Sword Point

Chapter 6

The crews of the two F-15E Strike Eagles were impatient to go. While the ground crew made last-minute checks around the aircraft, they sat in their cockpits and watched the comings and goings of military transports and of civilian airliners pressed into military service. The sun was hardly up and already the place was a zoo. At one end of the runway, Army equipment taken off C-141 and huge C-5A transports was being marshaled. Next to that area was a supply dump where forklifts shuttled back and forth, moving crates from the runway to a temporary open-air storage site. Along the edge of the runway discarded packing materials and tie-downs were strewn about. For the past five days a steady stream of transports and airliners had been bringing in the rest of the 17th Airborne Division and its support equipment. Despite almost frenzied efforts on the part of the Military Airlift Command, called MAC for short, it would be another five days before the entire division was on the ground and the 12th Infantry Division could begin deployment.

Across from the F-15s a flight of Army UH-60 Blackhawk utility helicopters was winding up, preparing for the day's mission. The F-15s were to provide cover for the flight of Blackhawks, whose mission was to pick up a battalion of the 517th Airborne, one company at a time, and move it to a crossroad town by the name of Tarom, seventy kilometers north of Bandar Abbas. The Army was expanding the airhead by leapfrogging units to the north, east and west along the major avenues of approach leading to the Strait of Hormuz. The Marines, operating out of the port of Chah Bahar, were doing likewise. Both forces ran the danger of overextending and isolating themselves rather than isolating the people they were bypassing.

Risks, however, had to be taken. So long as the Soviets were still over five hundred miles to the north and Iranian resistance was disjointed, the risks appeared to be acceptable.

Finally cleared for takeoff, Major Ed Martain, nicknamed "Thunderballs," rolled his F-15 out onto the runway and taxied down to one end. The second aircraft followed Martain's. For a moment, all traffic was held up for them. As they went past the huge transports that were scattered about, Martain's weapons-system operator, or wizzo, commented that it reminded him of driving on the New Jersey Turnpike. Upon reaching the end of the runway, the two F- 15s turned, got themselves set and began to increase power. When they were ready, the pilots released the brakes, allowing the two aircraft to thunder down the runway. Both Martain and the other pilot, by unspoken agreement, kicked in their after burners and lifted off faster than necessary. They wanted to clearly demonstrate to all the trash haulers (their term for transport pilots) who the kings of the roost were.

Once the planes were off the ground, the wizzos changed over to the radio frequency of the E-3 Sentry Airborne Warning and Control System, or AWACS.

Martain contacted the AWACS controller, using his call sign for the day, Omaha 01. The controller gave him an update on the situation in the area of operations. With everything in order, the F-15s climbed to an altitude of 40,000 feet. Martain's wingman, Omaha 02, took up aposition two miles to Martain's left, a little behind and at 42,000 feet. When they were set, the two aircraft proceeded north of Tarom, where they took up station, flying in an oval patrol pattern. In this way they placed themselves between the most likely threat, the Soviets, and the air assault operation that was going into Tarom, while the E-3 Sentry, operating over the Persian Gulf, scanned the entire. area of operations with its powerful radar, watching for threats from any direction.

Radar, first used in World War II, is a double-edged sword. Radar emits an electronic beam capable of searching and tracking, like a flashlight's beam. And, like a flashlight's beam, it can, itself, be detected by an enemy and used to locate its source. Unfortunately for the transmitter of the beam, it can be detected at a greater distance than it can detect targets. Furthermore, each type of radar has its own peculiar signature, so that a radar beam transmitted by an E-3 Sentry and intercepted by an enemy can be identified as originating from a Sentry. For this reason the F-15s were running with their radars off. Although Soviet radar would be able to see the F- 15s, the type of aircraft would not be known until the F- 15s turned on their own radars or were within visual range of Soviet fighters.

Before that happened, the Sentry would see the Soviets coming and alert the F-15s. An airborne controller on the Sentry would track the Soviets, estimate their destination and intentions, and relay the information to the F15s. This information would include a plotted course that would allow the F-15s to intercept the Soviets from a position of advantage. Soviet controllers, working from the other side, would be doing the same for their pilots.

Omaha 01 and 02 had been on station for better than forty minutes when the controller on the Sentry alerted them that two "boggles"-enemy planes-were flying southeast on a course that would take them over Bandar Abbas. As the control relayed information on the targets, the commander on the Sentry decided to commit Omaha 01 and 02 to intercept the boggies. Though Martain's two planes were primarily ground-attack aircraft, there was little use for them in that role and a pressing need for fighters. This suited Martain just fine. He had never liked the idea of becoming a mud mover and relished the idea of playing Steve Canyon, even if it was only for a day. While the pair of aircraft were still over two hundred miles away, the controller began to vector, or direct, Omaha 01 and 02 along an intercept course.

While one controller worked the intercept, others aboard the Sentry were looking for telltale signs of additional Soviet activity. The electronic-warfare operator checked for any signs of interference, jamming or electronic deception, called "spoofing." Other controllers watched their assigned sectors in an effort to find more boggies. The commander of the Sentry contacted headquarters at Bandar Abbas and informed them of the situation. He then instructed the controller working Omaha's intercept to remind Omaha 01 of the rules of engagement: he was not to fire unless fired upon. As yet, there had been no shooting incidents between U.S. and Soviet forces. This was shaping up to be the first confrontation between the two superpowers in Iran.

While the two sets of blips-one representing Omaha Flight and the other the boggies-converged on each other on the controller's radar screen, the commander of the Sentry watched the Soviets intently. He tried to detect any deviation that might indicate that they were being controlled by a Soviet AWACS or ground-control station and were aware of the F-15s' presence. At the one-hundred-mile point, there were no indications of that as the two sets of blips continued to close. The Soviets were coming in fast and dumb. The controller continued to relay information to Omaha 01 and study the two converging plots.

At the fifty-mile mark the F- 15s had maneuvered into a position to the left of the Soviets' flight path. This put them out of the area covered by the forward-looking radar of the Soviets, meaning that the boggies could not detect the F-15s on their own. The Soviets continued to fly along their original course without deviating, despite the threat the F-15s now posed, indicating that they were 103 operating without ground or air control. The commander of the Sentry leaned back in his seat, stroked his chin and paused to think about that for a moment. That was dumb, really dumb. The Soviets had AWACS in Iran.

They also had forward-deployed ground-control stations. He could not imagine why these two Soviet aircraft were flying blind and without control. The commander knew that the only way to find out what they were about was to challenge them. On board the Sentry, it was decided, therefore, to have the F-15s continue without turning on their radars until they were within missile range.

Two hundred miles away, Martain was becoming anxious. He wanted to gain control of the situation. Although he trusted the controller and agreed that the decision to continue with their radar off until the last minute was probably a good one, he didn't like getting this close to a shooting situation without being in positive control. His wizzo was equally anxious in the backseat, surrounded by millions of dollars of equipment, with nothing to do as they traveled at hundreds of miles an hour toward a potentially hostile contact. Secretly, the wizzo prayed that when the word was given and he hit the switch, all his gizmos would work. Otherwise, they would be very embarrassed.

Finally, at the fifteen-mile point, the controller gave Omaha 01 the word to turn on their radars and intercept, but not engage unless fired upon. At the same instant, both F- 15s hit their radars. In a flash the radar screens lit up showing two bright-green blips at a range of fifteen miles and slightly below. The intercept plot they had received from the Sentry had been so good that the pilots needed only minor corrections before they were able to achieve radar lock on the boggies.

In the Soviet aircraft, radar-warning receivers flashed on, sending a rapid beeping tone through the pilots' headphones. For an instant, the two Soviet pilots were bewildered. Their heads darted about, looking from their radar screens to the outside, unable to detect anything on radar or visually.

When the warning changed pitch to a steady tone, indicating that their unseen assailants had achieved radar lock and were about to engage, they both reacted 104 by increasing speed, taking a sharp, turning dive and jiggling their planes in an effort to break radar lock.

Both Omaha 01 and 02 had anticipated the Soviets' reaction. With a "Tally ho!" from Martain, they followed the Soviets' maneuver. Though the Soviets were able to break radar lock momentarily, the F-15s were quickly able to get it back. After several seconds of this, the Soviets realized that if the Americans were going to attack they would have already done so. Having accomplished the mission of their patrol, to test the U.S. reaction and find out how far they could go before being intercepted, the Soviet flight leader ordered his wingman to follow him. Making a sharp turn to the northwest, the two Soviet fighters came about and kicked in their after burners. When the commander aboard the Sentry saw the Soviets break and fly northward, he ordered the controller to instruct the F-15s to break off the pursuit and vector them to a waiting KC-130 for in-flight refueling. From there, they were to return to their patrol pattern.

Martain balked. His heart was racing a mile a minute. His breathing was rapid but controlled. His whole being was riveted on the Soviet aircraft now racing to the north as his thumb stroked the safety cover over the missile arming switch. He didn't want this to end, at least not like this.

For the first time in his life he was doing what he was trained for. He had the drop on the Communist and he wanted to splash him, now. He called for permission to continue pursuit. The controller denied him permission and repeated his orders. Martain came back to argue, but was cut short by the commander, who repeated in a clear and uncompromising voice that Omaha

Flight was to break contact and follow previously issued instructions.

Martain watched the two Soviets, now mere dots in the bright-blue sky, for a moment before he turned. "Shiiit," uttered in a low and disgusted voice over the open radio net, preceded the turning of Omaha.

Flight as Martain complied with his orders.

The first serious confrontation between the Great Satan and the Lesser Satan had ended in a moral victory for the United States.

Colonel Sulvina stood on the balcony of the Soviet Embassy looking out over the city they had secured almost without a struggle. With his tunic unbuttoned, one hand 'in his pants pocket and the other holding a half-empty glass of vodka, he listened to the sounds of rifle fire.

Mopping up. Here and there small pockets of Revolutionary Guards held out, hell-bent to die for Allah. Intelligence estimates, revised after the 28th Combined Arms Army had entered Tehran, showed that the entire defending force in and around that city had never exceeded four thousand. Why Tehran had been given up so freely baffled Sulvina. It didn't matter, he thought as he scanned the city skyline before him.

They would eventually find the bastards somewhere along the line and send them to Allah. If not today, then tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, tomorrow was fine. He was too tired just now, and so was the rest of the army. There was plenty of time tomorrow to make more martyrs.

He took a long drink, then turned his head toward the garden below.

Soldiers were still searching for bodies buried there. The staff of the Soviet Embassy had stayed on in Tehran right up to the beginning of the invasion on 25 May. To have evacuated them might have alerted the Iranians that something was about to happen. So for reasons of national security, the staff, including most of the families, had stayed on. The Iranians had spared no one when they entered the embassy on the twenty-fifth. Sulvina watched impassively as two soldiers carefully brushed away dirt from a body in a shallow grave.

The body belonged to a girl not more than ten years old. Her pink dress was spattered with dried blood and speckled with dirt.

Gently they lifted her from the grave and placed her in a cotton shroud.

Sulvina kept telling himself that she had died in the service of the State.

He knew that. But to what end her death served the State, he could not say.

Such thoughts were disturbing, bordering on treasonous. He turned to walk back into the office.

He stopped, however, in the doorway and stared at the desk before him.

Piled to one side were reports from the units on their status, locations and intelligence estimates. On the other side were orders from Front Headquarters and requests for information. He was not concerned about them.

They were routine and could be handled by one of his subordinates. It was the single red folder in the center of the desk that he stared at.

Sulvina lifted the glass of vodka to his lips and drained it before proceeding any further. Thus fortified, he walked up to the desk, seated himself, opened the folder and began to reread the reports it contained.

Any joy that he had experienced when the 28th Combined Arms Army reached Tehran ahead of the other two armies had been snuffed out when a young KGB major woke him and handed him the red folder two hours ago. As he studied the reports again, he found it hard to believe that the Iranians could do such a thing. If the CAA intelligence officer's estimate was right, this could have terrible consequences for them all.

He carefully read the report of a young captain who had been with the lead elements that entered Tehran; then he reread the intelligence officer's covering report. They supported each other. Sulvina got up, walked over to a map of Iran and began to study it, wondering where he would have taken half-assembled nuclear device if he were the Iranians.

More important, he wondered what they intended to do with it, when and if it became functional.

Tarorn, Iran 0845 Hours, 11 June (0515 Hours, 11 June, GMT) The Blackhawks came in low and fast. Ahead of them two A-10 ground-attack aircraft, affectionately called Warthogs, were working over several positions with their 30mm. guns. From where he sat in one of the Blackhawks, Second Lieutenant Cerro could see two AH-64 Apache attack helicopters coming up. The Apaches would take over covering the air assault when it actually touched down and the A-10s left. Because they were out of range of friendly artillery, the Warthogs and the Apaches were the sole fire support the men of A Company, 2nd of the 517th Airborne, would have as they went in.

Although resistance was expected to be very light, the division commander was going to ensure that everything would be done to keep up momentum while minimizing losses. He had the firepower available and would use it whenever possible.

The Iranians on the ground, on the other hand, did not have the firepower they needed to combat the Great Satan on equal terms. All they could do was lie low in their foxholes and bunkers and wait until the enemy had landed.

Once the enemy was on the ground, the Iranians could employ their advantages-superiority in numbers and a belief in their cause that bordered on fanaticism. While the balance sheet showed that they were losing everywhere, it also showed that neither the United States nor the Soviets were winning. The leaders of Iran knew that they could not win a war against both, or even one, of their opponents. What they could do, however, was keep both of their enemies from winning. In a no-win situation, Iran would come out ahead.

The commander of the local militia, Major Hasan Rahimi, was a veteran of many desperate fights. He had been a battalion commander, in the war against Iraq before he lost his right eye. No longer fit for front-line duty, he had been assigned to command regional militia forces and a small training center near Tarom. His hopes of serving his country and Allah as a fighter had almost died. Now, with the Great Satan striking north, he again had the chance to lead men in battle.

Rahimi had been ordered to hold the crossroads at Tarom. To do so, he had fewer than three hundred men and only a couple of mortars. More men could have been fielded, but there were no weapons for them. Other militia units would eventually arrive, but until then he and his men would have to hold.

The Americans, using helicopters to strike deep and almost without warning, made it difficult for Rahimi to decide where to concentrate his forces. After studying the area, he established dug-in positions at the most likely landing zones, with alternate positions covering the road leading up from Bandar Abbas, in case there was a ground attack.

His plan of battle was simple. Holding half of his force as a mobile reserve, he dispersed the rest to the dug-in positions. The men occupying those positions would hit the transport helicopters as they were about to land. That would be when the Americans were most vulnerable, with the landing transport helicopters blocking the supporting fire of the attack helicopters. Rahimi, leading the mobile reserve, would lead a counterattack as quickly as possible against those Americans who were able to land. He could not allow the Americans to become established. Once they were, they would be able to bring all their awesome firepower to bear, firepower Rahimi could never hope to match.

Even though Lieutenant Cerro preferred air assault operations to jumping, they, like all military operations, were not without their hazards. As with the combat jump, the soldiers are useless as long as they are in the helicopters. Helicopters are able to fly low and maneuver about, using terrain to hide and cover their move. Transport planes, on the other hand, fly high and in relatively straight lines, making their routes predictable.

Flying low, however, exposes the helicopters to small-arms fire that transports need not worry about. Anyone on the ground with a rifle can, and usually does, take potshots at low-flying helicopters.

Air assault operations share the same hazards as airdrops during the initial buildup stage. The small force in the airhead is exposed to counterattack and does not have all its support on the ground such as artillery and heavy mortars. These items, which are normally part of the follow-on forces, all must come in by air, just as the initial assault force did. Only, the follow-on forces do not have the element of surprise to protect them. The enemy on the ground knows exactly where the airhead is and, as a result, knows where the follow-on forces will come. This allows the enemy the ability to mass antiaircraft weapons around the landing zones or along the routes leading into the landing zone. Often, it is better to be with the initial force going in than with the follow-on force. Besides the antiaircraft weapons, artillery and mortars massed to fire on the small, well-defined airhead are a great danger to the follow-on forces while the helicopters are on the ground disgorging their cargoes.

The assault force that Cerro was with waited until the last minute before making its final approach, in order to keep the Iranians guessing as to where the landing zone would be. When the Blackhawks were less than a kilometer away from the landing zone, they made a sharp turn to the left and began their descent. The A-10s were gone by this time, but the Apaches were coming in on either side of the assault force, ready to hit any target that appeared. Cerro, looking out the open cargo door, could clearly see dug-in Iranian positions as the Blackhawks made their approach. There was, however, little ground fire. The A- 10s must have done their job well, Cerro thought-they had either killed the defenders or caused them to reconsider the value of martyrdom.

Suddenly all that changed. At one side of the landing zone Iranians popped up out of hidden positions. The door gunner seated in front of Cerro began to fire wildly. An Apache flew by, firing rockets at positions out of Cerro's field of vision. Tracers from the defenders could be seen racing up toward the attackers while tracers from the door gunner's machine gun and the Apaches rained down upon the defenders. The crash of rockets threw up fountains of black smoke and dirt. In just a few seconds, Cerro and his men would be dropped into the middle of that caldron.

First Lieutenant Griffit watched intently the scene unfolding below him.

Having assumed command of the company after the death of Captain Evans, Griffit was "the Man." Until the battalion commander arrived, he would be in charge of the operation on the ground. Success or failure of the entire operation depended on his actions during the initial phase, and he was nervous. Griffit had had it easy as the XO. It was the company commander who had to make all the hard decisions. It was the commander who was responsible for everything the unit did or failed to do. Evans, dynamic and a workaholic, had run the company almost single-handedly, leaving Griffit to deal with little details. Now, even with reassurance from the battalion commander, and with several small combat operations under his belt, Griffit was unsure and hesitant. He knew that he would eventually grow used to the awesome responsibility of command and the need to make rapid life-and-death decisions, given time. But there was no time.

He had a few seconds left to memorize the view below him-the lay of the land, enemy dispositions and key terrain features-which he would not have again once he was on the ground. His initial decisions during the first few minutes on the ground would be based on these quick observations. Griffit, engrossed in watching the battle before him and screwing up the courage he would need to carry him through his next ordeal under fire, did not notice the tracers reaching up at them from the other side of the helicopter. The pilot, however, did, and he knew what they meant. Instinctively he tilted the Blackhawk over to avoid the hail of bullets, watching the tracers rather than where the aircraft was going.

Griffit felt the Blackhawk tilting, but paid no heed until it began to buck violently. Falling debris caused him to look up and straight out the open door. To his horror he saw the blades of his Blackhawk hacking away at the blades of the Blackhawk across from them. In the effort to escape the machine-gun fire from the ground, the pilot of Griffit's helicopter had flown into another.

The pilot and the co-pilot struggled to control their aircraft while the Blackhawk they had hit fell helplessly away. Then, unable to regain full mastery of the helicopter, the two men fought to reduce their rate of descent and at least control their crash. There was, however, too much damage. The blades, no longer balanced, wobbled wildly. In one sweep, a section of torn blade angled down and cut into the crew compartment, decapitating the pilot and showering the co-pilot with deadly splinters of Plexiglas and aluminum. All semblance of control was lost as the Blackhawk rolled over on its side, then nose-dived into the ground.

Cerro watched the two Blackhawks go down. He knew that the XO was in one of them. The first smacked into the ground on its belly. One of the paratroopers on board, wanting to escape, rushed out before the blades stopped spinning, not realizing that they were lower to the ground than normal. A blade seemed to pass through his body, tossing it about like a rag doll. The second Blackhawk, the XO's, went in at a steep angle, nose first. The entire aircraft, the crew and the cargo of paratroopers disappeared in a fireball that rose above Cerro's own helicopter.

He sat there transfixed. In an instant his Blackhawk swept by the scene of the crash and prepared to land. The image of the crash had come and gone, but Cerro did not move, paralyzed. The first clear, conscious thought that came to his head was that he, the senior surviving officer, was now in command of the company.

The thump of the wheels on the ground jerked Cerro back to reality. He unsnapped his seat belt instinctively and jumped down from the Blackhawk into a swirl of dust. Cerro ran forward alongside his men for several meters, then flopped down onto his stomach. Once all the paratroopers were clear, the Blackhawks lifted off, made a hard bank and flew back to Bandar Abbas to pick up their next load.

The paratroopers stayed put for a moment, waiting for the dust to settle so that they could get their bearings. The Iranians didn't wait. With the helicopters gone, they leveled the barrels of their machine guns and began to sweep the landing zone. The paratroop squad leaders and platoon leaders sized up the situation in their immediate areas and began to issue orders.

Those who were not pinned by the machine-gun fire maneuvered their units against the nearest Iranian positions. The techniques the paratroopers used were the same they had used against the Iranians while mopping up Bandar Abbas: find them, pin them, get around them, kill them. The Apaches assisted in this effort. They circled overhead, trying to sort 112 out good guy from bad guy. When they had a positive ID on an Iranian position, they went after it with 2.75-inch rockets or 30mm. cannons. Between the Apaches and the ground attack, the Iranian positions in the immediate vicinity of the landing zone were overwhelmed and silenced within ten minutes.

After the firing stopped, Cerro turned command of his platoon over to Sergeant Arnold and made the rounds to determine what the situation was with the rest of the company. He was pleased to find that, despite the loss of two Blackhawks, casualties had been light. The Blackhawk that had crashed on its belly had lost only one man, the paratrooper who had run out into the blades. The crew of that aircraft, dragging their door guns with them, had joined the company. The XO's Blackhawk, on the other hand, had taken everyone with it. The entire company headquarters element, except for the first sergeant, was dead. There were only a few other casualties, however-not enough to keep the company from carrying on with its mission.

Satisfied that all was in hand, Cerro gave one of the company's three remaining radios to the other platoon leader, Second Lieutenant Robert Kinsley, and ordered him to hold the landing zone with his platoon until the follow-on forces arrived. Cerro, with 2nd and 3rd Platoons, would begin to move into Tarom. The faster they got moving, the better chance they had of seizing — their objective while the enemy was off balance. Besides, taking the battle to the enemy kept them away from the airhead and increased the odds for the follow-on force. With a three-man point team two hundred meters in front, A Company started for Tarom.

Rahimi watched the Apaches circle overhead, then turn to the south and fly off. Satisfied that they had left the area, he assembled his counterattack force and briefed his subordinates. He divided his men, sending a group of fifty under a young captain directly against the airhead to draw the Americans' attention. With a force of one hundred men and the mortars, he would swing to the north and hit the airhead from the flank or the rear.

Ideally, the smaller force would cover the move of the encircling force and suppress the Americans when the en circlers made their attack.

However, Rahimi had no radios with which he could coordinate his two forces.

They would have to trust in Allah to see them through.

The paratroop company had covered half the distance between the landing zone and Tarom when one of the men from the point team came running back with the report that a force of forty to fifty Iranians was headed straight for them. Cerro halted the company, gathered his platoon leaders and issued orders to prepare an L-shaped ambush. Moving the company back to a curve in the trail that the Iranians would be using, he placed the 2nd Platoon on one shoulder so that they could fire down the trail; they were the base of the L. The 3rd Platoon was deployed twenty meters off the trail along the length of it, forming the stem of the L. If the Iranians continued down the trail, A Company would be able to hit them with a crossfire.

The platoons dispersed and prepared. Cerro sent the point man to find a spot within view where he could both watch the Iranians' advance and warn the company of their approach. The men in the two platoons forming the ambush set up their machine guns, claymore antipersonnel mines and 60mm. mortars and found the best firing positions they could. In less than five minutes, all was set.

Cerro lay among the rocks, watching the lookout man and the trail. When the lookout gave the signal, Cerro relayed it to the platoon leaders.

Everyone hunched down as low as he could and waited. The Iranians came on as a group. There were two men out in front, their point, but they were too close to the main body. Any trap they fell into would also involve the others. The Iranians in the main body, instead of being spread out as was the practice in the U.S. Army, were huddled together, almost shoulder to shoulder. Cerro watched and decided that they had to be militia. The motley assortment of uniforms and weapons and the way they moved showed they had little training. That suits me fine, Cerro thought.

I've had enough challenges for the day.

Seemingly by accident, one of the Iranians in the middle of the column noticed something out of the ordinary along the side of the trail. The man stopped and looked toward the unusual object for a moment, then called to one of the officers. The two went over to examine it-a dark-green claymore mine sitting among the sand-colored rocks. Cerro watched the pair while the rest of the column continued into the ambush. Another thirty seconds and the entire column would be in the kill zone and he could spring the ambush.

Just thirty seconds.

The paratrooper holding the detonator for the claymore didn't give Cerro the thirty seconds. Feeling that the two curious Iranians were close enough, he hit the detonator when they were less than five feet from the mine. The explosion shredded the curious Iranians and caught both ambushers and ambushed off guard. For a moment everyone hesitated. The paratroopers recovered first, cutting loose with a hail of fire and a volley of claymore mines. Those Iranians who survived the first volley were caught in a withering crossfire punctuated by 60mm. mortar explosions. Panicked, they turned away from their attackers and attempted to escape.

Bullets travel faster than a man can run, however. It took a few seconds for the survivors to realize this. Then, seeing no escape and with their leaders down, they turned either to fight to the death or to surrender.

This resulted in confusion as the Iranians desiring to surrender found themselves next to those resisting. The paratroopers didn't take the time to sort them out at first, firing well-aimed bursts at anything that stood or moved. Only when Cerro ordered a cease-fire did the paratroops take better aim, killing only those who chose to become martyrs.

The firing coming from his flank caught Rahimi off guard. He halted his column for a moment to check his bearings. Satisfied that he was still headed in the right direction, he came to the conclusion that his other column had been hit before it reached the American 115 perimeter.

It was in trouble, but there was nothing he could do to help it.

Besides, its mission was to divert the Americans' attention. From the sounds of the fighting, it was doing so. Rahimi continued forward.

The 2nd and 3rd Platoons had just finished rounding up their prisoners and checking the dead when they heard explosions and machine-gun fire from the direction of the landing zone. Even before Lieutenant Kinsley radioed his spot report, Cerro knew what was happening. He looked at his map, then asked Kinsley whether he could hold for ten minutes.

Without hesitation, Kinsley gave him an affirmative.

Althought he felt uneasy about doing so, Cerro divided his force again.

Leaving a small group to cover the prisoners, he took the balance of his men and began to move toward the sound of the firing. It was his intent to circle around the Iranians and hit them from the flank rather than go head to head with the attackers. He ran the risk of running into an ambush like the one he had just sprung on the Iranians, but there seemed to be no alternative that made sense.

Rahimi drew his men back to regroup. Their first attempt to break the American perimeter had failed. The fact of the matter was that he had not been able to organize a proper attack. The lead element had stumbled onto the American positions and become involved in a firefight. Before all surprise was lost, Rahimi had rushed forward with his entire force, attempting to bull through, but failed in the face of superior firepower and organization. Seeing no hope of succeeding on the first try, Rahimi broke it off. They had suffered heavy losses. He now had fewer than sixty men and two dozen mortar rounds. If they didn't succeed on their second attempt, there wouldn't be enough for a third.

While his men gathered, he listened for signs that the fight to his rear was still going on. There were none. Not wanting to be surprised, he sent a small detachment back to provide security.

As the two platoons moved forward, Cerro kept contacting Kinsley for updates. Neither one knew for sure why the Iranians had broken contact or what they were up to. There was the very real possibility that the Iranians were turning against Cerro's column. If that was the case, Kinsley was to remain in place. The second lift was due in momentarily. The landing zone had to be held.

As a precaution against surprise, Cerro had his two platoons disperse.

Advancing in a line, they could go over to the attack or assume a hasty defense if attacked. Cerro could feel the tension building as they approached. Every step took them closer to an unseen enemy who might or might not be waiting for them the way Alpha Company had waited for the first Iranian column. Their current situation suddenly reminded him of a great game of hide-and-seek. It was a hell of an analogy. But at that moment it was true.

Wanting to get on with it, Rahimi gave the signal. The two mortars began to choke down their first rounds as two heavy machine guns hammered away at the American positions. With a yell, Rahimi raised his arm and led his men forward. The first burst of American return fire hit him square in the chest, throwing him back against one of his own men. The militiaman eased his leader down and asked what he could do to help. Rahimi, gasping, simply told him to go forward in the defense of Islam. After the militiaman left, Rahimi fought off any fears or doubts about his impending death. He was, after all, dying as Iman Husain had died, in the defense of Persia and Islam. What more could a man ask for?

Rahimi did not hear the sound of Lieutenant Cerro's attack or the approach of attack helicopters that were the vanguard of the American follow-on forces. His death preceded those of his men by mere minutes.

They had failed. The American airhead held.

Major Dixon was clearing away the last of the day's work from his desk.

All those items he had worked on but had not completed were returned to their proper folders and filed away in his lower-right desk drawer.

Those items that were new but hadn't been acted on went back into his in box. He'd deal with them in the morning. Finally, those items he either didn't want to deal with or didn't know what he would do with were lumped together and thrown into a box labeled TOO HARD.

Content with his shuffling of papers, Dixon was preparing to leave when the phone rang. For a moment he debated whether he should answer it or simply go. His mind had become fried after dealing with a mishmash of deployment issues. It amazed him how ridiculous and misguided some of the division staff could be. On one hand he had to prepare the battalion for war when his equipment was already loaded and en route to Iran, and on the other he was being required to schedule time for inventories of station property the unit would leave behind when it finally did deploy. Fighting the urge to walk away, Dixon answered the phone with a slurred, disheartened "S-three, 3rd of the 4th Armor."

"Scott, Michaelski." It was the brigade S-3. "I thought I'd give you a heads-up. Orders are coming in now at Corps. We roll in fourteen days."

Dixon remained silent. "Scott, you still there?"

"Yeah, I'm here. Is this good poop or rumor?"

"It's fact. Word is the Russians are headed south at full speed and the people in Washington are getting a little nervous with nothing on the ground but grunts."

Dixon thought about that for a moment. "Will our equipment be there?"

The Navy assured the corps commander it will. In order to save time, the convoys haven't been running zigzag in the Atlantic. We also have permission to move them through the Suez. It will be there." The brigade S-3 seemed so sure.

"Is there anything we need to do right away? You planning any briefings or other bull tonight?"

"No, Scott, nothing. We won't have hard copy on this till morning. I'll be ready to talk to the S-threes sometime in the early afternoon. See you then."

"OK. Thanks for the warning, Mike. See you then." Dixon hung up the phone and looked at his watch. Time to go home. The next few days would surely be zoo time. Getting up, he put on his hat, pulled all the papers from the box labeled Too HARD and dropped them into the trashcan as he walked out of his office.