Bennett breathed deeply. Well, it looks like the base got off light. Then came the scarlet thread of anxiety. Wonder how the boys are doing.…
Northern Arabia, 08153 Hours
Colonel Aaron Hali finally turned northward. He had seen Israeli aircraft pass below him singly and in pairs, but not one four-plane flight. It appeared the battle was over, and he wondered if Solomon Yatanahu had listened in on the morning's events. Hali looked forward to debriefing with his old friend. Time permitting, they would get drunk together.
Continuing his scan through the turn, Hali saw nothing. He heard calls from pilots ahead of him, crossing the SAM belt again. My God, how many missiles,do the Saudis have? He could not imagine how they retained any after the godawful barrage they had unleashed-was it possible? — less than an hour ago.
"Bogeys six o'clock high!"
"More out to the east, Lead. Three and four o'clock."
"I'm in!"
"Cover me, Benny, there's Tigersharks up here."
"Where did they come from?"
Colonel Hali wracked his Eagle into as hard a turn as his airspeed allowed. The last call bothered him-it was unnecessary, contributing nothing. That seldom happened in the Heyl Ha'Avir.
Feeling his G-suit compress about his abdomen and thighs, Hali sustained a maximum-rate turn into the unexpected threat, seeing two Northrops pass to port. He noted twin motes of light at their tails. Tigersharks had only one engine.
''They're F-5s! All Eagles, all Eagles, this is Aaron. These are F-5s. Out."
Hali stole a glance at his fuel gauges. He knew that he would be lucky to walk home from this one.
The Jordanian portion of the hammer was well timed. Those Israeli pilots able to disengage from the anvil had begun climbs to optimum cruising altitude, flying profiles for greatest range. The F-15s carried bags of fuel, affording it exceptionally long "legs." But repeated combats, using afterburner, were not part of the equation. Any additional full-power usage would quickly erode the fuel reserve to dangerous levels. A thirty-minute reserve built into the mission plan would not accommodate five more minutes banging in and out of afterburner-especially at lower altitudes.
Those two-plane sections closest to the mission commander had no choice. They unhesitatingly turned to engage, willing to take one more enemy with them before they were shot down or flamed out. The others had a fifty-fifty chance-accelerate away, trading fuel for distance and the chance of a Sidewinder up the tailpipe, or accept battle.
High over Arabia Deserta, grim choices were made in F-15 and F-16 cockpits. In a few minutes only windblown smoke and drifting parachutes remained to tell the tale.
Chapter 15
Ha’il, 0705 Hours
John Bennett raced his jeep from revetment to revetment, occasionally swerving to avoid cheering mechanics and exultant pilots. He noted with professional concern that few of the men were refueling or rearming the aircraft immediately upon return. He grabbed a maintenance supervisor, shouted a few words, and depressed the clutch. Shifting into low, he resumed his initial review of the returning Tiger Force pilots.
From his own combat experience, Bennett knew what the young Saudis were feeling. It would be hours before the adrenaline abated and hypertension drained away. Then an inner calmness would wash over them, and many would lie awake.
Grateful and proud, they also would remember the men they had killed this day. Most would realize that the enemy were men very much like themselves, skilled, dedicated adversaries. In the heat of combat one saw only airplanes, not men. Somehow it was always a shock for a fighter pilot to realize there often was a dead body in the wreckage of the airplane he had just destroyed.
Seeing Rajid Hamir climbing down from his F-20, Bennett braked to an abrupt halt. He saw the young squadron commander run down the line and scramble up the ladder of Orange Five, his exec. They exchanged a few terse words, then Rajid dropped back to the ground. He began to unzip his G-suit when he was hoisted upon the shoulders of his pilots and mechanics. Once again the chant rose. "Ra-jid, Ra-jid!" But this time the young man seemed more withdrawn.
Bennett pressed his way through the crowd, ordering the armorers and mechs to return to work. The eight-plane standing patrol would have to be reinforced soon.
Rajid saw his mentor coming and asked to be put down. Bennett reached for the Saudi's hand and pressed it firmly. "How'd it go, Rajid?"
The young CO mussed his sweaty hair and rubbed the lines on his face left by his oxygen mask. "It was a tremendous fight, sir. We hit them just after the Sparrows fired. The timing was good. After that, I cannot tell you very much. It was…" he searched for the English word, "a madhouse up there. But we did well, I believe. "
"How'd you do, son?" Bennett realized he had never before used that term with one of his pilots.
Rajid rubbed his forehead. "I got an F-15 before he saw me and then another in a rolling scissors. After that I went for a guns pass on a 16 but only damaged him." Rajid gulped water from a canteen offered by a mech. "After that I took my flight and two loners to patrol our case. We were ordered back here to refuel and rearm."
Bennett patted his shoulder. ''That was smart thinking, Rajid. I'm afraid we may have lost Ahnas. He isn't back yet."
''That was what I heard on Green's channel. I checked with my exec, and he thought Ahnas went north to chase the Israelis. Ahnas is a better pilot than I am, Colonel Bennett. He always was, since we were students together. I wonder-if he didn't make it-"
Bennett cut off the boy's doubts. "Rajid, listen to me." His voice was cold and unemotional. "If Ahnas went glory-hunting with his flight, he committed a mortal sin. Yes, he's a good pilot. One of the best. But hot hands aren't enough. He should have used his head, too."
Rajid said, "I had better check my people, sir. We have had losses."
"Of course, son. Go ahead. I'm coordinating the search and rescue efforts from here. We'll know more this evening."
Balhama Air Base 0730 Hours.
The flight line was arrayed with serious, quiet maintenance personnel and staff officers. The Israeli Eagles landed by ones and twos, taxiing to their dispersal areas, where mechanics and armorers immediately went to work. In some cases the big fighters were fully serviced before the fatigued pilots climbed stiffly from the high cockpits.
Colonel Solomon Yatanahu stalked down the line, looking for the mission commander's aircraft. Not seeing it, he turned around and jogged back to one of the flight commanders. The captain stood between the twin tails, inspecting battle damage inflicted by a 20mm shell. Yatanahu called up to him.
"Hey, Benjamin!" The captain looked down at the base CO.
"Oh, hello, Colonel."
"Aaron?"
The captain slowly shook his head, then returned to his inspection of the shell hole.
Hovda Air Base, 0732 Hours.
Lieutenant Colonel David Ran ripped the helmet from his head and lofted it in a high arc over the side of his cockpit. One of the enlisted men caught it. The Kfir squadron commander sat for several seconds with his gloved hand rubbing his temples.
The crew chief put the ladder in place but decided against climbing to assist the pilot. He knew when the CO was in one of his moods.
At length Ran unplugged and unsnapped himself from the cockpit. Some of his intense anger had dissipated, and he felt the onset of a growing numbness. He wanted to return to his billet and sleep, but he knew there was much to do before he could indulge in that luxury. Climbing down the yellow ladder, he accepted his helmet from the mechanic and walked alone toward the operations shack. One of the maintenance officers trotted over to him.
"Colonel, we're missing three planes so far and-"
"Not now, damn it." With a slicing wave of his hand, Ran continued walking in brooding silence.
Ha’il, 1840 Hours
John Bennett and Ed Lawrence sat in the dining hall of the command center. They occupied a corner by themselves, enjoying one another's company as much as debriefing.
<
br /> "I have the preliminary figures from Bear," Bennett said. Digging a sheet of paper from his pocket, he toted up the score. "Looks like our guys claimed about thirty kills, plus whatever the Eagles bagged and the F-5s got in the end run. We should have the figures from the SAM battalions tomorrow. Meanwhile, it looks like we lost twenty-two, including Brad in a mid-air."
Lawrence tapped his fingers on the metal tabletop. "Wonder how many of the Israeli drivers jumped when they ran dry?"
"Don't know yet, Devil. Several of them undoubtedly came down in Jordan. It'll take the Saudi Army a while to scoop 'em up and count the wrecks. Bear is preparing a tentative report to Riyadh. It'll include all this data plus our preliminary analysis on ECM and rescue operations. The helo guys are out now and will continue through tomorrow."
Lawrence said, "I lost two planes and one pilot. The first went down when an AIM-7 hit him. The other lost a turning contest with a 16-apparently our guy overloaded himself and blacked out. Got hosed and ejected. He was lucky, but I'm going to have a word with him.”
"What did you guys claim?" Bennett glanced at Bear's notes. "Eight or nine?"
"Eight confirmed, plus another probable," Lawrence said. "Badir and I each got a Kfir climbing back to altitude after the SAM break. Then we latched onto a section of F-16s. We must have fought 'em for three or four minutes. Damnedest fight I ever was in. Finally nailed one but the wingie got away."
Lawrence leaned forward, his blue eyes animated. "You know, Pirate, I felt invincible in the F-8. Nobody ever got a clear win over me after I got out of the training squadron. Not even you. But in this 20… " The redhead whistled softly. "In the Tigershark, I'm immortal. I tell you, no lie, G.I. As long as I play my game and keep my eyeballs moving, ain't nobody can take me. And I've been up against the best."
Bennett chuckled inwardly, recognizing the same world-class ego in his friend which he had once possessed in himself. "Well, Jesus, Ed. I should hope you're that good. I mean, you only have seven thousand hours and one war up on the rest of these sports."
The exec waved a deprecating hand. "No, no. I mean it. Look, it's like I'm the world champion chess player. I don't have to fear any other grand master. Whatever he shows me, it's a move I've seen before or a strategy I've used myself."
"Okay, I won't dent your fighter pilot ego. But for Pete's sake, Devil, remember you're pushing forty-eight years old. You can't keep this up forever."
Lawrence gulped the last of his iced tea. Crunching the ice cube, he shook his head. "Won't have to. Hell, I'll probably be KIA before this is over. Not through any fault of my own, of course. That's a statistical impossibility. But late one dark and stormy night, Allah might tap old Devil on the shoulder and ask me to help organize things in Paradise."
Bennett looked his friend straight in the face. ''That's not the worst thing that could happen to you, is it?"
Lawrence returned the gaze. "No, it sure isn't, pardner."
"You know, I never mentioned this, but Claudia asked me about you and what you might do when this is all over." He smiled a grim, bittersweet smile. "She thought maybe we could adopt you and try to make you a useful citizen in society."
"Bless her heart. I almost believe that girl could have saved me." Lawrence paused, unsure of his ground. He had not heard Bennett mention Claudia's name since she was killed. "You still miss her a lot?"
Bennett closed his eyes for a moment. "Sometimes it's like she never existed for me. I mean, it's hard to believe I ever found her. Like she was just a pleasant dream. Other times… God, I can hardly stand it." His voice dropped an octave. "Whoever it was that killed her, I hope they're paying for it now.
Lawrence touched his friend's ann. "After what happened today, maybe they are."
DAY SIX
Tel Aviv, 1120 Hours
Modi Aharon, a paratroop lieutenant colonel, opened a dirty knapsack and deposited the contents on the table. "These were on the prisoner," he said, "and we picked up these items from Saudi patrol members." The paratrooper handed the two piles of personal effects to the intelligence officer.
"Thank you, Modi. As usual, you have been very thorough."
Chaim Geller thumbed through the documents. Then he picked up a standard rescue mirror. "Where did you say you found this Saudi patrol?"
Pointing to a map coordinate, the lieutenant colonel said, "About here, just south of the Jordanian border. We wouldn't have seen them if they hadn't shot at our scout helicopter. We already had the prisoner aboard and one of our own pilots. The gunship escort made one pass, then we landed to pick up documents. One of the bodies had this mirror and a signal book."
Geller rubbed his chin. "Now why would a Saudi foot patrol be up in that area, and why would only one of the men have a rescue mirror? You'd think each member would be equipped with this type of emergency gear." He turned to the paratrooper. "Which is the signal book?"
"Bottom of the stack, sir."
"Hmmm. I'll have our linguists get right on it. Something is peculiar here, Modi. We'll have the answer soon enough." He laid down the document. "Now, where is our hotshot Saudi fighter pilot?"
"Outside in the hallway. We're giving him small quantities of water. He's partially dehydrated and the medics don't want to overdo it."
The intel chief said, "Now would be a good time to talk to him. His resistance will be down after a day and a half in the desert. "
They walked around the comer to where a medic and two paratroopers stood watching the young flier. His face was sunburned and he lay on a bench with his knees elevated, sucking on a handkerchief containing ice cubes.
"Good afternoon, Lieutenant," Geller said, glancing at the Saudi's rank insignia. "I trust you're feeling better. What is your name and unit?" English would be their common language.
The Saudi sat upright. "I am Lieutenant Menas Abd Halif, Royal Saudi Air Defense Force."
"Yes, Lieutenant, I know your air force. But what is your squadron?"
"I am not obliged to tell you, sir. Our nations are at war and I am a member of the Saudi armed forces which have lawfully declared war against Israel."
"Come now, Lieutenant Halif. You needn't be coy with us. We know you are an F-20 pilot with the so-called Tiger Force. We know about your leaders, Colonel Bennett and Lieutenant Colonel Lawrence. We know you trained at Bahrain. We're merely filling in the necessary forms." He waved a sheaf of blank papers in the air. It had worked several times before, but this was a new war against a new enemy.
The Saudi pilot made no reply, so Geller pressed on. "We also know that your squadron leader, Captain Menaf, led your flight northward to pursue some of our aircraft, and was trapped by our withdrawal force of fighters."
The lieutenant's face revealed surprise. Then the curtain descended, expressionless. They've intercepted our radio calls, Halif thought. Just as Colonel Lawrence warned.
The Saudi looked up at Geller. "What I do not know, sir, is who you are. What is your authority?"
Geller was momentarily surprised. For the first time in his life, the intelligence officer looked into the face of an enemy and saw reflected there an equal.
Hovda Air Base, 2019 Hours
The combined staffs from each Israeli base which launched planes on the Saudi strike prepared a joint mission summary that night. Working late, the eight planners and intelligence officers finally had completed their work. They were tired, anxious, and some were discouraged.
Major Zev Lapido from Balhama snapped his notebook shut with a crisp movement. "We have to give them credit. The Saudis set this up extremely well. The only fault I see here is the F-20 flight which chased some of our planes north to the border."
Lieutenant Colonel Shimon Weiler, a former Mirage pilot, pounded his fist on the table. "Damn it! Anybody could see this coming. We were suckered, to use the American phrase. And what did we accomplish? We moved some sand dunes, that's about all. In exchange for over forty planes and at least three helicopters. Not to mention the boys out there… "
/> The colonel directing the debrief, Reuven Yeier, wanted to regain control. "Gentlemen, please. Let's remember we were ordered on this mission." He looked around the room. "We can take this as a lesson learned and avoid similar mistakes in the future."
"Damn it, Reuven, that's no good."· Weiler snapped at his superior, uncaring for the breach of decorum. "The point is, this never should have happened. We were led down the path. The Saudis knew the government would order retaliation for their raids on Jerusalem and the Knesset. Next, we were drawn over the mobile SAMs, then the Sparrow volley, and the F-20s jumped our boys while most of them were still dodging missiles. Finally the Jordanian F-5s cut them off." He picked up a sheaf of pilot reports. "Look at these! Our pilots never even saw the F-5s until too late. They came out of the sun without radar warning due to enemy ECM. God in heaven!"
Colonel Yeier retained his composure. "We knew the Saudis had accepted many of the Jordanians, who have a high standard of training. And we knew the radar jamming would be better than any we've faced before. After all, the Soviets don't like to show their hand by giving the Syrians all their first-line equipment."
A captain from Hovda spoke up. "I think we're missing the point. We're crying over what's past. I believe we should be more concerned with retrieving more of our pilots from Arabia."
"Ezer, nobody in this room disagrees with you." The colonel's tone was calm and reassuring. "We're doing absolutely everything we can. But remember, our helicopters must fly over Arab-occupied Jordan into Saudi airspace to reach those sites. We have already lost three helos and their crews." He looked around the room, making his point with his eyes. "From now on we need to conserve our planes and pilots for the most effective use. That message is going to Tel Aviv this very night. I don't think there will be a repeat of this folly."
With that, he walked out the door.
Watching him go, the Mirage pilot said, "From now on, I wonder if we can hold what we have."
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