Exit Plan

17. AFTERMATH

6 April 2013

2300 Local Time/2000 Zulu

South of Highway 96

They’d been walking for about half an hour when Jerry saw what had to be a convoy. Even from three hundred meters south of the highway, he could hear the diesel engines, and instead of one or two sets of headlights, he counted at least four or five, traveling as a group, and heading west, toward where they’d fought the battle. “If those trucks are carrying troops, that’s at least a company,” Phillips observed softly.

They’d frozen, of course, taking a knee and waiting for the lights to pass. There was enough vegetation along this part of the coast so that they were usually able to find cover when they needed it. The gulf lay just a hundred meters to the right. Ramey kept them closer to the water, where the brush was thicker and would hide their tracks.

Jerry was grateful for the frequent stops, even if it meant having to stand up again after the traffic had passed. Sometimes, Ramey would let them rest for an extra minute, using the time to check Lapointe or adjust someone’s load.

They were all weighed down. Jerry carried Fazel’s pack, Philips carried Lapointe’s, in addition to both of them carrying the stretcher. Fazel of course carried Yousef, and now Shirin had a hand on his arm to help steady her. Even she did her part, carrying Harry’s rifle slung over her shoulder.

The SEALs were absolutely silent as they withdrew from the scene of the skirmish. Besides the occasional snap of brush, or the sound of tottering rock, the group made little noise. Ramey led the way, but also would scout ahead, or to the side, or fall back and watch for any pursuit. For every step Jerry and the others took, Ramey took three.

The platoon leader pushed them hard, not just because they had to clear the area of the battle, but because they had to reach a good layup position before dawn. Their best option, a grove of trees close to the airfield, lay on the far side of the small village of Mollu, a little over four miles from where they’d had the fight. It was hard to estimate their progress, and the pauses didn’t help. Jerry knew they were moving more slowly than they had two nights ago, but Ramey insisted they’d be there before dawn.

In another hour, they’d have to start angling south, toward the gulf, so they could cross behind the southern portion of Mollu along the beach. The nearest structure was over 150 meters away, but Ramey wanted them to traverse the one kilometer behind the village as fast and as quietly as possible.

7 April 2013

0000 (Midnight) Local Time/2100 Zulu on 6 April

Bandar Charak

They met at the town’s hospital, which was also a morgue. Sattari was still there, bleary-eyed, and waiting for the final autopsy report. Still numb after the death of his partner, he greeted Rahim with little more than a handshake.

Rahim did not pretend to be sad at Omid’s passing. The man was an ass, and by early accounts, had managed to engineer his own demise. But Rahim did honestly tell Sattari, “I’m sorry you’ve lost your partner. We will find out who did this and punish them for their crime.”

“And you need to know what I’ve found out,” Sattari replied mournfully. “Forensics went over the area as best they could in the dark. They found a position where the enemy had hidden while Akbari and Naseri went into town. There are signs of several men wearing an unfamiliar-patterned boot, as well as one man wearing Iranian-issue boots and a woman’s civilian shoes. They picked up their spent cartridges and there was no sign of other trash, so we can assume they are professional solders with good field skills.”

Sattari paused for a moment, then reported. “That’s all we could find out in the dark. Their forensics man will be back out there tomorrow morning at dawn.”

“One man?” Rahim asked. “Let’s get him some help.”

“Yes, sir,” Sattari answered tiredly. “I’ll call the police captain.”

“No, I’ll have Dahghan make the call.” The young agent behind Rahim nodded and hurried off.

“Are you officially taking over this case, Major?”

“This has always been my case, Agent Sattari. Omid didn’t want to work with me. He wanted to humble me by making an arrest himself. I don’t know if he deserved to die for that, but it was obviously not the correct approach. Will you work with me to catch these traitors and whoever’s helping them?”

Sattari nodded. “For Omid’s sake, if no other. I don’t know their exact crimes, but now they’ve killed my partner and four Basij soldiers.”

Dahghan came back. “The police commander says he will get more forensics people from the surrounding towns. I also have the coroner’s report.” He offered it to them. Sattari took it, but Rahim said tiredly, “Just tell me what it says.”

“All five died of gunshot wounds.” He held up a small plastic bag. “This is one of the bullets he recovered. It’s 7.62mm, but not from an Iranian-issue rifle. Without seeing one of the cartridges he can’t be certain, but he thinks it a NATO-standard round. And ballistics indicates at least three different rifles, although some of the bullets were too damaged to be properly examined.”

“That’s good work, Karim.” The information was useful, even if it was bad news. At least three professional soldiers were with the two traitors. It reminded him of that old joke about lion hunting: It wasn’t hard to catch one; the problem was, what did you do after that?

Sattari’s cell phone had beeped during Dahghan’s report, and now he checked the display. “It’s the Bandar Abbas office,” he remarked as he called back. Any call from them was VEVAK business, and at this hour, had to be important.

His expression had been serious, but as he listened, it changed to shock. After only a few moments, he said hurriedly, “Wait. Just tell Major Rahim. He won’t believe me.”

He handed the phone to Rahim, who looked to see if anyone was nearby, then pressed the speakerphone button. “This is Rahim,” he said quickly.

“I’ve received a radio message from Colonel Yavari. He commands the Pasdaran garrison at Bandar Lengeh. He says that he received word of a battle at one of the roadblocks earlier this evening on Highway 96, near Mollu. Proceeding to the roadblock, he found many of his men killed, along with a burned-out army truck that matches the description of the one you are looking for.”

Rahim felt his spirits rise, but when the speaker didn’t continue, they dropped just as quickly “Let me guess. There was no sign of other bodies — foreigners, or a woman’s?”

“I’m sorry, sir, that was the whole message.”

“Where is Mollu?” Rahim asked Sattari.

“It’s a very small town. Ahh, I’d have to look at a map. No more than eighty kilometers,” he stammered.

“And the roadblock is closer than that,” Rahim said. “Come on. We can be there in an hour.” He looked at Sattari’s expression. “Dahghan will drive.”

7 April 2013

0130 Local Time/2230 Zulu on 6 April

Between Bustaneh and Mollu

It was sixty-eight kilometers by the odometer when they were waved to a stop by a pair of heavily armed soldiers. Rahim’s uniform and identity card quickly got them past the barrier, and directions to the colonel’s command post.

Colonel Yavari was young for a colonel, almost too young for a lieutenant colonel. His hair and beard were jet-black and cut short. His headquarters tent was set up a short distance from the “battlefield,” where there was room to park the troop trucks and ambulances that were still being loaded.

“Who are you? What are you doing here?” Yavari demanded angrily. Rahim’s identification didn’t impress him, and actually made him even angrier.

“Are you the one who sent my men out to their deaths? An entire squad is dead, and it’s your fault.” Yavari reached for his sidearm as he spoke, taking a step toward Rahim.

“You lost an entire whole squad? Twelve men?” Rahim’s tone was incredulous, but he added enough contempt to make it clear who he thought was at fault.

“If you’d bothered to tell us who or what we were fighting, my men would be alive right now.” Yavari actually had his weapon out of its holster, and was bringing his other hand up to work the slide.

“Colonel, please,” Dahghan almost ran over to stand in front of Yavari. “We’ve just come from Charak, where we’ve been investigating the last attack. We still don’t know everything, but we’ve got a few answers.”

“Who attacked my squad?” demanded the colonel. Curiosity joined anger, but he didn’t put away the pistol.

“We know at least three professional soldiers, probably with NATO rifles of some kind, are traveling with the two fugitives, one of whom is a Pasdaran captain.”

Yavari, eyes wide, almost laughed. “Four armed men — wait, you said ‘at least’ four men. Well, that explains everything!” His sarcasm was biting. “Come with me!” Striding out of the tent, the three VEVAK agents hurried to keep up. Almost running, the colonel reached the pavement and walked west.

They’d set up work lights on either side of the highway, but the harsh beams showed only debris and destruction. Yavari pointed to a splintered traffic barrier. “This is where they set up the checkpoint. We knew any lawbreakers would ignore it, so the ambush was laid out beyond, with a mortar registered on the road, and a machine gun set up there.”

Still walking, he pointed to the right, past the hulk of a burned-out truck, still smoking. “A marksman was up there with a sniper rifle.” He pointed to a hill on the left. “Sistani’s men were arranged here.” He swept his hand in a line along the road. “See where they dug fighting positions?

“After the truck ran the roadblock, Sistani’s men opened fire, driving it off the road. My men have counted over a hundred bullet strikes on the vehicle. Somehow, whoever was in the truck survived an RPG hit, and got out after it tipped over. We found tracks down to a depression where the enemy took cover. Sistani’s men charged them, but were defeated. Look at this.”

The colonel led them to the left, behind the squad’s firing line, to a shallow pit, which Rahim realized was actually a crater. A shattered 60mm mortar lay in the depression. “The dead soldiers, may Allah grant them peace, have been removed, and most of the weapons have been collected, but I told them to preserve the entire area until we can examine it in the daylight. Remember the machine gun I mentioned? It looks much the same. Sistani’s transport” — he pointed—”is over there, also destroyed.”

He turned to face Rahim. “Tell me again how only four armed men did this. They must have possessed heavy weapons.”

His face was half-shadowed, but Rahim could still see Colonel Yavari’s anger plainly. “I personally called Sistani” — he growled while pointing to himself—”and warned him when I heard about the fight at Charak. He was a good officer. We received a radio message from him when the shooting started, but nothing after that.” When he’d started speaking of his lieutenant, the anger began to fade. By the time he was finished, the colonel was drained, the anger replaced by an equally strong sense of grief and loss.

“Missile strikes,” Rahim said abruptly.

“What?” Sattari had asked the question, but they all looked at the major with the same puzzled expression.

Rahim explained, “You are right, Colonel, I apologize. I have not told you everything about this case because I did not make the connection. There is an American nuclear submarine off the coast, right out there somewhere.” He pointed toward the water. “The traitors attempted to contact it several days ago. It could have fired missiles to support its countrymen when they were attacked.”

The colonel straightened up a little. “It is nice to know we are not fighting supermen. A soldier’s most dangerous weapon is a radio.” Dahghan and Sattari were silent, more surprised by Rahim’s apology than his idea of a submarine firing missiles.

“We can find them and beat them,” Rahim insisted. Looking around him, he said, “We have to, after this.”

“Colonel, I’d like to come back to your headquarters with you. We must plan how to reestablish the roadblocks. We will bring in reinforcements, and I want security increased throughout the region.”

7 April 2013

0500 Local Time/0200 Zulu

East of Mollu, West of Bandar Lengeh

Jerry called it an oasis, though there weren’t any palm trees. It was still the most verdant spot he’d seen since coming to Iran. The trees and shrubs were thick enough so they could walk into them and not see the other side.

Ramey had already worked through what they would do when they reached the layup. There would be no rest — not for a while, anyway.

The SEALs and Jerry picked a spot in the densest part of the vegetation and stowed their belongings. The others helped Yousef off Fazel’s shoulders and laid him in a sheltered spot, then made up a pallet for Shirin close by. She gratefully collapsed onto it.

For half an hour, they set up fighting positions, added camouflage to the existing foliage, and did their best to remove evidence of their approach to the location. In the early morning twilight, Ramey surveyed their positions to make sure they were invisible.

With their location secure, they examined the place, finally picking an area open toward the water, but completely hidden by trees from the landward side. While Jerry, Ramey, and Phillips dug, Heydar Fazel washed the body. There was no white cotton for the shroud, so he dressed Yousef in his Pasdaran uniform, complete with his pistol and gun belt, and wrapped him neatly in blankets. The four then laid him in the grave facing southwest.

After the body was in place, Jerry and the others added Yousef’s rifle. “When you get to Paradise, you’ll have an honor guard,” Ramey said.

They filled in the grave while Shirin and Fazel prayed. Clutched in Shirin’s right hand was one of the epaulets from Yousef’s uniform, along with the fragment of her father’s flight suit.

7 April 2013

0700 Local Time/0400 Zulu

1st Regiment Headquarters, 47th Salam Brigade, Bandar Lengeh

There was no love lost between VEVAK and the Pasdaran, but Yavari had accepted Rahim’s authority, especially after a 0400 call from the general commanding the southern region. The general was placing two additional regiments and a mechanized infantry company under Yavari’s command. Advance elements would arrive by that afternoon. Helicopters, both transports and gunships, would start arriving tomorrow. This was all because of orders received from Tehran, the general explained.

There’d been no time for sleep. The colonel’s staff and the VEVAK agents created a new net of roadblocks, centered on the site of the last battle. While they presumed that the fugitives were still headed toward the east, roads leading west were guarded as well.

The colonel’s deputy, Major Seddigh, brought welcome news while they were still finalizing the plan. “Two of the fugitives are wounded, at least.”

All work stopped and they turned to hear his report. “When the sun rose, our men searched the battlefield and found bloodstains on the ground. One patch was by the burnt-out truck, and another, larger one, was in the depression where they rallied. They also found wrappers from bandages.”

“Were there any indications as to which way they went?” asked Rahim impatiently.

“Not that we could tell, sir,” answered Seddigh. “We didn’t find any tracks heading to the south or the east, and there has been too much traffic to the north and west making it impossible to identify boot patterns.”

“Any evidence that they concealed their tracks?” pressed Rahim. The thought of losing his prey again was maddening.

“We didn’t see anything suspicious, Major. Unfortunately, the terrain on either side of the highway is very rocky. It wouldn’t take much to eliminate their footprints.”

Rahim rubbed his hand through his hair; the enemy had been wounded, but they had also disappeared right before their eyes. Again.

“So, what you’re telling me is that we’ve lost them?”

“It would seem so,” conceded Seddigh.

7 April 2013

0900 Local Time /0600 Zulu

Bandar Lengeh Airfield

The airfield lay almost in sight of their hideout, but everyone, even Ramey, agreed that they had to get some sleep. After a small meal, the three ambulatory SEALs each took an hour of lookout duty while everyone else slept. It wasn’t completely refreshing, but Jerry had heard enough stories about SEAL training to know it would help.

Jerry asked to stand watch as well, but Ramey turned him down without explanation. Given their fatigue and frayed nerves, he didn’t push it.

After they’d rested, Ramey helped him prepare for their reconnaissance. In addition to leaving their packs behind, the SEAL lieutenant had Jerry take off anything that reflected light, and double-checked Jerry’s tactical vest for items that might make noise. As they prepared, he drilled Jerry on patrol techniques. “Watch me. When I crouch, you crouch. If I drop to the ground, you drop. Don’t wait for me to tell you, sir.”

“Understood, Boss,” Jerry answered. There was no warmth in Ramey’s tone, but that was okay, because this was business. He was in his element, and the lieutenant was indeed “Boss” for this patrol.

Jerry knew that Ramey didn’t really want him along, but he needed to get a pilot’s eyes on the airfield. They couldn’t make a plan without it.

Ramey was especially cautious leaving the layup. While getting spotted at any time would be disastrous, being seen now would reveal everyone’s position, and with Lapointe wounded, it would be almost impossible to escape pursuit.

The lieutenant moved slowly, and Jerry did his best to copy his movements, even stepping where the lieutenant stepped whenever possible. They hugged the line of trees and bushes for as long as they could.

Just east of the copse was a small farm, with cultivated fields just turning green with new crops. They moved to the north, bypassing scattered buildings, some looking abandoned, others occupied.

Jerry spent a lot of time on his stomach behind trees or low brush. When they crossed open ground, they sprinted, but only after Ramey was convinced the coast was clear. Twice they had to detour around farmers out in their fields. They crawled, climbed, and dashed from cover to cover. Finally, Ramey found a dried-out streambed that wandered through trees up to Highway 96. Although he was in good shape, Jerry was almost breathless when they reached their goal some four kilometers away.

Luckily, they didn’t have to go all the way to the airfield. There was a rise to the west that provided enough cover, as long as they low-crawled their way to the top. The hill not only saved them some time, but as far as Jerry was concerned, the only decent way to look at an airfield was from above.

They’d studied the satellite photos so often he knew it as well as the field at Pensacola, where he’d learned to fly. This one was a lot smaller, though. A single strip, twenty-seven-hundred-meters long, it ran almost straight east-west. There was a single taxiway from near the middle of the runway to a wide apron where aircraft parked, and sure enough, he could see a pair of Falcon 20 jets, their white paint almost sparkling in the sunshine. Other aircraft, a mix of helicopters and what looked like civilian light aircraft were parked to either side. He looked for the fueling arrangements, and spotted several fuel trucks parked by an admin or maintenance building. The control tower was a three-story affair, with few antennas on its roof. There was no sign of traffic control radar or instrument landing aids. Of course, the weather here was usually clear.

Ramey, using his own glasses, gently nudged Jerry’s shoulder and said softly, “XO, look about ten o’clock, near this end of the runway.”

Jerry hadn’t paid much attention to the runway itself. Looking to the left, at the near end, he saw an earthen mound, then spotted a ring of sandbags on top. Inside, a pair of soldiers was working with some sort of heavy weapon on a tripod.

“That’s a DShK heavy machine gun,” Ramey told him. “It’s like our.50 caliber.” Jerry felt his body go cold. Ramey continued, “This complicates things, but we can cope. While you’re getting the plane ready, I go over with a knife and slit their throats, just like in the movies.”

Jerry started checking other parts of the airfield. “Ahh, it looks like they’re setting up a machine gun at the other end of the runway, too. These weren’t on the overhead imagery we saw. This is recent. This is today.” Jerry could see where they were still carrying sandbags to the top of the mound.

“Okaaay,” Ramey answered. “So I get one, and Philly gets the other. That leaves Harry and you to carry Lapointe. Maybe Shirin carries one end so Harry’s free to move. We can make this work.” He paused. “Or maybe not. Look next to the hangar. In the shadow.”

One large hangar dominated the cluster of buildings that lay on the south side of the runway. It was big enough to take a small commercial airliner, although they couldn’t see what was inside. Parked in the shade, probably to avoid the sun as much as for concealment, were a pair of armored vehicles. Each had a flat top that led to an angled front, and a small circular turret with a gun barrel sat in the middle.

“Those aren’t tanks, are they?” Jerry asked.

“They’re armored personnel carriers, some variant of a Russian BMP. The gun on top is a 73mm. It’s not as big as a tank gun, but bad enough. They each carry half a squad of infantry.”

“Okay, so we use a Cormorant to take out the heavy stuff and distract them while we steal the plane,” Jerry suggested.

“No good,” Ramey argued. “Once that UAV starts shooting, we can give up sneaking onto the field. They’ll go to general quarters and we’re out of luck. Let’s go around and look from a different angle.”

They worked their way farther east. This entailed another half hour of creeping and dashing, then low-crawling up another hill. Now more concerned with the airfield than the aircraft, Jerry spotted trouble the instant he used his binoculars. “I see more BMPs,” Jerry reported. He almost pointed, but remembered in time to stay low.

“I see them, too,” Ramey answered. “The rest of a platoon, five altogether.”

“And there will be troops for them, as well,” Jerry concluded.

“Oh, yeah, probably setting up more emplacements all over the airfield. They’ll use the vehicles as strongpoints.” The SEAL lieutenant backed down away from his position, then rolled onto his back.

“Do the math. We took out a squad last night. This morning the airfield is alive with troops. Maybe they’re afraid we might try to steal a plane.”

“Not anymore we’re not,” Jerry answered.

“Never say die, XO. Let’s keep looking.”

7 April 2013

1000 Local Time/0700 Zulu

1st Regiment Headquarters, 47th Salam Brigade, Bandar Lengeh

Rahim and the others had managed to find a meal, but had returned to find no news. It really was too soon to expect any developments. But he was impatient, and set Dahghan and Sattari to work calling every barracks and headquarters between Kangan and Lengeh to make sure there was no new information. He’d learned the hard way. He wouldn’t wait for them to report.

Overflowing with nervous energy, he started to organize the chaos they’d left behind. As he sorted through the documents, he found one pile laid to the side, from the Pasdaran Navy headquarters. “Did either of you see these?”

Dahghan shook his head. “No, Major.”

They were reports from last night. None of the boats had seen any hostile vessels, of course. There were reports of a distress flare being fired, and extra boats had been called in. They’d searched the area between the Farur and Lesser Tunb Islands, starting at 2045 hours, but no further signals were received, either visually or by radio. Because of the darkness, aircraft had not been used.

That was close to where the second squad had been wiped out last night. The timing was also about right. Had the fugitives found a boat and escaped to the sea? But the patrols hadn’t found anything. And if they had been on a boat, why would they attract attention by firing flares into the air?

As soon as he asked himself the question, Rahim understood. The image of a flame rising filled his mind. It wasn’t a flare, it was a missile.

He had a message to send.