HM called me into his office a few hours after we got back. The whole command staff was there, even the Color Guard. He motioned for me to take a seat in one of the chairs opposite his desk, which I'd rather not have done. That many people made me nervous, even though most of them had been on ops with me.
"General Soren, welcome back."
I haven't been called that in years, not since the website.
"Thank you."
"Why did you call yourself a General, back there?"
"I liked tactics and strategy, only Sergeants, Colonels, and Generals do that stuff. "Colonel" I dislike for spelling reasons, "Sergeant Soren" sounded too comic-bookish, so I used "General". Worked at the time, anyways."
"How would you invade and pacify Iran, General?"
"Well, there's three main power structures in place, military, political, and religious, and four factions, adding the academics. The military will get destroyed, hopefully, and the politicians will likely get lynched, or will be in hiding. They'll hope to trade favors for power, so the invading coalition can use them to sniff out corruption for a while. Religious types are a huge factor in the country, since they're officially in charge, but they took a massive credibility hit when the video went out. The academic establishments, students, professors, etc, are likely to be capable of stabilizing the citizenry, but not if the coalition is there for another decade."
"Go on."
"OK, so the military gets raped in the invasion. That's a given, and hopefully the invaders don't take prisoners, like happened in Iraq 2003. Problem is the religious folks. They've got some power, they're the official leadership of the country, but they're hard to target politically because of the political implications of doing so.
"Standard blitzkrieg warfare will utterly destroy Iran's standing military, no question. The insurgency can be taken down, but not if they're doing it for Allah. That means the Ayatollah and his friends have to die. Not get put on trial, die. In the night, quietly if possible, and for goddamned sure not in a firefight with the Imperialist Zionist Capitalist Invaders from the West.
"Unless I miss my guess, that's where we come in. The two suits got sent here to hire us to assassinate the entire Islamic leadership of Iran, or most of it, since they can't be seen doing it. We're supposed to wipe out the Islamic leadership so that the country will split along faction lines as we roll in. Our contract probably says "Assist in the pursuit of high-value targets", unless I miss my guess."
One of the Agency types blinked, and his partner coughed. Hotaru Maniac stared at me, then started laughing.
"Shit, we should have done this years ago. Soren, you just got your rank back. You're now in charge of PBE's Combat Air Wing for this operation, which at this moment consists of your Spooky, one Huey Cobra that flew in Viet Nam, and two UH-1s that we took as payment for an op in South America. We're also trying to get another jump-capable plane for the shooters, but that may not happen in time."
"Well, that definitely gives us some options. How long are major combat operations scheduled to last?"
"Four weeks, starting in five. We start in three."
"Awesome sauce."
The Agency types ducked out the back. They looked mildly annoyed, they must have been furious to let that much emotion show. The CIA never likes being obvious, even when the only options are. Apparently, I'd guessed their exact plan, and they *really* don't like that.
"C'mon, Soren."
"What?"
"Party time. You got promoted, we're going to get drunk, then pay half of Miami's bikini models to make passes at you. You're coming, otherwise it won't be any fun."
"You're buying dinner first. Somewhere with good steaks."
"Deal."
The next three weeks were a flurry of activity. The C-47 got modern engines, sacrificing some flight range for a shorter takeoff. The helo pilots spent six days a week practicing landing people on angled rooftops, in narrow streets, and providing fire support on targets designated by the shooters. I don't know where they'd been, but they were not fresh out of flight school.
I spent most of the time going over target lists, probable locations for the targets to run to, and who might hide them if needed. Not very exciting by comparison, but while predicting the movements of the enemy isn't an exact science, there is some probability involved. They'd run to friendly locations, cities that were more Islamist than others. When those fell, they'd run to smaller and smaller villages, until they ended up in isolated compounds like Saddam did. By marking these beforehand, we hoped to narrow down the time they'd have to run.
The girl passed her training course in the middle of her class. Not bad for a girl who's barely 5'6", there's no such thing as "standards for women" in PBE. I got to hand her her certificate, she gave me a hug, then punched me in the jaw and called me an asshole for not warning her about Survival Week.
"What would I have said?" I asked her later. "Would you have gone through it if you knew what was in store?"
"Probably not."
"Then, are you glad I didn't tell you? No one would make it through if they knew what was coming, and how long it would take. Not me, not you, not any of us. The only way to get through is one step at a time, not looking at the big picture."
"Fine. Just don't do it again."
"I'm not going to. You're a PBE employee. One of our combat correspondents, camera, notebook, and brain, recording our escapades for posterity. You'll be there, in the plane. Should the worst happen, you're the one that's going to push you through it, not me."
"What happened to the novel? I'm not a journalist."
"You're both. What you see and do here can't be talked about outside, without official approval, but Maniac wants you to write it all down, and he's trying to get the real story out. That's where you come in. You're to write a form of tell-all book. Anything that doesn't go in that book, feel free to paraphrase and name-change the hell out of it, and call it a novel.
"Oh, and by the way, we're flying into Iraq the day after tomorrow. Call your folks, tell them you'll be gone, but you can't say where. This isn't official yet."
"Is this how it always is? Leaving for parts unknown in secret, never being honest with the people back home?"
"Yes. My family hasn't known my exactly location in years, although they do know I'm a pilot for Payback Enterprises. None of them know how many people I've killed, all the places I've been, or the people we've lost. Maybe some day, when this is all over with, I'll have you write my story. Hell, a lot of us would give you book deals, if HM let us."
"I can only hope so. That is closer to the original plan, after all."
"By the way, I heard they gave you a new name in training?"
"Yeah, I didn't like my old one anymore. Everyone calls me Kahlan now."
"Your eyes aren't green."
"True, but I look killer in a white dress."
That image isn't going to leave my head any time soon.
"I'll bet. Grab your gear, you need to pack for a plane ride."
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