A roar obliterated his voice as a rocket streaked away, the flame brilliant against the black clouds. After a second the solid propellant burned out. Another rocket flashed away, then another and another.

A thundering roar came from the storm-dark sky as the supersonic rockets created a noise like a freight train. The thunder faded as the rockets hurtled into the distance.

The Iranian watched the explosions through the oversized binoculars. "A hit! Two hits! They all hit! Praise be to Allah!"

Colonel Dastgerdi saw the four white-orange sparks on the hillside ten kilometers away. One cloud of yellow marking smoke puffed into the air, the wind blowing the yellow over the hillsides. He called down to his technicians:

"Is there now a signal?"

"No," a voice answered from the canvas shelter. "No more. It is gone."

"Fire the other rockets."

Four more rockets streaked away. Twenty seconds after the launch, four widely spaced puffs of red smoke appeared on the hillsides.

"They all missed!" Rouhani spun away from the binoculars, his face twisting with rage. Spittle sprayed from his mouth and clung in his beard. His eyebrows, one long band of black above his eyes, twisted into a zigzag. "What went wrong? Who is responsible? Who has failed in his service of Allah? You cannot protect your Syrian friends this time."

"The second flight of rockets had no guidance systems," Colonel Dastgerdi explained. Stepping to the binoculars, he studied the distant hillside.

Yellow splashes marked the impacts. Explosions had ripped apart the plastic target. Though not achieving pinpoint accuracy, the guided rockets had scored four hits within the hundred meter diameter of the target. He continued his explanation.

"My technicians fitted identical guidance housings to the warheads, but the units contained no electronics or servomechanisms. The first four rockets proved the value of the guidance units, the other four rockets proved the accuracy not to be only by chance."