120: Chapter 117 Chain

March 29, 1981, 8:00 AM, Baghdad.

Saddam Hussein stood in the corridor of the Presidential Palace, clutching a report in his hand.

The E-7 ammunition depot in the eastern sector of the Samarra Chemical weapons base had been blown up.

Five hundred mustard gas shells and two hundred sarin warheads—all destroyed.

The area within three kilometers of the base was contaminated by poison gas; over three hundred base personnel showed symptoms of poisoning, and seventeen had died.

"Who did this?" Saddam Hussein's voice was as harsh as broken glass.

Intelligence Chief Barzan stood three steps behind him: "Preliminary judgment is that it was internal personnel cooperating with external infiltration. The east gate lock of the ammunition depot was manually opened, and the wire fence was cut. We are screening all personnel who were on duty that night."

"How soon can you find out?"

"Interrogations are underway. All Shia soldiers have been isolated—"

"Shia?" Saddam Hussein turned around abruptly.

"Yes. We suspect internal Shia personnel cooperated with Iranian intelligence agencies."

"Remove all Shia officers from sensitive positions. All of them. Not just in Samarra, but at all military bases."

"Mr. President, Shia officers make up forty percent of the army. Removing them all—"

"Remove them all. If you don't, your office might be the next one blown up."

Intelligence Chief Barzan lowered his head.

Three days later, Major Jassim was arrested.

The interrogation lasted forty-eight hours.

Jassim didn't say anything—not because he was brave, but because he truly didn't know the true identities or the retreat route of Ali and the other three.

He only knew a shortwave frequency and a contact code.

Saddam Hussein ordered Jassim to be executed.

Firing squad.

Along with his five Shia colleagues in Samarra, regardless of whether there was evidence, he had them all executed.

At the same time, Saddam Hussein re-mobilized a batch of ammunition from Chemical weapons reserves across the country.

The quantity was less than what had been destroyed—only one hundred and fifty mustard gas shells and fifty sarin warheads.

But he had no time to wait for new production.

"Before the end of April, we must counterattack Basra," he said to Khairallah, "Use these for the Chemical weapons first. If that's not enough, transfer more from other bases."

April 1, Ahvaz.

Ali's four-man team finally returned to Iranian territory after three days of being out of contact.

They had crossed the border from the Kurdish region in northern Iraq—taking a huge detour, walking over six hundred kilometers, crossing half of Iraq.

The four of them had lost over ten pounds each, their faces were covered in dust, and their clothes were as tattered as beggars'.

But all four were alive.

Reza Pahlavi personally greeted them at the Ahvaz airport.

"Ali."

Ali straightened his body and gave a military salute: "Your Highness, mission accomplished. The E-7 ammunition depot has been destroyed."

"Casualties?"

"No personnel losses."

Reza Pahlavi stepped forward and patted Ali on the shoulder.

He didn't say anything, just patted him twice.

The rims of Ali's eyes turned red.

Then Reza Pahlavi turned to Hassan and said: "Give all four of them a first-class merit."

"Should we report their names?"

"Do not report them. Do not announce it to the public. Only those present should know about this matter."

April 3, Ahvaz.

Fatima brought one piece of good news and one piece of bad news.

Good news: The French chemical protective suits had finally arrived.

The first batch of thirty thousand sets, transported via Turkey, had already reached the western border of Iran.

"Did President Mitterrand relent?" Reza Pahlavi asked.

"Ponce said that President Mitterrand saw the news of the Samarra explosion and realized the seriousness of the Chemical weapons issue. Plus, your media threat worked—he didn't want to be cursed by the whole world for standing by and watching people die."

"Are thirty thousand sets enough?"

"It's barely enough for the frontline troops. But if Saddam Hussein uses missiles to attack cities, what about the civilians? Thirty thousand protective suits can't protect millions of people."

Bad news: Fatima's intelligence network intercepted an internal Iraqi document showing that Saddam Hussein was urgently purchasing a new batch of Scud missile from the Soviet Union.

"Is he going to use the Scud missile to carry sarin warheads to attack our cities?"

"Not certain. But the possibility exists."

Reza Pahlavi was silent for a few seconds.

"What is the range of the Scud Missile?"

"The improved version has a range of about six hundred kilometers. It can cover Tehran."

"What about interception methods?"

"We don't have an anti-missile system. The Persia-4 Missile can hit aircraft, but it can't hit ballistic missiles. Ballistic missiles fly at speeds exceeding Mach 5, and our radar reaction time isn't enough."

"Then what should we do?"

Fatima adjusted her glasses: "Two ways. First, destroy the launchers before the missiles are fired—but we don't know where the launchers are. Second, develop an anti-missile system—but that requires at least two to three years."

"We don't have two to three years. Saddam Hussein is going to counterattack at the end of April."

"Then only the first method remains. Find the launchers and blow them up before the missiles are launched."

"How do we find them?"

"The Scud missile launchers are mobile—MAZ-543 eight-wheeled trucks. Iraq has about thirty of them. These trucks can fire on any flat ground; they don't need fixed positions. Finding them is very difficult."

"Very difficult does not mean impossible."

"Yes. If we can establish a surveillance network in western Iraq—the most likely launch area for the Scud Missile—and use Special Forces in coordination with aerial reconnaissance, we can theoretically discover and destroy the launchers."

"How many people are needed?"

"At least three special operations teams, distributed in three areas in western Iraq, monitoring twenty-four hours a day. Plus the coordination of aerial reconnaissance."

Reza Pahlavi turned to look at Hassan: "Can you do it?"

Hassan thought for a moment: "It can be done. But it takes time to deploy. The people who just returned from Samarra need rest. New teams need training. At the fastest, it will take two weeks."

"You have ten days."

April 5, Tehran.

Bani-Sadr received the detailed report of the Samarra explosion in the Presidential Palace.

He read it twice.

The first time, he was shocked—Reza Pahlavi had sent people to infiltrate four hundred kilometers into the heart of Iraq and blow up a Chemical weapons base.

This was an operation he hadn't even dared to imagine.

The second time, he was afraid—Reza Pahlavi had done such a big thing without reporting to him beforehand, and even after the fact, he only gave a simple notification.

This showed that Reza Pahlavi no longer regarded him, the "Commander-in-Chief," at all.

"He is becoming increasingly uncontrollable," Bani-Sadr said to his assistant.

"Mr. President, His Highness's actions saved the lives of potentially tens of thousands of people—"

"I know! But the problem isn't what he did; it's how he did it. A frontline commander, unilaterally sending Special Forces to infiltrate the enemy's hinterland to execute a strategic-level mission without the approval of the Supreme Defense Council—what is this? This is acting arbitrarily."

The assistant did not respond.

"I want to talk to the Ayatollah again," Bani-Sadr said, "This time, it's not just a matter of stripping him of power."