In front of the two F-15Is, a blanket of tracer fire lit the sky. This was heavier than Gadget faced earlier when his tunnel entrance target was on the edge of the worst fire. Now he had to fly through the teeth of it. He hoped to see explosions from Israeli weapons hit at the points of the tracer fire. His hopes were not met.
The two planes increased their speed to 545 knots and separated from each other about a hundred meters. Their run to the dam would be straight and would only take eleven seconds to pass through the last three kilometers of valley where the anti-aircraft fire was heaviest. The Tunnel Defeat computers on the two planes synched up as they began the final approach. The first of four tones sounded in Gadget’s ear as the plane flew through the forest of tracer rounds.
Gadget felt the plane shudder as he released the second and final BLU-121B carried from Israel. The shudder felt different than every other time Gadget had released one of the big 2,000 pound bombs. His insides registered the difference before his brain could analyze the change.
Gadget pulled his joystick up and to the left as his bomb flew true to its target. The plane that always moved as an extension of Gadget’s desires banked left but otherwise didn’t respond. In one of the random and capricious acts of war that separates survival from death, three rounds from a ZU-23 that had been fired off with nothing more than a hope and prayer, had hit the tail of Gadget’s F-15I. One round had passed through the twin tails without detonating. But the other two rounds had destroyed the servo-cylinders that controlled the pitch angle of the two rear horizontal stabilators on the F-15I. Without the hydraulic cylinders, there was no longer any way for the angle of the stabilators to be changed — and without the stabilators, Gadget could not control the pitch, or angle, of the nose of his plane.
In the rear seat, Pacer watched his infrared targeting screen, making sure that his laser was locked onto the spot he wanted the bomb to hit. His trust in his partner’s flying ability was complete and he had no feeling that anything was wrong with the plane. In the front seat, Gadget fought the onset of panic. The large earthworks of the Mamlo Dam was directly in front of the plane, which was flying at 627 miles per hour.
Gadget had only a couple of seconds to react. His nose would not turn upward even as he banked to the left. He increased his bank and pushed in the rudder pedal with his right foot, trying to get his nose pointed upward to climb over the dam by using his tail rudders.
The nose responded by turning to the right — which was toward the sky. But it was not enough. With a fraction of a second left, Gadget’s mind conceded that his plane would not clear the earthen dam.
“Punch ou..” The last words of Gil Bar-Kokhba, known by his call sign “Gadget,” were an attempt to save his partner. There was not enough time.
The leading edge of the plane’s left wing dug into the top edge of the dam, the speed of the plane ripping the wing from the fuselage and pulling the nose of the plane down so that the fuselage skimmed over the top of the dam before slamming into the surface of the lake. At over 600 miles per hour, the impact on water was functionally no different than hitting solid ground. The F-15I disintegrated in a fraction of a second, the two men inside dying instantly from the effects of almost 100 Gs of acceleration. In the rear seat, Ronen Isser, known as “Pacer,” died without ever realizing anything had gone wrong.
The two BLU-121Bs burrowed deep into the earthen dam and detonated in the spots that the planners intended. The large explosions created a liquefied void that resulted in a collapse of the side of the dam facing the lake. The water of the lake immediately rushed in to fill the void and the force of that water collapsed the dam above the void. The chain reaction continued until the Mamlo Dam had a V-shaped opening through which the waters of the lake gushed into the valley on the other side — the valley that contained many of the facilities of Parchin. Gadget and Pacer had not died in vain.
65 — Extraction
Two Blackhawk helicopters of Unit 669 of the Israeli Air Force — the Flying Cats — lifted off from Ali Al Salem Air Base just outside Kuwait City. The helicopters had no national identification and were easily lost in the myriad USAF Blackhawks that came and went at this hub of Persian Gulf military activity. They had a 237 mile flight almost due north, flying west of Basrah and skirting the Iraqi town of Amarah. At 10:46 p.m. Iran time, just a quarter hour after the start of Esther’s Sling, the two helicopters banked right and flew the final 40 miles across the Meymeh River valley and into the western ranges of the Zagros mountains of Iran. They touched down on the clearing that formed the parking lot for the Dehloran early warning radar complex.
“Now take your comrade and walk north. As soon as we are airborne, Israeli bombers will attack this site. You have only a few minutes to escape.” The words were spoken by Yoni Ben Zeev and directed at the four Iranian radar technicians who had just had their plastic handcuffs cut off. Two of the Israeli commandos had jury-rigged a stretcher for the wounded radar technician. The Sayeret Matkal captain was determined to honor his word to the four men — it was his way to ease the guilt of having earlier shot one in the back of the knee, an act that he knew would haunt him in the coming years.
Ben Zeev was lying to the men, but he needed them to be motivated to leave the area as quickly as possible. There would be no Israeli airstrike. Instead the team had placed a large amount of high explosive around the base of the radar and in the command trailer. As soon as they saw the helicopters touchdown, five minute fuses were set. The team of Sayeret Matkal commandos had succeeded in their mission. Now all that was left to get home.
The first helicopter took off with half the team as Ben Zeev stood on the mountain dirt shielding his eyes from the dust and small rocks kicked up as the rotors beat the wind to provide lift. After a moment, he lifted his head to see the Iranians moving away from the complex as fast as they could while carrying their stricken compatriot. Then the captain turned to see his demolition expert emerging from the command trailer and running at a dead sprint to board the remaining Blackhawk.
Slowly the captain walked up to the open door behind his demolition man and looked in to make a final head count. He spoke to the mountain goat, who was on the first Blackhawk, to confirm his head count. Ben Zeev was satisfied that no one was left behind. He climbed into the helicopter and closed the door.
“Let’s get the hell out of here,” he yelled toward the pilot, not sure if the man could hear him or not. The Blackhawk lifted off. Captain Ben Zeev sat by the door facing rearward, his eyes not wavering from the Dehloran complex. He was determined to witness the explosions that would come shortly. His helicopter was almost eight miles away when the flashes came. The first explosion destroyed the radar and its radome. Moments later, two more explosions occurred in quick succession, destroying the communications trailer and finally the radar operations trailer.
In under two hours, the team was safe at the same American military base where they had begun their journey two days earlier.