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?

5. Straits of Sicily

5.4 Libya

5.4.1 Blinder Wing

Wing Commander General Viktor Rashmenko had fallen in love with the country three decades before when he had served there as a youngster. He loved the deep desert, the blue Mediterranean, and his new-found reason for living, his God, Allah.

Perhaps he shouldn't have thought about it in that way. Allah was not his. He was Allah's. Yet, does not the servant, even the slave, have a contract with his master? Can't the slave say, "My master?" Ah! He would have to bring up the matter on Friday at the Mosque.

His Blinder flew like a pig! Yes, it was a dirty word in Islam. If anybody knew he had even thought it, they'd burn his plane, but it was true. The two gigantic Ketstral drones under his wings were heavy. In spite of the fact that they had wings, they provided no lift for his huge craft and only slowed it down with their weight and drag.

He'd be glad when this mission was over, and he could return to base to load up with real bombs. Then, he'd return to sink the remnants of the Yankee fleet. Afterwards, he'd go home to his lovely, dark-eyed wife and his seven children, and tell her uncles the stories of his triumphs.

The navigator called up to him, "It is time to break off and go north, Commander General."

"Good," he thought to himself. "We'll go north and scare the Yankees. Now, where are those damned MiGs? Ah! They are in position, high and in front ready to intercept those who will come. This is a good plan."

The air warning came in to shutter the radars. This was an unusual procedure, but it was necessary. The shutter, as on a camera, would protect the radar's 'lens' from the enormous blast of energy about to be released by the American Regulators and by his Libyan ECM-Badger escorts. The Badgers would blind the Americans, and it was only to be expected that they would return the compliment. By closing down the shutter's iris, only a small amount of energy would return to the detectors. It wouldn't be much, but it would be enough, along with the obvious visual clues, to be able to launch the Ketstrals in time.

His radar went blank. His operator complained that he couldn't see anything. Rashmenko wondered why he was whining? The general had explained what to expect. But, it was typical of those types: the bookish technologists that seemed to run everything. They were the short, squinty-eyed ones who wore glasses and could converse only with a computer. All of them, that is, except for his radar officer, but he was the exception. He was a tall, strikingly handsome man with a great black mustache.

Viktor had tried to grow one, but his blond hair and blue eyes were no match for the handsome, black-mustached radar nerd. As they walked down the streets, brown eyes looked above masking veils, dismissing him, and coveting the tall, dark and handsome computer operator. If they only knew. The stories he could tell them. But, he was blond, shorter, and, in their eyes, not nearly as interesting. It was their loss.

The panicky alert from the MadCap was relayed to him in just seconds. "They have launched, Commander General!"

"Very well." It was all he could do to contain himself. Idiots! In spite of years of training, in spite of detailed mission planning, in spite of supplying them with every detail of every facet of everything that would happen, they were always surprised and dismayed when it actually did happen. They and the sheep belonged to each other ... and the sheep were probably the smart ones.

"Keep your eyes open," he commanded his crew. "Look for the smoke trails. They will be faint, but you will be able to see them. Look! Or, you will see Allah this day!"

He leaned forward and looked up. Long before any of the others had seen it, he had! He leaned back, flicked his landing lights twice, and turned to his co-pilot. "Launch the first Ketstral." The boob just sat there, looking at him! "Launch the son of a bitch!" His command seeped into the co-pilot's tiny brain, who finally punched a button on his side of the cockpit.

The mini-airplane dropped off the right wing, and the Blinder veered to the left. By the time the bomber was level again, the Ketstral was flying. In just seconds, it would start to emit. Its radar reflectors would deploy, and the body would expand making it appear that it was much larger than it actually was. It would be just too tempting for a Phoenix missile to ignore.