Stephen Molstad - [ID4- Independence Day 03]

by War in the Desert (epub)

  Reg nodded meditatively. “Makes sense,” he said. “From a Muslim’s point of view at any rate.”

  “It doesn’t make any kind of sense at all!” Sutton said.

  “This Faisal is apparently some kind of religious fanatic!”

  “Oh, come off it, Sutton,” Reg said. “Mecca is one of the high holy sites of Islam. They’ve already seen Jerusalem destroyed, and the bulk of Saudi Arabia’s domestic military doctrine is built around defense of Mecca. A lot of these pilots would consider it their sacred duty.” Reg paused. “I hadn’t thought of it; Jerusalem, Rome. I wonder if the aliens are intentionally targeting religious sites.”

  Tye pursed his lips. “Wasn’t there one over Los Angeles?” “Good point,” conceded Reg. “It was just a theory.”

  Sutton angrily flicked his cigarette butt into the sand. “Don’t give me that rot about ‘sacred duty,’” he said. “These foreign pilots will take the Saudis’ fuel and say they’ll defend the city, all right. And then as soon as they’re in the air they’ll head off in whatever direction they please.”

  Tye chimed in, ‘That's what Lieutenant Sutton says we should do, too.”

  Sutton crouched in the sand between Reg and Tye. He handed his lighter to Tye and indicated that he should hold it to light the map he sketched in the sand.

  “Look here,” he said. “If these holy warriors will top off the tanks in ourTomadoes, we might be able to make it to Diego Garcia.” He sketched a long line to the British possession in the Indian Ocean, site of a major British air base.

  Reg shook his head. “We don’t even know if the facilities there still exist. The aliens could have been there by now.” “That’s a risk I’m willing to take,” replied Sutton. “At least there’s a chance we could be back among our own kind.”

  Reg sighed and crawled into one of the tents. “You’re even less bright than I’d thought, Sutton,” he called through the canvas. “Think about it. If we hadn’t spotted the smoke from that crashed tanker today, we’d be dying of thirst in the deep desert, assuming we survived bailing out of our planes. And now you want to fly over open ocean with no satellite navigation aids and intermittent radio communications, hoping that you’ll find the island before your fuel gives out.”

  “I’d risk it to get out of here,” came Sutton’s reply. “Look, Cummins, I think it’s great that you’re having a love-in with your Arab pals, but we’ve got to launch a counterattack against these damned aliens before it’s too late. Sitting out here in the desert is a waste of everybody’s time. We should all get back to our own armies. That’s the only way we have a chance of making a difference; it’s the only way to make sure we have a planet left to fight for.”

  Reg lay on his back in his tent. He had to admit that Sutton did have a point. There were too many factions in the desert camp, all working at cross-purposes. It would be impossible to plan an effective assault on the aliens.

  He closed his eyes. It had been a terribly long day, the longest day of his life, and he desperately needed rest. But as he lay there, he couldn’t stop his mind from churning. Sutton’s last remark had been too close to the question Fadeela had asked him: What do you have worth fighting for?

  When the moon had climbed above the dunes towering on the horizon, the representatives from each country present were again called to Faisal’s tent. The British decided to try to get away with sending three representatives. Reg, Thomson, and Tye left Sutton to hold down the fort.

  As they approached the runway, they were met by a pair of Israelis: the thin, bespectacled Yossi and his female commander. From the moment the Brits saw her, they could tell the Israeli pilot was wound tight. She had a trapped look. The name on her flight suit was Marx, but she introduced herself simply as Miriyam. She was short, solid, and strong. The dark circles under her eyes were visible even by moonlight, and her mass of coiled auburn hair bounced with an anxiety of its own.

  “I can’t believe that they’ve kept us out here all day,” she said. “We need just two things from these Arabs: jet fuel and access to their radios. We have to insist on this, as a group. If they won’t give us what we need, we’ll have to take it.”

  Reg looked at Yossi, who merely shrugged. Neither the two of them nor Tye wanted to attempt calming Miriyam down. But then Thomson stepped into the breach.

  “Captain, you might want to exercise some restraint in this meeting, as a woman. These Arab men are extremely old-fashioned, you know, not exactly a bunch of women’s libbers.”

  Miriyam stepped up and grabbed Thomson by the lapels. The two of them were approximately the same height, but Thomson easily outweighed her. She took no notice of that as she lifted the colonel off his feet and spoke through clenched teeth. “I can handle myself.”

  As she eased Thomson to the ground, however, some of the anger seemed to go out of her. “I apologize,” she said. “Of course you are right. I will try.”

  As they approached the command tent, they could see that it was already crowded. The flaps had been tied back, and several Saudi soldiers stood guard. The five of them stepped up to the entrance and peered inside. The tent was crowded with forty or fifty people, a mixture of Saudi officers and foreign pilots. They stood in small groups, speaking in hushed tones. Low-ranking officers moved through this edgy crowd, offering steaming tea in plastic cups. It had the appearance of a grim cocktail party.

  As the five new arrivals hesitated at the entrance, a handsome Saudi officer made his way through the crowd, opening his arms to greet them.

  “Salaam alechem, my brothers. I am Ghalil Rumallah Ibn-Faisal. It is the will of God that we meet here this evening. He has brought you here to support us in our fight against this most terrible enemy.”

  Reg hadn’t recognized the camp’s commander without his robes, but he saw now that this was the man who had spoken with the Saudi captain at the prayer session earlier in the day. Now he was dressed in a sharply tailored khaki dress uniform. Numerous military decorations were plastered across his chest.

  Thomson greeted the man warmly. The man’s only been in Saudi Arabia for a day, thought Reg, but he already knows that flattery is the grease that turns the wheel here.

  “You Saudi chaps deserve three cheers from all of us,” said

  Thomson. “It took crack judgment and foresight to organize this camp as quickly as you’ve done. Without this base we’d all be lost, completely lost.”

  That’s true enough, thought Reg, as a big smile spread across Faisal’s face.

  “How did your lot pull this all together so quickly?” Thomson asked.

  Faisal joined them outside the tent and spoke. “I tell you, when I first saw the fires in the sky I trembled like a woman, but then I sank to my knees and prayed for direction. And Allah, in his wisdom, showed me what I should do. He told me to build an army in the farthest desert, where my people could gather themselves until the chosen moment. From this place, it was revealed to me, we will join the battle and win a glorious victory.”

  Reg kept his features schooled in a neutral expression, as did all of the others except for Miriyam, who scowled. And Thomson, of course, who nodded and grinned broadly.

  “Sounds marvelous,” said the colonel. “If this vision of yours is correct, it sounds like we can’t lose.”

  Miriyam suddenly let out a sharp cry of disgust. “This is not a time for children’s stories,” she hissed. “God did not bring me here to fight under Arabs! We demand that you give us fuel at once so that we can return to Israel.”

  Yossi put his hand on her shoulder in an effort to calm her outburst. That only succeeded in making her angrier and louder. She pushed his hand away and stepped closer to Faisal.

  “You can all stay out here in the middle of nowhere and talk to one another as long as you please!” she shouted. “Just give us our fuel! ” The sound of her voice made several people in the tent turn to see what was happening.

  Faisal’s reaction surprised Reg. He expected the commander to react to Miri
yam much as Khalid had to Fadeelah that afternoon. Instead, Faisal only seemed amused. In a voice loud enough to be heard throughout the tent, he addressed Yossi.

  “Mr. Israeli,” he said, “your superior officer, he is acting like a woman.” Then, pretending to see her for the first time, he gasped, and said, “Allah be praised! He is a woman!” A wave of nervous laughter swept through the tent, but Faisal’s smile melted as he took in the group of Brits and Israelis. He spoke again, this time much lower, and in a menacing tone.

  “I am bound by a very old Bedouin custom,” he told them. “I must welcome all who reach my tent. Even if he is my worst enemy, even if he is a jackal who murdered my only son, I must welcome him for a period of three days.”

  “What happens after three days?” asked Tye.

  “The wise guest,” answered Faisal, “doesn’t stay to find out.” He motioned for a pair of guards, who stepped between the Israelis and the entrance of the tent. Then he turned and looked directly at Reg.

  “I think it would be best if these people waited outside. Englishmen are well-known for their fondness for Jews, so we will trust you to represent their interests at our planning conference.” With that, he clapped a friendly hand against the back of Tye’s neck, causing the sunburned mechanic to wince, and led the British pilots into the tent.

  Thomson worked fast, attempting to smooth over the incident at the entrance. He introduced himself and his comrades. “We’re beginning to add up to quite a force,” he said to Faisal.

  “Yes, Colonel,” came the reply, “and we expect more pilots to join us soon. Small groups of planes have hidden themselves throughout the Empty Quarter. We are finding more of them with each passing hour through our radios.”

  Reg spoke for the first time. “There’s a difference between gathering firepower and building an army, Commander. Without a common purpose, this is just a collection of men and machines.” Thinking of Fadeelah, he continued, “There are some who might say that you’ve been hampering any chance for unity.”

  Again, Faisal looked amused. “Quite the opposite,” he said. “In fact, I am confident that this meeting tonight will bring us together.” With that, he walked away.

  When he’d reached the lectern set up at one end of the tent, the Saudi commander addressed the crowd. “Take your seats, gentlemen,” he called. The men arranged themselves on the carpets in a rough circle, with Faisal at the head. A dozen or so Saudi pilots, including, Reg noted, Khalid Yamani, sat in a row behind Faisal. Reg noticed for the first time that the coffee and tea services along one wall were being attended by a group of Saudi women, a flock of crows in their veils. Reg searched for a sign that Fadeela might be among them, but there was no way to penetrate the disguising abayas.

  “This morning,” Faisal began, “thirty-six of the planet Earth’s largest cities were reduced to ash by the alien devils. The large ships, those of you who fought at Jerusalem called them city destroyers, then proceeded toward a second round of cities. Flights of the smaller ships have destroyed many secondary targets along the way, concentrating on military bases.” There was an easy murmur in the crowd.

  “Some of the second-wave cities have already been destroyed,” Faisal continued. “Others face certain destruction within a short time. The situation is dire. But I do not believe that it is hopeless!” The commander pounded on his podium to emphasize this last point.

  “The question before us now,” Faisal said, “is a simple one. What course of action shall we follow? I seek your counsel. Who among you will speak first?”

  The leader of the Iranians sprang to his feet. “We must attack them immediately!” he shouted. “Every pilot we have should be in the air.” A handful of the men and even a few of the women shouted their approval, but one of the Syrians quickly rose to his feet, quieting the crowd.

  “I agree with my Iranian brother that we must strike back as soon as possible,” he said. “But we have seen their power. They are demons, yes, but demons possessed of incredible strength. Our normal tactics are useless against this enemy.”

  Another Syrian rose and picked up where the first had left off. “Therefore,” he said, “we have developed a plan. A way to use the enemy’s own tactics against them.”

  “Rather than attacking from many directions,” continued the first, “we will fly in a single column as we saw them do in the attack at Khamis Moushayt.” Reg was startled at this revelation. He hadn’t been aware that any intelligence on the Khamis Moushayt attack had been gathered.

  “Using such a maneuver,” the Syrian went on, “we can combine all of our firepower, bringing it to bear on a single concentrated point.”

  Anticipating the obvious argument, the second man spoke again. “This will, of course, leave our flanks exposed. We will surely lose many planes. But we believe that, in this way, we can break through the unseen shell that protects them.”

  Conversations erupted all over the room, points and counterpoints relative to the Syrian proposal being argued with ferocity. Just as Faisal was about to bring the group back to order, the voice of the Jordanian delegate, Edward, rang across the tent.

  “These are the most powerful enemies humanity has ever known,” he said. “We must use the most powerful weapons humanity has ever developed against them.”

  The room quieted instantly. Edward continued to speak into the stillness. ‘The Jews have nuclear weapons. But where are the Jews?” He looked around the room. “For the first time in my life, I want to see Jewish people, and now they have all disappeared.” Faisal spoke. “In fact,” he said, “the Zionists are delaying the use of nuclear force only at the request of the United States. The American president has convinced the international community to delay their use until we can be sure that the aliens are vulnerable to them. They are preparing to launch a nuclear strike against the city destroyer approaching their city of Houston even as we speak.”

  A cocky young Iraqi pilot stood. “Chemical weapons, then. They might eat through those shields.” The room exploded into debate once more, with the Iranians hurling invective against the oblivious young Iraqi. The Iranians well remembered the hundred thousand of their countrymen who had died when Iraq violated international law and used poison gases and biological agents in the Iran-Iraq conflict.

  Faisal quickly brought their debate to a close, however. “This is not an option,” he said flatly. “The Kingdom of Saudi Arabia does not own these ghastly weapons, and we will not permit their use within our borders.”

  With weapons of mass destruction at least temporarily ruled out, more and more of the pilots began speaking in favor of the Syrian plan. The feeling that some sort of immediate action was called for ran high in the tent.

  Thomson, surprisingly, had remained quiet throughout the discussions, choosing instead to watch the interactions with great care. At length, he leaned over and spoke to Reg and Tye. “Look at these international pilots, will you? I don’t believe they give a flying fig what we decide to do here. I suspect that as soon as they’re fueled up and in the air, they’ll be heading for home.” “I’m sure Faisal has given that possibility some consideration,” Reg said dryly, still looking at the gallery of women. If Fadeela was among them, she made no sign.

  “Major!” hissed Tye, drawing his attention back to the front of the tent. Faisal was pointing directly at him.

  “For those of you who do not him,” said the Saudi commander, “this is Major Reginald Cummins. He has lived among us for a long while, teaching our most advanced pilots. They tell me that he is the finest pilot in the Middle East.” Reg saw Khalid nodding enthusiastically behind Faisal.

  “Teacher,” said Faisal, in an almost imploring tone, “tell us what we must do to defeat this enemy.”

  Placed firmly on the spot, Reg had no choice but to stand and address the crowd. He was sure they did not want to hear what he had to tell them.

  “I know many of you were not involved in the fighting this morning,” he said. “And I can understand your imp
ulse to attack. But I know that many of you were there”—Reg glared at the Syrians as he said this—“and I can’t believe that you’re proposing a direct assault.

  Some of the pilots who had remained silent until now nodded agreement. Reg continued, “The aliens are capable of putting five hundred of those attacker craft into the air within a matter of seconds. And when we fought them toe-to-toe this morning they went through us like we weren’t even there. Even if we assume that a combined arms attack against the city destroyer’s shield will bring it down—and I have my doubts about that—we’d be sitting ducks for half a thousand screaming fighters that carry their own shields! They’d take out every plane in your ‘column’ in a heartbeat. Why start a fight if we don’t have the slightest chance of winning it?”

  Pilots from more than one country shouted to be heard at once. The gist of what they were saying was that every hour of delay meant more devastation.

  “Until something changes,” Reg continued over the protests, “it would be suicide to confront them. As long as those shields are in place, there’s nothing we can do.”

  “I think,” said Faisal, “I think that our friend would not be so ready to make sacrifices if we were discussing English cities.” “At least one English city has been destroyed, Commander,” Reg said. “As a matter of fact, except for the Israelis, we’re the only people here who have lost a city to these attackers.”

  Thomson stood, joining Reg. He said, “We’re looking at the bigger picture. This battle can’t be about individual cities or countries. Not Birmingham or Cairo or Timbuktu. We are discussing how we can save the world.”

  Edward spoke again, tears in his eyes. “As we speak, one of the city destroyers is approaching my capital. That is my home. It is where I left my family. I don’t know if my children are safe.” He made no move to wipe away the moisture from his cheeks. “Amman will be destroyed in fire, and there is nothing I can do to prevent it. But I agree with these Englishmen. We must hold back and wait for the right moment to strike.