opposition as it did. 'All right. He's probably upset about Ephraim. Well, I am too. But it couldn't be helped. Ari wouldn't have done any good to press his dive with an F-20 locked at his six o'clock.'
The intelligence officer was scribbling at his notepad as most of the pilots filed out. Ran took a detour to Peled's desk. Leaning on the top, the Kfir leader said, 'I want every available detail on the mission as soon as possible. In my office tomorrow.'
'Yes, sir.' This was not the time to address the CO by his given name. 'I believe we'll have data on the SAM batteries tonight.'
'Good.' Saudi Hawk surface-to-air missiles, plus those purchased from Britain and France, had taken a toll of the attackers. A Phantom and a Kfir had been shot down despite Israeli jamming. There was little opportunity to counter the simple electro-optical aiming systems adapted to the U. S.-made Hawks or the passive infrared guidance of the European weapons. Ran turned to go. 'Oh, one more thing. Don't contact Ephraim's family yet. I'll do that myself. '
Waiting outside was David Ran's wingman. Lieutenant Asher Menuhim stretched his arms, rolling his shoulders. Sometimes it was just good to be alive. Merely to stand on your own two feet and breathe God's pure air. When Ran emerged, moving at his usual four-miles-per-hour stride, Asher fell in beside him. As they paced along together Asher remarked, 'David, I've been wondering about something. It's this whole series of strikes.'
'What about it, Asher?'
'I wonder if it's good doctrine. We knocked out two airfields for perhaps a few days. But we've taken losses we never used to take. It's obvious that the Saudis are definitely more proficient.'
'Yes, they are.' Ran thought of his A-4 squadron's losses the first day of the Yom Kippur War. No, the Arabs aren't always pushovers.
'Well,' Asher continued, 'I wonder if we shouldn't conserve our resources for our own defense.' He broke step slightly, wanting to stop and talk.
Ran slowed imperceptibly, leaving his wingman two steps behind. 'You know the procedure, Asher. We don't make policy, we just carry it out.' He was lapsing into his commanding officer tone of voice. It said,
'Yes, I understand that. But do the politicians? Look, I don't mind dying. But I don't like the idea of dying for a political whim.'
Ran stopped cold and glared at his wingman. 'What's the matter with you? We're going to be fighting for our survival in a few days. You know and I know, and probably the ice cream vendor down the street knows. What choice do we have?'
'I just can't help thinking there's another way. We're never going to be loved by the Arabs. I know that. But maybe…'
Ran's voice cut off the thought like honed steel. 'Damn it, Asher, I don't want to talk about it. I didn't make this world, and neither did anybody I know. It was decided for us long before you or I were born. All I know is this.' He held up a finger before the younger pilot's face. 'We have one spot on this earth, just this one. There are millions of people around us who would cheerfully cut the throat of each man, woman, and child in Israel. We have two choices, Asher. Only two. We can fight, or we can die. We can't reason with them or argue the moral subtleties. We can answer only to ourselves. Nobody else is going to look out for us. Not the Americans, not anybody. So, Asher. When it comes down to a choice of fighting or dying, I choose to fight.'
The two men stood face to face for several seconds. Asher's face was red beneath his tan, and he made a conscious effort to unclench his fists. Then his CO clapped him on the arm.
'See what you've done? You've turned me into an orator. That's the longest speech I've made in years.' He smiled broadly. 'Come. Let's see if we can cheer up poor Ari. Drinks on me.'
Asher allowed himself to be pulled along. David was right; there's no room for doubt in a warrior's heart. But he could not shake the feeling. Something terrible was coming.
Ed Lawrence poked his head inside John Bennett's office. Rapping on the doorsill, the exec asked, 'Skipper, can we talk?'
Bennett looked up from his paperwork. 'Sure. Come on in.' Lawrence stepped inside, closed the door behind him, and sat down in the vacant chair. 'We got trouble, John.' Bennett leaned back, folding his arms behind his head. He expected another supply problem or a bureaucratic snag. 'Black Squadron gunned a parachute yesterday.'
Bennett's easy posture evaporated. 'That's for sure? No possible mistake?'
Lawrence vigorously shook his head. 'Negative. We have the HUD tape. The pilot doesn't even claim it was accidental.' The videotape showing the view through each plane's head-up display was intended as a debriefing tool. Whatever the pilot saw when he fired his guns or launched a missile was recorded for later analysis.
Bennett expelled a long breath. It spoke of infinite sadness. He looked at his friend. 'All right. Who?'
'Ahmed Salim. Good stick, good kid from Class One. He was just cleared for flight lead. No disciplinary problems at all.'
Spreading his hands, Bennett asked, 'Then why'd he do it?'
'Well, you know we lost Karasi in that hassle. Salim was real close to him. Apparently they grew up together. Karasi was jumped by two F-16s at low level and got clobbered with twenty mike-mike. He ejected okay but he was only about 800 feet off the deck. The Israeli was close astern and pulled up directly over the chute. The 16 probably couldn't do anything else, but it collapsed the canopy and Karasi went in with a streamer.'
'And Salim saw this happen?'
'Yeah. His wingman took on the other 16 and Salim went for the leader-did a good job and bagged him. When the pilot punched out, Salim honked around and hosed him.' Sensing Bennett's impending outrage, Lawrence was quick to add, 'The wingie told me the Israeli probably didn't mean to collapse Karasi's chute, but Salim thought it was intentional. He figured he was within his rights.'
'Have you talked to Salim yet?'
Lawrence scratched his pockmarked face. 'Yes. He seems kind of sorry now, but he's still shook about Karasi.'
Bennett shook his head. 'Damn it!' He stood up and paced his office. 'I won't have my pilots killing defenseless men in parachutes-especially over
'Sure, I know. You start gunning chutes and you open your own people to retaliation, and there's always the chance of mistaken identity. Either way, we could lose pilots we'd otherwise save or at least have them survive as prisoners.'
Bennett's gray eyes bored into Lawrence. 'What do you recommend?'
The exec shrugged. 'In this case, heat of combat, retaliation for perceived enemy offense… I'd let it go with a warning.'
'That's awfully damn lenient, isn't it?'
'It's pragmatic, John.'
Lawrence saw Bennett bite his lip, as if stifling a retort. Lawrence shifted nervously in his chair. In all the years he had known John Bennett, the man seldom had allowed pragmatism to interfere with a personal code of behavior. Privately, Lawrence considered his friend an anachronism, a throwback to the era of single-combat warriors deciding affairs of state in the arena. The twentieth century was alien ground to such men.
At length Bennett said, 'From now on, no Tiger Force pilot will even harass an enemy pilot in a chute or on the ground as long as it's in our territory. Violation will result in immediate grounding. I'll reconsider this policy only if the opposition makes a habit of shooting our parachutes, but any change must come from me. Write it up and distribute it to all squadrons.'
'Okay. What about Salim?'
Bennett thought for a long moment. 'He can keep flying, but he's lost his flight lead. He'll have to requalify.'
'John, I don't-'
'That's my decision.' Bennett's voice had an uncharacteristic bite.
Lawrence left the office. He felt, as Bennett did, that killing a defeated opponent who could be captured was bad policy. He was less certain he would allow an enemy pilot who ejected over enemy territory to get another jet
