extreme circumstances.”
Steve Lee shuffled his feet and cleared his throat. “Captain, I understand that concern. But hasn’t it occurred to anybody that if we wait for ‘extreme circumstances’ it’ll probably be too late? After all, we’re twelve miles from the border, and that’s a long way if choppers can’t get in.”
Hamadeh had to concede the point. “It’s the best compromise that Northern Command could arrange with the ministry.”
Bosco sensed that something was missing. “Excuse me, gents. But where’s the Lebanese Army while all this is going on?”
The Israeli raised his eyebrows, as if hearing an unwelcome question. Finally he said, “The army is stretched thin right now, especially in the areas around Beirut and Sidon. We have liaison with their headquarters but we cannot count on much help, at least on short notice.”
Leopole turned to the blackboard. “All right, then. I’ve designated these points in white for twenty-four-hour defense, and these in blue for daylight. With Mr. Hamdam’s permission, I have suggested manning levels until the crisis passes. That means an interruption of daily life in the village, but there’s no way around it.”
The militia representatives voiced their assent and Leopole politely dismissed them. Once they left, he shut the door and spoke in subdued tones.
“All right, listen up. I got an encrypted e-mail from Arlington, and Captain Hamadeh confirmed it from his spec-ops sources. There’s serious concern about Hezbollah smuggling backpack nukes through this area.”
“Ho-lee shee-it.” Breezy’s voice was hushed, fervent.
Bosco added, “Oy vay!”
“It’s a short-notice alert, and we’ll just have to hope for the best for a while,” Leopole added. “But HQ is sending Omar Mohammed and Dr. Langevin to us ASAP. They could be here in a couple of days. If we have to shift gears and go after the nukes, the militia will simply have to look out for itself.” He glanced at Hamadeh. “I imagine that the IDF will have people on this side of the border as well, but there’s no word on that.”
Hamadeh felt the pinch. His immediate fate rested with the militia and the SSI team; his ultimate allegiance lay with the State of Israel. “I’ll see if I can get clearance for more information. It will be necessary if a nuclear threat actually develops.”
Chris Nissen beckoned to Robert Pitney. They paced several yards before Nissen spoke. Pitney thought he knew what was coming. “Robert, I take it that you’ve never been shot at.”
“No. At least not intentionally.” He grinned but the joke fell flat.
“Well, that’s about to change. I’ve heard from Frank. The Hezzies will probably try to take us in the next couple of days. I just thought I’d give you some time to collect your thoughts if you like.”
Pitney shook his head. “No thanks, Chris. I’m cool.”
The former Green Beret regarded the former cop in the gathering darkness. “Yeah, I can see you’re calm and collected. But… Robert, it’s just never like anybody thinks it’ll be.”
“Yes, I know that. I’ve trained operators who’ve done the deed, Chris. We talk about the psychological aspects. And I’m telling you, I’m ready for whatever’s coming down.”
Nissen shifted his feet and folded his arms. “Well, then you’re a member of a big club. I thought I was ready, too. The first time, I mean.”
“Oh? What happened?”
“Well, it was…” Nissen’s voice trailed off. “It turned to hash.” He snapped his fingers, loud and clear in the night air. “Just like that.”
Pitney realized that Chris Nissen probably did not admit such things to many people, and accepted the NCO’s candor as a compliment. He thought,
“No. Not that I know of.” Nissen hastened to reply, hoping to cut off any doubt that his top shooter might entertain. “But, Robert, they’ve all been to the show before. They pretty much know what to expect. I just don’t want you to enter a combat situation with unrealistic expectations.”
“Chris, I think I’m pretty damned realistic.” The mild obscenity was unusual for Robert Pitney, who used it for effect. “It’s going to be loud and scary and confusing. I’ve read about the loneliness of the battlefield: S.L.A. Marshall was way off base about firing ratios but he was right about that.” He stopped to gather his thoughts. Finally he said, “Staff Sergeant, I’ll do my part. You can take that to the bank.”
Nissen nodded. “Okay then. Listen, you’re one of only three Arabic speakers on either team. I’d like you to direct traffic for me. I’ll tell you where I need people to go. There’ll be less confusion if you tell them.”
“Chris, I’m not just the best shooter in this ville. I’m almost certainly the best shooter in this country right now. I’ll get more hits with fewer rounds than anybody, including your snipers — wherever they are. Just put me where you need the most hits.”
The team leader leaned back, stretching his lumbar muscles. After a moment he said, “Tell you what. Under your contract I could order you to do just what I said. But I guess I can consider you a force multiplier. So here’s the deal, Robert. You put your guys where I tell you to put them, make sure they’re well set, then have at it. Shoot ‘em up. But between reloads, check with me because comm is likely to go south. If you have to be a runner between your guys and me, that’s how it’s gonna be.”
Pitney did not know it but he grinned. Extending a hand, he said, “It’s a deal, Sergeant.”
They shook, then parted.
On the way back to the HQ building, Nissen was intercepted by Bob Ashcroft. “How’d it go? Is he gonna be okay?”
“Well, I think so, Bob. He’s a little hard to read. Either he’s one of the coolest cookies I’ve ever come across or he’s sitting on something inside.”
“Maybe he figures that anybody who can shoot like him is golden.”
Nissen rubbed his neck, kneading the muscles. “Yeah, I thought about that. But Pitney’s too smart to take that for granted.” He massaged his neck again. “If I had to guess, I’d say that after all his trophies and his training classes, he’s finally got a chance to do the job, you know? Maybe he’s looking to prove something to himself.”
“Oh, Lord.”
“Yeah. You said it.”
“The operation will proceed like this,” Azizi began.
Facing his jihadists, he referred to a rough map drawn on a sheet of butcher paper, taped to the wall. “We are assigning two-thirds of our fighters to the attack on Amasha. If we are able to occupy the village, so much the better. We may or may not try to hold it, depending upon government reaction. Meanwhile, one-third will attack El-Arian and keep the defenders occupied there. If we can force some people out of the villages, onto the roads and across the countryside, so much the better.” He paused for effect. “You will not attempt to stop unarmed people from fleeing either area. Is that clear?”
Abbasali Rezvani, the head mortarman, ventured a question. “May I ask why, brother? It would seem preferable to prevent anyone from escaping and opposing us later.”
“Ordinarily that would be true, but not now. The more refugees we have in the country, the better our special operations teams will blend into the scene. We want both teams to get as close to the border as possible before they break away from the crowds.”
Rezvani accepted the logic of the argument, but pointed to the map. “Would not the refugees more likely go east or north, toward Hasbaya?”
Azizi smiled. “Not if there is fighting and frequent mortar shells exploding in that direction.”
Sitting in the front row, Ahmad Esmaili glanced around. None of the special operators gave any indication of concern for the deception aspect of the plan. That was as it should be. None of the men attacking the villages knew that their casualties would be considered the cost of doing business as long as at least one of the suitcases reached its ultimate destination.
38
