Jihad
9.1 America
by Red MacDonald
Copyright © 2013 Red MacDonald
All Rights Reserved.

The Faithful, North African and Middle Eastern Islamic nations, are plotting to seize the oil resources of the Middle East. By controlling the earth's oil and its major trade routes, they plan to bring the world to its knees. Then, when the entire world is kneeling, the Faithful of Allah will read to them from the Koran, preaching the message of Islam, the True Faith. The Faithful will stop at nothing to achieve their goal. But how far will they go? And how many lives will it cost?

9 Turning Points

9.1 America

* * * * *

9.1.1 Reinforcements

The VisiPhone bleeped, angrily. Slowly, Admiral Duncan roused himself from the depths of sleep and stumbled out of bed. He punched the receive key and was about to speak his mind to whoever had the audacity to awaken him after just two hours of sleep. But, it was Algarro! "Yes, Gator? How can I help you?"

"Dunk, good news. The Italians have arrived. They've got three ships off Hormuz. General Cappetello has 'em filled with an armored brigade. I'm sending them to Dhahran, but I'm not sure whether we'll be able to hold the docks long enough. We're going to need your Marines to get in there and hold the docks until the Italians land."

"They're at Hormuz, now?"

"Right. Heading your way with a couple of old friends of yours, the Garibaldi and Alfonso Donatelli, as escorts. They're also flying in two squadrons -- one of Typhoons and the other of Whirlwinds. Damn, do we need them!"

"OK, Gator, I'm on it." He hung up and immediately awoke his staff and General Carter. Twenty minutes later, his entire team had gathered, either in the war-room or via their VisiPhones. Once everybody was informed of the situation, Duncan placed a call to the Italian commander, General Alphonse Cappetello.

"Good morning, General. This is Vice Admiral James Duncan welcoming you to the Persian Gulf."

"Good morning to you, Admiral. I presume you called to ask about our arrival?"

"Indeed, General. How long before you will arrive in this area?"

"I am informed that our voyage will take about eighteen hours. I am also informed that there may be some difficulties in landing my troops."

"That's why I'm calling. I have General Carter of our Marine PhibRon with me as well as my entire staff. It will be our job to ensure that you arrive safely and that the docks are cleared for your troops to disembark. However, this will take some planning. I suggest that your staff and my staff work out the details. I also hope to be able to talk with our old friends, Captain Vespation and Commander Russi, when their duties permit."

"Excellente, Admiral. We will commence immediately. Please give me ten minutes to convene my staff." He disconnected.

Duncan addressed his admirals, the Marine general and his Intel team. "We have to know what we're up against, and we have to protect the Italians. I'm going to split the fleet.

"Norm, assemble Seventh Fleet and sail for Hormuz at full speed. Take Sara with you. I want you to cover them like a blanket.

"Jerry, Wasp will stay with the Halsey for now. You and Sam do what you have to do with Cappetello. I'll cover you in the meantime.

"Ed, we're going to need all the Intel we can handle. I want Halsey's Eyes and Ears up soonest.

"Jimmy, get in touch with Army G-2. We need to know everything they know. Intel will coordinate through you. Keep Jerry and Sam fully informed. Everybody got it? Let's go. We'll sleep later."

Twenty minutes later, USS Kimmel and her escorts sailed towards the Straits of Hormuz at thirty-five knots. Duncan interrupted the conference call between his staffers and the Italians, "Gentlemen, I have news for you. The aircraft carrier Kimmel will be joining you in approximately six hours. Admiral Spigott will be launching aircraft to provide combat air patrol over you in one hour. I am sorry that I am unable to transfer the proper codes to you, but I am sure that Captain Vespation can recognize a Tomcat when he sees one. You may contact Rear Admiral Spigott aboard Kimmel to coordinate your rendezvous."

General Cappetello's face appeared. "Thank you, Admiral. Such protection will be welcomed. I might also add that we are escorting one of your vessels, the Albert Strong. She is with us presently."

"General, as always, it is a pleasure to work with the Italian armed forces. That is indeed good news. Kimmel's replenishment ship headed south days ago, and we have been awaiting Strong's arrival. Do you have any other good news?"

He smiled and shrugged his shoulders. "No, I am sorry. I felt that with too much of a good thing, you might become spoiled. I shall now return to our staff meeting. Good-bye, Admiral."

As Admiral Duncan finished his call with Cappetello, Halsey turned into the wind and prepared to launch. From the tower high above the deck, the admiral watched the ballet. Pudgy Hawkeyes, Regulators and Snoopers nosed up to the catapults. Within ten minutes, two Holsteins, two Hawkeyes, two Regulators, one Snooper, four Tomcats and four Hornets were launched. Four Tomcats and four Hornets were retrieved. The scurrying, rushing and hustle didn't last long. Yet, while it was happening, the coordinated effort of three thousand sailors was a thing of beauty.

By noon, Norm Spigott reported that the Kimmel was steaming with the Italian fleet. By fifteen hundred, General Carter reported that all the plans were made. His Marines would make a dangerous, but necessary night landing to protect the docks. As long as the army could hold onto Dharan, landing the Italians should be easy.

* * * * *

9.1.2 Landings

It had been a bad day for the defenders of Dharan. As the Italian reinforcements were steaming to the rescue, the Iranaqis mounted a major offensive. In spite of Halsey's air support and a determined defense by Twelfth Light, the Iranaqis had pushed along the coast and seized the docks. The Italians had no place to land.

Sam Carter and his staff worked all afternoon and into the early evening developing an alternate plan. His Marines would have to invade Dharan and seize the docks. Then, if the Italians landed, they would be able to launch a counter-attack on Twelfth's right which just might drive the Iranaqis out of the city.

At 21:00, Wasp led Seventh PhibRon into the restricted waters between Bahrain and Saudi Arabia. The Italian transports followed the PhibRon towards Dharan, preparing to disgorge over six thousand troops and three hundred tanks needed desperately to reinforce the besieged Saudi-American army fighting in the streets.

While Kimmel handled the air threat to the fleet, Halsey turned into the wind to launch her aircraft in support of the invasion. Her KS-3 Cows and S-3 Ersatz-Cows launched first, as fully loaded Avengers and Hornets lined up behind the catapults. Because of their maximum bomb loads, the attack planes had only half their normal fuel load, to reduce their take-off weight. Immediately after take-off, they would have to rendezvous with the Cow Herd and tank-up before continuing on their missions. Then, the Tomcats would launch and refuel after their climb-outs on afterburner.

After all of Halsey's aircraft were launched, Admiral Duncan returned to CIC to watch, wait, and sweat it out. When he was younger and still coming up through the ranks, he had always been in the thick of it. As he had acquired greater responsibilities, he had been forced to retreat further away from the action. Now, he had to rely upon VisiPhones and electronic displays.

He felt helpless. When he'd been out there, he'd been doing something. He had some measure of control over his own fate. Here, in the semi-darkness, surrounded by the electronic gadgetry of the twenty-first century, he was out of it. He was a spectator on the sidelines, cheering for his team to win and hoping that they'd return home with the championship trophy.

At least he could watch. As he stared at the computer simulations of his fleets and aircraft, he tried to imagine himself in the "old days". Spruance had been completely ignorant of what was going on at Midway. Halsey had no idea of what was happening at the Battle of Leyte Gulf. Even "Stormin' Norman" had to sit in ignorance, awaiting the arrival of dispatches from the front. With his Hawkeyes, Regulators and Snoopers in the air, Duncan had a god's eye view of the entire region.

He was tempted to use this data and his advanced communications to direct and control the battle. Yet, that was a trap. In the old days, once the planes were in the air, the admiral couldn't interfere. He couldn't manage the battle or second guess the guys who were doing the actual fighting. With all the gadgetry available to him, Duncan could talk to any plane, any ship or even a Marine platoon leader. He was tempted to direct, to manage and to control. But that would be a terrible mistake. There were a lot of words to describe what would happen, like SNAFU or cluster-fuck.

Trust your people! That was the key. If they needed something, they'd ask. Admiral Duncan's only job was to coordinate what he could and make sure that nobody was blind-sided. In the meantime, all he could do was watch.

There go my A-29's! Their coded, microburst IFFs are turned on so that everybody will know who and where they are. Better safe than sorry. The airspace over the docks will be crowded with attack planes, choppers and fighters. In that type of environment, anything that can't be easily identified will be attacked. I could lose planes and air crews. Planes can be replaced. Crews take years to train.

Pepe's blowing the shit out of 'em! Look at 'em go. At twenty thousand pounds per aircraft, his A-29s have just laid eighty tons of high explosives right on target.

He's coming back up to altitude. Let's see. One, two ...seven, eight! Yes! The Tequilas all survived. Come on home now, Pepe!

There go my Hornets! Which ones? Ah, yes, the Mad Dogs. They're also armed with big stuff, mostly five hundred pounders. Amazing how such a small aircraft can carry so much. Let's see, nine times sixteen thousand. That's another seventy-two tons! Count 'em ... eight, nine. Good! Come home, Son, come home.

So far, so good. No enemy aircraft for two hundred miles in any direction. Wasp's swinging into action, ready to launch her Harriers for the close-up stuff. Here comes the final Hornet strike. Go, Talons, Go! Pound those bastards! Clear a path for my Marines. Jesus Christ, would Carter laugh to hear me now!

Those must be the Seminoles taking off. There go my Talons ... Six, Seven? Only seven? Where did I lose one? Oh, yes, in the Straits of Sicily. Shit!

Wasp's Harriers are right on the Talon's heels. They'll keep the Iranaqis' heads down. Look at 'em go! Jesus, those Marines really know how to fly close support! There go the Marine choppers, right on time. The Ospreys are overtaking them. Here goes! Did we knock 'em back?

Duncan shouted, "Turn on the Marine command frequency. I want to hear this."

The radio blared, "Alpha One approaching. No ground fire."

"Bravo One approaching. It's quiet here."

"Charley approaching, quiet LZ"

"Diamond-One-One to Emerald Isle, we've landed and are moving to defensive positions. Lima-Zulu is clear."

"Roger, Diamond-One-One." JT recognized Carter's voice. "Ruby-One, Emerald Isle calling. Lima-Zulu clear. Diamond-One-One in position. Go! Go!"

Duncan watched almost breathlessly as twelve gigantic choppers buzzed towards the landing zone. Behind them, he could see the massive LCUs and smaller LCMs scurrying towards the piers to deliver the heavy tanks and other equipment the Marines would need to hold the port for another hour until the Italians arrived.

Shit, what's that? Dots just appeared on the radar, coming fast out of the north! What are they?

"Leprechaun One to Puma leader. Bandits, Rocky!"

"Ruby One approaching LZ. Diamond-One-One signal your position."

"Thirty plus bandits, Angels thirty, three-two-oh degrees, buster!"

"Signal received, Diamond-One-One."

"Raid count now three-five. Probable ID on those bandits is MiG three-one."

"Ruby One on final approach."

"Roger, Ruby One, LZ is secured Ruby One. Diamond-One-One is on your perimeter."

"Leprechaun One to Knight One. Cassey, we've got a second raid here. Angels two-zero, vector three-two-oh."

"Pearl-One-One to Ruby One, approaching docking area. Awaiting your signal."

"Raid count twenty-five, probably Sukhois."

"Signal received, Ruby One. Pearl-one-one coming to Mama!"

"Leprechaun One to Talon and Mad Dog leaders. We have a third raid."

"Eagle One to Leprechaun One, Eagle Squadron standing by."

"Ruby One, Pearl-one-one docking, Pearl-one-two docking."

"Roger Eagle One. Talon One, Mad Dog One, Stand by. Eagle...."

"Pearl-One-Three docking." "Eagle, read my box!"

"Roger, Leprechaun One. Got..."

"Amethyst One to Ruby One, we're here. Where do you want us?"

"Leprechaun, we'll follow Puma at Angels Three..."

The admiral watched breathlessly, closely observing the entire complex operation. Diamond-one-one had led the Ospreys in with their Marine platoons to secure the landing zone. Ruby One, obviously the ground force commander, had been in one of the Sea Emperors. His force was now on the ground. The Pearls had to be the LCUs delivering the Abrams tanks. They'd follow up with the MTAVs, shortly. The Marines were OK, but what about these air raids?

"Give me just the air channels," he yelled.

"Puma One designating. Volley fire. Fire! Prepare for second volley. Pumas to Angels Three-Three. Now!"

As the Pumas fired their Phoenix missiles, little blips appeared on his screens, racing northward. Other little blips appeared coming from the north. He gulped, "They're shooting at us!"

"Puma Leader to Pumas, missiles inbound. Break. Weapons free."

"Leprechaun One to Talons and Mad Dogs. We're going to have leakers. Vector three-two-oh at Angels thirty. Hold on my mark."

"Somebody get him off me!"

"Turn Ace, Turn!"

"Got him!"

"Firing!"

"Got him!"

"Leprechaun One to Talon Leader and Mad Dog Leader. Hold present position. Read my box."

JT found himself on the edge of his seat. It was the most exciting thing he'd ever witnessed. Little dots were making enemy blips disappear. He glanced at the big board to see the catalog on each of the raids. The numbers in Raid One were dropping fast. The raid was down to twelve, no eleven, but two of Rocky's Pumas had also disappeared off the screen.

"Leakers! Leakers!"

Duncan cringed at the word, and memories of Grig Yuhovitch and Muriel MacDonald flooded his mind.

"Mad Dog One, leaker count at One-One. Angels thirty, course three-two-one, distance thirty."

As Duncan watched, his son's flight of nine Hornets headed straight for the enemy formation. There go the AAMRAMs. Shit, they're shooting back! Fly, Son, Fly! Three .. no four of them gone. Did all my Hornets make it?

"I'm hit! Heading home!"

"Head for the deck, Sonny!"

A Hornet plunged out of the battle heading eastward. Eight others closed rapidly on the enemy, firing more missiles.

Raid count? Six. Good! Six of them against eight of ours.

The two formations seemed to collide on the screen. A mass of planes intermingled in a furball. The raid counter registered a question mark. The computer had lost track of the air battle.

"Eagle One to Knight One, we've got top cover. We'll take the fighters, you get the bombers."

"Roger. Designating."

"Designating."

"Prepare to volley fire."

"Prepare to volley fire."

"Fire!"

"Fire!"

Little dots representing Phoenix 54Ds emerged from the blips that were Tomcats. The 54Ds chewed up the short distance. No little dots were fired from the lower enemy formation, but lots of them came from their high-altitude fighter escorts.

"Eagles, missile warning! Break and evade. Weapons free."

"Prepare to volley fire. Fire!"

Raid Count Two: twelve. Raid Count Three: eighteen.

"Leprechaun One to Talon Leader. Prepare for leakers. Angels two-five. Prepare for change of course and altitude on my mark, Talon."

Raid Count Two: four. Raid Count Three: nine. What about the other side of the board? Knights: eight. Eagles: six! Damn! Mad Dogs: eight. Yes, I saw that one. He went down, but is he alright? Talons: seven.

"Get him, Skinny!"

"I'm trying!"

"Rover, one's on your tail. Break right! Rover, pull harder."

A burst appeared on the screen. The box on the big board marked "Eagles" registered five.

"Leprechaun One to Talon One, leaker count on Raid One is at two. Course, three-two-three; angels two-zero; range one-five. Leaker count on Raid Two is unknown. Angels three-zero; course three-two-three; range one-eight."

"Skywalker, take the low ones. I'm going up after the others. Talons split one time. Tally-Ho!"

Duncan watched three Hornets drop lower as four went higher. More dots appeared in front of the Hornets. More enemy blips disappeared. Raid count? One: unknown. Two: zero. Three: one! Knights: Eight. Eagles: five. Talons: six! Damn it! Mad Dogs: eight.

"Green Giant One. Got him. He's OK."

Oh, that must be the SAR chopper, as in Jolly Green Giant. I lost a plane but not my pilot.

"Leprechaun One to all clans, board is clear. Resume standard flight patterns."

"Admiral, Teegin here. We're turning north to launch more cows. Kimmel's maintaining CAP over us. They're launching another Hornet squadron just in case."

"OK, Ed. Jimmy, get me Cappetello." The Italian general's face appeared almost instantly. "General, talk with Jerry Lake. He'll have good news for you."

"Bene, Admiral! I was already in contact with both your admiral and with your general. Your flyers did a magnificent job protecting my transports. Gracie! I will go now to the aid of your magnificent Army. With God's help, we will serve as well as they have! Good-bye, Admiral."

"God be with you, General, and thank you!"