“Other than the size, not much,” Hal said. “Turlock says the CIDs are equivalent in speed and firepower to a Humvee missile or machine gun squad, and I’d agree. It’s not a sneak-and-peek system like the Tin Men — it’s definitely a break-the-door-down-and-kick-ass system. It’s not that heavy, but it’s bulky. The things suck a lot of power, and I’d say bringing spare power cells for any missions longer than an hour or so is a must. Good thing is, those things can carry a lot of stuff on a mission — a spare backpack and a spare power cell are easy, along with the mission backpack it wears. It definitely has a very high coolness factor.”
“Are they ready to go?”
“Two of them appear to be. One looks like it’s damaged; not sure about the fourth. Turlock says we definitely have two CIDs, two twenty-millimeter machine gun backpacks, two forty-millimeter missile backpacks, one ‘Goose’ mini-UAV launcher backpack — another very cool gadget that launches these bowling-pin — sized UAVs out that sends pictures back to the CIDs — and five spare power cells. I think we’re good to go.”
“Good, because we’re planning a mission to Turkmenistan for tomorrow night,” Dave said.
“Turkmenistan? Jala Turabi? Is he in trouble? Wouldn’t surprise me.”
“The general wants to rescue an Iranian princess before she’s sent back to Iran, probably to be executed.”
“A princess? Is she cute?”
“She’s fifteen years old, you letch.”
“Still cool. Doesn’t give us much time to train in the CIDs, though.”
“Do you need more time?”
“I could sure use it,” Hal admitted. “I recommend we send Chris and three Tin Men to Turkmenistan in the Black Stallion — that way I can spend more time in the CIDs. It won’t take long to get up to speed on them, but one day is not enough time. I’ll be studying the manual on the electronic visor graphics and controls all night as it is.”
“All right — I’ll pitch that to General Sparks and see how they like it,” Patrick said. “Get it ready to go ASAP.”
“I am privileged to speak to you tonight on the eve of your commissioning ceremony,” Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces General Hoseyn Yassini said. He was standing before an audience of three hundred senior classmen of the Imam Ali Military Academy, after hosting their pre-commissioning dinner. Although he was still a virtual prisoner in his residence at the Academy, he was permitted to carry out ceremonial and VIP functions, and he did so with enthusiasm. As always, if the students knew he was there under house arrest, as they certainly must have by now, they showed no signs of any displeasure. “This is one of my many official tasks that I am pleased and genuinely happy to perform.
“For two years now you have been immersed in the important tasks of training and disciplining your minds and bodies for the challenges that lay ahead. You may indeed believe that your reward for two years of Hell in his place is a lifetime of Hell on the battlefield. Well, my soon-to-be fellow officers, that is not just a cute saying — it’s the truth. But as your chief of staff, I want to be the first to thank you for your courage and dedication to such a life. I thank you, and your country thanks you. I encourage you to use the knowledge and skills you have learned here to broaden your minds to the world and the challenges that lay ahead. Do not shrink from these challenges, but embrace them.”
Yassini raised a large ornate golden flask, with a winged lion’s head and shoulders in front and a funnel- shaped cup in back. “Allow me the honor of toasting the republic’s newest officers in the ancient traditions. This is the rhython, a batu flask dating back to the Achemenid Empire of five hundred B.C., used by the kings of ancient Persia to toast to victory before sending his generals off to battle. Whenever the rhython was used, the generals of Persia were never defeated in battle.” He raised the gleaming gold flask. “Gentlemen, to our republic’s future military leaders, the prayers and thanks of a grateful and proud nation. May you continue to grow in knowledge, courage, and strength.”
He took a sip from the cup, then passed it to the cadet commander, who immediately passed it to his deputy commander without drinking. The deputy touched the rim to his lips but did not drink. He passed it to the cadet operations officer, who also touched it to his lips, then passed it to the commander of the honor battalion. Most of the cadets did not drink from the cup; a few did, and received warning glares and stern expressions from the others.
“And now, my soon-to-be fellow officers, the table and the evening are yours — I have spoken far too much already,” Yassini said. “Enjoy yourselves tonight, but be ready for the parade at dawn. Congratulations again. Allah akbar. Cadet Commander, take charge of your corps.” The cadet commander called the cadets to attention, and Yassini left the dais.
The cadet corps deputy commander escorted Yassini out of the hall and waited until his car was brought around, but Yassini waved the car away, preferring to walk back to his quarters. As he turned and headed off, several men alighted from the car and quickly caught up to the chief of staff. “Well, well, General, that was quite a surprise,” Islamic Revolutionary Guards Corps commander Brigadier-General Ali Zolqadr said as he strode beside Yassini. “Is this a new tradition you’re starting tonight? Where did you get the rhython?”
“I requested it from the Museum of Ancient Cultures. Don’t worry — the museum will see to it that it’s returned safely tonight.”
“I’m not worried about the flask, General, but the spirit in which it was used tonight,” Zolqadr said. “Toasting the cadet corps with alcohol? Such things are strictly forbidden by the Prophet, blessed be his name, and the Faqih has expressly prohibited alcohol of any kind and for any purpose on all official government or religious property.”
“Toasting success and courage with the rhython is a Persian tradition dating back over two thousand years, Zolqadr,” Yassini said. “The only time it hasn’t been used is in the past thirty years, since the revolution. I’m not starting anything new, Zolqadr, just restoring a long-employed honor. The cadets will never forget this night, believe me, even the ones who did not drink.”
“I was relieved to see that most refused to drink, unlike yourself,” Zolqadr said. “They know that alcohol is a corrupting and unholy vice that stains and perverses body, mind, and soul. Pity you fail to recognize that same truth.”
“It’s not a truth, Zolqadr — it’s a belief,” Yassini said.
“No, General, it’s the law, based on teachings and commands handed down to us from God through the Prophet and codified by the Faqih,” Zolqadr said. “That should be simple enough for you to understand.”
Yassini knew he was never going to win any argument with a zealot — no, make that a fanatic — like Zolqadr, even if his beliefs were based solely on his thirst for power and not true personal faith. “You didn’t come here to lecture me, General. What do you want?”
“No, General, I did not. I’m here to place you under arrest for crimes against the Islamic Republic and for conspiracy to aid the enemies of the republic.”
Yassini stopped, and only then noticed the three armed soldiers walking behind him. “You can’t arrest me, Zolqadr,” Yassini said. “I report only to the minister of defense or the Supreme National Security Deputate, not to the Pasdaran.”
“Wrong again, Yassini,” Zolqadr said gleefully. “As of tonight, the Pasdaran has once again been detached from its subordinate position in the Ministry of Defense and has been placed directly in the hands of the Director of the Supreme National Security Deputate, where the blessed Ayatollah Khomeini first assigned it and where it properly belongs as an instrument of divine retribution. My orders come directly from the Ayatollah Mohtaz. The Supreme National Security Deputate has charged you with treason and conspiracy to commit treason, and you are hereby ordered to be placed under arrest and confinement pending summary court-martial.”
A line of three vehicles, two sedans and one armored troop transport, pulled up to the front of the Sapamurad Niyazov Center for Public Law and Order criminal justice building in the center of the Turkmeni capital. A squad of
