Mallard said, “if I’ve got Drunkin Dunkin as lead navigator. Otherwise we need the two thousand and five.”
No problems there, Stansell decided.
“We can take it a bit lower,” Beasely, the aircraft commander of the AC-130 gunship said. “A five-hundred-foot ceiling is okay. Still need three miles forward vis.” Thunder had said the young captain was steady as a rock, and Stansell agr
eed.
“The F-15s need the two-thousand-and-five for escort at low level,” Jack said, “otherwise we need to go in at a higher altitude. I can take my E model in at just about zero-zero with the terrain following radar.” Jack’s .evaluation matched Stansell’s.
Von Drexler had kept silent, his face a reflection of Mado’s. Since Stansell was looking directly at him, he knew he had to commit. “We need the two-thousand-and five,” he said. “The TFR in our jets isn’t as good as it should be.”
Stansell looked to Jack. What was the matter with Von Drexler? No help from Jack. “Colonel Doucette said he could fly a mission with take-off minimums, three hundred and one,” Stansell ventured, trying to discover why Von Drexler was hedging.
“Doucette is irresponsible,” Von Drexler snapped.
“We abort if the weather goes below two thousand and five,” Mado said, ending it. “We have other things to cover. First, Captain Kowalski and her crew do not go. We cannot send women into combat. Second, decide which four F-15s will escort the C-130s and which four stay on station with the tanker as a backup. Third, select which two F-111s will attack the prison and which one will hold on the tanker.”
“General, we’re one C-130 short since the crash,” Stansell argued. “We need to send six on the raid. I had planned on using Captain Kowalski to insert Romeo Team tonight. That way we’ll have six fresh C-130 crews for the raid and we can use her plane as a backup after she returns.”
“Why her?”
“She’s maybe the best pilot I’ve got,” Mallard said. “She’s a hell of a lot better than I am and she’s got the second best navigator.”
“And she’s a good cover if anything goes wrong.” This from Thunder. “Dewa says they can claim to be part of the air defense exercise that’s going on and that they got lost. Their being women, the Iranians will believe that.”
Force of Eagles Page 27
