Duncan watched the progress of the point element. The call light on the sound-powered phone signaled an incoming call. Duncan picked it up and whispered, “Duncan.” It was the security element reporting the passing of the 2nd Platoon’s main body. Duncan didn’t reply. He settled down next to his lieutenant and whispered, “Two more minutes and they’re in the bag.”
From the machine-gun position to his left, the sudden beep-beep-beep of a digital watch announced that it was 4
1700 hours. Duncan, his eyes as wide as saucers, turned to the source of the noise, then back to the OP
FOR
point element. They had gone to ground, only the swaying of branches to show where they had disappeared. Duncan looked about, noticing that the call light of the sound powered phone was on. He picked up the phone and answered. The man on the other end announced that the 2nd Platoon was deploying on either side of the trail. The 1st Platoon’s ambush had been blown.
Further reports from the security element were cut short by the popping of small-arms fire.
Without hesitation, Duncan turned to his lieutenant and shouted, “We’ve blown the ambush!” then yelled to the squad leaders, “Break contact and move to the rally point, now!” Without waiting for a response or needing one, Duncan grabbed the phone, yanked the wires from it and shouted to his platoon leader, “Let’s go, Lieutenant, time to get out of here.”
Under the control of their squad leaders, the 1st Platoon began to move.
The 2nd Platoon, however, was on top of them before they could make a clean getaway. A running gun battle resulted as the 1st Platoon attempted to get back to its rally point, where it would be picked up by helicopters. The 2nd Platoon tried to get around them and pin them.
As they dashed from tree to tree, Duncan grabbed the platoon leader and told him to take the 2nd and 3rd Squads while he tried to delay the 2nd Platoon with the 1st Squad. The platoon leader agreed, shouted out for the 2nd and 3rd Squads to continue to withdraw, and moved out. Duncan turned to look for Staff Sergeant
Hernandez, the squad leader for 1st Squad. He didn’t see him or the assistant squad leader. Seeing no alternative, Duncan attempted to regain control of the situation. From his position, he yelled, “First Squad, rally on me!”
That was a mistake. Command and control of the platoon had been long since lost. No one knew where anyone else was in the thick pine forest. Instead of serving to rally the 1st Squad, Duncan’s order served only to draw attention in his direction. Assuming a crouch, he turned to move to a position from which to set up a hasty defense.
Breaking out from between two trees, he 5
suddenly found himself confronted by two men from the 2nd Platoon.
Instinctively, all three of them leveled their M16s and began to blast away.
Although he was able to get one of his attackers, Duncan also was hit, which caused his
MILES
buzzer to begin squawking in his left ear.
Disgusted, he straightened up to look about. The early evening stillness of the pine forest was shattered by the squawk of dozens of
MILES
buzzers and the tapering off of small-arms fire. A shout from the controller signaled the end of a fruitless day’s effort. The 1st Platoon had been wiped out in less than ten minutes.
The Armenian Soviet Socialist Republic 0230 Hours, 25 May (2230 Hours, 24 May,
GMT
)
The predawn darkness covered the tank column like a cloak as it moved off the dirt road into its assembly area. Traffic regulators from the regiment directed the tanks into their assigned positions. The move went like clockwork, with the lead company moving forward and occupying positions in a shallow arch facing west. The next company in line peeled off and occupied a similar arch facing to the south, with its far-right tank making contact with the far-left tank of the first company. The third company did likewise, facing north and completing the circle by linking itself with the first two tank companies. In this manner, the 3rd Battalion of the 68th Tank Regiment cleared the main road and deployed with nothing more than a few quick motions from the faint flashlights of the traffic regulators.
Major Anatol Vorishnov brought his eight-wheeled BTR-60 armored personnel carrier to a halt in the lee of a huge boulder in the center of the circle created by the tanks. At a distance of fifty meters he could barely make out the image of the battalion commander’s tank coming to a halt in a shallow depression. That pitiful attempt to seek cover served to remind
Vorishnov just how vulnerable the battalion was in this bleak mountainous region that the regiment was traveling through; more vulnerable to sudden attack than in open steppes like those around 6
Kiev which were far more suitable for mechanized warfare. And there at least, thought Vorishnov, the dark earth and the lush green spring grass were more inviting and easier to live with.
As the driver shut the
BTR
down and the other staff officers piled out of the vehicle, Vorishnov mentally reviewed the upcoming operation, scheduled to commence in two hours. The 28th Combined Arms Army, consisting of three motorized rifle divisions and one tank division, the 33rd, to which the 68th Tank Regiment belonged, was to advance along a line from Jolia to
Marand, then to Tabriz-a total distance of over 270 kilometers. While no one expected any serious resistance from the rabble that the once proud
Iranian Army had become, the division’s line of march was through the Zagros mountain range along narrow, twisting valleys. Here a handful of fanatics could stop the most sophisticated weapons in the world with a few rocket launchers and a barrier. Reaching Tabriz wouldn’t be the end of their difficulties; in fact, it wouldn’t even be the halfway point. Not until they were near Tehran, over six hundred kilometers from their start point, would the 28th Combined Arms Army have some open terrain to maneuver in.
As selfish and unprofessional as the thought was, Vorishnov was thankful that the 33rd Tank Division would be following the motorized rifle divisions. The thought of being trapped in a narrow valley by an ambush sprung by crazed Muslims trying to become martyrs was terrifying to him.
Stories of such incidents in Afghanistan had been passed around by word of mouth from people who had been there. He glanced at his watch. Two more hours and it would all begin. With a little luck and a lot of help from
Spetznetz commando teams, from the
KGB
, from Tudeh-the Iranian Communist
Party-and from a couple of well-placed airborne assaults, the 28th Combined
Arms Army would be overlooking the Strait of Hormuz in four weeks.
Or,
Vorishnov thought, that’s what the plan is.
Aboard a
USAF
. liaison jet en route from Washington, D.C.” to Fort Hood, Texas 1730 Hours,
CST
, 24 May (2330 Hours, 24 May,
GMT
) Lieutenant General Francis Weir sat staring out the small window at the clouds below. Absentmindedly his fingers drummed upon the red-covered document labeled
SECRET
sitting on his lap. He still found it difficult to accept that he had just been ordered to move his entire corps from Fort Hood and Fort Polk to Iran and be prepared to conduct combat operations against
Soviet forces now massing to invade that country. The 10th Corps was tagged to go to
NATO
, not Southwest Asia. They didn’t have plans covering any such contingency. That was supposed to be someone else’s job. Yet less than three hours ago he had been told to forget about Europe and prepare his corps for deployment to the Persian Gulf.
The corps commander turned to the order and opened it to the page with the mission statement and read it again:
10th Corps will mobilize and deploy from home station to designated ports of embarkation (see Annex E), for movement to the Persian Gulf.
The U.S.
Navy will transport 10th Corps to ports of debarkation (to be determined); 10th Corps will assemble and prepare to conduct combat operations against enemy forces in cooperation with other U.S. and allies’ forces as directed.
Weir turned to the list of annexes. Next to Annex E was: “To be Published.”
He closed the document and turned back to the window. Christ, he thought, not only can’t they tell me yet where I’m leaving from or where I’m going to land, they don’t even know who I’m supposed to fight. He turned to his operations officer. “Chris, did you get word back to Hood to have the corps orders group ready when we get back?”
“Yes, Sir. I talked to the chief of staff. He indicated that most of the staff and all of the division commanders were still there. Of course, we might not be able to get General Allen from Fort Polk there, but the chief said he will try.”
Have you figured out what we’re going to tell them when we get there?”
The operations officer thought for a moment. “Well, sir, other than what they told us in D.C.” no, sir, I haven’t. ”
The corps commander considered that response. “Well, Chris, neither have I.
But don’t worry, we still have another hour to pull something out of our ass that makes sense.”
The operations officer didn’t answer, watching as his commander turned back to the window and continued drumming on the order in his lap.
Fort Hood, Texas 1730 Hours, 24 May (2330 Hours, 24 May,
GMT
) Without rising from his desk, Master Sergeant Jack Nesbitt covered the phone receiver and called out to his boss, the battalion S-3, “Major Dixon, the brigade three is on the line for you.”
Dixon looked at his watch. He mumbled out loud to himself, “Shit!
That’s all I need. Doesn’t he know this is Friday?” Then to Sergeant Nesbitt,
“Tell him I’m not here, that I went home to play with my wife.”
Nesbitt put the phone back to his ear and relayed the first part of the message, listened for a moment, then covered the receiver again. “No go,
Major. He says it’s very important.”
Everything in the 25th Armored Division was important. The trick was to know what really was important. Dixon decided that Michaelski, the brigade
S-3, wouldn’t be calling this time of day on a Friday unless it really was important. He picked up the phone, “Dixon here. What’s so hellfire important that it can’t wait till Monday?”
“Tuesday, Scott. Don’t forget this was going to be a three-day weekend.”
“Yeah, I remember. And I intend to keep it a three day weekend. So what is it you want?”
“I just got a call from Division that we are to stand by to receive a warning order. No one seems to know what it’s about or when this warning will be given. I do know that anyone who is on leave is to be recalled and that the corps commander was called to D.C. and is currently en route back with some kind of order.”
Dixon straightened up and began to consider what the brigade S-3 was saying. “Are we having an emergency re deployment exercise?”
“No. I know that for sure. You’re not due a re deployment exercise.
But that’s about all I know. Whatever it is, the division orders group is on alert to be prepared to assemble in fifteen minutes, and the Old Man wants the brigade orders group ready to go once Division is done with him.”
“So, no one knows anything except that everyone is to stand by. Are we initiating a full recall?”
“No one has said as much yet, Scott, but I would strongly advise you that you hang on to your staff and company commanders until we know what’s going on for sure.”
There was a pause before Dixon replied, “OK, Ralph, wilco. Just keep me posted. Colonel Childress isn’t going to be thrilled about sitting around on a Friday evening waiting for Division.”
After hanging up the phone, Dixon walked out to Nesbitt’s desk.
“Sergeant
Nesbitt, get hold of the company commanders and tell them not to leave for home until they get word from the CO. If they’ve left already, have the company CQs get them back in. Pass the same word around to the staff, including our people. I’ll be in the colonel’s office for a few minutes.”
Without waiting for a response, Dixon headed down the hall toward the battalion commander’s office, but stopped, turned and went back into his own office. He reached over his desk, picking up the phone receiver with one hand while hitting the preset button labeled
HOME
.
The colonel could wait another minute. Dixon needed to tell his wife not to hold dinner for him.
Memphis, Tennessee 1745 Hours, 24 May (2345 Hours, 24 May,
GMT
) As luck would have it, Ed Lewis had no sooner closed and locked the door than the phone rang. He stood there for a moment, hand on the doorknob, and half turned, debating whether to forget it and walk away or go back in and answer it. From the car, his wife called for him to leave it. Lewis looked at the car, loaded with kids, camping gear and food. Three days’ camping with a visit to the Grand Ole Opry was waiting for him. But wait it would.
He yelled to his wife to hang on a little longer while he answered the phone.
Put out by the untimely interruption, Lewis picked up the receiver and answered dejectedly with a simple “Hello.”
“Ed, I’m glad I caught you.” It was Colonel Franklin from State Headquarters. “I tried the armory, but no one was there. Is Hal still in town?” Hal was Harold R. Green, the commander of the 2nd Battalion, 354th
Infantry (Mechanized), Tennessee National Guard.
“Yes, I believe he was going to stick around and catch up on some rest.
They’ve been dogging him kinda hard down at City Hall. What’s up?”
“Ed, you’ve been federalized.”
Lewis stood there for a moment dumbfounded. “Federalized? Me? What in the hell for?”
“Not just you, the whole battalion. Actually, the order doesn’t go into effect until midnight tonight.”
“A Presidential order?”
“They’re the best kind, aren’t they?”
Lewis did not appreciate the colonel’s poor attempt at humor. “Christ, sir, what’s going on?”
“I don’t know, Ed. As soon as I have something, I’ll let you know.
Until then, let’s get the show on the road. Get your people moving and I’ll start getting things ready from this end.”