After these two C-130s lifted off on their journey back to Israel, Gideon Meyer called all of the personnel left on the ground at Shangri-La, with the exception of the Shaldag and IDF soldiers on watch, over to the edge of the tarmac. The warplanes of the Israeli Air Force were on their way to this landing strip in the middle of the desert. In front of him stood 95 hand-picked men and women of the Israeli Defense Force. Everyone on that tarmac had been training for this evening for years and so far — with the exception of the mine that claimed the life of Uzi Helzberg — everything had gone as well as could be expected.
Gideon Meyer had been personally selected to command Shangri-La by General Schechter over two years earlier. His first job had been to think through how 85 F-15 and F-16 aircraft could land, refuel and takeoff from a deserted airbase with only one runway and one taxiway that was located in the middle of nowhere and over 600 miles away from Israel — all in the dead of night using a small tarmac and within the space of 45 minutes.
After a month of thinking about the challenge, Meyer had approached General Schechter with a request. He wanted permission to spend at least one month on a U.S. aircraft carrier operating at sea. He explained to Schechter that the tarmac at Mudaysis was only slightly larger than the flight deck of a U.S. carrier. The Americans had not only solved the dilemma, he argued to Schechter, but they had decades of experience and lessons learned. Schechter agreed and Meyer landed on the deck of the USS George H Bush in the back of a Grumman C-2 Greyhound cargo plane on October 12, 2011. He spent the next three weeks in the Persian Gulf soaking up the U.S. Navy’s knowledge and experience on how to handle a large number of combat aircraft operating in a very confined space within extreme timetables. The flight deck of a carrier in the middle of combat operations was nothing short of controlled chaos and Meyer realized within the first 24 hours that he had made a wise decision. He returned to Israel with a clear picture of how he wanted to arrange and manage the Mudaysis airfield.
Among the 90 men and five women standing in front of him, 68 of the men were wearing colored shirts. All of these men wore the same helmets and hearing protection worn on the flight deck of U.S. carriers. In addition to the helmets, Meyer had borrowed the color coding scheme used on the USS George H Bush. Meyer had quickly realized the wisdom of making sure that every person operating within a tight space in which military jets were landing, taking off and moving about, needed to know instantly the role of every other person.
Four men wore blue shirts. These were the men who would operate the two airplane tugs if needed. Six men wore red shirts. They were the ordinance experts who were there to handle any weapons that might come loose on the airplanes that landed that night. Ten men wore yellow shirts and were responsible for directing the aircraft that would be landing in rapid succession and queuing for fuel ten aircraft at a time. Another ten men wore white shirts. These men were responsible for quality control. They had to be sure that the airplanes that landed were ready for their missions and had to clear each plane for takeoff from Mudaysis. Each plane had to have the fuel it required, its access panels needed to be closed and properly latched, and its weapons needed to be properly mounted and ready for action.
The next group of men numbered 14 and wore green. These men were all mechanics and included many of the most experienced mechanics in the Israeli military. Among this group were experts in the F-15, F-16 and C-130 and other men who were equally comfortable working on any plane — or fuel pump — that required their attention. Ideally, none of their services would be required, but prudence dictated their presence at Mudaysis on this night.
But the most numerous were the men wearing purple shirts. Onboard a U.S. carrier, these personnel are known as the “grapes.” At Mudaysis, there were 24 of them and their job was certain to be necessary. They were responsible for refueling the planes and overseeing the fuel pumps that would deliver JP-8 jet fuel from the three Il-78 Midas aircraft, the twelve 2,500 gallon bladders deposited on the tarmac, and the four KC-130M aircraft that were then inbound, all at a rate of 1,000 gallons per minute. On their shoulders rested the timetable for Block G.
More than 200 men had volunteered to try out for this small group of fuelers under the cover story that the elite Unit 669 was looking for men to join the team. The tryouts had lasted for three days and included a sleepless night. In the end, the 24 men on the tarmac had been selected. They had been formed into six teams of four men each by Major Meyer and placed in competition against each other. Training progressed during the prior year at Nevatim Airbase. A chart kept the results of bi-weekly competitions to determine which teams could fuel four F-16s and four F-15s the fastest. The teams gave themselves nicknames based on Formula One racing teams, the observation having been made early on that they were like a Formula One pit crew. Team Mercedes had edged out Team Sauber to win the final competition conducted the preceding May.
Finally, four men — including Major Gideon Meyer — wore referee shirts, making them easily stand out. They were the senior officers on the ground at Shangri-La and the referee shirts were Meyer’s idea. They seemed completely appropriate since, Meyer believed, the role of an officer was often to act as referee.
Meyer spoke to the assembled team of professional warriors in front of him. He removed his Afika Korps pith helmet. “First, give yourselves a hand.” In the absence of any running aircraft engines, his voice was easily heard. He started to clap and within seconds was joined by 95 men and women. After about ten seconds, the clapping rapidly died off. “I am very proud of this team, but the easy work is done. We have four KC-130 tankers inbound and then, within fifteen minutes of their arrival, the real show begins.”
Meyer held his right hand in the air and extended his index finger upward toward the sky. “One,” he stated loudly with authority. “Less than one hour. That is the window we will have once the first F-16 lands. You have all been working your asses off for a long time for this forty-five minute window that is about to happen. Everyone here knows exactly what they are doing and exactly how to do it. Tonight is no different than the dozens of rehearsals. Just one more time. One.” The Major thrust his finger upward to reinforce his point.
“The KC-130s will be here in about ten minutes. Take this time to double check all of your systems, all of your connections. When you are done, check the connections and systems of the team next to you. Make sure you are ready to go. Plane directors — you should know exactly where each of the KC-130s is going. If you are not one hundred percent certain, then ask me.
“Finally, if you need help, if you have a problem, if you are not sure about something, then find me or any officer wearing a referee jersey. That is why we are here. That is why we are wearing these ridiculous outfits,” he said as he waved his pith helmet in the desert air. The group laughed in unison. “Find us and tell us what you need or ask us what to do next. Always remember, the only stupid question is the one you don’t ask. Now let’s get to work.”
Ninety-five professionals set about their tasks.
At 8:38 p.m. Iraqi time, the first of four KC-130H aerial refueling tankers, which itself had been refueled over the Gulf of Aqaba by another KC-130H, touched down at Mudaysis. The plane taxied to a position as close to the edge of the tarmac as the nerve of the pilot tolerated. The plane was parked close to the first of the beached Ilyushins. The pilot shut down his engines. The second plane landed and assumed its position.