Phoenix Sub Zero

Ahmed decided to keep the U-10 truck and the Firestar waiting and ready. While Sihoud continued to talk Ahmed pulled out. a machine pistol in a leather holster and strapped it on over his fatigues. The heavy feeling of the weapon made him feel better, and for a moment he was able to relax. Now Sihoud was asking about the Scorpions.

“The Scorpions, Colonel. How will we deliver them and how soon?”

Ahmed had been waiting for the question. He knew Sihoud would not like the answer but then neither did he.

“Delivery by aircraft will not be possible. The air force fighters are fully occupied here and in any case their range is too limited to cross the Atlantic. Commercial airliners are no good—their parts have all been used to keep our squadrons of fighters in the air, and the mechanics are all at the fronts. I have considered hijacking an airplane and landing it where we could load the missiles but that would betray the operation. The transport of the missiles must be kept absolutely secret.”

Sihoud suspected that Colonel Ahmed’s plan must be unconventional indeed for Ahmed to brief him this way.

“Finally, sir, the unit’s launch must not be detected, an other reason air deployment is out of the question. The American air-traffic control system is sophisticated and an unidentified aircraft that drops a piece of cargo that then goes supersonic would be immediately detected—”

Sihoud nodded as the colonel continued. Ahmed’s American education annoyed him, even at times like these when it would help their purposes. Ahmed had been trained by the U.S. Air Force back in the days of the Shah, and had studied engineering at a so-called prestigious university in the American Northeast. Ahmed claimed to have studied his American military counterparts and know their weaknesses.

Of course, so far that had not helped them avoid the devastation brought about by the Coalition. Sihoud decided to hurry Ahmed along.

“Fine, Colonel. No air transport or delivery. What is your alternative?”

“The Hegira, Khalib. We can bring the missiles close to the U.S. coast and fire them from the sea. The Americans will be caught by complete surprise.”

* * *

Morris watched as Lt. Buffalo Sauer sighted in on the U-10 utility truck’s front left tire, a tough shot since the truck was doing about twenty miles per. A moment later the silently fired bullet hit the rubber and blew the tire apart. The U-10 swerved, almost lost control, then slowed and stopped. Two soldiers climbed out and shouldered their weapons while staring at the offending wheel. There was a brief argument until one nodded and walked to the rear of the vehicle for the spare. He bent over to find the tire iron and was dead before he could straighten up. Ensign Dobbs’s blade having sliced his throat open. The other soldier was still looking at the tire when Chief Hansen and his knife dispatched him.

Hansen carefully lowered the body to the sand. Neither man had made a sound in dying. Hansen was cleaning his knife blade with a rag from the truck when the truck’s radio clicked to life, the quick syllables of Arabic blasting out of it. Hansen pulled out his MAC-10 machine gun, checked the hush-puppy silencer and fired into the radio console. The unit disintegrated, the desert was again silent.

Morris checked the horizon in each direction for signs of other security troops. The northern perimeter of the tall mosque was open and deserted. The outskirts of the city approached near the southern perimeter, the houses and streets quiet. Morris pointed at Cowpie Clites, who walked to the electrified fence, strapped on heavy rubber gloves, and tested the fence wire with a hand-held meter. It was dead, the western perimeter crew done with the work on the high-voltage transformer. Clites produced a pair of bolt cutters and cut a large hole in the fencing, then stepped back. Morris waved his men in, where they took up positions surrounding the mosque less than 200 yards away.

Morris checked his watch. He had timed their insertion to the second, and so far had been right on schedule. The teams had abandoned the DPVS two miles west of the bunker and had crept silently the final distance, going slowly to eat up the contingency time. The plan called for impact of the Javelin cruise missiles just as the men entered the fence of the compound. If the missiles came too early, survivors, perhaps Sihoud himself, could get away clean. If the Javelins took their time and arrived too late, it would leave the seals exposed, lying on the sand waiting for the cruise missiles to come, their discovery by UIF troops meaning immediate execution.

Or worse, imprisonment and interrogation.