Big Blue Sky-Four

An oar disturbed the mirror-like waters were midnight blue beneath starry sky of the Persian Gulf. The air was soft and absolutely still, and an eternity from the tragedy in Washington on the other side of the globe. A ghost-white moon hung low above the barren bluffs of the Iranian coast. It was cradled in the cottony haze of a low fog. With hardly more sound than a whisper the tiny rubber boat slid steadily towards the coast. Five men inside the boat maintained a wary eye upon the beach, the road beyond and the sleepy village of Chiruyeh.

Two men pulled the boat forward in well-rehearsed strokes, sliding the oar sideways into the sea, digging hard before pulling the oars away with the least disturbance and noise. They were dressed for war, in desert camouflage and blackened faces. Two others at the front of the raft held Czech made CZ 805 assault rifles for close quarters combat. The last followed a lone auto through the sights of and Ares Shrike 5-56mm rifle along the coast road until it turned inland and out of sight. On his back were two large

They rode right up to the beach and a dry wash, where the three men dismounted. They were barely out of the raft when the two remaining men pushed away and headed quickly back out to sea where they would wait. Up the beach a small concrete bridge spanned the wash. The three men paused beneath the bridge, listening intently for some indication they had been seen. But for the barking of a dog far away everything was quite.

The ravine climbed steeply through a high ridge spotted with scrub. Beyond the ridge the landb became a veritable wasteland cut by deep plunging gorges and narrow ravines. It was an inhospitable land to all but fools and men who would test fate as a matter of course, which some believe are simply aspects of one another. Beneath the unblinking expanse of stars they seemed impossible deep, like ragged rivers of shadow, which is exactly why the planners had decided upon this spot.

The men pressed onward, careful over the broken rocks of the gorge. At last the target came into view in the valley below. For almost a mile the land flattened over hard ground, unbroken clear to the two lane highway running south between Shiraz and Bandar e Charak, a garrison town on the coast, twenty-five miles to the south.. But for a forgettable village astride the highway, and the lonesome ruins of Bondar e Moquam to the north, the valley was deserted and would serve as the perfect place for the mission. It was no oversight that the Republican Guards were camped so close in Bandar e Charak , or that the Iranian navy maintained a heavy presence along the coast opposite the American Seventh Fleet, stretched between Dubai and the coast of Bahrain.

A steady wind pushed through the valley. It was quite now, but all that would change soon. In a wide arc two hundred yards from the target area each of the three canisters were hidden among rocks and scrub. Each was set with simple timed charges, the type that could easily be purchased in any blackmarket from Lebanon to Pakistan. Where the dry river bed washed out across the valley floor the bait was laid out, which took less time than was planned. The last and riskiest part of the operation was in setting high explosives among the deep gorge above the beach. Satisfied their work was complete the men headed for the beach precisely on schedule. Six more minutes and they would reach the Chiruyeh Bridge and signal the boat to return. But best laid plans, like explosives tend to go off on their own.

A tremendous explosion shattered the still and quiet of the Persian night just as the three were within sight of the bridge. One by one the lights of the town came on. The headlights of vehicles appeared instantly, racing along the coast road at high speed, three in all. Smoke and dust washed down the hillside and the three men took full advantage, scrambling down in hopes of reaching the bridge without being seen. But someone in the lead vehicle spotted them and swerved off the road and ground to a halt. At the water’s edge the boat was just coming ashore. The men knew in an instant they would have to shoot there way off the beach.

The Iranians were piling out of their vehicles, many of them still groggy from sleep and half dressed. It was an advantage the three were keen to exploit. Making an instant decision they move into a skirmish line, charging at the disorganized Iranian police and unleashing a blistering fusillade that dropped several instantly. At the same time the men moved across the road and down the embankment.

Resistance was paltry at best, with little more than a scattering of poorly aimed shots. Their hammering fire continued, cutting down two more of the Iranians and setting fire to one of the cars. From the boat aimed shots dispatched three more attempting to flank the team. In the darkness they missed a lone gunman who had dropped into the ravine and slipped beneath the bridge. He waited as the intruders sprinted across the beach to the waiting raft. By now there was no more fire coming from the Iranians. The lone survivor waited, following the men through the sights of his AK-47 when were at their most vulnerable, just as they were scrambling into the raft. He squeezed off two shots before rolling away to the cover of rocks and opened up again. When the clip was empty the boat was gone. At the water’s edge lay a single body.