108: Chapter 105 Faol: First Blood

4:30 AM, Fao Peninsula Brigade Headquarters.

The Iraqi Brigade Commander, Colonel Mohammed Amin, finally understood what had happened.

It wasn't small-scale harassment; it was a full-scale offensive.

The anti-aircraft guns were blown up, the first line of defense was breached, and the communication lines were cut—of the six hundred men under his command, he could now only contact fewer than three hundred. The other three hundred were either missing or had been scattered.

"Request reinforcements from Basra," Amin said to the signalman. "Tell Division Headquarters that the Iranians are attacking the Fao Peninsula with at least a brigade's worth of troops. Request reinforcements."

The signalman tried several times and shook his head: "Colonel, the communication lines are down. The radio signals are being jammed."

"What about the foot messengers?"

"Three men were sent out, and none have returned."

Amin's hands began to tremble. He had been a soldier for twenty-three years and had never encountered such a situation—the enemy opened fire from within his defensive lines, destroyed his anti-aircraft guns, and then crossed the river to breach the first line of defense. His units hadn't even figured out exactly how many enemies there were.

"Withdraw," he said. "Retreat to the southern tip of the peninsula."

The adjutant was stunned for a moment: "Colonel, retreating without orders is desertion in the face of the enemy."

"Without orders?" Amin pointed out the window. "Look outside. The enemy's artillery fire has already covered the entire brigade headquarters. If we don't leave now, we'll all die here."

At 4:45 AM, Amin led the three hundred-plus people from the brigade headquarters and began retreating toward the southern tip of the peninsula.

What he didn't know was that his retreat order had been intercepted by Hassan's radio monitoring team.

4:50 AM, Ahvaz.

"Your Highness," Karimi said, "we've intercepted the Iraqi brigade's communications. They are retreating. Toward the southern tip of the peninsula."

Reza's eyes lit up.

"Rezai," he picked up the microphone, "the Iraqi brigade is retreating south. You don't need to fight your way through anymore; just pursue them directly. Catch up to them and trap them at the southern tip of the peninsula. Don't let them escape."

"Understood."

Rezai left one battalion to clear the battlefield and led the main force in pursuit to the south.

The geography of the peninsula is long and narrow, about sixty kilometers north to south and five to fifteen kilometers east to west. The Iraqis were retreating south, the Iranians were pursuing from the north, and there was only one road in between.

Rezai's troops used captured trucks and armored vehicles to race south along the road. At a speed of sixty kilometers per hour, a sixty-kilometer journey would take only an hour.

Meanwhile, the Iraqi retreat column consisted of soldiers on foot plus a few trucks, with a speed not exceeding ten kilometers per hour.

5:30 AM, the middle section of the Fao Peninsula.

Rezai's troops caught up with the tail end of the Iraqi column.

The battle lasted for twenty minutes. The Iraqi rearguard was shattered; over thirty were killed, and more than forty were captured. Colonel Amin continued to flee south with the main force, but his speed was even slower now—to evade pursuit, he abandoned the road and led his troops into the roadside palm groves.

The paths in the palm groves were even harder to navigate. Trucks couldn't enter, so the infantry had to walk. Their speed dropped from ten kilometers per hour to five.

Meanwhile, Rezai's troops continued south along the road, bypassing the palm groves to wait for them at the southern tip of the peninsula.

7:00 AM, the southern tip of the Fao Peninsula.

When Colonel Amin led his remaining troops out of the palm groves, what he saw were rows of Iranian tanks and armored vehicles.

"Lay down your weapons! Surrender and you will not be killed!"

Amin was silent for a long time.

Behind him, over three hundred soldiers were looking at him. Some were barefoot, some had lost their rifles, and some were wounded. They had run from 4:00 AM to 7:00 AM, covering twenty kilometers in three hours; they were exhausted, hungry, and terrified.

"Colonel," the adjutant whispered, "we have no way out."

Amin closed his eyes.

He thought of his family—his wife in Basra, his two sons attending school in Baghdad, and his youngest daughter, who was only five. If he died here, what would happen to them?

He opened his eyes and said one sentence: "Lay down your weapons."

At 7:15 AM, the battle for the Fao Peninsula had basically ended.

Of the three thousand one hundred Iraqi defenders, four hundred and twenty were killed, two thousand six hundred were captured, and fewer than a hundred escaped in the chaos. On the Iranian side, ninety-eight were killed and two hundred and thirteen were wounded.

In the brigade headquarters building, Rezai found a document left behind by Colonel Amin—the complete defense plan for the Fao Peninsula, including minefield distribution maps, coordinates for firing points, and troop deployments.

"Good stuff," Rezai said to the signalman. "Send it to His Highness."

8:00 AM, Ahvaz.

Reza received Rezai's report: "Fao Peninsula is fully under control. Captured two thousand six hundred men, including the Iraqi Brigade Commander. Seized twelve tanks, twenty-five armored vehicles, and eighteen artillery pieces. Our side suffered ninety-eight fatalities."

A cheer erupted in the operations room.

Hassan's deputy, Ali, raised his teacup and shouted: "Fao is ours!"

Reza didn't smile. He walked over to the map and looked at Basra.

"Rezai did a good job," he said, "but now is not the time to celebrate."

"Rajai," he picked up the microphone, "have your men crossed the river?"

"Half have already crossed. The other half are in the process of crossing."

"Pick up the pace. The Fao Peninsula has been taken, and the southern gateway to Basra is open. The Iraqis will react soon. Your troops must break into Basra before they can reorganize their defensive lines in the south."

"Understood."

9:00 AM, Basra.

The Commander of the Iraqi Southern Military District, Lieutenant General Shangshale, received the news of the fall of the Fao Peninsula.

His first reaction was disbelief—how could three thousand men defending a peninsula lose it in just six hours?

But when Colonel Amin's adjutant reported the entire process to him via radio, his face turned pale.

"The Iranians knocked out the brigade's anti-aircraft guns and communications from the inside, then crossed the river to breach the first line of defense. The Brigade Commander ordered a retreat, but they were caught on the road and then trapped at the southern tip of the peninsula."

Shangshale hung up the phone and paced back and forth in his office.

With the Fao Peninsula lost, the southern gateway to Basra was open. The Iranians could set off from the peninsula, use pontoon bridges to cross the Shatt al-Arab, and attack Basra directly from the south.

And on his defensive line south of Basra, he only had a single battalion's worth of troops.

"Send a telegram to Baghdad," he said to his staff officer. "The Fao Peninsula has fallen. Requesting reinforcements."

10:00 AM, Ahvaz.

Reza received a message from Rajai: "The 2nd Division has completely crossed the river. We are advancing toward Basra to the south. Estimated arrival at the outskirts of Basra in two hours."

"What about Sadiq's 1st Division?"

"The 1st Division has begun deploying defenses. Minefields have been laid, and anti-tank firing positions are in place. If the Iraqis counterattack from the north, they will have to pay a price of at least five hundred men to break through."

Reza nodded.

Now, he was only waiting for one thing—for Rajai to reach the outskirts of Basra and begin the siege.

He walked to the window and looked at the sky outside.

The cloud cover was thick, but sunlight still leaked through the gaps in the clouds.

"Fao Peninsula," he thought, "is taken."

Then he took out that deep blue notebook and wrote a line on the newest page:

"Fao Peninsula, six hours. Two thousand six hundred captured, ninety-eight killed. The gateway is open. Next stop, Basra."

He closed the notebook and walked back into the operations room.

The war had only just begun.