commando’s wife and family. The commando’s wife walked straight, her head uplifted, her chin strong, as did her three children; again, per custom, the commando’s mother cried openly and loudly, announcing the heroic death of her son to every stranger she encountered on her way to the grave site.
Behrouzi didn’t notice at first, but soon she realized that the air forces commander was whispering excitedly to one of his aides.
Riza looked up and, to her astonishment, saw two rows of U.S. Marines on the side of the road leading into the cemetery—and there, standing in the center of the road in front of the cemetery gates, was Hal Briggs himself, dressed in his Air Force class-A uniform, wearing his Rangers beret. He and his Marines wore side arms in ceremonial white web belts—it was highly illegal for foreigners to carry weapons in the emirate of Dubai, even U.S. soldiers—and the Marines also carried ceremonial swords at carry-arms. Riza immediately realized that the eight Marines present were the ones that had been rescued from the Iranian prison in Chah Bahar!
The procession stopped several yards from Briggs, unsure whether or not to continue, not knowing if these armed Americans might be a threat. The air forces commander looked as if he were going to explode with indignation and anger for interrupting their procession in this manner, but before he could do or say anything, Briggs commanded, “Detail, render arms”—the Marines lowered their swords, spinning the hilts so they gleamed in the sunlight—”hu!”
and the Marines raised their sword hilts to their chins, the blades angled above them toward the casket. Briggs saluted the coffin, held it for a long moment, lowered it, then ordered, “Detail, ready”—they lowered their swords again, spinning them as they extended them again—”hu!” and they placed them again pointing up in front of their shoulders at carry-arms position. On a final command from Briggs, the detail sheathed their swords and returned to attention.
The air forces commander from Dubai could stand this interruption no longer, and he stormed over to Briggs, stood just a few inches in front of his face, and began to scream epithets at him in Arabic and English. Briggs just stood there at attention, eyes caged, face completely impassive. “I order you, whoever you are, to stand aside and let us pass!” the air forces commander spat in English, “and then I will see to it that you are removed from this country in disgrace!”
“Yes, sir,” Briggs said. He saluted and moved to step aside …
… but Riza Behrouzi caught his arm. “You and your men will accompany us to the grave site, Major Briggs,” she said. “It is so ordered.”
“Briggs? This is Major Harold Briggs, the one who led the expedition into Iran, the one who got our men killed?” the colonel said in Arabic. “This incompetent ass dares bring his men to this holy place?”
“It is a great honor to have them here, Colonel,” Behrouzi said.
She motioned to the Marines on the side of the road. “These are the men that were rescued by our soldier’s heroism. They have come to pay their respects to their comrade.”
“They have done so, then,” the colonel said. “Now get them out of my sight immediately!”
“Sir, I have one last request …” Briggs said.
“You will remain silent!”
“I will hear it, Colonel,” Behrouzi said. “It is an order.” The dead commando’s mother had a look of sheer horror on her face at the sight of a woman, even such a high-ranking woman as Behrouzi, raising her voice to a military officer. “What is your request, Major?”
“Thank you, ma’am,” Briggs said. By way of reply, he raised his voice and said, “Detail, take positions of honor, hu.” And at that, the Marines stepped forward to the casket directly beside each pallbearer, close enough to touch the casket but not so close as to block their way.
“What is this … no, no, I forbid it!” the air forces commander retorted.
But at that same moment, one of the UAE pallbearers looked into the eyes of the Marine next to him, nodded, and allowed the Marine to take his position. The Marine put the casket of the dead commando on his shoulders; the UAE pallbearer touched his fingers to his lips, touched the Dubai flag, and stepped away, taking a position beside the American at attention.
“This is strictly forbidden! This is not permitted! This is an insult!” But one by one, the Marines were allowed to take the pallbearers’ places, until the casket was completely borne by armed U.S. Marines.
“It appears as if your men have decided that their dead should be carried to his final resting place on the shoulders of American Marines,” Behrouzi said in Arabic. “It is not your position or mine to argue.” The dead commando’s mother was still wailing away, more from fear, protest, and confusion now than sorrow, but a stern glance from Behrouzi and a defeated look from the colonel silenced her outrage. “Major Briggs, take your place at the head of the procession as commander of the detail of honor.”
Briggs saluted again, then stepped over in front of Behrouzi and the dead man’s family, in a position to the left and one pace behind the air forces commander. Before he did so, he turned to the dead commando’s family, bowed his head, and rendered a salute.
“On behalf of my men and their families, madam, thank you for your sacrifice. God bless you and your country,” Briggs said in a low voice, then once again saluted and bowed his head. His words, understood or not, were accepted by the widow, and his salute was returned proudly by the dead man’s eldest son.
The procession continued, to the astonishment of the onlookers, into the cemetery, where no non-Muslim had ever before set foot, and the ceremony continued in peace.
“That was a very beautiful thing you did today, Leopard,” Behrouzi said that evening. She had invited him to dinner at her quarters at Mina Jebel Ali Air Base in Dubai. “Thank you. It was a thing no Dubai soldier will soon forget.”
“I tried to get permission to attend the funeral, but no one would return my calls,” Briggs said. “I finally decided just to do it, just show up. I’m sorry if it embarrassed the colonel.”
“He is one of those hard-liners who believe in nothing but religious and ethnic purity,” Behrouzi said. “They are not just in places like Iran or Saudi Arabia. He may squawk to the Emir all he wants—the soldiers support what you did, and the Emir loves all his troops.” She gave him a satisfied smile, and added, “Again, you see, when you know something is right and you take the initiative, you can succeed.”
“I don’t feel as if we’re succeeding at all, Riza,” Briggs said.
“The Iranians still have Colonel White, and now they’ve declared martial law and are trying to seal off the Persian Gulf. Most of America hardly knows what’s going on out here. They know oil prices are skyrocketing and Iran has been shooting off a few missiles at shadows, but no one in my country realizes how close we are to a global crisis. Hell, half of America couldn’t find Dubai, the United Arab Emirates, the Gulf of Oman, or the Strait of Hormuz on a map, even though half their oil passes through those places every day!”
“You are beginning to sound like a tired, bitter old soldier, like the ones that sit out in the marketplace every day smoking their hookah pipes, fingering their worry beads, making up stories about fantasy exploits in battle, and complaining about everything and everybody, especially know-nothing civilians,” Behrouzi said with a heart-churning laugh. “We chose this life, Hal Briggs. Being a soldier means being a servant to the state, a servant of the people. Our training and experiences give us knowledge of the world that is foreign to our own people, and it can be frustrating. Do not give in to your frustrations. You have learned to fight well—you must learn how to live—and love-well, too.”
Briggs smiled and nodded at Riza. He looked at the untouched beer on the table. Where Riza had found any alcoholic beverage, much less his favorite beer, here in the heart of Muslim Arabia, he had no idea. “I’ve got to be going …”
“The briefing is not until twenty hundred,” Behrouzi said. “We have time.”
“I should see to my troops.”
“You have trained them, counseled them, and fed them today—let them enjoy a little rest, too,” Behrouzi said. “We start all over again tomorrow night. Tonight belongs to the living, to us—at least for the next forty-five minutes.” She rose, took his hands, and helped him to his feet. “For the next forty-five minutes, I am yours to do as you wish, Leopard,” Behrouzi said. She untied a pale yellow silk scarf from around her neck, letting it fall beside her breasts, and she followed his gaze as his eyes explored her body. “I am your prisoner.”
Behrouzi turned her back to Hal Briggs, then removed her blouse, keeping the silk scarf across her neck. She then felt Briggs’s strong hands on her shoulders, massaging her shoulders, then her arms, then her breasts from behind. He slipped her brassiere off her shoulders, lightly touching her naked breasts, barely touching the skin. The almost imperceptible touch of a finger against her erect nipples was so exquisite that it made her gasp. Still from
