Wearing loose gym shorts and a T-shirt, he went into the living room to discuss the situation, praying that Bialy would go along with his suggestion for a change. He wanted them to find out what was happening around the city and chart strongpoints, comm centers, headquarters areas, gathering places of the soldiers, vulnerable points, and guard positions, then come back and transfer whatever they found to a city map. From that, Kyle would make a target list.
The Eye MEF was defanged almost before it could gather its gear. The 1st Marine Expeditionary Force was the go-to unit to make a sudden and heavy strike into hostile territory where civilians had been slaughtered and Americans were at risk or being held against their will.
As soon as the headquarters at Camp Pendleton in California was alerted to the situation developing on the Egyptian peninsula, mission-planning wheels began turning. Plans were already on the shelf for almost every conceivable place on the globe where hostilities might erupt, so the experts were basically doing a cut-and-paste job on contingencies that had been studied and updated for years. They did it all the time in practice, so doing it in real time made little difference.
The closest suitable unit to the action was the Marine Expeditionary Unit (Special Operations Capable) — known as MEU (SOC) — which was prowling the Persian Gulf. They had reacted immediately, without waiting to be told by Washington to gear up, and elements of the 5th Fleet Carrier Strike Group, built around the massive USS Carl Vinson, were surging forward to get within helicopter range of Sharm el-Sheikh.
From a cold start, the MEU could technically launch into an emergency situation in three hours. Leaders of the various sections were in the thick of assembling an attack scenario that could drop more than two thousand U.S. Marines on top of the Iranians at Sharm and back them up with warplanes, support ships, tanks, artillery, naval gunfire, and an amphibious landing. Drones were already flying and the satellites were looking down to help choose a landing zone. Special ops teams were being tasked to hit specific targets, and a precise fire support plan was coming together. Once ashore, the combat fighter-bombers and land troops would retake the airport, and the Iranians wouldn’t have a chance to recover.
One member of the strike team was Captain Aaron Clay, who was out on the broad flat deck of the Peleliu LHA-5, chilly in his olive drab flight suit even as the morning sunshine promised forever visibility once over the target. He watched the crew arming up his stumpy AV-8B Harrier jet with the five-barreled 25 mm Gatling cannon, the 70 mm rockets, and the CBU-100 cluster bombs that would seriously put a hurt on somebody. Clay was feeling twitchy, as he did before any mission, prebattle nerves. All of the other Harriers on the deck were getting fueled and ready, too, and the troop-carrying helicopters were being nursed as if made of gold. Below deck, Marines were gearing up for the fight, and the AAV-7 amphibious assault vehicles were being given a final going-over.
“Looks like the package is coming together good, Fearless Leader,” said Lieutenant Andrew McCore as he walked up beside Clay. “You ready to fly through the valley of death and fear no evil?”
“Born ready, Andy. Have they finalized our targets yet?”
“Nope. Should be ready pretty soon. I came out here to bother you while the analysts nail things down. I have a question.”
“Wait a second until the COD lands.” A big twin-engine transport plane that routinely ferried material and passengers to and from the carrier roared in with its engine at full power, caught the three wire, and jerked to a spine-jarring halt, going from about a hundred knots an hour to zero in a heartbeat. As the noise subsided, Clay said, “Go ahead. Shoot.”
“We’re going to hit the Iranians with everything we’ve got, right?”
“One could assume that.” On the horizon, Clay could make out the bulk of the Vinson, and he knew the big carrier was humming with activity, preparing its own squadrons. Destroyers were cutting through the sea, throwing aside foam, and cruisers were preparing missiles. Mine-clearing ships were way out front, and all around were support ships; running deep under the water, two submarines were on the prowl.
“So if we know it, don’t you think the Iranians know it, too? They don’t want to really mess with us. Little isolated force like that wouldn’t last a day of serious fighting.”
Clay folded his arms across his thick chest, licked his dry lips, and nodded in agreement. “I am a big believer in using brute force. The more violent, the better.”
“Spoken like a true Marine aviator. One more question.”
“What?”
“Sir, if you die, can I have your watch?”
“Sorry, Andy, but I’ve already promised it to somebody else. You’re too late, as usual, which is why you are still a mere lieutenant.”
“Well, fuck a duck.” McCore wandered off. “I’ll go try Reese. He’s got a Rolex.”
Clay sucked in a deep breath of sea air that was heavy with aviation fuel. Goin’ to war soon. He would shake off the nerves as soon as he climbed into the cockpit of his vertical takeoff machine and started the checklist. Just another mission; out, boom, and back, rearm and do it again. Can’t lose.
Everything was ready. Nothing could stop them now.
His eyes roamed over to the COD, which sat with its propellers motionless as it discharged a small group of people: five men in camo, lithe and solemn. No one was there to greet them, and they disappeared into the base of the tower as quickly as they had arrived. Captain Clay had never seen them before, but there were hundreds of men around wearing camo.
A link had been established from the Blue Neptune Hotel to the CNN bureau in Cairo, and an Iranian Army officer appeared on television screens around the world, calmly preparing to read a short statement. His uniform was neat, and there was a sense of confidence about him. He looked directly into the camera while listening to directions through an invisible bud in his right ear. When the invisible voice said, “Now,” he spoke.
“Good afternoon. I am Major Mansoor Shakuri of Iran’s Army of the Guardians, and I am broadcasting from the Blue Neptune Hotel in Sharm el-Sheikh. A terrible attack on civilian tourists by radical Egyptian army troops has been defeated. I must report that casualties among the civilians have been substantial, but I now can also report that Iranian peacekeeping troops have stopped the bandits and Sharm el-Sheikh is once again safe.”
He paused for effect, then continued. “During this entire turbulent time, we have been aware that other nations have been concerned about the safety of their people. Let me offer this comfort: No foreign nationals are being held prisoner, and steps are being taken to fly out anyone who wishes to leave. Your people are safe, and your wounded are being tended with the best of care. All are free to contact families and friends.
“Although the airport will remain closed to civilian traffic for the time being, airlines will soon be able to resume normal operations. Media representatives have already been allowed in, as evidenced by the broadcast. We urgently appeal for medical help from international organizations and look forward to assistance from the United Nations. Once an appropriate UN force arrives to provide protection for all the people, and are able to secure the Suez Canal and the oil routes from the renegades in the Egyptian military, the troops of Iran will leave.” He put aside his papers and looked at the camera. “Thank you.”