By the time Zhang Feng returned to the Osirak Reactor, everything was already over. The nearby workshop was ablaze, but the reactor itself stood unscathed; several fire trucks were dousing the flames.
At this point the reactor had not yet been loaded with nuclear fuel or started up, so there was no risk of a leak. Besides, none of the enemy bombs had actually struck the reactor. In short, the Israelis had failed to achieve their objective.
History was about to be rewritten, and Zhang Feng brimmed with confidence.
Zhang Feng suddenly noticed that the soldiers around him were gazing at him with utter adoration!
"Your Excellency Qusay, you were brilliant!" Wahrih exclaimed, staring at him in excitement.
Shooting down the Israeli planes and protecting the reactor—Wahrih knew that Qusay deserved the greatest credit. Without his order to ambush the aircraft from the lakeside, the reactor would now be a sea of fire, and every guard here would probably have been hanged by the furious President.
The timing and method had been chosen perfectly. Had the anti-aircraft guns remained here, even thousands of them firing skyward would have achieved little; diving jets are almost impossible to track, and the missile battalion was nowhere nearby. Placing the guns at that spot had paid off handsomely.
Watching the men fight the fire, Zhang Feng saw thick black smoke billow up as water streams struck the blaze, and something else suddenly occurred to him.
"Wahrih, gather some brush and straw and set fires around the base—smoke the sky out above us," Zhang Feng ordered.
"Yes, Your Excellency Qusay." Wahrih did not understand the purpose, but he obeyed without question.
"Second Young Master, His Excellency the President summons you," Basar said, walking up.
He wants me now? If only it had been a bit earlier—not one of those Israeli intruders would have escaped, Zhang Feng thought with regret. He would make those arrogant pilots learn that Iraqi airspace was sacred and inviolable.
"Very well—back to Baghdad at once," Zhang Feng said.
At the wheel of a dazzling sports car, Zhang Feng sped toward Baghdad with Basar and the rest of his escort.
Baghdad, capital of Iraq and seat of Baghdad Province, is a famed historic city of the Islamic world. The name comes from Persian, meaning "Gift of God." Lying in the heart of Mesopotamia, it straddles the Tigris and is barely thirty kilometres from the Euphrates, making it Iraq's political, economic, cultural and transport hub.
Four millennia ago Sumerian city-states arose here. In the 19th century BC the Babylonian Kingdom—one of the world's four great ancient civilizations—took the stage. For centuries Baghdad served as capital of the Abbasid Caliphate, a renowned Islamic metropolis and the centre of economy, trade, culture and communications in the Middle East. For over 1,200 years it ranked with China's Tang capital Chang'an and Byzantium's Constantinople as one of the three greatest cities on earth.
Known as the home of the Arabian Nights and cradle of the two-river civilization, Baghdad is among the Arab world's oldest cities, yet the Iran-Iraq War has left it visibly weary.
Zhang Feng knew that Saddam dreamed of uniting the Arab nation. He once described Iraq this way:
"We stand either on the summit of a mountain or at the bottom of a deep valley—never on level ground!"
A man like that, proud and solitary, reliant on force, was fated to make the disastrous choice of the Iran-Iraq War.
With uneasy heart Zhang Feng entered Saddam's palace—the Republican Palace, Iraq's presidential seat.
This nerve-centre of Iraqi power, formerly the royal palace of the Hashemite dynasty, covers roughly seventeen square kilometres. It houses the President's offices, reception halls, meeting rooms and living quarters, symbolizing national sovereignty and the very identity of Iraq.
Walking along the marble corridor, Zhang Feng marvelled at the opulence while guards led him into a council chamber.
At the oval conference table, Zhang Feng's gaze was first drawn to the portrait in the center—the Ace of Spades from a deck of cards, the same image that hung in his bedroom: his father, the ruler of Iraq, President Saddam Hussein.
In Zhang Feng's later memories, Saddam was a deeply controversial figure; after Iraq's invasion of Kuwait, the world's verdict on him grew even harsher. Some called him "the Hitler of the Middle East," "a brutal dictator"; others praised him as "a hero of the Arab nation," "a shining sword of Arabia."
Looking at Saddam now, Zhang Feng's impression was of an iron-fisted president.
Saddam was broad-shouldered, with a trim black mustache and piercing eyes that locked onto the entering Zhang Feng—an aggressive stare that made him uneasy.
Those who stand at the summit of power probably all carry such an overbearing aura.
Flanking Saddam sat several people. Zhang Feng swept his eyes left: three soldiers in green berets and Ba'ath Party uniforms. He didn't know them, but their ranks were clear—either major generals or lieutenant generals.
On the right sat men in traditional Iraqi robes and keffiyehs—obviously civilians.
The man farthest right wore a cynical expression; even seated he looked tall, with a full beard and handsome features.
"Our great hero arrives!" he said in a strange tone. "Qusay, you've scored a huge success. We're all here waiting to announce your deeds to the entire nation!"
"Uday, enough joking—you've left your brother stunned," Saddam cut in. "Qusay, we already know about the Osirak Reactor. Well done this time."
So this was his older brother Uday! Zhang Feng still carried Qusay's memories. Though only two years apart, Uday—barely twenty—was already being groomed by Saddam to enter the inner circle and attend high-level meetings.
"Exactly! Who'd have thought a college kid at Baghdad University's School of Political Science and Law could pull off something this big? Your uncle is overjoyed!" said a lieutenant general in uniform.
The speaker was Defense Minister and head of military security Adnan Khairallah, younger brother of Qusay's mother Sajida Talfah, who was also Saddam's cousin. The blood ties were close, and Adnan now held great power in the country.
Beside him sat Lt. Gen. Hazraji and Maj. Gen. Rashid, Chief of the General Staff and commander of the Republican Guard respectively.
These three were key military figures.
The men in Arab dress were half-brothers of Saddam: Watban Ibrahim al-Tikriti, Minister of Interior, and Barzan Ibrahim al-Tikriti, head of intelligence; along with Oil Minister Salabi and Ba'ath Party number two Taha Yasin Ramadan.
All were senior officials steering the machinery of the Iraqi state.
With Saddam's praise, the others congratulated Zhang Feng. The situation had been perilous: by the time the air-defense radar warning reached the top, enemy planes were already near Baghdad. Saddam instantly judged they were targeting the reactor, and from the west—not Iran, but Israel!
Adnan immediately contacted the reactor, only to learn that most of its guards had come to Baghdad for the Sunday holiday; even the base commander couldn't be reached.
Adnan knew disaster loomed. If the reactor were bombed, the furious president would have heads roll—his own included.
Yet heroes can be young. The president's second son had calmly taken command at the base, shot down the raiders, and saved the reactor. Adnan reported at once; the overjoyed president summoned the son he hadn't seen in months to the palace for praise.
It was unprecedented. Everyone knew the president's favorite was his eldest son, Uday.