‘You’re probably right there, in fact, the razor fence might be just the place to martyr themselves on...after all, Jesus Christ only had a wooden cross and a few rusty nails, and look at the attention he got!’
Chapter Two
White House Washington
President George Frederick Garner had just entered the Oval office for another days hard paper work, which had been piling up after a series of meetings on the worsening war in Iraq. The morning briefing sheet from the director of the CIA lay precisely in middle of his desk as requested by the president. The report was one of the first documents he read on entering the office, as well as a number of other related issues on Iraq, Iran and Afghanistan, and now Pakistan had just joined the list. Such was their importance that they were taking up an increasing amount of his formal work time as well as his informal activities. The US now had three hotbed areas to choose from, plus a possible forth, as well as ever increasing problems on the home front.
The prestige and power of the presidential office had steadily diminished with time, and he could see the day when no one would accept this once highly coveted job, supposedly occupied by the most powerful man in the world -- it was all a lot of hogwash.
He read the briefing quickly, as was his normal habit, then reread the document concentrating on the more important aspects.
An undisclosed British warship had detected several Iranian missile firings in the last four days, whilst these were not unusual, their range and frequency had increased substantially, which was a new and alarming development.
The firings and range increases had been partially confirmed by the American carrier USS Ronald Reagan located in the Arabian Sea just off the coast of Oman.
A compounding factor in this issue had been worrying the president -- due to the increasing militarism and incursions of Iranian paramilitary groups in northern Iraq the US government had increased the troop dispositions in this area to over four thousand. The question was; were the increased Iranian missile firings in response to US troop movements?
Garner booted his laptop and assessed the most recent documentation on Iranian weapons of mass destruction. The CIA document estimated a five to ten year development before Iran could produce a nuclear bomb of its own. Garner knew that this was a best guesstimate based on various reports, false or otherwise, and that it could not be relied upon. No one in the world knew exactly when Iran would become nuclear capable except Iran, and even they couldn’t put a lid on it.
The irony of it all was that Iran could be capable of delivering a nuclear bomb right now and with the ability to wipe out Washington and the White House. If this were correct, the USA was in grave danger, not to mention other supportive states such as Israel and Saudi Arabia.
He peered out of the window at the manicured lawns and well tended shrubbery of the White House gardens, something he often did in order to calm his nerves. The view seemed to be one of the few permanent images he had got used to during his political life on capital hill.
Nature knew how to project a calm image, but even this was becoming a little jaded, middle east politics had become a dangerous tit for tat scenario with a first in winner takes all end game.
An overwhelming passion forced him to concentrate on the ultimate scenario -- stifle the bloody problem with a massive invasion of men and state of the art military equipment, or better still, nuke the fucking place to hell with a hundred nuclear warheads on all the major cities. A radioactive wasteland seemed preferable to a seething Arab state, riddled with hatred, and nuclear weapons pointed at the heart of the United States.
He smiled sardonically at his muse, it was the same old story, smite your enemies before they smite you -- but then there was another ancient story of David and Goliath -- with Iran playing the role of David.
Whatever the outcome there could only be one looser and one winner, but there was a third outcome niggling away at the back of his mind, there could be two losers, with sufficient well placed nuclear weapons they had the capacity to virtually wipe each other out. Truth was there would be no clear winner whatever scenario was played out. He stared for a few moments at the shifty logistics on the computer screen, keying up and down the lines of digits, it was clear, more accurate intelligence was required
He scrolled down the page looking at the missile capabilities of Iran, the information had a similar veracity to the nuclear bomb threat, except that it might be a little more accurate.
It was known that the development of the inter continental Shahab-6 missile system was well on track and its estimated range was a minimum 10,000 kilometers. Such a weapon could reach New York thus annihilating America’s most prestigious city in one stroke. It was also known that Iran had had extensive practical and theoretical assistance from North Korea, China, and Russia, on all aspects of missile development.
Once again, after applying severe logic, it was a case of go in now and administer the coup d’état, or face up to a long drawn out cold war with a possible nuclear holocaust as the outcome.
He sighed for the second time...gone were the days when one could simply swat ones enemy with a few good bombing runs, or a quick nuclear strike banishing them forever. The world was always watching -- such were today’s communicative capabilities -- one could not give little Mohammed a black eye on the sly, without the whole country knowing about it, and if it were two black eyes, then the whole world would know.
He continued scrolling down the reports trying to push away his extraneous thoughts which came charging in each time he picked up a major point from the screen. Iran once again reared its ugly head.
Another significant aspect of the Iranian situation was the discovery by allied vessels of ships heading for Iran which contained an assortment of parts for huge guns, this in itself was of great concern, but even more worrying were the number of vessels running the sanctions gauntlet which had not been detected. The middle east was awash with armaments and the whole world was in danger of drifting into anarchy.
It was a new cold war scenario and one that America didn’t want. It was becoming clear that as long as there were different political ideologies in the world and countries with weapons to pursue them, the USA would always be the standing target. She was the natural leader of the free world, and thus, also the natural enemy of all tyrannical states. Aggression was part of human nature even in the mildest person it was a normal defence mechanism -- violence was a here to stay unless human nature itself were changed. This brought up even more drastic scenarios which bordered on the destruction of homo Sapiens as a species.
Chapter Three
Iran / Iraq Border
It was as thick as cotton wool and as gray as Portland cement in every direction; a wall of impenetrable mist obscured everything.
Major Born had been given strict orders to keep a rigid ten metres from the Iraq / Iran border and to recce the area for insurgent Iranian forces, but never to cross the border into Iran under any circumstances. So far it had been an absolute nightmare, they had started off their ten man patrol along the border in crystal clear weather, and this insidious haze had gradually enveloped them.
Initially, Major Born had not worried too much, after all he had a good compass and a state of the art military GPS device, which informed them of their position within a few metres. In spite of this wonderful piece of technology it was still possible to get lost, and even end up arguing with the directions given by the actual GPS device, especially when all visual senses were cut off by a dense fog. There was a tendency for human intelligence, gained through ones senses to argue with, and even usurp accurate readings from an electronic or a mechanical device. Born yelled back at his second in command.
‘What the hell do you make of this bloody fog lieutenant,’
‘Don’t know sir...I didn’t know they had fogs in Iraq.'
'Neither did I...you don’t suppose it could be artificially induced?’ said Born.
‘You never know sir...could be a new weapon of mass c
onfusion,’ it looked too ethereal to be a sandstorm and yet there seemed to be definite particles flying around, and the men had to cover their mouths to protect their lungs from the fine dust.
‘Could this be a mixture of water vapour and sand? the major queried'
‘I suppose it’s possible sir...beats the shit out of me.’ The more the patrol edged its way along the border the greater the murkiness became.
Major Born was now disorientated and experiencing great difficulty in interpreting the GPS device even though directional parameters were plainly in front of him, his brain would simply not accept them. His mind knew that he had been this way and that, and the right direction was now directly to his left. Mankind was now at odds with one of his most recent technological marvels. Lieutenant Harrison, the second in command, continued straight on following his GPS device.
‘Not that way lieutenant, we need to keep closer to the border line,’ yelled Born tapping his subordinate hard on the shoulder.
‘But the GPS sir?’
‘Fuck the GPS...this is the right way.’
‘But sir, we're going the wrong way,’ Harrison blurted desperately, brandishing his GPS device and pushing it in the Major’s face. Older officers sometimes didn’t take too kindly to new technological kids on the block and Born looked skeptically at his second in command.
‘What was one of the first things you learned in basic training Lieutenant?' Harrison squinted at the Major in disbelief...had this big strapping man started to lose his grip on reality?
‘In case you have forgotten Lieutenant, it was how to follow orders...so shut the fuck-up, and do as you’re told,’ the body of men continued in obedient silence.
An hour elapsed before the fog began to clear and Major Born halted the patrol and retrieved a pair of high power service binoculars. He scanned the horizon in a slow 180 degree sweep before settling on an old farm house some fifty metres away.
Harrison hand-signaled the rest of the platoon to get down and take cover.
The cause of the strange mist then gradually became apparent; piles of fine sand dunes dotted the landscape, Born grabbed a handful of the material and sifted it through his hand.
‘Here’s the culprit lieutenant...this stuffs finer than talcum powder...a moderate wind could soon whip it up’
‘Could be a kieselguhr deposit sir, there’s lots of it around here,’ the fine sand wafted from the Majors grasp as he looked ahead.
‘Never mind the kieselguhr lets check out that farm house up ahead.’ The major circled his arm over his head and the patrol slowly spread out forming a large circle surrounding the house. Harrison gave the hand signal indicating a slow closure on the building.
Major Born refocused the binoculars on the roof of the farmhouse, and stopped abruptly, crouching low, he pointed at the building.
‘What the hell is that?’ Harrison squinted hard at he top of the house trying to follow his commander’s extended finger. A gabel window on the roof seemed to frame a large circular object -- parts of which glinted in the sun.
‘It’s the business end of a large artillery gun sir.’
‘Thanks for confirming that Lieutenant ...I thought I might be hallucinating.'
‘No sir, I concur, but I thought big guns went out with Hitler and his cronies.’
‘No lieutenant, they never did go out of fashion -- in fact, they graduated to firing monster shells, as a matter fact, I recall the US Navy stopping an Iranian ship carrying big gun parts some months ago. That was probably a lucky incident...God knows how many other vessels got through since then. The major’s blue tooth earpiece buzzed.
‘Yeah...’
‘Tale end sir...there’s a supply wagon at the rear of the house sir...its stacked with shells, and the vehicle has the international radiation sign stenciled on it,’ Born looked sharply at Harrison.
‘The radiation sign on a military vehicle -- you know what that means lieutenant?'
‘The trucks radioactive sir!’
‘No, the bloody shells are...looks like we might have stumbled onto a strategic nuclear emplacement.’
‘You mean the gun’s set for firing nuclear shells?’
‘Exactly...know what I think lieutenant?'
‘No...what sir?’
‘We’re standing on hot coals...lets get out the hell out of here pronto!’ Harrison turned round and signaled for the men to retreat, then realised they were surrounded by a rag tag bunch of what seemed to be Iranian paramilitaries.
Major Born pressed an emergency button on his satellite phone. It was then he noticed the reading on the GPS digital display -- they were three kilometers inside the Iranian border
‘Hells fucking bells lieutenant ...we’ve gotta get out of here,’ Born continued to press his communication button finally receiving a distorted reply.
‘HQ...CCB...go ahead Major.’
‘We’re surrounded by Iranian Para’s...they’ve got nuclear shells here and a bloody great gun to fire them...were going to fight our way out,’ Harrison gazed alarmingly at the Major -- Born smiled back, then emptied his carbine in the direction of the Iranians.
Chapter Four
Brigadier Arash Al Zandi responsible for the security of the Iran-Iraque border area sat at his desk massaging his forehead. Born in Tabriz out of the poisoned Tehran limelight, with a cultured upbringing, he was more worldly wise then most of his military contemporaries. He had a deep sense of morality, and could think beyond the obvious with a clear consciousness, which made him special within the Iranian officer cadre.
However, an open minded person tended to be a rare quality in the Iranian Army, but Al Zandi was grateful for it. Unfortunately on this occasion, it had provided him with a strong sense of foreboding as he struggled to understand the message he had just read. He reappraised it for the third time, staring at the heading and trying to make sure it wasn’t some sort of sad joke -- even in Arab countries jokes were sometimes perpetrated, but they were rarely practical jokes.
It had come from the his superior General Hakem Gamela and had been passed down the chain of command via the Supreme Leader’s office in the form of a decree enacted by the Supreme Leader himself.
From the attached preamble it was clear that the supreme number one Muslim of Iran, had finally decided to act. The Americans had not only continuously enacted heavy sanctions over many years, but were now dictating how Iran should run its own country. Not satisfied with this, they were now massing on the Iraq border with the obvious intention of invading Iran.
A preliminary head count indicated that an advanced force of approximately four thousand US armed infidels were in position, just rearing to cross the border. The festering hellhole that was Iraq, would now be perpetuated in Iran, unless drastic and immediate action was undertaken.
Enough was enough, the American aggressors were merely upstarts in a very ancient world -- in their own parlance -- they were green to their gills. Brawling infants in fact, and needed to be taught a severe lesson in world etiquette. One does not harass and destroy ancient civilisations whose great accomplishments were commonplace long before the United States of America was a mere twinkle in the Anglo Saxon’s eye.
The body of US troops would be eliminated the instant they crossed the border using newly acquired nuclear technology, and Iraq would be freed from the imperialist aggressors.
All of this Brigadier Al Zandi could readily relate too, but it was the last part of the decree that he could not come to terms with. He stroked his small mustache and his steel gray eyes twitched in their Persian sockets as the crisis in his mind started to escalate. The furrows in his olive dappled forehead deepened as his brain grappled with the flawed military thinking.
He’d had a few strange orders in his time but this was truly maniacal, he cursed the supreme leader under his breath -- clerics, politicians, whatever their persuasion, should leave the militarily thinking to those most qualified to do so -- didn’t these buggers ever learn. The ample lessons of hi
story were there for all to see; Stalin’s military purges, Hitler's gross interference in strategy; all lead to terrible disasters. They never learned to let the military top brass make the military decisions, particularly on the ground, because ultimately that was where wars were won and lost.
With this in mind Al Zandi continued to peruse the official document.
The majority of terrorist groups who supported and were assisted by the Iranian government were to go onto a special war footing, aimed at abducting the American president, if and when, he set foot on foreign soil. Alternatively, if this could be achieved on US soil by covert insurrectionists, so much the better.
The sole purpose of the exercise was to put the US president on trial for his life in a major Tehran court in front of the whole world. Foreign corespondents would be invited and the trial would be relayed over the Internet in agonising detail designed to make the Americans squirm. The actual execution, also over the Internet, no doubt, didn’t bear thinking about.
Al Zandi swept his eyes over the typed sheet for the forth time just to make sure he grasped its true meaning. Strange orders sometimes did strange things to ones perceptions. The American president was to be seized, preferably alive, and brought back to Iran, regardless of his location at the time of the abduction. He would then be tried in front of a Muslim court for crimes against Islam and the people of Iran. Sentencing would then be carried out in full view of the world media. The propaganda created by this act alone, would be worth many victorious physical battles fought against the American imperialists.
Al Zandi realised it had been proven beyond any doubt in the minds of all Iranians, that the American president had humiliated Allah without the need for a public trail -- which meant only one thing -- the whole process was a gross political sham aimed at ridiculing the US president in the eyes of the world.
To humiliate Allah was to forfeit one’s life. The trail would therefore inevitably culminate in the execution of the US president. Since the execution would be shown live on the Internet it would also give the whole specter a new dimension and create maximum propaganda in the eyes of the world.
Tehran Decree Page 2
