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 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 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 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.
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."