“We’ve got them pinned down!” Colonel Zukauskas said to Palcikas, now airborne in the Mil-8 patrolling the highway in search of any unit that needed help. “Third Battalion reports several fuel and ammunition vehicles on fire, and it appears that several vehicles in the lead have stalled or broken down. We can target the heavier tanks and APCs now.”
“No,” Palcikas said. “Issue the retreat order. Tell all units to pull back to the Highlands and rally at point Victory for withdrawal instructions.”
“But, sir, this can be a great victory for you,” Zukauskas said. “We didn’t anticipate the success our first thrust would be. Our casualties have been very light, only a handful of vehicles from the entire division — now is the time to press our advantage.”
“Our casualties were light because we did not engage the heavy armor,” Palcikas said. “That was the plan. We cannot afford heavier losses. The tide can turn quickly on us, and if we are trapped this far in Byelorussia we can lose our entire force. As long as this thunderstorm continues overhead, now is the time to withdraw, not attack. We’ve accomplished our mission.”
“With all due respect, sir,” Zukauskas pressed, “our mission is to protect Lithuania. If we stop this armored column now, Lithuania is saved. I recommend we proceed with the attack.”
“Your objection is noted,” Palcikas said. “Now issue the retreat order immediately.”
Zukauskas nodded, although he looked as if he was ready to continue arguing. But seconds after he turned back to the radio net, Zukauskas turned to Palcikas once more: “Sir, Third Battalion reports that they have crossed north of the highway and are beginning a rear attack on the main battle tanks. Colonel Manomaitis reports six T-72s destroyed or disabled.”.
“Damn, “ Palcikas swore, loud enough for the pilots to hear him in the front of the noisy cabin. “If Manomaitis doesn’t die from his stupidity, I’ll wring his neck when we get back!”
“We can tell him to withdraw,” Zukauskas said, “but then we’ve got to support his withdrawal with elements of Second Battalion or with the helicopters. But if we re-engaged with all forces we could—”
“You’re getting too blood-hungry, sitting up here warm and dry in a helicopter, Colonel,” Palcikas said angrily, “while sixteen-year-old volunteers running through knee-deep mud are getting shot at by Byelorussian tanks. The helicopters are running low on fuel and will have to return to Lithuania, and we don’t have many more Strela missiles left — did you think of that? I want First Battalion to withdraw to point Whirlwind and turn to cover the west flank. Third of the Second will also withdraw and provide covering fire. Get Alpha and Bravo companies of Second Battalion moving east to help cover First Battalion’s withdrawal. Then I want—”
The Mil-8 swerved and dipped precipitously as the hull was pounded by heavy gunfire. The cabin began filling with oily, stinging smoke.
“We’re going in, General!” one of the pilots called back as the lights flickered, then died in the cockpit. “Brace for impact.”
Palcikas saw the rocket pods being jettisoned as the pilots fought to find a safe, soft landing spot, as far into the protection of the Highlands as possible but not so far up that they would land on rocks.
The big Mil-8 assault helicopter landed hot and heavy, but the fixed tricycle landing gear stayed intact and the big helicopter remained upright. No one was hurt in the impact. With the ten security troops deployed as a covering guard, Palcikas and his battle staff collected their classified charts and papers, retrieved their portable communications gear, and exited the helicopter.
“Up the hill,” Palcikas called out to his troops. “Radio, see if you can contact Colonel Manomaitis. Tell him we’re on the ground and order him to supervise an orderly withdrawal to rendezvous point Lightning or Overlord. Then contact Sparrow Ten and have him pick us up. Use light signals — stay off the transmitter as much as possible or the Byelorussians will home in on your—”
The unmistakable impact of heavy-caliber bullets against rocks and dirt nearby made them all leap for cover. The Byelorussian armored columns were starting to organize their counterattack. Several T-72 main battle tanks were rushing toward them from the west — it was hard to tell distance at night, but Palcikas thought they were now less than four kilometers away, well within main gun range — and First Battalion was fleeing from their heavy 125-millimeter guns. Already two Lithuanian tanks had been hit and were burning fiercely. “Get up into the hills!” Palcikas shouted. “Stay hidden, but don’t get caught in a crevasse. Move!”
Palcikas paused to count heads as they ran up the hill toward the summit of the Osmansky Highlands, then grabbed the radio pack from one of the security men. He had to risk a radio transmission or else they’d be gunned down or overrun within minutes. “Second Battalion, this is Alpha, free up Seventh Armor and move west to counter four to six T-72s heading east. First Battalion is trying to withdraw. He needs—”
Palcikas heard a loud ccrrackk! and he felt as if his left leg had been shot off — there was no pain, only numbness and a warm, damp feeling that began to spread. He hit the ground hard, and the pain hit with the force of a blast furnace. His left hand felt for the wound, and it was a big one — blood was gushing out of a two-centimeter-wide hole like a ruptured high-pressure hose. Never in his life had he ever felt such excruciating pain. He rolled on the ground, vomiting and screaming and choking, hoping that a Byelorussian tank would just roll over his writhing body and end it for him.
“General Palcikas!” someone shouted. It was Colonel Zukauskas. He had run back to find his commanding officer. Palcikas felt hands grasping the epaulets on his field jacket, and he was being dragged across the rocks and dirt behind a clump of boulders.
“No … no, Vitalis,” Palcikas screamed, “don’t stay here. Run. Take command of the brigade.” But Zukauskas’ hands were still on his jacket. “That’s an order, Vitalis. You can’t help me. You have command of the brigade. Go!”
Palcikas reached up to try to pull Zukauskas’ hands off his jacket. One released easily. “Now go, Vitalis. That’s an order.” One hand was still on Palcikas’ jacket, and that one would not let go — and Palcikas soon found out why. Zukauskas’ head and chest had been chewed apart by machine-gun fire and he had fallen behind Palcikas with his hands still clutching his commander’s jacket. The corpse was hardly recognizable as a man, much less a Lithuanian officer.
Palcikas dragged himself behind the boulders and retrieved Zukauskas’ AK-47 and an ammunition pouch, but even as he checked the magazine and chambered a round, he knew any attempts at fighting were useless. He checked his aviation survival vest for some field dressings, but they had all been lost. He tried stanching the blood with his left hand, but that was useless as well — he finally grabbed a handful of mud and gravel and slapped it in place. If the loss of blood didn’t kill him now, he thought wryly, the infection from the dirt would.
As his blood-starved brain fought to maintain consciousness, the commander of the Lithuanian Self-Defense Force thought about this, his greatest battle — and his worst defeat. How quickly the tide of battle can change. It was a bold plan, rushing nearly one hundred kilometers in less than eighteen hours across hostile territory, right in the face of an oncoming army at least ten times bigger than his own, just to specifically target its air-defense weapons. They had actually struck a hard blow against the column of tanks and armored vehicles. Palcikas counted at least two dozen destroyed or damaged ZSU-23-4 antiaircraft-artillery vehicles and mobile surface-to-air missile units, plus another dozen tanks and other vehicles and two Mil-24 attack helicopters.