Jerusalem was still standing by the time all the pilots returned to their stations. And the people in the streets were cheering as though it were the end of the war. It wasn't of course, Israel's enemies were still many and they were still fighting hard but the relief that everything this nation and its people stayed alive for was still here was overwhelming. People prayed in the streets, mostly Jewish but some Christian and even many Muslims prayed openly and nobody cared. Bronco brought the living half of his bird down onto the tarmac in a slow and steady vertical landing. By the time he shut off the fighter and climbed out, there were legions of ground crewmen who took time off of clearing out the fighter and debris to slap Winters heartily on the back and congratulations on being someone who could claim kill on a nuclear missile. Shit he'd need a lot of paint for that one…
The F-35 that had served him for so long was scorched almost jet black, and the entire left wing was gone. It was a miracle he'd been able to stay aloft. His trip back was six hours long, he'd kept his speed at 400 knots and was actually slow enough, for the Goshawks with their IDF commandos to catch up with him on the return leg.
The other flights back had stayed with him and the experience was touching; here he was, a mercenary pilot in all respects and these IAF pilots treated him like one of their own. Fuck man maybe he should have reenlisted. Money wasn't everything. Bronco looked around and saw the IDF Goshawks land to disembark their weary commandos. One of the men had his helmet removed.
He was Palestinian by the look of him, darker skinned and more heavily browed than the Jews that usually made up the Spec Ops of Israel; that surprised Bronco. The man seemed to be aware Bronco was staring at him and waved jauntily. Bronco waved back.
"Stalemate." Bankole whispered and looked at the map. The Russian attacks had been spoiled just barely, by vicious counter air by enraged Polish pilots. At least most of them were Polish anyway, the destruction of a part of their country probably resonated with each of them even now.
The units that had occupied Hanburg had been wiped out almost to the man, none of the brave Polish defenders who saw action around Warsaw were alive anymore. At least not to Bankole's knowledge.
He was hearing bad things about Iceland as well, the Americans were moving in and beginning to fly air raids along Spain and Norway. Bankole would have to pull units to defend those shorelines, he would not make the mistake the Germans made earlier by letting the Americans pool resources around a landing zone and then destroying them. The European federation could still win here but certainly not by attacking. Now forced to fight a two front war, Europe's morale would be strained to its limit.
"Bring the chief's of staff in." he told his aide. He would have to hold a new council to determine the best strategies of which to force a ceasefire on both fronts.
Andreyev and his units were advancing again, the way a Russian should always have fought in war, facing the enemy. You do not turn your back on the wolf, he had learned. The war would go on, and in war, Andreyev would practice his craft of hunting. It was so much better to be hunting men than it was to hunt animals. Man was the ultimate hunter after all, and to Andreyev, they were the ultimate prey.
Sopot blinked his eyes open to stare at the white washed ceiling.
"Good morning Comrade." He tried to turn his head but was immediately rebuked by a lancing pain that shot through him. he almost screamed.
"Do not move like that again." A man with a kind face leaned over and smiled. "You have been badly burned from the waist up."
"What happened?" He mumbled in German. The doctor switched from Polish to that language just as quickly.
"It is good that you switch to German for you see, my Polish is not so good." The doctor chuckled. "You were caught in an explosion Comrade. Your comrades are safe for now, but you were badly injured as you no doubt surmised."
"What's happening?"
"You are in a hospital. Don't worry, rambling is a psychological effect. Its simply shock."
"Who are you?"
"My name is Doctor Sergei Nikoleivich."
Sopot stiffened, he wasn't shocked enough to know that this man was a Russian and that meant he was behind enemy lines and captured.
"Ah you understand it now." The Doctor nodded gravely. "Do not worry comrade, we do not kill prisoners or treat them harshly anymore. We have no reason to interrogate you because the war in the East is over. You in Europe have lost and in due time you will be returned there. My job is to simply treat men like you and get you back to duty."
"Sopot, Illych, Serial number seven seven six four two…"
"You speak in Polish again." the Doctor remarked. "Good heavens you must think I'm lying to you. I apologize but we really do not have work camps for you." The doctor chuckled.
"Sopot Illych, Serial number…"
"I will see you tomorrow." The doctor said and injected another dose of depressant into his IV. He would talk in due time of course, the drugs would do that for him. But the doctor always told the truth when it came to POWs. Russia would need to set a good example for the world once it was under her control and mistreating prisoners was no way to start.
"The mental stress, you have to understand." The doctor repeated.
"I know but we are not allowed to see him?" Jama asked, all the bridge crew were present while INS Hamas was in port for repairs. The quiet war hospital was a shocking juxtaposition to the festival on the streets of Tel Aviv (Jama has even seen children play on the burnt out hulks of tanks).
"No one but me is allowed. His case is that serious, he has suffered major stress and has developed stomach ulcers from some unknown previous condition. The best treatment I can give him is rest, but there is no telling how long he will be under." The Doctor admitted.
"Would it not help-"
"No. As his Psychiatrist I believe that your presence would only hope to dehabilitate him more, he will feel as though he let you all down."
"He didn't let us down." The First officer protested. "Stress is natural-"
"But he will feel as though he let you down anyway. Please he must have rest."
"Come on." Jama said and fenced his crew off from the doorway. "the Captain needs it. Besides I owe you all a drink."
The doctor sighed and went back to work.
"Spy work isn't what I expected it to be." Dolan admitted over the volume of the music in the van.
"Its not what I'm used to either." JC Chavez laughed. "You Israeli boys play for keeps!"
"We live on the edge." Zilich laughed too. "We are Mossad after all."
"The feeling after a mission accomplished is always the same though." Clark said from the driver's seat. "Its always a little bittersweet, you finished your mission but you always have another tomorrow. Its thankless."
"We don't mind." Peled punched his old friend lightly in the arm. "we helped save Israel, all of us. It was a good job."
"There's one for the Books Dolan agreed and looked out the windows. The streets looked tantalizingly familiar. They hadn't managed to sneak on a flight out but had shipped all their equipment discreetly. They were now officially tourists in the great city of Istanbul.
"Hey Clark, where are we headed?" Dolan asked.
"I seem to remember a club that I almost got my ass shot off in two days ago. Lets go see if they cleaned up!"