Chapter 21
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Translator: penny
Chapter: 021
Chapter Title: Conditions of the Coup. 8 - The Hero's Beginning
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Tehran southern airbase.
Fighters returning from the mission began landing on the runway one by one.
Military vehicles rushed toward the fighters as they taxied to the end of the runway and shut down their engines.
Revolutionary Guard members jumped out of the vehicles, rifles aimed squarely at the cockpits.
They dragged the pilots out of their cockpits by force, slamming them to the ground and forcing them face-down.
"Don't move! You're all under arrest for violating military law!"
"Get down!"
"Stay still! Before I blow your heads off!"
As the Revolutionary Guard members roughly threatened their fellow pilots,
a single black F-14 slowly taxied into the hangar.
Unlike the other aircraft, this one was painted entirely black. It came to a halt right in front of the pilots lying prone on the ground.
Sure enough, the arrest team surrounded the cockpit, issuing threats.
"Get out now and get on the ground!"
While the arrest team growled menacingly,
the cockpit canopy slowly lifted upward.
First, the burly man in the rear seat—Hassan—removed his helmet and stood up.
"Insolent fools!!"
His booming voice, laced with authority, made the arrest team flinch and step back for a moment, even as they shoved their rifles forward.
But they quickly realized their mistake and thrust their gun barrels forward aggressively.
"You bastard! You wanna die? Get down now!"
"Just shoot him!"
"Go up and drag him down!"
Hassan didn't cower in the slightest at their threatening display with the rifles.
"It's you lot who are begging to be executed for insulting the royal family!"
Insulting the royal family.
In truth, with the declaration of the Islamic Republic, the royal family had effectively been stripped of all function.
But,
just as not everything could change in an instant,
most Iranian citizens—even the Revolutionary Guards who had led the revolution—couldn't shed decades of ingrained habits overnight.
That was why every single one of the arrest team faltered and glanced at each other upon hearing "insulting the royal family."
Hassan bellowed once more, his voice brimming with resolve.
"This is His Highness, the third prince of the royal family, Prince Sahour Reza Pahlavi III. Show him proper respect!"
As the arrest team hesitated, unsure what to do,
the pilots who had been detained and dragged away began prostrating themselves on the ground, foreheads to the dirt, all at once.
"We greet Your Highness~"
"We greet Your Highness~"
The Revolutionary Guards who had been hauling the pilots away were the ones thrown into confusion now, frozen in place.
At that moment.
The pilot in the front seat of the black F-14 removed his helmet and slowly stood up.
"I am the third prince of this land, Sahour Reza Pahlavi."
He swept his gaze over the staring arrest team before continuing.
"These men flew with me to bomb Baghdad, the heart of Iraq. What outrage is this against warriors who risked their lives striking the enemy's core for the survival of our nation?!"
His aura.
The battlefield presence, forged through countless clashes and etched into his very being, poured forth toward the Revolutionary Guards.
Overwhelmed by it in an instant, the arrest team took a hesitant step back.
"I stand before them. Anyone who would oppress these men who staked their lives for the nation must first trample me!"
Tehran Guardian Council.
Ayatollah Khomeini had gathered with Islamic jurists and top clerics.
"We absolutely cannot let this slide! It's a clear violation of military law!"
"Exactly. They moved fighters without orders. Imagine if they'd bombed right over our heads. We have to treat this like a coup attempt. Execute them all to make an example!"
Last night's Iranian Air Force strike on Iraq had infuriated the Islamic Republic's leadership, regardless of its success.
This operation had been launched independently by a dozen or so air force commanders, without upper command approval or even a report.
As some Guardian Council members raged over the incident, raising their voices,
cautious voices emerged from others.
"But the rumors are already spreading. If the public didn't know, it might be different, but word of this Iraq strike's success is everywhere. Executing the pilots involved—how do we handle the fallout?"
"Agreed. With the army suffering defeat after defeat, this is our first real victory news. Executing them now is terrible timing."
"And killing them would just play into Iraq's hands. We need to be careful."
Independent media and journalists, who had lain low until now, were suddenly active across Iran.
From the moment war broke out, they spread battlefield reports swiftly to Tehran and nationwide,
exposing the revolutionary government's blunders without filter.
The public, learning of the Islamic Revolutionary Government's failures, vented fury and criticism rivaling that aimed at the Iraqi military.
"Damn pests! They kept quiet all this time, then crawl out like cockroaches making noise. Unbelievable."
"Right. We need to deal with those bastards first. Rumors are spreading that our Revolutionary Guard lost to the Iraqis because of them. We have to round them up quick."
"That's not the priority now. We deal with the Iraqi offensive first."
"Let internal traitors keep shooting at us? Obviously we—"
With opinions split,
all eyes turned to the supreme leader seated at the head, Ayatollah Khomeini.
He had listened quietly to the council members' debate before speaking.
"Prioritize the urgent matters first. Executing them can wait until we've repelled Iraq's assault and seized the advantage. And besides."
Khomeini turned to a nearby Guardian Council member.
"I've heard our air force is short on parts."
The man nodded in response.
"Yes. U.S. sanctions have left us with few spare parts and weapons. It's fine for now, but repeated combat will ground many aircraft."
Khomeini nodded.
"As I've heard, our fighters aren't exactly flush with operational readiness. In time, we'll face difficulties inevitably. Even without us executing the pilots publicly, God will decide their fate."
The council members, grasping his meaning, nodded.
"Let God decide."
"If it's His will..."
"Well said."
And so, the decision on the pilots was made.
After discussing a few operational matters, the meeting adjourned.
As the Guardian Council members quietly filed out,
Khomeini pulled aside the one he had just spoken to privately.
Lowering his voice, Khomeini asked,
"One of the captured pilots is the third prince?"
"Yes. He's detained at the Tehran holding facility. What should we do?"
Khomeini pondered briefly.
Was there any benefit to touching him now?
His house arrest breach was a grave crime, but rumors of the third prince were already rampant in Tehran.
- The air force crossed the border last night and struck Iraq's capital, Baghdad.
- While Revolutionary Guards at the border crumbled before the Iraqi army's advance, the air force blunted their assault and salvaged our pride.
- The house-arrested third prince personally flew a fighter on the perilous Baghdad strike.
- The third prince alone crossed the Zagros Mountains, bombing Iraqi radar sites to enable the air force's surprise attack.
- The third prince risked his life to protect the participating pilots.
After mulling the prince's fate, Khomeini asked the council member again.
"What's the army's situation?"
"Not good. Repeated defeats in Susangerd have let Iraqi forces push to Dezful's doorstep. In the south, Iraqis reaching Khorramshahr are shoving tanks into the city streets. Last night's success halted Iraqi air support, easing things a bit, but how long can our forces hold..."
Recalling the battlefield reports, Khomeini nodded.
"Then there's no choice."
"You're leaving the third prince alone?"
"I won't execute him immediately, but no need to just watch idly."
"Then how?"
"He volunteered for the air force himself. Now he must follow the Joint Chiefs' orders."
"If he follows our orders... I see. That's a good plan."
"As I said earlier, only God knows his fate. But discerning God's will always comes with trials. And the harsher the trials, the clearer His will becomes."
The council member nodded.
"Yes. I'll instruct the air force to prepare."
Khomeini smiled contentedly.
"Everything according to God's will."
"Yes. Everything according to God's will."
The pilots, hauled away by the Revolutionary Guard right after returning from the Iraq strike, were ultimately all released.
But awaiting them wasn't hero's treatment,
but a new operation from the Joint Chiefs of Staff.
- Suppress the Iraqi air force to support the Revolutionary Guard.
From then on, the pilots were called to the frontlines day and night without respite.
And at the forefront of every sortie to the battlefield was the name of Prince Sahour Pahlavi, who had gained even more fame from this counterattack operation.
Iran southern border region.
Among Iraqi forces, the 3rd Corps advancing toward Khuzestan had shown the strongest performance since the war's outset.
Leading with 30,000 troops and over 500 armored vehicles, the 3rd Corps swiftly advanced by annihilating Iranian Revolutionary Guard forward defenses.
The 3rd Corps then moved to seize Khorramshahr, a small city at the gateway to Abadan.
But contrary to their early momentum,
the 3rd Corps, which had underestimated the modest city of Khorramshahr, faced unexpected heavy resistance.
True to its ancient roots, the city's labyrinthine alleys entangled like a spiderweb, rendering the 3rd Corps' powerful armor ineffective.
Tanks repeatedly stalled and halted in the narrow streets.
Meanwhile, Revolutionary Guards popped out from alleys and rooftops, hurling homemade bombs and firing RPG rockets.
Suddenly, a rocket streaked from a building rooftop, trailing thick smoke.
"RPG!!"
"Ambush!!"
Pfshoooo~!!
Kaboom!!
The rocket exploded against an armored vehicle's side.
Flames erupted,
shrapnel flew,
and smoke blanketed the area.
"Argh!"
"Medic!"
"Help!!"
Soldiers' screams echoed,
Iraqi troops panicked, scrambling in chaos.
Amid the frenzy, muzzles poked from windows between buildings and spat fire.
Rat-tat-tat~~ Rat-tat-tat~~~!!
Bullets flew.
Before he could hit the ground, a bullet pierced an Iraqi soldier's chest.
"Argh!"
"Ambush!"
"Where?! Where!!"
"Fall back! Retreat! Retreat~~~!!!"
Even the 3rd Corps' 30,000 troops were but a handful of sand in the face of urban warfare.
As sporadic firefights erupted from all directions,
Iraqi casualties mounted steadily.
Though the Revolutionary Guard lagged in large-scale conventional battles, they displayed genuine prowess in small-scale guerrilla warfare.
Thus, since entering Khorramshahr, the 3rd Corps had been bogged down,
harried by Guards darting through buildings and alleys with RPGs, grenades, and homemade bombs.
Iraqi command, receiving damage reports from Khorramshahr, flew into a rage.
They had planned operations eyeing the strategic hub of Abadan,
yet couldn't stomach being pinned down in some backwater like Khorramshahr.
"What the hell are they doing?! Dicking around in that podunk town!!"
But even with 30,000 troops,
fully occupying a tangled urban maze was no easy task.
What started as a one- or two-day delay in Khorramshahr stretched over a month.
Eventually.
"Throw in reserves and crush them at once!!"
The Iraqis, who had viewed Khorramshahr as mere transit on the advance route, shifted strategy to total seizure, committing reinforcements.
Thus, they decided to send 20,000 reserves prepared in Basra, the southern frontline logistics hub, to Khorramshahr.
The distance from Iraqi Basra to Khorramshahr was a mere 30 kilometers.
A marathon runner could cover it in under two hours.
But in the end, that short Basra-Khorramshahr advance route became the Iraqi army's grave.
The long column of Iraq's 72nd Infantry Battalion.
On the narrow road thick with dust,
military trucks flying Iraqi flags streamed in line across the open terrain.
Rumble-rumble-roar~~~~~
As the exhaust-spewing trucks rolled steadily,
the lead jeep was suddenly engulfed in an explosion.
Kaboom-boom!!
Flames hotter than the sun erupted,
shockwaves blasted outward.
"Argh!!"
"Watch out!"
Screeech~!!!
Following trucks and jeeps slammed brakes, swerving wildly to avoid the front vehicle.
But another explosion rocked the convoy's center.
Kaboom!!
The blast's shockwave shattered windshields, engulfing drivers.
Crash-shatter~~~!!
"Argh!"
"Ambush! No, airstrike!!"
Before the words finished.
Shrieeeee~!!!
A deafening jet roar tore through the sky overhead.
And then.
Trrrrat~~!!
Pf-pf-pf-put-put-put~~~!!
Short bursts of gunfire unleashed a hail of 20mm rounds, shredding trucks and jeeps.
The 20mm machine gun bullets minced a truck like tofu, then another explosion hammered the halted column.
Kaboom-boom~~~!! Kaboom-boom~~~!!
"Airstrike!"
"Iranian air force!!"
"Quick! Call support! Support!!! Hurry!!"
A surviving operations officer snatched the radio.
"This is the 72nd Infantry Battalion, army reserves en route to Khorramshahr! Under enemy airstrike! Request support immediately! Hurry!!"
Eight Iraqi Air Force MiG-21s took off from Nasiriyah Air Base, heading east in response to the urgent radio call.