111: Chapter 108 Strangulation

February 21, 1981, 6:00 AM, Basra.

The day had broken.

Rajai looked out from the top floor of a three-story building. The streets of Basra were unnaturally quiet in the morning light—no cars, no people, not even a dog barking. Residents hid in their houses, afraid to come out, while Iraqi soldiers huddled in their fortifications, waiting for orders.

"A telegram from His Highness," the signalman said. "General offensive on all lines."

Rajai took a deep breath and picked up the microphone: "Attention all units of the 2nd Division—the offensive begins."

Six thousand men deployed from three intersections in two directions. The first echelon pushed north, aiming to link up with the 3rd Division to the north and compress the Iraqis in the northern part of the city into the smallest possible area. The second echelon pushed south, aiming to clear the remaining enemies in the southern part of the city.

But just five minutes after the offensive began, they encountered a problem.

The Iraqis had reorganized their defensive lines during the night. They had pulled back their forces from the north and south of the city into the city center, constructing a circular defensive perimeter with a radius of about two kilometers, centered on the Southern Military District Headquarters building.

The outer edge of the defensive perimeter consisted of barricades and sandbag fortifications, with heavy machine guns and anti-tank rockets at every intersection. Inside the perimeter were the headquarters building and several sturdy government buildings, where the Iraqis had mounted sniper rifles and machine guns in the windows.

Lieutenant General Shangshale had concentrated his thirty-five thousand men into a two-kilometer circle. The density was extremely high, and the firepower was incredibly dense.

Rajai's first echelon had just advanced to a position five hundred meters from the defensive perimeter when they were suppressed by intense fire. Two heavy machine guns swept down from a six-story building, their bullets striking the street surface and kicking up strings of sparks. A squad was ambushed while crossing a road, and four men fell on the spot.

"Stop! Don't charge blindly!" Rajai shouted into the radio.

He lay behind a low wall, using binoculars to observe the Iraqi defensive perimeter.

"They've pulled everyone together," he muttered to himself. "It's hedgehog tactics. They've curled into a ball, leaving you nowhere to bite."

He picked up the microphone: "Your Highness, the Iraqis have withdrawn to the city center. It's a circular defense with heavy firepower. A direct assault will result in high casualties."

There were a few seconds of silence from the Ahvaz side.

Then Reza's voice came through: "No direct assault. Besiege them."

"Besiege them until when?"

"Until they collapse on their own. With thirty-five thousand people squeezed into a two-kilometer circle, what will they eat? What will they drink? How long can their ammunition last? Where is their water source?"

Rajai's mind raced through the details.

Water—Basra's water plant was in the north of the city and was already controlled by the 3rd Division.

Electricity—the power plant was in the east of the city, and Iranian artillery had already destroyed it.

Ammunition—the Iraqi ammunition depot was in the military base on the west side of the city, which had been occupied by Rajai's men.

"They have no water, no electricity, and limited ammunition," Reza said. "Besiege them for three days. After three days, they will either surrender or die of thirst."

"Three days... is our ammunition and supply enough?"

"The pontoon bridge at the Fao Peninsula is now open. Rezai's men are transporting ammunition and supplies to Basra. Your supply line will not be cut."

"What about the Republican Guard?"

"Rezai's ambush units are already waiting for them on the reinforcement route."

9:00 AM, seventy kilometers north of Basra, Highway 6.

The vanguard of the Iraqi Republican Guard's 4th Brigade—thirty T-72 Tanks and twenty BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles—was racing south along the highway.

The convoy was moving fast, at a speed exceeding fifty kilometers per hour. They were Iraq's most elite troops, equipped with the best weapons and having undergone the strictest training. The orders received by the brigade commander, Brigadier General Abdul-Rahman, were clear: open the passage to Basra at all costs.

"Twenty kilometers ahead, northern outskirts of Basra," the scout vehicle reported via radio. "The highway is clear; no Iranian positions detected."

Brigadier General Rahman nodded. The Iranian forces were limited and should all be concentrated in the Basra urban area. There wouldn't be an ambush on the highway.

He was wrong.

In the sand dunes and palm groves on both sides of the highway, two thousand of Rezai's soldiers had been lying in wait all night.

Their weapons consisted of fifty MILAN missile launchers, one hundred improved RPGs, and two thousand Anti-tank mines. The mines were buried on the highway, covered with sand, leaving no trace.

Rezai lay on top of a sand dune, watching the distant dust clouds through his binoculars.

"They're coming," he said softly. "Wait for them to enter the minefield."

9:15 AM.

The lead tank of the Republican Guard rolled over the first mine.

The explosion was deafening. The T-72 Tank's left track was blown off, and the tank swerved violently to the left, crashing into a sand pile by the roadside and coming to a halt.

The second tank braked hard, trying to bypass it. But the second mine was buried right in front of it. Another explosion followed; the tank's chassis was blown through, and thick smoke billowed from the bottom.

"Fire!" Rezai ordered.

Fifty MILAN missiles were launched simultaneously. White smoke trails traced fifty arcs in the sky, flying toward the convoy on the highway from the sand dunes and palm groves on both sides.

The hit rate exceeded eighty percent.

Thirty-two out of the forty tanks and infantry fighting vehicles were hit within three minutes. Some exploded on the spot, some caught fire, and others overturned by the roadside. Thick black smoke rose above the highway like a massive black mushroom.

The remaining eight tanks attempted to fight back. The T-72 Tank turrets turned toward the sand dunes on both sides, and their main guns began to fire. The 125mm shells blasted deep craters into the dunes.

But the MILAN missile launch positions were spread across a one-kilometer range, and the Iraqi tanks' fire could not suppress all targets at once. A second round of MILAN missiles was launched, destroying five more vehicles.

The last three T-72 Tanks turned around to flee north. But the highway was littered with burning wreckage, and the passage was blocked. The tankers could only abandon their vehicles and run north on foot.

9:25 AM, Ahvaz.

"Your Highness," Karimi's voice trembled slightly, "Rezai's ambush was a success. The vanguard of the Republican Guard's 4th Brigade has been annihilated. Twenty-eight T-72 Tanks and seventeen BMP-1 infantry fighting vehicles were destroyed. Approximately three hundred were killed, and one hundred and fifty were taken prisoner."

A burst of suppressed cheering broke out in the operations room.

Reza did not smile. He walked to the map and looked at the highway north of Basra.

"The vanguard has been wiped out, but the follow-up forces are still on the way. Rahman will reorganize the offensive. Tell Rezai to move his positions; don't wait in the same spot. The Iraqis will blanket his position with artillery fire."

"One more thing," Karimi said. "Radio traffic from Baghdad has increased sharply. Saddam Hussein may be preparing new reinforcements."

"From where are they drawing troops?"

"It's unclear. Possibly reserves from the Northern Military District."

Reza's brow furrowed. If Saddam Hussein drew troops from the Northern Military District, the reinforcements could reach Basra within forty-eight hours. By then, the siege would turn into a two-front battle.

"Notify the 3rd Division," he said. "Speed up the advance from the north toward the city center. Three days is too long; I want it in two."

11:00 AM, Basra urban area.

Iraqi Southern Military District Headquarters building, third floor.

Lieutenant General Shangshale stood by the window, looking out at the city.

Thick smoke rose from several directions. Gunfire was intermittent. Occasionally, an explosion would occur, and the building would tremble slightly from the shockwave.

"Water," he turned to his adjutant and asked, "how much longer can our water last?"

"The tap water has been cut off. The water in the storage tanks will last about three days. If we ration it, five days."

"And ammunition?"

"We have plenty of rifle and machine gun ammunition. Anti-tank ammunition is running low—only three hundred RPG warheads and one hundred and twenty tank shells left."

"Food?"

"Dry rations for one week."

Lieutenant General Shangshale closed his eyes.

Water for three days, insufficient ammunition for a large-scale counterattack, and food for a week.

If reinforcements did not arrive within three days, his troops would collapse from lack of water.

"Collapse!!"