Last winter, an Iraqi shepherd vanished in the Anbar desert after reporting what he thought were smugglers to the army. His family insists his death was no accident. The New York Times now confirms he had stumbled upon one of Israel's two covert bases, hidden in the western sands, used to stage aircraft and drones bound for Iran. The outposts, prepared as early as late 2024, shortened flight paths from Israel to targets inside Iran. Baghdad called it a foreign incursion and complained at the UN. Washington quietly confirmed the Israelis were there all along.
For over a year, these bases operated intermittently, first during the 12-day Israel-Iran war in June 2025 and now in the grinding, undeclared campaign that followed. The first base was discovered by accident; a reconnaissance patrol Iraq sent in response came under fire. One soldier died, two were wounded, two vehicles were destroyed before the unit retreated. The second site, still undisclosed, was used to refuel drones and direct cyber strikes, according to regional security officials briefed by the Times. Neither Baghdad's government nor its powerful militias can claim to control the desert anymore. Iraq's airspace, already porous, is now a free-fire zone where Israel can move without Baghdad's consent, or even its knowledge.
Who gains, who loses in this shadow game
Iran's supreme leader has vowed revenge for what he calls "Zionist aggression," but the real losers may be Iraqis themselves. Prime Minister Mohammed Shia al-Sudani faces a dilemma: publicly denounce Israeli violations and risk embarrassing his U.S. backers, or stay silent and watch militias take matters into their own hands. Already, Kata'ib Hezbollah has threatened to close the strategic al-Asad airbase to U.S. forces unless Washington stops Israel. Washington, for its part, knew about the bases since June 2025 but never warned Baghdad, according to the Times. That silence deepens Iraqi suspicions that America's priority is keeping Israel's hands free, not Iraq's sovereignty.
The biggest winner is Tel Aviv. Shaving thousands of miles off flight routes means faster strikes, fewer tankers in the air, and less warning time for Tehran. Israeli F-35s can reach Iranian nuclear sites and military complexes in under ninety minutes, instead of three hours. The bases also let Israel run electronic-warfare drones that jam Iranian air defenses and guide precision missiles, all while remaining outside the range of Tehran's ballistic rockets. For Prime Minister Benjamin Netanyahu, the Anbar desert has become an unsinkable aircraft carrier.
The risks are obvious. Iraq's fragile state could fracture under the pressure. Sunni tribes in Anbar, once wary of Baghdad, now whisper about forming their own militias to "protect" the desert from outsiders. Kurdish leaders in Erbil smell an opportunity to push for an autonomous zone that stretches toward the Syrian border. Iran, meanwhile, has already launched retaliatory strikes from Syria, using the same desert routes Israel used to reach Tehran. The region is sliding toward a permanent covert war where borders no longer matter.
A precedent that still haunts the Middle East
This isn't the first time foreign powers have turned Iraq into a launching pad. In 1981, Israel destroyed Iraq's Osirak nuclear reactor, Operation Opera, flying eight hundred miles round trip from Tel Aviv. But that strike happened in broad daylight, with a clear target and a public justification. Today's outposts are deniable, fleeting, and deliberately deniable. They echo the "secret war" Washington ran against North Vietnam from Thai bases in the 1960s, where bombers took off under cover of darkness and returned before dawn. The difference is that Iraq, unlike Thailand, has not given permission. Baghdad's silence is tacit consent, and tacit consent is a thin reed to build a nation on.
What makes this moment more volatile is the absence of any regional architecture to police it. The Abraham Accords have normalised ties between Israel and some Arab states, but Iraq is not among them. Saudi Arabia's Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman has hinted at quiet contacts with Israel, but Baghdad's Shiite leadership still treats Tel Aviv as an existential enemy. Egypt, Jordan, and the UAE have stayed silent on the bases, perhaps fearing that acknowledging them would legitimise Israel's right to operate on Arab soil. The result is a patchwork of deniability where no one can admit what everyone already knows.
For Pakistan and India, the immediate worry is the precedent. If Israel can park bases in Iraq without Baghdad's approval, what stops New Delhi from asking Kabul, or even Rawalpindi, for similar arrangements near the Durand Line? Pakistan's military already accuses India of using Afghan soil to run proxies in Balochistan. Now Islamabad must ask: if Tel Aviv can bypass Iraqi sovereignty, why can't Delhi bypass Pakistan's? The answer, of course, is geography. Pakistan sits between India and Iran, making it both a corridor and a potential battleground. Any escalation between Israel and Iran risks drawing in South Asia through trade routes, energy flows, and diaspora politics.
India, for its part, has walked a tightrope since 2022, when it abstained on UN votes condemning Israeli actions in Gaza. New Delhi still buys Russian oil, maintains ties with Tehran, and hosts a growing Jewish community. But the Modi government's strategic alignment with Washington and Tel Aviv makes it reluctant to criticise Israel publicly. During the June 2025 war, India quietly shut down Iranian consulates in Mumbai and Hyderabad, a move that angered Shiite traders in Surat and Kerala. If Israel's Anbar bases become a permanent fixture, New Delhi may face harder choices: risk alienating its energy suppliers in the Gulf, or risk alienating its defence partners in Washington and Tel Aviv.
Pakistan's calculus is simpler but no less dangerous. The army's Inter-Services Intelligence has long relied on proxies in Syria and Iraq to keep Iran's Revolutionary Guards off balance. If Israel is now operating from Anbar with tacit U.S. approval, that same space could be used by Indian intelligence to monitor Pakistani movements near the Iranian border. Already, Pakistani analysts whisper about a "two-front" dilemma: militants on the eastern border and Israeli drones on the western one. The government in Islamabad has warned the U.S. about "third-party" use of Pakistani airspace, but Washington's silence on Iraq suggests it won't listen.
The next moves will be quieter than the last
Expect Baghdad to tighten control over its western desert, but not before it cuts a secret deal with Washington. Al-Sudani's government may agree to keep radar silence in exchange for expanded U.S. counter-Iran operations on Iraqi soil. That would give the U.S. a fig leaf to claim it is "protecting" Iraq while allowing Israel to keep its bases. Militias will retaliate with hit-and-run attacks on U.S. convoys, forcing Washington to choose between defending its own troops or turning a blind eye to Israeli strikes.
In Tel Aviv, Netanyahu will likely push for a third base, this one closer to the Iranian border, perhaps in Syria's Palmyra region. The goal is to create a continuous corridor from the Mediterranean to the Persian Gulf, making any future strike on Iran a matter of hours, not days. Iran, meanwhile, will accelerate its drone and missile programs, betting that the next Israeli operation will trigger a wider regional war it can exploit.
The shepherd's death in Anbar may be the first casualty of this new covert front, but it will certainly not be the last. Iraq's desert is vast, its government is weak, and its allies are divided. In a region where borders have always been porous, the only certainty is that the next shadow war will begin where the last one ended, in the sand, and in silence.
