116: Chapter 113 Prisoner of War Camp

February 27, Basra, POW camp.

Reza personally went to the POW camp.

The POW camp was set up in a military base on the outskirts of Basra, where over thirty thousand Iraqi prisoners of war were held in barracks and tents. The conditions were not great, but much better than their days under siege—at least there was clean water and food.

Lieutenant General Shangshale was held alone in an office. The room was not big, but it had a bed, a table, and a chair. The windows had iron bars, and there were two Iranian soldiers guarding the door.

When Reza walked in, Lieutenant General Shangshale was sitting at the table, lost in thought.

"Lieutenant General."

Lieutenant General Shangshale looked up and saw Reza. His first reaction was surprise—he hadn't expected the actual commander of Iran to come see him in person.

"You are Reza Pahlavi?"

"Yes."

Lieutenant General Shangshale sized him up for a few seconds. The young man in front of him was younger than he had imagined—twenty-one, lean, black hair, deep-set eyes, and a shallow scar on his chin. He didn't look like a prince; he looked more like a frontline officer.

"I heard you fought your first battle at the Pump Station?"

"Yes."

"Sixty men held a Pump Station and blocked two Iraqi battalions. I should have paid attention to you back then."

Reza sat down across the table.

"Lieutenant General, I didn't come here to reminisce. I have a few questions to ask you."

"Ask."

"First, will Saddam Hussein use Chemical weapons?"

Lieutenant General Shangshale's expression changed.

He was silent for a long time, then said: "He is already considering it."

"What do you mean?"

"After Basra is lost, Saddam Hussein will go crazy. He is the type of person who values face more than life. Losing the second-largest city, he will feel his authority challenged. To save face, he will do anything."

"How many Chemical weapons does he have?"

"mustard gas and sarin. I am not sure about the specific quantity, but the Chemical weapons unit is directly under the Presidential Palace and not under the Southern Military District."

"Under what circumstances would he use them?"

"Two situations. First, during a counterattack on Basra, to quickly break through your defenses. Second, as a punitive strike—launching Scud missiles equipped with chemical warheads at Iranian cities."

Reza's eyes narrowed slightly.

"Second question," he said, "How many Shia officers are in the Iraqi army?"

Lieutenant General Shangshale looked at him and shook his head slightly: "You want to incite them to defect?"

"I want to give them a choice."

"Shia officers make up about forty percent of the Iraqi army. But senior officers—above the rank of brigade commander—are mostly Sunni. Saddam Hussein does not trust Shia generals."

"What about you? Are you Shia or Sunni?"

"I am Shia," Lieutenant General Shangshale said, "but I am a soldier, not a religious follower. I fight for Iraq, not for the Sunnis or the Shia."

"What if I gave you a chance—to take your soldiers and stand on the other side?"

Lieutenant General Shangshale was silent for a long time.

"I will not betray my country," he finally said, "but if one day, Iraq gets a better leader… I can help."

February 28, Ahvaz.

After Reza returned to Ahvaz from Basra, he did three things.

The first thing, he gave Fatima an order: immediately start developing anti-chemical equipment. Gas masks, protective suits, Chemical weapons detectors—everything that can protect against Chemical weapons, they must have it.

"Will Saddam Hussein use Chemical weapons?" Fatima asked.

"It's not a question of whether he will, but when."

"We can make gas masks, but protective suits require special materials—activated carbon filter layers. We don't have that production capacity domestically."

"Where can we get it?"

"France. Or Germany."

"Contact Ponce. Tell the French I need one hundred thousand protective suits, as fast as possible."

The second thing, he had Karimi organize a special intelligence team, code-named "Prophet."

The "Prophet" team had only one mission: to monitor every move of the Iraqi Chemical weapons unit.

"How to monitor?" Karimi asked.

"The Iraqi Chemical weapons unit is stationed in Samarra—one hundred and twenty kilometers north of Baghdad. I need someone in Samarra."

"Existing informants?"

"Not enough. Need to develop new ones. There must be Shia soldiers in the Samarra Chemical weapons base. Find them."

"It will take time."

"You have two months. In two months, Saddam Hussein might use Chemical weapons."

The third thing, he made a phone call to Ponce.

"Mr. Ponce, you should have already seen the battle report from Basra."

"I have," Ponce's voice was very enthusiastic, "the French government is very satisfied with the results. The performance of the MILAN missile exceeded our expectations."

"I need the French government to do me a favor."

"Please say it."

"The UN Security Council will soon discuss the Basra issue. Iraq will ask the Security Council to condemn Iran and demand that Iran withdraw its troops from Basra. I need France to abstain from voting in the Security Council."

Ponce was silent for three seconds: "This is a major political decision. President Mitterrand needs to consider it."

"Tell President Mitterrand, if France supports us in the Security Council, I will give France a big gift—the exclusive operating rights to the Port of Basra. Ten years."

Ponce's breathing visibly quickened.

The Port of Basra is one of the largest ports in the Persian Gulf. Exclusive operating rights mean billions of dollars in trade volume every year.

"I will convey this to the President."

Reza hung up the phone and leaned back in his chair.

"Your Highness," Karimi said from the side, "do you have the authority to give away the operating rights to the Port of Basra?"

"I don't. But the French don't know that."

"They will know eventually."

"By the time they know, France will have already abstained from voting in the Security Council. A vote cast cannot be taken back."

Karimi looked at him and said after a long while: "This move of yours is even more ruthless than fighting a war."

March 1, Ahvaz.

Reza stood on the rooftop of the command headquarters for a long time.

In the distance, the plains of Khuzestan glowed golden in the sunset. Further away was Basra, which he had just captured.

Half a year ago, he was still a forgotten royal outcast, guarding a Pump Station with sixty men.

Now, he was a war hero who had taken Iraq's second-largest city. All of Iran—no, all of the Middle East—was talking about his name.

But he knew, the real challenge had just begun.

Saddam Hussein would not give up. The threat of Chemical weapons was imminent. The political situation in Tehran was becoming increasingly complex. Bani-Sadr, Ayatollah Khomeini, Rafsanjani—everyone had their own agenda.

He took out that dark blue notebook and wrote a line on the newest page:

"Basra has been taken, but the war is far from over. Saddam Hussein will use Chemical weapons. I must be prepared before he acts."

He closed the notebook and glanced at the western skyline.

The sun had set.

Tomorrow would be a new day.