The Saudi-Iranian War

by Ted Halstead

  Like the Americans with their cursed drones.

  The last was that Hamid could do nothing to stop his troops from receiving Vahid’s message.

  Well, let him try to stop us within sight of victory, Hamid thought savagely. After every obstacle my men have overcome, the prattling of some cleric isn’t going to stop us now!

  “Brave soldiers of Iran, this is Grand Ayatollah Sayyid Vahid Turani. As provided in our Constitution, I have been elected Supreme Leader by the Assembly of Experts. I am sorry to tell you that you have been betrayed by the men who sent you to attack our Saudi brothers, including the criminal Reza Fagheh, who among others were executed in Tehran this morning.”

  These words went through Hamid like a lightning bolt. Vahid would not lie about a fact so easily checked. If Reza, who had authorized this entire operation, was dead… There was no way home.

  Well, so be it, he thought grimly. I never expected to make it home anyway.

  But I’m still going to do what I came here to do. End the House of Saud.

  Vahid’s voice now came into Hamid’s focus again.

  “…have fought with courage, but in an illegal and cursed cause. Besides your tanks, the criminals have also used nuclear and chemical weapons against Saudi civilians. Our nation will have to pay a heavy price for these crimes.

  But you can end your part in them, and even do more than that. You can atone for the crimes you have committed, and stand blameless in Paradise for the evils you did unknowingly at other’s command.

  You must turn your weapons on your brothers, and stop the criminals from achieving their illegal and cursed goals.

  I am now speaking to you through a drone flying high overhead. That same drone can see all of you, down to the unit numbers on the sides of your tanks.

  What you do now will be recorded and examined in judgment.

  Not of you, because no matter what you do now, you will never live to return to Iran. No, the judgment will be of your family. Because if you are so evil that you do not repent after hearing my words now, surely your family is not fit to live among us.

  Now, I will stop speaking. It is time for all of you to earn your place in Paradise.”

  Hamid frantically mashed on his handset’s transmit button. “Men, this is a Saudi trick! Don’t let a voice on the radio turn you against your brothers. We all know who the real enemy is, and he’s defenseless before us! Let me lead you to victory!”

  Nearly thirty seconds passed of complete silence, including within Hamid’s own tank, where none of his men said a word.

  Shells from three different tanks hit Hamid’s Zulfiqar-3 tank at nearly the same moment, killing everyone inside instantly. The fierce battle that followed lasted only minutes, since at the combatants’ range missing was almost impossible. The only real question was who decided to fire first.

  Hesitation meant death, but those quickest to fire often lived only seconds longer as others made their decision.

  There was no way to know who fired because of Vahid’s words, or simply in self-defense. In the end, it didn’t matter.

  When Ali’s tanks came upon the scene later that day they met no resistance. Every tank and APC in Hamid’s force was either destroyed or, as in the case of the Armata, too badly damaged to move. Only a dozen Iranian soldiers were found alive, nearly all wounded, except for one sitting in a daze next to his tank.

  Ali did as he had been ordered with all survivors, which was to transfer all of them to the same prison run by the Interior Ministry where the Qataris had been sent. Ali was never told but assumed, correctly, that they were all executed.

  In fact, Vahid’s threat to the families of the men in Hamid Mazdaki’s force had been a bluff on two counts. First, the American President had made it clear he would never agree to provide Vahid with an audio feed for that purpose, or video surveillance to help him carry it out. Vahid had explained, and then promised, that no harm would come to the families of the Iranians fighting in Saudi Arabia before the Americans agreed to broadcast his message.

  Probably more important was that Vahid would have never carried out the threat, even if he’d had the opportunity. Indeed making the threat, and particularly doing it with enough menace in his voice to make it convincing, had nauseated him to the point that he was nearly unable to complete the broadcast. Only knowledge of the bloodshed and misery that would have followed an Iranian assault on downtown Riyadh had forced him to swallow his bile and finish the revolting message. That, and the fact that Reza Fagheh would have never hesitated to carry out such a threat, if he had been allowed to live.

  Chapter Thirty One

  Qom, Iran

  Grand Ayatollah Sayyid Vahid Turani looked out at the massed television cameras, and thought about the millions of Iranians who would be watching him on every channel. Not to mention the millions more who were likely to be following his every word in other countries. There was nothing like responsibility for the first use of nuclear weapons against a live target since World War II to get people's attention, he thought bitterly. The man behind one of the cameras held up his right hand and silently began folding back first his thumb, and then the rest of his fingers one at a time.

  Somehow, Vahid found the primitive countdown in the face of the assembled technology before him comforting. When the man's last finger was folded, small red lights winked on in the front of all the cameras.

  Vahid had assumed his sternest expression for the start of his address. "My fellow citizens, I am here tonight to inform you of a terrible crime that has been committed against our brother Muslim nation of Saudi Arabia, and to tell you of many changes happening as we speak to ensure such an outrage never takes place again.

  The nuclear and chemical weapons used against the Saudis by the criminals who have now been executed were the only ones we had. We will permanently stop and dismantle our nuclear and chemical programs in all their forms including power production, and invite United Nations inspectors to verify compliance. These inspectors will have full and unrestricted access to all Iranian territory, including military bases, without exception and with no need for prior notice.

  Though only the criminals we have executed knew of this cowardly plot, the Iranian government nevertheless takes full responsibility for their actions, and stands ready to provide full compensation to their victims.

  The criminals took advantage of a military structure that was too complex to be effectively controlled. Steps are underway to restore the central government's control of all Iranian armed forces."

  Indeed, the Pasdaran and Basij leadership was being arrested nationwide, in a move so swift that there was little resistance. Some would be discharged.

  Some would eventually be integrated into the regular Iranian military, as would all of their equipment.

  Some would be executed.

  Now Vahid's expression softened and became more thoughtful. "For many years, we have sent our treasure abroad while Iranians at home were going hungry. That stops tonight.

  I am announcing the end of our military and financial support for all governments, militias and organizations outside Iran, including but not limited to those in Yemen, Syria, Iraq, and Lebanon.

  Iran's military will only conduct operations within Iran and Iranian territorial waters and airspace as defined by international law. In particular, we pledge not to interfere with the free transit of vessels through the Straits of Hormuz."

  Now Vahid didn't look merely stern, he looked threatening. "Do not mistake our restraint for weakness. Any weapons launched at us, including under the guise of 'justified retaliation' will be met with twice the firepower used against us. We accept responsibility. We do not accept the death of Iranians who had no role in the criminal attack against a fellow Muslim nation."

  Vahid's expression shifted again, now appearing to see into the distance.

  "Iran was a beacon of civilization thousands of years ago, when most people around the world had not yet discovered the written word. It can be t
hat beacon once again. I pledge to you tonight that the government of Iran has rediscovered the true purpose of the Revolution, which is to make that government serve its people. In the days ahead I will be announcing more changes, all to help unlock the potential of our glorious nation.

  For now, though, I will content myself with this. May God bestow his blessings upon all of my fellow citizens, and may he protect the Islamic Republic of Iran."

  Vahid nodded to himself as the red lights on the cameras winked out. Next he needed to dismantle the corrupt clergy and government-owned corporate edifice that for so many years had stolen the money that ordinary hard-working Iranians needed to survive.

  Once the UN inspectors had done their work and — probably grudgingly — agreed that Iran's nuclear and chemical programs no longer existed, he had to be sure international sanctions were removed without delay.

  And to help Iran return to the greatness that Vahid believed was truly its destiny, he had to find a way to integrate women into its society and economy, without allowing them to be turned into the sex objects he so despised in the West.

  One step at a time, Vahid sighed to himself. One step at a time.

  FSB Headquarters, Moscow, Russia

  Dmitry Demchenko was nervous, and with good reason. Anyone at his rank of Assistant Director in the FSB had the right to request an urgent appointment with Director Smyslov. Since he had assumed leadership of the FSB, Smyslov had made it clear his door was open.

  Once. If Smyslov decided there was nothing urgent about the request, at best the Assistant Director would find urgent appointment requests refused.

  At worst, he would no longer be an Assistant Director. Smyslov was willing to forgive some things, but wasting his time was not one of them.

  As Assistant Director for Recruitment most of Dmitry’s work was the very definition of routine. Today, though, a file had crossed his desk that made him want to break from that routine radically enough that it would require Smyslov’s approval.

  As he was ushered into Smyslov’s office, Dmitry saw that the file he wished to discuss was already open on his desk. Smyslov waved him to the seat in front of his desk and asked with evident curiosity, “So, Dmitry, you wanted to speak to me about Neda Rhahbar. What did you have in mind?

  Recruiting her, I presume?”

  Dmitry nodded. “Yes, sir. But I want to do so on an expedited basis, and put her in training immediately.”

  Smyslov’s bushy eyebrows flew upwards. “Most unusual. That would require waiving the usual security screening. She is from a country we don’t consider exactly our friend. Do you think that wise?”

  Dmitry responded, “I understand your concern, and to some extent I share it. However, the circumstances of her defection suggest she’s unlikely to be an Iranian agent. It appears they tried hard to kill her. Anyway, I think a normal security review would add little to what we already know.”

  Smyslov grunted, and sat quietly for a moment. It was true they were hardly going to learn more from the Iranian authorities, or her deceased husband.

  “So, what makes this particular recruitment so urgent?” Smyslov asked in a voice that to Dmitry’s dismay was carefully neutral. He thought, incorrectly, that this showed Smyslov thought it was a bad idea.

  Nothing to do but soldier on, Dmitry thought. Aloud he replied, “We have nobody with a knowledge of nuclear physics who is a native speaker of Farsi, and who is also fluent in Urdu. You know about my background as an agent in South Asia, and our long-standing focus on Pakistan’s nuclear weapons.

  When I was there, I would have given a great deal to have such a resource available. I think some risk to take advantage of this opportunity is justified.”

  Now Smyslov nodded, and leaned back in his chair. After tapping on his desk a few times, he suddenly leaned forward and glared at Dmitry. “And what makes you think it so important that we have such a resource in Pakistan at this particular time? What, exactly, have you heard, Dmitry?”

  Of all the reactions Dmitry had imagined, this was not one of them.

  Bewildered, he answered honestly, “I’ve heard nothing, Director. I just thought this defector was a windfall we’d be foolish to overlook.”

  Smyslov’s glare persisted for several more seconds, and then he leaned back in his chair again. “Very well. I believe you. Does this person even want to be an agent?”

  Dmitry shrugged, and replied, “We’ve not asked in so many words, but the handler I assigned her thinks she would be willing. Of course, she’s highly intelligent, and the report on her escape from Iran appears to show her instincts are good.”

  Smyslov nodded absently, and asked, “When you say she’s fluent in Urdu, could she pass as a native speaker?”

  Dmitry frowned, and rocked his right hand back and forth. “Only by claiming to be from the region of Pakistan bordering Iran, Balochistan. She has a definite accent. However, from my own time in Pakistan I think if she said she was from Balochistan, she could pass casual scrutiny.”

  Smyslov nodded and then handed Neda Rhahbar‘s file back to Dmitry, saying simply, “Approved. Keep me advised of her progress.”

  As he walked out of Smyslov’s office, Dmitry realized that their meeting had little to do with whether Neda Rhahbar would go through training as an agent. Instead, it was about whether Dmitry knew about something going on in Pakistan that he shouldn’t.

  Dmitry was glad he hadn’t asked.

  The Royal Palace, Riyadh, Saudi Arabia

  Enes Balcan had no formal title in the Turkish government. He had something much more important — the Turkish President’s complete trust. His carefully tailored suit and impeccable grooming perfectly matched his dark good looks. Never married, he had never been lonely.

  Enes’ intelligence and common sense were unquestioned, but not the main reason he had risen so far in Turkey’s government. Instead, it was his total confidence. Enes never made a promise he could not keep. He knew the President’s thinking, and never needed to bother him with details.

  The stakes had never been higher. But Enes knew in his bones this would be his greatest triumph.

  The Saudi Crown Prince glowered behind his vast wooden desk. There had been no traditional welcome, no pleasantries. Enes had been delivered to the seat in front of the Crown Prince like a sack of mail, and for several minutes been ignored while the Prince pretended to review documents.

  Enes had said nothing, but simply waited.

  Finally, the Crown Prince spoke.

  “So, you must already be tired of your guests. Two royal families must be quite a handful. Well, don’t worry. We’re ready to take them off your hands, and give each the welcome they deserve.”

  Enes had no doubt that he was absolutely sincere. He also knew that the Saudis would waste no time restoring the Bahraini royal family to power. Just as he was sure that any Qatari royals foolish enough to set foot in Riyadh would be publicly executed.

  “Actually, I am here to make a proposal that I hope you will agree is mutually beneficial. We have also discussed it with our mutual ally, the United States, and have their full support.”

  Enes saw with satisfaction that this statement had caused the Crown Prince to hesitate, and visibly rethink his approach.

  The Crown Prince sat back and said, “Very well. You have my attention.

  Make your proposal.”

  Enes nodded. “First, Qatar will hand over all military assets to the Saudi government, and will have no military in the future, only a police force.”

  The Crown Prince shook his head. "In less than a week Qatar will be a Saudi province, and we can collect those military assets.”

  Enes nodded. “You can easily defeat whatever military forces remain in Qatar. But I’m sure you know that you will take casualties. And fighting them will force you to destroy their equipment, rather than adding their weapons to your own forces. Plus, we are offering you the chance to obtain all of the Qatari aircraft that flew to Turkey after the conflict. Just s
end pilots to fly them from Turkey.”

  The Crown Prince shrugged, clearly unimpressed. "Continue.”

  “Al-Jazeera will cease broadcasting permanently.”

  Now the Crown Prince actually laughed. ”Al-Jazeera’s studios in Doha are on the list of structures to be leveled once we annex Qatar. I think that will end their broadcasts quite effectively.”

  Enes shook his head. “Ending Al-Jazeera’s broadcasts was one of the chief demands of your government for ending the blockade of Qatar, and we both know why. Our government has promised to provide Al-Jazeera broadcasting facilities, and nearly all of its journalists are now in Ankara. Thanks to the Internet, Al-Jazeera’s programs will continue to be seen throughout the Middle East, and indeed throughout the world. Unless you agree to our proposal. May I continue?”

  The Crown Prince was clearly having trouble keeping his temper, but finally managed to nod.

  “Qatar will pay one hundred billion US dollars in reparations.”

  The Crown Prince sneered. “About a third of the money in Qatar’s Sovereign Wealth Fund? Very generous! I think we’ll prefer to seize Qatar’s oil and gas production, and see how much that gets us. Plus whatever we find in Qatar’s banks.”

  Enes nodded. “The Americans have already said publicly that they would impose sanctions on you if you seize and attempt to sell Qatar’s oil and gas.

  Also, Qatar’s banks are empty, with all their assets digitally transferred to Turkey days ago. Still, we can return to this topic.”

  The Crown Prince shrugged, but said nothing.

  “The Americans plan to return to Al Udeid air base just south of Doha, and from there will both once again support your campaign in Yemen with mid-air refueling, as well as provide an on-site guarantee that Qatar will never again threaten Saudi Arabia.”

  Now the Crown Prince nodded. Losing American mid-air refueling support after the Qataris kicked them out of Al Udeid had been a heavy blow. It would be nice to have it back. He gestured for Enes to continue.