Strike Force

“Zolqadr, all of my men have been told in no uncertain terms they have the option at any time to turn over their weapon and leave,” Buzhazi radioed back. “The men that marched into this house of lies and corruption did so willingly, knowing that the Pasdaran, the Ministry of Defense, the Supreme Defense Council, and the Council of Guardians would consider them not just criminals but unclean infidels unworthy of Islamic justice under the Koran. They had every opportunity to leave, remove their uniforms, and disappear into the population. Some did just that. The rest stayed, and we will fight.”

“Brave words, General,” Zolqadr said. “Their deaths will be on your head. You have one more chance, General, and then anyone in that place not wearing a Pasdaran uniform will die. I will give you and your men thirty minutes to throw open those gates and come out with your hands on your head, or my men will roll in, slaughter everyone inside, and burn your bodies in a hole in the desert like garbage. To all of General Buzhazi’s men listening to this message, I promise you if you surrender now you will not be harmed. Ignore Buzhazi’s megalomania and come out peacefully. This war is at an end.”

Buzhazi mashed the mike button: “All units, this is General Buzhazi. Any man who wants to surrender, report to the main astan-e in the Khomeini mosque without your weapons. I order that any man who wishes to surrender to the Pasdaran not be harmed. May Allah preserve you — because I guarantee the Pasdaran won’t. You have fifteen minutes to report to the sanctuary. All others, prepare to repel invaders.”

Buzhazi looped the walkie-talkie over his shoulder, and he and Sattari trotted from the mosque across the courtyard to the library. Buzhazi was thankful he didn’t see any men heading the other way toward the mosque. Inside the library, he made his way to the roof, the best place to observe the Pasdaran’s deployment. His staff officers were down behind the front wall of the roof, drawing diagrams of the approaching armored vehicles. He noticed none of his senior staff had departed, although the roof had fewer guards on them than before — and he noticed none of the officers or senior enlisted men had weapons in hand. The thought had crossed his mind that they might save their own skins by killing or arresting him — he was glad that option had apparently not been exercised. “I hope I’m worthy of the loyalty you show me this morning, gentlemen,” he said. “Status report.”

“We count three battalions approaching our position,” the operations officer responded, “one from the northwest, one from the west, and one from the southwest. We can’t see them yet, but we expect a fourth battalion to position itself east to cut off any escape, and the helicopter attack units to come in from the north with a clear field of fire to the south.”

Buzhazi crawled over to the edge of the wall and peeped over the top, with just his binoculars and the top of his helmet protruding above. “Platoons appear to be motor-rifle units in BTR-60s led by one Zulfiqar main battle tank,” he observed. “One or two mortar platoons breaking off from the echelon to set up. I see the battalion headquarters vehicles — looks like they have BMPs, riding right up front, the cocky bastards. They are still marching in echelon at reduced speed, range approximately four kilometers.”

“I think the mines on the bridges got their attention,” Sattari said, laughing. The laughter was a welcome break to the decidedly funereal mood that had descended on the roof.

“Nine BTRs and one Zulfiqar tank per company, still in echelon formation, command vehicles still in the fore. What are they waiting for?”

“Same formation to the southwest, sir,” Sattari reported. “Command vehicles out front, no flank guards, and just a few scouts. They’ll have us surrounded and within a kilometer of the wall in less than thirty minutes.”

“A hundred BTRs, nine tanks, a mortar platoon, and a thousand troops — we have to assume the fourth battalion is waiting to the east,” Buzhazi said.

“It’s only a six to one advantage,” Sattari said. “Normally the Pasdaran doesn’t engage in any battle unless they’re ahead ten to one.” He looked at his commanding general. “I was expecting more. I’m disappointed.” He returned to his scanning, adding under his breath, “We’re still going to get slaughtered, but they could have expended a little more effort to do it.”

“This is a massive operation for the Pasdaran — they’re accustomed to sabotage, kidnapping, sneak-and-peek, and kicking down doors of frightened civilians in the dead of night,” Buzhazi observed.

“The radio chatter between those battalion headquarters vehicles must be fierce,” Sattari said. “They’re spread out too far to see each other or use light signals. If we could only destroy those command vehicles, we might have a chance to stall this offensive.”

Buzhazi thought for a moment — it was obvious he had been thinking the same thing. “There might be a way,” he said.