Esther's Sling (37 page)

The morning sun broke the horizon as seen from Mudaysis Airfield in Iraq at 5:59 a.m. A soldier shook the shoulder of the Shaldag commander, who had been able to get almost four hours sleep. The commander awoke to the cold desert air and worked his way out of the sleeping bag he was in. He was wearing his uniform from the night before, complete with his boots. Fortunately, no one had come to the airfield in response to the explosion. Either no one was close enough to hear the small blast or, thought the commander, perhaps the locals were accustomed to animals occasionally detonating old landmines from time to time. Either way, solitude was a very welcome condition. The commander wiped his eyes and looked to see that the cart was parked inside the aircraft shelter. “How did it go?” the commander asked of the soldier who woke him, the same man who had been driving the cart all night.

“Finished an hour ago. No problems.”

“Any runway obstacles?”

“No.”

“General condition?”

“Seems to be perfect to me.”

“Did you remember the access road?”

“Yes, sir. It’s in good shape as well.”

“Good, good. Get some sleep if you can.”

“Yes, sir.”

The commander walked over to the meteorology machine that was lying in the middle of the pile of equipment and supplies unloaded the night before. He grabbed the machine, which was about the size of a microwave oven, and placed it outside the shelter in the clear path of the wind. He removed a plastic cover that exposed a weather vane and anemometer. He turned on the machine and pushed a button that quickly ran diagnostics to check its inner workings. I green LED lit up, indicating that the machine was working properly. Finally, the commander opened a panel on the side of the machine, reached in and removed a long USB cable. He walked back to the communication device he had used the night before with the cable in his hand and plugged the cable into the device.

He sat down in front of the keyboard and typed in a cryptic message.

Oscar Sierra. Quiet. Romeo condition alpha. Charlie clear. Victor unlimited. Shangri-La. +5.2C, 53.6P, 1.6K, W, 0
307Z.

The update that Mount Olympus had been waiting for was received within a minute. The airfield was still secure and the condition of the runway, taxiway and tarmac was as good as anyone dared hope. The skies were clear with unlimited visibility. The commander did not enter the  final set of numbers; they were automatically appended to the message by the meteorology machine through the USB cable, which was conveying temperature, humidity, wind speed, wind direction and the time of measurement in universal coordinated time, or UTC.

Now there was little to do until the afternoon except for updates to Mount Olympus every four hours. The commander headed out to relieve one of his men watching the entrance road. He wanted everyone to get as much sleep as possible. The commander’s plan was that at around 3 that afternoon he would leave only one man on watch and he and the remaining three men would
walk the taxiway, the runway and the tarmac in search of any objects, such as rocks, that could be sucked up into jet engines.

A little after 1:20 in the afternoon of October 5, the first of three Ilyushin 78 Midas aerial refueling tankers operated by Swiss-Arab Air Cargo touched down on runway 33L at Kuwait International Airport just outside Kuwait City. The plane had departed from Ras Al-Khaimah airport about an hour earlier with a crew of five and more than 12,000 gallons of fuel. It had burned almost 8,000 gallons during the 577 mile flight. The plane slowed and taxied onto the commercial freight tarmac, where it was directed to park. The pilot shut down his engines. He scanned the apron area and was very happy to see a line of 18 white refueling trucks of the Kuwait Petroleum Company waiting by the edge. Each truck held 5,000 gallons of JP-8 aviation fuel. Each of the three Ilyushin 78 tankers would require 30,000 gallons to reach their maximum fuel capacity.

The operations team at SAAC had no problem lining up the required fuel. The Kuwait Petroleum Company had become the largest supplier of JP-8 aviation fuel to the U.S. military in Iraq during the occupation, supplying millions of gallons of the fuel every month and billions of gallons over the prior decade. Kuwait Petroleum was now so eager for customers for its massive infrastructure that had been built to support the now departed U.S. military
, that it had offered SAAC a five percent price discount if it signed a contract to refuel its fleet of Ilyushin 78s on a regular basis. The operations leader at SAAC politely deferred a decision, stating that the service they received on this trip would be the key to deciding whether or not to enter into a long-term contract and pointing out that the airport in Doha was also eager for their business.

As each of the other two Ilyushin tankers arrived and taxied to the tarmac, the refueling process began, with six trucks lining up to pump fuel at a rate of 500 gallons per minute into each plane. The entire refueling process would take almost 90 minutes to complete. The flight engineer of each of the
Ilyushins walked out to oversee the refueling process while the crews took time to stretch their legs, the more adventurous looking for food or sodas in the nearby hanger area.

The captain of the first Ilyushin left his plane and walked over to speak with a representative of Kuwait Petroleum Company. The Russian pilot and the Kuwaiti manager shook hands and then spoke to each other in English. There was paperwork to be signed and the senior managers at Kuwait Petroleum Company wanted an authorized signer for Swiss-Arab Air Cargo FZE to attest to the actual delivery of 90,000 gallons of JP-8 fuel. Half of the payment for the fuel had been wired the prior day, but the other half was still due. When the paperwork was done, the Kuwaiti manager asked a question. “So what are you guys doing?”

“We have a contract to refuel Indian Air Force aircraft.”

“The Indians are flying over the Gulf now?”

The captain shrugged his shoulders. “Hey, I don’t ask too many questions. Refuel the Indians, the Saudis, the Americans. All the same to me. I just make sure that plane is where it’s supposed to be at the time it’s supposed to be there.”

The Kuwaiti chuckled. “Inshallah. We are all just making a living.”

The captain nodded his head in agreement. “Da. That’s right.”

At 3:01 in the afternoon, inside an underground bunker in Riyadh, Saudi Arabia, General Abdullah al-Ratish, the commander of the Royal Saudi Air Defense Forces, commenced a conference call with the air defense sector command officers located at the five main sector operating centers outside of Riyadh. The nation’s “Peace Shield” early warning radar system was networked through the bunker that General Ratish was seated in at the moment. The bunker was staffed by both Saudis and a large number of American expatriates – many of whom were directly or indirectly employed by Lockheed Martin or Northrup Grumman, the manufacturers of the radars that were the backbone of the Peace Shield system.

Ratish, a member by marriage of the ruling al-Saud family – as were three of the five sector commanders on the phone – conducted the call in Arabic. “We are going to be upgrading the software on our 117 units tonight.” Ratish was referring to the AN/FPS-117 phased array L-band radar built by Lockheed Martin that was the primary long-range radar used by the Saudis. “You must power down all 117 units by
1700 hours today. The upgrade will take ten hours and you will be notified by email when the work is done. As we have done in the past, we will have access to the American theater network.” The Saudi Peace Shield network had been extended to link with Doha, Qatar, where the forward headquarters of the U.S. Central Command had its own computer network that centralized information from land-based radar, sea-based Aegis radar and various airborne AWACS systems. The information network between Riyadh and Doha could flow in both directions.

In the room with the general was Colonel Robert Peterson, the Land and Air Defense Forces liaison officer of the Joint Advisory Division of the United States Military Training Mission, or USMTM, in Saudi Arabia. USMTM has been in existence since 1953
, when it was formed under the terms of the Mutual Defense Assistance Agreement between the Kingdom of Saudi Arabia and the United States. Colonel Peterson, the senior U.S. military officer based full time in Saudi Arabia, was known for his diplomatic skills and fluency in Arabic. He had become good friends with many important members of the Saudi royal family during his three years in the Kingdom – in a country in which friendships and blood ties were critical. It was well known that his next rotation would be a stint at U.S. Central Command forward headquarters and include a promotion to brigadier general – as soon as an officer with his skills could be found to replace him inside Saudi Arabia.

Colonel Peterson spoke. “I have recommended to General Ratish that, in addition to the
CentCom electronic surveillance feed, two E-3 Sentries maintain airborne surveillance during this period.” The Royal Saudi Air Force had purchased five E-3A Sentry airborne radar platforms many years earlier. “I recommend one maintain station hotel and the other maintain station yankee.” This would place one Sentry in position to oversee the Strait of Hormuz and the other high over Saudi Arabia’s tense southern border with Yemen.

“Thank you, Colonel Peterson. We will follow your advice.” Ratish turned his attention back to the sector commanders on the phone call. “I want confirmation emails in my inbox from each of you when your units have powered down. Any questions?” The call ended without any further questions or comments.

After Robert Peterson left the general’s office and returned to his own, only a small distance down the hall, Ratish picked up his phone again and pressed a single button that dialed the commanding officer of King Faisal Air Base, located just outside of Tabuk in northwestern Saudi Arabia. The air base was the home of the Wing 7 of the Royal Saudi Air Force and had responsibility for the airspace bordering Israel, Jordan and Iraq. The commanding officer was technically the general’s brother-in-law and their relationship was more cordial than otherwise.

“Yes, General,” answered the base commander.

“How are you, my friend?”

“Good. Inshallah.”

“I need you to put the second squadron on condition yellow tonight.” The 2
nd
Squadron of Wing 7 was comprised of F-15 fighter interceptors and the best pilots in the Royal Saudi Air Force. Condition yellow meant that the squadron would remain grounded on stand-by for the night.

“Yes, yes.” There was frustration in the base commander’s voice. The general could hear it. “This is two nights in a row. Should we outsource our defense to the Zionists now?” There was no mystery among the senior officers on the air base about the many
overflights of the Israeli Air Force. But every man with that knowledge knew that it was a state secret and that publicly disclosing it would risk a fate worse than simple demotion.

“Maintain your composure,” replied Ratish. “I understand your frustration. Everything will be okay. You have your orders. Please keep your planes on the ground tonight unless you receive orders from
here. I take responsibility.”

“I apologize. My planes will be on the ground.” The base commander had vented and knew better than to push the issue with the officer he was speaking to – General Ratish had married wisely, his wife was the daughter of the King.

“Thank you, my friend.”

A CASA C-212 turboprop cargo aircraft belonging to Swiss-Arab Air Cargo called into the tower at Qaisumah Airport in Saudi Arabia. The airport was adjacent to the small town of Al Qaisumah in the northern Saudi desert about sixty miles south and a little west of Kuwait. Al Qaisumah and the nearby larger town of Hafar Al Batin were home to about 60,000 Saudis. The towns themselves were inconsequential but for the fact that they helped support the nearby King Khalid Military City, home to elements of three Saudi Royal Land Force brigades and a small number of American advisors.

In addition to the land forces, the military city was also home to an air base that was maintained primarily for the use of friendly air forces in time of crisis and an early warning radar facility just to the north of the city. The entire military facility was strategically located to impede any serious threat to the Kingdom from an enemy like Iran, but conveniently located far from any major Saudi city.

The small twin-engine C-212 landed to the northwest on runway 34 into the prevailing wind. The plane slowed quickly, using less than a quarter of the long runway. It turned around on the single runway, which doubled as the taxiway, and taxied back to turn onto the cargo apron. At 4:26 in the afternoon Saudi time, the plane came to a stop on the tarmac with its nose at a heading of precisely 246 degrees. The plane had left Ras Al-Khaimah earlier in the day and stopped for about an hour at Doha International Airport to refuel before continuing on to Qaisumah.

On board the plane were two pilots, four operations managers from SAAC and a single wooden crate that was wrapped in clear plastic. The two pilots carried passports from Germany and Spain and the four operations managers all held Russian passports. But every man on the plane was in reality an Israeli citizen. The men on board settled down to wait for a ramp agent to come out to the plane and inspect their paperwork. But in Saudi Arabia, nothing happened quickly and the men on board were counting on a long wait. The co-pilot exited the plane to go find a refueling truck. They had enough fuel to get out of Saudi Arabia, but to
do so without first refueling, they would have to fly back to Kuwait instead of to their next planned stop, which was home to Israel. Each of the two pilots carried more than three thousand dollars worth of Saudi riyals. The money had two purposes: to ensure the procurement of fuel and, if necessary, to make the judicious payment of “service taxes” that was often necessary to get paperwork and processes efficiently administered.

At the same moment, an Israeli Air Force RC-12D
Kokiya, the military version of the twin-engine Beechcraft King Air 200, was flying a long oval circuit pattern over the Gulf of Aqaba. At the moment, the plane was about 54 miles south of Ovda Air Base, where it would return once its mission was over. The plane had two pilots and was crammed with electronic sensors. Since the plane’s initial delivery to the IAF in 1985, the electronic equipment it carried had been upgraded three times. The plane was a flying suction device, gathering in all of the communications and radar emissions that made their way to the aircraft as it flew at 22,000 feet. All of these data were then relayed by an encrypted spread spectrum microwave communications link to a ground station adjacent to Ovda.

On this
day, the Kokiya had a very specific mission. Its latest upgrade fitted the plane with differential Doppler and time of arrival antennae that allowed the plane’s sensors to determine the bearing of most of the signals it received. The plane’s computers were looking for the specific L-band pencil beams of the Saudi AN/FPS-117 early warning radars. With its systems, it could identify each of seven AN/FPS-117 sites ranging from Jeddah far to the south to the unit operating just north of King Khalid Military City to the east. Over the next 25 minutes, one site at a time went off the air. At a few minutes before 5:00 in the afternoon, the last Saudi radar set still emitting, the one just outside of King Faisal Air Base adjacent to Tabuk, finally shut down. At the ground processing unit inside Ovda Air Base, a message was sent to Mount Olympus. The Saudi early warning radar network was down.

One minute later, at the Al
Udeid Air Base just west of Doha, Qatar, American military personnel turned on an AN/TPS-77 phased array radar, the transportable version of the AN/FPS-117 radar used by the Saudis. The radar was programmed to use the same frequencies and search patterns utilized by the Saudis. The intention was to mimic the Saudi early warning radar site just to the west of King Abdulaziz Air Base outside of Dhahran.

Back on the cargo apron at Qaisumah Airport, the co-pilot had finally found the local fuel company. The plane needed 425 gallons to top off its tanks. The payment of cash for the fuel and a 500 riyal note to the office manager resulted in the procurement of an authorization form that allowed the company’s truck driver to pump the required fuel. However, it was the payment of another 500 riyal note to the Indonesian truck driver to get him to “get around to do deliver” that finally ticked off the co-pilot. Now the co-pilot stood outside the plane waiting to direct the fueling truck to the where it needed to park.

Inside the plane, the pilot checked his watch. It was almost 5 p.m. and he needed to start one of the plane’s engines to provide electrical power since the small plane had no auxiliary power unit. He reached up to his overhead console when he noticed the fueling truck approaching. Now he had to wait as the truck followed the co-pilot’s instructions and came to a stop in front of the starboard side wing. The pilot impatiently drummed his fingers on the control yoke as he watched the young Indonesian driver fuel the plane. He caught the eye of the co-pilot, who was still outside on the tarmac, and rotated his right index finger in the air in the universal sign to speed things up. The co-pilot lifted his left hand palm upward and shrugged. There was nothing he could do; they needed the fuel.

After nine painful minutes, the driver finally reeled in the fueling hose, got in his truck and drove away. The co-pilot re-boarded the plane. The pilot was eager to start an engine. “Everyone on board?” he asked to the co-pilot as he climbed into the right seat.

“Affirmative,” came the reply.

The pilot looked out the window to his left. “We are clear,” he said. He reached up with his right hand and flipped a toggle downward to turn on the engine start batteries. Next he flipped the engine fuel pump toggle down into the open position and the air flow toggle from the normal to the ground position. He looked at a gauge on his instrument panel. “Batteries charged. Pressure good. Ready for ignition.” The pilot reached up and used his finger to lift a red cover flap and push the left engine ignition button while he watched his gauges. The unmistakable whine of a turbine engine slowly built in volume and pitch. “Rotation check. Pressure twelve percent and climbing.” He released his finger, bringing his arm back down to the left engine throttle. “Secondary ignition.” As the engine built to the expected rotations per minute for the idle throttle setting, the pilot continued his mental checklist. “Pressure stabilized. We look good. Please lower the cargo ramp.”

The co-pilot reached over to the center console with his left hand and turned a recessed dial clockwise one position. “Ramp down.”

At the rear of the plane, the cargo ramp divided, with one portion lowering to the tarmac and the other portion raising up into the cabin roof. In the cabin, one of the operations men walked to the wooden crate, which was at the rear of the plane just inside the edge of the ramp. He kneeled down and pulled off a piece of wood, the only piece that was not covered by the clear plastic wrap that covered the rest of the crate. He reached in and pulled out a heavy cable that was over half an inch thick and had a male receptacle at the end. He stretched the power cable out and plugged the receptacle into a socket built into the side of the cabin. Almost immediately a hum emanated from th
e crate and it began to vibrate.

The rear of the crate was pointed in the direction of Kharg Island, which was 260 miles away. Inside the crate, a powerful L-band radar emitter was now sending a focused beam of invisible energy in the direction of the island. The emitter was programmed to mimic the frequencies and transmission pulse patterns – especially the pulse repetition rate – used by the Saudis. The plane was sitting in a position that was almost directly on the line formed between the fixed early warning radar site north of King Khalid Military City in Saudi Arabia and the Iranian listening post on Kharg Island in the Persian Gulf.

In the rear cargo cabin, the men joked about being cooked as if they were in a microwave oven, despite the fact that the crate had a thin layer of lead that lined the bottom, the top and three of the four sides of the box. A betting pool formed on whether or not interference created by the emitter would cause befuddled Saudis to come out to the plane to investigate. The group was unarmed and their only method of escape would be to take off, head west toward Israel and hope that no fighter jets were vectored toward the slow plane before they could reach the protective umbrella of the IAF. In the cockpit, the co-pilot powered down the few flat panel displays, which were suddenly incapable of producing a clear image. Three of the four men in the back decided to exit the plane and pass the time by watching the comings and goings of civilian aircraft while seated in the shade underneath the starboard wing. They figured that the further they were from the crate, the better. The fourth man joked that he hoped they would all visit him when he was dying of cancer twenty years in the future.

Kharg Island measures three by five miles and is only twenty miles off the coast of Iran. The island is the main oil tanker fueling spot for Iranian crude oil exports. Its strategic importance to Iran is in great disproportion to the size of the island and it
was the scene of fighting during the Iran-Iraq War in the 1980s. As a result, the island had long been militarized, with an airfield, a garrison, a Hawk missile SAM site and its own Tall King early warning radar.

Inside a dimly lit and humid bunker on the island, two technicians watched radar screens that synthesized the information gathered by the Russian built radar onto phosphorescent  screens. Across from the radar technicians, a single man did double duty. He was the communications officer in charge of relaying any important information to Tehran
, and he also operated some electronic eavesdropping equipment placed on the island. Among the equipment was a radar receiving unit that picked up and analyzed the large volume of radar emissions aimed at Iran and traveling across the waters of the Persian Gulf. One of the man’s jobs was to report to Tehran when the Saudi early warning radars were turned on and when they weren’t. He had been on the job for several years and knew the signatures of all of the key permanently emplaced American and Saudi radar units in the line of sight of the island.

His electronic equipment had lost contact with the radar signal originating from King Khalid Military City about fifteen minutes earlier and he had quickly reported it. Now his
equipment told him the radar was turned back on and operating normally. The unit at King Khalid was particularly important to the senior officers in Tehran since they had long assumed that the Saudis would turn the unit off if the Israeli Air Force was passing overhead on the way to Iran. A message was quickly sent to Tehran reporting that both the King Khalid and Dhahran radar sites were back online.