DISTANT THUNDER: and Encouragement for Writers

Chapter Forty-two thru Epilogue

2011-03-01T02:41:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER FORTY-TWO

Mount Quarnat as Asawda
Friday, November 27
6:00 a.m.

General Telnikov felt the heavy thump given off by the rotors of a gunship just seconds before he heard the whine of the engine. He did not have to guess the purpose of the visit. The reaction of his leaders had been quicker than he’d thought.
Telnikov removed the pistol from his belt, dropped the clip from the butt, and ejected the chambered round. At this stage in the situation, there was little point in resisting the inevitable. He laid the gun on his desk, donned his field jacket, and stepped out to meet his fate.
Four Russian military policemen jumped from the large, M-8 Hip transport helicopter and stepped to the side. Lieutenant General, Evgeni Malkin, Telnikov’s immediate subordinate in the 7th Armored Division, exited the transport.
There was no salute, no greeting. The MPs moved alongside Telnikov as Malkin smirked at him. “Anatoly, what have you done?”
No answer was required nor offered.
“General Telnikov, I relieve you of your command. You are under arrest,” Malkin stated with no emotion. “Follow me! We must put an end to this catastrophe.”
As Malkin led Telnikov into the communications trailer, the general confusion register on his men’s faces.
“Report!” Malkin shouted.
Yuri Ovanskaya stepped forward and saluted General Malkin, but his eyes were fixed on his commander. “Sir, our forces are currently in moderate to heavy firefights with the Libyans to the west and the Turkish Army to the east. So far, casualties are light.”
“What about the Iranians?” Malkin fumed.
“Sir, the Iranians are fully engaged with the Israeli’s fifteen kilometers west of the Euphrates River. We just administered our fourth salvo of SS-21 missiles, and our MiG 29s and 31s continue to target their command and communications.”
“Issue the order to cease all operations against our allies!”
“Sir, we are in secured communications mode. Our battalion commanders will require the code,” Yuri explained.
Malkin turned to Telnikov and pointed him toward the radio.
Telnikov smiled but stood firm.

Jewish Quarter
6:15 a.m.

The plume of a large explosion lit up the northern section of the Temple Mound. Ben had no idea who’d set it off, but the blast emanated from somewhere near the Qubbet Suleiman Mosque. Most likely, the Arab mob was formed somewhere in mosque’s vicinity and was destroying the remaining remnants of everything Jewish.
A string of grunts came from the stairwell. Ben turned and saw Gilad step out. Next, Ari Goins stuck his head through the opening. His face reflected an extreme level of exertion as he strained to haul up one end of the Ark. Both Gilad and Ben rushed to relieve the big man of his burden and pull the Ark from the well.
“Be careful with the figures. They will barely fit through the door,” Ari puffed as he fought to regain his breath.
Ben reached down with one hand and placed it over the head of the closest Cherubim. “Go, Zev, we’ve got it. Push the Ark up gently.”
Inch by inch, the three men maneuvered the Ark of the Covenant through the opening and into the room. They sat it on the rug that had covered the door and then began to receive the packs of equipment. The other members of the group soon followed carrying the weapons.
“Okay, here’s the situation,” said Ben once they were all gathered. “I believe a large crowd has formed near the Suleiman Mosque. They seem to be intent on destroying whatever they can find at that end of the Mount. If we are going to get the Ark up the Bab en-Nahdir gate, we are going to need a diversion.”
“What do you suggest,” asked Ari.
“We still have plenty of C-4. Gilad and I can make our way to the minaret at the northwest corner of the Mount and place the explosives. We’ll do it with timers and make our way back before we set off the bomb. The rest of you should do your best to get the Ark to the top while it is still dark. There are cedar trees all along the plateau where you can hide.”
Ari looked at Zev. “Sounds like a plan.”
“Let’s do it,” Hannah agreed.
“One thing,” Ben paused. “I want the professor and the pomen to stay here in this room. We can leave weapons and ammo with Ty and Moshe. The guys can protect them until we return.” Ben glanced at Ty. He then opened his arm for his wife who was already making her way toward him.
“Do you know how to use one of these?” Moshe asked Ty.
“Yes, just have someone give me a quick lesson in its operation and I’ll be fine.”
Ben and Ingrid moved away from the group to a corner.
“I am so afraid,” she tucked her head into Ben’s chest.
“Listen, I’m afraid too. So is everyone else, but everything is going to be okay.”
“O Ben, I can’t lose you.”
“Sweet heart, you won’t.” Ben wrapped his arms tightly around his wife and quietly prayed for peace and protection. “Honey, it’s time I get to work. Stay close to Moshe and Ty, okay?”
“I love you,” she cried.
“And I love you.”
Ben moved over to Gilad and helped him gather the remaining blocks of C-4, a timer, and a detonator.
Gilad looked at his partner, but said nothing. He understood the pain coursing through Ben’s heart. With a nod, the two headed out the door and into the shadows.
In the meantime, Moshe gave Ty instructions on how to use the Tavor and the grenades. He then fitted Ty with an earpiece and microphone given to him by Ari. A pistol was also handed to Professor Aveneri. As a natural born Israeli, he too had served time in the IDF and could still use a gun.

Mount Quarnat as Asawda
Same Time

The standoff continued. General Malkin stood holding his pistol to Telnikov’s temple, and Telnikov remained silent.
“You do not believe I will pull this trigger, do you Anatoly?”
“Nyet,” chuckled Telnikov. “Evgeni, you know my commanders need to hear the pass code. You will not shoot.”
Malkin spit at the floor in anger. He then lowered the weapon and held it to Telnikov’s kneecap. Telnikov closed his eyes and pictured his grandmother’s face as Malkin pulled the trigger.
General Telnikov fell to the floor in anguish. Yuri Ovanskaya, thinking to offer aide to his commander, was stopped dead in his tracks as Malkin aimed the gun at his face. “Step back or you will die where you stand.”
Ovanskaya complied.
Telnikov held his knee tightly with both hands, not only to succor the pain, but to staunch the flow of blood. A gaping wound was all that evidenced any existence of a patella. Malkin bent and placed the tip of the gun’s barrel beside the general’s elbow.
“Do you wish me to continue, or shall I slowly dismember you with 40 caliber bullets?”
There was a day when Telnikov would have responded in the most venomous hatred possible, but something in him had been transformed. No ill will existed, only peace.

Temple Mount
6:45 a.m.

Darkness still covered the Ben en-Nadhir gates as Ben climbed the steps and passed through its arch. The faint glow of dawn was becoming noticeable in the east as he spotted the team among a stand of cedars. He noticed the Ark, now uncovered, and how even the fading light of the stars reflected off the polished gold. The two long poles had been slid through the Ark’s rings making the object appear truly Biblical in glory. In just a few strides he was back with the commandos.
Gilad came quietly to a stop beside him and pulled out the detonator. “Are we ready?” he whispered.
“Do it,” Ari nodded.
The blast was deafening. The outline that had been an ancient minaret, built by the Suleiman of Syria hundreds of year ago, crumbled into a pile of dust and debris at the north end of the Mount. The crowd, still circling around the Qubbet, screamed its outrage in a united voice. The entire mob moved swiftly toward the fallen tower and further away from the Israelis.
“Now,” Zev commanded.
Ben and Gilad manned the poles in the rear while Zev and Ari took the front. They lifted the Ark together and began the last push to compete the mission. Hannah, with her Tavor assault rifle sweeping from side to side, led them south toward the Dome of the Spirits.
_______
Moshe and Ty stood beside the window watching and listening through their earpieces. They listened to the order for the team to move across the plateau, but had heard nothing for several seconds.
“Oh no,” Moshe said as he pointed up the street.
Ty looked in that direction. What he saw sent a chill down his spine. The group of armed Arabs that had passed by earlier was now returning. They were headed for the stairway of the Ben en-Nadhir Gate.
“Our guys will be caught from behind,” said Ty. “We’ve got to do something!”
Moshe reached up and touched the activator to the front of his earpiece. “Ben, you are about to have company at your six. An armed group is almost to the gate.”
Ty didn’t know what made him do it, but he cocked his weapon and readied a spare clip in his pocket.
Blake saw the move and immediately understood what he was thinking. “No, Ty!’ she said as she reached for him. “Don’t!”
Ty ran his hand down her long hair and bent to kiss her. “I have to, babe.” He gave her a wink and smile, and then headed out the door before Moshe could stop him.
Ingrid and Tasha held tightly to Blake to keep her from following her husband.
“Moshe, help him!” Ingrid shouted through her tears.
______
They had all received Moshe’s transmission over the radio. Without a word, and in a single motion, the team lowered the Ark of the Covenant. They quickly formed a fire-line between it and the doorway of the Ben en-Nadhir Gate. Sporadic stands of Cedar trees offered cover, but none of them wanted to leave the Ark in danger of being taken, so they remained out in the open and in great danger.
______
Moshe caught Ty just before he bounded up the stairs. “Slow down a bit. I have only one good arm, remember?
“Sorry. We can’t let these goons trap our people.”
“We won’t, but we can’t be crazy about this either. Now, let’s do this together. Ready?”
The two men began to climb, creating as little noise as possible. Looking upward, they saw the last of the mob as it passed through the gate.
______

A dozen Arabs, armed with Uzi machine pistols, moved onto the Temple Mount. But their gaze was fixed toward the northern sector where the minaret had been destroyed. It was only the last man of the group that happened to scan towards the fallen Dome of the Rock. He immediately saw the shinning gold of the Ark. And then he recognized five people, dressed in commando black, pointing weapons directly at him.
A shout brought the entire gang back toward the Israelis. Once they understood who was facing them, a non-stop barrage of gunfire was released.
Ben’s Kevlar vest stopped the first bullet, but another penetrated his jacket and passed through the flesh of his left shoulder. The impact dropped him to his side on the ground. Ari grunted as a round struck him in the thigh. His femur was shattered. But it was the sharp intake of breath from Hannah that made the world stand still.
______

Ty dove to the hard surface of the mount after he passed through the gate. Moshe took a kneeling position behind the first Cedar he came to. Spread out in front of them, firing their weapons with abandon, were a dozen Arabs. Ty spotted the Ark and the black figures protecting it, but three of those figures were laid out on the ground. He recognized one of prone figures as Pastor Ben.
Raising his weapon to eye level, Ty began to methodically drill the attackers from behind. Four dropped almost immediately. Moshe peppered another two before the Arabs realized they were caught in a crossfire.
Once the Arabs turned to face the new threat, Zev and Gilad let loose a string of staccato gunfire and finished off attackers.
Moshe ran to Ben and examined the wound. Ty dropped down beside Ari only to see that the big man was bleeding profusely and beginning to lose consciousness.
Zev and Gilad knelt by the lifeless body of Hannah Lira. She had been killed instantly by a bullet to her forehead.

Mount Quarnat as Asawda
6:55 a.m.

Telnikov had won, at least the battle of wills with General Malkin. The man would eventually gain control of Russian forces, but the damage was done. Not only was Israel the enemy of Islam, so now were the Russians. Malkin would be foolish to order a unilateral ceasefire, for neither the Iranians, Turks, or the Libyans would turn from their new jihad. The coalition was now bent on destroying itself.
The general, his wound wrapped tightly in a blood-soaked bandage, was wedged between two military policemen in an M-8 transport helicopter. The machine lifted off the rocky surface of the mountain and into the air over the Bekaa Valley as the first rays of the sun highlighted the peaks of the eastern horizon. The site distracted him from his pain and his fate. Though he knew an executioner’s bullet would be waiting when he landed, for him this would be a glorious day. He felt it in his heart.

Temple Mount
7:00 a.m.

Leaving Ari Goins alone and dying beside the dead body of Hannah Lira was the hardest thing Ben had ever done, but divine urgency had overcome him. The mission had to be completed, even if it meant his death. Moshe had taken Ari’s place in carrying the Ark. Ty had taken his. Now cradling his weapon in his one good arm, Ben led the team across the hard surface of Temple Mount. As the light of the sun illuminated the plateau, he could make out the rectangular depression called the Dome of the Spirits.
“Hurry,” Zev urged from behind. He’d caught site of a writhing mass of people to the north. The throng was moving again after hearing the gun battle. They had spotted the Ark and were coming for it with hatred filling their cries of battle.
Ben turned and leveled his gun at the crowd. “I’ll hold them off,” he shouted as he knelt and took aim. “Get that Ark into place!”
The four men quickened the pace until they were running in perfect step toward their goal.
Ben opened fire on the mob just as his team reached the depression.
Zev and Moshe pivoted first bringing the front of the Ark around to face the eastern sky. Slowly, carefully, the men lowered Israel’s most precious icon onto its rightful pedestal.
With no warning, the men were stricken by a violent wave of compressed air, followed by an incredible flash of light. And then, everything slowed.
Ty knew he was flying backward through the air, but as he flew, the golden Ark of the Covenant held his gaze. From between the bowing Cherubim, a thick shard of lightning materialized and shot high into the sky. Small bolts of lightning separated themselves from the shard and flashed out from Jerusalem in all direction. It was as if each splinter of light was obeying some command. The atmosphere appeared to split in the violence of God’s wrath. Everything seemed to roll back as if huge hands were opening a scroll.
Ty couldn’t tell when or how he’d landed, but he suddenly felt the ground beneath him. The Earth was trembling. He struggled to turn toward the others, but the glory of the Ark would not release his gaze. In his periphery he caught the images of Ben and Moshe doing the same as he. Their mouths were open in awe at what was happening, not understanding any of it. The rioters were also splayed out flat on their backs.
At first, the shock wave from the Ark completely overwhelmed Ty and the men, including their ability to distinguish all other sounds. But strangely, the steady note of a distant trumpet penetrated the fog in their hearing. The more it sounded, the louder and more joyful it became, as if a trumpeter was flying over the eastern hills and drawing ever closer. Then, over the trumpet’s quickening note came the shout of a strong voice. The sound removed every vestige of fear, and their hearts were filled with hope.
Ty was finally able to lower his gaze. The shard of lightning was now a thick column of fire shooting upward into the sky. As he looked around he was astonished to see Ari in the Cedars with his hands raised in the air. His clothes were bloody, but he was standing as if nothing had happened. Beside him, Hannah Lira was also standing upright, completely whole, and weeping with joy. Ty did not understand.
Then, echoes of his mother’s voice filled his mind. “You will live to see the coming of the Lord.” Tears filled his eyes as he realized what was taking place.
Then, without warning, Ty was flying through cloudless skies. Blake was at his side and holding tightly to his hand. She giggled and cried at the same time. Tasha had joined Moshe. Ingrid was wrapped in Ben’s strong arms. And then, high in the stratosphere, they all saw the King of Kings for the very first time.

Over Lebanon
Same Time

The helicopter bucked and jerked causing one Russian MP to look with alarm at the other. Their eyes spoke what their lips could not. What happened to their prisoner? One second he was there, and then he was gone. But then something else stole their attention.
The mountains along the Bekaa Valley began to belch steam and burning ash. Even from their current altitude, the occupants of the helicopter could see the earth shaking with violence.
They heard the scream of the pilot and felt the force of the sharp turn he was attempting. They all looked through the windshield in time to see a molten chunk of earth just before it sent them to a fiery death.

EPILOGUE
Jerusalem
Three Weeks After the Firestorm

Andre D’Tiene peered through the window at destruction so vast it was indescribable. The mountaintops surrounding Israel had exploded. Everywhere he looked earthen rubble co-mingled with the tools of war, most of which continued to smolder and burn. Worse, everything was painted in blood. Even from this altitude, mass accumulations of bodies were visible. Horror so marred the scene that neither he, nor his companions could utter a word. The inexplicable disappearance of millions across the globe only added to the urgency of the moment. The world was in need of a savior, and the title would fall to him. He was ready.
D’Tiene leaned back in his seat as he felt the sharp turn of the large Sikorsky helicopter. They were on the final approach into Jerusalem, but the huge aircraft was not flying towards an airport. Their destination was the Temple Mount, the famous Zion of old. A historic event awaited him, one that would pull the world away from the brink of annihilation.
Again, the leader of the Mediterranean Union glanced out the window as the helicopter flared over the rubble of the Dome of the Rock, its golden splendor gone forever. He leaned forward to improve his view of the northern side of the plateau that once held the first two Jewish Temples.
Dozens of men stood a few yards to the east of a small, rectangular tent. D’Tiene knew what was housed inside. Resting on the Even Shetiyah, the ancient foundation stone of the original Temple was the Ark of the Covenant. A shiver ran down his spine at the thought of the massive power inside that tent. That golden symbol, along with all its power and glory, would soon be his to protect and command.
The wheels of the Sikorsky gently kissed the ground as the pilot spooled down the engines. A uniformed Israeli soldier opened the door, lowered the steps, and saluted. Andre D’Tiene emerged, followed by the nine remaining ambassadors of the Mediterranean Union.
The newly elected Israeli prime minister was there with extended hand and a wide smile to greet the one on whom the hopes of the world would soon be placed. D’Tiene acknowledged the Israeli with a nod, but his eyes were as serious as the enormity of the moment.
No words were exchanged as the two men approached a dais. Upon it were two chairs and a table. On the table was a document, the provisions of which would insure a rebuilt Temple for Israel. The other members of the Union would serve as witnesses.
A wisp of wind floated across the Mount, as if an unseen presence was adding blessing to the new state of peace that was about to sweep the planet.

© Copyright, Jimmy Root, Jr., 2011
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Chapter Thirty-six thru Thirty-eight

2011-02-27T02:37:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

Tunis, Tunisia
Wednesday, November 25
11:00 p.m. Local Time

D’Tiene took in his surroundings. A gaudy chandelier hanged from the center of the room, its light was just enough to make his eyes ache. The walls, adorned with Persian Rugs draped over mosaic tile, depicted the historic high points of the Muslim culture of Tunis. The walls amplified every word that was uttered, converting it into something harsh and painful to the ears. At the moment, D’Tiene’s ears were practically bleeding. Algeria’s ambassador to the Mediterranean Union was droning on and doing it way too loudly.
“Why should we not demand blood for blood?” the turban-headed Algerian shouted while shaking his fist into the air. “The Jews deserve a swift and deadly answer to their atrocities!”
Immediately, the room fell into chaos as every Muslim ambassador joined to decry Israel.
D’Tiene allowed the cacophony to continue for several minutes. After all, these men represented countries that had no real military prowess with which to confront the Jews. The only outlet left them was to yell and scream.
His eye caught that of the Italian Ambassador’s, and the two shared a barely perceptible smile. When it came down to interjecting any force whatsoever into the situation, the European representatives to the Union would be the ones to accomplish it. Everyone knew it.
He had seen the fall of the European Union coming for the last few years. Too many hands were in the proverbial pot, dividing the power of the EU beyond any ability to make a firm place in the global economy. Only the NATO alliance had actually held Europe together, that with the majority of the input coming from the United States. But now, America had run its course at being the world’s policeman. She had decided to go inward, and in so doing, she was crumbling. Her politics had become so steeped in liberal guilt that she naturally stepped aside in her leadership. Then, the catastrophic detonations of five nuclear warheads in American cities sent the United States down the road of irrelevance, if not chaos.
The game of world monopoly was moving toward a swift and final confrontation. Russia was exerting itself into the Middle East with the clear intent of controlling the world’s energy. But Russia was about to encounter a buzz saw; something Grigory Polkov could never fathom. Israel was no pushover. The size of the country had nothing to do with its will to survive, nor its ability to turn vicious when needed. The Russian Bear was about to step into a bear trap. Once that happened, the world would find itself void of leadership. He planned to step in and save the day.
As the vitriolic shouting continued, D’Tiene’s only doubt centered around the Chinese. So far, they had not reacted to the world’s current turmoil. Would they? He didn’t see how they could avoid stepping in to force their influence, especially since they owned most of the world’s monetary debt. Unless they were willing to watch their long-sought assets washed away in a tide of global warmongering, some entrance into the fray was inevitable. But when? That was the question.
For these reasons, D’Tiene had called this emergency meeting of the Mediterranean Union. With America sidetracked, Europe failing, and the Russian’s about to have a rude awakening, the time for the remnants of the old Roman Empire to rise had finally come.
D’Tiene noticed the level of sound beginning to diminish and held up his hands, palms outward. The shouting stopped.
“I agree,” he spoke respectfully, but with authority, “Israel must be dealt with. But, my friends, it will not be with anger or military force. In the midst of everything that has happened, the Israeli’s are undergoing a transformation.”
“How so?” shouted the Greek Ambassador. “They thumb their noses in arrogance, even at the peacekeeping force.”
“Yes, but you must understand, the tide is changing. Prime Minister Naftali is dead. The nation is about to sigh and relax, thinking it has achieved some modicum of peace. Israel has dealt with its nearest enemies and has captured their land. The Jews now believe they are safe. Their military will form a wall of defense that will keep the homeland secure. The Palestinian political machine is gone. There is nothing left to fear.”
“They have us to fear. We must avenge our brethren,” interjected the Algerian ambassador.
D’Tiene nodded. “You shall, but patience must be the plan of the day, not hotheaded vengeance.”
“What do you propose; to sit by and let the Jews take over the entire region?” the Algerian persisted.
“My friend, unless I am mistaken, they already have.” D’Tiene pointed out. The room was quiet as the truth finally sank in. Everyone looked at him for an answer, exactly as he’d designed all along. “Our actions must be calculated, as mine have been from the beginning. I will now share with you what has transpired in secret.
D’Tiene carefully, and in great detail, laid out for the ambassadors every move, every agreement he had made. The Israeli’s would soon look at the Mediterranean Union as its keeper while the rest of the world would look at the MU as its protector.
What is demanded is a little more patience,” D’Tiene lectured. “If we will simply wait, the Israeli’s will come to us.”
“Why would they do this?” challenged the ambassador from Spain.
“Because,” D’Tiene grinned smugly, “the supreme bargaining chip is in my hands.”
“And that is?”
D’Tiene brought his hands together and laid them on the table. “A new Jewish Temple in Jerusalem.”
As the delegates turned the place into another uproar, D’Tiene motioned for Reginald Tipry to approach.
The man lowered his ear close to the president’s mouth so he could hear above the ruckus.
“Alert both teams.”
“Our men in Jerusalem are already in place and awaiting the word.”
“Good. Tell them to initiate the plan then get the other team moving toward Aksum by no later than Friday before dawn!”
Tipry quickly left the room to make the calls.

Mount Quarnat as Sawda
Same Time Local

“We must establish blocking actions here, here, and here.”
Telnikov pointed out his wishes to the commanding officers of the combine peacekeeping force, excluding the Iranians. The exclusion was intentional, though not something that would have been approved by Moscow. Telnikov had simply come to the conclusion that the fool who was leading the Iranians was about to purposefully engage Israel on his own.
“General,” the commander of Russia’s 3rd Guards Army interjected. His force of eight thousand men was positioned along the eastern border of Lebanon just into Syria. “These positions gain us no ground.”
“I am well aware of this,” Telnikov said with a hint of irritation. “By forming our lines in these locations we will stretch Israel’s northern command to its limit.”
“Yes, but they will entrench and become immovable,” challenged the general in charge of Turkish forces. “It is not our intention to sacrifice needless blood by flying headlong into Israeli fire. We must move forward before Israel and establish clear lines of supply and communications.”
The other generals agreed a bit too vocally.
Telnikov slammed a balled fist on the table and immediately regained the attention of his strong-willed subordinates.
“Comrades,” he lowered his voice, “you do not have an understanding of the larger picture.”
“And what would that be,” smirked the Turk.
Telnikov’s first instinct was to reach across the table and slap the man across the face, but he overcame the urge. Instead, he took on the attitude of a wise professor lecturing a pimply-faced student on his first day of class.
“You do not see the true face of your enemy. The man your government embraced months ago, my Turkish friend, is the one who is about to betray you.”
“What are you saying?” growled the Turk.
“You have kissed the cheek of the one who will bring about your destruction. You have been deceived.”
“Ah,” said the commander from Sudan, “you speak of Iran, do you not? Why are they not represented at this table?”
“Yes, why are they not here?” questioned Libya’s military leader.
Telnikov again placed a finger on the map splayed out before them. “The Iranian’s were supposed to be moving in support of the Russian 3rd Army. Their area of concern was distinctly west of Damascus. I ask you, have they complied with the plan? And if not, the question is why? Tell me!”
No one answered.
“The reason is simple,” Telnikov explained. “The President of Iran, who is leading Iranian forces himself, has a design that does not conform to ours. That is why he has taken up a position that will allow Israel to trap him.”
“Does this not demonstrate only his foolishness?” asked the Russian. “He is a civilian attempting to lead beyond his capacity.”
“This may be the appearance, but his actions are purposeful.”
“You are saying Kazimi’s intention is to be obliterated?”
Telnikov shook his head in the affirmative.
“That is madness!” exclaimed the Turk.
He is hiding something. I see it in his expression, thought Telnikov. The statement was for show.
Only a second or two passed before he continued. “Nyet, it is religious, and we are going to allow his intention to come to pass. Do you not see? Israel will soon be forced to deal with Kazimi. I do not believe they will use tactical nuclear weapons. The prevailing winds would bring radioactive contamination upon their own people.”
“Ah, yes,” grinned the Turk, “I see it now. Israel will have no choice but to engage conventionally with the Iranians. They do not have the ability to sustain a multi-front campaign.”
“Finally, you see the truth!”
“If we demonstrate no aggressive action,” the Libyan surmised, “they will see no threat. They will concentrate their forces and supply lines into Syria to confront Kazimi.”
“Da,” Telnikov laughed, “leaving our armies nothing but a peaceful march all the way to Jerusalme. Now, begin moving into the positions I have indicated. Be in your designated location by sunrise tomorrow morning, midday at the latest. Then, we will sit back and let the Iranian tie his own noose and hang himself.”
The commanders got up and left the room, but Telnikov had a strange feeling that each had his own agenda. The coalition had no real unity.

CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN

Jerusalem
Thursday, November 26
Noon

This was not at all how Ty had imagined he would spend his first Thanksgiving as a married man, but it was awesome none-the-less. Because of his inability to drive, due to the heavy cast on his left arm, Moshe had given the keys to Ty and he was having a blast driving like an Israeli.
Moshe grinned from the passenger seat as he noticed the expression on his friend’s face. They had just topped the hill moving eastward on Sderot Shazar and the full view of a curving, elevated roadway came into view. It was called the String Bridge. Passing beneath the structure, the width and breadth of Jerusalem opened up before them. The panorama was breathtaking.
“Wow,” Blake gasped from the back seat where she, Tasha, and Ingrid had been conversing. “It’s so beautiful!”
Moshe directed Ty to blend into the traffic moving onto the Sderot Sarel Israel. After that they moved onto Hatyvat Yerushalaym, the Jerusalem Highway. They were following the same route that Ben had taken to the University nearly a week earlier.
“Will we see the Temple Mount?” Blake asked. “I can’t wait to see it.”
“Not on this highway,” Moshe explained. “The Hatyvat will soon take us south toward the University. Temple Mount is close though. It is on the other side of this ridge.” He pointed up the tree-covered hill that came into view on their left. Interspersed on the hillside were various residences tucked into stands of tall pine trees. “These compounds are residences to foreign embassies located here in Jerusalem. Of course, not every nation has recognized the city as Israel’s capitol. But, according to what you have been teaching me, that will change at some point.”
Ty smiled and nodded. “True! The whole world will be required to report on a regular basis to his office.”
Moshe chuckled. “I would have never thought of the rule of Messiah as coming from an office suite.”
“You have to use your imagination,” laughed Ty.
“Moshe, let me rephrase my question,” Blake spoke up again as she leaned close to the window’s glass and looked upward. “Will we see the Temple Mount today? And what’s that black smoke rising above the crest of the hill?”
“Ah yes, I understand now,” Moshe answered as he gazed at the sky through his side of the windshield. “I have no idea what is causing that smoke.”
“There sure is a lot of it,” Blake said. She spoke more to herself than to the others.
Moshe continued his answer as he pondered the reason for the smoke. “Anyway, we will not have that privilege today. Professor Aveneri specifically requested that we arrive at the University as soon as possible. Plus, from what I heard this morning on the radio, there is substantial Arab unrest. The Mount may be inaccessible for a few days.”
Just then, as they swept around a sharp curve at the bottom of the hill, Ty was forced to stand on the brakes. The rear tires locked, emitting a loud shriek while burning rubber. All three women screamed.
The sedan turned sideways and came to a rest just feet from a black van that was blocking the road.
“What in the world?” Ty blurted as a fist-sized rock dented the car’s hood.
Beyond a makeshift roadblock a dozen policemen clashed with at least ten times their number of protestors. Billy clubs were swinging, but the protestors were not only resisting, they appeared to have the upper hand.
“Arabs,” Ingrid moaned from the back seat. “We must get out of here now.”
“Go!” Moshe shouted.
Ty craned his neck to make sure no other vehicles had pulled in behind them then threw the car into reverse. The tires screeched again as he backed away from the van. One car after another came flying by. Ty was barely able to avoid them as he spun around to head the other way. They all heard the sound of crumpling metal as one of the vehicles crushed the back of another.
“This is not good,” Moshe stated. He reached in his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. “Ty, do you still have Professor Aveneri’s card?
“Yes, I’ve got it right here.”
Moshe handed the phone to his wife. He motioned for Ty to do the same with the business card. “Tasha, I cannot dial. Punch in the number and hand it back.”
Tasha input the numbers then handed the phone back to Moshe. They all listened in to the one-sided conversation as Moshe talked with the professor.
“We have a major problem. The east side of Mount Moriah is in turmoil,” Moshe said as he slapped the phone shut in his hand.
“What is happening Moshe?” asked Tasha in a fearful voice.
“It’s worse than I thought. The entire Arab East Quarter has gone mad and has overflowed into this area. Aveneri said the campus of the University has been overrun. Some of the buildings are being looted as we speak. That is also the source of the smoke. They are burning as they move through.”
Blake placed her hands over her mouth. “Oh my Lord!”
Tasha reached forward and laid her hand on Moshe’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”
“He’s sending us into the Jewish Quarter near the Hurva Synagogue. He has a home within a hundred meters of it.” Moshe turned and smiled weakly at Blake. “You are going to get your wish. From where we are going, the Temple Mount will be in plain sight, but you may also see a full-blown Arab riot.”
“Shouldn’t we be heading back to Haifa?” Tasha asked.
“No. The Professor said they are closing all highways leading into Jerusalem to prevent the entrance of suicide bombers. The police are trying to keep this thing from spreading until military units can be engaged. The problem is most of the local battalions are elsewhere fighting a war.”
Ty glanced momentarily at Moshe while he navigated the roadway. “I guess there won’t be any preaching going on today.” A string of three armored personnel carriers filled with riot police flew past them down the highway.
Moshe grunted and frowned. “Not at the University.”
Thirty minutes later Ty was following the movements of Ehud Aveneri as he directed them off the street and into a garage. Navigating a roadway built for foot traffic was difficult. Having the street fill with people running to and fro made it worse. But trying to crank the car around and through the narrow door was nearly impossible. There was barely enough room to exit the vehicle. After he’d parked, they all had to ease between half-opened doors and solid stone walls. Moshe had the worst of it trying to squeeze through a narrow opening while wearing a cast.
The Professor ushered them through a long, dimly lit passageway apologizing the entire time.
“I should have never had you come. I am so sorry. Please forgive me.”
Blake stepped ahead of Ty and eased up alongside the man. When she slipped her hand under his arm he halted. Her voice was barely above a whisper when she spoke. “There is nothing to forgive, Professor. Anyway, we’re not here of our own accord.”
“What do you mean to say?” asked Aveneri, surprised but obviously pleased by her show affection.
She gently patted his arm. “The Torah says ‘the steps of a righteous man are ordered of the Lord,’ do they not?”
He grinned widely. “Ah, a student of the Torah! Yes, that is what was spoken by the prophet David.”
“Then we are here because the Lord brought us here. Don’t worry. This is a great adventure.”
Aveneri lifted his head back and laughed. “Well then, come along. We shall begin this adventure together.”
The passage way took several turns before they finally reached a door that stood ajar.
“Welcome to my home. Please, be comfortable,” said the Professor as he allowed each of the five to pass into his modest living quarters. “May I prepare you each a cup of tea while you rest?”
They all agreed and stepped into the main seating area. The walls were constructed of what appeared to be painted sandstone, but the paint could not hide the pits and marks that belied the home’s age. Beautifully stained cedar molding framed the doorways and windows, and a seven candled light fixture hung from the center of the room. Two pillowed sofas and three chairs were available for seating. Pictures of various archeological digs lined the room. But what took the visitor’s breath away was the large picture window on what was easily determined to be the eastern wall.
In clear sight, not three hundred meters away, the cover of the Dome of the Rock peaked above the houses and trees of the Jewish quarter. Rays of sunlight reflected off what looked to be pure gold, causing all four to shield their eyes as they adapted to the brightness.
What they could not see was a mass of thousands of Arab Muslims marching together in a wide counterclockwise circle around the shrine. They could, however, hear the low roar of an angry multitude.

The Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Thursday, November 26
4:30 p.m.

Ben pulled the strap tight and latched it on his pack. He then examined, for the third time, each item before securing them in specific compartments. Five fully-loaded clips of fifteen bullets each were for the 40 caliber S&P handgun he’d been issued. A composite-handled knife, with five inch blade and sheath, was provided for hand-to-hand fighting. Four fragmentation and flash-bang grenades were in place. A med-kit, small flashlight, gun-kit, face paint, and more were all stowed and ready. Inside the pack was a day’s supply of MRE’s, meals-ready-to-eat, two containers carrying dozens of loaded clips for the 5.56 mm IMI Tavor assault weapon he’d be toting. He also had night vision equipment, and various sundry items he would need in the coming fight.
Once he was done, Ben turned to his combat buddy and checked the man’s pack and equipment. Gilad Belfer did the same for him while Zev Tolberg and Ari Goins stood alongside and watched. The four were designated as a single fire team. The last few training sessions had been done together as they learned to read each other’s movements. Ari was not only biggest and most rugged of the four, he was their leader. His team was ready.
Ben slipped his arms through his Kevlar vest, but left it unzipped and hanging loose off his shoulders. The day was slightly warmer than it had been of late. The sun was shining brightly, though it was well into its descent in the eastern sky. The last thing he donned was his helmet. He would wait until deep into the flight before putting on the communications equipment, which consisted of an earpiece with a thin, directional microphone.
The entire ARC team stood casually beside a C-130 military transport aircraft as they awaited the arrival of their leader, Hannah Lira. While they loitered in anticipation of the mission, Ty heard the engine of a smaller, propped aircraft as it lined up its approach to the facility’s runway.
“And who could that be?” Gilad asked as he shielded his eyes. The plane was coming in from the southeast with the obscuring the men’s ability to identify it.
A twin-engine Cessna 310, painted in camouflage tones, came into view and touched down. It then traversed the runway and taxied to their position. No one noticed that Hannah had pulled up and dismounted from one of the base’s Humvees. She was in full combat dress.
The Cessna’s engines shut down and the door was opened. A short, silver-haired man, wearing a kaki jacket and wire-rimmed glasses stepped out and made his way toward the commandos. He was followed by Ehud Katz, Commanding General of the Israeli Defense Force, whom everyone identified immediately. No one recognized Chaim Bloomberg, the new Prime Minister of Israel.
Hannah pushed through the group of men and made her way to Bloomberg.
“Welcome Mister Prime Minister,” she greeted as she shook the stately man’s hand.
Bloomberg and Katz stood before the men and took a moment with each one before the general indicated he had something to say.
“Men, I want you to understand that although few in Eretz Israel even know of it, your mission could be the instrument that finally provides hope to our people. With the recovery of the ancient Ark of the Covenant, the greatest unifying icon in all our history will take its place in Jerusalem. I am proud of every one of you. I am praying for your safety and success, though I am quite sure you are prepared for any contingency. And now, the prime minister wishes to address you.”
Chaim Bloomberg clasped his hands together as if in prayer and put his fingertips to his lips. Several long seconds passed. When he spoke, his voice was barely audible, causing the men to strain in order to hear.
“As you know, terrible things have happened during the last twenty-four hours. Prime Minister Naftali was given no joy in doing what he did, and the toll was almost too great for him to bear. But what is done, is done. We cannot go back and change the course we have taken. What we can do is succeed with the help of the Lord.”
The commandos shot quick looks at their companions. The way the prime minister spoke the name of the Lord was different. He saw the exchange.
“Yes, what you are thinking is so,” he acknowledge with a weary smile. “I am a believer. General Katz calls on the name of Yeshua as well. We are all brothers, not only in blood, but in Messiah.”
Ben could hardly believe what he was hearing. Few knew of Chaim Bloomberg as anything other than a secretive advisor to the former Prime Minister. But everyone knew of General Katz. He was in the headlines nearly every day in his ministrations over the IDF. To find out he was believer in Yeshua was a complete shock.
Bloomberg continued. “There are other actions taking place that you need to know about.” He lowered his head and began to pace in front of the men as if teaching a class. “The mission, direction, and make-up of this team has been leaked.”
“What?” questioned Zev Tolberg.
“It is true,” said Katz. “We have been alerted by our sources that you will come face-to-face with another special operations team sent to recover the Ark.”
“Who?”
“Before you become too upset, understand that the information was purposely leaked by Mos’sad operatives to elements within the French government. We suspected that the former President of France, the current leader of the Mediterranean Union, has been watching our movements since this plan was first conceived. That has now been proven. The MU has dispatched a highly skilled black-ops team to Ethiopia. Their mission is to intercept the Ark once you have taken if from its hiding place in Aksum.”
“Why was this information leaked,” Zev continued to fume.
“The answer is not important. What is important is that you are prepared to meet whatever danger presents itself, yes?”
Zev kicked at the asphalt surface of the tarmac in disgust, but said nothing.
“I am confident you will handle the situation,” Bloomberg continued. “Now, if your anger has sufficiently subsided, I would like to offer a prayer for success.”
The men gathered in close. Ben thought it strange that Hannah had yet to say anything at all. In fact, she had not reacted to Bloomberg’s news. He kept his eye on her through Bloomberg’s prayer and wondered what was going on.

Jerusalem
Thursday, November 26
5:30 p.m.

The sun was setting in the east, and the air was beginning to chill. Ty and Blake were standing in front of Professor Aveneri’s home wondering if this experience was part of a dream come true, or the beginning of a nightmare. They were in Jerusalem within sight of the Temple Mount, but the moment was marred by the roar of voices and an occasional scream emanating from the grounds of the famous site. A full blown riot was in progress.
Aveneri’s neighbors along the street were also milling about in low conversation. Years had passed since the last great Arab uprising. Only the older Jews living in the neighborhood remembered the anger that precipitated the Yom Kippur attack on Israel. Those memories caused them to fear what might happen next, for there were few things more volatile than Arab populations bent on vengeance.
The huge mob encircling the Dome of the Rock had revenge on its mind. With Israel’s action to eliminate every Arab country along its borders, both Palestinians and Muslims in the Arab Quarter had arisen with deadly intent, martyrdom if necessary. In their minds, world opinion must turn their way in the face of Israeli aggression. The huge forces arrayed under the flag of the Russian Peacekeeping Coalition were the desired saviors. If the rioters and their leaders could somehow force the Israelis to react to protests with violence, then the Peacekeepers would be coerced to intervene and take control of Jerusalem.
Professor Aveneri had spent the afternoon explaining the situation and mindset of the Arabs to his five guests. They took the opportunity to understand as best they could by asking many questions. He was quite pleased as they absorbed his instruction as studiously as his prized university pupils.
Now, as Ty and Blake held hands, they couldn’t help but wonder why God had positioned them in Jerusalem when things had started so well in Haifa.
“I wish I knew,” Ty responded to Blake when she asked him point blank why they were there. “I think he gets a kick out of confusing me. Plus, if I knew why he was doing what he’s doing, I would know what was going to happen next.”
“Don’t you?” she teased. “Isn’t that how we ended up in Israel in the first place?”
“How so?”
“Well, you preached about the prophecy against Damascus, and that Israel and the United States would suffer a bunch of new terrorist strikes. Isn’t that what happened?”
“Yeah, I suppose so.”
“Okay. So then you convinced your people to be ready to help out when the bad stuff happened, and because of that, you ended up having your face broadcast on international television, and so on and so forth.”
Ty laughed for the first time in a very long while. “Alright, alright, you got me. It’s all my fault.”
“No, silly,” she slugged him on the arm, “it’s God’s fault.”
He bent down and kissed her on the forehead. “You just answered your own question, sweetie.”
Her smile was wide.
Ehud Aveneri stepped through the door followed by Moshe. The two had been in the Professor’s office listening to the radio and talking things through. “I hope we are not interrupting,” he said apologetically.
“Of course not, Professor,” Ty assured him.
“Good. My goodness, we have some favorable news.”
“What’s that?”
“I have been able to contact many of my fellow instructors from the University, and although it will be impossible to meet on the campus, we have secured a rather large room right near here.”
“Wonderful!” Blake exclaimed.
“Yes, it is. We will soon have a small bite to eat, and then we will make our way to the synagogue.”
“Will that be okay?” Ty asked. “I mean, wouldn’t that cause offense to the Jews?”
“Normally, I would say this is true. But you must understand that even the Jews are desirous of discussing the ancient prophecies. You will have a stupendous opportunity to share what you have learned, and along the way, reveal the truth of Messiah.”
Ty and Moshe locked eyes for a moment. Moshe grinned. “What were you telling me recently about the Apostle Paul?”
Ty shook his head in awe until he remembered how many times Paul was thrown out of synagogues, stoned, and left for dead.

Israeli Air Space
Same Time

Hannah Lira unbuckled her harness and stood at the front of the cargo hold. She faced the men. They were surprised to see her movements. The hum of the C-130’s large jet engines caused her to raise her voice and shout. Most of the team members were forced to pull protective plugs from their ears so they could hear.
Hannah pointed as she called to four men in particular. “Zev, Ari, Ben, and Gilad, please come forward so we can speak.”
The four men complied.
Hannah entered the aft door of the pilot’s cabin and motioned the men into an area occupied by the C-130’s navigator. When she closed the door the engine noise was decreased by half.
“What’s up, Hannah?” Ari asked.
“There’s no way I could tell you this before, but you are about to exit the aircraft.”
“Pardon me?” said Ben incredulously.
“That’s right. This will be a shock, but the real mission is not to Aksum, Ethiopia.”
“Why is this the first time we’ve heard of it?” Ari blurted.
“Because,” Hannah crossed her arms, “we’ve had a mole in camp.”
“One of our team?” Ben asked.
“No, it was one of the support personnel. He was a Russian informant. We had to play the game out and wait until we were in the air to tell you the truth.”
“So, what’s the truth?” Zev challenged. “Where is the team going?”
“Not the team, just us five! The rest will continue on to Aksum and carry the ruse to the end. We will now form a five-person team, and we will be going to the actual location of the Ark.”
“Where?” All four said at the same time.
Hannah looked at her watch and then the navigator. He held up his hands and extended seven fingers. “We are about to go over the Judean Hills,” he shouted.
“In seven minutes, we will parachute off the ramp and into the desert. A military transport is waiting to take us to Jerusalem. You will receive the rest of your instructions and the location of the Ark once we are in the vehicle and in route.”
“Holy cow!” Ben reverted to English, quoting a saying from his younger days. They hadn’t trained for individual jumps from an aircraft.
Hannah understood and smiled. “Don’t worry Ben. You got plenty of practice jumping off the tower. This will be no different. The parachutes are stowed in a container next to the ramp controls. Go now. Get your equipment together, your packs on, and strap on your chute.”
A few minutes later, the ramp had lowered and Ben was feeling the crisp night air push his cheeks back nearly to his earlobes as he fell through the air. His body had ceased its shaking the second he had jumped off the end of the ramp. Only the fading light of what must have been a gorgeous sunset offered him the ability to see anything on the ground below. Dear God, don’t let anything get broken, he thought.

CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT

Near Be’er Sheva, Israel
Thursday, November 26
6:30 p.m.

Ben was glad to finally be able to sit, even if it was in the back of a truck bumping its way along a rutted roadway. The team had parachuted into an uninhabited sector of the Negev far from curious eyes, but the landing zone ended up being several miles from where the truck and driver were waiting. That minor miscalculation precipitated a hike of over five miles through very rugged and rocky territory. Although he felt he had been trained into descent physical condition, the fast-paced jaunt over hills and wadis gave him a reminder him of his age.
After thirty more minutes the truck came to a halt and Hannah took the opportunity to pull a map and spread it before them.
“Now, we learn the truth,” Ari Goins said with a sly smile as he illuminated the map with a flashlight.
“I apologize for the ruse, but it had to be this way,” Hannah shrugged. “I think Yeshua understands. We’ll let Ben give us a Bible lesson on ethics when this is over. In the meantime, this is what our mission now looks like.”
She traced her finger over the map until she found a spot just south of Be’er Sheva. “We have about three hours to go in this truck before we get to Jerusalem. By then, things should be calm enough to move into position.”
“What do you mean by ‘calm enough’?” Ben asked.
“The Arab population is in an uproar as we speak. The Temple Mount is a cauldron of anger. But, I’m counting on that anger subsiding, at least for the evening.”
“So where is the Ark of the Covenant?” Gilad was growing impatient.
Hannah circled the Jewish Quarter of Old Jerusalem with her finger. “About one hundred meters directly east of the Wailing Wall there is a chamber deep beneath a street named HoSha’orim. Although the existing avenue does not reach the actual wall, the original street led directly to the Cotton Merchant’s Gate and into the Court of the Gentiles. The chamber I speak of is at a depth of ten meters below the original HoSha’orim road.”
“That depth puts it at least seventy feet beneath the surface,” said Zev Tolberg with a whistle.
“More like eighty,” Hannah corrected.
“How was it found?” asked Ben.
“A fellow archeological professor at the university decided to do a bit of renovation inside his home in the Jewish Quarter. At first he thought he’d simply broken through the floor and into a small cavity. But, being an archeologist, he knew that nothing under Jerusalem was solid. The city has been built, destroyed, and rebuilt multiple times. Cavities exist underneath today’s buildings, but the cave-in he created proved to be more than a cavity. The more he dug, the more the soil gave way beneath him until it had opened into what was probably a drainage ditch during the time of Solomon.
“Of course, my friend was aware that the Arabs in control the Temple Mount go ballistic whenever we find a place to dig in the area. They act like we are tarnishing the holiness of their site, but what they desire is to prevent archeological evidence that the Jews are the rightful owners of Mariah.”
“And I’m guessing your friend found the real proof.” Ben surmised.
“Not at first. He brought me in to see what he’d found, and we gathered some trustworthy students to begin a secret excavation. It took some time, but we finally opened up a long passage way that ran east to west beneath the ancient street. Moving westward, the tunnel ended in a hewn stairway that led up to a crumbling portion of the old Hurva Synagogue. Going east toward Temple Mount the passage hit a dead end of what appeared to be solid rock.”
“How can something appear to be solid and not actually be?” Gilad was evidently born a skeptic.
“That is because it was the face of cut stone, granite from Lebanon to be precise. The stone measured four feet in width, six feet in height, and was six inches thick. We dug our way around it and found another masonry wall that was nearly two feet in thickness. We drilled a hole and inserted a small camera into the chamber.” Hannah paused and took a sip from her water bottle.
Now Zev grew impatient. “And what was in the chamber?”
Hannah mouth opened into a wide grin and her eyes seemed to sparkle. “Every Temple artifact imaginable.”
“Including the Ark of the Covenant?” Gilad asked.
“We are certain it is there, though we did not actually see it. What we saw was a crate,” Hannah laughed. “Once we got ourselves under control, it was decided to circumvent the chamber by using another passage way. That continued toward the Temple to the east. I believe that is the start of another tunnel that will lead directly to the Cotton Merchant’s Gate.”
“Isn’t that where the Dome of the Rock is located?”
“Actually, the Cotton Merchant’s Gate no longer exists, but if it did, it would open east of the front door of the Dome.”
“That sounds like a dead end!” blurted Gilad.
“Not exactly,” Hannah clarified. “Other tunnels have been uncovered over the years, but the Arabs prevented us from exploring them to their fullest extent. However, one thing I know, a passageway runs along the western wall. It is about ten meters to the west of today’s foundation and runs north to south. I believe we can utilize that passage to get us as close to the Iron Gate as possible.”
Ben shook his head and snapped his finger as he began to see the whole picture in his mind. “The Iron Gate opened behind the Temple. Specifically, it opened up behind the Holy of Holies.”
“Exactly, Ben! In fact, the ancient pedestal of the Ark is still enshrined in its original position,” Hannah explained.
“The Dome of the Spirits,” Ben whispered.
“That’s right. It is called the Even Shetiyah, and it is a small rectangular depression a few hundred feet northwest of the Dome of the Rock. The slab is sunk below the surface by more than a foot.”
“So, how are we going to get to this thing and remove it?” Ari was ready to go.
“We have to get into the Jewish Quarter and into the Hurva Synagogue tonight. Once we broach the chamber, we will have only a few hours to break into the tunnels. There is a stash of C-4 waiting for us. We’ll probably have to use it several times in order to blast a hole back to the surface when we near the Iron Gate.”
Zev leaned back and took a deep breath. “This is going to take some work.”
“Yes it is,” Hannah agreed, “and we will have only this night to accomplish the feat. The fact that the Arabs have mobbed Temple Mount will only complicate things.”
“Not necessarily,” said Gilad. “The sound of rioting will mask our use of explosives.”
Just then the truck driver started the engine. The final leg of the mission had begun.

Abu Kamal, Eastern Syria
Thursday, November 26
7:00 p.m.

Tariq Kazimi was still bowed with his forehead to the floor when his aide cracked open the door. The young man waited until he saw the supreme commander flex and come upright on his knees. Kazimi had finished his required evening prayers. At the sound of the aide clearing his throat Kazimi stood and turned.
“What news, Ishtu?”
“The throngs are in full swing in Quds, Supreme Commander,” the aide informed the president using the Islamic term for Jerusalem.
“How many are involved? Has there been any violence?”
“Our sources estimates thirty thousand souls at the Holy Site, and yes, there has been violence. Fires are burning in the Arab and Armenian Quarters.”
“I mean by the Jews,” Kazimi said impatiently.
“As of now, only minor skirmishes have been reported. The Jews seem content to let the people demonstrate their anger.”
“That must change. Order our operatives to incite the mob against the police. Bring about a few deaths, especially from among the women. We will then have reason to react.”
“Yes, Supreme Commander. It will be done,” said the aide as he began to back out the door.
“Make it happen soon, Ishtu. Call General Tehrani to my quarters.”
“Yes, Supreme Commander.
Three minutes later the commander of the Pasdaran Army knocked on the president’s door.
“You called, Tari?” Tehrani and Kazimi had been friends and co-conspirators in the Islamic Republic for decades. The liberty he took in using Kazimi’s nickname was permitted.
“Abdullah, I want you to ready the 9th Artillery Battalion for engagement.”
“What do you have in mind?”
“At last report, the Jews were well within the range of our Howitzers. I believe the Golani Brigade would make a wonderful target.”
“You know the Jews will retaliate.”
Kazimi bent his head back and laughed. “My friend—that is the plan. Once the Jews begin returning fire, I want every armored unit on the line to attack. Send them all.”
“But Tari, this would be an act of suicide. How do you think the Russian infidels will react?”
“Abdullah, you should know by now that martyrdom is precious in the sight of Allah. It is not suicide, and I do not care how the Russian pigs react,” Kazimi declared as he sat at his desk and signed a document. Once he was done, he handed it to the general. “Here is your order. I want the artillery to commence firing by 0300 hours. Once Israel responds, I want wave after wave to move against the Jews. Then, just as the battle swells to its most violent moment, you will unleash the nuclear tipped Fateh missiles into the fray.”
As he held the document and reviewed the signed order the General failed to see Kazimi slip his hand into an open drawer and grip the handgun hidden in its confines.
“Tariq, this is madness. I will not…” The General stopped in mid-sentence as a 40 caliber weapon was pulled out and pointed at his face. He could see that the hammer had already been cocked. Kazimi used his thumb to switch the safety into the firing position.
“Abdullah my friend, I will send you to an eternity you do not want to face if you do not obey. Now, would you like to re-register your protest? Or, have you had a change of heart?”
Tehrani swallowed heard. Sweat appeared on his brow, and it took his full control to keep from releasing his bladder. Finally he answered. “Mr. President, I have had a complete change of heart. Your wise order will be followed to the letter.”
“Good,” Kazimi mocked. He began lowering the gun. “Never cross me again!” Then he fired the weapon, placing a bullet between the general’s feet.

Jerusalem
10:00 p.m.

Ty was spent. For two hours he had presented one prophecy after another. Each one was discussed, debated, and analyzed to the inth degree. He was frustrated. He was exhausted. Discouragement was hovering around the edge of his heart, yet he persisted with as much patience as he could muster.
“Yes,” he countered the current argument, “but the passage specifically states, ‘My servant David will be king over them, and they will all have one shepherd.’ We have to be very careful not to dissect the full text that Ezekiel gave. The context of the paragraph clearly demonstrates that the servant David would rise again to the throne after such time as the Jews were brought back to the land of Israel.”
The Rabbi who currently held the floor in the discussion was vehement in his position. “This cannot be speaking of today. It specifically mentions David, not this Yeshua you keep pointing to.”
“This is true. David died and was buried. You have his grave with you to this day. But did Jehovah not promise David that his seed would sit on the throne? My friend, why would Messiah not suffer as Isaiah chapter fifty-three states? You claim the passage represents the sufferings of Israel, but the figure that is presented is one who will save Israel from sin and impurity. Israel cannot do that for itself.”
The Rabbi fumed, but only threw up his hands as if his attempt to teach a wayward child were failing.
Ty waited, but as he did, he prayed. Father, if there was ever a time when blindness needed to be lifted, it is now. Open their eyes to the truth of your Son. Then a new tack entered into his mind. “Let’s go a bit further into Ezekiel’s words for a moment and look at it logically. Verse twenty-five states; ‘They and their children and their children’s children will live there forever, and David my servant will be their prince forever.’ It goes on to say God would put his sanctuary among them forever. Notice how the generations pass, but the Prince of the line of David is singular. The portrayal is not of a lineage, but of one individual. That individual is equated with the eternal God in the very same verse.”
The room went completely silent. A chord had been struck. Even the expression on the Rabbi’s face changed from anger to consideration.
“The reason he is equated with God is because Messiah is God’s Son…known throughout rabbinical writings as the Son of Man. How can this be unless God brought about the miraculous entrance of his divinity into the human race? Messiah not only mediates between man and God, but between God and man. He had to represent both. That is the impact of Isaiah’s messianic figure. Ezekiel demonstrates the practical reality of the person. Yeshua, proven son of David, fulfilled Isaiah’s prophecy. He is about to fulfill Ezekiel’s as well.”
Suddenly, the sound of a large explosion startled the people. It was soon followed by the blast’s concussion. The building shook with the impact of the shock wave.
Everyone in the room stood at once. People moved toward the exit doors, not because of curiosity, but because the closest underground shelter was on the next street. With so many missiles having fallen over the previous days, the first reaction was to believe Israel was again under attack.
Ty reached for Blake’s hand as she ran to him from her position in the back of the room. Moshe, Tasha, and Ingrid were right behind her as they headed for the door. Ty saw the professor already heading for the street. That’s when the shouting died.
The five friends stepped out into the crowd. The people were no longer running, nor were any words uttered. Their eyes were fixed on the horizon to the northeast, directly at the Temple Mount.
Moshe came alongside Ty and followed the people’s gaze. “Something is missing,” he spoke softly.
Ty looked from Moshe to the Mount then back, not believing what his senses were telling him. The Dome of the Rock, the third greatest Islamic shrine in the world, was no longer standing. In its place was a cloud of dust.

_____________

Five hundred meters to the north of Ty’s location, Hannah Lira and her team of commandos quickly dismounted from the back of the truck. They had just passed the Tower of David Museum, and had entered the Jewish Quarter when the blast caused the driver to bring the truck to a sudden halt. Their position in the widest part of the Omar Ben el-hatab road afforded a view of the Temple Mount from a higher altitude. All around them, people had exited their dwellings and were standing silently. Every eye was on the Mount. Most of the plateau was visible. Fires were burning from the al’Aqsa Mosque at the southern end, all the way to Stephen’s gate, called Sa’ar ha-Aroyot at the northeast corner. The din of the rioting crowd could be clearly heard at a distance of over half a mile.
“My God,” Zev Tolberg moaned.
“We did NOT do that,” Ari Goins exclaimed in disbelief.
“Of course we did not do that,” Hannah said calmly. “The last thing the government would want right now is to draw more attention to Mariah. This was done by the Arabs.”
Ben just stood with his hands on his hips and shook his head. Everything had suddenly become surreal.
“No,” Ari pointed toward the scene and growled, “but those nuts are going to blame it on Israel. I will lay odds that they’ll be rampaging through the Jewish Quarter before midnight.”
Hannah turned to Ari. He was right. Every aspect of her initial plan was now ruined. Doubt clouded her face, and they all witnessed it. The mission was in jeopardy.
Ben was unable to bring himself to believe everything he’d gone through in training had been a waste of time. He could have been with Ingrid, ministering to his people, offering hope and salvation to as many as would listen. But he was also sure he’d been led by God to join the team. God would not have brought them this far to leave them hanging in the wind.
“Listen,” Ben spoke up, “this is the last thing we wanted to happen, but it’s done. My guess is Ezekiel’s hook has just been set.”
They all turned to him.
“What did you say?” Gilad questioned.
“This has to be the hook God said he would set in the mouth of Magog.”
A realization of the truth struck them in the heart.
“I think he’s on to something,” Zev stated to the others.
Ben continued. “Look, let’s just change the plan. Do we all agree that God led us to this? He’ll lead us through it.”
Hannah thought for a moment then snapped her finger.
“Ben’s right. All we have to do is advance our schedule. Instead of waiting for the Quarter to shut down for the night, let’s head for the synagogue while everyone is out and moving about. It would only be natural to see IDF personnel arriving. In fact, they are probably on the way right now.”
“Let’s do it,” Ben said.
The decision was made. While the men piled into the back of the truck, Hannah gave the order for the driver to get them as close to the Hurva Synagogue as possible.
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Thirty-three thru Thirty-five

2011-02-26T02:35:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE

Husifa
Friday, November 20
5:30 p.m.

Moshe was shocked but grateful for the embrace he received from Ty Dempsey. The American obviously counted him a dear friend even though they had only had two opportunities to get acquainted. Moshe knew, from Tasha’s story, that Ty and his wife had prayed earnestly for his protection for most of the night as he was in battle, but he hadn’t realized those prayers would provide a deep bonding between them. He was glad. So far, his only friends had come from the small pool of pilots; that is until he connected with Pastor Ben. Moshe was glad to have another mentor to walk him spiritually through the days ahead, whatever they held.
The day had been long for all of them. Ingrid had chauffeured Ty and Blake all around the unaffected parts of Haifa, gathering small groups of Celebration Center’s adherents everywhere she stopped. In each place, Ty was introduced and given the opportunity to encourage the believers. The Dempsey’s were welcomed with open arms as if they were long lost members of the family, but it was his passion-filled prayers that connected him with the suffering Israelis. This included both Jews and Arabs.
Ty had spent little time putting together his words. In fact, he was astonished at the scriptures that came to his mind as he shared. The flow of the Holy Spirit was undeniable. All Ty had done was to recount what had taken place in Kansas City, how people had flocked to hear a gospel of hope. He shared how the hurting had sought out the truth, and upon hearing it, they received the love that was being offered. He then shared how the same outreach could happen in Israel.
Now, the five friends were together again, and since Moshe was injured, they would stay together for the foreseeable future. Two hours were spent comparing stories, but it was the constant return to fulfilled Bible prophecies that that kept them all on the edge of their seats.
“The stunning part is when God said ‘And I will lay my vengeance upon Edom by the hand of my people Israel, and they shall do in Edom according to my wrath, and they shall know my vengeance, declares the Lord God.’” Ty referenced the passage in Ezekiel 25:14. “But look at the difference between that and verses sixteen and seventeen.”
Moshe was enthralled. “This says Jehovah would stretch out his hand against the Philistines on the coast and they would know he is the Lord.”
“No,” corrected Ty, “God says they will know that I am the Lord. I think he is indicating that the surviving Palestinians would come to the understanding of exactly who Jehovah is, and that they would know him intimately. Yeshua is the great, I Am of scripture.”
“You mean as Yeshua hamashiach?” Blake asked.
“I didn’t realize you knew any Hebrew,” Moshe laughed. “And you said it without a Yankee accent.” A feeling of joy permeated the room, providing deep spiritual rest to all of them.
Ty loved what was happening. He loved teaching the scripture, even as he continued to discover aspects he’d never seen before.
“Do you know what this speaks to me?” Ingrid asked. “I think it means we’re going to see people turn to Yehsua in huge numbers.”
“I think you are right, Ingrid,” Ty agreed. “In all likelihood, we’re going to be swamped with work.”
“Swamped,” Moshe looked at Ty, “what does that mean?”
“I’m sorry. It’s an American idiom that says we are about to be overwhelmed.”
“Ah. Better it is to be overwhelmed with people finding Yeshua than to be fighting for our lives,” Moshe exclaimed.
The statement was met with silence as each person glanced at the others.
“What?” Moshe asked in confusion.
“You forget that this was the first of two battles,” said Ty.
Just then, the cell phone in Ty’s shirt pocket sounded its tone. The call took him totally by surprise. He hadn’t used his phone since he arrived in Israel.
He flipped open the cover and answered. “Ty Dempsey here.”
“Pastor Ty,” said the voice, “its Josh.”
“Oh man, Josh, it’s good to hear your voice.” Ty had wondered several times how things were going back in Plattsville, how his deacons were faring in his absence.
“Wow! With what we’ve been seeing on the news, we were afraid you were a piece of glowing radiation. It’s great to hear your voice,” Josh exclaimed. “Blake’s all right too?”
“Yes, we’re fine. How are things with you and the guys?”
There was a pause on the line making Ty think things weren’t so good in Missouri.
“Well,” Josh continued, “things are getting bad.”
“How so?”
“I gotta tell ya, society is falling apart. People are turning crazy just trying to survive, especially in the cities. There’s hardly any food, and absolutely no civil services. Trash is piling up, and the only aide getting to the people is coming basically from local churches.”
“What about the government?”
“What government? Martial Law has been imposed to try to keep control, but all that has done is to free up the thugs.”
“Isn’t the National Guard deployed?”
“Yes, but they are experiencing mass desertions,” Josh explained. “It appears our citizen soldiers are more concerned with protecting their individual families than they are the country. Stands to reason if you ask me, but that’s not the crazy part.”
“How so?”
“The president is incognito. He’s nowhere to be seen. Rumors are flying that he may have skipped the country.”
“You’ve got to be kidding!” Ty was astonished. If America needed anything, she needed a calm, cool, and collected president to offer guidance. Ty glanced at Blake saw a look of deep concern. He knew exactly what she wanted him to ask.
“Hey Josh,” Ty asked. “How are Blake’s parents? She’s worried about them.”
“They’re okay. In fact, they’re about the best help we could’ve asked for here at the church. Tell her not to worry, her dad is packin’ heat. I taught him how to shoot your gun.” Josh was referring the handgun he’d placed in Ty’s hand to assist in his rescue of Blake’s mom and dad. “He is even doing some of the preaching.”
“Is that right? Blake’s going to love that,” Ty grinned as he thought of Blake’s father thumping on a Bible and sharing the Word. The man was small in stature, but obviously huge in heart. He covered the phone and shared with Blake what Josh had reported. The weight lifted off her shoulders and left a smile on her face.
“By the way, how is the church doing?” asked Ty.
“Better you should use the word churches,” Josh replied. “So many townspeople have found Christ we couldn’t figure out what to do with them. You wouldn’t believe it, but I’d estimate we have over a thousand people meeting in homes.”
“That’s incredible!”
“I’ll say! Not only that, Faith Community Church has been converted into a refugee facility. Every part of the building is now being used for processing, feeding, or providing medical help to stranded folks. FEMA has set up a tent city over on Jack Halford’s property, and there are a couple thousand people spread out across the acreage.”
A twinge of disgust rose in Ty’s throat at the mention of the name of the man who killed his mother. He thought he’d worked his way through the bitterness and had to silently rebuke what he knew was a wrong attitude.
“How is Jack, or have you heard?” Ty forced himself to inquire.
“That’s another thing you won’t believe,” Josh exclaimed. “Jack requested that the deacon board come visit him in the jail. I’ll tell you, we didn’t buy it at first, but the man has genuinely repented. Marty has been going over to the see him every couple of days for a Bible study. The man has rounded up over a dozen inmates to join in. He’s turning into a regular evangelist.”
“How did that happen?” Ty felt confused.
“Your visit is what happened. Remember, you went over and offered Jack your forgiveness before you flew off to Israel. It totally changed him!”
Ty had witnessed plenty of miracles of late, but this development was major. “Look Josh,” Ty had to choose his words carefully. “Tell Jack I’m glad God is blessing him.”
Josh paused knowing it must be a struggle for his pastor to offer his gratitude in that way. Once again, a spirit of forgiveness had trumped any justification for bitterness. “I will, Pastor. Hey, I’ve got to go. I just had to know that you were all right. Give Blake all our love. You can even kiss her for me.”
Ty laughed heartily. “Look, buddy, I’ll kiss her for me, not you! Greet the fellas for me. And listen, I have no idea when I’m going to be able to come home. You’re going to have to hold the fort.”
“Hold the fort? We’re taking territory, not holding the fort. Anyway, don’t worry about us. It would be impossible for you to get back now anyway, at least until things settle down.”
“Josh,” said Ty, “things are not going to settle down.”
“I think we realize that. You just do what God wants you to do, however long it takes. And keep your head down!”
“We’ll do, Josh. It’s great to hear from you.”
“Ditto! I’ll call you when I can,” Josh said. The call ended.
Ty shut the cover and slid the phone into his pocket.
Blake had her eyes locked onto him and her eyebrows raised. “Well?”
Ty slouched into the couch and took a deep breath. “Sweetie, I don’t think we’ll be heading home anytime soon.”
“That bad, is it?”
“I’m afraid so, but hey, I think we’ll have plenty to do here for a while,” he touched her hand.
“And you have friends to help you do it,” Moshe spoke up. Tasha and Ingrid quickly agreed.
The evening was spent sketching a plan to not only care for the members of Celebration Center, but to find ways to reach people throughout Israel who’d never heard the truth about Yeshua.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR

Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Sunday, November 22
10:00 p.m.

Ben had been unable to keep his mind on the order of the day. Sunday morning had been special in a couple of ways. Hannah had given Ben the privilege of speaking to the team and leading them in worship. He’d chosen a passage from Ezekiel chapter thirty-six in which the Lord promised he would vindicate his great name, not only to the nations, but to his covenant people Israel. The passage, and therefore the message, was filled with hope and forgiveness, something Ben felt the team needed to hear before risking their lives. They received the word wholeheartedly.
The thing that brought a great sense of peace to Ben was seeing how the men had gelled as a spiritual unit. They were not only coming together as a dangerous team of covert operatives, but they were being built together in spirit by way of participating in concentrated prayer for one another. This was teamwork that was gratifying to see, and to be a part of.
But the biggest thrill, and therefore the distracting element, came when Hannah announced to the men that they would be given an opportunity to contact their families. After having agreed to a no-contact policy by signing onto the team, none of the men had entertained the possibility of such a gift. As gracious as it was, Hannah’s announcement removed any productivity from the day’s training. Everyone’s mind was emotionally invested in a conversation with wives and children, and although the instructors acted as if they were frustrated and angry, everyone understood what was happening. They’d experienced the same struggle over the course of their careers and knew the value of connecting with a loved one before going into battle.
Ben, however, suffered more than the others in his wait to make the call. With only one available phone, each man had taken his turn throughout the evening. Knowing the Ingrid would be spending the majority of the day shuttling the Dempsey’s all around Husifa and Haifa, there was no point in attempting to contact her until it was late. He found the wait quite difficult.
No one was present in the small lounge area when he entered. All the men had turned in for the night. He sat down, picked up the phone, and punched in the numbers. His heart was racing in anticipation of hearing Ingrid’s soft voice.
The tone sounded once, twice, a third and fourth time before Ingrid answered. Sleep was in her voice. “Yes.”
“Hello sweetheart, it’s me,” he grinned as he spoke. His smile widened when he heard a shriek erupt on her end of the line.
“What? Oh my goodness, is it you?”
“Sure it’s me.”
“But I wasn’t supposed to be hearing from you,” she said. Then fear took over. “Has something happened, honey? Are you hurt?”
“No, no, it’s okay, don’t worry,” he soothed. “They gave us a surprise this morning and said we could call home.”
He heard a bustling sound in the background. Ingrid was adjusting her position on her pillow. When she spoke again, he could tell that tears were accompanying the words.
“I was so worried about you. I miss you so.”
“Me too. When they told us how many rockets and missiles were hitting the cities, we nearly went ballistic. But then we learned the government was keeping an eye on you and there were no casualties among our families. I can’t tell you how thankful I am to the Lord.”
“Oh, Benjamin, it was terrible. There is damage everywhere, but you’re right. There were some injuries here and there, but very few. Yeshua has protected our people.”
“What about our new friends?” Ben asked.
He’d been particularly concerned about the Dempsey’s coming into a war zone and being harmed.
“They’re great!” Ingrid exclaimed. “Both of them are taking this all in stride.”
“Have you been able to get him plugged in?”
“My goodness, I hardly had to do anything. This man is a whirlwind.”
“What do you mean?” Ben was puzzled.
Ingrid shared with her husband how Moshe and his wingman intercepted a set of Turkish fighters that was attempting to destroy the jet carrying Ty and Blake, how miraculously God had protected them in their arrival. Ben laughed loudly when he heard how Ty had jumped into service at the feeding station on the day he was supposed to be celebrating his honeymoon.
“What did Blake say when he showed up so late?” he wiped his eyes, he’d laughed so hard.
“That’s the wildest part,” said Ingrid. “When he got back to the apartment she was in a full blown Bible study. You won’t believe what she found!”
“Try me.”
“She was reading her daily Psalm and…”
“Blake found Psalm eighty-three,” Ben interrupted.
“How did you know?” she whispered.
“We found it too, Ezekiel twenty-five, Jeremiah twelve, and Zephaniah two, among others.”
“Why didn’t we see this before? Those prophecies are exactly what happened,” Ingrid exclaimed. “Did you know our brigades have almost achieved the ancient boundaries of Solomon’s reign?”
“Yes, they keep us up-to-date.”
“It is unbelievable what’s happening! Anyway, since that night, we have been either ducking our heads for cover, or taking Ty and Blake around town.”
“How are the people receiving them?”
“That’s the great part. Everywhere he goes, people are asking for him to preach and for her to sing.”
“You mean in all our small groups from Celebration Center?”
“Partly, but it has gone way beyond our church people. Just today Ty preached in six different places. I suppose the numbers added up to around six or seven hundred people.”
“No way!”
Now Ingrid laughed at her husband. “It’s true. In fact, there were probably more. And, do you want to know the best part?”
“Of course I do.”
“Everywhere we went people gave their heart to Yeshua. It’s like the eyes of Israel are being opened, at least partly.”
Ben’s mouth dropped open. All he could do was shake his head in wonder.
“What’s wrong,” she asked.
“Nothing! I’m just astounded. Praise the Lord!” Ben shouted.
“I keep saying it, but that isn’t everything.”
“What more could there be?”
“Ty has a new helper.”
“Who?”
“Moshe,” she said softly.
“Shouldn’t he be out flying his jet?”
Ingrid explained what happened to Moshe on the night of the attack, how he’d survived but broke his arm. “He’s on leave for a couple of weeks. After that, he’ll go back to his duty but won’t be able to fly again until the arm is fully healed. So, he’s attached himself to Ty.”
“I’m so glad. I really felt bad about not being able to mentor him.”
“Honey, Yeshua took care of that. Ty is bringing him along incredibly fast. Moshe can’t get enough of the Scripture, and you won’t believe how easily he leads people into salvation.”
A lump formed in Ben’s throat at how God was blessing in his absence. Sure, he’d experienced moments of doubt about whether he should have attached himself to the ARC Project, but the Lord was proving his will in every aspect. But still, the most difficult part was being separated from the love of his life. The thoughts flowing through his heart created a long pause in the conversation, one in which Ingrid felt his emotional struggle.
“Are you okay, Benjamin?”
“Babe, I really miss you. I wish I could see your eyes lit up like your voice is doing.”
Ingrid sighed. She longed for the man she’d never been separated from in all the years of their marriage.
“When is this thing going to be over? When are you coming home?”
“I’m not sure, except to say I think the mission is about to happen soon.”
“I wish it was over!”
“Me too, babe.” He knew Ingrid’s floodgate of tears was about to open. A couple were pooling in his eyes as well. And then very softly he said, “I love you with all my heart.”
“I love you too,” she whispered. “We’re praying for you every moment. Please, honey, please be careful in your mission. Promise me!”
“I promise, sweetie.”
Ben sat for a very long time, processing the emotions that were pulling at his heart. So much could go wrong in the mission. He could die, he understood, but death was not an issue. He knew where he was going should that happen. What was bothering him was how either way, with a successful mission, or by his death, the odds were his life with Ingrid on this earth were probably limited. If what they believed was true, returning the Ark of the Covenant to the Temple Mount would set off a cataclysmic event, either at the hand of God, or by the hand of Israel’s enemies. In both cases, the Rapture of the Church, the great hope for which they’d longed for so many years, was imminent. But as much as he yearned for Jesus and eternity, his human heart was very attached to his wife. It was difficult to think that relationship might change, even if it was for the better.
He lowered his face into the palms of his hands and prayed.
Change is frightening, Lord. I admit part of me is afraid of the future. But I also know you said “Eye has not seen, nor ear heard, nor has it entered into the heart of man what you have in store for those who love you.” My soul knows this is true. Help the rest of me understand it too.

Mount Quarnat as Sawda
Tuesday, November 24
7:00 a.m.

General Anatoly Telnikov peered at the large map hanging on the wall as he perused the report he’d just been provided. He shook his head in awe as the full picture of Israel’s advance began to take shape.
These people are astonishing! Three IDF Brigades had ground their way through southern Lebanon with amazing speed. Lebanese Army and Hezbollah remnants had quickly given way to the Israelis in a hasty retreat up the Bekaa Valley, only to be met by Russian 7th Armored Division. The defeated Lebanese units threw down their weapons in surrender, effectively ending organized terrorism in the region forever.
In only four days, Israeli battalions had formed a defensive line from Jiyeh, on the west coast just south of Beirut, all the way across Lebanon to Lake Qaraoun at the mouth of the Bekaa Valley. IDF Northern Command pushed its way round the slopes of Mount Hermon and controlled the eastern border all the way to Mazraat Dier Al Aachayer. They were now face to face with the Libyans south of Beruit, the Russians in the Bekaa Valley, and the Turks on the eastern slopes of Lebanon.
Not only that, the Golani Brigade, with all its support and artillery battalions had overcome the Syrians and were within two days of staring Tariq Kazimi in the eye along the Euphrates River.
Telnikov scanned further into the report to see that a good portion of Jordan and western Saudi Arabia were now occupied by the Israelis. The Egyptians had either abandoned, or been beaten back all the way across the Suez Canal. In fact, the Sudanese Army was filtering into the lower Negev and Egyptian highlands in their place.
Israel’s progress in defeating its enemies was nothing short of stellar, even superior. Being a perfectionist in military tactics, Telnikov was impressed in the most vibrant way. The only problem was that the Israeli’s had not acted according to the plan. Rather than allowing themselves to be bottled up by the Russian-led coalition, they had bravely and confidently stepped out in full force to block the peacekeeping plan. The General knew full well that Prime Minister Polkov was swallowing down a steady stream of Valium to quell his anger. Things certainly had not gone according to his design.
Telnikov laughed. The little, beady-eyed tyrant had been out-foxed by a Jew. If that did not incite the man’s wrath, then there was nothing that could.
But now the growing dilemma struck him full in the face. His hesitance to slow Israel’s rush into Lebanon by not alerting his superiors would exert its price. He questioned what he was to do, especially since his recent experiences seemed to be steering his decisions.
He could no longer deny that those experiences were spiritual in nature. People simply did not see visions as a norm, that is, unless they were insane. But he knew he was not insane. The visions he’d seen, the dreams his mind had played during the night, had evoked memories he had repressed long ago. The oddity was how the dreams and the memories meshed into what looked like a divine purpose. The thought that this could be true challenged his loyalties.
Am I loyal to the Motherland, or to a being I have never met? Am I even certain he exists?
This was the conundrum he faced. From this point onward, his decisions would stem from that question. If he chose the loyalty to Russia that he had cultivated his entire life, the inevitable result would include a massive strike against the Israelis. If he chose to follow a something spiritual, something he could not pretend to understand, his actions would designate him a traitor and an outlaw, punishable by death.
Telnikov closed his eyes and tried to decide which direction he should choose.
Immediately, his grandmother’s face flooded his thoughts, a face he’d shoved far from his consciousness. It had resurfaced during his jump into Lebanon.
“Grandmother, my sweet Mamma, what shall I do?” he silently pleaded.
Just then the sat-phone on his desk vibrated, indicating an incoming call from the Kremlin.
“Da, Telnikov here.”
“Anatoly, I have orders for the 7th Armored,” growled Field Marshal Velniak. “We have been given the green light to initiate operations against Israel in three days.”
“We are not simply going to contain them?”
“Ay, Anatoly, you knew all along containment was not the plan. Have you become dull in the Middle Eastern air?”
“No, sir.”
“Then prepare your plan of action and get your officers up to speed or I will send you into your retirement.”
“What will be the hour of engagement?” Telnikov ignored the field marshal’s threat.
“Zero-four-hundred hours. Coordination with all coalition units will come through your command. All codes and protocols will be issued today. You may add your own levels of security to the codes. Be ready!” The call was terminated.
Anatoly closed his eyes again, but the face of Olga Breslev Telnikov was no longer visible.

Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Wednesday, November 25
6:30 a.m.

Ben had breezed through two days of intense training and could tell he was improving his endurance. His body was hardening again. He was also enjoying a deep peace in his heart, a peace he had been lacking before his conversation with Ingrid. Maybe it was the aftereffects of hearing her voice and touching her soul. Maybe the Lord was easing his concerns about the future. Whichever the case, he was ready to concentrate on the mission and be done with it.
The team gathered early and had finished a hearty breakfast by the time Hannah Lira entered. Ben noticed she made eye contact and chatted with each of the men as she prepared to address the group. That was a deviation from her normal get-to-the-point, task oriented way of doing business. Something was up.
“Not to brighten your day too much,” she began after standing behind the podium and the map, “but your training is nearly complete.”
Her news was greeted with applause, hoots, and whistles. Everyone was ready to move forward with the operation. She smiled widely and clenched her fists in the air as if she’d just won a race. But, looking at her eyes, Ben could detect she was masking a burden. Her enthusiasm was hiding something of life-or-death importance.
“Today, through midday tomorrow, your focus will be to perfect the precision of your four-man tactics. Friday you will prepare your gear and rest up as best you can. We launch the mission after sundown.”
“So it will be a Sabbath bathed in fire!” Gilad blurted out. More whistles and shouts resulted.
“Fire is the operative word,” Hannah smiled and waited for silence. “By Saturday evening, we will know for sure if the return of the Ark will any effect on Israel’s situation.”
Ben was puzzled by the apprehension he detected Hannah’s voice. “Are you having doubts?”
She shuffled the papers on the podium refusing to answer too quickly. Everyone felt a shallow wave of nerves flowing from their leader. “Ben, I have no doubt that this mission is ordained by God. But as I shared with you at the beginning, I do not know what will actually transpire once the objective has been achieved.”
“Are you worried nothing will happen?”
She looked him in the eye. “I am worried about the loss of valuable lives without having the assurance that what I hope will happen, will really happen. These are lives that I have come to respect and love as brothers.”
There it is, thought Ben. That is the weight she is carrying. “In other words, you’re afraid that any sacrifice we make will be in vain, correct?”
Hannah nodded in the affirmative.
“Well don’t’! We all understand the cost that may be exacted on this mission. We’ve come to terms with it.”
Hannah brought her hand up to cover her mouth. Her eyes filled with tears.
Ari Goins rose from is chair and stepped up to wrap his big arms around his longtime friend. She was dwarfed by his size, but the gesture seemed to give her the ability to release her burden. She cried freely until the rest of the group gathered around her and prayed. In the process, the unity of the team was sealed by the presence of the Holy Spirit of God.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Husifa
Wednesday, November 25
7:30 p.m.

Ty stepped slowly to the lectern and allowed his eyes to absorb the ornamental beauty of the nave. Beams inlaid with gold, silver, and brass formed stately supports for the roof. The ceiling was graced with a breathtaking fresco. Tall marble statues of venerated saints lined the outer walls of the ancient Roman Orthodox Church. But what demonstrated to him that God was at work was a sanctuary filled with people. They all longed to hear the truth.
This was not a crowd made up of predominantly Catholic worshippers. Ty knew this not only by appearance, but by the fact that few had genuflected or had outlined the sign of the cross. The ones who had bowed and crossed were Israelis, but they were mostly of gentile ancestry. They had existed in a religious vacuum and had never assimilated into true Jewish culture. The rest were Jews, and the resident Catholics were uneasy at having so many non-converted people sitting in their church.
The disgusted look on some of the faces humored and saddened Ty at the same time. He was well versed in the hardness brought on by religiosity. People steeped in demonstrating their religion by a standard of good works always ended up creating exclusivity. They missed how God desired a relationship based on love, not religion.
Maybe that fallacy can be remedied some tonight, Ty thought to himself. After all, he’d been given an opportunity that no other protestant preacher had ever been afforded, especially an American protestant preacher. Some upper echelon members of the church’s hierarchy had heard him speak in a street rally. They’d been impressed, so much so that they’d convinced the Bishop to extend Ty an invitation. Their specific request was that he would share the reason he was in Israel, and expound on some of the ancient Biblical prophecies they had heard him reveal.
Seated in the hand-carved, wooden pew closest to him were Blake, Ingrid, Tasha, and Moshe. Ty winked at his wife and nodded at his new pal. Moshe Eldan had blown him away by his lack of fear, as well as his enthusiasm to learn as much as he could about Yeshua. What characterized him as a fighter pilot, the ability to face overwhelming odds while hardly breaking into a sweat, now defined him as a believer. In the last two days, this new convert had shared his faith without apprehension. People, both Jews and Arabs, had found Christ through his story. All Ty had done to help him along was clarify the points of the gospel, guide him through the scriptures, and let him go.
Now it was Ty’s turn to step out into something different. He began by greeting the people then walking the people step by step through the passages of the scripture. He pinpointed the prophecies that had just been fulfilled, including the destruction of Damascus, and the complete defeat of Israel’s enemies. He demonstrated how the events could not have happen until after such time as Israel was restored as a nation. He attached dates with events, and the people followed him in rapt attention.
“As with most prophecy, it is always easier to grasp an understanding of its meaning after the predicted event has been fulfilled. In the case of Israel, the simplest thing to comprehend is that Jehovah has done as he promised. He restored the Jewish people to their ancient land as a free people.” As he spoke he scanned the audience to make sure they understood. By the nods of heads and expressions of intensity on the faces, they were following along nicely.
“Now,” he continued, “all of us have an innate desire to know what is going to happen next. That is a part of how Jehovah made us. We are curious, and one of the reasons he gave us the prophetic scriptures was to keep us alert. But there is another reason. These prophecies are calls to repentance.”
“For instance, nearly every Israeli is aware of the prophet Ezekiel and his vision of a valley filled with dry bones, are you not?”
People shook their heads in the affirmative. Some even used their voices to agree.
“Good.” Ty then read entirety of Ezekiel chapter thirty-seven, including how God would break the dividing wall between the tribes. Then, “thus says the Lord God: Behold, I will take the people of Israel from the nations among which they have gone, and will gather them from all around, and bring them to their own land. I will make them one nation in the land, on the mountains of Israel.”
He then pointed out from chapters thirty-eight and thirty-nine that two distinct events from the passage had yet to be fulfilled, but were on the verge of coming to pass. He started with the names of the nations that God revealed to Ezekiel. Ty reminded them who those ancient nations were and where they settled, how the names had changed, but the nations they represented were now in existence. He let the scripture speak for itself as to how severely those nations would be judged and why God would do it.
“You see,” he challenged, “the next thing to happen is written clearly. The nations that will be involved are specifically named, and they are surrounding the mountains of Israel as we speak, just as prophesied by Ezekiel. The Russian-led coalition of Iran, Turkey, Libya, and Sudan are going to attack!”
A murmur began spreading through the crowd, but Ty was not done and held up his hand until the people became quiet.
“My friends, the wonderful portion of this passage says that we have nothing to fear. Jehovah himself is going to deal with these enemies, and Israel will be spared!”
People began to applaud. They understood. They took hold of what Ty was teaching.
“But that is not the full picture,” he shouted above the din. “Ezekiel said, ‘But I will save them from all the backslidings in which they have sinned, and will cleanse them; and they shall be my people, and I will be their God. My servant David shall be king over them, and they shall all have one shepherd.”
The moment of truth had arrived. All eyes were fixed on Ty. All ears were listening intently.
“My servant David shall be King.” The echo of his voice bounced off the marble and precious metals that covered the walls. Everyone heard the words clearly.
“Now listen to what God said. Let them sink into your heart. Believe!”
He flipped through the pages of his Bible to his final passage. He breathed a prayer that the Lord would remove the veil off the eyes of his hearers.
“Brothers, I may say to you with confidence about the patriarch David that he both died and was buried, and his tomb is with us to this day. Being therefore a prophet, and knowing that God had sworn an oath to him that he would set one of his descendants on this throne, he foresaw and spoke about the resurrection of the Messiah, that he was not abandoned to Hades, nor did his flesh see corruption. This Yeshua, God raised up, and of that we are all witnesses. Being therefore exalted at the right hand of God, and having received from the Father the promise of the Holy Spirit, he has poured out this that you yourselves are seeing and hearing. For David did not ascend into the heavens, but he himself says, The Lord said to my Lord, sit at my right hand until I make your enemies your footstool. Let all the house of Israel therefore know for certain, that God has made him both Lord and Messiah, this Yeshua, this Jesus whom you crucified.”
What happened next was almost an exact repeat of what happened two thousand years earlier. The people immediately stood, and a tumult of voices began. Many Jews were livid at hearing Ty’s words. Only a few moments passed before people began to leave in anger. But more people stayed than left. Those who remained had a look that said, “Tell us what we need to do.”
Ty gently shared the step of faith that was needed. The people responded. Over two hundred Israeli’s received God’s grace and decided to follow Yeshua. Lives were changed forever.
Thirty minutes later, after most of the attendees had finally filtered out the door, a distinguished, grey-haired gentleman approached Ty and Moshe. In his early seventies, sporting a suit jacked, immaculately tailored slacks, and a black fedora in his hands, the man exuded stateliness. His smile was infectious.
“Sir, may I have a moment of your time?” he requested as he extended his hand toward Ty.
“Certainly,” Ty responded as he shook the man’s hand.
“My name is Ehud Aveneri. I am a professor of archeology at Jerusalem University and am an avowed believer in Yeshua. I have a great favor to ask, if you do not mind.”
“How can we be of service?”
“As you know, Israel has been a hard shell to crack. Jews have been stubborn to the ways of Yeshua since that fateful day when we sent him to his death. But what I have seen tonight has renewed my hope that Israel’s true day of salvation is nearing.”
Ty nodded in agreement. “I pray that is so.”
“Thank you,” he bowed slightly at the waist, humbled by the American’s love for the Jewish people, and then he continued. “Jerusalem needs you.”
Ty was taken aback by the statement. It hadn’t entered his mind that he was needed by anyone, let alone the capitol city of Israel.
“I see I have made you ponder, but it is true. I have prayed many years for the opening of a door to Jerusalem’s people, both Jews and Arabs. Have you ever been to the city?”
“No sir, I have only been in Israel a few days, and this is my first trip.”
“By what you said tonight, it might be your last trip,” Aveneri declared. “But that is for the One to decide. Anyway, I digress. Would you receive an invitation to come and share this truth in Jerusalem? You can stay with me in my small home on the University’s campus, and I am sure we can use the auditorium as the meeting place of choice.”
Ty looked at Moshe who was grinning from ear to ear. “Look preacher,” Moshe encouraged, “if you’re right, you may not get another opportunity. I was hoping to take you there at some point.”
“I should probably talk this over with my wife, but I would love to come,” Ty acquiesced.
“Good,” Aveneri slapped Ty on the side of his shoulder, “it is settled!” He then turned to Moshe, “I will expect you to deliver him and his lovely wife no later than midday tomorrow.”
Ty was startled again. “Ehud,” he stammered, “may I call you Ehud?”
“Certainly.”
“You realize we have taken up responsibilities here on behalf of a fellow pastor?”
Aveneri smiled widely and leaned forward as if he harbored a secret. “Yes, I am aware. You are here to fill the shoes of Benjamin Sherett, am I correct? Well, be at ease. I know all about his mission.”
Moshe cocked an eyebrow at the man, suddenly suspicious that Ehud Aveneri might be a plant attempting to gather information he was not supposed to have. Aveneri saw the reaction.
“And you, my young friend, know exactly what I am talking about. Benjamin is on a mission of the utmost importance to our people, and he is with a very good friend of mine named Hannah Lira. That is all I will say. You must trust me. In fact, you may contact the University to verify I am who I say I am.” He never lost his smile, as if he were teaching a pair of recalcitrant students.
Ty placed hand on Moshe’s arm just before the fighter pilot fired back inappropriately to Aveneri’s challenge. “It’s alright pal. I have a feeling Mr. Aveneri is legitimate.”
“My thanks to you for such faith,” Aveneri bowed again. “Now, can I expect you tomorrow at the University? I assure you it will be a visit of no more than three days on this occasion. We can establish a date on the calendar for an extended stay and one-of-a-kind tour of the Holy City. What say you?”
Ty craned his neck until he spotted Blake standing in a circle of ladies. Ingrid was interpreting for her as she shared with another woman. Ideally, he should be consulting with his new bride, but something inside urged him to walk through this open door. After all, taking every opportunity to share the gospel of Jesus was the reason they were in Israel. His decision was made. He nodded in the affirmative at Moshe.
“We’ll be there,” Ty agreed, “but may I request that my friends also be invited?”
Aveneri clapped his hands together in exuberance. “Of course! Classes are not in session. Most of our students are now serving in the military during this time of crises. There are plenty of rooms. Come, bring them all.”
Ty took Ehud Aveneri’s business card and shook the man’s hand. As Aveneri passed through the outer door and into the night, Moshe looked at Ty and shrugged his shoulders. Whatever was about to happen, they were in it together.
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Chapter Thirty thru Thirty-two

2011-02-25T02:32:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER THIRTY

Rome, Italy
Same Hour Local

Andre D’Tiene twisted the cork from a bottle of wine and poured the dark red liquid into a deep glass. Swirling it a few times to release the wine’s aroma, the President of the Mediterranean Union brought the glass to his lips and took just a sip. The day had been long and arduous, but this moment was one to savor.
D’Tiene could not help but be satisfied. All of his posturing, all the maneuvering he’d done was now bringing his dream to fruition. The pawns on the board had been positioned according to his design and were now moving in a manner determined by his orchestrations. The beautiful aspect came from seeing how each player thought they had the upper hand. None had seen that he was the master in everything that was happening.
Reginald Tipry, personal assistant to the president, quietly stuck his head in the door and smiled. “Israel is preparing to commit its arsenal. It is only a matter of time,” he said.
“What is the current status?”
“Air battles are taking place over the entire region, just as you desired,” the aide’s smile widened.
“They have attacked the Saudis?”
“Actually, the Saudis attacked Israeli warplanes over Jordan. The Jews are now responding.”
“Splendid! That is far better,” D’Tiene nodded his head. After taking another sip of wine, the president looked directly at his aide. “Have the Russians begun to move?”
“That is the strange thing about what is happening,” said Reginald. “They have not budged, nor have they increased their alert status. They seem to be letting it all play out.”
“Tell me the moment the Russians show any sign of advance.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” Reginald answered as he shut the door.
D’Tiene’s brow wrinkled. Why would the Russians be sitting back? Why wouldn’t they be moving in for an easy kill? Surely they understood the Israelis could not engage their divisions with nuclear weapons. The Russians were much too close to the Lebanese border for that, plus the prevailing winds were sweeping toward Israel from the north. The Jews would never do anything that would assure their peoples death by radiation fallout over their territory. The set up was perfect for the Russians to sweep down and subdue the Jews before things got out of hand. Yet, there they sat, unmoving and seemingly unconcerned. It did not make sense.
D’Tiene sat down in the soft leather of his sofa and stared out the window over Rome’s historic district. But he wasn’t comforted by the sight. Something was going terribly wrong with his plan and he didn’t understand why.

Saudi Arabia
Wednesday, 11:40 p.m.

Moshe’s canopy was awash with light from the many explosions taking place on the base. However, it was a streak of burning fuel several miles to the east drew his attention. It was followed by an expanding fireball at what appeared to be above ten thousand feet. That had to be an S-300, and a momentary panic washed through Moshe’s system.
“Frisbee—Dagger—give me your status,” Moshe called to his wingman. There was no response. “Frisbee—do you copy?”
Rueben finally responded, but he sounded as if he were nearly out of breath. His transmission was cluttered with static. “Dagger, I’ve been hit.”
“Hang on, I’m heading your way,” Moshe said as he pulled the nose of his F-16 in the direction of his wingman.
“No, I’m not going down, but I am out of the fight.”
“Head for Ramon,” Moshe ordered. He then regained his attack profile on the nearest launch platform.
“Roger—Captain, I’ll see you back at the base.”
“Stay low out of the zone then grab some altitude once you cleared the range of these 300s,” Moshe ordered.
“I will,” Rueben responded. After a several seconds of silence, Rueben’s voice again came over the radio. “And Moshe, I want you to know I did what you said. I felt it.”
Moshe’s breath caught in his throat. After their long conversation at the base, Rueben had hardly responded to the layout of the truth he’d been shown. Moshe had decided to forge ahead, even sharing how a person could meet Messiah personally. Nothing had registered on his wingman’s face. He’d barely acknowledged that he’d heard. Now Moshe realized the kid had actually been listening, so much so that he’d prayed the prayer at some point during the mission.
“That’s good kid,” Moshe transmitted. “I’m proud of you. Now be careful and get home.”
All Moshe heard in return was the crackle of Rueben’s damaged radio.
“Thank you, Y’shua,” he whispered.
Just then, Moshe’s threat receiver chirped with more intensity. The S-300 radar unit, now eight miles directly in front of him, was attempting to pick him out of the ground clutter. In the same instant, his Maverick growled its readiness for launch. His thumb moved up the stick and pushed the button. The weapon surged forward into the dark sky.
Moshe increased his speed and worked his way into depression. He was now over flat desert again and heading almost directly west. Although one S-300 launch platform remained, without his wingman he was outgunned. Not only that, but the odds were at least two, possible three missiles were in the air trying to acquire the heat signature of his engine. The time had come to bug out.
“Jackhammer—Dagger is exiting the sector,” he transmitted to the F-15 leader that was attacking King Khalid at that very moment. “You’ll have no opposition from the air. Hafar-al-Batin is inactive.”
“Roger—Dagger—Be advised, we’re down two planes,” came the response.
Moshe’s heart sank felt like it sank in his chest. Two F-15s had been destroyed by S-300 missiles.
“Get as many as you can and then clear the area,” Moshe ordered.
“Another three minutes and we’ll be on your tail.”
Moshe stayed low to the earth as he angled his fighter a bit more toward the Iraqi border, now less than fifty miles to the north. He exhaled slowly as his instruments confirmed he had escaped without become a target for the Saudi missiles. Instinctively, he pulled back on the throttle to lower his airspeed and conserve fuel. He would have to traverse Jordanian airspace, and the possibility existed that he would encounter enemy aircraft.
Just then Rueben’s voice crackled again in his earpiece. “Dagger, I’ve got two American F-18s closing in on my six. They’ve locked onto my tail and my threat alarm is screaming.”
“Engage your IFF!”
“Negative—Dagger—the transmitter is damaged. It’s not functioning,” Rueben responded. “Oh no, they’re firing! The Hornets are firing. I’m blowing chaff now.”
Moshe punched in the guard frequency he knew the American Air Force utilized and spoke as clearly as his racing heart allowed. “American flight of two F-18s, you are firing on an Israeli aircraft. Repeat, break off your attack! You have fired on friendly aircraft.” There was no response. “American F-18 pilots, you are attacking a damaged F-16 of the Israeli Air Force. Disable those Sidewinders.”
Moshe saw that Rueben was now less than forty miles ahead and desperately attempting to evade the two American Sidewinder missiles converging on his tail. The F-18s were showing on the HUD as a faint echo, almost as if they were simply dim feedback from ground clutter. He glanced forward out his canopy until he saw Rueben’s burning chaff falling to the earth. He then traced a line back in the sky until he saw two steady lights moving in the same direction as his wingman. Those blips were the power plants of F-18 engines, and they would be easily acquirable for the infrared radars of his AMRAAM missiles. With a punch of a button Moshe tasked two missiles on the Americans and fired.
“Flight of two American F-18s, you are now under attack by Dagger Flight of the IAF. Break off and punch the self-destruct on those Sidewinders.”
All he heard was a deep throated laugh over the radio. “So you kids want to play with the big boys, eh? You fellas just attacked an ally of the United States of America. Prepare to eat some sand!”
Anger gripped Moshe. He watched the Sidewinders gain quickly on the blip that identified his wingman. The Americans had less than fifteen seconds to issue the self-destruct command or his partner would be killed, but they were challenging him to fight. He could hardly believe what was happening.
“Punch out, Rueben, punch out!” Moshe shouted.
A distant flash told Moshe his friend, and new brother in Messiah was gone. Rage surged from somewhere deep in his soul, prompting him to jam the throttle forward and to apply the afterburner to his engine. He had a new enemy.
“Dagger—Dog Pound—You are ordered to stand down and return to base,” sounded the voice of the flight controller, somewhere over the skies of Israel. “I repeat…stand down! The Hornets are off limits.”
Moshe hesitated.
Again, the voice of the controller penetrated his cloud of wrath. “Look Dagger, we all saw what just happened, but our orders are clear. Stand down!
Moshe had no choice. He backed off the afterburner and returned to his original heading. Several minutes passed before he could will himself to disengage his attack radar.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

Jerusalem
Thursday, November 19
12:00 a.m.

Prime Minister Naftali took a sip from a mug of hot tea. He was hoping the liquid would ease the crushing weight he felt in his soul. Whether it was from guilt, or from the burden of defending his people, he knew not.
The door to Naftali’s private chamber opened and in stepped General Katz.
“What word, Ehud?” asked the Prime Minister.
“Phase one is nearly complete. We are awaiting the return of our squadrons from Arabia and Egypt before we proceed.”
“What are our losses?” Naftali knew there would be casualties, but he was well aware that this night’s activities would usher in a far deadlier confrontation with the so-called coalition forces. Israel would need every pilot, every fighter jet, and as much of its brigade forces to repel what was sure to come.
“Surprisingly few,” Katz answered as he poured himself a cup of tea and sat down. “We’ve lost no aircraft to Egyptian anti-aircraft fire, although one F-15 was lost due to a mechanical malfunction. Those pilots were retrieved. Saudi Arabia is a different story.”
“How so?”
“We suspected the Russian S-300 system was formidable, and it was. Even so, we faired quite well in our first encounter. Seven protected bases were attacked and, from the after-action-report, we eliminated ninety percent of the Saudi’s launch platforms.”
“But?” Naftali could detect the stall in sharing the complete picture.
“But, we lost seventeen aircraft; nine F-15 Ra’ams and eight F-16 Baraks. Considering we utilized forty-seven fighters to accomplish the mission, our losses were much higher than we’d hoped.”
Naftali stiffened at the numbers. “Ehud, those are losses of thirty-six percent. That is unsustainable.”
“I agree, Yosef, but we are not being forced to sustain them. The mission was accomplished.”
“How many pilots does that add up to?”
“Twenty-six,” whispered Katz, “and all seasoned veterans.”
“And what rescue operations are under way to recover them?”
“None.”
Naftali’s eyes locked onto his general’s as he sought to grasp what his friend was saying.
Katz saw the cloud that draped itself over the prime minister’s face. “We cannot launch search-and-rescue. If any of our brave men and women survived the downing of their planes, we will soon be assuring their death by what we are about to unleash.”
“Dear Jehovah in heaven,” Naftali mouthed then lowered his head into the palms of his hand.
Katz understood his friend’s reaction. The man had lost his parents in the fires of Auschwitz, as had many of those in the administration. They, of all the citizens of Israel, understood the extreme measures that had to be taken in order to insure the survival of the Jewish people. If that meant inflicting a holocaust to prevent a holocaust, so be it.
“Yosef,” Katz spoke softly, “it is time to process the launch. You must give the order personally.”
Naftali made no move for several long minutes. It was as if he had fallen asleep, but Katz knew he hadn’t. Though the decision for initiating Operation Clean Slate had been made hours ago, this final phase of nuclear response was the true challenge to any man’s moral compass. Naftali had proven long ago that he had the courage and fortitude to do what was necessary. Still, issuing the decree to annihilate a large portion of the Arab populations that surrounded Israel carried a weight that was overwhelming.
Finally, the prime minister lifted his head, drained the last swallow of tea from his mug, and followed the general to the communications room.

Northern Israel
Thursday, 12:10 a.m.

From twenty thousand feet one could view the entire State of Israel. The sight made Moshe’s heart ache. Even though he was high over the Negev and heading toward the sea, hundreds of fires were visible. He was stunned by the numerous rocket trails encroaching into his country. Though a mandatory blackout was in effect in every city, explosions and burning buildings provided enough light for a pilot to visually track his way from city to city.
The northern and eastern horizons were even more chaotic. Little discernment was needed to know that Jordan and Lebanon were experiencing the horror of thermobaric weapons. Moshe was sickened. Civilians were dying on both sides. Worse, people were dying without the knowledge of the truth. Souls were being lost for all eternity. Maybe other defenders of Israel felt satisfaction in destroying the enemy. All he could feel was an overwhelming sense of loss.
Something deeper than his natural human emotion had grabbed hold of his gut. In that moment, Moshe understood that God was grieved. Mankind was his passion, even though man’s evil demanded judgment. God did not arbitrarily issue judgments. His acts of discipline were meant to bring repentance and restoration. This was true for Jews and Gentiles alike. It mattered not whether one was of the line of Isaac or Ishmael. Every life was valued. But life was consumed by sin, and unless repentance turned a person’s heart to God, the condemnation to die had already been issued.
A voice shook Moshe from the revelation. “Dagger—Dog pound—go feet wet then come right to a heading of 3-5-3 degrees and descend to angels fifteen at rate of five hundred per minute. I’ll put you in the pattern until Ramat’s runway clears. Say current bingo status.”
Moshe made a quick glance at his fuel status display and replied. “Dog—Dagger—I’m fifteen minutes to bingo.”
“Dagger— a gas tank is orbiting three zero miles east of Tel Aviv, but it has a long line of planes waiting to be filled. I suggest you back off to 2-9-0 knots and wait for landing clearance. Be advised that Ramat David is experiencing inbound rocket fire, but so is every other base.”
“Copy—Dog Pound—Dagger is going feet wet and coming to 3-5-3 degrees,” Moshe transmitted his turn. “Dog Pound—any status update on Frisbee?”
“Sorry—Dagger—we’ve had no word since he went offline.”
Lord! This is too much A fresh wave of sorrow flooded Moshe’s emotions. His grief then turned to his wife and friends near Haifa. They too were probably on the receiving end of all this rocket fire. His heart did the praying, but the Lord heard him nonetheless. Please take care of Tasha and our friends. Don’t let them die.
For ten minutes Moshe flew high over the Mediterranean Sea on a course parallel with the Israel’s coast. Gaza went by first and was one long, burning strip. Ashkelon was covered in a shroud of smoke backlit by raging infernos. Even Tel Aviv was dotted with firelight. But then Mount Carmel came into view with its slopes easily discernable in ambient firelight.
My God! From the top of the mountain to the wide plain of the Jezreel Valley, blazing trails highlighted where rockets and missiles were pounding northern Israel. Hezbollah and the Lebanese army were unleashing their entire stockpile. Staccato flashes of light revealed every impact.
Suddenly, four massive blasts expanded into the sky along the border of Lebanon. Rocket fire ceased immediately over the entire area. Israeli jets were responding in overwhelming fashion. By the time Moshe had completed a slow orbit out to sea and back, the remnants of several more thermobaric detonations were easily identified. At least three burning mushrooms were rising from the general area of Beirut on the northern horizon.
An automated voice indicated Moshe’s F-16 had reached the point of bingo fuel. He had exactly ten minutes of flight before his tanks would be drained. He had no option but to land. The fuel tanker was too occupied and too distant to be of any help.
“Dog Pound—Dagger—I am declaring bingo.” While speaking, Moshe brought his fighter around and into a glide path that would take him south of Mount Carmel and line him up with runway 27.
“Copy Dagger. Clear the coast at 2-9-0 knots and begin a steep descent. Winds are bearing 2-5-7 degrees at eight to ten miles per hour. Be advised, Ramat David is receiving sporadic impacts. IFR is in effect. Runway 27 is dark, but I don’t think you’ll have problems picking it out visually.” In other words, the base was receiving an amount of incoming rocket fire sufficient to light up the base. A steep descent was necessary to minimize the possibility of taking a random hit on the aircraft.
Moshe punched the numbers into his keypad and set his HUD to display his glide into Ramat David. He then lowered his airspeed and set his flaps to twenty percent. The Lightning responded by beginning a controlled drop out of the sky.
Moshe alternated his attention between the display and what was easily discernable ahead. Ramat David was being hit, but since most of the base operations were under the cover of thick, earth-covered bunkers, no secondary explosions were evident. He could see the engine plumes of other aircraft coming in to land on the other two runways. Moshe was glad there was a choreographer to this mess.
He drew ever closer to the base as his altitude was eaten by the descent. He glanced momentarily to his left as the populations of Husifa and Carmel City passed by. He would not allow his mind to think of Tasha and the group. That was a luxury that would be afforded after he was safely tucked into a bunker, not before.
“Dagger—Dog Pound—you are cleared for runway 27,” said the controller. “Shoot for the midway point and clear to the first taxiway ASAP.”
“Copy—Dog Pound.”
Moshe extended his flaps by twenty percent and lowered the landing gear, and then the outer threshold of runway 27 passed beneath his plane. A rocket impacted to his right, its quick flash illuminating his target for touchdown approximately halfway down the runway. Once his wheels kissed the pavement he would engage the reverse thruster and slow his forward momentum as rapidly as possible.
The nose of the Lightning flared upward as Moshe pulled ever so slightly on the flight stick. He steadied himself in anticipation of his wheels coming into contact with the runway. He then pulled back on the throttle to cut power to the engine.
Just then, a rocket crashed into the runway less than forty meters in front of him.
“Dagger—re-power and go airborne,” the controller shouted.
But Moshe could not see. The blast had momentarily blinded him.
Then, time slowed. Though everything in front of him was shrouded in darkness, Moshe clamped his eyelids shut and captured the image of where the warhead had struck. There wasn’t sufficient distance to re-apply power and get airborne. His plane was heading toward a crater and there was nothing he could do about it.
Instinctively, Moshe reached and pulled the lever that would send his ejection seat shooting upward into the air. He crossed his arms to his chest as cartridges exploded beneath him. The canopy above his head released and flew off into the rushing air. With an incredible thrust Moshe was ejected into the sky just before the nose of his F-16 dipped into the crumpled pavement. The Lightning cart wheeled forward into a fireball.
He was unable to see what struck him, but by the cracking sound there was no doubt his left arm had just been broken. He did not hear himself shout out in pain.

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO

Ramat David Airbase
Thursday, November 19
8:30 a.m.

Tasha buried her head in her husband’s chest and cried.
Moshe, with his left arm hidden beneath the hard surface of a cast, held her tightly with his right. The IDF driver who’d retrieved Tasha from Husifa saluted the captain and closed the door to the room as he exited.
“It’s alright, babe. I’m okay.”
“I know,” Tasha responded, “I was just so afraid. All night long we prayed for you.” She lifted her head and allowed him a long, soothing kiss. It was the first time they’d seen one another in nearly three days. Few words had to be exchanged. Their longing to be together, without war and duty separating them, was easily communicated.
“You were on my mind too,” he said. “Was anyone hurt?”
“No. Can you believe it? Bombs were falling everywhere, but there were very few casualties.”
“What about the rest of the country?”
“Honey, that’s what I’m talking about. Haven’t you heard anything?”
“No. The second they brought me in they knocked me out to set my arm,” he explained. “Even after the anesthetic wore off, I slept until they told me you were here.”
“So you haven’t heard?” Tasha reached up and gently stroked his face. She looked into his eyes and knew instinctively that something was wrong.
Just then a knuckle rapped on the door and Colonel Natansky stuck his head in the door. “Am I interrupting?”
Tasha’s forehead wrinkled, but her mouth formed a weak smile. “Colonel, you know you are!”
“I’m sorry Tasha, I need to speak with your husband,” he apologized.
“Alone?” Moshe asked.
“No, she can stay. I’m here to notify you of the obvious. You are being removed from flight status for a while. In fact, I’ve signed you off on a well-deserved furlough until you’re healed up, but you won’t be able to leave until tomorrow. I need you to bring some of the younger pilots up to speed on the Russian MiGs.”
“Has there been any word about Frisbee?”
Tasha turned to Moshe in concern. “What happened to Rueben?”
Moshe’s face clouded as he looked at the colonel. Tasha suddenly understood the reason for Moshe’s lack of enthusiasm.
“There was no time to dispatch search and rescue,” the colonel replied softly. “He never activated his beacon either. He’s been classified as missing in action.”
“Why was no search attempted,” Moshe asked. “I don’t understand.”
“Not ten minutes after you crashed, the last phase of Operation Clean Slate was initiated.”
“You mean the nukes?”
“Yes. The Jericho IIIs were launched first. After they deployed their MIRVs, three salvos of nuclear-tipped cruise missiles were sent in their wake. Most of Saudi Arabia was turned into a radiated wasteland, as was Egypt this side of the Nile River.”
Moshe knew this was the plan, yet hearing the outcome still made his mouth drop open in shock.
The Colonel continued. “We bombed most of Lebanon and Jordan back into the Stone Age, then took out every remaining Syrian airbase. We basically removed all possibility of any counterstrike. IDF Northern Command has penetrated thirty miles into Lebanon and has overrun the Golan. In fact, the Golani Brigade is halfway to Damascus. The 98th HaEsh Fire Division of Central Command has effectively taken Amman, Jordan. Paratroopers from the 35th Brigade were airborne when the Jericho’s were launched. The Royal Jordan Military command and control system had already been taken out, so there was little organized opposition. In fact, it appears the enemy’s will to fight was beat down rather quickly. Within three or four days we’ll be in control of everything from Tyre on the Mediterranean, to the Euphrates River. The same goes for the Gulf of Aqaba all the way to the Nile.”
“You mean we did it?” Moshe was incredulous as he glanced at his wife.
Colonel Natansky thought Moshe was speaking to him. “Of course we did it. That was the plan.”
Tasha understood exactly what her husband was asking and nodded her head. “In one single night, everything Pastor Ty told us has come true.”
The colonel looked at Tasha. “What are you talking about? Who is Pastor Ty?”
“That’s the American couple that landed the other day,” Moshe replied. “He showed us exactly what was going to happen from the Torah.”
“An American?”
“Yes Sir. The Torah not only named the countries, but it implicitly stated that it would all take place in one night.”
“Gevault!” the colonel exclaimed. Just then an aide popped his head in the door and told the colonel he was urgently needed in communications.
“But Colonel,” Moshe stopped him, “there’s more, and you need to hear it.”
Natansky turned. He discerned Moshe’s sense of urgency. “Don’t worry, Captain, I’ll be back. We’ll talk.” Out the door he went.
Tasha looked at Moshe and leaned in close. “I’m sorry about Rueben.”
“He’s with Yeshua,” he said softly. Though he was experiencing a sense of peace in his spirit over Rueben’s decision, he still felt the loss of his friend, short-lived though the friendship was. The reality of losing two wingmen in the course of just a few weeks was gnawing at him. At least Rueben had made things right with his maker. Levi was lost forever.
“Say that again!” She was astonished.
He looked at her and allowed a faint smile. “It’s true. Just before I lost communication with him, he told me he’d prayed the prayer.”
“Tell me what happened.”
Moshe shared the entire story, and tears flowed from his eyes during most of it.

Rome Italy
Same Time Local

Andre D’Tiene could not believe what he’d just been told. In fact, it was unthinkable. Yosef Naftali was dead.
“What happened?”
“It was from the inside, someone close to the prime minister,” answered Reginald Tipry. “Believe it or not, the killer was Jewish.”
D’Tiene rubbed the sleep from his eyes. It had been a very long night. Until this moment, every action and reaction in the Middle East had been foreseen. But the loss of the one Israeli leader he felt he could work with had suddenly amplified the difficulties of accomplishing his goal.
“How could they have been so foolish as to allow an armed man near him?”
“He wasn’t armed,” Tipry explained. “The man snapped Naftali’s neck as if it were a matchstick. The prime minister wasn’t found until three hours ago, according to my sources. The killer was summarily executed by the IDF’s top General.”
“Mon Dieu! Who’ll step into Naftali’s place?”
“My man says that Likud’s leadership has elevated Chaim Bloomberg, Naftali’s chief advisor, to the position of interim Prime Minister. I don’t mean to state the obvious, but officials expect elections will not be occurring anytime soon.”
“Will Bloomberg have the support of Naftali’s coalition?” asked D’Tiene. “And will he be as open as Naftali concerning our plans for the Temple?”
“That is the question, is it not?” Tipry replied noncommittally.
“Get with your sources and find out Bloomberg’s leanings. How does he think? How does he communicate? I need you to find me something I can use, and do it quickly. Now, update me on the aftereffect of Israel’s raid.”
“It was not a raid. It was an all-out annihilation the enemy. All of Saudi Arabia’s military facilities are now radiated craters. Riyad is gone. That includes the King and his entire family.”
“And the holy places?”
“Completely destroyed.”
“That means Jerusalem holds the last Islamic Icon. What about the other nations?”
“No nuclear weapons were used in Jordan, Syria, or Lebanon, mainly due to the prevailing winds over Palestine this time of year. However, they did utilize thermobaric bombs. Beirut has been completely neutralized, as has Amman, Jordan. A full-scale sweep, involving thousands of tons of bombs, was unleashed along the Lebanese border. Hezbollah has ceased to exist as a force. Israeli armored brigades are moving through the area now and will soon arrive at the mouth of the Bekaa Valley. The same goes for the Golan Heights and western Jordan. I fully expect Israeli Defense Forces to be within striking distance of the Iranians and the Russians within three days.”
“And Egypt?” asked D’Tiene.
“Compared to what they did to the others. Israel held back. They concentrated their attacks on Egyptian air assets and basically wiped out the air force. They used low-yield nukes to destroy every military facility east of the Nile River. Cairo and everything west of the Nile were on the receiving end of the Thermobarics. The military structure is gone. So is the Egypt’s ability to govern, but the bulk of the population was spared. ”
“With Syria and Lebanon gone, the Mediterranean Union is down to ten members,” D’Tiene mused.
“That is right.”
“Let’s see if we can get an MU peacekeeping presence into Egypt as quickly as we can. We can’t afford another radical uprising. Do it under the guise of a humanitarian effort. Contact the Spaniards, Greeks, and Italians to offer them the lead in this one.”
“What about Syria and Lebanon?”
“Leave them to the Russians for now. The sooner they find themselves deluged with refugees the quicker they will decide Israel is not worth the cost involved, especially with that Iranian idiot causing them so much trouble.” D’Tiene flicked his hand toward the door. The briefing was over for now.
“Yes, sir,” said Tipry as he left the room.

Mount Quarnat as Sawda
Thursday, 9:00 a.m.

Field Marshal Velniak was not happy with his prized subordinate. “Explain yourself Anatoly! What do you mean you chose not to notify me? You should have responded with force.”
“How can that be, Comrade?” Telnikov spoke steadily yet softly. It was not his intentions to arouse any more anger than necessary in Velniak. “The Israelis made no threatening moves toward our forces. If fact, they took care of a large problem on our behalf.”
“Ridiculous!” Velniake spat, “they should have been stopped. This is the reason you are there.”
“Sir, I thought my mission was to clear the way for peacekeeping.”
“Pah! Have you suddenly turned dense? We intend to take the entire region!”
“Then, with all due respect, I reaffirm my opinion.”
“You insolent bratchnye!” fumed the field marshal using an epitaph concerning Telnikov’s status as an orphan.
The general hesitated a moment in order to allow Velniak’s wrath to dissipate. When he spoke, it was with calm reason. “Sir, how much of the region is left for us to subdue now that Israel has accomplished the job for us? Do you not see? All that need be done is to stop the Jews. They have surely expended most of their nuclear arsenal leaving only a conventional threat with which to counter our forces. Also, they are about to face off with the rogue Iranian. We have lost only a few men and one single asset.”
Telnikov was greeted with a long stretch of silence and then a grunt. Velniak had seen the logic. It was now time for the general to afford his superior the opportunity to save face. “Field Marshal, you must have seen this possibility.”
“Well, it was something I allowed to pass through my mind at one point,” Velniak responded.
“Then may I suggest you inform the prime minister that the situation is developing as he planned? Tell him the 7th Armored Division is poised and ready to move on his command. There is no one with the ability to stop us once we begin our push forward.”
Velniak cleared his throat and reassumed a fatherly tone. He knew he’d been manipulated, but to admit such would prove that his original fuss had been born out of a weakness in logic. “Stand ready for the word, Anatoly. And, as always, I commend you for your forward thinking.”
The connection was severed, but Telnikov’s heart raced for several long minutes. He understood exactly how close he’d been to dismissal and utter shame for not having alerted Moscow of Israel’s push through the Golan. He was also confronted with a dilemma. Where did his loyalties lie? What was the root of this budding insubordination? Why was he suddenly having difficulty fulfilling his duty?
These questions must be answered, and soon.
Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-nine

2011-02-24T02:31:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Southern Lebanon
Wednesday, 11:35 p.m.

The impression persisted like an itch that just wouldn’t go away. General Telnikov could not get rid of the feeling that it was imperative that he head back to his headquarters on Mount Quarnat as Sawda. Years of training had honed his intuitive senses, but this seemed to flow from somewhere in his gut rather than his brain. He decided to listen.
“Lieutenant,” Telnikov spoke to the communications officer, “re-call my transport immediately. I am leaving.”
“Da General,” the man replied.
Telnikov didn’t linger to hear the call for the return of the helicopter gunship. Pulling on his outer jacket to stave off the night chill, the general headed for the door of the listening post.
Just then, another officer raised his voice in alarm. “General, we have incoming aircraft bearing 3-5-2 degrees and moving fast.”
Telnikov heard the heavy thumping sound. His chopper had arrived. “What type of aircraft and whose?”
“Eight Israeli F-15s sir.”
Radio my transport and tell him to turn on his transponder, now!” shouted the General, “and tell him to switch off all other radar.” He then opened the door and ran for the helicopter just as its wheels touched the hard surface of the ground.
The side door of the chopper opened and a crewman extended his hand to pull the General inside. He wasted no time. “Lift off and get us out of here immediately!” yelled to the pilot above the din of the aircraft’s screaming engine. Then he threw himself into the seat and strapped himself in. By the time he donned the headset the pilot was already twenty feet above the ground and accelerating forward.
Just as the pilot banked the big chopper over the side of Mount Herman’s western flank, the forward listening post exploded in a pulsating fireball. Telnikov knew the men inside had no chance of survival.
The pilot reacted instinctively by accelerating to attack speed and whipping the nose of the Hind around to allow his infrared tracking system to lock onto the heat of the Israeli jets.
“Do not fire,” Telnikov commanded the pilot. “Do not fire. Get me back to Quarnat at top speed.”
The pilot hesitated for just an instant.
“Pilot, do as I command,” growled the general.
Slowly the nose of the Hind dropped and the chopper pivoted in the direction of Bekaa Valley. As it turned, Telnikov saw a series of fiery explosion all along the Israeli/Lebanese border stretching to the east. The Israelis were demonstrating a vicious resolve to defend their country. He knew it was only going to become more violent.

Saudi Arabia
Same Time

Moshe could make out a dim glow ahead which meant he was now within the outer marker of the Saudi airbase. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly, more to focus his mind than to relax his body. He’d been in enough combat situations to trust his physical reflexes and reactions, but his mind had to be clear. He flexed the fingers of his stick as he prepared to disengage the autopilot.
Suddenly the air controller’s voice broke through the steady hum of his engine. “Dagger—Dog Pound—be advised an AWAC just came on line over Bagdad. That means activity over Iraq is probable.”
“Roger—Dog Pound—we are nearing our entry point into the target. Keep me up to speed.”
“That’s a go, Dagger.”
A hasty American pull-out from Iraq was nearly complete. But four squadrons of American FA-18 Hornets were still deployed in Baghdad to maintain control of the skies. They were the last thing Moshe wanted to be thinking about. The Hornets were not only piloted by the best fighter drivers the United States had to offer, the planes were also stealthy and fast. Hopefully, the Americans were only interested in watching the fireworks from a distance. But since the US had turned its back on Israel, and most of their forces had pulled out of the region, it was impossible to know what they’d do.
Focus in Moshe, he thought to himself. The lights of Hafar al-Batin were glowing just over the ridge in front of him.
Tracers suddenly began shooting up into the night sky at various angles.
“All flights,” Moshe radioed to his team, “we have Triple-A ack-ack. The Saudis know we’re here.” The systems were fired by soldiers without the aid of radar, meaning the accuracy of the defense was poor. But because they were firing twenty caliber bullets into the air, they were still dangerous for any hostile fighter jets that came into the line of fire.
“Frisbee, it’s time to play,” Moshe advised his wingman. “I’m going to pop over this ridge and start my attack run on the S-300 before it can spool up and fire. Dodge that ack-ack and follow me in. Take out whatever looks like trouble, but concentrate on finding the 300s.”
“Roger, let’s do this,” Rueben answered with his usual thrill for a fight.
Moshe reached down and pushed his keypad to disengage the autopilot. He then set his maverick into search mode while initiating his radar jamming system. He would have only one shot at the first S-300 launcher before it reacted to his presence. He wanted the vehicle destroyed and its operators dead before they could put a missile onto his heat signature.
The ridge was coming up fast and was just over five hundred feet above the desert floor at its crest. Moshe pulled on the flight stick and cleared it by twenty feet. Hafar-al-Batin stretch out before him from left to right at two miles distance. He threw his throttle forward to full military power and scanned for a route to thread the Triple-A platforms positioned around the base. The AGM-64 Mavericks under his wings were scanning for the S-300 like a hunter sniffing out his prey. He could hear the low growl in his headset.
Flak fired skyward directly in his path, forcing him to tweak the flight stick to the left. Just then the growl in his ears turned to a steady, high-pitched tone. The Maverick had locked on a launch radar. Moshe fired his first weapon and turned parallel to the airbase runway. If his guess that the S-300s had been situated in a star pattern around the base was correct, he would be heading directly towards one now. He waited only three seconds before his second Maverick captured the target. Moshe immediately thumbed the stick to fire the weapon. The Maverick shot from beneath his wings and flew right over the top of a large structure on its way into the darkness.
At that moment he noticed the fiery exhaust of two fighter jets barreling down the runway. Saudi F-16C Falcons were launching into the sky. Another pair was maneuvering off the breezeway and onto the runway to follow their fellow fighters.
Moshe switched to his AIM-120 Sidewinders and waited for a tone. Once he got it, he fired two missiles.
“Frisbee, two Falcons are lining up on the runway. Burn ‘em!” Moshe ordered his wingman.
“They’re mine,” said Rueben.
Bright fireballs blossomed less than two miles off the end of the runway. The first set of Saudi Falcons had been destroyed.
Moshe glanced out his canopy toward the tarmac as he swept over the base. Multiple Falcons were armed and preparing to launch. Pulling a hard turn he cut loose on the Saudi aircraft with his canon. He felt like he was doing target practice in a simulator. The Saudis were sitting ducks. Each hit made by an incendiary round resulted in an explosion. In just one sweep of the field he had destroyed, or rendered inoperable, most of F-16s on the base.
Moshe maneuvered to his right and attacked three mobile Triple-A gun units. As of yet, no S-300s had locked onto his signature, nor had his threat warning sounded beyond a chirp. He was aware of a dangerous characteristic of the S-300. The missile had the ability to scan for targets while it was in flight. All an operator had to do was launch. The technology built into the infra-red system of the 300 did the rest. This was a major advance over the American-built Patriot system that required a radar lock with the bogey before it was fired. However, the more immediate danger was the Triple-A guns.
Moshe threw his stick hard to the right and curled back toward the base. Two more guns were placed at the western corner of the field and were firing in all directions. He triggered his canon and walked a steady stream of 20 millimeter rounds into the targets. Two more guns were out of action. With another twitch he brought the Lightning around the west and began to hunt for another S-300 emplacement.
“Frisbee, come around from the east and take out the Triple-A in that quadrant of the field. I’m going hunting.”
Just as Moshe glanced down at his Horizontal-Situation-Display, Rueben’s panicked voice sounded over the radio. “My threat warning just started screaming. I’ve got a 300 locked on my tail.”
“Start pumping chaff and get over those fires on the base,” shouted Moshe. “Lose it in the heat.”
Moshe’s threat warning was still chirping but had detected no missile lock on his Lightning. How long that would last he had no way of knowing. One thing was certain. He had to find and attack the other two launchers or both he and Rueben were as good as dead.
Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
(add $5.00 for shipping)
MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-eight

2011-02-22T02:29:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

The Fields of Nazir
Wednesday, 10:30 p.m.

The men were gathered in the hall when Hannah Lira entered and approached the podium. There was little doubt as to what the meeting was about. Although no other rockets had landed anywhere near the facility, it was obvious that Israel’s security situation was intensifying exponentially. Ben figured the next stage of prophetic fulfillment had probably arrived.
“Guys,” she began with a smile, “I want you to know you are making great progress in your training. Personal fitness has improved dramatically for every one of you, as has the scores in marksmanship and two-man tactics. I expected nothing less. However, I imagine some of you are feeling some aches and pains in your bodies.”
Hannah’s statement was met with various levels of groans and animated rubbing of muscles. More than anything, the men were just tired.
“As you can tell, bad things are happening all around us,” she began. “The numbers of Scud and Zelzal missiles that have been fired upon Eretz Israel is astounding. In fact, defense intelligence fouled up in its estimates by at least half. The number is approaching one hundred ballistic missiles in only two nights, and this night is only half over. Add to that the approximate six thousand smaller rockets fired from Lebanon and Gaza and you have quite a fireworks display going on. The miraculous thing is less than two hundred casualties have been reported in the attack so far, and all of those have been relatively minor. We have yet to hear of any deaths.”
The mood in the room changed for the better. No team member had been exempt from worrying about family and friends. Hannah felt them react to the news. “I haven’t told you this before now, but we have people keeping track of each one of your family members.” She looked right at Ben. “For some of you, that includes your close associates. All are safe. None have been harmed. I believe, with all my heart, the Lord is watching over them.”
Expressions of gratitude came from all around the room. Everyone was relieved, which was exactly the effect Hannah desire to create.
“Now, here’s the big news. The government has been pushed to act with overwhelming force. As I informed you last evening, the IDF had planned to launch an operation into Syria. I felt it would trigger the prophecies spoken in Psalm 83. Well, it seems the nations of Psalm 83 have beaten us to the punch.”
Ben looked at Gilad with a question on his face.
“Within the last two hours Saudi, Jordanian, and Egyptian fighter jets have gone head-to-head with the IAF.” She turned to the map behind her and pinpointed the where the confrontations had taken place. “Once again, we have no word that any Israeli aircraft was lost in these initial battles. But, from what I’ve been able to gather from my sources, there were some very close calls.”
Ben was certain Moshe would have been in the latter category. It seemed his new brother in Messiah had a knack for being in the thick of every hot spot. He was compelled to offer a silent prayer for his friend.
“On the surface this all looks bad, but there are a couple of good aspects for which we need to be thankful. First, Israel now has a legitimate reason to go on the offensive. Up until the moment enemy aircraft became aggressive, all the IAF was doing involved search-and-destroy missions against the scuds. Operation Pile Driver, that’s the push over the Golan Heights, had not yet been initiated. Second, because the surrounding nations have all moved under the Iranian umbrella, the rest of the world will see that Iran has double-crossed the Russians. No one will blame Israel for doing what it must do.”
Ben thought about it from a Biblical point of view and had no trouble guessing what was coming next. It was as if the nations surrounding Israel had put a gun to Jewish heads and were about to pull the trigger. But God was the master manipulator in everything that was happening. Ben knew the thought sounded negative, but if God was really in control as he said, then nothing was happening without his permission. A long awaited judgment was at the doorstep. Even now, Ben knew that the Lord would be giving the civilians of those nations an opportunity to repent and turn to the truth of Yeshua. Would they? That was the question.
“What will Israel do?” one of the men called out.
“All I can say is that by tomorrow morning, the inner ring we were talking about will be subdued,” Hannah stated. “What is about to happen will make people consider the temporary nature of human existence.”
“Dear Lord,” Gilad whispered. Everyone heard it.
“Amen to that,” said Hannah. “Now, a concentrated attack is set to begin within the hour. That means we are going underground for the rest of the night. When we come out of our hole tomorrow, we will continue our mission preparations in earnest. I told you our timetable was being moved up. Well guys, we have no more than one week to get ready. Get your heart and your head into the game. We are fast approaching the point of no return.”

Husifa
Same Time

The gathering was over. Ty had done his best to introduce hope into the lives of the group. He’d taken them through scriptures of solace. They’d prayed together for much of the evening. A bond was forming. But now, twenty minutes after Tasha had escorted him and Blake to one of the many private quarters in the shelter, he heart was apprehensive.
Blake noticed.
“What are you thinking so hard about, sweetie?” She was curled up next to Ty with her head lying on his lap. Even with her eyes closed she could feel the wheels of thought churning in his mind.
Ty chuckled. “We’ve only been married five days and you can practically read my mind.”
She turned her body so she could look up at him.
He brushed aside a few strands of long blond hair away from her face.
“Hey, buddy, our spirits are knit, remember?” she smiled. “Plus, it’s my right to read your mind. So, what’s going on in there?”
He took a deep breath and sighed. “I’m asking myself if we did the right thing in coming here.”
“Why?”
“I suppose it’s because I figured this would be the safest place to be as things unwind. Instead, we’ve spent the last two nights in a bomb shelter,” he shook his head. “Not so safe after all, is it?”
“No, but from my perspective, it sure is cuddly.” She smiled at him.
“You know what I mean,” he smiled back. “I’m wondering if we missed God on this one.”
His statement made Blake sit up and intertwine her fingers into his.
“I think if I had a choice between this and living through radioactive fallout in Kansas City, I’d choose being here. I’m also of the high opinion that wherever you are, that’s where I want to be.”
“I guess the last thing I want to do is put you in danger.”
“You know I love you, but you are not the one ordering our steps,” she leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. She was deeply gratified that her new husband was thinking solely for her safety. His protective responsibilities had kicked into gear.
He shook his head and raised his eyebrows for a second. “Yeah, I suppose,” he acknowledged.
“No, you know!” she nudged him. “The steps of a righteous man are ordered of the Lord. We’re here for a purpose. There is no way in the world that I think you made a wrong decision on this one.”
He kissed her soft lips and soaked up her confidence.
“You understand this could get rough, don’t you?”
“Sure. ‘Bring it on’ is what I say. The way I see it we’ve got a mission to accomplish. Let’s go into to it full bore.”
“Okay, then,” he stated. “We’re going to be in here all night. Let’s get some rest.”
“Okay, then,” Blake echoed.
Her head went right back to his lap and she was asleep before he could take his eyes off her beautiful face.

Over Saudi Arabia
Wednesday, 11:30 p.m.

“Stay sharp, Frisbee. We’re two hundred miles from King Khalid Military City, and hopefully, the Heron Drone has done its worst. I’m getting radar returns that indicate it has gone back to high altitude.
“I see it too—Dagger.”
The Heron TP unmanned drone had been on station and in attack mode for at least an hour. Its mission had been to seek out and destroy as many S-300 missile launchers it could find. The stealthy drone aircraft, roughly the size of a Boeing 737, was being flown by some computer geek back at Ramon Airbase, one who had demonstrated an uncanny ability to play video games. The only difficulty was finding the S-300s without having them engage their defensive radar. The Arabians had to be shocked watching their vaunted Russian system being eaten up by a piece of Israeli technology.
“A squadron of Arabian F-16Cs will probably be appearing shortly,” said Moshe.
Rueben responded with two clicks on his transmitter.
Dagger Flight was skirting the desert floor at an altitude of two hundred feet. They were barely one hundred miles south of the Iraqi border. This particular aspect of the mission was to perform a coordinated strike with six F-15 Ra’am ‘Thunder’ fighters by sniffing out the locations of as many anti-aircraft missile batteries as possible. Destroying every S-300 within their designated sector was the objective. Dagger flight also had the responsibility of countering and eliminating any aerial threat.
The entire Northern Command of the Saudi armed forces was deposited within the confines of two facilities. The largest was housed in King Khalid City. An armored brigade and its supporting units were also housed on the base. The anti-aircraft batteries that protected it would catch the brunt of the F-15 strike.
Sixty miles northeast of King Khalid was Hafar-al-Batir airbase, home to two squadrons of Arabian Air Force F-16C Fighting Falcons. Situated in various locations around the base were an unknown number of S-300 mobile launchers. They all had to be taken out. The task belonged to Dagger Flight.
Moshe monitored his display and mentally prodded himself to stay alert. The day had already proven to be extremely long, but Israel was at risk. The nation’s existence seemed to be balanced on the sharp edge of a knife. Everything that was happening was to save her and her people. Rest was a luxury Israel’s defenders simply did not have.
The flight crossed the one hundred mile barrier at an airspeed of mach one. Showtime was imminent. Moshe thought through the variables one more time before he initiated the plan.
“Frisbee, check right and widen to one mile.”
“Roger, Frisbee is moving south by one.”
Moshe prepared to disengage the autopilot and terrain following radar. Once that was done, he would make a quick ascent to an altitude of four hundred feet to get a fix on any remaining Saudi air defense systems. If the drone had done its job, there would be few. He would then drop back down to the deck and prepare for a welcoming committee comprised of infrared-tracking missiles and standard anti-aircraft fire, called ack-ack. The action he was about to commit would alert the enemy to his presence, but it had to be done in order to pinpoint their objectives.
He checked Rueben’s position then widened his radar pattern until he acquired the six F-15s. Their group call sign was Jackhammer.
Moshe thumbed his transmitter. “Dagger—Jackhammer—we’re going hot in twenty seconds.”
“Roger—Dagger—make us some friendly skies,” Jackhammer One responded.
“Frisbee, concentrate your snapshot to the south. I’ll look to the north,” Moshe radioed to Rueben. “We’re going up on my mark. Three—two—one—mark.”
The F-16s, now separated by a mile, jinked up to four hundred feet above the desert floor, held the altitude for five seconds then dropped back under normal radar coverage. Immediately, threat receivers on both aircraft began squawking. Four anti-aircraft batteries were active around Hafar-al-Batin, less than a third of what intelligence had estimated would be present. The drone had proven its worth.
The computer took no time in identifying the radar signatures as S-300 tracking units. Several ZSU-track mounted anti-aircraft guns with an older model, wide-band radar were also detected. The ZSU-flak shooters could be dealt with relatively easily. However, Israeli jets had yet to attack any targets protected by the Russian-designed S-300 system. Each battery consisted of four launch canisters mounted on special vehicles the approximate size of a semi-truck trailer. The system was completely mobile and each battery could fire its missiles and be fully reloaded in less than ten minutes. Only stealthy aircraft had been proven successful against the S-300 and the F-16s possessed no stealth technology. Four batteries meant sixteen missiles were locked, loaded, and ready to kill.
“All flights,” Moshe alerted his fellow pilots as he dove toward the desert floor, “we have active S-300 radar in the vicinity of both objectives. Dagger will take the northern group. Jackhammer flight heads south. Watch your tails.”
Clicks sounded in his receiver and within seconds, Rueben was back into formation behind his leader.
Moshe and Ruben, now directly west of Hafar-al-Batin airbase, converged on a preprogrammed waypoint. After a ten degree right turn, a shallow wadi would be utilized to fly below radar all the way to the target.
As he nudged his fighter in the right direction, Moshe entertained a thought. Because of the drone’s search and destroy mission, it was likely that Arabian F-16s were already scrambling. That meant a certain degree of activity would be happening on the tarmac and runway. He could use that his advantage if he timed it correctly. “Frisbee, let’s drop speed to six hundred knots and give them time to get their Falcon’s moving,” Moshe said to this wingman. They were now just thirty miles out and that distance would be eaten up rather quickly, even at six hundred knots.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
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Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-seven

2011-02-21T02:27:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

Northern Israel
Wednesday, 9:30 p.m.

The two F-16’s gently touched the surface of Ramat David’s runway then proceeded to the protective bunker for rearming. Moshe pulled his aircraft into the brightly lit hanger and switched off his engine. Two large bay doors were slid shut behind him. Since the canopy was already extended into the air, all he had to do was to wait until the wheels had been choked and a ladder hooked to the plane. He quickly dismounted the aircraft, stretched his legs, and walked straight for the head.
Five minutes later he mounted a motorized cart and was driven through the underground maze to the headquarters bunker. Rockets were still falling in the area, so every aspect of base operations, besides takeoffs and landings, had gone underground. This would be the status until the current onslaught was silenced.
Colonel Natansky was waiting in a small briefing room. Seven other members of the squadron were already there, including Rueben, who still had a glassy look in his eyes after his most recent near-death experience.
“Colonel,” Moshe greeted his commander as he entered.
“Captain, get some coffee and take a seat.”
Moshe helped himself to the stout brew then sat at the table beside his wingman.
“You guys flew into it tonight, didn’t you,” the colonel began. Laid out on a table before them was a large, detailed map of the region. “You’re not the only ones. We’re having confrontations across the board. By the way, tonight was the first time an F-16I ever faced an F-2 Typhoon. Considering the odds, I’d say we came out of it much easier than we thought possible. Well done.”
Rueben rubbed his hand his face from forehead to chin, “I’d say our kosher dills about got pickled, Colonel. Was there no warning that the Saudi’s would send up their fighters?” He was exhibiting the same irritation felt by his squadron leader.
“If you’ll remember, we talked about that possibility. The Arabs and Egyptians decided to get
involved after all.”
“What numbers are we dealing with?” Moshe asked.
“The Saudis put up two dozen Typhoons, and it wasn’t a last minute operation. IDF intelligence believes it was planned to coincide with our response to the Scud launchings.” The colonel pointed at the map toward the lower portion of the Negev near Israel’s border with Egypt. “Those guys sent up a mixture of Mirage 5 and F-16C fighters. We think it was a faint, something to distract the 104th out of Ramon.”
“What makes you say that?” Moshe asked.
“Because they never crossed the buffer zone into Israel. Two of our Lightnings were able to chase them back to the Pharaoh,” Natansky answered.
“I’d say the whole picture smells rotten,” Rueben said bluntly. “We’re getting fired on without provocation, and now everybody wants to get in on the action. I don’t get it.”
Moshe looked at Rueben and wondered if the kid was just about ready to hear the truth. If the moment hadn’t arrived, it was certainly on the way.
Natansky continued. “You best get used to it. This thing is only going to get worse tonight. Right now we have sixteen aircraft engaged against three times their number, and that stretches from Syria to Saudi Arabia. The Jordanians, Iranians, Syrians, and Saudis are coordinating their attacks. They are attempting to draw us away from the Scuds and Shahabs.”
“They’re still firing?” Moshe was incredulous.
“Yes, they are, but not to worry,” said the colonel. “Two squadrons of F-15s out of Tel Nof are doing a bit of search and destroy. At last report, the launches were fewer and farther between.”
Moshe had not yet asked, but the question had been on his mind all evening. “What about the rockets coming out of Lebanon and Gaza?”
“All I can say is we’ve made a dent there as well,” answered Natansky, “but they are still firing at whatever they think they can hit.” The colonel knew what Moshe and the other pilots were thinking. Most of them had family at risk, especially since the longer-ranged Fetah-110 rockets were being used. “But I’ll be honest. Everything from Haifa to Tel Aviv is being targeted. The good news is civilian casualties are incredibly light. We’ve got to make sure it stays that way.”
“What will be the plan?” asked another of the pilots.
“Order’s have just come down from headquarters. Operation Pile Driver will begin within the hour. However, another operation has just been initiated. It is called, Clean Slate.”
“Does that mean what I think it means?” asked Rueben.
“Probably more. Clean Slate will utilize a three strand approach. The first strand will be to launch a simultaneous attack against enemy air assets in Jordan, Syria, and Saudi Arabia. That means an attack will be initiated by both manned aircraft, and unmanned drones. We will also achieve air superiority through air-to-air combat.” Colonel Natansky then drew a line on the map with his finger beginning in Beirut, Lebanon and sliding all the way to Amman, Jordan. “The second strand will involve the use of High Impulse Thermobaric explosives, or HITs for short. At least two waves of HITs will be dropped over Jordan and Lebanon. The Gaza Strip and portions of the West Bank will also be targeted.”
“Oy vey!” whispered Rueben. Thermobaric weapons were outlawed by the Geneva Convention. The reason was easy to figure. HITs had the effect of a tactical nuclear weapon, but without the residual radiation. They utilized a pre-determined altitudinal release of a high explosive mist over the target. A small, secondary charge then ignited the fuel and the surrounding oxygen. The effect was an enormous fireball, followed by a massive shockwave. People in the blast zone were vaporized. All buildings would be flattened.
“That’s not all,” Natansky said as he slid his finger toward the Arabian Peninsula. “The last strand of the operation will involve a salvo of nuclear tipped cruise missiles. Along with them will be several Jericho IIIs. Arabia and Egypt will be turned into a wasteland. Your little part of the mission will be to minimize the numbers of S-300 anti-aircraft missile that are parked around King Khalid Military City and Hafar-al-Batin airbase in the north. In other words, you have to clear the way so that the Jerichos can get through.”
Moshe shook his head in disbelief. The Jericho III had a range of nearly eight thousand miles and carried multiple-independently-targetable reentry vehicles, called MIRVs. Each warhead delivered a nuclear yield of anywhere from three to ten kilotons. But it wasn’t Israel’s exertion of force that shocked him. Rather, it was seeing the prophecies unfold right before his eyes, prophecies he been taught within the last three days. What Ty described as the ‘inner ring’ nations were about to be turned into toast.

Central Lebanon
Same Time

General Telnikov directed the pilot of the Hind gunship to carry him from one side of Lebanon to the other. All along the border rocket fire was being met by smart bombs. As the helicopter moved on an eastward track, he could see that neither the Israelis nor the Hezbollah were slacking off in intensity of the attacks. By the massive blasts being generated, Telnikov could tell the Israeli Air Force was utilizing 500 pound guided munitions, most of those being fragmentation bombs designed to kill and destroy well outside the impact point. But the number of rockets shooting through the skies toward Israel demonstrated that little progress was being made, at least in this sector.
He leaned to the center of the chopper and looked for the time indicator to the right of the pilot’s console. He could hardly believe they’d been airborne for an hour. The sights and sounds of war still had the effect of slowing him down in time. Mostly he was amazed that the current escalation of hostilities over Jordan and Saudi Arabia had not yet spilled into Lebanon. After all, it was through Hezbollah and Hamas that Iran was exacerbating the current crises.
Just then, the voice of the communications officer broke into the Telnikov’s musings. “General, our forward post in Chebaa is reporting increased armored movement within Israel.”
One of the first operations carried out by the Russian 7th Armored Division had been to establish an electronic listening post on the slope of Mount Herman. Situated high above the city of Chebaa, the position provided the ability to monitor ground positions and movements of the combatants. Everything from the Golan to the Mediterranean Sea was visible by radar.
“Where is the activity?” barked the general.
“The operative says Israeli tanks are coming out of bunkers in mass. They are moving into the Golan Heights.”
“Pilot,” Telnikov ordered, “turn this thing around and head for the Golan, but make no threatening moves. I want a parallel course to the border all the way to the post.”
“Da, General.” The Hind banked hard to the right and proceeded to transport the general into the danger.
Fifteen minutes later the helicopter flared and landed on a flat shelf on the side of Mount Herman. With a thumbs-up, the pilot signaled the general that it was safe to dismount and move to the protection of the small container-sized. The chopper lifted off the second Telnikov was clear of the rotors. The asset was too valuable to leave exposed to a mortar fire.
Telnikov opened the door and poked his head in the narrow doorway of the communications trailer. Four members of the Russian 7th were seated before a long panel that provided several video monitors and audio enhancers. High resolution, night vision capable cameras were perched on top of the trailer and provided video feeds of the Golan slope.
A corporal, seated at a console, turned to Telnikov. “Please take a seat, General.”
“Tell me what you have found, Vitally,” Telnikov said as he sat beside the operative.
The corporal pointed to a large monitor.
“Sir, this camera is pointed at the center of the Golan Heights about eight kilometers from this location.” The screen was black. The corporal switched the monitor into infrared mode and the site caused Telnikov to take a quick breath.
The heat signatures of at least sixty Merkova Mk IV main battle tanks, in cadres of six, stood out from the darkness. They were making their way up the slopes of the Golan Heights. Following each cadre was a group of MDT David light armored vehicles intermixed with several Namer troop carriers. It was difficult to distinguish between tanks and troop carriers, thus adding to the chilling effect that Israel’s entire Golani Brigade was moving toward Syria.
Just then another soldier at the other end of the trailer shouted. “We have six Longbow aircraft bearing down on our position.”
Telnikov got up and moved to the man’s side so he could see the radar signatures. Sure enough, six Israeli ‘Saraf’ attack helicopters were changing course and flaring up the side of Mount Herman. They were coming straight toward the listening post.
The soldier looked up into the eyes of the general. Telnikov knew what the kid was thinking. The Saraf was an upgraded version of the American AH-64D Apache Longbow, and it was nothing less than fast and deadly. The question was whether or not these Sarafs had a deadly intent in their approach. Telnikov knew that exiting the trailer was useless. Not only could the Sarafs destroy the trailer from long distance, they could also vaporize any human targets in the
area by utilizing their M230 chain guns. That made the decision a non-starter.
“Don’t worry,” the general said as he placed a hand on the soldier’s shoulder. “If they wanted to kill us we would be dead already.”
Immediately the roar of six turbine engines roared over the listening post and off into the night sky.
“Shall I report to Moscow, General?” asked the communications officer.
Telnikov almost gave the order, but a thought brought him up short. The Iranians have brought this upon themselves. If I were in Israel’s place, I too would perform a blocking action against that madman. Israel is making no threat to the other members of the coalition. He came to his decision.
“Have any of our other posts detected this movement?” Telnikov asked.
“Nyet, General.”
“Very well. Israel just wants the Iranian to consider the consequences of his actions. Send no report, and make no reference of this to the other posts until first light,” Telnikov ordered.
“Da, General.” The operative glanced at his comrade in the next chair and ever-so-slightly raised his eyebrows.

Ramat David Air Base
Wednesday, 10:15 p.m.

“Okay, Captain, what is going on?” Rueben sat down on the couch beside his squadron commander then slid into a semi-reclined position.
Moshe’s squadron was thirty minutes away from pre-flight preparations for their assignments. The original mission of assisting in Operation Pile Drive by flying high-altitude cover had changed. Operation Clean Slate was now the order of the night, and that meant extreme involvement in clearing the skies over Jordan and Saudi Arabia. Following Moshe’s Lightning squadrons would be the F-15 Thunders loaded to the hilt with earth-pounding ordinance. The enemy had better be tucked into a hole.
Moshe’s hands were clasped behind his head when Ruben sidled up to him. He understood an important moment had arrived, one he’d been silently praying for since their shift had begun that afternoon.
“Remember the other day when I told you these things had been written beforehand?” Moshe asked.
“Yeah, that prophecy mumbo jumbo,” Rueben nodded.
“Not so mumbo jumbo now is it?” Moshe figured he might as well be straight forward.
“I guess not. Tell me more.”
“Our little prophecy talk revolved around what the Russians and Iranians are doing, but there is more. Do you remember that American couple we saved from the Turks last week?”
“Yes.”
“Well, he is the guy who is stepping in for the preacher at my wife’s church.”
“What happened to the other Rabbi?”
“That’s the crazy part,” Moshe said. “He told me about a special operation he’d signed up for; one I wish I could tell you about. I can’t.”
“So, you’re not telling me anything, but the man is probably doing something that is connected with tonight’s activities, right?” If nothing else, Rueben was astute. “I suppose he told you about everything the prophets said.’
“That’s just it. He didn’t teach us any prophecies from the Torah that dealt with this exact scenario,” Moshe confessed as he dropped his hands to his thighs.
“I thought you said this was all written before hand,” Rueben stated.
“What I’m saying is Pastor Ben had no idea. The American found it. He showed the whole thing to us last evening. Believe it or not, he took us to some passages in the Torah that predicted precisely what we are about to do.”
“Really?” Rueben exclaimed. “I won’t ask where. I haven’t read anything in the Torah since my bar-mitzvah. Just tell me what it said.”
“Five different prophets named the nations and what would happen. The time frame of their destruction is given as well.”
“What do you mean?” Rueben asked.
“They all give a general reference about a time after Israel is restored as a nation. From there, the prophets cited Lebanon, Jordan, Syria, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, the Gaza Strip, and the West Bank. Two of the prophets said the destruction of those nations would happen from the evening to the morning…in other words, one single night; one single event.”
Rueben rubbed his hands over his face as he tried to absorb what he was hearing. Moshe sat quietly and waited.
Finally, Rueben asked the question Moshe had been hoping for. “Why? Why would that stuff be written like that? It seems like God, if there is one, is saying; ‘this is going to happen and there’s not a thing you can do about it.’”
“I think you’re partly right,” Moshe nodded, “but there is another reason. He gave it to us as a proof.”
“What kind of proof?”
“Well, for one, proof that he exists. For another, we have proof that every other thing he said is also true. In other words, the prophecies are not just warnings. They form a personal call to everyone who will listen.” Moshe paused to see if Rueben was tracking with him.
Rueben waved his hands in front of him as if to say come on, give me more. The young pilot’s life had been threatened enough over the last few days to give him a sense of his own mortality. He was no longer in the mood to clown around.
Moshe breathed a prayer that God would make his next few words sink into Rueben’s heart.
“You see,” Moshe continued, “this thing is winding down to some sort of an end. The Torah explains what the end will look like, and these prophetic events are proof that we are getting close.”
“Close to what?”
Moshe figured he’d come this far. His only option was to take the plunge and let God sort it all out for his wingman. If Rueben’s faith was going to be ignited, it would happen in the next few minutes. He laid it all out, including the plan of salvation he had received from Ben.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
(add $5.00 for shipping)
MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-six

2011-02-20T02:25:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

Jerusalem
Wednesday, 8:35 p.m.

General Ehud Katz, commander of all IDF forces, stood before Prime Minster Yosef Naftali. A few members of the Cabinet were there as well. “Yosef, this is the scenario that I’d warned you about. Every one of our neighbors has joined the attack.” Katz and Naftali were long time friends and political allies.
“How is the population holding up?” asked the Prime Minister.
“Reports are coming in from the length and breadth of Eretz Israel,” Katz began. “The Patriot batteries were expended in the first thirty minutes. There are simply too many missiles being launched. The IAF was having success hunting down and destroying the mobile launch platforms in Syria and Jordan, but that ended when enemy aircraft filled the sky. All our assets are now fully engaged in a battle for air superiority.”
“But what of the population?” Naftali repeated the question with a hint of irritation that it hadn’t been immediately answered.
“Impacts are being reported nationwide. Some have gone astray to strike Gaza. There is no way to know what the casualty figures are, but several Scuds and Shahabs have hit within heavily populated areas,” answered the General.
“Has there been any lessening in the rate of the launches?” asked a member of the Cabinet.
“Not since the moment the IAF went into aerial combat mode,” said Katz. “But that isn’t the only problem. Long range radar shows Royal Air Force activity taking place over Riyad, Danbu, and Rub al Khali. The Saudis are serious. The same goes for Egypt. They are sending up mostly F-16 and Mirage F-5 fighters.”
“What numbers are we looking at?” asked Naftali.
“If you are asking if we have the forces necessary to repel the current enemy numbers involved in this confrontation, the answer is yes,” Katz explained. “We have two hundred thirty-two F-16s with duty-ready status, and roughly fifty-five F-15s that can be launched. However, I suggest we task our F-15s with seek-and-destroy missions against enemy missile platforms.”
“I agree,” said Naftali. “Give the order. How long can we maintain these numbers in a sustained fight?”
“Sir, we were preparing to initiate Operation Pile Diver tonight. In other words, the entire force was placed on either alert or operational status as of sundown. We can keep up the fight for at least twenty-four hours. Beyond that, it will depend on our losses, as well as the numbers of fighters the enemy assigns to combat.”
Naftali looked up and directly into the eyes of General Katz. He wanted a truthful answer to the question he was about to ask. He knew Katz well enough to be able to see his response without the man uttering a word, but he wanted to hear it anyway. “If they throw up everything they’ve got in their arsenals, can we beat them?”
Katz returned the gaze and answered without emotion. “Yes, but that is not the problem.”
“You speak of the Russian coalition, do you not?”
“I do,” the General nodded. “We cannot fight the entire Arabian and Egyptian Air Forces and expect to hold off the Russians if they decide to overrun our country.”
Naftali rose from his chair and went to his desk. On it was a single sheet of paper that required three signatures. A protocol had been established years earlier for just such an occasion. The protocol had never been used, not since Israeli scientists had learned to split the atom.
The Prime Minister picked up a pen and bent over the paper knowing that Israel’s release of two nuclear weapons over Damascus was nothing in comparison to what he was about to unleash. Closing his eyes tightly and taking a deep breath, Yosef Naftali signed the order. His signature followed by the opposition leader in the Knesset, and then by General Katz.
Before the General left the room Naftali completed his order. “I want every brigade moving by dawn. Do you concur?”
“I do, Yosef,” Katz answered. “This is our only option if we are going to save Eretz Israel.”
And then, as he looked at his friend who appeared to have aged in a matter of minutes, the commander of the Israeli Defense Forces saluted his leader.

Over Western Saudi Arabia
Same Time

Moshe had no difficulty choosing targets for his four AIM-120 AMRAAM missiles. There were eight Typhoon fighters coming head-to-head with him and Rueben. Two other flights of eight had broken off to the right and to the left, evidently to engage his fellow Israelis. It was show time.
Now within the AMRAAMs thirty mile range, Moshe designated the two lead planes, waited for the steady growl in his headset, and then fired the weapons. The instant the missiles shot out from under his wings he was tugging on the stick to gain altitude while giving his jet a few seconds of afterburner. “Dagger—Fox Three—Fox Three,” he called the shot.
Rueben, less than three miles off Moshe’s wing to the south, fired two more AIM-120s then followed his leader in a maneuver that would attempt to catch whatever Typhoons came their way once they scattered. As the Saudis had not yet fired, it stood to reason that they were armed with a shorter ranged little devil called the ASRAAMxl. The missile was an infra-red, heat seeker that had a range of nearly fifteen miles and could fly at Mach 3. The Israelis had tagged the missile with the name “Slicer” for its ability to cut through jamming clutter and home-in for the kill.
“Frisbee, we get one more shot at this before they come to bear with their Slicers,” Moshe transmitted.
“I’m with you, boss.”
Moshe noticed, by scanning his HUD, that the group that had broken off south were doing what he’d suspected. The Typhoons were going low and coming around in an attempt to trap the F-16s from behind.
“Let’s go to full military power and keep those birds off our tails a bit longer,
Frisbee,” Moshe order. Two clicks sounded in his headset.
He watched his display as the forward Typhoon formation, now less than twenty-five miles distance and closing, smoothly broke and began their evasive tactics. The Slammers would not let their targets off the hook very easily, and sure enough, within less than thirty seconds, four planes were eliminated from the fight. Moshe checked his weapons inventory and saw he was down to two AMRAAMS and four Sidewinders.
Two F-2s regrouped twenty-four miles away. They were below his altitude and to his right. The planes had gone into ‘supercruise’ mode and were spreading to attack at a speed of Mach 1.1. The Typhoon had the ability to sustain that velocity for several minutes without going to afterburner, thus expending less fuel than the F-16s.
Just as Moshe was preparing to lock onto them with his Sidewinders, the Saudis took a sudden dip behind a low ridge. The enemy planes were stealthy enough to keep his radar from giving them a full electronic interrogation. At the current rate of closure he would be on top of them in no time at all.
Moshe lined the nose of his lightning with the exit point of the valley and tasked two of his Sidewinders into search mode. He then dropped his airspeed in order to give himself the ability to maneuver if necessary, yet keep the Typhoons in his windscreen.
Just then, Rueben broke the silence. “Dagger—we’ve got company at our six.”
Moshe looked at his HUD. Two more blips of the original eight disappeared from the screen telling him that Rueben’s Slammers had done their damage. The others were bugging out. However, eight bogeys were gaining on them from the south. “Frisbee—pull off and take them on. I’ll drop these last two birds and join you, but be advised I’ll be down to my last two Sidewinders.”
“Roger—Frisbee is flipping.” Rueben took his F-16 to inverted flight and whipped a hard turn to face the oncoming Typhoons.
Moshe slowed the Lightning even further as he anticipated the appearance of the Saudis at the southern end of narrow depression. He involuntarily re-gripped the flight stick as the two Typhoons shot skyward from the wadi. Gently tracing their upward movement with the nose of his plane he pushed his throttle forward and fired his Sidewinders. Just then, the threat warning began to sound. He saw the reason. Both Typhoons had released their Slicers, and the killers were turning sharply in the hunt to acquire his heat signature.

Husifa
Wednesday, 8:40 p.m.

No one said a word. What happened next seemed as natural as breathing. Everyone in the circle rose and went to Tasha. The entire country was being hammered by rockets from across every border, but everyone in the room knew that Tasha’s husband would certainly be facing the greater threat. In the shelter, their lives were safe and secure. His wasn’t, even though he was one of Israel’s most experienced and victorious pilots. What moved them most was the knowledge that Moshe was now one of their own. He was a brother in Yeshua who needed their intercession. Tasha was his wife. Therefore, she became their point of concentrated faith.
Hands were placed on her shoulders as she sat in the chair. Ingrid took one of Tasha’s hands in hers, Blake took the other. All heads bowed, and lips began to silently move as the group prayed for the safety of both their friend and his fellow pilots.

Over Western Saudi Arabia
Same Time

Moshe knew the Saudis were dead. He also knew the short distance between he and the firing point of the Slicers made it probable that he would soon be dead as well. With a push of the throttle into full military power, a jerk of the stick to the left, and the application of the ailerons, Moshe rolled his fighter and made a hard turn away from the oncoming missiles. Chaff and burning flares were ejected from the tail of the aircraft. He then pulled right on the stick to minimize the heat signature of his power plant. Both Slicers homed in on the heat of the flares and exploded less than two hundred feet behind him.
With a short intake of air, Moshe continued the right hand turn toward the south and punched his afterburner. Rueben was just over five miles ahead of him in his attack on the oncoming Saudis. The smart thing to do would be to bug out for home rather than engage. He was out of missiles. But his wingman was going to need his help, at least the presence of his Lightning to give the Saudis something else to worry about. Moshe saw he would catch up quickly, but fuel would be expended to a point in which he would only have a few minutes to engage the enemy before he was forced to turn for home. Would there be enough fuel and weapons to keep from being shot from the sky? That was the question.
“Frisbee—I’m hot on your six. I’ll be coming up on your right in twenty seconds,” Moshe radioed to his wingman.
The bogeys suddenly split into four pairs, each taking different tacks outward from a presumed center point. Two pairs went high, two went low. They appeared to be attempting to come at the two F-16s in a three dimensional attack formation.
This is not going to be pretty, Moshe thought to himself, and then he whispered a prayer. “We could use some help, Lord.”
With no remaining long-range AMRAAMs, Moshe would have to work his way into their kill zone before he could fire his cannon. He quickly punched the Horizontal Situation Display, located above his left knee, into terrain mode. Through his night vision equipment, only flat desert appeared between him and the inbound enemy. They were now crossing the thirty mile barrier. What he needed was an obstacle, something to get into and fly by the seat of his pants, something he could use to break his radar signature. Suddenly, there it was. A range broken by wadis and ridges loomed a thousand feet above the desert floor. It was located along the Arabian border with Jordan and it was only seven miles to his right. The decision was easy. In fact, it was the only option he had if he wanted to make it through this fight alive.
“Frisbee—I’m going to the right and low. There’s a grouping of hills that I’ll use. I’m about to pull a fast one on these schmucks.”
“Hey, don’t leave me hanging out here,” Rueben exclaimed.
“I’m not. Go high and west. Put some distance between you and the other three pairs,” Moshe ordered. “We’ll narrow the odds, at least for a minute or two. Help will be here in five minutes.” At least he hoped the alert fighters out of Ramon had shifted into high gear.
“On my way,” Rueben answered.
Moshe cut the flow of fuel to the afterburner and dove for the set of hills fast approaching at his two o’clock position. Seven thousand feet were eaten up in an instant. With the enemy Typhoons nearing the range of their AIM-132 Slicers, it was time to break up his radar silhouette.
A narrow gorge, protected by hills opened directly in front of him. They rose eighteen hundred feet above the desert. Moshe applied his airbrakes to drop his speed to three hundred knots. He then took the opening. He estimated the cut was only about four times the width of his wingspan. The range of hills extended roughly twelve miles, meaning if he stayed hidden, he could cut the distance to the oncoming Typhoons without presenting himself as a target for their Slicer missiles. Engaging his electronic jamming system, he descended into the gorge and steadied himself for a thrill ride.
Suddenly, threat warnings began to sound. At least one missile was in the air, probably more, but none had as yet locked onto his tail.
Moshe dropped down as low as he could as the cut began to shallow in a long, twisting wadi.
“I’ve got two Slicers on my tail,” shouted Rueben.
“Stay calm Frisbee. Take a breath and evade,” Moshe spoke as calmly as possible. Looking through his infrared gear, he was able to detect the tail end of the wadi. The cold, flat desert was less than fifteen seconds ahead. He was flying fifty feet above the ground and running out of room very quickly.
An alarm broke into his concentration. “MISSILE, MISSILE, MISSILE.” With a glance at his HUD Moshe saw the culprit. A Slicer had just dropped into the same cut behind him. Time to move!
He pumped three bundles of phosphorus chaff out the back of his Lightning and jerked back on the stick. With his thumb he switched into his last remaining weapons mode; the M61 20 mm cannon. He had 550 HEI, high explosive incendiary rounds to jack into the first Typhoon that showed itself.
Pushing the throttle to the stops, Moshe shot out of the narrow valley, pitched hard to the left, then brought the aircraft quickly back to level flight. There it was, just over the entrance of the wadi and flying at three thousand feet. Again the missile threat warning sounded. No matter, Moshe lined the cannon sight in the HUD with the Typhoon and pulled the trigger.
He could feel the six Gatlin barrels begin to rotate inside the gun port of his nosecone. Then, seventy rounds plowed through the air toward the Typhoon. Moshe released the trigger and dropped his wing straight to the ground.
A bright flash appeared at the nose of the Typhoon as it shot by less than one hundred meters in front of Moshe’s canopy.
He reversed his action by returning to level flight and dropping the right wing to the ground. He pulled back hard on the stick to bring the F-16 hard about. The movement was almost instantaneous. His hope was to beat the faster, more agile Typhoon to the punch and somehow be on the guy’s tail when he came out of the turn. Everything would depend on the pilot. Was he trained properly? Did he have the taste for a good dogfight? That was the question. For Moshe there was no other option.
Moshe grunted with the turn. The only way to sustain consciousness through the powerful g’s his crushing his body was to give short bursts of air generated from his abdomen. He concentrated on his HUD and saw that his tactic had worked. The Typhoon was coming around from his right to his left in a slower turn than Moshe’s. With its right wing standing straight up into the air, the fuselage of the aircraft presented itself as a massive target.
Moshe pulled hard out of the turn and the fired. The Typhoon was right in front of him. Twenty millimeter rounds walked from the nose all the way to the tail. He barely had time to dart upward before the enemy aircraft transformed into a massive fireball.
“I can’t shake them, Dagger. Get up here!” screamed Rueben.
“Yeshua, help my friend,” Moshe whispered as he tipped the nose of the aircraft hard to the right. As he came around he saw the heat plumes of several fighters three miles ahead. In a background of bright stars, they were the only lights gyrating and corkscrewing through the sky.
There was no time to gauge his fuel, no time for indecision. Moshe punched his afterburner and let it eat the fuel for ten long seconds.

Husifa
Wednesday, 8:44 p.m.

Ty felt his gut wrenching as he prayed. Only once before had he experienced the sensation and, as he recalled, it had turned out horribly. His thoughts flashed back the Wednesday that now seemed so long ago. He’d been called to the sanctuary of Faith Community Church in Plattsville, Missouri because a spontaneous prayer meeting had broken out; something totally out of the ordinary for the church. His knees had buckled the second he entered room. The power of God was present in an unimaginable way. It wasn’t until later that he realized why God had instigated the occasion. He understood when a nuclear mushroom formed above downtown Kansas City.
The same power of God is here now, he thought to himself, and it’s for Moshe. He bent forward a few inches, finding it difficult to stand upright.
Blake, sitting beside Tasha, sensed his movement. She turned, looked into his face, and was alarmed. “Ty, what is it?”
Ty would have answered, but his spirit was compelled to pray aloud. “Oh God, protect your child,” he groaned. “God, protect your child.”

Over Western Saudi Arabia
Same Time

Moshe’s threat warning sounded again. Another Typhoon had come up on his six. A missile was just leaving the wing of the enemy aircraft when Moshe glanced at his Heads-Up-Display. His heart caught into his throat. If something didn’t happen, and happen now, he would be seeing the face of his new Messiah.
Incredibly, a sense of calm filled the cockpit. Moshe lifted his eyes and glanced out his canopy. He pinpointed Rueben and his predators, rolling and dancing higher into the air. “Buddy, you’re on your own,” he whispered. He disengaged the afterburner as the onboard computer began ejecting chaff from the tail of the plane. With a twitch of his right hand he threw the aircraft into hard roll and steep dive bearing down on him. He was quickly exhausting his evasion options.
Again, a wave of peace flowed through his system. Moshe looked at his altimeter and watched his altitude plummet. The second missile could not be shaken. He knew he was going to die.

Husifa
Same Time

Ty dipped to his knees, the weight of a missive hand seemed to push him downward. He gritted his teeth and prayed harder. “O God, don’t let Moshe die.” He sensed the Spirit of God was groaning through him, and then he felt as if he were in the cockpit with Moshe, spiraling toward the ground.
Blake let go of Tasha’s hand and turned to wrap her arms around her husband’s shoulders. She dropped her cheek to the top of his head and joined him in calling upon God. Every person in the room took up the same concert of prayer.

Western Saudi Arabia
Same Time

Moshe was again over the hilly range he used before, though how he had backtracked to the spot was beyond him. His altitude was being eaten at a deadly rate, but so far, he had kept his wits about him. He scanned the range until he picked out the steepest crest of the ridge line. On the other side was the wadi.
“I can do this,” he gasped.
He had only one attempt at escape. He would have to continue in the dive all the way to the ridge, and then somehow bring his plane into line with the wadi. The turned would tax the aircraft to its limit. His brain screamed it was an impossible move. His heart commanded him to do it anyway.
The ridge was right in front of his nose when Moshe cut all the power to his engine. He set the airbrakes and gave one quick jerk to the right on the flight stick. He took a breath and held it. There were less than eighteen feet between the belly of his fuselage and the ridge as he dropped into the wadi. His Lightning had nowhere to go but down.
“Yeshua!” he shouted in desperation. The aircraft shuddered under the strain. Both the proximity and stall warnings were all squawking, but miraculously the Lightning responded. The ground came up quickly, but he was able to bring his wings to level flight, add full throttle to the engine, and retract his brakes, before he hit. Suddenly, he was flying up the wadi. A few seconds passed before he realized he had evaded the Slicer.
“Dagger—this is Spear Head—pull left out of that hole. We’ll take care of this goyim scum. A flying gas tank is waiting for you over the Negev.”
Moshe let out the breath it seemed he’d been holding for an eternity. He was never so glad to hear a friendly voice.
“Get on my wingman boys.”
“We got him, Captain.”
Moshe regained altitude and headed west out of danger. It would be several minutes before his heart could catch up.
Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-five

2011-02-19T02:23:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

Abu Kamal, Syria
Wednesday, 8:30 p.m.

Tariq Kazimi sat in a wooden chair as his aides scrambled to send the order. The word was passing through every telecommunications portal available. Hezbollah and Hamas were ordered to launch every rocket in their arsenals. He smiled at the thought of Scud, Zelzal, Shahab, and Fateh missiles raining down across the length and breadth of the illegal Jewish state. The inferno he was about to create would usher in the appearance of the Mahdi. Kazimi was certain of it.

Central Lebanon
Wednesday, 8:30 p.m.

General Telnikov pulled the harness tight as he sat in the seat of the Russian Hind gunship. The menacing helicopter lifted from the ground and flew over the ridge, quickly gaining altitude over the Bekaa Valley. His intention was to move as close as possible to the action on the border. Something had triggered the Hezbollah into an all out attempt to escalate the friction between them and Israel. The time had come to see firsthand what was taking place. Anyway, he was becoming weary of sitting in command headquarters on top of Mount Quarnat as Sawda. In fact, he was bored. But now, the helicopter flew southward with the side door open, and the cold night restored the feeling that the general was still alive and ready to fight.
The pilot’s voice broke into his reverie. “General, you must see this.”
Telnikov craned his neck to get a better view out the front windscreen. While strapped into the seat, that task was impossible. “I cannot see,” he spoke into the voice activated transmitter inside his flight helmet. “Swing to the east.”
The pilot eased the Hind to the right. The southern horizon came into full view. So did hundreds and hundreds of bright rocket trails. They were all heading into Israel from all along the Lebanese border.
“The fools,” Telnikov snapped. The Israelis had not cleaned out even a fraction of the launch points or stores of weapons. Recent reports had estimated that upwards of 80,000 rockets, with various ranges and payloads, had been stockpiled. He could see that the reports were true. The terrorists seemed to be launching all of them at once.
“Iran!” he spat. Then a thought came into his mind and he acted upon it. “Pilot, take an eastward tack towards the Golan.” He suspected there might be some previously undetected activity. He had to know what Israel was doing while all hell rained down on its civilian population.

_________________________

West of the Jordan Valley
Same Time

“Here they come, Dagger!” Rueben alerted his captain. He was flying off Moshe’s right wing and to the rear by about fifteen meters. Flashes on the HUD indicated the ignition of several medium-range missiles to the east.
Moshe whipped his head to that side of his canopy. He had failed to scan the skies as he should have. His eyes had been transfixed on the sight of Hezbollah rockets in the northern sector. The plumes appearing over Jordan were of a much larger and deadly variety. “Dog Pound—Dagger—we have multiple launches lifting out of Jordan, repeat—multiple missiles heading into Israel,” he transmitted to the combat air controller.
“Roger—Dagger—you are cleared for incursion and attack. I repeat, Dagger—you are cleared to attack.
“Dagger going red. What is the status of Slapshot and Jockey flights?”
“Slapshot and Jockey are heading your way,” answered the controller.
“Slapshot—Dagger—go high and cock your pistol,” Moshe radioed to the two flights of four F-16s coming up out of Ramat David. “Jockey, start pitching Mavericks and JDAMs from the north. Dagger will come at them from the south.”
Moshe and Rueben both went to afterburner and brought the nose of their jets to an easterly heading. Multiple trails of burning rocket fuel were rising into the night sky. There were more launch points than six Lightning fighters could take out.
“Dog Pound—Dagger—what is the status of Pile Driver?” he requested. His thoughts were to bring at least two more flights into the engagement, especially with the probability that enemy bogeys would soon be coming up out of Amman to fight.
“Dagger—Dog Pound—Pile Drive to commence at one—repeat, commencement at one,” came the response. The use of the word ‘one’ signified that Operation Pile Driver would begin in one hour.
“Dog Pound—Dagger—I’m making a situational request,” said Moshe. “I count at least two dozen plumes. We don’t have the fire power to take them all out before they reload.”
“Dagger—proceed.”
“Requesting the assistance of the 113th with their Hellfire missiles.” The squadron was scheduled for close-in support to Operation Pile Driver and the Golani Brigades tank battalions. Consisting of twelve Ah-64d, helicopter gunships known as Apaches, the choppers were thoroughly equipped as anti-tank platforms. Their different variations of the AGM-114 Hellfire missile served as tank killers, anti-radar destroyers, and also served as fragmentation explosives. These Scud launch platforms were nothing more than flatbed trailers. They would be no match for the disruptive Hellfires. Moshe was also thinking about the likelihood that his F-16s would soon be engaged in air-to-air combat. In fact, it was becoming clear that tying up the Israeli F-16s in the air would allow the enemy to continue launching Scuds against the civilian population. Little time passed before his line of reasoning was understood.
“Dagger—Dog Pound,” broke the air controller, “multiple bogeys are coming up to meet you. Pull off the Scuds and engage the MiGs. I repeat, engage the MiGs. The 113th fixed-wingers are on the way.”
“Slapshot and Jockey, you heard the order,” Moshe transmitted to his fellow pilots.
“Give us the word, Dagger.”
“Slapshot, move to the north and engage whatever appears in that sector,” Moshe ordered. “Jockey, take the eastern set of MiGs high and head-to-head. Frisbee and I will take them from the south, and then deal with whatever comes out of Queen Alia Airport.”
Clicks sounded in Moshe’s headset as the six aircraft moved to engage.
“Boss, I count eight bogeys,” said Rueben.
“Frisbee, move out a mile,” Moshe ordered. “Take the two to the east. I’ll take the two on the inside. Jockey and Slapshot will get the rest.”
“I’m on it.”
“After we launch, we are heading for Queen Alia,” Moshe continued. “Use your Mavericks to destroy everything you can on the ground. We’ll both drop our GBU Paveway right in the middle of the runway, you copy?”
“Let’s do it. Frisbee is going hot!”

__________________________
Husifa, Israel
Under the Old Roman Orthodox Church
Same Time

Seventeen men and women had arranged their chairs in a circle. They were toward the rear of the shelter in one of several small meeting rooms situated among the living quarters. Ty couldn’t help but be astounded by not only the level of comfort that existed, but the functionality of the bunker. The walls were painted in gentle earth tones. Many were adorned with murals depicting heroic moments in the life of the nation. Carpet covered the floors. A public galley was available to everyone, and it was well stocked. There was even a sickbay manned by IDF-trained civilian medics.
Israel had long ago learned to live with the ever present reality of eminent attack. The nation made the best of that reality by providing livable quarters for all its citizens, having the ability to sustain the population for days on end should a prolonged attack occur. Ty could think of nothing like it in America. The only comparable shelter provisions he could recall were the left-over nuclear fallout shelters in American cities. Most of those had been converted into warehouses, or simply locked up and forgotten.
Ty looked at the faces of the group and marveled. Blake was singing, and they were all soaking in the words and the melody as if they’d rarely heard anything like it. Tears were visible in many eyes. Several hands were upraised in unabashed praise. One woman had quietly lowered herself to her knees in deep worship. The sight brought a lump to his throat, especially when he gazed at his wife. Her eyes were closed and she was unaware of how her love for the Lord was being received. These folks from Celebration Center were not only being touched Blake’s gift, they were full participants in the praise she was offering.
A hint of regret tugged at his heart. Why had he never allowed himself to be introduced to such an authentic style of worship? Why had he been bound in religious liturgy rather than learning the joy of simply sharing his heart Jesus? He wondered what kind of character and depth his congregation would have had if only they’d been shown something different than what had been passed down by their parents and grandparents. Would a deeper congregational love for the Lord have changed anything that happened?
As every pastor understood, all churches experience some level of conflict. Two people living in close proximity tended to produce fireworks from time to time. It was only natural for a multitude of different personalities to clash with one another. But that was no excuse for things to get out of hand like they had for Ty in Plattsville. He clearly saw how a lack of genuine love for Christ among the people had allowed personal preferences to spiral into shameful conflict. Worse, his own shallow spirituality had added to the problem.
Emotion caused a lump in his throat as he thought about the death of his mother. He still felt the weight of her body lying in his arms as she exhaled her last breath. Would she have died if he had only learned to express his praise and worship as Blake was doing now? He began to feel the heartbreak again, something that had been buried beneath the joy of uniting with Blake. Then his ears began to hear the words his wife was singing. And when I come to die, give me Jesus. Give me Jesus, give me Jesus. You can have all this world, give me Jesus. His mother would have loved that song, and with the thought, the floodgates of his grief opened wide.
At first he felt as if he needed to leave the room, the tears were flowing so freely. But he noticed that no one was paying any attention. They were lost in worship, not caring what others thought. So, he stayed and let the hurt pour out.
Then he heard the words of his mother, words that were left hanging at the moment of her death. Ty could hear her voice in the depths of his heart. He could see her eyes looking into his own. He could feel the urgency of what she wanted to say. “Ty, he told me you would see the coming of the Lord. The Rapture, you’ll see it with your own eyes.”
Ty’s reached and covered his face with his hands as he fought to bring his emotions under control. The message seemed so real, yet so tangible. Her last words reflected her character and love. They were words of hope. It was only fitting that a message of such magnitude would be delivered to him by the woman who’d loved him the most. That was how she was, always full of hope. Maybe it was time to emulate her life through his own just a bit more than he had. The past was the past. He could not change it. The time had come to move forward into the new life God had given him.
He wiped away his tears and looked again at Blake. She had finished her song and Ty realized a peaceful silence had replaced the music. The people were waiting for something. Better yet, they were waiting for someone.
Ty glanced at Ingrid sitting opposite him in the circle. Her eyes were shut tightly and her forehead showed a level of strain. He sensed that something was about to happen, something he’d never before seen or heard. His heart picked up a few extra beats.
Just then, Ingrid opened her eyes and scanned the circle until she looked directly at Tasha. “Guys, we need to pray for Moshe and those who are with him, and we need to pray right now!”

________________________

Western Jordan
Same Time

“Oy gevalt!” Rueben cut loose over the radio. The expression was laced with fear. Suddenly, the young pilot’s customary vibrato was gone. “Dagger, we’ve got trouble.”
“Dagger—Dog Pound—Multiple bogeys coming your way. Repeat—we count twenty-six F-2 Saudi Typhoons at your three o’clock position, bearing 275 degrees,” transmitted air control.
Moshe immediately saw the danger. A surge of adrenaline moved through his body. The F-2 Eurofighter, designated the Typhoon, was a multifunctional, twin-engine fighter developed by a consortium of European nations. The aircraft had proven victorious in training engagements against US Air Force F-16 Falcons and F-15 Fighting Eagles. Only the F-22 Raptor had played the Typhoon to a draw. The jet had the capability of sustained supersonic flight without the use of afterburners, and had a top speed of Mach 2.2. It carried the same armament as did Moshe, with the addition of the AIM-132 ASRAAM, a power-packed missile with a range of twelve miles. The Typhoon was as capable in every way as the F-16 and probably more so. The only variable would be in pilot skills. Still, there were sixteen of the sleek killers heading directly toward him and his wingman.
“Dog Pound—Dagger—what are we doing about this,” Moshe requested. He was less than twelve miles out from Queen Alia air base and had been preparing for his attack run when Rueben had shouted.
“Dagger—the 12th out of Ramon is loading up right now. Two alert flights are up and on the way. All other flights will be heading your way within three minutes,” Dog Pound answered. “You are ordered off the MiGs. Come to a heading of 090 degrees and engage.”
The Saudis had joined the fight.
“Not with a JDAM and a set of Mavericks on my wings,” Moshe responded. “In twenty seconds I’ll have that problem solved.”
“Roger—Dagger—but do not hold over the target. Get dropped and get moving.”
“Frisbee, drop your tank in a hole, pick a launch pad somewhere, and get rid of your ordinance,” Moshe ordered his wingman. “Slapshot and Jockey, open up on the MiGs. If you have any air-to-air ordinance remaining after your first salvo, join our little party with the Typhoons. Otherwise, get back to base and reload.”
Both flights responded in the affirmative.
Moshe punched off his big JDAM bomb and let it fall to the rocks below. He was now in range of Queen Alia air base and immediately designated his only two IRIS-T, anti-radar missiles onto the signal. Once the tone was steady he triggered the flight stick. Both missiles rocketed into the night sky. Five seconds of flight had brought him close enough to the airfield to use his infrared night vision equipment. He quickly recognized a fuel truck near a group of fighter aircraft. He punched up his AGM-65 Maverick missiles and fired them both. With a twitch of his right hand on the stick, Moshe brought his Lightning to bear with the oncoming Saudi aircraft.
Unbeknownst to the F-16 pilots preparing to engage the Typhoons, every base in Israel was launching its fighters. Not only had the Saudis entered the fray, but so had the Egyptians from the south. All points of the compass were about to be filled with aerial combat.
Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
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is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-four

2011-02-18T02:22:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Fields of Nazir
Wednesday, November 18
4:15 p.m.

Ben held his Uzi light machine gun level to whatever foe he might encounter as he nodded to his companion, Gilad Belfer, at the other side of the doorway. It was their turn to be the lead team in storming the makeshift underground bunker in today’s exercise. The bunker had been designed to simulate, as closely as possible, the layout of the Chapel of the Ark in Aksum; the resting place of the Ark of the Covenant.
Gilad returned the nod. Ben exhaled then tensed the muscles in his legs before darting around the jam. He knew there would be several target silhouettes waiting for his bullets to rip them apart. He just didn’t know where they would be in relation to the door. His score in this exercise would be determined by the number of rounds that struck their targets. He had to be precise.
Ben darted around the jam and stepped into the room in a crouched position. Three enemy silhouettes were situated around a doorway to his left. Two others were seated at what looked to be a computer console. He felt Gilad enter and crouch to his left. With two quick bursts of three bullets each, Ben dispatched the figures standing in the doorway. Gilad did the same with the two that were seated. In only four steps, both commandos were beside the next door. It was now Gilad’s turn to lead the way into the room. The same scenario was repeated through two more doorways, another flight of stairs, and two more sets of interlocking rooms.
The exercise took roughly three minutes to complete, and Ben was pleased with the stamina his body was developing. He wasn’t nearly as out-of-breath as normal. In other words, progress was being made, thus producing a new sense of confidence. He had also achieved his best score yet; seven kills with only three missed shots. Between he and Gilad, the exercise was a success, but there was still room for improvement.
Ben stepped into the meeting room where the rest of the team had been watching by video. There, Ari Goins reached out and patted him on the back.
“Not too bad for a preacher,” Ari teased. “Your sheep might be afraid of being sheared if they saw you with that weapon strapped to your chest, but I don’t think you are yet deadly enough for the wolves.”
Ari was referring to how the Uzi was clipped to a leather lanyard hanging around each commando’s neck. The strap allowed the soldier to release his grip on his weapon without it falling to the ground. That was very important should any hand-to-hand combat become necessary. One could release his light machine gun and immediately utilize a knife or other instrument. But Ari was also issuing a challenge for perfection. His use of humor only quickened the words. He wanted everyone within earshot to understand that all their lives were in the balance.
“I need only frighten an Ethiopian or two. My sheep know the real me, and this isn’t the real me.” Ben caught Ari’s humor, but wasn’t ready to return the quip.
“I don’t know about that. It appears to me that you are becoming quite adept at dispatching a person’s soul into eternity,” Ari laughed. He then turned to his partner. “Come, Zev, let’s show them how it is meant to be done.” Ari and Zev Tolberg headed out for their turn at attacking the bunker.
Ben shook his head and concentrated on removing the clip from his weapon. He then sat down next to his teammates. All for the greater good, he thought to himself. Up until Ari’s ribbing, he hadn’t spent an inordinate amount of time thinking about what he was actually being trained to do. The reality was now becoming clear.
Gilad, who had entered before Ben, sensed his partner’s inner struggle. “Do not let what we are doing eat at you my friend,” he encouraged. “We are only training for the worst. It may be we will find that our Ethiopian friends are more than willing to present us with the prize rather than fight for it.”
Ben nodded as he started cleaning his weapon. “That’s true, but what if it isn’t the Ethiopians we end up having to deal with?”
“Then by the grace of Yeshua, we will dispatch whoever it is that stands against us,” Gilad spoke matter-of-factly. “This, after all, is his mission.”
“Is it?”
“You are not having second thoughts, are you?” Gilad asked. “It is rather late to be having doubts.”
“No, I have no doubts. It’s just been a very long time since I leveled a weapon at any man.”
“The same holds true for each of us. Yeshua has changed us all, but that does not diminish the fact that we are preparing to do something important in the service of our country,” Gilad continued. “To me, that makes it divinely ordered.”
“I see your point. Just don’t be too gung-ho and get a hole drilled into your head.”
“Gung what?” Gilad asked.
“Gung-ho. It’s an American expression that means to be highly motivated to accomplish a mission,” Ben explained. “Here, we call it chutzpah.”
“Ah,” Gilad chuckled, “well I suggest you find an ample supply of chutzpah to match my own. But then again, a new hole in my head would not be so good.”
Ben smiled. “No it wouldn’t.” He turned to the monitor and studied Ari and Zev as they prepared to enter the first level of the bunker. He was interested to see how professionals stormed a building.

Ramat David Airbase
Wednesday, 4:15 p.m.

Colonel Natansky stepped up to the podium and flipped open a notebook. “Here are your flight assignments, gentlemen. Leopard and Tiger Flights, your main objective will be to seek out and destroy rocket launch points north of the Lebanese border. You will tag-team as long as there are targets. If Hezbollah stays true to form, rocket fire will begin just after dark. Leopard Flight will take the lead. Be up and patrolling by sundown. When your assets have been expended, Tiger will take up where you left off, and vice versa. Laser and Slingshot Flights, you will do the same around the Gaza Strip. Just have your best pinpoint accuracy in play. Hamas will surely be using civilians to hide behind.”
“Slapshot, Jockey, and Dagger Flights will perform a duel role. Captain Eldan will of course be in the lead. You will patrol the eastern border while giving high altitude air support to the Golani Brigade as it moves into Syria. Hammer Squadron of F-15’s from the 106th in Tol Nof will be doing the close-in work. If any Scuds or Shehabs are launched tonight, your job is to find the platforms and destroy them. Of course, it goes without saying; if any bogeys come up with aggression on their minds, send them back to earth in a ball of fire,” the Colonel stated, leaving no shadow of doubt in the order. “The 109th and 110th Squadrons will remain on alert status until you come back to base after the first round. Any questions?”
Moshe’s brain had been working on the larger, more Biblical scenario, including the mention of Egypt and Ishmael in the mix of Psalm 83. Had every angle been thought out by IDF Intelligence? “Colonel, what if the events of last night were a set up?” he blurted.
“What do you mean?”
“Our mission against Hezbollah was designed to divert attention away from the Golan so our infantry could move into Syria. Could Jordan and Iran be doing the same thing with us?” Moshe conjectured.
The question captured Captain Sherod’s full attention. “What are you thinking, Captain Eldan?”
“Okay, don’t roll your eyes on me, but what is about to happen has already been written,” Moshe stated.
Sherod’s forehead immediately wrinkled with skepticism, but he simply nodded for Moshe to continue.
“I know it is difficult to believe, but some ancient prophecies from the Torah predicted a war between Israel and the surrounding nations. Now, it is possible this may not be that war, but if it is, we need to be thinking with greater margins,” Moshe explained. He could feel Rueben’s eyes locked onto the side of his head and could imagine what his wingman was thinking.
“You are talking about Egypt, correct?” asked Sherod.
“Yes, and the Saudis. So far, they have made no moves. Are we sure they are not figured into the plan by the Iranians?”
Sherod thought it through. “You are talking strictly of a response by their air forces?”
“Not a response, but an attack,” Moshe stated.
“They wouldn’t be that stupid,” Rueben grunted.
Moshe turned to his partner, “We didn’t think Damascus was stupid enough to launch a nuclear-tipped missile at us either. We weren’t ready for it, and look how that turned out.”
Sherod stood and prepared to exit, which in and of itself was a signal that an attack by Egypt and Saudi Arabia had not been considered. “All I can suggest right now is that you keep your eyes open. If we see anything that looks like a movement leading to an attack, we will respond. Be ready for any re-tasking that might occur during the night.”
Moshe looked at Rueben again, but this time, there was doubt in the young pilot’s eyes.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
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is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
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Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-three

2011-02-17T02:20:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

Husifa, Israel
Wednesday, November 18
Noon

A cloudy sky was not the only cause of the day’s dreariness. People were coming out of the shelters, only to find more destruction than they could have imagined. Worse, everyone understood that, all too soon, more rockets would be unleashed by the enemy. Israelis were quickly tiring of war even though conflict seemed to be the only state of existence they’d known.
Blake smiled as she ladled hot lentils into a man’s bowl. His eyes revealed the story of a person beaten down by the cruelty of life. His expression was hardly different than any other she had seen all morning. But though the people’s sorrow and suffering tugged at her heart, she refused to allow herself to be dragged into despair. Her joy was too deep, and although she wasn’t aware, that joy was touching everyone who came through the food line. This man felt it and attempted to return the smile.
“Shalom,” she whispered as she patted his wrist.
“And to you, daughter. Thank you. ” He lingered just a moment, but it was enough for Blake to feel his gratitude.
After the man had moved along Ingrid leaned to her new friend. “They really do appreciate your presence,” she spoke softly. “It is not difficult to tell that you are an American. They count you as a blessing.”
“Why? We’re regular people just like them.”
“Yes, but Israel lost hope in America a long time ago,” Ingrid said as she deposited a piece of bread on another passing plate. “These people, in many ways, associate Americans with the American government. To see you and Ty helping restores their hope that they may not be completely alone after all.”
“I’m glad,” Blake replied, “but that isn’t going to get them very far down the road. I just want them to experience Jesus.”
“They are!”
“How so?”
Ingrid smiled. “You forget our Lord’s words. ‘If you offer a cup of water to the least of these, you have offered it to me.’ You are providing them a taste of Jesus’ love every time you fill a bowl with soup. Plus, as you bless them, they can see Jesus reflected through your face. He’s revealing himself through you.”
Blake leaned forward so she could get a glimpse of her husband standing at end of the serving line. He was handing out encouraging words and hugs at the same rate she was dipping soup. Even from this distance she could see his love for people. It was as authentic as the air he breathed. She knew his heart was breaking for them. There was no way they could know he too was filled with grief. He still suffered the loss of his mom and brother, and hurt doesn’t go away just because one changes location. The difference was his grief was channeled into exhibiting the same compassion and comfort he was receiving. In other words, Ty was giving no thought to his inner pain. He was totally given over, completely consumed with touching these people. For that, she loved him all the more.
Ingrid easily read the sweetness of Blake’s glance at her husband. She couldn’t help but smile at the twinkle she saw in those deep blue eyes. “You know,” she said as if she were revealing a secret, “it only gets better.”
Still leaning forward, Blake shifted her gaze from Ty to Ingrid. “Really?”
“In every way,” Ingrid said with a slight tilt of the head.
Blake felt warm blood rising in her cheeks. Ingrid saw the blush and giggled like she hadn’t done for a very long time.
“Oh my goodness,” Blake said. Her free hand naturally began fanning her face. “You’re embarrassing me.”
Ingrid handed out another piece of bread as she giggled. “I’m sorry.”
“No you’re not,” Blake laughed with her.
“No, I’m not, but it’s true, especially for lovers of Yeshua. The Lord will make him more special to you with every passing day, especially in this world of hopelessness.”
“All I know is I haven’t been able to stop thinking about him since the day I first saw him. It’s like God knitted our hearts together from the moment we met. He feels the same way.”
“As he should. You are perfect for one another,” Ingrid cooed.
Blake sensed the Ingrid’s sisterly affection and wondered if she had any real sisters. She imagined Tasha was filling that role, but it was obvious that Ingrid had enough love to take on another. As Blake was an only child she appreciated the feeling of acceptance she was receiving.
“By the way,” Ingrid continued, “I understand you are a marvelous singer.”
“Who told you that,” Blake’s embarrassment grew. She had never liked talking about herself.
“Now who do you suppose?”
Blake leaned forward again and glanced at her husband. Strangely, his eyes locked with hers even as he put his arm around a little grandmother. He winked, causing a shiver of joy to tickle the back of her neck.
“Will you sing for the congregation when we are finally able to meet again?” Ingrid asked with genuine anticipation. “I really hope you will.”
“Is this a set up or something?” Blake laughed.
“Why?”
“Because Ty asked me to sing during tonight’s get together with your group,” Blake answered, “but I haven’t decided yet. I don’t know any songs in Hebrew.”
“Ah, don’t worry about that, dear. You could be singing in Korean and still the people would love it. You are singing for Yeshua. Language does not matter. Besides, most of the people have a good grasp of English. We teach it in our schools, you know.” Ingrid’s encouragement was undaunted.
“I didn’t know that,” said Blake. “In that case, I suppose the answer will have to be yes.”
“Good!” Ingrid exclaimed. And then to all the people in line and around the tables, “Please everyone, listen. This young American woman will be singing tonight at a special meeting in the shelter beneath the Orthodox Church. Come and hear her if you are able.” She repeated the announcement in Hebrew.
Blake’s face reddened again. Ingrid reached over and patted Blake’s arm.

Ramat David Airbase
Wednesday, 4:00 p.m.

“You’re attention please, gentlemen,” Colonel Natansky spoke sharply to the twenty-four gathered pilots of the 117th Air Wing, “Captain Sherod will now give the situation update.
Moshe took a sip of hot coffee from his mug. He had been alert and present for less than half an hour. This was his third cup of brew since awakening. His body always needed a jolt when recovering from an all-nighter, especially when the entire night was spent in one form of combat or another. The fact that he had slept during daylight hours only compounded his grogginess. His body’s timing had been disrupted. Even Rueben was subdued this afternoon. The thought of another intense night provided a dose of reality the young pilot did not particularly care to receive. Moshe felt the same way, but said nothing.
Captain Sherod, short, muscular, and all business, began his briefing. As the IDF Intelligence Officer for Ramat David, Sherod brought the highest level of professionalism to his job. Lives depended on it.
“Headquarters has a word for you after last night’s action. Well done!”
Moshe waited for more, but that was obviously the extent of praise his squadron was going to receive. So much for gratitude, he thought.
Sherod turned to the large regional map posted to the wall behind him. “Now, here’s the situation as it stands. We have two rings of threat, one being less threatening at the moment than the other. First are the Russians in this outer ring area.” Sherod pointed toward positions in northern and western Lebanon. “The Russian 7th Airborne has placed itself in upper half of the Bekaa Valley. They are clearing out pockets of Hezbollah militia, and that of course is a good thing. We all have an idea of what their mission will eventually become, but for now, they are staying at arm’s length.”
Sherod moved the laser further north to the Lebanon’s border with Turkey. “Turkish armored divisions are flowing into Lebanon here and here,” he said, identifying two roadways that were on either side of the Syrian border. He quickly moved to a point east of the Bekaa Valley nearer Lebanon’s border with Syria. “Two Russian armored divisions and two Uzbek infantry divisions are moving into Lebanon here. The Uzbeks were to be supported by the Iranian Pasdaran Army and its three mechanized divisions, but the Iranians have gone astray.”
Sherod circled an area of east central Syria as he continued. “The Iranians are holding up at Abu Kamal and seem to be directing the events taking place in Syria and Jordan. They have absorbed the Syrian brigades that survived our little gift for Damascus and now number close to 150,000 troops in strength.”
One of the pilots let out a low whistle.
“That’s not all. Three more Iranian divisions, mostly Revolutionary Guards, have mobilized and are preparing to move into Iraq and Kuwait. At least one brigade-sized force has boarded vessels and is heading toward Saudi Arabia via Bahrain. It will be several days before they become anything like a threat, but we will be keeping an eye on them. You are already aware of the movement of the Sudanese, which I might add, has slowed considerably since Captain Eldan and his cohort surprised a few of their assets in the Gulf of Aqaba. They have ported most of their troops in Sharm El Shaik, Egypt for the moment. Lastly, the Libyans are still strung out in the Mediterranean, although a sizeable number of their infantry has ported in Tartus, Syria and Tripoli, Lebanon.”
None of the information was new to Moshe and the other pilots, but seeing the layout both a military, as well as a prophetic lens was thought provoking. Sherod had used the term ‘outer ring’ in nearly the same way as Pastor Ty.
Captain Sherod continued. “That brings us to an inner circle of trouble.” He drew a line with his laser from Abu Kamal down to Amman, Jordan. “This is our problem, and one we did not expect to crop up so quickly. Jordan has turned from friend to enemy, and it has literally occurred overnight.”
“The Iranians!” spat Rueben Cohen.
“In a nut shell, yes,” Sherod responded without looking away from the map. “Whatever pressure the Iranians brought to bear on Jordan it has led them right into the radical fold. The dominoes have fallen, one right after the other. First was Syria. They were always in the Iranian camp. Then Lebanon absorbed the Hezbollah, or vice-versa. They are one and the same. After that, it was only a matter of time before Jordan, Saudi Arabia, and Egypt all turned the way of the radical. With the Iranians bearing down militarily, none of them really have a choice.”
“Sure they do,” scoffed Rueben. “They could unite against Kazimi and the Mullahs.”
“Lieutenant, you are not thinking religiously,” Sherod finally turned to discuss the situation. “This is not political, it is Islamic in nature. And it will remain so until whatever skirmish is coming finds an end.”
“I would call it a war rather than a skirmish, full-scale war, to be exact,” Moshe calmly interjected.
Sherod looked at him, “you are closer to the truth than you realize, Captain.”
“What do you mean?” Moshe asked. His interest in the briefing was fully piqued.
“It appears that the government has made a different decision this time,” Sherod explained. “Israel will not be conceding anything. In fact, part of the mission given to the IAF tonight is to prepare the way to take back some land.”
No one said a word for several moments. Sherod was an expert at the using silence to emphasize a point.
“While you people were holding the enemy’s attention over southern Lebanon, the 1st Golani Brigade repositioned itself halfway up the Golan Heights. One hundred and fifty Merkava MK IV tanks will be moving into Syria during tonight’s mission. They will be joined by the 7th Armor Recon Company, and the Golan Territorial Artillery Brigade. It is being designated as Operation Pile Driver.”
“Oy vey!” exclaimed one of the pilots.
“Well said,” Sherod responded. “This is no skirmish. Northern Command is positioning these brigades as a blocking maneuver. We believe the Iranians have stopped in Abu Kamal as a dare. They are calling us out into the Syrian plains. They want a fight. We are going to satiate that desire.”
“What about the Jordanians? For that matter, what are we going to do about the Saudis and the Egyptians?” Moshe questioned, though in his gut he knew the answer.
“If Jordan wants to deepen their level of infatuation with the Iranians, so be it. We will meet them head on,” the Captain seemed to shrug his shoulders. “Same goes for the Saudis, although any action on their part will come through the air. Remember, they have a well equipped air force. The same would go for Egypt. They don’t have the force necessary for a sustained ground assault, but they can do plenty of damage through the air by both missiles and aircraft.”
Everyone in the room began to stir. Most had an itch to fight. Some realized the gravity of the situation. A few saw extreme danger. Only Moshe understood who was behind it all.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
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MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-two

2011-02-16T02:18:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

North Central Lebanon
Wednesday, November 18
6:00 a.m.

“They are doing what?” shouted General Telnikov. He flattened the palm of his hands on the communications desk as his eyes took in the communiqué on the computer screen. There was no need for anyone to answer the question.
A second wave of long range missiles were in the air, the first wave having produced a few impacts in Israel over the course of the last half an hour. The report indicated that IDF Patriot batteries had intercepted the majority of incoming missiles, but the numbers were taxing the system.
“Where are the launch points?” the general demanded.
“They are not hiding, sir. The scuds are coming in from eastern Syria while the Shahabs are being launched from Iran.”
“Numbers?”
“Twelve in the first wave; just three Scuds successfully penetrated the Patriot shield. So far, the count is over twenty in total, many of them being the Shahabs,” said the operative. He reached up and ran his finger down a row of data on the monitor. “We have three more impacts. One hit west of Jerusalem in the hills. Two have landed in area of Tel Aviv.”
Telnikov clinched his fist and brought it down hard on the desk. Bile rose in his throat from the growing knot in his gut. Things could get out of hand very quickly. “Has Israel responded?”
“Not since they took out the Zelzal launchers and a dozen Iranian aircraft,” the operative informed. “That was an hour ago. There has been no further encroachment into Syria or Jordan.”
“What resistance came from the Iranian and Jordanian aircraft?”
“Our surveillance showed no air-to-air missiles were fired from either. They simply engaged their attack radar.”
Telnikov emotions went from anger to puzzlement. He caught the eye of a nearby private and motioned him toward the coffee pot in the corner. His morning tea was not going to carry the punch he needed. He turned to the rear wall of the trailer and studied the situation map displayed on a large video screen.
The current missile activity was displayed by flashing blips coming out of deserts of Syria and Iran. Beyond the fact they were moving contrary to the coalition plan, the Iranians now seemed to be playing the role of instigator. In other words, Telnikov thought to himself, they are creating a mess, and I will be the one who has to clean it up.
Only two conclusions could be reached in the general’s analysis. Either Kazimi was crazy, or he was attempting to incite the Israeli Defense Forces into a confrontation outside their borders. He was disgusted by the thought that both conclusions were true.

The Fields of Nazir
Wednesday, 6:40 a.m.

Acrid smoke wafted across the compound of the base. Barely two hundred meters separated the headquarters bunker from the burning wreckage of a C-130 transport. It had been less than thirty minutes since an incoming enemy missile had decimated the recently fueled aircraft. Fire teams had done their job in preventing the fire from spreading to other nearby buildings, but the remains of the plane continued to smolder.
All Ben and the team could do was to hunker down until the all clear was given. The importance of the team’s purpose had precluded them from fire duty. Now, as they exited the bunker and headed for a conference room in the main building, all could see that dependence on a missile shield had its drawbacks.
Ben had been pouring through the scriptures earlier when the base klaxon had sounded. His mind, though being temporarily rattled, now found a way back to what he’d been studying. With this attack by Scud missiles, the prophetic description of a war with the nations surrounding Israel was suddenly clear. Israel’s situation was changing rapidly, and the IDF would soon be forced to give an overwhelming response.
Ari Goins waved the men through the front door and down the hall to a briefing room. Hannah Lira was already there and waiting. The men quickly found a seat.
“Gentlemen, the trigger to what we visited about last evening has been fired, but the Iranian provocation was not unexpected,” she began. “However, it may speed up our time frame even more.”
No one blinked. They had been training for several days, and though they were not yet in peak physical condition, the job could be handled. Each had performed high-risk military duty during their years of service. The thought of a possible return to danger frightened none of them. Hannah could see that fact in their eyes.
One of the men interjected the question that was on all their minds. “How bad was the attack, Hannah?” The team member was from a kibbutz between Ashkelon and Tel Aviv.
“We know that a few missiles got by the Patriot batteries, but we have not yet been informed of the damage,” Hannah paused, “at least beyond what we saw out on the tarmac here. The word I received mentioned that Tel Aviv took the most impacts. However, that is not all that is happened this morning. The air force has been on the attack in southern Lebanon all night long. Then, at around four o’clock, rockets began raining down on Jerusalem.”
That statement caused several of the men to stiffen noticeably. Only Ben verbalized his thoughts. “What?”
“Short ranged Zelzal missiles were fired from across the Dead Sea,” Hannah continued. “Jerusalem was the target.”
“That is crazy,” Ben exclaimed. “Why would they risk hitting their mosques, let alone the Arab Quarter?”
“I can’t answer that. Even though they missed hitting the holy sites on Temple Mount, some of the rockets landed within the Knesset and Supreme Court compounds. One actually took out a wing of offices at the Foreign Ministry, but no one was hurt.”
“Alright,” said Dov Tolberg, “what did we do to them?”
“Two flights of F-16s were re-tasked from the Lebanese border. They went into Jordan and cleared out the culprits. But that’s not all. Jordan sent up a few of its own F-16s, and they were accompanied by about a dozen Iranian MiGs.” Hannah shook her head as if she could hardly believe the stupidity being shown by the Iranians. “Needless to say, the world is now short on Jordanian F-16s and Iranian MiGs. We lost no planes in the battle. In fact, the fight only lasted a couple of minutes, but half an hour later, larger missiles started flying out of Syria and Iran.”
Ben imagined Moshe would have liked to have been a part of that little skirmish. Maybe he was. The man had already been involved in the first-hand fulfillment of prophecy. Why not have a few more opportunities to witness God’s manipulation of human history?
“Anyway,” Hannah continued, “some things have come to light that you need to be aware of. First, the IDF is about to appear as if it is reacting to the situation by moving through the Golan Heights and into Syria. However, the action was already scheduled to take place tonight. The Iranians were just kind enough to make it look like we have a reason. Second, we suspected that other elements might be attempting to recover the Ark. That has now been confirmed.”
“How?” said Ben. It didn’t surprise him that the IDF was on the verge of invading Syria, especially after he’d just read it in the scriptures. The revelation that others had the same covert intent to find the ark, however, got his attention.
“That is a Mos’sad thing, but the fact has been confirmed by the government,” answered Hannah. “What does this mean for us? Nothing, except we may run into a bit of company on our mission. Make no mistake, we are going, no matter who might be trying to beat us to it. A little competition isn’t going to stop us.”
The woman’s spunk made Ben and the others smile. She was diminutive in stature only.

Jerusalem
Same Time

Yosef Naftali attempted to separate himself from his role as Prime Minister of Israel but found the task daunting. Trying to keep his people from becoming an extinct species was forcing compassion to take a back seat in his decision making process. Compassion was a deep emotion. What his job demanded right now was cold calculation, even through the grief of knowing Israel’s Foreign Minister and President were dead. These men had not only been his partners in establishing a coalition government, they had been very close friends for many years. Their loss was a blow to the nation, and to his heart. Thus, his emotions cried out for vengeance. His duty mandated he stick to the plan he’d created.
“Yosef, they have given us an opening that we must exploit,” exclaimed the Assistant Foreign Minister. The man’s promotion had come at the tip of a Scud, though his title would not be upgraded for a few days. “The world cannot oppose our right of self-defense.”
“Shimon, the world has nothing to do with this,” Naftali offered calmly. “We have fallen to the wiles of world opinion since our formation and it has gotten us nowhere. We will be on the wrong side of world opinion no matter what we do; short of walking with our women and children into the sea. No, my friend, we cannot overreact. We must stick to the plan.”
“But our people are at risk, Yosef.”
“Our people have always been at risk.” Naftali assumed the aura of a professor arguing philosophy. He understood the concept of risk in a much deeper way than his young Foreign Minister simply because his mother’s family had perished in Nazi camps. The product of his sad history was patience. “We will continue to be at risk for quite some time. Of course, the welcomed appearance of Messiah would change that state of being, but we cannot count on that occurrence. No, our best opportunity for victory is through patience.”
“So, you intend to remain conventional and push through the Golan rather than strike an ultimate blow to our enemy?” the Minister continued to challenge.
“Yes, yes, my friend. We will stay conventional for as long as we can. You forget that unleashing nuclear weapons this close to our homeland would endanger millions of Jewish lives!” The Prime Minister was showing hints that he was losing his patience. “You also forget we have another mission in the works, one that will unite our people like never before. We must hold fast to the plan!” Naftali stood and walked around the room. “However, Shimon, I do agree that haste should be applied to part of our design. That is why I have moved the timetable on the ARC project forward by several days.”
“Why that project and not a full-fledged move against our enemies?”
“There are various factors,” the Prime Minister replied. “Concerning ARC, it appears we are now in a race. Although I’ve known at least one other party was after our prized artifact, others have shown their hand as well. We must also consider the Russians. At present, they are holding steady in the mountains of Lebanon trying to determine the actions of the Iranians. I do not doubt they would react rather violently to any nuclear action we might take. This is why we must be patient. If the nuclear option becomes necessary, it must be our last and only option.”
The Assistant Foreign Minister pondered what the Prime Minister had said. His position leaned toward hawkishness, but he remained teachable. In that, he was a reflection of the nation. Israelis would follow a leader with wisdom and patience.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
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MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty-One

2011-02-15T02:16:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

Ramat David Airbase
Wednesday, November 18
4:40 a.m.

“Bombs away,” Rueben transmitted. “I always wanted to say that.”
“Frisbee, stay serious,” Moshe ordered.
“Roger, Dagger. You, my Captain, are no fun at all.”
Moshe ignored the comment. He still had one more target to eliminate before establishing a perimeter patrol along the eastern border. So far, several hundred IDF munitions had burrowed into Hezbollah positions. The effect was devastating. But rockets were still being launched and finding their way toward population centers in Israel, and that angered Moshe. Rueben’s banter didn’t help. Again, the seriousness of the situation seemed to have escaped the younger pilot. That fact alone caused Moshe to long for this twelve-hour duty shift to be over. He looked at the digital GMT on the display. Over three hours remained before his next down time.
Part of his irritation lay elsewhere. Since midday on Tuesday all Israeli airbases had experienced a communications lockdown. Moshe had no way of ascertaining his wife’s status. Was she safe? The question dangled at the edge of every thought, not interfering with his duty or professionalism, but always ready to exert itself whenever he had a lull. Fortunately, the lulls weren’t happening with regularity.
The combat air controller broke in as Moshe began his pre-attack sequence. “Dagger, Dog Pound, we have rocket activity coming out of Jordan. Come left and bear one-zero-three degrees. Prepare to re-task for an air-to-ground.”
“Dog Pound—Dagger—roger. Turning to one-zero-three degrees and waiting re-task,” Moshe responded. Then to Rueben, “That’s odd.”
“What are they firing at?” Rueben asked. “Jerusalem is off limits.”
Moshe’s mind was working on the question. The Arabs had never before taken the risk of harming the Islamic holy sites around the Temple Mount. Random rocket fire was allowed everywhere else but Jerusalem. Since the Israeli takeover of the city in 1967, only individual nut cases had taken it upon themselves to change the status quo of the eternal city.
“Something’s changed,” Moshe replied. “Let’s go high and check it out. Move to angels twelve.”
Rueben responded with two clicks of his transmitter and both fighters shot upwards to twelve thousand feet.
The higher they climbed, the clearer Jerusalem’s glow became on the horizon. Moshe spotted streaks of light slowly arcing through the sky. Some were nearing the city. Others were lifting from western Jordan in the distance. His radar confirmed what his eyes were seeing. The weapons were being fired from the rugged mountains located east of the Dead Sea, and they were aimed at the capital.
Just then Dog Pound control broke into the silence. “Dagger, those rockets are impacting east of the Knesset and Supreme Court compounds. You are ordered to seek-and-destroy the launch points. Repeat, seek and destroy the launch points before rockets begin hitting something important. Tiger flight will assume a patrol position over Samaria.”
“Dog Pound—Dagger, those missiles are coming from Jordan,” Moshe informed.
“Dagger, your missions stands. Go hot!” replied the controller. They were just given permission to fire on a nation that had maintained friendly relations with Israel. Moshe no longer wondered how this was all going to end, just when.
“Let’s do it Frisbee. Move a mile off my nine o’clock and drop to fifteen hundred. We’ll do a pass and see if we can get a visual on the launch points.”
“I’m with you. Frisbee going wide and down.”
The two Lightnings traversed the Judean hills to the Jordan River in just a few seconds then crossed into Jordanian airspace flying in a southeasterly direction. With the northern outskirts of Jerusalem twenty miles off his right wing, Moshe pulled back on the throttle and descended into the widest portion of the valley. Amman Jordan’s distant glow outlined the mountain range to his left.
“Frisbee, move south and follow the King’s Highway. I will skirt Mount Nebo and take the valley toward Queen Alia International Airport.”
Another two clicks sounded in Moshe’s earpiece. He watched as the gap between he and his wingman widened. The King’s Highway was several miles further south and followed a narrow valley that eventually took the traveler to the Saudi border.
Separating the flight in this way carried an elemental risk, but the flash points he’d seen earlier caused him to calculate that the rockets were being fired from somewhere north of Umm ar-Rasas. If he was right Rueben would approach the target location from the south while he bore down at them from the north.
Moshe topped the slope of the eastern range then initiated his Terrain Following Radar. He then shot into the first narrow valley heading east. Set at just under 400 feet, the TFR would jink the Lightning over every Wadi and around every outcrop of the rugged landscape. Looking through his LNTRN infrared night vision made the dead of night seem like late afternoon. Everything was displayed in hues of green and gray.
His HUD allowed him more of a bird’s eye view of the route to his designated end point. The likelihood of there being any active anti-aircraft missiles in the area was slim, but it was only wise to be alert to any possibility. Moshe’s eyes darted from the displays to the horizon and back.
After three minutes, Moshe disengaged the TFR and prepared to pop up over a set of ridges to a point where he believed the nuts were launching rockets at Israel. Moving into attack mode would place him at an altitude in which his aircraft would surely be painted by the Jordanians, but that could not be avoided. His task was to pinpoint the culprits. He would deal with any radar that lit him up in due time.
Moshe could see by Rueben’s dot on the HUD that his wingman was also approaching the point of no return about eight miles to the south. It was time to get precise.
“Dagger is in position and going high for a look into the valley,” he transmitted.
“I’m waiting for the word,” responded Rueben.
Moshe pushed the throttle forward to full military power and soared to two thousand feet in altitude. He then brought the nose of his fighter to the right and dropped his wingtip toward the earth. This allowed him to skirt the easternmost ridge while scoping the entire length and width of the valley. Sure enough, just as he positioned himself a bright streak of rocket exhaust shot skyward. A missile was flying toward Jerusalem.
“Got you,” Moshe muttered to himself. Then to Reuben, “I count three launch points at the south end of the Wadi at your twelve o’clock. They are trailer-mounted and separated by about thirty meters. I’m getting no indication of any opposing surface-to-air.”
“Roger Dagger. How do you want to play it?”
“Dagger will sweep the targets and light them up. Come to attack speed and ready your Mavericks,” Moshe ordered.
“I have two remaining,” answered Rueben.
“Same here. I’ll take what you miss,” Moshe smiled behind his visor.
“Right. Mavericks are ready and in search mode.”
“Targets are lit.” Moshe tasked his last remaining Maverick but did not designate a target for the fire-and-forget weapon.
Rueben topped the ridge at the end of the valley. His missile radar promptly growled a ready status. He designated the first two launch vehicles as targets and fired his weapons from less than a mile away. “Frisbee—Fox Three, Fox Three,” he called the shot.
Moshe watched two flashes of light drill holes in the sky and decimate the targets. He fingered his display and locked his own AGM to the object and fired. “Dagger—Fox Three and bugging out at 280 degrees.”
“I’ll be on your tail in two klicks,” said Rueben.
“Dagger—Dog Pound, you’ve got company rising up out of Amman airport,” broke the controller.
Moshe looked down at his Horizontal Situation Display and saw three blips appear above the Jordanian capital. “I see them, Dog Pound.”
Just then the threat warning sounded. One of the oncoming bogeys had just placed Moshe’s F-16 in missile lock.
“Dog Pound, get me a type on those bogeys,” Moshe transmitted while pulling back on the stick. He needed to get as much maneuvering altitude as possible. Rueben was doing the same less than two miles behind him.
“Dagger—Dog Pound, designate southern four aircraft as F-16A Falcons. I’m also reading three MiG 29 Fulcrums to the north and heading east,” responded the air controller. “Tiger flight is coming hot at your ten o’clock and will challenge the Falcons. Feel free to bloody a couple of MiG 29s. Repeat—you are free to engage.”
“Roger—Dog Pound,” Moshe answered. “Coming right to 026 degrees and going afterburner. Stay on me, Frisbee.” As he spoke, his thumb was moving to designate two of his four Amraam missiles. They began chirping as the distance between the two sets of fighters quickly lessened.
“Lead the way, Captain,” Rueben said, not even attempting to hide his glee for a fight.
The air controller’s voice broke in again, more animated than it was before. “Dagger—Dog Pound, multiple bogeys are coming up out of Queen Alia. They are an assortment of MiG 21’s and MiG 25s. They have to be Iranian. Repeat—you have at least eight Iranian aircraft coming into your kill zone.”
“Roger—Dog Pound,” Moshe transmitted, and then, “Dagger—Fox One, Fox One.” Both AMRAAM missiles were jettisoned from beneath his wings and took up flight toward the oncoming MiG 29s. They quickly achieved a speed of nearly Mach 4. “Frisbee, go low and take out the third Fulcrum if he sticks around. I’m turning into that pack coming out of Queen Alia.”
“I’m on it, Dagger.”
Moshe brought up his last two AMRAAMs and picked out the first two MiG 21 Fishbeds currently rising to altitude. He was certain the Iranian weaponry did not have the same range as his AIM-120s, which was twenty-eight to thirty miles. The second he achieved missile lock he fired. He then hit his afterburner to bring the other MiGs into the range of his AIM-9 Sidewinders. With a quick glance at his Situation Display he saw that Tiger flight was firing on the Jordanian F-16s. The second his Sidewinders growled a steady tone Moshe triggered them onto the MiG 25 Foxbat aircraft.
Seeing enemy MiGs turn tail and run was like watching a flock of birds being scattered. One by one the AMRAAMS hit their targets. The Sidewinders followed a few seconds later. In less than two minutes, Dagger and Tiger flights had downed twelve bogeys. If the Jordanians weren’t at war before, they certainly were now.

Abu Kamal, Eastern Syria
Wednesday, 5:00 a.m.

Tariq Kazimi leaned over the sink and cupped the cool water into his hands. There was nothing like the feel of water on the face as one awakened to a new day, and the way it was already shaping up, this new day would be grand. Ignored during the washing was the lowly conscript who had been tasked with informing the president and supreme commander of all overnight developments. The man shivered in fear, even as the president shivered with delight.
“How many aircraft were lost?” Kazimi demanded as he pulled a small white towel from a rack beside the sink.
“Twelve were downed, Mr. President, and three returned to base in damaged condition.”
“And the Jews? How many of their planes were lost?”
The aide cleared his throat. “Uh, none, sir.”
Kazimi’s eyes came into view as the towel slid down his face. “Not one?”
Fear coursed through the man’s gut. “Not one, sir, but it was not without a gallant effort.”
Kazimi laughed at the conscript’s ignorance at his question. The president could care less about how many losses were incurred on either side, or that Israel had won the first aerial battle of what would surely be the war to end all wars. The fact that the Israeli’s had taken the bait was his concern, and it made him giddy.
He pitched the wet towel into a small hamper beside the sink and moved toward the only window that graced the small room. It faced eastward, which made his preparation for morning prayers much easier. The night sky held no hint of a dawn that was still more than two hours away. There was no moon, nor ambient light from Abu Kamal to disrupt the twinkling lights in the sky. The star’s praise of Allah was nearly as profound as the joy in his heart. The greatest of all his hopes and dreams, to be instrumental in ushering in the Mahdi, was drawing closer to reality. He drew a deep breath and held it for several seconds before exhaling and turning back to the aide.
“Give the order to launch the Scuds. Remind them that death and hell belong to anyone who mistakenly strikes a holy site. Target everything from west Jerusalem to Tel Aviv. Fire until dawn.”
The man dipped his head in subservience but did not exit to carry out the order.
“And?” said Kazimi, expressing an element of displeasure.
“Mr. President, the Russians continue to seek clarification on our movements,” said the man with head still bowed and eyes locked on the cracks in the floor.
“Tell them we are moving to help our inflicted Syrian brethren,” replied the President. “Inform them that Syria’s southern forces will soon be joining our own. After that union is accomplished, our combined army will comply with the Russian plan.”
“Yes, Mr. President,” said the aid. The man backed swiftly from the room.
Kazimi folded his arms across his chest and turned back to the stars. A lie in Allah’s service was equal to a sacrifice of praise; so said the Koran in unspecified terms.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
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Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Twenty

2011-02-14T02:14:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER TWENTY

Rome, Italy
Same Time Local

Andre D’Tiene covered the phone with his hand and rolled his eyes. All his aide could do was to shrug his shoulders. The conversation seemed to be another exercise in futility, as it always seemed to be whenever he had to deal with anything Middle Eastern. In this case, the frustration was being caused by the Turkish ambassador to the Mediterranean Union.
Yes, Halil, I understand that Israel destroyed your fighter aircraft. But you must admit your people made the provocation. Your pilots attempted to down a civilian aircraft.
“But that was after the Israelis attacked and destroyed our surveillance ship off the coast of Lebanon,” responded the ambassador. “We had to demonstrate our right to protect our assets, even if the entire scenario was a ruse.”
“If you understand the reasons for doing what we’ve done, why then is your president so intent on exacting vengeance for escalating a confrontation that was planned? My request was to shadow the civilian aircraft to ascertain its mission, not attempt to shoot it from the sky.”
“May I suggest you call the president of Turkey yourself to explain the error of his ways?” retorted the ambassador.
D’Tiene realized he’d take the argument a bit too far. The time had come to allow the embattled ambassador to save face. It was unfriendly to back a Turk into a corner without giving him a way of graceful escape. “Listen my friend, you have the ear of your president, and this is all I can ask. I appreciate the measure of calm you have brought to the situation. Now, if we can find a way to assist him in understanding that our plan will administer the greatest measure of humiliation for the Israelis, then your function in this issue will have been crowned as a complete success.”
D’Tiene paused, but not enough for the ambassador to respond.
“I am also grateful that you will be able to dissuade your president from following Iran’s lead in dealing with Israel outside the coalition. When will you be able to give me an update?”
The ambassador took the offered olive branch and answered. “I shall attempt to contact you in the morning.”
“As-Salamu Alaykum, Halil my friend. I look forward to seeing you soon.” D’Tiene used the Arabic farewell. The desired effect of pleasing the ambassador was achieved.
“Salam, Andre.”
D’Tiene laid the handset on the desk and leaned back in his chair. He clasped his hands behind his head, and then looked up at the ceiling to ponder the conversation.
“Perfect!”
The aide smiled. “He has no clue, does he?”
“No, he does not. The Turks will hold back until I give them the word to proceed. What they have done has only added to the diversion. They must never find out what our intentions are. Only when they and the Iranians have decimated one another will I be able to assume full control of the situation.”
“When will you set the trap?”
“Soon,” said D’Tiene, “very soon. Now that the Israelis believe they have eliminated our observer, the ARC team will be patient. Naftali thinks he is a step ahead of me, but he is actually two steps behind.”
“Shall we leak the messages?”
“Not just yet,” responded D’Tiene, “we have time.”

Israeli Border With Lebanon
Tuesday, 9:15 p.m. Local Time

“Frisbee, I’m moving to the next set of coordinates. Follow along please,” grunted Moshe has he took his F-16 through a series of sharp maneuvers that triggered his g-suit. The function of the suit was to force blood from his extremities and keep it in the vicinity of his brain. The purpose was to keep the pilot from passing out during intense, gravity-producing turns. A steady stream of chaff bundles were being ejected from his tail in the event a Stinger missile was launched at him from the ground.
“Dagger, that had to have been a fuel truck that just went up in a fireball. You definitely killed the two tanks that were parked beside it,” Rueben Cohen exclaimed with laughter. “All I did was to take out a missile shooter.”
“It was pretty, I’ll grant you that. Pull up and take the lead on the next run. You need the practice,” Moshe ordered. Rueben really didn’t need the practice. Moshe had simply fired his last piece of heavy ordinance of this sortie. All he had remaining was one Maverick and his air-to-air missiles. So far, no aerial response to their attack had come.
“Coming up on your left to take the lead,” Rueben advised twenty seconds later. “Looks like a beehive down there.”
As no fighter-driven reception committee had challenged the F-16s, night vision equipment was being used by the entire squadron.
“Intel says it’s a cache for a few thousand Katyushas, maybe even some Zelzal 2s,” said Moshe. The Katyusha had been the rocket of choice over the last two years for the Hizbollah. But it was believed by IDF intelligence spooks that the Iranian-built Zelzal 2 was also present, with a max range of 400 kilometers. In fact, Moshe thought he’d seen several larger rocket trails zip through the skies from this general vicinity several minutes earlier. With a 60 kilogram warhead, the rocket could do severe damage, and the distance from this position to Haifa or Tel Aviv was not that great. He hoped Husifa, just outside of Haifa on Mount Carmel, was not one of the intended targets. Ramat David airbase was also a probable target for the terrorists.
“Let’s blow them back to the stone age, Dagger,” Rueben transmitted as he locked onto the target with his Maverick. The pair of Lightnings was a mile away from the next target and coming in hot. “Frisbee, Fox Three.”
“Dagger, Fox Three,” Moshe fired his missile. “Time to head for the base for some new boomers.”
Moshe pulled the nose of his Lightning hard to the left, moving his aircraft away from the target and southward toward Israeli territory. He inverted the plane in order to get an eye on the explosion the Maverick missiles were about to cause. He was not disappointed. He remained in that attitude and watched several secondary explosions light up the sky all around the target.
Rueben could not contain himself. “I think we just rocked their world a bit.”
Moshe came back to level flight and swiveled his head to scan the horizon out both sides of the canopy. Flashes of light were pricking the sky in every direction along the border, some deeper into Lebanon. The sight was awesome and frightening at the same time. At least sixty Israeli fighter aircraft were in the air over Lebanon at the moment, and that type of fire power had not been amassed against Israel’s northern neighbor since the 1982 war. So far, not one F-16, or F-15 had been shot at by anti-aircraft missiles, and that was after more than an hour of operation. This was an example of a precision surgical strike at its finest.
Much of the first hour of attack had rendered Lebanese command and control useless. At the same time, F-15 Ra’ams had concentrated their fire on Iranian, Syrian, and even Turkish anti-aircraft platforms that had been recently installed. With the removal of the threat, the F-16s were able to go about their tasks with much less distraction. Moshe was glad of it.
Only seven minutes passed before he and Rueben were extending flaps and lowering landing gear for the approach into Ramat David. They would have two more sorties then three hours of sleep before flying into the next stage of the operation.

The Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Wednesday, November 18
4:30 a.m.

Ben sat at the small desk in his quarters and thumbed through his Bible. He couldn’t stop thinking about what was happening. It was too early in the morning to be awake, even for the military, but he was really bugged. Why had he never stumbled across the Biblical scenario that Hannah had presented? He’d spent so much time focusing on Ezekiel 38 and 39 he’d missed some very important pieces to the apocalyptic puzzle. “And I’m supposed to be a pastor, for crying out loud!” he chastised himself. “Am I that blind?”
Yet the words of the prophet Joel were staring him in the face, and with a chilling effect. “In those days and at that time, when I restore the fortunes of Judah and Jerusalem…” Then later, “Come quickly, all you surrounding nations, and assemble there with all your warriors.” Ben read the entire passage again and again, and it was suddenly clear. After a time when both Judah and Jerusalem were restored, God would enter into judgment with the nations that surrounded Israel. The fulfillment of Joel’s time frame could happen only after Israel was reborn as a nation and have Jerusalem as its prominent city. The latter did not happen until the 1967 Arab/Israeli war.
But there was more to it than just the rebirth of the nation. The fortunes of Judah also included the land. Wasn’t that what every war fought with the Arabs was about? Ishmael had never forgiven Isaac for being Abraham’s chosen heir. God had promised every square inch of land upon which Abraham set his foot as an inheritance forever. That promise went forward to Isaac, and then to Jacob. The last one to take dominion over the total entire Promised Land was King Solomon. His rule went from the Euphrates River north of Damascus, all the way to the Nile River. It extended from northern Lebanon to east of the Dead Sea. The area was roughly three times the land mass occupied by Israel at the present time.
He thumbed the pages back to Ezekiel 36 and read. “Son of man, prophesy to the mountains of Israel and say, hear the word of the Lord to the mountains and the hills; ‘But you, O mountains of Israel, will produce branches and fruit for my people Israel, for they will soon come home. I am concerned for you and will look on you with favor; you will be plowed and sown, and I will multiply the number of people on you, even the whole house of Israel. The towns will be inhabited and the ruins rebuilt. I will increase the number of men and animals upon you, and they will be fruitful and become numerous. I will settle people on you as in the past and will bless you more than ever before.”
The same passage also included a severe judgment against Jordan, Syria, and all the other surrounding nations. He’d never seen any of it before, yet here it was in literal, easy-to-understand terms.
Just as Hannah had presented, Psalm 83 clarified who the surrounding nations were by using their ancient names. Zephaniah did the same in the second chapter of his prophecy. Zechariah used the same basic setup in chapter nine, but zeroed in on the Gaza Strip as the object of divine wrath. It was uncanny and totally believable.
“Father,” he said aloud as he pushed the Bible aside and lowered his forehead into the palms of his hands, “how could I have missed this? Have I been so dull? Are we really on the brink of retaking all the ancient lands claimed by Solomon?”
There was no other way to look at what was happening. This was it. More prophecy than he’d ever discovered was about to be fulfilled. And then he thought about Ingrid, and Tasha, and… “Oh God, I’ve brought Ty and his wife into this mess!”

Husifa, Israel
Same Time

Ingrid and Tasha weren’t thinking about the fulfillment of prophecy. They were concerned about their American friends. Israel was acclimatized to terror. The Sielers were not.
Questions blazed through their minds in the form of anxiety. Had Ty and Blake remembered to head for a shelter? Had they remembered where the shelter was located? Had the rockets hit the shelters?
Though it was very early in the morning, the streets were well lit. People were beginning to move out of shelters and back to their homes as the rocket attack had ended for an hour earlier. As strange as it might seem to a foreigner, life would be lived at the same pace as usual. Aid stations would be opened. People who were still employment would go to work. Children outside the blast zone of Haifa would attend school. Military personnel would continue to defend the homeland. Tragedy was a constant in the Holy Land. Life would go on.
Tasha had pulled Ingrid through the streets since the moment they had surfaced from their designated shelter. Nearly two kilometers separated them in distance from the apartment Ty and Blake were using, but distance has not a consideration at the moment. They were now within a block.
“I won’t forgive myself if something happened to them,” Tasha moaned. “God, let them be alright.”
“Honey, they’ll be fine,” Ingrid offered encouragement as she had for the entire jaunt. “None of this is your fault.”
“I know, I know. I’m just scared.”
“Yes you are. You need to let go of it,” Ingrid said more sternly. “We are all here because Yeshua placed us here, Pastor Ty and Blake too!?
“Yes, yes, let’s just hurry.”
The two skirted the rocky outcropping of a building and Tasha ran face first into the chest of Tyler Dempsey.
“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Ty exclaimed.
“We’re okay, ladies,” said Blake as Ingrid wrapped both arms around her.
“Ay, we were so worried about you,” said Tasha as she released her bear hug on Ty and pulled away. She then saw the dried blotches of blood on the front of his jacket. “Oh my, what happened? Are you hurt? Ingrid, look at this.”
“It’s alright. Neither of us is injured in anyway. We just ran into a girl that needed help.”
Tasha noticed a building across the street with its third story reduced to rubble. Chunks of concrete, wood, and glass were all over the area. Her breath caught in her throat and her hands immediately moved to her mouth. Ty followed her gaze.
“Goodness, that came really close, didn’t it?” she whispered.
“It sure did,” Ty responded, “so did about four others. They obviously zeroed in on our location.”
“Does this stuff happen around here very often?” Blake asked.
Ingrid shook her head. “We have never been attacked in Husifa before. This is something new, and by the size of the damage to that building, these are bigger rockets than anything we’ve seen.” She saw the startled look in Blake’s eyes and knew she needed to distract her before a wave of fear could grow. “Tell me about the girl you found. Was she terribly injured?”
Blake launched into the story as the four began walking toward the apartment. She was in her element sharing the actions of her groom, all to the embarrassment of Ty. “But once we got into the shelter, we wondered how the others would feel about American’s being in there with them.”
“Did someone say anything hateful to you?” Tasha’s forehead was creased. She was ready to bite the head off of anyone who showed ill will toward the Dempseys.
Ty chuckled at Tasha’s reaction. Blake smiled too. “Nah, nothing like that happened. In fact, they all were wondering why we were there. They couldn’t figure out why any American would be in Israel right now. The ones who spoke English hadn’t heard that the United States had also been attacked with nuclear weapons. Anyway, there were several with minor injuries, and there was a general sense of fear in the place.”
“Again,” said Ingrid, “that’s because this location has never been hit by rockets before. This is bad.”
“That must be it,” Blake agreed, “but the cool thing was they actually let us go around and pray for the ones who were hurt.”
“They what?” Tasha burst out.
“It’s true, they let us pray for them,” Blake smiled. “One man spoke English and translated whatever we prayed for the rest of them.”
“And did you pray in Yeshua’s name? I guess it would be Jesus for you?” Tasha asked quietly.
“I did,” answered Ty. “I felt it was the perfect moment.”
Tasha couldn’t believe it. Cordiality towards the Christian religion rarely extended to those who actually propagated Jesus as Messiah.
“That’s not all,” smiled Blake as they came to the alcove leading to the apartment entrance. “One of the young men later came to Ty and asked why he prayed in the name of Yeshua. Ty spent a good portion of the night sharing Jesus with the guy.”
Ty and Blake stepped through the entrance and began climbing the steps up to the apartment, but Ingrid held Tasha back, looked her in the eyes, and smiled. “So, that fear really helped you, didn’t it?”
Tasha looked at her mentor and stuck her tongue out. Then she reached out and hugged her.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
(add $5.00 for shipping)
MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Nineteen

2011-02-13T05:46:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER NINETEEN

Ramat David Airbase
Tuesday, November 17
8:00 p.m.

Moshe ran his hand along the smooth, light blue surface of the two thousand pound, high explosive bomb hanging beneath the fuselage of his F-16. Situated between four AGM Maverick missiles and an assortment of air-to-air weaponry, this bad boy would really get the enemy’s attention. Of course, that attention would be short lived.
The night’s mission called for multiple sorties, beginning with bombing raids focused on Hezbollah enclaves in southern Lebanon. The border was about to become a cauldron. Lebanese army installations would also suffer IDF fury because of the recent partnership made with the terrorists. Israel intended to remove the combined threat as its first order of business.
Simultaneous attacks would also be levied against Hamas terrorists in the Gaza Strip. The quantity of arms that had been funneled into that part of Palestine was nothing short of alarming. The time had come to deal with it, and that dealing would be severe. But the two initial attacks must appear limited during the first few hours. It had to look like a response to a jihadist threat, nothing more. Keeping the surrounding nations in the dark as long as possible was the key.
Although the attacks against the Hezbollah and Hamas would eventually become full scale in scope, the purpose of the first few hours was to create a diversion. Positioned and ready to move eastward from the Golan Heights was the 1st Golani Brigade, formed by the 12th Barak and 13th Gideon tank battalions. Fully equipped with newly upgraded Merkava IV Main Battle Tanks, the Golani Brigade would make quick work of the remnants of the Syrian Army. Opening the way to complete a blocking maneuver against the oncoming Iranian Revolutionary Guards was the first goal. Once that was complete a concentrated push into both Lebanon and Syria would be performed.
Moshe’s part in the operation would lead him into the skies over Lebanon rather than Gaza, and that brought him some relief. If this had been two weeks earlier, he would have experienced no guilt whatsoever in blowing Palestinians directly to Allah. But now, knowing that Hamas fighters would be hiding behind a thick shield of civilians, many of whom secretly claimed Yeshua as Lord, gave him nothing but anguish. A people group he once hated now included many of like precious faith. He wanted no part in what would surely be seen as mass extermination of innocents.
As he continued the inspection of his aircraft his thoughts returned to Tasha and his new friends in Husifa. Until the current lockdown at the base expired he had arranged for Tasha and Ingrid to become roommates. While he was off fighting, Tasha would be helping Pastor Ty and Blake as they became oriented to life in Israel. Moshe realized how much they had to learn after he’d demonstrated something that every Israeli lived with—gas masks. As he witnessed their eyes grow wide in their new reality, part of him became envious. Americans were naïve. They had no idea what it meant to live in a terrorized world, at least until recently. He had to remind himself that Ty and Blake had tasted a bit of that same horror back in Kansas City. In that sense they were veterans.
Moshe knew there was much for them all to do in and around Haifa. Staying busy would be a necessary diversion, especially for Ingrid and Tasha. In fact, the refugee situation would become more dramatic over the next few days. He would be adding to the problem by simply doing his job. The thought left him on the edge of melancholy. His only reprieve was in a firm belief held by Ty. Israel would be kept safe through everything that was about to take place. Moshe had feared the loss of his wife several times over the course of the last three weeks. He’d rather not experience it again.
Rueben Cohen was completing the visual inspection of his aircraft as Moshe began climbing the ladder attached to the side of his Lightning. Rueben was all gung-ho. He was no longer a rookie, but neither was he aged enough to understand his life could be snuffed out at any moment. Perhaps it was best that the kid felt invincible. The odds were stacking up against the IDF like never before. Moshe wished he had a bit more truth under his belt so he could feel confident in sharing Yeshua with his wingman. His lack of knowledge was his own fault for holding his wife’s faith at arm’s length for the past two years. His stubbornness had brought about an incredible waste of time.
If I’d only listened earlier! Moshe chastised himself. He looked toward Rueben again and silently prayed for more opportunities to share what he’d found.
“Ready to drop some fire down on some Hezbollah turbans, Captain?” Rueben called out over the din of spooling engines around the tarmac.
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere near one of their rat holes tonight,” Moshe shot back. “Just keep your tail clear of any stingers, got it?”
“Roger,” Rueben saluted. “I’ll try to keep your tail covered too.”
“Yeah, you do that,” Moshe shook his head with enough animation that Rueben wouldn’t see the anxiety he was feeling.
With the help of his ground crew Moshe strapped himself into the cockpit and ran through his pre-flight checklist. Everything was in order. The last step was to ignite the large General Electric engine and prepare for the launching of the squadron.
While waiting he slipped into a prayer asking God to protect his wife and friends. He then astonished himself by asking a favor of the Lord. If it were answered it would be classified as a miracle. “God, I’m asking that not a single airman be lost during the course of this night. Make people think of you as a result.” And then he prayed for the many civilians who would soon lose their lives.
Unbeknownst to Moshe, the same prayer was being offered by his wife and friends in Husifa,

North Central Lebanon
Tuesday, November 17
8:30 p.m.

The command trailer had become a beehive of activity as intelligence personnel attempted to ascertain what was happening to the south. Israel had been sending her fighters over Hezbollah positions for several days, but there was a new intensity in the current attacks. General Telnikov entered and stood in the back corner of the room. His presence was immediately sensed by the entire team.
“Status if you please, Lieutenant,” Telnikov ordered.
“Sir, we are receiving radar telemetry that suggests the Israelis are attacking every known Hezbollah position along the border. They have done this every evening at about this time, but tonight there is something different.”
“And that would be…?”
“Numbers. In the last fifteen minutes we have seen more than sixty attack aircraft cross into Lebanon. They have come in three different waves. Every airbase in northern Israel is launching, and there is no decrease in activity. Both heavy ordinance and air-to-ground missiles are being utilized.”
Telnikov had come to trust not only the accuracy of the lieutenant’s reports, but also the young man’s ability to interpret the data and project the next move by the opposition. Few men had the courage to speculate these days. This officer was different.
“What are we looking at?”
The lieutenant inadvertently reached up and scratched the back of his head as he prepared to answer. The struggle had nothing to do with the fact he was advising the commanding general. Telnikov know the lieutenant simply wanted to get it right. Therefore the general refrained from rushing the issue.
“Sir, only fifteen minutes have gone by in this attack,” the lieutenant answered. The way his forehead wrinkled spoke louder than words. “Based on every other night I would say the activity would last for another five or ten minutes.” He paused.
“But…?” Telnikov spurred him on.
“But the numbers don’t add up. Something bigger is taking place.”
“Speculate.”
“I would say that if we see Israeli artillery join in with a coordinated aerial attack then we are probably seeing the beginning of an IDF push into Lebanon or Syria. This air assault is probably a diversionary tactic.”
Telnikov mulled the situation for a moment. Though the Russian 7th Airborne Division was still positioning itself in northern Lebanon, no abjectly aggressive action had been demonstrated to the Israelis. All Russian operations thus far had been directed against enclaves of terrorists in the immediate area. Certainly Israel would not be pushing for a confrontation with his forces this early in the game. Nor would they be using any such tactic if their intentions were to push southward into the Negev to face the Sudanese. For one, the Sudanese were still attempting to move the bulk of their forces into the Gulf of Aqaba. Add to that the fact that Sudan had an untrained, undisciplined army and one could scratch them off the immediate threat list.
No, something else was driving the Jews. Then he remembered the Iranian fool Kazimi was now stretching his forces across the Iraqi/Syrian border and doing it with bravado. Israel might tolerate the presence of the coalition, but it evidently wanted no part in allowing a jihadist to situate himself right across the Jordan River. That would never be allowed. If this was a diversion, a surge through the Golan Heights was the logical next step.
Telnikov realized the lieutenant had ceased what he was saying and had his eyes locked on the general. The two men had arrived at the same conclusion.
“What are your orders, General? Moscow must be informed.”
Telnikov had no desire to begin a communicative chain reaction that would result in an alert being sent to the Iranians. It would be best to keep his deductions to himself, at least for the present. “Alert Moscow to the activity on the border and report nothing unusual beyond an increase in aerial forces,” ordered the general, “but I want to know the moment any movement of Israeli armor is detected.”
“Da, General.”
Telnikov turned and headed back to his quarters for further thought.

Husifa, Israel
Tuesday, 9:00 p.m.

The siren had been sounding for less than a minute when its wail was drowned by a huge explosion. By the rattling of the windows, a rocket had ended its course less than a block away.
Because Ty and Blake had been warned by Moshe of the impending IDF attack, they were aware of the possibility of a response. They just weren’t expecting a rocket to impact near the upper reaches of Mount Carmel.
Ty quickly donned a jacket and headed for the apartment door. The sound of other tenants moving through the halls only added to his haste. He instinctively reached for Blake’s hand.
“Time to head for the shelter, babe.”
Blake grabbed her jacket and shoulder bag, and the two joined half a dozen people descending the stairwell to the street.
Just then they were knocked to the floor. Another rocket had shaken the entire building. Bits of plaster broke from the ceiling and fell. Screams were heard from somewhere outside the building.
Ty pushed himself into a sitting position and took mental inventory of his body. He still had all his parts, and his hand was gripping Blake’s, though he couldn’t see her. The lights in the building had been shattered by the vibrations of the blast. He sighed with relief as he felt her movements and realized she was unharmed.
Someone on the ground floor opened the exit allowing light from the streets to illuminate the stairwell. As if on cue, the entire group stood and began moving again.
Outside the screaming became pronounced. Ty saw a young woman bent over a small child across the street. Without thinking he moved toward them and saw that a little girl was hurt and bleeding badly from a head wound. She was unconscious.
Ty knelt beside the child and put a finger on her neck to feel for a pulse. She was alive, but unless something was done to stop the flow of blood, she would soon be dead. Blake eased up to the woman and put her arm around her shoulder.
“We’ve got to stop this bleeding,” he said to Blake. “See if you can get the mother to move back a bit.”
The mother understood and sat back, giving Ty room to work. He removed his jacket and then the t-shirt he’d been wearing. Pulling at the collar, he ripped the shirt into two pieces. With the first he gently dabbed away the blood over the worst part of the injury above her hairline. A significant flap of skin was out of place exposing the child’s skull. The mother saw it and let out an anguished shriek.
Ty carefully removed a piece of concrete from the matted hair, unfolded the skin, and smoothed it back into place. He then wrapped the second section of t-shirt around the girl’s head and knotted it to the side. The flow of blood slowed considerably.
He turned to the mother. “When need to get medical help. Is there a hospital close by?”
She pointed toward the end of the block. “Medic!”
“Come on,” said Ty. He scooped the little girl into his arms. She could not have been more than six or seven year old. The mother, holding closely to Blake, led the way down the street and around the corner.
People were running everywhere, but Ty was surprised at the lack of panic exhibited by the Israelis. That stood to reason as this had been their normal way of life since Israel’s inception. It had always had an enemy or two.
The woman continued down the street until they came to a storefront. Three armed Israeli soldiers were standing outside. A young medic stepped from the doorway when he saw Ty with the child and urged them to enter. Several people were inside being attended to by medics.
Ty noticed that all the injuries seemed to be minor in nature, probably the result of bits of rubble flying through the air, or from a fall on the way to the shelters. The little girl had by far the worst of the lot. The medic gently took the child from his arms, and the mother began explaining in Hebrew what had happened. Before they could protest, Ty and Blake were escorted from the room and onto the street.
Another explosion nearby sent them scurrying back the way they’d come. It was time to find that bomb shelter.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
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MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
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Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Egyptian Sinai a Sudden Concern for Israel

2011-02-13T05:02:00.000-08:00

With the loss of a thirty-two year long friendship and peace treaty with Hosni Mubarak, Israel has suddenly found itself in a lurch....what to do about the increasing threat from the Sinai. Reports are that the Egyptian military has refocused its concentration upon the populated region of the Nile, leaving the Sinai to bands of militant Beduins and two terrorist organizations, the Islamic Jihad and Hamas.

Now a 250 mile front, the border between Israel and Egypt in the Sinai figures into the coming Psalm 83 war. (Hagrites are Egyptians, i.e. Hagar the handmaiden of Sarah). The following article in today's Jerusalem Post highlights the sudden and growing danger.

'Egypt losing control of Sinai to Beduin'
By YAAKOV KATZ

Concern is mounting in Israel over reports that the Egyptian police force has abandoned the Sinai Peninsula in face of growing Beduin violence, and that the territory will turn into a breeding ground for global jihad.
According to information that has arrived in Israel, Egyptian police authorities have abandoned dozens of police stations throughout the peninsula after they were attacked by Beduin armed with missiles and assault rifles.
This concern was behind Israel’s decision two weeks ago to allow the deployment of 800 Egyptian soldiers in Sharm e-Sheikh and Rafah.

Additional requests since then have been rejected.

In recent years, the Sinai hasturned into a launching pad for attacks against Israel, including by Hamas, which several months ago launched Katyusha rockets into Eilat from the Egyptian territory.
The Egyptian military has for years encountered difficulty in controlling the Beduin population, which does not hold allegiance to the Egyptian government in Cairo.
“The Sinai is already known as a lawless land,” a senior defense official said over the weekend. “There is real concern that if the Egyptians don’t get the Sinai back under their control, it could develop into a major threat to Israel.”

Israel, which has urged all its citizens to leave the Sinai immediately, is particularly concerned about the possibility that Hamas will take hold of parts of the peninsula and use it to launch attacks into Israel via the 240-kilometer long Israeli- Egyptian border, with an emphasis on Eilat.

There is also concern that without a real Egyptian security presence in the Sinai, Hamas will be able to increase the amount and quality of weaponry and explosives it smuggles into the Gaza Strip via Egypt.

Jimmy Root Jr
Author: DISTANT THUNDER and the AWARD WINNING MAGOG RISING
Books One and Two of the Lightning Chronicles
$15 per Copy...SIGNED!
Buy several for the same shipping rate as ONE! Give them as gifts.
OR
Send a check to Jimmy Root Jr PO Box 112, Smithville, MO 64089
(add $5.00 for shipping)
MAGOG RISING
is the READERS FAVORITE 2010 National Writing Competition SILVER MEDALIST in the Christian Fiction Genre
ORDER NOW
Visit:
http://www.lightningchronicles.com/
Toll Free at 1866 909-2665
Or use the above address to send a check for $18.00 (includes shipping) and ask for Magog Rising...or get both books....SIGNED!
Distant Thunder, Gog and Magog, Israel, Iran, Radical Islam, Ezekiel 38 and 39, Jimmy Root Jr, Rapture, Nuclear Weapons, Bible Prophecy, Russia, European Union, Lightning Chronicles, Terrorism, Ahmadinijad,

Chapter Eighteen

2011-02-12T03:30:00.000-08:00

Chapter Eighteen

Husifa, Israel
Monday, November 16
7:00 p.m. Local Time

The sky was growing dark as Moshe pulled his car off the street and into the small parking space at the apartment complex. With him were Tasha and Ingrid, and the three quickly entered the building and climbed up to the third. Ty and Blake were waiting.
The meeting had been planned at the behest of Pastor Ben long before Ty and Blake had made the trip to Israel. In his thinking, the best way for the Dempseys to get their bearings was by having a sit-down with Ingrid and Tasha. They knew the inner workings of Celebration Center and its outreach nearly as well as he. Moshe could fill in the blanks with what was taking place in Israel on a larger scale. All along, Ben had hoped Moshe and Ty would hit it off and fall into the same mentoring relationship he had established with the fighter pilot.
Ty was surprised by the enthusiastic hug Ingrid gave him. It was as if she were greeting a long lost brother, which in her mind, he was. The embrace she gave Blake was more like a mother hugging her daughter. Her welcome settled the nervousness Ty had been battling as how he would be perceived. He had no intention of taking over Ben’s place in any way other than temporary. Besides, the styles of the two men were probably quite different. Ingrid’s warmth demonstrated that style wasn’t the point. That Ty and Blake were in God’s will, in this place and at this time, was all she needed to know.
The women promptly headed into the kitchen to help Blake prepare tea and sandwiches. Ty and Moshe sat down in the small living room.
“Did you get a chance to go out into the streets?” Moshe asked with the hint of a smile lacing the corners of his mouth.
Ty knew exactly why he liked this guy. From their first meeting on the tarmac, Ty could see the same cockiness he’d loved in his little brother Nathan. The ‘I can whip the world’ attitude was subdued and tucked just under the surface, but there none the less. Ty was reminded that only a matter of weeks had passed since he’d witnessed his brother’s casket being lowered into the hard ground at Fort Leavenworth National Cemetery. Though Nathan and Moshe looked nothing alike, and their ages were different, something about the Israeli’s persona gave Ty a sense of bonding. He found himself smiling right back.
“Actually, I did. We’re both a little messed up from the trip, but I can stay in one spot for only so long. I stepped out and took a walk toward the town square.”
“Were you shocked by what you saw?”
“A little. It looked like what happened in Kansas City, but there were more people bottled into a smaller space. Plus, there was only that one food line for all those folks. I admit my feeling of helplessness was more than I expected.”
“You aren’t sorry you came?”
“No,” Ty responded with a smile and a shake of his head. “No, it just made me stop and pray. Look, this is obviously where God wants us. We’re here for as long as we are needed.”
Moshe stared at Ty with a grin until Ty questioned the look by shrugging his shoulders.
“What is with you preacher types?” Moshe asked. “You always seem to be looking for things to pray about.”
“Moshe!” Tasha had been listening from the kitchen, which was no more than a few feet away. “You shouldn’t say that.”
“Nah, I’m serious. Pastor Ben is the same way!”
Ingrid stepped in and handed out cups and saucers for tea. She was smiling. “But Moshe,” she interjected, “that is what all believers do, at least the ones who have learned to trust Yeshua in everything.”
Moshe thought about the statement for a moment. “Hey, I’m still learning, okay? So Ty, what else has caught your interest today, beside your lovely bride?” His question was met with a definitive backhand from Tasha who had sat down beside him.
Moshe noticed how Ty and Blake glanced at each other, then away. But the look was not what he was expecting. The quick exchange carried a hint of anxiety, and he instinctively knew something was wrong. His question had touched some nerve when it shouldn’t have.
“Alright, what’s wrong?”
Ty caught Blake’s eye with a look that had “should I tell him?” written all over it.
Moshe was insistent. “Please, tell me what is going on. Maybe I can help.”
Ty reached for his Bible.
“Oy vey! Here we go again.” Moshe’s eyebrows went straight up.
For the next few minutes Ty walked Moshe, Tasha, and Ingrid through everything they had found. No questions were asked. The three simply sat and listened. The women had stunned expressions on their faces and had been rendered speechless.
When Ty wrapped up, Tasha let out an audible groan, “Dear Yeshua.”
Moshe took Tasha’s hand and looked at the other members of the group. He cleared his throat and looked directly at Ty. “Guys, it gets worse. This whole thing will probably begin tomorrow night.”

Fields of Nazir Traning Facility
Monday, 8:30 p.m. Local Time

Ben could hardly stomach the food he was shoving down his throat, not because it was bad, but because his insides were twirling. Four times the big C-130 had lifted off. Four times it had landed, and each time it was accompanied by the orchestrated chaos of offloading. His body didn’t know whether it was flying, moving at full speed, or sitting still. That made for one bad case of nausea. And yet, he knew he needed to replenish his system, even if the food ended up coming back the way it went in.
There was no conversation on the part of his comrades, no orders being issued, no energy to do much of anything. Four days of hard training had caught up with everyone.
Ben, for one, was content with the quiet that had descended. The only problem was how the current inactivity allowed his mind to think of home, particularly of Ingrid. Thoughts of his church, and the people that desperately needed help were there as well. In part, he regretted leaving one of the only true multi-cultural assistance ministries that had been created in the aftermath of the Haifa bombing. But, he knew he had heard from the Lord when he decided to leave. He was where he was supposed to be. That knowledge didn’t make life any easier whenever his thoughts turned to his wife. He missed her desperately.
Ben pushed his tray aside coming to the conclusion that he had no desire to eat. Just then the door opened and Hannah Lira entered. Her face was broadcasting that she had something serious to share. All activity in the room ceased immediately. Every eye focused on the diminutive archeologist.
“Good evening, gentlemen. We have a new twist to our little plot and I wanted to make you aware of what is happening. I know you have been out of the communications loop since you began your training. Well, it’s time you were brought up to speed, so gather around.”
The men repositioned themselves around the tables closest to Hannah.
“That little exercise you carried out today was very important,” she began. “In fact, it was a marvelous show, particularly for a lone observer hidden in the hills.”
“You mean this whole thing was staged?” spoke up one of the commandos-in-training.
“Not the mission, just today’s part of it. You would have gone through this aspect of jump training whatever the case, but it was reprogrammed for today in order to catch the attention of an interested party. If everything goes as hoped, the necessary movers and shakers will begin moving and shaking.”
“I’m confused,” said Ben.
“Don’t be,” Hannah responded quietly. “That’s not really what I wanted to share with you. Other events are transpiring that are going to force us to train a little harder and a lot faster. In fact, we must now be ready to undertake our mission by no later than the last week in November. That is a week ahead of schedule.”
“Why” asked Gilad Belfer.
“Something is about to happen that is going to speed up the process.” She nodded for Zev to unroll and display a large map. “Israel is about to expand its territory.”
Ben’s head snapped to attention. He wasn’t alone.
Hannah couldn’t help but be humored by the reaction. She’d been privy to certain information since the government had initially formed the idea to recover the Ark. “Listen, haven’t you guys ever read your Torah? We are about to see a major fulfillment of prophecy, and the result will be the establishment of the ancient boundaries enjoyed by Solomon.”
She proceeded to walk the team through specific prophecies and compared them to what IDF was about to do. When she was done, the men sat in stunned silence. Understanding dawned. The end was near, and they had a part to play in making it happen.

Chapter Seventeen

2011-02-11T03:29:00.000-08:00

Chapter Seventeen

Central Israel
The Fields of Nazir
Monday, November 16
4:00 p.m. Local Time

The runway looked smooth enough, though it seemed to undulate a bit in the distance. Ben didn’t know if his eyes were playing tricks or if the runway actually rose and fell. Whichever the case, he’d find out soon enough.
He was with the other trainees standing under the fat wing of a C-130 Hercules transport. They were all waiting for the sadistic captain in charge of the facility to begin the next element of their training. Everyone was dressed in military fatigues complete with a fully loaded combat pack on their backs. Each man carried a Tavor 21 Infantry Assault Rifle strapped over his right shoulder and hanging at his side. These were the latest version of multi-use weapons being used by the IDF. On the firing range Ben had already learned that the lightweight Tavor could pump out thirty-two 9mm rounds in about three seconds. The men had not yet been trained on utilizing the M203 Grenade Launcher mounted below the barrel, but that lesson would be coming soon.
Three menacing Humvee troop carriers were stowed in the large cargo hold of the C-130. Each vehicle carried a roof mounted MK19 40mm Grenade launching machine gun just aft of the driver’s cockpit. A Blackhawk gunship, with its large propellers fixed in a transportable position, was also aboard. A wheeled base had been attached to its skids so that a relatively easy offload could be achieved by as few as four men. The chopper was armed to the teeth.
Suddenly, the enormity of the mission began to crystallize for Ben and his companions. This was not some Indiana Jones adventure. This was serious.
“Listen up everyone,” shouted the captain. “The next stage of your training will feature your entrance and egress of the target zone. As you can see, these are the vehicles of delivery. By the end of this week you will be fully capable in every detail of the mission from the moment the wheels of this C-130 touch the ground until they lift off. We begin that training today.”
Ben listened as the Captain introduced the flight team for the Hercules. It consisted of a pilot, copilot, and a four-man operations crew. The latter held the responsibility of directing the commandos while in the air, as well as loading and offloading of the big Blackhawk helicopter.
Twenty minutes later the commando team had been divided and loaded within the cavities of the three Humvees. The entire mission team was airborne. The plan on this first run was simple: land the aircraft, off-load the Humvees while the plane was rolling out to a stop, and reach the far end of the runway as rapidly as possible. The exercise would be timed.
Ben sat in the crew compartment directly behind the driver, right under the feet of the top-mount gunner. He had no room in which to move, but at least he had a view out the narrow front windshield. As his Humvee was the first in line to exit, Ben would know the exact moment the ramp at the back of the aircraft began to lower. After that, his responsibilities consisted of nothing more than hanging on for the ride.
Ari Goins was the leader of the team, giving Ben an extra ounce of confidence. Everything he’d seen of Ari during these few days of training only served to increase his respect for the man and his abilities. Ari was in perfect physical condition, an expert marksman in every level of weaponry, an able hand-to-hand operator, and absolutely cool under pressure. Men naturally followed him. Ben reminded himself that when the real mission actually came to fruition, he needed to stay as close to Ari as possible. His life might depend on his proximity to the big man.
Just then, the interior lights of the Hercules went out. Five seconds later, bright sunlight flowed through the widening cracks around the big ramp as it began to lower. Ben could see the rolling hills of the Shephelah dancing in the distance as wind buffeted the aircraft. And then the tail of the transport sank towards the ground. The end of the dirt runway was visible as it passed beneath the plane.
In response, Ari turned the ignition and the Humvee’s huge engine roared to life.
Ben felt a jolt and knew that aircraft’s wheels had just touched the ground. The cargo hold leveled out and the ramp completed the process of lowering. The last thing Ben saw before Ari gunned the Humvee engine was a flashing green light just above the ramp’s housing. He had no choice but to lean back and hold on.
The first vehicle shot off the ramp and skidded across the runway. It was followed by the other two vehicles, but only one maintained enough control to stay on Ari’s tail for the length of the runway. Two minutes later the Humvee came to a stop, the back lid flew open and every commando inside exited in front of the captain. The stopwatch in his hand and the scowl on his face told a very clear story.
The entire maneuver was completed three more times, the last one in the dark of an Israeli night.

Paris, France
Same Time Local

“They are utilizing a C-130 transport aircraft. It is fully loaded with men and equipment,” a non-descript man spoke into a cell phone.
“How do you know it’s fully loaded?”
“Sir, I’ve heard hundreds of these planes. By the scream of the props, it is pulling a load. It has gone up, circled around the hills, and landed three times now. I can hear its engines spooling up in the distance as if it is going for another run.”
“And where is this base located,” Andre D’Tiene asked.
“About thirty kilometers southwest of Jerusalem. We are in the hills of Judea. There is not much out here beyond a few scattered farms, mostly pastures,” the man answered.
“What is your exact position? How are you able to observe what is happening?”
“I am situated on a hill to the northeast of the entrance to the Fields of Nazir. The hill is elevated and I am able to see the aircraft descend for landing. I cannot see the actual runway, but I can hear the engines in the distance.”
“Very well. Remain in position and report any further activity,” D’Tiene commanded as he terminated the call.
He then looked to his assistant who was waiting by a window. “Reginald, you know I want there to be no possibility of a leak,” D’Tiene said quietly.
“What are you suggesting, Sir?”
“When a pawn as been used to its capacity it must be removed.”
Reginald nodded. “I understand.”

Jerusalem
Same Time Local

Prime Minister Naftali sat through the situation briefing and calculating every question he’d be asked. Threats that had been building for months were suddenly at a peak. Plans to deal with the enemies along Israel’s borders had long been laid, plans that were known only to his inner circle of cabinet members and IDF commanders. Built on an obscure Psalm of ancient King David, one that foretold a violent end to Israel’s neighbors, the plan called for a surprise and overwhelming aerial attack. With the final call for Jihad having come from the Ayatollah in Iran, the operation seemed a now-or-never proposition. If action was going to be taken, it had to happen before Russian and Iranian forces were fully in place. Until this moment, the hidden plan had weighed heavily upon him, but not any longer. All other options had been exhausted.
With the issue now resolved in his mind, Naftali brought his attention back to the meat of the briefing. An aide was explaining how Mos’sad agents had an exact accounting of every Russian and European infiltrator. They knew what each was doing. One Russian spy had been terminated immediately after issuing his report, most likely to Polkov. The information that had been passed was precisely the information Naftali intended. The quiet death of the agent would add an element of uncertainty for the Russian Czar, making him wonder if Naftali were one step ahead of his every move.
Naftali smiled inwardly. He was three moves ahead of the Russian and at least two moves ahead of President D’Tiene. He wasn’t making light of the game. It was all too serious. But he was enjoying the knowledge that the masters of intrigue could be manipulated. The question was how they would react to what he was about to initiate militarily?
The intelligence officer wrapped up the brief and nodded toward the prime minister.
Naftali passed his hand over his face before he began. Weariness was setting in. “We know that D’Tiene will seek to eliminate the man he’s stationed outside the base at the Fields of Nazir. The question is when?”
“I believe he will do it rather rapidly” the officer explained. “He believes he knows our destination. He is aware of the training being administered. He now knows we have taken the training to a new level. D’Tiene will suspect that we are nearing a launch point.”
“Then we must force him to act out of his uncertainty. I want him to wonder if we know something he doesn’t,” Naftali thought out loud.
“That would only be beneficial, in my opinion.”
Naftali leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms. Those around him knew this as a sign that he’d come to a decision. “D’Tiene will send an assassin in order to maintain his secrecy. But if he finds the man missing, he’ll think we’ve captured him and are forcing him to undergo an intense interrogation. Keeping him in a state of intrigue could play to our advantage.”
“I agree,” opined the officer. “But we already know what he knows.”
“Yes, and that is why you must see to it that the man is eliminated. This must be done immediately, before D’Tiene can orchestrate the deed himself,” said Nafali.
“Consider it done, Mr. Prime Minister. Anything else?”
“Yes, issue the order to initiate Operation Curse to our commanders. It is time to be unpredictable one last time before the so-called peacekeepers remove all opportunity.”

Husifa, Israel
Monday, 5:00 p.m., Local time

Ty was ashamed of himself for having lost track of the time, especially since his lover had been left behind in the apartment. He had no idea he’d get so engrossed in helping out at the food station. He’d forgotten about Blake. When he realized what he’d done he weaved through the masses and ran as hard as he could to get back to her. When he burst through the front door he didn’t have the breath to apologize. All he could do was bend with his hands on his knees and fight for air. Blake saw through his dilemma and giggled with delight.
“What is up with you?” she asked as she went to him and kissed the top of his head.
Ty looked up and drew a deep breath. “I’m sorry for being gone so long.”
“Why? I figured when you left that you were heading out for a purpose. Don’t worry about it. I’ve just been enjoying the chance to recover,” she smiled. She sat again on the small sofa and took her Bible and a thick atlas she’d pulled from a nearby shelf.
Ty came over, sat down beside her.
“What did you find?” she asked.
“I found Pastor Ben’s feeding station. It’s over on a plaza in the center of the town.” Ty stopped and shook his head. “You won’t believe the number of people down there. It was overwhelming. It was a lot like what we were doing in Plattsville, but in a much smaller area. Plus, there aren’t the same amenities available. When I got there I just jumped in and helped. I lost track of the time.” He was still trying to be apologetic.
“Ty, I said don’t worry about it,” she poked him in the ribs. “I know what you were doing. That’s what you do best.”
Ty looked down at the atlas. “What’s that all about?”
“Well, once I got around and got my blood moving in the right direction I sat down to read my Bible. Something about what I was reading grabbed me. I saw this atlas and decided to do a bit of research.”
“What was it?” Ty asked as he ran his finger down a page of the book.
“This.” She picked up the Bible and handed it to her husband. “I was going through a couple of the Psalms and ran into this. Read it,” she suggested. It was opened to Psalm 83.
Ty quickly read through the eighteen verses.
“It’s not your garden variety Psalm is it?” he commented.
“No, and that’s what made me stop and look more closely.” Her brows furrowed as she spoke. “Verse four made me really take notice. ‘They say, Come, let us wipe them out as a nation; let the name of Israel be remembered no more.’ Sounds a little familiar, doesn’t it?”
Ty couldn’t believe he’d never seen these verses before. He’d certainly read the entire Bible through on many occasions, but this had escaped him. He read further and realized why the passage had caught Blake’s attention. “What did you find in the Atlas?”
“I hunted down the names and locations of ancient people groups. What I found was shocking. For instance, the first mention in this Psalm is of Edom, the Ishmaelites, and Moab. We know who they are.”
“Right. Edom was a son of Esau. Moab was a son of Lot. Both settled in what today is the Hashemite Kingdom of Jordan. Then, the Saudis themselves acknowledge they are the pure descendants of the Ishmaelites. They’re proud of that fact and believe they are the true heritage of Abraham. Since Abraham gave his inheritance to Isaac rather than Ishmael, and the Jews are the offspring of Isaac, they hate Israel with a passion.”
“What threw me was the name of a people called the Hagrites,” she said, “so I dug deeper. Guess what, a particular Egyptian dynasty was known as the Hagrites.”
“So, Hagrite is used in place of Egypt,” Ty nodded.
“So is Amalek,” she continued, “but it gets worse. According to this atlas, Ammon and Asshur form today’s nation of Syria. Gebal and Tyre form Lebanon. And Philistia was located in the Gaza Strip. Do you see the connection?”
“Wow! I sure do. These are the nations immediately surrounding Israel at this very moment.”
“That’s not all, Ty. The commentary sent me to a couple other spots that reference the destruction of these nations. You already know about Isaiah seventeen. Preaching about it got you in all that trouble, remember?”
“I remember. Damascus was obliterated proving the veracity of all Biblical prophecy.”
“Well, look at Ezekiel chapter twenty-five, verse thirteen,” Blake pointed to the Bible.
Ty read aloud. “Therefore thus says the Lord God, I will stretch out my hand against Edom and cut off from it man and beast. And I will make it desolate; from Teman even to Dedan they shall fall by the sword. And I will lay my vengeance upon Edom by the hand of my people Israel, and they shall do in Edom according to my anger and according to my wrath, and they shall know my vengeance, declares the Lord God.”
“This book says Teman was located in the area of northern Syria. Dedan was at the south end of Saudi Arabia. Now, read from verse sixteen,” she said excitedly.
“Okay. It says, ‘Behold, I will stretch out my hand against the Philistines, and I will cut off the Cherethites and destroy the rest of the seacoast. I will execute great vengeance on them with wrathful rebukes. They will know that I am the Lord, when I lay my vengeance upon them.’ Wow!” Ty exclaimed.
“Wait, that’s not all. Go to Obadiah verse eighteen,” Blake said quietly.
Ty turned to the spot. “The house of Jacob shall be a fire, and the house of Joseph a flame, and the house of Esau stubble; they shall burn them and consume them, and there shall be no survivor for the house of Esau, for the Lord has spoken.”
Ty sat back as a picture of what was about to happen formed in his mind. He had been so fixated on the coming fulfillment of Ezekiel’s prophecies in chapters thirty-eight and thirty-nine it appeared he’d missed a step. He suddenly saw two distinct rings of compressions, groups of nations that would come against Israel. Two different waves of attack were coming. Everything fit, especially knowing the alliances depicted in the scripture had been solidifying over the last few weeks. So many arms had come into Gaza and Lebanon by way of Iran and Egypt that Israel hadn’t been able to keep up with the necessary interdiction. In fact, it seemed like they hadn’t even attempted to stop the flow.
Blake was watching his face and saw what had already dawned upon her. “You see it, don’t you?” It was more a statement than a question.
“I see it,” he replied. “Israel is about to be attacked by the nations closest to it. She’ll be forced to respond.” He stood from the sofa and paced back and forth for a minute. “Hey, this could end up being the hook that brings about the Ezekiel prophecy.”
“How do you know this isn’t the same battle in Ezekiel thirty-eight?” she asked.
“Because, in Ezekiel God is the one who destroys the attacking nations. This Psalm 83 thing will be handled by Israel’s military. There’s something else. I also noticed that there is no overlap in the nations described.”
“That’s what I saw. Russian, Iran, Libya, Turkey, and Sudan are a totally different coalition than Syria, Saudi Arabia, Egypt, Jordan and Lebanon, not to mention the Palestinians,” she stated.
“Israel destroys the first group, God destroys the second,” Ty whispered.
“What does that mean?”
“It means we are about to be caught in the middle of the next war!”

Chapter Sixteen

2011-02-10T03:26:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Ramat David Airbase
Monday, November 16
8:00 a.m.

Colonel Natansky, Commander of the 117th Air Wing of the Israeli Air Force stood beside the large map at the front of the briefing room. “Men, the pot is stirred,” he began. “With Dagger Flight sending two Turkish aircraft to the bottom of the sea we’re seeing action around all our borders. This is just what we thought might happen, but it’s surprising to see it develop so quickly. In fact, that Turkey would sortie its fighters against an unarmed, diplomatic jet caught us off guard.”
“Do the intel-spooks have a guess as to why Turkey attacked?” Rueben Cohen asked.
“They have no idea, at least not one they are willing to share. My guess is there’s a mole, but as I have no evidence, you did not hear me say it. However, we have a more immediate concern.” The colonel turned and highlighted the city of Amman Jordan. “This is the latest intelligence twist. The lead elements of the Iranian army have turned southward, and are headed straight for Jordan.”
“Sir, I thought Jordan was keeping its distance from this so-called coalition,” Moshe stated. “What changed?”
“The Ayatollah-in-Chief, that’s what changed,” answered the colonel. “He has decided that any Islamic government that doesn’t fully support Iran is nothing more than dung. Kazimi is backing those words by re-routing his forward divisions toward Amman. Much of their Russian-made air force began arriving last night. There’s no way Jordan can stand up to one hundred thousand fully mechanized troops. So, they’re bowing to the Ayatollah’s jihad.”
“That’s not all. Egypt is also stuck in a vice, although they seem to be resisting at present. Their problem is coming from the radical jihadists within the lower echelons of the government. Evidently, extremists began rioting in the streets right after the Ayatollah’s fatwah and things are becoming politically unstable in Cairo. We don’t believe it will be long before the Egyptian army stages a coup. They will displace the moderate regime and establish a purely Islamic State, and I’m talking radical in every way. With one little edict, a whole new list of enemies has been presented to us. Rather, a list of old enemies has resurfaced with a vengeance.” The colonel’s eyes were beginning to broadcast the danger his men would soon be facing.
“What are we going to do about it, Colonel?” Rueben actually stood to his feet in a combination of anger and enthusiasm.
“Just cool your jets for a minute, Lieutenant. I’m not quite done with the bad news.”
A series of slides were projected onto the screen revealing the Jordanian Royal Air Force base just outside of Amman. The pictures were taken at night, probably by a Mos’sad agent placed near the end of a runway. Every snapshot included two fighter jets on a glide slope for landing, sixty-six in all. The planes were a combination of MiG 21s, 27s, and 29s. The colonel finally spoke. “This is our fly-in-the-ointment, gentlemen. Not only that, but the Saudis have taken a war footing as well. Their fighter aircraft are being made fully combat ready with more urgency than we’ve ever seen in the Arabs.”
The room went silent. The implications of what they were witnessing carried an enormity beyond anything these sixteen pilots had experienced. Not since the 1973 Yom Kippur war had such a malevolent threat arrayed itself against Israel.
Moshe shook his head and grunted. He knew what was coming. Everything about it had already been written. Still, seeing it take shape at this unbelievable pace gave him a surreal sensation.
The slide changed to a situation map of Lebanon and northeastern Syria. A large Libyan armada was ready to port in Tyre with a huge tonnage of armaments. The Port of Tartus in Syria appeared to be a massive parking lot for Russian and Turkish naval vessels. The Russian-led coalition was rapidly taking shape.
“Colonel,” Moshe asked, “Are the Russians responding to Iran’s change of plans? Do we see any activity that would indicate that coalition members are having a spat?”
Natansky’s eyebrows crinkled as if he wondered how Moshe could have come to that particular conclusion. “Not that I’m aware of. That would be a welcomed twist if it were true. You must understand that what we’re seeing just came down the line of communication. I would imagine the Russians are just as surprised as you.”
Moshe could sense a deeper emotion coming through the colonel’s voice, but remained quiet long enough to take a couple of slow breaths before he spoke. “Okay, Colonel. May I be so bold as to say ‘Out with it?’ We’re all big boys here. What’s really going on?”
Natansky shrugged in resignation. “As of noon on the day after tomorrow, all leaves are cancelled. The base will go into lockdown until further notice, and alert duty status will commence for all personnel. I’m sorry men. Except for those who are on duty today, you all need to go home and say goodbye to your wives and families.” Natansky held up his hand just as the pilots were beginning to stir. “It gets worse. Only base personnel will be allowed to remain at Ramat David, so those of you whose families are housed here need to get them moved to an alternate location.”
Moshe was stunned. He and Tasha had been unable to occupy their Haifa apartment because of the blast. Now, she was being displaced again. “How long will this lockdown last, Colonel?” he asked.
“Until further notice, but I suspect it will be this way until we deal directly with these threats.”
“Meaning?”
“Meaning the Iranian air force is about to become target number one. I wouldn’t be surprised if something is in the works for Egypt, the Saudis, and our other jihadist friends as well.”
As dread filled the pit of his stomach, Moshe glanced at his wingman and saw a wide grin.

Husifa, Israel
Monday, 2:00 p.m., Local Time

Ty splashed cool water on his face then rested his palms on the edge of the vanity so he could stare into the mirror. His hair was a jumbled mess. A tired face with two days-worth of stubble stared back. His lack of sleep had left bags under his deep blue eyes, but there was no removing the smile on his face. He remembered how his friends had used the term “wedded bliss” from time to time, but he hadn’t known what they’d meant until the last few hours.
He leaned back to the doorway of the small bathroom and absorbed the site of his new bride. She was sleeping in a cocoon of sheets and pillows on the bed. Her blond hair rested haphazardly on her bare shoulders, and he detected the hint of a smile on her face as well. He could hear her breathing softly, rhythmically in the stillness of the room. His heart was full and overflowing with joy, even with the background of sorrow they’d gone through.
“Thank you Lord,” he whispered.
Blake stirred ever so slightly on the bed, opened her eyes, and smiled at Ty.
“Hey, gorgeous,” he said.
“Hi,” Blake answered, “What ya doing?”
“Just staring at the most beautiful creature on the planet?”
“Mmm,” she frowned, and then buried her face into her pillow. “I look terrible.”
Ty stepped to the bed and tucked his lithe body into the sheets beside her then began to trace an outline of a heart on her shoulder. She squirmed. He bent down and kissed the spot.
Her face tilted upward from her pillow so his lips could easily find hers. Ty kissed her deeply as she snuggled into his arms. They lost themselves in contentment and silence for several long moments.
Finally, Ty spoke. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to go out and get a lay of the land for a bit. I need to get a feel for what we’ll be doing the next few days.”
“I don’t mind,” Blake yawned. “You don’t care if I stay behind. Tasha and Moshe said they were going to stop over this evening to see how we’re doing. I think I need to get ready. What time is it anyway? I’m kinda lost.”
“It’s just after two. Didn’t get much sleep did we,” Ty’s grin widened.
“Not much. I didn’t expect this mild-mannered preacher to be such a Casanova.”
“Casanova? I was thinking more like Tarzan.”
“Nah, you’re perfect. I’m glad I snagged you,” she giggled. “You know you’re caught for life now, don’t you?”
“I’m glad, but I’m still going out.”
“Alright, just don’t get lost.”
“Lost? Listen to you.” He reached down and tickled her until she cried for mercy.
“Okay, Okay, just go!” she wiggled until he rolled off the bed.
Fifteen minutes later Ty was walking up the street toward the center of Husifa. Moshe had given him a rough idea as to where the refugee station was located and Ty wanted to see it firsthand. According to Ben, this would be one of his main tasks over the next few weeks, that and sharing the Word with the folks at Celebration Center.
The first thing Ty noticed was the number of people walking along the main avenue through Husifa. He knew the blast zone was just off this mountain to the northwest in the area of the port of Haifa. He’d also expected to see masses of people in a state of homelessness. But there was no rhyme or reason to the movement he was witnessing. Some were headed eastward down Mt. Carmel in an obvious effort to escape the congestion that was present. Others were walking toward the center of town, which appeared to be the area in which the refugee feeding station had been set up. But he also noticed many individuals pulling carts overflowing with personal possessions, and they were headed back in the direction of the disaster.
Ty stepped into the flow toward the town. No one seemed to pay any attention to the fact that he was an American. He was sure his features would have given away his nationality, if not his more modern clothing. But nobody cared. He could see that many of his fellow walkers were fully concentrated on surviving and not so much on who they were serving with. The faces he observed held little emotion beyond a hard look of resignation. His first thought was that this must be how the Israelis had coped with so many years of danger, threat, and war. But then he became aware that just as many Arabs were a part of the mix.
Ty was impressed at the lack of animosity between the two people groups. Maybe shock was a better description; shock that the Jews and Arabs, both in dire need of assistance, had somehow found equal footing. The equality was based on need, not power, not control, not some sort of religious superiority. They were all hurting on the same level. The dignity of each was being challenged. Hope appeared to have been stricken from every heart. No energy remained for hatred. Hurt and pain had replaced all other emotions.
As he neared the plaza he began to realize the enormity of his mission to this country. This was not some short-termed opportunity to see the Holy Land. It was a rescue mission, and the mission wasn’t to save a nation, but to touch the unique individuals that made up this little pocket in the Middle East. But there were so many, and here he did not have the technological amenities he had while dealing with the Kansas City disaster.
“My God, where do I start? I don’t even speak the language of these people?” Ty groaned within himself.
As he looked at the multitude of faces, his surroundings seemed to change. He continued to walk along the same street, but what he saw was a rocky mountainside high above an inland sea. He shook his head in an attempt to counter what he thought were the effects of fatigue, but every direction he looked thousands of people filled his vision. There were men, women, and children, and a large quantity of elderly folks. He realized he was seeing an ancient image simply by noting the way they were dressed. Robes, simple woolen garments, wrapped turbans on men’s heads, and scarves on the women caught his eye. Many of the people were barefoot. Others wore leather sandals and crude, flat shoes. He heard shouts of anger and saw gestures born in frustration. Folks weren’t just milling around haphazardly. There was a unity about what was happening. The more he watched, the more he realized the crowd was forming up for a little uprising.
Suddenly, someone within the vision gave a shrill whistle. Ty’s attention was drawn to the bottom of a slope. There, among several large boulders, was a particular group of men. There were twelve to be exact. They were waving their arms and directing the crowd to sit. Slowly, the people began forming into groups of forty or fifty then they began to sit.
Ty understood what he was seeing in the vision. His heart began to race as he noticed one lone figure standing among the rocks below. He knew who it was. He saw the hands take a large, flat piece of bread and lift it into the air. And then the man broke it and laid the bread in a basket.
The next thing Ty saw was the multitude of people laughing and eating. They were the same people who’d been agitated just moments earlier, but were now filling their stomachs with food. A sense of contentment had replaced their anger. And then it was over. The vision was gone. Ty found he was still walking toward the center of the town.
There was no clap of thunder, no strike of lightning with what came next. Never before had he heard God’s audible voice, not until that moment. The simplicity of the awesome moment struck his heart. “Just break the bread and give it away. I will multiply your efforts.”
Ty refocused his eyes ahead toward the plaza and saw a makeshift soup line situated at the far end. He knew it was Ben’s feeding station, and with the knowledge came an infusion of God-given compassion. Without hesitation Ty headed straight for his new charge.

Chapter Fifteen

2011-02-09T03:24:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

North Central Lebanon
Monday, November 16
5:30 a.m., Local Time

“What is he doing?” General Telnikov growled, though not at the aide standing beside him. The Lieutenant was simply the delivery boy for the daily situation report and experienced enough to keep his thoughts to himself.
The general leaned back in his chair and tried to sort it out. Tariq Kazimi, President of the Islamic Republic of Persia, and erstwhile commander of the Iranian Pasdaran Army was acting more unpredictably than normal. At some point during the night, Kazimi had changed course. His passage had previously cut through the Kurdish territory of northern Iraq and appeared headed across the upper reaches of Syria. As Damascus was a smoldering wasteland, boiling with radiation fallout from an Israeli nuclear attack, the only sensible move for the Iranians was to join up with Russian forces encamped in the Bekaa Valley of Lebanon. But the little man had pulled a fast one. After crossing into Syria, Kazimi was beating a path southward right through the heart of the desert. His aim was now clear. Iran had decided to push its way into Jordan.
What the man was thinking was beyond Telnikov’s comprehension, and perplexity was a discomfort to the general. Jordan had shown no indication that it wanted any part of the fight, either for or against Israel. The King seemed content to patiently wait until the dust settled before he staked any claim to Palestinian territory within Israel. After all, the Palestinians were his people. If he could reap the rewards of seeing the Jews driven into the sea without having to take a risk, then all the better. He had no fear of an Israeli reprisal. The King felt he could straddle the fence and enjoy the best of both worlds, at least until the direction of the Middle East was decided at some later date.
So what was Kazimi’s gambit? Telnikov hadn’t considered the man an idiot, though he certainly looked the part. The coalition’s mission, designed by Field Marshall Velniak, called for a three-pronged thrust into Israel from the north. The Libyans would drive southward along the coast from Tyre. The Russians and Turks would attack through central Lebanon. The Sudanese army would come upward through the Red Sea to strike through the Negev. If they faltered, it was almost certain that Egypt would throw its tanks and infantry into the fight. How could they not? Islam had arisen, and no presumed Pharaoh could allow any outsider the ultimate glory of annihilating the Jews. That left the Golan Heights to Iran and the Central Asian armies. They were supposed to complete the downward thrust from the north. The designated location of Iran’s attack was almost a gift. Why wasn’t Kazimi obeying his masters and taking it?
“Lieutenant, when was this report issued?” demanded the general.
“Sir, it came in less than fifteen minutes ago. I do not know when the report actually arrived in Moscow,” he answered.
“Track down the time the report was made. I must know the time frame we are looking at.”
“Yes Sir. Here are your morning situation reports and today’s edition of Pravda.” The lieutenant laid a file jacket and the newspaper on the general’s desk and headed for the door.
“I will also require a map of the region. Bring it to me when you return.”
“Da, General.”
Telnikov reached for the reports, but a headline on the lower half of the folded newspaper caught his attention.
AYATOLLAH ISSUES FATWAH: ALL ISLAM MUST UNITE!
Understanding dawned as he read. The spiritual leader of Islam had issued a decree that left no doubt. Any Islamic nation that refused to join the Iranian’s cause in administering retribution against Israel would be considered less than an infidel. Jordan, Egypt, and Saudi Arabia were suddenly bound by the fetters of their radical religion.

Ramat David Airbase
Monday, 7:00 a.m. Local Time

Moshe sensed her gaze long before he turned his head and opened his eyes. He couldn’t tell how long he’d been subconsciously aware of her, but he was certain it had been a while. For one, he’d been utterly exhausted when his head had hit the pillow. He and Tasha had gone to bed well after midnight, but his fatigue from duty had been offset by the joy provided by Ty Dempsey’s revelation. Exuberance might be a better word, for now he knew God had been working all along to bring him to salvation. It was clear and undeniable. No physical exhaustion could overcome that level of spiritual excitement.
“What are you staring at my love?” he asked without opening his eyes.
“Oh, just your handsome face.” She reached over and traced the outline of his ear with her finger.
He smiled and turned to his side to return her attention. “And why are you looking at my handsome face when you could be sleeping like I was a minute ago?”
“I don’t know. I’m just thankful that you are here.”
“Where else would I be?” Moshe was puzzled.
“That is not what I meant. I mean spiritually.”
Moshe tried to stifle a yawn, but couldn’t. “Well, I’m here now. Amazing isn’t it?”
“I was thinking more in terms of the miraculous,” Tasha said. “I could hardly believe what Ty and Blake told us last night. But it makes sense.”
“How so?”
“Because there was so much going on. There you were, flying from danger to danger, and I was caught up in Husifa not knowing what was happening. The Lord knew we needed some outside help to get through it all. I didn’t know if I was going to survive. On top of that was my worry for you,” she sighed. “It just makes sense that the Lord would step in with an intercessor when we needed one the most. And now, that same person is right here in Israel.”
Moshe was startled by the statement. She was right.
“What?” she asked.
“Does God always do things so mysteriously?”
The whole idea that God was truly concerned about the day to day aspects of human life was still beyond his ability to absorb. What puzzled him most was how God had everything so interconnected.
“Not always. Sometimes he does things that are as clear as daylight. We’re just too thick-headed to see it.” She thought for a moment, and then continued. “Some time ago, Pastor Ben shared a message from one of King David’s Psalms. I can’t quite quote it, but the idea has stuck with me.”
“What was it?”
“Ben read a verse about God knowing our coming in and our going out, meaning he knows everything about us.”
“That’s a bit scary!”
“Why?”
“If he knows that much about us, how can he still love us?” Moshe rolled back to his original position and fixed his eyes on the low ceiling above the bed. “It’s really kind of embarrassing.”
Tasha couldn’t help but giggle at Moshe’s newfound innocence.
“What’s so funny?”
“I’m not laughing at you. It is just funny how you are suddenly worried about what God thinks. You were always ten thousand feet above caring.” She caressed his bare shoulder.
“Getting shot down and seeing a nuclear bomb go off has a way of waking a guy up,” he said. “Still, everything seems so clear, so transparent. Religion was a stone wall for me. It was the way misguided people tried to make themselves better, only to get frustrated when it didn’t work. At least that’s how I pictured the Wailing Wall and the heads bobbing up and down in front of it.”
“Honey, that is what religion does,” Tasha explained. “It either leaves a person empty, or kills them with a holier-than-thou attitude. That’s not what God intended. He is more concerned about bringing us into a relationship than he is with all the religious ritual. What happened to you was a demonstration of God’s pure love, not giving you something you think you deserved.”
“Well, I don’t deserve anything. I still can’t believe I was so blind. I should have seen this a long time ago.” He turned back to her realizing how distant he’d been to her spiritual beliefs and the trauma it had caused. “I’m sorry I put you through that.”
She snuggled close to her man, thankful that Yeshua had done a work of divine love in his soul. She’d always adored Moshe, but now, her love went deeper than ever before.
Just then Moshe’s cell phone rang. Ramat David was calling.

Central Israel
The Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Same Time

The burning had started in his calves and had worked its way into his thighs. Now, his forearms and biceps joined in to become a full chorus of screaming muscles. Try as he might, Ben could not remember ever being forced to climb a wall of netted rope while in combat. In fact, he’d never crawled through stagnant mud six inches under live gunfire during a combat mission either. Running twenty miles in boots and carrying a backpack? It never happened, at least outside of basic training. But here he was doing them all, and his body was violently protesting the injustice.
Ben cleared the top of the wall. Actually it was just a log that spanned two pillars and had a thick net draped over it. He glanced at his training mates to see their progress. Most had already slithered to the ground some twenty feet below. Only two others seemed to be suffering the same physical rebellion as he. He wondered what might be the point of it all if they were simply the prospective pole bearers for the Ark. After all, how much could the thing actually weigh? Ben thought as his feet finally touched the ground.
Before he could catch a breath or relax his knotted muscles, a measly drill instructor appeared in his face and began screaming for him to buck up and move on. A live fire drill awaited a quarter of a mile up the wadi. That would be followed by a five mile run, and it was all happening before breakfast.
As he plodded onward he realized he was angry inside, angry that he’d left his ministry. Angry that he hadn’t been warned this would happen. Angry at the pain his body was experiencing. He was even angry at the drill instructor running beside him, a guy who was at least ten years his junior. Then another thought entered into his mind and he laughed. The drill sergeant took notice.
“What is so funny, mister? Not sweating hard enough?” He barked.
“No, Sergeant,” Ben returned. “Just laughing at the irony.”
“And what irony would that be?”
“That wars are fought by young bulls like you, Sarge,” Ben said as he flicked the sweat off his forehead.
“And what of it?”
“War should be fought by men my age.”
“All right, hold it right there,” ordered the sergeant. “Are you having a heat stroke this early in the morning?”
Ben stopped and put his hands on his knees and bent over to catch his breath. His muscles desperately needed a break. After a few intakes of air, he looked up into the face of a man that was too young to have much facial hair. “No, sir. I’m okay. It’s just that the bad guys would have no chance if older guys did the fighting. I mean, we’ve already experienced life, so there’s not much more to live for beyond arthritis, constipation, and dying taste buds. That means we’re already mad. There’s no point in making us climb walls. Just give us something to blow up. We’ll get it done, and it will make us happy all at the same time.”
The sergeant looked at him for nearly a minute trying to decide if he was serious. He finally laughed. “Got your rest in, didn’t you Mr. Sherett?”
“Yes sir, I sure did.”
The sergeant lifted his arm and pointed toward the live-fire range on top of the next hill. “Time to move on.”
“On my way, Sarge,” Ben chuckled. With a deep breath he stood upright and resumed his jog toward the range.

Chapter Fourteen

2011-02-08T03:22:00.000-08:00

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

Central Israel
The Fields of Nazir Training Facility
Sunday, November 15
11:00 p.m. Local Time

The group of twelve sat around a single, rustic conference table, watching and listening as Hannah Lira explained the satellite image of Aksum, Ethiopia. The high resolution photo was impressive. Ben could easily see the target objects.
“This picture has much better detail than the one I showed you at my home.” Hannah used a laser pointing device as she spoke. She rotated a red dot around each feature as she described how it fit into the plan. “As you can see, the two main buildings of the compound are moderately guarded. The reason is simple. The newer church is used for daily worship, making entrance into the entire facility somewhat simple. The old Church of Zion of Saint Mary has been converted into an historic site. However, the Mass is celebrated on the front portico of the old sanctuary on the first Sunday of each month.”
She pointed the laser between the two main structures. “This is a thick, rod-iron fence manned by guards twenty-four hours a day. As we zoom in, you can actually see the stationary post for each watchman, as well as his assigned duty path along the perimeter.” As the operator zoomed in on the photo, Ben could see the military caps of the guards. Though no other physical features stood out, the weapons carried by each were clearly seen.
“What type of weapons?” Ben asked.
“Those are standard AK-47, skeleton-stocked, automatic assault weapons,” answered Zev Tolberg. “We also know that all personnel carry either 40 caliber or 9 millimeter semi-automatic hand guns. They are serious about security.”
“Gentlemen, notice the tight stands of trees located at the four corners of the security area,” Hannah continued. “These are more than pretty Junipers. They each hide one 7.62 millimeter PKJ coaxial machine gun at each location. The weapons are Russian-made and deadly. They provide overlapping zones of fire and offer one hundred percent coverage inside the secured area. They also cover all fence lines.”
“They are serious!” Gilad Belfer exclaimed with a low whistle. “I didn’t realize the Ethiopian Government possessed such firepower for the protecting of their churches.”
“This security setup is not from the Ethiopian government,” Ari Goins explained, “nor is it from Tigre Province. What you see is owned and operated by the Church of Zion. The weapons were obtained on the international arms market through various networks of middlemen. And yes, they are serious, deadly serious.”
“This, as you remember, is the objective,” Hannah continued. She highlighted a small copula roughly thirty feet in diameter. “This is the Chapel of the Ark of the covenant. Rather, it is the surface entrance to a chapel situated five stories below ground. It too is heavily guarded. As far as we know, the bottom level can only be reached by a steep, winding stairwell. How you will tackle the logistics of the incursion will be dealt with during your training this week. Suffice to say, this will be no picnic, as the American’s say,” Hannah winked at Ben.
The operator panned the picture out to include a five mile circumference around Aksum. On the northeast extreme of the circle there appeared a long runway stretching from northwest to southeast.
“You are now looking at Aksum Regional Airport, finished in 2007, completely functional and accessible, and rarely used by either military or civilian aircraft. Ethiopia is nearly bankrupt, so only nominal military air activity exists. It is manned by a small contingent of military police. They are poorly armed and extremely unmotivated. We plan to exploit that fact to the fullest.”
Ben was humored by the way such a small woman could speak with such machismo, and do it with extreme confidence. She noticed his smile before he could hide it away.
“And why are you smiling, my good Ben?”
“Nothing, Doctor Lira,” Ben re-adjusted himself in the chair. “I just like the way you talk.” The men laughed, but they too were impressed with Hannah’s leadership style. Ben was reminded of Deborah in the Book of Judges and how God had used her to deliver Israel.
After the chatter died, Hannah looked at Ari and nodded. “Ben has brought up a good point. Some of you may be thinking a woman has no place here, especially a little gal like me. Give them my resume, Ari.”
At that point, Ari Goins was the only man in the room that wasn’t smiling. “Yes ma’am,” he began. “Hannah Lira is not just an expert in archeology. She has served as an agent of both the Shin Bet secret service and the Mos’sad. Don’t let her small stature fool you. Trained in the personal fighting style known as Krav Maga, she could easily snap my neck if I let my guard down,” he raised his eyebrows at Hannah as if letting her know she probably couldn’t. Her eyes brightened at the challenge. “She is fully trained in the use of every known hand gun on the planet, the Negev light machine gun, the 1W1 Jericho sniper rifle, as well as mortars and RPGs. Hannah can kill you with a knife, a piano wire, or a Bible.” Laughter returned as Ari let everyone know that Hannah was not to be feared except by an enemy. Her love for Yeshua went deeper than her loyalty to the defense of Israel. However, in this instance, both love and loyalty were folded into one purpose.

The Road to Haifa
Same Time Local

“That was you?” Ty asked in awe. Attack aircraft and their pilots had always been held in his highest esteem. That esteem was increasing at the moment. “I thought we were going for a swim for sure. What happened?”
Tasha and Blake were engaged in a conversation in the back seat as Moshe traversed the switchbacks leading to the top of Mount Carmel. They were on their way to the borrowed apartment Ty and Blake would be using.
“Your plane was targeted by an enemy missile. The pilot was scissoring and diving in an attempt to dodge the thing. Some very bad people wanted you dead.”
“Why?” Ty asked.
“I’m not sure. The attacking aircraft were Turkish. It’s the first time Turkey has made an aggressive move beyond trying to run our blockade of Gaza, especially knowing we could easily shoot them from the sky in their inferior planes. The more I think about it, none of this can be a coincidence.”
Ty looked at Moshe as the pilot kept his eyes focused on the highway. He couldn’t help the feeling that he’d somehow seen this man before, but he just couldn’t think of where or when.
Moshe noticed the silence and felt the stare. “What’s wrong?”
“Besides being shot at?”
“Well yes,” Moshe grinned. “You seem to be puzzled about something beyond that.”
Ty stared even harder. “Oh, man!”
“What, oh man? What do you mean?” Moshe could feel the tension within his new friend.
“I don’t know. It’s like I’m stuck in some sort of déjà vu and I don’t even know what it’s about.” Ty forced the strange feeling aside and returned to the subject at hand. “You mentioned how strange it was that the Turks attacked us. Wouldn’t they have known the plane was civilian? I guess I’m asking, why us? We’re only here because Pastor Ben has some pretty powerful connections, and everything about it happened quickly.”
“That bothers me as well. I had no knowledge that he had any connections at all, let alone with the higher-ups in Jerusalem. The jet that transported you is from a fleet used only by elite members of the government. By that I mean the prime minister, the president, or the foreign minister.”
“Whoa! What’s going on?”
“I do not know. It was just yesterday that Ben informed Tasha and me of your arrival. That is also when he told us of his departure.”
“Is that strange behavior for him?” Ty asked.
“That, I do not know. I have only known him for a few weeks. But in that short time I have come to understand he is fully committed to whatever Yeshua tells him to do. However, my wife has known him for well over a year, and she says this behavior is out of character.”
“Again, Moshe, this still begs the question. Why us? Why now? Why attack our plane when I’m sure other aircraft could have been targeted?”
Moshe’s lifted his brows and shrugged his shoulders. He kept his suspicions to himself.
Ty saw he was not going to get an answer, so he changed the subject. “Tell me about Pastor Ben and his ministry.”
Moshe instantly lit up. “The man is amazing. I still cannot believe he gave up his life in the United States just to work with the poorest of our people in Haifa. That includes Arabs,” Moshe exclaimed. “He’s Jewish, but that hasn’t kept him from helping the very people who consider Israel an abomination.”
“How did you meet him?”
“Through Tasha. She dragged me to church one Sunday to listen to a special prophecy teaching. At first I thought they were all addle brained, but the more I heard, the more plausible it became. Then, everything they preached began to happen. I was right in the middle of it when my Barak was shot down.”
“Barak? Is that the name of your plane?” Ty had never heard the Israeli designation of the F-16.
“Yes. In English it means lightning. We were ambushed by a pair of Russian MiG 29s. I was able to shoot both bogies, but I was hit by a shoulder-fired missile. My wingman was killed.” Moshe paused as the pain of Levi’s loss began to resurface. A moment passed before he could gather himself. “Pardon me.”
Again, Ty was astonished. He’d watched the immediate aftermath of Russia’s incursion into Israeli airspace from the comfort of his living room. Fox News had been right on top of it all. This pilot had been right there in the fight and the still carried the weight of his loss. Ty had seen this type of reaction many times, almost always when someone was experiencing an acute sense of guilt. “You didn’t get to him in time to save him and you feel guilty about it, don’t you?”
Moshe’s head whipped around. “How do you know? That sounds like something Ben would say.”
“I’ve seen it before. Listen, none of that was your fault. Bad people are doing bad things and good folks get caught in the crossfire. You should let it go. Grieve, but don’t let guilt eat you up.”
“Thanks.” Again Moshe paused before continuing the account. “Anyway, after I was shot down things really got interesting. Before I could be rescued, I discovered a hidden Iranian missile. A nuclear warhead was riding it.”
“Oh man!” Ty exclaimed.
“I had to evade capture and get back across our lines to sound the warning and try to stop the terrorists. But we were too late. I got a shot at the thing, but when I saw the nuclear flash over Haifa, my world came crashing down. I was sure I’d lost Tasha.”
“I bet you were scared to death,” Ty coaxed. He knew the best thing for Moshe’s long-term emotional health was to talk through the trauma. Things had evidently been happening so fast, that opportunity had not presented itself.
“I have never felt fear at that intensity. Not in a dogfight, not on a mission. Never! When I landed my Lightning that night, the only thing I could think of was finding Tasha. In fact, in the process of searching, it was the first real prayer I ever said to Yeshua.”
“Tell me.”
“Well, you can imagine the chaos of a nuclear explosion and how people are rushing to flee the area,” Moshe said.
“Unfortunately, yes.”
Moshe suddenly realized the commonality he had with Tyler Dempsey. They had both been subjected to a nuclear nightmare. They’d both experienced the chaos of fleeing refugees and traffic tie-ups. “That’s right. You know. Well, I got stuck in traffic and had no way to get to Tasha, even if I had known where she was. In my frustration, all I could do was cry out before I lost my mind.”
Ty’s déjà vu ended. He was stunned. He couldn’t help it. “You were stuck in your car in the early morning hours on that Thursday. All you could do was slam your fists on the steering wheel and scream. Am I right?”
Moshe’s mouth nearly fell into his lap. “How did you know?”
“There was a reporter with a camera right beside your vehicle, wasn’t there?” Ty continued, now smiling. “Then you put your forehead on the wheel and prayed, right?”
“Please tell me how you know this,” Moshe demanded.
“Man, we saw it on television right from my mother’s living room,” laughed Ty. “In fact, we felt your pain so much that we stopped what we were doing and prayed right along with you.”
A floodgate opened and tears poured from Moshe’s eyes. Tasha and Blake, now listening from the back seat clasped hands. Yeshua had proven his love again and none of them would ever forget it.

Jimmy Root Jr
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