Bijan shrugged. “Yes. But, in order to increase the effectiveness of its jamming, later this evening it will be driving closer to the border. Once at the spot we have selected, the crew will then deploy antennas from both the truck and the trailer. Finally, they will notify us that they are ready to cut off the Saudis’ communications. Of course, our frequencies will be unaffected.”
Dabiri smiled. “So, we will have some chance of getting these howitzers moving before the Saudis arrive to return the favor.”
Bijan nodded. “Perhaps. But we will have no guarantee of reaching safety, only of making it a bit harder for pursuing aircraft to locate us. The Qataris have no idea we're carrying out this attack, and so will have to decide very quickly whether to defend their airspace.”
Dabiri frowned. “Shouldn’t we have told the Qataris, so they could have their defenses prepared?”
Bijan shrugged. “I considered it. However, I thought it was nearly certain that they would either refuse to allow the attack to proceed, or that a Saudi spy would reveal our plans. I think there’s a good chance that the Qataris will scramble aircraft if they see Saudi fighter jets inbound. After all, for some time they have been the threat that provides the Qatari Air Force with its entire reason for existence.”
Dabiri smiled. “Colonel, I sincerely hope you’re right.”
Bijan grinned. “Me too, Captain.”
Guardian Colonel Bijan Turani clapped Captain Dabiri on the shoulder as he walked up behind him in the warehouse. Dabiri had just laid down a tool he was using to adjust a fitting on one of the howitzers, and smiled tiredly as he saw Bijan.
“We’re just about ready. And a full two hours ahead of schedule!” Dabiri laughed, and Bijan laughed along with him. A problem discovered with one of the howitzers only after they had nearly completed assembly had cost them precious time, as they had to disassemble it to make room for their only spare. They weren’t laughing with amusement, but with relief. Both of them knew how many soldiers were counting on their success.
“Have you heard from the spotters?” Dabiri asked.
Bijan nodded. “They’re all in place. The Saudis reinforced the blockade with additional tanks, just as we expected. The spotters report that the Saudis don’t move their tanks much during the day, and hardly ever at night.”
Dabiri nodded. “Are they all M1A2 Abrams tanks?”
Bijan scowled. “No. About half are M60s. I don’t know how the Saudis expected them to stand up to Leopards. There are also about a hundred armored personnel carriers with supporting infantry, a roughly half and half mix of American-made M-113s and the Saudi-produced Al-Masmaks. And, of course, dozens of supply trucks and fuel tankers.”
Dabiri shrugged. “Don’t discount the value of the M60s. Any tank can get lucky. Plus, almost any shell at the right angle can knock off a tread. I’ve talked to a lot of tankers who fought in our war against Iraq back in the eighties, and they all said the same thing. Every tank is a threat — period.”
Bijan smiled. “Well said. Are all of your men ready?”
Dabiri nodded. “They are. Every howitzer crew is paired with a spotter, and we have tested our communications with each one. When it’s time, we will be ready.”
The attack had been scheduled after moonset when the night would be at its darkest, and nearly all the blockaders asleep. To maximize their chances of destroying the entire Saudi blockade force, they had to take advantage of every variable.
Fuad had been puzzled by Bijan’s request that ropes be attached to the blue plastic sheeting substituting for a roof, that would allow it to be quickly removed. He had been satisfied, though, when Bijan explained that he hoped the owners would follow Fuad’s advice to add a real roof to each warehouse, and that being able to remove the sheeting easily would speed that project.
One of Bijan’s first lessons in getting people to do what you wanted was simple. Make people think you were doing what they wanted.
The remaining minutes crawled by slowly, as the howitzer crews checked and rechecked to be sure each was ready to fire.
Finally, the order was given, and in succession each howitzer fired its laser-guided Basir shell.
The first hint Colonel Abdo Barazi had that his unit was under attack was the explosion of the M1A2 tank next to his, followed by the M60 tank to its right. More tanks exploded in quick succession, but the only clue to the attack’s origin was the whistling of shells that seemed to come from straight overhead. Barazi had been asleep, and it took him precious seconds to gather his wits and recognize the attack for what it was. Part of that recognition was what it was not. No jets roared overhead. No shells slammed into the sides of his tanks from enemy armor.
This was an artillery attack.
But as shells continued to rain down, Bazari noticed something else. Every shell seemed to be finding its target. There were no gouts of sand rising into the air, even though some of his remaining tanks had started to move. As he saw again and again, even the moving tanks were being hit dead on.
A sickening realization made Bazari press his eyes against the M1A2’s eyepiece of the gunner’s sight, where he saw the view displayed by the thermal imaging system. It showed a web of laser range finder images crisscrossing his remaining tanks. Bazari keyed his microphone to give the order to target the spotters at the end of each of those crisscrossing lines.
An artillery round sliced through the turret’s top armor and exploded inside Bazari’s Abrams tank.
Several of Bazari’s officers attempted to radio Army headquarters in Riyadh that they were under attack. However, the R-330ZH automated jammer proved effective, and it was not until much later when one of the surviving APCs had driven outside its jamming range that word of the attack finally reached Riyadh.
All most of Bazari’s remaining officers could think to do was to flee as fast as their tanks could go. As one tank after another exploded, some tanks stopped and their crews tried to escape.
None were fast enough. The spotters saw what they were doing, and made their tanks priority targets. Trained tank crewmen were targets nearly as valuable as the tanks they manned. And no matter how fast they ran, the lethal radius of a 155 mm shell’s explosion was far too great for their speed to matter. The fuel and ammunition exploding inside each tank hit by a Basir round created even more shrapnel, and ensured that no tank crewmen escaped the attack by running away.
Once every tank was a smoking hulk, the armored personnel carriers were the next priority. Some APCs with alert crew were already out of range of the spotters, but the confusion had been great enough that some M-113s and Al-Masmaks could still be targeted. Without being told, the spotters knew to leave the APCs that were still parked for last. To be fair, some of those APCs weren't moving because they had shrapnel damage from the explosion of nearby tanks, while shrapnel had also killed and injured the drivers and crew of other APCs who had been sleeping in nearby tents.
Though none of the trucks or fuel tankers had been deliberately targeted so far, many had been hit by shrapnel from 155 mm shells and exploding tanks.
All of the fuel tankers as well as the ammo trucks produced secondary explosions when they were hit, killing dozens of sleeping soldiers.
The maelstrom of exploding vehicles also took a toll on the spotters, in spite of being dug in and deliberately outside the Bashir round’s range. A round from an ammo truck ignited by an exploding fuel truck killed one spotter outright, while shrapnel from a tank hit as it fled wounded another spotter badly enough that he was rendered unconscious. Since there were no medics for the spotters, he never regained it.