Dixon’s commander looked up and smiled. “Scott, I thought I heard you bellow. I was going over our dispositions with Colonel Hardin. He seems concerned that we haven’t occupied all of our forward positions yet.”
Dixon walked up to the situation map. “As we explained during the brief of our OP
LAN
back on the fifth, we will not move into our actual fighting positions until either the enemy has committed himself into the attack or we lose our ability to detect him before he enters our sector here along
Phase Line Thomas.” On the situation map Dixon ran his finger along a black line located in the battalion’s forwardmost area. “By keeping away from our actual fighting positions we make it difficult for the enemy to accurately predict where our kill zones and battle positions are. Hopefully, this will dilute his preparatory bombardment and keep him guessing as to where we are until it’s too late for him to react-.”
The brigade commander, with arms folded, leaned back in his chair and studied the map for a moment before speaking. “You two may be right.
No doubt the Russians have been studying us under a microscope, using everything from satellites to goat herders I would, however, feel a hell of a lot more comfortable if you had more firepower forward.
Besides, as it stands right now, there’s no one that can cover your mine fields and barriers. Intell tells us the other side have been good at picking their way through barriers before the battle starts.”
Without waiting for his commander to respond, Dixon said, “The scout platoon, reinforced with a tank platoon, is more than sufficient to cover the entire battalion’s frontage, day or night. Vehicles rotate their positions nightly so that the Soviets can’t plot them and plan infiltration routes around them. At night, all barriers are covered by dismounted elements from the mech platoons, as well as one tank or Bradley deployed forward to scan the area with its thermal sight. The techniques we are using worked well for the battalion at the National Training Center and should do well here.”
The brigade commander leaned forward, putting his hands on his knees.
“This isn’t the
NTC
, Major Dixon. Those people closing on us are the real thing.”
Dixon could feel himself getting excited. The thoughts that ran through his mind didn’t help: Here we are, with the same plan we briefed two days ago.
The enemy is expected to make contact anytime, and the brigade commander wants us to change now, in the middle of the night, before our first battle. He’s got to be bullshitting us.
He allowed himself to calm down before answering. “You are right, sir, this is not the
NTC
. I therefore expect the plan to work better, since this will be the first time the Soviets have come across a heavy U.S.
unit.”
Switching to the attack, he continued. “Our concern at battalion is the air assault unit to the west. The large wadi that leads from Harvand to Tarom provides the Soviets with an excellent avenue of approach into our rear and across the brigade’s main supply route. If we are hit with a supporting attack and the main attack here,” Dixon pointed to Harvand on the map, “we would be unable to displace sufficient combat power to stop a major breakthrough.” The battalion commander shot a dirty look to Dixon. They had been over the subject before, and it was becoming a sore point for the brigade commander.
“Dixon, the 1st of the 503rd Infantry will hold. I’ve been over their plan with their battalion commander and have walked the ground. They know what they are doing.” The brigade commander was clearly agitated.
Dixon was about to state that none of the units in the 12th Division had yet stopped a Soviet attack, but he was cut short by the brigade S-3, who reminded the brigade commander they had to get back for a meeting with the 13 Corps commander.
As the meeting broke up, First Lieutenant Matthews, who apparently was traveling with the brigade S-3, came over to Dixon. “Have you seen Randy,
I mean Lieutenant Capell, lately, sir?”
Dixon’s anger left him as he looked into Matthews’ eyes. “Yes, I just came from there. Randy is doing fine. He’s happier than a pig in slop. Do you have a message you want me to give him?”
A smile lit Matthews’ face. She reached down into a pocket of her BDUs, pulled out a crumpled letter and offered it to Dixon. “Would you give this to him, sir?”
With a grin, Dixon took the letter. “Sure, and I’ll tell him you send all your love.”
That made Matthews blush. She saluted, turned and hurried out to where the brigade S-3 was waiting.
When everyone but the people on shift had cleared out of the
TOC
, Master
Sergeant Nesbitt came out of the S-3 M577 command track, carrying two steaming cups. “Looks like you could use some coffee.”
Dixon took the cup offered by Nesbitt and began to shake his head in disbelief. “What I need is a good drink, Sergeant Nesbitt. Can you imagine that? The bloody Communists are close enough to spit on us, and the brigade commander wants to change things.” He stopped, took a drink of coffee and thought for a moment before continuing. “Well, twenty-four hours from now we’ll know who was right.”
“You staying here tonight or going back forward?” “I really should go back out, but I won’t. I need to 222 clean up some and get some sleep.
You got anything worth a damn to eat around here, Sergeant Nesbitt?”
Nesbitt went back into the command track and returned with two brown plastic pouches. “You have a choice tonight, sir. Pork patties or chicken a la king.”
A disgusted look crept across Dixon’s face. “Then the answer is no, you don’t have anything worth a damn to eat.”
“Well, sir, it’s your choice, malnutrition or indigestion. I have them both.”
“A comedian. I’m starving to death and I get a comedy act. Give me the chicken A la king. At least I know what that used to be.” Dixon took the brown pouch offered by Nesbitt, tucked it under his arm and left after reminding the duty officer where he would be and when to wake him.
With everyone else gone, the people on duty in the
TOC
settled down for what promised to be a long and busy night.
Fifteen Kilometers North of Hajjiabad 1940 Hours, 7 July (1610 Hours, 7
July,
GMT
)
In the gathering darkness the shadowy area between the opposing forces began to come to life. The Soviet juggernaut, long awaited by the 2nd Brigade, had finally come within striking distance. Rather than crashing into the forward elements of the brigade, the lead Soviet forces slowed, then stopped for reconnaissance. The Soviets knew the approximate front-line trace of the
American forces but not exact unit and vehicle locations. Reconelements and patrols would now creep forward under the veil of darkness to verify what information they had and pin exact locations of vehicles and weapons.
Plans at the operational level had been made by the 28th Combined Arms Army and issued the day before. Its subordinate divisions had, in turn, deployed in accordance with the army’s orders and issued their own to their regiments. Regimental commanders and staffs decided on the tactical deployment their units would use 223 and issued orders for the execution of those tactics.
The exact axis of attack and timing of deployments as well as targeting would be based on intelligence gathered by patrols working their way into the midst of the Americans’ positions. At an early-morning briefing just before the attack, the regimental intelligence officers would present a complete picture of U.S. forces to their front. With that information, the regimental commander would issue his final orders for the attack.
Forward of their main defensive positions, both American battalions deployed their scout platoons as a counter-reconnaissance screen. The mission of the scouts was to keep the Soviet recon elements from infiltrating into the battalions’ area of operations and deceive them as to where the main defensive positions really were. The success or failure of the attack hinged on the skills of a handful of men sneaking about in the dark.
With darkness upon them, Capell signaled his scout platoon to move into their night positions, which stretched across the small valley that was the battalion’s front. His squad leaders knew where to go and what to do. The tank platoon attached to him as part of the screen moved into shallow holes scooped out of the dirt in the center of the battalion’s sector; though spread out with a distance of four hundred meters between tanks, the platoon was able to cover the entire center with surveillance and direct fire.
Two ground-surveillance radar teams, called GSRs, each equipped with a radar capable of detecting moving personnel at four thousand meters and moving vehicles at ten thousand, also were operating with Capell’s scouts.
Only a few wadis and cuts along the flanks could not be covered by the M-1 tanks or the GSRs. That was where the scout platoon set up.
Capell and his men had no sooner moved into positions than a
GSR
team reported two wheeled vehicles eight thousand meters to their front.
Several minutes of tracking them left no doubt in Capell’s mind that they were
BRDMs of the Soviet regiment’s recon company. Though he had sufcient information to call artillery on them, Capell held back. He wanted to see where they were 224 going without the Soviets knowing they were being tracked. At a range of five thousand meters, the two vehicles split up. One disappeared into a wadi that ran down the American battalion’s western flank. The other moved forward slowly along the eastern flank, still being tracked by the
GSR
. The scout section on the western flank was notified of the approaching
BRDM
and was ordered to take it out. The tanks were able to track the other
BRDM
on the eastern flank with their thermal sights. They had the task of taking it out when the scouts hit the first
BRDM
.
Now began a deadly game of cat and mouse as the scouts waited for the
BRDM
to pop into view. There was always the possibility that the
BRDM
in the wadi would find cover and slip past Capell’s waiting scouts. If that happened, the Soviets would be able to get into the battalion’s main defensive areas. Capell worried about this but trusted his initial dispositions. Besides, it was too late to change them.
Across the valley from where Capell was, the low hills were suddenly lit up by the flash of a small cannon firing somewhere down in the wadi. As he slewed the turret of his Bradley in that direction, the pop-pop-pop report of a Bradley’s 25mm. gun reached his location.
Watching, Capell saw a series of tiny flashes, then the eruption of a fireball. The first
BRDM
had been hit and killed.
The crack of a tank cannon and the streak of a 105mm.
HEAT
antitank round tore Capell’s attention away from the burning
BRDM
in the far wadi. The tank crews had not waited for the order to fire. Instead, they had seized the opportunity to kill the second
BRDM
. A flash and a brilliant shower of sparks signaled to Capell that they had succeeded.
When silence returned to the valley, Capell called for all sections to report. This they did promptly. Capell in turn consolidated the information into one short, concise spot report and submitted the first of many sightings and contacts that night to battalion.
Headquarters, 28th
CAA
, North of Aliabad 2245 Hours, 7 July (1915
Hours, 7
July,
GMT
)
The staff of the 28th CAA’s main command post had spent a good part of the day recovering from an early afternoon air attack. A group of F-15s had hit both the headquarters and a fuel dump four kilometers south of it. Losses in men and equipment had been heavy. Fortunately the commander and the first officer, Colonel Sulvina, had been absent at the time. Upon their return, they found their once efficient and orderly command post the scene of pandemonium and despair. The chief of staff, though alive, had been stunned by the concussion of a general-purpose bomb and was temporarily out of action. Until he recovered, Sulvina assumed the role of chief of staff.
Once order had been restored and the staff was sufficiently recovered from their shock, Sulvina had each primary and special staff officer prepare an update for the commander. He wanted to review the army’s plan and capability once more before the battle was joined.
The second officer outlined all current intelligence on the enemy.
Reports from the division’s recon that night had not yet had time to reach army headquarters. A more complete picture would be ready just before the attack at dawn. The logistics officer, always harried, presented a picture of gloom. Based on statistics on hand and projected, the army did not have sufficient ammunition to conduct more than one major breakthrough attack.
He stressed that raids and attacks all along their supply routes were not only keeping ammunition from reaching the army in the quantities needed but were degrading the army’s ability to supply itself at all.
Each time an ambush hit a supply column, trucks that were needed to haul future supplies were also lost. Even more critical than the ammunition shortage was the fuel situation. The logistics officer stated that the Americans were hitting anything that looked like a fuel dump, and he warned that unless the situation improved dramatically the army would run out of fuel within ninety-six hours.
Sulvina waited to discuss the next day’s assault until he was alone with the commander. The 127th Motorized Rifle Division would conduct the main attack through Harvand against light-infantry units. Once the breakthrough was achieved, the 33rd Tank Division would be passed through the 127th
MRD
, probably in the vicinity of Tarom by midmorning.
A supporting attack by the 67th Motorized Rifle Division would hold the American armored brigade in place around Hajjiabad until the 33rd Tank Division was able to cut them off and isolate them.
If all went according to plan, Sulvina said, the American brigade facing them would be crushed in the next twenty-four hours. If the flow of fuel was not diminished any further, they would be able to reach the Strait of