Vorishnov looked at his watch. In less than thirty minutes the regiment had gone from the brink of defeat to a smashing victory, a victory made possible by the 3rd Battalion. With a little luck, they would go through the Iranian position and be able to continue on to Tehran.
Kuh-e Genu, Iran 0430 Hours, 8 June (0100 Hours, 8 June,
GMT
) The flash of impacting artillery followed by the crashing of the explosion reminded Second Lieutenant Cerro of a thunderstorm. In the distance, it had been mildly interesting to watch; as he and his men climbed closer, excitement built up. Cerro wondered how effective the artillery was. Sergeant
Arnold didn’t think the 105 howitzers would do much good against well-prepared positions that the Iranians, no doubt, had on the mountaintop.
Cerro paused for a moment to catch his breath, looking up the steep mountainside. If nothing else, the artillery was at least proving to be a convenient aid to navigation. So long as the artillery went in, Cerro knew where to head.
The first two days in Iran had been hard. The 17th Airborne Division had managed to secure the airfield and the naval base and port facilities there. Organized resistance had collapsed, but there were still a great many groups of anywhere from four to ten Iranians wandering around, setting up ambushes or holding key positions throughout the town and the surrounding countryside. Each group had to be found, pinned and taken out.
One of Second Lieutenant Cerro’s men had made the casual observation that someone must have issued to every male born in Iran a rifle and forty rounds of ammunition.
The process was simple but nerveracking, especially the first part, finding them. Sometimes the point man was able to detect telltale signs of an ambush or a hidden position. The Iranians, though brave, were not professionals, leaving loose dirt or exposing dirt of a different color near their dug-in positions, using the wrong type of vegetation or simply not covering up their weapons or themselves. Other times, the first hint of trouble was a burst of automatic rifle fire or the explosion of a grenade.
When that happened, the men would automatically begin to fire in whichever direction their rifles happened to be pointed. Cerro had the damnedest time getting them to stop and trying to figure out what was really happening.
Once the enemy had been located, part of the platoon would deploy and lay down a base of fire to pin the enemy and cover the movement of the platoon’s maneuver element. It was the job of the maneuver element to find an exposed flank or surround the Iranians while the rest of the platoon covered the movement with fire. When the Iranians were trapped, everyone would cut loose until the last Iranian had surrendered or died. Most
Iranians preferred the latter. Now that the airfield had been secured, the
Sheridan armored assault vehicles arrived and simplified the process with their 152mm. main guns and their machine guns. The paratroopers used the
Sheridan like a mobile pillbox to destroy Iranian positions. If a pocket of resistance was hit and there was a Sheridan nearby, someone would summon it. Often all that was needed to break resistance was a burst of machine-gun fire and a menacing maneuver by the ugly tracked vehicle. When true diehards were encountered, a high-explosive round from the main gun quickly decided the issue.
When word came that the battalion was to move up to seize a place called
Kuh-e Genu, the men welcomed the opportunity to end the deadly cat-and-mouse game they had been playing with the small groups of Iranian fanatics. Their enthusiasm evaporated, however, when they found out that
Kuh-e Genu was the name of the mountain that rose to nearly twenty-four hundred feet above them. Genu dominated the entire area. Until it was secured, it posed a threat to air and port operations in and around Bandar
Abbas. The task of seizing the mountain was made even more difficult by the fact that helicopters were not yet available for an air assault operation against the mountaintop. The entire operation would have to be conducted on foot. On the afternoon of 7 June, the battalion moved forward to climb
Kuh-e Genu and begin the process of expanding the airhead.
Takestan, Southwest of Qazvin, Iran 0745 Hours, 8 June (0415 Hours, 8
June,
GMT
)
The halting and frustrating progress that had characterized the first days of the invasion had given way to rapid and unrestricted advances wherever the 28th Combined Arms Army went. After the tank battle north of Mianeh, the greatest delay the army had experienced had been a monumental traffic jam in the town of Mianeh as the two divisions advancing from the west ran into the two advancing from the north.
After days of frustrations and delays, no one expected the Iranians to collapse as completely as they did. Plans for organizing the pursuit of shattered Iranian forces were therefore incomplete when the units of the 28th
CAA
were ordered to execute them.
The 68th Tank Regiment, though badly mauled during the tank battle on 6
June, was the vanguard for the army simply because it was the first unit through the town and didn’t stop. The regiment, initially shaken and gun-shy after that battle, overcame their caution and rushed forward with few reservations. All were determined to be the first to reach Tehran and have the honor of parading down the broad avenue to the former Royal Palace of the Shah. Despite the heat, the lack of sleep, the irregular meals and the incessant dust, the men were, for the moment, happy to be moving forward at full speed.
Major Vorishnov, working with the regimental staff, had the task of ensuring that his battalion, the lead battalion, kept moving. Although he was the first officer of the battalion and usually concerned himself with only operational matters, the task of securing fuel, food and other necessary items to keep the drive going was beyond the capability of the battalion’s supply officer. In addition, Vorishnov’s rank helped, on occasion, to overcome bureaucratic inertia. When his rank failed to impress the rear-echelon supply people Vorishnov had no qualms about using his vast size and a not-too-subtle hint of violence to get what he wanted. After watching men fight and die to make the breakthrough possible, he was not about to let a pencil-pushing supply officer stop his battalion. They would reach Tehran ahead of everyone else, procedures be damned.
On his way to the rear in search of fuel trucks that had failed to make it to the battalion the night before, Vorishnov stopped at the division command post. It wasn’t much of a command post: several armored cars and personnel carriers, configured as mobile command vehicles, clustered together with canvas spread between them to provide shade for the working officers. The first officer of the division was glad to see Vorishnov. He was having trouble keeping track of the lead unit’s progress and could not get accurate reports on the condition of the roads and bridges, what few there were, and other details of what lay ahead. The lead regiment was moving so fast that communications often failed. Therefore anyone coming from the front of the column was pumped for information.
In the course of their conversation, the division first officer made comment about the difficulties the American airborne division was experiencing in securing its airhead around Bandar Abbas. At first, Vorishnov didn’t realize what the division officer was saying.
Vorishnov had never heard of Bandar Abbas and assumed it was in another Arab country.
Only when the division officer mentioned in a disgusted tone that all Soviet naval and air forces were ordered not to engage American forces going into Iran did Vorishnov make the connection.
Vorishnov stopped what he was doing, grabbed the division officer by the arm and asked him to repeat what he had just said. The division officer, taken aback, looked at him for a moment before he realized that word had never gotten down to him about the American intervention in Iran. Word traveled slowly in both directions.
University of Tehran, in Tehran, Iran 0930 Hours, 8 June (0600 Hours, 8
June,
GMT
)
The three men seated around the large table were not only from vastly different backgrounds, but figuratively speaking, from different ages.
The physicist, noticeably uncomfortable and jumpy, was from the late twentieth century. A man of the future. The Air Force colonel, equally uncomfortable but determined to hide it from the third man in the room, belonged to an age when honor and glory meant something.
The man at the head of the table, dressed in the garb of a mullah, was a product of the Middle Ages, in thought and deed.
The mullah leafed through a report on the table before him, then let the pages drop and stared at the physicist. “So, you are not ready, despite your promises.
The physicist jumped. “I .. . I never told you we were ready or gave a date when the device would be ready. I simply said that we had everything we needed and could, given time, put together a couple of devices. This is not easy. If the triggers are not set right, if the material is not of sufficient uniformity-”
The mullah pounded his fist on the table, cutting the physicist off.
“You have deceived us. A great deal of money and effort has gone into your project. You always reported that things were proceeding well and would be ready soon. For six years, you have said the same thing, over and over. Now is the moment of truth. The Council will not tolerate any more delays. The
Lesser Satan is almost at the gates of this city. If he is not stopped here, Qom will fall to him. You will produce or pay with your life.”
The physicist was now shaking and stammering. He tried to reply, but could not. The colonel, ever conscious of his delicate position, gambled and intervened on the physicist’s behalf. “The doctor is right: While we do have all the parts, putting together a functional device is not easy. None of us has ever done so. If we make an error, just the slightest error, we lose everything. Besides, the time is not right.”
The mullah, surprised at the show of support from the colonel, stared at him before asking him to explain why the time was not right.
The colonel explained. “We now have to face both Satans. The Soviets continue to advance and, no doubt, will go as far south as possible. They want the oil and the ports on the Persian Gulf. The Great Satan wants to stop them.” The colonel stopped for a moment. He had the mullah’s complete attention. “Eventually, they will meet in battle. When they do, there will be much confusion. Then, and only then, will be the right time to set off the device. In the heat of the moment and the confusion of battle, no one will be able to tell who, for sure, fired the device. Both, knowing that we do not have such a thing, will believe the other did it. As is their policy, they will retaliate in kind. In this way, with only a single device, we can serve Allah, His name be praised, and destroy not only the forces of the two
Satans in our country but, Allah willing, their homelands too.”
The colonel sat back in his chair and watched as the mullah thought over the argument just put forth. The colonel had used all the right words and had given the mullah something more than he could have hoped for-a means to strike at both of the godless infidels. In return, the colonel had, he hoped, bought a little more time for sanity to win out.
It was a desperate game the colonel was playing. But the stakes were high. Horribly high.
The mullah looked at him. “Your plan has merit. I will present it to the
Council. In the meantime, remove everything you need for the device from
Tehran to a safe place where you can continue your work. Destroy all evidence of your work and keep us informed of your progress and when you will be ready.”
Without waiting for a response, the mullah stood up and left the room.
Both the physicist and the colonel sat there in silence for a moment, staring at each other, wondering what their next move would be and where the unfolding insanity would eventually end.
Ever forward, but slowly.
-
GEBHARD
LEBERECHT
VON
BLUCHER
Bandar Abbas 0535 Hours, 11 June (0205 Hours, 11 June,
GMT
) The crews of the two F-15E Strike Eagles were impatient to go. While the ground crew made last-minute checks around the aircraft, they sat in their cockpits and watched the comings and goings of military transports and of civilian airliners pressed into military service. The sun was hardly up and already the place was a zoo. At one end of the runway, Army equipment taken off C-141 and huge C-5A transports was being marshaled. Next to that area was a supply dump where forklifts shuttled back and forth, moving crates from the runway to a temporary open-air storage site. Along the edge of the runway discarded packing materials and tie-downs were strewn about. For the past five days a steady stream of transports and airliners had been bringing in the rest of the 17th Airborne Division and its support equipment. Despite almost frenzied efforts on the part of the Military Airlift Command, called
MAC
for short, it would be another five days before the entire division was on the ground and the 12th Infantry Division could begin deployment.
Across from the F-15s a flight of Army UH-60 Blackhawk utility helicopters was winding up, preparing for the day’s mission. The F-15s were to provide cover for the flight of Blackhawks, whose mission was to pick up a battalion of the 517th Airborne, one company at a time, and move it to a crossroad town by the name of Tarom, seventy kilometers north of Bandar
Abbas. The Army was expanding the airhead by leapfrogging units to the north, east and west along the major avenues of approach leading to the
Strait of Hormuz. The Marines, operating out of the port of Chah Bahar, were doing likewise. Both forces ran the danger of overextending and isolating themselves rather than isolating the people they were bypassing.
Risks, however, had to be taken. So long as the Soviets were still over five hundred miles to the north and Iranian resistance was disjointed, the risks appeared to be acceptable.