Israel's Next War

by Martin Archer

  “They’re Kurds; Peshmerga for sure since they’re wearing uniforms and have a tank. Some of Barzani’s KDP almost certainly since they’re this far north. They must be KDP like Goran because they’re up here pretty close to Turkey and they’ve got a tank. We should be okay.”

  At Anil’s request the four of us riding in the back of the truck put our hands up on top of the cab in plain sight as we rolled up to the roadblock and stopped. The relaxed attitude of the Kurds changed when the first of them saw our unfamiliar battledress and barked a warning. Both Anil and Goran had their windows down and were talking non-stop with both their heads and their hands poking out of their windows. They obviously wanted the Kurds to see we were not a threat.

  Almost as soon as the pickup stopped both Goran and Anil stepped out slowly and carefully with their arms up so the Kurds could see they were unarmed.

  “Climb down slowly and leave your weapons in the truck,” Anil ordered us as he stepped out of the pickup with his hands off to his side so they are clearly in view.

  Things relaxed considerably when there was a shout from the man behind the tank’s turret machine gun. He jumped down and jogged over to us and embraced Anil with big kisses on each cheek. Then they chattered away with each other with a smiling Anil periodically pointing at us and nodding enthusiastically.

  Ten minutes later and we were on our way down the dirt road with one of the pickups from the roadblock leading the way. Half a dozen or so of the roadblock Peshmerga were riding in the back of the truck smoking and talking.

  ******

  We headed south on the dirt road for almost an hour. It was a hot and dusty hour, particularly when we met a car or truck coming the other way and got a good dusting. But the road was fairly smooth at our relatively low speed and we hung back more than a mile from the pickup in front of us to avoid its dust—and to be able to turn around and run for it if danger threatened.

  It was a relief to get out of the dust when we finally reached a two lane paved road with a fair amount of traffic going in each direction. Lots of trucks. Goran waited to let the pickup with the Peshmerga get about a mile down the road before we bumped on to the asphalt and cut into the flow of traffic to follow it.

  It was seriously warm and sunny but it really wasn’t so bad riding in the back of the pickup because of the breeze. Goran was staying with the flow of traffic but some of the drivers were really crazy. Twice in the next hour we were passed by fast moving cars whose constantly honking drivers swerved out to pass us on the right, using the road shoulder, to avoid on-coming vehicles. On the other hand, armed men in uniforms riding in the bed of a pickup truck didn’t seem to attract any attention at all.

  “Heads up,” shouted Anil as Goran suddenly pulled over and slowed to a stop on the shoulder of the road.

  We all instinctively stood up in the bed of the pickup and shaded our eyes against the sun to look ahead. Anil immediately opened the passenger door and stood on the running board as he searched the road ahead with his binoculars. Then he passed them back to me.

  “Looks like a roadblock up ahead.” And then he added ominously, “Stay alert; the KDP-controlled region ends somewhere around here. This could be a PUK checkpoint.”

  Then Rashid said something and pulled back on the road.

  “Goran says we’re okay. This is the last KDP checkpoint before the PUK territory begins. There will almost certainly be a PUK checkpoint just beyond this one.”

  Chapter Thirty-three

  ****** The Iraqi Lieutenant Colonel

  I drove the pickup out of the parking lot of the Supreme Headquarters with the captain riding in the bed of the pickup holding the gas can from the Syrian army truck in his lap and his AK-47 tucked in between his legs. The rest of us were unarmed except for our pistols.

  It’s a good thing this pickup has refrigeration. It’s hot enough as it is. I was sweating like a pig.

  Two hours of steady driving and we reached the border and safety. It was a madhouse with civilian cars and trucks backed up for at least a kilometer. There were several destroyed tanks and an APC in the field just before we reached it. The Israelis or their air force must have passed this way.

  I decided to drive on the shoulder of the road to drive around them. I got about half way down the line but then found the shoulder blocked by a driverless civilian car with Iraqi plates. Suitcases and bedding were tied to the roof.

  “Tell them to move,” I ordered the major sitting next to me in the passenger seat.

  The major dutifully got out and walked up to the car. I could see him waving his hands and talking to someone in the rear. He returned with a discouraged look on his face.

  “The driver is gone. The women say he walked up to the border crossing over an hour ago and took his keys with him.”

  “Everybody out. We’ll push the damn thing off the shoulder.” And that’s what we did despite the screams and angry cries of the women and children in the back seat. I just leaned in through the driver’s side window, popped the gear shift into neutral, and steered as the others pushed. No problem. When the guy returns he can drive back up on to the road.

  It wasn’t until I had to stop behind the next car parked on the shoulder about a hundred meters further on that I was finally able to look ahead and understand the problem. The delay is on this side of the border. The barrier arm was down across the road and there were a couple of people in uniforms sitting behind a table under the overhanging roof of the little customs office next to the barrier arm.

  A large crowd was gathered in front of the table holding documents and talking to each other. Everyone in the crowd seemed to be a civilian. Behind the three sitting men were a number of uniformed men carrying weapons. They looked like Syrian customs officers or border guards.

  Hmm. Wonder what the problem is? Well I’m not going to wait to find out.

  I got out of the pickup and began pushing my way through the crowd towards the table.

  “Here’s one,” someone shouted. “He’s wearing his uniform.”

  Two officers were sitting at the table as I walked up. Both were majors with military police arm bands. One was a Syrian, the other an Iraqi. About a dozen or so junior officers and enlisted men were standing behind them. The crowd grew quiet and watched with great interest as I approached the table.

  “Open the barrier and let us through. I’m on important military business.” What’s going on here?

  “Your papers,” the Syrian major said holding out his hand. The older Iraqi major with the mustache took a puff on his cigarette; then he rocked back in his little wooden chair and looked intently at the name on my uniform.

  Good. He recognizes the name and knows my family is important.

  “What papers. I don’t have to show you any papers. Open the damn gate. I have military business in Baghdad.”

  “I’m sure you do,” the Iraqi major said. “But please wait here for a moment, Colonel, while I talk to the officers in your pickup.”

  Ten minutes later the major started back and then motioned for me to join him in an open area away from the crowd. He obviously wanted to talk privately. As I walked up to him I could see my pickup drive off heading back down the road towards Damascus and the war. What is he doing?

  “What are you doing? You can’t do that. … No don’t… Please… Ple...” My god he shot me. Oh …

  ******

  “Was he really a deserter, Major?”

  “Oh I shouldn’t think so. Nothing like that. Iraqi officers don’t desert. It’s a probably a family matter. He was on the list along with his father and uncle. One of them apparently got on the wrong side of President Majid.”

  ****** General Christopher Roberts

  The President and the members of the Security Council listened intently as I reported what I’d learned from the Israelis and discussed with the Turks.

  “It’s pretty clear,” I told the President,—“the Israelis intend to permanently weaken the three countries in the Isla
mic Coalition by helping their border provinces break away and become independent. And they can do it because the border provinces are populated primarily by Kurds, Druze, and Christians who very much want to break away from their oppressive central governments.

  “In a nutshell,” I explained, “it appears that Israel is going to help the Coalition’s minorities breakaway by arming them to the teeth so they can become independent.

  “And Turkey likes the idea too, at least the Turkish military does—because it will create buffer states between Turkey and the Islamic oriented coalition countries. There’s even a very real possibility the new states will become part of an expanded Turkish commonwealth. And that’s important because it would give Turkey and Israel access to the oil fields and the water coming off the mountains in Kurdistan.

  Hell, with oil and buffer states between it and the Islamic countries, Turkey would be a good candidate to join the European Union. I should have thought of that when I talked to the Turks.

  “That’s really important for Turkey,” I pointed out to the President. “With oil and buffer states between it and the Islamic Republics Turkey will automatically become a very viable candidate to join the European Union.”

  The Secretary of State and his deputy were appalled—they want the borders of the Middle East left as they are.

  “Why should we care if the borders of Iran, Iraq, and Syria change to encourage peace in that part of the world?” I asked the Secretary of State. “What is so important about maintaining the borders the British and French imposed on the Middle East after World War One?”

  “It’s a bad precedent, General. Besides, maintaining stable borders promotes harmony between nations and allows economic development to occur.” Sounds like a line out a freshman political science text from long ago.

  “You mean like today’s harmony and development, Jack? You do realize, don’t you, that the Israelis alone have just suffered almost one hundred thousand men killed and wounded in the past week or so as a result of the "harmony" you want to maintain?

  I said it with more than a little sarcasm in my voice.

  Then I got a bit angry.

  “Goddamn it, Jack. We’ve been through this before. What’s wrong with the Kurds and the Druze and the Christian Arabs and Israelis having their own governments on their own lands?

  The Secretary just sat there on the couch holding a cup of coffee in his hand and shaking his head. What an asshole.

  “Jack, it almost sounds as if you want the problems in the Middle East to continue so you can periodically fly around the world holding press conferences and acting important while you spout nonsense that no one takes seriously.”

  “It’s a bad precedent, that’s why,” the Secretary replied irately. “And what about the Palestinians? You’re forgetting the Palestinians.” He said it very smugly.

  “I certainly am not,” I hotly denied. “They’re going to have a separate state and everyone knows it including the Israelis. You yourself have repeatedly called for that. So if having their own state is good for the Palestinians, for God’s sake, why isn’t it also good for the Kurds and the Druze?

  Control yourself, buddy boy, you’re getting angry.

  “Mr. President,” I continued. “I appeal to you—an alliance between Israel and Turkey to remake the borders of the Middle East is a marriage made in heaven for them and for the minorities who want to break away from the Islamic dictators – and for us and our allies. It gives Israel the security and recognition she’s been seeking ever since 1948. We must not interfere and try to stop it from happening.”

  If he agrees with the Secretary of State I’ll have to resign for sure.

  After a long and pregnant pause while he took a sip of water and looked at me intently, and everyone sat forward in their seats, the President nodded in agreement.

  Thank goodness. I sort of like this job and I’m too damn old to find another.

  ****** Lieutenant Colonel Dick Evans

  It was so hot little heat waves were dancing off the pavement by the time we rolled up to the roadblock. Goran pulled off the road and parked sufficiently far away from the Peshmerga’s pickup truck so they’d know we weren’t suicide bombers. There were people in uniforms standing around the pickup talking and a couple of others peering at us from under a big tent with its sides rolled up. They all watched as we jumped down from the truck and walked over to them without our weapons. Goran and Anil led the way. From everyone’s relaxed posture it’s likely we’re among friends.

  I sure hope they invite us into the tent. It’s hotter than hell standing out here in the sun.

  Cars and trucks were continuing past the checkpoint without slowing down or stopping as we jumped down from the truck bed and walked over to join the Peshmerga. We left our weapons in the truck under a smelly old blanket.

  About fifty yards to the right of the tent with the rolled up sides was an ancient Soviet T-55 battle tank under a canvas shelter. Its weapons were pointed up the road in the general direction of a couple of similar tents on the other side and the line of cars and trucks stopped on the road next to them. The tank looked deserted.

  Okay, I get it. They are stopping and checking the vehicles entering the KDP’s territory but letting those leaving it drive on past without stopping. Wonder if they’re looking for something or someone special.

  We followed Goran and Anil towards the tent. A couple of the guys who had been talking with the men in the Peshmerga pickup came over to join us as we walked towards the tent.

  ******

  With much gesturing at us and waving of hands Anil and Rashid chattered away with the two men in the tent and the guys who followed us in. While they were talking the Peshmerga pickup truck that had led us here pulled away in a cloud of dust and bounced back on to the road. There was no indication of rank on any of the Peshmerga uniforms but the white haired older guy who shook our hands and smiled a lot was obviously the man in charge. His name was Hozan and he chattered away excitedly faster than Anil could translate.

  “He welcomes you to Kurdistan,” Anil finally translated. “He asks if it is really true what Kirkuk radio is saying—that the Israelis have defeated the Iraqis and an army of Israelis is coming to bring weapons to the Kurds and help us become independent?”

  “Yes, I think the Israelis have defeated the Iraqi army and are in Iraq to help the Kurds become independent.”

  Well, that’s what General Roberts and that CIA guy told me they thought that’s what the Israelis intend to do. I sure hope it’s true and I didn’t fuck things up by telling this guy.

  Then there was more animated talking with Anil pointing at Si and Solly. Hozan looked at them incredulously and then back to Anil. Anil nodded. I wish I knew what they are saying.

  “Hozan welcomes you,” Anil finally said. “He says the Iraqis gassed his village years ago and killed his wife and three little daughters while he was away at work. He has been a Peshmerga and fighting them ever since.”

  Suddenly it was as if a dam had broken. Hozan began weeping and embraced Solly. They both had tears in their eyes and Harry and Si are standing dumbfounded with their mouths open.

  This is crazy. I feel like crying myself and I’m not even sure why.

  ******

  Everything settled down after a bit and we accepted warm orange sodas from a freezer chest in the tent. Then we talked.

  “Hozan says the PUK at the checkpoint up ahead are not friendly to foreigners and will probably hold us until they get a clearance from their headquarters. I don’t know if it’s true or not. But he thinks it is.”

  “What does he suggest?” I asked.

  After much discussion I finally decided we’ll take our chances with the PUK. It is, after all, the Iraqi Arabs who are not going to be happy about us being here, not the Kurds. So off we went with Hozan, Goran, and Anil in the front and the rest of us standing in the truck bed.

  The PUK checkpoint was similar to the one we’d just left except it had n
o tank to back up the Peshmerga manning it. On both sides of the road were a couple of round tables surrounded by folding chairs with big beach umbrellas to keep out the sun. The men sitting at the tables were making no effort to check the vehicles going in either direction. A big tent with its sides rolled up was about a hundred yards off the other side of the road.

  The men sitting in the shade of the umbrellas stopped talking and stood up with their weapons in hand as Goran drove up to them and parked on the shoulder of the road about forty yards away their table. The men on the other side of the road and at the tent also stood up. We stopped and parked short of the table to show them we did not have the truck rigged with a bomb.

  Goran and Anil opened the truck doors and got out with their hands in plain sight so the Peshmerga can see they are unarmed. Hozan similarly slid out behind Anil and stood in the open where he could be seen while Goran came around from the driver’s side of the truck and approached the table. The Peshmerga on the other side of the road drifted over to join the party.

  While they were all talking and gesturing one of the PUK men came around and looked in the bed of the truck. We just stood there in plain sight obviously unarmed. Our weapons are out of sight under a ragged and paint-splattered blanket.

  After a bit, Anil waved and shouted. “Come on over and meet some new friends.”

  We jumped down and walked over to the men standing at the tables. I don’t know about the others but I’m trying my best to look friendly and not at all threatening. While we were walking towards the tables Anil shouted something to the Peshmerga standing at the back of the truck which caused him to climb into it. A few seconds later he held up a couple of the AK-47s we’d hidden under the tarp.

  “I told them about our weapons,” Anil said to me as we walked up to the waiting men. “I didn’t want them thinking we’re a threat or hiding something.”

  Good thinking. Anil’s smart.