by Ted Halstead
Whoever was in command had then probably sent out a drone, which thanks to his jammers would have stopped sending back pictures long before reaching his force.
An incompetent or simply lazy commander could have easily decided to wait until morning to take action. It wasn’t unreasonable to hope for such a commander, either, since KKMC had its forces assigned shrunk dramatically after the Gulf War. It was almost sad to hear from his scout that three M1A2 tanks and three M-113 armored personnel carriers were coming. They would hardly pose much of a challenge to his force.
But if any survived to escape jamming range and report, Hamid knew he could find himself dealing with serious Saudi resistance before he was anywhere near Riyadh. And that wouldn’t do.
Though he hated to admit it Hamid’s Zulfiqar-3 tank wasn’t the best choice to take on an M1A2, especially if he wanted to be sure of a quick kill, particularly at night. The Irbis-K thermal sights on their Russian T-90s, the first Russian-produced mercury-cadmium-telluride (MCT) matrix thermal sight, gave them the ability to identify the enemy at a range of slightly over three kilometers. Reluctantly, Mazdaki decided to also commit his lone Russian T-14 Armata to the ambush, since it was even more capable than the T-90s.
Since he knew from the scout that the Saudis were simply barreling down Highway 6262 towards his position, finding a spot where the terrain allowed his tanks to hide most of their bulk while leaving their cannons free to fire was not difficult. Hamid had eleven T-90s and the Armata take position, so that each target could be hit with two rounds.
It turned out that two rounds were definitely overkill for the M-113 APCs.
Hamid saw multiple secondary explosions from all three, and correctly guessed that he was witnessing detonations from the onboard ammunition.
Two of the M1A2 tanks were also quick kills.
The third M1A2, though, escaped without a scratch. One of his tanks had simply missed. The other had targeted the wrong tank.
The commander of that M1A2 was no fool. He immediately deployed smoke, and left the highway. Even worse than the smoke was the bright light from the burning and exploding armor in front of them, which made their thermal sights useless.
“After him!” Hamid roared into his command radio. All of the tanks in the ambush moved forward, with the faster Armata in the lead.
In fact, the Armata had a rated off-road speed of ninety kilometers per hour, better than double the M1A2 tank’s rated speed of forty KPH. Hamid knew that both numbers, though, were misleading. He was sure the M1A2’s commander was having his driver press the accelerator to the floor, and that it was going well over its “rated speed.” On the other hand, he knew the Armata’s commander would not careen across the unlit desert at its top speed, no matter how important the target.
Nevertheless, Hamid was confident they would catch up to the Saudi tank.
But would they stop it before the enemy tank had a chance to send its base a warning?
Only one direction made any sense for the M1A2 tank, and that was back to base. For several agonizing minutes, though, there was no sign of it.
Suddenly, Hamid could see the Armata fire once, and then again. The second time Mazdaki saw with satisfaction that the M1A2 was hit, and had stopped moving. The Armata put one more shell into the Abrams to make sure, and this time was rewarded with secondary explosions that lifted its turret into the night sky.
Hamid tried to calculate how far the enemy tank had traveled. The ambush site was already some distance from the R-330ZH jammer, which had to stay near the roadblock.
Finally, Hamid shrugged. There was only one way to find out for sure.
Press forward, and see what sort of a welcome the Saudis had prepared.
Chapter Sixteen
Ghale-Morghi Airport, Iran
Kazem Shirvani and Farhad Mokri climbed out of Kazem’s car, and walked to the back of a nondescript concrete building next to an airstrip that had weeds peeking out from it in several places.
Farhad shook his head. "I grew up in Tehran and this place is less than an hour’s drive from my parent’s house. But I had no idea this airfield was here.”
Kazem smiled at Farhad’s additional unspoken comment, visible in his expression. “Yes, nothing about this closed airport says ‘secret nuclear weapons storage facility’. Of course, that’s the point.”
The building’s back door opened readily to Kazem’s key, and in less than a minute they were both standing in front of a framed but faded poster celebrating a cultural exhibition that had happened over a decade ago. The only other thing Farhad noticed in the hallway was an elevator door, but it was at the far end of the corridor.
Kazem carefully took the poster off its mounting hook and set it aside.
Now a plain white keypad was revealed, with no clue to its purpose.
Kazem leaned over the keypad so that it was concealed from Farhad’s view, and quickly punched in a series of numbers.
Nothing happened.
Then Kazem carefully replaced the poster on its mounting hook.
The elevator door at the end of the hallway slid open.
“Step lively,” Kazem said, running for the elevator with Farhad right behind him. They reached it just before it shut again, and squeezed inside.
As the elevator began to descend, Kazem grinned and said, “It’s good that you’re young enough to keep up. If we’d missed it we wouldn’t have been able to try again until tomorrow, and I’m going to need some help with this job.”
Farhad noticed that there were no floors below ground level indicated on the elevator’s control pad. And, he thought, he hadn’t seen a “down” button on the outside of the elevator either.
After a ride that lasted only a few minutes, but seemed much longer, the elevator smoothly came to a stop. The door slid open, to reveal a workspace crowded with equipment and storage cabinets. There were also three of the
“glove boxes” Kazem had described to him earlier.
As he opened one of the storage cabinets with a key, Kazem began to explain what they were going to do next.
“All three weapons are completely disassembled both for safety reasons, and to facilitate maintenance. The two designed for ground testing we’re going to assemble completely with the exception of a single component. The one that will be dropped by air we will assemble completely. You may be wondering why we will do that one differently.”
Farhad simply nodded.
Kazem continued, “The reason is that the countdown for the first two weapons begins when they are completely assembled. Remember that our first goal was to successfully achieve detonation of a nuclear device. Only later were we planning to focus on precise control, for example a detonation that could be controlled with a timer.”
Farhad mutely pointed at the two digital timers included in the pile of components Kazem had pulled from the storage cabinets.
Kazem laughed. “You’re paying attention! Excellent! Yes, we will be using these timers on the ground test devices. However, the timers will not control their detonations. Instead, they will give an approximate countdown to detonation once final assembly is complete.”
Farhad raised one eyebrow and asked, “Approximate?”
Kazem grinned. “Yes, approximate. For each design we have in the digital clock’s memory the expected time to detonation. But these are experimental devices. I’d love to be able to promise that our predicted detonation time will arrive exact to the second. But not even my ego is so large. I am confident, though, that detonation will not occur for at least two hours after final assembly for both ground test devices.”
Farhad nodded. “And I remember you said that the air dropped device will detonate on impact.”
Kazem nodded back approvingly. “Exactly. And that’s why we can assemble that one completely. If it works as designed, nothing but the impact of being dropped from a significant height should cause detonation.”
Farhad frowned, and asked, "How great a height?"
Kaze
m shrugged, and answered, "It would not need to be very great, but certainly more than simply letting the warhead fall off a table or vehicle.
That's why complete assembly of that weapon doesn't pose a safety risk."
Kazem then directed Farhad on which components to place in which glove box, and while Farhad was doing that, entered a combination on a keypad attached to a safe. The safe opened with a click, and Kazem put on a pair of lead-lined gloves.
Kazem carefully withdrew three small metal boxes from the safe, and placed one each in a glove box compartment that Farhad noticed appeared to have an extra lining. Farhad guessed correctly without having to ask that he was looking at the uranium and plutonium components of the weapons.
Kazem then helped Farhad finish placing the remaining components inside the glove boxes, until finally they were done and Kazem nodded towards one of the two chairs on the floor, placed next to the elevator door.
“I don’t need any help putting these together, so you can get some rest,”
Kazem said, which Farhad thought was a remarkably diplomatic way of saying, “I’d like anyone without a degree in nuclear physics as far away from the bomb assembly process as possible.”
Kazem then added, “You’re not done, though. Once I finish putting these together, you’ll need to help me with the crating process.”
Farhad nodded, and moved to the chair. He had no idea what the “crating process” was, but he was sure Kazem would explain it.
Farhad did his best to remain silent and motionless during the several hours Kazem needed to assemble the weapons. Finally, with a satisfied nod Kazem straightened and looked toward Farhad.
“Done with assembly,” Kazem said, removing his hands from inside the gloves that gave the glove boxes their name.
Kazem had brought a small bag into the room with him, but Farhad had not asked what was in it. Now with a flourish Kazem revealed its contents.
Two bottles of water.
Kazem smiled and said, “I recommend taking only a few sips before we begin crating. We had to move out from Doshan Tappeh Air Base in a hurry when International Atomic Energy Agency inspectors turned up unexpectedly. This replacement facility was built very quickly, so there was no time for luxuries like plumbing. That means no bathroom until we get back upstairs.”
Farhad nodded, and took the recommended few sips of water. Next, they worked to assemble three crates from the pre-cut wooden components and metal hinges Kazem pulled from a storage cabinet. Once the crates were done, Kazem opened up the last storage cabinet and pulled out six pieces of styrofoam, each with an interior cut to size. He placed one styrofoam piece inside each crate. Then he placed each crate on a dolly next to a glove box.
Next, Kazem handed Farhad a bulky one-piece rubberized suit, with a clear plastic faceplate.
“At Doshan Tappeh we had suits we could hook up to a dedicated ventilation system, which had the advantage of helping to remove any radioactive particles that somehow entered the suit. Here, though, we’re just going to have to be grateful that at least the air conditioning works.”
Farhad nodded, and put on his suit. Within minutes they were both sweating inside their anti-radiation suits as Kazem first opened the lid of each glove box, and then together they each lifted one end of the device into the matching styrofoam indentation inside each crate. Two of the crates were longer than the third, to allow room for a separate indentation in the styrofoam for the component that remained for final assembly. They then placed the matching pre-cut styrofoam piece on top of the weapon, followed by the wooden lid.
After screwing in the lids, they rolled each dolly to the elevator, and took the first one up to the ground level. Farhad had wondered why the elevator was larger than usual when they went down. Now he had his answer.
Kazem looked at Farhad as the elevator moved upwards, and looked at his watch. “I see my estimate of how long assembly would take was just about spot on. Do you think the cargo plane we were promised will actually be waiting outside?”
Farhad shrugged. “I have faith in my organization. I suppose we will see soon enough.”
The elevator door slid open, and they rolled the dolly with the first weapon to the rear exit door. Sure enough, a large cargo plane with its propellers still slowly turning was sitting on the runway. As they looked, its cargo door opened, and two rather large men emerged.
Farhad said mildly, “I asked our people to send competent help.”
Kazem grunted. “Good. We need to make sure these are well secured.”
Farhad nodded and said, “I’ve asked that everyone on the flight, including the pilots, understand that they must follow your instructions exactly.”
Kazem smiled tightly. “Well, considering the stakes, I’m glad you made that clear.”
The two men spotted them, and quickly trotted up to the door. After Farhad verified they were the men he was expecting, they took over the dolly and he returned with Kazem back downstairs to retrieve the other two weapons. In less than an hour, all three weapons were secured on board the plane, and they had taken their seats in the front.
Kazem frowned as he tugged on his seat belt to make sure it was secure.
“I’ve never been on a seat that folded against the wall of the plane. I’d always thought it was impossible for there to be less comfortable seats than on Iran Air. I see I was wrong.”
Farhad laughed. “My travels for our organization have often included even less comfortable aircraft. One flight I remember well was on an Ilyushin cargo conversion, where all of the seats were made of hollow aluminum tubes and cloth, and attached to the floor with wing nuts.
Before the flight left the ground, a bottle of vodka with no label, a shot glass and a rag were all passed to the front of the aircraft. Each passenger was expected to take a shot, wipe the glass with the rag, and then pass everything to the next passenger. The lone stewardess was on hand solely to replace each bottle as it emptied with a full one. When the last bottle reached the end of the cabin, it was still about half full.
The stewardess took that bottle up to the pilots.
About fifteen minutes later, the slightly slurred voice of the Captain came over the intercom to welcome the passengers. He then went on to describe his exploits in the war in Afghanistan with the Soviet Air Force, including how he had developed a ‘combat takeoff’ to minimize the chance of a hit from Stinger anti-aircraft missiles, which he proceeded to demonstrate. This turned out to involve taking off nearly vertically, with the aluminum-tube seats bending backward until my head was nearly in the lap of the passenger behind me.”
Farhad paused. “Of course, the pilot was alcoholic, and clinically insane.
But I did wonder whether he was completely wrong about worrying that someone might use such a missile to attack a commercial aircraft.”
Kazem shrugged. “I’m no expert, but it certainly seems possible. I don’t think that really explains your Captain, though.”
Farhad nodded. “No, it doesn’t. Anyway, we weaved our way unsteadily towards our destination, finishing with a ‘combat landing.’ We hit the ground hard enough that all the overhead bins popped open, showering the passengers with luggage and coats. The plane’s landing speed was too high, so that the pilots had to stand on the brakes to stop it, and the cabin filled with smoke and the smell of burning rubber. Everyone was crying, screaming, and praying- even, I’m embarrassed to admit, me.
Finally, the plane came to a stop just short of the runway’s end.”
Kazem smiled. “Well told. I hereby withdraw my complaint about the folding seat!”
Bushehr Air Base, Iran
Kazem Shirvani and Farhad Mokri exited the cargo plane with relief. Both because it had not been a particularly comfortable flight, and because no honest person could say flying in a plane carrying three experimental nuclear devices was a relaxing experience.
“So, we are not far from the port,” Kazem said. Though the Gulf wasn’t visible from the air base, the feel of
being near a coast was unmistakable.
“That’s right,” Farhad responded. “Once the trucks are loaded, it should take no more than half an hour to drive to the dock. As you heard, I called and confirmed the boat is waiting for us.”
Kazem nodded. Jammed against each other as the plane’s propellers were still turning after they’d landed, he couldn’t have avoided overhearing the conversation if he’d tried.
Farhad pointed at the first pallet being wheeled out of the back of the cargo plane. “I know we’ve already gone over this, but please check again. I told them to remove the air-dropped device first, because it’s going on a flight to Manama on that plane,” he said, pointing to a plane with the markings of a well-known cargo airline.
Farhad continued, “We picked this airport because it is a dual-use military and civilian facility. We can maintain security over the shipment, and it will still appear to be a perfectly routine cargo flight. Since Manama is only three hundred kilometers away, the flight won’t take long.”
Kazem nodded. “Excellent. And did I understand correctly that we will be traveling together with both ground weapons on the same boat?"
“Yes, we will,” Farhad smiled. “Smugglers have existed along the Gulf coast for hundreds or indeed thousands of years, and the Saudis have certainly never managed to stop all of them. Of course, our task has become much easier because many of the Saudis' coastal patrol ships have been redeployed to the Yemeni coast, to attempt to intercept our gifts to the Houthi freedom fighters.”
Kazem grunted and trotted over to the pallet that had just been pulled from the plane. It took no more than a glance to confirm that it was the air-dropped weapon, since its design was radically different than the two intended for ground deployment. He looked at Farhad and gave him a thumbs-up. Farhad then nodded and told the man wheeling the pallet to proceed with it to the next cargo plane.
Kazem walked back to Farhad, and watched with him as the other two pallets were removed from their cargo planes with a forklift, and onto a large truck with a built-in liftgate. Kazem noticed that the truck’s cab had two doors on each side, and so appeared to have room for several passengers.