was as bright as a lighthouse in the darkening landscape.
“Lieutenant, headlights.” Private Peyman was on lookout duty, and he pointed east. The lights resolved into a civilian car, slowing to a stop as it approached the checkpoint. Ostovar, rifle slung, leaned over the driver’s side window for a minute, then stepped back and swung the barrier out of the way. According to headquarters, the fugitives they were watching for would come from the west, but they had ordered all vehicles to be checked, whatever direction they came from.
Sistani walked back down and called to Zahedi. “That’s a good position up there. Take Alizadeh off the rotation and put him up there along with the lookout. Having our best shot on overwatch should make whoever’s on duty at the roadblock happier. And make sure his position is as well camouflaged as the others.”
“Yes, sir,” Zahedi said, then continued by asking, “Sir, how long will we be here?”
“Third squad will relieve us at 0600 tomorrow morning, and first squad will relieve them at 1800 tomorrow night. We’ll take our turn again at 0600 the morning after that.”
“And how long will this last?”
“Until they tell us to stop, Sergeant.” As they talked, the two walked the squad’s positions, pointing out small tasks or praising a soldier’s work. Sistani smiled. “I’ve never seen the major move so fast as when he got that order. We drew this post because we were the squad on duty. Right now the major is mustering the rest of the battalion and passing out the rest of the assignments, all with the colonel gone. I’m glad to be away from that circus.”
“Is it true that these are American assassins? That they’ve wiped out two platoons?”
“More rumors, Sergeant? Don’t repeat them. Whoever the fugitives are, a Basij patrol is missing without a trace. Headquarters said to be ready for anything.”
Sistani looked around. “And tell the squad to get this place organized. What if the major saw this? We’ve been here half an hour and already it looks like we lost a battle.”
Harry was driving, a pair of night-vision goggles draped over his eyes. Shirin still rode up front, with Yousef on the far side. The windows were open enough to keep the air from getting stuffy, as well as to help Harry stay awake. Yousef was dozing, as much as the bumpy ride allowed.
They’d turned off the highway fifteen minutes earlier, and slowed to a crawl as they felt their way along an unpaved track. Ramey, navigating with Lapointe’s assistance, was taking them around a roadblock south of the town.
At
Unfortunately, that meant using some secondary and a lot of tertiary roads. The UAV had spotted roadblocks near most towns, a sign that the hunt for them had gone to a much higher level.
In the back, while Ramey and Lapointe navigated, Jerry and Phillips cleaned weapons and reorganized their gear. Phillips even drilled Jerry again on the SCAR rifle. With the rough ride, sleep was impossible. Dinner had been cold MREs, Harry and the two Iranians having theirs passed up to the cab.
Shirin, squeezed in between the two men, chewed mechanically on something she hadn’t bothered to identify. It might have tasted better hot, but she didn’t care. Beyond exhaustion, she didn’t dare close her eyes. Even with them open, images from the fight flashed in front of her, as if projected onto the dark windshield. What would her dreams be like?
The first battle had been over in moments. But this time, there’d been enough time to be really afraid. She and Yousef had lived in fear for years, but that had been an abstract thing. This had been immediate. She’d heard bullets snap overhead, felt pieces of rock and dust fall on her.
This was Yousef’s first time in combat, as well. He looked thoughtful, maybe a little sad. “Yousef, I thought you were very brave today.”
“I’m glad we are safe,” he responded in Farsi. “I keep on thinking about the men we killed. They had families. They were doing their duty”
“You can’t do that,” Harry told him. “Whoever they were, when they fired a weapon at us, they had to die. We didn’t want the fight. They could have walked away and we would’ve let them. They got what they deserved, no more, no less.”
“You mean I should ignore my feelings.” Shirin was surprised. Yousef’s tone was thoughtful, certainly not hostile.
“I mean, put them in perspective. If we hadn’t killed them, they would have killed you and your wife, which would have led to many more deaths when the Israelis attack. Taking those soldiers out was necessary to our mission. It’s as simple as that.”
Shirin asked, “Have you killed many men?”
The American paused for a moment before answering. “That’s not how I think of it. I don’t keep count. I’ve been on two other deployments, and both involved combat.”
“How long is a ‘deployment’?” Shirin asked.
“Usually five to six months. It depends. We spend a lot of our time training and on exercises, then deploy for a while.”
“So you’ve seen a lot of fighting,” Shirin said.
“It doesn’t matter how many fights someone’s been in. What matters is being ready for the next one.”
“And the feelings? Do they go away?” Yousef asked.
“They become more familiar. They never go away.”
Memories of those dead Basij soldiers merged with the forms Shirin had seen outside Uncle Seyyed’s house. She was a fugitive, and her uncle had paid the price…Suddenly, a frightful thought burst into her mind.
“Yousef, I have to find out if mother is all right!”
The urgency in her tone shocked her husband. “Yousef, is there any way I can call mother? If they tried to arrest Seyyed, VEVAK will take her, too.” As she spoke, her tone changed from urgency to horror at the thought of her own mother in their hands.
“We can’t use a cell phone, or stop to use one somewhere,” he said flatly. “You know that.”
“There has to be something we can do to find out,” she pleaded.
Yousef shook his head and held her hands gently. “What if we could call? Would you warn her? Tell her to run away? And if they were not interested in her before, that call would only draw their attention to her — give them a reason to question her.”
“I had accepted that I would never see mother again, but I hoped we could find a way to keep in touch. But if they’ve taken her like your brother, Ali…”
Leaning against Yousef, grief swallowed her. “They are destroying my family,” she wept. Eventually, she slept, giving herself over to whatever her dreams would hold.
Lieutenant Sistani had walked out to the roadblock. Binoculars were useless now, but he’d taken Alizadeh’s nightscope and carefully studied the scene. The hills on the left blocked any view of his squad’s position from the road, as he knew it would. He’d banned any fires, and the squad had grumbled but obeyed. All of them were in their positions, but he’d allowed some of them to sleep.
Telling Private Yadegar, now manning the post, to stay alert, he walked the four hundred meters back to the squad. The walk helped wake him up. They’d put in a full day’s work before the alert message had arrived, and now with the rush to get in position over, and the enforced inactivity, fatigue was their enemy.
Sergeant Zahedi’s voice echoed across the empty ground. “Lieutenant, urgent call from battalion!” It didn’t sound like good news, and the young officer double-timed back to the command post.
The two noncoms had dug a circular position well back from the road, building it up in front with the spoil and rocks and covering it with a camouflage net. It wasn’t as deep as Sistani would have liked, but oncoming darkness had limited their digging, and he didn’t expect the fugitives to have artillery.
“Sir, it’s the colonel,” Zahedi reported softly, and the lieutenant took the handset.
“Sistani here.”
