There was an outburst of enthusiastic support in the room, eagerness replacing concern, words tumbling over other words, and Abdel asked them to gather close and pay attention to the American’s scheme for a surprise attack.
Using a black marker on a large piece of cardboard, Swanson mapped out the park and the situation, with Abdel translating. The group peppered him with questions, and several went out to recon the park, returning with new details. There were ten posts in front of the sandbags, but there were twenty people to be executed. “Then they are planning to do it in two groups of ten,” Kyle said. “Twenty would be awkward for a ten-man firing squad. This way, it will be ten soldiers against ten unarmed victims tied securely to the posts. One-on-one easy targets.”
He pointed to the circles that marked the straight line of the firing squad, marked with the numbers 1 through 10. Then he drew in two lines of X’s, four each, angled to obliquely face the soldiers in a classic ambush pattern. “Abdel will assign your positions,” he said. “This way, you will have a good crossfire. Everyone will be assigned an exact soldier to shoot with your first burst of fire, and an alternate. And do not expect them all to just fall over dead, for a battle never happens that way. Just keep your discipline and remember your targets, trusting the man beside you to do the same. One of you cannot shoot all of the soldiers, so don’t even try. Once the firing squad is down, take out the few guards who will be standing around. The crowd will panic, and the guards will be slow to react in the confusion.”
Abdel translated a question from a man who bent close to the map and pointed to the two rectangles representing the armored personnel carriers at the edge of the park. “What about these big tanks with the machine guns? They will slaughter us.”
Swanson said, “Those are my own targets. I have some stuff that will take them out, and I will hit them at the same time you are ready to open up on the soldiers. They won’t get off a shot.”
“And when do we shoot?”
“That is an important point. Do not get excited and pull the trigger too early, or the plan will fail. We all attack at the same time, when the officer in charge of the firing squad calls out, ‘Ready.’ That will leave them locked in position and focused away from you. Abdel takes the first shot, and we all go. Attend specifically to your target first. No shooting in the air or celebrating or any of that until the job is done.”
Abdel chimed in to close the little session. “Then we free the prisoners, grab some weapons, and leave the area before Iranian reinforcements can arrive.” Abdel had them in hand, for they were all of the same family. With Swanson’s help, they spent some time disassembling and thoroughly cleaning each weapon, right down to the butt plates, including unloading the magazines, cleaning them, and even polishing each bullet. The American said their lives depended on the guns working flawlessly, and the men understood their weapons had become filthy through seldom being used; one weapon had rusted to the point of being useless.
They drifted apart to have some tea and food, talk among themselves, and have some sleep as the afternoon sun lost its power and fell toward the horizon. Kyle lay down and closed his eyes, wondering how many of these men would live through the coming fight. They knew nothing of war. The Dirty Dozen, they ain’t.
Colonel Naqdi had changed from the civilian clothes he wore in Cairo into his regulation military uniform in order to announce his presence in Sharm with the full force of his authority. Insulted that no one had shown up to meet his plane, he stormed into the makeshift office of General Khasrodad bellowing, “What is going on here?”
Khasrodad unfolded slowly from the chair at his desk but did not salute. He outranked Naqdi by a full grade, but that meant nothing because the man was head of Iranian foreign intelligence operations, and as such was answerable only to the ruling council in Tehran. To challenge him risked losing not only your job but your life. “Welcome to Sharm el-Sheikh, Colonel.”
There was no handshake, and the men locked stares. They were physical opposites. The colonel stood about five-ten and was a bit thick around the middle, with hair that was beginning to show gray. The general was a hard six-two and 210 pounds, a veteran commando leader who often ran with his men during their harsh physical training. He had led numerous operations, had been wounded in action, and feared nothing.
“I had expected to be met at planeside upon my arrival, General.”
“And I assumed that your aide, Major Shakuri, would be doing just that, Colonel. I’ve been busy.” The general swept his arm toward a window that gave a wide view of the airport destruction. The fires at the ammo dump had not yet been totally quelled, wreckage seemed everywhere, and the air was still hazy with smoke. “So I can assume that Shakuri did not show up?”
The colonel threw his beret on a desk and walked to the window. “I saw this from the air, and the sunken ship in the harbor. Incredible. No, I haven’t heard from the major since early this morning.”
“Nor have I, Colonel. That, however, is not unusual. He worked out of his own office down in a beach hotel and seldom communicated with me. I will send someone to get him, or you can go down yourself, if you choose.”
“I would be grateful if you sent a couple of men, General Khasrodad.” The colonel found a chair and made himself comfortable, allowing the general to resume his own seat. “Let’s get right to the point, Medhi. These attacks. Are they the work of local partisans or foreign special forces?”
“Frankly, we don’t know.” The general spun his chair around and looked out of the window at the damage beyond. “The work has been very professional, but we have no proof, no enemy bodies, and no equipment that would identify any of them. Judging by the kill shots at other locations, we think at least one of them is an experienced sniper.”
“Could they be from the Egyptian army? They would have the proper training and be able to hide among the population.”
“Once again, there is nothing definite. If it was the army, the population would be gossiping and talking about it. My intelligence people say there has been none of that, plus the army is supposedly being kept busy in the north by the Brotherhood rebellion.” He had turned back around to look at the colonel. “From what I hear, that fledgling civil war is not going well.”
The colonel snapped at the mocking tone. “That is not your concern, General.”
“Yes, it is. If this far-fetched plan to overthrow the government in Cairo fails, then my forces here will be trapped here with no way out. So it is my concern, Colonel Naqdi. Very much so.”
“You will not report that pessimism up your chain of command! That is an order, General. I am in charge of this operation. The rebellion will succeed, and then your troops will be reinforced and break out of this bottleneck beachhead.”
“I understand the plan, Colonel. I just hope it works, for the linkup was supposed to happen tomorrow, and it obviously will not. No Brotherhood convoys with food and ammo and big guns are going to be arriving anytime soon, are they?”
“I admit that there have been a few setbacks, General. Such things are to be expected in any operation of this size, but heavy fighting continues as the Brotherhood army is making steady advances. You will continue to keep Sharm under control until the cities revolt and join the rebellion.”