Chapter 1

Autonomous Operation - The mode of operation assumed by a unit after it has lost all communications with higher echelons. The unit commander assumes full responsibility for control of weapons and engagement of hostile targets. Department of Defense dictionary


A High Valley in the Talish Mountains, Iran
April 8, 2006

The column of thirty armed men followed a well-defined trail that wound its way up the forested valley. Four of the men led heavily laden packhorses. The easily recognized shapes of RPG launchers hung from hooks on the horse's saddles ready for immediate use. One of the animals carried two larger missile launchers.

The spring thaw was well advanced. Rivulets of water cascaded down the mountainside forming small streams that flowed into the foaming river below the trail.

A more substantial stream cut across their path. Men and horses negotiated the steep banks and forded the icy water.

As the men progressed up the valley, the snow that had been restricted to the mountainsides above the valley, reached down to the trail, and in places covered it with melting drifts.

Without warning, a large rock came crashing down the hillside, and bounced in front of one the horses before disappearing into the river below.

The horse shied, and men searched the hillside for signs of what had dislodged it. Several unshouldered their Kalashnikovs, and scanned the slope down the sights of their rifles. For a few seconds, there was no sound other than the noise of the river, then men began calling in Arabic.

"What was that?"

"Can you see anything?"

"No!"

"It must have been a loose rock."

The column started to move again, but rather than looking down at the trail in front of them as before, the men searched the hillside for movement.

The bearded men wore sheepskin jackets or long leather jerkins over loose-fitting robes. A tall, much older man with a white beard rode at the head of the column.

A man walking beside the older man's horse said, "Sheik, do you think we are being watched?"

"Who would watch us, Abdul? The Persians know we are here. The Azeri unbelievers do not know we are coming, and we have yet to cross the border."

"Perhaps the Russian infidels. I heard a rumor their Spetsnaz troops would be waiting for us."

"Market gossip spread by the accursed Kurds. I heard the same rumors, and that's all they are. We know every Kurd is an American spy, and they are just trying to frighten us. The Russians would not dare to invade the Islamic Republic of Iran. It would serve only to further inflame the believers in their midst."

The two men fell silent, and the column moved on.

A short while later, the tall man called a halt. Rather than eating, drinking, rest, and good-natured banter, the men took small prayer mats out of their packs, and placed them on the ground. They all knelt and bowed in the same direction. Muttered prayers competed with the sound of the river.

When the prayers were finished, some men brewed tea, while others distributed flat bread, dried meat and fruit.

After a twenty-minute break, the column reformed and set out again.

"Sheik, how far to the border?"

The tall man reached for a device tied to his saddle, and studied it for a few seconds.

"Less than a kilometer."

"How we will know when we cross the border?"

"The border is unmarked. This infidel machine will tell us," He said, showing the handheld GPS to his companion.

A single shot echoed across the valley, and simultaneously the walking man's head exploded in a spray of blood and brain tissue.

Men dropped to the ground, finding the nearest cover along the side of the trail. Some fired their Kalashnikovs at unseen targets further up the valley. The horses stopped and neighed nervously. They were familiar with the sound of gunfire, and stopping was better than the effort of climbing the trail under their heavy loads.

The Sheik hastily dismounted without checking whether his Lieutenant was still alive. He knew
a corpse when he saw one.

The gunfire tapered off, and shouts traveled up and down the line of hidden men.

"How many?"

"Did we get them?"

"I can't see them."

"They must have fled."

The tall bearded man, his back against a boulder directly above the river, was less sanguine. As a veteran of Afghanistan and Chechnya, he knew all about ambushes. In an ambush, you need to kill and disorientate your enemy in the first few seconds. You hope the enemy breaks and runs. If not, then you concentrate on the remaining resistance. If the enemy doesn't break, then the best course is to retire to fight another day.