by Ted Halstead
Bilal shrugged. “Maybe so. But it will take more tanks than we have to fight through to Riyadh, even after the confusion that will doubtless follow your attack.”
Farhad smiled. “And you shall have them. Another armored force will join your push to Riyadh from a different direction.”
Bilal’s eyebrows flew upwards. “And the source of this mysterious assistance?”
Farhad laughed. “Your Highness, if your father is willing to commit to our plan I promise that much, at least, we can reveal. In fact, it will be critical for your forces to be in touch with the other armored force as you both close on Riyadh. After all, it wouldn’t do to have you shoot at each other.”
Bilal nodded. “Well, I will discuss your proposal with my father, and see whether he has any interest in pursuing it. Before the Saudis decided to impose their blockade again I know he would have refused. Now, though, I think he will at least consider it.”
Farhad nodded in turn. It was what he had expected. The Saudis had led the blockade when it was first imposed in 2017, supported by the United Arab Emirates, Bahrain and Egypt. It had never been completely effective, thanks to help Qatar received from Iran and Turkey, though it had inflicted severe hardship and cost Qatar billions. Within a year the blockade had proved ineffective, and after both sides spent over a billion dollars each on public relations campaigns that even included Western TV ads, the Americans had finally appointed a former head of US Central Command to resolve the crisis.
That special representative quit in 2019, citing "the unwillingness of the regional leaders to agree to a viable mediation effort that we offered to conduct or assist in implementing."
The Saudis then escalated the entire blockade concept by beginning excavation of the “Salwa Canal.” First proposed in 2018, the goal of the sixty-kilometer long canal was to turn Qatar from a peninsula into an island.
Not stopping there, the Saudis proposed to make one end of the canal a tourist destination, effectively stealing tourists away from a massive Qatari seaside resort under construction just a fifteen-minute drive from the Saudi border.
To grind in the canal’s function of cutting off Qatar from the rest of the Arabian peninsula, the Saudi government also announced that its other end would be used as a nuclear waste dump. Never mind that though the Saudis had signed construction deals with both the French and the Koreans, no nuclear reactor had yet been built.
Of course, once Qatar had been turned into an island there would be no need for the Saudis to maintain substantial forces at its border to maintain the blockade.
Qatar appealed to the Americans to help end the blockade, but they just pointed to their earlier failed effort and refused. Fed up, Qatar’s ruler kicked them out of the US Central Command’s “forward headquarters” at Al Udeid Air Base.
And now there was every reason to hope the Qataris would join Al-Nahda, for the oldest reason of all.
Revenge.
Assembly of Experts Secretariat, Qom, Iran
Grand Ayatollah Reza Fagheh looked up as Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani was escorted into his office by his assistant. With a nod Reza dismissed him, and waved the Colonel to a seat across from his desk. Reza looked him over critically, not for the first time thinking it had been a mistake for Pasdaran soldiers to abandon the custom of wearing beards. However, he could find no other fault, for Bijan’s military bearing and obvious physical fitness made him look like he had just stepped out of a recruiting poster. Well, time to see if performance matched appearance.
“Report, Colonel.”
Bijan nodded. “I believe we have developed a plan with a high probability of success. I must warn you, however, that the plan is complex, and will require our best men and equipment to implement.”
Reza said nothing, and gestured impatiently for Bijan to proceed.
Bijan paused, and then said, “We realized first that we could never fly a nuclear weapon directly from Iran to Riyadh. No matter how many fighters the Saudis divert to the war in Yemen, there will be more than enough left to respond to a flight originating in Iran that proceeds to overfly the Kingdom.
In fact, the flight might be intercepted the moment it approaches Saudi airspace, since we know they monitor all air traffic crossing the Gulf, and fly regular patrols along the coast. Instead, we will fly the weapon into Bahrain Airport, where we have agents who can prevent its discovery by Bahraini officials.”
Reza nodded. This made sense. After all, Bahrain was just a short drive from the Saudi border.
Bijan continued, “We will have a Boeing CH-47 Chinook already at Bahrain Airport, ready to carry the weapon to its final destination. It will have a flight plan showing its destination as an oil field about twenty minutes flying time south of Riyadh. Since Chinooks are routinely used to deliver oilfield equipment and we have agents in place at Saudi Aramco, we will have no trouble with clearance.”
Reza scowled. “It will take the Saudis no more than a few minutes to set their fighters on this helicopter once it fails to land at the oilfield. Unless you want me to believe that the Saudis don’t have an air patrol over their capital, and the best radar coverage possible for many kilometers around it."
Bijan nodded. “I agree that the Chinook will be detected and attacked before it reaches Riyadh, but I think it will take more than a few minutes.
Flying low will make it difficult to detect, and a senior commander will have to authorize an attack on a previously cleared flight. Also, some attempt to communicate will be made before fighters are cleared to engage, and the pilot will claim navigation failure once contacted. We estimate ten or even fifteen minutes will be needed before the Chinook is actually under attack.”
Reza grunted sourly. “So, the helicopter will be shot down with Riyadh on the horizon. I think that will be scant consolation for its crew.”
Bijan laughed, and shook his head. “I would have never wasted your time if we had no plan for the Chinook’s survival. I’m sure you recall the pair of J-20 fighters I asked you to obtain for us from the Chinese last year.”
Now Reza’s scowl was back, and deeper than ever. “I was going to ask you about that. The Chinese demanded over a billion dollars worth of oil in barter for those planes, and more on top of that for the trainers and equipment you told me would be necessary to get them flying with our pilots. Plus a bribe for the Chinese officials authorizing the sale. Keeping them a secret has also been difficult and expensive. Yet so far we’ve made no use of…”
Reza’s voice trailed off as realization hit him. “These Chinese planes will protect the helicopter and the weapon it carries! Are we ready? Can these planes really succeed against the Saudis? Surely, they will have their best planes and pilots protecting the capital.”
Bijan nodded. “I think the J-20s can succeed. We only have to keep the Saudi fighters off the Chinook for ten minutes or so. The J-20s will be difficult to hit for the same reason I am confident they can make it across Saudi airspace without detection. They are fifth generation fighters that are nearly invisible to radar. Our radar has been unable to detect them until they are practically on top of us. The Saudis’ radar may be better, but I don’t think it’s that much better.”
Reza looked doubtful. “Don’t the Saudis have American made fighters?
Aren’t they just as good as these Chinese planes?”
Bijan shook his head. “The Americans have fifth-generation fighters, including the F-22 and F-35. They have sold none to the Saudis. The fighters they do have such as the F-15 are capable, and they could get lucky. I must repeat — there is no way to guarantee success in such an operation. All we can do is prepare as well as we can, in the time we have available. Still, I believe we will succeed.”
Reza sat mute for several moments, and Bijan started to think that the operation would be canceled.
Then Reza nodded sharply. “Continue your preparations. I will let you know when whatever nuclear weapons we have are available.”
Doha, Qatar
&nbs
p; Emir Waleed bin Hamad stood in front of a glass expanse giving him a spectacular view of Doha, a city that had been transformed over the previous generation into a modern metropolis with one and a half million inhabitants.
Though affairs of state required him to spend much of his time at the Royal Palace, the penthouse he owned at the ninety-first floor of the newly completed Dubai Towers was where he was happiest.
The Palace required an army of servants to clean and maintain, and also housed many of those responsible for arranging and executing state functions.
It had its place, but he found it difficult to think clearly in its constant buzz of activity.
This penthouse, by contrast, was almost eerily quiet. Fewer than a dozen servants and security staff were present at any one time, and were restricted to the suite’s outer rooms. No one came without being invited, including family.
Today, though, marked a rare day that Waleed did have an invited guest, his younger brother Prince Bilal bin Hamad who commanded Qatar’s army.
As Bilal knocked and without asking entered, Waleed looked enviously at his trim figure and the dark locks peeking out from his gutrah, which contrasted sharply with his portly figure and thinning hair. Well, Waleed thought, let’s see what he looks like in twenty years.
“Bilal, it’s good to see you,” Waleed said, while kissing him on both cheeks.
“Come and sit,” Waleed said, leading the way to an array of comfortable chairs arranged around a small table full of food and a large thermos of strong coffee.
A few minutes later, Bilal smiled and said, “I see you brought some of the Palace’s best cooks with you to this penthouse.”
Wailed smiled back. “Well, being the Emir should give me some privileges.”
Bilal laughed. “Indeed it should. After all, it certainly carries weighty responsibilities.”
Waleed winced. “Ouch. Even as a child you were always painfully direct.
Well, I suppose people never really change. So, straight to business?”
Bilal shrugged. “It seems there is little time to waste, particularly if we decide to join Al-Nahda in their planned attack on the Saudis.”
Waleed nodded. “Before you describe their plans, tell me what you have been able to find out about this Al-Nahda organization. Who is really behind it?”
Bilal frowned, and said, “The honest answer is I’m not sure. The name Al-Nahda is of course Arab, but that proves nothing. The man I’m talking to is certainly Iranian, but that proves even less. A better indication Iran is behind it is that he says Al-Nahda has access to nuclear weapons, and nobody else in the region who wishes the Saudis ill has been trying to produce them.”
Waleed grunted agreement. “Certainly the Pakistanis would never support an attack on the Saudis, their number one source of petroleum and provider of billions in loans and outright cash assistance. But I thought everyone, even the Israelis, believes that Iran does not yet have nuclear weapons?”
Bilal nodded. “All you say is true. I can only say that I believe it is probably the Iranians, because I can’t imagine who else it could be.”
Waleed rubbed his forehead tiredly, and Bilal could see the privileges that went with the title of Emir came at a price. “Did he say how many weapons they have?”
Bilal nodded again. “Yes. Three. However, he refused to say where they would be targeted.”
Seeing Waleed’s instantly furious expression Bilal hastily added, “However, he assured me that the weapons would not be used against a population center, and made it clear that we would not be expected to intervene until the successful use of at least one of the weapons.”
Waleed’s anger was replaced by doubt, but he finally shrugged. “At least then we know the weapons are real, and they’re not planning lunacy like a nuclear attack on Riyadh. I will have nothing to do with the mass slaughter of my fellow Muslims, no matter how evil their leaders may be. Now, I know you have been putting your training at the German Armor School in Munster to good use since we got those Leopard tanks from the Germans. Are you happy with them?”
Bilal smiled broadly and said, “Yes, I am. At first I'd thought about getting the M1A2 Abrams tanks, and I would have if the Americans had been willing to sell us the latest model with the best depleted uranium and reactive armor.
But, they weren’t. Now that I’ve actually got my hands on the Leopard 2A7+, I don’t regret that decision. They’re fine tanks, and against the M1A2 version the Saudis have, I like my chances. I'll like them even better after the camouflage netting is delivered for the last shipment of one hundred thirty-eight tanks, but if I have to I'll go into battle without it. Together with the sixty-two Leopards we already have that do have the camo netting installed, that brings us to an even two hundred Leopards.”
Waleed frowned and shook his head. “I like your enthusiasm. But does Al-Nahda seriously expect us to pit our small armored force up against the Saudis alone?”
Bilal shook his head. “I would not be wasting your time if they had said so in our last meeting.”
Waleed looked up sharply. “Yes, and who will join us?”
Bilal looked distinctly unhappy and replied, “He refused to say.” Seeing Waleed’s expression, he quickly added, “But he promised to tell us if we commit to attacking once the Saudis are hit by their nuclear weapons. He added we would have to get the details to coordinate the attack.”
Waleed grunted. “You mean to be sure we don’t shoot each other instead of the Saudis.”
Bilal smiled. “That is in fact close to his exact words.”
Waleed shook his head. “And do we have any real chance to make it to Riyadh? Even if much of their armor is committed in Yemen, they still have planes armed with Hellfire missiles that could make short work of our tanks.”
Bilal nodded. “But we do have thirty-six F-15s, thirty-six Rafales, twenty-four Eurofighter Typhoons, and twelve Mirage 2000s available to fly cover.
Anyone attacking our force will pay a heavy price.”
Waleed grunted. “I think our F-15s and Typhoons still have the price stickers in the windows, and I think that’s also true for a dozen of the Rafales.
Just how experienced are our pilots with their planes?”
Bilal shrugged. “You know the answer — not very. Before we told the Americans they were no longer welcome in Qatar, we did participate in some joint strike missions against ISIS. All of the pilots who carried out those missions are now serving as flight instructors, as well as pilots who received advanced air combat training in the US and UK. We also have a few flight trainers for the Typhoons from the Royal Air Force, and some retired French Air Force pilots for the Rafales and the Mirage 2000s.”
Bilal paused. “I have faith in our pilots. I believe they will give our enemies a very unpleasant surprise.”
Waleed nodded. “Very well. Now, the key question- what does Al-Nahda want to achieve by attacking the Saudis? And why would anyone else join us in attacking them? Obviously, nobody else really cares about our desire to end the blockade of our country. So, what does anyone else have to gain?”
Bilal looked uneasy. “You’re right. I’ve wondered the same thing. The Al-Nahda representative has talked in vague terms about the need to end the royal family’s tyranny, and bring democracy to the Saudi people. But I have heard little about plans for internal uprisings, and much more about armor and air attacks from outside the Kingdom.”
Bilal paused. “So, should we abandon this path?”
Waleed shrugged. “Before the Saudis launched their first blockade, I would have rejected Al-Nahda’s approach out of hand. Even after this second, I am still frankly unsure. On the one hand, will the Saudis attack us once they are done with Yemen? Is this alliance with Al-Nadha our only hope to keep our independence? Or will Al-Nahda prove untrustworthy, and make us squander our limited military assets while leaving the Saudis no choice but to end Qatar’s existence?”
Bilal nodded. “There is a middle way. We can tell Al-Nadha we a
re committed to their plan, and find out more about this mysterious armored force that is to join us in our drive to Riyadh. I can also press for more details about what happens after we succeed, obviously assuming we do. If we don’t like what we hear, we can end it then. If we do, we will wait until the promised nuclear attacks. If they fail, or if Al-Nahda lies and does inflict mass casualties, we can still stay put.”
Waleed still looked unsure, but finally said, “Agreed. Let me know what you learn. In the meantime, we will continue our military preparations. They will serve equally well as preparation for attacking the Saudis, or defending us from their attack.”
Tehran, Iran
Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani yanked open the door to the laboratory where he had been summoned by a senior technician named Arash Gul. One who would soon take up residence in Evin Prison if, as Bijan suspected, he was wasting his time.
“So, what was so important that I had to…” Bijan’s voice trailed off as he took in the thick cable stretching the length of the laboratory, and the section propped up midway on a metal table. The cable’s black casing had been sliced open, revealing additional smaller multi-colored casings inside. One of these interior casings had been sliced open as well, and the thin glass fibers inside it attached to an electronic device covered with lights and digital readouts. A small cable snaking from the device was attached to a nearby PC, and its screen displayed data that meant nothing to Bijan.
But he imagined he was about to get an explanation.
“You will recall several months ago you asked me for help in avoiding detection by automated border monitoring systems, specifically at the Saudi land borders. I suggested we put a notice on the dark web saying we would pay well for such information, without of course identifying us,” Arash said.
Bijan nodded impatiently.
Seemingly undeterred, Arash continued. “I also recommended that we not say we were interested in defeating the sensors at the Saudi land borders specifically, to avoid alerting them. The Saudis don’t have the capacity to monitor dark web traffic in detail, but their American allies do.”