open eyes that no longer saw clearly. In desperation he called to his tank commander, to tell him that he was unable to keep his eyes open. The tank commander, however, was already asleep, his head resting against the mount of the 12.7mm. machine gun. The gunner had been out for over an hour. The driver, his head clouded from exhaustion, never noticed the tilting of the tank as it ran off the east side of the road.
Neither was he able to comprehend what was happening to him as the T-80 pushed the tilt rod of an M-21 antitank mine down, setting off its detonator. In an instant, the mine's penetrator was driven up into the belly of the tank, ripping through the ammunition stored below the turret floor. Sparks caused by metal ripping through metal ignited the main-gun propellant charges and gutted the tank with a flash fire in milliseconds.
In less time than it took the others in the column to perceive that something was happening, three men were dead and the entire length of the column was lit up by the sheet of flame that leaped from the turret of the disabled T-80 tank.
In an instant Vorishnov knew what was happening. He could see no sign of an antitank guided missile. He had not heard the high-pitched crack of a tank cannon. It had to have been a mine. And if there was a mine, there probably was an ambush.
Cerro was dumbfounded. At first he thought that someone had fired too soon.
But he had not heard a missile launch or the popping of guidance rockets.
A quick glance gave him the answer. A Soviet tank had wandered off the road and hit a mine. Already other Soviet tanks were maneuvering into firing positions. In the light of the flames coming from the hapless burning tank he could see the other tank commanders closing their hatches, preparing for battle.
With no time to waste, Cerro reached for a green star cluster. He had to start the ambush before the Soviets had completely recovered from their surprise. His men, equally confused by the sudden turn of events, were waiting for the prearranged signal to fire. In the darkness, Cerro removed the star cluster's cover, sliding it over the bottom of the tube. Firmly holding the tube, pointed skyward, in his left hand, he struck the bottom of it with the palm of his right hand, setting off the star cluster. Once the cluster was launched, Cerro dropped the tube, leaned over the front edge of his foxhole and brought his binoculars to his eyes.
He had no sooner done so than the entire area around him was bathed in a bright-red light from the star cluster he had fired. Cerro froze. He couldn't believe it. He looked down at the edge of his foxhole and saw two unused green star clusters sitting there. In his haste, he had given the signal to withdraw instead of the one to fire. He turned to his right. In the fading red light he could see his TOW crews leaving their positions in accordance with the plan. No doubt the Dragon teams were doing likewise.
Cerro pounded his fist against the dirt, shouting a string of obscenities.
His plan was going to shit and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about it.
The chatter of machine guns from the tanks on the road brought him back to his immediate problem. The tanks were firing wildly in all directions. The only thing Cerro could do now to influence the situation was order the mortars to fire. Their commander, confused by the single explosion followed by the red star cluster, was calling Cerro over the radio asking for instructions. At least the mortars could cover the withdrawal for a while.
Vorishnov and the battalion commander were at a loss as to what to do.
The ditches along the side of the road were obviously mined. It was therefore hazardous for them to maneuver the battalion off the road.
The red star cluster, fired from somewhere to the west, had obviously meant something, but Vorishnov had no idea what. Nothing had happened when it fired.
As he tried to sort sense out of chaos, small-caliber mortar rounds, a mix of high-explosive and smoke rounds, began to hit among the road bound tanks.
That explained the star cluster: it was a signal for the mortars to fire.
But that didn't make sense, either. What use were small-caliber mortar rounds, particularly smoke, against tanks? Though their aim was quite accurate and they did much to add to the confusion and the general pandemonium, the mortars were really doing nothing of any value. You fired smoke only when you wanted to screen something. What were they screening? Suicide squads? It had to be Iranian fanatics. In the past two months they had done some very strange things that defied all logic and explanation. Whatever they were up to, it was having no real effect on the battalion, except to cause panic and a rash of gibberish over the command radio net. In a booming voice, the battalion commander ordered silence on that net. In an instant, order was restored, at least on the radio.
It was easy for the men of the company-command group to follow their commander in the darkness to the rally point. All they had to do was follow the sound of Cerro's cursing. He had screwed up. The men in the command group knew it, and soon the entire company would know it.
At the rally point all the TOW-section leaders counted their men, then reported to Cerro when he arrived. All were present. Second Lieutenant Kinsley, in charge of the Dragon teams to the east, called in that all teams and personnel had reported in and they were in the process of loading up in the helicopters and preparing to lift off. Cerro gave him a roger-out. The mortar-section leader called in and reported that his section had broken down and was also moving to load onto its helicopters. Cerro's acknowledgment to the mortar-section leader was drowned out by the noise of the helicopters coming in to evacuate Cerro and the TOW crews.
As he watched the Blackhawks land, Cerro thanked God that at least the evacuation had come off without a hitch and the entire fiasco had been bloodless. He had read once that any battle you walked away from was a good one. That, unfortunately, was about the only positive thing he could say for this one.
Flames from the burning tank silhouetted Vorishnov and his commander as they walked back to their vehicles. Neither one was able to explain the strange battle that had taken place there. The best that they could figure was that the tank that had exploded had prematurely started the action before the attackers were ready. Rather than stay and fight at a disadvantage, the ambushers had withdrawn. Vorishnov commented that that had been a wise move. It was, in his view, best to walk away from a bad fight and wait until you had the advantage. While the battalion commander agreed, he was quick to point out that even if the incident had been a botched ambush, it had succeeded in stopping them and delaying their advance for thirty minutes while the column got sorted out, the area cleared and the road swept for mines. They could not suffer too many such delays and reach the Gulf before the Americans had built up the strength needed to stop them.
The two men also agreed that they had been incredibly lucky. They knew that they were pushing their luck. The men were tired and the equipment needed maintenance.. Resupply was becoming an iffy proposition as the divisions moved farther south. Bypassed pockets both of Americans, now recovering from their initiation to battle, and of Iranian fanatics were beginning to hit the lightly defended supply columns with disturbing frequency. Fuel, critical to maintaining the advance, was becoming a scarce commodity. Even if the Americans were unable to mass enough of their tank forces to stop them, lack of supplies would keep the 28th Combined Arms Army from reaching the Strait of Hormuz. In a briefing to his commanders, the regimental commander had likened their situation to the stretching of a great rubber band. It was their task to stretch that rubber band all the way to the Gulf of Oman without its breaking. In the fading light of the burning tank, Vorishnov wondered if that could be done. And if it couldn't, then what?
The personnel of the 2nd Brigade headquarters were in good spirits despite a long night. They had traveled over roads that had ceased to be roads years before, suffered delays while moving broken-down vehicles from their path and survived the ever present threat of ambushes by Iranian guerrillas. They had done so with all of their equipment and vehicles and had managed to set up and camouflage before first light. While the value of camouflaging the command post and the vehicles with nets colored to blend into wooded areas instead of the bleak, rock-strewn hills of southern Iran was questionable, anything was better than being in the open. According to Lieutenant Matthews, the Soviets had a satellite passing over southern Iran every two hours. The command post of the only armored brigade standing between the Russians and the Persian Gulf was no doubt high on the Soviets' list of targets to find and eradicate.
The three M-577 command-post vehicles that made up the tactical-operations center, or TOC, of the 2nd Brigade were set side by side. The canvas extensions from all three vehicles were up and connected. This provided a work area for the staff officers on duty.
Maps depicting the brigade's situation, the enemy situation, artillery targets and contingency plans were hanging from poles that supported the extensions. Between the maps were status boards showing critical information such as the current organization of the brigade, the status and number of weapons systems available by
