Grishkov nodded. “But…”
Vasilyev smiled. “Yes, but. Saudis are willing to tolerate a certain amount of repression, since many believe the alternative is the chaos we now see in countries like Syria. But for how long? Will tanks prove the right long-term answer to unrest among the Shi’a community in the Eastern Province? The Saudis have subsidized the spread of a radical Wahhabi version of Islam around the world. If the Kingdom does continue in its recent more moderate direction, is that money they will regret spending? So, many questions remain. On the whole, though, I am optimistic about the Kingdom’s future.”
Grishkov grunted. “Good. I’d hate to think that we’re risking our lives for nothing.”
Vasilyev laughed, and clapped Grishkov on the shoulder. “Never, my friend! Those desalination plants are sure to have thousands of people in and around them. And, of course, there is always our duty to Mother Russia.”
Though he was still smiling, Grishkov knew that Vasilyev was absolutely serious. Grishkov nodded, and they rode the rest of the way to Dhahran airport in silence.
Chapter Thirteen
Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani was pleased. Both warehouses were finished on schedule, complete with blue plastic sheeting in place of roofs.
His foreman Fuad was supervising the crews using a combination of forklifts and brute force to stack wooden crates in the warehouses according to the instructions he had given. The work had been going well, but now as he expected Fuad was striding towards him with a frown on his face.
“Boss, the work is going well, and everything’s on track. Just one question.
None of the crates have the contents marked, and some of them are really heavy. Can you give me some idea of what’s in them?”
Bijan nodded. “The heaviest are probably the ones containing metal pipe we’re going to use to complete the water transport system. Some others have machinery, like pumps. I’m supposed to be getting a list, but like I said earlier my boss says don’t open anything until he gets here.”
Fuad visibly relaxed. “That explains it then. Well, we’ll just carry on until your boss gets here. I guess we’ve all got one, right?”
Bijan smiled. “I don’t see any royalty around here, do you?”
Fuad laughed, and went back to yelling at his crew, who had taken his momentary absence as an opportunity to rest. The truth was, Bijan didn’t envy them. It was blazing hot, and he was sure that the crates were indeed heavy.
Bijan had learned long ago that small objects and distant movement were most easily detected with peripheral vision. He used that knowledge now to confirm the presence of the visitor he’d been expecting. A small surveillance drone. It could be American, but probably not. Their drones flew high enough that they were usually impossible to spot. No, this one was almost certainly operated by the Saudis, and he’d bet money that the men watching its feed were with the blockade force just on the other side of the border.
Perfect.
Now, time for a little theatre.
Bijan entered a single word text into his phone. The phone of the driver of a nearby truck, one of the soldiers of Artillery Group 22 Bijan had accompany him from Iran, buzzed a few seconds later. Less than a minute after that, the truck’s engine ground into life, and it began moving towards the nearer of the two warehouses.
The truck’s right front wheel struck a rock partly covered with sand, causing it to lurch and send several of the wooden cases it carried flying out the back, where they landed on the rocky ground hard enough to burst open.
That’s how it would have appeared to the drone, anyway.
In fact, several more of the soldiers of Artillery Group 22 were inside the truck’s covered cargo bed, and as it deliberately hit the rock assisted the cases on their journey earthward. They had also removed the screws that secured their lids, so once they hit the ground their contents would scatter for some distance.
These contents were bricks, tile, and cans of red paint. And the cans had their lids loosened before being placed back into their crate.
Bijan had known that the Saudis would have to be curious about the resumption of construction activity at the Salwa Resort after years of inactivity, and would wonder about just what was being stockpiled in the newly built warehouses. As he ran towards the scene of the accident, yelling and waving his arms and trying not to grin at his overacting, he was barely able to resist the temptation to look at the drone’s reaction. Was it moving closer?
Half an hour later, Bijan had stalked off after “supervising” Fuad and his crew as they salvaged what they could of the bricks and tiles strewed across the desert floor. Thanks to the red paint, that wasn’t much.
Finally, he dared to look for the drone, first with his peripheral vision and then by sweeping his gaze openly in every direction. It was gone!
An outstanding result, Bijan thought to himself with satisfaction, for my first dramatic performance.
Prince Ali bin Sultan had told Colonel Abdo Barazi that he was placing his trust in him after thinking long and hard about who among his men most deserved it. And at first, Barazi had believed him. After all, the force at his command of forty-eight tanks was by far the largest single armored force under the command of a Saudi colonel. The fact that half of his tanks were M60s detracted only a little from that honor, because they had been carefully maintained and were ready for action.
Barazi had no illusions about how the M60s would fare against the Qataris’
Leopard 2A7s. For that matter, he knew that the Leopards even outgunned his M1A2 tanks. And that if the Qataris deployed all two hundred of their Leopards against his force, his command would definitely be overrun.
None of this worried him, for three reasons.
First, the Qataris would never sortie their entire armored force, leaving the country undefended. Bazari guessed half at most, maybe less.
Second, the entire Qatari armored force was stationed just outside Doha, two hours away from Barazi’s tanks, even at their top speed. Bazari had the Qataris’ tanks under drone surveillance 24/7, with rotating shifts of his best troops watching to see if the Leopards showed any sign of moving out from their base. They didn’t.
Well, it was clear that the Leopards were well maintained, and their crews were doing their best to become familiar with the new tanks in the large shipment they had received a few months ago. There was certainly plenty of training activity, and Bazari thought it was likely all the Leopards were now operational, though he'd noticed the most recent Leopards didn't have the same camouflage netting as the older ones. But there was zero indication that the Leopards were going anywhere, let alone planning to attack his force.
The last point, though, was the most important as far as Bazari was concerned. An attack by the Qataris would make as much sense as Danish tanks rolling across the German border. It just wasn’t going to happen.
Bazari really did listen when Prince Ali told him to take the Qataris seriously, and to prepare for a possible attack. He had ordered his drones to carry out surveillance of their Leopards, and no matter what wasn’t going to slack off on that. If they moved out of Doha he was going to be calling for air support, because Bazari knew he’d need it.
He’d also taken Ali seriously when he told him to keep his tanks moving, because as they’d had drummed into them in training, “a parked tank is a really big sitting duck.” Bazari had run exercises with his force, which he thought had really improved its readiness.