Mach 10.
Suliman heard the Crown Prince shout “No!” and pound his fist on the table, but his eyes remained riveted to the screen. He had already done the math in his head, and the Typhoons' only chance was decoying the missiles.
That chance was low, but not zero. Suliman had seen to it that the Typhoons on this mission were equipped with some of the first self-contained expendable Digital Radio Frequency Memory (DRFM) jammers they had received. He had been with Prince Khaled for an impressive demonstration in the UK where a drone had deployed one and successfully decoyed an AMRAAM. Prince Khaled had ordered a dozen, and then had them installed in his personal Typhoon squadron for testing.
Since these DFRM jammers were ejected from the same 55 mm port used to deploy flares, only a minor software upgrade was necessary to use them.
They were supposed to operate for ten seconds, so ejection timing was crucial.
It turned out Suliman’s hopes were in vain. In quick succession, the missile and Typhoon icons winked out all over the display, until the only one still showing was the dull red icon representing the invaders.
For the next several minutes everyone sat in stunned silence. Suliman was sure that he was not alone in saying a silent prayer for the brave pilots who had just given their lives for their country.
“How can this be?” the Crown Prince finally asked. “We think these invaders are probably Iranian. How could they have missiles that can fly at Mach 10?”
Suliman nodded and replied, “You’re right that we never dreamed any of our enemies could have such a missile. The only one I’ve even heard of is a Russian missile called Kinzhal, but I’ve only read about it being deployed on one Russian bomber, the Tupolev 22, and one fighter, the MiG-31K. I’ve never heard that it has been adapted for use in a missile launcher, or that the Russians have sold it to anyone, least of all the Iranians.”
The Crown Prince nodded absently, and then appeared to make a decision.
“General Suliman, I want you to take over planning for the air attack on the Qatari ground force, and the intervention we expect from the Qatari’s air force. Be sure to continue coordination with the Americans on their Tomahawk strike against the Qataris. I will plan an armor attack against the northern invaders,” the Crown Prince concluded.
“Yes, sir,” Suliman said with a salute, as he rose to carry out his orders.
Well, he thought, if the deaths of the Typhoon pilots at least got the Crown Prince out of planning air operations they weren’t entirely in vain.
Now, he thought as he punched the elevator button, I have to show that I can do better. Then he thought about the results of the last attack and shrugged.
I can hardly do worse.
Chapter Twenty Four
Colonel Arif Shahin had believed Grand Ayatollah Sayyid Vahid Turani when he told him he thought Acting Supreme Leader Reza Fagheh might attempt to have the current Supreme Leader assassinated. The Supreme Leader was in a coma following a stroke, and once his guards were ordered away would be an easy target. The first step would be to move him out of the hospital where doctors were just marking time before his death.
The next would be to kill him, probably by doing little more than removing the respirator that had helped the Supreme Leader breathe ever since his stroke. Then it would be easy to claim that he’d been moved “for his security,” and simply hadn’t survived the move.
So, the first step was to see just how secure the Supreme Leader was. For example, could an armed man wearing an Iranian Army uniform with the rank badges of a Colonel come within firing range?
It was late evening, so Arif wasn’t surprised that only a single nurse was on duty in the hospital lobby. He was annoyed, though, when in response to his request for the Supreme Leader’s room number she simply gave it to him.
True, Iranian Army uniforms with Colonel insignia weren’t on sale in stores. That didn’t mean one would be that hard to get.
Arif took the elevator to the Supreme Leader’s floor, and exited to find… no guard. So, the only guards would be at his actual room.
“Hey, who are you? You’re not supposed to be here at this hour!” Arif turned his head right and saw the source of the sharp voice, a short but attractive middle-aged nurse whose expression at the moment was anything but pleasant.
Finally, Arif thought, someone competent. Aloud, he said “My name is Colonel Arif Shahin, and these are my credentials,” holding up his Ministry of Defense ID. “I have been ordered to check on the Supreme Leader’s security precautions. May I ask your name?”
The nurse looked at him suspiciously and said nothing, simply holding out her hand towards his ID. Arif suppressed a smile, as well as the thought that he was really starting to like this woman, and handed his ID over for her inspection.
Only after a careful review of the ID, including holding it up to compare the photo on it with Arif, did she finally hand it back.
“You are regular Army. Why are you checking on the Supreme Leader’s security, which is handled by the Pasdaran?” the nurse asked.
Arif looked down the hall, and saw that there was nobody in sight, or hopefully within hearing. Looking at the nurse, and the spark of intelligence he could see in her eyes, he quickly decided that nothing but the truth would do.
“We think there could be a threat to the Supreme Leader from within the Pasdaran. Obviously I’m not speaking about whoever is guarding him at the moment, but a person or persons unknown who may gain access to the Supreme Leader, we believe soon.”
The nurse looked him in the eye for several moments, and then made her decision. She held out her hand and said, “My name is Roya Maziar, and I am the head nurse on this floor. At this hour, the only nurse on this floor. I am glad to see someone still remembers the Supreme Leader is here.”
Arif briefly and firmly shook Roya’s hand. He might find her attractive, but right now he had to focus completely on his mission. “Do you know how many guards are with him right now?”
Roya nodded, and said “Yes, one. They started with three, one by the elevator and two with the Supreme Leader. But, as the months passed and every treatment failed, that became first two men and a few weeks ago just one. Or I should say two, who each guard the Supreme Leader for twelve hours. The man there now has been on duty since noon, and his replacement will arrive at midnight.”
Arif asked, “Have you ever spoken to the guards?”
Her eyes flashing, Roya said, “No, but they have tried to talk to me. Each did so only once.”
Once again Arif found himself suppressing a smile. “Can you tell me anything else about their performance?”
Roya snorted with disdain. “They may be called guards by the Pasdaran, but in reality are no more than common thugs. As to this one’s performance, at this hour I think it’s likely he’ll be asleep.”
As a professional soldier, Arif was genuinely shocked by Roya’s casual statement. “You have seen this?” he asked.
“Seen it?” Roya replied. “Walk down to the end of the hall, and you will almost certainly hear it. The Supreme Leader is on a respirator and literally cannot snore. When he was first moved here all the other patients were cleared from this floor, so if you hear snoring, it’s the guard.”
Shaking his head, Arif did exactly as Roya suggested. He had walked no more than halfway down the hallway when he started to hear snoring. When he reached the open doorway, there was the scene he’d expected — the comatose Supreme Leader, and the snoring guard. The only additional details were that the Supreme Leader appeared far older than he remembered, and the guard’s head had actually rolled backward in his chair. Arif doubted that anything short of a gunshot would wake him.