Esther's Sling (39 page)

After a few seconds of panning,
the spotter came across his target: the two IRGC guards charged with maintaining watch over the access road. They were in the same spot always occupied by the two access road guards. It was a minor elevation that gave the two guards a perfect view of the last major bend in the access road before it straightened out on the ridgeline’s plateau. Unfortunately for the guards, the view from the position now occupied by three Israeli commandos gave them a perfect view of the guards. The Israeli reached up and pressed a button on top of his device. An invisible beam of light shot out and bounced off the back of one of the two men. “Four-three-three,” whispered the man to the two snipers that flanked him. His range finder told him they were 433 meters, or 1,420 feet, away from the two guards.

The man on the range finder hit his PTT button. “Sandman is papa lima. Standing by.”

“Affirmative. Stand by,” replied Captain Ben Zeev.

The team now waited for the shift change. The wait was only a few minutes. At 8:46 p.m., the three men with scopes trained on the access road guards each saw the excitement of the two guards only moments before they noticed the movement of
a passenger van as it passed by on the way to the trailers. One of the guards waved as the van passed. The trailing Suburban stopped for a moment at the guard post and words were apparently exchanged. The Suburban quickly continued on.

Isaac Mofaz, watching the video feed from the Boomerang, first noticed two men exit the middle trailer and then saw the two vehicles come to a stop just outside the middle trailer. He reached over and tapped Manu
’s back – the latter busy relieving himself onto the mountain dirt of the Zagros. After a moment, Manu turned around to see the arrival of the new night shift. “Delivery now,” said Manu into his microphone. At the assault assembly point, the pulses of seven men accelerated in varying amounts.

About five minutes later, following the exchange of men to and from the van and the exchange of a couple of boxes of food from the back of the Suburban with a large plastic bag of trash, the two vehicles began their journey back to Abdanan. The van stopped at the guard post and the two guards from the day shift got in. The two new IRGC soldiers who would take their place
at the access road guard post were walking up the road from the second trailer, following in the tracks of the two vehicles.

“Delivery complete,” commented Manu as he and Isaac watched the vehicles depart.

“Ten minutes,” replied Ben Zeev into his microphone.

Twelve minutes later
, Manu initiated his transmitter with the PTT. “Two on access. Two mobile as a team. Settled.”

“Report pattern,” responded Ben Zeev.

A few minutes later, Manu replied. “Staying in the lights. Diesel to dome. Now leaving diesel.”

The range finder at the sniper position keyed his radio. “Sandman is papa lima.” The two IRGC soldiers we
re settled into their position.

“Sandman zero,” said the captain over the
tactical system. He talked next to the team around him. “Loaded?” Each man gave him a thumbs up. “Go to semi-auto.” The captain and the six other men around him flipped the fire selection lever on their M-4 carbines so that it faced straight up, going from safe to semi-automatic. He then turned to Yosef Hisami, the mountain goat. “Lead us to the jump point.” As Hisami moved out, Ben Zeev keyed his PTT. “Moving to jump.”

At the sniper location, the man on the range finder shot his laser at one of the two men now standing in position to protect the access road. The two Iranians were talking to each other. “Four-three-three,” he whispered. “Wind at one out of northwest.” The men would be shooting almost directly into a one knot breeze. “Humidity is four-two. Forty-two. Temperature is one-seven. Seventeen.”

Each sniper now referenced a small notepad and then adjusted, or “doped,” their scope. Benny Stern spoke first. “Ready.” The other sniper made the same statement seconds later.

“Sandman is active,” said the range finder into his
microphone.

As the two mobile IRGC guards walked at a leisurely pace toward the radar dome structure, the seven men with the captain moved quickly to cover 145 meters from their assembly point to the base of the largest of a grouping of three trees that was only a little more than a hundred meters from the diesel storage tank. The diesel storage tank was a vertical steel tank mounted on a concrete foundation. It held up to 4,000 gallons of fuel. The tank itself was ten feet in diameter and stood almost nine feet tall. It provided perfect cover for a couple of men.

Ben Zeev, reaching the designated jump point, took cover behind the largest tree in the stand and four other men assumed prone positions around him. Each man had his M-4 at his shoulder and aimed down the ridgeline. After the trees, there was nothing but the barren rock and dirt of the Zagros remaining along the ridge until the other side of the radar dome structure.

The mountain goat and one other man continued on toward the diesel storage tank, their shouldered M-
4s leading their steps. After half a minute, the two men reached the round diesel storage tank. Yosef Hisami lowered his M-4. It now hung over his shoulder at his side, its muzzle facing the ground. He pulled out his suppressed
SIG Sauer P226 pistol. The pair of men waited behind the storage tank. They were unable to see the mobile IRGC men, but they also knew the Iranians couldn’t see them.

“Mobile at radar dome,” said Manu about a minute later. “Now heading to diesel. Two still together.”

“Sandman be ready. About three minutes,” said Ben Zeev. Every man on the team tensed up. Some men concentrated on their breathing, making sure they did not hyperventilate.

About three minutes later, Manu updated the team. “Passing last trailer. Heading to diesel.” The mountain goat raised his pistol. Behind him, his partner raised his M-4 to his shoulder, the suppressed muzzle extended past the right side of
Yosef’s head. The man held the M-4’s fore grip in his left hand and leaned his left forearm into the right shoulder of the mountain goat. He wanted to feel when Yosef Hisami moved.

“Twenty meters. North side,” said Manu, reporting the position of two mobile guards. As they usually did at night, they would be coming up to the diesel storage tank on its north side, the better lit side. It was the side that Hisami and his partner were facing.

Manu counted down the meters. “Ten. Nine. Eight. Seven. Six. Five …”

Yosef Hisami advanced calmly from behind the diesel tank, his partner trailing along with him. The two Iranians were talking about their pay and the problems they were having with the rampant inflation in Iran. One man had a family and could not figure out how to pay for food anymore. He stopped in mid thought, his mind processing the man in an IRGC uniform who suddenly stepped into his view. It made him jump slightly, his mind first interpreting the movement as that of a wild animal leaping out. In less than a second, the reaction went from fright to fear to threat. He began to raise his AK-47. He was too late.

The mountain goat squeezed off two rounds into the man’s chest. The second Iranian went to one knee, attempting to raise his rifle in a simultaneous movement. He got his weapon leveled using his left hand, which had a death grip on the magazine. But his right hand was still far from reaching the weapon’s pistol grip when the first round directed at him hit his left shoulder, causing him to lose his grip on his weapon. Before the muzzle of his AK-47 hit the dirt, the next round from Hisami hit the man in the head. He was dead before his body collapsed. Hisami continued to advance. He arrived at the two motionless bodies and fired a round into each man’s head from point blank range.

Captain Ben Zeev keyed his PTT. “Sandman engage.” He led his men forward without issuing a command. The team of five ran to rejoin Hisami and his partner.

At the sniper position, the range finder began a countdown that had been rehearsed by the trio hundreds of times. Their next actions were simple muscle memory. “Three … two … one … shoot.”

The last word from the range finder was drowned out by the muffled explosions of two 7.62 x 51 mm rounds on each side of the man. The 269 grain bullets headed downrange, covering the distance to their targets in 1.5 seconds. Near the edge of the access road, in a position that had been used for years by Iranians without event, two men died instantly. The two snipers manually chambered their next rounds. Benny Stern continued to watch the two Iranian
access road guards, ready to shoot either body if he detected signs of life. Another shot would not be necessary. The other sniper turned his weapon toward the structures on the ridgeline, ready to provide support as necessary.

Reunited with the mountain goat and his partner, the seven man team of
commandos advanced to the southwest along the ridgeline. As he walked, Hisami replaced the magazine in his pistol despite having nine rounds still available. The last two men in the group stopped at the third trailer – the one housing two generators and the communication machinery. The remaining five men continued another thirty meters to the middle trailer. Ben Zeev pulled out his pistol. He took point for a four man entry. He and the mountain goat would be the shooters, using pistols. The two men trailing them would provide backup using M-4 carbines.

Captain Ben Zeev did not hesitate once the entry team was properly aligned
in an entry stack. He walked up the three steps to the door and pulled it open. It was never kept locked. He walked in at a normal pace, but with intent. His pistol was drawn and pointed in his hands. As he entered, one man was warming up canned soup on an electric stove as two other men were seated at a table drinking tea. The trailer held two IRGC men and two radar technicians. The ability to distinguish between them was easy. The IRGC men wore camouflage while the radar technicians wore the light blue shirts of the Islamic Republic of Iran Air Force. The man warming the soup wore light blue. Ben Zeev’s eyes scanned to the two men at the table. Both wore camouflage. He fired twice. The first round entered the back of the head of the man who was facing away from him. The man’s forehead blew open, spewing blood and brain matter onto the man seated across from him. That man was too shocked to react. Yoni Ben Zeev fired again at the same time Yosef Hisami fired. Two rounds hit the chest of the Iranian Republican Guard Corps soldier facing the Israeli team.

The radar technician at the stove froze in fear, certain that his life was about to end. One of the men with an M-4 kept his weapon on him, approaching so that the radar technician lost all thought of engaging in any heroic action. Ben Zeev and Hisami continued past the table and walked down a narrow side hall. At the first door, the captain opened it and entered the room, the mountain goat behind him. The light in the room was off, the only illumination now coming from the hallway through the open door. An Iranian man who had just gotten to his feet from a top bunk was confused. “What the hell is …” shouted the man.

“Quiet,” responded the captain in Farsi. “Hands up.” The man started toward the captain, who was closing the distance by continuing to advance. Ben Zeev was not sure of the man’s intention, but he was not concerned. The man was wearing only a pair of boxer shorts. “Hands up,” repeated the captain. The Iranian took another step and Ben Zeev lifted his right leg and kicked the man in his crotch, the Israeli’s boot making solid contact with the man’s testicles. The Iranian let out a groan and immediately sank to his knees, continuing his downward motion until he was doubled up on the floor. “Watch him,” said Ben Zeev as he turned to exit the room and continue down the hall to the single restroom at the end of the trailer. He cleared the small bathroom. “All clear.”

The Israeli
commandos used plastic handcuffs to bind the arms of the two radar technicians behind their backs. As that was being done, the captain and the mountain goat walked back out of the trailer. As they stepped onto the dirt to head to the control trailer, they noticed that the two men who had stopped to clear the generator trailer were already covering the door of the final radar operations trailer. All six of the IRGC guards were now dead and two of the four radar technicians were in custody. Now only the two radar technicians on duty were left to secure, both men hopefully ignorant of the events of the last few seconds.

Ben Zeev and Hisami were at the door in under half a minute. The captain paused to catch his breath and relax. This entry would be different. He relaxed his arm and lowered his pistol to his side. The mountain goat did the same. Calmly, Yoni Ben Zeev opened the trailer door and walked in. Yosef Hisami followed. Inside the trailer, the room was dimly lit. Two Iranian radar technicians sat in front of control stations built into the center of the trailer. They were both busy and they both had their backs to the door. One man was doing what he would do for the rest of his shift if left interrupted – he was watching a flat panel display of the radar’s information. The other, the man seated in front of both a radar display panel and the communications equipment, was reading a manual.

Captain Ben Zeev walked calmly up behind the man seated at the communications panel while Hisami walked up behind the man on primary radar watch. The two Israelis looked at each other and Ben Zeev nodded his head at the same time as the communications man started to ask why they were being bothered. The first word did not make it out of his mouth. At the same moment, each Israeli grabbed the collar of the man seated in front of him and pulled each swiftly backwards and away from their control panels and computer equipment. Both men were seated in wheeled chairs and both chairs instantly gathered momentum. The communications technician assumed this was a practical joke and got angry as he and his chair flew backwards across the trailer’s linoleum tiled floor. He pressed the soles of his shoes down on the floor to arrest his momentum.