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The Brigands got to their feet and ambled back to their campfires.

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ARABIAN SEA

VICINITY OF 64deg EAST, 20deg NORTH

15 SEPTEMBER 0205 HOURS

THE twelve-plane squadron had flown close to a thousand miles, violating the airspace of one country for some minutes, then streaking across the entire width of another while being monitored by a foreign but friendly military force stationed there. This small aerial armada was made up of Kfir C.2 fighter-attack aircraft of the Israeli Air Force. And they were loaded for bear. Each carried 12,700 pounds of ordnance that included Vulcan 20-millimeter guns, one heavy general-purpose bomb, and six air-to-ground high-explosive missiles.

With another 700 miles to go, the squadron leader suddenly gave the word to form into a tight orbit. He had reacted to a transmission from a U. S. Air Force E-3 Sentry AWACS aircraft with a very busy seventeen-man crew.

A short distance away, two other large aircraft, these a pair of KC-135 refueling tankers bearing the roundels of Great Britain's Royal Air Force, were being vectored to the orbiting Israelis. Their mission was a simple but vital one, in that they were tasked with topping off the fighter-attack squadron's fuel tanks so they could continue their journey to the objective. Both the E-3 and the KC-135s would be waiting at the same spot to service those same fliers on their return flight.

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IRANIAN AIR FORCE RADAR STATION

SOUTH OF BANDAR-E-BUSHER

THE radar operator yawned and stretched, keeping his eyes on the cathode ray tube to his direct front. The images he studied were confusing and busy, with hundreds of blips indicating ships and planes. All this among the usual activities of a large concentration of naval forces.

The sergeant in charge sat across the room, listlessly reading a week-old sports magazine giving international soccer scores. He glanced up and could see over the operator's shoulder at the radar set. He got to his feet and strolled to where the soldier still watched the blips.

The sergeant laughed. "Ha! It appears that the Amrikayaan are having night training, na?"

"Well, they have no one to bomb at the present," the operator said. He smiled. "Too bad they have to go without sleep."

"They will be allowed to stay in bed late this morning," the sergeant said. "The American Navy sees that their pilots are pampered and well treated."

"Not like us," the operator said. He looked at the screen again. "This is boring."

"But better than being in the infantry," the sergeant commented. He went back to his desk.

The operator dully noted some circling blips, then got to his feet. He walked over to where the sergeant sat and leafed through newspapers and magazines to find something to read. He was happy to discover a photojournal. He picked it up and took an empty chair beside the desk, quickly lost in scanning the photographs and captions.

Across the room, the radar tube continued to display what its antenna picked up out on the Arabian Sea.

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0235 HOURS

THE last Israeli fighter-attack aircraft had been re-fueled, and the squadron turned northeast toward its destination.

The two men in the radar station were engrossed in their reading, while the blips of the departing squadron flitted across the screen, unseen and unheeded by either one.

CHAPTER 23

IRANIAN SF CAMP

15 SEPTEMBER 0335 HOURS

THE little Austrian Haflinger utility vehicle rolled away from the guard tent, with a sergeant at the wheel and a lieutenant as a passenger. They were part of an artillery battalion that had been assigned to serve aboard the self-propelled howitzers lately delivered to the invasion force. The unit was made up of professional soldiers, competent and disciplined, and between stints of learning the proper operation of the big tracked guns, they did housekeeping chores around the camp, such as trash collecting, cleanup, and--like the two men in the Haflinger were presently doing--guard duty.

The lieutenant was a keen young officer only recently commissioned, and the sergeant was an old soldier, grumpy as hell about being rousted off the cot in the guard tent. He would have preferred getting some much-needed sleep rather than making rounds with a puppy out to enjoy his new rank. When they reached Post One, the sentry properly challenged them, then recognized and allowed them to approach. He promptly and correctly responded to the lieutenant's questions regarding the special orders for his post, but was dressed down for having a button undone on his jacket.

With that done, and satisfied that he had given the soldier a proper reprimand about the pocket, the lieutenant jumped back into the vehicle, to be driven to Post Two. The lieutenant was in a grimly determined mood to build a reputation as a disciplinarian.

"We'll catch one of these fellows sleeping yet."

The sergeant said nothing, knowing that the headlights and the motor noise were enough to wake even a dozing sentry, warning him of approaching inspectors. As could be expected, when they reached Post Two, they were once again properly challenged. This time the sergeant also got out of the vehicle, wanting to stretch his legs. As the officer questioned the sentry about his duties, a growl could be heard in the distant sky. The three men looked at each other in puzzlement.

Then the slight growl evolved into a dull roar, and suddenly burst forth into a fullblown thundering of jet engines that could be felt as well as heard. Several aircraft burst into the moonlight from the clouds, heading straight for the camp. They swept over in four "Vs" of three as a large cylindrical object dropped from each. Immediately a series of explosions worked their way across the camp in evenly spaced rows; then the planes swept back up into the clouds, breaking off into separate groups.

This attack scored hits on the vehicle park, pulverizing tanks, IFVs, and the self-propelled howitzers as brilliant flashes of explosives and ignited fuel lit the night. The sentry was rattled by the destruction and yelled out as he had been instructed to do in emergencies.

"Sergeant of the Guard, Post Two!"

"Ahmagh--idiot!" the sergeant bellowed. "I am the Sergeant of the Guard!"

The lieutenant was speechless and seemed unable to move. He stared upward into the moonlit sky at the irregular cover of scattered clouds. He had received no instruction at the military academy regarding airplanes suddenly appearing and dropping bombs in the middle of the night.

Now one of the groups of aircraft came in from the north, sweeping down and firing off a total of eighteen air-to-ground missiles that exploded in a pattern that spread southward. Immediately a second group came in from the west, also cutting loose with the same ordnance. The explosions continued the destruction begun by the heavy bombs as third and fourth attacks were launched from the east and the south. Once again the target was the vehicle park, and a total of seventy-two rockets punched through armor, ripping the vehicles apart until the entire motor pool was burning as if molten lava had flowed across its expanse.

Figures of men could be seen emerging from their tents. Most only stepped outside and stood in stupefied wonder at the hell raining down in their midst. The thought of seeking cover did not occur to them. Then the ammunition dump at the far end of the camp exploded with one roaring boom that was quickly followed by two more as the initial blasts triggered additional detonations.

The aircraft made another run in the same order, but this time they fired heavy 20-millimeter Vulcan ammo at a rate of more than 600 rounds per minute. Their targets were now the rest of the camp, and the heavy shells struck rapidly and hard into the unprotected men and tents. The canvas structures were instantly shredded, and pieces of poles somersaulted through the air. A group of soldiers standing together at the end of a camp street was chopped to pieces in an instant as hunks of their corpses spun off and bounced along the ground.