The Saudi-Iranian War

by Ted Halstead

  Grishkov scowled. “The idiot says that the plant needs the supplies being brought by the trucks to operate. I wonder how well he thinks it will operate as a glowing pile of radioactive ash?”

  Vasilyev grinned. “I agree that the plant’s efficiency will doubtless be impaired. So, how do we distinguish the truck bomb from an ordinary truck?”

  Grishkov shrugged. “If a truck comes barreling up to the gate at high speed, that’s probably the truck bomb. However, they did have the sense to fence off both sides of the road leading to the gate. So, because there have been so many trucks coming to this plant since our arrival, unless there’s a lull in traffic I don’t see how one could make a high-speed approach.”

  Vasilyev nodded. “So, we probably won’t know until the explosion.”

  Grishkov simply shrugged again.

  “Very well. What happens after the explosion?”

  Grishkov frowned. “An experienced commander would have another truck filled with attackers following a respectful distance behind. He would also make sure that the truck bomb was carrying a shaped charge directing the force of the explosion forward. If he was smart, he would also have several cars following the attack truck with more fighters. Never good to put all your eggs in one basket. The truck with the nuclear weapon would follow those cars, since you obviously want it as far from the truck bomb as possible.”

  As Grishkov said this, they reached the spot in the back parking lot where their full-size SUVs were parked.

  Vasilyev pulled out his keys, unlocked the trunk of the first SUV and pushed down the rear seat. He then pressed a button on his remote twice, and to Grishkov’s amazement the entire rear two-thirds of the SUV lifted to the ceiling, revealing a cavernous storage compartment tightly packed with military equipment.

  “I anticipated that we would need to stop something the size of a truck. Do you think this will do the job?” Vasilyev asked, pointing to the largest object in a compartment.

  Grishkov stared slack-jawed as his gaze followed Vasilyev’s finger.

  “That’s a Kornet! How did they manage to fit it in… oh I see, they’ve divided the launch tube…”

  He looked up at Vasilyev and said solemnly, “Old man, if you were just a little prettier I think I’d kiss you. If the other car’s contents are anything like this, I may get back to Arisha and the kids after all. And you may live to collect that pension!” he said, punching Vasilyev in the shoulder.

  Rubbing his shoulder, Vasilyev grinned and said, “I’m glad you’re pleased.

  I asked Smyslov to have your service file checked for the heaviest weapons you had trained with in Chechnya that could fit in one of these SUVs. He said this variant is only for special operations use, and there are only a dozen or so in existence. What makes it so special?”

  Grishkov shook his head. “Where do I start? OK, this is the 9M133 Kornet anti-tank weapon. When you fire it, you can immediately guess why they call it ‘Comet’. The launch tube is a bit over a meter long, and this one has been cut in half to fit. You can see they’ve added a metal bracket to fit the two halves together. I wonder how well the design will stand up to reuse.”

  Vasilyev shrugged. “That I can answer. I was told this can only be used once. That’s why we have just one missile. It’s thermobaric, if that means anything to you.”

  If Vasilyev had thought Grishkov was happy before, now he seemed ready to dance. “Outstanding! I take back every unkind word I said about the Army when I was in Chechnya. This is exactly what we need here.”

  Seeing Vasilyev’s confusion, Grishkov continued, “You see, this is a weapon designed against main battle tanks. Its normal warhead would indeed stop any truck, but being designed to punch through armor it would just keep going after it hit. I’ve used this several times against enemy trucks in Chechnya, and each time there were survivors. I told any officer I could find that we needed thermobaric rounds, but all they’d say is that we were lucky to have Kornets at all.”

  Grishkov paused. “I was in a bar a few years ago talking to a friend who was still in the Army, and was surprised when he told me those officers were right. Most units are still using the old wire-guided Konkurs anti-tank missile because the Kornet is just too expensive, especially this latest model with its fire-and-forget capability. So, a model with a thermobaric round that can fit in an SUV? Nothing short of a miracle!”

  Vasilyev nodded. “Excellent. Now, I was told that operating this missile is a two-man job?”

  Grishkov shrugged. “I wouldn’t mind a hand getting it moved to where we’re going to set up for launch. We’re just steps from a point where we’ll be able to view the front gate. We’d obviously be too conspicuous if we set the whole thing up immediately, but we can move the tripod over to the launch point now, and I can assemble the launch tube and secure the bracket. Once the attack begins the rest of the setup will take just a minute.”

  Vasilyev’s eyebrows flew upwards. “Are you sure you can do it so quickly?”

  Grishkov laughed. “We drilled with these all the time in Chechnya, and as you saw in my file I used it several times for real. Any time over a minute was a failure, and my record was forty-five seconds. Targeting couldn’t be easier — just shine the laser light on whatever you want to go boom!”

  Vasilyev nodded. “That sounds simple enough. Now, have a look at what we’ve got in the other SUV.”

  Vasilyev then unlocked the trunk of the second SUV and again pushed down the rear seat, and pressed a button on the second remote twice. This time Grishkov was not surprised to see another storage compartment with military equipment, but Vasilyev was pleased to see he was just as happy with its contents.

  “A PKM medium machine gun with a tripod mount, and two hundred fifty round ammunition cans! You know, this is such a reliable, deadly beast that I read American special operations forces are asking their manufacturers to make copies. And here’s an RPG-7, which I’m guessing is for you?”

  Grishkov said.

  Vasilyev grinned. “These were around when I did my military service, and they couldn’t be simpler to use. The best part is, I don’t have to be an expert shot. I’m likely to do some damage if I can just point it in the right direction.”

  Grishkov nodded. “Well put. And I see we have submachine guns and grenades as well. Yes, with these we can give a warm welcome to whoever survives the Kornet.”

  Grishkov paused. “One thing does concern me, though. We’ll be directing all this firepower towards an enemy holding a nuclear weapon. Isn’t there a chance we will hit it and cause it to detonate?”

  Vasilyev shrugged. “A fair point. However, the technical documents provided by the defector say that though these devices are experimental, they are quite robust. I would advise against a direct hit by the Kornet. Short of that, though, I think we are safe. The bottom line is that if we don’t stop the attackers, we know they will detonate the weapon.”

  Grishkov grunted. “Your logic is unassailable. So, answer this one. If we are able to take out the bulk of the enemy force with the Kornet, what’s to stop them from simply detonating the device where they are, even if they’re still outside the gate? After all, it’s a nuclear weapon. Surely the blast radius would still be sufficient to destroy this facility.”

  Vasilyev nodded. “True, but only if the device works exactly as designed.

  Since it is experimental, the documents also say there may be a ‘fizzle’ which would release far less energy. That could leave the facility repairable, especially if the detonation is at a distance. So, I think the attackers will try to get the device adjacent to the plant if at all possible.”

  Vasilyev paused. “I hesitate to refer to the documents, since the weapon may have been modified since they were written. But they do specify that once the ground devices were assembled and armed, a countdown began that could not be altered. We focused on our main concern — that meant we couldn’t stop it. But I believe it also means they can’t do anything to speed up detonation.”
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  Grishkov nodded, pulled out both halves of the Kornet launch tube and began to assemble them. As he fastened the metal bracket securing the two halves together, he asked, “Since the documents say the weapon cannot be disarmed once it is assembled and armed, what do we do if we capture the device intact? We are certain to have only minutes before it explodes.”

  Vasilyev grinned. “An excellent question, my friend. I see only one real option. See that pier leading out of the end of the parking lot?”

  Grishkov squinted and nodded. It was a fair distance away and partly obscured by intervening vehicles, so he doubted he would have noticed the pier without Vasilyev pointing it out.

  “It is intended to provide vehicle access to the main water intake pipe for the plant, so equipment can be easily transported whenever maintenance is required. We will use it to transport the weapon as far out into the Gulf as possible in what I’m sure will be a limited amount of time,” Vasilyev said.

  Grishkov frowned. “Will the water be deep enough to absorb the force of the explosion? Do we risk causing a tsunami, or contaminating all the fish in the Gulf?”

  Vasilyev shrugged. “Also excellent questions. This time, though, I can only say I have no idea. But I see no practical alternative.”

  Grishkov grunted and continued the Kornet‘s assembly with a snap of its metal retaining bracket. He then put it back as far as it would go in the SUV and pulled out the launch tube’s tripod. A few minutes later, the tripod was set up next to a car that Vasilyev noted Grishkov had picked only after careful examination.

  “So, what makes this car the perfect place to send this welcome gift to our visitors?” Vasilyev asked with a smile.

  “All will become clear in a moment,” Grishkov said with an answering smile, as he used a small metal tool to open the locked right front car door, and then turn on the car’s electrical power, but not its engine. He then pressed buttons that lowered all of the car’s windows.

  Next, Grishkov adjusted the tripod’s height so that its launch tube mount was level with the bottom of the car window.

  “I see,” Vasilyev said with a nod. “You will place the launch tube so that each end rests on one of the car doors. But why go to this trouble?”

  Grishkov smiled again, but this time there was no warmth in it. “This is a trick we learned the hard way from the Chechens. The use of the car has two advantages. First, the mount is more stable than with the tripod alone, providing better accuracy. Even more important, I have picked the oldest car here, made mostly from steel rather than aluminum and plastic. When our surviving guests respond to our gift, you will be happy to have over a ton of good German steel between you and them.”

  Vasilyev clapped Grishkov on the shoulder. “I’m glad we decided to stick together, rather than each going to a different desalination plant. Now all we can do is wait.”

  They didn’t have to wait long. Less than ten minutes later, most of the front gate disappeared in a blinding flash of light and roar of sound. After a few moments of silence punctuated by the screams of the few gate guards who had been wounded rather than killed, automatic weapons fire and the grinding gears of heavy vehicles announced the advance of the main attack force.

  Just as Grishkov had predicted, a large truck led the way, grinding over the debris that had been the front gate. With the launch tube now attached to the tripod, Grishkov took careful aim, and pulled the trigger.

  A loud “whoosh” marked the thermobaric round’s firing, and Grishkov was pleased to see that the backblast was not nearly as pronounced as with the rounds he had fired in Chechnya. He glanced backward and was also pleased to see that Vasilyev had followed instructions and stayed away from the launch tube's exhaust. Even better, he had just finished placing the PKM machine gun on its mount, and had attached its belt-fed ammunition.

  The Kornet’s round lived up to its “Comet” meaning, producing an explosion that was already impressive even before the truck's gas tank ignited. Grishkov could not imagine anyone inside surviving the impact.

  Unfortunately, it was not the only vehicle. It was difficult to see through the smoke and dust thrown up by both the truck bomb and the Kornet’s round, but Grishkov counted at least three smaller vehicles behind the burning hulk of the passenger truck, and the dim shape of another truck behind them.

  Grishkov grabbed the PKM machine gun and began sending rounds towards the attackers, just as he heard Vasilyev’s RPG-7 buck beside him.

  One of the three cars most clearly visible at the gate exploded, and several armed men near it were knocked down by the blast. They didn’t get up again.

  Rounds began to impact against the car sheltering Vasilyev and Grishkov.

  However, they could see that some of the guard force were firing at the attackers through the plant’s windows, so the attackers were unable to concentrate all their fire on the two Russians.

  Vasilyev’s second RPG round barely missed another one of the attackers’ vehicles, but hit the ground close enough to the men moving forward that its shrapnel badly injured two of them. Grishkov’s PKM machine gun was steadily pumping out rounds, not only killing and injuring several attackers but also discouraging an immediate mass run at their position.

  “Last round,” Vasilyev said, as he aimed the RPG-7 at a car that was still moving forward.

  The professional soldier in Grishkov made him shake his head. Once you knew an RPG was aimed at you, the smart move was to bail out of the vehicle and flank the grenade launcher. Driving straight ahead to give the RPG a better target was probably the worst approach.

  Grishkov’s assessment was proved correct by another explosion. “Not bad, old man,” he said, without stopping his methodical sweep of rounds sent by the PKM towards the attackers trying to advance on their position.

  Vasilyev said nothing, but was surprised to feel happier than he had in a long time. He was too busy to think about it, but if he had it would have been easy to explain. There was no doubt that, soldier or not, Vasilyev was making a difference in this battle.

  Now Vasilyev threw an RGN grenade towards the closest attackers he could see. Designed to take advantage of lessons learned in Afghanistan, it had both a sensitive impact fuse and a time delay fuse. This meant that it would explode when it hit any surface, even water, and after a brief delay would explode even if the impact fuse failed.

  The point was to prevent the enemy from picking up an unexploded grenade and throwing it back, which had happened numerous times in Afghanistan.

  The RGN grenade also had a limited lethal radius, which at first Vasilyev had thought was a disadvantage. The armorer on the Admiral Kuznetsov had then explained that you could keep throwing it at attackers as they came closer without endangering yourself.

  From the screams and curses Vasilyev could hear from their perch behind the German sedan, it worked exactly as he’d been told.

  The attackers showed they were still in the fight, though, as the car’s front windshield exploded in a shower of glass. Several fragments cut into Grishkov’s face and arms, which began to bleed freely.

  Vasilyev had a medical kit beside him, and tossed Grishkov some gauze.

  Grishkov used it to wipe the blood from his eyes, and then stuck part of it to his forehead to stop the bleeding that had threatened to interfere with his vision. That done, he continued to fire his PKM machine gun at the attackers.

  Only one of the attackers’ cars was still intact and moving, and now it accelerated from its position just in front of the truck that both Vasilyev and Grishkov believed must be carrying the nuclear weapon.

  Straight at them.

  One man in the front passenger seat and another on the rear driver's side leaned their automatic weapons outside their windows and, without even a pretense of aiming, emptied the magazines in their direction.

  Grishkov automatically noted that both men appeared to be using an AK-74, or one of its many variants. Any possibility that the prospect of being killed by a Russian weapon might s
eem ironic was eliminated by Grishkov’s service in Chechnya. Nearly all of the weapons carried by the rebels there had been Russian, either purchased or captured.

  Though the car was still too far away for Grishkov to see the driver, he concentrated his fire on where he knew he had to be. Seconds later, the car began to swerve just as they could hear some of the AK-74 rounds beginning to impact the front of their car.

  Vasilyev tossed another RGN grenade towards the car, though he doubted he would be able to hit the rapidly moving target. He had never heard the American expression that “close only counts with horseshoes and hand grenades,” but he would have appreciated its humor, and its accuracy.

  Vasilyev’s grenade exploded well short of the speeding car, but one of its shrapnel fragments sliced into the car’s right front tire, causing it to deflate immediately. Combined with the swerve caused by the mortally wounded driver’s slide into unconsciousness, the result was to flip the vehicle.

  No one emerged from its interior.

  However, Vasilyev learned the truth of a saying attributed to Stalin and used widely ever since, “Quantity has a quality all its own.”

  One of the hundreds of rounds fired by the attackers had found its mark.

  It had lost most of its energy as it punched through both sides of the sedan that had protected them so far. That was the good news.

  The bad news was that it had struck Vasilyev in the shoulder, in a spot unprotected by the ballistic armor he and Grishkov were both wearing. It had passed through rather than remaining lodged in his shoulder, but the shock of the impact knocked Vasilyev to the ground, and made him briefly lose consciousness.

  When he came to, Vasilyev saw Grishkov’s concerned face hovering over him, and felt the bandage that Grishkov had placed over his wound. He was surprised to feel little pain.

  Grishkov smiled with relief. “So, you’re still with us! Don’t they teach you to duck in the KGB?”

  Vasilyev licked his lips and said with a tired smile, “Don’t you remember?