38: Chapter 38 Chaos is the Stepping Stone

May 10, 1978, Afternoon.

The air in Ahvaz was baked almost transparent by the scorching sun, but within that transparency, thick black smoke was churning.

Outside Gate 3 of the Abadan Refinery, over three thousand workers were in a standoff with the Gendarmerie. Inside the barbed wire, the engines of several M113 armored personnel carriers belonging to the Gendarmerie roared, their heavy machine gun muzzles pointed dead at the crowd. Two corpses lay on the ground, bloodstains quickly drying and turning black under the high temperature—demonstrators killed during a tentative charge just moments ago.

"For the Prophet! For freedom! Down with the dictator!"

In the crowd, several men wearing ragged robes but with blue cloth strips secretly wrapped around their arms were screaming frantically. They were the "sparks" Hassan had sent out. Under their instigation, the workers' emotions had reached a breaking point.

On the top floor of a clock tower less than five hundred meters from Gate 3, Reza held a high-powered telescope, watching the scene expressionlessly.

"Your Highness, Colonel Nasser of the Gendarmerie is getting desperate," Hassan reported in a low voice, pressing his radio headset. "He just received a death order from Tehran—the refinery must not stop working, and any attackers are to be killed on sight. He is giving orders to the machine gunners."

Reza put down the telescope and checked his watch.

"How is the situation in Tehran right now?"

"It's complete chaos. The Bazaars are all closed, students are burning American flags in the streets, and the army is using tanks to clear the roads. I'm afraid the King doesn't even have the heart to eat lunch right now."

Reza gave a cold laugh. Pahlavi was still fantasizing about using force to maintain that crumbling throne, unaware that the real crisis never lay in the streets, but in the rift between people's hearts and the barrels of guns.

"The time has come." Reza straightened his crisp military uniform. "Hassan, take your men. Remember, we are to be 'saviors,' not 'executioners'."

"Understood!"

In front of Gate 3.

Colonel Nasser stood on an armored vehicle, megaphone in hand, shouting frantically while drenched in sweat: "Fall back! Final warning! One more step forward and we open fire!"

The response from the crowd was a barrage of stones and rotten eggs. A young worker suddenly rushed out of the crowd holding a gasoline bottle, screaming as he hurled it at the armored vehicle.

The moment the flames flared up, Colonel Nasser waved his hand in terror: "Fire! Fire!"

"Rat-tat-tat—!"

The heartbreaking tearing sound of the M2 Heavy Machine Gun did not ring out as expected.

Colonel Nasser was stunned. He whipped his head around to find that the machine gunner had not pulled the trigger, because the cold barrel of an AK-47 was already pressed against the back of the gunner's head.

At some point, a group of well-equipped soldiers in camouflage uniforms, bearing no rank insignia, had climbed onto the armored vehicle. Moving like ghosts, they instantly neutralized all the Gendarmerie's firing positions.

"Colonel Nasser, the order from Tehran was for you to defend the refinery, not to massacre taxpayers."

A deep, magnetic voice came from the side.

The crowd instinctively parted to make a path. Prince Reza, riding a black Purebred Arabian Horse and surrounded by fifty fully armed guards, slowly walked to the center of the standoff.

He wore no elaborate medals symbolizing his royal status, only a simple hunting suit with an exquisite Persian Scimitar hanging at his waist.

"Your... Your Highness?" Colonel Nasser turned pale, his voice trembling. "Who are these people? Are you trying to rebel?"

"Rebel?" Reza raised an eyebrow slightly, his riding crop pointing at the two corpses. "These workers are my subjects, and Abadan is my domain. You are killing indiscriminately here and disrupting production in Khuzestan. I have the right to take over your command under the Emergency State Law."

"You have no authority! I report directly to the General Staff Headquarters..."

"General Staff Headquarters?" Reza interrupted him, his tone turning grim. "In this province, besides Allah, only my word is law. Hassan, disarm the Gendarmerie. Any who resist are to be executed on the spot for the crime of 'colluding with external forces to incite riots'."

"Yes, sir!"

In less than five minutes, over two hundred Gendarmerie soldiers were disarmed like quails and made to squat in the corner. The workers were stunned at first, then erupted into a tsunami of cheers.

Reza pulled on the reins and faced the crowd.

"Brothers of Abadan!" His voice wasn't loud, yet it carried an irresistible authority. "I know you've had enough of those bureaucrats in Tehran who enjoy the fruits of your labor! I know your stomachs are empty and your anger is real! But I tell you—smashing machines won't bring bread, and burning oil tanks will only make the Americans laugh at our incompetence!"

The crowd gradually fell silent.

"From today, Khuzestan enters martial law. I will personally oversee the operation of the refinery. I guarantee that all promises of wage increases will be fulfilled, and the families of all those who died will receive generous compensation. But I also demand of you—return to your posts immediately! We must prove to the whole world that without those foreign experts, Persians can run the most advanced factories just as well!"

"Long live Prince Reza!"

"Long live the Lion of Persia!"

Amidst the wave-like cheers, Reza showed no sign of smugness. He turned to Hassan, his gaze cold as iron.

"Take control of all communication nodes. Send a telegram to Tehran, stating that a 'premeditated external armed riot' broke out in Khuzestan, and the provincial government guard has successfully suppressed it and implemented military takeover. To prevent the unrest from affecting oil exports, this province is temporarily cutting off land transportation to the outside world, but guarantees the daily oil output."

This was an open maneuver.

Tehran was currently overwhelmed. Seeing that Khuzestan, a major oil-producing province, could 'maintain stability' and 'deliver oil on time,' they would not only refrain from questioning but might even reward Reza's decisiveness.

In reality, on this day, Reza had carved out the wealthiest land in Iran.

Chaos, indeed, is the best ladder for climbing up.