170: Chapter 167 Expedition

March 10, 1982, 4:00 AM.

Colonel Hamid and his squad were inside Iraq.

They had been walking for six hours.

Their target was a crucial bridge—the main highway bridge from Baghdad to Basra.

If this bridge were destroyed, Iraq's north-south transport would be cut off.

But the bridge was heavily guarded.

There was an Iraqi military camp at the bridgehead. There was a company of soldiers in the camp.

Colonel Hamid's squad had only twelve men.

They could not attack head-on.

They had to approach the bridge secretly, plant explosives, and then retreat.

4:10 AM.

Colonel Hamid's squad reached the vicinity of the bridge.

They hid in a patch of woods.

Hamid observed the bridge with binoculars.

There were two sentries at the bridgehead.

An armored vehicle was patrolling on the bridge.

There were also two sentries at the other end of the bridge.

"What do we do?" the adjutant asked.

Hamid thought for a moment.

"We'll split into two groups," he said. "One group to the bridgehead, one group to the far end. Move simultaneously."

"What about the sentries?"

"Silent takedowns," Hamid said. "We brought suppressed pistols and knives."

The adjutant nodded.

4:20 AM.

The two groups began to move.

The group led by Hamid was responsible for the bridgehead.

They quietly approached the sentries.

The sentries did not discover them.

One of Hamid's soldiers lunged at a sentry from behind and slit his throat with a knife.

The first sentry was dead.

Just as the second sentry was about to call for help, he was hit by another soldier's pistol.

A silent shot.

The second sentry was also dead.

The group at the far end of the bridge also succeeded.

All four sentries were dead.

But there was still the armored vehicle.

Hamid ordered the group at the far end via radio.

"Attack when the armored vehicle reaches the middle of the bridge."

"Understood."

4:25 AM.

The armored vehicle drove from the bridgehead toward the far end.

It had reached the middle of the bridge.

Hamid's squad attacked from both ends simultaneously.

They used anti-tank rocket launchers.

Two rockets struck the armored vehicle at the same time.

Explosion.

The armored vehicle was destroyed.

But the sound of the explosion alerted the Iraqi soldiers in the camp.

The lights in the camp turned on.

The Iraqi soldiers began to assemble.

Hamid's squad had no time left.

"Plant the explosives!" he shouted.

His soldiers rushed onto the bridge and began planting the explosives.

They had already calculated it beforehand. Fifty kilograms of explosives needed to be planted on the bridge's key support points.

Each soldier was carrying ten kilograms of explosives.

Five soldiers, fifty kilograms.

Perfect.

4:30 AM.

The explosives were planted.

The Iraqi soldiers began to advance toward the bridge.

"Retreat!" Hamid shouted.

His squad began to retreat.

But the Iraqi soldiers had already approached the bridgehead.

The battle began.

Hamid's squad returned fire with rifles and machine guns.

The Iraqi soldiers returned fire with the same weapons.

Bullets flew across the bridge.

One of Hamid's soldiers was hit.

He fell.

"Retreat!" Hamid shouted. "Get out, fast!"

His squad retreated while fighting.

They retreated to a concealed position at the bridgehead.

Hamid took out the detonator.

"Prepare for detonation," he said.

"Wait," the adjutant said. "Our man is still on the bridge."

Hamid glanced at the bridge.

Ali—a young Special Forces soldier—lay on the bridge.

He was still moving.

He was still alive.

"Let's go save him," the adjutant said.

Hamid shook his head.

"No," he said. "The Iraqi soldiers are already approaching him. If we go to save him, we will all die."

"But—"

"Mission first," Hamid said.

The adjutant fell silent.

He knew that Hamid was right.

But he couldn't accept it.

Ali was still alive.

But they were going to blow him up along with the bridge.

Hamid picked up the radio.

"Ali," he said.

"Colonel." Ali's voice came through the radio. His voice was weak.

"I'm sorry," Hamid said.

"I know," Ali said. "Colonel, press the button."

Hamid's eyes welled up with tears.

"For Iran," Ali said. "For our people."

"For Iran," Hamid said.

He pressed the button.

A massive explosion.

The middle section of the bridge was blown apart.

Dozens of Iraqi soldiers, along with Ali, were blown into the sky.

The two sections of the bridge collapsed into the river.

The mission was accomplished.

Baghdad, Saddam Hussein's office.

5:00 AM.

Saddam Hussein was woken up by a phone call.

He listened to the report.

In one night, Iran had destroyed twenty pieces of Iraq's critical infrastructure.

Bridges, railways, tunnels, gas stations.

Iraq's transport system was paralyzed.

Chemical weapons could not be transported from the factories to the front lines.

It would take at least two weeks to recover.

Saddam Hussein's expression changed.

"The Eagle," he said. "The Eagle is a liar."

"What?" the Chief of Staff asked.

"The Eagle told me to delay the attack," Saddam Hussein said. "He said Iran was preparing a counterattack. But in reality, Iran was preparing to destroy our transport system. The Eagle is helping Iran."

The Chief of Staff thought for a moment.

"Perhaps the Eagle has been captured by Iran," he said. "Perhaps Iran is using him as a channel to pass on false information."

Saddam Hussein fell silent.

This was a serious possibility.

If the Eagle had been captured by Iran, then Iran had already grasped a channel to communicate with the Iraqi intelligence system.

"Find the Eagle," Saddam Hussein said. "I want to know if he is still alive, or if he has already been captured."

"Yes."

The Chief of Staff left.

Saddam Hussein sat in his chair.

He knew that the situation in this war was deteriorating.

Iran was smarter than Iraq in every aspect.

Iran's intelligence system was deceiving Iraq.

Iran's Special Forces were operating inside Iraq.

Iran's missiles had struck Iraq's critical infrastructure.

Iraq needed a new strategy.

"Perhaps I should consider a truce," Saddam Hussein thought.

But he immediately suppressed this thought.

Cannot have a truce.

If there was a truce, Iraq would be considered the loser.

His own regime might be shaken.

He had to continue fighting.

No matter what the cost.

Ahvaz, Reza's office.

Karimi reported to Reza.

"Mission accomplished," he said. "Twenty targets, all destroyed."

"Our losses?" Reza asked.

"Special Forces," Karimi said. "Out of fifty soldiers, eight sacrificed their lives."

Reza closed his eyes.

Eight soldiers.

Eight families.

Eight Iranian heroes.

"Their names," Reza said. "I want their names."

"I will give them to you."

"Also," Reza said, "their families, the Iranian government will take care of them. Their children, the Iranian government will raise them. Their parents, the Iranian government will support them."

"Yes."

"And," Reza said, "I want to write a letter to their families personally. Every single family."

"Your Excellency Reza," Karimi said, "you don't need to do this. This is a soldier's job."

"I need to do this," Reza said. "They died for me. I want their families to know that their sacrifice was worth it."

Karimi fell silent.

He knew that Reza was a special leader.

Reza didn't just care about victory in the war.

Reza also cared about the life of every soldier.

"I will prepare the names and family information," Karimi said.

"Thank you."

Karimi left.

Reza sat in his office.

He picked up a report.

The report contained photos of those eight soldiers.

They were all very young. The oldest was twenty-six, the youngest was nineteen.

They all had dreams.

They all had families.

They all died for Iran.

Looking at these photos, Reza's eyes welled up with tears.

He apologized to them in his heart.

He made a promise to them in his heart.

He would win this war.

He would ensure their sacrifice was not in vain.

He would make Iran stronger.

He wrote a line in his notebook:

"Today, eight Iranian heroes died. But their deaths have bought Iran two weeks of time. Within these two weeks, we must do more. Within these two weeks, we must make Iraq pay a greater price."

He closed the notebook.

The phone rang.

It was Fatima.

"I have some good news," she said.

"What?"

"We have received a promise from China," Fatima said. "They will ship one hundred thousand sets of chemical defense equipment to Iran within two weeks."

Reza's face broke into a smile.

"Very good," he said. "This is what we need."

"But there is a problem," Fatima said. "The price China is asking for is very high."

"How much?"

"Five billion rials."

Reza thought for a moment.

"Approve it," he said.

"Your Excellency Reza—"

"Approve it," Reza said. "The lives of one million people are more important than five billion rials."

Fatima fell silent.

"Yes," she finally said.

The phone hung up.

Reza sat in his office.

He thought about all the decisions he had made.

Every decision was heavy.

Every decision involved lives.

But he had to make them.

Because this was his responsibility.

He was the leader of Iran.

He had to protect his people.

No matter what the cost.