“Aldo, Viper Zero-Three,” Matt transmitted. The AWACS acknowledged the call and Matt explained the emergency and that he was escorting his wingman out. Then he asked for the mission results. Aldo told him that all aircraft were safely off target and that the convoy had been caught at the ferry and destroyed.
“Relay our status to Viper Zero-One,” Matt requested.
There was a long pause. Then another voice came over the radio, the tactical director. “Be advised that contact with Viper Zero-One was lost during an engagement with two bandits. Suspect he was splashed.”
The determination Matt had felt before turned to granite. Martin had led them in and now it was his job to get them out. “Roger, Aldo,” he replied. “Copy all. Say bandits.” He was asking if any hostile aircraft were in the area.
Aldo answered with “Two bandits on your nose at one hundred thirty nautical miles. Numerous aircraft launching out of Kirkuk at this time.”
“Those two are right on the border between us and home plate,” Furry told him. “They’re going to sandwich us between those bastards launching out of Kirkuk.” Then it came to him. “Jesus H. Christ, those are the two bastards that got Martin.” After a long pause, he added, “That’s ‘Joe’ out there.”
“Fuck ‘em!” Matt barked. “We got lots of fuel and Aldo.” He keyed his mike and told the AWACS to vector the recovering F-15s around all bandits. “We did what we came for,” he told Furry. “Now they got to find us down in the weeds. No way they can do that with Aldo vectoring us away from them.”
They listened as the F-15s checked in and the AWACS called out headings to keep them well clear of the two orbiting bandits and the MiGs launching out of Kirkuk. Now Matt joined on his wingman. “Shit-oh-dear,” Furry mumbled,"it’s a wonder he’s still flying.” Matt moved in close to Leary and looked him over. The F-15 had taken numerous hits with AAA and at least one SAM. Not only was 50 percent of the right vertical stabilizer gone, but the right wing looked like Swiss cheese and fuel was streaming out of the fuselage.
“Sean, say fuel.”
The answer was not good. “I might make it to the border.”
“Aldo,” Matt transmitted, “Have a tanker on station at the border.”
“Roger,” Aldo answered.
Matt checked their altitude and airspeed: eight hundred feet and two-eighty. Not good, but it was the best Leary could do.
“Viper Zero-Three”—the tactical controller’s voice was rapid and tense—“the two bandits are now on your nose at eighty nautical miles, moving your way.” Matt glanced down at the TEWS. The symbol for a Su-27's radar in search mode was on their nose and moving toward them.
“That’s gotta be Joe,” came from the backseat.
Smoke and dust rolled over the top of the low hill and engulfed the eight Israeli tanks and six APCs that were hiding in the rough terrain. What was left of Levy Force was careful to use terrain masking and maintain radio silence as they moved closer to their jumping-off point. A loud explosion echoed over them and Levy could see an F-4 pull off a bombing run. He turned in the open hatch and clasped his hands together, the signal to halt. “Can you get us behind those boulders?” he asked Halaby.
“I can do better than that,” the driver replied. He inched the tank under a large outcropping, satisfied that the tank’s sand-gray paint scheme would blend perfectly. Levy climbed out of the turret, dropped to the ground and scrambled through the boulders to the top of the hill. Shoshana watched him from the loader’s hatch as he belly-crawled to the top of the hill. Then he was back, his face an expressionless mask.
“They don’t know we’re here. Tanks are still moving down the valley supported by BMPs. Some are passing right now, in battalion strength. We’re going to cut across their rear. Halaby, take us over to that low area two hundred meters to the right.”
Halaby moved the tank out while Levy stood in the hatch and extended his left arm to the side. Then he made an arching motion over his head, pointing in the direction he wanted to go. The tanks and APCs relayed the signal and followed him. As they moved out of the protective cover of the rough terrain, Levy extended both his arms in a downward V, die visual signal for a wedge formation. Halaby slowed as the tanks moved into position and the APCs moved inside the protective arms of the wedge. They were almost in the open and now arcing out into the main valley. Still the Iraqis had not seen them. Levy raised his right fist high above his head and brought it down with a hard jerk, the signal to charge.
Shoshana’s head banged against the turret and she held on as Halaby gunned the engine. She concentrated on Levy’s commands as they fired, loading the gun as fast as she could. Once the breech nicked her hand when it slammed closed, peeling off a layer of skin. She ignored it. The loud boom of a direct hit on the forward plate of their tank echoed through the turret and the concussion stunned her. She was vaguely aware of Levy shouting over the radio, telling one of die APCs to fire a TOW antitank missile at a target. Still they plunged on, her world focused on feeding the main gun.
Halaby jerked the tank to the right and hit the brakes, throwing her forward just as the main gun swung over the driver. She fell forward and landed on the battery pack right behind him. The tank rocked with a loud explosion and smoke. She heard Halaby shout, “Sagger!” They had taken a direct hit by a wire-guided antitank missile on the side of the turret where the reactive armor had already blown away and exposed an open patch of hull. Then another explosion rocked the tank. This time from an Iraqi tank round. A whitish mist filled the tank. “Fire extinguishers!” Halaby yelled.
Shoshana became aware that she was drenched in green hydraulic fluid. “I’LL BURN!” she screamed.
“DON’T PANIC!” Halaby shouted. “You’re okay. It’s got a high flash point.” Slowly the mist cleared and she could see that he was also dripping with it. Now she could see into the turret. Dave Bielski was a pulpy mass of blood and flesh. Behind him, she could see Levy’s legs dangling from the tank commander’s seat. They twitched. He was alive. She grabbed a first aid kit and worked her way around the breech of the main gun to where she could work on him. Halaby followedher and popped the loader’s hatch to look out. “Get ready to get out,” he told her. Then he dropped back inside, closing the hatch. “We’re not on fire. All I can see are T-Seventy-twos and BMPs. They must think we’re dead. Maybe we can lie doggo.”
The sounds of tracked vehicles moving by caught her attention. The image of the two medics who had been raped and mutilated flashed in front of her. She drove it away and worked on Levy. The lower part of his body had been cut to pieces with small bits of shrapnel, but his flak jacket had protected his upper body. Since he had been sitting in the commander’s cupola, his head and shoulders were not injured and he was conscious.
“Halaby,” he groaned. “Get us moving.” Then he passed out.
While Shoshana worked on Levy, Halaby checked the tank. “We’ve lost hydraulics to the turret and can’t traverse but we can still fire. If I can start the engine and the tracks are still on, we can move.”
“We’ve got to get him to an aid station right away,” Shoshana said. Again, she could hear tanks passing by.
“We’ll have to fight our way out,” Halaby mumbled. He moved forward to the driver’s position where he could look out. “Two kilometers, maybe three to the hills. We might have a chance there. Can we wait to dark?” Shoshana told him that without immediate attention, Levy would be dead by then. “I need to be in his position to see better,” Halaby told her. “Can we move him?”
The two worked gently to move Levy out of his seat. Halaby had to climb over them to get past in the cramped confines of the turret. He moved into the commander’s seat and used a rag to wipe off the blood and gore that had splashed over the controls. He used the periscope and optical sight to see around him. “There’s some BMPs moving past us but I don’t see anything behind them. No, hold on, about two kilometers back, more tanks.” He thought for a moment. “Can you aim and fire the gun?”