Before returning to the platoon, Duncan moved along the wire to find the nearest Russian position. Thirty meters from where he had been, he came across a machinegun pit with three men in it. They were covering the mine field in that area. Only one man appeared to be awake. It would be so much easier if that position was silenced before they started. Besides, it would create a blind spot. Returning to his platoon, Duncan briefed the plan and selected two men to go with him to take out the machinegun pit.
The three men crept forward, their bayonet-knives at the ready. The one
Russian on guard was leaning against the forward edge of the pit, wrapped in a blanket and watching to the front. Duncan would go for him. The other two Russians were sitting with their backs against the rear wall, asleep.
The three Americans inched forward with Duncan in the middle. When they were at the rear edge of the pit, Duncan raised his left hand with three fingers up. The men with him watched the hand. He dropped one finger, then a second. When the third came down, the man on either side reached down, put his free hand over the mouth of a Russian leaning against the back wall and, with a long arching swing, drove his knife into the Russian’s chest.
Duncan jumped up and bounded across the open pit, diving for the Russian on guard. The Russian rolled over and opened his mouth to scream. The thrust of Duncan’s bayonet into his throat stifled the scream before it could come out.
Finished, Duncan called the other men in the platoon forward and prepared to cross the mine field. They would move forward in single file behind
Duncan. He had considered asking for a volunteer to lead the final leg, but decided against that. He would go all the way. Using the dead Russians’ rifles, they propped up the barbed wire and crawled under it into the mine field. Duncan, leaving his helmet behind, rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch. That way he would be able to feel on his bare arms any trip wires that might be strung between the mines. With his bayonet he began to probe for mines across his front. Slowly he slid it into the ground at a forty-five-degree angle. As the mine field was old and the people putting it in had been sloppy, loose dirt placed over the buried mines to cover them had sunk down. This left an easily detected depression wherever there was a mine. Duncan still probed, however, just on the off chance that there were new mines or that someone had buried some properly. As he moved forward, the sweat rolled down his brow 338 and into his eyes. It would have been so much easier to let someone else lead. Inch by inch he moved forward, probing for mines. He wondered how deep the mine field was. The rumble of artillery in the distance reminded him that other people were awake and alert, ready to kill. Slowly he crept on, fighting the urge to make larger sweeps as he probed for mines. He wondered how often the Russians checked their outposts. Duncan cursed himself for not checking to see if there had been a phone or a radio in the pit. How stupid. He was getting tired. Inch by inch he moved forward. The mine field seemed to be never ending. How many mines could the Russians have used? Inch by bloody inch he crawled, probing, sweating, praying.
Suddenly Duncan realized they were no longer surrounded by the shallow depressions that marked where the mines were. Slowly, he raised himself and looked around. The barbed-wire fence to their rear was no longer visible in the darkness. To his front were dark hills and a wadi. Turning to the man immediately behind him, he told him to hold there while he checked out the area in front. Unslinging his rifle and cradling it in his arms, Duncan crawled forward. He watched for telltale signs of mines, but found none.
Satisfied that he and his men were clear of the mine field, he signaled the platoon to follow.
It took them an hour to cover the two or more kilometers between the mine field they had left and an antitank ditch that blocked their way.
As before, Duncan crawled forward and checked it out. It could be Russian or the beginning of the Americans’ barriers. With the platoon following,
Duncan moved slowly along the edge. When they found the end of the ditch and began to go around, Duncan probed for mines. Finding none, he led the men on until he saw what appeared to be the outline of a fighting position.
Slowly he crept forward. There was no sign of movement. When he reached the edge of the hole, he carefully peered over. There were two men in the hole.
Both were asleep. In the faint light, he could make out an M-16
rifle.
They had made it. The long nightmare was over.
Former Iranian Naval Hospital, Bandar Abbas, Iran 1540 Hours, 26 July (1210 Hours, 26 July,
GMT
)
Her excuse that she needed to ask more questions of the sergeant from the 12th Infantry Division who had infiltrated from Rafsanjan was very transparent. Everyone in the 2nd Brigade headquarters knew that Lieutenant
Matthews’ real objective was her wounded scout-platoon leader. The brigade
XO let her go, however. He reasoned that she needed the break. Since the loss of the brigade S-2, she had been working harder than any two people in the
TOC
. The results of her efforts showed. Matthews and her section produced intelligence that kept the units in the brigade one step ahead of the Soviets and allowed the commander to make effective plans and decisions.
It would do little harm to let her go while there was a break in the action.
As anxious as she was to see him, Matthews became apprehensive as she approached the ward where Capell was. She had been told by Major Dixon that he had been severely burned over much of his body when his Bradley was hit.
The burns, along with wounds from on-board ammo going off and several broken bones, had nearly killed him. That he lived, according to Dixon, was only due to the fact that Capell was either too stubborn or too dumb to die. Meant to cheer her up, this only increased her fears.
She knew Capell would still be the same person inside. She knew it wasn’t his fault that he had been wounded. What she didn’t know was how she would react when she saw him. Nor did she know whether she could look at him and love him as she did before. She told herself that it didn’t matter what he looked like so long as he was alive, but she knew that that was a lie.
Prepared for facing Capell, regardless of what he looked like, she entered the ward. Instead of being full of patients, the room was full of empty bunks with their mattresses turned up. The only person in the room was a soldier mopping the floor with soapy water that smelled of disinfectant.
She called to him, “Excuse me, but is this Ward Four B?”
The soldier turned around and saw her for the first time. “Sorry, ma’am, didn’t see ya. Yes, this is Four B, but ain’t no one here anymore. They all got shipped out this mornin’.”
“Damn!” she mumbled. “Do you know when they took them to the airfield?”
“Didn’t go to the airfield. There’s a hospital ship in the harbor.
Started takin’ ‘em out after breakfast this mornin’. Could be they’re still there.”
Seizing any chance to see Randy, she thanked the soldier for his help and ran down to the hummer she had come down to Bandar Abbas in. She directed the driver to head for the docks and see if he could find out where they were loading the hospital ship. The sergeant who was riding shotgun warned her they needed to be heading back. He didn’t want to be on the road alone after dark. Looking at her watch, she told him they had plenty of time.
Without further discussion on the matter, she ordered the driver to move out.
Their entrance into the dock area took far longer than expected.
Equipment from a newly arrived unit was being moved from there to its marshaling area outside Bandar Abbas. As she waited impatiently in the hummer watching a column of National Guard Bradleys go by, she was struck by the apparent difference in age between the men in the Guard unit and those in Capell’s battalion. No doubt they knew what they were doing. Perhaps, she thought, older men would be less impetuous and more cautious, unlike Randy.
Once the hummer had been admitted, it raced down the line of piers, weaving between crates and vehicles just offloaded. It was stopped once by a Navy shore patrolman who cautioned the driver to slow down and provided directions to the pier where the hospital ship had been tied up. That pier, however, was empty when they arrived. In the distance, the white hospital ship could be seen moving out to the open sea.
Disappointed and struggling to hold back her tears, Matthews ordered the driver to turn around and head back. The sergeant suggested that they stay in Bandar Abbas for the night, but she did not hear him. Her mind was on other things. At least, she thought, Randy was safe. When the current mess in Iran was over, they would have plenty of time together.
Movement from the docks into the unit’s staging area went without a hitch.
Some of the officers had been worried that the men would have problems moving the equipment after being away from it for several weeks. The battalion XO, Major Ed Lewis, laughed. “What are you talking about?
Back home we meet once a month and get to use our equipment once every two months, maybe three. Then we march off to summer camp and expect our people to hop in and drive away. Why should this be any different?”
It was different, however, and Lewis knew it. Summer camp, as annual training was still called by many, lasted only two weeks, then they all went home to their families and their civilian jobs. No one had any idea how long the war in Iran would last. Some thought they would be there only a few months. Others brought up the fact that they were committed for the duration-however long that was -and a year.
Regardless of how long the war and their commitment to the federal government lasted, even the most optimistic among them knew that some would not return home. The loading of a hospital ship that morning served as a reminder to them that they were actually entering an active war zone.
Upon arriving in the marshaling area, Lewis met up with his battalion commander and the S-3, both of whom had gone up to the headquarters of the 25th Armored Division the previous day to receive an operations order, while Lewis had been left with the job of supervising the offloading and marshaling of men and equipment. The three officers now met at the dock and watched before they went to the battalion
TOC
, then in the final stages of being set up, and sat before the S-3 situation map. As the S-3 read the order out loud, Master Sergeant Kenneth Mayfree, the operations sergeant, posted the operational graphics on the map. Once the battalion had assembled and completed arming and refueling, it was to move from its current location to a tactical assembly area south of Saadatabad. There it would become part of the 25th Armored Division’s 3rd
Brigade. The three officers had expected to join the 2nd Brigade, the active-component brigade they had normally trained with. The nature of the operation, however, required a large counterattack force, of which the 2nd
Battalion of the 354th Mech Tennessee National Guard was now part.
All three men accepted their mission with a feeling of relief. By being in reserve, they and their company commanders would have more time to prepare their men and units for battle. Training in the marshaling area and the tactical assembly area, while limited, was better than none. The prospect of rolling off the ship right into combat had haunted them for the past three weeks. While they did not underestimate the difficulties they would face, at least they would not have to face a battle hardened Soviet army their first day in the country. Every day they had in which to prepare and train increased their odds of success.
Headquarter, 10th Corps, Qotbabad, Iran 1650 Hours, 26 July (1320
Hours, 26 July,
GMT
)
Lieutenant General Weir reviewed the information papers and reports before going into the 1700 hours briefing. Shortly after he assumed control of the 13th Corps, he had been appointed overall commander of all ground forces in
Iran by the Commander in Chief of
CENT
COM
While this meant more work for
Weir and his staff, it simplified the coordination of operations between the 1st Marine Corps in the east and the two Army corps in Kerman Province to the south.
The briefing that evening was an important one. Decisions made during it would shape the next round of operations. The corps G-3 was going to present the revised operations plan for the upcoming campaign. While the
U.S. situation had improved tremendously in the past two weeks, they were still far from ready to assume offensive operations. All the reports pointed to the fact that the Soviets, despite the best efforts of the Air
Force and Special Forces to interdict the flow of supplies, would be ready to commence their offensive before the 10th Corps was completely assembled. It was simply a matter of time, space and numbers. The Soviets, at the end of a shorter supply line, were able to make good their losses and deficiencies faster than the U.S. forces in Iran could. In addition, the number of heavy ground-combat units available to the 10th Corps was limited, while the
Soviets had many. In fact, the Soviets had more heavy divisions in Iran at that moment than the U.S. Army had throughout the world.
With the writing on the wall, the 10th Corps had no choice but to accept the Soviet offensive before commencing their own. This, however, was not all bad. Properly done, the 10th Corps could channel the Soviets into those areas where Weir wanted the Soviets to go, bleeding them all the way and setting them up for a counter blow Once the Soviets’ main effort was identified and contained, the 10th Corps could pile on and destroy it. With the Soviets broken and weak points uncovered, the 10th Corps could then launch its own offensive in conjunction with the 13th Corps, now recovering, and the newly formed 1
st Marine Corps operating to the east.
Not all was bleak. Weir had a few aces up his sleeve. One of them was the
British 33rd Armored Brigade. That brigade was ready for commitment.