burning. He was about to heave a sigh of relief when his eyes fell upon his BTR-60. Smoke was pouring from its open hatches. It had been hit.
As he rushed over, the chatter of machine-gun fire announced the approach of the attacking aircraft. The low pitch ripping sound of the A-10s' miniguns sent Vorishnov diving. As he flattened himself against the ground he imagined he could feel the planes' 30mm. projectiles passing right over him. The pock-pock-pock of the rounds hitting metal, followed by a low, rumbling explosion, told him that another tank had died. When the screech of the jets' engines had again passed, Vorishnov picked himself up and ran toward the BTR.
The BTR was a total loss. Flames were now shooting from the open hatches.
A man trying to pull out the body of one of the crewmen was beaten back by the heat of the flames. Looking around, Vorishnov saw the battalion's second officer sitting on the ground next to a sprawled out body. Vorishnov went over to him.
He could see that the second officer, a young intelligence captain, was hit in the shoulder and bleeding. His helmet was off and his face was quite pale. Speckles of blood seemed to cover his tunic. No doubt he was going into shock: As Vorishnov knelt down next to the young captain, he noticed that the body on the ground was that of the political officer. He knew this only from the insignia-the body was without a head.
'Alexis,' Vorishnov asked, 'are you hit anywhere else?'
The second officer only shook his head in response. He was obviously losing blood.
'Come, we must get that arm tended to.'
As Vorishnov helped him up the captain spoke hesitantly, his voice barely audible. 'We.. we were walking away from the BTR, talking about the delay. We heard the planes begin to fire. We both turned to see what the noise was. Then I looked toward Lieutenant Teplov, just as he was hit. A round hit him in the head and exploded. It.. ' The second officer stared into Vorishnov's 243
eyes before he continued. 'His head just exploded. It blew apart, all over me. It just.. it blew apart.' As he talked, the captain ran his hands down his tunic, which, Vorishnov realized, was spattered not only with blood but also with scraps of human brain tissue. The young man's eyes were wide and showed his bewilderment and shock. 'We must help him. How are we going to fix him, Comrade Major? His head is gone. What are we going to do,
Comrade?'
Vorishnov cradled the captain's face gently in his hands and spoke softly, the way his father had spoken to him when he was a boy and was hurt or confused. 'Lieutenant Teplov is dead. He has done his duty.
We must now take care of you. There is nothing we can do for him. Do you understand?'
Tears welled up in the captain's eyes as reality began to take hold. He looked into the major's eyes for a moment, then nodded that he understood.
'Good,' Vorishnov said. 'Let us tend to your arm.' With that, he led the second officer away from the smashed BTR and the shattered remains of the political officer.
Throughout the initial phase of the engagement that morning it had been difficult to believe there was a real life battle going on, a battle that involved killing and dying. Everything had been working so well, too well.
The American maneuver battalions submitted their reports on enemy activities and their own status as if this were nothing more than a training exercise.
Militaryintelligence units operating well forward were picking up all the information they needed to show that the main attack was coming into the 3rd of the 4th Armor's sector. That battalion's reports confirmed that and the battalion's success in defeating the attack.
Everything suddenly changed when the truth was finally known. The discovery of Soviet forces in the rear of the sector of the 1st of the 503rd Infantry, coupled with Brigade's inability to raise that battalion, caused concerns at Brigade and near-panic in 3rd of the 4th Armor. The commander of that armored battalion wanted to withdraw immediately toward Tarom. With the infantry battalion penetrated, he saw no way he could hold where he was. The brigade commander, unsure of how bad things really were, wanted the situation clarified before he began giving ground. Besides, even if the 1st of the 503rd Infantry had been penetrated, Brigade could still shift the 1st of the 29th Mech from the east into the infantry battalion's sector and counterattack. At least that was what the brigade commander wanted. Initial orders to execute that contingency plan were issued. Units began to shift in compliance.
Well to the north, Soviet electronic-warfare units waged a different, silent and unseen war. With electronic equipment that rivaled the best that the West had to offer, Soviet intelligence officers and technicians listened to the airwaves, scanning the full spectrum of FM, HF and AM radio waves. When they caught a transmission in progress, they locked onto it and studied it. Although they could not understand what was being said over the various American command radio nets because of speech secure equipment, they could determine which nets were brigade command, which were battalion command and so on. When the traffic on the command nets suddenly increased, followed shortly by an apparent shifting of forces from the mech infantry battalion's sector in the east, Soviet electronic-warfare units went into action.
Some of the American locations that FM radio emissions were coming from had already been pinpointed through radio direction-finding and targeted for attack by artillery. But the Soviets held back, waiting for the right moment when disruption or loss of the American command-and-control elements would have maximum effect. With the situation now changing rapidly, the decision was made to take out selected targets.
Orders went out to the Soviet artillery battalions to fire on some of those locations. Other radio nets were simply jammed with high volumes of interference. Some of the 245 jamming was silent jamming, a technique whereby the subscribers to the radio net do not hear any unusual noise or see any effect until they try to transmit over their radio; when they do try but cannot make contact, they often assume their radio is not operating or that terrain is blocking the transmission. Other radio nets were jammed with loud noises and unusual sounds designed to annoy the listener. Regardless of the means used to jam or interfere, the results were the same: commanders could no longer control their subordinate commands or pass information.
The artillery attack (called a fire strike by the Soviets) that had been directed against 2nd Brigade's headquarters was a rude awakening for the brigade staff. The calm, businesslike atmosphere was suddenly smashed as heavy artillery projectiles screamed in and burst nearby.
Because the FM radio antennas were located away from the actual command post, the incoming rounds did not hit squarely on the tactical operations center. The effects, however, were devastating just the same. Chunks of shrapnel, some no larger than a pin, others the size of a fist, carried by overpowering bursts, ripped through the canvas sides of the TOC extensions. Maps, paper, books, phones and people were brushed aside. The staff, once they were down on the ground, remained there, covering their ears or their heads as round after round detonated and sent its own wave of heat, dirt and shrapnel into the TOC.
Though the attack lasted less than two minutes, it transformed the TOC from a neat, orderly command-and control node to a tangled heap of paper, tables, wire and assorted equipment. Moans from the wounded broke the stillness as the staff began to untangle themselves from the debris. Lieutenant Matthews pulled herself up and looked around. The canvas sides of the extensions were shredded and hanging limply from the support poles. The situation map was hanging at an angle from one of its supports. Field desks were overturned, their contents scattered about and mixed with the contents of tables and other desks. Other staff officers and NCOs were also picking themselves up. Some, however, were not.
Matthews began to help those around her by clearing off debris and giving them a hand. When she went to help her boss, Major Price, get up, she noticed the bright-red spot on his back. Bending down, she turned his face toward her. His eyes were shut tightly; his face was frozen 'in pain. He let out a scream, then yelled not to move him.
Matthews stopped, unsure what to do. She called for the S-2 NCO.
Master Sergeant Trent came over and, kneeling next to the major, asked how badly he was hit. Without opening his eyes, Price replied that he couldn't move his legs or feel them. Trent looked at Price's back.
Carefully he ripped the BDU shirt. A deep gash ran across the major's lower back. Trent thought the spine might have been severed and said so.
Matthews, fighting back nausea, told them she would get some help. She stood and looked around. Others were beginning to move about and help one another. When she saw the brigade XO, she went over to where he stood. He seemed unaffected by the calamity that had befallen the TOC.
Standing in the middle of the remains of it, he was directing the brigade signal officer to sort out their
