133: Chapter 130 Tikrit

Reza placed the blueprints for both plans together and looked at them for about two minutes.

"Do both," he said. "Continue waiting for the imported chips for the first plan, and install them whenever they arrive. Proceed with the domestic plan simultaneously until it reaches the level of mass production, but do not mass-produce it yet; keep it in reserve."

Fatima nodded and noted it down in her notebook.

"One more thing," Reza said. "Have those sixty-one T-72 Tanks been delivered?"

"Forty arrived last week, and twenty-one are still on the way. The road conditions aren't very good, so the heavy transport trucks are moving slowly."

"Have your people started dismantling the forty that arrived?"

"They have, but we made an unexpected discovery—" Fatima turned to another blueprint and laid it flat on the table. "The engine model in this batch of T-72 Tanks is different from what we previously thought. The ones the Soviet Union gave to Iraq are an improved version. The power output is about eight percent higher than the standard model, and there is an improved cooling system designed for the high-temperature desert environment. This improvement wasn't even widely equipped on the Soviet Union's own T-72 Tanks before 1981."

Reza studied the engine cross-section diagram for a while.

"In other words, the Soviet Union gave Saddam Hussein engines more advanced than those equipped on their own tanks," he said.

"Yes. I suspect the Soviet Union is using Iraq as a testing ground to verify the desert performance of this improved engine."

"Are you studying it?"

"We are. There are a few parameters that require more testing to figure out." There was a restrained excitement in Fatima's tone. "This batch of tanks is a treasure; my people are thrilled."

"Tell me when you're done. Reproduce as much as you can," Reza said. "Master everything you can learn; this is more valuable than buying a hundred tanks."

Fatima gathered the blueprints and was about to leave when Reza said, "When will the chips arrive?"

"At best, by the end of next month," she said. "But I have already made plans based on the worst-case scenario—that they will never arrive."

The phrase "worst-case scenario" was a habit of thought Reza had taught her. The first time she used the term, Reza had scribbled a note on the specification document for the Persia-3 Missile: "Plan for the worst-case scenario, adjust progress for the best-case scenario." Fatima had copied that line into her own notebook and would look it up whenever a new project began.

She left.

Reza reviewed all of today's information at his desk again—Jassim's letter, intelligence on the transfer of Chemical weapons, the plan for the Persia-4, and the T-72 Tank engine data.

Viewed individually, none of these matters were urgent.

But taken together, they formed a single signal—the ceasefire was just a posture of the war, not the end of the war.

Saddam Hussein was moving his pieces, slowly and quietly.

Reza was also moving his pieces.

It was just that neither of them had announced it; the game was still ongoing.

He took out his dark blue notebook and wrote a line at the end of today's entry:

"I am waiting for him to move first, and he is waiting for me to move first. In this waiting game, whoever loses their composure first loses the first round."

He closed the notebook, stood up, and went to find Karimi to confirm that Jassim's reward had been arranged.

The light in the hallway was dim yellow and quiet. On the wall hung a map that had been there since before the ceasefire. The border line on the map no longer matched the actual line of control, but no one had replaced it.

Reza walked down the hallway without stopping.

...

August 17, 1981, Ahvaz.

Jassim's second letter arrived.

This time there were no photos, but there were three things: a hand-drawn map, a six-digit coordinate, and a slip of paper with five names written on it.

Reza looked at the map first.

It was hand-drawn and not perfectly to scale, but the key landmarks were marked—a dirt road, an abandoned farm, a dry well on the east side of the farm, a barn about three hundred meters northwest of the dry well, and three squares drawn next to the barn with the number "3" written beside them.

The three launchers were at the location of those three squares.

Then came the coordinates.

Reza passed the coordinates to Karimi. Five minutes later, Karimi came in with a map, marked the coordinates on it, and compared them one by one with the landmarks on Jassim's hand-drawn map.

"The margin of error is about four kilometers," Karimi said. "Based on these coordinates, the barn should be here." He pointed to a spot on the map. "There are no large villages nearby; it's an agricultural area, mainly date palm plantations. The terrain is relatively open, with little cover."

"How many people are in the escort team?" Reza asked.

"The letter says twelve to fifteen people. It was the same number in the last letter; Jassim hasn't updated it."

"Where is Hassan?"

"In Basra, handling border infiltration issues."

"Call him here, today."

Hassan arrived at 4:30 PM, dusty and travel-worn, with Basra mud still on his boots. When he entered, he wiped his boots at the door before walking in.

Reza pushed Jassim's hand-drawn map, the coordinate paper, and the slip of paper with the names toward him.

Hassan looked at them for about three minutes without saying a word, then looked up. "How do you want to handle those three launchers?"

"First, let's talk about the list," Reza said. "How many of the five corps commanders' names do you recognize?"

Hassan picked up the list again and went through it from top to bottom.

"Mahmoud Shahwan, commander of the First Corps, from Tikrit, a fellow townsman of Saddam Hussein, a hardliner," Hassan began, going through them one by one. "Ali Zaid, Second Corps, a centrist who stands wherever the wind blows. Qasim Yasin, Third Corps; we know him. He commanded the right flank in the Battle of Al-Faw and held his ground firmly; he has some capability. Taha Ghanim, Fourth Corps, has good relations with the Soviet Union and advocates for rearmament, waiting for now. Ibrahim Nasser, Fifth Corps, the youngest and most radical; he is likely the one advocating to keep fighting."

"The distribution is exactly as Jassim said—two advocating for renegotiation, two waiting, and one to continue fighting," Reza said. "Compare them."

Hassan thought for a moment. "Taha Ghanim and Ali Zaid should be the two advocating for renegotiation; Qasim Yasin and Mahmoud Shahwan, advocating for waiting; Ibrahim Nasser, to continue fighting."

"What about Saddam Hussein himself?"

"He never states his position clearly. He lets others speak first while he watches from behind." Hassan paused. "But based on his patterns of behavior, he doesn't want to fight right now—not because he doesn't want to, but because he can't afford to lose. If he loses again, the morale in the army will collapse. What he wants now is time, using time to rebuild his advantage and then look for an opportunity."

This assessment matched Reza's.

"Those three Scud Missiles," Reza said. "Can you take them out?"