"Of course, son. Go ahead. I'm coordinating the search and rescue efforts from here. We'll know more this evening."
The flight line was arrayed with serious, quiet maintenance personnel and staff officers. The Israeli Eagles landed by ones and twos, taxiing to their dispersal areas, where mechanics and armorers immediately went to work. In some cases the big fighters were fully serviced before the fatigued pilots climbed stiffly from the high cockpits.
Colonel Solomon Yatanahu stalked down the line, looking for the mission commander's aircraft. Not seeing it, he turned around and jogged back to one of the flight commanders. The captain stood between the twin tails, inspecting battle damage inflicted by a 20mm shell. Yatanahu called up to him.
"Hey, Benjamin!" The captain looked down at the base CO.
"Oh, hello, Colonel."
"Aaron?"
The captain slowly shook his head, then returned to his inspection of the shell hole.
Lieutenant Colonel David Ran ripped the helmet from his head and lofted it in a high arc over the side of his cockpit. One of the enlisted men caught it. The Kfir squadron commander sat for several seconds with his gloved hand rubbing his temples.
The crew chief put the ladder in place but decided against climbing to assist the pilot. He knew when the CO was in one of his moods.
At length Ran unplugged and unsnapped himself from the cockpit. Some of his intense anger had dissipated, and he felt the onset of a growing numbness. He wanted to return to his billet and sleep, but he knew there was much to do before he could indulge in that luxury. Climbing down the yellow ladder, he accepted his helmet from the mechanic and walked alone toward the operations shack. One of the maintenance officers trotted over to him.
"Colonel, we're missing three planes so far and-"
"Not now, damn it." With a slicing wave of his hand, Ran continued walking in brooding silence.
John Bennett and Ed Lawrence sat in the dining hall of the command center. They occupied a corner by themselves, enjoying one another's company as much as debriefing.
"I have the preliminary figures from Bear," Bennett said. Digging a sheet of paper from his pocket, he toted up the score. "Looks like our guys claimed about thirty kills, plus whatever the Eagles bagged and the F-5s got in the end run. We should have the figures from the SAM battalions tomorrow. Meanwhile, it looks like we lost twenty-two, including Brad in a mid-air."
Lawrence tapped his fingers on the metal tabletop. "Wonder how many of the Israeli drivers jumped when they ran dry?"
"Don't know yet, Devil. Several of them undoubtedly came down in Jordan. It'll take the Saudi Army a while to scoop 'em up and count the wrecks. Bear is preparing a tentative report to Riyadh. It'll include all this data plus our preliminary analysis on ECM and rescue operations. The helo guys are out now and will continue through tomorrow."
Lawrence said, "I lost two planes and one pilot. The first went down when an AIM-7 hit him. The other lost a turning contest with a 16-apparently our guy overloaded himself and blacked out. Got hosed and ejected. He was lucky, but I'm going to have a word with him.”
"What did you guys claim?" Bennett glanced at Bear's notes. "Eight or nine?"
"Eight confirmed, plus another probable," Lawrence said. "Badir and I each got a Kfir climbing back to altitude after the SAM break. Then we latched onto a section of F-16s. We must have fought 'em for three or four minutes. Damnedest fight I ever was in. Finally nailed one but the wingie got away."
Lawrence leaned forward, his blue eyes animated. "You know, Pirate, I felt invincible in the F-8. Nobody ever got a clear win over me after I got out of the training squadron. Not even you. But in this 20… " The redhead whistled softly. "In the Tigershark, I'm immortal. I tell you, no lie, G.I. As long as I play my game and keep my eyeballs moving, ain't nobody can take me. And I've been up against the best."
Bennett chuckled inwardly, recognizing the same world-class ego in his friend which he had once possessed in himself. "Well, Jesus, Ed. I should hope you're that good. I mean, you only have seven thousand hours and one war up on the rest of these sports."
The exec waved a deprecating hand. "No, no. I mean it. Look, it's like I'm the world champion chess player. I don't have to fear any other grand master. Whatever he shows me, it's a move I've seen before or a strategy I've used myself."
"Okay, I won't dent your fighter pilot ego. But for Pete's sake, Devil, remember you're pushing forty-eight years old. You can't keep this up forever."
Lawrence gulped the last of his iced tea. Crunching the ice cube, he shook his head. "Won't have to. Hell, I'll probably be KIA before this is over. Not through any fault of my own, of course. That's a statistical impossibility. But late one dark and stormy night, Allah might tap old Devil on the shoulder and ask me to help organize things in Paradise."
Bennett looked his friend straight in the face. ''That's not the worst thing that could happen to you, is it?"
Lawrence returned the gaze. "No, it sure isn't, pardner."
"You know, I never mentioned this, but Claudia asked me about you and what you might do when this is all over." He smiled a grim, bittersweet smile. "She thought maybe we could adopt you and try to make you a useful citizen in society."
"Bless her heart. I almost believe that girl could have saved me." Lawrence paused, unsure of his ground. He had not heard Bennett mention Claudia's name since she was killed. "You still miss her a lot?"
Bennett closed his eyes for a moment. "Sometimes it's like she never existed for me. I mean, it's hard to believe I ever found her. Like she was just a pleasant dream. Other times… God, I can hardly stand it." His voice dropped an octave. "Whoever it was that killed her, I hope they're paying for it now.
Lawrence touched his friend's ann. "After what happened today, maybe they are."
Modi Aharon, a paratroop lieutenant colonel, opened a dirty knapsack and deposited the contents on the table. "These were on the prisoner," he said, "and we picked up these items from Saudi patrol members." The paratrooper handed the two piles of personal effects to the intelligence officer.
"Thank you, Modi. As usual, you have been very thorough."
Chaim Geller thumbed through the documents. Then he picked up a standard rescue mirror. "Where did you say you found this Saudi patrol?"
Pointing to a map coordinate, the lieutenant colonel said, "About here, just south of the Jordanian border. We wouldn't have seen them if they hadn't shot at our scout helicopter. We already had the prisoner aboard and one of our own pilots. The gunship escort made one pass, then we landed to pick up documents. One of the bodies had this mirror and a signal book."
Geller rubbed his chin. "Now why would a Saudi foot patrol be up in that area, and why would only one of the men have a rescue mirror? You'd think each member would be equipped with this type of emergency gear." He turned to the paratrooper. "Which is the signal book?"
"Bottom of the stack, sir."
"Hmmm. I'll have our linguists get right on it. Something is peculiar here, Modi. We'll have the answer soon enough." He laid down the document. "Now, where is our hotshot Saudi fighter pilot?"
"Outside in the hallway. We're giving him small quantities of water. He's partially dehydrated and the medics don't want to overdo it."
The intel chief said, "Now would be a good time to talk to him. His resistance will be down after a day and a half in the desert. "
They walked around the comer to where a medic and two paratroopers stood watching the young flier. His face was sunburned and he lay on a bench with his knees elevated, sucking on a handkerchief containing ice cubes.