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.
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 declining. 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.
Solomon Yatanahu read the message twice, noting the details printed below. It merely said, 'Initiate Jehovah.' The remainder was a list of times, coordinates, and desired aircraft.
The base commander felt a surprising calm. He completed the double-check of authenticators and confirmation of orders received and understood. Then he dismissed the courier and picked up his phone. 'Yoni. Give me six sections, two Eagles each. Full armament, including Sidewinders and Sparrows. I'll provide takeoff times for you, and I'll conduct the briefing myself.'
He listened to the aide's complaints about limited aircraft availability and interference with scheduled missions. 'There's no room for argument, Yoni.' His voice was calm, matter-of-fact. 'This assignment supersedes all others.'
Then Yatanahu sat down and pulled a sealed document from his safe. He would have to coordinate with the pilots from Hovda, but that was all right. No specifics would be discussed by phone or radio-merely rendezvous points and times. The final briefings would be conducted face to face. Yatanahu looked at his watch-1635 hours. It would be a nocturnal mission, which was according to doctrine.
Leaning back with his eyes closed, the colonel allowed his mind to retrace the world of his youth. It had been a difficult existence on Kibbutz Deganya, but the hard farm life was the best he could imagine for an active boy. He thought of Aaron Hali, fortunately out of it now, a prisoner of the Saudis. Aaron was right-the Deganya bananas were the best anywhere.
The day before, Yatanahu had learned that Deganya had been overrun by an Iranian division. Most of the inhabitants were dead, missing, or presumed dead. He imagined the rage which the youthful Persians must have unleased upon the community. He also thought of Kibbutz Sha'arhagolan on the southern edge of the Golan Heights. Captured twice and retaken once in the past few days, it lay in ruins. Nobody seemed to know how many of its inhabitants might remain alive.
Yatanahu's blue eyes snapped open. He thought he might fly one of the Eagles himself this evening. It would be pure pleasure. Then his professionalism overtook him.
John Bennett climbed the ladder to the roof of the command center, spread with sand and artificial shrubbery. The concrete structure was half buried with only eight feet visible above ground, but it afforded a decent view of the area.
Bennett sat down and pulled a mint from the pack in his shirt pocket. In a few minutes he would return to his small room and complete packing his bags. He would hop a ride with one of the
Jordanians in an F-5F in the morning and be in Riyadh in time to book an airline seat to Rome the following day. A stop at Saudi Air Force headquarters to check out, then he would be on his way home.
Home. Not long ago he had planned on making a new home with Claudia. That dream had ended violently. Meanwhile, there still could be some good years ahead with Paul and his family. Angelina was over three now, and she had been without her granddaddy for too long. John Bennett, warrior, decided to spoil her as no grand-daughter had ever been spoiled.
He stood up to go, then an arcing line of white light caught his attention out to the northwest. At first he thought it might be a shooting star, but it was rising, not falling.
The six sorties had departed on staggered schedules to reach their targets simultaneously. First off, at 1915, had been Major David Ran with his two F-15 escorts. The pilots assigned to each target had briefed together and knew the procedures so each mission could be flown under minimal communications. Ran's two Eagles checked in with terse calls on the discrete frequency and set up in trail, one on either quarter at staggered altitudes. Their radar search pattern was planned for irregular intervals, alternating quadrants.
Ran's initial leg took him northeast to Bar Yehuda on the western shore of the Dead Sea, allowing good radar identification of the hook on the opposite shore. Then it was straight southeast nearly 400 nautical miles, radar off but ECM activated.
