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OUT INDEED. AS THE remaining four Sukhois shoot eastward over the crippled city back to their base adjoining Yasser Arafat International Airport, a squad of female soldiers, following the lead of a plump nineteen-year-old red-headed sergeant who two months before had instructed recruits in Stinger operation, aim the weapons they have just removed of their crates. The remaining Sukhoi pilots, flying at Mach 1, break the sound barrier over the beach at 800 miles per hour. Flying at 1200 miles per hour, it takes only seconds for the new round of Stingers to catch up.

Debris from the Sukhois rains down over Tel Aviv. No one is seriously injured, but one of Judy’s pony express riders takes a nasty cut on his thigh and falls off his bike. He is a seventeen-year-old boy of mixed Moroccan and Polish descent, dark skin, blond hair, green eyes, and sufficient determination to remount and continue on his way bringing the news: “Aid has arrived! Aid has arrived! Everyone to the beach. Keep good order! There is enough for all!”