Terror attacks in New York and England generate a three-continent search for the terrorist leader who has assumed Osama bin Laden's role as the "world's most wanted." The pursuit is joined by a battle-hardened British SAS officer and his beautiful cohort from Israel's ultra-secret Shin Bet. The pair join forces in the chase for the terrorists and Iraq's missing cache of WMD, as U.S. Air Force F-15s swarm into battle and Israeli tanks blast into action against new and unexpected enemies! Seventh Psalm races from the shifting battle lines in the war on terror to the ravages of war-torn Sudan-all with shocking results that leap from the headlines of tomorrow's New York Times!
Only a hundred yards beneath their wings, a gun battery opened fire at the hurtling jet. In their headphones, Mercer and Pollard again heard the sickening "beep, beep, beep" warning that enemy radar was again trying to acquire. "Chaff and flares...pumping chaff" Mercer yelled, breathing hard. Then hurriedly called to his crewmate, "You ready?" "I've got it," the bombardier replied, as he found a clear view of the compound rushing toward him through the Pave Tack infrared-laser cameras. "Laser on..." As Swift 22 began its attack run, ahead by a mile, Captain Coleman in Swift 28 pushed his throttles into full afterburner and pulled hard into the sky to dodge the antiaircraft fire from below. Coleman and his crewmate were slammed back hard into their seats by the force of the 5-G climb. On the ground below, the air filled with explosive thunder as the guided American bombs crashed into their targets. Quomuz screamed a hundred confused orders to his men in the compound, who shot wildly into the air with their assault rifles. Hot-phosphorous tracer fire and steel laced the sky as the defenders fired at deafening jet sounds above them. In a corner of the compound, a crew of four pumped away at the unseen invaders with a Chinese-built ZSU anti-aircraft gun. As Swift 27 sped away, their bombs tracked toward the laser-designated target--the two-story training building less than a hundred yards from where Quomuz and his men furiously blasted away. In the same instant, a wave of superheated air washed over the men below---then a deafening roar from the mighty jet's engines--followed by a blast, and another, and another as the ground shook furiously and chunks of brick and steel flew indiscriminately through the air. Quomuz was momentarily blinded by the flash--but saw the silhouette of Petra Voss, running from her barracks toward a sandbag shelter a few feet away. The flashes were instantly followed by a massive concussion that lifted the Palestinian off his feet and slammed him into the ground twenty meters distant. Nearby, the building that had been his barracks was now a pile of smoldering rubble. Swift 27's aim had been textbook perfect. The shock waves from Coleman's bombs had barely subsided when Zach Pollard took careful aim---and cried, "Pickle! Bombs Away!" Mercer yanked back hard on the control stick and, with his right thumb, pressed the bomb release button atop the stick, and jettisoned the rack of eight 500-hundred pound bombs. The jet rocked as two tons of high explosives fell away.... Mercer kicked the right rudder hard, cranking the craft into a sharp turn as the force of five times normal gravity crushed against the pilot's chest. Mercer could see new streaks of tracer fire racing toward his ship--he jerked even harder on the stick, increasing the g-load by half-again. Below, three former Russian KGB officers and their Palestinian comrades fired away at the American fighter-bombers, in a futile gesture of defense. Out of breath, and heart racing wildly, Mercer yelled, "You got the laser on that thing?" "Laser on, it's a go!" The Pave Tack pod in the F-15's belly shot a beam of invisible light toward the enemy compound. Inside the cockpit, Pollard tracked the flight of the falling bombs as they sped toward their target. As long as the weapons officer kept the laser crosshairs on target, the "smart" bombs would know where to fly. "Tracking. It's tracking." Pollard yelled, monitoring the bombs’ flight path. Swift 22's eight bombs found their mark in rapid staccato. It was as if hell itself was raining fire on the compound. The combined force of two tons of high explosives hit with a heart-shattering crash: debris filled the air, bodies and body parts splayed everywhere; the ground shook violently. In the shelter near her disintegrating barracks, Petra Voss covered her head with her arms and screamed her rage and hatred and fear into the plywood floor. The blasts from the first bomb attack had blown a young Palestinian into the shelter and on top of Voss. The blood from his armless corpse now gushed into her hair and eyes as the second string of bombs hit the earth with a crack and a blast that shattered the East German woman's eardrums. Her own blood trickled from her ears, nose, and eyes and mixed with that of the dead man atop her. "Jesus H. Christ!" Pollard screamed, as he watched the bombs slam into the targets. "Shit! We hit 'em; we hit 'em hard." Pollard screamed, his brain was awash in a sea of adrenaline, his heart speeding faster than the turbines behind him. "Let's get the fuck outta here!" Mercer's eyes found the airspeed indicator and, focusing quickly on the readout, he urged more speed from the jet. In what seemed only a moment, Mercer coaxed the plane to level flight, headed west toward the relative safety of the tanker task force circling out over the Med. The rapidly retreating scene revealed fireballs on the ground as stored munitions ignited in spectacular flares of red, white and orange. Luckily, Syrian air defense radar now lay silent all across the region. In his headset, Mercer heard the crew of Swift 24, two nautical miles behind, chattering wildly about the smoke from the blast. He heard the pilot call out "feet dry," the coded signal that the last of the attack flight had made it safely away from the target and was headed for the Mediterranean. A short mile ahead, inside Swift 22, Damian Mercer glanced up to the north to see the twin red-orange fires from Richter's engines bright against a deep, black sky. As quickly as it had begun, the attack was over. Aboard the command ship out over the dark waters, Jack Kilrain kept count. "Swift 21, 22 and 27...good, they're back. Pogo flight's all checked in and coming back from the airport attack...Atlas 11, good; 12, good; 13...One-Three? Kilrain walked toward the bank of communication operators in the mid-section of the tanker. He looked around at the men's faces, then he checked the scopes and computer screens, asking, "Anybody hear from One-Three? Atlas 13?" No one aboard the tanker could answer.
About Jonathan Bruce
John H. Schumacher is a retired U.S. Air Force Judge Advocate. During his career, he spent three years at RAF Bentwaters, and was present there when U.S.A.F. F-111 fighter/bombers flew from the U.K. to bomb Libya in April, 1986. Subsequently, John spent three years at the Air Force Special Operations Command Headquarters at Hurlburt Field, Florida. He has extensive experience in the real world "Black Operations," application of the Geneva Conventions, International Law, and the Law of Armed Conflict. John has deployed to Somalia, Kenya, Bosnia and Honduras.
Bruce T. Smith is also a retired U.S. Air Force Judge Advocate. During his career, he spent three years at RAF Lakenheath, which was one of the U.K. bases from which American F-111 fighter/bombers attacked Libya in April 1986. He has extensive teaching experience in military justice, the Law of Armed Conflict and International Military Operations. Bruce is now a judge with the Department of Homeland Security, headquartered in Washington, D.C.
Terror attacks in New York and England generate a three-continent search for the terrorist leader who has assumed Osama bin Laden's role as the "world's most wanted." The pursuit is joined by a battle-hardened British SAS officer and his beautiful cohort from Israel's ultra-secret Shin Bet. The pair join forces in the chase for the terrorists and Iraq's missing cache of WMD, as U.S. Air Force F-15s swarm into battle and Israeli tanks blast into action against new and unexpected enemies! Seventh Psalm races from the shifting battle lines in the war on terror to the ravages of war-torn Sudan-all with shocking results that leap from the headlines of tomorrow's New York Times!
John H. Schumacher is a retired U.S. Air Force Judge Advocate. During his career, he spent three years at RAF Bentwaters, and was present there when U.S.A.F. F-111 fighter/bombers flew from the U.K. to bomb Libya in April, 1986. Subsequently, John spent three years at the Air Force Special Operations Command Headquarters at Hurlburt Field, Florida. He has extensive experience in the real world "Black Operations," application of the Geneva Conventions, International Law, and the Law of Armed Conflict. John has deployed to Somalia, Kenya, Bosnia and Honduras.