rounds pierced Zhoram’s body in less than half a second, killing him before his body fell to the hangar roof. A bullet then hit one of the grenades Zhoram was carrying, obliterating whatever was left of his body.
Buzhazi knew that he had probably lost Zhoram the second he heard the smooth, deep-throated “BRRRRRR!” sound of that attack helicopter’s cannon behind him and the blast that followed. He turned and saw the big attack helicopter hovering over the hangar, pedal-turning and looking for more targets, then lining up directly on him. There was no time to run, no place to hide…
But seconds later a grenade round came out of nowhere, exploding right on the helicopter’s tail rotor. Smoke started pouring from the chopper’s transmission, and it turned, wobbling back toward the flight line for an emergency landing. Buzhazi turned and saw Zhoram’s security officer running toward the flight line, his smoking grenade launcher in his hands. They waved at each other, and the security officer took cover behind a concrete guard shack and motioned to the general that there was no sign of pursuit.
Buzhazi nodded and put his radio up to his lips: “Rat units, report.”
The voice on the channel made a cold chill zip up and down Buzhazi’s spine: “R…Rat One, Rat One…sir, they’re gone, they’re all gone…sir,” someone from the first warehouse raiding team radioed frantically, “sir, help me, help me, I’ve lost my right leg, it’s gone, sir, help me…”
“Hold on, son, hold on,” Buzhazi said. “Help is on the way. Rat Two, report.” No response. “Rat Three.”
“Three is almost out, heading to rendezvous point Beta,” someone responded. Buzhazi heard the sounds of gunfire and men screaming in the background.
“Acknowledged, Rat Three,” Buzhazi responded. “Sing out if you need any help. Protect yourselves at all costs. Dump the supplies and fight your way to safety if you have to.” No response. He received reports from just one more of the seven scrounger teams he had sent in. Just two teams out of seven were on their way; he didn’t recognize any of the voices that responded, meaning the team leaders were dead or captured; and no one said how many in each team were left. He probably wouldn’t find out until they all met at the rendezvous point…if then.
Buzhazi was about to head back to the security building, but stopped and dropped to the ground when he heard a shot ring out. Following the direction of the gunshot, he turned and saw one of his company commanders, Flight Captain Ali-Reza Kazemi, dragging the body of one of the security officers — he realized it was the security officer that had just saved him from getting mowed down by that same attack chopper! — to the side of a small concrete block guard shack outside the flight line fence. He quickly scanned the area, looking for any sign of attack. The security officer had just signaled that the area was clear — where had that shot come from?
He was sorry to see Zhoram’s officer dead, but relieved that Kazemi was still functioning. Kazemi — the former Revolutionary Guards Corps transport pilot he had taken with him from this very facility when Mansour Sattari rescued him, what seemed like decades ago but was only a few days — had proved to be a very valuable individual. He could fly anything with wings, rotary or fixed-wing, and no situation was too much for him — he was just as comfortable flying an overweight helicopter over the mountains at night and in a sandstorm as he was in perfect daylight conditions. Kazemi had managed to fly in supplies and fly out wounded even in disastrous situations where the Pasdaran seemed to have them pinned down. “Kazemi…!”
“Get down, sir, get down!” Kazemi shouted, waving frantically. “There’s a sniper around here somewhere!”
Buzhazi crouched low and dashed off toward Kazemi, flattening himself against the concrete guard shack. “Any idea where he is?”
“No, sir.” Kazemi drew his pistol. “Somewhere inside the flight line fence, firing out, but I couldn’t see him.” There were several large towed power carts and fire extinguishers on the flight line — plenty of places for snipers to hide — and much of the parking ramp was still obscured by smoke from the two burning helicopters. “Is General Zhoram with you?” Kazemi asked.
“I think he’s dead.” Buzhazi motioned to the dead security officer. He had been shot in the back of the head, a remarkably accurate shot — the sniper must have incredible skills. “Zhoram ordered this man off the roof just before the Mi-24 opened up on him. He shot down that attack helicopter just before it got a bead on me.” He looked at Kazemi. “Can you give me a report on the situation, Ali?” he asked.
“There’s a lot of confusion on the radio, sir, but I think I put together a reasonable picture,” Kazemi replied. He pulled out a fairly detailed handmade map of Doshan Tappeh Air Base with the positions of their insurgent forces and their current manpower and ammunition situation marked on it. “It looks like we’re facing three concentrations of Pasdaran soldiers right now: the barracks to the west, the main gate area to the southwest, and the northeast aviation command headquarters. We count two helicopters airborne and two more ready to go on the airfield. The good news, sir, is that our scrounger security teams have engaged the units sent to the warehouse area to the north, and although we took some heavy losses it appears the Pasdaran concentration there has been broken up.”
“Your recommendation?”
Kazemi looked at Buzhazi carefully. “Two of our scrounger teams made it out, sir — we lost the rest, except for a few stragglers,” he replied. “You made contact with General Yassini, and he’s not helping us. Two of the three mission objectives have been completed. The third objective is to get out safely and withdraw. That is what we should do.”
Buzhazi nodded. “Well thought out, Ali.”
“I recommend we disengage and get out before the Pasdaran organize and flood in,” Kazemi continued. He pointed toward the warehouse area. “The defenders have disengaged and fled the warehouse area, but I think they’ll send in counterattack forces shortly, so the north and northwest escape routes will soon be cut off. The only other alternative is to the southeast, between the main part of the base and the flight operations area. Once outside the base, we have just two kilometers to go until we’re outside the capital province, and then we’re in open terrain and can move out quicker. We’ll be traveling in the opposite direction of the scrounger units, which will give them a better chance of escaping, and we’ll be heading away from the residential areas north of the base, so there’ll be less danger of having civilians caught in the crossfire.”
“But we’ll have to cross the runway and taxiways,” Buzhazi said. “We could be caught in the open.”
“It’s a risk, sir,” Kazemi said honestly. “But they won’t expect us to go in that direction.” He indicated two dashed lines than ran across the runway complex approximately mid-field. “Men on foot and in smaller vehicles can cross via this tunnel that goes under the runway; the rest have to go across the runway. But we’ll be heading away from the counterattack vector. We can have a platoon set up booby traps and ambush sites to make it appear that’s where we’re headed and to slow down the Pasdaran advance, while the rest of the force heads south.”
Buzhazi thought for a moment, then nodded. “Very well, Ali. I agree with your plan.” He put a hand on his shoulder. “I hate to do this, Ali, but you’re the most senior officer surviving, so I’m going to have you organize and lead the diversion team.” He pointed to Kazemi’s map. “I’ll have you set up ambushes here, at the security center entrance gate. You set up booby-traps along the main road that will funnel responders toward your ambush zone. Will you do that, Ali?”
Kazemi’s eyes widened, but after a moment he lowered his head and nodded solemnly. “Of course, General. Who should I take with me?”
“General Zhoram’s company is scattered across the northern warehouse area in overwatch positions,” Buzhazi said. “You’ll have to find them and get them organized.” He handed Kazemi the radio from the dead security officer’s belt. “They should be monitoring Zhoram’s channel. I’ll check on you before we depart.”
“I’ll get as many as I can, but I won’t waste time — I can set up booby-traps as well as the next guy.”
“Good,” Buzhazi said. “Remember, you’re just a diversion, not a suicide squad. Once the attackers pull back from the ambush zone to regroup and re-evaluate, your job is complete. Head out immediately and we’ll meet up at rendezvous point Delta to the south. No heroics, understand?”
“Yes, sir. You know me: I’m no hero.”
“If you aren’t one today, Ali, I don’t know what else to call you.” The two men shook hands. “Thank you, Ali. You’ve done well.”
“Thank you, General. I won’t let them past me, don’t worry.” He hurried off.
The radios were very quiet in the next fifteen minutes, and only sporatic gunshots were reported around the base. Buzhazi found Kazemi in the second floor of an administration building, just a few dozen meters from the security center entrance. “Are you all right, Ali?” he asked.
“I’m fine, sir,” Kazemi said. He looked over Buzhazi’s shoulder — the general was alone. “Shouldn’t you be leading the battalion off the base, sir?”
