Satisfied, the major put his hand on the shoulder of another lieutenant, sitting next to the first, and instructed him to contact headquarters to confirm target locations and data. Then, with nothing to do for the next five minutes, the major stepped back to a chair near the wall across from the communications console. He didn't stay there long, however. No sooner had he sat down than he jumped back to his feet. He turned to pace, but there was nowhere to pace in the crowded van. There had to be something to do, but he couldn't think of anything. Looking at his watch, he was amazed at how the time crept along at a snail's pace.
Outside the van, in scattered sites, the crews of the TELs were not at a loss for something to do. The soldier receiving the order hadn't even placed the phone back in its cradle before half a dozen men began to roll back a canvas tarp covered with sand. While they did so, two other men, the TEL's crew, scrambled into the hole exposed by the rolled canvas. By the time the tarp was rolled back and secured, the sounds of a heavy diesel engine erupted from the black hole into which the TEL's crew had disappeared. Once the engine had reached normal operating range, there was a change in pitch as the driver of the TEL shifted gears and began to move it forward and up out of the huge hole in the ground. Preceding the TEL was one of the two men who had gone into the hole. He was walking backwards, holding a filtered flashlight and guiding the TEL driver.
For days the TELs sat in holes excavated around Tobruk before the invasion. To prevent observation from surveillance and reconnaissance satellites, a system of canvas tarps, supported by poles and spreaders and hidden by a layer of sand, covered the holes. To keep the sand on the tarps from being heated to a different temperature than the rest of the sand, the crews of the transporter-erector-launchers had been forbidden to run the TELs or even go near them unless absolutely necessary. Whether those measures would defeat the thermal detectors on the Soviet and American satellites was unknown. Even their friends the Soviets refused to provide the Libyan army with any details on the capabilities of Soviet intelligence.
Whether the measures taken to hide the SS-21 missiles and their TELs were actually successful or the Soviets and Americans had detected them and chosen to ignore them was unimportant. Such matters were not the concern of the crews preparing for launch. In a few minutes the missiles would be lifted into firing position and expended. Last-minute information provided by the firing battery's meteorological section and an update on target location was passed to the TEL crew. When the crews were ready, word was relayed back to the battalion command post.
The major in the command post van waited, impatiently tapping his watch. Each time a firing battery reported in that it was ready to fire, he nodded his head, then went back to nervously tapping his watch. When the final battery reported ready to fire, he ordered the lieutenant operating the net to Nafissi's headquarters to contact the chief of artillery and rocket troops and report their ready status. The lieutenant complied. The response was short and simple: execute as directed.
Walking over to the phone tied into the firing batteries, the major picked up the receiver and turned the hand crank. Every time a battery answered, he told it to stand by, as the lieutenant had done before. Once all the batteries had acknowledged, the major looked at his watch. The sweep hand raced around the face of the watch. As it approached the number 12, the major gave the order to launch.
In an arch that stretched to the west and southwest of Tobruk, the morning darkness was shattered by the launching of SS-21 and SCUD B missiles as well as ancient FROG-7 rockets. With few exceptions, the booster engines of the surface-to-surface missiles and rockets ignited and sent them aloft. Above the earth's surface, in the lower regions of space, satellites designed to detect the infrared energy created by the exhaust plume of launching missiles detected the sudden flurry of activity on the fringe of North Africa. The satellites duly relayed that information to duty officers in both the Soviet Union and the United States. The duty officers, in their appropriate air defense commands, automatically alerted the watch officers. They, in turn, initiated a sequence of steps in accordance with standard operating procedures. Chief among them was notification of the national command authorities, orders to bring more intelligence assets to bear on the threat and confirm its location and probable targets. When the watch officers had confirmation that the data was correct — that they were missile launches — each, in his own country, began to bring the nation's strategic strike forces to immediate readiness for a counter-strike, should that be necessary. Though the origin of the launches was suspect, all personnel involved took action, deciding to err on the safe side.
With his naked eye Captain Saada could not see the lead tank of his company move out of the assembly area and begin the move north. The squeaking of its drive sprocket grinding on the steel end connectors of the track, however, told him that it was in motion. When the blackout markers of the tank to his immediate front jiggled, then began to move, Saada ordered his driver to follow.
Slowly the column began to creep forward. Saada, standing in the cupola of his tank, looked at his watch. They had twenty-seven minutes to cover the five kilometers to their designated line of departure. They would be able to do so with ease. Time was not a concern, provided there were no unexpected delays, or halts, or that the lead platoon did not miss the marked route, or, or… Such concerns raced through Saada's mind every time his unit began an operation. Once involved in the attack itself, and once in contact, he was able to handle the situation. Then there was no time to worry; there was no time for his mind to wander freely and create problems and potential problems where none existed. In battle there was time only to act, to execute. It would be the same that day, Saada was sure of it.
Saada was wrestling with his problems, real and imagined, when the SS-21 missile reached booster cutoff, casting off the warhead from the booster section. Free of the expended booster, the warhead began its free-fall ballistic trajectory. There was no telltale streak rising over the horizon to warn Saada and his company. The noise of the engines covered the sound of the small detonation as the break-up charge of the warhead shattered it and freed the encased liquid. Blurred by the dust generated by the tanks, the sudden pinprick of light in the dark sky caused by that detonation also went unnoticed. Free of the now ruptured warhead but still propelled forward by momentum, the liquid began to spread, forming a huge cloud of millions of droplets arcing down as gravity pulled it back to earth.
The splattering of those droplets onto Saada and his tank broke his train of thought. He had not noticed a rain cloud or a change in weather — he had been too preoccupied with the unfolding operation. Instinctively he looked up while holding out his right hand, palm up, to catch a few of the drops. They pelted his face, almost as if he had been hit with a stream of water from a hose. Looking down, he brought his hand to his face to inspect the unexpected rain. It was a strange, thick rain, almost like oil. Reaching over for the flashlight hanging just inside the cupola with his free hand, he grabbed it but dropped it, unable to get a firm grasp.
Turning to look for the flashlight, Saada noticed his vision blurring. He was unable to focus. In addition, his eyelids began to flicker and twitch. Bringing his hands up to his face, Saada tried to rub his eyes. As he did so, he began to experience difficulty breathing; the muscles in his chest began to spasm. Dropping his arms, he tried to steady himself. His arms, however, no longer responded. They dropped limply to his side, resisting all efforts to move as he wanted. As his legs began to quiver and his knees to buckle, the realization of what was happening hit him. The liquid that had fallen on him was a chemical agent — nerve gas. He was dying.