Patrick McLanahan Collection #1

by Dale Brown

  “Be…silent…?” Noshahr gurgled, his mouth opening and closing indignantly. “Pardon me, Shahdokht, but I am the Lord High Chancellor of the royal court, the representative of the king in his absence. I have full and sole authority to negotiate and make agreements and alliances with friendly and allied forces.”

  “Not any longer, Chancellor,” Azar said forcefully. “It has been a year since anyone has heard or seen the king and queen. In the meantime the court has been run by appointed servants who, although true and loyal, do not have the interests of the people in mind.”

  “I beg your pardon, Shahdokht—!”

  “It’s true, Chancellor, and you know it,” Azar said. “Your primary objective has been the organization, security, and placement of the court, in preparation for running the government upon the return of the king and queen. You have done a fine job of that, Chancellor. The court is safe, secure, well run, well financed, and is ready to administer this country when the time comes. But right now the people don’t need or want an administrator—they want a leader and a general.”

  “I am the rightful leader until the king returns, Shahdokht,” Noshahr insisted. “And as minister of war and marshal of the council of war, I am the commander-in-chief of our military forces. There are no others permitted.”

  “You’re wrong, Chancellor…I am,” Azar said.

  “You? But that…that is highly irregular, Shahdokht,” Noshahr said. “A proclamation of death or abdication has not yet been made. A council must be convened, composed of myself, the religious leaders, and representatives of the eleven royal houses, to investigate the likely whereabouts of the king and queen and decide what actions to take. That is impossible and unsafe to do in time of war!”

  “Then, as heir apparent, I will make the proclamation myself,” Azar said.

  “You!” Noshahr repeated. “You…that is…pardon me for saying so, Shahdokht, but that is an insult to the memory of your blessed father and mother, our beloved king and queen. They may be still in hiding, or perhaps injured and healing, or even captured. Our enemies could be waiting for you to do such a thing and then reveal that they are still alive, hoping to throw us into confusion and rebellion against the court and royal family. You cannot…I mean, you should not do this, Shahdokht—”

  “I am no longer Shahdokht, Chancellor,” Azar said. “You will hereby refer to me as Malika.”

  Noshahr gulped, his eyes bulging. He stole a glance back at his bodyguards, then back at Azar, studying her carefully, trying to decide if she meant what she’d just said and if she would back down or compromise if confronted. “I…I am afraid I cannot allow that, Princess,” he said, after finally summoning up enough courage. “I have a responsibility to the king and queen to safeguard and preserve the court. In their absence, and without guidance from a council of the royal houses, I’m afraid I cannot do as you wish.”

  Azar lowered her eyes, nodded, and seemed to even sigh. “Very well, Chancellor. I see your point of view.”

  Noshahr was filled with relief. He would certainly have to deal with this young Americanized upstart, and soon—she obviously had aspirations far beyond her years, and that could not be tolerated. But he was willing to act the supportive and protective uncle—all the better to keep an eye on her while he…

  “I see it is time to take back the throne,” Azar said. In a blur of motion, she suddenly whipped the German-made Heckler & Koch HK-54 submachine gun up and steadied it from her hip…aiming it squarely on Masoud Noshahr’s chest. “You are under arrest, Chancellor, for defying my authority.” She turned to the Persian bodyguards behind Noshahr. “Guards, place the chancellor under arrest.”

  “This is preposterous!” Noshahr screamed, more in shock and surprise than anger. “How dare you?”

  “I dare because I am the Malika, Chancellor,” Azar said confidently, “and the throne has been vacant long enough.” She looked past Noshahr to the bodyguards, who still had their guns slung on their shoulders. “Guards, place the chancellor under arrest. He is forbidden to make any communications with the outside.”

  “They won’t follow you, Azar Assiyeh,” Noshahr said. “They are loyal to me and to the king and queen, the rightful rulers of Persia. They will not follow a spoiled, bewitched brat from America.”

  Azar glanced around the conference room, noting that neither Lieutenant Colonel Najar nor Major Saidi, her longtime aides, had raised their weapons—they were unslung, but still pointing at the floor with safeties on. The same with Hesarak Buzhazi and his bodyguard, Major Haddad, and the chief of the infantry brigade based at Mehrabad Airport, Colonel Mostafa Rahmati, both of whom had accompanied them on this diversionary mission. She was the only one with her weapon raised.

  “I gave an order, Master Sergeant: Place the chancellor under arrest,” Azar commanded. “Allow no outside communications. If he resists, bind and gag him.” Still no one moved.

  “Master Sergeant…all of you, it is time to make a decision,” Azar said, affixing each of them with a steady gaze, hoping to hell her hands wouldn’t start shaking. “You may follow Chancellor Noshahr and continue on with this so-called revolution as it has been for the past year, or swear loyalty to me and to the Peacock Throne, and follow me in taking back this country for a free Persian republic.”

  “Follow you?” Noshahr sneered. “You’re just a girl. You may be a princess, but you’re not a queen—and you’re certainly not a general. The loyalists won’t follow a girl into battle. What will you do if no one chooses to accept you as queen?”

  “Then I will abdicate my title and join General Buzhazi’s forces,” Azar replied, to the absolute amazement of all. “It is time to join forces and fight as one nation, and if it won’t be done under the Qagev banner, it will be under the general’s flag. If you’re ready to take me and my followers, General, we’re ready to join you.”

  “That won’t be necessary,” Hesarak Buzhazi said…and to everyone’s great surprise, he unslung his submachine gun, held it before him with arms outstretched…and dropped to one knee before Azar. “Because I am surrendering command of my forces and pledging my loyalty to the Malika Azar Assiyeh Qagev, the rightful queen of Persia and mistress of the Peacock Throne.”

  Azar smiled, silently praying that she wouldn’t keel over from the surprise or burst into tears herself, then nodded. “We are pleased to accept your oath of loyalty, Hesarak al-Kan Buzhazi.” She kissed his forehead, then put her hands on his shoulders. “Rise, sir, take your weapon, and assume leadership of the ministry of war and the council of war of the royal court of Qagev, and command of the combined forces of the Democratic Republic of Persia…Marshal Buzhazi.”

  “Thank you, Malika,” Buzhazi said. He turned to Noshahr. “My first official act shall be to offer an appointment to Masoud Noshahr as deputy minister of war, vice marshal of the army, and my representative to the court. Do you accept?”

  “You want me to serve under you?” Noshahr asked, even more shocked now than before. “You take my position and then you want me back? Why?”

  “The queen is a good and astute judge of character, Noshahr,” Buzhazi said. “If she says you have served the court well as chancellor and prepared it to lead the country when the time came, I believe her. I want you to keep on doing your job, the one you’re best at. Prepare the court to rule a constitutional monarchy, and keep supplies and equipment flowing to my troops. I need someone to represent me in Tehran, because I’ll be in the streets suppressing this insurgency and restoring security to the country. That’s what I’m good at. And as vice-marshal, you will answer to me. Screw up, and you’ll have to deal with me. Do you accept?”

  For a moment Buzhazi thought Noshahr was going to say something crude or insulting; instead, he did something Buzhazi never thought he’d do: he saluted. “Yes, sir, I accept.”

  “Very good, Vice-Marshal. I want a meeting of the council of war set up immediately.” He turned to Azar. “Malika, with your permission, I’d like to appoint Lieutenant
Colonel Najar as my chief of staff and promote him to full colonel. Major Saidi will remain as your aide-de-camp.”

  “Permission granted, Marshal,” Azar said.

  “Thank you, Malika. Colonel, work with Vice-Marshal Noshahr to set up a meeting of the war council. Major Haddad is hereby promoted to lieutenant colonel and will be in charge of security.” To Azar he said, “Malika, I would like you to attend the war council meeting and provide your input on resources and personnel we may be able to recruit from the streets of Tehran and the surrounding towns and villages. We’ll need every helping hand we can find to make this work.”

  “Gladly, Marshal,” Azar said.

  “Thank you, Malika,” Buzhazi said. “If you would, Malika, Vice-Marshal Noshahr, I’d like to show you something first before we proceed that could have a bearing on our planning. Colonel Najar, take over.”

  Azar walked beside Buzhazi through the airport terminal to the exit. “Very dramatic gesture you made back there, Marshal,” she said. “I never thought I’d see you kneeling before anyone, let alone me.”

  “I had to do something to outdo your grand gesture, Highness,” Buzhazi said. “Besides, if all this fancy froufrou court stuff is what your people know and expect, I guess I had to play along. You were really going to give up your throne and join my ragtag force of outlaws?”

  “Did you mean what you said about surrendering your forces to me and swearing allegiance?” They smiled together, knowing each other’s reply. “Do you think we can pull it off, Hesarak?” she asked.

  “Well, before today, I gave us no more than one chance in ten of winning,” Buzhazi said honestly. “Since then, things have improved greatly. I give us perhaps one chance in five now.”

  “Really? A one hundred percent improvement so fast? We haven’t done anything yet except perhaps rearrange the deck chairs on a sinking ship! We have the same forces as before, the same resources—perhaps better organization and a little extra motivation. What else has changed other than our names, titles, and allegiances?”

  They had walked outside and were escorted by guards to the nearby Iran Air hangar. After their identities were verified, Buzhazi stepped aside to let Azar pass him. “What else has changed?” he asked with a smile. “Let’s just say something from above has dropped into our laps.”

  “What…?” Azar stepped into the hangar……and was immediately confronted by a ten-foot-tall humanoid robot, wearing some sort of cannon on his shoulders. The robot stepped closer to her with amazing speed and agility, examined them all for a moment, then stood at attention and shouted, “Detail, ten-hut!” in a loud computer-synthesized voice, then repeated it again in Farsi. It stepped aside…

  …revealing that the hangar had two sleek, jet-black, massive American bombers inside. Azar recognized them as Air Force B-1 bombers, except the cockpit windows appeared sealed closed. The hangar floor was choked with vehicles, cargo containers of every size and description, and perhaps two hundred American airmen in utility uniforms standing at attention.

  “As you were,” Azar said. The Americans, men and women alike, relaxed. Many came over to the newcomers, introducing themselves with salutes and handshakes.

  A few moments later, a tall man in a strange dark gray all-body suit of armor that Buzhazi recognized as the American Tin Man battle system, without his helmet, came over, stood before Qagev and Buzhazi, and saluted. “General Buzhazi?” he said via his Tin Man suit’s on-board electronic translator. “Major Wayne Macomber, U.S. Air Force, detail commander.”

  Buzhazi returned his salute, then shook hands. “Thank you, Major. May I present Her Highness, Azar Assiyeh Qagev…” He paused for effect, giving her a sly wink and nod, then added, “Queen of Persia.”

  Macomber’s eyes widened in surprise, but he recovered quickly enough, snapped to attention again, and saluted. “Nice to meet you, Your Highness.” She extended her hand, and he shook it, his armored hand dwarfing hers. “Never met a queen before.”

  “I have met a Tin Man before, and I take great pleasure and comfort knowing you’re here,” Azar said in English so perfect, so American that it surprised him. “Welcome to Persia, Major.”

  “Thanks.” He turned his hand and looked down at hers. “Hypoplastic thumb. Nice job fixing it. My youngest sister has it too. Bilateral?”

  “Yes, Major,” Azar replied rather awkwardly. “I’m surprised at you. Most people I greet look at my hand and then look away, pretending not to notice.”

  “Ignorance, that’s all, ma’am,” Macomber said. “Good for you not hiding it. My sister doesn’t hide it either. Freaks people out but that’s her plan. She still has a wicked tennis backhand.”

  “You should see me on the rifle range, Major.”

  The big commando smiled and nodded, his turn to be surprised. “Looking forward to that, ma’am.”

  “Me too, Major.” She looked at another commando in a Tin Man battle armor system approach. “Hello, Sergeant Major Wohl,” she said, extending her hand. “Nice to see you again.”

  “Thank you, Highness,” Wohl said. “Nice to see you too.” He glanced at Buzhazi. “I hope your new title doesn’t mean bad news about your parents.”

  “I hope so too, Sergeant Major,” Azar said, “but the situation has forced my elevation, and so we proceed.” Wohl nodded in approval, but still gave Buzhazi a warning glare.

  The ten-foot robot came over to them. Macomber motioned to her and said, “Ma’am, I’d like to introduce you to my second-in-command, Captain Charlie Turlock, U.S. Army Reserves, piloting a Cybernetic Infantry Device manned robot battle system she helped develop. She’s on patrol now so she can’t get out to greet you properly. Captain, meet Queen Azar Qagev of Persia.”

  “Nice to meet you too, Captain,” Azar said, shaking hands with the giant, amazed at her delicate touch despite the size of her mechanical hand. “My minister of war and commander of my armed forces, Marshal Hesarak Buzhazi.”

  “Nice to meet you, Highness, Marshal,” Charlie said from within the CID unit. Macomber’s eyes widened at Buzhazi’s new title. “All patrols reporting secure, sir. Excuse me, but I’ll continue my assignment.” The robot saluted and hurried off.

  “Incredible, absolutely incredible,” Azar remarked. “Thank you so much for the extraordinary job you did in hunting down the Pasdaran’s mobile missiles. But now I’m confused. Did Marshal Buzhazi ask you to come to Tehran?”

  “We had a little…trouble, you might say, with our accommodations in Turkey,” Macomber explained. “My commanding officer Lieutenant General Patrick McLanahan got in contact with General—er, Marshal Buzhazi, and he offered to put us up until we get our situation straightened out.”

  “McLanahan? The general up in the space station?”

  “Let’s go somewhere and talk, shall we?” Macomber suggested. They moved through the hangar, greeting more airmen, and took a quick tour of the EB-1 Vampire bombers before entering an office just off the main hangar floor. Macomber spoke as if to thin air; a moment later, a telephone rang right beside him. He picked the receiver up and handed it to Azar. “It’s for you, Highness.”

  Azar took the phone, trying to act like impromptu and mysterious phone calls for her were completely normal. “This is Queen Azar Assiyeh Qagev of Persia,” she said in English. “Who is this, please?”

  “Highness, this is Lieutenant General Patrick McLanahan. How are you tonight?”

  “I’m well, General,” she responded, trying to sound official and coherent even though her senses were swimming trying to keep up with the amazing otherworldly technology she was being exposed to here at breakneck speed. “We were just talking about you.”

  “I was listening in—hope you don’t mind,” Patrick said. “We keep a close eye on our troops all around the world.”

  “I understand,” Azar said. “I hope you are recovered from your space flight injuries. Are you in Persia?”

  “No, right now I’m over southern Chile, aboard Armstrong Space Station,” Patri
ck said. “Highness, I was in a little bit of trouble, and I called on General Buzhazi for help. I apologize for not informing you first, but time was of the essence.”

  “You and your forces are welcome forever and always in Persia, General,” Azar said. “You are a hero and champion to all free Persians, and we consider you our brother-in-arms. But perhaps you can explain what’s going on.”

  “We believe Russia has moved military forces into Iran and is working with the theocratic regime to exert influence in the region.”

  “Well of course they have, General,” Azar said matter-of-factly. “Don’t tell me that’s a surprise to you?” His rather embarrassed pause gave her all the answer she needed. “The Russians have pledged substantial military and economic assistance over the years to the theocratic regime in exchange for presence and to put pressure on them to stop supporting anti-Russian separatist movements inside the Russian Federation and its near abroad, such as in Kosovo, Albania, and Romania. Russia has enjoyed its most-favored-nation status for decades.”

  “We knew that Russia was using Iran along with the conflict in Iraq to distract the United States from its other activities around its periphery,” Patrick said, “but we didn’t know their involvement was so widely known and accepted.”

  “The aid Iran has received from the Russians is reportedly greater than what the United States gives any other nation in the region except perhaps Israel,” Azar said. “That was very important not only to keep the theocrats in power but to sustain the Iranian people. Unfortunately a lot of that aid went to the Revolutionary Guards Corps and their drastic arms buildup, which they used to crack down on any dissent in our country. But has something else changed recently? Is Russia playing a different game?”

  “We believe the Russians have brought a new weapon, a powerful mobile anti-spacecraft laser, into Iran and have used it to down one of our spacecraft,” Patrick said. “Major Macomber, Captain Turlock, and Sergeant Major Wohl survived such an attack.”