Ryder ran alongside the tracks, keeping close to the curving tunnel wall. Up ahead, around a bend some thirty yards away, several armed guards suddenly came into view. He threw himself hard against the ribbed structure and opened up at the oncoming men, killing all in one prolonged burst before they realised what was happening. He turned to look back. Kellar, the Israelis, Fehed and Afari, AK-47s bucking violently, emptied magazine after magazine into an oncoming phalanx of soldiers. Ryder's courage almost gave way to desperation at the sight of so many. The noise was deafening. He knew if the silos were not at the end of the tunnel they were all dead, but if they were, time would be needed to lay and set the charges. Without hesitating, Ryder bellowed at Kellar, Hellmann and Fehed to fight a holding action whilst he, Shiron and Afari made for the end. Slamming in a fresh magazine he raced along the tracks, ignoring bullets ricocheting off the structure.
With Shiron and Afari closely trailing, he followed the bending tunnel for almost 100 yards, arriving at the entrance to a large rectangular chamber hewn out of solid rock â the firing chamber. Relief mixed with fear engulfed him as he saw a metal gantry framework supported on tracks, carrying twelve metal firing tubes in two banks of six. In front of the gantry for almost its entire length, were two massive sliding doors hung on the longer rock wall of the chamber now in an open position 30 feet or so above the floor. He could see a star-studded sky beneath a wide external overhanging rock formation. This overhang, probably the one he was prevented from seeing due to low cloud, obviously protected the opening from aerial view. The firing tubes were angled to allow the missiles to emerge from the mountain through the gap on a 35 degree trajectory westward. Ryder entered and hurriedly scanned the gantry and banks of grey tubes. Fortunately, no one else was about and it looked to him as if everything was prepared for a launch.
Wailing sirens and staccato gunfire filled the tunnel and the chamber. Ryder quickly removed ropes from packs and handed them to Shiron, telling him to make three scaling lines up to the opening. The Israeli hurriedly searched for something he could use for grappling hooks. Then, helped by Afari, Ryder removed charges from the packs and raced towards the tubes. Here, both frantically searched the framework before placing charges in relatively obvious positions and more well hidden in the latticework of the gantry supports. With a superhuman effort, he clambered to the top of the 40-foot-high gantry support and placed two more charges, lowered with rope, down inside the tubular void to rest on a bracing ledge just above the nose of the missile inside. These charges would be difficult to locate and retrieve without cutting through the steel casing. With timers set prior to climbing the gantry he let the ropes fall into the tubes.
Shiron found three metal bars and bent them as best he could into crude hooks before securing to ropes. He then expertly swung and threw the bars up to the gap and, after only two tries, managed to maintain a firm hold. Tugging until he was satisfied all three were well secured he retrieved his rifle and, joining with Ryder and Afari, raced back into the tunnel.
Kellar, Hellmann and Fehed, now less than fifteen yards from the chamber entrance, had managed to keep the Iranians at bay, but only just. When Ryder and the others arrived the Iranian advance was halted by their added firepower.
Fehed was hit in the arm and leg, but still returned stinging fire. Kellar and Hellmann kept the Iranians pinned down with accurate and persistent firing, but ammunition was running short. Ryder could see the situation had now become desperate; they had to get out fast, but he knew as soon as they made a run for the ropes, the Iranians would be upon them. Shiron and Afari shared out remaining ammunition and began lobbing grenades, the explosions deafening in the tunnel confines.
Hellmann suddenly cried out, clutched desperately at a gaping hole in his chest and crumbled to the track. Shiron jumped to help him but Ryder caught the Israeli and dragged him back. Hellmann was dead before he'd hit the ground.
Fehed's magazine emptied. Frantically, he groped for another and as he did a hail of bullets sent him crashing to the ground, life-blood gushing from the swathe of holes from neck to groin.
Kellar leapt to Fehed's assistance and he too took a bullet through the shoulder, throwing him heavily onto the dead Iranian.
Ryder, Shiron and Afari continued to return rapid fire; Afari equally as ferociously as the men, no doubt aware this would be the last opportunity to exact revenge. Ryder knew too, it would only be a matter of minutes before they all died in this tunnel.
From around the bend, a carriage pushed by a locomotive came into view. On the flat-bed, guards fired from behind a large metal shield, fully protected from whatever the remaining members of the group could throw at them.
This is it; this is how it's going to end,
thought Ryder as he lobbed a grenade onto the track, hoping to derail the oncoming train.
He had no choice now. Ordering the others to retreat into the chamber he and Shiron helped Kellar between them, still returning fire, the American taking another hit as they ran.
At the entrance Ryder saw with horror the sliding doors to the outside beginning to close. No way would Kellar be able to scramble up the rope in time, and he knew it.
They continued to return rapid fire. Ryder would not leave the American and ordered Shiron and Afari to get out whilst they still could. Both hesitated, then, reluctantly, turned and ran for the ropes.
Over the noise, and still firing, Kellar shouted at Ryder, “
Go!
I'll hold long enough for you to get out â
Go!
”
He glanced at Kellar's wound; he'd taken a big hit in his lower chest; a large hole oozed blood which also began to trickle from the corner of his mouth. It was fatal; the American did not have long to live.
He and Kellar, together with Shiron and Afari, now on the opening ledge above, kept up continuous fire towards the chamber entrance.
Suddenly, the American's big frame jolted back and rolled lifelessly to the floor; a bullet had blown off the top of his head.
Time to get the fuck outta here!
Ryder's inner voice screamed. Having used the last clip, he looked desperately up at the huge, rumbling doors which had now almost closed. Removing pins from two remaining grenades, he hurled them through the entrance into the tunnel and darted for the nearest rope.
The grenades exploded loudly and he felt the shock wave hit as Shiron swiftly hauled him up the 30-foot-high wall to the opening, while Afari continued to spray the chamber entrance. Reaching the ledge in seconds he followed her through the narrow gap just as the doors finally closed. Before they did, Ryder, amidst the hail of bullets pinging off the metal, glanced back and saw Iranian soldiers flood the chamber and attack the American's body.
Outside in the cold night, wind whipping the rocky surfaces, the three survivors, using ropes Shiron had hauled up, began a hurried descent down the sheer mountain face to the tussock-covered slopes 40 feet below. Clambering down safely, Ryder quickly made his way, followed by Shiron and Afari, across the lower slopes of Kuh-e Mohammadabad, heading south, glad to be alive and eager to get away as far as he could before daylight. Below in the distance, to the right, he could see vehicle headlamps leaving the garrison at Abbasabad, some heading northwards to the base entrance and others along a road that ran south-west towards them. The vehicles stopped at regular intervals, no doubt disgorging troops. Soon, Ryder guessed, the whole area would be swarming with patrols.
When the three were well down the valley, hiding amongst the rocky outcrops, backtracking and skirting exposed ground to avoid the patrols, a sudden roar filled the air. Looking back, Ryder saw one missile, then another, exhausts illuminating the darkness, streak high into the night sky. He looked at the others in desperation and horror; were they destined for Israel? Then, seconds later, came a series of explosions; a tongue of red licked out from below the rock overhang then a huge explosion from deep within seemed to rock the mountain. Desperate to get away, Ryder turned and headed as fast as he could south for the Persian Gulf, Shiron and Afari close behind. There was nothing more he could do now but hope that the base was permanently disabled, and that the unleashed missiles would not be the start of a Third World War.
High on the Negev Plateau the Israeli Air Force's remote anti-missile Battery No. 3, nestled below the eastern ridge of a low mountain range, was clearly visible in the moonlight bathing the bare, rocky terrain. Strategically positioned on the ridge could be seen the banks of structures housing the Arrow-2 Anti-Tactical Ballistic Missiles (ATBMs) and Patriot PAC3SAMs which operated as part of Israel's highly sophisticated Ofeq-4 satellite surveillance system. Battery No. 3 formed the southernmost part of the defence shield to protect the Jewish State. Three other batteries, including the Iron Dome anti-missile system, covered Jerusalem, Tel Aviv and Haifa to the north.
Inside the control bunker a young duty commander sat staring at the banks of computers with one eye on the clock. In five minutes it would be midnight and his watch would be over. He scanned the row of wall screens above the line of computers and operatives monitoring the tracking and control systems; Green Pine fire-control system, Citron Tree fire-control radar and the Hazelnut launch-control all hooked into the Ofeq-4 satellite network. The satellites in low east-west orbit, using high-resolution cameras, together with infrared sensors, gave Israel real-time coverage of the whole of the Middle East, in particular Syria and the western borders of Iran. On detection of missile heat signatures at launch, the data would be immediately fed direct to every one of the defence batteries which evaluated direction of inbound missiles and probable point of impact. Linked computers in automatic mode would then determine which battery would be able to give maximum protection and optimum launch pattern to intercept sixty to seventy miles out from the battery position. Each Arrow-2 battery comprised four missile launchers with six tubes each, and three SAM missile launch vehicles. Normally the battery would be equipped with at least fifty missiles, but due to a shortage, Battery No. 3 had less than thirty-five operational Arrows and SAMs at present.
The commanding officer was about to remove his headset when suddenly a red light on one of the computer consuls began to flash and the operator's voice came urgently through the earpiece.
“Two unidentified tracks: Sector four, fifteen miles south of Al Basrah. Inbound!”
The officer hurriedly replaced the headset, adrenaline surging.
Was this for real
?
The computers automatically gave each missile a three-digit number.
“Go to Alert-Four,” shot the officer, trying to remain calm.
The alarm went off conveying to the thirty personnel in the control centre that hostile missiles were heading towards Israel.
“Launch footprint?”
“Negative.”
“Impact zone?”
“Negative.”
“SCUDs? MRBMs?”
“Negative.”
“Advise immediately when ballistic and impact zone data available,” snapped the officer, wondering why the computers were taking so long to process the information and why there were no launch signatures before picking up the tracks.
“Why the fuck is it taking so long?” he yelled down the mouthpiece.
The operator clicked again on the appropriate icon. This time up popped two circles over a map of Israel with wording flowing across the bottom of the screen.
“Launch footprint still negative,” called the operator.
How can that be?
puzzled the officer; all of Iraq and western Iran was supposed to be covered. However, he could not concern himself with that now. He had to know what he was up against and the exact points of impact.
“Coming through now,” said the operator calmly, “Shahab-4's with multiple warheads. Impact zones: Jerusalem and Tel Aviv.”
The officer had been through this many times before in exercises, but now it was the real thing; he felt fear.
The voice of the operator, showing no emotion, continued: “M001, Jerusalem; M002, Tel Aviv. Ninety-five percent certain points of impact,” he finished, watching the circles on the monitor slowly reducing around these centres.
A gasp ran through the bunker as soon as the information came on the wall displays.
The officer fought hard to contain his panic. The Arrow-2s, he knew, could intercept incoming missile warheads at ranges between five to thirty miles and at altitudes of up to thirty miles, but the PAC-3s were more effective against SCUDs and not Shahabs, which had a closing velocity that limited the Patriots' defence coverage to a much narrower window around the launchers, he therefore could only use them as a last resort. He also knew the Arrows had limited capability against the Shahabs due to serious intercept problems. Travelling in excess of Mach 5 the incoming missiles would impact in less than ten minutes.
He would need permission to engage from Command Centre in Tel Aviv. Reaching for the direct line, he dialled and in less than one minute was given permission to assist the battery in Jerusalem. The remaining incoming missiles would be dealt with by batteries in Tel Aviv.
“Optimum launch window â three minutes,” called the operator, “request to auto-engage missile zero-zero-one.”
The officer was well aware of the Rules of Engagement when it came to the missile/anti-missile game. Israel could not afford to waste missiles; supplies were limited, forcing battery commanders to wait always until optimum launch point had passed to be certain of the incoming missiles destinations. However, this was his first real experience and his nerves began to crack.
“Confirmed, you are clear to engage. Use Bank One, four Arrows,” he replied firmly.
With multiple warheads on the incoming missiles there could be as many as seven deployed on the missile his battery was after. He therefore decided to take no chances, convinced that overkill was better than being sorry later.
“Roger, clear to engage,” replied the operator, repeating the missile designations before clicking on the firing icon. “Units launched.”
A roar, clearly audible in the bunker, a tremor and four Arrow-2 ATBMs left Bank One casings and soared up into the night sky, accelerating to Mach 4 eastwards towards the incoming missiles.
All eyes now turned to the wall screens showing the Arrows and Shahab trajectories converge.
Seconds later the radar system picked up the tracks of three ATBMs from the battery covering Jerusalem as they too headed for the inbound missiles.
Suddenly, a number of trajectories sprung from the white dots as the hostile missiles released electronic countermeasure suites to confuse and use up the Israeli interceptors. The screen turned to momentary confusion as all Arrows exploded but the Shahab trajectories continued.
“Release Bank Two,
now
!” the duty commander screamed. Another roar and tremor and four more Arrows raced towards the Shahabs, but once again, after the screen confusion, the inbound missiles kept coming.
“Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! Use Bank Three â all four Arrows,” yelled the duty commander to his subordinates. The instruction to launch was given, but this time, instead of the normal roar and tremor, there was an explosion upside.
“What the fuck was that?” he howled, clear panic now in his voice.
“Malfunction in Bank Three, sir,” the immediate response, “it can't be used â too dangerous. Presently only one detonator has malfunctioned. If the Arrows explode we'll all be in deep shit.” Although the battery was protected for this sort of event, an Arrow exploding in close proximity is not the sort of experience the duty commander needed right now.
“Get the last bank ready!” he yelled. Within a single minute the Shahabs were going to win the battle and proceed to their targets.
Seconds later, “Bank Four ready to fire,” came through the headpiece. The duty commander gave the signal to launch. An audible roar filled the air as everyone involved hung in silence and anticipation. Four Arrows were fired and streaked out to meet the Shahabs. One Shahab was destroyed but the other kept up its relentless course.
“One down but the other still alive!” he yelled.
Everyone prayed in silence. The remaining three missiles hunted their target. The first one detonated but failed its mission; the second hit the target but didn't explode. Everyone waited, not wanting to breathe as the third moved in. It hit the target, erasing the Shahab's trajectory from the screens.
The bunker erupted, everyone ecstatically yelling, jumping up from their chairs and bouncing around the room hugging each other.
“We got them! We got them!” shouted the jubilant duty commander; an ocean of relief washing over him.
The screens were now completely empty and no further missiles had been detected. The duty commander slumped back in his seat, relieved that his battery, and the battery covering Jerusalem, had, for the time being, eliminated the danger, but for how long?
* * *
In the aftermath of the missile attack, the prime minister, Ariel Barak, his minister of defence, Binyamin Marok and his recently elected foreign secretary, Benjamin Mitsa, sat solemnly with a handful of senior military advisors in the secure basement conference room in the office of the prime minister for the State of Israel.
“Has there been much damage?” asked Barak, strain etching his strong, craggy features.
A middle-aged army general replied, “None, Prime Minister. The intercept took place over a remote part of the Negev.”
“What happened to the follow-up?” pressed Barak.
The general shrugged. “Why there was no second wave remains a mystery.”
“Thank God we were spared that,” said Mitsa, running a stubby hand over shiny bald pate, brooding eyes fixed firmly on the PM. Diminutive and dapper in a dark pinstripe suit, white shirt and a red tie, he stood out from the casually dressed PM and the rest in dark-green battledress or unadorned blue navy and air force uniforms.
“Anyone injured?” asked Marok, hawk-like features taut under a mop of greying hair.
“No,” replied the general. “The remoteness of the area ensured that, which will also keep the incident out of the public eye, at least for now.”
“Should we go on full alert?” questioned Marok.
“No!” snapped Barak. “We must keep this whole episode low key â away from the public â otherwise panic will result. Make it known to all those involved that what has happened is fully classified. Is that clear?”
Everyone nodded.
“Have we determined the origin?” Marok asked.
Another advisor, this time a younger man dressed in air force colonel uniform, replied: “The missiles were Shahab-4s. We don't yet know what they were carrying but nuclear heads has been mentioned. No launch footprint was established. The warheads are being retrieved.”
“Nuclear. Why am I not surprised?” said Barak, sarcastically. “They're not supposed to have the capability â the targets?”
“The tracking pointed to Jerusalem and Tel Aviv. Our surveillance SATs picked them up over Al Basrah which suggests the launch was from somewhere within south-western Iran. A signature is usual before tracking. However, it's accepted we and the Americans do have blind areas in the southern Zagros Mountains.”
Barak and Marok glanced at one another each knowing what the other was thinking. Kuh-e Mohammadabad: only a few months ago, Mossad's spy networks in Tehran had reported the possibility of a missile base in the southern Zagros Mountains. Had the Special Forces unit they sent in to find out if one did exist made it, perhaps this attack may not have occurred. The fate of the men after the plane crash was still unknown to them.
“Could the missiles have been launched from mobiles?” asked Marok.
“No, the Shahab needs a fixed pad.”
“Where would Iran obtain nuclear warheads?” Barak questioned.
“China, Russia, North Korea would supply anyone prepared to pay. Delivery to the buyer would be the only problem,” replied Marok. “America continues to pussy-foot around believing the Iranians have some way to go before having their own, but our people think they may have already. After this, who would doubt it?”
“Colonel, we can count ourselves very lucky there wasn't a second wave,” said Mitsa. “What are your thoughts on this?”
“Unusual, to say the least; I would have expected one by now.”
“I agree,” replied Marok. “Do we retaliate before another attack? We have the right. Our sovereignty has been violated.”
“Exactly what the US president said to me less than an hour ago with one voice, and with the other: we must show restraint and await events. The president offered to send immediately their MOAB missiles, and the appropriate people to fit them onto our planes, if we show restraint. MOAB missiles will definitely enhance our systems a hundred-fold.” He was referring to America's new anti-ballistic missile defence system slung under jet fighters. This extremely mobile and efficient system allowed fighters to surge vertically upwards at great speeds and release a series of interceptor missiles to engaged inbound hostile missiles high in the atmosphere well before they reached the intended targets.
“Why were we not informed earlier of this attack?” shot Barak bitterly. “What the fuck are our intelligence services doing in the precincts of our belligerent neighbours, and in the rest of the Arab world? Had those missiles found the targets, the State of Israel would not exist. Do you understand me? Not exist! Where was Mossad? I am sick and tired of fending off Islamic Jihad, Hamas and Hizbollah, now we face the open hostility of lawful governments bent on our destruction. When will it ever end?”
No one spoke, waiting for the prime minister to regain a little composure.
“How soon can they set up this defence system?” Mitsa eventually asked.
“Within forty-eight hours, and have them fully operational seventy-two hours after that,” replied Barak, calmer. “Now that we know Iran has nuclear capability, the desire to become a regional nuclear power will become a reality. It will upset the balance for sure. We are the strongest at the present time; our Arab neighbours know it, and it must stay that way.”