112: Chapter 109 Collapse

February 21, 1981, 2:00 PM, Basra.

The last message Lieutenant General Shangshale received from Baghdad was: "Reinforcements are assembling and are expected to arrive within forty-eight hours. Hold your position; surrender is not permitted."

Forty-eight hours.

He glanced at the water glass on the table; only half a cup of murky water remained. Since the tap water had been cut off, the soldiers had begun drinking water from the cisterns. That water had been stored since last year's rainy season; it had turned green and tasted like rotting mud. But now, no one cared about the taste.

"General," the staff officer pushed the door open and entered, "the Iranians have advanced another three hundred meters. They have occupied the Post Office Building and the Telecommunications Bureau."

The Post Office Building was eight hundred meters west of the headquarters. The Telecommunications Bureau was six hundred meters to the north. Both buildings were over six stories tall; once occupied, they would provide a commanding view of the entire defensive perimeter.

"Send a battalion to counterattack and retake the post office."

"General, a counterattack requires ammunition. We only have two hundred RPG warheads left. If we use them for a counterattack, our defense will be gone."

Lieutenant General Shangshale fell silent for a long time.

He walked to the window and looked toward the post office through his binoculars. The Iranians had already set up heavy machine guns and observation posts on the top floor of the Post Office Building. Their movements were swift and methodical—they didn't look like a makeshift force, but more like well-trained professional soldiers.

"Who is the Iranian commander?" he suddenly asked.

"Intelligence says it's Reza Pahlavi."

Lieutenant General Shangshale's hand paused.

Pahlavi. The son of the former Shah. He fought a battle at the Pump Station, another on the Fao Peninsula, and now he was fighting a third in Basra. He had won every single one.

"Isn't he commanding from Ahvaz? How is his style as decisive as a frontline commander?"

"His frontline commander is named Rajai, a man he brought from the Pump Station. His Highness sets the strategy, and Rajai handles the execution. The two of them cooperate very closely."

Lieutenant General Shangshale lowered his binoculars.

"Send a telegram to Baghdad," he said. "Tell them that if reinforcements do not arrive within forty-eight hours, Basra cannot be held."

4:00 PM, Basra city center, Post Office Building.

Rajai stood on the fifth floor of the Post Office Building, observing the Iraqi defensive perimeter with binoculars.

From this angle, he could clearly see Lieutenant General Shangshale's headquarters building—a gray four-story structure surrounded by three rings of sandbags and concrete barriers. There were two anti-aircraft machine guns on the roof, pointed at the sky, but they were actually being used for direct fire against ground targets.

"Your Highness," Rajai picked up the handset, "I can see their headquarters. Distance is eight hundred meters, four stories, with two anti-aircraft machine guns on the roof. There are about five hundred men defending the perimeter."

"Can we take it out with MILAN missiles?"

"Yes. But the headquarters building is a reinforced concrete structure. A MILAN missile can only penetrate the walls; it won't collapse the entire building."

"It doesn't need to collapse," Reza said. "Fire a few rounds in to create panic. Let Lieutenant General Shangshale know we can take his life at any time."

"Understood."

Rajai had the Anti-tank team set up the MILAN missile launcher behind a fifth-floor window. They aimed at the second floor of the headquarters building—intelligence indicated that Lieutenant General Shangshale's office was on the second floor.

"Fire."

The missile flew out of the window, trailing a white smoke trail. It crossed the eight-hundred-meter distance and accurately struck a window on the second floor of the headquarters building.

The explosion occurred indoors. Windows, walls, and glass shards flew outward, and black smoke billowed from the hole.

Three seconds later, a second missile hit the third floor.

After another three seconds, a third hit one of the anti-aircraft machine guns on the roof. The machine gun's ammunition was detonated, blowing a large hole in the roof.

4:05 PM, headquarters building.

Lieutenant General Shangshale was knocked to the ground by the blast's shockwave the moment the missile hit.

His desk was blown to pieces, and documents scattered through the air like snowflakes. A piece of broken brick struck his left shoulder, and blood seeped out from under his uniform.

"General!" An adjutant rushed in from the hallway. "You're wounded!"

"It's not a major injury," Lieutenant General Shangshale climbed up from the floor, clutching his shoulder. "Where are the Iranians?"

"The Post Office Building. They used anti-tank missiles."

Lieutenant General Shangshale's face turned ashen. From a distance of eight hundred meters, an anti-tank missile had flown directly into his office. If he had been sitting at his desk instead of standing by the window, he would be dead.

"Move the command post to the basement," he said. "Tell everyone that from now on, no officers are allowed to stay above the second floor."

5:00 PM, Ahvaz.

Reza received Rajai's report: "Precision strikes have been carried out on the Iraqi headquarters building. Three hits; the second and third floors are severely damaged. The Iraqis are moving their command post to the basement."

"Casualties?"

"Unclear. But their communication frequency has dropped significantly. It's possible their communication equipment was destroyed."

"Good. Continue to maintain pressure. Fire one round every hour until they can't take it anymore."

"Is there enough ammunition?"

"Yes. The pontoon bridge at the Fao Peninsula has been transporting supplies continuously. There are still three hundred MILAN missiles in stock."

Reza hung up the handset and turned to look at Karimi.

"What about the rest of the Republican Guard?"

"After the vanguard was crippled by Rezai, the following units stopped forty kilometers north of Basra. They are waiting for the artillery to come up."

"How long?"

"At least twelve hours. Their Self-propelled artillery can't keep up with the speed of the tanks."

"Twelve hours is enough," Reza said. "In twelve hours, the situation in Basra will undergo a fundamental change."

"What change?"

Lieutenant General Shangshale will surrender."

Karimi looked at him: "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure. Thirty-five thousand men squeezed into a two-kilometer circle, with no water, no electricity, insufficient ammunition, the headquarters hit by missiles, reinforcements ambushed, and communications cut. In this situation, what would a rational commander do?"

"Surrender?"

"No. He will first try to contact Baghdad to request permission to break out or surrender. When Baghdad refuses, he will make his own decision."

"Baghdad wouldn't refuse, would they? Thirty-five thousand men—"

"Saddam Hussein will refuse," Reza said. "Saddam Hussein doesn't allow anyone to surrender. In his eyes, surrendering is more shameful than dying in battle. He will order Lieutenant General Shangshale to fight to the last man."

"Then will Lieutenant General Shangshale obey?"

"No. Lieutenant General Shangshale is a professional soldier, not a madman. He knows that sacrificing all thirty-five thousand men in Basra does no good for Iraq. He will defy Saddam Hussein's orders."