Red dog winds of war boo.., p.22
Red Dog (Winds of War Book 8),
p.22
What looked like a flashbulb went off, and a warm wind carried Voronin away.
***
Soto felt a deep sense of sorrow as she aimed the helo at the Tabqa Superbase. Sorrow for all of those who had died, and that included Bone who, in spite of his deceit, was an honorable soldier.
Fueled by adrenaline, Soto felt a sense of exhilaration too, thanks to the narrow escape. But that emotion was held in check by a healthy serving of fear. And no wonder. She was flying a Russian bird over mostly Allied territory and would be easy pickings for a Cobra gunship or a fighter plane.
With that in mind Soto selected a frequency which, though in the clear, was monitored by Allied forces. “Tabqa Tower, this is Wizard-Two-Two, incoming from the southeast.
“Be advised that I am flying a Russian Kamov Ka-226 helicopter with a high value civilian on board. Please don’t shoot us down. Over.”
There was a long pause. Because nobody was monitoring the unsecured channel? Or because an air traffic controller was bucking the message up the chain of command?
Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, Soto heard a male voice. “Wizard, this is Tabqa Tower. What are the last four digits of your DoD ID number? Over.”
“Six-Eight-Four-One. Over.”
“And the last five of your Chinook’s tail number? Over.”
“Zero-Two-Zero-Two-Two. Over.”
“And the first name of your next of kin? Over.”
“Samuel. Over.”
“Climb to five thousand and stay on your present course,” the controller said. “Over.”
That was followed by an even longer pause before a female voice came over the radio. “Wizard, this is Tabqa Tower. Two uglies are headed your way and will escort you in. Rest assured that all fighter aircraft have been notified, and will stay off you. Over.”
Soto was well aware that, while the Apache gunships would serve as escorts, they would also be ready to blow her ass out of the air, should they notice something suspicious.
Still, the uglies were a welcome sight when they appeared, and took up stations on either side of her. The pilot of the Apache off to starboard threw a salute. “Wizard, I’m Surfer, and the crazy person off your port side is Deadeye. Welcome home from wherever you were. Over.”
The next forty-five minutes passed without incident. Then, as the superbase appeared in the distance a flurry of orders came her way. Soto was told where to land, how she and her passenger were to comport themselves, and what they were permitted to say—which was nothing.
Hala was seated in the copilot’s seat. She was visibly nervous. “All you have to do is tell them the truth,” Soto said. “Toplin, ISIS, the Russian team—all of it. And that includes the Wallet ID.”
“What about the gold?” Hala wanted to know. “And the briefcase full of money?”
“That too,” Soto assured her. “I will give them the coordinates for where the gold is hidden. And they’ll find the cash when they board. And Hala?”
“Yes?”
“There’s a good chance we’ll never see each other again. I want you to know how much I admire your courage. You’re a remarkable woman. The little one is lucky to have a mother like you.”
Hala smiled a crooked smile. “How do you say? Look who is talking?”
Soto winked at her, turned onto the final heading, and started to descend. About two dozen people were gathered around Pad 2. Soto put the helo down, killed the engines, and opened the door. Three soldiers approached with weapons at the ready. “Hands on your heads!” a sergeant ordered. “And stay where you are.”
That was just the beginning. The helicopter was searched, as were both women, prior to being separated. Shortly thereafter Soto was allowed to take a bio break, given some lukewarm food, and subjected to a relentless hotwash in a windowless room.
There were three interrogators, all of whom used their first names, and were clearly spooks. Soto told the story, once, twice and eventually three times. Throughout the interviews Soto was careful to deliver the same information in the same sequence.
Finally, after nearly five hours of Q & A, the man named Mike called the session to a close. “Thank you, Captain Soto. We’ll send a team to examine what remains of the Chinook, the cavern, and the location where the gold is hidden.
“By the way, it may interest you to know that the briefcase contained exactly one million dollars U.S. A sure sign of Hala Omar’s value to President Toplin. We’ll be in touch if we have additional questions.”
That was Soto’s opportunity to ask the question that had been on her mind. “Was I listed as MIA?”
Mike nodded. “Yes. Your family will be notified that you are safe and sound.”
Soto said, “Thank you,” and left the room.
Major Albro was waiting outside. “Welcome back, Marie. I’m sorry about your crew. Our crew. Do you need anything?”
“Just time,” Soto replied. “And a new ride.”
Albro frowned. “Really? How about a desk job instead? For a month or so?”
“I need to fly,” Soto replied. “That’s what I do. I’m sorry about losing the Double Deuce.”
“Go get some sleep,” Albro replied. “Lots of it. Come see me when you’re ready for duty. I’ll find a new machine for you to fly.”
***
Santorini Island, Greece
More than a month had passed since Soto and Hala had hijacked the Russian helicopter and flown it to the Tabqa Superbase.
Hala had vanished and was, Soto imagined, somewhere in Washington D.C. where the spooks could talk to her—and the little one would be safe from his or her father.
As for Soto, she was on leave in sun splashed Santorini, and enjoying every minute of every day. Part of that was due to the azure sky, the equally blue sea, and the picturesque buildings that surrounded her.
But quite a bit of her pleasure could be traced to Dr. Casey Milo, or just plain Milo, as his friends called him.
The possibility of a shared vacation had been raised by Milo over drinks at the club, and much to Soto’s surprise she’d said “Yes,” without a moment’s hesitation. As if somewhere deep down the decision had already been made.
And now, three days into the getaway, Soto had no regrets. Milo was romantic, funny, and good in bed. What more could a girl ask for?
Maybe it was a fling. But their conversations frequently strayed into post war fantasy life. What did they want? What would they do? And there was a lot of alignment.
So, Soto was in a good mood as she left the room and made her way down to the hotel’s lobby. Milo was out on a boat taking his first SCUBA lesson. And Soto was in the mood for a midafternoon gin and tonic.
It was too early for the happy hour crowd, so tables were available out on the deck, where striped umbrellas threw patches of shade. A waiter arrived, took Soto’s order, and disappeared.
The pilot watched a gull ride the wind, thought about the new Chinook waiting for her at Tabqa, and the crew she hadn’t met yet.
Could any crew chief be as good as Alvarez? Could any copilot be as funny as Ziggy? No. Memories of them would fly with her.
The drink arrived and Soto took a sip. It was ice cold and very satisfying. Her wallet was on the table. The drink would be charged to the room but a tip was in order.
Soto opened the purse, saw a glint of gold and removed the coin. It seemed natural to give it a spin. Light flashed off the disc as it revolved. A team had been sent to find the gold and retrieve it. All but the smaller stash hidden in the crevice. Why didn’t I tell them about the rucksack? Soto wondered.
Because I made a promise to Bone. Half for his family, and half for me. A hundred thou? Maybe. Just enough for the down payment on a war surplus Chinook.
The coin slowed, and was just about to fall, when Soto caught it. I made a promise, Sergeant Bone. Hooah!
Author’s Notes
I knew I wanted to write a braided novel about a Chinook pilot, an army master sergeant, and Russian President Toplin’s young mistress. And I knew wanted to place the story in Syria. But little did I know when my research began that the U.S. has been fighting in that country since 2013, when President Obama put the CIA in charge of arming anti-government forces in Syria. An effort that is still underway as I write this in October of 2022. At the moment the U.S. has about a thousand sets of boots on the ground.
Meanwhile Iran continues to exert its influence in Iraq, Syria, and Lebanon—even as the Kurds, ISIS and Al-Qaeda battle each other for territory and resources.
That’s the situation when my fictional WW III series begins, and the jumping off point for the events that take place in RED DOG.
I thought, “Hey, what if ISIS and al-Qaeda were to merge?” That seemed to be fanciful.
But, after spending thirty seconds on Google, I discovered that such a possibility was being discussed in journals like Foreign Affairs, the Small Wars Journal, and a site called digitalcommons.dartmouth.edu as far back as 2017. My version of what occurred at the first merger meeting is of course entirely fictional.
***
Tell Abyad is a real city. And, by sharing part of a description lifted from Wikipedia, I hoped to communicate the craziness that the locals have been forced to live with over the years.
“After the Syrian civil war started in 2011, Tell Abyad was captured by the Free Syrian Army in September 2012. On June 30, 2014, Tell Abyad was captured by the al-Nusra Front and the Islamic State of Iraq and the Levant (ISIL), who raised their flag at the border crossing with Turkey.
After ISIL defeated the Kurdish forces, the YPG and Kurdish Front, ISIL fighters announced from the minarets of the local mosques that all Kurds had to leave Tell Abyad or else be killed.
Thousands of civilians, including Turkmen and Arab families, fled on 21 July. ISIL fighters systematically looted and destroyed the property of Kurds and resettled displaced Arab Sunni families from the Qalamoun area (Rif Damascus), Deir ez-Zor, and Raqqa in abandoned Kurdish homes.
According to Liz Sly of the Washington Post, “ISIL also collected a tax from the Christians, a so called Jizya of about 100$ every six months. While ISIL controlled the border towards Turkey in Tell Abyad, it was a major source for supplies coming in from Turkey.”
So, the level of competition, confusion, and conflict described in RED DOG understates the chaos, if anything. Sometimes truth is stranger than fiction.
***
The “Women’s Place,” or Almakan Alaman in the story, is modeled on the very real village of Jinwar in northeast Syria, which opened in 2018—and is similar to the women’s village of Umoja, in Kenya.
I made passing mention of “an old French Foreign Legion fort.” For those readers who are interested in the Legion, back in 1921 the 4e REI participated in French operations to seize control of Syria. The Syrians never catch a break. Not then, and not now.
***
As regards the incident in which a soldier goes crazy inside the Double Deuce. That segment was inspired by a flight I was part of back on the night of April 9, 1964 or 65. (Like most 19- or 20-year-olds I didn’t take notes.)
An off-duty marine had been injured in a traffic accident near Beaufort, S.C., and brought to the navy hospital there, where doctors decided that his injuries were so severe that he should be transferred to the larger hospital in Charleston.
Our hospital didn’t have a helipad. So, the normal practice was to transport critically injured patients to the nearby Marine Corps air station by ambulance, and fly them out from there.
But this poor guy was so messed up that the chain of command decided to land the chopper between a flag pole and the front door of the hospital.
I don’t recall what kind of helicopter it was. But I do remember that there was no more than four feet between the rotors, the flag pole, and the hospital. Because a dozen people came out to watch.
That was bad enough. But it was night as well, night vision goggles weren’t a thing, and all that the pilots had was ambient lighting. They succeeded and the crowd dispersed.
Because I was on duty in the emergency room, I was selected to escort the patient to Charleston. He was in a stretcher, with an IV in his left arm. I don’t remember him being sedated. And, if he wasn’t, that would make sense. Because the greater the degree of sedation, the greater the risk of respiratory depression.
Anyway, since the patient was only semi-conscious, I thought the flight would be a no-brainer. All I had to do was keep the drip going, check vital signs, and shoot the shit with the crew chief.
The crew consisted of two pilots and the crew chief. The passengers included myself and my patient.
The side door had been removed, and I remember feeling chilly as the slip stream pushed cold air into the cargo area. About halfway through the flight the marine ripped his IV out of his arm, got to his feet, and made for the open door.
The fact that he could stand, never mind hobble, was nothing less than a miracle. Fortunately, the crew chief and I were able to intercept him. The marine fought like a madman. It took both of us to get the marine back on the stretcher and restrain him.
At some point during the battle, we accidentally broke some of his fingers. That’s what I was told hours later, after delivering the marine to Charleston, and flying back to Beaufort. If you read this buddy, I’m sorry… We didn’t mean to hurt you.
Then, on the return flight, rather than land at Marine Corps Air Station, and send me to the hospital in a security truck, the pilots decided to land between the flag pole and the hospital all over again! Just for the fun of it.
Did I have a vote? Hell, no.
I returned to the emergency room where the duty Chief Petty Officer was waiting. It was early Easter morning by then. “Welcome back, Dietz,” he said. “It’s time to set up the chairs for the sunrise service. Get your butt in gear.”
If you can’t take a joke, don’t join the navy.
***
Back to Syria. The Dead City of Abaz is modeled on the Dead City of Serjilla. It’s located in the Jebel Riha, about fifty miles southwest of Aleppo, and encompasses about seven hundred archeological sites.
The settlement was founded in 473 within a natural basin and prospered by growing grapes and olives. It was abandoned in the seventh century, when Arabs conquered the region. As depicted in the book, the ruins of Serjilla are still very visible. There are plenty of images online.
Thank you for reading RED DOG.
ABOUT THE WINDS OF WAR SERIES
At the conclusion of RED DOG, significant progress had been made against the Axis. But, in order to win the war Allied strategists, know that they will ultimately have to bring China to its knees. In order to accomplish that it will be necessary to defeat North Korea and Russia along with Kazakhstan and Mongolia.
At that point China will be effectively surrounded. And, having been cut off from the rest of the world politically and economically, China will be forced to either capitulate or become the new hermit kingdom.
In RED LINE, the ninth volume of the Winds of War series, WIII continues to rage, as Allied forces attack North Korea.
ABOUT WILLIAM C. DIETZ
For more about William C. Dietz and his fiction, please visit williamcdietz.com.
You can find Bill on Facebook at: www.facebook.com/williamcdietz.
William C. Dietz, Red Dog (Winds of War Book 8)
