army halted the advance of the Greek war machine. In three weeks nearly 6000 troops died, and nearly 20,000 were wounded. Atalay had another reason to feel pride – his own grandfather had given his life in that battle. To him, this land was sacred – it was in his flesh, blood, and bones.
There was another reason the base was important. It housed a long-wave low-frequency transmitter that was one of the biggest in the Middle East, even though it had been mostly forgotten in the time of satellite communications. Its powerful waves could reach all corners of the country; and because they traveled at ground level, they were not affected by the ionosphere static, which meant the transmitter would continue to operate even after a nuclear attack. Polatli was a vital communications safety net within a region that was rapidly scaling up on nuclear weapons.
Mehmet Atalay yelled orders at the top of his voice, smiling as he heard them echo away across the grassy plains. His troops were already up, and by now should be commencing tasks in preparation for the forthcoming exercises on the outer plains, to be undertaken in field kit, full pack, and rations. They would form up and march to the gates shortly, giving him an opportunity to assess them for untidy packs or injuries, or anything else that might present a problem … or simply displeased him. The day would be long and hard, and Atalay would do everything his soldiers did. He’d prefer to fall down dead before he showed them fatigue or pain.
The Polatli base was bordered by miles of nine-foot-high storm fencing, and had been for decades. The one nod to modernization was the introduction of tension break-sensors along the perimeter – not so much as a deterrent as early warning of a potential insurgent attack. The fanatics were everywhere these days. Three terrorists had been shot dead only a month ago, their suicide vests, grenade launchers, and thousands of rounds of ammunition all unused, praise be to God. Atalay had delighted in the encounter – it was what his soldiers needed to sharpen their skills, harden their hearts, and turn them into better warriors.
He let his eyes move over the dark plains – for some reason he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right, or he’d forgotten something. The feeling nagged at him. There was no moon, and sunrise was still some hours away. And there was an unusual mist blowing in from the north-west that smelled of . . . nothing – not the dry grasses of the steppes, nor the wild flowers. It didn’t even have the moisture usual for mist.
He turned back to his troops, and gave them his customary glare – his eyes were so black they could have been pools of oil resting under twin overhangs of bushy brows. The soldiers began to form up, recognizing what their commanding officer wanted even before he ordered it. He was taking out a single platoon of sixty this time, leaving the rest behind. As he lifted a whistle to his lips to blow the short sharp blast indicating the formal fall-in, the sudden scream of sirens made him pause. A distant flashing red light immediately answered his unspoken question – a breach in the perimeter fence.
Atalay roared his instructions, and soldiers immediately ran in different directions to scan the surveillance equipment and break out large armaments. He then moved the platoon into three smaller squads, twenty apiece, and directed them toward the suspected breach.
He smiled flatly. If insurgents thought they could sneak onto the base and find the camp asleep, they were about to come face to face with sixty armed soldiers and one very pissed-off commander.
Atalay ordered a man to retrieve some flares, then headed out after his squads. He pulled his phone from his pocket – still the fastest means of communication in peacetime – and spoke to his administration center that acted as his command module. Nothing was on ground radar, they reported, and also nothing significant moving in the vicinity of the
There was another reason the base was important. It housed a long-wave low-frequency transmitter that was one of the biggest in the Middle East, even though it had been mostly forgotten in the time of satellite communications. Its powerful waves could reach all corners of the country; and because they traveled at ground level, they were not affected by the ionosphere static, which meant the transmitter would continue to operate even after a nuclear attack. Polatli was a vital communications safety net within a region that was rapidly scaling up on nuclear weapons.
Mehmet Atalay yelled orders at the top of his voice, smiling as he heard them echo away across the grassy plains. His troops were already up, and by now should be commencing tasks in preparation for the forthcoming exercises on the outer plains, to be undertaken in field kit, full pack, and rations. They would form up and march to the gates shortly, giving him an opportunity to assess them for untidy packs or injuries, or anything else that might present a problem … or simply displeased him. The day would be long and hard, and Atalay would do everything his soldiers did. He’d prefer to fall down dead before he showed them fatigue or pain.
The Polatli base was bordered by miles of nine-foot-high storm fencing, and had been for decades. The one nod to modernization was the introduction of tension break-sensors along the perimeter – not so much as a deterrent as early warning of a potential insurgent attack. The fanatics were everywhere these days. Three terrorists had been shot dead only a month ago, their suicide vests, grenade launchers, and thousands of rounds of ammunition all unused, praise be to God. Atalay had delighted in the encounter – it was what his soldiers needed to sharpen their skills, harden their hearts, and turn them into better warriors.
He let his eyes move over the dark plains – for some reason he felt uneasy. Something wasn’t right, or he’d forgotten something. The feeling nagged at him. There was no moon, and sunrise was still some hours away. And there was an unusual mist blowing in from the north-west that smelled of . . . nothing – not the dry grasses of the steppes, nor the wild flowers. It didn’t even have the moisture usual for mist.
He turned back to his troops, and gave them his customary glare – his eyes were so black they could have been pools of oil resting under twin overhangs of bushy brows. The soldiers began to form up, recognizing what their commanding officer wanted even before he ordered it. He was taking out a single platoon of sixty this time, leaving the rest behind. As he lifted a whistle to his lips to blow the short sharp blast indicating the formal fall-in, the sudden scream of sirens made him pause. A distant flashing red light immediately answered his unspoken question – a breach in the perimeter fence.
Atalay roared his instructions, and soldiers immediately ran in different directions to scan the surveillance equipment and break out large armaments. He then moved the platoon into three smaller squads, twenty apiece, and directed them toward the suspected breach.
He smiled flatly. If insurgents thought they could sneak onto the base and find the camp asleep, they were about to come face to face with sixty armed soldiers and one very pissed-off commander.
Atalay ordered a man to retrieve some flares, then headed out after his squads. He pulled his phone from his pocket – still the fastest means of communication in peacetime – and spoke to his administration center that acted as his command module. Nothing was on ground radar, they reported, and also nothing significant moving in the vicinity of the
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