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

9.5 America

9.5.1 Jefferson Arrives

"Admiral Grimshaw on the line for you, Sir."

"Good, I've been waiting for him." Admiral Duncan extricated himself from his corner desk, and hurried over to the VisiPhone. "Frank, how you doing"

"Fine, Dunk, just fine. We're in position as ordered. We left most of our escorts with the Reforger fleet. What's up?"

"We've got big doings. Here's the scoop. Tonight, Hundred and First is going into a small place called Ha-Il, about six hundred klics northwest of Riyadh. They'll be joined by two divisions of Israelis coming in over the next day using our air transports. You're going to be their air cover.

"The Air Force is good, real good, but outgunned. They've got the Iranaqis whipped technologically, but they've got numbers on us. They're using swarming tactics, so our kill ratio is barely keeping even. Your aircraft will make the difference.

"You keep the Jefferson in the Red Sea to cover that flank and to provide support, both for the attack on Ha-Il and also for our troops near Buraydah. With any kind of luck, we'll have about fifteen Iranaqi divisions caught in the middle with local air superiority. If so, we can turn this whole war around.

"I'm stuck here in the Gulf supporting the eastern troops plus my own Marines. We've got plenty of power here, and your ship is just too large for these waters. Even the Red Sea isn't really big enough, but it'll have to do. You contact Gator and Sidney Fox. We've already discussed this, so go along with it."

"Aye, Sir. Anything else, Admiral?"

"Yes, keep an eye on that British fleet sailing from Tel Aviv. If they get into trouble before they come under Victory's air cover, you help them. They've got a full division headed to Egypt."

"Can do, Admiral. I'll keep some long range stuff in that direction."

"Good to have you aboard, Frank. By the way, where's the Reforger fleet?"

"They should be off Sicily about now. Hope nothing happens to them like it did to you."

"I doubt it. We kicked the shit out of 'em, Frank, and now they're involved with a full-scale invasion. I doubt that they have any assets left. Besides that, the Italians are around, and they'll keep a close eye on things."

"Yes, we got their FAX! Escort Service, indeed! OK, Dunk, I'll contact Gator and get to work."

9.5.2 Screaming Eagles Fly

Major General Rufus B. Hayes paced the floor of the big hangar. Yesterday, they'd flown his entire division into this god-forsaken place in the middle of nowhere, and only then told him the mission. Cluster-fuck! Now, they expected him to lead his division into enemy territory, seize an airport in the midst of their most important supply junction and hold it for a bunch of C-17s to arrive from Israel of all places. Double Cluster-fuck! Then, he was to attach his division to the Israelis and become their air-mobile infantry. Triple cluster-fuck!

"Sir, we're ready to mount up."

"Let's go."

The sun was setting as Hayes ran out of the hangar towards the enormous Sea Emperor. He climbed aboard, and a private slammed the hatch behind him. Almost immediately, chopper's three turbines began to whine and the rotors started their annoying flup-flup.

Hayes squirmed forward into the jump seat between the two pilots. From there he could get plugged into the world and see what was happening. The co-pilot handed him a set of earphones and microphone.

"Patch me into the command set. I gotta hear what's going on." He listened intently, but it was hard to follow.

The Air Force was leading the attack with their F-22s, hoping to sneak in and cause a lot of damage before the Iranaqis could react. They were to be followed by Avengers and F-38s, but he could make neither heads nor tails out of their broken bursts of conversation and their call signs. Still, listening beat boredom, and he hoped that eventually might hear something important.

After half an hour of listening, the only thing he was getting was a headache. He readjusted his earphones, and relaxed, trying to get the big picture. He was about half way to Ha-Il when the aviators' call signs changed. Until then, the flyers had been "Cowboys", "Ogres" and "Death-Dealers". Suddenly, they had all become Jewels. He concentrated again trying to determine what was happening in the air over Ha-Il.

Jewel-Blue-One seemed like somebody important, because the Blue Jewels seemed to be going in first. Hayes wondered, 'Bombers? Maybe Avengers? Does the Navy have Avengers?' He couldn't remember. 'They are damned big planes to land on a carrier.'

After a while the Blue Jewels departed, replaced by Green and Red Jewels. When the Green ones rolled in, attacking the airbase, he decided, 'Must be Hornet attack fighters. The Navy's in love with those little things. That'd mean that the red ones are fighters. Navy Tomcats. Big birds, a lot like the F-22s.'

The chopper banked to the right and the co-pilot cut in on Hayes' line, "Half hour to show time, General."

Hayes disconnected his headset and slid back into the crowded troop compartment. He leaned over to the major sitting there and shouted the information into his ear. The major and his troops began their last minute preparations for an assault landing.

The general had barely returned to his jump seat when the go signal came in. "Gator to Eagles. Shalom! Repeat, Shalom!"

"Where are the attack birds?" Hayes demanded of his flight crew.

"Inside us, Sir. They're closing on the target now. See? Right out there," the co-pilot pointed.

Black on black smudges was about all he could see. "Put me on their frequency," he ordered, as he watched his Seminoles turn, heading in fast to secure the LZ. If the Air Force and Navy had done their jobs, there should only be some mopping up to do. If not, it'd be a hot LZ and the Seminoles would have to cool it down.

"Gunner-One-One to Strawberry-One-One, LZ warm. Some firing, but we are suppressing. Come in fast and loose, we've got you covered."

'Damn,' Hayes cursed to himself, 'Only a little firing, so only a little dead?'

The Sea Emperor lurched and then turned hard right. It zoomed up and dropped down sickeningly. Standard Operating Procedure: avoid enemy gunners and confuse their missiles by erratic movement. In the meantime, everybody inside pukes their guts out!

The chopper flared. The ground rushed up and the wheels hit heavily. They bounced once, stopped, and the ramp dropped.

Hayes and his radio man were the last two out of the Sea Emperor. The perimeter of the airport seemed littered with his choppers. The second wave was coming in fast. As soon as this first wave of Sea Emperor's lifted off, the next would flop down in their places.

He snapped his night goggles in place and began orienting himself. Buildings to the left. Hangars, tower over there, building there. 'We're dead on!'

He raced to the tower, where he had planned to set up his HQ. A burst of fire sounded from his left. It was answered by three or four. More firing off to his right. Scattered! Good!

He reached the building breathing heavily. Two platoons were on his heels. He waved them ahead, and then followed. He raced up one flight of stairs, turned left and left, again. A second flight of stairs, left, left. Third flight. They were in the airport tower.

Good! He could see everything spread out below him, and could control the battle relatively easily. "How's the equipment?" he bellowed.

Green screens were flickering to life. "About half of 'em working, General. They did a lousy job of destroying this stuff. Hell, Sir, even the main antenna is working. We can set up shop just like a commercial airport. Have your tickets ready, please. Stow all hand luggage beneath your seats."

"Can it," he yelled, but he was grinning like all the rest of them, "Send code words, 'Loch Lomond' to Gator. Set up shop 'round here, we're going to be busy. Get me my ground commanders. I want to know what we're up against. Get the bomb squads out. Clear the runways. Go! Go! We got three hours before things start happening around here."