Strike Force

There was a rustle on the line as the receiver was apparently passed from hand to hand. The President took the tablet PC in his hands to read the computer-generated translation himself. As the older voice spoke in the background, the streaming text read: “That cursed bastard McLanahan…” then: “Very well. The Internal Defense Forces under my command are committed to destroy the Pasdaran and the murderous religious regime that spawned them, or die trying. This so-called library is the birthplace of disaster, betrayal, and ruin for the Iranian people. It will become either the killing grounds of the new defenders of the people, or it will be known as the place where the people of Iran began to take back their homes and government from the religious tyrants. You can choose to help us, or sit in your comfortable chairs and do nothing.”

“I still haven’t heard a request from you, General Buzhazi,” McLanahan said. “Make a request, sir, or this conversation is at an end.”

The computerized translation noted several unintelligible words, interspersed with profanity; then: “Help me, General McLanahan. Send your stealth warplanes, your shadows of steel, and help me destroy the Pasdaran. I am outnumbered over fifty to one. I have killed or wounded a number of Pasdaran infantry when they tried to ambush me at Arān, but I discovered the plot against me and prepared a response. The rest of the Pasdaran are undoubtedly on their way to Qom to finish the job.”

“How many?”

“I estimate the Pasdaran have mobilized three infantry battalions, possibly one armored battalion, and one helicopter assault battalion against us,” Buzhazi responded.

“Five battalions?” Sparks exclaimed. “Almost an entire Pasdaran division up against a few insurgents? There’s no way Buzhazi’s going to survive, no matter how good or lucky he is.”

“What about the regular army, General?” Patrick asked.

“The regular army has not been mobilized and remains in their garrisons,” Buzhazi responded. “We have intercepted communications between Tehran and the military districts commanding them to begin mobilizing for battle.”

“Will they join the Pasdaran?”

“If my forces are crushed, everything stays as before — they will stay quietly under the heel of the Pasdaran or face being purged,” Buzhazi said. “But if my forces appear as if they might prevail, they may join the revolution. I have attempted contact with several friends in the regular armed forces, but none have responded, so I do not know if I shall receive any help at all from anyone.”

“Why should the United States join you if the regular army, the forces you once commanded, won’t?” Jonas Sparks asked.

“Who is this? Identify yourself.”

“This is National Security Adviser General Jonas Sparks, General Buzhazi,” Sparks said. “What does the United States get in return for helping you?”

“You would want to see the clerical regime crushed too, I think, General Sparks.”

“Only to be replaced by someone like you, General?” Sparks thundered. “You’re the one who tried to close off the Persian Gulf to every warship except yours. You were ready to destroy an American aircraft carrier with nuclear weapons…!”

“All that was eleven years ago, Sparks,” the translated text read. “The only thing that has not changed is the bloodthirsty nature of the clerical regime. You know they have nuclear weapons, Sparks — they have many more than when I was chief of staff, and the Pasdaran is more ready than ever to use them.”

“What makes you better than the clerics or the Pasdaran? Frankly, I don’t see much difference between you.”

“Do not let your bigotry against all Iranians blind you, Sparks,” Buzhazi said. “The difference between us is I want Iran to succeed, flourish, and prosper — the current administration and the clerics only want themselves and their twisted brand of Islam to flourish, at the expense of all else. I want Iran to stop all foreign intrigue, stop sponsoring terrorism and revolution in other countries in the name of Islam, and stop threatening its neighbors. Iran can be the desert flower of southwest Asia and take its place among the great powers of the world if the theocracy can be defeated.”

“How do we know this isn’t some trick?” Sparks asked. “You’d like nothing better than to shoot down a stealth bomber, spy plane, or special ops transport over Qom, wouldn’t you, Buzhazi? You’d become the defender of the holy city, the hero of Islam, the sword of Allah avenging the ass-whupping you got eleven years ago. You’d get your stars and your command back and look real good in the eyes of the ayatollah if you sucker-punched the United States, isn’t that right, Buzhazi?” They waited for a response, but nothing came. “The bastard hung up. Confront him with the truth, and he runs scared. It’s a bluff, Mr. President. He’s got something up his sleeve.”

“It sounded to me like he was desperate, General,” Patrick said.