NationStates Jolt Archive

Welcome to the IC thread for the Iranian War. If you gain any interest in the idea, or by watching this thread grow, feel free to go to the OOC thread (http://forums.jolt.co.uk/showthread.php?t=525230)and sign up.


Bandar-e Abbas
March 3, 2015
0625 Hours

It had at long last begun… The United States and Iran were now face to face on the battlefield in Hormozgan. The Los Angeles Surprise Attack from two weeks ago had destroyed all hopes for diplomatic solution between the two countries. Iran’s soldiers and militia members were gathered to face the U.S. led invasion and prepared for the destruction that was inevitable to ensue…

Somewhere in Iraq, USAF Airfield

~ The orders had finally come. The 4 pilots sat in a small tent, the heat causing sweat to pour down their faces even though the early morning had yet to bring the sweltering temperatures that were sure to come. A dark grey-haired man strode in to the tent, causing the quartet to snap upright, bringing their hands up in salute. The officer dismissed them quickly with a wave of his hand.

" This is it boys," he nodded his head as his voice gave both the impression of a grave-boding and the standard confidence of the Armed Forces. He gave a motion of his head towards a man in the back, who proceeded to turn on a laptop as the commanding officer lowered a projector screen. In a few more moments, a map of Iran was up against the formerly-white screen. The pilots sat on the edges of their metal seats, intent on hearing every word.

" Today, the Black Falcons are getting in to this war. We've been given orders to strike an Iranian airfield not too far from our current position. It will just be the four of you, but resistance is expected to be light."

The briefing continued in a nigh-monotone voice as the screen flashed displays of expected enemy aircraft, aerial and satellite reconaissance of the airfield, attack vectors, and so on, but all Captain Peter Malano could focus on was the airstrip outside. Just across from the tent, across the blacktop, was the hangar where his plane sat: an F-22A Raptor. Nimble in the air, deadly to enemies, graceful to its pilot, and a sight to take in for allies, it was everything he had ever wanted. Ever since he was a kid, Malano wanted to be a fighter pilot. He had even gotten his pilot's license before his driver's and joined Civil Air Patrol as soon as he could.

Soon, Cpt. Malano would be in the sky once more. It was a feeling he loved, a feeling he could feed on. Suddenly, he paid attention just long enough to hear the presiding officer declare, " Good Hunting, Gentleman!"

Standing, he rose his hand in salute once more, and then strode from the tent after his wingman into the damned Arabian sun. He had 1 hour before take-off, and then, the 27th Squadron, the "Black Falcons", would descend upon their prey like winged demons ...~

FOB Oscar, 25 km northeast of Basra, Iraq

The last of the 2nd Brigade's vehicles cleared the defensive sand berms around the FOB and moved towards the border. At the head of the column, trailing only the brigade scouts was Capatin Blake Sawyer's Delta Company, 1/25th Infantry. The American infantryman of 2015 was the most lethal wariior to ever set foot on any battlefield. The Advanced Warfigher Program saw to that. Every man was fittied with top of line gear such as the M10 rifle, Dragon Skin armor, a personal communication system, and a personal computer linked into the tactical data network of the brigade. Sawyer's 80 soldiers were riding into battle in newly upgraded M2A4 Bradley IFVs and were supported by the M1A3 tanks of Baker Company.

Despite all the things on Blake Sawyer's mind just hours before going to war, his thoughts always returned to his brothers and their roles in this mess.

Persian Gulf

Lt. Andrew Sawyer watched another wave of F-35C striek fighters flying off the USS George H. W. Bush passed over head bound for the Iranian naval base at Bandar-e Abbas. Sawyer's ship, the Stalwart, was one of six Littoral Combat Ships deployed to the Persian Gulf to protect oil tankers, prevent Iranian mining activities, and sink anything flying the Iranian flag.

Pentagon

Micah Sawyer studied the latest satellite pictures of the Iranian units moving towards the border. Proably the 9th Mech judging from their markings and the speed with which they moved. A formidable force no doubt, but no match for The Big Red One which would be breaching the border near their positions in a little over four hours. Micah was worried about his older brother, but having seen Blake shoot as a child, he was sure the brothers of the Iranian soldiers should be more worried.

Outside of Tehran, the streets were crowded. Inside the room, Amr patiently combed his hair and tied it back before wrapping a turban around his head. Only a few minutes after morning prayer. Things should not be too insane yet. He walked outside of the boarding house and the dirty white van met him at the curb side. The small man inside greeted him in Farsi, and Amr replied fluently. Inside the van were several other men, all donning antiquated kevlar jackets and checking their guns. The driver chatted nervously as the van drove down the dusty street, but all the rest of the passengers in the van were silent. To them, this was ordinary routine.

The van drove slowly past the checkpoint, only pausing for Amr to show the guard the forged documents. CIA is still good for something he thought as the guard eagerly waved him through. The van entered a small garage, but then a man came out and angrily yelled at the driver in Farsi. Soon the two were chattering and then the guard leveled his rifle on the driver. Soon, Amr and his driver were outside the van. The driver looked ready to soil himself, but Amr coolly spoke to the guard. "Why are you bothering us?" His Farsi was spoken easily and with no recognizable accent.

"I must be permitted to see your cargo." The guard responded angrily. Amr smiled and led the guard around the back of the van, slowly opening the door. Before the guard could comrehend the sight of four men in gas masks and kevlar vests pointing UMPs at him, Amr's silenced Beretta 3032 Tomcat dispatched the guard. The men handed Amr a kevlar vest and a gas mask, which he donned. Immediately afterwards, one of the men threw a small grenade into the room, filling the room with BZ, immediately incapacitating everyone. They eliminated all of the armed men and fired several shots into the panel controlling the elevator before ascending the stairs.

On the second floor Amr quickly grabbed a small man from before the antiquated computer and smashed the butt of his pistol into the man's nose. "Where are the bank papers?" Another one of the men shouted. Amr delivered another blow to the man's forehead, bringing him to his knees, and then delivered a powerful blow behind the man's ear, conjuring blood. "Where are they?" A man pried open a file cabinet and indicated a single folder, but the men with the UMPs took all of them. The men then quickly executed everyone on the floor and Amr set a brick of RDX on one of the desks and activated a small timer.

The men quickly returned to the van to be barrraged by the anxious questioning of the driver who was then silenced by Amr's pistol. The men entered the van and then drove slowly away from the site. The small explosion that erupted from the building occured when Amr was passing his documents to the checkpoint guard, forcing him to execute the guard and his passengers to shoot the nearby soldiers before they could escape.


About forty miles away in an abandoned farmhouse that had been staked as a safehouse, Amr scanned the documents. They were all bank records, and about 40% of them had to do with the state oil company. The US's policy of sinking all the Iranian ships did nothing to curb the world's appetite for oil. In fact, all it did was triple its margins while forcing it to be a bit craftier. They wisely divided their foreign funds among countless banks, constantly transferring the funds to cleanse them before they could finally be silently transferred back to the Iranian banks or converted to cash and carried across the border. As long as this infrastructure existed, Iran would have all the funding it needed. Amr slowly began entering the data into a small laptop connected to a satelite modem. In a matter of minutes, this data would be forwarded through countless waystations and eventually end up in America, probably Langley or somewhere close to it. there were accounts in the US, Europe, Africa, Asia, everywhere. I'm just glad I don't have to go closing them. he thought as he typed away.

Persian Gulf

The Iranian Submarine Noor was on its way to meet with the American Navy protecting the oil rigs. If this mission was successful, Iran would gain the upper hand in keeping further U.S. troops entering Iran by sea. The Noor was alone, but was meant to serve as a distraction before the Air Force arrived.

Aboard the Noor
"Captain, We are locked onto our target."
"Prepare for battlestations."
"Torpedos launch in 5...4...3...2...1... Fire!"
The torpedo launched towards one of the combat ships...

Bandar-e Abbas Air Force Station
The Air Force station was preparing for battlestations to meet with the American Navy. 20 Dassault Mirage F1's were planned for battle to sink the U.S. combat ships. What threw them off gaurd was the wave of F-35C's that were headed towards them. Half of the Dassault Mirage's split to hold off the F-35C's while the others continued on to meet with the Noor's location...

Bandar-e Abbas City
The American military was now within the city. The US 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade was sent to pacify the city of all military activities though none could be seen. All seemed quiet for the first 25 minutes they were there, but it changed as soon as an explosion erupted from an M2 Bradley from the south side. Iranian soldiers appeared, followed by militia members and the intense combat between the two began...




OOC: I'm going to be "The Force" that moves this rp along so it doesn't get stuck into death.

Ahvaz, Iran

Nuclear facility

Sardjuhke (Corporal) Parwouz Massaneh was standing guard outside the base, his orders to prevent the American "infidel" special forces from attacking the nuclear facilities within.

Massaneh took a drag on his long Persian cigar. Damned idiots... shooting off a missile and killing a ton of civilians, when they should have been taking advantage of the assassination to install a moderate... He made no secret of the fact that he hated the Ayatollah, but what he kept hidden from his comrades, even his closest friends, was that he saw the whole war as a waste.

Not that he was any friend of the United States. As far as he was concerned, they were just after Middle Eastern oil to fuel their imperialist ambitions of dominance of the Middle East, and he viewed Israel as one giant American military base. But the government could have responded differently to the assassination...

The guard was deep in thought. A rumbling noise brought him back to reality. He dropped the cigar and snapped the safety off of his Khaybar KH2002, an Iranian bullpup version of the M-16. Is someone trying to get in? Is it an air raid? Massaneh looked around intently, but saw nothing as of yet...

USS Stalwart, Persian Gulf

Lt. Sawyer was standing the CIC Tactical Watch when the ship's sonar detected multiple torpedo launches. Sawyer of course had fully expected that the pitiful Iranian Navy would attempt to sortie to meet ther USN in the Gulf and die quickly. He had already plannd his course of action for such an attack.

"Hard to starboard and bring us up to 30 knots. Tactical, deploy the Nixies and crank the Praire maskers up to full blast."

The Nixie was a towed decoy that sounded almost exactly like a real surface ship while the Praire Masker system generated a "wall" of small bubbles that reduced the ship's acoustic signature by nearly 50%.

"Weapons, match bearings with the incoming and engage. Then vector the birds over to that Iranian tub."

With those orders the Stalwart launched a pair of Mk 50 torpedoes on an intercept course for the incoming, they would explode several yards away and use their shock waves to take out most, if not all of the torpedoes. At the same one of the ship's SH-60Hs quickly moved towards the location of the torpedo launches. When the helo was less than 3,000 yards away she released a Mk 50 ASW toprpedo into the water.

Skies over Iran, 0720 hours

~ " All wings report in."

The four-ship formation of F-22s soared gracefully at 20,000 ft., their desert paint job completely invisible to anyone who could have seen them below (if that was even possible, for that matter). Captain Peter Malano was in the lead of the diamond-shaped squad, and upon realizing that their objective was about 15 minutes away, he had to go through one last flight check to make sure that the mission was a complete go.

" This is Dagger, standing by."

Malano's wingman, callsign Dagger, was actually 1st Lt. James Hallock. He had been with Peter ever since he flew in Afghanistan.

" Osprey, standing by."

" King, reporting in and standing by."

Malano nodded his head in confirmation to his wingmen's calls.

" Alright then, ee-tee-ae is about ten minutes."

He switched comm. channels and patched in to HQ before sending his next transmission.

" This is FireHawk Squadron Leader, callsign Falchion, we have a go."

" Falchion, this is Aech-Cue, copy that, Give 'em hell."

As soon as Cpt. Malano switched back over to his wingmen's frequency, his IFF began to show the enemy up ahead. Intel had lied: there were a lot of targets, but the trick, as he had found out in many other similar operations, was to hit whatever was a threat on the first pass, and everything else was just mop-up.

" FireHawk Squadron, let's clean some house."

With that the four fighters broke from eachother, rolled, and dived on the enemy. As the airfield came within visible range, Malano saw two MiG-31 Foxhounds preparing for take-off. The F-22 Raptors in his squadron could easily destroy the Russian fighters in the air, but it would be better to eliminate them immediately.

" Squadron, disperse and engage at will, prioritize fighters and anti-air sites. Go!"

By now, his weapons had a lock on the two MiG-31s on the tarmac below. He set the missiles in his inventory to fire at each target separately, and clicked the trigger twice. He rolled and pulled up at 5,000 ft. as his fighter's radar eliminated two targets behind him from the field. He pulled away, performed an Immelmann, and came around again to see two smoking craters where the MiGs had been before. A small grin of satisfaction came over the Captain's face as his squadron destroyed the enemy's radar and air-defense systems. The airfield was theirs to pick apart ...~

Marshal Akbar Shawad's HQ, Bagdad, Iraq

Shawad slumped onto his chair, he had long waited for this day. The day where he can avenge his fellow Iraqis who died in the Iran Iraq War.

"Sir so when are we moving in?"

"3 weeks from now, give Extra training to all the troops during this 3 weeks."

"How many troops, sir?"

"Take this list, I have the telephone numbers of all the commanders leading divisions written on it as well, tell them to toughen up their men and get ready to war, we don't want the Iranians to be laughing at us."

"Yes Sir!"

At the Iraqi Airfields, Iraqi F-16s took off for their normal Air Patrol Routine. Though envious of their American counterparts, Iraqi Pliots treated their Planes with pride. Sawad stationed another 47 F-15s, 89 F-16s, 36 Lavi Muti-Role fighters and 23 Rafale F13Cs into further training leaving only 14 F-16s to protect Iraqi Airspace, these planes would do a series of final training of Bombing runs of Airfields and Powerplants, each knew their targets well and are expected to hit their targets on the real day.