"Are you mocking me?" Rouhani demanded.

Colonel Dastgerdi turned away from the binoculars. He saw the Iranian reaching for the Makarov autopistol he wore in a shoulder holster. "No, I am only explaining. Why don't you announce our success to your men? We are within sight of our victory over the Americans."

"We are? But only four hits? What of the four that missed?"

The Iranian had not understood. The colonel explained again. "Four of the rockets had guidance. Four had nothing. The first four proved that my guidance system worked. Announce the success to your men. Victory will come soon."

His hand on his pistol, Rouhani glared at Colonel Dastgerdi for another moment. Then he rushed to the bell-tower window and shouted out, "In the name of Allah, the Compassionate, the Merciful, King of Judgment Day! Allah's promise is true, the hour of doom shall come for the unbelievers! The Americans shall learn of the wrath of Allah..."

Leaving the fanatic to rave, Dastgerdi went down the bell-tower stairs. His Syrian technicians greeted him with salutes and congratulations. Nodding, he stepped into the snow and mud of the street.

Rouhani continued ranting from the bell tower. "I say to the unbelievers, fear Allah! The catastrophe of the Hour of Doom shall be terrible indeed!"

The Iranians answered their leader's pronouncements with slogans. "Death to America the Satan!"

"The evil of their deeds condemns the unbelievers to the scourge of fire!"

"The fire of hell!"

Wind came from the east as a storm came down on the village. Colonel Dastgerdi put up the collar of his greatcoat. Made of fine Soviet wool, identical to the coats of Soviet officers except he had replaced the red stars of the Communist empire with the green Islamic stars of Syria, the boot-length coat kept him warm in any weather.