Esther's Sling (21 page)

Ibrahim Hajjar was excited, feeling like he was kid at a scouting event. He looked at Rican. “This is very far from people,” he said, his English having improved slightly as a result of three days of constant usage. “Anyone here ever?” he asked.

“No, sir. I asked the Iraqis that question this morning at Camp KV. They said they come out here once or twice a month. The guy I talked to has been at KV for nine months and has never seen a soul here. He couldn’t remember any stories of people here neither. If you ask me, this is the last place the Iraqis want to build. This place is fit only for Bedouin. Even the Iraqis want nothing to do with it.
There ain’t even no villages within miles. Plus, it’s a hell hole in the summer time.”

“How far is town?”

“You mean the nearest village? Shit, gotta be at least twenty klicks from here.” Rican leaned forward, talking to the soldier in the front passenger seat. “Hey, Chris, check the map for the nearest village.”

Christian Watson, a 21
-year-old specialist from Iowa, had been navigating. He looked down and, cupping the back of the map with his left hand, raised it up and pointed at a dot on the detailed map. The town of Al Kasrah was indicated to be 13 kilometers from this airfield as the crow flies. However, to get there would require driving back up the road connecting this airbase to Highway 21 and then turning south, a total of 22 kilometers of driving. Watson also pointed out another small village called Al Habariyah that was even further south along Highway 21. It was 29 kilometers, or 18 miles, from where they were now parked.

Hajjar slept only sporadically that night. Somewhere in the middle of the night, with the temperature close to freezing, the Kuwaiti engineer got out of
his sleeping bag, rolled it up and walked over to his Humvee. He spent the rest of the night trying to stay warm in his seat, the sleeping bag now acting as a blanket. Thankfully, the sun finally began to illuminate a sky that had more blue than gray for the first time in days. Hajjar was eager to get to work but took the time to drink two cups of coffee one of the men had brewed up and eat a MRE, picking the vegetable lasagna when offered the choice between that and chicken and dumplings.

At 0716, with the power of the sun quickly dulling the coldest edges of the wind, the convoy drove off.
Hajjar’s Humvee headed to the southeastern end of the single runway, which ran from the southeast to the northwest. He began the process that was now well rehearsed. Rican took over the coring duties as he had the prior day. The other two Humvee’s assumed covering positions, one on the tarmac and the other, the one with the .50 caliber machine gun, by the only road leading into the airfield. Unlike the larger H2 and H3 airfields, where cars occasionally passed by on the nearby roads, there was no sign of any life or movement around this airfield.

The Kuwaiti could not help but think that Mudaysis Airfield reminded him of the western ghost towns in the movies he used to watch as a kid, only minus the tumbleweed. He took numerous photographs of the airfield, noting that, unlike the first four airfields, no major obstacles existed on the runway or its adjacent parallel taxiway. During 2008, U.S. Marines of Wing Support Squadron 374 of the 3
rd
Marine Aircraft Wing had occupied Mudaysis to create a forward refueling base in support of U.S. military activities in Anbar Province. The Iraq “surge” was in full bloom. As part of that operation, the obstacles on the runway and taxiway had been removed. After the operations had ended, the airfield quickly reverted to its abandoned state. Since then, the entire airfield seemed to be forgotten by the Iraqi government, the Iraqi Army and the local populous.

The engineer, along with every soldier in the convoy, was happy to find that all of the water of the prior evening was completely gone, leaving behind no hint that this land was anything other than an arid desert. As they worked their way to the northwest up the long runway, Rican realized that Hajjar had decided to stop at five points to take samples and make radar readings instead of the three per runway on the previous days. They repeated the same five stops coming
back down the adjacent taxiway. Finally, Hajjar took samples and readings at three spots on the tarmac.

At 1300 hours, with the men of the convoy now thoroughly bored with this assignment and eager to head back to Camp Victory, their home base outside Baghdad, Hajjar approached the lieutenant. “Okay, thank you and the men.”

“We are here to help Iraq,” replied the lieutenant. “Ready to return to Baghdad?”

“Yes. I have question, ah … what is word?”

The lieutenant was not sure what Hajjar meant. “Question?” Then it hit him. “Oh, you mean a request?”

“Yes, that is the word. Request.”

“Okay.”

“Please we go south on road two-one. I need to see towns.”

The lieutenant could not understand why this engineer would want to go by the local villages, but walked over to Hajjar’s Humvee. “Watson, let me see the map.”

Chris Watson stepped out and spread his map out on the hood of the Humvee, holding down the edges with his hands as the officer reviewed distances. The lieutenant guessed that returning the way Hajjar wanted would add a couple of hours to the trip home, but he was under orders to accommodate the engineer’s needs.

The lieutenant walked back to the engineer. “Is this really important?”

“Yes. Part of my job to get done.”

“Okay, we will head south on Highway 21. That will take us through Kasrah, Habariyah and Nukhaib at the junction with Highway 22. Does that work for you?”

“Yes. Thank you.” Hajjar offered his hand in gratitude and the lieutenant shook it firmly.

The convoy set out on its new route back to Baghdad that took them south for 35 miles before turning to the northeast on Highway 22. From there, they passed through Karbala and Iskandariyah on the 180 mile journey back to Baghdad.

Ibrahim Hajjar, whose real name was Yosef Sayegh
, had everything he needed to create a report for his employer, Mossad. As a Syrian born Mizrahi Jew, Yosef had grown up in Damascus and then moved with his parents to Amman, Jordan, when he was 12. After two years in Jordan, his parents immigrated for the last time to Jerusalem to become Israeli citizens under the Law of Return. Yosef Sayegh had been spotted early by Mossad recruiters and had become a much in demand katsa for Mossad, intimately familiar with Arabic and Islamic customs and very much at ease portraying a Muslim professional. The contract from the Iraq Civil Aviation Authority was real and he would deliver a full report to them – one that would be essentially the same as that delivered to Mossad. But the CIA officer who had skillfully maneuvered to deliver the funding to the ICAA from the State Department for this study, had also assured his contacts at Mossad that, as with most government funded studies, nothing would ever come of it.

Exercise Talisman Sabre 2011 commenced on July 11, 2011. The biennial exercise has become a major war gaming operation to test the planning and operational integration of U.S. and Australian military forces – a continuation of the military alliance between the two nations that dates back over 100 years and spans both world wars, Korea, Vietnam and the first and second Persian Gulf wars. Hundreds of millions of dollars would be spent by the Pentagon to deploy American naval, ground and air forces into Australia for the exercise. The rise of Chinese military and economic power had provided renewed impetus behind the historic American-Australian ties. The result was that Talisman Sabre, along with other exercises with codenames like Tandem Thrust and Green Lightning, was growing accordingly. This year’s exercise was slated to last two and a half weeks.

On July 12, a flight of four F-15E Strike Eagles landed in quick succession on the main 9,000 foot runway of Tindal Air Base, a major facility of the Royal Australian Air Force located just to the southeast of the city of Katherine in the Northern Territory. The American planes proudly displayed their tail code of
“MO” in large black letters. They were from the 389
th
Fighter Squadron based permanently at Mountain Home Air Force Base, 40 miles southeast of Boise, Idaho. But they had flown in from Guam, where they were in the middle of a four month rotation. They would spend the next two weeks practicing their skills on the nearby Delamere Air Weapons Station, a bombing range operated by the RAAF that had previously been a large cattle ranch in the heart of Australia’s rugged Outback.

The eight men who flew in joined a larger group to complete the complement of 24 American aviators now at Tindal. They would take turns flying the same four aircraft, making the logistics of the exercise a little more economical and easier on the host Australians. At precisely 4 p.m. that afternoon, all of the men were called into a closed-door briefing session. As the men took their seats, their commanding officer walked up to the dais with
the base commander behind him.

“Welcome to Australia,” said the American colonel. He went on to spend the next fifteen minutes reviewing the standard rules for this exercise. There would be a hard floor of flight level 140, or 14,000 feet, except while on bombing runs over Delamere. They would be taking off to the southeast, into the prevailing winter winds. There was a steep landing approach corridor from the north to reduce time and noise over the township of Katherine. All of the rules were of the type that these men were well accustomed to – intended to keep the local civilian population happy, or at lea
st to minimize their agitation.

Next
, the RAAF base commander stood to introduce himself. “G’day gentlemen,” said Group Captain Peter Wells. He thanked his American counterpart and added some information about local navigation beacons, communication frequencies and call signs. He reminded the men that Tindal has civilian aviation as well as military and that contact with Tindal air traffic control and strict use of established military corridors was critical to avoid mishaps. All of the men kept notes.

Finally he turned to
a matter that was anything but routine for the aviators in this briefing. “I have another topic to cover today. Every man in this room is an officer and has classified clearance. I remind you of that fact because you will be flying alongside some other guests of Australia. Tonight five Israeli Strike Eagles will land here. Tomorrow another forty Israeli aviators and twenty-seven mechanics and technicians will arrive on a transport flight. I tell you this because you will certainly run into these men during your time here. But this information is strictly classified. From an official point of view, no Israeli aircraft or crewmen are in Australia or participating in Talisman Sabre in any way. You are not to refer to or mention this information to anyone. Is that clear?” The men all nodded in agreement.

Their commanding officer stood up. “I have forms that must be signed by everyone here,” he said. His job was to drive home the seriousness of this situation. “As Group Captain Wells said, this information has been classified Top Secret. If any man reveals what you have just learned or anything that you see or learn regarding this matter, you will be violating Article 104 of the Code and you will be prosecuted under the Code. The form I am passing out is your acknowledgement of the situation. I do not want anyone here
to have any misunderstandings.” The two senior officers had discussed the best way to handle having Israelis secretly operating side by side with them and concluded that this up-front acknowledgement was the best way to stop rumors and speculation from starting on the base and spreading from there.

Slightly after midnight that night, five IAF F-15I Ra’am fighter bombers landed at Tindal. All five aircraft had been painted gunship grey, the same color as the American F-15s at the base. No national insignia could be found on any of the F-15Is, leaving any observer to assume naturally that these were American aircraft. Only the mechanics who daily worked on the F-15E could pick up on the subtle external differences between a F-15E and a F-15I. Likewise, the Israeli pilots, mechanics, technicians and officers who were arriving on base all wore American flight or duty suits, just without any national flag or squadron patches. There would be no display of unit pride that was ordinarily a central practice for military aviators the world over.

Early the next morning, two USAF C-17
Globemasters touched down about five minutes apart. Each of the big cargo aircraft taxied to the military apron. Through the forward port-side passenger door of the first plane, 77 of the most highly trained assets of the nation of Israel exited, joining the 10 men already on the base. Another ten Israelis exited the plane. They would form the security detail to protect the airplanes, pilots, mechanics, technicians and specialists. From the rear cargo doors of the second plane, crewmen of the USAF’s 437
th
Airlift Wing unloaded two large crates, each containing a Pratt & Whitney F100-PW-229 jet engine, and another eight pallets of tools, instruments and spare parts – all of the items necessary to support five F-15Is for two weeks.

But the cargo that was the reason these precious assets of the IAF had travelled
more than 7,000 miles, would not arrive until later that day. At 5:17 p.m. on July 13, 2011, a C-17 touched down at Tindal. The flight originated from Elgin Air Force Base in Florida 36 hours before. It flew to Seattle to pick up its human cargo and some related equipment. After a 14-hour layover, it flew from Seattle to Tindal non-stop, being refueled three times over the Pacific. The last leg had taken 16 hours. On board, in addition to the crew, were half a dozen USAF officers and technicians along with four engineers from the Boeing Corporation. Also on board were two live BLU-121B bombs. Each bomb was just over 12 feet long and weighed 2,015 pounds. They were designed and built to penetrate thick steel doors and surrounding earth in order to detonate at precisely the right moment inside a tunnel or bunker complex. They had been designed by Boeing and developed by the USAF over the prior eight years to be dropped from a plane travelling at high speed and very low altitude. With the proper training and the assist of targeting computers and laser designators, a good pilot could launch the bomb horizontally into the entrances of underground tunnel complexes.

The two live bombs were for one test
run that would be the culmination of the training to take place over the next two weeks – the Israeli pilots would be in competition to determine who got to fly the live bombing mission. But live BLU-121 bombs were too expensive to use for basic training. So the C-17 also carried twenty-five inert bombs identical to the live bombs on the outside but with their weight coming from concrete instead of the thick Elgin steel alloy shell of the real bombs. In addition, 225 lighter practice units were on board. These inert bombs were the same length as the live bombs but only weighed 378 pounds each. To maintain the same flight characteristics of the live units when released, these practice units were narrower in diameter, the reduced surfaced area calculated to offset the impact that any crosswind would have on the unit due to its reduced mass. Every plane that flew with these inexpensive practice bombs would also be fitted with a centerline mounted shroud that mimicked the aerodynamic drag of the real bomb and added 1,600 pounds of weight to ensure that the pilot felt all of the impact of having a live unit mounted underneath his airplane.

Work began that night with a briefing session starting at 9
. Almost the entire Israeli contingent of 97 was in attendance, excepting only three men who were on the tarmac watching the five F-15I aircraft. Three IAF officers sat up front, the commander of 69 Squadron and two junior officers whose job, along with the commander, would be to review and rate the performance of each aircrew over the training period. Unknown to anyone outside the group of Israelis, the two senior “technicians” present were actually two of the senior IAF officers comprising the Olympus planning team. It would be their job to understand exactly what the BLU-121 would be capable of in the hands of the IAF and to plan its usage in Project Block G accordingly.

A Boeing engineer started with a general overview of the BLU-121 bomb and its classified capabilities. The first discussion was meant as introduction to the system and lasted about 40 minutes. The next speaker was a USAF officer and F-15E pilot who spent the next half hour discussing his experiences with the system and introducing the Israeli pilots to the flight patterns they would be using during the next couple of weeks.

Finally, another Boeing engineer stood to review a system called Tunnel Defeat, which was the most sensitive and secret aspect of the BLU-121 program. Israel would be the only nation outside of the U.S. to receive the Tunnel Defeat system. The engineer reviewed the concept first. The system integrated up to six BLU-121 bombs dropped by six different aircraft so that the weapons all detonated simultaneously with a timing error of no more than a quarter second. The system was designed for tunnel complexes with multiple entrances. A BLU-121 could be launched from separate aircraft simultaneously so that each bomb penetrated a different tunnel entrance at the same time and detonated at the same moment, creating converging shockwaves that destroyed everything between the blast points not protected by large enough blast doors. The engineer then went into some level of technical detail about how the system worked and the necessity for the planes involved in a coordinated attack to maintain line of sight between each other. The system depended upon each plane’s onboard targeting and release computers being able to communicate via a coded millimeter wave radio mounted into each plane.

Over the next two weeks, the fifty pilots, taking turns in the five available F-15Is, would learn the optimal approach, release point and egress pattern to ensure that they could place a BLU-121 directly onto a point on a mountainside with a circular probability of error of no greater than one meter. That target point could be the entrance to a tunnel or simply a patch of earth through which the bomb could penetrate to reach an underground tunnel or chamber. They would learn the flight characteristics of the bomb and the impact that target altitude, wind speed and direction, air temperature and relative humidity had on the weapon. They would study the physics of the bomb’s penetrating capabilities. They would become masters of the system’s targeting and weapon release computer, the avionics of which would be installed
the next day in the Israeli F-15s by Boeing engineers.

During the same period, thirty-two mechanics, technicians and weapons specialists would have to become experts at mounting and un-mounting the bomb and its practice variants, and at running diagnostics for the bomb itself as well as the onboard computer and support systems. Most importantly, they would have to become absolutely perfect at ensuring that the entire system was properly synchronized, knowing that even the slightest error could result in a bomb missing its target, making it nothing but an expensive piece of harmless metal.
Between classes, the group would have to service the five F-15Is that would be flying constant sorties. This would not be a vacation for anyone involved.