Admire watched, stupefied by the sound and the glare, for underneath that berserk sight were the infantry that had been attacking his position. Even as he watched the curve of the aircraft’s flight path took the column of light back and it washed over the position of the armored cars that had brought the German infantry. Admire could see the explosions as their fuel tanks erupted but they seemed weak, feeble, inconsequential against the howling inferno that engulfed them. Then, as suddenly as it had started, the column of light was gone and silence returned to the battlefield. Only the faint drone of the climbing Slayer and the crackle of burning vehicles broke the soundlessness.
On the Goat-Track, Sinai Coast, south of Gaza.
He’d survived. Incredibly, unbelievably, he’d survived. His command group had been between the infantry up front and the armored vehicles parked in the wadi behind. The thing, the demon, the monster, Jaeger couldn’t think of a term descriptive enough, had walked its nightmare of fire along his infantry, curved it over his sole remaining tank and walked it back over the armored cars. But, as he’d seen, he’d been in the center of the circle and the deluge of fire and death had walked around him, not over him.
He looked up at the aircraft, it was climbing but also it was turning. It was coming back. Please, God, no, Jaeger thought, not again.
AC-133A “Buffy” , Over the Goat Track.
Buffy’s forward gundeck was chaos. For almost a minute, the three Gatling guns had poured fire into the desert beneath. The weight of ammunition expended had been so great the flight deck crew had been forced to correct the aircraft’s trim constantly. In theory the expended cases should have been collected in the ammunition chests but 300 rounds a second left a lot of room for error. A Battery gun deck was awash with hot cases and two of the gun deck crew were down with minor impact injuries and burns.
As the sea of brass surged around the gun captain’s ankles, he felt Buffy turn into her second firing pass. The gun captain issued the famous old-time Navy Prayer “For what they are about to receive, I hope they will be truly grateful.”
Then Buffy shuddered as Battery C commenced firing.
On the Goat-Track, Sinai Coast, south of Gaza.
Jaeger saw the streak of fire from the aircraft and recognized it as a field artillery gun firing. By now, he was tired, terribly tired and he watched almost without interest as the first shells exploded in his mortar battery. Mediums, he noted, probably 105s. The Americans had put an artillery battery on an aircraft. It didn’t surprise him, if the C-133 had suddenly started ballet dancing in the sky with a purple dinosaur, it wouldn’t have surprised him. The shell explosions walked towards him and that didn’t surprise him either.
In the Rock-Pile, Sinai Coast, south of Gaza.
Charlie-Two-Two bounced off as the drone of the Slayer faded in the distance. They moved forward by sections, just as they’d been taught. Gunnery Sergeant Esteban Tomas watched them with pity. He’d seen it done right now and he had so much to pass on to the rest of the battalion. They’d done it by the book, and the book had been right. Only applying what the book said was a whole different world.
There was no opposition. Charlie-Two-Two had been warned there would certainly be unexploded shells in the ground and they took trouble to stay away from anything suspicious. Apart from that, there was nothing to give them trouble, where the German infantry had been looked like a freshly-plowed field. The armored cars were scrap. Then, one of the squads called out. They’d found a prisoner. Badly wounded, unconscious but alive. Identity tags said he was a Captain, one Ivan Jaeger.
Then the LVTs turned up, to take out the wounded and the dead. Lieutenant Admire looked at his Butcher’s Bill. Of the 61 men under his command, 19 were dead and 32 wounded, all badly. Those who had minor wounds had fought on until they died or had more wounds serious enough to stop them. Of the twenty men in the tanks, six were dead, four wounded, all the wounded had burns that would require long stays in hospital. Engineers were already getting ready to blow up the wrecked tanks. Admire just wanted to sleep. Michaels walked over to him.
“I thought you might like to know Lieutenant, the SEALs got the SAC crew out safely. Mission accomplished Lieutenant. And I think your stand here will become part of Corps History.” Admire nodded dully. History just didn’t seem to matter very much.
At Sea, North of the Sinai Desert
The three small craft pulled alongside the dark blue flying boat. A hatch opened in the side and one of the Seamaster’s crew threw down a rope ladder. Each small craft had four SEALs and a member of Marisol’s crew on board.
The SEALs helped the airmen up the ladder, then followed them. Commander Jeff Thomas was last, he paused in the hatchway and fired a short burst into each small craft, sinking them instantly. Then, the hatch swung shut and the PB6M-4 took off for home.
Missile Base Aldabaran, North of Gaza, Palestine Province, The Caliphate
The message had come in earlier that night. The American Navy group offshore had moved in closer. That message had also gone to the fast attack craft squadrons in the port, they’d slipped quietly out to sea, getting into position for the attack. Then a little later, there had been the explanation for the American move. Their troops were ashore, looking for the crew of the bomber that had been shot down. That was good, it meant the amphibious ships wouldn’t be moving far from the beachhead.
They even had a fix on the American ship’s position, not precise but much better than the one the missile’s designers had envisaged. They were just under 300 kilometers out, 12 minutes flying time for the big anti-ship missiles. If the fast attack craft went to full power, they could move 15 kilometers in that time. Their missiles had a 40 kilometer range. As it was, they were closing on the Americans and were just under 70 kilometers away from the estimated position of the ships.
The attack plan was simple. The shore-based anti-ship missiles would be fired first, as they were launched the word would go to the fast attack craft. They’d start running in on the enemy. They’d get the refined position of the target form the explosions as the big missiles hit the American ships, nobody was foolish enough to believe that all twelve would get through but enough would to create chaos and panic in the American ships. While the Americans ran around, trying to save their ships and their men, the fast attack craft would launch their missiles into them. With the defenses down, nearly all of the ships would be hit.
The radio in the command truck buzzed. The Battery Commander took down the details and coordinates and read the latter back to command. Command re-read them and confirmed. Then, the primary command truck contacted the secondary unit and, once again confirmed the target data. It all matched.
There was a groaning noise, a squealing, as the big cylinders on the back of the launch trucks started to elevate, compressing the suspension underneath them. Then, they reached the launch angle and stopped. There was silence for a second, then another squeal as the dish-like cover to the end of the tube popped open. Once again, a brief silence, then the unmistakable sound of a turbojet spooling up. It was quickly drowned by the roar of the boosters and then the missiles left their tubes, climbing steeply as the rockets threw them up and out.
The battery crew were cheering, waving their rifles and screaming abuse at the Americans as the boosters, their job completed, separated from the missiles, leaving them to make their way to the target.