After a few seconds of panning, the spotter came across his target: the two IRGC guards charged with maintaining watch over the access road. They were in the same spot always occupied by the two access road guards. It was a minor elevation that gave the two guards a perfect view of the last major bend in the access road before it straightened out on the ridgeline’s plateau. Unfortunately for the guards, the view from the position now occupied by three Israeli commandos gave them a perfect view of the guards. The Israeli reached up and pressed a button on top of his device. An invisible beam of light shot out and bounced off the back of one of the two men. “Four-three-three,” whispered the man to the two snipers that flanked him. His range finder told him they were 433 meters, or 1,420 feet, away from the two guards.
The man on the range finder hit his PTT button. “Sandman is papa lima. Standing by.”
“Affirmative. Stand by,” replied Captain Ben Zeev.
The team now waited for the shift change. The wait was only a few minutes. At 8:46 p.m., the three men with scopes trained on the access road guards each saw the excitement of the two guards only moments before they noticed the movement of a passenger van as it passed by on the way to the trailers. One of the guards waved as the van passed. The trailing Suburban stopped for a moment at the guard post and words were apparently exchanged. The Suburban quickly continued on.
Isaac Mofaz, watching the video feed from the Boomerang, first noticed two men exit the middle trailer and then saw the two vehicles come to a stop just outside the middle trailer. He reached over and tapped Manu’s back — the latter busy relieving himself onto the mountain dirt of the Zagros. After a moment, Manu turned around to see the arrival of the new night shift. “Delivery now,” said Manu into his microphone. At the assault assembly point, the pulses of seven men accelerated in varying amounts.
About five minutes later, following the exchange of men to and from the van and the exchange of a couple of boxes of food from the back of the Suburban with a large plastic bag of trash, the two vehicles began their journey back to Abdanan. The van stopped at the guard post and the two guards from the day shift got in. The two new IRGC soldiers who would take their place at the access road guard post were walking up the road from the second trailer, following in the tracks of the two vehicles.
“Delivery complete,” commented Manu as he and Isaac watched the vehicles depart.
“Ten minutes,” replied Ben Zeev into his microphone.
Twelve minutes later, Manu initiated his transmitter with the PTT. “Two on access. Two mobile as a team. Settled.”
“Report pattern,” responded Ben Zeev.
A few minutes later, Manu replied. “Staying in the lights. Diesel to dome. Now leaving diesel.”
The range finder at the sniper position keyed his radio. “Sandman is papa lima.” The two IRGC soldiers were settled into their position.
“Sandman zero,” said the captain over the tactical system. He talked next to the team around him. “Loaded?” Each man gave him a thumbs up. “Go to semi-auto.” The captain and the six other men around him flipped the fire selection lever on their M-4 carbines so that it faced straight up, going from safe to semi-automatic. He then turned to Yosef Hisami, the mountain goat. “Lead us to the jump point.” As Hisami moved out, Ben Zeev keyed his PTT. “Moving to jump.”
At the sniper location, the man on the range finder shot his laser at one of the two men now standing in position to protect the access road. The two Iranians were talking to each other. “Four-three-three,” he whispered. “Wind at one out of northwest.” The men would be shooting almost directly into a one knot breeze. “Humidity is four-two. Forty-two. Temperature is one-seven. Seventeen.”
Each sniper now referenced a small notepad and then adjusted, or “doped,” their scope. Benny Stern spoke first. “Ready.” The other sniper made the same statement seconds later.
“Sandman is active,” said the range finder into his microphone.
As the two mobile IRGC guards walked at a leisurely pace toward the radar dome structure, the seven men with the captain moved quickly to cover 145 meters from their assembly point to the base of the largest of a grouping of three trees that was only a little more than a hundred meters from the diesel storage tank. The diesel storage tank was a vertical steel tank mounted on a concrete foundation. It held up to 4,000 gallons of fuel. The tank itself was ten feet in diameter and stood almost nine feet tall. It provided perfect cover for a couple of men.
Ben Zeev, reaching the designated jump point, took cover behind the largest tree in the stand and four other men assumed prone positions around him. Each man had his M-4 at his shoulder and aimed down the ridgeline. After the trees, there was nothing but the barren rock and dirt of the Zagros remaining along the ridge until the other side of the radar dome structure.
The mountain goat and one other man continued on toward the diesel storage tank, their shouldered M-4s leading their steps. After half a minute, the two men reached the round diesel storage tank. Yosef Hisami lowered his M-4. It now hung over his shoulder at his side, its muzzle facing the ground. He pulled out his suppressed SIG Sauer P226 pistol. The pair of men waited behind the storage tank. They were unable to see the mobile IRGC men, but they also knew the Iranians couldn’t see them.
“Mobile at radar dome,” said Manu about a minute later. “Now heading to diesel. Two still together.”
“Sandman be ready. About three minutes,” said Ben Zeev. Every man on the team tensed up. Some men concentrated on their breathing, making sure they did not hyperventilate.
About three minutes later, Manu updated the team. “Passing last trailer. Heading to diesel.” The mountain goat raised his pistol. Behind him, his partner raised his M-4 to his shoulder, the suppressed muzzle extended past the right side of Yosef’s head. The man held the M-4’s fore grip in his left hand and leaned his left forearm into the right shoulder of the mountain goat. He wanted to feel when Yosef Hisami moved.
“Twenty meters. North side,” said Manu, reporting the position of two mobile guards. As they usually did at night, they would be coming up to the diesel storage tank on its north side, the better lit side. It was the side that Hisami and his partner were facing.
Manu counted down the meters. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five…”
Yosef Hisami advanced calmly from behind the diesel tank, his partner trailing along with him. The two Iranians were talking about their pay and the problems they were having with the rampant inflation in Iran. One man had a family and could not figure out how to pay for food anymore. He stopped in mid thought, his mind processing the man in an IRGC uniform who suddenly stepped into his view. It made him jump slightly, his mind first interpreting the movement as that of a wild animal leaping out. In less than a second, the reaction went from fright to fear to threat. He began to raise his AK-47. He was too late.
The mountain goat squeezed off two rounds into the man’s chest. The second Iranian went to one knee, attempting to raise his rifle in a simultaneous movement. He got his weapon leveled using his left hand, which had a death grip on the magazine. But his right hand was still far from reaching the weapon’s pistol grip when the first round directed at him hit his left shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. Before the muzzle of his AK-47 hit the dirt, the next round from Hisami hit the man in the head. He was dead before his body collapsed. Hisami continued to advance. He arrived at the two motionless bodies and fired a round into each man’s head from point blank range.