revolution. A few cadets were still on the streets. Yassini enjoyed stopping them and, after the initial shock of meeting the chief of staff wore off, speaking with them and learning about their studies and training while attending the school. For the most part, the cadets were eager, respectful, proud to be wearing the uniform, and determined to spend the next twenty to thirty years in service to the Faqih and their country. Thankfully, none of them seemed to know that he was here on house arrest or why, or if they did they didn’t show any signs of displeasure.
After passing the main cluster of classroom buildings, Yassini came upon a large square courtyard, surrounded by the cadets’ barracks buildings. This was the Esplanade, or brigade assembly area, where the cadet units would gather and form up before marching off to class, functions, drills, or parades. At other times, the assembly area was used in that age-old custom familiar to cadets from all over the world for eons — marching off demerit points. Before any cadet could graduate from the Academy, he had to spend one hour marching back and forth in the assembly area for every point he had accumulated, dressed in full uniform and carrying an assault rifle. While marching, he could be grilled by any upperclassman on the Koran, any knowledge item, or critiqued on the condition of his uniform, and additional demerit points could be awarded. Cadets marched off points at any time of the day or night, in any weather, sometimes for an entire weekend if necessary to clear away demerits before graduation.
Hoseyn Yassini was a good student and leader, but he was a terrible cadet, and he spent many, many hours on this dark marble square, either marching the demerits off or scrubbing it clean, which was another acceptable way of working off demerits. Being out here as a young officer gave him a clearer sense of duty and honor, and also sharpened his mind in preparation for the grilling he knew he would get.
But he was not out here because of some nostalgic wish to visit, or coming here restored his soul of any lost humility or discipline.
The assembly area had a small booth where a cadet officer was assigned to take down the name and unit of any cadet who arrived to march off demerits and to make sure the cadets performed properly while out here, and Yassini strolled over to the booth to chat with the cadet officer on duty. The cadet snapped to his feet and saluted as soon as he saw the general approach. “Cadet Sergeant Beheshi, Company Joqd, sir.”
Yassini returned his salute. “Good evening, Cadet Sergeant,” he said. “How are you this evening?”
“Very well, sir, thank you,” the cadet responded. “I hope you are well tonight, sir.”
“I am, thank you.”
“May I serve you in any way, General?”
“I was wondering, Cadet Sergeant: are you happy here at the Academy?”
The question took the cadet by surprise, but as expected he recovered very quickly: “I am proud and honored to serve the Supreme Leader and the people of the Islamic Republic, sir,” he replied, reciting the typical Academy mantra taught to every cadet from the moment they stepped foot on campus.
“I can see you are, Cadet Sergeant, but I’m asking you: are you happy here?”
Obviously the cadet didn’t like the question or its implications, because he uncharacteristically stammered: “I…I…yes, sir, I am very happy here.”
“What field do you wish to serve in upon graduation?”
“I will serve at the pleasure of the Supreme Leader and the people…”
“No, Cadet, I mean, what service do you want? Surely you have a particular desire? A specific specialty?”
The cadet still looked flustered, but he smiled and nodded. “Yes, sir. I wish to be a Special Forces commando, possibly even a Revolutionary Guards Corps brigade commander.”
“Oh? Why?”
“Because I believe it is vital to pursue the enemy beyond our own borders,” the cadet responded. “I do not wish to wait for the enemy to be upon us before we fight back — I want to destroy the enemy before he even leaves his base. Even better, destroy him before he leaves his home — destroy him while he’s in his home!”
Yassini was taken aback by this show of utter ruthlessness. “So you wish to kill noncombatants even if no war is declared?”
The cadet’s eyes looked a little panic-stricken. “I hope I haven’t offended you, sir,” he said.
“No, not at all. Anything we say here is between us soldiers.” He could see the relief in the cadet’s eyes even in the dim light. “So, killing the enemy’s family in their homes is how you wish to fight?”
“Yes, sir. I wish to see the terror in their faces as I dispatch them. I wish to see the faces of their neighbors, families, and friends when they find their slashed corpses lying in their beds. The horror of such an attack multiplies the power of the state a thousandfold.”
“Is that what they teach you here, Cadet?”
“Absolutely, sir. Concepts of asymmetric warfare, commando operations, guerrilla warfare, psychological combat…it is my favorite area of study. We take lessons from all of the guerrilla armies around the world throughout recent history — Hizb’ Allah, Islamic Jihad, Fatah, Hamas, Mehdi Army, al-Qaeda, the Viet Cong, the Tamil Tigers — study them, and adapt them to modern-day scenarios and equipment.”
“Interesting. But what about areas such as air defense, border security, the submarine service, or land warfare?”
“Those are fine areas of study, sir — for women,” the cadet responded. “Fear is the great multiplier, sir. You can detect and pursue a submarine, tank, or aircraft — but no one has yet developed a sensor or defense against fear. Create fear in the mind and heart of the enemy, and you almost don’t need a bullet or bomb to kill him.”
“But attacking noncombatants…?”
“All the better, sir. A soldier will not think about his unit or duty if he feels his family is in danger. That gives us the advantage.”
My God, Yassini thought, is this really what the Academy is teaching its students these days? In his day, the Academy taught leadership, history, and tactics, not murder.
“I must do my rounds and report to my superior officer, sir,” the cadet said. “Please stay here if you wish. I will have some tea brought from the mess.”
“Thank you, Cadet. I think I will stay awhile longer. It was a pleasure speaking with you, Cadet Sergeant.”
“The pleasure was mine, sir. Good evening.” He saluted and departed.
A few minutes later, just as Yassini was thinking about heading back to his quarters for the evening, an orderly arrived with a large copper pot of tea and a basket of cups, sugar, and cinnamon sticks. “Thank you, sir,” Yassini said as the orderly poured.
“So, you old fart, the new generation has you a little bewildered and flustered, eh?” the orderly asked. Yassini looked at him in surprise…and saw none other than General Hesarak Buzhazi smiling back at him. He was dressed in servants’ robes and pants, but he could see his combat boots under his robe and perhaps the bulge of a weapon underneath. “Disappointed no one wants to fly helicopters or go up against stealth bombers and smart missiles anymore?”
“What in hell are you doing here, you crazy idiot? The entire country is out looking for you.”
“The Academy is the last place they’d look, Hoseyn,” Buzhazi said. He looked at Yassini seriously. “I told you they were going to retaliate against you, Hoseyn, and now here you are, on house arrest. Why are you just standing around like some pea-brained sheep waiting for the slaughter? You should get out of here now, before you have more than just one brainless snot-nosed komiteh goon on your ass.”
“Did you kill him too?”
“I didn’t have to. He is gone beating off or something — he thought you were just going out on your evening constitutional and left. That’s the kind of idiots Zolqadr has working for him. Why the hell don’t you get away from here, Hoseyn? They think you’re just a scared tottering old man. Save yourself while you can.”
“I should take career management advice from you, the most wanted man in the entire damned country? That would be hilarious if it wasn’t so tragic. What in the world are you doing here?”
“You invited me, remember? ‘Let’s march off a few’—that’s what you said. I’ve been waiting for you ever since.”
“No, I mean, what are you still doing in Iran?” Yassini asked. “Haven’t you done enough damage to the country?”
“I’m not finished, Hoseyn,” Buzhazi said. “The Pasdaran is like a typhoon — as long as it’s unopposed, even by the smallest hill or tree, it will grow stronger, its path will become more unpredictable, and it will destroy more
