Bobby Burke slammed his fists on the table in frustration and glared at Cox. A week ago, Cox had been subordinate to him in the intelligence chain, and now the President was listening to Cox and not him. He didn’t like the invasion of his bureaucratic turf.
The Turkish colonel in command of Diyarbakir was standing nose to nose with Martin outside the only weapons storage igloo on the base. “Colonel Martin,” the Turkish colonel said, “I cannot release our weapons to you without an order from my general.”
“Then wake him and get it,” Martin said.
“But then he would have to call his general.” The Turk smiled. Over his shoulder, Martin could see activity going on inside the igloo. Turkish soldiers were doing a quick inventory to make sure all the weapons were accounted for. “As I said before, I cannot help you.” He barked some commands in Turkish and the lights went out in the igloo and the soldiers came out, locking the heavy double doors behind them. More shouting and orders and the Turks were gone in a cloud of dust.
“Damn,” Martin raged to himself, “I should have thought to ferry in more weapons on the C-One-forty-ones.” Martin’s concept of operations had been to go in lean and mean and let the F-15s ferry in the weapons that they would use on the raid.
“Colonel,” the major from Maintenance said, pointing to the side of the igloo, “in the shadows.”
“I’ll be damned.” Martin grinned. Sitting beside the igloo were six weapons trailers, each holding four 500-pound bombs.
The major ran over to the trailers and examined the bombs with a flashlight. “Snakeyes,” he announced. “Complete with fuses.” He pointed to the small boxes sitting on each trailer. He spoke into his hand-held radio, calling for vehicles to come and tow the trailers to the flight line. “We can pull one ourselves,” he yelled, jumping into his pickup truck and starting the engine.
“Snakeyes are better than nothing,” Martin allowed, making a mental promise to return the favor if he could. The Turkish colonel had indeed helped them. But he had to do it the Turkish way.
Matt and Carroll were waiting for Martin when he pulled up in front of the hangar with his load of bombs. “We got a go,” Matt said.
“Shit hot!” Martin shouted.
“There’s more,” Matt explained. “They want us to hit the airfield at Al Sahra.” The colonel huddled with the two men while they explained the order that had been relayed to the RC-135.
Martin checked his watch. “Get everyone in here,” he yelled. “We got to start launching in forty minutes.” He paced up and down for a few moments. “Matt, figure out how to hit Al Sahra with two jets, one with six Snakeyes.” The colonel paced back and forth. “Maintenance,” he barked. “Upload the Snakeyes on four birds, six each, instantaneous fusing. I want the first two ready to launch in thirty minutes, the second two in forty.”
“Colonel,” Matt interrupted. “Three of our jets recovered with six GBU-Twenty-fours. Can I use them?”
“You got one bird with two GBUs,” Martin answered. “Leary’s on your wing.” The crews were all assembled now. “Okay, Meatheads,” Martin began. “We’re going back in, so listen up …” For the next twenty minutes, he and Matt laid out the attack. No one asked questions, but they all understood exactly what was expected of them when they broke and ran for their jets. Martin checked his watch; it was 0509 hours. They were going to make it.
“Shoshana, wake up,” Hanni whispered, shaking the sleeping woman. Shoshana shook her head and sat up, stiff from sleeping on the cold floor of the APC they were hiding in. A sickly-sweet odor assaulted her from the two bodies still lying outside on their grotesque deathbeds. “Shush,” Hanni cautioned. “I hear movement.”
The faint sounds of tracked vehicles moving in the valley drifted over the night air. “We’re still okay,” Shoshana said. “Time to check in.” She worked her way forward to the driver’s compartment and fumbled at the switches in the dark. The radio came to life with a faint hum. She listened for a few minutes, changing frequencies, not hearing a thing. “Must be maintaining radio silence,” she said and selected an emergency frequency. “This is Band-Aid with a radio check,” she transmitted. Two distinct clicks answered her. “Standing by for instructions,” she radioed. Two more clicks. “They don’t want to talk to us,” she told Hanni. “Maybe it’s time we try to make it back on our own.” She checked her watch. “We’ve still got thirty more minutes of dark.”
“Levy said he would come and get us,” Hanni reminded her. They could now hear the clanking of tanks moving toward them, much closer. Hanni froze in terror, her mouth open.
The shrill whistle of friendly artillery passing overhead shattered the fear that bound Hanni and she threw herself onto the floor next to Shoshana, clasping her helmet to her head. The barrage increased its tempo and the APC shook as round after round reached over them, pounding at the advancing Iraqi tanks. “They must know we’re here,” Shoshana shouted.
The shelling halted as abruptly as it had started and they could hear the loud rumble of jets. Shoshana stood and looked out the periscope mounted in the top hatch. “They’re ours,” she announced. She scanned the valley and watched the second phase of a coordinated counterattack. Israeli jets were popping over the southern and eastern ridge for quick runs on the tanks. At the same time, TOW missiles were picking off the lead tanks. Still, the Iraqis came at them. The fires billowing from destroyed tanks and BMPs cast an eerie glow, illuminating the fresh carnage.
The distinctive crack-boom of Israel 105-millimeter tank-mounted guns echoed as the hills on the western side of thevalley flickered with muzzle flashes. Farther north, two Israeli F-4s were working over still more tanks and BMPs at that end of the valley. Shoshana gasped, at last able to see the size of the attack. The valley was filled with tanks and BMPs, all moving southward, taking their losses, pressing forward. More artillery rounds pounded at the tanks and they could hear Iraqi counterbattery fire reaching over them, ranging for the Israeli gun emplacements.
“We’re going to have to run …” Shoshana’s shout was cut off by a loud explosion—a near miss from an Iraqi 122-millimeter howitzer. TWo more rounds impacted, but were walking away from their position.
“What’s happening!” Hanni screamed, mind-paralyzing terror capturing her again. Shoshana wouldn’t tell her that it was a major attack that Levy’s small battalion could not possibly stop. Again she swept the area around her through the periscope, trying to find the best direction to run. Now movement on the western side of the valley caught her attention as Iraqi tanks swung away from the main line of advance and turned toward the Israeli defenders on their right flank. The APCs radio now came alive as Levy ordered his tanks to sortie forward.
Shoshana counted three Merkava tanks that burst over the western ridge and charged down the slope toward the advancing Iraqi tanks. Two APCs were in the protective shadow of the V, moving with the tanks. An Iraqi tank burst into flames, felling victim to the first shot from the lead Merkava. Then more tanks broke from their hides, revealing a flank attack in force. Shoshana knew that every tank Levy Force had was engaged. Then it came to her why no one had answered her radio call—Levy was maintaining radio silence as he repositioned the battalion under the cover of darkness and before the attack started.
Two M60 tanks supported by a Hummer mounting a TOW and an APC broke over the ridgeline and headed for them. The Israeli tanks cut across the advancing Iraqis at an angle, their main guns firing with deadly accuracy. The APC took a hit and skidded to a halt. The second tank spun on its tracks and went back to help. Shoshana watched in horror as a T-72 seemed to fire almost point-blank into the lead M60 at less than five hundred meters. The side of the M60 spewed fire and sparks, but the tank didn’t stop. The Israeli “Blazer”reactive armor had blunted the Iraqi’s round. The M60 turret traversed and fired a round. The Iraqi tank took a direct hit and slued to a halt. The T-72's commander’s hatch flopped open and a figure bailed out. A burst of machine-gun fire from the M60 dropped the man
.
The lead tank and the Hummer kept coming. The Hummer disappeared into a depression and stopped. Only its TOW missile was showing. Now the tank was almost to them. Hanni and Shoshana were out of the APC and running for it. The tank slowed but did not stop as its main gun fired again. Shoshana leaped on the front of the oncoming tank, her left hand grabbing the protective bracket that framed the right headlight and her feet scrambling against the front plate. Her left foot caught on a tow ring and she reached back with her right hand and grabbed Hanni to pull the much smaller woman aboard. The tank rocked with a recoil as the main gun fired again.
Hanni slipped and fell down in front of the still-moving tank. Shoshana tried to hold on but felt the woman slip from her grasp.
The tank jerked to the left and accelerated straight ahead, almost throwing Shoshana off, running over Hanni. Shoshana held on to the headlight bracket with both hands as her foot slipped off the tow ring. Her feet were dragging on the ground as the tank slued around to the right, both its main gun and machine gun firing. Shoshana saw an Iraqi tank flare. It was less than three hundred meters away. The M60 kept turning and now she would see Hanni lying on the ground. Shoshana’s spirits soared when Hanni leaped up and ran for the tank. The driver had seen Hanni fall and centered up, driving the tank right over the woman. Now he was coming back for a pickup.
A burst of machine-gun fire from a BMP raked across Hanni as the M60's main gun fired, killing the BMP. Hanni was down again, this time not moving. The tank stopped momentarily and Shoshana leaped off, running for her. The tank was circling them, firing round after round.
Hanni was dead. Two rounds from the machine gun had struck her in the chest, ripping her apart. A third had glanced off the left side of her helmet, shattering the earpiece. Shoshana didn’t want to believe she had lost her friend, the gentle woman who meant so much to her. Tenderly, she pulled herhelmet off and held Hanni to her. Tears streamed down her cheeks.
She was vaguely aware that the tank had stopped. Its gun fired and the hatch on top of the cupola popped open. A man stuck his head out. “Come,” was all he said, not loud, but commanding and urgent. It was Levy. In a daze, Shoshana gently laid Hanni down, and stumbled to the tank, not even aware she was still clutching her friend’s helmet. “Hurry,” Levy said. She moved faster and climbed up the side of the tank, over the tracks. The tank was moving as Levy dropped back into the turret. Shoshana followed him down the loader’s hatch.
The colonel sat behind Mana’s desk, enjoying the power and privileges that went with it. He hoped that his sudden elevation to command of the base at Mosul was not temporary. He picked up the ornate letter opener and fingered it, admiring the gold filigree on the handle. He stared at the two pilots standing in front of him. “Why should I countermand one of General Mana’s last orders?” he asked. “He placed you on standby alert for good reasons. I only have five Cobras left and now you are asking for me to trust you.” He jabbed the tip of the letter opener into the desk. “I’m not a fool!”
“Sir!” Johar barked. “Permission to speak.” The colonel nodded. “Please remember that we were the two pilots fortunate enough to have downed the Israeli F-Sixteens.” The colonel glared at them. He didn’t want to deal with the truth of that matter. “As you know,” Johar plunged on, “that was due to General Mana’s superb leadership and airmanship. It was entirely proper that he received credit for the kills and it was Allah’s will that Samir and I were the instruments of his wrath. Perhaps, with your leadership, Allah would so bless us again.” Johar fell silent, waiting for the colonel’s reaction.
The colonel considered what the lieutenant was offering. If he would allow them to fly, he would get the credit for any kills. And that might earn him permanent command of the base. But why were the two lieutenants so anxious to fly? The Americans had proven themselves to be most dangerous and he personally did not want to have to engage an F-15. What was in it for the lieutenants? After all, they were nobodies.
“Why are you so anxious to fly?” the colonel asked.
“Revenge,” Johar said. The cold look on his face made the colonel believe him.
The phone rang and the colonel picked it up. He listened to the short message and slammed it down. “The Americans are reported taking off again. They are loaded with bombs.” He stared at Johar and Samir, coming to a decision. “You will fly as number four and five.”
The two lieutenants gave the colonel the bow normally reserved for generals and followed him out of the office.
27
The chain of people were passing 105-millimeter shells up the side of the tank while Halaby worked the hand pump of a refueling bladder, topping up the fuel cells. Shoshana was on top of the turret, handing the shells to Avner who would stuff them into the gray aluminum storage racks that lined the turret. “I wish we had more Imis,” Avner grumbled.
“SHUT up, Avner,” Bielski said. “We were lucky to have gotten these.”
The remnants of the battalion were re-forming in a riverine valley that fed into the main valley where the Iraqis were attacking. Somehow, they had fought their way to safety and were redistributing ammunition while Levy tried to regroup his battalion.
Then they were finished and ready to move again. Shoshana sat on the fender and carved at the side of Hanni’s helmet, cutting away the jagged edges of the earpiece so she could wear it inside the tank. She had banged her head numerous times during the last wild ride out of the valley and didn’t want to repeat the experience. She tugged the helmet on but it was too small to fit over her heavy mass of hair. Disgusted with her vanity, she pulled a pair of surgical scissors die carried in the pencil pocket on her left arm and backed at her hair. She felt better when she threw the last ofher heavy tresses to the ground. “I should’ve done that years ago,” she muttered, feeling better. So much of her past was cut away with her hair.
Levy was finished talking on the radios and motioned for the tank commanders from the seven remaining tanks to huddle up on him. “It’s not good,” he told them. “We’re cut off here.” He pointed to the spot on his map where they were hidden. “The Iraqis spearheaded a major attack right down the valley and overran our old position. Northern Command is bringing reinforcements up but the situation is extremely critical. We’ve been ordered to counterattack and slow them down.”
“What the hell with?” one of the tank commanders grumbled. “We’ve got eight tanks and six APCs”—he waved his hand to the west—“and no artillery and no air.”
“The Iraqis are hurting bad too,” Levy said. “We don’t have a choice. We’ve got to keep the pressure on until we can be reinforced."?
“How do you plan to do that?” the same tank commander asked.
“By breaking out,” Levy answered. “We cross the valley again and head for the coast. We make it a running battle.” He sketched the axis of attack on his map and their objective. He deliberately folded the map.
“You must be feeling lucky today,” the tank commander said. “Well, let’s do it.” There was resignation in his voice.
Shoshana tried on Hanni’s helmet. It fit. Well, she thought, Matt’s flight suit and now Hanni’s helmet. My friends still help me. The thought reassured her. And there really was Levy’s Luck.
Mad Mike Martin was in his element, doing what he had trained for his entire career—leading fighters into combat with a chance to take on a truly good adversary flying a plane equal to his own. He had elected to fly single-ship armed only with four AMRAAMs, four Sidewinders, and 940 rounds of 20- millimeter high-explosive ammunition. He would fly a one-man CAP so the eight F-ISs following him in flights of two could go after the targets. The AWACS was feeding him information over the Have Quick radio and he was confident he could do a “hit-and-run” on any bandits that got in their way.
He didn’t have to wait long. “Viper Zero-One,” the AWACS transmitted, “five bandits airborne out of Mosul. Duster reports Kirkuk on a hold for launch. Bandits now zero-nine-zero degrees at sixty naut
ical miles from your position. Angels eighteen.” Martin made a mental note to get on the tactical controller’s case for being too wordy.
“Aldo,” Martin replied, “say bandit’s formation.”
“Three are in a bearing of aircraft,” the tactical controller answered. “Two are one mile in trail flying line abreast. Ah, stand by-” A moment later, he was back. “Viper, those two trailers are below five hundred feet.” His voice was full of disbelief.
Martin’s jaw hardened—it was what he wanted to hear. The earlier kills had been too easy and whoever he and Leary had stuffed had not been “Joe.” “Gotcha,” Martin said for his backseater to hear. “Aldo,” he transmitted, “the two trailers are the threat, don’t lose ‘em. I’m engaged.” With that he put the five bandits on his nose. “Okay, Meatheads,” he mumbled to himself, “do your thing while I do mine.” He slammed the big jet down onto the deck, barely two hundred feet above the ground, and stroked the throttles as his airspeed touched 500 knots.
Martin had never been so alive. He concentrated on the HUD, focusing on the gray holographic images coming from the Nav FLIR that let him see into the night. He ignored the shadows that served as ground references and gave him a sense of ground rush. He was not even aware of the sweat streaking his face and soaking his back as ground turbulence jolted the Eagle and pounded at his body.
While Martin flew to the east, the other eight birds continued to the southeast, still in the old corridor they had opened up on the first attack. Martin had reasoned that any “raghead missiler who values his cajones won’t be anxious to get our attention.” Besides, they had learned the location of the SAM sites from die first attack and were flying around them.
Matt checked his TSD—they were across the border and approaching the split point. The jet banked hard to the right when they overflew the point and his wingman followed him through the turn. The horizon to the east was lighting with the first glow of sunrise and Matt had no trouble picking out his wingman two thousand feet to his left as they headedsouth for Al Sahra. The second element continued straight ahead for Mosul while the third and fourth elements headed south for the ferry.
Firebreak Page 46
