Red Sands, page 4
As Finn watched through binoculars, he saw hit after hit on the fortified gates and perimeter walls. Not the compound’s center-north sector however. That remained untouched.
The strategy was the same as the one espoused by the ancient Chinese general and scholar Sun Tzu. “When you surround an army, leave an outlet free. Do not press a desperate foe too hard.”
And there was another reason too. Finn, and the Intel types, wanted prisoners. People the Iranian interpreters could interrogate. Who was in charge? What had the scientists been working on? And most of all, were bombs stored at the facility? And, if so, where were they?
That’s why Lieutenant Russ Bailey’s Bradleys and troops were concealed in the dry wash located north of the base, waiting to greet any Iranians who fled in that direction.
Finn lowered his binos and turned his back on the complex. His radio operator and security detail followed. WAR GIRL was parked at the bottom of the slope with her ramp down. Finn went forward to speak with Lieutenant Cobb. “We’re going in Maya … Your trucks will lead. Three Bradleys will follow. Tell your people.”
Cobb raised an eyebrow. “And his royal highness? Where will he be?”
Finn smiled. “Shame on you. Captain al-Awan and his Bradleys constitute our fast reaction team. They will come a-running if we need them.”
“Oh, goody,” Cobb said. “I feel better now.”
Finn frowned and Cobb raised a hand. “Sorry sir, I was out of line. I apologize.”
Finn nodded. “Let’s roll, Lieutenant. The sooner we get there the better.”
Finn claimed his usual spot in the squad leader’s hatch. He then ordered Scott’s tanks to cease firing and follow the rest of the unit through the main gate.
On orders from Cobb, WAR GIRL’s crew blasted the song Immortal Battle by Joseph William Morgan over the Stryker’s external speakers as the truck led Strike Team 3 into battle.
It was an affectation to be sure, but a morale booster too, and one that Finn approved of.
What followed was one of the rare moments when Finn enjoyed war. Not the killing. But the adrenaline pumping urgency of action, the crystal-clear awareness of everything around him, and the press of wind on his face.
When the cannons stopped firing the Iranians knew what would happen next, and came boiling out of the nooks and crannies where they’d been hiding. One brave man assumed a stance in the middle of the road with a missile launcher on his shoulder.
That was when the WAR GIRL’s autocannon began to thump and a 30mm shell hit the Iranian. Finn felt something warm splatter his face as the truck sped through the floating blood mist.
Then they were in and headed straight for the admin building where, according to the CIA, important records were kept. And from which authorized personnel could enter the top-secret chambers located below ground.
That was when WAR GIRL ran over a Russian TM-46 anti-tank mine. The force of the blast threw the vic up and over onto its right side. Finn was propelled out of the hatch to tumble across the pavement.
Finally, after coming to a stop, the officer found himself on his back staring at the blue sky. A fighter jet was visible, circling like a vulture, on watch in case Axis planes appeared.
Can the pilot see me? Finn wondered. No, that seemed unlikely. He could hear gunfire. Hands felt here and there. A blurry face blocked Finn’s view of the sky. “Major? Can you move?”
A medic? Yes. Finn struggled to remember the soldier’s name but couldn’t. “I think so. Let me try.”
It took considerable effort. But Finn found that he could move. And, with assistance from the medic, he managed to sit up. “Okay,” the medic said. “Let’s get you up onto your feet.”
“No,” Flynn said thickly. “Bullets.”
“Don’t worry,” the medic assured him. “WAR GIRL is shielding us from the incoming fire.”
Finn saw that it was true. The double V-hulled Stryker was on her side, but seemingly intact, and he could hear the ping, ping, ping as bullets hit metal.
Finn sagged as a wave of dizziness overcame him. “Owens.”
“The XO is on it,” the medic said. “Lean on me.”
Thus began what felt like an epic journey. First to the Stryker, where they waited for the gunfire to subside, then to the building beyond. Enemy soldiers lay with their heads toward the structure they’d died to defend, as if toppled by a strong gust of wind.
Finn saw American bodies too … But less of them thank God. Finn allowed himself to be half-carried into the lobby where an aid station had been established.
The team’s doctor, Captain Marie Parcel, had dark skin and startling green eyes. She frowned. “What happened?”
“He was thrown out of WAR GIRL onto the pavement,” the medic replied. “I think he might have a concussion.”
“Thank God he was wearing a helmet,” Parcel said to no one in particular, as she performed a cursory examination. “Put him in a chair.”
Finn heard the words but his thoughts were on something else. Something very important. “Owens! Now!”
“Don’t worry,” Parcel said soothingly. “The XO has everything under control.”
“Owens! Now! Important.”
Parcel turned to the medic. “Get the XO on the horn. Tell her that the Major wants her on the double.”
Finn’s vision was better by the time Owens arrived, but the ringing in his ears refused to go away. Owens was all gunned up and looked like what she was: Army Airborne. “Yes, sir … You rang?”
Finn couldn’t help but grin. “I need a sitrep. Keep it short.”
“We own the first floor of the building,” Owens told him. “Fighting is still underway elsewhere. Civilian workers are fleeing north. Lieutenant Bailey has them under control.”
“Good. What about the parking garage?”
Owens frowned. Finn was a headcase. The parking garage was located under the building. “The garage is secure, sir. But we haven’t been able to crack the door that provides access to the underground facility.”
“Put that on hold,” Finn ordered. “Get every soldier and every vehicle into the parking garage. That includes Bailey and the civilians.”
Owens stared at him. “Can I ask why?”
“Yes,” Finn replied. “You can. By now the Iranian command structure knows that we’re in control. So, they have every reason to launch surface-to-surface missiles at the facility from who knows where, and try to fight our planes off with SAMs.”
Owens hadn’t thought of that, and it showed, as she turned to her radio operator. A flurry of orders caused Strykers, tanks, and Bradleys to stop what they were doing and head full speed for the admin building.
***
The incoming order was easy for some, but difficult for Bailey. Should he take the civilian workers with him? Or leave them behind? Knowing they might get killed.
“Load as many people on the tracks as you can!” Bailey told the interpreters. “Tell the rest to follow me. Move!”
At least a dozen Iranians were clinging to each Bradley as the fighting vehicles clanked over flat ground. Bailey, along with some soldiers and half of the team’s interpreters, were fast-walking behind.
Bailey wanted to run. But most of the workers were past middle age and out of shape.
For some reason a large patch of barren ground had been included inside the perimeter. For future expansion? Maybe. It didn’t matter to Bailey. All he wanted to do was cross the mini-desert as quickly as possible.
Bailey felt a sense of relief when both Bradleys disappeared into the underground garage. Missiles began to fall seconds later. The first one scored a direct hit on the admin building, exploded, and sent a cloud of debris into the air. “Hit the dirt!” Bailey yelled, and threw himself forward. The civilians did likewise as missiles struck a succession of different buildings.
And that was, as it turned out, what Bailey and his charges had going for them. The Iranian missile command had no reason to target acres of bare land. And they didn’t.
So, the dirt patch was like the eye of a hurricane—the calm at the center of the storm. All in all, the Iranians fired, what? Fifteen? Twenty, missiles at Natanz? Something like that … And, according to a medic, none of the people with Bailey suffered a scratch.
Finally, convinced that the bombardment was over, Bailey stood. His radio operator was a few feet away. “The XO is on the horn, sir … She wants a sitrep.”
Bailey took a look around. Iranians were rising like zombies from their graves. “Tell the captain that we suffered zero casualties but soiled our shorts.”
The radio operator grinned. “Roger that, sir … But it beats the alternative.”
***
Finn was feeling better. Not perfect, but better. Doctor Parcel, plus her medics and their patients, had been taken out and down a ramp into the parking garage. A blast proof door closed behind them. Maybe the missile attack was over for good and maybe it wasn’t.
Five soldiers had been killed during the assault on Natanz, including the Stryker platoon’s commanding officer 2nd Lieutenant Cobb. Not when the mine flipped WAR GIRL onto her side but later, while attacking an Iranian machine gun position.
First Sergeant Dyson was detailed to secure the area while Finn, Owens, and most of the surviving platoon leaders met in the office labeled, “Supervisor.”
“So,” Finn said. “The problem is how to get into the underground labs, and conduct a search. We know where the door is, but how do we open it?”
“Somebody destroyed the keycard reader,” Owens said. “So, we tried some C-4. The explosion stained the metal facing but that’s all.”
There was a moment of silence followed by the sound of 2nd Lieutenant Tim Scott clearing his throat. “Well, you may think this is a weird suggestion, but how ‘bout letting one of my tanks take a crack at it?”
Finn stared at the youth. “Weird? That’s fucking brilliant! You’ll need to clear the immediate area first. And make sure everyone is wearing ear protection.”
The tank commanders drew names from a hat and BLACK DEUCE won. It took some backing and filling to maneuver the M-1 into position. Then, after a final warning, the tank fired. The 105mm sabot round hit the stainless-steel covered door dead center.
The sabot consisted of a metal rod made of depleted uranium. It went through the steel casing, the concrete core, and a second casing to shatter beyond.
Tank commander Corey Gill went over to inspect his work. “That’s a good start,” he remarked. “But I think a second round will make the hole big enough to step through.”
“Make it so,” Finn replied.
Another warning went out. BLACK DEUCE fired. Gill returned to the hole, threw a leg over the bottom quarter of the door, and ducked his head inside. They were in. But where to go? Finn called for Bailey. “We need a guide, Lieutenant. Were you able to identify any likely prospects?”
“Most of the workers are very closemouthed,” Bailey replied. “Because of patriotism or fear. But one was more forthcoming. His name is Ahura Jafari. And I think he’s available. If you know what I mean.”
Finn grinned. “I do know what you mean. Put on a show … Drag him in. Make it look like he’s being forced. And let’s get the docs involved.”
The scientists were generally referred to as “Big Doc” (Larry Beech), and “Little Doc” (Susan Okada). Beech had a doctorate in nuclear engineering, and Okada had a doctorate in applied physics. They’d been assigned to the team to gather Intel, help find the bombs if any were present, and to supervise the removal process if it came to that.
Beech was a gangly man with a preference for western attire, including a pair of fancy boots. Okada was small, wired tight, and short tempered. Though something of an odd couple they seemed to get along. Both were present when Bailey shoved Jafari through the door. The Iranian stumbled, caught his balance, and stood with his back to a wall.
Finn was afraid to stand, so he remained seated. “Who are you?” Finn demanded. “And what’s your role here?”
Interpreter Hooman Karimi had just started to translate when the man, named Ahura Jafari, raised a hand. “There’s no need. I speak English. I’m the Maintenance Supervisor for the Natanz Nuclear Complex,” Jafari said. “You’re sitting in my chair.”
That was a piece of luck if Jafari was willing to cooperate. Because, though not as knowledgeable about the scientific end of things as a physicist would be, the maintenance supervisor was likely to have an intimate knowledge of the base.
The strike team’s mission was obvious to anyone with half a brain, and Finn assumed that included Jafari. “Okay, good. You know why we’re here. Our job is to find nuclear devices and remove them. And that, Mr. Jafari, would be best for Iran. Because, if your government was to use one or more bombs against the Alliance, most of Iran would be sterilized. Do you understand me?”
“I understand,” Jafari said stiffly. “And I can help.”
“How?”
“I know where the bombs are stored.”
Finn sat up straight. The bombs existed! And they were located nearby. He came to his feet. “Where are they?”
“They’re here,” Jafari said evasively. “But, if I am to help, I need something in return.”
Finn frowned. “Which is?”
“You must take me with you when you leave. The others will kill me if you don’t.”
It was a reasonable request. Finn nodded. “Done. Welcome to the team. Now, where are the bombs?”
“The bombs are stored in a special vault,” Jafari answered. “A vault within a vault. The inner vault consists of a reinforced lid and side walls. It’s equipped with motion sensors, closed circuit TV, and thermal imaging devices. No single person can access the storage container. Two people are required.”
Finn looked at Okada and Beech. “Assuming Mr. Jafari is correct, how will we open the vault?”
“Well,” Okada said pragmatically. “We don’t have to worry about sensors and alarms. Because we know we’re going to break in. Or try to. But that may be next to impossible. You saw what happened when we tried a block of C-4.”
“That’s right,” Beech added. “And it wouldn’t be a good idea to shoot at it with a tank gun even if such a thing were possible. No, I’d say we have two choices. We can spend the next couple of days trying to drill or otherwise force our way in. Or, we can find two people who are authorized to open the vault. I suggest we try the second approach first.”
Finn turned to Jafari. “So? What do you think? Do we have the right people in custody? And would they be willing to open the vault?”
Jafari frowned. “You have the right people in custody. Some of them anyway. But no, they were chosen for their loyalty to the government, and won’t agree to help. Even if you torture them.”
“We don’t torture people,” Owens said sternly.
“I’m glad to hear it,” Jafari replied. “My government does. But none of that matters because we have Labeeb el-Saladin.”
“And who,” Okada inquired, “is Labeeb el-Saladin?”
“He’s the best tech I have,” Jafari explained. “He’s the guy who repairs and maintains all the sensors and alarms on the nuclear vault.”
Finn stared. “Including the locks?”
“Yes,” Jafari replied.
“And he’ll help us?”
“I think he will,” Jafari said. “If you agree to take him with you.”
Finn turned to Bailey. “Go get Mr. el-Saladin. And make it look good.”
Finn turned to the scientists as Bailey left. “Okay, it’s time to gather Intel. A couple of reminders. Do whatever the noncom in charge of your security team says. Some of the staff might be lurking about. And they could be armed.
“You have cameras. Use them. Don’t be choosey. Shoot everything you see. You can sift through the images later. And grab anything that looks interesting. We aren’t likely to get a second chance. For all we know, a brigade of Iranian soldiers is headed our way.
“One more thing,” Finn said, as the scientists were about to leave. “Use spray paint to leave a trail. And if I call, come on the double. Once we have the bombs, we’ll want you to check them out. Got it?”
“Got it,” the scientists answered in unison.
First Sergeant Dyson and their security details were waiting outside. That was when Bailey arrived with el-Saladin. The tech was a small man, with black hair, and a two-day beard. His expression brightened when he saw Jafari.
“Don’t worry Labeeb,” Jafari said. “All you have to do is take them to the bomb vault and open it. When the Americans leave, they’ll take us with them.”
El-Saladin’s eyes darted around the room. The words were in Farsi. “Are you crazy? The pasdaran (Revolutionary Guards) will kill us.”
Interpreter Hooman Karimi translated both el-Saladin’s remarks and Jafari’s response. “Only if they catch us,” Jafari argued. “And they won’t.”
“You trust the Americans?”
Jafari shrugged. “I have to. Consider this Labeeb. We’re going to lose the war. The Allies own the sky. There will be jobs for those who made the right decision early.”
Jafari looked at Finn, who nodded. “Mr. Jafari is correct. We will keep our word. And, while I don’t have a job to offer, I will put you in touch with the correct people. Based on what Mr. Jafari told us you have some very valuable technical expertise.”
After listening to the translation el-Saladin nodded. “I’ll do it.”
Finn felt a rising sense of excitement as the Iranians led his team through the ragged hole that took them from the garage into a maze of rooms and galleries beyond.
Overhead lights reflected off the floors as the group made its way through canyons of what were probably mainframe computers, past rows of cylindrical tanks, and a large control room. The air was chilly, and black-on-yellow notices written in Perso-Arabic script were posted everywhere. Finn’s respect for Jafari went up a notch. Supervising maintenance for such a facility would be a daunting task.
El-Saladin took a right and Finn followed. That was when a man with a beard charged out of a dark corner with a fire ax raised over his head.
