Then two things happened. First, the demands of the forces in Yemen slowed the delivery of fuel for his tanks. He still had all he needed in case of combat. But he no longer had a fuel reserve he could burn through in exercises, so he had to order a stop to them.
Next, he and all his troops followed the reports closely about the action Prince Ali’s tanks were seeing in Yemen. Barazi and his men cheered when Ali’s tanks finally managed to destroy a ballistic missile before it was launched against Riyadh. But it was hard not to wish that they’d been there, too.
It wasn’t long before that longing was transformed into a dark suspicion.
That maybe this command wasn’t such a great honor after all. That instead it was just a joke, a “check the box” exercise that Ali had given Barazi because any idiot could handle it.
When one of his men had called over Barazi to a console because of what he called “suspicious activity” at the Salwa Resort at first he thought the Qataris might be up to something. There had been no official announcement that construction of the resort was going to resume, and his force was only about six kilometers away.
Then this morning he had heard uproarious laughter at one of the consoles carrying the drone video feeds, and quickly joined the crowd clustering around the image. Barazi had joined the laughter as the man ran forward, arms waving, while red paint and construction materials were scattered across the Qatari desert.
Once the laughter died down, though, Bazari had wasted no time ordering the drone to rejoin the others watching the Leopards in Doha. They would still have the drones check on the Salwa construction site when they brought them back for refueling, and when they sent them back to Doha. But unless they saw something unusual, the drones would not linger.
It was obvious that the Salwa Resort was no more a threat than the Leopards parked quietly in Doha two hours away.
Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani grinned as he saw Captain Dabiri jump down from the truck. “Dabiri, good to see you! How was your trip?”
It was immediately obvious that Dabiri was uncomfortable on multiple fronts. This was his first trip outside Iran. Like many, he had joined the military in part because he sought a stable, orderly life. Bijan smiled to himself as he thought of the English word “regimented,” used as a synonym for stability. Called upon now to carry out a covert military mission in a foreign country, Dabiri’s life had become much less stable. He had to wonder, with good reason, whether he would make it back to his wife and children in Iran.
Well, Bijan thought to himself, that’s the chance you take when you put on the uniform.
And it was clear that Dabiri missed his uniform. In his new role as Bijan’s supposed boss. he also wore khakis and a polo shirt, just even nicer ones.
There was no avoiding the awkward role reversal, since Dabiri had been needed in Iran to oversee the testing, packing and shipment of the howitzers and their ammunition, while Bijan had to get the warehouses ready for their arrival.
Dabiri nodded, visibly reminding himself that he was supposed to be Bijan’s boss.
“Everything is good. I have the last of the construction materials we’ll need for the first phase in this truck.”
Fuad had walked up as Bijan and Dabiri talked, and now Bijan turned to him.
“Fuad, let me introduce you to my boss, Mr. Dabiri.” Bijan then turned to Dabiri and said, “Fuad and his men have done great work so far. I recommend we bring them back as soon as we’re ready to start on the next phase of construction.”
Fuad’s consternation was so clearly shown on his face it was almost comical. “Bring us back? But I thought we were going to be working for weeks…”
Bijan nodded vigorously. “You will, you will. But my boss, here, needs time to review our plans on site and make decisions about priorities with the engineers. He expects to need about three days, but it might be a little longer.
I will call you on your cell.”
Fuad nodded, clearly unhappy.
Bijan pulled out a large brown envelope stuffed with Qatari currency. “The rials in this envelope should be enough to pay you and your men for the work you have done so far, as well as the next three days. You and your men should head back to Doha, to get some decent meals and rest. There will be plenty of work for all of you to do when you get back.”
Now Fuad was grinning from ear to ear. “Thank you, sir! Very generous of you! I will be waiting for your call!”
Half an hour later, Bijan and Dabiri were alone with the rest of the men of Artillery Group 22 selected for this mission, his supposed “engineers.”
Together, they walked through the closest of the two warehouses.
Dabiri shook his head as he looked from side to side, and then up to the blue plastic sheeting high above. “When I gave you the specifications you asked for to make this attack work, I thought that would end it right there.
I’m amazed that you were able to get these up so quickly.”
Bijan laughed. “Don’t thank me! It’s all due to prefab components and construction crews used to working hard and fast. That foreman you just met told me that he pulled his workers out of 2022 World Cup construction projects in Doha in 2018 after the worker death toll topped a thousand. He looked online at other major sporting events and saw that the previous record for the number of construction deaths was held by the Russians for the 2014
Sochi Winter Olympics, who lost sixty. I am proud to say that in putting up these warehouses, we matched the British record for construction deaths for the 2012 Olympics. Zero.”
Dabiri smiled. “So, that plus the money I saw you handing over means they should be pretty happy.”
Bijan shook his head. “That wasn’t the point. I could care less how happy there are. I do care that when they get to Doha, they won’t talk to anyone about how good they had it here, or anything else about this project.”
Dabiri frowned. “Why not? Isn’t it human nature to be proud of success, and to want to share it with others?”
Bijan smiled. “Maybe under normal circumstances. But nothing here is normal. Competition among expatriate workers for the best jobs is fierce, because they’re not just worried about themselves. Each worker has an entire extended family depending on them. Nobody will risk a good thing through careless talk. That would guarantee having other contractors turn up offering to do the same work for less.”
Dabiri grunted. “And we don’t want anyone showing up while we’re putting together these howitzers.”
Bijan nodded. “Yes. That would be… inconvenient.”
Dabiri pointed at a large, six-wheeled truck, which had a trailer behind it. It was parked in the shade provided by the warehouse, and was covered by another large blue plastic tarp on every side except the one facing the warehouse entrance. There were several men inside the truck who appeared to be busy with something, but from the outside there was no sign of their purpose.
“What is that truck doing here? Is there a reason they’re so close to us?”
Bijan smiled. “Yes. It is a R-330ZH automated jammer. The Russians used it to great effect against the Ukrainians during the conflict there. Its purpose is to prevent the blockaders from calling for help once we begin our attack.
And it is pressed up against the warehouse to keep it from being observed by any nosy drones, though we haven’t seen any since our performance a few days ago.”
Dabiri nodded. “Yes, I heard about that. But is the equipment on this truck really able to jam all signals from such a distance?”