147: Chapter 144 The Eve of the Decisive Battle

November 16, 1981, the desert south of Kermanshah.

The final integration test took place before dawn.

This time, it wasn't just the seeker head working; the entire missile system was activated.

The radar, fire control system, missile body, and seeker head—all parts were working together.

It was a complete, real air defense missile system.

The target missile launched, reaching a speed of 1,200 kilometers per hour, the typical speed of a Scud missile.

The radar captured the target, the fire control system calculated the interception parameters, and the missile launched.

On the screen, two lines chased each other through the air.

The target missile made a sharp turn at an angle of nearly 120 degrees.

The missile followed the turn with a delay of only 0.1 seconds.

The target missile climbed to 4,000 meters, and the missile climbed with it.

The target missile performed a roll, and the missile's tracking showed a brief delay during the maneuver.

But it recovered immediately.

The distance narrowed from ten kilometers to five, then two, then one.

Fatima's hand rested on the intercept button.

She waited for the final moment.

The target missile made one last sharp turn at an altitude of 1,000 meters.

The missile's tracking was complete.

Fatima pressed the intercept button.

On the screen, the missile's trajectory and the target's trajectory intersected in the air.

A virtual explosion flashed on the screen.

Success.

But this time, there were no cheers.

The control room was silent.

Because everyone knew this wasn't just a technical success.

It was a historic moment. Iran's first independently developed air defense missile system was a success.

Fatima sat in her chair, staring at the virtual explosion on the screen.

There were tears in her eyes, but she did not cry.

Hassan walked over and patted her on the shoulder.

"You did it," he said.

Fatima nodded.

"Now," Hassan said, "we need production."

"Yes," Fatima said, "I need a production team."

"It's already being prepared," Hassan said. "Reza said he will provide you with a factory and a team. You need to produce the first batch of missiles before mid-December."

"How many!?"

"Ten," Hassan said, "ten operational Persian-4 Missiles."

Fatima looked at Hassan.

"Ten," she repeated, "ten missiles produced within a month."

"Yes," Hassan said, "that is Reza's requirement."

Fatima knew this was an impossible mission.

From design to production, from testing to quality control, producing ten missiles in a month would be a miracle in any country.

But she also knew she had to do it.

Because this wasn't just a technical issue; it was a political one.

Iran needed these missiles; Iran needed a functional air defense system by mid-December.

"I will do it," she said.

Ahvaz, Reza's office.

Reza was reading a military intelligence report.

In the past month, the Iraqi Air Force had conducted three large-scale bombing campaigns.

They bombed Iran's oil fields, ports, and military facilities.

Iran's air defense system had always been weak, unable to effectively intercept Iraqi bombers.

But all that was about to change.

Reza wrote a schedule in his notebook:

November 20: Persian-4 Missile production begins

December 10: First batch of missiles completes production and quality control

December 15: Missiles deployed to air defense positions

December 20: Iraq's next bombing campaign

The schedule was tight, but Reza believed it was achievable.

He picked up the phone and called Fatima.

"Was the integration test successful!?" he asked.

"It was," Fatima's voice came through the phone. "All systems are working normally."

"Very good," Reza said. "Now I need you to do something."

"What is it?"

"I need you to meet someone," Reza said. "His name is Mohammad Javadi, a general in the Iranian Air Force. He will give you a factory and a production team. You need to produce ten missiles within a month under his supervision."

"One month?" There was a hint of disbelief in Fatima's voice.

"Yes, one month," Reza said. "I know it's difficult, but it's necessary. The Iraqi bombings will continue, and we need air defense systems to protect our cities and facilities."

"I will do my best," Fatima said.

"Not your best," Reza said. "You must do it."

The call ended.

Reza sat in his office, looking out at Ahvaz.

He was in a very delicate position.

He had a new air defense missile system.

But he didn't have enough missiles yet to form an effective air defense network.

He had a disinformation plot in motion, but he had yet to see Iraq's true reaction.

He needed time, but time was running out.

Seventeen months remained.

But within these seventeen months, something important would happen every single day.

Baghdad, Iraqi General Staff Intelligence Department.

Hassan Rajab was reading a new report.

Karim was dead.

According to a report from an informant in Basra, Karim had died in a workplace accident.

His wife had already begun packing her things, preparing to leave Basra.

Hassan Rajab gave the report to Saddam Hussein.

After reading the report, Saddam fell silent for a long time.

"The informant is dead," he said. "What does this mean?"

"It could mean many things," Hassan Rajab said. "Perhaps the Iranians killed him because he was discovered. Perhaps he was an Iranian mole all along, and they no longer need him. Or perhaps he really did die in a workplace accident."

"Which do you think it is!?" Saddam asked.

"I believe it is the first or second," Hassan Rajab said. "The possibility of the third is very small."

Saddam paced back and forth in his office.

"This means our entire intelligence network in Basra may have been infiltrated by the Iranians," he said. "The informants we considered reliable might all be Iranian moles."

"Yes..." Hassan Rajab said.

"Then," Saddam said, "we need to rebuild our intelligence network. We need new informants, new channels, and new methods."

"That will take time," Hassan Rajab said.

"We don't have time," Saddam said. "What is Iran doing? What is Iran preparing? We need to know."

He stopped and looked at Hassan Rajab.

"Send someone to Kermanshah," he said. "I want to know what the Iranians are doing there. I have a feeling they are doing something very important in that place."

"Yes," Hassan Rajab said.

But in his heart, he knew it was already too late.

Iran had already completed their plan.

Now, Iraq could only wait—wait for Iran's next move.