The War After Armageddon

Things were going a little too well for Harris’s peace of mind. Dropping the countermeasures had worked exactly as Scottie’s major had predicted — although an entire company had gotten ahead of the phase line and lost every vehicle it had forward. Otherwise, the losses reported thus far were lighter than the low-end projections. The parasite in the Jihadis’ target-acquisition system had worked perfectly. Scottie’s 1st Brigade was in control of Afula, with lead elements pushing east.

Yet, the general’s expression had hardened almost to grimness. He’d just grilled his G-2 publicly with questions he knew Danczuk couldn’t answer off the cuff. It was Harris’s way of warning the staff not to pop any invisible champagne corks just yet.

“Where’s their armor, Deuce? Where’s that brigade they had tucked in below Mt. Tabor, the mixed outfit with the Egyptian M-1s and captured Merkavas? That was a counterattack force. So why aren’t they counterattacking? Al-Ghazi’s a serious soldier. What’s he up to? Why didn’t we see more drone activity? Why has the jamming fallen off? So we can all listen to the MOBIC Gospel Hour? Christ, Val, they put up just enough of a defense to play pretend. I’m embarrassed that al-Ghazi thinks I’m stupid enough to buy this. And now you tell me they’re pulling back all across the sector? What planet are we on? What’s al-Ghazi got up his sleeve?”

Danczuk had been smoking from both ears as he marched off to scour the universe for answers.

The staff members stayed out of Harris’s way as best they could, heads down over their work or headsets clamped on. Harris was a calm man in adversity, but success made him nervous.

“Sir,” the ops officer sitting on the command net for him said, “General Scott needs to talk to you. ASAP.”

Harris grabbed the headset. As if repossessing it from a deadbeat.

“Talk to me, Scottie.”

“Has anyone up there ordered the India-Echo-Foxtrots to halt their attack?” The 1 ID commander sounded hot. “I’m getting reports that they’re taking the longest piss break in human history.”

“Who’s reporting that?”

“Quarter Cav. They’ve got visual. And the India-Echos won’t respond to the cav’s efforts to contact them. The troop commander down there says they’re just kicking back and playing with themselves.”

“Hold one, Scottie.” Harris turned his head. As if it were on a greased swivel. “Three? You have anything new on Avi Dorn’s brigade? General Scott says they’ve halted in place.”

Mike Andretti gave Harris a deer-in-the-headlights look.

“Get on it,” Harris told the startled officer. He turned his attention back to the comms rig. “We’re looking into it, Scottie. I’ll get back to you. How’s everything else going.”

“Almost too good. I’m not sure I like it.”

“That makes two of us. So don’t let your guys get victory-is-ours syndrome just yet.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Out.”

Harris looked at the row of officers and NCOs sitting comms. “Somebody get me General Dorn. Now.”

HIGH GROUND, NORTH OF THE JEZREEL VALLEY

“I’ve got reports of minefields ahead,” Avi Dorn told the corps commander on the land line. “I need to send out dismounted probes.”

“Come on, Avi. Do it with your blade tanks. Shoot out some line charges. What’s the matter with you? Get moving.”

“I can’t order my men into minefields.”

“Avi, what’s up? This isn’t like you. Yesterday, you couldn’t wait to get at the Jihadis. Now you want to break for tea and sympathy. Level with me — are you going to continue the attack, or not?”

“With all due respect, sir… How many soldiers does Israel have left? My brigade and the two brigades with the MOBIC corps… a battalion of paratroopers in reserve. That’s it. I can’t risk nearly a third of what’s left to us by charging blindly into minefields.”

“Who told you there are minefields? We haven’t seen any intel on it.”

“Local sources. We still have some contacts.”

“Then why not share the information?”

“It just came in.”

“Avi, this stinks to high heaven.”

“I have my responsibilities.”

The silence on the other end of the line was easy to read. Dorn pictured Harris fuming, struggling not to burst into obscenities that could not be recalled. He felt sorry for the general, who was a fighter. It all might have been so different. Dorn wished it had been different. But he would’ve made a deal with the dev il if it resurrected Israel from the dust. Even a shrunken, new-beginning Israel.

He had made a deal with the dev il, Dorn decided. What else could you call it?

When the general’s voice returned, it was measured and cold with harnessed fury: “Avi, I’m giving you a direct order to resume the attack. Now.”

“Acknowledged,” Dorn said. “My brigade will resume the attack. As soon as we clear any minefields between our current positions and Miqdal.”

Harris hung up.

HEADQUARTERS, III (US) CORPS, MT. CARMEL RIDGES

Harris turned to his G-3. “Mike, get a FRAGO out to the 1st Cav. I want their lead brigade moving within two hours to assume Avi Dorn’s sector and continue the attack.”

“Sir, they’re still unloading their—”