Strike Force

…and suddenly there was a dark blur of motion. The Zoaf pistol was snatched out of his hand, and Zolqadr was sent flying backward by an iron-like blunt object as if he had been hit by a speeding car. Dazed and with his breath knocked out of his lungs, he struggled to a sitting position and looked up…

…and saw two figures standing over Buzhazi, clad in dark gray outfits. Their arms, legs, and torsos were covered in some kind of structural framework; they wore thick belts around their waists, large fairings on their shoulders and calves, very largecaliber long weapons resembling oversized sniper’s rifles, and large bullet-shaped helmets that completely covered their heads, necks, and shoulders. One figure stood guard, aiming his rifle toward the battalion, while the other attended to Buzhazi.

“Who are you?” Zolqadr shouted. “Who are you?”

The figure with Buzhazi turned to look at the Pasdaran colonel. “Be quiet,” the figure said in some sort of electronic voice in Farsi. “This battle is over.”

Zolqadr heard a creak and rattle of heavy metal, looked to the west, and smiled. “Not quite, my friend,” he said. The figure looked around. One of the Zulfiqar main battle tanks was racing across the desert toward them. Zolqadr started to half-crawl, half-stumble backward as the tank’s coaxial machine gun opened fire, and the ground erupted into hundreds of bursts of smoke as the shells hit home. “Looks like your battle is over, bastards!”

But when the shooting paused, Zolqadr was shocked to see…the two figures still standing! They had been directly hit by twenty-three-millimeter cannon fire and were still in one piece! Then, the second figure calmly raised his big rifle and fired. There was no recoil and no sound, just a laser-straight line of orange-red fire. The round looked as if it had missed the tank because Zolqadr could see the orange-red line go right past the tank as if the tank was nothing but a desert mirage…but the tank suddenly shuddered to a halt as if its driver jammed on the brakes. Seconds later smoke began billowing from the tank, and moments later fire was billowing from several blow-out ports and through melting steel.

“Who are you?” Zolqadr screamed. But the two figures ignored him. The first picked up Buzhazi as easily as if he was a doll and headed toward the Khomeini Library, while the second covered their retreat with the big tank-killing weapon, swiveling it in all directions as if it was weightless as well.

The big figure with the large, unidentified rifle said, “Salam aleikom. Have a nice day, sir,” in Farsi to the dazed and confused Pasdaran commander as he walked by.

The cheering inside the Khomeini Library could be heard from half a kilometer away as the two strange figures approached. Men came running out to join their leader. The first gray-clad figure put him down on the ground just inside the walls. “Are you alive, Buzhazi?” he said in Farsi through his electronic speakers.

“Yes, thanks to you,” Buzhazi said weakly, still dazed but able to rise up on one knee, then motioning for his men to pull him to his feet. He noticed two more similarly clad and equipped figures entering the compound. “I think I recognize you.”

The first figure ignored Buzhazi and turned to the others. “Report,” he ordered in English.

“The northwest battalion scattered,” another figure responded. “No further contact with them. We downed two Mi-35 Hind attack helicopters attacking from the north; three more turned away toward Qom. Systems reporting sixty-three percent and thirty-five percent ammo.”

“The southwest battalion departed as well,” another reported. “They have reassembled near the city center about seven klicks away and they are reporting the situation to their headquarters. I count a force of six APCs and one T-72-sized main battle tank. We’re at fifty percent power and thirty percent ammo.”

“Very well. The west battalion has left the area but appears to be rendezvousing with the southwest survivors,” the first figure said. “They had five APCs and a number of men on foot. I still have contact with the mortar team that set up — they’re still in place but I haven’t detected any rounds headed our way, yet. We can expect some sort of counterattack or probe shortly. Me and the sergeant major are at fifty-seven percent power and seventy percent ammo left. All of you, stop wasting your ammunition. Those aren’t machine guns you’re firing.”

“You are Americans, the so-called Air Battle Force ground units, the ones who helped the Sanusi liberate Libya,” Buzhazi said.