Ambassador Weissman said, "Then it's over for us, one way or the other."
Olmert shook his head and sipped some wine. "I'm inclined to believe the nuclear option should be played without announcement. It increases the shock value and forces the Arabs into a defensive mindset."
"What might the Americans do to help?" asked Ran.
"First, I doubt this administration wants to get directly involved. Particularly when Servenoff's threat becomes known. Even then, it's probably too late." He shrugged. "We are as we have always been-on our own."
Avrim Ran leaned forward, hands clasped under his chin. "I must say, General, that seems a remarkably detached evaluation."
Lom Olmert looked frankly at the diplomat. "Mr. Ambassador, if I'm not objective, you should fire me on the spot." He took another sip of wine. "There's one aspect we've not addressed. Are the Soviets really going to turn over nuclear weapons to the Arabs? Just consider that prospect from Moscow's viewpoint. Atomic artillery in the hands of Muslim fanatics-heirs to the Ayatollah. There's an American fleet in the Mediterranean. What if the Syrians or anyone else fired at those ships?" He paused for emphasis. "No, gentlemen. I do not think the Russians will be so stupid."
Weissman spoke in a near-whisper. "But Lom, what if you're wrong?"
"Then we're finished anyway. You know, I've fought in three wars and I've seen hundreds of dead men. Not a single one ever complained about being killed by a bomb instead of a bullet."
DAY FIFTEEN
Solomon Yatanahu faced his pilots and maintenance and intelligence officers in the briefing room. It was evening, and the past two days had whittled down his Eagle force even further. Everyone looked tired, the ground officers as well as the fliers. Attrition had set in; the Darwinian principle applied to supersonic aircraft and proud-tired young men.
"Boys, you know the situation." Yatanahu tapped the map.
"These three armored columns are on a converging course. If they merge, we've lost." One glance showed that the projected axes of the Arab thrusts would meet at Tel Aviv. The enemy is going for the jugular, Yatanahu mused. They've read von Clausewitz. They're concentrating on the Schwerpunkt-the decisive point.
The base commander continued. ''The Arabs have changed tactics for this new thrust. They're continuing to move tanks and troops under an umbrella of mobile SAMs, but they're concentrating their fighters better. Coordination between SAMs, anti-aircraft artillery, and fighters means a near-continuous air defense net. We can't get our strike planes at their armor without exposing them to interception." He bit his lip. "In honesty, we've lost aerial supremacy. Now we're fighting for local superiority over our own territory. "
Those words rang with a deadened peal; not since 1948 had such a condition existed within Israel's borders. Few of the men in the room had even been born then. They had grown up with certain natural laws. The sun rose in the east. Water ran downhill. Israel owned the sky. Now it was as if the laws of nature had been suspended.
Yatanahu asked the senior intelligence officer for his projection.
Major Eliazar Maimonides shuffled his papers and began. "We have run these figures with every variation that occurs to us. But the fact is, we have no more than two days to effect a change. The median is one-point-eight days-call it thirty-three hours from midnight. By then, anyone or all of three things can happen."
Maimonides looked at his notes. "Either we'll be out of fuel or out of sufficient planes to put up a worthwhile strike. Or the first tanks will reach Tel Aviv." He glanced up for a moment. "We're still outshooting them over eight to one in the air, without recent F-20 engagements, and we have enough twenty-millimeter ammunition to last. But missiles and fuel are going fast."
"Solomon." It was Major Yehudi Ne'eman, the senior squadron commander. He was thirty-two years old but right now he looked about forty-five. He had shot down six Arab aircraft in the past two days, and landed a crippled F-15 when nobody would have blamed him for ejecting. "It's obvious we need to break the pattern, try a different approach. We have to get into their second echelon."
Yatanahu agreed. "Precisely, but the Arabs also know the importance of their backup formations. They are what sustain the drive. That's no doubt why they allocate their strongest fighters to patrol those areas." He cleared his throat, not wanting to leave anything unsaid. "We're at parity with the Saudi F-20s, trading them essentially one for one. But it's no good, we can't afford that kind of exchange rate. We're forced to back off from the deeper strikes and concentrate over the battle front. "
Maimonides interjected. "Gentlemen, we do have some things on our side. We're definitely superior at night, and what strikes we've flown in darkness have been pretty successful. Also, our decoy measures against the surface missiles are taking effect."
Though he couldn't explain details to anyone likely to be captured, the major was pleased with the latter ploy. It had been his idea. When Soviet-made SS-20 surface-to-surface rockets began dropping on and near Israeli airfields, the Syrians needed spotting reports to gauge their accuracy. Israeli intelligence, already onto most of the clandestine spotters, scooped them up and sent false corrections and optimistic results. It seemed to be working, but some SS-20s still found their mark. Meanwhile, Arab fighter-bombers were freed to concentrate on the front lines.
Mildly irritated, Ne'eman, the heavy-eyed F-15 skipper, pressed his point. "All right, that's fine. But what do we do tomorrow morning? We're faced with a vicious circle. We must stop the armored thrusts, but we can't do that without engaging their fighters. Our losses already are near-prohibitive, as you noted."
The pilot and everyone else knew that the loss of 265 Israeli aircraft had forced the Heyl Ha'Avir into a defensive posture. More shot-down pilots were being saved over friendly territory, but their planes were gone forever.
Yatanahu explained the results of the tactical panel's evaluation. But he also knew that a backup plan was being considered.
Chapter 16
DAY SIXTEEN
Ha’il, 1500 Hours
Bennett faced the three remaining Tiger Force instructors. He had called Ed Lawrence and Geoff Hampton to join him in a discussion with Bear Barnes, and they occupied the bunk and one chair in his billet.
"Guys, I want to let you know my thoughts on this new development. When we signed on, it was to defend Saudi airspace against any intruder. We've done that-first with the South Yemenis and now with the Israelis." He glanced at Devil's helmet, stacked in a corner with the rest of the IP's flight gear. There were nine stars now-three yellow, six blue.
''This is just my personal opinion. It doesn't have to reflect your own." He bit his lip in concentration. When he looked up he said, "I'm leaving. I'll stay two more days to wrap up administration and coordination. After that, I'm going home." He did not elaborate.
Geoff Hampton said, "John, I wonder what the effect would be if any of us stay on." He glanced at the others. "We're not actively engaged over Israeli territory-just the odd interception in South Jordan. That shouldn't pose any problems, should it?" The Briton was still considering his options.
"No, I don't think so," Bennett replied. "My reasons are… well, they're personal." From the expression on Lawrence's face, Bennett knew his friend had surmised the reason. Claudia's too closely involved with the Israelis in his mind, Devil thought.
Bennett continued. "Bear will remain at least as long as I do to run the ops office. Ed, are you and Geoff still going to Bahrain?"
The redhead replied, "Affirmative. I need to coordinate a resupply of Sidewinders and spares. Geoff is due for Rand R." He looked at the mustached flier. "What'll it be, pardner? Monte Carlo or Rome?"
"Believe I'll try my luck at the gaming tables, old man. Used to be a croupier in my line back some generations." He smiled under his regulation mustache. Then his face turned serious. "I'm for packing it in, too. I've had a good run here, wouldn't have missed it for anything. But I feel it's time for a change."
"Very well." Bennett stood up
. "I'll be in touch by phone when you get to Bahrain. Ed, you and Geoff might as well take my bird to Tiger Base. My 001 is due for an annual. That'll leave your two fighters for use here." He raised a cautionary finger. "But don't you dare scratch my pet. She's been good to me and I may want to take her home."
Lawrence waited for the others to leave before talking to Bennett. "Pirate, I'm staying. This isn't over yet, and I'd sort of like to stick around for the finish." He glanced at the floor. "I raised these kids from pups. I couldn't leave them now. Not while there's still some flying to be done." Bennett knew his exec meant, While there's still some fighting to be done. Ed Lawrence had long since passed the point where merely flying-even flying supersonic fighters-satisfied him. The aircraft had become an extension of himself, of his purpose. And his purpose was combat.
That's the difference between us, Bennett thought. I look at a Tigershark and see freedom. Devil looks at the same airplane and sees a weapon.
Bennett patted his friend on the shoulder. "I figured you'd want to stay. Just keep checking six, will you?" Bennett had the unnerving impression he might never see Lawrence again.
"Always have. Don't worry, Pirate. We'll get all the guys together in a year or so for the first Tiger Force reunion. Maybe the king will foot the bill." They made plans to meet on the flight line before Lawrence took off.
* * *
Later that afternoon Bennett stood before the situation chart in the briefing room. It was updated twice daily by the Saudi intelligence officers attached to Tiger Force. With professional detachment, Bennett evaluated the developing blitzkrieg against Israel. In the manner of all staff studies, friendly forces were blue, opposition red. The blue arrows thrusting inward from Sinai, from the north, and particularly from the east threatened to slice Israel into pieces.
It was now two days since the combined power of Syria, Iran, Iraq, and Egypt had smashed into Israeli territory behind artillery barrages, air strikes, armored columns, and mustard gas. Though he lacked precise details, Bennett knew that many-perhaps most-of the Israeli airfields were within range of enemy artillery. As the Heyl Ha'Avir consolidated its squadrons on the decreasing number of operational fields, two factors would work against them. Maintenance facilities, ramp space, and accommodations would become overloaded. And the planes bunched on available fields were more vulnerable to shelling or air attack. It was a descending spiral of options which seemed to lead inevitably to defeat.
Bennett pondered the turbulent history of Israel. Since her birth in 1948, the Jewish· State had lived with the ever-present threat of destruction. She had survived against impossible odds because of superior organization and combat skill. Now that the Arabs had matched Israeli resolve, their vastly superior numbers were wearing down Tel Aviv's fighting edge. Not even American support-crucial to Israel's existence-could reverse the situation. And this time there was no U.S. aid. Washington, acting in its own best interest, lacked the willingness or resolve to jump in.
The Tiger Force leader acknowledged his ambivalence toward Israel's peril. They're undoubtedly the ones behind Claudia's death, he thought, and for that they deserve extinction. But he recognized that "they" did not include the nation's entire population, nor the military personnel who would continue to die in this expanded war.
Bennett also felt mixed emotions about his allies. To an extent he felt betrayed by the duplicity of the Muslim states which had reneged on their pledge of reclaiming only Jordan and the West Bank. The opportunists had seen the chance to carry their crusade much farther than announced. True, the Saudis were not participating directly, for the king had remained true to the letter of his declaration. But neither had the House of Saud spoken against the invasion.
Well, what could the Saudis do, anyway? Bennett found himself engaged in a mental debate which neither part of his psyche was winning. The royal family will be lucky to survive on the throne after this is all over, that's for sure.
To hell with it. There are TW clear answers. It's time to go home. Absorbed in his thoughts, Bennett suddenly became aware of Bear Barnes standing next to him. The ex-Marine asked, "Doing more homework, boss?"
''The irony just struck me," Bennett said. "Most of our European allies long ago abdicated the responsibility for their own defense-the most elemental duty of any government. The Israelis have fought their own battles for over two generations and now they're on the ropes. "
Barnes gave a wry smile. ''That's an odd sentiment for the leader of an Arab air force. Besides, you know damn well Israel couldn't stay afloat without U. S. aid and weapons. They barely repay half of what they receive."
"Yeah, I know. But at least they fight. They call a spade a spade. There's seldom any doubt about their position. Hell, some of our so-called friends around the world take billions of dollars in aid and vote against us in the U.N. Or they look the other way when some assassin or terrorist sneaks through their country en route to somewhere else."
Barnes shrugged his big shoulders. "Well, what's the option?"
Bennett looked at the map again. His gaze fell on the port city of Haifa. "Did you ever hear of a contingency plan called Pharaoh?"
"No, don't think so."
"I studied it at War College," Bennett explained. "It was a scenario in which U. S. naval forces attempted to rescue the survivors of an Israeli collapse. The logistics people estimated that maybe a quarter-million Israelis-mainly women and children-could be recovered by sea. I wonder if they've dusted off that study and delivered it to Com Sixth Fleet." He glanced at the two carrier battle groups plotted in the Mediterranean and thought of Dave Edmonds, a rear admiral now. With a start, Bennett realized he had not thought of his friend in months. Maybe Dave was riding one of the carriers out there.
Barnes whistled softly. "I don't see how they could pull it off, John. Not on that scale. It'd be tough enough in peacetime, but under fire? Man, they'd lose more than they saved just getting from the beach to the ships."
"Probably so." He tapped Bear on the chest with the back of his hand. "Let's see Devil and Geoff tuck their wheels in the well."
Forty minutes later Bennett and Barnes stood near the runway and watched 001's engine run up to 80 percent military power. Bennett could tell when Lawrence released the brakes, then heard the afterburner cut in. Instead of pulling up to climb for altitude, the sleek little fighter remained near the runway, retracting its landing gear in level flight. Then, abruptly, the F-20B rolled inverted and passed the two onlookers at 20 feet, wings rocking in farewell. It was a prideful, foolish piece of flying-something only Devil would do. Bennett shaded his eyes from the sun as the nose came up sharply, angling into the sky under negative G.
Watching the Tigershark disappear from sight, Bennett realized he probably never would see his jet airborne again. He might get one last flight in 001 before he headed home.
Bear Barnes wondered why Bennett stood watching for so long.
The two-seater had disappeared from view two minutes before. Finally he tapped the CO's arm. "Come on, Skipper. Let's go to chow. Dinner's ready."
With a last look eastward, Bennett fell in step with the fast-walking Marine.
Balhama Air Base, 1818 Hours
Colonel Solomon Yatanahu shifted the piles of documents on his desk. Most of his files and official materials were boxed and ready for transportation or quick destruction. Though the Beersheba airfield complex remained operational, the three bases would come under Arab artillery fire before long-probably in just a matter of hours.
As a professional without illusions, Yatanahu recognized that Israel finally had lost air supremacy. Now it was mainly a matter of aerial parity, but inevitably the margin was slipping. The fighter ace knew that his Eagle pilots were claiming 40 percent of their kills with gunfire these days. It would not be lost upon the Arab fliers, who would recognize that a decreasing stock of air-to-air missiles required the cannon option. The mechanics and armorers were working eighteen-hour days routinely, but still sortie rates were declin
ing. There simply was not enough time to properly maintain the remaining aircraft.
The intercom buzzed and Yatanahu picked up the phone. "Priority message for you, Colonel." Yoni Ben-Nun's voice betrayed the strain he felt, and the base commander marveled at his own stamina. He had heard infantry officers comment on the seeming contradiction: the old men still were going strong when the nineteen-year-olds were asleep on their feet. In truth, he knew the reason: experience in pacing oneself, applying full effort only to priority matters. The youngsters tried to do everything at full speed until fatigue overtook them.
The colonel pressed the lighted key and spoke into the desk speaker. "Yatanahu here."
The voice on the other end was familiar. "Solomon, this is Seth. My authenticator follows…. " The Israeli Air Force director of operations read an alpha-numeric sequence which told Yatanahu to stand by for a special courier.
"I acknowledge. Courier en route?"
"That is correct." There was a pause. Yatanahu thought the connection may have been lost. Then the DO said, "Good bye, Sol." Then the line went dead.
Yatanahu notified his staff that a special courier would arrive within thirty minutes. The officer was to be brought to base headquarters immediately.
Then the colonel studied his situation chart. He saw the red arrows penetrating Israel from the south in two prongs, either side of Beersheba. He noted the arrows from the north and west as well. He knew the blue arrow aimed northeastward at the Golan Heights represented a determined counterattack the night before. Supported by artillery, helicopters, and special forces, it had succeeded long enough to silence several enemy artillery batteries but the Arab riposte had been too strong. Israel had lost the Golan.
Twenty-two minutes later an air force intelligence officer was escorted to Yatanahu's office. The courier, a lieutenant colonel, presented his identification and a second authenticator sequence which completed the original. Then, locked in the office with no witness save the base commander, the courier presented his message on the special-purpose form.
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