laser-guided bomb on its way for the command-post vehicle right now.
“Inbound PGM attack!” Turabi radioed. “Radars to standby! All units pop smoke.” Not only could the tanks and heavier armored personnel carriers obscure themselves with smoke from their exhaust stacks, but they could also fire volleys of smoke grenades several dozen meters away to make it appear as if there were more vehicles than there really were. He didn’t know if it would fool sophisticated sensors, but it was the only countermeasure his forces had.
“SAM-12 Bravo One,” the ops officer reported. One of the air-defense units in the lead battalion was launching surface-to-air missiles, their mobile 2K12 “Cub” missiles. “Another SAM-12 Bravo One… SAM-12, three missiles away, Bravo One.” That was a typical Cub engagement, Turabi knew, but he had ordered the operators to launch only one missile at a time to try to save missiles. Each battalion had only six systems — nine missiles total — to counter all the high-powered fighter-bombers at Mary. “Got one!” the ops officer crowed. “SAM-33 Bravo One engaging.” The SAM-33, or 9K33 Osa, or “Wasp,” was a short-range, low-altitude capable antiaircraft-missile system — that meant that the aircraft had blown past the longer-range Cub missile system and had to be engaged by the shorter-range, close-in Wasp. “Triple-A-Six-Mike Bravo One engaging radar.” Now the self-propelled antiaircraft guns were responding. The enemy aircraft were coming in fast.
“How many aircraft, damn it?” Turabi shouted. “Where are they?”
“Got another one!” the comm officer crowed. “Sukhoi-24s, coming in low! They—”
They heard it almost simultaneously: the hiss of a high-speed jet passing very close by, like a fast- approaching swarm of angry bees racing across the desert, followed by two sonic booms that rattled everything not welded in place, followed by a string of large explosions. One or two bombs landed close enough to make the command-post vehicle jump a meter or two off the ground, and Turabi wasn’t sure which direction was up — they could have been blasted on their side or blasted to hell, for all he knew. The lights went out inside the cab, and there was nothing but a loud squeal in his headphones. An electrical fire started someplace — the cab started filling with acidy fumes.
“They’re dead!” the tech shouted. When the inside battery lights finally snapped on, Turabi could see the whites of the man’s eyes, huge with fear. Turabi saw that the tech had opened up the slit between the command- post cab and the driver’s cab, and a thick curl of smoke was drifting in. That’s where the acrid electrical smell was coming from. “The front of the truck… God help us, they’re all
The armor plating between the cabs had probably saved them from the same fate met by the drivers. “Close that shutter and
“Green One, Green One, this is Bravo Three, how do you read me?”
“Loud and clear now, Bravo Three,” Turabi responded. “We were knocked off the air for a minute. Did you make contact?”
“Affirmative! Looks like eight heavy-tank platoons in a staggered W formation, coming in hard from the north-northwest. We are engaging.”
“Bravo Three, acknowledged. Engage from your position. If you need to break contact, pull straight back to the south. Bravo Four and Airborne Three should be moving in any minute to back you up from the east, and Bravo Six should be moving in from the north. Don’t let them break out past you — keep them in front of you. Acknowledge.” No reply. “Bravo Three, acknowledge.”
A skull-piercing shriek of pain and the roar of an explosion and fire suddenly broke the chatter over the command net. Oh, shit — the leader of Bravo Three or one of the other company commanders on the net had been hit, and his last dying action was to keep his fingers pressed onto the mike button so everyone on the net could hear his death scream. That was not good. “Airborne Three, this is Green One, what do you see?”
“We are engaging enemy tanks on the northwest grid,” the helicopter flight commander reported. “Bravo Three looks like they took several direct hits. The Turkmen are coming with T-72s and maybe even T-80s — they’re shooting on the run.” The biggest tank Zarazi’s force had was a T-64, which had a 125-millimeter smoothbore cannon and autoloader like the T-72, but it did not have a sophisticated laser-aiming computer, so it had to stop to fire its gun; most of Zarazi’s tank force were much older T-55s and T-54s, whose 100-millimeter main guns probably wouldn’t even put a dent in a T-72’s 120-millimeter reactive armor.
“Roger, Air Three. I can see one platoon of Bravo Four moving in fast from the north, but I can’t see the rest of Four, and there’s no sign of Six. I will… shit… oh, shit—” And then his radio cut off as well.
“Airborne Three, come in.”
“This is Airborne Three-Two,” a different voice said. One of the wingmen had taken over on the net. “Lead took a hit. Looks like the armor coming in from the north brought some SAMs with them. We are engaging. I see only four tanks from Bravo Four coming in to help Bravo Three. They’re going to get chewed to pieces here in about twenty minutes if they don’t get more help.”
“Roger, Airborne Three. Did you hear that, Bravo Four? Get in there and help,
“Green One, this is Bravo One, we have pushed off the enemy force on the highway — they are scattering. The highway is clear. Do you want us to head north to help Bravo Three? Over.”
“Is Bravo Two still with you?”
“They are engaging the Hinds off to the south, but I think the Hinds might be withdrawing to the southwest. We appear clear to the south. I haven’t heard from Bravo Two, but I think they lost only one or two units from the Hind attack.”
“Roger that. Stand by. Break. Bravo Two, this is Green One, are you up on the net?”
“Affirmative, Green One. It looks like the Hinds only had cannons and marking rockets and just a few missiles. They swept in, fired a few rounds, then headed away.”
“Roger. Bravo Two, you take the highway and make best speed to the objective. Don’t stop to fight, just get to the control station and take it as soon as you can. Take as much air defense as you can. Keep an eye to the south — they might try another attack once the Hinds depart. Acknowledge.”
“Roger, Green One. We’re on the move. Our air defense will have to catch up with us. They’ll cover our six.”
“Roger that. Break. Bravo One, wheel north and attack the enemy’s right flank. Get a good positive ID before you shoot — elements of Bravo Four are moving in behind the enemy formation. You’ll be face-to-face.” He hoped.
“Acknowledged. We’re on the move.”
Turabi took a moment to plant the image of the battlefield in his mind. It was not looking good. “Airborne Three, what’s the status of Bravo Three?”
There was a slight pause, then, “Sorry, Colonel.”
Turabi swore loudly — an entire company of tanks, destroyed in less than fifteen minutes. Their entire northern flank was exposed now.
“Airborne Three is breaking contact to reload,” came the report. “We’ve got elements of Airborne Two moving in. I think I saw one more platoon of Bravo Four moving in, but no sign of the rest of them and no sign of Bravo Six.”
“Bravo Six, what is your position? Can you see the enemy forces? They should be about ten kilometers in front of you.” No response. Damn it, Turabi swore, silently this time. They bugged out, probably back up the highway toward their reinforced ammo dump and supply depot at Ravnina. They were going to pay for that! “Bravo Four, have you made—”
“SAM-12 Bravo Two… SAM-12 Bravo Two, southwest!”
