Chapter 24

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Translator: penny

Chapter: 024

Chapter Title: Coup d'état Initiation. 2 - Key to Heaven

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The tide of battle, initially overwhelmed by Iraq's massive offensive, had now evened out to the point where it was impossible to declare one side clearly superior.

The Iraqi forces had indeed captured the key southern stronghold of Khorramshahr,

but the problem was that they had squandered far too much time there.

The Iranian troops, who had bought time through fierce urban combat, had successfully assembled soldiers and equipment from across the country into Abadan.

Faced with the Iranians who had now fortified their defensive lines, the Iraqis had no choice but to halt their advance.

But the Iraqi military wasn't the only one in a bind.

The theocratic government's forces, having succeeded in their defense, were also under intense pressure from public opinion.

The reason? Reports of the air force's exploits—made up mostly of former royalist pilots—began leaking to civilians, unlike the theocratic forces.

Independent media and journalists, bypassing official channels, compared the two and lambasted the theocratic regime.

Even under the theocratic regime's control, shadow media outlets swiftly spread news from the front lines to the public.

Finally, battered by demands for results, the theocratic government drew its sword.

With those words from Supreme Leader Khomeini,

the theocratic military began preparations for a massive assault on Basra.

To ensure the success of this offensive, the theocratic command gathered every available soldier and piece of equipment at the Abadan barracks.

Tanks, armored vehicles, and troops from across Iran converged on the Abadan garrison.

Among them were even soldiers and officers from the old kingdom era, who had been sidelined to remote outposts under Revolutionary Guard scrutiny.

With 300 tanks and armored vehicles,

four tank battalions, four infantry brigades, and three artillery battalions—totaling over 60,000 troops assembled,

the 4th Corps finally launched its advance toward Basra, the Iraqis' southern staging ground.

Word quickly reached Iraqi ears that tens of thousands of Iranian troops were advancing with tanks and armor at the fore.

Already battered by Iranian guerrilla urban warfare

and relentless air strikes that crippled their supply lines, the Iraqis panicked at the thought of encirclement, and their lines crumbled swiftly.

The Iraqi forces, a ragtag bunch no better than the Iranians, collapsed into chaos once the rout began.

Seizing the moment, small Iranian counterattack units sent Iraqi soldiers fleeing without a fight time and again.

Amid the Iraqi infighting,

the Iranian 4th Corps pushed south over 100 kilometers in just two days, securing the approaches to Basra.

Major General Izar, who had retaken border areas without significant combat, grew even more arrogant.

The Iranian army had finally retaken parts of the border.

Buoyed by momentum, the 4th Corps prepared to cross into Basra.

Twenty kilometers east of Basra.

In preparation for this war, the Iraqis had chosen the southern metropolis of Basra as their base ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠for the southern offensive.

Accordingly, the Basra area hosted encampments for tens of thousands,

along with corps headquarters, operations control centers, and central communications rooms.

The Iraqis had thus fortified the Basra garrison's defenses as well.

A minefield hundreds of meters wide ringed the base,

layered with barbed wire and fences,

backed by hundreds of machine-gun nests connected by hundreds of kilometers of trenches.

The Iraqis had built triple and quadruple defensive lines to make Basra impregnable.

And not far from there, the Iranian Basra assault force assembled.

Late evening in one corner of the Basra assault force's encampment.

Under moonlight bathing the open plain in silver,

hundreds of tents stood in rows, and from one, a small shadow cautiously crept out.

The shadow slipped from the tent and glanced around.

Revealed in the moonlight was a boy who looked no older than 12 or 13.

His large eyes, lit by the moon, brimmed with fear and tension.

Instinctively, he clutched the plastic key hanging around his neck.

Ironically, this key was why the boy was sneaking out late at night to escape—

yet in his terror, he gripped it now for comfort.

The village priest had led him by the hand to this place, following the soldiers' orders.

With hundreds of boys his age, he had sung hymns and recited prayers all day.

Everything was God's providence,

and this mission was a glorious command from the divine.

With this plastic key around his neck,

even in death, he would enter paradise, they said.

When singing hymns and praying,

he had even thought death was fine.

If it meant heaven.

But rumors of real combat ahead flooded him with dread.

Sensing something was wrong—though he couldn't yet articulate it—the boy slipped out alone in the quiet of night.

Darting from shadow to shadow among the tents, he roamed the camp stealthily.

But the encampment was far larger than he imagined.

After an hour of sweating and running, he still hadn't escaped.

And then.

Frozen by the harsh voices behind him, the boy couldn't respond.

A soldier spotted the small backpack on his back and glared.

A soldier's rough hand seized the fleeing boy's collar,

slamming him to the ground and twisting his arms behind his back.

The soldiers yanked him up by the hair and dragged him away.

The next morning.

In one corner of the corps encampment,

the so-called "nursery"—the 30th Infantry Battalion.

In the small parade ground at the center, ringed by battalion tents,

hundreds of young children stood at rigid attention in oversized uniforms.

Every one wore a plastic key necklace around their neck.

Dubbed the "Key to Heaven," it had been given to them upon arrival,

along with assurances from the military chaplain that death on the battlefield would grant them paradise.

Before the assembled children,

the battalion commander, facing the glaring corps commander, snapped a salute.

Major General Izar, face twisted in fury, returned the salute and stepped forward.

His eyes scanned the immature children.

Those who met his gaze trembled faintly but snapped back to attention.

They knew from experience that any perceived flaw meant merciless beatings.

Izar glanced over them and addressed the children.

Terror gripped the children.

They feared punishment for the entire group.

The sound of the children swallowing dryly echoed across the camp.

Some children sighed in relief unwittingly.

At the command, waiting soldiers dragged a uniformed boy before the children.

Izar glared at him, then turned back to the parade ground.

Soldiers drew entrenching tools and began digging before the boy.

The hole for one child was soon ready.

They forced him into it and shoveled dirt over him until only his head protruded.

The buried boy looked around in panic.

The children stared at each other, dumbfounded.

The battalion commander bellowed.

The grounds fell silent again.

Izar stepped forward once more.

Hesitant and shocked, the children froze—until instructors charged among them, screaming obscenities.

Under the instructors' terrifying threats, punctuated by kicks, the children shuffled toward the buried boy.

A few picked stones from the pile but couldn't hurl them at the sobbing, terrified boy.

Cornered by the relentless pressure and blows, the children faltered.

And then.

A stone flew through the air.

It arced perfectly toward the buried boy's forehead.

Time seemed to slow as the stone hurtled forward.

In seconds, it would strike.

Thwack!

A hand shot out from nowhere, snatching the stone mid-flight.

All eyes turned to its owner.

Recognition twisted their faces; some children gasped his name in shock.

Having caught the stone, Prince Sahour—wearing a major's insignia on his cap—turned to face the corps commander.

Flames blazed in the general's eyes as he stormed forward, snorting.

"What the hell is this?!"

"I was about to ask you the same."

"What? You little shit! Still don't get it?! Hey! Arrest this bastard!"

At his shout, staff officers and soldiers surrounded Hassan, who stood by the prince.

Click! Rifles and pistols trained on them.

But the prince ignored the muzzles completely.

His calm gaze swept over the soldiers.