the Special Forces major spoke, Cerro listened intently. His suspicions were confirmed when the major casually mentioned that A Company, 2nd of the 517th Parachute Infantry, commanded by Lieutenant Cerro, would provide fire support and security for the Special Forces assault team in the raid against Robat-a Abgram. At that instant, all faces in the room turned to Cerro. He could feel their eyes drilling through him, wondering if he could pull it off.
For the balance of the meeting, Cerro was lost in his own thoughts. How in hell did I get into this one? he pondered. Don't they know about the anti armor ambush I blew? Isn't there a unit with a more senior commander?
These and similar questions swam through his mind until the meeting broke up. As the people in the room began to rise, the corps commander's aide called to Cerro. The corps commander wanted to see Cerro in his office.
When the door was closed and they were alone, Lieutenant General Weir told Cerro to be seated and relax. 'I suppose you're wondering why your company is going in.'
Cerro responded, 'Yes, sir.'
'Well, Lieutenant, you're doing it because your unit is ready, it's proven in battle and, most importantly, you've been ordered to. What do you think about that?'
Cerro looked up at the General for a moment. He thought about giving him 'Can do, airborne, sir' yell but decided against that. The General asked what he thought. Fuck it, Cerro thought. He asked, I'll tell him. 'Sir, I think you have the wrong unit. You obviously weren't told about the ambush I blew on one July.'
A smile flitted across the General's face. 'On the contrary, Lieutenant Cerro, I know everything about that action. I also know about your conduct on eight June at Kuhha A Ye Genu, the air assault on Tarom on eleven June and the three successful ambushes your company did pull off. In fact, it was because of your actions when the ambush on one July was blown that I decided your unit should go on the mission.'
Cerro stared at the General with a puzzled look.
'Another man in your spot would have tried to pull the ambush off despite the error in firing the wrong star cluster. You made the right choice. In an instant you saw that the ambush could not be salvaged and pulled out, saving your men and equipment for another day. Most second lieutenants would not have done that. Believe me, I know. I used to be one.'
Cerro thought about that for a moment. In his wildest imaginings, he could not picture the General as a second lieutenant. Yet, once he had been one, just like Cerro. 'Sir, if you're sure, I know we can do it.'
'Lieutenant, if I had any doubts, you wouldn't be here.'
With that, Cerro jumped to his feet, snapped to attention and shouted, 'Airborne!' as he saluted.
A sandstorm from out of nowhere had sprung up and turned the clear night into a swirling nightmare. The M-8 helicopter carrying Lieutenant Ilvanich and most of Junior Lieutenant Malovidov's platoon, Ilvanich's old platoon, was bucking and being tossed about. Visual contact with Captain Lvov's and the other helicopter had been lost shortly after the storm began. The pilot, worried about midair collisions or crashing or losing his way, wanted to abort the mission.
Ilvanich, cradling his AK assault rifle, 'encouraged' him to continue.
Ilvanich was not overly concerned. Even if the helicopters dropped everyone off at the wrong landing zone, they still had twenty-four hours to rally everyone at an obscure and well-hidden oasis in the hills southwest of their objective in Robat-a Abgram.
As in the Kerman operation, Ilvanich's greatest concern was not with the enemy or how his soldiers would perform. They would do their duty, as always. His concerns were with his company commander. Captain Lvov had become more overbearing since llvanich was promoted. Ilvanich, experiencing great difficulty in controlling himself in the presence of his commander, had volunteered for every patrol that took him away from Lvov. The other officers in the battalion and the regiment saw his actions as a dedication to duty and a love of battle. Both he and Lvov knew better.
The current operation had done little to overcome the hatred shared by the two. The KGB major who had brought the mission to the regiment had selected Ilvanich's company for it. The major insisted on speaking to Ilvanich, ignoring Lvov, during all the briefings and meetings. The senior officers of the regiment, seeing this, began to do the same. There was, after all, an obvious connection between the young lieutenant and the KGB, and such connections were not taken lightly. Despite his best efforts, Lvov was unable to change this. As bad as that had been for Lvov, the situation became worse when 309 the company was being briefed and prepared. Whenever one of the officers or noncommissioned ofcers in the company had a question or a problem, he instinctively turned to Ilvanich.
Lvov was careful not to say anything in the presence of the KGB major.
In one stormy session when the major was absent, Lvov raged and cursed at Ilvanich, threatening that he had best find himself a new unit after the current mission was over. When Lvov was finished, Ilvanich, face frozen in an expressionless stare, responded as his right hand toyed with the safety of his AK, 'If the company is too small for both of us, Comrade Captain, other arrangements can be made.'
Above the din of the helicopter's engines and the roar of the storm, the pilot yelled to Ilvanich, 'Comrade Lieutenant, we are going down!'
The sudden announcement galvanized Ilvanich. He undid his seat belt and moved up behind the pilot. 'What do you mean, we are going down? Are we crashing?'
The pilot was fighting with the controls and peering into the impenetrable sandstorm and darkness. Sweat from exertion and fear covered his face. He answered in a harried manner, 'The dust is clogging the engines and the entire system. There are warning lights coming on all over.' With a sweep of his hand, he showed Ilvanich a half- dozen flashing red lights on the instrument panel. 'Either we land now, while we still have control, or we crash in five minutes.'
Ilvanich looked at his watch. 'How far to the landing zone?'
Without hesitation, the pilot responded, 'Fifteen minutes.'
'No, kilometers. How many kilometers?'
'Oh, sorry.' The pilot looked at his instruments and thought for a moment.
'Fifty kilometers.'
'That's too far. You must get us closer. Keep going as long as you can before you put it down.'
The pilot protested, 'if I wait too long, the engine will seize up and the helicopter will never fly again. We must land now.' Angry, Ilvanich leaned closer to the pilot's ear. 'The hell with your helicopter. What happens to it is unimportant. You must get us closer. Do you understand?'
The pilot, his face grim with fear and concentration, nodded in the affirmative. 'Yes, Comrade Lieutenant, we will do the best we can. Now go back and strap in, just in case.'
The smell of burnt flesh and rubber permeated the area. The wreckage of a Soviet M-8 transport helicopter sat just inside the patch of green vegetation that surrounded the well. The bodies of its crew and passengers were sprawled about the wreckage. Only one survivor, a major, apparently overlooked by the attackers in the darkness and confusion, had been found.
Unfortunately, he was severely wounded and could not, or would not, speak English. While the company medics tended to him, Second Lieutenants Cerro and Kinsley, followed by Lieutenant Commander Hensly, USN.' checked out the area. They decided that most of the Russians had been out of the helicopter when it was hit. The discovery of an expended LAW antitank-rocket-launcher tube and small piles of 5.56mm. rounds left no doubt who had hit the Russians as they were disembarking.
Cerro walked up to the helicopter, looked around, then kicked it and let out a string of curses. To date, the whole operation had been plagued with problems. One of the C130 transports that had been loaded on for the jump blew an engine, requiring some of Cerro's company, overburdened with parachutes, weapons and ammunition, to off load and move to a backup plane while the rest waited. When they were all set, they were put on a weather hold-a sandstorm had suddenly cropped up in the area of the drop zone.
After they finally did take off and then made their jump, they found themselves five kilometers from the intended drop zone. As a fitting conclusion to the string of mishaps, the Special Forces team and the pro-U.S. Iranians were not at the well when Cerro's company arrived. Instead of finding them, the company found a
