by Ted Halstead
Once his Rakhsh had turned the corner to the final street, Arif gunned its engine and was upon the Pasdaran guard unit in seconds.
Arif was sure he’d achieved surprise when he saw a cigarette drop nervelessly from the mouth of the Pasdaran officer now standing next to his APC. As Arif had been told, it was one of only two Pasdaran APCs stationed outside the building holding the Ayatollahs. Arif had just popped the hatch and lifted himself out high enough that the officer could see his regular Army uniform.
Arif demanded, “What is your name and rank?”
The man automatically replied, “Guard Captain Izad Pishdar.”
Arif nodded. “Good. You are in command of this unit?” he asked.
Izad’s head bobbed up and down, as he looked at the four APCs, from which several dozen heavily armed soldiers were now rapidly emerging.
Arif nodded again. “Excellent! You stand relieved. You and your men are to return to base. We will take over guard duty for the Assembly of Experts.
Here is your copy of the orders.”
Arif held out a copy of the orders that had been prepared for the operation, including the genuine signature of an Army general and the expertly forged signature of the Pasdaran Tehran region commander, a region which included Qom.
Izad frowned and shook his head. “I will have to confirm these orders with my headquarters.”
Arif’s expression hardened. “You can read for yourself that the orders place me in command from the moment I arrive, and that you are to return to your base immediately. You are welcome to check with your headquarters while you are en route. Considering the hour, I think it will take you some time to reach the Pasdaran commander who signed these orders.”
Now Izad looked even more stubborn. “I don’t care what this paper says; we’re not moving until I get confirmation from headquarters.”
Arif had expected it to come to this, and all his men were ready. At his hand signal, the machine guns and cannons on all four APCs wheeled towards the two Pasdaran APCs and the few men outside them, including Izad. At the same moment, the thirty-two soldiers simultaneously pulled back the slides on their submachine guns. The loud “clack” echoed in the cool night air.
Arif’s smile had no warmth in it all. “Captain, I have my orders and I intend to obey them. I strongly suggest you and your men get inside your APCs and head back to base, where you can confirm that you have done the same.”
Izad looked like he was about to say something, but thought better of it, and instead started to climb into his APC.
Just as Izad was about to climb inside, Arif called across to him. “Oh, and Captain, please make sure that your APCs’ weapons stay pointed away from my vehicles. We wouldn’t want any… accidents.”
With one last scowl, Izad’s head disappeared inside his APC, quickly followed by the other Pasdaran men outside. The two Pasdaran APCs’ engines rumbled to life, and a minute later they had turned the corner and were out of sight.
Buses had been driven to a public parking garage the previous day, and the drivers were now back in them, waiting for Arif’s command. He now lifted his radio handset and gave it, and then climbed down from his APC to begin the hardest part of this mission.
“What’s grumpier than a sleepy Ayatollah?” sounded like the beginning of a really bad joke. He had to get the Ayatollahs on the buses that would take them to a nearby regular Army base and safety before the Pasdaran came back in force.
Arif hoped he could convince the Ayatollahs to go with him in time.
Chapter Twenty Three
The White House, Washington, DC
President Hernandez walked into the Situation Room at the White House thinking yet again, “I really wish I could spend less time here.”
As a former businessman, he had run for office with an agenda focused almost entirely on domestic affairs. Hernandez had been alarmed by the shortage of workers with even basic literacy produced by what had been one of the world’s best educational systems. Collapsing bridges, potholed roads, trains that either derailed or if carrying oil actually exploded, and airports like JFK that guaranteed a visitor’s first impression of the US would be negative were just a few of the problems Hernandez was determined to fix.
But it seemed like the rest of the world didn’t care how he wanted to focus his time, or America’s resources.
“So, somebody set off a nuke that wiped out a Saudi desalination plant, another exploded within sight of Riyadh, and two separate armor forces are on their way to the capital. The Saudis are asking us to help. That leaves me with two questions — Who’s behind all this, and what can we do to help the Saudis?”
General Robinson, the Air Force Chief of Staff replied while signaling to a Colonel to stand up. “Sir, we’ve prepared two briefings that will do our best to answer both questions, one at a time. I’ll say up front that there’s still plenty of questions left to answer, but we think we know enough to prepare an effective response.”
Half an hour later, the President leaned back and shook his head. “When you said there were still unanswered questions, you weren’t kidding. It seems pretty clear that somebody suckered the Saudis into putting a lot of their armor into Yemen, and then blew up a train station to make it harder to get back. Somebody blew up the Saudi armored force blockading Qatar.
Somebody set off two nukes in Saudi Arabia, and tried to make it three but were stopped.”
Hernandez paused and shook his head again. “Both we and the Saudis think Iran is behind all this, but we have no real proof, and Iran’s politicians are denying involvement at the top of their lungs. One of the armor groups headed to Riyadh has a camouflage capability we think they somehow stole from us, but we don’t know how. And since both armor groups put together don’t have the men or tanks needed to occupy Riyadh, even if they get there it’s hard to see what they could hope to accomplish.”
Secretary of State Fred Popel stirred, and Hernandez nodded in his direction. “Do you think you know, Fred?”
Popel shrugged and said, “This is only a guess, sir, but I think they plan to cause enough damage in Riyadh to spark a rebellion. If, for example, they succeed in destroying one or more royal palaces and maybe kill one or more princes it would probably be a mortal blow to the Saudi family’s claim to be the Kingdom’s legitimate rulers.”
Hernandez nodded. “So, there are probably Saudis in on this, who plan to use this invasion to take over?”
Popel nodded. "I think that’s a good guess, sir. But who knows who would end up on top. Probably nobody we want to see there.”
Hernandez winced. “Yes, that’s how it always seems to work out whenever there’s a revolution somewhere. And we certainly don’t want a government in charge of a large chunk of the world’s oil reserves that owes a debt to Iran.
Or even worse, answers to it.”
Hernandez paused. “OK, so what are we going to do about it?”
General Robinson nodded to the same Colonel, who gave another half-hour presentation.
Hernandez nodded at its end. “Well, if these Kinzhal missiles are the threat you say they are, I agree we don’t want our planes anywhere near them. Now, you said the drones we’re planning to use are experimental. How likely do we think they are to work?”
General Robinson frowned. “The honest answer, sir, is that we don’t know.
But our testing so far has had excellent results, or we wouldn’t be recommending deployment. I have to stress, though, that they will only be effective against the Leopards coming from Qatar. They won’t work against the fully camouflaged force, so the Saudis are going to have to stop it on their own. Also, we’re certainly not going to bag all two hundred Leopards, because it looks like some of them are equipped with a camouflage netting supplied by a European company. But we’re sure we’ll thin them out some.”
Hernandez shrugged. “Well, at least we’re not risking any of our pilots.
Mission approved.”
Hernandez paused. “One que
stion about the Reaper that the Saudis used to bring down that nuke before it reached Riyadh. I thought we just sold those to the Saudis. How were they able to deploy them so fast?”
General Robinson coughed. “That’s… a long story, sir. I learned the details on my way here, and I’d like to have some more time to look into it.”
Hernandez settled back and fixed Robinson with a baleful stare. Everyone else in the room was very happy not to be its subject.
“Oh, I think we have time, General. Why don’t you tell us what you know so far?”
When Robinson finished, Hernandez shook his head in disgust. “So, this US Air Force NCO and his Saudi students shot down the helicopter carrying the nuke just before it reached Riyadh, and the American General commanding USMTM ordered them to return their Reapers to base, and relieved the NCO from duty?”
“Sir, the NCO says one of his Saudi students fired the missile that brought down the helicopter. Other than that, yes, sir,” Robinson said, glumly.
“And do you think relieving the NCO and grounding the Reapers was the right response, General?” Hernandez asked quietly.
Robinson shook his head. “No, sir. Regulations may have technically justified those steps, but when millions of lives are at stake we have to use judgment, not just blindly follow what’s on paper. At least, that’s what I expect from any officer, let alone a general.”
“Well put, General Robinson. I will let you deal with that situation, and look forward to your report.” Though he took his responsibilities as commander-in-chief very seriously, Hernandez made it a point never to interfere with the chain of command.
But nobody in that room expected a certain General to keep his rank or his command much longer.
“In the meantime, General, don’t you think it makes sense to let their NCO instructor and his Saudi students have the Reapers back? Personally, I think shooting down a live nuke should be enough to qualify for graduation, though I’ll admit I’m no expert in that area.”
Robinson nodded. “Actually, sir, I’d just been thinking that this really falls under ‘battlefield commission’. I intend to order that all of the students receive immediate certification as Reaper operators, with any further training needed to follow as soon as their instructor decides they are no longer needed for Reaper operations. I also intend to order that their US Air Force instructor provide his students with any support needed as they operate the Reapers we have sold to the Saudis.”
“Excellent, General,” Hernandez said.
Next Hernandez turned back to Secretary of State Fred Popel.
“Fred, one way or another this war is going to be over quickly. Either the invading tanks will run out of gas without getting to Riyadh, be destroyed, or will level enough of Riyadh to start a revolution. I’m betting that with our help the Saudis will be able to stop them in time. Then we need to act fast to make sure the aftermath goes the way we want. I suggest we use the Turks as a cutout, and I want at a minimum to get back our bases in Qatar and Bahrain. Here’s what I think the settlement should look like, and I’ll let you and your team work out the details…”
250 Miles Southeast of the Omani Coast, Indian Ocean
For this mission, the USS Oregon had been slated to launch an experimental version of the venerable Tomahawk missile, which had first entered service in 1983. By contrast, Oregon was the first Block IV Virginia class attack submarine to be completed and represented the newest and best the US Navy had to offer. All Captain Jim Cartwright knew was that they had suddenly been ordered from their quiet corner of the Indian Ocean, far from shipping lanes and all known satellite coverage, to as close to the Omani coast as they could get in the time they had before launch.
Cartwright ran his hand through his closely cut, prematurely graying hair.
If his wife had been there, she would have known that meant he was about to start asking questions. Though this was Lieutenant Fischer’s second tour with Cartwright, he hadn’t yet learned that. Short and thin with sandy hair, Cartwright thought for maybe the hundredth time that Fischer looked like a much better fit for submarines than an officer like him who stood 6'2" without shoes.
“OK, Fischer, I’m going to admit I wasn’t that excited when we first received this mission. Tomahawks have been around the Navy longer than I have, and I’ve seen many versions come and go. What makes this one so special, and why are we going at our top speed before we deploy it? I’ve seen the targeting coordinates, and we’ve been within Tomahawk range since before we started this race.”
“Yes, sir,” Fischer said, his head bobbing up and down. “But for this Tomahawk version to hit with maximum effect, we want it to have as much fuel on board as possible. What makes this version special is that just before impact the remaining JP-10 fuel will be mixed with air to create a thermobaric explosion, which should have at least as much destructive effect as the combined warhead. So, more fuel left equals a bigger blast.”
“Combined warhead. So these Tomahawks are carrying cluster bomb warheads,” Cartwright said.
“Yes, sir,” Fischer said. “Specifically, the BLU-97/B Combined Effects Bomb. According to our new mission orders we’re going after tanks, and since they have a combined shaped charge, fragmentation and incendiary effect, I think we’ll get good results.”
Cartwright nodded. “I’m no tanker, but I remember reading that the top armor is where nearly all tanks are most vulnerable.”
“That’s right, sir,” Fischer said with a smile.
“OK, I just read the mission summary. Why don’t you explain to me why when we do our two salvos, we’re required to program a small speed reduction for the first salvo. What difference would it make if the Tomahawks’ arrival wasn’t precisely simultaneous?”
As he asked this, Cartwright reflected to himself that civilians would probably be confused by this dialogue, expecting a captain to know every detail of all aspects of the sub and its operations. One of the things any officer learned as he advanced in rank was that a sub had a crew for a reason.
Nobody could run it by himself. Besides, part of his job as captain was training his officers. This Q&A session, which required Fischer to both know every detail of the mission and explain it on his feet, was part of that training.
"Well, sir, to answer that I need to get into the drones that are going to be providing targeting once the Tomahawks reach the attack area. They’ll be deployed by the DDV–X, which stands for Drone Delivery Vehicle, Experimental. It’s a heavily modified RQ-170 Sentinel with its normal radar, infrared sensors and communications intercept equipment removed. In their place there’s a single cargo bay, holding several dozen micro-drones, as well as a single optical sensor to record their performance.
Cartwright nodded. “I’ve heard of the Sentinel. That’s the drone that took and broadcast real-time video footage of the Navy raid that killed Bin
Laden.”
“Yes, sir. This one, though, just carries these DT-X micro-drones, or Drones, Targeting, Experimental. With a main body a little bigger than a golf ball, each contains a tiny battery and a low-power infrared laser emitter. The drone’s circuits are printed into its skin, and its wings are designed to let it take advantage of the power generated by its fall from the DDV–X to loop in slowly to its objective. Once it identifies its target, it remains on station using a tiny plasma jet powered by its onboard battery.”
Cartwright frowned. “So, no weapons and no communications capability.”
“Correct, sir. They’re designed solely to designate a target with its IR emitter using preprogrammed parameters, and avoid designating a target already being illuminated. Once the DT-X’s battery begins to run low, it’s programmed to use its last remaining charge to send an electronic pulse through its circuits rendering its remains useless to anyone who might find it."
Cartwright shook his head. “I’ll bet ‘limited’ is the right word for its endurance.”
“Yes, sir. That’s why we’ll have to coordinate closely with the
Air Force DDV–X operators deploying the micro-drones, to make sure our ordinance package strikes the target while the DT-Xs are on station. You can also see why the Tomahawks have to arrive simultaneously. The blast wave from the explosives deployed by the first Tomahawks to arrive separately would either destroy or brush aside every DT-X in the area.”
Cartwright nodded. “Yes, I can see that. Now, we’ll be firing two salvos of twelve Tomahawks, and each will deploy about one hundred seventy-five bomblets. Doing the math in my head, that’s a bit over four thousand bomblets, right?”
Fischer always had his tablet handy, and he looked at it now.
“Yes, sir. About four thousand two hundred.”
Cartwright shook his head. “And these Tomahawks are themselves fuel-air bombs. Well, there’s just one thing I’m sure about, Fischer.”
“Yes, sir?” Fischer asked.
Cartwright said soberly, “I’m sure glad I’m not in one of those tanks.”
Ministry of Defense, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia
The Crown Prince scowled across the table in the command center at Suliman al-Johani, deputy commander of the Royal Saudi Air Force. In most countries, Suliman would have automatically taken command of the RSAF when Prince Khaled bin Fahd had been killed by that cursed missile launcher, at least on an acting basis.
Saudi Arabia was not most countries.
The Crown Prince had decided that the RSAF had to be kept in royal hands, and the truth is Suliman had no trouble with that decision. After all, “Royal” was literally part of the RSAF’s name.
No, the problem wasn’t the Crown Prince assuming the title of RSAF
Commander. It’s that he’d started to make decisions as though he knew what the RSAF Commander should do, and Suliman was pretty sure that was about to get some good pilots killed.