The reaction by the sergeants, though muted, was positive. The decision to move, regardless of who made it or who led them, was welcomed. Not only would they escape the stench of burned bodies that was beginning to permeate the area, but they would move away from the invisible enemy, radiation, that each suspected would soon saturate the area. Ilvanich allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy his success. Then, as was his habit, he got back to the matter at hand. "All right, if you have no objections, we must get on with this. Now give me a complete account of your units, their conditions, and positions. Then we will go over how I expect the next thirty minutes to go and what we will do."
Without hesitation, the leadership of Company A gathered around to render their reports and hear their commander's orders.
After a brief discussion over a map with Fitzhugh and his senior sergeants, Ilvanich decided on where they would go and the formation they would use. As they prepared to break up and head back to their platoons to pass the word, one of the sergeants stood up and stared at the tunnel behind him. "Major, I think we need to go in there and see if there are any survivors."
This comment caused everyone to stop what they were doing, for each of them, except Ilvanich, had been thinking the same thing. Looking first at the tunnel, then at Ilvanich, they waited for his response.
Ilvanich looked at the tunnel, and then at the faces of his leaders. It was, he knew, foolish to go in there. No one, he knew, could have survived, the blast. Even if they had somehow miraculously survived the fireball, that same fireball would have eaten every cubic centimeter of air in the tunnel and replaced it with superheated gases. Exposure to that, even for a second, would be enough to destroy a man's lungs. After considering his response, he was about to point this out in graphic detail, but decided not to. The men in that tunnel were their comrades and friends, people they felt a responsibility to. "You realize that the chances of anyone being alive in there are nil."
The sergeant who had brought up the matter nodded. "We know that, Major. But we have to try. Otherwise I'd never again be able to face the wives and kids of people I know in there." There was a pause before he added, "We have to try. You understand, don't you?"
No, Ilvanich thought, he didn't understand why a man was willing to go and confirm something that he already knew. "What is your name please?"
"Rasper, Sergeant First Class Allen Rasper. Platoon sergeant for 1st Platoon."
"You realize, Sergeant Rasper, that whoever goes in there will absorb more radiation, perhaps a lethal dose."
The only response by Rasper to Ilvanich's observation was to repeat his comment. "Sir, we have to try."
Realizing that Rasper's comment was more of a statement than a plea, Ilvanich decided to give in. Although he knew it was not meant to be a test, to refuse this request, as insane as it was, would jeopardize his tenuous position as their temporary commander and could lead to further disaster. "All right, we will go. But we go with a radiacmeter. Once the radiation level becomes too high, we turn back. Agreed?"
Rasper and the others nodded.
Ilvanich looked about the group. "Who is going with me?"
Caught off guard by the idea that Ilvanich was going, the Americans looked at each other for a second. Then Rasper stepped forward. "I'll handle the radiacmeter, Major."
Ilvanich reached out and put his hand on his shoulder. "Good, good." Then he turned to Fitzhugh. "While we're in there, you are in command. You are to prepare the company to move from here as soon as we return. Bring your map and come over here."
Moving up next to Ilvanich, Fitzhugh turned his small flashlight onto a map he held between himself and Ilvanich. Ilvanich, a professional soldier to the core, had already considered their situation and had come to a decision. Using his finger to trace a line on the map, Ilvanich issued his orders. "We will move to the south, along the side of the mountain to a point here. That line of march should take us away from the downwind area of this mess, away from where I expect the Ukrainians to launch their next attack, and take us to a landing zone, here, that we can defend. Have the company ready to move when I return. Understood?"
Fitzhugh nodded. "Yes, sir. Understood."
"Good, now get moving." When the rest of the leaders had gone, and while Rasper checked out his radiacmeter, Ilvanich dug about the ruins of the guard shack looking for some rubberized ponchos he had come across before. Finding them, he pulled two out, tossing one to Rasper. "They will not give us much protection, but it will help. We can discard them after we are finished."
Rasper put on the poncho Ilvanich had handed him and his protective mask. When he and Ilvanich were ready, the two men tromped off into the gaping black void that reeked of burned flesh. For a moment every eye in the company was on them as each man shared two common feelings: that someone was going to at least search for survivors and, at the same time, relief that they were not the ones going in.
"Colonel Dixon, the corps G-3 is on the line for you."
Dixon, seated in front of the operations and intel maps between Cerro and his intelligence officer, leaned way back in the folding chair he was seated in until the front legs of the chair left the ground and his back began to arch forward. Reaching behind him blindly with his right hand, he opened it and waited for the phone. Behind him, the operations duty officer got up, leaned over the table he was at, and placed the phone receiver in Dixon's outstretched hand. As soon as Dixon had a firm grasp on it, the duty officer grabbed the phone line and began to feed more toward Dixon in anticipation of Dixon's returning back forward. Even this effort, however, did not help as Dixon, already talking on the phone, dragged the receiver across the duty officer's table, creating an avalanche of pens, pencils, notebooks, clipboards, coffee cups, and scraps of paper onto the ground. While Dixon was oblivious to this, Cerro shot the duty officer a dirty look while Command Sergeant Major Duncan grabbed the operations sergeant by the arm and quietly reprimanded him for failing to keep the duty desk neat and clear of unnecessary trash and clutter.
"Dixon."
The corps G-3's voice betrayed how tired and harried he was. "Scott, we have to pull the Apaches from you. Things aren't going well for the rangers, and they may need the attack helicopter support."
Dixon grunted. "Yes, sir. I understand that, sir. But that, sir, puts my flank guards in a tight spot. I expect that reserve brigade from Uzlovaya to plow into our southern flank any minute. I've only got one company down there. Taking away the Apaches leaves me little choice but to pull more forces from the drive on Mukacevo to cover my flanks."
The corps G-3 wasn't moved by Dixon's argument. Not that Dixon expected him to be. "I know, but you need to remember, you're only a supporting attack. The corps commander never expected you to make it to Mukacevo."
"Yeah, I know. We're the red cape and it's our job to keep the bull busy while the rangers cut off his nuts. Well, tell Big Al that he had better hurry before we lose ours."