Firebreak (41 page)

“It’s finished and is being moved right now,” Tamir answered. “Once in place, it can be uploaded on a missile in about three hours.”

“If the Arabs hit Israel with gas,” Yuriden said, “he’ll use it.” The “he” was Yair Ben David.

“I thought the Iraqis had already used nerve gas,” Tamir said, puzzled.

“That was in Lebanon,” Yuriden explained, “not in Israel and in a limited tactical situation. Our intelligence from thefield indicates it hurt them more than it did us. In fact, I think that’s why they broke off the attack when they did. Levy’s Luck again.”

Now Yuriden was pacing the floor. “We’re pushing the Arabs back and they’re showing signs of aligning their political posture to support the Egyptian cease-fire proposal in the UN. But Ben David wants a military solution first. He wants territory to justify the sacrifices we’ve made. But I’m worried that the Arabs will resort to widespread chemical warfare if they think they are going to lose too much of their land.”

“They know we’d go nuclear if they did that,” the Ganef said.

“Who said the actors in this war were rational?” Yuriden snapped. “Not only that, since the VR Fifty-five they used in Lebanon was ineffective, I’m certain the Iraqis will use their newest nerve gas now.” Yuriden paused. “And we don’t have a defense against it. Thank God they haven’t deployed it into the field yet.”

“Then why don’t we destroy the nerve gas before they move it?” the Ganef asked. “Jericho missiles with conventional warheads should do the job.”

“Believe me, we thought about it,” Yuriden said. “The only warhead we have that can penetrate the arsenal’s hardened walls at Kirkuk is too heavy and reduces the range of the Jericho. Kirkuk is simply out of range with a conventional warhead that can do the job.”

“Has somebody been working the problem?” Tamir asked. “Trying to develop a conventional warhead that matches throw weight with range?”

“Of course,” Yuriden answered. “Israeli Military Industries. But they haven’t come up with …” Tamir spun around, cutting him off, and ran out of the room, heading for his next challenge.

Yuriden studied the open door in the silence. “I’m going to have to order another air strike against the arsenal,” he said. “It’s suicide.” The man drew himself up. He had been a fighter pilot, had flown Israel’s first F-16s, and was still current in the aircraft. “Damn, I’m going to lead the attack myself.”

“That would win an award for stupidity,” the Ganef grunted, but he sympathized with Yuriden’s yearning to takean active part in the war. “I think I know how to destroy the Iraqis’ nerve gas before they deploy it.”

“It’s got to happen soon,” Yuriden said. “I’m not sure how much longer we can contain this war.”

The Ganef closed the door and stood close to Yuriden, his voice low and almost inaudible.…

Dennis Leander was sitting at the simulator’s control console, working furiously, trying to nail Mad Mike Martin who was in the simulator. His partner, Larry Stigler, was asleep on the floor, totally exhausted from the forty-eight straight hours they had spent programming the sim’s computer. They had missed their first deadline and drawn the full force of Martin’s large and obscene vocabulary. Now the simulator was ready and Leander wanted revenge. “Oh, shit!” he roared when Martin skillfully avoided the latest combination of SA-6 and SA-11 SAMs Leander had engaged him with. “Damn it, Stig! Get your ass up here and help me.”

Stigler staggered to his feet and scanned the color monitors that repeated the scene Martin was seeing inside the cockpit. Martin’s wizzo had the nerve gas plant and arsenal on the Target FLIR and they were on a bomb run, doing their own lasing. “I thought they were using
B’nai
tactics and Martin’s wingman was going to do the lasing,” Stigler observed.

“I shot his wingman down,” Leander said, his teeth grinding.

For a fraction of a moment, Stigler considered sandbagging the colonel inside the sim, but discarded the urge immediately. Too much was at stake here and this was not the time for games. “Don’t cut him any slack, but make it realistic.”

“How about him cutting me some slack?” Leander yelled. Then he relaxed and laughed. “This guy is tough.” They watched the color monitor as Martin’s first bomb exploded on target.

Thirty-five minutes later, Martin safely landed at Diyarbakir, Turkey, the launch and recovery base for the attack 240 miles away. The canopy that covered the cockpit swung up and Martin crawled out, his flight suit wringing wet and his face glistening with sweat. For a moment he stared at the Gruesome Twosome. “That was a neat twist, moving SA-Sixes in like that,” he said. “Totally unexpected but realistic. I liked it. Get every swingin’ dick through here today.” The Gruesome Twosome exchanged tired looks as Martin barreled out the door. The colonel stuck his massive head back in. “You did good. Thanks.” Then he was gone.

Brigadier General Leo Cox was sitting next to the President on one of the sofas in the Oval Office, going over the agenda for a meeting of the National Security Council that would start in a few minutes. It was his first day on the job as Zack Pontowski’s chief of staff and he was impressed by the efficient organization Fraser had left behind. It had been easy for him to step in and take over the position. But he would have to make some changes. “This, Mr. President”—Cox handed him a briefing book on the Arab-Israeli war—“is how the CIA sees the current status of the war.”

“I take it you don’t agree,” Pontowski said, surprising Cox.

“Not entirely. But I usually disagree with the CIA’s interpretation of events in the Middle East.”

“Why do you disagree with them?” The President was interested.

Cox gave a little laugh. “Well, Mr. Burke will tell you that I’m too pro-Israeli and spout their party line.” Bobby Burke as the director of central intelligence was the President’s chief adviser for all matters on intelligence and Cox knew he was trespassing on his preserve, a sure way to earn enemies in Washington, D.C.

“Are you?” Pontowski asked.

“Yes, sir, I am.” He decided to be totally open with his commander in chief. “It’s because I have many personal contacts with Mossad and Israeli military intelligence and rely on them.”

“What are those contacts telling you now?”

Cox took a deep breath. “I was contacted this morning. The Israelis now have a thermonuclear weapon and one warhead is deployed. It has been targeted to hit one of two targets–”

“Either Damascus or Baghdad,” Pontowski interrupted. Cox nodded, surprised at the President’s ability to make instant connections. Cox had much to learn about the man. “No doubt,” Pontowski continued, “they will use it if the Arabs employ chemical weapons against Israel’s population.” Again, Cox could only nod in agreement. “How’s Ben David holding up?”

“Not well,” the general answered, his mind racing to keep up with the conversation. “He wants a military solution that will guarantee Israel’s security in the future. He’s pressing the war as hard as he can, before a cease-fire is imposed on him.”

“The Arabs won’t accept a military solution like that,” the President said. “They’ll fight with everything they’ve got, including the new nerve gas the Iraqis have developed. Leo, in a few minutes, I’m going to have to make some hard decisions. I’ve got to know who your sources are.” Pontowski knew the answer. It was Cox’s first test.

Cox did not hesitate. “He’s the chief of Mossad,” the general explained. Pontowski stood up, ready for the meeting with the NSC. “Mr. President, why did you select me to be your chief of staff?”

“I think you can figure it out,” Pontowski replied.

The briefing was finished and Shoshana walked out of the make-shift command post with most of the battalion’s officers. Outside, she leaned against Levy’s M60 tank and waited for Hanni to come out. Her partner seemed to be taking a very special interest in Moshe Levy lately. She watched Levy’s driver and loader clean and reassemble the tank’s air filter. Amos Avner, the loader, kept up a constant barrage of bickering and complaining as Nazzi Halaby, the driver, did most of the work. Finally, the gunner, Dave Bielski, climbed out of the turret and scampered down the tank’s hull. “For God’s sake, Avner, SHUT up!” he bellowed.

“They don’t seem to get along at all,” Shoshana observed.

“That’s because Halaby is a Druze and Avner’s
Orthodox,” Bielski explained. “Orthodox Jews don’t trust the Druze.”

“I knew a Druze once,” Shoshana said, thinking of Zeev Avidar and the time she was in Iraq. Such a long time ago, she thought. Again, out of the mists of memory, Gad Habish’s voice came to her. “His loyalty spoke for itself,” she said.

“So does Halaby’s,” Bielski said. “But Avner is so thickheaded that he can’t accept it.”

Hanni joined them. “Levy thinks the attack will start soon,” she said.

“He’s usually right,” Bielski said.

“What’s it like being on his crew?” Hanni asked.

“It’s hard to describe,” the gunner answered. “One time he got so sick and fed up with Avner for the way he treated Halaby that he was going to replace him. Avner broke down and cried like a baby. He said he would do anything to stay on the crew. They cut a deal, Avner could stay as long as he shut up about Halaby being a Druze and cut out the Arab jokes. You know we never bad-mouth the Arabs in the tank.”

The three of them walked up the deep cut the tank was hidden in to the berm and looked over the long valley with its grisly reminders of death and destruction. The wreckage of tanks and APCs still littered the valley floor from the first battle. They crouched down, covered by the camouflage netting that covered the tank’s hide, and Bielski swept the valley with binoculars. “Looks like the retrieval crews have all pulled back.” They all knew that was an indication the fighting would soon start.

The tank’s radios squawked, warning of low-flying, inbound RPVs. ‘ ‘Probably the reconnaissance drones they send over for a last look-see,” Bielski said as he walked back to his tank.

Shoshana and Hanni headed for their nearby APC to wait for the orders to pull back after the drones had flown over and before the artillery barrage started. “Levy says they are very predictable about the way they begin,” Hanni said.

“I wish that was reassuring,” Shoshana replied and climbed into her NBC suit, pulling it on over Matt’s flight suit.

The secretary of state was looking at his notes as he talked while the rest of the National Security Council assembled inthe Cabinet Room fidgeted and waited for their turn. “In short, Mr. President, the Arabs are now united in their support of a United Nations resolution calling for a immediate cease-fire. However, Israel is adamant in its opposition now that they are winning. Perhaps it is time to change our position and force them into a more rational stance.”

“What are you suggesting?” National Security Adviser Cagliari asked.

“That we immediately curtail our resupply of arms and supplies to Israel,” the secretary of state answered.

“That will have an effect down the line,” Admiral Scovill, the Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff, said. “But as of now, the Israelis have received enough logistical support to continue the current pace of the war for another week.”

“What can the Israelis accomplish during that week?” Pontowski asked.

Now it was the turn of Bobby Burke, the DCI. “We calculate the Israelis will have pushed across the Litani River in Lebanon, be off the Golan and within ten miles of Damascus, and have encircled all the Syrians and Iraqis that have not retreated out of Jordan. It looks like the Arab front opposite Jerusalem is collapsing.”

“And the Arab reaction?” Pontowski asked.

“They could use chemical weapons to stabilize the situation,” the admiral speculated.

“That means the Israelis will retaliate with nuclear weapons,” Cagliari said.

“We can’t be sure of that,” Burke protested.

“That’s a firebreak I don’t want to chance crossing,” Pontowski said. “How do we keep it from happening?”

“I can pull out all the stops,” the secretary of state said, “and launch a full-scale diplomatic offensive to get a ceasefire in place. It will take some doing, but if we halt all supplies to Israel …”

“Do it,” Pontowski said.

“There’s another option,” Scovill said. “We can give the Israelis the missiles necessary to eliminate the worst of the threat. I’m referring to the Iraqis’ nerve gas facility near Kirkuk. The Arabs’ previous experience with using gas in Lebanon proved to be quite ineffective. Without the new nerve gas, they know it would be a one-sided exchange.”

The secretary of state almost panicked. “Mr. President, we cannot, I repeat, we cannot use missiles of any sort at this point because of the situation in the Kremlin. We have indications that the hard-liners are prevailing under Marshal Stanilov. He’s of the old guard and, to him, the use of missiles equates with a major escalation against Soviet allies and is a prelude to nuclear weapons. We cannot afford a misstep at this time. Using missiles of any sort against Kirkuk could well give him the excuse he needs to consolidate power in the Kremlin and maybe actively intervene in the war. He would like nothing more than an external threat to force an internal peace.”

The consensus around the room supported the secretary of state.

The President looked around the table, capturing the attention of each person. “I firmly believe Yair Ben David will not use nuclear weapons unless the Arabs resort to the widespread use of chemical weapons against Israel’s population. To keep that from happening, we will push on the diplomatic front for a cease-fire. But as a backup option, I want to be able to destroy the Iraqis’ nerve gas arsenal without the use of missiles.” He turned to Admiral Scovill. “How can we do that?”

The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff shuffled through his notes until he found the “talking paper” that had been prepared for him on that very subject. “The Air Force has been preparing for that contingency,” he began, reading from the talking paper. “The Forty-fifth Tactical Fighter Wing at RAF Stonewood”—he glanced up a the President in time to see him stiffen; everyone in the room knew his grandson was assigned to the 45th—“ah, has prepared an operations plan called Trinity using F-Fifteen Es launched out of a Turkish air base, ah, Diyarbakir. Training for the mission is well advanced and the attack force can deploy and be in place within twelve hours. Only the permission of the Turkish government is required.”

“Who directed the Forty-fifth to prepare that plan?” Pontowski asked, his voice low.

Scovill caught all the danger signs. “Sir, the deputy for operations at Stonewood, a Colonel Michael Martin, did it on his own. I am told he is a most unique individual and islike a firehorse. Any time he senses a fire, he gets ready to fight it.”

Pontowski’s stomach twisted and knotted as he clenched his fists. “Get permission from the Turks. Order the Forty-fifth to deploy and await an order to execute.” His voice was low and unemotional. But he knocked his chair back as he rose to leave.

“Sir, are there any special instructions for the Forty-fifth, personnel considerations … ?” Admiral Scovill asked. He wanted to know if he was to specifically exclude Matt from participating in the mission.

“None,” the President answered. “Colonel Martin planned the mission and he will select the men he wants to execute it.” He gestured for Cox to follow him.

Once inside the Oval Office, he stood looking out the windows at the President’s Park. “Leo, I want you to use your contacts with Mossad to get a message to Ben David. Tell him that we are going to take out the Iraqi nerve gas arsenal and that I expect him to absorb any minor chemical attacks as he has in the past without retaliating. Also tell him that if he employs a nuclear weapon on the battlefield without consulting with me first, I will break all relations with Israel. Further, if he uses a thermonuclear bomb on an Arab city, I will seriously consider active measures against Israel.”

Cox could only stare at Pontowski’s back in shock. And suddenly he knew why the President had chosen him to be his new chief of staff.

The Iraqi artillery barrage was much heavier than expected and the APC rocked with a near miss and concussion of an exploding shell. Luckily, Levy had pulled most of the battalion well back from the valley and they were out of range of most of the Iraqi guns. Still, an occasional round reached their position. From the babble on the radio, Shoshana could tell that the Israeli counterbattery fire had not discouraged the Iraqi gunners and it was turning into a bloody artillery dual. Now calls for medics started coming in as the Iraqi shelling chewed up the battalion’s forward positions. Shoshana started the M113's engine and jammed it into gear. “Tell Levy,” she shouted at Hanni, “that this Band-Aid is going forward.”

She could hear Hanni’s cool voice relay their intentionsover the radio to Levy in his command tank. “He wishes us luck,” Hanni said.

We’ll need it, Shoshana thought.

Matt and Furry were flying their second mission in Stone-wood’s simulator when it froze and Stigler’s voice told them that they had an urgent phone call. Matt popped the canopy and scrambled over the side to take the call. Leander was asleep in a chair, his head resting on the console, and Stigler looked gaunt and worn. Matt listened, dropped the phone into its cradle, and shouted at his wizzo, “Amb, get your ass out of there. Martin wants us in Intel. Like five minutes ago.” The two men ran from the simulator building, leaving both Leander and Stigler asleep at the console.

The big walk-in vault in Intelligence was jammed with bodies as Matt and Furry squeezed through the door. Martin was pacing in front of a map with their route of flight to Turkey. When he stopped, the room fell silent with anticipation. “For a change,” he began, “someone in the Pentagon read their incoming mail instead of shoveling bullshit out the door. They bought Trinity.” The room erupted in shouts, whistles, stomps, and applause.

“Okay, here’s the lineup.” Martin pointed to a chart on the wall that listed the twelve crews who would fly the mission. The call sign for the flight was Viper and it was organized in elements of two. As expected, Martin was in the lead ship as Viper 01. But what surprised everyone, except Matt, was that Sean Leary was his wingman, Viper 02. The young lieutenant had proven himself since he had almost killed Matt and was turning into an outstanding stick. Matt and Furry were Viper 03 and had been selected to lead the second element of two. “Start engines in an hour,” Martin told the men. “Get moving.”

The room rapidly emptied as Martin motioned for Matt and Carroll to join him. “Bill,” Martin said, “I want you out on the first tanker. After they refuel us, it’ll recover at Athens. The RC-One-thirty-five will be on the ground and waiting for you. Are you sure you can hack it?” The plan called for Carroll to be airborne in an RC-135 monitoring Iraqi communications when the F-15s flew the attack. He was to relay information to the orbiting E-3A AWACS controlling the mission. The problem was that Carroll would have to stayon board the RC-135 until the mission was launched. When the reconnaissance version of the Boeing 707 did land to switch crews and refuel, it would be immediately relaunched with Carroll on board. He might be airborne for days and Martin was worried that Carroll would become overly fatigued.