"Twenty-four kilometers per hour, Captain."
Without hesitation, Saada shot back, "What is on the odometer?"
The driver looked at his odometer and read back its current mileage. Saada, referring to a small scrap of paper on which he had recorded their mileage when they had rolled across the line of departure, made some quick calculations in his head. By subtracting the mileage they had on the tank when they crossed the LD from the current mileage, Saada could plot where they were on his map. After doing so, Saada looked at his watch, then looked around.
Still partially blinded by the dust and darkness, he caught only glimpses of the tank to his front, artillery impacting in the distance, and the blackout drive markers of the tank to his rear. Still, this, along with the reports coming over the battalion command radio net, was enough for Saada to confirm that all was well. In ten more minutes they would cross the border and begin to deploy into three company columns. In turn, the companies would move into platoon columns before occupying firing positions from which the tanks would support the infantry attack on a Libyan fort.
It would be a difficult and costly attack for the infantry. The Libyans had reinforced and expanded an old fort with new bunkers and firing positions for tanks. The whole defensive position was protected by many belts of barbed wire and land mines, both antitank and antipersonnel. The assault would need to be a deliberate, set-piece operation. Though many of the officers in Saada's battalion felt that it was a waste of time to stop and reduce the fort, they were not consulted before the plans had been made. In reality, it was not their place to pass judgment on the decision of the high command. For some reason, a reason that was known only to the planners, the fort had to be reduced. Those same planners had decided that Saada's battalion would play a part in that battle. Given the mission, Saada needed only to trouble his mind on how best to accomplish his assigned mission. The battalion's plan and his plan for the company were well thought out and sound. For the tank units, it would be little more than a long-range gunnery drill. For the infantry, the poor bloody infantry, supported by the engineers, it would be cruel and expensive.
Saada's momentary air of confidence quickly evaporated when the commander of the lead tank company reported contact with Libyan reconnaissance vehicles. The lead company commander's voice betrayed his surprise and excitement. Though he shouldn't have been surprised, he was. They had been told to expect contact with the enemy recon at, or soon after crossing, the border.
Recon elements, equipped with light armored vehicles, are descendants of the old horse-mounted light cavalry. Like the light cavalry units of old, modem recon units screen their own forces from the prying eyes of enemy reconnaissance units, while attempting to find the location and composition of the enemy's main force. Both missions require patience, stealth, and cunning carefully mixed with a touch of audacity. This mixture has always been hard to develop, for a recon commander who is too bold will find himself fighting and losing his own men instead of gathering information about the enemy. The opposite is also true. A recon commander who is too cautious will preserve his force but find out nothing about the enemy. That the lead company of Saada's battalion was being engaged by enemy recon vehicles meant that the Egyptian recon forces had failed in their mission to screen the main body and that the Libyans were winning the fight for information.
Saada automatically passed word to his platoon leaders to stand by for orders, telling them only that the lead company was in contact. Anticipating action, his first, Saada could feel his heart rate and breathing pick up. The cold wind that had cut through his field jacket a moment before no longer could be felt. He tried to calm himself by taking deep breaths but found himself almost hyperventilating. Wanting to do something, anything, Saada stood high in the cupola of his tank, leaned forward, and peered into the predawn darkness, trying to catch a glimpse of the battle now developing in front of him. The darkness and swirling dust, however, continued to defeat his efforts to see anything beyond the tank to his front. Frustrated, Saada lowered himself back down into the turret and listened to the auxiliary radio receiver set on the battalion radio net.
In contrast to the frantic company commander in contact, the battalion commander was calm but firm. The first thing of which he reminded his excited company commander was to use proper reporting procedures and to talk slower. His comment seemed to be more of a reminder than a rebuke. There was a momentary silence on the radio net before the company commander came back with a full report. The battalion commander's call had had the desired effect.
Saada, intently listening to the conversation on the radio, hadn't noticed that the firing had ceased. It was only after the lead company commander reported that the enemy had lost two vehicles and had broken contact that Saada looked up and scanned the area around him. To his rear the morning sun was just peeking over the horizon, casting a cold, pale light over the desert. The transition from day to night in the desert is quick, almost startling. The darkness in the west was already receding. Even with daylight, however, there was little Saada could see. The dust kicked up by dozens of tanks to his front still obscured his field of vision. About all he could see was two pillars of black smoke rising straight up in the calm morning sky, marking the two enemy recon vehicles destroyed by the lead company.
Follow-on reports confirmed that the enemy had indeed broken contact and had withdrawn. Saada was amused by the change in the attitude of the lead company commander. On contact with the enemy he had been near panic. After the battalion commander had calmed him, he had been all business. Now, the subsequent reports from the lead company commander were joyful, almost boastful. Saada wondered how long that would last. Until the next encounter with the enemy, no doubt. Of greater concern to Saada at that moment, however, was how he would handle his first battle. He looked at his watch and glanced at his map. In an hour he would have an opportunity to find out.
The offices and newsroom of WNN were already swarming with people running hither and yon with no apparent direction or purpose when Fay Dixon arrived. Every other person stopped when they saw Fay and asked the same thing, "Have you seen Jan?" Fay responded to them all with a simple shake of the head and a curt "No" as she rushed to her desk, thankful that she had arrived before Jan.
Even though everyone knew that Egypt was going to act, Fay was still taken aback. It was so unreal, so unlike anything that she had ever experienced. The excitement of the past week, the building tensions, and the sudden burst of action that morning animated Fay like a drug. Jan had once told her that working the international news scene gave her a rush that was better than sex. It wasn't until that moment that Fay believed her. But it was true. Amidst the chatter and chaos there was an electricity that ran through Fay and everyone about her.
As she seated herself behind her desk, her eyes lit across the photo of Scott and the children. Fay's taut face drooped into an unconscious frown as she stared at the photo. How desperately she wanted to share her excitement, her newfound happiness as a career woman, with Scott, the man with whom she had shared everything for twelve years. Now, however, at the single most important moment in her life, he rejected her. More correctly, he rejected her choice of jobs. To listen to Scott, it seemed that it was Fay who had betrayed their trust and bond. From the beginning, he had opposed her working at WNN and with Jan Fields. Everything that was remotely connected with her job was a point of irritation. The mere mention of Jan's name had been enough to darken his mood. Each new trapping that came with the job met with resounding disapproval from Scott. The Egyptian maid that tended the house and watched the boys when they were not in school, the apartment in the European quarter of the city, the Egyptian driver that took Fay to and from work every day — all met with a storm of screaming and swearing. Even the new wardrobe that Fay thought necessary caused Scott to throw a fit of rage.