The big cargo plane, now 53,460 pounds lighter than when it made its turn toward Fordow, continued onward. On the ground, there was still no idea that anything was happening out of the ordinary. When the plane was five and a half miles from Fordow, a large earth penetrating bomb, known in America as the Massive Ordnance Penetrator, or MOP, was released by parachute extraction from the back of the plane. The plane climbed several hundred feet after the 30,455 pound bomb exited the rear cargo ramp.
The bomb’s internal guidance computers knew exactly where it was above the earth to within a meter of error — and it knew precisely where it was going to strike the rocky ground of the mountain that housed the Fordow facility. Immediately after the huge MOP cleared the ramp, a second parachute inflated behind the plane and quickly extracted another MOP from the cargo hold. Its strike coordinates were precisely eighteen meters east of the strike point of the first MOP. It had been calculated that the second MOP would hit the eastern rim of the crater caused by the first MOP precisely 2.3 seconds after the first explosion.
The two MOPs had been secretly delivered to Israel during the summer of 2012. The delivery was the end product of extended behind the scenes maneuvering by Prime Minister Eli Cohen. In a late spring phone call with the President of the United States, he had agreed to stay quiet and become a “non-factor” in the upcoming American presidential election in return for the two MOPs and assurance that the president would tacitly support Block G if he was re-elected. The agreements had been honored by all sides.
To the south, as the weapons of SAAC 715 Heavy were falling to earth, James Miller turned his plane to the left just after being prompted by Mount Olympus. He was now headed due west, directly toward the Natanz facility. As with the Fordow plane, the computer now took control of the plane and its cargo. A warning light and buzzer in the cockpit — as well as the popping of his ears — notified Miller that depressurization was underway. The American pilot quickly placed the oxygen mask on, making sure the valve on the tank was open. The plane automatically began the process of opening the cargo doors and dropping its preliminary cargo of Spice 1000, MSOV and CHAMP weapons on targets in and around Isfahan and Natanz.
On the ground, an Iranian sergeant manning a 5N62 “Square Pair” targeting and illumination radar for a surface to air missile battery consisting of SAM-5 Gammon missiles, turned on his radar. He was bored and had authorization to activate his radar if he had reason to believe that a threat existed, even though good electronics emission discipline dictated sparse use. He scanned the skies to the west and south, slowly rotating his radar between the two directions. He saw nothing unusual, just the standard commercial air traffic in well-established lanes — the same thing he always saw.
He was about to turn the radar off when he decided to try one 360 degree sweep. The radar swiveled on its turntable at its slew rate of 20 degrees per second. As it came through due south, it continued until it was pointed due east. The blip that appeared on his screen caused the sergeant to react immediately. Air traffic lanes out of Isfahan to the north were only about forty miles away to the east, but this blip was closer. The return was strong, the radar cross section of the big Ilyushin being easy for the Square Pair radar to analyze.
The sergeant stopped the radar’s rotation and pointed the transmitting panel directly at Miller’s Ilyushin 76. He studied the data now being fed to him by the Russian-built radar’s computer system. The plane was at cruising altitude but was headed directly for Natanz at a speed of 420 knots. The sergeant picked up a phone mounted onto his console. It rang instantly in the command bunker located about 100 meters away. An officer picked up. “I have an unidentified bogey above flight level thirty, dead bearing ninety-three and closing at four-twenty. Distance is forty-eight. Negative squawk.”
The officer was annoyed. He had a small portable radio in his hand and had been listening to the football match, which was now in its fiftieth minute. This interruption meant that he now had to follow protocol. “Just one target from the east?” The question was rhetorical. “Let me interrogate it. I’m sure it’s just a commercial flight.” The officer flipped a switch that turned on his IFF interrogator, a green light indicating the device was active. He pressed a button on his console and the radio device sent a coded message to the unidentified plane’s transponder that was intended to trigger an automatic response. None came. He pressed the button again. The officer cursed his luck. “Hold on. I need to call him.” The officer lowered the phone and called out to a radio technician sitting across the room. “Ahmed, wake up. You have work to do,” said the officer sarcastically. He stood and walked a couple of meters across the floor to stand and look over the shoulder of the missile battery’s communications technician.
“Open all civil air frequencies,” the officer ordered. “Let me see the microphone.” The officer reached out with his left hand and the communications technician flipped several switches and handed a microphone to his commanding officer. The officer held down the talk button. “Unidentified aircraft, you are entering restricted military airspace. Identify yourself.” The challenge from the officer was in English.
In the cockpit of SAAC 622 Heavy, Captain Jim was just exiting the captain’s seat, the chord connecting his helmet to the communications console just about to reach its full extension and get its plug pulled out by the egress motion of the American. At the last moment, Miller heard the Iranian officer’s challenge. Miller stopped his motion and listened.
“Unidentified aircraft, you are entering a military area inside which deadly force is authorized. You must change course immediately.”
James Miller thought through his options. He was not sure if all of the weapons had been launched yet. He was not even sure if any had been launched. Unlike the Fordow plane, there was no MOP on board that would announce its departure by creating sudden lift. In this case, the plane’s primary weapons were 28 EGBU-28B earth penetrating GPS-guided bombs that each weighed 4,500 pounds, or 2,041 kilograms. Most of the bombs were targeted on Hall A at Natanz, which now had over 18,000 centrifuges installed and operating. Three bombs were targeted on the Pilot Enrichment Fuel Plant, a small underground chamber with almost 1,000 operating centrifuges. Five bombs were targeted on Hall B, which was as large as Hall A but as yet had no operating centrifuges.
Miller figured he would feel the main payload leaving the plane and he had not yet felt such a lightening of the airframe. The captain returned to his seat and picked up a microphone. With his left hand he released the oxygen mask he was wearing. He held the mask against his mouth and opened it just enough to talk into the microphone, replacing the mask as soon as he was done. “This is SAAC six-two-two Heavy. I am a commercial cargo flight.”
“SAAC six-two-two you are entering restricted airspace. Alter your course immediately.”
Miller thought for a few moments. He needed time. “Who are you? You are not Isfahan center.”
The reply angered the Iranian officer. “SAAC six-two-two, this is an Iranian military facility. You must change course or you will be fired on.”
Miller hesitated for as long as he dared. He heard noises from the cargo cabin. He was certain that weapons were being ejected, but he didn’t think the main load of EGBU-28Bs had yet been released. “Whoever you are,” continued the American pilot, “I am under the direction of Isfahan regional ATC. Please contact them for further commands.”
“Listen to me,” responded the officer, the anger no longer contained. “Alter your course immediately. You will be fired upon in thirty seconds if you have not altered course.”