Strike Force

by Dale Brown

  It was a good defensible spot—unfortunately it was also a good place to get trapped in, since access was limited in any other direction except out the front door. Buzhazi immediately radioed for other platoons to spread out around the bank building to help defend it from different directions and to provide cover fire in case they needed to escape. Setam-Gari Avenue was choked with cars and obscured with smoke, with people running in all directions trying to cover their mouths with belongings, scarves, or hankerchiefs. Every few moments he would see another horrifying sight of a woman carrying a bag of groceries or a child holding a soccer ball get gunned down by the attack helicopter’s cannons. He swore loudly, trying desperately to squeeze the images out of his consciousness. He lifted his radio: “All Lion units, Lion One, report! Lion…”

  Suddenly the entire front of the bank office was blasted apart by rocket fire, sending clouds of brick, stone, and glass inside. One soldier standing beside Buzhazi caught the full brunt of the explosion, his lifeless body plowing into the Iranian general. Buzhazi’s vision was gone—the only thing that told him he was still alive was the terrible ringing in his ears from the blast and the feel of the young soldier’s blood and tissue covering his face. Someone lifted him free of the wreckage and body parts. The soldier asked something, but Buzhazi couldn’t hear him, so he just nodded and patted his arm to tell him he was okay.

  A few minutes later, with the volume on the radio turned up all the way, Buzhazi was able to hear the reports coming in from his battalion: “Lion Two is about a half-block away. Are you all right, One? Anyone there?”

  “I’m okay, Two,” Buzhazi radioed. “One casualty so far. Lion Three, report.”

  “Lion Three doesn’t have you in sight, but…stand by…” There was another loud explosion not far away, with more screaming and panicked citizens running in every direction.

  “Lion Three, what’s your status?” No reply.

  “This is Two. Looks like Three got hit pretty bad.”

  “Copy. Lion Four.” No reply. “Lion Four, report.” Still no reply. “Lion Five.” Again, no response. “Lion Four and Five, key your mikes if you can hear me.” Buzhazi thought he heard the coded clicks on his radio, but he wasn’t sure if it was real or just wishful thinking.

  “One, this is Two, armored personnel carriers advancing from the west,” the leader of Second Company reported. “I see one…no, two, two of them. Traffic is slowing them now…One, I see dismounts! Six…eight…ten dismounts, approaching each side of the street.”

  “Copy, Two.” Buzhazi turned to the men behind him. “Listen up, men. Who do I have behind me?”

  “Lieutenant al-Tabas, sir,” a terrified, high-pitched voice responded. “I’ve got Sergeant Ardakan and most of the members of Kush platoon with me.”

  “Weapon status, Lieutenant? Anyone with a grenade launcher and some HE rounds?”

  There was a long, uncomfortable silence; then, Tabas and Ardakan moved beside him, crouching low. The sergeant was carrying an AK-47 assault rifle along with a “blooper,” a thirty-millimeter grenade launcher, and he wore a bandolier of grenades. The lieutenant carried an AK-74 assault rifle. “What do you need, sir?” Tabas asked.

  “I need that launcher and your grenades, Sergeant,” Buzhazi said. Ardakan looked confused, but gave the general his “blooper” and grenades. Buzhazi loaded a smoke round into the launcher.

  “Sergeant, I need some cover fire.”

  “Are you all right, sir?”

  Buzhazi’s vision was still a bit blurry but there was no time to wait any longer. “I’m fine, Sergeant. Lieutenant, there are two armored personnel carriers off to the right down the street, with dismounts heading our way on the sidewalk on both sides of the street. I’m going to lay down some smoke, and then you and I are going to head down the street in between the cars and trucks and see if we can get close to those armored vehicles. They may be our way out of here.”

  “I’ll go, General,” Ardakan said. “When was the last time you led such an assault?”

  “Negative, Sergeant, I’m doing this,” Buzhazi insisted. “When we pop the smoke, I need you and your men to engage the dismounts and get them before they get us, then follow us down the street so we can take those vehicles. If we don’t make it, I need you to link up with Lion Two—I think he’s a half-block to the east.” He handed the sergeant his radio. “After that, try to link up with as many of the battalion as you can and get out. Understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Good. Lieutenant, stay down and under cover in between the disabled cars as much as you can. I’ll be firing the grenade launcher, so you cover me the best you can. When we get to the armored vehicles, keep an eye out for security gunners in the turret or on the passenger side. I’ll pop smoke and frags on them, and then we’ll try to take them. Ready?” The lieutenant gurgled something that vaguely sounded like a “yes.”

  There were a hundred other things to think about, a thousand other things to consider, and he hadn’t asked anyone for their advice—there was simply no time. The lieutenant looked young enough to be his grandson. He knew he shouldn’t think about that, but he still said, “Let’s go, son,” as he raised his grenade launcher and headed off toward the exit.

  He almost instantly regretted not getting more advice on a plan. The second Buzhazi stuck his head out to look for the Pasdaran dismounts, he was met with a hail of gunfire that made him cry out in surprise and nearly fall over backward into the bank lobby, thankful he wasn’t hit. They were a lot closer than he anticipated! He heard more gunfire and saw a few of his men, probably from Second Company, advancing across the avenue, trying to distract the Pasdaran infantrymen.

  Buzhazi motioned to Ardakan, and the sergeant stuck his AK-74 out the doorway without aiming it and fired down the street at the approaching Revolutionary Guards. The return gunfire abruptly stopped. “Now!” Buzhazi yelled, and he and Tabas scurried out of the bank building and into the street, hiding behind disabled and abandoned cars. Buzhazi took aim and fired at the first squad he saw, nearly hitting the squad leader in the forehead with the smoke grenade. The exploding grenade burst right in the midst of the Pasdaran infantrymen, knocking one unconscious and scattering the others. Buzhazi quickly loaded another smoke round, tracked the direction Tabas was shooting, and found the second squad. His second grenade round sailed over their heads and exploded behind them, but it frightened and confused them long enough for Tabas, Ardakan, and the soldiers from Second Company to dispatch them.

  Buzhazi loaded a high-explosive grenade into his “blooper” and fired at the first armored vehicle he saw, a Russian-made BMP infantry combat vehicle—with the driver and vehicle commander sitting up in their seats, heads poking out of their hatches, watching the gunfight like a couple of spectators! Buzhazi fired his grenade launcher. The round struck the steeply angled front deck of the APC, deflected upward off the engine compartment exhaust louvers, and exploded on the 73-millimeter smooth-bore cannon barrel, killing the crew instantly and starting a small fire atop the engine compartment. Moments later, hatches opened up on the second APC, and the crew jumped out and ran off.

  Allah be praised, Buzhazi rejoiced to himself as he loaded another HE round in his grenade launcher, the damn plan might actually work! “First Company, move out and take those BMPs!” Buzhazi shouted over his shoulder to his men in the bank. “Let’s go, let’s…!”

  He heard a roar of rotor blades behind him and turned, raising the blooper…but it was too late. Before he could fire, an Mi-24 attack helicopter raced in from the south, stopped just south of the avenue a few hundred meters away, then unleashed its entire load of one hundred and twenty-eight 57-millimeter rockets point-blank on the bank building before any of his men could get out. The entire building and both buildings on either side of it disappeared in a terrific cloud of fire, smoke, and debris. Buzhazi ducked behind the cars clogging the avenue just before the shock wave, searing heat, and hurricane-force blast of flying stone, steel, and gla
ss plowed into him.

  “Don’t move!” he heard above him. A Revolutionary Guards soldier was aiming his rifle at him. The air was thick with dust, debris, and smoke, and Buzhazi found it difficult to catch his breath. He could hardly hear because the roar of the Mi-24 hovering less than a hundred meters away was deafening. Buzhazi raised his left hand, trying to hide the “blooper” in his right hand, and another soldier yanked him up by it, nearly breaking his fingers in the process. “Allah akbar, it is him! It’s Buzhazi!” the first soldier shouted gleefully. “The old man himself led this raid! The general will be very pleased.” His sidearm, ammo, and grenade launcher were stripped away from him. “Take him to…”

  The soldier was interrupted by the crash of some small object against the windshield of a nearby car. Buzhazi hardly noticed it in all the other confusion of sounds and smells around them, but the Pasdaran soldiers were suddenly distracted. When Buzhazi could see clearly, he saw a very loud crowd of citizens marching up Setam-Gari Avenue toward them, less than a block away now. He couldn’t hear what they were shouting, but they didn’t look one bit happy.

  “Take him!” the first Pasdaran soldier shouted, and the second soldier pinned Buzhazi’s arms behind him. The first soldier lifted his AK-74 rifle and fired two shots over the crowd’s head, waving at them to get back. No dice—the crowd, at least a couple hundred people and growing larger by the second, kept coming. More rocks, bottles, and pieces of blown-apart buildings started to rain down on them. Fear filling his eyes, the first soldier fumbled for his portable radio. “Susmar air unit, Susmar air unit, this is Gavasn Seven-One, I am at your ten o’clock position, approximately one hundred meters. I have General Buzhazi in custody. Requesting fire support on that mob heading toward me! We are outnumbered! Acknowledge!”

  “Acknowledged, Gavasn,” the reply came. “We have you in sight. Stay where you are.” The big helicopter gunship pedal-turned to the left, hovering just a few dozen meters in the air near the air base boundary fence across the avenue. The 12.7-millimeter cannon slewed downward, zeroing in on the advancing crowd, and then…

  …a laser-straight streak of orange-yellow fire zipped across the sky directly on, then directly through the gunship’s engine compartment. Buzhazi at first thought he had imagined it, because the gunship didn’t seem to be affected at all, even though he thought the fire had hit the helicopter. But seconds later the entire engine compartment ripped apart like an overfilled balloon and exploded in a cloud of fire, and the stricken helicopter—minus its entire engine compartment, main rotor, and most of the top of its fuselage—simply dropped straight down out of the sky and exploded in a brilliant burst of flames, showering them with still more smoke and burning debris.

  Buzhazi remembered seeing those exact same streaks of light at Qom and knew who his unseen benefactors were. “The angel of death has come to Doshan Tappeh, my friends,” he told the horrified Pasdaran soldiers holding him. “Better get out while you still can.” He found he didn’t have to break the Pasdaran soldier’s grip—he and his comrade were already running off toward Doshan Tappeh Air Base as fast as they could negotiate the stranded cars and burning debris all around them. The crowd cheered as the soldiers ran off.

  About a hundred eager hands steadied him as the crowd surrounded him, thumping his back happily. “Who are you people?” Buzhazi shouted. “Where did you come from?” But he couldn’t make himself understood from the cheering and celebrating. “Everyone, get out of here, now!” he yelled. “There are more Pasdaran troops on the way! They’ll mow everyone down if you don’t get away now!”

  And just as he shouted that warning, he looked south toward the airbase and saw exactly what he feared—all of the Revolutionary Guards that had been waiting for his battalion to try to escape to the south were now streaming north across the double runways of Doshan Tappeh Air Base right toward them! There were at least four companies of infantry heading his way, probably less than two kilometers away now, along with scores of armored vehicles. Farther to the east, he could see three more Mi-24 helicopter gunships flying in echelon formation, slowly advancing toward them as well. They were sending over a thousand troops out to mop up what was left of Buzhazi’s insurgents, and they would undoubtedly cut down these protesters too because they had helped him. There was going to be another bloodbath…

  …or worse. As he scanned the area farther east, he could see three tiny fast-moving dots on the horizon, rolling in and lining up right down the middle of Setam-Gari Avenue—Pasdaran attack jets! They looked like Russian-made Sukhoi-24 close air-support bombers, laden with bombs on both wings. The bastard Zolqadr was actually going to bomb the city from fast-movers! There would be nothing left of this entire avenue for the Pasdaran infantry to clean up after this attack was over! He looked to the west and saw another attack formation, this time of two more Su-24 bombers. “Run!” Buzhazi shouted. “Get out! Get away from here! The Pasdaran will attack any moment…!”

  Seconds later, the jets attacked…but not on Setam-Gari Avenue. At the last second the jets peeled away, banking hard…and lining up on the advancing Pasdaran forces.

  The jets to the east attacked first, launching radar-guided air-to-air missiles on the helicopters and shooting them down nearly simultaneously before peeling away. In a precisely coordinated attack which left almost no time for the men on the ground to react, seconds later the jets to the west swept over the Pasdaran infantry formations, dropping anti-personnel clusterbomb canisters. It appeared the entire air base lit up with thousands of flashbulbs, but Buzhazi knew that each “flashbulb” was a half-kilogram explosive charge that sent metal fragments out in all directions, killing or maiming anyone within ten meters.

  “Hoseyn, you bastard,” Buzhazi said aloud as he watched in relieved fascination at the scene of destruction right before him, “you finally got off your ass and decided to do something.”

  Just as quickly as it began, it was over. The airbase was obscured with thick smoke from the clusterbomb explosions, exploding vehicles, and from the burning wreckage of the attack choppers. Soon the terrifying sounds of injured and dying soldiers reached the crowd’s ears, and they turned away and started to quickly leave the area.

  “Who are you people?” Buzhazi asked anyone within earshot. “Where did you come from?” But the jubilant masses said little that he could understand.

  Buzhazi returned to the Bank Sepah building to look for survivors, where he found members of Second Company already searching the rubble. “Not much left, sir,” the sergeant in charge of Lion Two reported. “I guess the air force decided to get into the fight after all, sir?”

  “Looks that way,” Buzhazi said. “General Yassini finally came to his senses—or his service commanders did. I think they’ll have the Pasdaran on the run. I hope they took out the Pasdaran’s missiles, though, or we could be attacked again at any moment.”

  “Those people that marched down the street? They said they were organized by a member of the Qagev royal family, a girl no less, to rise up and throw out the Pasdaran. Do you believe that, sir?”

  “Qagev? I haven’t heard that name since history class in grade school—ancient history. I didn’t know there were any still around.” Buzhazi shook his head in disbelief. “Now we have to contend with a damned monarchy? Well, it can’t be any worse than the theocrats and Islamists. If they are, we’ll be picking up guns and fighting all over again.”

  “What hit the first gunship, sir? It didn’t look like a missile.”

  “Just call it a lightning bolt from heaven,” Buzhazi said, scanning around to look for his unseen but very powerful armored savior. “Let’s finish searching this area for survivors, then let’s head off to the rendezvous point to join up with the rest of the battalion. Then we’ll find out what in hell is going on around here.”

  CHAPTER 8

  PASDARAN-I-ENGELAB HEADQUARTERS,

  DOSHAN TAPPEH AIR BASE, TEHRAN

  THAT SAME TIME

  “Zolqadr? Are you
there?” the voice of Ayatollah Hassan Mohtaz thundered over the wireless phone. “Answer me, damn you! What’s happening out there?”

  General Ali Zolqadr, commander of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps, was standing open-mouthed on the roof of the Pasdaran-i-Engelab headquarters on the western side of Doshan Tappeh Air Base. He lowered his pair of field glasses as if looking at the horrific scene with his own eyes would somehow change the situation. Just seconds ago he was gleefully watching his plan to crush Buzhazi and his insurgency unfold exactly as planned—he was so confident in victory that he decided to call Mohtaz and tell him the good news himself. Then, just as abruptly, everything completely collapsed. He had just watched the utter elimination of an entire battalion of elite Shock Troops and a company of attack helicopters!

  “Uh…I…Your Excellency, I will have to call you back,” Zolqadr stammered. “I…I…must…”

  “You will explain what is happening out there now!” Mohtaz ordered. “I am watching the television news, and they are reporting several helicopters down and large multiple explosions on the base! What’s going on?”

  “I…Your Excellency, just now, several attack and interceptor fighters attacked my troops as they were about to begin mopping-up operations,” Zolqadr explained.

  “Fighters? Whose fighters?”

  “They were our fighters, sir!” Zolqadr exclaimed. “I don’t know where they came from!”

  “Who gave the orders to launch fighters? Yassini? Where is Yassini?”

  “He’s in my jail, sir,” Zolqadr said. He turned his binoculars toward the security and interrogation building…and saw it on fire. “There is…I see smoke coming from the security building…”