schedule. But the First Infantry Division’s entire chain of command would be cursing him for the foreseeable future.
He caught himself. There was no “foreseeable future.” This was war.
When the firing paused, Harris turned to his companion and said, “All right, Monk. Good. But I’ll feel a whole lot better when you tell me we’ve got an actual highway open. At the moment, I’m more worried about opening up additional MSRs than I am about the fighting. Get a reconaissance-in-force down toward Jenin as soon as it makes sense, and send a patrol down Highway 6. Your call on the size. See if they’ve really pulled back down there. If it’s clear, set up a coordination point at Tulkarm. Tie in our flank with the MOBIC corps. In case we need to shift forces.”
“I’m more worried about mines than Jihadis along 6. My intel shop puts their new defensive line halfway back to Nablus.”
“Better ground. They’re doing the smart thing. At this point.”
The howitzers barked again, joined this time by other batteries scattered in the clearings amid the groves behind the ridge. It was a good sound, as were the distant thuds that followed fifteen to twenty seconds later. They were going after deep targets. Which meant that no local counterattacks had materialized.
“I never would’ve given up this ground so easily,” Harris told the Marine two-star. They walked up through scents of pine and cedar, their security detachments prowling ahead and following behind, giving the two generals space for a private conversation.
“Well,” Monk Morris said, with a tinge of irritation, “they didn’t just hand it over. But I take your point. Not the sort of blunder I would’ve expected from al-Mahdi. Based on his track record. ‘Conqueror of Jerusalem’ and all that.”
“That’s the point,” Harris said. “It’s all about Jerusalem, al-Quds, at the moment. We’re dinosaurs, the two of us. Thinking like old-fashioned military commanders. This is the age of the believers. Suleiman al-Mahdi may be smarter than Saladin when all other factors are equal. But they’re
not
equal right now. He wants to hold onto Jerusalem, the third holy city of Islam. After all, this is the Emirate of al-Quds and Damaskus, not the Emirate of Haifa. He sees us as the secondary enemy, the new Lesser Satan. He knows he has to beat Sim Montfort and the MOBIC corps. That one’s a zero-sum game. He figures he can take care of us later.”
“So what does he do? Now? Up here?” Morris asked.
“You tell me, Monk.” Harris shifted his body armor and felt the sweat-grease on his back. “If you were Sully al-Mahdi pulling out all the stops to hang onto Jerusalem and you didn’t have the numbers you’d like to have . . . What would you do?”
“I’ve been wrestling with that since they started pulling off the heights last night,” the Marine said. “If I were al-Mahdi and running an economy-of-force operation up here, I’d concentrate on retaining control of the key interior roads. I’d tell al-Ghazi, the sector commander, to dig in deep and hard from Afula up through Nazareth, with a swinging-gate defense to the north, from Shefar’am back to Golani Junction.”
“Bingo. He knows he’s going to lose Megiddo Junction. He already has, for all intents and purposes, since he can’t hold it. It’s just a delaying action down there. Testing us.” Harris pushed a low branch out of the way. “I agree with you, Monk. So does history. The junctions in the Jezreel have been strategically vital since the battles in the Old Testament.”
“Probably longer.”
Harris smiled. “Don’t let Sim Monfort hear you say that.”
The artillery let loose again. Which meant that the forward observers were calling in hard targets. If the fates were in a good mood, it might even mean that his recon drones were flying and linking back targets.
The growl of the heavy vehicles climbing the road below them deepened as the breeze
He caught himself. There was no “foreseeable future.” This was war.
When the firing paused, Harris turned to his companion and said, “All right, Monk. Good. But I’ll feel a whole lot better when you tell me we’ve got an actual highway open. At the moment, I’m more worried about opening up additional MSRs than I am about the fighting. Get a reconaissance-in-force down toward Jenin as soon as it makes sense, and send a patrol down Highway 6. Your call on the size. See if they’ve really pulled back down there. If it’s clear, set up a coordination point at Tulkarm. Tie in our flank with the MOBIC corps. In case we need to shift forces.”
“I’m more worried about mines than Jihadis along 6. My intel shop puts their new defensive line halfway back to Nablus.”
“Better ground. They’re doing the smart thing. At this point.”
The howitzers barked again, joined this time by other batteries scattered in the clearings amid the groves behind the ridge. It was a good sound, as were the distant thuds that followed fifteen to twenty seconds later. They were going after deep targets. Which meant that no local counterattacks had materialized.
“I never would’ve given up this ground so easily,” Harris told the Marine two-star. They walked up through scents of pine and cedar, their security detachments prowling ahead and following behind, giving the two generals space for a private conversation.
“Well,” Monk Morris said, with a tinge of irritation, “they didn’t just hand it over. But I take your point. Not the sort of blunder I would’ve expected from al-Mahdi. Based on his track record. ‘Conqueror of Jerusalem’ and all that.”
“That’s the point,” Harris said. “It’s all about Jerusalem, al-Quds, at the moment. We’re dinosaurs, the two of us. Thinking like old-fashioned military commanders. This is the age of the believers. Suleiman al-Mahdi may be smarter than Saladin when all other factors are equal. But they’re
not
equal right now. He wants to hold onto Jerusalem, the third holy city of Islam. After all, this is the Emirate of al-Quds and Damaskus, not the Emirate of Haifa. He sees us as the secondary enemy, the new Lesser Satan. He knows he has to beat Sim Montfort and the MOBIC corps. That one’s a zero-sum game. He figures he can take care of us later.”
“So what does he do? Now? Up here?” Morris asked.
“You tell me, Monk.” Harris shifted his body armor and felt the sweat-grease on his back. “If you were Sully al-Mahdi pulling out all the stops to hang onto Jerusalem and you didn’t have the numbers you’d like to have . . . What would you do?”
“I’ve been wrestling with that since they started pulling off the heights last night,” the Marine said. “If I were al-Mahdi and running an economy-of-force operation up here, I’d concentrate on retaining control of the key interior roads. I’d tell al-Ghazi, the sector commander, to dig in deep and hard from Afula up through Nazareth, with a swinging-gate defense to the north, from Shefar’am back to Golani Junction.”
“Bingo. He knows he’s going to lose Megiddo Junction. He already has, for all intents and purposes, since he can’t hold it. It’s just a delaying action down there. Testing us.” Harris pushed a low branch out of the way. “I agree with you, Monk. So does history. The junctions in the Jezreel have been strategically vital since the battles in the Old Testament.”
“Probably longer.”
Harris smiled. “Don’t let Sim Monfort hear you say that.”
The artillery let loose again. Which meant that the forward observers were calling in hard targets. If the fates were in a good mood, it might even mean that his recon drones were flying and linking back targets.
The growl of the heavy vehicles climbing the road below them deepened as the breeze
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