beneath them Jericho was a green oasis in the wilderness. Ahead lay the
shimmering surface of the Dead Sea. The Brig dropped down, and they
thundered so low across the salt-thickened water that the jet blast
ruffled the surface behind them.
The Brig's voice chuckled in David's earphones. That's the lowest you
are ever going to fly, twelve hundred feet below sea level. They were
climbing again as they crossed the mineral works at the southern end of
the sea, and faced the blasted and mountainous deserts of the south.
Hello, Cactus One, this is Desert Flower, again the radio silence was
broken, but this time David recognized the call sign of command net.
They were being called directly from the Operations Centre of Airforce
Command, situated in some secret underground bunker at a location that
David would never learn. On the command plot their position was being
accurately relayed by the radar repeaters.
Hello, Desert Flower, the Brig acked, and immediately the exchange
became as informal as two old friends chatting, which was precisely what
it was.
Brig this is Motti. We've just had a ground support request in your
area, he gave the coordinates quickly, a motorized patrol of border
police is under sneak lowlevel attack by an unidentified aircraft. See
to it, will youz, Beseder, Motti, okay. The Brig switched to flight
frequency. Cactus Two, I'm going to interception power, conform to me,
he told David, and they turned together on to the new heading.
No point in trying a radar scan, the Brig grumbled aloud. He'll be down
in the ground clutter. We'll not pick the swine off amongst those
mountains. just keep your eyes open. 'Beseder. David had already
picked up the word. The favourite Hebrew word in a land where very
little was really okay.
David spotted it first, a slim black column of smoke beginning to rise
like a pencil line drawn slowly against the windless and dazzling cobalt
blue of the horizon.
Ground smoke, he said into his helmet microphone. Eleven o'clock low.
The Brig squinted ahead silently, searching for it and then saw it on
the extreme limit of his vision range. He grunted, Rastus had been
right in one thing at least. The youngster had eyes like a hawk.
Going to attack speed now, he said, and David acked and lit his
afterburners. The upholstery of his seat smacked into his back under
the mighty increase in thrust and David felt the drastic alteration in
trim as the Mirage went shooting through the sonic barrier.
Near the base of the smoke column, something flashed briefly against the
drab brown earth, and David narrowed his eyes and made out the tiny
shape, flitting swiftly as a sunbird, its camouflage blending naturally
into the backdrop of desert, -so it was ethereal as a shadow.
Bandit turning to port of the smoke, he called the sighting.
I have him, said the Brig, and switched to command net.
Hello, Desert Flower, I'm on an intruder. Call strike, please. The
decision to engage must be made at command level, and the answering
voice was laconic, and flat.
Brig, this is Motti. Hit him? While they spoke they were rushing down
so swiftly that the details of the little drama being played out below
