Aharon got the thumbs up from the Order soldiers unloading the crates, meaning it was time for him to head back to base. As he fired up the VTOL thrusters, ragtag Order soldiers swarmed over the crates like flies to unpack the stocks of food and medical supplies. Despite reduction to a tiny little city, they acted as though they were on the verge of ultimate victory. Resilient bunch, those Christians.
"Halo Five, Halo Five, ready for takeoff."
"Roger that, Halo Five," Aharon said back through the headset. "Head back to home base, full speed."
"Halo Four, I got some refugees here asking me for an evac. Comply?"
"Negative, Halo Six, we need evac orders from up high."
"Understood, Halo Four. Taking off now."
"Roger," Aharon replied, ending the conversation. As the IAI 6 Arava rose higher, he switched the jets and lurched forward. Within seconds, he was above the clouds and returning to Ashkelon Base. Aharon looked forward to getting back home, as this was his last mission for the month, and he was looking forward to a little rest and relaxation, and vice versa.
By nightfall, he and the other two Halos had reached Israeli territory. To his surprise, he found himself accosted by a pair of F-42I Sufas, which rose silently through the cloud cover and positioned themselves at his three and nine.
"You are in Israeli airspace. Identify." The Sufas demanded of Aharon.
Halo Four, accompanied by Halo Five and Halo Six. Returning from supply chain to Objective Omega."
There was silence, in which Aharon had the unnatural fear that the Sufas would tear into the soft flesh of the plane with their lethal Gatling cannons.
"Copy that, Halo Four and escort, proceed to your target destination."
Aharon breathed a sigh of relief as the fighters dove silently below the clouds again. He hadn't been so nervous since his gas tank was punctured by a pot shot over Iranian-held territory. Praying to Yahweh that he wouldn't get marooned in Iranian territory, he had managed to make it to Mecca just before the fuel ran dry. Thank goodness the Order mechanics patched up the tank for the return journey and scrounged up enough fuel to get him back. Otherwise, he would have been stuck in the middle of the fighting as the others brought him supplies. Aharon considered himself a decent pilot, but he was no soldier.
"Heavy radio traffic tonight," Halo Six said.
"I noticed," Aharon said, eyeing his own radar. Indeed, air traffic was heavy tonight. It was a lot of military aircraft too. Plenty of Sufas to go around, plus a handful of the slow and heavy Isjar fighter-bombers, behemoths loaded with missiles and often affectionately dubbed by other flyers as "Flying Concrete". And that was just over Ashkelon.
Putting the fighters out of mind, Aharon and the Halos descended to Ashkelon Air Force base with relative ease. Landing with a bump, he was shuttled out of his jet and strode back to his barracks, looking forward to catching some rest before shoving off for some much needed vacation.
At that point, Aharon noticed out of the corner of his eye that a mechanic in blue coveralls and a long thin coat also walking towards the barracks. He was a skinny fellow, judging by the billowing of the coat. Privately, he wondered what a mechanic was doing heading for the pilot barracks.
"Hey Yoram, which barracks is that?" Aharon asked, pointing towards the grey building the mechanic headed towards.
"That one?" Yoram said, stifling a yawn. "I think that's the Twelve Fighters. Pretty decent in combat drills, from what I heard. Most of them are newly recruits from Sinai. Probably Muslims."
Muslims, Aharon thought. Is it possible that...
"Hey, you!" Aharon shouted after the mechanic. He turned around. He was a young, pale fellow, with a nervous yet determined look on his face.
"That's not you barracks, pal," Aharon said, pointing a thumb over his left shoulder. "You want to head back there and take a left."
The man said nothing, but walked sideways towards the barracks. Aharon then noticed a funny bulge on his body.
"What do you have under your coat?"
The mechanic suddenly broke into a run, shedding the coat and running like a maniac towards the barracks. Aharon was faster, and gave a running tackle, slamming the man to the ground like a sack of potatoes.
Aharon took a look at the man's chest, and nearly gasped in shock. The "mechanic" had strapped enough TNT to his chest to blow half the airstrip sky high. A cylindrical piece of plastic was in the man's hand. The two wires connecting it to the dynamite had been yanked free by the tackle.
The young man gave Aharon a look filled with zealous hatred. He spoke in a low whisper that chilled his bones.
"How does it feel to save a bunch of stinking Muslim scum, traitor?"
Aharon held him pinned as the Military Police came up to take the Lehi terrorist into custody. Aharon, fully realizing that he could have just been blown to bite-sized pieces, felt nauseous.
"Damn!" Yoram said admirably. "You just stopped that radical from killing half the division. You're a hero! Maybe they'll even give you the Valor Medallion!"
Aharon grinned slightly, then leaned over and retched all over the sidewalk.
"Yeah," Aharon said, wiping sick from his mouth. "I guess I am."