The war has been raging for more than a decade on a global battlefield. And it threatens to grow more intense. The tactics of combat include assassinations, kidnapings, skyjackings and bombings, as small cells of urban terrorists attack the institutions of the world's industrial democracies. The principal victims are not soldiers but civilians: public officials and businessmen, as well as schoolrooms of children, planeloads of tourists and trains packed with commuters.
Last week, however, terrorism suffered a dramatic setback. The West German government refused to bow to the demands of a pistol-armed band of two men and two women who had skyjacked a Lufthansa jet and embarked on a 110-hour odyssey of terror from Majorca to Mogadishu, Somalia. There, in a daring middle-of-the-night raid, West German commandos rescued 82 passengers and four crew members, killed three of the skyjackers and wounded the fourth (see following story).
The dramatic rescue came less than a month after the Tokyo government had surrendered to the ransom demands of five Japanese Red Army terrorists who had skyjacked a JAL jet with 156 passengers aboard. The determination and courage of West German Chancellor Helmut Schmidt, who ordered the commando attack, brought jubilant congratulatory messages from many of the world's leaders. President Jimmy Carter praised the West Germans for the "courage of their decision." Israeli Premier Menachem Begin, whose country mounted the successful rescue of hostages from Uganda's Entebbe Airport on July 3, 1976, cabled, "It was indeed a salvation in which all free men rejoice." British Prime Minister James Callaghan, arriving in Bonn last week on a previously scheduled visit, warmly pumped Schmidt's hand and declared, "It's a great day for you. It's a great day for Germans. That was a superb job."
But only a battle was won in a war that knows no boundaries. The international links of modern terrorism were revealed for the world to see when the Lufthansa skyjackers—apparently Palestinians, although their real names are still not known—proclaimed solidarity with West German terrorists who had kidnaped Industrialist Hanns-Martin Schleyer on Sept. 5. Within two days after the bold rescue mission, Schleyer's body was found in the trunk of an abandoned car in the French town of Mulhouse. In a warning to governments everywhere, his killers sent a message to the far-left Paris daily Liberation: "The battle has just begun."
Schmidt was more than ready to fight. He immediately ordered postwar Germany's biggest man hunt in an attempt to track down the murderers. Three million WANTED posters flooded the country, carrying the photos of the ten women and six men suspected of being connected with the Schleyer killing. These faces were splashed across newspaper front pages and broadcast by every TV station. The prime suspect was Friederike Krabbe, 27, who is believed to have ordered the industrialist's murder. Police vans, meanwhile, began cruising through cities, their loudspeakers blaring pleas for every citizen to aid in the search. Barricades sprouted across roads and police checked identity papers; traffic was snarled.