launch within hours.
The duty officer in charge of the Seventh Rocket Brigade of the Iranian Revolutionary Guards Corps received the radio message from headquarters. Because the call came in on the direct emergency-only channel, he immediately hit the alarm button, which sent an “Action Stations” alert throughout the entire complex. Each of the three missile regiments inside the Strongbox — two Shahab-2 regiments and one Shahab-3 regiment, plus security and support companies — immediately began preparing their units to deploy to pre-assigned launch points, all within thirty miles.
The coded message copied by the communications officer and verified by the duty officer gave the actual order — and it was a “prepare to attack” order. The duty officer immediately radioed the brigade commander, Major-General Muhammad Sardaq. The commander was already hurrying to the command post by the time the message was decoded and verified. “We have received an actual ‘prepare to attack’ order, sir,” the duty officer reported.
“An ‘actual’ message, you say?” Sardaq queried. The brigade ran numerous exercises every week, so “exercise” messages were common, not “actuals. Verify it again.” The general watched as the two officers decoded the message — again it authenticated as an “actual” message. He swore to himself, then picked up the direct secure telephone line to Pasdaran headquarters at Doshan Tappeh Air Base in Tehran.
“That’s not the procedure, sir…”
“I’m not going against procedure, Major,” Sardaq told the duty officer. “Continue the checklist and have the brigade prepare to attack. Never mind what I’m doing.”
As he waited for someone at headquarters to answer the phone, the general watched carefully as the command post team began tracking the progress of each regiment as it prepared to deploy the missiles. After sending their own coded message acknowledging receipt of their orders, headquarters would then send another short coded message with either the pre-planned strike package for each unit, or a very lengthy message with target coordinates and a force launch timing matrix. The longer message had to be verified, decoded, verified again, and compared to a catalog of possible targets chosen in advance by the National Security Directorate, then broadcast as a coded document to the regiment. After receipt, the launch crews would have to verify, decode, and check the target coordinates again, then enter the coordinates and the launch timing matrix into their launch computers. The launch timing matrix was critical to ensure that each of the brigade’s missiles didn’t interfere with one another at launch, inflight, or at impact.
The commander and duty officer gasped in astonishment as they read the decoded attack orders. The first verified target set was a short “canned” message for the Shahab-3 regiment, ordering strikes against military air bases in Israel, Kuwait, Bahrain, Turkey, and Qatar, designed to destroy known command-and-control facilities and alert strike aircraft bases with high-explosive warheads before they could send an alert or launch their aircraft and counterattack. These missiles would launch second. The target set for the first Shahab-2 regiment and two squadrons of the second Shahab-2 regiment was also a short message, ordering strikes against Western command-and-control, air defense, air bases, armored, infantry, and supply bases inside Iraq, scheduled to launch first so they might have a chance to destroy some of the American Patriot anti-ballistic missile sites set up in Iraq.
“Finally we’re striking out against the Israelis and Americans!” the duty officer exclaimed happily. “They’ve been threatening us for long enough — I’m glad we’re getting our punches in first!”
“Shut up, you idiot,” the general said. “This will work only if the damned politicians somehow convince the Americans not to bomb us into oblivion after our missiles fall. What do you think the chances of that are?”
The last message gave the third squadron of the second Shahab-2 regiment a lengthy target list…with a notice saying that none of the target coordinates would be found in the National Security Directorate’s catalog. That was unusual — in fact, it was a major breach of command and control policy. The order was properly authenticated, but it was still against safe operational policy.
It took several minutes for the connection to go through, and another few minutes for someone in authority to get on the line, but finally Sardaq was connected to the senior controller, a colonel Sardaq did not recognize, at Revolutionary Guards Corps headquarters. “What is the meaning of this call, General?” the senior controller thundered as soon as he got on the line. “You’re not supposed to call unless it’s an emergency and you are unable to comply with your orders. Are you calling to tell me you cannot follow our orders?”
“I’m calling because you issued me an inappropriate order, Colonel, and I’m calling to verify it,” Sardaq said.
“Is the order not valid? Did it not properly authenticate?”
“It did, but the target coordinates are not found in the target catalog,” Sardaq said. “Long-form target sets are supposed to be checked against the target catalog for verification.”
“The targets are not in the catalog, General. I explained that in the message. The attack order still stands. You have a valid execution code — launch the attack.”
The duty officer ran over to Sardaq with the decoded message in his trembling hand and stared at his commanding general with wide, unbelieving eyes. “The target coordinates for Third Squadron — they’re on Doshan Tappeh Air Base!” he cried. “They want us to attack our own headquarters!”
“What in hell is going on, Colonel?” Sardaq shouted. “You gave us the wrong coordinates!”
“The coordinates are correct, General,” the senior controller said. “Haven’t you been reading the FLASH message traffic? Doshan Tappeh is being overrun by insurgents and the regular army…”
“The last message I read said that the Revolutionary Guards are about to launch a raid on insurgents in Tehran near the air base.”
“Well, get your head out of your ass and keep reading, General,” the controller said.
“Watch your language, Colonel! Maintain discipline!” But he snapped his fingers at the duty officer, urgently motioning for him to retrieve the stack of obviously unread message traffic reports on his desk.
“Fuck you and discipline, General!” the controller shouted. “They’ve bombed one of our infantry battalions, killed thousands, and shot down almost a dozen attack helicopters…”
“Who? Who is doing all this?”
“It’s Buzhazi, General…he’s here, and he’s got the army, the air force, and large numbers of civilians with him and his insurgents,” the controller responded. “Over fifty thousand insurgents, regular army, and civilians are on the base right now, grabbing everything they can carry and smashing anything they can’t. We’re evacuating the headquarters…”
“Evacuating…!”
“My last task before trying to get out of here is to send you the attack message, and here I still am, with an angry mob less than five hundred meters away ready to twist my head off, arguing with you! It might be too late to get out of here already.”
The duty officer quickly read through the dispatches, and the shock and fear in his eyes told Sardaq that what the frantic, terrified Pasdaran command center senior controller was telling him was the truth. “The army? The army is helping the insurgents?”
“Don’t waste time asking stupid questions, General,” the senior controller said, the fear rattling his voice now. “The base will fall into rebel hands soon, and then the capital and the government will fall along with it unless they are stopped. The order to attack comes from the Pasdaran commanding general himself, and he received the orders from the chief of the national security directorate. If you don’t believe me, take it up with them. I’m getting out of here. You have your orders. Kill the bastards before they take over the whole damned country.” And the connection went dead.
Sardaq was completely dumbfounded as he dropped the phone to the desk. “I don’t believe it,” he finally muttered after a long, stunned silence. “Insurgents are overrunning Doshan Tappeh…and the fucking army is helping them!” He turned to the duty officer. “I want the battle staff in here in five minutes with a complete briefing on the status of our attack preparations.” Before the duty officer could pick up the phone to issue the orders, General Sardaq grabbed him by his tunic. “And I want you to warn the regimental commanders that if I learn even one member of their organization is dragging his feet, I’ll personally shoot him in the head. Now move!”
“Contact, sir!” one of the new sensor operators aboard Armstrong Space Station crowed. The technician was dressed in a simple blue jump suit and wore Velcro sneakers and Velcro patches on his knees and forearms to help
