Each MALD was programmed to fly an attack pattern that mimicked what the Iranians expected to see from the Israeli Air Force. This mission was the culmination of Operation Northwind and was designed to convince the Iranians that the attack this night was coming from the north. The Delilah missiles would do no strategic damage, but would add to the illusion of attack from Azerbaijan.
As soon as the last MALD was launched, the Boeing turned back around and headed for Baku, calling in an emergency after ten minutes of travel back toward the Azerbaijani capital.
At the same moment, General Hassan Shahbazi was exiting the building on Doshan Tappeh Air Base that was the temporary headquarters for the Iranian Air Force. He was headed to his car and once there, to Arad Hospital. He cursed the distance he had to walk to reach the parking area and started to jog. He had been unable to establish any communication with his family and with every step he fought an internal war to suppress the darkest thoughts that ran wild in his mind. He was half way when it happened. He heard the swoosh of an object flying a great speed and very close by. His mind had only a fraction of a second to process the sound.
The heat from a massive explosion hit the general’s face a moment before the shockwave knocked him off his feet. The sound of the blast punctured his right ear drum. It would take him a couple of minutes to fully shake off the effect of the concussive forces that had just hit him. Debris rained down around him, one piece of lumber hitting his leg and cutting his thigh. One hundred and twenty meters away to his right, the building that was the permanent headquarters of the Iranian Air Force and that he would have been working in if not for the wiring renovation underway, lay in fiery ruins.
Before he realized where he was, two men from his staff were walking him back to the temporary building he had just exited. Inside, a junior officer trained in first aid started to wipe blood from the general’s head and neck. Colonel Askari walked up to him. “Sir, we are under attack.”
Shahbazi just looked back at his underling with incredulity. He put his hand up to the left side of his head and cupped it behind his ear.
Askari leaned forward and raised his voice. “Fordow, sir. Fordow has been bombed.”
Suddenly the general understood everything. His daughter was unharmed, but his nation was under assault from Israel. “What comms do we have?” he shouted, his lack of hearing leaving him unable to judge his own volume. He received a quick summary of a situation that was pure confusion. The direct tactical communication link between the temporary command building and the air defense assets of Iran was out. This meant that both direct communications and the radar feeds from the early warning radar net were down. But the building still had a link to the country’s internet backbone and email traffic was starting to flow.
As the general was being tended to, the colonel started receiving summaries of emails coming in from around the country. Critical news was being shouted to him from across the room as men read their computer screens.
“Natanz air defense reports that they have engaged and shot down an attacking plane,” came a shout across the room.
“One plane?” the colonel shouted back. “Find out how many planes are attacking and where they came from.”
“Germi reports thirty plus bogeys over the Caspian Sea inbound to Tehran,” came another shout. Close to the northern Iranian mountain town of Germi, an early warning radar station similar to Dehloran kept watch over Azerbaijan and the Caspian Sea.
“Isfahan radar has nothing other than commercial traffic,” responded the first man.
“Find out what the hell just hit us,” shouted the colonel in an angry tone that every man in the room shared. Colonel Askari had been dreaming of one day taking command of the Iranian Air Force. Now as his commander was still unable to hear what was happening, Askari found himself temporarily in charge at a moment and in a situation he did not want. Men continued to shout updates as the lights went out. Battery back-ups kept the computers on as emergency lights flickered to life, casting a dull yellow glow over the room. Askari said a silent prayer for the generators, which had only been hooked into the temporary building a couple of days earlier, to turn on. About twenty seconds later his prayers were answered.
“Okay. Everyone be quiet,” Askari shouted. “Send ‘Alert Status Three — Attack Imminent’ to all bases and air defense posts.” He walked over to the man communicating with the Northern Defense Sector. “Get Tabriz and Mehrabad fighters up right now and vectored by Germi. I want two F-14s airborne for radar control right away.” The Iranian Air Force still had 15 functioning F-14 Tomcat fighters and two were maintained on ready alert. Their AN/AWG-9 radars, despite being 1970s technology, were still powerful enough to act as de facto AWAC platforms for the other fighter aircraft of the IRIAF.
Askari returned to the side of General Shahbazi. The general’s hearing in his left ear was slowly returning. Askari gave his commander a brief summary of what they knew. Shahbazi issued several orders. “Scramble all tactical bases. Get all fighters airborne. Get all commercial traffic on the ground at the nearest airport. Tell all tactical air bases and radar units to implement Code Blizzard.” The last order would inform all air defense missile bases that attacks were underway and they should be scanning the skies for targets. Anything without proper IFF was now a legitimate target.
The general pulled Askari close to him. “Email the IRGC a status update. You must personally contact the Supreme Council. Try to get through to Imam Khomeini directly or his aide. We have to establish a direct link with him.” The general was already thinking about the aftermath and repercussions of what was happening.
Over the Persian Gulf, the second Boeing 727-400F that had departed from Ras Al-Khaimah 48 minutes earlier began to execute its mission. It was several minutes behind schedule, the plane fighting heavy headwinds at its cruising altitude. At a point that was 326 miles west of the UAE, the recently installed door underneath of the plane opened up. Eight Delilah missiles were quickly ejected. As the wings of each Delilah missile cut into the cold thin air high above the Persian Gulf, its rocket motor ignited, sending the missile towards its target. The first six missiles, travelling in pairs, headed for three early warning radar installations along the Persian Gulf coastline: Kish Island, Siraf and a site known to the Olympus planners as Bushehr Southeast. The remaining two missiles, each carrying runway denial mines that scattered by the dozens and detonated if disturbed, heading due north for the Iranian airfield at Shiraz. The plane continued flying on toward the west as the door closed. It had another nine minutes of flying to reach its next release point 70 miles further along its route.
At 26,000 feet about 75 miles to the north of the Boeing, an Iranian Air Force MiG-29 Fulcrum fighter aircraft based out of Shiraz was flying a standard patrol pattern. For the pilot, it was another typical night in which the greatest excitement was the occasional encounter with the many U.S. Navy warplanes operating over the Persian Gulf. The protocols for these encounters were well established. He could “paint” an American plane with his targeting radar for about three seconds, but no longer. Maneuvering to get your radar onto an enemy bandit was the fighter pilot’s equivalent of puffing out your chest in a bar room showdown. A few seconds of illuminating your opposition was the way to keep score and was the basis for post-flight braggadocio once back at base.
There had been no encounters with the Americans this evening and the pilot was resigned to a quiet patrol. He was starting to look forward to returning to base for a shower when a radio transmission caught his ear. “Specter Five, alert status three. Confirm.”