“How bad is it?” Derringer knew only the basics of the previous e-mail from Lebanon.
Sandra Carmichael checked her scribbled notes. “I just talked to Frank on the satellite phone. Our El-Arian team — that’s Chris Nissen’s — was involved in countersniper and security operations last night. They were out with some militia looking for a mortar that had been dropping rounds in the area lately. Apparently they ran into the Hezbollah security element and there was a firefight. Josh Wallender took a round to his NVG and may be blind in one eye. Anyway, Terry Keegan is going to bring him home from Beirut.”
Marsh Wilmont asked, “What about the other casualties, Sandy?”
“One of the Druze leaders was KIA and another militiaman was wounded.”
“Who was the leader?”
Carmichael squinted at her handwriting. “Fares. Salah — something — Fares. He was the IDF contact for the El-Arian unit.”
Wilmont expelled his breath, drumming his fingers on the table. “Not that it really matters, but any word on hostile casualties?”
“Rob Furr got off the first round and apparently that guy’s a KIA though nobody went looking for bodies. As Frank said, there wasn’t time to score and paste targets. After that, the hostile sniper or snipers opened up and achieved fire superiority. Then they broke contact and disappeared.”
Derringer was clearly troubled. “If that’s an accurate report, we finished on the short end of a three-to-one score.” He shook his head. “How did that happen? We’re supposed to be better than that.”
Carmichael’s rebel blood began stirring. “Excuse me, Admiral. But this was a collision of two maneuvering forces at fairly long range in the dark. Frank’s not making excuses but he says the whole thing lasted about fifteen seconds, if that. Furr was the only one to make an aimed shot because only he had a night scope. The opposition had semiautos, probably Dragunovs, and they throw more lead than a bolt gun.”
The SSI president saw the fire in the blue eyes and backed off. “All right, Sandy. All right. But if we understaffed this job, we need to send more people.” He thought for a moment. “Can we send a replacement for Wallender?” He looked at Jack Peters, head of scouting and recruiting.
The former Green Beret almost smiled. “Admiral, I’d be willing to go myself! But since that’s not why I was hired, I should be able to turn up a couple of guys. However, you understand, neither of them are going to be as well qualified as those we already have over there. We really did send the first team, especially where language is concerned.”
Marsh Wilmont leaned forward. “According to Mordecai Baram, everybody’s happy with the progress the Druze are making with our instructors. But we did expect casualties on this contract. That’s why we have a few guys suited up, sitting on the bench.”
“How soon can they get over there?”
Peters frowned in concentration. “I’ll have to check, but probably not before the end of next week.”
Derringer turned to Carmichael. “Sandy, let Frank know that we’re lining up two replacements. Obviously one will fill in for Wallender, then Frank or Chris can decide where to put the other. But with things heating up, it’s probably best to have another man there right away.”
The blond head bobbed. “Concur, Admiral. The new guys will need some time to get up to speed in any event.”
“Speaking of Wallender, I want him to get the best possible care. If we have to pay some out-of-pocket expenses for the best specialist, so be it.” He looked at Wilmont.
“I’ll make it happen, Mike.”
Esmaili sat with Azizi, considering tactical options within the context of the emerging strategic plan.
“Tawfiq will not be easy to replace,” Esmaili said. “He was my best and most experienced man.”
The liaison man from Tehran slightly cocked his head, studying the Hezbollah leader. “You fought together for a long time.”
A quick nod. “To lose him in a relatively minor mission is… regrettable.” Esmaili managed to keep an even tone in his voice.
“Well, he now sits in Paradise. Allow your sorrow to be eased with that knowledge.”
For an ephemeral moment Ahmad Esmaili felt himself warming to the go-between. Then he caught himself.
“Truly.” After a suitable pause Esmaili asked, “How shall we proceed?”
Azizi relaxed. “As much as Brother Tawfiq will be missed, we are to continue our operations. Your young marksman, Hazim. He did well.”
“So it seems.”
The cocked head again. “There are doubts?”
“Brother, there are always doubts after combat. Especially after a fight in the dark. I do not doubt Hazim’s belief in what he told us. But with no one else to describe the action, it is impossible to know for certain.”
“Yes, of course. That is why I have sent agents to El-Arian. They may learn something in addition to what our signals branch reports on militia radio intercepts.”
Esmaili frowned despite himself. “Why the concern? As I say, it was a small incident except for the loss of Tawfiq.”
“I remember what you said about the phantom sniper in Baghdad. Juba?”
“Yes, I discussed that with Tawfiq. It’s not certain that he was real. Why?”
“We might make use of young Hazim. Build up his reputation, perhaps even using his real name. It could cause fear in the militias while we continue sending your other snipers to harass them.”
Esmaili realized that he may have condemned the youngster by a casual discussion with the now-deceased instructor. “If he gains enough of a reputation, he will certainly be hunted down and killed.”
Azizi rolled his shoulders. “We all serve God in our own way, brother. Meanwhile, I have sent for help.”
“What kind of help?”
“A Chechen sniper, vastly experienced. You know that Chechen Muslims are mostly Sunni. Well, the fighter known as Akhmed grew up sniping Russians and has trained resistance fighters in Afghanistan. He has more than two hundred hits to his credit.”
Esmaili was tempted to smile. “There are claims and there are results. They are not always the same.”
With a wave of a hand, Azizi placated his colleague. “It does not matter. The important thing is that Akhmed has skills well beyond any of your… er, our men. His identity will be kept secret but his deeds can be publicized to our benefit.”
“In other words, to Hazim’s detriment.”
“As I said, we all serve God in our own way.”
For a change, Brigadier General Nadel went looking for Colonel Livni. Not surprisingly, the senior officer found his nominal subordinate engaged in a shouting match with a sergeant. The colonel won, not from a position of greater authority, but the ability to summon greater decibels.
The NCO offered a perfunctory salute and stalked away.
“What was
Livni waved dismissively. “Oh, Feldmann throws occasional tantrums. He can’t stand the thought that somebody else might know as much as he does.”
Nadel arched an eyebrow. “A sergeant resents a colonel’s level of knowledge? That’s one for the record book.”
“I’ve known Feldmann for ten years or more. One of the smartest people I ever met but he’s a victim of his own intellect.”
“How’s that?”
“Well, he’s turned down a commission at least twice. His family are all fervent socialists, some from the old school. They equate officers with snobbery and privilege so he wouldn’t ever consider joining the ‘elite.’” Livni etched quote marks in the air with both hands.
“So why keep him around? Is he so bright that he’s worth the effort?”
“Mostly he’s just a pain in the ass, but now and then he comes up with something really useful. Sometimes
