Strike Force

“Acknowledged, Rat Three,” Buzhazi responded. “Sing out if you need any help. Protect yourselves at all costs. Dump the supplies and fight your way to safety if you have to.” No response. He received reports from just one more of the seven scrounger teams he had sent in. Just two teams out of seven were on their way; he didn’t recognize any of the voices that responded, meaning the team leaders were dead or captured; and no one said how many in each team were left. He probably wouldn’t find out until they all met at the rendezvous point…if then.

Buzhazi was about to head back to the security building, but stopped and dropped to the ground when he heard a shot ring out. Following the direction of the gunshot, he turned and saw one of his company commanders, Flight Captain Ali-Reza Kazemi, dragging the body of one of the security officers — he realized it was the security officer that had just saved him from getting mowed down by that same attack chopper! — to the side of a small concrete block guard shack outside the flight line fence. He quickly scanned the area, looking for any sign of attack. The security officer had just signaled that the area was clear — where had that shot come from?

He was sorry to see Zhoram’s officer dead, but relieved that Kazemi was still functioning. Kazemi — the former Revolutionary Guards Corps transport pilot he had taken with him from this very facility when Mansour Sattari rescued him, what seemed like decades ago but was only a few days — had proved to be a very valuable individual. He could fly anything with wings, rotary or fixed-wing, and no situation was too much for him — he was just as comfortable flying an overweight helicopter over the mountains at night and in a sandstorm as he was in perfect daylight conditions. Kazemi had managed to fly in supplies and fly out wounded even in disastrous situations where the Pasdaran seemed to have them pinned down. “Kazemi…!”

“Get down, sir, get down!” Kazemi shouted, waving frantically. “There’s a sniper around here somewhere!”

Buzhazi crouched low and dashed off toward Kazemi, flattening himself against the concrete guard shack. “Any idea where he is?”

“No, sir.” Kazemi drew his pistol. “Somewhere inside the flight line fence, firing out, but I couldn’t see him.” There were several large towed power carts and fire extinguishers on the flight line — plenty of places for snipers to hide — and much of the parking ramp was still obscured by smoke from the two burning helicopters. “Is General Zhoram with you?” Kazemi asked.

“I think he’s dead.” Buzhazi motioned to the dead security officer. He had been shot in the back of the head, a remarkably accurate shot — the sniper must have incredible skills. “Zhoram ordered this man off the roof just before the Mi-24 opened up on him. He shot down that attack helicopter just before it got a bead on me.” He looked at Kazemi. “Can you give me a report on the situation, Ali?” he asked.

“There’s a lot of confusion on the radio, sir, but I think I put together a reasonable picture,” Kazemi replied. He pulled out a fairly detailed handmade map of Doshan Tappeh Air Base with the positions of their insurgent forces and their current manpower and ammunition situation marked on it. “It looks like we’re facing three concentrations of Pasdaran soldiers right now: the barracks to the west, the main gate area to the southwest, and the northeast aviation command headquarters. We count two helicopters airborne and two more ready to go on the airfield. The good news, sir, is that our scrounger security teams have engaged the units sent to the warehouse area to the north, and although we took some heavy losses it appears the Pasdaran concentration there has been broken up.”

“Your recommendation?”

Kazemi looked at Buzhazi carefully. “Two of our scrounger teams made it out, sir — we lost the rest, except for a few stragglers,” he replied. “You made contact with General Yassini, and he’s not helping us. Two of the three mission objectives have been completed. The third objective is to get out safely and withdraw. That is what we should do.”

Buzhazi nodded. “Well thought out, Ali.”

“I recommend we disengage and get out before the Pasdaran organize and flood in,” Kazemi continued. He pointed toward the warehouse area. “The defenders have disengaged and fled the warehouse area, but I think they’ll send in counterattack forces shortly, so the north and northwest escape routes will soon be cut off. The only other alternative is to the southeast, between the main part of the base and the flight operations area. Once outside the base, we have just two kilometers to go until we’re outside the capital province, and then we’re in open terrain and can move out quicker. We’ll be traveling in the opposite direction of the scrounger units, which will give them a better chance of escaping, and we’ll be heading away from the residential areas north of the base, so there’ll be less danger of having civilians caught in the crossfire.”