Bright Star

Chapter 14

From his position north of the road, Lieutenant Colonel Ahmed Hafez watched the remnants of the 22nd Mechanized Division as it moved back east. Less than twelve hours before, that same division had been preparing to begin the final assault on Tobruk. Soviet intervention, and the widespread use of chemical weapons, had changed all that. Now, instead of driving west to complete the campaign, Egyptian forces were retreating back to Egypt in an effort to avoid encirclement and destruction.

Hafez could hear the distant rumble of artillery to the west. The 5th Armored Division was heavily engaged with Libyan forces coming out of Tobruk. Shortly after the chemical attacks the 5th Armored, which had escaped those attacks, assumed a hasty defensive posture east of Tobruk from Abiar el Amar to the Mediterranean. It did not, however, escape the Libyans' attention. Throughout the day it had beaten back numerically superior Libyan forces. Still, the Libyan attacks, though piecemeal and poorly coordinated, were persistent; eventually they would succeed in grinding down the 5th Armored. Before that happened, the 22nd Division, and the 14th Armored coming up from the south, had to reach the coastal road and get back into Egypt. Only then would the 5th Armored Division be allowed to begin its own withdrawal. Whether or not that would happen depended on the skill of the soldiers of the 5th Armored, the speed of the Russian attack, and how much of a threat the Republican Brigade could make itself.

Since early morning Hafez's tank battalion, part of the Republican Brigade, had been on alert. They were under orders to counterattack to the southwest to blunt the Soviet drive once the lead Soviet units crossed the Al Jagbub-Tobruk road. In the event the Libyans managed to break through the 5th Armored Division before the Russians reached the Al Jagbub-Tobruk road, the Republican Brigade would counterattack to the west and cover the withdrawal of the 5th Armored. The Brigade, consisting of three tank, one mechanized, and one artillery battalion, stood ready for either possibility.

Hafez's battalion would be the lead battalion for either option and was ready after six days of relative inactivity. Along with the rest of the Republican Brigade, it had followed the advance of the lead divisions along the coastal road. The Brigade had almost been committed on two occasions. The first was when the 22nd Division had difficulty destroying an enemy unit fighting a delaying action near Bir el Hariga on the second day. At the last minute the Libyans withdrew, allowing the 22nd to continue west. The second time was on the fourth day, when the same division failed to penetrate Libyan defense south of Gambut. Success in the south, however, by the 14th Armored Division, had caused the commander of the 1st Army to cancel the direct attack on Tobruk from the east. Instead, the focus of the attack, and hence the Republican Brigade, shifted to Al Adam.

The inactivity had been particularly hard on Hafez. Since the seventh of December he had been living in fear that his role in the assassination attempt would be discovered. Though he had not actually done anything to assist the assassins, he was guilty of treason. Simple association with the assassins and failure to inform his superiors was more than enough to earn him a death sentence and his family undying disgrace. The war had offered him an honorable means to purge himself of his guilt. Death in battle would bring an end to his life of fear and cleanse his soul. But his unit's relegation to reserve status almost robbed him of his chance. When the final attack on Tobruk was being prepared with no active role for his unit, Hafez had been gripped with a despondency that had almost paralyzed him.

The intervention by the Russians, therefore, as terrible as it was for his country, was greeted by Hafez as a salvation. Not only would he be afforded an opportunity to atone for his sins; he would be able to do so in a spectacular manner — in a manner befitting a soldier.

Slowly Captain Bob Mennzinger walked around his helicopter. His pilot followed him, calling off items from a check list for Mennzinger to inspect. Most of the items were routine — normal checks done before every flight. Even the two 230-gallon external fuel tanks were nothing big. They had, after all, flown the Atlantic using them.

The weapons load for that night, however, was not normal. On the outer-wing storage pylons were two rocket pods. Each rocket pod was uploaded with nineteen 2.75-inch M-261 Hydra multipurpose submunition rockets. The Hydra rocket was new to the inventory and had great potential. Each Hydra carried six small bomblets, called submunitions. The rockets, able to release the bomblets at any range designated by the copilot-gunner, could be fired singly, in groups, or in a continuous volley. Regardless of how the target was engaged, the effects of the Hydra on lightly armored vehicles, to say nothing of soft-skinned vehicles and exposed troops, would be devastating. Other Apaches preparing for lift-off carried a different mix of stores. Four were armed with Hellfire missiles, two with a mix of 2.75-inch M-261 Hydra MPSM rockets and Hellfire missiles, and four with M-255 2.75-inch flechette rockets. All ten carried their combat load of twelve hundred 30mm cannon rounds.

The mission Mennzinger's unit had been assigned was going to be long and most unusual. Ten of the battalion's eighteen aircraft would move south that night to Abu Simbel. Their departure was scheduled for after dark, at a time when there would be no Soviet reconnaissance satellite overhead or approaching. Immediately after their departure, their places would be taken by ten inflatable dummies that looked like Apaches from the distance and gave off similar heat signatures. The next day some of the eight remaining Apaches would fly about the area at designated times that coincided with Soviet satellite overflights. By mixing real Apaches with the dummies, the deception just might work.

The ten Apaches assigned to the mission, accompanied by eight UH-60 Blackhawk helicopters, would arrive at the airfield at Abu Simbel early the next morning. There the helicopters would be put into hangars during the daylight hours while the crews rested. Because there were only ten Apaches, the battalion had enough personnel rated to fly them to have two crews per helicopter. The assigned crew would fly to the target, execute the mission, and return to a forward refuel point. That feat would require only eight hours and forty minutes at the stick. The relief crew would take over at the refuel point and return the Apaches to Egypt when the raid was completed.

Beginning at twilight the following night, 18 December, six UH-60s with fuel handlers, some of the spare Apache crews, and equipment for a refuel point would depart south. Their destination was a point on the north slopes of the Meidob Hills, over six hundred miles inside Sudan. There they would establish a refuel point where the Apaches would be able to stop en route to and from the target. Two hours after the advance party left to establish the refuel point, the ten Apaches would follow, in two flights of five Apaches each. Moving along separate routes, each flight of Apaches would be trailed by a Blackhawk carrying the spare crews. As with the transatlantic flight, the Blackhawk would recover any crew whose Apache went down en route due to mechanical failure.

Shortly after the Apaches left Abu Simbel, three U.S. Air Force C-130 transport planes would depart Cairo. Aboard two of the aircraft would be nine 400-gallon fuel blivets. They would be air-dropped at the refueling point, which had been marked by members of an American Special Forces team operating in Sudan. Aboard the third C-130 would be an ad-hoc airborne infantry platoon that would secure the blivets until the Blackhawks arrived with the fuel handlers and their equipment. Once the fuel handlers were on the ground with the blivets, they would have two hours to set up the refuel point. Using the Blackhawks to gather up the scattered fuel blivets by sling-loading the blivets under them, the fuel handlers would arrange the blivets in the proper manner and hook up the fuel lines and pumping equipment.

The operation would not, and could not, be conducted in a vacuum. The Soviets had airborne early-warning aircraft operating out of Ethiopia, along their air corridor from Ethiopia to Libya. In order to draw off those aircraft and the fighters that would respond to their calls, a deception operation was needed. The U.S. Navy was assigned this task. In an operation similar to the deception operation used to support the Son Tay raid in Vietnam, the Navy would commence massive air and surface operations off the coast of Ethiopia and Sudan on the night of 18 December. These operations, feigning preparations for an attack on seaports and airfields, would coincide with the approach flight of the Apaches in western Sudan.

To further reduce the effectiveness of Soviet (as well as the sparse Sudanese) air defenses, electronic warfare aircraft would be used. Navy EA-6 Prowlers operating with the fleet would jam as many radar and communications frequencies as possible. This would cause Soviet airborne early-warning aircraft to fly closer to the coast in order to burn through the jamming and monitor the activities of the American fleet. Coming down from Egypt, a pair of EF-11 Is would also jam radar and communications frequencies. This would have the effect of throwing a wall of jamming between the Soviets moving to the coast to observe the U.S. Navy and the Apache strike in the west.

As a final insurance policy, if the naval demonstration off Ethiopia and the electronic warfare aircraft failed, a squadron of F-15 Eagles operating out of Abu Simbel would provide cover for the Apaches during their run-in and return.

The Apaches, upon reaching the refuel point, would refuel and regroup. Any last-minute information or instructions would be passed out at that time. One hour after arriving at the refuel point, the Apaches would take off and head south for the last leg of their run in to the target, the airfield at Al Fasher.

Their lift-off would coincide with the crossing of the Egypt-Sudan border by six F-111 bombers. Once on station at Al Fasher, the Apaches, in conjunction with Air Force F-111s, would attack the Soviet facilities. The F-111s would strike first. Six Apaches, using their laser designator-range finder, would spot targets for the F-111s. The other four Apaches would take out Soviet air defense systems and radars.

The F-111s would approach Al Fasher low and at high speed. Their fire control systems would detect the laser spots provided by the Apaches — the reflected laser energy bouncing off the targets — and lock onto where the laser spots were illuminating. Each plane's system then would automatically compute release time for the aircraft's bombs.

When the F-111s were thirty seconds out, the four Apaches targeting the air defense systems would open fire. Great care had to be taken during this phase. The Apache's angle of attack and the air defense systems attacked had to be considered so as not to interfere with the laser designation of the F-111's targets. It would do no good to destroy an air defense system if the smoke and debris blocked a laser beam designating a target for an approaching F-111. Each F-111 would make only one pass. With the F-111s screaming in at five hundred miles an hour, there was no room for error, as there would be no second chance.

Targets for the F-111s would be fuel tanks, maintenance facilities, ammo dumps, and the runway itself. The F-111s would use Rock-eye cluster bombs for the fuel tanks and munitions dumps, 750-pound general-purpose bombs for the maintenance facilities, and Durandal antirunway bombs to crater the runway. Inside of sixty seconds the main facilities at Al Fasher would be smashed.

With the bombers gone and the chaos created by the sudden and massive destruction by the F-111s, the Apaches would move into their positions and commence their attack. They would use 2.75-inch rockets, Hellfire missiles, and 30mm guns. Where the F-111s had come in and hammered the airfield like a sledgehammer, the Apaches would move from firing position to firing position, carefully setting up their targets as a sharpshooter would. Transports, fighters and helicopters that happened to be on the ground, and surviving facilities such as the control tower, truck parks, and equipment would be systematically destroyed in a twenty-minute attack. When there was nothing worthwhile left to destroy, the Apaches would break off the attack and return north.

Mennzinger and his men were told that aside from the obvious one — the destruction of the facility — the objective of the raid was twofold. First, it would demonstrate to the Soviets how vulnerable their line of communications and supply was. More important, however, was the need to communicate to the Soviets, in a manner that left little doubt in the minds of their leadership, that the United States was not going to allow their use of chemical weapons to go unpunished.

So as Mennzinger and his men checked their Apaches, they took special care, especially when it came to the weapons. A lot, a hell of a lot, was riding on their ability to put steel on target. Everyone, from the youngest aviation warrant officer to Mennzinger himself, wanted to pull it off without a hitch.

Captain Kinsly watched as Sergeant Jackson prepared his small pathfinder team for their move. Besides Jackson, two of the eight Americans at Al Fasher were going north to locate and mark a suitable refuel point. The Sudanese lieutenant, two of his soldiers, and a guide who knew the northern portion of Darfur Province would also be traveling with them. Kinsly would remain at Al Fasher with the balance of the force, keeping the airfield under observation. They would provide information to the strike force, from meteorological data, to the location and number of aircraft on the ground, to changes in location of air defense weapons.

His inspection finished, Jackson's team began to load its equipment and gear onto its newly "procured" truck. After receiving their warning order for the mission late that morning, the Sudanese lieutenant and Sergeant Jackson had gone foraging, looking for things that would be needed, transportation being the main item. In short order the lieutenant was able to "borrow" a truck by hot-wiring it. Sergeant Jackson also had a run of good fortune. Wandering through the marketplace in the town, unarmed and dressed like a goat herder, he noticed two Russians at the entrance to an alley. Since they were unarmed, he watched them to see what they were up to. As he watched, Sudanese would come up to them with a bucket or container, hand the Russians money, and then disappear around the corner for a moment. It didn't take long to figure out that the Russians were selling things, running their own black market.

Being bold and curious rather than smart, Jackson walked up to them. All he wanted to do was to see what they were selling. To his surprise, they had several drums of gasoline along with other odds and ends in the alley. The bigger of the two Russians, a sergeant, stopped Jackson, putting out his palm for payment before letting him go further. Without saying a word, Jackson pulled a wad of money out of his pocket. Though it was the last of their operations funds, known as the captain's mad money, gasoline, from any source, was hard to pass up.

Seeing the money, the Russian sergeant's eyes lit up. He grabbed for it. Now it was Jackson's turn to have some fun with the Russians. Babbling in Arabic, Jackson made motions indicating that he would be back. When the Russian sergeant nodded that he understood, Jackson went looking for the Sudanese lieutenant and the truck. The lieutenant didn't want to bring the truck into the marketplace. He feared that someone would recognize it, but not the driver, and call the police. Jackson, however, prevailed. Returning, he bilked the Russians out of two drums of gasoline, the hand pump they had been using, six blankets, four pairs of boots, a box of rations, two water cans, a shovel, and both their belt buckles.

The negotiations, done by pointing and mumbling languages that neither side understood, were at times fierce. Whenever the Russian sergeant shouted "Nyet," Jackson would flap his arms, mumble in Arabic, turn his back, and begin to walk away. Inevitably the Russian would grab his arm and accept Jackson's lower offer. The Sudanese lieutenant didn't share Jackson's idea of fun. Every time Jackson pushed the Russian sergeant to the point of argument, the lieutenant all but passed out. Only time and the expenditure of all the Russians' commodities ended Jackson's wheeling and dealing. As he departed, both parties smiled and waved, the Russians calling out a phrase he recognized as the Russian equivalent of "Up yours." Smiling broadly and waving as he left, Jackson shouted in Arabic, "So long, shithead!"

The one thing that Jackson wouldn't have that concerned Kinsly was a radio, of any type. When ordered to Al Fasher, they had brought only a single tactical/satellite radio and a homing beacon. Kinsly had not foreseen the need to operate two independent teams over great distances. The decision had to be made who got the radio and who got the beacon. Since it was important to warn the strike force of any last-minute changes, both Kinsly and Jackson agreed that the radio needed to stay with Kinsly.

That solved one problem but created a new one. Jackson had the beacon to guide in the C-130s, the refuel team, and the strike force, but he didn't have a time for when those elements would arrive. When the order had come that morning to send the pathfinder team, no exact time was available for when the various elements would converge at the refuel point. Kinsly could have delayed Jackson's departure and waited for the exact time but opted to send him. He wanted to give Sergeant Jackson the maximum amount of time for travel to the refuel point and recon for a suitable site. Contacting 2nd Corps headquarters in Cairo just before Jackson's final inspection provided them with an approximate time, but nothing firm. Seeing no alternative, Kinsly instructed Jackson to establish the refuel point in the northern slopes of the Meidob Hills. Commencing at 2000 hours the night of 18 December, Jackson was to turn on the beacon to guide in the aircraft for ten seconds every thirty minutes. Only after Jackson heard the approach of aircraft would he switch it to the continuous mode. Kinsly relayed this information, along with the beacon's frequency, to Cairo.

Extraction of the two teams would be done in conjunction with the raid. Jackson and his team would leave with the fuel handlers after the Apaches had returned to the refuel stop and topped off. Kinsly's team would be picked up immediately after the raid by a UH-60 that would follow the Apaches to Al Fasher. Since it would be night and he had no beacon, the pickup point for Kinsly's team had to be near an easily identifiable terrain feature. Though he wasn't happy about that, a road junction five kilometers north of the airfield was selected. There was a deep ditch on one side of the junction and a stand of trees on the other. Either would provide cover for Kinsly and his men while they waited to be extracted.

Sergeant Jackson reported that all was ready. Kinsly went over his own checklist to make sure that Jackson had missed nothing. Included on the list was a detailed map that showed everything of tactical significance — in particular, the location of air defense weapons— on the airfield. That information had already been sent via radio to Cairo. Kinsly, however, felt that a map, in the hands of a man who had seen the actual airfield and sites, might help the Apache pilots during their last-minute briefings at the refuel site.

When both men were satisfied, Jackson smiled. "Well, sir, can't say I'm sorry to leave this garden spot. See you on the other side of hell, sir."

Kinsly smiled. "Sergeant Jackson, in case you haven't noticed, we are on the other side of hell. Take care, and good luck."

While no trip by car in Cairo was ever easy, today's seemed particularly gruesome. Fay had left the WNN offices with Johnny in a network van and returned to her apartment to pick up her two boys and their bags. That part of the trip was easy. Getting close to the American embassy was not. For an hour they slowly moved south along Comiche El Nile. Traffic, heading both ways, was appalling. Part of the reason was provided when they passed under the 6 October Overpass. Above them, on the overpass, columns of Egyptian military vehicles could be seen headed west. That road, the 6 October Bridge over the Nile, and several other bridges were closed to civilian traffic. There had been no warning, no plan what to do with the civilian traffic. Such trivial matters were of little concern to the Egyptian government at that moment.

As they sat stalled behind the Egyptian Museum, a flight of three helicopters in a line came zipping down the Nile from the north. Just before they reached the museum, they veered right and flew low between the Nile Hilton and the museum, right in front of the van. The helicopters were so low (and they were still descending) that Johnny and Fay could see the faces of the pilot and the door gunner. With their cargo doors open despite the cold, Fay could see combat troops sitting on the floor, their weapons at the ready. She knew things were going to be sticky, but she wasn't prepared to see armed troops.

"Those are ours, aren't they, Mrs. Dixon?" Johnny was leaning forward over the steering wheel, watching the first helicopter fly down the narrow street.

Fay watched the second roll in and disappear between the two buildings. "Yes, Johnny — they're UH-60s."

Johnny was wide-eyed and excited. "What are the troops for? Do you think they're going to have to fight to get you out?"

Fay, with a scowl on her face, turned to him. "You really know how to cheer someone up, don't you?"

Johnny suddenly realized what he had said. Sheepishly, he apologized. Fay, however, didn't hear him. She was lost in her own thoughts. What, she thought, if they had to fight their way out?

The wheels of the lead Blackhawk hadn't even touched down in Tahrir Square before Captain Harold Cerro and his men began to pile out. Crouching low, the men ran to the front of the helicopter, deploying into a semicircle. Once they reached the edge of the square, they knelt down, keeping their rifles at the ready. Cerro, followed by two radio/ telephone operators — RTOs for short — each with a radio on his back, remained in the center of the semicircle. They also knelt, at least until the Blackhawk they had just exited took off, flying over the Mugamaa Government Building and back north over the Nile. The other two helicopters, having landed on either side and a little behind the first, did likewise after discharging their troops. When they were gone, Cerro and his two RTOs were the only ones standing in a complete circle of sixty American combat troops.

After a quick visual inspection of his troops from where he stood, he took the hand mike from one of the RTOs. Keying the mike, he waited a second before broadcasting. "EAGLE SIX — THIS IS BRAVO FIVE SEVEN — LEAD BRAVO ELEMENT HAS SECURED PADDOCK — OVER."

There was a delay of several seconds before Eagle Six, the commander of the Marine guard detachment at the American embassy, answered. As Cerro acknowledged the response, a second flight of three Blackhawks came thundering around the corner of the Nile Hilton toward Tahrir Square. As the first helicopters had done, they touched down in a wedge. The troops scampered out but did not go to the perimeter of the square as the first lift had. Instead, they formed up by squad in tight groups within the ring of troops. The company executive officer, First Lieutenant George Prentice, jumped out of the lead Blackhawk and trotted up to Cerro, followed by one RTO. A few seconds later First Sergeant Andy Duncan joined them.

As soon as the second lift departed, Prentice reported in, telling Cerro there were no mishaps, no problems. As before, Cerro radioed the embassy that all his troops were on the ground and he was ready to move to Eagle Base, the American embassy. As the Marine commander was giving Cerro permission, an Egyptian army colonel, escorted by one of Cerro's men from the perimeter, came up to Cerro, the XO, and their party. The soldier reported that the Egyptian colonel said that he was here to escort them to the embassy. Coming to attention, Cerro saluted the Egyptian. "Captain Harold Cerro, commander of B Company, 1st of the 506th, Airborne, Air Assault."

The Egyptian colonel didn't catch everything Cerro said but let it drop. Instead, he informed Cerro that he was ready to escort them to the embassy as soon as they were ready. Cerro thought about the situation for a moment. He and his company, there to escort the American evacuees from the embassy to Tahrir Square, were in turn going to be escorted by the Egyptian army. Cerro was sure it all made sense to someone.

He turned to Prentice and Duncan, "Okay — we all straight on what we do?"

Prentice spoke first. "I secure the PZ with 2nd and 3rd Platoons, receive the evacuees, position them for loading, and then load them into the slicks. I'll operate on three radio nets: Eagle net, company net for movement of evacuees, and battalion net for talking to the slicks. If something goes down while you have a group of evacuees between here and the embassy, I take 3rd Platoon and come get you."

Cerro nodded. "Check." He turned to Duncan.

As Prentice had done, Duncan recited his tasks. "I stay in the embassy with 1st Squad, 1st Platoon and organize the evacuees into caulks. I also maintain liaison with the Marine detachment commander. For commo, I use their radios to talk to you. If you get into trouble, 1st Squad and the Marines will come chargin' out after ya."

Cerro chuckled. "You know, First Sergeant, the reason I put you with the Marines is because you're the only guy in this outfit that can understand them."

Duncan made a face. "Sir, I resemble that remark."

The three laughed as the Egyptian colonel looked on. He was amazed that these professional soldiers, men who might be called on to help defend his country, were joking at such a time. Americans, he thought — were an odd and undisciplined race of people.

Cerro regained his posture. "And I, gentlemen, will escort the evacuees from the embassy to the square using the rest of 1st Platoon. Any questions?"

Prentice piped up. "Yes, sir. If you don't mind me saying so, and I'm sure you don't, isn't it kind of dumb to start doing this at nightfall?"

"Not at all," Cerro responded. "You see, it took all afternoon for some shit-for-brains in the embassy to figure out that maybe, just maybe, the Egyptian army might be shifting forces from the east to the west. Little did he realize that the normally abominable traffic was going to be impassable. The decision to switch from ground evac to air evac wasn't made until after 1500 hours."

Prentice looked at Cerro. "Thank you, sir, for providing that insight into the minds of our Foreign Service Corps."

Taking one last look around, Cerro called to the platoon leader of the 1st Platoon to saddle up, fix bayonets, and prepare to move.

Duncan made a face when Cerro ordered bayonets to be fixed. "Sir, do you think that's wise?"

"Don't worry, First Sergeant. I doubt if they're going to get into a serious run-in with any Egyptians. The bayonets may be just the thing that keeps a young lion from trying us."

Duncan shook his head. "It's not the Egyptians I'm worried about." He looked at Prentice. "It's our own people I'm worried about. You remember what happened the last time we had bayonet practice?"

Prentice rubbed his right hind cheek. "That's a cheap shot, First Sergeant. It was an accident."

Cerro suppressed the urge to laugh. "All right, sports fans, give me three cheers for Virginia Mil, and let's go."

Cerro and Prentice, both graduates of the Virginia Military Institute, yelled out an old school cheer while Duncan watched in amusement and the Egyptian colonel watched in horror.

Turning onto Kamal Eddin Salah, the WNN van ran into a police barrier. An Egyptian policeman, armed with an AK assault rifle, waved at them, indicating that they needed to turn around. Johnny shifted the van into reverse and started to back up. Fay stopped him. "Don't you dare back up," she yelled. "Tell them you're press. Here." She grabbed the sign from the window of the van, with the English and Arabic words for "press" on it. Thrusting it into Johnny's hand, she told him to wave it and drive forward.

Clenching the sign between his teeth, Johnny shifted the van back into a forward gear and began to move. As he did so, the Egyptian with the AK put his rifle up to his shoulder, aimed it at Johnny, and yelled something in Arabic. Johnny slammed on the brakes, throwing everyone in the van forward. "Mrs. Dixon, I don't think they want us to go through here."

Fay looked at the police. For the first time she looked beyond the barrier. Further down the street there was a mass of people blocking the road. Even if they had gotten past the barrier, they would never have been able to make it through the crowd. Opening the door, she yelled to the children to grab their stuff and get out. Johnny turned to her, a look of surprise on his face. "I don't think that's a good idea, Mrs. Dixon — I mean, just you and the kids fighting through that crowd. Besides, they might not let you in."

Fay looked at him, then at the crowd. The thought had never occurred to her that the gates might be barred or that there might be violence. The images of old news clips of the fall of Saigon and the evacuation at the American embassy flashed through her mind. "Johnny, you stay here for a half-hour — no, forty-five minutes. If I'm not back by then, go ahead and leave."

"Are you sure you want to take the chance on your own, Mrs. Dixon?"

"You want to come with me, Johnny?"

Johnny looked down the street and thought about Fay's challenge. "You're right. I better stay here."

That resolved, Fay gathered up their bags and the boys and walked around the barrier. The same policeman started to block her way but she shot him a cold, hard look that convinced him that she wasn't going to be stopped. Walking down the street at a brisk pace, the three of them reached the rear of the crowd. Telling the boys to hang on to her and not to let go no matter what, she began to plow her way through.

Though there was no frenzy yet, there was a great deal of tension in the crowd, and Fay sensed that things could go bad any second. As quickly as she thought that, she pushed it from her mind, concentrating instead on getting forward. They had just turned the corner and onto Ragheb Latin America, the street where the American embassy was located, when the crowd suddenly pushed back. There was much shouting as those in front tried to move back. The deafening noise of the crowd, the sudden turn of events, and the gathering darkness were frightening. Fay, however, resisted the push, standing her ground. Even though she had no idea why everyone was moving back, she was determined not to lose any forward gains they had made.

The crowd to her front suddenly parted, leaving her and the two boys alone in the center of the street. There was a moment of panic as she looked about to see what was happening. The noise of the crowd was now subsiding, replaced by the rhythmic tromping of rubber-soled boots on the pavement to her rear. Turning, she found herself face to face with a solid phalanx of American combat troops advancing on her. Their rifles, with fixed bayonets, were carried at the ready. In full combat gear and helmets, their faces lost in the shadows of the gathering night, they were without any vestige of human appearance. Instead, they presented the very image of a menacing machine, moving forward at a steady pace, irresistible in their advance, ready to strike if provoked.

For a moment she stood there transfixed.

The sudden appearance of a woman and two children standing in the middle of the street caught Cerro by surprise. All three were blond; they carried suitcases and clutched each other as if their very lives depended on it. Cerro had no doubt they were Americans who had decided to come to the embassy at the last minute. Instinctively, he threw his right hand up, signaling the company following him to halt before they ran the lady down.

"We're Americans — Americans."

For a moment Fay feared they were too late, that they might not be allowed in. That fear, however, was quickly dispelled as the captain leading the troops came forward. "Yes, ma'am, we know. Now, if you just get in between the first two ranks, we'll take you into the embassy."

Suddenly it was there, the moment of truth. Right up to that very second, Fay had had no doubt that she was going to leave with the boys. That was, after all, her duty as a mother. Scott had told her to do so. And all she had to do was walk a few steps, squeeze in between the soldiers, and she would be safe. She would be headed home — just like a good Army wife.

From the depths of her soul a voice screamed "No!" Fay hesitated. If she fell in with the soldiers and marched into the embassy with them, she would be just one more Army wife, another family member, a dependent, waiting to be whisked away to safety. That was, after all, what good Army wives did in times of crisis. And like all good Army wives, she would sit at home, alone, waiting — waiting for the knock at the door, the kind words meant to calm her, the funeral, the flag-draped coffin, the firing squad. And worst of all, the bugle, the goddamn bugle that announced it was all over, that her dreams, her hopes, and her future were at an end.

If she left now, all her talk of starting a new life, of creating her own person, able to stand up on her own two feet and make it on her own in the world, would end. There would be no second chance, no salvation from a life chained to a husband and family. In a single, irretrievable second she had to decide where her ultimate loyalty lay: to herself as a person or to her family.

Cerro stood there watching the woman as she stared at him with a blank look on her face. It occurred to him that he might have been wrong: perhaps she wasn't an American, just someone trying to bull her way into the embassy and get out with the Americans. He was about to advance to check her papers when the woman suddenly rushed forward, pushing the children ahead of her. "Captain, here," she said, offering him the boys' hands; without thinking, he took them. "Please, take these children to the airport and get them out of here," she continued, talking fast as she dug into her pocketbook in search of something. "They're Americans. Their father's a colonel. Here — here are their passports."

In shock Cerro let go of the older boy's hand and reached out to take the two blue passports. Recovering, he started to explain that he couldn't accept responsibility for the children. The lady, however, cut him off. "You have to. I'm with World News here and can't leave." Reaching into her pocketbook again, she pulled out an envelope. "Here, this is the address of their grandparents in Virginia. They'll pick them up at Dover."

Not believing what this woman was doing, Cerro tried to protest. The woman ignored him. Instead, she knelt down to kiss the two boys goodbye. She told them to be good, that Grandma and Grandpa would come and get them, and to mind the captain. Before Cerro could react, the woman was up and gone, lost in the crowd that was beginning to close in on them. With no choice, and sensing that a dangerous situation was building up, he stuffed the passports in his pocket and grabbed the older boy's hand. Turning back to his company, he yelled to two soldiers in the front rank to come up and take the boys. The soldiers ran up to Cerro at the double, slung their rifles, and led the boys back, placing them securely in the center of the column. In the growing darkness and noise Cerro never saw the tears streaming down the boys' cheeks or heard their low, mournful goodbyes to a mother already gone.

In the shadows of the Great Pyramids, Jan Fields watched the long columns of vehicles inching their way west. For hours the traffic had all been one-way. Neither the Egyptian government nor the U.S. military command had released any details on the current situation. It didn't take a military genius, however, to figure out that there was a crisis at the front and that the situation was deteriorating. The war, though its end was in sight, had taken an unexpected and dangerous turn. Like the approach of night, Jan could see only darkness and uncertainty in the future.

From behind, a sudden gust of wind swept over her, causing her to shiver. Folding her arms, trying to get warm, she continued to watch the long columns snake their way west in silence. The camera crew, finished with its shooting, was busy packing its gear and had paid Jan no mind when she wandered away.

For the first time that day she was alone. The cold night air, the silence, broken only by the distant rumble of trucks, and the darkness crashing down about her only served to deepen the depression and foreboding she had felt all day. As hard as she tried, Jan was unable to whip up the enthusiasm and drive that the current situation dictated. Instead of applying all her energies and talents to the single most important opportunity in her life, Jan found her thoughts drifting away from the business at hand and to the one thing she could do nothing about — Scott Dixon.

The fact that she was so preoccupied with him was disturbing, but at the same time it was a source of great joy. In her life she had known many men. No matter where she went, Jan never lacked for company or a date. But she had never felt any particular attachment to any of them, never any desire to give more of herself than the occasion demanded. While she enjoyed sex as much as the next girl, she knew that a permanent relationship was built on more than foreplay and intercourse.

Without her knowing what it was or how it had manifested itself, Scott Dixon had provided that something more. For years she had viewed him as an enemy, the man who had taken her best friend and co-worker from her. In her search for answers she wondered if her infatuation with Scott was nothing more than a love-hate relationship. Or perhaps she was secretly harboring a deep-seated urge for revenge. But neither of those answers held up to the test Jan had faced when she saw Scott in the field. In a single instant all doubts and concerns about how she felt about him had been swept away as he held her hand. For the first time in her adult life Jan knew love.

But with that settled, new problems reared their ugly heads. Jan didn't know what to do about Fay. Though Fay had announced her intent to divorce Scott, and that decision was based on other, deep-seated reasons, Jan still felt uncomfortable in the presence of her friend-tumed-rival. "Awkward" did little to describe how Jan felt every time Fay mentioned Scott. On one hand, Jan felt as if she were privy to a private conversation she shouldn't be hearing. On the other, she felt the urge to defend Scott.

She had come close to doing so on one occasion. When Fay was carrying on about how Scott had mishandled their reunion after returning from Iran, Jan became angry. Surprising Fay, she had shouted that she didn't want to hear that — that she didn't want to hear anything from Fay about Scott. For the longest time there was silence. Jan, realizing what she had said, thought Fay would put two and two together. Fay, however, passed it off as just a temper tantrum from a woman under tremendous pressure. Since that incident, no mention of Scott had been made. Though Jan was sorry she had said what she did, the end results were a blessing.

Jan saw in the distance the lights of a large aircraft as it began its climb for altitude. Perhaps, Jan thought, Fay was on board. With Fay ' gone, her life would be easier — no more awkward conversations, no more guilty feelings. And besides, that would only leave Jan and Scott in Egypt. As improbable as it was that the two of them would be able to get together, there was always the chance. Fay's departure increased that chance and raised Jan's spirits.

The crowds along Ragheb Latin America and surrounding the square had become bigger and noisier. Finishing his third trip, Cerro decided that he would take the squad from the first sergeant to reinforce the escort platoon. Duncan and the Marines could make due with what they had. If trouble came, if the crowds went berserk while he was escorting civilians, Cerro would need every man he could get.

As Cerro entered the square, the soldiers defending the perimeter parted to let him and the next group of evacuees in. Prentice was waiting for him. "Captain, battalion wants you and the first sergeant to report to the airfield right away. Something about you being detached for a special mission."

Cerro looked at Prentice. "You kidding? Things are on the verge of going to shit and he wants me to leave?"

"The colonel said that the battalion XO, along with that other platoon you requested, will be coming in on the next lift. The battalion XO will take charge of the operation here. You're to turn the company over to me and report to battalion."

Cerro looked about for a moment. "Don't get me wrong — I know you can handle things here. It's just that I hate like hell leaving the company. Kind of like Custer riding off to find Benteen."

Prentice chuckled. "If you don't mind me saying so, sir, that's a shitty analogy to use at a time like this."

"Well, that's how I feel." Cerro paused. "Okay — I'll make one more run and get the first sergeant. You take the escort duty. Lieutenant Alliban will run things from the embassy, and the XO, the Iron Major himself, will run things here. Any questions?"

Prentice didn't have any. Though the situation was still sticky, and would be until the very end, Cerro doubted if there would be any serious problems. Things, in fact, had gone quite well. Except for the crazy lady and her two children, the whole operation had gone down like clockwork. Cerro hoped that he and the first sergeant would have as much luck in their next task, whatever that was.

Crossing the track that ran from El Esem to Bir Gibni, Hafez gave the order for his companies to deploy into a wedge formation. In the darkness, which shrouded them from sight, the Republican Brigade crossed its line of departure and prepared to seek out the Soviets. Finally receiving orders, the brigade was ordered to avoid contact with the lead combat units of the Soviet tank units moving on Gabr Saleh. Instead, they were to move through a gap between the Russians, surging ahead with elements at Gabr Saleh, and the Cubans to their south, who were lagging behind.

The objective of the brigade was not a head-on confrontation with the Soviet forces. On the contrary, the battalion commanders of the Republican Brigade were ordered to avoid an open fight, if possible. The Egyptians, outnumbered three to one by the Soviets alone, were also outclassed by them. As the Soviets were equipped with T-72 tanks armed with 125mm guns and BMP-2 infantry fighting vehicles, the Republican Brigade was outclassed in weapons as well as numbers. Instead, its objective was the artillery and the supply trains of both the Soviet tank corps and the Cuban division. It was hoped that by destroying those elements and running about throughout the Soviets' rear areas, the Egyptians would stop the Soviets, or at least slow them down. Only as a last resort was the Republican Brigade to attack the Soviets' main battle forces. That decision, which rested with the commander of the 1st Army, would be made only if the Egyptian divisions retreating from Tobruk needed more time to escape the encirclement that threatened them.

Fanning out, the tank companies of Hafez's battalion opened up like a great net. Turning slightly to the west, they began their advance to a point south of Gueret Hamza. Once there, the Brigade would turn north. One tank battalion would travel up the east side of the road that ran to Tobruk; the other would deploy west of the road. The Brigade would advance from Gueret Hamza to Bir el Gubi. The Soviets' support elements, lacking good terrain feature to guide on or set up in, and wanting to stay near a road, would no doubt be found somewhere along that route.

Upon reaching Bir el Gubi, the Brigade would turn southeast and sweep the area from Bir el Gubi to Taieb el Esem, then to Gasr el Abid, located on the Libyan-Egyptian border. Thus, any Soviet support units missed on the sweep of the road might be found. That route would also take the Brigade through the area where the Cubans were expected to be and, in the end, back into Egypt. Though part of the mission was to save the divisions to the northwest, the commander of the 1st Army pointed out to the commander of the Republican Brigade that he was not to lose the Brigade while doing so. Egyptian Army combat units of the 2nd Army in the Sinai needed time to deploy from the east to the west. If the Republican Brigade could not save the 1st Army, it would be needed to buy time for the deployment of the 2nd Army.

With the Brigade's recon company deployed to his front and his own security element to his flank, Hafez prepared to drive his unit into the night, seeking to rip out the heart of his enemy and avenge his honor.