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.
