In the wake of that incident Jan seized the opportunity to go to Britain when it was offered. To stay in Egypt would be too much. Though she had no doubt that she truly loved Scott, she wanted some distance, both temporal and physical, in order to sort out her feelings. When, in calmer times, the opportunity to see Scott again arose, she wanted it to be on her terms, unencumbered by guilt, no longer haunted by the memory of Fay, as a friend or a rival.
Chapter 20
Once more unto the breach, dear friends, once more; Or close the wall up with our English dead.
The massing of helicopters to the south of Task Force 3–5 Armor's forward assembly area woke Dixon. The drone of their engines and the beating of their blades carried for miles through the cold night air. Looking at his watch, Dixon decided to wait a few minutes before rising. Snug and secure in his arctic sleeping bag like a bug in its cocoon and perched on top of his tank's turret, Dixon felt like he was alone.
Through an opening no bigger than his face, he looked up at the stars. He had been bom and raised in a city, so the dazzling display of stars that filled the desert sky always fascinated him. This morning was no different. For a few minutes Dixon allowed himself to be entertained by the spectacle created by suns and universes that were beyond his reach and comprehension. Other worlds, so different from his, lived and died in the cluster of lights that spanned from horizon to horizon. Gazing into infinity and having it look back at him eye to eye struck Dixon with awe. Though it all had a purpose, a beginning and an end, the universe that looked down on him betrayed no secrets. There was no reason why, no explanation. There was only the immense and overpowering presence of a universe that touched everyone and defied being touched by something so mortal as man.
In a few short hours he would be leading an armor heavy task force into battle. He would again, after a two-year void, command men in battle. Those efforts would block his idle thoughts from his mind as effectively as the earth's sun would soon hide the stars. But in the end, at night, the stars would be back. And anything he and his men did was temporary, transient. Neither he nor any of his men had a claim to immortality. Neither he nor his men could ever hope to fully understand why they were there, or even why they were so willing to risk their lives. Though all of them asked the question and were given reasons, Dixon knew the responses were reasons, not explanations. In the end, he knew, nothing could explain, with any degree of satisfaction, why his wife had been taken from him. He knew that regardless of what he did, men in his command would die that day. And despite his best efforts, he himself would someday be called by his maker to atone for his deeds, good and evil. Until then he was on his own, left wandering through a maze of time and events that had no clear course, no discernible end.
With a tug at the end of Dixon's sleeping bag, the gunner of his tank indicated it was time to rise. There would be little time for himself over the next few days. Command in war, like no other occupation, touches and draws on every fiber and nerve of the man who wears its cloak. For some the experience is draining, literally drawing the life force from the man. For others it is not only invigorating, it is life itself. In his heart, despite his best efforts to deny it, Dixon knew he was bom to command. Without it he was nothing, just another man existing in the eyes of the stars. With it he was alive. He had purpose. When his day of atonement came, he would stand alone before his God. He would need no explanations, no reasons. His life and his deeds, open to all, would justify his existence.
Pulling down the long, wide zipper of the sleeping bag, Dixon sat up and began to dress. Two hours and it would begin. He was ready.
In unison the guns of a 155mm artillery battery commenced firing at targets to the west. Awakened by them, Colonel Hafez sat up and looked around. He was as surprised by the fact that it was day as he was by the presence and firing of the guns. Throwing off a blanket that someone had covered him with, Hafez stood on the back deck of his tank and looked around. All about his position were the tanks, personnel carriers, and howitzers of the Republican Brigade. They were scattered in a loose and ill-defined circle, guns pointing out. Inside the circle were trucks, jeeps, and other support vehicles.
For a moment he collected his thoughts. He had a headache that was due as much to sleeping on the steel deck of the tank as to lack of sleep. Still, it was the best night's sleep he had managed to get in the last five days. About him he could see his soldiers going about their tasks, preparing for their next operation. While there was not a great deal of haste, nor could the level of activity be called a buzz, at least they were working. Several fuel trucks were pumping fuel into tanks or moving to their next customer. Soldiers lined up like chains of ants passed ammunition from cargo trucks onto their vehicles. On board and around those vehicles that had completed their rearming and refueling or were waiting to do so, soldiers adjusted the tension of their tank's tracks, cleaned machine guns, or went on with some check or service. With great satisfaction Hafez knew that his forty-two tanks, company-and-a-half of infantry, and two batteries of artillery would soon be ready for combat again.
What concerned him were the guns near his position. The battery of 155mm guns continued to unleash volley after volley of shells to the southwest. When he had gone to sleep, the nearest Libyan unit had been thirty kilometers from the spot where the Republican Brigade sat. The fact that the 155mm guns, with a range of eighteen kilometers, were firing meant that the Libyans were closer. Obviously, some time in the night or early morning, the Libyans had attacked and broken through somewhere.
Hafez was about to climb down from the deck of the tank and go over to the personnel carrier that served as his command post when a captain came running from that carrier toward him. Seeing Hafez awake and watching him, the captain waved a piece of paper and yelled that they had orders from Division. Kneeling down, Hafez retrieved the paper from the captain and read it.
As he had expected, there was a major attack in progress. Though the commander of the 3rd Armored Division expected to be able to halt the Libyan thrust with organic units, he was issuing a warning order to Hafez just in case. The order instructed Hafez to move his brigade, when he was ready, to a position south of Sidi Abd el Rahman. From there he was to be prepared to attack either to the south, toward Tell el Aqqaqir, or to the west, to El Kharash. The attack south would be launched if the 10th Mechanized Division required assistance in sealing off a penetration that threatened them. The attack to the west — the one Hafez hoped for — was the opening move of the counteroffensive. It was the intent of the commander of the 2nd Army to attack as soon as the Libyan forces committed had expended all their offensive power and before they had the opportunity to switch over to the defense. Timed properly, the Egyptian blow would hit the Libyans when they were still disorganized and not yet recovered from the shock of their defeat.
Handing the message back to the captain, Hafez told him to have all commanders meet him at the command post track in thirty minutes. When the captain was gone, Hafez stood up and looked around. He made note of the activity in his unit's perimeter and tried to estimate how long it would be before they could move. As he did so, he listened to the guns, not only those near his position but those in the distance. He made a mental note of how loud they were. In thirty minutes, if they were no louder, he would tell his commanders to stop all preparation and begin to move. If, on the other hand, the noise of the distant battle had not changed, he would have them continue their work. He hoped he would be able to tell them the latter. He was ready to attack, to hit the Libyans back. The sooner they struck, the sooner the 1st Army would be freed.