MOON SHADOW
Joe Barfield
Smashwords Edition
Copyright 2010 Joe Barfield
This book is available in print at most online retailers
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“The technical aspect of Moon Shadow is well covered, making what the P-51 Mustang accomplishes even more believable. A wonderful and thrilling adventure.”
—Pat Moran, the first American pilot to fly the Russian Mig 29 and Sukhoi 27
MOON SHADOW
America will never be destroyed from the outside. If we falter and lose our freedoms, it will be because we destroyed ourselves. –Abraham Lincoln
From the beginning of time every empire has collapsed. There have been no exceptions. — The Author
Tolerance is the last virtue of a dying society. -- Aristotle
I predict a black day for the United States. -- Osama bin Laden
MOON SHADOW - TABLE OF CONTENTS
Introduction
Chapter 1 - Desert Secrets
Chapter 2 - The Reunion
Chapter 3 - The Aurora Project
Chapter 4 - Shanghai Pete’s
Chapter 5 - Moon Shadow
Chapter 6 - To Touch a Star
Chapter 7 - Playing Games
Chapter 8 - New Year’s Eve
Chapter 9 - Invasion
Chapter 10 - Hide and Seek
Chapter 11 - The Duck and the Hawk Talk
Chapter 12 - The Girl and the Dutchman
Chapter 13 - Birth and Death
Chapter 14 - Tribute to an old Warrior
Chapter 15 - The Mustang Flies
Chapter 16 - The Devils Angels
Chapter 17 - On a Wing and a Prayer
Chapter 18 - The Abduction and the Fury
Chapter 19 - “Angel Eyes”
Chapter 20 - Illusions of Truth
Chapter 21 - Wings of Death
Chapter 22 - Picnic
Chapter 23 - Torture
Chapter 24 - The Hero
Chapter 25 - To Find a Blackbird!
Chapter 26 - When Moon Shadows Fall
Chapter 27 - The Untold Secret
Chapter 28 - Intrepid Specter
Reasons for the Collapse of the Roman Empire
National Debt, the Deficit and Spending
Excerpt from “Moon Shadow’s Revenge”
Other Books Available by Joe Barfield as eBooks
INTRODUCTION
Before you hear the story of Moon Shadow you must first know what led to the demise and downfall of the most powerful country the world has ever known: the United States of America. Most will point to the broken promises and greed of the corrupt politicians, which compounded the fiscal irresponsibility of an already overwrought, debt-ridden country that literally collapsed from within. Like the bankruptcy of Mexico or Russia of the Twentieth century, so too became the United States of America early in the twenty-first century. No historian could have anticipated the invasion of the United States, yet historians will always point to the obvious sequence of events and smugly say, “History repeats itself.”
The financial collapse may well have started under former President Kennedy, but the Savings and Loan debacle and the losses near a trillion dollars under former presidents Reagan and George H. W. Bush that made Americans “turn the other cheek” were a major part of the problem. At the turn of the century, terrorist activities, especially the 9/11 attacks on New York and Washington, D.C., created a financial burden for America, but that was nothing compared to the activities of accounting firms and corporate executives. These two groups devastated the American economy more than any war or terrorist attack could. Wall Street never fully recovered. Those who held power and financial control traded their honor and integrity for an obscene level of wealth that even the robber barons of the past could not have imagined.
In a deadly shell game, the president and Congress blamed Middle Eastern countries for America’s internal problems, focusing the spotlight of scrutiny away from the strings-attached political contributions from Corporate America and redirecting the peoples’ attention toward the trumped-up menace “over there.” Americans attacked and bombed in one war after another while the financial gluttony of top-level executives continued unabated, slithering under the radar of detection. Meanwhile, Congress became a parasite with the American people their host. But unlike a good parasite, Congress drained the life from its chosen host. These factors contributed to the eventual collapse of the United States of America, but they had nothing to do with the invasion and the Legend of Moon Shadow. Plans for the invasion began twenty-two years before during Operation Desert Storm in 1991. Not unlike a taco or a hamburger, Operation Desert Storm was sold to the American public as an operation to free the Kuwaiti people. The real objective was protection of American oil interests and extended American control over the Middle East. Part of the collateral damage to America’s bombing was the obliteration of an unknown Syrian family on vacation in Baghdad. Only the father and his son survived, and with each ongoing breath their grief hardened into a feverish, single-minded desire for revenge—and that revenge became their only motivation to take the next breath.
This particular bombing raid began with inaccurate intelligence information stating that an underground bunker held the target, Iraqi dictator Saddam Hussein, who had attacked Kuwait, one of America’s allies. A simple, precise attack was planned to rid the world of his menace, and the resulting low-level mission was carried out with a deadly precision never before seen in history. Two F-15s streaked across the desert toward their target in Baghdad with Colonel Jonathan Bryce commanding the attack from one; Commander Robert Brookin Gex flew the other.
Other agendas were in play as the two fighter pilots carried out the mission for their country—agendas so wide and varied that historians would never know the truth. The only obvious fact was Iraq had attacked Kuwait, and the commander-in-chief of the United States of America, President George H. W. Bush, had sent forces to Saudi Arabia in the action dubbed Operation Desert Storm: The goal: to free Kuwait. Although seen as a hero, former President Bush had ignored Saddam Hussein when the Iraqi leader earlier had indicated he wanted to invade Kuwait. A presidential cabinet—appointed, not elected by the people—all bringing their own personal agendas to the table, suggested the president wait. Meanwhile, Bush had his own agenda, and at the top of the list was his own re-election. A successful war would all but guarantee him another four years in the White House. Forget that all of Iraq’s weapons had been obtained from the United States when a previous American president equipped Iraq to defeat Iran (which had also been equipped with American weapons by another former president when the Shah had been in power). So, once again, the United States found itself in the foolish and dangerous position of fighting American weapons and losing American lives in wars against former allies that had turned against the United States.
But the powers in charge had yet another agenda. The real plan was to leave Saddam Hussein in power. He was not to be killed. Instead, Iraq and Saddam Hussein were to be the perennial scapegoat whenever popularity waned for future American presidents.
Operation Desert Storm was designed to show America’s overwhelming might and that American forces had the ability to do anything they wanted to do, anywhere and any time they chose to do it. The two pilots streaking toward Baghdad were a show of that power. But what the American people failed to see was that Hussein could have been removed at anytime with the precision of brain surgery. More puzzling was that no one asked why the United States would go to the aid of a country full of millionaires when it had turned a blind eye to the literally millions of people who died in Cambodia at the hands of the Khmer Rouge. The answer was simple. The defense of Kuwait, with the wealthiest per capita population in the world, was forced by greed—for oil, money, control and power: the most potent agenda of all.
Bryce and Gex homed in on their target with the heart-felt belief they would soon rid the world of an evil dictator and free Kuwait. Their agenda was the most noble and foolish of all: they fought for honor and the love of their country. In reality, they were merely pawns in the game, putting on a deadly show for the world. Saddam Hussein was not in the fortified bunker buried 30 feet beneath the earth. It mattered little to the leaders who ordered the mission, those who never actually fought the wars, that the underground bunker was filled with women and children. Neither Gex nor Bryce knew what they were really about to do.
When the target came into view both men fired. Colonel Bryce missed but not Commander Gex. Born and raised in Louisiana, Gex was called the Rajun Cajun for his fighting in the air and the defense of his French name Gex. He made a point to let others know his name was pronounced “Jay.” He would even use his fist to better help them understand. He never failed to get his point across. A natural in the air, Gex seldom missed his target. The video-monitored rockets ripped through the bunker before they exploded, and the thirty-four women and children hiding inside perished. News media around the world replayed the video on the hour, illustrating the accuracy and power of U.S. armed forces in cold, lethal detail. Soon, Iraqi camera crews responded with their own video showing the devastation from a different perspective. The bodies of dead women and children strewn about the area startled and appalled people around the world. In response, President Bush and his crew quickly explained that the incident was the fault of Saddam Hussein, who had used the women and children as pawns in a war he started. Clearly, this hideous mistake was not the fault of the benevolent Americans, but instead the responsibility of the tyrant and dictator Hussein. Over the next few weeks televisions on all continents replayed the murder. The world called it a tragedy. The American military swayed between first calling it justified and then an accident of war that could have been prevented had Saddam Hussein not invaded Kuwait. The incident was declared an item of national security so the names of the pilots were never revealed. The F-15 attack mission was soon forgotten as most of the world went on to focus on other matters.
For the families of the thirty-four women and children murdered in the bunker, the world ended that day.
But it was the survivors of one family who would forever change history, helping to bring the mightiest country in the world to its knees.
Chapter 1
The full moon rose majestically over the dark shimmering Mediterranean Sea, while waves pounded against the desert sands surrounding the dead city. More than twenty-one years had passed since the Desert Storm operation of 1991. Two more wars had completed the devastation. Previously a beacon to tourists from around the world, the burned and bombed buildings stood like skeletons: a grim reminder of an elegant past. The once proud Lebanese city was a testimony to the destructive might of the United States. The destruction had come about to make the world safe from aggression and to protect the Jewish country of Israel, bordering to the south. A New World Order had been created to protect freedom and humanity—and to prevent wars. Still, men killed each other for God and country. The Muslims had succumbed, but had not forgotten.
Beneath the Moon’s glow a silver, ghostly whirlwind twirled about the cool, dark, desert floor, filling with thousands of timeless moonstruck grains of sand that frolicked freely through the changing spiral. Slowly it crept across the desert, toward the empty decaying resort. Moon shadows guarded the dead city. Desert winds howled their delight.
This night the desert rats were not the only ones stirring. The decaying structures of once beautiful architectural masterpieces were now a gathering place for Iraqi and Lebanese terrorists carrying out missions of retaliation, death, and torture. Inside the shell of a past ornate and exquisitely decorated hotel where people had once gathered to celebrate and dance, a lone lantern sent shadows dancing against the scarred stone walls and dusty, rock-strewn floor. Three men came to do their truculent work, while their captive waited for a death that would be long in coming.
In a far corner of the room, a lantern rested on an old, broken table. A rusted and bent metal barrel served as a leg for the warped and peeling desk. The prisoner was tied firmly to a worn out feeble chair. Two of the men held their intended victim’s arms firmly against the tabletop, while the third watched.
The third man seemed out of place, like a person wearing formal attire to a mud-wrestling match. Impeccably dressed in a pilot’s uniform, not a button was out of position. Even in the dust of the old building, his black boots retained their shine. Clean shaven, with a square jaw and a straight nose set in light skin, and with hair perfectly groomed, few would have guessed him to be Syrian. Except for the cruel eyes, he might have gone unnoticed in America. His heavy cologne presented a stark match to the pungent odor of his two companions. Carefully, he laid a small, dark green, metallic box on the table. Next to this, he placed a long slender knife, razor sharp on both sides.
The captured man’s right eye was swollen shut with dirt caked in the wound above. Blood oozed from his nose, running down his chin and dripping to the cut stone floor. The impact of each droplet raised a tiny cloud of dust. An open cut above his left eye flowed crimson, making him turn his head sideways, move his cheek, and squeeze his good eye shut to clear his vision. Occasionally, he spit red from his injured mouth. He wore the uniform of an Israeli fighter pilot. The blood-soaked, matted blond hair, straight nose, and one visible blue eye were not that unusual for an Israeli, but he was not. The American pilot, dressed in an Israeli uniform, watched while showing no emotion.
The Syrian leader spoke. “I am Rasht Sharafan. They call me Cobra. You have heard of me, yes?”
“No,” the prisoner lied. He had heard of Cobra, Syria’s best pilot, who received his nickname from his exploits with and against the agile F-14 Tomcat. In combat, the F-14 was always his first choice. It was rumored that just for the opportunity to shoot down American pilots, he had flown for Iraq in the War of 2003. When not flying he would commit terrorist acts, exploiting the enemy through torture and terror. Cobra approached these abuses with the same vigor and excitement as a normal person anticipated sex.
“You any relation to Mickey Mouse? No, that must be your operations here. You must be Goofy,” said the American fighter pilot. He paused to spit blood on the floor. Yes, he had heard of Cobra. Even during the second Desert Storm, or Operation Iraqi Freedom as it was called in 2003, his wing command specifically sought out the terrorist.
“Ahhh!” exclaimed Cobra with delight, when he finally recognized the elusive accent. His captive was American. Immediately he broke into English. “So you are an American! You did not look like an Israeli, but you speak their language well. So very few Americans come to our sacred lands. Such a fine sense of humor—but it will not last long,” he said, with a sly grin.
Sharafan took the knife from the table and slid his finger gently along the sharp edge, bringing his own blood. He smiled and licked it.
“Now you will tell me where the general’s son is.”
“Go to hell. Your men couldn’t get me to talk; neither will you and your toys.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me,” Sharafan said, waving the knife almost apologetically. He pointed to his tool of torture and continued. “This is just the appetizer.” Then he tapped the green metal container. “Inside here is what I call my box of pain. With it you will surely talk.”
“I’ll die first.”
“Oh, you will die,” he said casually, “and you will also tell me all I want to know.” With those words, he pointed to the American’s right hand. The man holding the prisoner’s arm spread the hand flat and held it tightly against the table.
“You can’t do this, the Geneva—”
Before he finished, Sharafan slapped his hand over the man’s mouth, preventing another word from escaping. Sharafan’s face reflected his anger and bitterness as he finished the words.
“Geneva Convention?” he uttered with contempt. He moved his face until he was almost nose-to-nose with his prisoner. “Don’t preach rules of war to me.” With each word Sharafan became angrier. “While we fight with sticks and stones, America and Israel use rockets, jets, and tanks. We fight with honor; you fight the coward’s war.” He smiled down on his victim. “We will triumph. You will lose. Mark my words, they are the truth. Allahu Akbar!”
In unison the other two men almost screamed the words that meant God is Great: “Allahu Akbar!”
A wicked smile filled Sharafan’s face. “I will give you the same Geneva Conference you gave the prisoners at Abu Ghraib.” He smiled at each of his companions. “Maybe we should strip and violate him like the Americans did our captured friends?”
With those words the anger of Aziz and al-Majid reached emotional highs that threatened to become explosive and deadly actions. Aziz chanted, “Allahu Akbar.”
Al-Majid hit the prisoner on the head and pulled out his machete. “Let us take his head and show it to all.”
In an effort to restrain his companions, Sharafan held his hand up to stop them. “The machete is swift and holds too much compassion.”
The two hesitated and listened to the words. Ready to take instant action with the large, heavy blade, al-Majid lowered his weapon. Sharafan released the prisoner’s mouth and tapped the deadly knife in his hand. His comrades watched and responded with grim smiles of sadistic understanding.
Hours earlier the American prisoner, Beau Gex, had been flying a retaliatory mission against Syria. His fighter group was ordered to intercept a bus of kidnapped Israeli children, which also included a top Israeli general’s son. The bus was spotted on a road just inside Lebanon. Beau’s fighter group responded quickly, finding the bus and making every effort to impede its progress. Low on fuel, all the airplanes returned—except for the American’s. Somehow he forced the kidnappers into a ditch.
He waited for the children to run from the bus, and then, using the guns of his aircraft, killed their pursuers. Like the Israelis, the Arabs were also alerted and dozens more of the Arab kidnappers had joined in the pursuit of the children. Soon Beau ran out of fuel, and in an effort to delay the children’s capture he aimed his plane toward their attackers. At the last second, he ejected, letting his jet score a direct hit.
Somehow Beau managed to gather the eleven children, including General Mosat’s son Beginn, and reached the city in which the terrorists now held him captive. A few buildings away the children hid quietly like good little soldiers. Beau had used himself as a decoy to save them, giving Beginn orders to escape in the safety of darkness. Even in the face of death, the full moon gave Beau reason to worry about the children’s safety.
Pain shot through his right hand as Sharafan sliced the tip of the small finger to the bone. He jerked and let out with a stunned groan. Smiling, Cobra slid the razor sharp blade down, then beneath the fingernail of the digit, and with a quick twist of his hand, removed it effortlessly. Puffs of dust rose from the floor as blood dripped through a large crack in the wooden table. Cobra aligned the blade with the first joint, rocking the knife gently back and forth, careful not to cut the skin. Unexpectedly, he snapped the sharp steel through the joint. Beau cried out in pain and caught his breath in short gasps. The small finger was neatly severed at the first knuckle. Cobra took a rag and wiped the wicked blade clean.
The American was about to die and he knew it. Still he remained alert in the hopes he could find a means of escape, however unlikely it might be. He found solace in his impending death, knowing the children were in capable hands with Beginn. The boy would control the others and lead them to safety.
“Your death will please Allah and avenge the dead of Iraq and Afghanistan that were killed by your country in Desert Storm and Enduring Freedom.”
“We should’ve nuked you bastards and made you Desert Glass!” Beau snapped. For a moment he remembered his father, Commander Robert Brookin Gex, who had fought in Desert Storm and how he had expressed hatred against President Bush for not pursuing Saddam Hussein and finishing the job.
“Where are the children?” Sharafan demanded.
Again Beau refused to answer. Thoughts from the past flashed through his mind. They were thoughts of happier days with his wife Becky and his son before their tragic bombing deaths in Rome—a bombing that had been in retaliation for America’s deadly Operation Iraqi Freedom offensive of 2003: deaths he felt he could have prevented. He regretted never having found their murderers. More than five years had passed since they died. Their deaths were the reason he resigned from the Navy and enlisted with the Israeli Air Force, hoping to extract a measure of revenge. Operation Iraqi Freedom of 2003, or Shock and Awe as Secretary of Defense Donald Rumsfeld had affectionately called it, wasn’t his war; it was his country’s war. It had been similar to that of Desert Storm of 1991 and Enduring Freedom of 2001, only this time the United States had gone in to protect Israel and remove Saddam Hussein permanently, while still trying to stop terrorism. The war and ensuing attacks had centered in and around Lebanon. President Bush—George W. Bush—had used the war as a way of building national pride during a period of growing unrest and financial collapse.
Operation Iraqi Freedom also put major American oil companies in control of Iraqi oil production. Their profits soared, although company accountants showed little of the profit. Internally, America was suffering. There had been more riots, bombings, and deaths in the United States than there were in Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Clean Sweep against Lebanon. Prolonged financial and domestic unrest ultimately led to a third party that was recognized during the 2008 election.
During Operation Iraqi Freedom, as an F-15 pilot, Beau Gex had fought with honor and without question, but America’s success had brought his loss. A fatwa had been issued to kill the pilots responsible for the massive carnage and deaths of innocent women and children in Lebanon. One fatwa was for Beau. His personal war started when America’s ended and his family was murdered. No longer did he fight for honor. Instead he fought for revenge. He had many unanswered questions. Who set the bomb that killed helpless people, including his wife and child? What had his revenge accomplished? With his life about to end, he had no answers.
Soon death would be his eternal companion. He was afraid; no he was concerned, not so much over his impending death, but of being alone. There would be no one to mourn him. The Israelis would list him as missing in action. The Palestinians would celebrate his death. His friends in America would know nothing of his passing. If only he could have died fighting in his jet and not tortured in some God-forsaken place half way around the world.
From birth his life had been one violent storm after another. It seemed he would die in a city destroyed, just like he had been born. In July 1977, Beau’s family had moved to a small rural area just north of Gulfport, Mississippi. A month later, Hurricane Camille devastated the community. On August 17, the day Camille came ashore, Beau’s mother, Beverly, struggled through labor for more than twenty-four hours before giving birth to her son, Beau. He and his family had survived that violence. It would be different for him now.
He watched catatonically as Sharafan moved the knife farther along the same finger. His thoughts flashed to his three brothers. A vision of home, Texas, and friends filled his mind—his best friend, Ruben Alonzo. He wondered if Ruben would be mad because he had not written. He thought of the times they went on missions and the way Ruben would imitate Scotty the Flight Engineer on the old Star Trek television series. It saddened him to know he would not see his friend again. Of them all he would miss Ruben most.
Pain jerked him viciously back to the present. The same finger lost another portion to the second digit.
“Talk!” Cobra demanded. Then calmly he smirked and said, “You have many fingers.”
Finding new strength and determination in the pain, Beau tried to respond calmly like nothing mattered. “For everyone there is a time to live and a time to die. This is my time.”
For a moment Sharafan was surprised but he hid it well. “Yes, this is your time to die. You will suffer now.”
Dreary eyes stared at Sharafan, “Sadness has been my life.” Beau managed to smile as he caught Sharafan’s eyes with his. “You will be giving me relief in death. Finish it.”
This had never happened before. No one had ever wanted to die but this American before him, strangely, looked forward to death. He knew he was about to kill the American but the misery of his victims added additional pleasure to his work. The question was how to do that. With sadistic pleasure, Cobra bent over the helpless American, eagerly anticipating the next finger. He paused and stared upon his prisoner.
“Before you die, tell me your name.”
The pilot hesitated but it no longer seemed to matter. “Beau Gex,” he mumbled.
Cobra jerked at the impact of the words, as though he had been slapped in the face. He stumbled back.
“You! You are the American they call the Mongoose,” he stated more than asked. But he already knew the answer to his question as it was greeted with an affirmative nod.
The American. The man branded a traitor, mercenary, and coward in his own country while Israel praised him as a hero. The same man hunted as a terrorist and murderer by the Syrians and the Lebanese. The same one who had become an “Ace” during Operation Iraqi Freedom over the skies of Lebanon in 2003. Now he, Rasht Sharafan, had him. Now Beau Gex would be punished for those crimes. There was a fatwa on the head of pilot Beau Gex, and the punishment was death.
So this was the American. Another time Sharafan had almost succeeded in killing him but had failed.
“You fight for revenge? Your family died in a shop in Rome?”
Pulling his head up to see his interrogator, Gex wondered why the sudden interest. Moving close, Cobra looked his victim straight in the eye. It was the first time he had come face to face with the condemned man. This time Gex would not escape. “Before you die, I want you to take two secrets to the grave with you,” said Sharafan with cruel pleasure. A devilish smirk filled his face. He knew the secrets he held would do more damage to Gex than any physical pain he could inflict. Death itself would be easier to handle than the information about to be revealed.
“Which secret do I tell you first?” He paused for a few brief moments, and then his own sinister laugh filled the old room. “Soon I will be part of a massive invasion that will bring your country down,” he said, pounding his chest with his fist.
“Liar! The United States has satellites. They will know,” screamed Beau.
Cobra grinned sadistically when he saw the anguish. “I speak the truth and like I know, now you also know. Your country is weak-kneed like a newborn foal. And we, the Coalition, like a cougar are on the prowl. Nothing can be done. We lost in the Iraqi war of Desert Storm but we learned much.” He laughed. “The war of 2003—your Shock and Awe—was only a test: a sacrifice so you could be tested. We gained the answers from Iraq in Desert Storm and Enduring Freedom. Now we dig deeper holes to hide our equipment.”
Again Sharafan laughed. “As for your satellites, we let them see what we want them to see. We have made a Trojan Horse and your country is accepting what they see with open arms. The United States of America is fat on itself. No one believes an invasion is possible. But it is. Secrecy worried us the most, but seven years after your Desert Storm we realized our dreams could be fulfilled. You remember what happened.” The last words were more of a statement than a question.
With a wicked smile, Sharafan continued. “India tested the atom bomb. Five times they tested! The United States never knew. We understood then the United States was weakening both militarily and with their intelligence gathering. If India could keep the bomb testing hidden, then it would be no problem for those we trusted to keep the invasion a secret. We realized an invasion of the United States was possible so we put our plans into action.
“In 1999 we began assembling our personnel. The first test was New York and the Pentagon in 2001. We succeeded beyond all expectations. We were still worried about leaks when three years later one of your ‘child prodigy computer hackers’ broke into your secret Pentagon files. If not for the publicity, we would never have known.
“One of our experts immediately attached to this child’s home computer via the Internet. Never was anything so easy. The young man had his system open to everyone. We downloaded everything he found only hours before the Pentagon arrived and disconnected the system. There was nothing of interest except one thing: a list of coded names. It took a year to break, but we found they were names of American operatives in all the Middle East countries.
“At first we planned to destroy them all when I hit upon an idea: Cry wolf. Since the United States had become the shepherd of the world, we would leak false information about the invasion to these operatives. Simultaneously, we leaked accurate information on things we were willing to sacrifice. The plan was perfect. Two years ago we leaked information about the invasion. Because other reports had turned out to be false, the operatives now were hesitant about releasing this news.
“And for the first time the United States took no action. At that point our plans were safe as proved by what happened last year. We had five actual leaks, and your country only checked out one. Only our intense preparation prevented our discovery. Now we are about to invade the United States.
“And it will be done with its own planes. All we had to do was act like we were against America’s enemies, and they supplied us with all our military needs. We have bought nothing. America has given it all to us. America will help complete its own defeat. We will succeed where the Japanese failed. We will not stop once we start!”
Surely an invasion was impossible, Beau thought. While in Israel’s service he had learned of America’s Aurora Project, a series of satellites with military laser capabilities operated from the International Space Station. Special military modules had been installed on the ISS to control the deadly lasers. When completed the lasers would be capable of pinpoint accuracy from over 2000 miles to prevent an invasion of any kind. A minimum of three satellites would always hover over the United States. From any where in orbit the ISS would be able to manipulate and fire the lasers. Rumors were the project was near completion. Developed with the station was an aircraft capable of flying directly into space—an actual spaceplane. Unlike the time consuming and expensive space shuttle, it could be alerted and deployed at a moment’s notice.
Beau’s body trembled at Cobra’s words, but his knowledge assured him his captor was wrong. Yet why would he make such a brash statement? For some reason Sharafan’s words made Beau more fearful than did his own imminent death.
“Impossible!” he screamed. “The space station and—” But the words were cut short when Cobra slapped his hand over Beau’s mouth.
“And the Aurora Project,” Sharafan finished. “Already preparations are being made. The space station and its lasers are a year from completion, but the invasion will take place long before it is finished.” An unnerving laugh came from his lips. He continued. “In two months we will bring a complete and total financial collapse upon your country. There is nothing your country will be able to do. Within six months we will be able to defeat you with brooms and shovels.” Sharafan snickered, “We would never have been able to it if not for the greed and the predictable actions of your last two presidents, especially Obama, and your Congress. Your presidents were unwittingly our best allies. When President Bush stood on that aircraft carrier, with the sign “Mission Accomplished” behind him and then told the world how his faith in God led America to victory, he did more to unite Islam than any man in history. Those wanting to fight America increased hundreds of thousands more than ever before. Then he and Obama gave away America’s wealth just like we had planed. Now, with defeat assured, the invasion will come when no one suspects: a day all Americans will be unprepared. And this time, like in New York, we will enlist the aid of your own airlines, and we will succeed. By Allah it will be a day that will bring your country to an end—forever!”
“No!” screamed Beau, struggling unsuccessfully.
“Yes!” said Cobra, delighted at his victim’s anguish. “Now let me tell you another secret.” He paused to enjoy the moment as he watched Beau squirm. “You see—”
The quiet room abruptly radiated with brilliant lights from beyond the decaying structure. Outside the building a loud voice echoed through every corner of the room, beckoning for the release of the American.
“This is the Israeli Army.” The voice came from beyond the walls. “You are surrounded. We have the children. Release the American, or you will die.”
Beau knew they would let Cobra live if he were released. He wanted the terrorist dead. Swiftly, he screamed a warning to the men outside. “Forget me, kill him. You must kill—”
A hard blow to Beau’s head rendered him unconscious.
* * *
When he regained his senses, he found himself in the back of a military truck. Blood-soaked gauze wrapped his throbbing right hand. On a bench to his side sat an Israeli officer. “Cobra? Where is he?” Beau asked.
The officer motioned him to rest. “Rasht Sharafan is the worst of terrorists. Unlike others, he will do whatever it takes to save himself. He cares not for the lives of anyone, except his own. He is the most dangerous of all.”
“Why didn’t you kill him?”
“Because you knew where Beginn was. We needed you to save the general’s son.”
“But you said you had the children.”
The Israeli officer smiled. “We lied.”
Beau managed a smile, propped himself up with the aid of the officer. He looked at the buildings and pointed at one. “Beginn and the children are there. In the basement.”
The officer waved to his soldiers and pointed to the building, “Get the General’s son and all the children.”
“The invasion?” Beau asked.
The officer turned back to Beau and shook his head. His face reflected sadness. “We have heard but we know nothing. We have warned your country. They are our greatest supporter but they will not listen. When someone cries wolf it is better to prepare for the wolf and hope he doesn’t come. Your country believes all the wolves are gone,” he said shaking his head sadly. “That will be their undoing.”
“I must go home. I must warn them.”
“They will not listen.”
“Sharafan is doing something else. Do you know what it could be?” he asked.
The officer shook his head. “I know not of what you ask. There is nothing else we know that Sharafan has planned.”
Caught up in his own thoughts, Beau wondered about the second secret. What could be worse than the invasion of the United States? The medic filled a syringe, and then slid the needle beneath the skin of the forearm, forcing Beau into a fitful sleep.
* * *
The old prop-driven DC-3 droned on, rocking back and forth, gaining and then losing altitude. Many passengers were frightened, while some appeared accustomed to the rough flights. One, a military officer, hovered near sleep. Preoccupied with his thoughts he gave little consideration to the rough ride. To him the old engines were soothing.
Two months had passed since the incident with Sharafan. Beau’s hand had healed and arrangements were made for his return home. Problems with his return were temporarily circumvented with the help of his old commanding officer, Admiral Ted Garrett, and with the recommendation of a few select others. At Ted’s insistence they had succeeded, partly on the interest, rather more than the curiosity, of the president who was in a no-lose situation. He could either save an American or punish him as public outcry demanded. Neither mattered, only what was politically advantageous. Ted had informed Beau and he knew the risks.
Casually he toyed with the small gold ring hanging from a leather cord around his neck, and for a moment his thoughts returned to the friends he left behind in Israel. The general, whose son he had saved, had been most gracious, taking Beau into his home. The general’s wife had given him the gold wedding band hanging from his neck, a gift of gratitude for saving her son. Inside the simple gold band were inscribed the Hebrew words, “Love Eternal.”
In Israel he was a hero, but in the United States it would be different; there would be no welcome home. He was considered many things in the States but hero was not one of them, except to the ones he once led into combat.
Despite the consequences, he must return to warn his country. Would they listen to him? A man most considered a traitor and who had fought to defend another country? Others only thought of him as a coward who fled his own nation. In the Arab world he was still a murderer with a price on his head.
Admiral Theodore Garrett had arranged for a small group of military officers to interrogate Beau in Washington, D.C. From there he would be sent to the Naval Air Station in Corpus Christi, Texas, where he would be questioned again. He would be assigned to Admiral Garrett’s command, where he would remain until a decision could be reached on his status with the military.
Beau was afraid they would not listen, but it mattered little now, because he would soon know whether they would or not. Still, he thought of Cobra’s words about the airlines but mostly he wondered about the second secret.
Time to go home, time to return to Texas and a chance to see his brothers and his friends. But most of all it was a chance to see Moon Shadow.
Chapter 2
Corpus Christi International Airport was filled to overflow capacity with the coming New Year’s holiday activity. People congregated in masses for business and pleasure. Everything was as it always had been. With dark sunglasses hiding his eyes, the lone soldier went unnoticed, melting with the collage of people.
A notice broadcasted over the speaker system of the airport: “Remember any inappropriate remarks or jokes concerning security could result in your arrest.” No one listened. All were too busy trying to catch their next flight or shuttles to take them home or away from the airport.
The soldier continued his way slowly with the crowds, through a revolving door, and into the daylight. Outside he dropped his duffel bag to the warm concrete walk. Beau was finally home—late December and the weather was still hot and extremely humid, but not unusual for the Texas coastal town of Corpus Christi. In December the weather one day could be freezing and the next over eighty degrees.
Nothing had changed in his absence, yet it all seemed strange and unreal. A flight attendant, running late, pulled her bags on rollers as she raced for the doors to the terminal, while her sweet perfume left an enticing trail. Near the arrival curb, a man kissed a woman and hugged a small little boy goodbye. A police officer busily filled out a citation for an over-parked vehicle. Facing the building, two newspaper boys kneeled down to load their machines.
Beau made his way to the newsstand, placed two quarters in the machine, and pulled The Corpus Christi Times from the rack. He folded the newspaper and slid it under his arm. Everything was peaceful and calm. So was the eye of the hurricane, he thought. His hometown and his country were in the eye, and once it passed nothing but death and destruction followed. Glancing at the headlines, he saw the warning of his coming but nothing of the dangers ahead. No one in the airport knew who he was or that he returned to warn his country before the eye passed: a warning he hoped would come before it was too late.
An elderly woman moved slowly to the newspaper machine for the latest news. Her arms were full with bags and she dropped them when she removed the newspaper. Deftly Beau bent over and scooped her bags from the ground.
“Here, let me help you with those,” he said.
“Thank you, sonny.” The words seemed to warble from her old throat. “Could ya bring them to the curb for me so’s I can get a taxi?”
Beau glanced down into her thankful eyes and smiled. “Yes ma’am, no problem.” He swung his duffel bag over his shoulder and followed her. The elderly lady glanced at the headlines as they made their way to where a taxi waited.
“Well I declare,” she bellowed. “This here heathen scoundrel is coming back to our own town. That murderer! The Jews paid him to kill those poor people. And our country is letting him back in. It’s just awful, don’t you think?” She kept jabbing the bold type with her small, shriveled finger. The front-page story was about a returning American officer who had been an Israeli mercenary.
“Maybe what’s written in the article isn’t true. I think we should wait and see if he’s as bad as the papers say,” Beau countered. The taxi driver loaded the scuffed luggage into the trunk. “No. If it’s in the newspapers, he has to be guilty,” she testified.
“What would you say if the man was me?” Beau asked.
The little lady shuffled closer to the soldier, reached up and removed his dark glasses, and peered into the deep blue eyes. After a moment she tilted her head and said, “If you are that man, then the newspapers are wrong. Sonny, your eyes are just too kindly and gentle for this little old lady to believe anything else.” She shook her head. “Eyes tell everything, but they also tell me you carry much sorrow.” A sparkle came from her own as she squeezed his huge hand. “Sonny, I’ve never been wrong about the eyes.”
The taxi driver coughed and the two laughed. Beau waved goodbye as the taxi drove off, then he slid the dark glasses back into position. She never noticed the medal for valor hanging over the left pocket of his uniform. The Hebrew word for “Israel” was inscribed in the center. Beau glanced at the newspaper machine and the bold headlines protected behind glass, and sighed. So they knew he was back. He had hoped to keep it quiet, but it was not to be. Surely Sharafan had seen to that.
Beau held his right hand out, turned the palm toward him, and studied the small finger—or what had been his small finger—to admire Cobra’s work. He made a fist and released it; there was no longer any pain. The bronze tan of his hand and the pinkish tone of the recently healed stub were in stark contrast. His thoughts were filled with Cobra, and he regretted the Syrian pilot still lived. If anyone had seen beneath those dark glasses and into the pair of hostile steel blue eyes, they would have cleared a wide path. The anger passed. After all, he was home.
The airliners had been extremely uncomfortable and the flight had been long. He stretched the stiffness from each leg and shrugged his shoulders. Stopping at a small magazine stand, he searched the countless rows of various snacks and candies until he found the item he wanted. He went to the counter and paid for a small Three Musketeers candy bar. All he had eaten in two days were soft drinks, peanuts, and stale doughnuts. As he walked away, he didn’t eat the candy. Instead he placed it in his shirt pocket, smiled with the slightest bit of anticipation, and returned to the passenger pick-up area.
He didn’t like the airlines. If he had a choice, he would have preferred the F-16 or F-15 fighter jet he was accustomed to flying. But then, no one had offered him a jet to fly home. In the Navy it had been the F-14 Tomcat, a two-seated jet with retractable wings and excellent firepower. During Operation Iraqi Freedom, he and Ruben had flown the F/A-18 Hornet, a single seated jet capable of performing at Mach-2. It had the turning capabilities of a circus biplane. Neither could match the raw power and speed of the F-16 Falcon or the F-15 Eagle he had flown for the Israeli Air Force—both single-seated fighter jets with guns, bombs, and rockets, the likes of which man had never seen in action until 1991’s Desert Storm.
Those thoughts faded fast as he kept watch for his friend Ruben, who would be there to take him to the base. He pondered how he would tell him of the danger so near at hand. It still seemed hard to believe when everything around him appeared to be so normal. Even so, he was sure an invasion of the United States was in the very near future. So unbelievable, so unreal, so close.
* * *
Seldom was Captain Ruben Alonzo late for a meeting or appointment, but today he had been delayed in picking up his best friend at the airport. Five years had passed since he had last seen Beau. Now it was Commander Gex, his former rank having been restored. At the time of his resignation, he had ranked above Lieutenant Commander Alonzo; now their roles were reversed. The fact his rank had been reinstated at all was nothing short of a miracle.
As he neared Corpus Christi International Airport, his thoughts wandered. It seemed like only yesterday they were high school rivals in Corpus Christi. Beau attended Ray High School, while Ruben went to King. The first two years, Ray defeated King in football—or more accurately, Beau defeated King. Ruben remembered never having seen anyone so quick and strong, and at the time he had hoped one of his teammates would break Beau’s leg. The games were close but Beau was one of those players with the ability to do what it took to win. In their senior year, Ray and King were rated one-two in Texas.
Then three weeks into the 1996 season, the King team learned Beau Gex had dropped out of football unexpectedly. Ruben’s team celebrated, defeated Ray High School, and went on to the championship. Later that same year, Ruben learned Beau’s father, along with other military personnel, had been killed in a bombing incident in Spain, related to a revenge motivated fatwa. Beau had taken it upon himself to help his mother financially with his three brothers, and had foregone football in his senior year.
Less than a year later Ruben and Beau met again when Ruben decided to take flying lessons. He found a biplane and a young crop dusting instructor outside Corpus in the small cotton-producing town of Petronilla. The instructor was Beau, his old high school nemesis. Beau flew like he had played football: untouched by anyone. Ruben learned quite a bit in those two months. They became best friends and together they completed college, joined the Navy, and became fighter pilots.
They both joined with the high ideals of serving their country and the opportunity of an adventure that would make them astronauts and offer a chance to go to the Moon or even Mars. Only Beau had come close when he was able to test the SR-71 Blackbird and take it to its known limits at the time. Their first military action had been in Afghanistan shortly after the terrorist attack on New York and the Pentagon in 2001. It seemed like the United States military was invading some Middle Eastern country every year after those first terrorist attacks that took almost 3000 lives on American soil. Since then, the U.S. had responded to terrorist threats almost every year.
Ruben’s wife, Maria Domingo, had introduced Beau to his beautiful wife-to-be, Rebecca Jo Collins. What a sweet and wonderful person. Those were the days, Ruben thought. As he entered the airport and neared the passenger area, he wondered about Beau’s enlistment in the Israeli Air Force. Never had Ruben seen a man so in control of any situation. He would trust Beau with his life at any given moment. He could still see the magnetic smile and those mischievous eyes.
Ruben laughed to himself and remembered all the havoc the two of them created. At the surprising age of twenty-four, Beau was group leader of “Operation Liberty” in 2001 during the standoff between Taiwan and China. He was always available when one of his men was in trouble. There was never a problem he couldn’t overcome. Then something happened, and one day it all ended.
The end began with Operation Iraqi Freedom and the almost unknown Operation Clean Sweep attack on Lebanon, Iraq, Morocco, Somalia, Libya, and Syria. Beau commanded a small group and Ruben was his wingman. Reporters described the attack as something glamorous. It was hell. Ruben knew he could confront the Devil himself if Beau was along, because he felt his friend could get them away safely—even from the Devil.
He laughed at his foolish thoughts and then grew serious again. All Middle Eastern countries threatened revenge and death to the pilots who had flown Operation Iraqi Freedom and had issued a fatwa of death against them. Over the next few years, four former pilots of Operation Iraqi Freedom were killed while overseas. Extreme groups claimed responsibility and pointed to the fatwa.
In 2007, when four American reporters were taken prisoner at the Israel-Lebanon border, the president activated troops to the ready and many were sent to the Middle East where they were stationed in Israel, Tajikistan, and Kyrgyzstan. Years earlier, former allies Kuwait and Saudi Arabia had refused American troops on their soil. Then came the April bombing. At first Middle East terrorists were suspected, only to find once again it was angry fellow Americans in retaliation for more of the governments iron-fisted ATF actions and IRS seizures.
All of this was on the same day as the Branch Davidian deaths in Waco, Texas. These things only added to the conflict and turmoil that had escalated in the United States.
The bombing occurred the same week a group of pilots and their families were granted a week’s leave in Rome. Ruben, Lieutenant Commander Thomas Sullivan, and Lieutenant Jack Warren were unable to make arrangements for the trip to Rome. Only Beau, Lieutenant Jimmy Galloway, and their families made the weekend excursion. All were close friends and pilots during Operation Iraqi Freedom.
Beau had what many called a perfect marriage and a six-year-old son, Shawn, who was a miniature version of him. Beau’s wife, Rebecca, was tall with long, soft blond hair. She had the most beautiful round brown eyes and an ability to smooth over the worst situations. To Rebecca, every day was new and wonderful. Her main desire was to make Beau and Shawn happy, which she did. Not only were she and Beau truly in love, but they were also the best of friends. They had it all, and who knew better than Ruben, because the four of them worked and played together. The trip to Cairo was the first time he could remember they had not been together.
Beau and Ruben would laugh and tease and were always up for a practical joke. All those things changed the day Beau’s wife and son were murdered. The Galloways and the Gexes were shopping in a Roman market when Rebecca found some jewelry she wanted. She had left her purse in the rental car, but Beau refused to let her return for it, instead going himself. He made a dash from the building to retrieve the purse and her money, leaving his wife, son, and the Galloways behind. No sooner had Beau exited the building than an explosion tore the structure apart, hurtling him across the road, breaking his shoulder and wrist. Rebecca and Shawn died tragically at the hands of terrorists, along with Galloway and his wife in the brutal bombing.
A small Iraqi group claimed responsibility and said it was a fatwa in retaliation for Operation Iraqi Freedom. Immediately security increased for the remaining pilots of Desert Watch: Sullivan, Warren, Gex, and himself. Beau had almost died like his father had died in another fatwa in 1996.
But America was involved with terror of its own. Few had even heard of the tragedy, where it never made the front page of any major newspaper: just a back-page filler as a possible gas explosion accident. The president and his wife were having problems of their own. His popularity was down and he had to find a reason to attack someone if he intended to win the next election.
With the American bombing, on-going Israeli/Arab peace talks, and the delegate negotiations for the release of the two American prisoners, the president refused to take a stand. Most believed it was a gas pipeline accident and not the act of terrorists, even though they claimed responsibility. To wrongly accuse Arabs would only add to his already tattered image. The president ignored the issue. Besides, the president’s popularity increased two percent, which seemed to please his aids and advisors. The Rome bombing, or accident as it was called, was ignored.
After the bombing, Ruben never saw Beau shed a tear. Only once did he hear him speak about it, when his friend uttered the chilling words, “I’m going to kill all those God damn bastards, even if I have to do it myself!”
Ruben remembered those words as he pulled into the airport, and he could barely withhold a chuckle. “I bet those guys paid dearly,” he muttered to himself.
Beau had tried to get the commanders to retaliate against the terrorists. They refused, reasoning you can’t bomb countries just because a few people get killed. But the dead weren’t just a few people; they were his wife and son. When they denied his request, Beau resigned in mid-2008 and immediately joined Israel’s air force, requesting combat.
The media twisted the story and made the most of it. “High Ranking Officer Turns Mercenary,” they said. The tabloids had a field day saying aliens took him around the world, while the Palestinians said he murdered children, and the Israelis decorated him for bravery. With more bombings, riots, and financial strife within the United States, Beau Gex was soon forgotten.
Ruben received only a half dozen letters. None divulged information as to Beau’s activities. Only one thing he asked; it was always the same request: put flowers on Rebecca and Shawn’s graves. Now Beau was back and the United States had mysteriously dropped charges against him. Ruben knew something was happening but what? As he swung along the passenger pick-up lane, he recognized Beau and pulled to a stop. He sounded the horn and then jumped from the Jeep to greet his old friend. He yelled, waved his arms, and moved toward where Beau stood.
There was no mistaking him, even in the uniform and dark glasses. Beau dropped the duffel bag to the pavement and the two men clasped in what was more than friendship, for they were best friends. Together, they had lived with death and together they had cheated it.
Beau held Ruben at arm’s length. His friend was almost a head shorter, but what he lacked in stature, he more than made up for in spirit.
“Boy, you’re a sight for sore eyes. I’ll be honest, I never thought I’d live to see ya again.” Ruben noted Beau’s brown skin. “Hell, you’re almost darker than me. At least you got time to soak up the rays while you were gone. Makes a guy like me jealous.”