It took Ali and the main assault element over an hour to work their way around the compound. The reduced visibility of the rain and overcast made it difficult to navigate, but Karim had an unerring sense of direction. Twice they heard and smelled sheep and had to proceed carefully for fear of running into any herdsmen. Ali was reassured when the huge pipes loomed out of the darkness.
Staying in the shadow of the pipeline, the column of men followed it up to the complex. Fifty meters from the fence they slid into a long drainage ditch. There they linked up with the other four recon men of Karim's team.
The thirty-six Guards had to pack tightly in the small space, praying they had not been seen. They also prayed they would not have to remain long, for the ditch had a strong aroma of sewage, crude oil, and creosote. Ali stationed himself at the top and watched through the night goggles. Parviz stood guard beside him.
While the Guards waited, the four recon men began their work. They had been trained in infiltration by elite North Korean Reconnaissance Bureau special forces. They worked in pairs, one on either side of the pipeline.
The infiltrators slithered through the brush up to the fence. After checking for alarm wires, they wrapped thin strips of cloth around the chain link before they cut it, so there would be no metallic snap when the wire parted. They bent back the wire and tied it with string.
Once through the fence they started on the mine belt. The first sapper in each pair crept forward on his stomach. In his left hand he held a long piece of grass, which he gently stroked in front of him. In his right was a blade of stiff plastic, and he used it to probe the ground before moving. Unlike a metal knife, the plastic would not cause any magnetic-influence mines to detonate. When the grass brushed against a trip wire, the sapper gingerly checked it for tension to determine if it was spring-loaded and would activate if cut. If there was no tension, he cut it and moved along. If there was tension and he could not move around the wire, he placed a luminous marker so those following could see it and slip over. When the plastic hit a mine below the sand, the sapper changed his route to move around it. The second man, directly behind, marked the path of the movement using pencil-sized sticks with a swatch of luminous tape on one side. From the perspective of the attackers, the effect was of a two-foot-wide trail bounded by green dots on both sides. Those inside the compound could see nothing.
The infiltrators' movements were achingly slow. They ignored the rain and the pain in knees and neck and elbows, focusing only on the two feet directly in front of them. After each stop the lead sapper would not continue until his partner laid a flat piece of wood on the ground and pressed an ear to it, listening for movement within the compound.
Ali could clearly see the two luminous paths marking the sapper teams' progress. Unable to do anything but wait for them to penetrate the defenses, he once again felt helpless. A few moments before, he had been occupied and everything was running smoothly. Now his stomach churned, his legs shook so much he had to press them into the sand, and he had to urinate so badly he thought his bladder would burst. The same sensations plagued him before every fight. Ali called it fear and hated himself for his weakness. He thanked God it was dark and no one could see him. The Guards listened carefully, knowing if the infiltrators were discovered they would have to attack at once.
The infiltrators were almost inside the perimeter. Finally there was something to do. Ali hunched lower, pulled the walkie-talkie out of his pocket, and told the mortar and machine-gun teams to be ready. They acknowledged. Ali felt the master sergeant move next to him in the darkness. "Tell them to be ready," Ali whispered. Musa disappeared into the ditch.
The infiltrators cut through the barbed wire apron fence and crawled up the earth berm. They heard the crunch of boots in wet sand approaching. The closest pair flattened themselves out against the mound. Of the two on the other side, one prepared to give cover fire with a tiny Czech Skorpion machine pistol, first making sure the sound suppressor was screwed on tightly. The sentry, bundled in a poncho with his helmet mashed over the hood, heard nothing as he strolled around the edge of the berm, grumbling in a low voice about the rain and the army. The other infiltrator waited until he passed and then rose up, taking aim with a Russian S4M pistol, a double barreled derringer that fired a cartridge with an internal pistol that trapped all the powder gas—the source of a weapon’s sound—within the case. When the Iranian pulled the trigger the only sound was the faint click of the firing pin against the primer. The sentry dropped to the ground with a 7.62mm bullet in his brain. The pistol was only effective at point blank range, but much surer than a knife. The infiltrator’s partner helped drag the body behind the berm. They listened carefully, but there was just the rain. A flashlight signal was passed to the ditch.
Ali gave the order. There was no hesitation. The Guards had spent a long week in Iran rehearsing every step of the attack on a mockup.
The infiltrators had strung fishing line from the ditch to the two holes in the fence. Crawling in single file, each Guard grasped the line with one hand and silently followed it through the scrub. A team of twelve men made its way to the hole on the left side of the pipeline. Another twelve-man team and twelve more led personally by Ali went through the hole to the right of the pipeline. They moved quickly through the fence and the paths in the mine belt, lining up in their teams behind the earth berm.
Ali kept his walkie-talkie near his mouth the whole time, so he could instantly call for supporting fire from the mortars and machineguns if the three teams were discovered. He was the first through and watched over the berm as the rest came up. Through the night goggles he could see only a few figures moving in the compound.
Ali had no intention of conducting a conventional attack on the complex, where they would take and clear each building. Two twelve-man assault teams would sweep through the complex to the right and left of the pipeline, eliminating all opposition and causing as much damage as they could. The pipeline was a handy guide, and the members of each team had been carefully drilled to fire only on their side of it. Ali would lead his twelve-man demolition team directly to the pump house. The entire force would move through the compound as fast as possible, then break out where the pipeline ran through the fence on the opposite side. This would put them on a straight line to the hill to pick up the support teams, and then back to the boats. They would be gone before anyone could react.
All the Guards were ready, and Ali gave a whispered order to go. They would keep silent as long as possible.
The Iranians poured over the top of the berm. Ali's demolition team spread out behind him as they ran alongside the pipeline toward the pump house. The familiar feeling of exhilaration had returned; the throbbing in Ali's stomach vanished now that it was time to act instead of worry.
Two workers came out the side door of the pump house as the Guards approached. Both froze, shocked by the sight of so many armed men. Ali cut them down with two short bursts from his Kalashnikov. At that the silence was broken, and the Iranian Guards began to scream their battle cry: "Allahu ak-bar!" God is great!
There were explosions and bright flashes on both sides of the compound as the assault teams worked their way through. As they raced down the sides of the buildings, the Guards fired at anything moving, stopping only to toss white phosphorus grenades through windows and doors. The fragments of phosphorus burned at twelve hundred degrees Celsius, setting fire to anything they touched until either consumed or deprived of oxygen. The process also threw off thick clouds of white smoke, which concealed the assault teams as they moved.
Hardly a shot was fired at them. The few defenders who had ready weapons and the urge to use them attracted such a massive volume of automatic fire that the survivors quickly lost their motivation.
Reaching the door to the pump house, Ali found it locked. From his bag he took a small ball of plastic explosive, already primed with a short length of time fuse dangling free. The rest of the team spread out on both sides to cover him. Ali pressed the c
harge into the bottom of the doorjamb and pulled the friction fuse igniter before jumping out of the way. A few seconds later the door and part of the surrounding wall blew in. Ali pulled the pin from a fragmentation grenade, released the spoon, counted to two, and threw it into the opening as hard as he could to keep it from being picked up and thrown back. The grenade exploded, and the two Guards beside him charged through the door, firing their AKMs on full automatic. The rest followed quickly, with Ali bringing up the rear.
Just beyond the doorway was a short hall lined with offices. The Guards checked each one before moving down the hallway to the pumping machinery.
All the offices were open except the last. Ali stopped, waiting for a pair of Guards to clear the room before proceeding on. One kicked the door open, and the other threw in a fragmentation grenade. They crouched against the wall, waiting to charge in after the detonation.
The grenade exploded, but the flimsy prefabricated walls did not contain the blast. Ali was leaning against the wall when it blew down around him. The explosion was deafening. He felt men running by him. There was a frantic sound of automatic firing, of magazines emptied in continuous bursts.
The wood and plaster covering him was knocked away, and someone pulled him to his feet. He was surprised to see that it was Parviz. Ali checked himself, but he was only bruised, as were the other two Guards. The hallway was filled with dust and the acrid explosive smoke from the grenade.
Ali shouted for the men to go on and begin setting the explosives. Using the wall for balance, he groped his way down the hallway. A dark shape came out of an alcove, hidden by the smoke. Ali thought it was one of his men until he saw the pistol. He grabbed for his Kalashnikov, but it had tangled in his webbing when he fell. Struggling to free the weapon, Ali could not take his eyes from the pistol. The adrenaline made him feel as if he were watching the scene through a telescope. Then a fireball erupted next to his ear. A cluster of slugs hit the man with the pistol in the chest, slamming him to the ground as if pushed by a giant hand, the man's clothing smoldering from the tracers. From the floor Ali looked back and saw Parviz, eyes wide and tongue protruding from the corner of his mouth in concentration, loading a fresh magazine into his assault rifle. The side of Ali's face felt like it was on fire. Touching it, Ali discovered that the muzzle blast from Parviz's AKM had burned off his sideburns. He gave the boy a grateful smile and discovered that his hands were shaking, and the pulse was pounding in his ears. Pushing himself back to his feet with a grunt, Ali motioned for Parviz to follow him down the hall.
The Guards were packing their twenty-pound demolition bags into the pumping machinery. Each bag of plastic explosive was connected to a ring of detonating cord so the charges could all be set off at the same time. Several Guards were sitting down, exhausted. Anger cleared Ali's head. He tried to shout at them, but fear and the smoke had dried out his mouth. It took a large swallow of water to get his voice back. "Clear our way to the other side of the building," he rasped. "Secure the door and hurry, we have to get out of here." The men dashed off.
While they were working, the lights suddenly went out —the assault teams must have hit the generator and power lines. The Guards switched on the flashlights taped to the stocks of their AKMs. When the explosives were in place, Ali took two precut lengths of time fuse from his bag. Each had a blasting cap already crimped to one end and a fuse igniter attached to the other. He taped the two blasting caps to the ring of detonating cord. The fuses would burn for five minutes; if one failed, the other would do the job. He shouted for the team to move out. Parviz still stood guard beside him.
Ali pulled the fuse igniters, and they sprinted through the building. The rest of the team was waiting at the exit on the side opposite from where they had entered. Ali made a quick count to be sure he had everyone, then gave the order to go. Several white phosphorus grenades were thrown back into the compound to screen their movement. The demolition team sprinted down the pipeline, shouting, "Lightning, lightning!" in Farsi as they ran. This was the prearranged running password, so the other Guards lying in wait would know they were friendly.
The assault teams were spread out behind the earth berm on both sides of the pipeline. The infiltrators had opened another hole in the mine belt and fence for them to exit through. The master sergeant and Karim were waiting as the demolition team dived over the berm.
"Do we have everyone?" Ali shouted. He was still having trouble hearing.
The master sergeant nodded. "Three wounded, nothing serious. They can all walk."
"Lead them out," Ali ordered. "I will be the last."
One by one, the Guards slipped off the berm and through the hole.
Ali signaled the last group, and they charged down the path. Ali was the last man. As he went through the barbed wire apron fence, he stopped to take a last look at the burning complex, tripped, and landed hard on his face.
At that moment a stream of machine-gun fire reached out at them from one of the buildings. One of the Guards was hit. He stumbled, lurching off the path. Ali watched helplessly, then pushed his head into the sand. There was a series of muffled pops and then loud bangs as a string of Italian Valmara 69 bouncing mines burst from the ground and exploded at waist height. The runners disappeared in the explosions.
Ali, unhurt, crawled down the path. "No, no, no," he moaned desperately. The sand was covered with blood. He heard the bullwhip crack of high-velocity slugs passing over his head; the Guards regrouping outside the fence were returning the fire. So were the supporting machineguns. He thought he heard screaming. The mortar team dropped a barrage of high explosive and white phosphorus into the compound. Ali scrambled down the path on his hands and knees. He came across the body of a man and felt for wounds. The familiar lines of the human form abruptly stopped—the right leg was severed, an arm was held only by tendons. Arterial blood pumped furiously. Ali had to look closely to make out the face. It was Parviz. Ali vomited, water and bitter bile. Hands took hold of him and dragged him down the path.
They stopped out of small-arms range to attend to the wounded. Water was splashed in Ali's eyes, and he saw Musa's concerned face in front of him. "I am all right," he said.
Musa spoke from the darkness beside him. "We are ready to move, Commander."
At that moment the pump house exploded in a brilliant flash that lit up the entire area. The Guards were buffeted by the shock wave, and debris began falling all around them. All they could see of the complex was the crude oil from the pipeline burning brightly.
"How many have we lost?" Ali shouted, preparing himself for the answer.
"We carry five dead and eight wounded," the master sergeant told him.
"Did you get Parviz?" Ali demanded.
"We have attended to him and given him morphine," said Musa. "But he has no hope."
"Do we have everyone else?" Ali asked, lowering his voice, reestablishing control. "And all the bodies?"
"Yes," the master sergeant replied.
Ali got to his feet. The Guards were in march formation, waiting for him. "Let us go, then," he said.
The column didn't stop until it arrived at the release point. The mortar and machine-gun teams were waiting, and they all continued on to the boats. All the way back, Ali silently berated himself—if he had only called for the mortars earlier, it would not have happened. The coxswains had the Zodiacs ready, and they wasted no time getting out to sea. The pickup went smoothly; the missile boats had moved very close to the shoreline so as not to miss them.
Parviz was still alive as they left the emirates' territorial waters, though he never regained consciousness. Ali held the boy's hand until he died, just as it was light enough to see clearly.
Ali rose from the deck. Two sailors were watching him with horror in their eyes. Looking down to see what they were staring at, he found that he was completely covered with blood.
CHAPTER 7
"It is good to finally meet you," Amir told Major Ali Khurbasi. "I was told you were not wound
ed in the raid. I trust this is true?"
Ali nodded. They were sitting in Amir's office in the chancery, around the elegant mahogany desk of the previous occupant. There were no mementos in the room, no books other than a large and ornate Koran—none of the things that would give a clue to the personality of the occupant, except perhaps by their absence.
"You did a good job," Amir continued. "We are all very proud, and I have a small reward. Stand to attention." He pressed a buzzer, and a Pasdaran colonel entered the room.
Surprised, Ali rose to his feet. The colonel read from a piece of paper. "In the name of God, the Compassionate, the Merciful. On this day Major Ali Khurbasi is promoted to the rank of lieutenant colonel in the Army of the Guardians of the Islamic Revolution." He finished the usual flowery prose of a promotion document, pinned the new rank to Ali's uniform, shook his hand, and immediately left the room.
"Congratulations," said Amir.
"I have good people," Ali said warily. "They are responsible for any success." With a soldier's natural pessimism, he was convinced this was preparation for something unpleasant. It had to be. He would not have been brought to Teheran to meet with a high-level intelligence chief just for congratulations and a promotion.
"Spoken like a true commander," said Amir. "But you would be held personally responsible for failure, so it is only fair that you receive credit for success." He hesitated. "However, this is not why you have been summoned."
Now it comes, Ali thought.
"I know you deserve a rest," said Amir. "Unfortunately, there is no time. We are preparing a special mission of enormous importance to Iran, perhaps the greatest mission ever, and I am authorized to offer you command. You may decline without prejudice."
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