Chapter 13
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 013
Chapter Title: Operation Eagle Claw. 1
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The U.S. President had given the green light for a massive overseas hostage rescue operation to save the 52 hostages held captive in the U.S. Embassy in Tehran.
At the center of it all was Delta Force, the U.S. Army's elite unit assembled from its most formidable fighters.
For Delta Force and the Army, this large-scale rescue of over 50 hostages was a golden opportunity to etch their names into American history.
To ensure success, the Army had even built a mock city in the Nevada desert that perfectly replicated downtown Tehran.
They recreated the terrain around the embassy down to the smallest detail.
Ninety handpicked Delta operators—the cream of the crop—had spent the past month there, running dozens of rehearsals to perfect their rescue plan.
The embassy building was a realistic mock-up.
The operators approached through blind spots between structures and terrain features, signaling each other silently.
They dove into training that mimicked real combat.
Even though they knew each other's movements inside out, the operators called out over the radio and took cover behind obstacles as if it were the real thing.
- This is Alpha. We've reached the north wall of the embassy. We'll breach as soon as we neutralize the sentries.
- Bravo in position. Ready to breach on your signal.
- Charlie ready.
- Delta holding at the rally point.
- Foxtrot. Commencing sentry neutralization in 15 seconds. Countdown begins. 15. 14. 13... 3. 2. 1.
The moment the countdown hit zero,
Delta operators perched on rooftops of surrounding mock buildings squeezed their triggers at the faux enemy models placed around the embassy.
Bang bang bang bang!
Four shots rang out almost simultaneously.
The chests of the dummy figures milling around the embassy perimeter exploded in unison.
Pop pop pop boom~!!!
- Breach!
- Breach!
- Breach!
The operators raced across the embassy grounds in seconds, covering windows and the main gate as they charged.
Rat-tat-tat-tat-tat~!!!
The instant soldiers burst into the courtyard, mock revolutionaries popped up from windows and doorways all over.
The positions changed every time, so no one knew exactly where or how many would appear.
But the operators' muzzles, guarding every key angle without blind spots, spat fire.
Bang! Bang bang bang bang~!!
The rising dummies didn't last even a second—bullets punched through heads and chests.
Holes riddled the human-shaped plywood, chests bursting into shards.
Pop! Pop pop pop pop~!!!
Having eliminated every virtual foe without exception, the operators stormed inside the embassy.
The rescue teams split into familiar groups of three or four, sweeping the interior.
Mock revolutionaries hid in corners throughout the embassy.
And next to them, 52 other Delta operators played the hostages.
This was live-fire training, where a single mistake could mean accidental discharge.
But not one Delta operator raised an objection.
They had absolute confidence in their own skills.
Some thirty operators fanned out through the rooms, clearing them, smashing enemies, and rescuing hostages.
- Alpha. Three hostages rescued! Evacuating to the rear!
- Delta. Two hostages rescued!
- Bravo. Four hostages rescued! Ambassador Jefferson secured! Evacuating to the rear.
Rescue reports poured in one after another.
The hostage count ticked up rapidly.
39. 43. 46. 47... 50. 52. Complete!
The moment the last operator emerged from the main gate with the final hostage...
From atop the building opposite the embassy,
Inside the tent serving as training HQ, Colonel Jellico—watching the exercise—pressed the button on his stopwatch.
Colonel Jellico checked the stopwatch.
Then he leaned into the mic on the table.
"One minute, 17 seconds. Red Team wins."
His voice boomed across the training ground via the speakers.
The Red Team operators who'd just finished the drill erupted in cheers.
- Yeah!! I told you! We got this!
- Woo~!!!
- Good work, everyone. Tehran is ours. Hahaha~!
Rifle in hand, they high-fived and bumped shoulders.
Meanwhile, the Blue Team operators playing hostages smacked their lips in disappointment.
- We cooperated too well, that's all.
- Damn it. The guys getting rescued should at least limp a bit. Why'd they all walk out fine? Ugh.
- This sucks. Can we go one more round?!
- You got it! We'll beat one minute next time!
Delta Force planned for 45 operators on the rescue.
But they'd pulled 90 total.
Split into Red and Blue, they'd repeated drills to find the fastest team, deploying the winner.
Red Team took the victory.
As joy and disappointment crossed the two teams,
Colonel Jellico knew full well Blue Team was no slouch compared to Red.
But a promise was a promise.
And above all, they couldn't afford more training time.
Last night,
The operation date was finally set.
April 20.
A colossal op to rescue the embassy hostages and exfil them out of Tehran.
They had to drop from the sky like an eagle snatching prey—precise and swift—grabbing the target and vanishing from Tehran.
Operation Eagle Claw was finally underway.
Iranian Royal Palace.
Late evening.
In the center of the reception room,
I unrolled a massive map and talked it over with Hassan.
The map spanned from the Persian Gulf below to the Iran-Iraq border and up to the Caspian Sea.
Hassan's finger pointed to the Persian Gulf at the map's bottom, near Kuwait.
A tiny ship model sat there.
"Confirmed U.S. Navy carrier group loitering off Kuwait in the Persian Gulf, Your Highness, just as you predicted."
"Figured as much. It's their closest approach route, after all."
"Even from there, it's over 800 kilometers. But U.S. helos have a combat radius of around 500 kilometers at best. How do they plan to reach Tehran?"
"They're probably counting on mid-air refueling. Something like this, I'd bet."
I pointed to a spot on the map.
About 300 kilometers south of Tehran.
It was marked with a lake icon.
Hassan nodded.
He'd been skeptical at first when I said it'd be the refueling point.
But when he scouted the lake on my orders and saw the parched, cracked bed left by drought,
he felt awe at my foresight once more.
"Dried up for over a month, so it's perfect for helo or even cargo plane landings. Refuel here, then straight into Tehran. No fuel for the return, though, so they'll secure a usable airstrip near the embassy, move the hostages there, and exfil on transports."
"I see. If they pull it off, it'd be nothing short of a miracle."
If things played out as I predicted and the rescue succeeded,
it'd deserve the name— the op's difficulty was that insane.
1. First, cross over 800 kilometers of enemy territory undetected.
2. Mid-air refuel the helos.
3. Fly nearly 50 troops into downtown Tehran by helo,
4. Neutralize dozens of Revolutionary Guards while rescuing over 50 hostages.
5. Simultaneously secure a landing zone for the exfil transports.
6. Move over 100 people total to the transports and punch through Iranian airspace.
Not one step was easy.
Screw up any single part, and the op fails.
Failure means at least dozens of casualties.
Hassan shook his head.
"Impossible. Truly."
"Exactly. But what can they do? Diplomacy's dead in the water. Elections are coming up. For Carter, failing this means no reelection. Might as well go down swinging, right?"
Hassan nodded.
I continued, watching him.
"And here's something they're overlooking."
"The sandstorm, Your Highness?"
Sharp as ever.
That's why loyal retainers make conversations so smooth.
"Right. They've probably planned and trained to near-perfection for this op. Maybe even replicated the embassy and surroundings spot-on. But one thing they can't simulate: the sandstorms we know all too well."
Sandstorms swept the Middle East, including Iran, without warning.
Clouds of dust towering hundreds of meters could swallow whole cities.
And those massive clouds—made of fine particles—were deadly to jet intakes.
"Plus, that southern desert refueling spot hasn't seen rain in months. The ground's bone-dry."
"High chance of a sandstorm, then."
"Yeah."
"That's why you double-checked the dust filters before tonight's op."
Tonight.
On Hassan's orders, Blades of the Black King operators waited on Tehran's outskirts.
I'd tipped him off about the U.S. rescue incoming and issued instructions.
- Assemble the team. Same gear as last time.
- Split into two groups. Advance team moves with me like before. Follow-up team goes by vehicle to the objective.
- Advance clears the site; follow-up sweeps remnants and pulls out.
- This time, double dust filters on the Hind engines. Confirm personally.
I'd especially hammered that last part home to Hassan.
"Yeah. Engine failure leaves even me helpless. Filters good?"
"I checked personally."
"Good. And the follow-up convoy?"
"Captain Emir from the Tehran Capital Guard is detaching some troops."
"No leaks?"
"Yes. All selected for anti-revolutionary leanings. I vetted them myself."
If Hassan's verified it, it's ironclad.
He's never let me down.
"Got it."
I checked my watch.
Midnight was approaching.
Time for them to move.
"Let's head out. Don't want to miss the welcome party."
"Yes, Your Highness. This way."
Hassan led; I followed out of the reception room.
April 22, 1980.
The Persian Gulf, where sunset painted the waves blood-red.
On the deck of the U.S. Navy's pride, the USS Abraham Lincoln, propellers on eight massive helicopters spun furiously.
Whump whump whump whump~!!!
- Wheels up! Move your asses!
- Shake it! You think this is a picnic, assholes!!
Team leaders' shouts drowned in the rotor wash.
Forty-five geared-up Delta Force operators boarded swiftly.
- Eagle 1, ready for takeoff.
- Eagle 2, all aboard!
- Eagle 3...
The eighth and final helo signaled ready.
Atop the carrier's bridge in the center,
The op commander, watching through the window, grabbed the radio.
- Operation Eagle Claw commencing at 19:21 local. All helos, cleared for takeoff.
No sooner had the order dropped than the helos lifted off the deck.
Whump whump whump whump~!!!
Hovered above the carrier, they turned north one by one.
Over the crimson sea at dusk,
The eight helicopters skimmed the waves, streaking northward.