Bloodbath

by David Alexander

  The Pasdaran were clearly intent on slugging it out, because from out of the wadi came two BMP-2s, front-mounted 30-millimeter cannons blazing away while machinegunners poured 7.62-millimeter automatic fire at the American invaders. By this time, though, Boogie's fast and upgunned Bam-Bams were answering with their own 25-millimeter cannons, coaxial MGs and TOW ATGMs. In the course of the battle one of the Bimps took a TOW hit broadside from a maneuvering Bam-Bam, catching fire and going up in a whooshing fireball that rained down charred body parts and burning debris.

  By now the two backup Angry Falcon AH-1Zs had overflown the combat zone and were cooking off missiles into the unfriendlies' positions.

  The mortar pit was taken out by a salvo of Sidewinder missile strikes from one chopper while the surviving Bimps were set ablaze by the other helo. As every veteran infantry crunchy knows, one drawback of mortars is that being short-range artillery weapons, they make easy targets for counter-mortar air. The Takavar in the now blazing mortar pit had been taught this lesson the hard and permanent way.

  The battle was extremely brief, but it was also very bloody. It had whittled down Boogie's forces and had caused many friendly casualties. Now the Omega unit's target installation would surely also be on the alert. Still, Boogie had no option except to push on, taking friendly dead -- or what was left of some -- with it in human remains pouches. The enemy the troops just left to the whims of the buzzards and the hot desert sun.

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  Breaux's forces were meanwhile mopping up resistance from other Iranian special ops detachments at the presidential palace, many of whom were putting up fanatical resistance. Either they had been threatened with death if they failed to halt the advance, or their objective was to stall the consolidation of the base by unfriendly forces until Iranian reserves from the Firouzabadi VII Mechanized arrived.

  Probably the defenders' motivation was a mixture of both motivations, Breaux decided. The cluster of Global Hawk surveillance UAVs and manned E-8 JSTARS surveillance aircraft (both airborne assets fielded by USAF) orbiting just across the Iranian border in Iraq and over the northern reaches of the Persian Gulf were reporting the approach of a battalion-sized mobile force over Omega's ground-soldier ensemble technology-enabled tactical geospatial mapping displays so their morale might have been buoyed by reports that arrival in theater of friendlies was in progress.

  The Joint Surveillance Target Attack Radar System, or JSTARS system, used a GSM or ground station module, a mobile companion rig on the ground containing radar and communications equipment needed to calibrate the movements and positions of the ground forces that JSTARS tracked. The GSM had been moved as close as possible to the Iranian border. Though sited in Kuwait, the GSMs were near enough to Iranian territory to bring the ops zone into proximal range of Joint STARS' scopes.

  JSTARS, unlike AWACS, didn't operate with an air component alone, because it was one thing to track objects in the skies as AWACS did, but another to be flying hundreds of miles slant-range of ground-based targets and thereby fall victim to false returns common to slang-ranging. The airborne component of JSTARS was only one-half of the system; it was actually a ground/air system.

  Breaux was not surprised either by the heavy defensive resistance or the new intel that enemy troops were advancing. Contingency plans had included the very obvious and distinct possibility that a battalion of invading Americans might just happen to alert Iranian forces to the fact they were coming under coordinated attack. Sand Viper's OPPLAN took this development -- and other, even worse, scenarios -- into consideration and provided for extraction under fire, should such become necessary. In the meantime, whatever jokers the Pasdaran was about to deal SFOD-O were still far enough away to worry about later. Right now, the force had its work cut out for it.

  Breaux's assault troops were home free in some places, bogged down under fire in others, and mopping up suppressed resistance in yet others still. Blue Man was still on his rooftop, commanding a bird's eye view of the unfolding developments on the ground, while the building itself was in the hands of an Eagle Patcher security detail, part of whose role was to set up an O.P. and aid Blue Man as spotters from above.

  On Breaux's end of the fight, the perimeter was already in friendly hands. Breaux wasted no time in joining one of the squads that were hunting for the super gun tubes and/or hybrid ammunition thought to be hidden somewhere on the estate. Breaux had been back-briefed and knew where the likely hiding places might be located.

  His crew's job was to clear those hiding places of opposition, carefully search them, and destroy any weapons of mass destruction that were discovered.

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  Three squads had been assigned the task of locating and destroying weapons of mass destruction and precision machinery found on the estate. These squads, numbering six combat personnel each, now hit their assigned search areas.

  Each squad had been briefed in what the search areas were suspected of harboring, in the type of threats they might face, and in what to do if they found anything. From downloaded satellite imagery, sand table models had been constructed. The squads had used the models to help plan their ends of the mission, and had also used the Ground Soldier Ensemble system's computerized TACMARS mission planning system.

  In all cases special equipment, such as ROC-1 NBC agent detectors, were carried by squad members. The handheld units could analyze even microscopic samples of NBC agents including chemical and biological toxins and radioactive isotopes used in nuclear warheads.

  The squads were also equipped with full MOPP-6 level protective gear which was not as cumbersome as the old style gear. Most of the protective gear was kept stowed in their rucks so it wouldn't compromise troop mobility. If toxic or radioactive agents needed special handling, weapons disposal teams would suit up and go to work while their buddies secured the area.

  Breaux hitched up with A-Squad, whose objective was the domed central structure at the southern sector of the palace. This was thought to be less a building than an elaborate shell to house and conceal a working prototype of the largest of the big artillery tubes that the Iranians were suspected of harboring here.

  Though its objective appeared undefended, A-squad inched up carefully. Doing it by the numbers, one team was positioned to provide cover fire while a door-kicker squadron took the point for the actual assault.

  Even up close, the Omega hard-chargers met no resistance. The building appeared unoccupied, its doors unlocked and swinging freely open. Just to make sure, a two-man team pitched frag grenades into the interior, ducking back behind the colonnades fronting the entrance as the grenades exploded with multiple ka-rumps somewhere inside. When the smoke and debris cleared, Chicken Wire came rushing in hurling blindfire from his M60E4 MG this way and that. Yet there remained no sign of defensive personnel and the area was pronounced secure.

  Breaux ordered A-squad to deploy into the building, but warned his troops to look sharp and watch out for booby traps. One too-green soldier, about to kick in a door, paid no attention to the colonel's shouted warning to hold off, and then it was too late. As the sole of his boot made contact, the door blew off its hinges, taking most of the foot that had kicked it with it. A few ounces of plastic explosive had been hidden just behind the door, the detonator triggered by a mercury tilt-switch sensitive to the slightest vibration. As a medic rushed over, the legless paraplegic lay moaning and bleeding on the terrazzo.

  On the building's below-ground level, other squad elements were suddenly taking fire. Apparently there were Pasdaran troops inside the multilevel building, most of which was underground, after all.

  The fire came from enemy who had taken shelter in the base as the attack unfolded, hoping to evade discovery. Now that they'd been discovered, they'd decided to shoot it out rather than surrender, but they were apparently not well-trained as commandos and porting small arms only.

  Some of these troops did surrender after more fire was traded, but others had no intention of be
ing taken alive. One Iranian ran straight into a group of US grunts detonating two grenades in a suicide attack, shouting, "Vengeance! Vengeance!" in Arabic. He took three of Breaux's crew with him to wherever it was he thought he was going, heaven, hell or neither.

  Minutes later, Breaux was blowing a door off its hinges with a bullpup shotgun blast using special door-busting power loads. Behind the door there lay a vast storeroom. The big artillery tube was there -- almost. Sections of metal ranging from components of a large super cannon to the same crated heavy artillery tubes that had been videotaped by SFOD-O in the Elburz mountains the previous month were stacked here and there on the concrete floor.

  But there was nothing else. And there was no functional weapon in place. The team had come up empty. This was a dry hole.

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  B-Squad found its objective and secured it without a shot being traded. Moonlight streamed in through the shattered windows as the team fanned out through the interior of the low-rise cinderblock building, their weapons at the ready, alert for the tripwires of booby traps, the silhouettes of snipers on the catwalk above or other signs of danger.

  But the place had the look and smell of dereliction and disuse about it and they met no challenge. The bare cement floor was strewn with debris ranging from discarded food wrappers to yellowed newspapers that had been left to rot and mildew. The four corners also had obviously been used as toilets, and it was obvious from the stench that this use was of recent vintage. Apart from this, there was no sign of human habitation

  The hard-chargers of B-Squad continued to search through the interior of the single-story building, looking for concealed rooms or entrances to hidden below-ground workshops or storage bunkers. In the end, their efforts yielded nothing and the area was judged secure.

  What the squad did turn up were indications that stockpiles of components of weapons of mass destruction had been stored here until fairly recently. Abrasion marks on the concrete floor showed that forklifts and heavy loaders had probably been working in the warehouse structure only a short while ago.

  Moreover, the ROC-1 sniffers showed miniscule traces of NBC contaminants in the air, with concentrations absorbed in the porous concrete where stacks of crates were thought to have been piled.

  But now -- nothing.

  Another dry hole.

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  It was no cakewalk for C-Squad which found itself facing determined resistance from within its search objective. The fire started up well before the Omega Force commandos had approached the multistory white-brick building, forcing the detail to scramble for cover. A couple of Americans had been hit by the fusillade and the Eagle Patcher medic attached to the unit had his hands full treating the wounded, especially because the pill-roller himself was taking fire as he ran to attend them.

  C-Squad was pinned down behind the low, decorative stone walls and manicured plane trees that lined the gently curving walkways that led up to the building. It was obvious that an Iranian defensive unit had dug in here and was expecting an attack, because the fire was accurate and well-coordinated.

  Fire lanes had obviously been mapped out in advance by an officer who knew his business and sniper teams on the roof and in the windows of the multistory building were shooting as if they knew exactly where to place their rounds. There was undoubtedly a spotter or spotters somewhere high up who could call in fire by means of grid coordinates.

  As the minutes ticked by, US forces on the ground were getting picked off by the Iranians holding the building. C-Squad was left with one option, and that was to call in Angry Falcon. Mst. Sgt. Spudder, the squad's commander, didn't like to have his dirty work done for him by helo-jockeys, but it was either get some air in fast or fall back under intense fire, taking more casualties in the process.

  The Viper on loan to the assault force vectored in for the strike a few minutes later. Almost instantly it came under attack from the Pasdaran pom-pom gun emplacement on the roof. They had set up a Norinco twenty-millimeter triple-A rig with enough range to hit the chopper if it came in too close. The triple-A crew was pumping out red tracer fire at the helo with a will to vengeance.

  It was notoriously hard to ignite an aircraft's fuel tanks with ordinary rounds, but with a salvo of phosphorus-coated 20-mike-mike, you could certainly do it. The AH-1Z's pilot made sure to keep his bird well out of range of the slug-spitting Chinese coaxial gun on the roof for that one good reason.

  And so, from a hover at standoff range, the pilot uncaged one of the helo's Sidewinder missiles, got a firing solution and launched the bird. Seconds later, the missile slammed into the roof, its twenty-five pound shaped charge warhead exploding with tremendous impact in the center of the gun emplacement. The troops were blown literally to bits, heads and limbs ripped from their torsos and hurled to and fro by the force of the powerful explosive concussion.

  The chopper then turned its malevolent attentions on the troops stationed on the upper levels of the building below the now vigorously burning roof. The Iranians were at this stage pouring everything from Kalashnikov fire to 40 millimeter canister grenades at the chopper, hoping to knock the airborne predator out of the sky before it killed them all. Automatic fire strobed the windows with flame.

  Darting this way and that like a gigantic black mosquito, the AH-1Z raked the side of the building with its under-nose mounted 20-millimeter chain gun, thousands of glowing tracers spurting in a deadly arc across the entire facing wall, shattering glass and chewing up the interior of the rooms. All enemy fire from those uppermost floors was rapidly suppressed. As the Iranians either ran or were taken out, and their shooting tapered off, the Viper just hung there, swaying slightly as it poured out fire. The heavy caliber DU (depleted uranium) rounds from the slaved, electrically driven, tri-barreled machinegun just kept chewing up walls and furniture, reducing everything in sight to splinters amid a cloud of dust and exploding debris.

  Below, on the ground, C-Squad's shooters now had their blood up and were eager to join the fray. Cheering like madmen and howling like banshees, they rushed the building, taking incoming automatic rifle and light machinegun fire as they charged hell-bent for leather. Several Eagle Patchers dropped in their tracks and never got up again. Their buddies ran forward, automatic rifles blazing at the hip in vengeful anger. As they breached the building's lobby, the fighting deteriorated into close-order combat in a narrowly confined space.

  Those on both sides who had bayonets fixed to their rifle muzzles now used these ancient offensive weapons without hesitation or mercy. Opposing troops engaged each other in a combination of pointblank gunfire and fierce bayonet-stabs into the throats, chests and abdomens of their antagonists.

  The fighting was hard, fast and viciously savage, with heavy casualties developing on both sides. After the dust cleared, Omega combat personnel found they had prevailed. They then went about the business of taking prisoners and counting friendly and unfriendly dead. Fresh reinforcements were called in, and these soon began circulating through the building, taking still more casualties from booby-traps, snipers and enemy diehards as they conducted door-to-door and floor-by-floor security actions.

  It was in the basement of this building that an element of the now beefed-up force (it had started out as only C-Squad, but as the fighting intensified, more men had been poured in until its ranks had swelled to near-company strength by the time the building fell) encountered something, and made a discovery, that was to change the complexion of the entire mission.

  It was not what they had expected to find or anything with which they had been trained to deal. They did not encounter any of the weapons of mass destruction that they had been drilled to detect and destroy. Instead, the Eagle Patchers came under suicidal fire from an entirely unexpected direction.

  The building had a large underground parking area that ran its entire length. Except for the odd vehicle parked here and there, the garage was deserted. But under the dim glow of overhead mercury vapor lamps -- many
had been shot out to deliberately darken the area -- Breaux's combat teams saw a large eighteen-wheel truck of a kind used internationally to transport containerized cargo.

  Hardly had this discovery been made than they were suddenly taking fire from the truck.

  The beefed-up C-Squad, now C-Detachment, went into action, immediately deploying to counter the determined fire from the truck. With superior numbers in favor of Force Omega, the engagement was one-sided and brief. The fire-fight reached its climax when one of the shooters emerged from inside the cab of the big rig, from where he had been pouring fire at C-Detachment, and advanced toward the Americans, pumping out grenades from an under-mounted rifle launcher to cover his clip changes.

  While he threw cans at the US commandos, he shouted something in Arabic that might have been intelligible to one of the native speakers that manned each assault element, had it not been drowned out in the din of battle. Minutes passed and more fire was traded, until a multiround burst caught the gunman in his chest and he went down in a bloody heap. Then the Americans loped in to secure the truck.

  Inside they found nothing to explain the suicidal resistance they'd encountered. The truck was empty except for some large packing crates and corrugated cardboard cartons, some of which had ostensibly contained bulky home appliances. There was nothing in the truck worth dying for, as far as any member o f the team could surmise.

  There was something else though -- the Iranian soldier who had attacked them, shouting oaths and seeking martyrdom, was still alive when the victorious US troops reached him.

  He didn't stay that way for long. He somehow managed to bite something taped to his wrist and died in a shuddering paroxysm of flailing arms and lashing legs. To make it all even stranger, it was now discovered that he had been firing a Galil, an Israeli-manufactured automatic rifle which closely resembled the AK-variants used by the Iranians. His uniform also presented the

  Eagle Patchers with an enigma, as it was not a Pasdaran uniform. The soldier was garbed in Israeli battle dress, his fatigues bearing a patch with a six-pointed star.