“I was the wingman.”
“Tell me about it.”
“What would you like to know?”
Three other Air Force officers joined them, and they all took chairs in front of a large chart of the area hanging on the wall.
“How’d you get shot down? Who got you?” the Captain queried.
“A ZSU. I think there were two of them. They were waiting for us.”
The Captain spit into the can again and examined Big. “I heard you got lit up by an SA-6.”
“We did.”
“How do you know it wasn’t him that got your wingman?”
“I saw the tracers go into his airplane, and I got hit. You can look at the bullet holes in my wing.”
“Where were the ZSUs?”
Big stood up and moved to the chart, studying it carefully. “Here — this was our target,” he said, his finger on the site. “It was Point Whiskey on our chart. We came in from this direction,” he indicated, “got lit up by the SA-6 through here, and decided to do a pop-up drop instead of coming in higher. We didn’t want to get hit by the SA-6.”
“Me neither,” said one of the pilots.
“All we ever got was a search indication from the SA-6. He never locked onto us.”
“Did they ever launch a missile at you?” This from the Captain with the Skoal.
“Not that I saw.”
“How do you know there was an SA-6 there?”
“We saw his radar.”
The Captain pondered. “There’s a theory that some ZSUs have an SA-6 radar transmitter that it uses to light up planes to drive them down. Doesn’t have any SAMs at all, only the radar. They carry it around just so pilots will see the SAM radar and head lower to get away from it, right into the ZSU-23’s envelope. They’re waiting for you. Then when you’re in range, they light you up with their real radar and knock the shit out of you.”
Big raised his eyebrows. “Who the hell would think of that? That’s not very friendly.”
“Not at all. Downright mean,” the Captain said. “But if it’s true, it makes this easier. We sure don’t want to go into an SA-6 site.”
They were all quiet, staring at the chart. The Captain broke the silence. “You see anything that makes you think there was an SA-6 there other than the radar warning?”
“No.”
“See the imagery from today?” the Captain asked.
“No.”
One of the other officers got up and retrieved several printed photos from a desk near one of the Air Force computers, handing them to the Captain, who asked, “Get these loaded into the computer yet?”
The pilot nodded. “All set.”
The Captain gave the photos to Big, who examined them carefully. “Yep, this is the place. Right there is the fortress — Alamut. You can see it. You can even see where our two bombs went in… All for naught. Whoever was supposed to be there to laser designate for us wasn’t. Assholes. Anyway, we were on our own. Probably missed him by a mile.”
“Where were the ZSUs?”
“The one that got us was right here, at the base of this small mountain.”
“Where was the other one?”
“I never got a good fix on him. I think he was off to the east, over here.”
“And where did your wingman go down?”
“Last I saw their chutes, they would have come down about… here. Yeah, there’s the smoking hole…”
“Right by the ZSU.”
“Basically. Yeah.”
The Captain studied the photos. “I don’t see any SA-6 site, or any other SAM. If our intel is right, which I don’t like to count on, then our only problem will be these ZSUs and maybe some men on the ground.”
“That’s about how I see it. Who says the ZSU has an SA-6 transmitter?”
“National assets.”
“Oh.”
“We also have had it confirmed by the same people who failed to show up to laser designate for you. We’re told he was there. They don’t know what happened to him, but they assume the worst.”
“They got him?”
“Don’t know. Sounds like it. We’re told there hasn’t been a SAM anywhere near there in a week.”
“I don’t know,” Big said, sitting down again. “I don’t trust them. There wasn’t supposed to be a ZSU there either.” Big looked at the three men in the dark jumpsuits. In a low voice, he asked the Captain, “Who are those guys?”
“Doesn’t matter — what freq did you talk to your wingman on?”
“SAR common — 282.8.”
The Captain nodded.
“Think you can get them out?” Big asked.
“If they’re still there, we’ll get them.”
The sun had set. It would be totally dark in another hour. The camouflage was fuzzy brown now and hard to see through. Woods was about to go stir crazy. He was tired of sitting silently and urinating in a jar. He was sickened by the pungent copper smell of the filthy Israeli who was doing his best to save their lives. He ran his hands over the M-16 that had been sitting on his lap for what seemed like forever. If you added up all the time in his life he had held an M-16 it wouldn’t be one tenth of the time he had held one today. And the only thing it had done for him today was remind him that at any minute, with virtually no warning, he could be the victim of a close-range fully automatic shootout. It had been a constant reminder so that any thought he might have had of rest or sleep was simply ridiculous.
He couldn’t be quiet any longer. He whispered so lightly he almost couldn’t hear himself, “What’s your name?”
The Israeli shook his head. It wasn’t time yet.
Woods wasn’t to be deterred. “What’s your name?” he asked slightly louder.
“Shut up!” the man whispered back. “Stay quiet!”
Wink glanced at his watch. It was 2000. “No, it’s time we made a plan,” he said quietly.
The Israeli sat up and looked at his luminous watch. “Keep it down. They are still around here.”
“What’s your name?” Woods asked again.
“Zev. That’s all you need to know.”
“Sniper?”
“What? Why you say that?”
“The case,” Woods said, pointing to an area behind where Wink was sitting hunched over, his legs uncomfortably beneath him, his swollen knee becoming more painful.
“Yes.”
“For the Sheikh?”
He nodded. “One shot only. Can’t miss. I get him, they get me. That’s how it would have happened.”
“So now what?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Why doesn’t it matter? Aren’t you still going to try to get the Sheikh?”
Zev’s eyes got big. “You don’t know?”
“Know what?”
“What happened.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You have made my job unnecessary.”
Woods looked at Wink, who was unwilling to accept what Zev was clearly saying. “How?”
“Your bombs were well placed.”
“We got him?” Wink asked.
“I heard it.”
“Heard what?”
“The bombs go into the Sheikh’s quarters.”
“Heard?”
“Yes. The Sheikh is dead.”
“How did you hear?”
He looked at the box surrounded by foam. “We have a transmitter in the Sheikh’s living quarters. Very sophisticated long range, with an antenna on the outside of the mountain.”
“What? How?”
“Doesn’t matter.”
“Are you sure?”
“Quite.”
Woods closed his eyes and put his head back. They had done it. They had gotten the Sheikh. He looked at Wink who was smiling to himself. “We got him,” he said to Wink. Wink put out his hand and Woods slapped it gently. Woods took a huge, deep breath. He thought about what Zev had said. “How did you get a transmitter into Alamut?”
“It was very difficult…” he said pensively. “When do you think your people will be here?”