Sword Point

Chapter 19

For weeks forces had been moving forward on both sides of no-man's-land, assembling within striking distance of each other.

Savage little skirmishes between Soviet recon units and American armored cavalry units, sent forth to screen friendly preparations and uncover those of the enemy, punctured the lull. Units jockeying for positions from which to defend or attack clashed in the night, holding when possible, drawing back when faced by superior force. Therefore, the simultaneous eruption of over eight hundred howitzers, guns and mortars that heralded the commencement of the "final" offensive came as no surprise.

The Soviet 17th Combined Arms Army, the main instrument to be used in destroying U.S. forces in Iran and seizing the Strait of Hormuz, was well rested and prepared. For this purpose it had absorbed the remnants of the 28th Combined Arms Army, so that it now had four motorized rifle divisions, two tank divisions and several independent regiments, one of which was the 285th Guards Airborne Regiment. Front artillery and air units made the 17th CAA a formidable force with over 1600 tanks, 2500 armored personnel carriers and other armored vehicles, 900 pieces of artillery and heavy mortars, and close to 100,000 men.

To oppose the 17th CAA, Allied ground forces in the central area, the area of operations, consisted of the bulk of the 10th Corps and the 13th Corps.

The 10th would be responsible for taking on the main Soviet force. For this it had three divisions-two armored divisions and one mechanized infantry-an armored cavalry regiment and a British armored brigade.

Units from the 13th Airborne Corps were available if needed. The 17th Airborne Division was being held ready for use in either the air assault mode or a combat drop deep in the Soviet rear once the counteroffensive began. A French airborne armored-car regiment had been transferred from the eastern sector, where the 6th Marine Division was operating, to reinforce the 17th Airborne in preparation for those operations. The 12th Division, though a shadow of its former self, had the role of securing the rear of the central area. The primary force to be used for this mission was a brigade comprised of four reconstructed and reorganized infantry battalions that had survived the fighting in late June. It was called the Phoenix Brigade, and each and every man in it was ready and anxious to avenge the earlier defeats.

Though the Allied ground forces in the central area were outnumbered and, initially, on the defense, the goals of the ground-force commander, Lieutenant General Weir, were far more ambitious than merely stopping the Soviets from reaching their goal. Weir intended to allow the Soviets to attack first and smash themselves upon the 10th Corps.

When they were broken, he planned to seize the initiative and attack north, destroying them through the use of slashing ground attacks in conjunction with bold airborne and air assault operations against critical Soviet command, control and support facilities. Over his desk hung a hand-painted sign reminding his commanders and staff to THINK NORTH. Not to be outdone, his operations officer had a sign that told his, people, TEHRAN OR BUST. With more flair than his superiors, the corps G-3 plans officer created his own sign that advertised SKI TABRIZ.

The lofty plans of the corps commander and his staff depended, however, upon the performance of men living at the far end of the spectrum.

Cavalrymen watching from their Bradleys, armored crewmen manning M-is and infantrymen huddled in their rifle pits girded themselves for the coming of the Soviets. Few knew of the plans the corps commander and his staff had.

Most did not fully understand the part they were supposed to play in the final defeat of the Soviet forces in Iran. What they did know was that their survival depended on how well they and the other men in the crew or squad performed their duties.

The crew of the M-lAl tank watched the T-80 tanks roll forward. Their tank commander, Staff Sergeant Steven Pulaski, stood high in the turret as he tracked the Soviet tanks with his binoculars. He listened to the platoon sergeant report his sightings to the platoon leader. Since he had nothing to add, Pulaski did not report. He watched, fascinated, as the Soviets moved forward, oblivious to the danger they were in. From where the platoon sat, Pulaski's first round would be an oblique, downward shot. Given that angle and the distance from the M-lAl to the kill zone, the 120mm. armor-piercing fin-stabilized Sabot round would have no problem penetrating the T-80s. Pulaski whispered to his gunner, as if the Soviets could hear them, "Hey, Teddy, can ya see 'em?"

"Sure can. Do you suppose they can see us, Steve?"

"If they could see us, do ya think they'd be pissing away all that artillery on those dummy positions on the hill behind us? No, and they won't till we shoot. Then all hell'll break loose." Pulaski told his driver, "Billy, you better be awake down there. When I tell you to kick it in the ass, I don't want any of your dumb-ass excuses."

From the driver's compartment, Billy simply answered, "Yeah." He was nervous. As he sat there maintaining the engine at a steady idle, he sweated. Alone in the forward nose of the tank, he could see nothing, only the dirt of the protective berm that covered everything but the tank's sights. At least the three men in the turret, physically located in close proximity to each other, could draw comfort from that closeness. The driver had only steel, fuel cells and instruments to share his ordeal.

As they waited for the troop commander's order to fire, Pulaski issued his fire command to the crew. With his hand on the tank commander's override, he yelled out, "Gunner-Sabot. Two moving tanks. Left tank first."

The gunner, already tracking their intended targets, quickly responded, "Identified."

The loader had little to do. There was already a round in the chamber.

He armed the main gun and cleared the path of recoil, and his response of "Up" quickly followed the gunner's cry.

Now they waited. The gunner tracked his target. He waited, watched and sweated. The driver, keyed up, was ready to move the tank into its final firing position. The loader, hanging on to his guards, watched the breech, ready to spring up and feed another round into it as soon as the gun fired.

Pulaski, still standing in the open hatch, looked down at the two men in the turret, checking to ensure they were ready. The impact of artillery just behind the lead Soviet tank drew Pulaski's attention to his front again. Seeing the enemy approaching the troop's kill zone, he lowered himself and prepared for battle.

The radio came to life as the platoon leader issued his orders. "All Hotel elements-this is Hotel Nine-five. Occupy firing positions."

On cue, Pulaski called out, "Driver, move forward. Gunner, take over."

The gunner bent over to his left and looked through the auxiliary sight, simple telescope attached to the right side of the main gun, to watch for the tank's main gun to clear the dirt berm. He held the main-gun control handles. This would keep the fire control's stabilization system engaged and maintain the sight and the gun on target as the tank moved. The driver moved the gearshift lever from park to forward and hit the gas. The M-IAI shot forward and began to rise, its gun automatically depressing. Once the gunner could see over the berm, he yelled out,

"Driver, stop!"

No sooner had they moved into position and the gunner returned to his primary sight, than the platoon leader came over the net again, "All Hotel elements-this is Hotel Nine-five. Fire!"

Pulaski bellowed out, "Fire!"

The gunner, still tracking the target, hit the thumb switch on his right control handle, activating the laser range finder. A digital readout showing the distance between the M-lAI and its target came up into view.

The range readout looked right to the gunner. With the ready to-fire indicator showing all was ready, he yelled, "On the waaay" to warn the crew he was firing and pulled the trigger on his control handle.

In an instant the tank bucked and was engulfed in a cloud of dust from the muzzle blast caused by the exit of the 120mm. projectile and propellant gases. Inside, the breech block moved back, opening automatically and spitting out the small base plate of the expended shell into a box hanging from the breech. The smell of cordite mixed with those of sweat and oil.

Without waiting, the loader opened the ammo storage door and hauled out the next round. The dual screech of "Target!" from both the tank commander and the gunner did not stop or slow him. There were more Soviet tanks out there that needed to be destroyed.

From his position with the second-echelon battalion, Captain Neboatov followed the battle as it was joined. The scene unfolding before him was far cry from his first encounter with the Americans in late June.

Then it had been a walk in the park. He had not even realized that they had penetrated the Americans' main defensive positions.

Today, however, would be far different. Despite an impressive thirty-minute Soviet artillery barrage, the Americans appeared to be not only alive but quite unaffected. The Soviet first-echelon battalions were still in columns of companies when American artillery began to fall on them. At first the artillery fire fell behind the companies That error, however, was quickly corrected, with telling effect. The rounds being used threw out many small bomblets that hit the tops of the tanks and BMPs of the lead battalion.

Each bomblet had a tiny shaped charge that could penetrate the thin armor covering the tops of the vehicles. Every volley of American artillery engulfed a large portion of the lead battalions in a sudden cloud of black smoke and flame. As it cleared, T-80 tanks and BMPs could be seen staggering out of line or simply burning where they had been hit.

Neboatov saw multiple puffs of smoke and dust appear in the distance to the front. Enemy tanks and antitank guided missiles firing. He watched as near-misses threw great clouds of dirt up in front of tanks and BMPs in the lead battalions. There were, however, few misses.

Armor-piercing penetrators traveling a mile a second impacted with a large, brilliant white spark when they hit steel. Reactive armor on the T-80s detonated but did not deter the depleted uranium penetrator as it literally pushed its way into the tank it hit. As the penetrator did so, it also pushed a plug of the tank's own armor, the same diameter as the penetrator, into the interior of the tank. Both the plug of armor and the penetrator, superheated by the rapid conversion of kinetic energy into heat, ripped through everything in their path.

Crewmen, on-board ammunition, hydraulic lines and fuel cells were torn open. Flammables were ignited. Propellants of stored main-gun rounds, blowing up in the confined space of a tank with all hatches closed and locked down, rocked the tank with thunderous explosions.

Sometimes the explosions tore the fifteen-ton turret from the hull and threw it into the air as if it were made of cardboard.

The pace of the advance did not quicken. As the lead battalions moved at what appeared to Neboatov to be a painfully slow pace, they left in their wake a trail of shattered and burning hulks quivering from the explosions of their own ammunition and cremating their crews. There was little doubt that Neboatov's company, part of the follow-on battalion, would be committed early that day. Watching the number of burning and disabled vehicles increase by the minute, he realized they would be needed even before they had cleared the American cavalry screen and hit the enemy's main defensive positions.

The paratroopers were slow to form up into squads and disperse. Too many stood on the drop zone waiting for someone to tell them what to do and where to go. Senior Lieutenant Ilvanich seemed to be everywhere that morning, directing men where to go, yelling at those too scared to react and using his boot to motivate the slow and reluctant. Junior Lieutenant Malovidov followed Ilvanich's lead as the two officers struggled to establish some semblance of order after a near-disastrous jump. Their efforts were assisted by the faint light thrown off by the burning wreckage of a transport plane brought down by American antiaircraft missiles.

As he ran from group to group, Ilvanich couldn't help but think how few of the men he knew. Losses sustained during two combat jumps, two major air assault operations, several raids and numerous patrols and ambushes had made serious inroads in the company's original complement.

There were few men with the company that day who had jumped into Tabriz on 25 May.

Replacements and men from units that had been disbanded may have brought the company up to full strength, but did not make a coherent, combat-capable unit. The new officers and men did not know one another or the old members of the company. The trust and confidence between leaders and those they led that resulted from countless hours of training were missing. The men new to the unit knew the basics of soldiering but had never worked together. Simple combat drills that used to be easily executed by Ilvanich's old platoon required twice the time to perform and all of Lieutenant Malovidov's efforts to make happen simply because they had not had enough time to practice.

Once the drop zone was clear and all the strays had been rounded up, Ilvanich paused to consider his next action. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face as he surveyed the eerie scene before him.

Discarded parachutes and cylindrical equipment containers littered the drop zone. The brightly burning wreckage of two transports were visible in the distance.

The thought that the company's BMD personnel carriers were aboard them did nothing to brighten an already dark situation. Without them the paratroopers had little chance of forming an effective strongpoint astride the Americans' main supply route. Any combat unit that had tanks would have no problem blowing through them anytime they wanted.

Around the drop zone he could see the heads of paratroopers pop up as they checked out their sector from the prone position. Well, we are as ready as we are ever going to be, he thought. Time to get out of here.

From out of the darkness Malovidov came running up, hunched over, carrying his AK assault rifle at the ready. Panting, he reported to Ilvanich. "All men are accounted for. Both of the other platoons report the same. We are ready to move out." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, yes, Captain Lvov has been found. He has a broken ankle. He is with 2nd Platoon right now and wishes to see you immediately."

Ilvanich didn't turn or look at the junior lieutenant. He stood there and pulled out his canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a short swallow of water. Finished, he turned to Malovidov. "I suppose it is time to go see our commander. Lead off, Comrade."

With that, Malovidov turned and began to run off at a trot, crouched over, until he noticed that Ilvanich was following at a walk, standing erect.

Malovidov stopped, straightened up and waited for the senior lieutenant.

When they reached Lvov, he was lying on the ground and seemed to be embarrassed. Ilvanich saluted and reported, then stood with one hand on his hip and the other resting on the AK that dangled from his right shoulder while his commander babbled about how he had hit the ground wrong and had to crawl over to where the company had rallied. As he listened, Ilvanich thought, So, you can't run away this time, you worthless bastard. Now I get the chance to see what a good Party man is made of.

His thoughts and Lvov's story were interrupted by a radioman who came up to Ilvanich and, out of habit, handed the radio mike to him, saying that the battalion commander wanted to speak to the commander. Without thinking, Ilvanich took the mike, pressed the transmit button and began to speak, then stopped. Lvov was staring at him. Their eyes met. Without apology, Ilvanich held out the mike to his commander and said he had forgotten that the captain was with them. He intentionally held the mike several inches beyond Lvov's reach, forcing the captain to prop himself up and stretch to get it. When he had it, Ilvanich stepped back, saluted and told his commander he would prepare the company to move out. He did not wait for a return salute, which he knew he would not get, or permission to leave, which he didn't care whether he got or not. He simply pivoted and walked off, feeling Lvov's eyes burning their way through his back as he went into the gathering dawn.

Duncan marched down the line, checking weapons, equipment and the men.

In the background dozens of Blackhawk helicopters were going through preflight checks and coming to life. How different, he thought as he compared the fully armed, well-equipped, well-fed soldiers before him and what he and his platoon had been like while they were escaping from Rafsanjan. Most of the men in his platoon were new to him, the result of amalgamating bits and pieces of other units.

The remnants of the units of the 12th Infantry Division had been merged into a single brigade. Though many were strangers, most of the men had three things in common. First, they had all had experiences similar to those Duncan and his men had gone through. As a result, the second thing they shared was a burning desire to avenge their friends and the honor of their unit. Finally, they were all fully trained and competent combat infantrymen.

Duncan and his lieutenant, a man who had fought at Pariz and Sa'idabad, drove their platoon hard in the short time they had been given to prepare for combat. No one complained. No one asked why. They knew.

They had seen the face of battle and knew it well. The only problem that Duncan had to deal with was impatience. They were ready to go, now. They were all impatient to wreak vengeance on an enemy that had once seemed unstoppable.

Shortly after stand-to that morning, word came down that they were about to be given their opportunity. Duncan could barely contain his excitement as the platoon leader briefed them on their mission. They were going to deploy north by helicopter to contain and destroy a Soviet airborne unit that had been dropped a few hours before in the vicinity of Qotbabad. The lieutenant told them that the airhead straddled the main supply route to the north and had to be eliminated.

He had accentuated the word "eliminated." When he had finished, he asked Duncan whether he had anything to add.

From the rear of the platoon, Duncan commented, "Well, I can't think of a better way to start the day. You people know the drill. Precombat inspection in twenty minutes. Now hit it."

There was no need to repeat the command. His men scattered to draw extra ammo, fill canteens and grab their rucksacks.

Throughout the morning the units of the U.S. 2nd Brigade monitored the progress of the battle between the lead Soviet motorized rifle division and the armored cavalry regiment. Once the main Soviet effort had been identified, the corps piled on with everything it could. Working in conjunction with one another, attack helicopters, artillery and Air Force close air support hammered exposed Soviet formations. Artillery, firing counter battery fires, reduced the responsiveness and effectiveness of Soviet artillery. The ground units of the cavalry regiment in front of the attacking Soviet regiments gave way grudgingly, moving back one step at a time, maintaining contact and exacting a toll from the enemy. While the cavalry's victory cost them dearly, by the time they were ready to pass the battle off to the 2nd Brigade the Soviet first-echelon motorized rifle division was incapable of further offensive operations.

The battle moving toward the 3rd of the 4th Armor was well defined.

Reports from the cavalry regiment, intelligence gained from electronic-warfare units and in-flight reports from Air Force pilots returning from strikes against the Soviets provided a clear picture of what was coming. That, some say, is half the battle. Now all the 3rd of the 4th had to do was destroy the enemy.

The Soviets also had their intelligence units gathering information.

They knew what they were getting into and had a plan for dealing with it. MI-28 Havoc attack helicopters moved in advance of the attacking ground formations, seeking targets. Artillery units began to move forward in preparation for the attack in the main battle area. Electronic-warfare units swept through the FM radio spectrum searching for active frequencies, jamming, listening or directing artillery against the transmitter. With grim determination, the second-echelon motorized rifle division moved forward through the shattered remains of the first-echelon division and continued the attack.

The command net of the 3rd of the 4th Armor came alive with reports from the scout platoon. The Soviets were coming forward with two battalions deployed abreast. No doubt there was a third battalion close behind, the second-echelon battalion of the motorized rifle regiment. As with the battle of 9 July, the scouts began to call for artillery against the advancing enemy. The Soviets' artillery joined the fray, striking at suspected locations in advance of their attacking formations and laying down a smokescreen to cover the move of the motorized rifle battalions and confuse the Americans. Unlike the 9 July battle, Soviet jamming and artillery fire appeared to be quite effective.

From his position, Major Dixon watched intently as the Soviets began to close on the first line of barriers. The defending battalion was deployed in a wide valley in the shape of a large W. Each of the companies formed a leg of the W and faced into one of two kill zones, while the scout platoon sat on a small hill at the center tip of the W. Team Alpha, which was tank heavy with one mech and two tank platoons, along with Team Charlie, mech heavy with one tank and two mech platoons, covered the western V of the W. Team Bravo, tank heavy, along with Team Delta, mech heavy, covered the eastern V of the W. If needed, one of the company teams in the center could swing in the opposite direction to assist its sister unit. The tank-heavy company teams on either flank could be used to counterattack if needed.

The leaders of the battalion had positioned themselves where they could control a portion of the battle. The battalion commander was with Team Delta in the east. Dixon was with Team Alpha in the west. The battalion XO was at the battalion TOC, where he would monitor the battle, ensure that reports were being submitted to Brigade, orchestrate fire support, request assistance from Brigade as required and be ready to assume command of the battalion if necessary.

Everyone assumed that the Soviets would send one of the lead battalions on either side of the hill where the scouts were located. Otherwise they would have to close up and go through the kill zones literally hub to hub. Two American companies working together would be more than enough to deal with a single motorized rifle battalion coming at them one at a time.

All seemed to be in order and progressing as the leadership of the 3rd of the 4th Armor had projected until the Soviets were three kilometers from the scout platoon's positions. For a moment, all Soviet artillery fire ceased. This was no surprise. It was assumed that it was being shifted to the next line of targets in advance of the oncoming attack.

In the distance, all Dixon could see was smoke settling in the low areas. From where his tank sat he would be unable to see the Soviets until they entered the hollow of the V being covered by Alpha and Charlie. The battalion commander, on the other side of the battalion's sector, could see only the engagement zones to his immediate front.

Only the scouts were able to see the enemy.

The resumption of artillery was sudden and shocking. The hill where the scouts were located was smothered with fire and dirty columns of sand, rock and smoke thrown up by explosions. To the east, Team Delta's positions were also enveloped by a massive artillery strike.

Multiple-rocket launchers, Dixon thought. Either they know exactly where we are or they're damned lucky. As he watched the artillery continue to churn up the hill in the center and Team Delta's positions, he waited for reports. Nothing came over the net. Nothing to report yet. He waited.

Only slowly did it dawn upon Dixon that something was not right. He looked at his map at the point where he had marked the Soviets' last reported position. Making some quick calculations, he realized that if they had continued to advance at the same pace, the lead Soviet elements would be at the first antitank ditch. Yet there had been no reports. Even Team Bravo, which was not under fire, had not reported.

The crack of tank fire and the putt putt-putt of 25mm. cannon fire drifted over from the east. The two companies in the east were in contact! Dixon keyed the net to call the company commander of Team Bravo. "Echo Six-zero-this is Tango Two-two. What is your status? Over." There was no response. Dixon repeated the message.

"Echo Six-zero-this is Tango Twotwo. What is your status? Over."

Still no answer. He looked down and checked his radio. It appeared to be working. The firing increased in intensity. From where he was, Dixon could see nothing. Next he called 'the battalion XO at the TOC.

"Tango Five-eight-this is Tango Two-two. Do you have contact with Echo Six-zero? Over." He waited. There was no response. Dixon panicked. He yelled to the loader to switch the squelch setting of the radio to the off position.

Watching the loader do so, he listened for the rushing noise that should have come from the radio. Even with the squelch off, there was no noise.

"Shit! Wilard, disconnect the antenna from the radio."

The loader looked at the major with a weird look, but complied. Once the antenna was disconnected, the squelch he should have heard before blared in his ear. The Soviets were using silent jamming on the battalion radio net, effectively blocking all communications without the people on the net knowing.

Dixon ordered the loader to reconnect the antenna. Turning to his remote box at his station, Dixon changed the radio frequency to the Team Bravo command net. The radio suddenly sprang to life as Dixon heard platoon leaders reporting status and enemy progress to the Team Bravo commander. He listened for a moment. From the reports, he gathered that the Soviets were moving past Team Bravos positions, headed south. Dixon keyed the radio and called the Team Bravo commander. "Kilo Sixzero-this is Tango Two-two on your net. What is your status? Over."

The Team Bravo commander, in a fast and very excited voice, responded, "This is Kilo Six-zero. The better part of one battalion is currently passing right in front of us. Break. We're beating the shit out of him, but they keep rolling south. Break. I have negative contact with Tango Six-zero or Echo Six-zero. I think they've been overrun. Over."

That meant the battalion commander was probably gone. Dixon stood up in the turret and looked to the east. He could see nothing. He traversed the turret in that direction and looked through the thermal sight. At a range of four thousand meters he could make out the images of tracked vehicles headed south. The Soviets had broken through.

Going back to the Team Bravo commander, he ordered him to use the alternate battalion command frequency, since the primary was jammed.

That done, he switched to the brigade-command frequency and contacted the battalion XO at the battalion TOC. He told him that the primary battalion frequency was being jammed, that Team Delta appeared to have been overrun and the Soviets were coming through. The XO told Dixon that he would have the TOC get everyone on the alternate frequency as soon as possible.

One at a time the units reported in, all except for Team Delta and the battalion commander. As soon as the battalion XO was on the net, Dixon had all units report their status. Neither team in the west with Dixon had been hit. At the last minute both Soviet battalions had gone into the eastern side of the W. Odds were that Team Delta had been overrun.

Referring to his map that showed the graphics depicting the battalion's battle plan, Dixon recommended that both Alpha and Charlie counterattack from the west into the Soviets' flank while Team Bravo held in place. In the meantime, the XO at the TOC should get everything he could from Brigade to hit the Soviet forces that had broken through. With little time to think and no time to discuss the matter, the XO ordered Dixon to lead the counterattack. The XO would do his best to get everything Brigade would shake loose.

While the XO was coordinating for air strikes and attack helicopters on the brigade-command net, Dixon issued his orders over the battalion-command net. They would attack to the east, with both teams forming a wedge. Team Charlie would be in the north and Team Alpha in the south. Dixon would position himself in the center. When formed, the two companies would drive south of Team Bravo's positions and head for Team Delta's old positions.

Once there, the two attacking teams would swing to face the north and the follow-on Soviet forces. Someone else would have to take care of the Soviet forces that had already broken through.

Dixon ordered his driver to back out of the position and waited until Team Alpha began to move past, then ordered the driver to follow the company commander's tank. As they moved into the valley, Dixon monitored Team Bravo's reports to the battalion TOC. One at a time Team Bravo was losing its vehicles. What effect they were having on the Soviets was not known.

Whatever it was, it was insufficient to stop their movement south. A garbled and incomplete report from the mortar-platoon leader alerted the battalion XO to the fact that that platoon was being overrun.

Attempts to regain contact with the mortar-platoon leader were cut short by the battalion forward air controller, who announced that friendly air was en route and would be on station in five minutes. The XO responded to this call, but his directions were cut short. Repeated attempts to regain contact with the XO or the TOC by Dixon and the Team Bravo commander failed. Absorbed in that effort, Dixon did not become aware until several minutes later that the counterattack was going astray.

What should have been a simple maneuver was not. As the teams moved into the valley that formed the western base of the W, they became intermingled.

Team Charlie, wanting to avoid Team Bravo, came too far south before turning east. Team Alpha, cutting straight across the valley, ran head on into Team Charlie while it was still moving south. This situation was made worse by the fact that drivers in both the M-1 and the Bradley did not have thermal sights. The smoke lingering in the low areas they drove through made navigation and maintaining position difficult.

Command and control were lost by Dixon and the team commanders. Then the quick death of the Team Alpha commander by an unknown assailant destroyed all hope of sorting that unit out. The counterattack rapidly degenerated into a cluster as tanks and Bradleys groped about in the smoke, searching for the enemy and the objective. Both were eventually found, but not in the manner that Dixon intended.

Instead of a sledgehammer hitting the Soviets in the flank, the two attacking teams collided with the enemy one or two vehicles at a time.

The only thing that prevented complete disaster for the armored battalion was the fact that the Soviets were equally confused and muddled due to the firing into their flank from Team Bravo, obstacles that had not been cleared, scatter able mine fields that had been laid down by artillery, and their own artillery- and vehicle-generated smoke.

For the next twenty minutes a series of small battles erupted between vehicles lost on the valley floor of the eastern part of the W. The clusters of tanks and Bradleys rolled on toward Team Delta's position, cutting across the path of the Soviet vehicles attempting to move south. Most engagements were therefore flanking shots. In this kind of fight, tanks had the upper hand. Their main gun could defeat anyone and everyone they ran into. Their armor could defeat at least some of the weapons being used. Whenever a Bradley bumped into a T-80 and saw it first, the Bradley commander would fire his smoke grenades and back off into the nearest hole. This, however, was not always a good idea in the swirling melee on the valley floor. In more than one case, a Bradley backing up to avoid one T-80 tank backed into the sights of another unseen T-80 or BMP. The same happened to the Soviets.

Gunners, their eyes glued to their thermal sights, were normally the first to spot a target. Screams of "T-80twelve o'clock!" or "Two BMPs dead ahead!" galvanized the rest of the crew. Tank and Bradley commanders had no time to think. It was simply a question of fight or flee. Normal crew duties and fire commands fell by the wayside as target reports from the gunners were followed by either "Driver, back up!" or Fire! "Unable to command or control anything, and knowing hat he had no hope of doing either until he reached the positions where Delta had been, Dixon concentrated on fighting with his tank and surviving.

Maxwell, his gunner, was quick to pick up targets. "Tank-twelve o'clock!"

In their excitement and the heat of the moment, the crew lost track of the fire commands. Hearing the target report from Maxwell, Wilard responded with Up" as he armed the gun and cleared the path of recoil.

Dixon, hanging on, yelled, "Fire!" even though he was unable to get his eye up to the sight.

Maxwell screamed, "On the way!" as he pulled the trigger. Firing and impact were almost simultaneous, due to the close range. Dixon, popping his head out of the open hatch at the moment Maxwell yelled,

"Target!" watched the Soviet tank they had just engaged blow apart as their tank passed it.

Maxwell's scream of "Two BMPs — twelve o'clock!" brought him back.

Wilard, knowing that HEAT was the preferred round for BMPs, but having already loaded a Sabot round, yelled out, "Sabot loaded!"

Since there wasn't time to unload the Sabot round, Dixon ordered, "Fire HEAT. Load Sabot."

Maxwell, responding without thinking, again yelled, "On the way" and fired.

His announcement of "Target!" was followed by the cry "HEAT indexed" as his hand reached up and switched the ammo-select lever from the Sabot position to the HEAT position.

Wilard, following through with Dixon's last order, loaded a HEAT round and announced, "HEAT loaded."

Again Dixon ordered fire. Again Maxwell fired and responded, "Target!"

Dixon reached down, caught Wilard's arm as he was loading the next HEAT round and ordered him to load Sabot. Dixon did not want to run into a Soviet tank while they had HEAT in the tube. Sabot would take anything out, no sweat. HEAT was, at best, questionable when it came to the T-80 tank.

The battle fought by Dixon and his crew was repeated time and time again in other MIs and Bradleys as they stumbled forward in the smoke toward the far ridge. Dixon could feel his heart pounding in his chest. He gasped for breath, almost hyperventilating in the effort.

The air he breathed was corrupted with the acidic smell of chemically produced smoke, burning rubber, diesel and flesh, and burnt cordite from the firing of the tanks.

Every stitch of his clothing was soaked with sweat. Questions without answers raced through Dixon's mind: How much longer can this last? How much longer can I last? Where in hell is everyone? The tank rolled on, unstopping and seemingly alone as the horror show continued.

As it climbed up onto the high ground where Team Delta's position had been, Dixon's tank came out from under the cloud of smoke-to be greeted by the sight of two BMPs off to the right. Dixon grabbed the override and began to issue a fire command, but stopped. The BMPs were not moving, just sitting there. It was obvious that they were destroyed. Letting go of the override, he turned his attention back to the direction they were moving in. Only the chance glimpse of movement through the corner of his eye alerted him to the fact that he had been wrong about the BMPs. Without further thought, he grabbed the override again and jerked it around, yelling his fire command, "Gunner, HEAT! Two BMPs!"

Wilard corrected him. "Sabot loaded." Maxwell followed with "Identified!"

Again without thinking, Dixon yelled, "Fire Sabot. Load HEAT!"

Once the gunner was on target and heard the loader yell, "Up," he ranged, screamed, "On the way" and fired. The Sabot flew over the BMP.

In the confusion, Maxwell had not changed the ammo-select lever from HEAT, where it had been set for their last engagement, back to Sabot.

Both Dixon and Maxwell knew what had happened.

Dixon repeated the order to load HEAT. Wilard responded with "HEAT up!" followed by Maxwell's cry of "HEAT indexed-on the way!" The second round hit dead center. Its jet stream entered the target's side, cutting through the BMP, which blew up in a shower of sparks and flame, the explosion of on-board ammunition literally ripping it apart.

A thud followed by a wave of heat across Dixon's back rushed into his partially opened hatch. He looked up to see that the second BMP had fired an AT-4 antitank guided missile at them. It had hit the side slope of the turret. There was, however, no visible effect within the turret. Dixon yelled, "Target-next BMP!"

The loader yelled out, "HEAT loaded!"

The gunner, eye glued to his sight, reached up and made sure the ammo-select switch was on HEAT. He didn't trust himself anymore and wanted to be sure. Maxwell announced, "HEAT indexed-identified!" to which Dixon yelled, "Fire HEAT!"

The gunner's "On the way" was followed by a second thud. As the tank recoiled from firing, Dixon turned to his left to see a third BMP sitting on the crest of the hill. When he heard the gunner yell, "Target," he grabbed the override, jerked the turret to the left and issued a new fire command without bothering to look back at the BMP just destroyed.

The BMP commander began to back down, firing his 30mm. cannon at Dixon in desperation. This did not deter Dixon, who continued to bring the turret around. Just as the gunner yelled out, "Identified!" the side and turret of the BMP was lit up by a rapid series of small explosions and sparks. Then the BMP blew up.

Dixon popped his head up out of the turret and looked to his rear to see who had killed the BMP. Two Bradleys, their barrels still smoking, were coming up fast behind Dixon's tank. Behind them came an M-1. For the briefest of moments, Dixon felt relief. He was drained, mentally and physically. His body shook from excitement and the effects of adrenaline.

He looked at his watch. Only twenty minutes had passed since he had given the order to move. We made it, he thought. At least some of us made it.

Not many, however, did.

"The commitment of the second-echelon divisions by the Russian 17th Combined Arms Army into the 25th Armored Division's sector commenced shortly after twelve hundred hours. Penetrations along the FEBA were sealed of by local counterattacks and commitment of the division's reserve."

Forty words organized into two sentences during the evening briefing to the corps commander summarized the battle that had consumed the 3rd of the 4th Armor.

What had happened that day, however, was no longer of any concern to the corps except that it had set the stage for the next phase of the battle.

The real emphasis of the evening briefing was on the options available to the corps as a result of the day's fighting. These options were simple: the corps could remain on the defense and allow the Soviets to attack again; it could order the divisions to conduct local counterattacks to restore the original front line; or it could begin the corps counteroffensive. For several minutes, Lieutenant General Weir discussed all three options with the operations officer and the intelligence officer. He played the devil's advocate, attacking each option from various angles. There was no clear consensus on what was the best option. The operations officer preferred to limit the next day's operations to local counterattacks by the divisions. He felt that the situation was not sufficiently favorable for commencement of the corps counteroffensive.

The intelligence officer was even more conservative. His people were still sifting through the glut of information, some of it contradictory, that they had received from various sources ranging from satellites to spot reports sent in by soldiers on the forward edge. He wanted more time to clarify Soviet dispositions and intentions.

In the end, however, only the corps commander's opinion mattered. As a commander, he and he alone was held responsible for the success or failure of his unit. For several minutes he sat staring at the map, slightly slouched down in his chair, his arms propped up on the table, the fingers of his hands intertwined. When he had decided, he turned to his operations officer. "We attack. H-Hour will be twenty-one hundred hours tomorrow night." Standing up, he faced his assembled staff. "I'm tired of waiting for the Russians to decide what they're going to do and reacting to them.

From here on in, we are going to make him react to us. Does anyone have any questions?"

No one answered.

"Good! Remember, think north!"