The consensus around the room supported the secretary of state.
The President looked around the table, capturing the attention of each person. “I firmly believe Yair Ben David will not use nuclear weapons unless the Arabs resort to the widespread use of chemical weapons against Israel’s population. To keep that from happening, we will push on the diplomatic front for a cease-fire. But as a backup option, I want to be able to destroy the Iraqis’ nerve gas arsenal without the use of missiles.” He turned to Admiral Scovill. “How can we do that?”
The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs of Staff shuffled through his notes until he found the “talking paper” that had been prepared for him on that very subject. “The Air Force has been preparing for that contingency,” he began, reading from the talking paper. “The Forty-fifth Tactical Fighter Wing at RAF Stonewood”—he glanced up a the President in time to see him stiffen; everyone in the room knew his grandson was assigned to the 45th—“ah, has prepared an operations plan called Trinity using F-Fifteen Es launched out of a Turkish air base, ah, Diyarbakir. Training for the mission is well advanced and the attack force can deploy and be in place within twelve hours. Only the permission of the Turkish government is required.”
“Who directed the Forty-fifth to prepare that plan?” Pontowski asked, his voice low.
Scovill caught all the danger signs. “Sir, the deputy for operations at Stonewood, a Colonel Michael Martin, did it on his own. I am told he is a most unique individual and islike a firehorse. Any time he senses a fire, he gets ready to fight it.”
Pontowski’s stomach twisted and knotted as he clenched his fists. “Get permission from the Turks. Order the Forty-fifth to deploy and await an order to execute.” His voice was low and unemotional. But he knocked his chair back as he rose to leave.
“Sir, are there any special instructions for the Forty-fifth, personnel considerations …?” Admiral Scovill asked. He wanted to know if he was to specifically exclude Matt from participating in the mission.
“None,” the President answered. “Colonel Martin planned the mission and he will select the men he wants to execute it.” He gestured for Cox to follow him.
Once inside the Oval Office, he stood looking out the windows at the President’s Park. “Leo, I want you to use your contacts with Mossad to get a message to Ben David. Tell him that we are going to take out the Iraqi nerve gas arsenal and that I expect him to absorb any minor chemical attacks as he has in the past without retaliating. Also tell him that if he employs a nuclear weapon on the battlefield without consulting with me first, I will break all relations with Israel. Further, if he uses a thermonuclear bomb on an Arab city, I will seriously consider active measures against Israel.”
Cox could only stare at Pontowski’s back in shock. And suddenly he knew why the President had chosen him to be his new chief of staff.
The Iraqi artillery barrage was much heavier than expected and the APC rocked with a near miss and concussion of an exploding shell. Luckily, Levy had pulled most of the battalion well back from the valley and they were out of range of most of the Iraqi guns. Still, an occasional round reached their position. From the babble on the radio, Shoshana could tell that the Israeli counterbattery fire had not discouraged the Iraqi gunners and it was turning into a bloody artillery dual. Now calls for medics started coming in as the Iraqi shelling chewed up the battalion’s forward positions. Shoshana started the M113's engine and jammed it into gear. “Tell Levy,” she shouted at Hanni, “that this Band-Aid is going forward.”
She could hear Hanni’s cool voice relay their intentionsover the radio to Levy in his command tank. “He wishes us luck,” Hanni said.
We’ll need it, Shoshana thought.
Matt and Furry were flying their second mission in Stone-wood’s simulator when it froze and Stigler’s voice told them that they had an urgent phone call. Matt popped the canopy and scrambled over the side to take the call. Leander was asleep in a chair, his head resting on the console, and Stigler looked gaunt and worn. Matt listened, dropped the phone into its cradle, and shouted at his wizzo, “Amb, get your ass out of there. Martin wants us in Intel. Like five minutes ago.” The two men ran from the simulator building, leaving both Leander and Stigler asleep at the console.
The big walk-in vault in Intelligence was jammed with bodies as Matt and Furry squeezed through the door. Martin was pacing in front of a map with their route of flight to Turkey. When he stopped, the room fell silent with anticipation. “For a change,” he began, “someone in the Pentagon read their incoming mail instead of shoveling bullshit out the door. They bought Trinity.” The room erupted in shouts, whistles, stomps, and applause.
“Okay, here’s the lineup.” Martin pointed to a chart on the wall that listed the twelve crews who would fly the mission. The call sign for the flight was Viper and it was organized in elements of two. As expected, Martin was in the lead ship as Viper 01. But what surprised everyone, except Matt, was that Sean Leary was his wingman, Viper 02. The young lieutenant had proven himself since he had almost killed Matt and was turning into an outstanding stick. Matt and Furry were Viper 03 and had been selected to lead the second element of two. “Start engines in an hour,” Martin told the men. “Get moving.”
The room rapidly emptied as Martin motioned for Matt and Carroll to join him. “Bill,” Martin said, “I want you out on the first tanker. After they refuel us, it’ll recover at Athens. The RC-One-thirty-five will be on the ground and waiting for you. Are you sure you can hack it?” The plan called for Carroll to be airborne in an RC-135 monitoring Iraqi communications when the F-15s flew the attack. He was to relay information to the orbiting E-3A AWACS controlling the mission. The problem was that Carroll would have to stayon board the RC-135 until the mission was launched. When the reconnaissance version of the Boeing 707 did land to switch crews and refuel, it would be immediately relaunched with Carroll on board. He might be airborne for days and Martin was worried that Carroll would become overly fatigued.
“Not to worry, boss,” Carroll assured Martin. “I used to do this for a living and can sleep like a baby if I’ve got a sleeping bag. In fact, my first assignment was on an RC-One-thirty-five and Muddy Waters was my module commander.”
“I’ll be damned,” Martin said, pulling a face. Of all men, Martin was not given to sentimentality, but it pleased him to be linked to one of the legends.
“Where’s the Gruesome Twosome?” Martin asked Matt.
“Last I saw them, they were sleeping like babies,” Matt replied.
“Let ‘em sleep,” Martin decided. “They did good. Thanks to them, we’ve got half a chance.”
Matt and Carroll exchanged glances and an unspoken thought passed between them. The colonel, like them, knew just how tough it was going to be.
Twenty minutes later, a crew van pulled up in front of twelve waiting F-15s and the eight men flying the first four jets clambered out. Martin followed Matt down the steps, took one look at the jets, and roared out a deafening “Shit hot!” A stork and an elf dressed in civilian clothes were under Martin’s F-15 hunched over one of the GBU-24s slung under the wing, stenciling in neat red letters, “Courtesy of the Meatheads.”
The APC clanked to a halt outside the aid station and the rear ramp came down. Two medics were waiting and rushed on board, carrying out the sole casualty. The explosions of incoming artillery washed over them. “I’ve never seen a barrage last this long,” one of the medics told Shoshana. “How bad is it up there?” The female medic looked in the direction of the valley.