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?

3 Gambits

3.3 Israel

3.3.1 Planning Meeting

Major David Weissman was talking with his neighbor, Sergeant Nablus Brenner, who was working to repair a Badger armored fighting vehicle, when the call came in for a regimental staff meeting. The Israeli assault over the Golan Heights had started out extremely well, but had ground to a halt within sight of their objectives.

The meeting began as always with "The Old Man", Colonel Ephraim Schwartz, making a few comments before turning the meeting over to Jake Hiram. Schwartz was a superb tactician and administrator. In a small group, he was animated, lively and very funny. But, in front of a sizable group, even his own staff and the battalion commanders, he froze, and seemed almost wooden. Jake, on the other hand was a "ham." Give him an audience, no matter how small, and he was ready to go.

"As you all know," Jake began, "our offensive has stalled completely. We have studied the situation carefully, and have come to two conclusions. First, if we stay where we are, we’ll be crushed, our families killed, our cities destroyed and our religion doomed. Facing that possibility, we sought an alternative. This is it."

An aide pulled a dirty, gray bed-sheet from a large map covered with multi-colored lines and arrows.

"First Division, up here," Jake waved a long, wooden pointer over a region of the map broadly including everything from Beirut to Damascus, "is stalled in front of the Syrian main line of defense. We’ve regained some control of the air, and the Air Force has assured us that they will be in complete control by tomorrow. But, we are a long way from declaring air superiority or achieving true dominance over the battlefield.

"In the south," his over-achieving pointer covered the area from Damascus to Amman, "We have a very different story, in two parts. Let’s start with the ‘Lost Brigade’." A nervous chuckle spread through the small group. "They are here." This time the pointer unerringly speared a point on the map clearly identified as El-Al, the Place of God.

His pointer swept across a smaller blue arc, studded with triangles pointed inward toward El-Al. "The Syrians have established a defensive perimeter in the arc from Ramot, through Khisfin and Tasil to Saham. The Twelfth isn’t going anywhere without help. So, here’s what we’re going to do.

"Tonight, Marines will cross the Sea of Galilee and take Ramot. They will then attack towards El-Al, to relieve the stalemate. At the same time, Second Brigade will attack Butmiya to sever the Syrian supply lines. First Regiment will turn south on Route 96 to attack Khisfin while Second and Third seize Rafid. The combination of attacks should shake the Syrians out the their holes like a fire routs ants. These attacks will be coordinated with an attempted break-out by Twelfth Brigade and a heavy artillery bombardment.

"If all this works, we’ll be back to the same plan we started out with. First Regiment will return to Second Brigade as they drive to Ash-Shaykh, Nawa, and Qasim. Twelfth will assist Second Regiment at Nawa, and proceed to Shyk Miskin before turning north. Our objective is to roll up the entire front from right to left. And, the key is right here," his pointer smashed onto the map, "at Butmiya.

"Here are your written orders, including your timetables and codes. Let’s be sure of what we’re doing. We’ve all been in action at night, but it’s scary. We’ve got a lot of young people who will be terrified. They’ll be relying on us. May the God of Israel be with us all. Amen!"

The meeting broke up into smaller working groups. Every once in a while someone would jump up from one and rush over to another with a question or seeking clarification. Two hours later, David Weissman was on the road back to his troops. He had to make doubly sure that each of his company commanders and troop leaders knew exactly what they were doing, or the entire war would be lost.

3.3.2 Breakout

The go-code came over the radio at 23:45 hours. Israeli commandos had crossed Galilee and had surreptitiously climbed the Heights below Ramot. Two dozen helicopters had delivered another two-hundred troops, while eight helicopter gunships had destroyed Syrian tank and gun emplacements.

Israeli engines fired to life. Carefully tanks, armored fighting vehicles and armored personnel carriers edged their way down the slopes. Star shells erupted overhead, followed by the crunch of Syrian artillery. But, they were too late, and fired at the positions already evacuated by the advancing Israeli forces.

Half an hour later, First Battalion reached Route 96. It surged north and east, before turning to the west, flanking both Butmiyah and Ar-Rafid. Syrian tanks boiled out from Rafid searching for the battalion. They were no match for the night-optic, radar and laser equipped Israeli tanks.

David watched as one of his Lions of the Desert swung sharply to its left, and a great explosion rendered the earth where it would have been. The sixty-ton monster spun back to its right. It fired its 120-mm gun and a Syrian T-90 less than a kilometer away burst into flames. His Lion rolled on followed by a Badger and two Impalas which seemed to be acolytes of their larger and more formidable companion.

The battle wasn’t all one sided. A fiery blast almost knocked David’s command vehicle on its side. A Syrian gunner destroyed one of his Badgers. To his left one of his Impalas, was burning wickedly. Several of his troops had died cruelly, trapped within its fireball.

Yet, in spite of its losses, David’s battalion was advancing. Butmiyah crawled past him as though it were moving and he was standing still. Off to his left was Rafid, his objective yesterday, or was it the day before? Another Impala burst into flames, and one of his Badgers fired a missile in reply.

David heard his call-sign, and the signal to turn and depart for the south. His signal was answered quickly by each of his company and troop commanders. His battalion been lucky. They’d taken some losses, but his command structure was still intact. That was important if he was going to succeed in leading the regiment to Kisfin.

David ordered his lead company to break off, and turn towards the north. After driving away from Rafid for ten minutes, he ordered a turn to the east. Fifteen minutes later, he ordered another turn, this time to the south. Twenty minutes later, the lead company reported back to him that they had struck Syrian Route 98, and were proceeding southward. The entire regiment was in a long column behind him, just as they had planned. 'Next stop, Khisfin,' he thought to himself, and laughed.

As David raced southward, the ancient prayer of his childhood haunted him. He was leading his battalion into the valley of the shadow of death. The black mass of the Golan Heights arose to his right. The Wadi Ruggad meandered along the base of the foothills to his left. Every hill, valley, twist and turn was an ideal place for a Syrian ambush.

His fears and the need for speed battled within him. He was tempted to slow the hectic pace of his advance. Yet, he knew that he could not. He had to overcome the Syrians and release Twelfth Brigade to the offensive before the Iraqi reinforcements could arrive.

One and one half hours later, the suspense ended abruptly. "Major Weissman," the scout reported, "Khisfin is in sight. No activity. Orders?"

David deployed his first company, while the rest of the battalion stood ready to come to their rescue if needed. His lead company’s twelve tanks moved ahead, followed at a short distance by its three Badgers, the Impala and the Rapier anti-aircraft vehicle.

Three platoons of four tanks approached the line buildings that marked the edge of the sleeping town. Each platoon’s Badger stopped briefly to disgorge its eight grenadiers, who rapidly formed up around their tanks and fighting vehicle. The Impala stopped and its heavy weapons squads dismounted. Two-man teams centered on the Squad Rotary Automatic Weapon moved forward on the flanks. Anti-air teams assembled their shoulder mounted AA missiles and prepared to defend their company against air attack. The 81-mm mortar crew began digging their firing pit. They would be ready to support the advancing tanks and grenadiers within five minutes.

David could only watch and wait as fifteen of his tanks and fighting vehicles moved slowly into the town surrounded by their grenadiers and heavy weapons teams. His company’s Impala and the Rapier hung back to provide support while covering the mortar and AAM teams who were spreading out to find better firing positions for their missiles. He waited for shots to ring out, for the explosions of artillery shells or the dull whump of mortars to fill the air.

"David, we’re completely through the town," the company’s captain reported. "The only resistance came from a few Syrians who were awakened by our engines. One threw a chamber pot at my tank. It stinks, but I can report no other damage."

"Wonderful!" David shouted into his microphone. "Set up a road-block on the south side of town. I’m coming through with the rest of the battalion."

David quickly reported that Khisfin was in Israeli hands and that the only casualty was a Syrian chamber pot that had given its all for Allah. At the same time, he arrayed his entire battalion across the narrow plain between the Golan Heights on his right and the semi-dry Wadi Ruggad. Now, he could enjoy the pun, The Rugged River. How appropriate.

David checked his watch. It was 05:00 hours. He had been awake for more than a day, had fought one battle, traveled fifty kilometers and seized his objective. It was time to sleep. But, he had too much to do to consider it.

By the time the residents of Khisfin had finally rubbed the sleep from their eyes, David’s sixty main battle tanks, fifteen fighting vehicles and two hundred dragoons were dug in on the Syrian line of retreat. The regiment’s two batteries of 200-mm howitzers in the hills on either flank, ready to bombard anything on Route 96 south of the city. Extra teams of missileers were on the perimeter to ward off enemy air attacks. Two strong fall back positions had been prepared, just in case they were needed.

David dismissed half of his troops to catch a few hours of well-earned sleep. He tried to set an example for the other half who were forced to wait another four hours before they could retire. Instead of being the example, he was snoring loudly in the passenger’s seat with his head back and mouth open when the first shell hit.

Instinctively, he ducked and rolled, right out the open door. He bounced off the steel step and onto the rock hard road three feet below. His pain and the loud noise jolted him awake. Another explosion! And another! Desperately, he clawed his way back into the vehicle and called his lead company. "What’s going on?" he demanded.

"Tanks coming down the road! Fast! When we challenged them, and they opened fire. We are responding."

He called the rest of his company commanders, "Enemy attack! Weapons free! Fire! Fire!" All around him 120-mm and 73-mm cannons erupted. Assault rifles cracked, machine guns chattered and SRAWs roared. He switched to the artillery frequency, "Fire mission!"

"Shell’s out!" the voice on the other end replied.

The road south of Khisfin exploded in such fury and mayhem that it looked like a view into hell. Tanks, armored vehicles and Syrian solders were torn apart - their pieces thrown in every direction.

The horror of this awesome vision overwhelmed him. "On target!" he finally yelled. "Fire three times for effect. Then, increase by fifty meters, one time for observation."

David directed the walking barrage southward along Route 96. The Syrians were overtaken by his solid curtain of explosions, shrapnel and flying pieces of dead comrades and friends. Death awaited them, and David sang a song of thanksgiving. The God of Israel had granted him victory.