Strike Force

Sattari looked at his commanding officer’s face and read it immediately. “I thought you said the spirit of the old Basij was dead, sir,” he said.

“Maybe not quite yet, my friend.” He outlined his plan to Sattari, who issued orders right away.

Colonel Ali Zolqadr stepped out of his BMP command vehicle, hands on his hips, and observed the battalion spread out behind him with immense glee. He took a deep breath of already-warm, dry desert air. “A nice morning for a bloodbath, eh, Major?” he asked.

“Yes, sir,” Zolqadr’s aide, Major Kazem Jahromi, responded. He nervously looked outside the armored personnel carrier.

“Uh…sir, we’re only at three kilometers range to the wall, sir. Perhaps you’d better get back in the vehicle.”

“I’ll be up there in the commander’s cupola before too long, Major, but I wanted to step out onto the field of battle before we start to roll in,” Zolqadr said. “This is my first armored field assault — in fact, I believe I’m leading the first Pasdaran armored assault since the American attacks against us over eleven years ago.” He took another deep breath. “This is where every commander belongs, Major — at the head of his forces, leading the charge. This is definitely where I belong.” He looked at his watch. “How long before their deadline to surrender is up?”

“Just a few minutes now, sir.” A few moments later, from well inside the armored vehicle: “Sir, scouts report trucks coming out of the compound with white flags.”

“How many?”

“Six, sir. Covered five-ton delivery trucks. Two approaching each battalion formation.”

“Six! With…what, twenty men per vehicle? Maybe thirty? Looks like a good percentage of Buzhazi’s rebel forces are deserting him! Excellent news!”

Soon they could see two trucks moving slowly toward them, a white bedsheet tied to the radio antenna serving as their flag of surrender. For the first time he felt a thrill of panic for being at the head of this column of vehicles as the trucks moved closer. “Don’t let the bastards near the battalions!” Zolqadr shouted to his headquarters unit commander. “Stop them well short of the battalions and have them get out of the vehicles one by one. Make sure the men don’t rough them up. Let the others still inside see how well they’ll be treated, and maybe we’ll draw a few more out. Make them all feel welcome — before we execute their traitorous asses.”

“Don’t shoot, Zolqadr,” he heard over his radio. “We’re waving surrender flags. May Allah condemn you and your descendants to eternal damnation if you violate a flag of surrender.”

“It’s Buzhazi!” Zolqadr shouted in glee. He raised his binoculars and, sure enough, saw the general himself driving one of the trucks! “Tell the rest of First Battalion I want Buzhazi alive!” he shouted to his aide. “If he tries anything, disable the truck, but don’t kill Buzhazi!” He picked up his portable radio. “Are you surrendering too, General? How surprisingly wise of you.”

“I’m only doing this to be sure my men who wish to surrender will be treated fairly, as you promised, like Iranian soldiers and not criminals,” Buzhazi radioed. “I intend to return to the library after I drop off these brave men and continue my fight for freedom, and if you try to capture me, the whole world will know what a coward you are.”

“Fine, fine. I’ll let you live — plenty of chances to kill you or see you hanged in Shahr Park, along with the other criminals,” Zolqadr said. The trucks were too close for binoculars now. “Stop right there and let the men out. I promise they will not be harmed.”

“I want to be close enough to look at you face to face, Colonel,” Buzhazi said. “I want to look you in the eye before I kill you, just like I did to Badi.”

“I said, stop right there, General,” Zolqadr radioed back, “or my men will open fire!” He whirled around and screamed, “Get two BTRs and their dismounts up here and cover those trucks, now!” His aide relayed the order.

Buzhazi’s truck slowed, and at that moment there was a tremendous explosion to the north, followed by a second explosion seconds later. “What was that?” Zolqadr cried. Two massive mushroom clouds of black smoke rose into the sky. “What’s happening?”

“Suicide bombers!” someone screamed. “The trucks are packed with explosives! They’ve destroyed one command vehicle and a tank!”

Zolqadr nearly tripped over his own feet in confusion as he whirled around and returned to his own armored vehicle. “Don’t let them any closer!” he yelled to his aide. “Open fire! Open fire!”

“Look out!” someone cried. “Take cover!”

Zolqadr turned. The two trucks heading toward him had not stopped but had accelerated — they were less than a hundred meters away now! “All units, open fire!” he screamed. “Stop them!” A machine gun immediately opened fire right above his head so close that he thought he had been hit, and he ducked and dodged left around the BMP.