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?

6. World War

6.4 Israel

6.4.1 Hijanah Salient

David had enjoyed a leisurely, almost luxurious morning. His men were rested, and they had eaten a hearty breakfast. His dragoons were busily cleaning their Galil assault rifles. Crewmen were clambering over their vehicles making necessary repairs and calibrating their systems. His men were gently laughing as they conversed. Their eager eyes followed him questioningly, as he walked by their camps on the way to the morning staff meeting. He judged that his battalion was fit and ready for battle once again.

He arrived at the 07:00 hour staff meeting just a few minutes late. Jake Hiram was just beginning his daily briefing. He winked at David, who sat sheepishly and quietly on a cot along with two other officers. "The Attack on Damascus itself has already begun. While the sluggards here," he pointedly looked at David, "have been sleeping, First Division has attacked Qatana and is moving on Judaydat Artuz. Second Division has pushed across the Awaj on a front from Hirjillah to Hijanah. First Division's goal today is Dummar, while Second's is Jaramanah.

"While the fighting is going on in the west and center, Second Brigade will move north fulfilling three objectives. First, we will maintain contact with Twelfth Brigade on our left. Second, we will maintain contact with the Damascus hills on our right. Third, we will advance towards Adra and Dumayr.

"Be aware, Second Brigade, that the Iraqis are nearby, somewhere on your front in the Adra-Dumayr corridor. It is your job to hold them, and prevent them from interfering with the assault on Damascus. As long as we can hold the Syrians and the Iraqis apart, we have a chance of defeating them in detail. If they once join forces, our job becomes doubly difficult. Here are your assignments. Any questions? No? Get back to your troops as soon as you've discussed everything and be prepared to roll at 10:00 hours."

The discussions among the various battalion commanders broke up quickly. David was back at his own HQ by 08:00. His own staff meeting with the company captains lasted only fifteen minutes. By 08:45, everybody was mounted up, and rolling north to their jump-off position, some ten kilometers north of Judaydat al-Khas.

The last truck had just moved out of the small town when all hell broke loose. Explosions tore into the positions that they had just vacated. Whoever had been spotting for them was very good, but they hadn't been able to pass the word back quickly enough.

David grabbed his microphone. "Three One to Three-Oh." They were close enough to the enemy lines that they had reverted to more standard radio practices rather than the loose informality common in the IDF. "We are under heavy artillery bombardment. Shells landing to our rear inside of Judaydat. We are advancing north and away from them. Enemy attack probably imminent. Over."

"Three One, message received. Actions approved. Bombardment is on a wide front. Expect enemy forces on your front. Form with First and Second as quickly as possible. Help is on its way. Three-Oh, out."

David contacted his company commanders warning them both of the enemy threat and of the link-up with their brother regiments. Second Regiment closed up quickly on Third just as David's left-hand company joined with the First. At least they were a unit again, and wouldn't be cut apart in piecemeal fashion.

The cloud of dust on the horizon alerted them all to the impending attack. "Three-One to Threes, get ready. Don't panic. Take your shots and make 'em count. All anti-air units remember your orders. If they're out front and down low, they're targets. If they're above five-hundred meters, leave them alone."

The warning couldn't have been more timely. The Rapier's missile turret, which had been swinging back and forth, had turned towards the rear. The radar unit had stopped scanning and had locked onto a target coming up from the south. Without the warning, a young and frightened lieutenant might just have fired and destroyed an Israeli gunship.

A wave of Israeli helicopter gunships crested and moved north, looking almost like a swarm of locusts. Fighters and fighter bombers moved at high speeds to attack the northern dust clouds. Small white arrows high in the sky ejected pinpoints of light. Other pinpoints came from the north. The arrows and the pinpoints danced, bobbed and weaved around and between each other. Some of the arrows belched in tiny pops like fireworks seen at a great distance, while the rest sped even further north implacably pursuing the enemy.

David turned to an alternate frequency to listen to the gunships. Their success or failure would tell him the true nature and extent of the battle he was about to face.

"There they are! First squadron abreast. Lock 'em up. Fire! Fire!" "Got one!" "God in heaven, did you see that one go!" "Got that son of a bitch!" "Die for Allah!" "Enemy choppers!" "Where?" "Ten o'clock." "They're firing on me!" "Shoot back!" "Hah! Gotcha!" "I'm hit. Going down!" "Chopper at...," and the radio squealed. "Fighters! Coming in! Get out of here!" "Hold your position, Red Three!" "Fighters! I'm getting out of here!" "Dammit, Red Three, they're ours!" "Not this one! I'm hit! Going down!" "Dammit, Sorcerer, you're supposed to keep those rag-heads off us. Get down here and cover our asses!" "Roger, Red One, we're on it, but there are bound to be a few that get through!" "Affirm that Sorcerer. We just lost one to a MiG or something." "Roger, Red One, we killed him, but it was a little late. We're trying hard, but we're real busy up here too, you know?" "Killed another." "Triple-A unit! Watch out! He's firing! Turn, Abey, Turn!" "I'm going in!" "Got him!"

The air battle seemed to be going in their favor. That was critical. It was also important for his forces to arrive while the air cover and choppers were still in position. A coordinated air-ground battle was confusing, but very effective.

"Major, tanks! Sorry, Three-One. Enemy tanks, six thousand meters dead ahead."

"Three-One to all Threes, attack formation. Prepare to deploy at three thousand meters."

"Three-One to Three-Oh, enemy in sight. Alert Air Officers. Keep 'em above five hundred as planned. Over."

"Three-One, acknowledged. Air Officer coordinating. Do not, repeat, do not attack air units unless they attack you. Air commanders will coordinate with ground units. Three-One coordinate with Green One. Confirm."

"Three-One, acknowledged." He switched quickly to his anti-air units and informed them that they were to sit on their hands. It took two calls to get it through the newly arrived lieutenant's war-fogged mind, but he finally responded coherently.

"Green One, this is Three-One. Over."

"Three-One, Green One here. Can you pop green smoke to ID yourself? Over?"

"Affirmative. Green smoke. Now!"

"Roger, Three-One, I have you. Continue present course, I'm on your nose right now. Keep that Rapier off me. I don't need a paint job!"

"Three-one to Rapier! Lieutenant, stand down! Search only! Designate only if attacked. Acknowledge!"

"Rapier to Three-One, acknowledged. Designating now!"

"Negative! Negative! Shut that son of a bitch down! Now! Lieutenant, shut it down! You are endangering yourself, this unit, and the entire war. Who's number two in that Rapier?

"Me, Sir."

"Well, Me, whoever you are, you are now in command of that unit. Relieve the lieutenant, at gun-point if necessary. Stand by your weapon. Do not fire unless fired upon. Then, and only then, protect this battalion. Do you understand?"

"Loud and clear, Sir."

"Thanks Three-One. Green One in the lead. Let's kill some Iraqis!"

"Repeat that, Green One. Iraqis?"

"You copy, Three-One. You're up against an Iraqi armored division over here and an Iraqi infantry division to the east. This is what you can call a target-rich environment. You may want to deploy any time now, Three-One. They're at about three thousand meters."

David checked his sights. Thirty one hundred meters to be exact. Close enough. "Three One to all Threes, deploy! Deploy! Let's go get 'em."

The Badgers and Impalas stopped briefly, disgorging their loads of dragoons and "heavies" before lurching ahead. The dragoons hugged their armor like fleas hanging onto a dog. The heavies loped alongside their Impalas ready to rush ahead, but not trusting in the thin armor of the APCs. The Rapiers and the mortar crews stopped, allowing the others to proceed. Within just minutes, the mortars would be ready to lay down a deadly short-range barrage, and the Rapiers would be able to defend them all against the ever-present threat of a leaker.

The battalion command frequency began to crackle with calls. "Tank eleven o'clock. Sabot! Fire!" "APC at ten. Shoot!" The calls piled on top of each other, making it impossible to hear who was making which call.

David switched on his discriminator to listen to just his company commanders and their lead tanks. Even with just ten of them, it was hard keeping up, but it was possible. He could actually see and envision the battle going on around him.

"Green One to Three One, you've got troubles on your left. Half a dozen tanks coming in at you fast."

"Three-One to Three-One-Five, deploy to left flank. Enemy tanks breaking through."

"Yes, Sir, we see them."

"Three One to Green One, is there anything your guys can do?"

"Three one, I've got two gunships coming up on your five o'clock. Should be there in thirty seconds."

"Three-One-Five, you've got help coming. Two gunships on your back door. Should make the odds a little better."

"Thanks, Dave, that's the kind of help we need. Come on down, chopper guys! Let's play!"

Dave watched the explosions off to his left. At that distance, with all the smoke, haze and dust, he couldn't have been sure of who was shooting at whom. He could only look out of his command cupola, listen to his command set and try to make some sense of what he heard and saw. A smoking Badger lay on its side next to a T-90. Another T-90 was gutted and turretless. A BTM and two BTRs lay locked together in a pile of smoldering debris. A Lion stood off to his right. A tread was missing, and chunks were gone from its reactive armor, but its main gun was still firing in support of three other tanks two hundred meters ahead.

"Three One, Green One calling. I have four fast movers coming over your position in zero-five minutes. Hold onto your hats. I'll call you again at one minute to go."

"Three One to all Threes, fast movers coming to the rescue. Five, that's one, two, three, four, five minutes. I'll give you a one minute warning."

He listened intently. Fifth company and its two choppers had blunted, stopped, and then defeated the Iraqi counterattack. But, they'd lost one tank and one AFV. First company was down to ten tanks and two AFVs. Second Company had lost their CO, and the senior lieutenant was running the show. The kid was using his head, in spite of the confusion and the loss of one tank. Third company was in trouble. They'd lost five tanks and all three AFVs. They had moved the Impalas into line, but they wouldn't last long. Fourth company, on the extreme right of the formation, was in similar shape. The mortar teams were firing away frantically to help, but their sixty-millimeter shells had to hit directly on a T-90 or -92 to stop it, and a mortar was not a sharp-shooter's weapon.

"Green One, Three One, right side caving in. That's where I want the fast flyers to hit. Do you see the spot that I mean or shall I mark it?"

"Negative, Three One, they've put a big push between you and Two One. That's where I'd planned to put them. I shall mark, and await your confirmation. Marking ... Now!"

"Confirm Blue Smoke, Green One, that's the spot."

"Roger. One minute. One minute, Three One. Get your heads down!"

"Three one to Three One Three, Three One Four and Three One Five, fast movers your position. Heads down. Prepare to blow through the hole with everything you've got left."

Four F-35 Super Falcons thundered overhead at five hundred meters. As they passed over his head, each of them dropped eight canisters in a fan-like pattern. Each of the fan's plumes arched away and split into large segments, only to split again into hundreds of grapefruit-sized balls. The balls fell synchronously, and the entire landscape for hundreds of meters beyond the lines lifted as though in a single massive explosion.

"Three One to all Threes, forward! Forward!" His driver gunned the Impala's engine, and the command vehicle kicked up sand trying to respond to its master's urgings.

Tanks and armored cars, AFVs and APCs surged ahead into the unknown of the dust and smoke. Only their electronics saved them from blundering into the hulks which just seconds before had been proud and dangerous enemies. Iraqi vehicles littered the plain. Tanks cooked off, explosions escaping and venting from between turrets and bodies until the heat and flame reached their magazines. Then, five-tonne turrets shot fifty meters into the air, crushing anything they fell upon. Fighting vehicles, BTMs, and BTRs lay in various attitudes of disarray smoking, smoldering, and burning.

Bodies lay everywhere. David's driver tried to avoid running over the first one, but ran over another instead. They were everywhere, like thick grass on a golf course. The driver steeled his heart, and drove on over the corduroy of corpses.

Suddenly, they were beyond the fog and shadow of death. Before them was a barren plain, traversed only by the tracks of innumerable vehicles. They'd broken through! There was nothing between them and Dumayr but salt marsh, trees, grass and an occasional pot-hole. The war in Syria was over.