leader of the small platoon had but one goal in mind, to get past the enemy without detection and back to friendly lines. Since 28 June, that goal had become an obsession with Sergeant First Class Duncan.
The closer to no-man's-land they advanced, the more difficult it became to avoid the enemy. In the rear areas units are more spread out and less vigilant but this did not mean that Duncan and the survivors of the battle at Rafsanjan had it easy. Soviet patrols, on foot, mounted and heliborne, were constantly searching for guerrillas throughout their rear areas. By day they would sweep through suspected hideouts and at night set up ambushes along trails. The Iranians, both civilians and guerrillas, were also a constant threat. The civilians hid the guerrillas, fed them and supplied information. A sighting by civilians was almost as dangerous as one by the Soviets. Duncan had found this out the hard way after going through a small village one night. The next day their hideout was hit by group of Iranian guerrillas.
Contact with Soviets and Iranians was not completely avoided by the platoon. When commodities such as food, water and weapons were running short, Duncan would move closer to supply routes or track down Soviet installations. From carefully reconnoitered ambush sites, his men would wait for a small convoy or, even better, lone vehicles. Once the ambush was sprung, selected men would rush in, grab whatever they could that looked useful, and run like hell for the rally point. When Soviet convoys appeared to be out of the question, Iranian villages were hit.
They were, after all, the enemy too. Besides, fresh fruit from the Iranians was a welcome change from canned Russian meat and bread.
These raids were not without cost. Eighteen men, including Duncan, had started out on 28 June. By 24 July there were only ten left. Some had been killed. As regrettable as that was, those killed outright presented no problems to the platoon. Duncan would simply take one of the dog tags, write in his little green notebook the time and circumstances of the death, and, if possible, bury the man. Duncan had no idea where they were and could not record the grave's location. Nor could he mark it, for fear of leaving a trail that Soviets or Iranians could follow. Once they interred a friend in his lonely grave in a hostile land far from home, it was forever.
But wounded had always been a problem. As the platoon neared their goal, Duncan reconsidered his decision to leave the seriously wounded behind.
Simple wounds that did not debilitate the man were patched up using a Russian medical kit. In those cases, infection, pain and loss of blood were the greatest concern. Duncan himself carried a grenade fragment in his left arm. It was the men who could not go on and would die without medical attention who had presented Duncan with his greatest leadership challenge.
The first time a man was seriously wounded, they tried to carry him with them. The wounded man did the best he could to keep quiet but soon became delirious from fever caused by unchecked infection. Without drugs or hope of saving him, Duncan had been forced to decide whether to abandon him and hope the Russians would find and care for him or to relieve the man's misery himself.
For two days Duncan had put off that decision, until the platoon suffered another severe casualty. The agony he had experienced when he finally made the choice still haunted him. He recalled every detail, every footfall as they moved down close to the road, carrying their wounded. Mercifully, both men had been unconscious as a result of pain and infection. When the road was clear of traffic, the two wounded men were set on the shoulder. Duncan himself placed a stick with a white rag, held up by a pile of rocks, in the middle of the road and watched from a hidden position until the first Soviet column came along. He had to satisfy himself that all would be well, that the wounded men would be recovered and cared for. It was not long before a column did show up. The lead vehicle stopped and dismounted troops to check out the flag and the area. They found the wounded. After checking to ensure that the wounded men were not bait for an ambush, the Russians loaded them on their vehicle. After that incident, two more men from the platoon had been left to the clemency of the enemy. Duncan was relieved, but not satisfied. He had abandoned his wounded, he could never forget that.
As hard as it was, he had to turn his mind to the immediate problem at hand. That their odyssey was near an end was hard to believe. After the battle at Rafsanjan, their life had been reduced to seemingly aimless wandering, constant hunger and the ever present threat of sudden death, or worse. To actually be in a position to end their ordeal, one way or the other, was welcomed.
The platoon faced two problems. First, they had to get past the Russians' positions and through their kill zones without detection. As they were approaching the Russians from the rear and the Russians' attention was focused mainly on the front, this would be, relatively speaking, the easy part. The hard part was getting through the American mine fields, kill zones and positions without being killed.
Duncan had no idea what unit's sector they were going to enter, what the password was or even what the land looked like. They were going in blind. And if, while they were between the lines, someone accidentally started a firefight, both the Russians and the Americans in position, knowing they did not have anyone out there, would fire up Duncan's platoon.
In single file they followed Duncan. He would creep along for several meters and stop, look and listen. When he was sure they had not been detected, he would decide which way to move and creep along another forty to fifty meters before stopping again. Progress was slow, but that was the safest, and only, way to do it.
The first serious obstacle they came across was a barrier of barbed wire.
Leaving the platoon behind, Duncan crawled up to it and checked it and the area around it. The wire was not the type used by the Army. It was Russian.
Worse, on the other side Duncan could see small dents in the ground. A mine field. That meant that they were at or near the very forward edge of the front lines. He had the choice of either low-crawling through the mine field or following the barbed wire until it ended. No doubt the Russians had the mine field covered by fire. By the same token, if the platoon tried to go around, they could just as easily run into a Russian fighting position covering the mine field.
Duncan rolled over on his back and stared at the sky. He was tired of making decisions. For the last twenty seven days he had had to not only live by his wits but lead others in and out of danger. His decisions had cost the lives of four men, maybe more if the Russians had killed the wounded.
Days of wandering and physical exertion, malnutrition, the stress of combat, the pressure of leadership, the agony of making life-or-death decisions, little rest and less hope had all worked to reduce Duncan's effectiveness and ability to function. As he weighed the two alternatives, he wondered whether their efforts had been worth it and what value, if any, their wandering had had.
He rolled back onto his elbows and looked at the mine field again.
There was less than a quarter moon. He decided to go through the wire and the mine field. As it would be dawn soon, there was little time to find another way around. Besides, he was anxious to end it that night, one way or the other.
Before returning to the platoon, Duncan moved along the wire to find the nearest Russian position. Thirty meters from where he had been, he came across a machinegun pit with three men in it. They were covering the mine field in that area. Only one man appeared to be awake. It would be so much easier if that position was silenced before they started. Besides, it would create a blind spot.
Returning to his platoon, Duncan briefed the plan and selected two men to go with him to take out the machinegun pit.
The three men crept forward, their bayonet-knives at the ready. The one Russian on guard was leaning against the forward edge of the pit, wrapped in a blanket and watching to the front. Duncan would go for him. The other two Russians were sitting with their backs against the rear wall, asleep.
The three Americans inched forward with Duncan in the middle. When they were at the rear edge of the pit, Duncan raised his left hand with three fingers up. The men with him watched the hand. He dropped one finger, then a second. When the third came down, the man on either side reached down, put his free hand over the mouth of a Russian leaning against the back wall and, with a long arching swing, drove his knife into the Russian's chest.
Duncan jumped up and bounded across the open pit, diving for the Russian on guard. The Russian rolled over and opened his mouth to scream. The thrust of Duncan's bayonet into his throat stifled the scream before it could come out.
Finished, Duncan called the other men in the platoon forward and prepared to cross the mine field. They would move forward in single file behind Duncan. He had considered asking for a volunteer to lead the final leg, but decided against that. He would go all the way. Using the dead Russians' rifles, they propped up the barbed wire and crawled under it into the mine field. Duncan, leaving his helmet behind, rolled up his sleeves and took off his watch.
