capability. Even if they assume a fully protective posture, which they will, the heat casualties from wearing the protective clothing will be just as devastating to their efficiency as would losses to the chemical agents employed. Our troops, better trained, equipped and used to working in a chemical environment, will have a great advantage. Next, we must mass all combat power in Iran. If insufficient forces are available in the country, they must come from the reserves if necessary. Finally, we must strike at the source of American supplies. The war zone at sea must include the entire Indian Ocean, the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and the Atlantic. It does us no good to wait until they reach Iran to kill them.'
Again there was a long silence. This time the Foreign minister smiled when he broke it. 'You must understand, Comrade Colonel, there are certain political realities that come into play at the strategic level. We cannot use chemical weapons. We know the Americans' limitations in that area, but if we did use such weapons the entire world would condemn us. Even those who support us now in the United Nations would be reluctant to continue that support. Nor can we afford to spread the conflict without endangering our interests in other areas. To do so could push America's reluctant allies into the conflict. And you know as well as I that the economy cannot sustain a large-scale mobilization. So, given those realities, what can we do?'
The General Secretary, agitated by the discussion, nonetheless allowed the Foreign Minister to continue his game. The colonel, after all, was expendable. Perhaps, if the Foreign Minister played out his fool's hand, he would discredit himself and give the General Secretary sufficient cause to replace him.
Sulvina knew he was a lost man. Nothing he said mattered anymore.
There was no going back. He had, by doing what he believed correct, dug his own grave. He straightened up in his chair, looked each member in the eye and spoke. 'Then we must stop the war. If, Comrades, we are going to fight this war, we must fight it with every means available. If we want to win, the nation must be mobilized behind the effort. Otherwise, Comrades, we are asking our men to die for nothing. I cannot go back and order our soldiers to go forward and die in the name of the State if the State is unwilling to provide the means for victory.'
Colonel Sulvina jumped into his grave with both feet and a clear conscience.
Between bouts of pain and short periods of restless sleep, Randy Capell pondered his current state and his future.
Lying on his stomach with most of his body encased in bandages, Capell could do nothing on his own. That he had lived, he had been told, was nothing short of a miracle The battalion aid station, overwhelmed by incoming casualties, had classified him as being beyond help. He had second- and third-degree burns over half of his body, multiple fragment wounds, several broken bones and a severe loss of blood. A medic gave him morphine and set him aside while those who could be saved were worked on. Eventually the physician's assistant did work on him, stabilized his condition and had him evacuated.
In the two weeks he spent at Bandar Abbas, Capell began the slow and painful process of recovery. While there he sent several notes to Amanda Matthews. A b medic had to write them for him. In return, he received two letters. The medic had to read them for him. As Amanda was quite graphic in describing her love for him, this proved embarrassing to Capell. His only regret was that he had not seen her before he was shipped out. Ca pell kept consoling himself with the thought that they would have plenty of time together after the war was over.
Besides, he was not sure he wanted her to see him as he was. That might have been hard for Amanda to accept and could have put an end to their relationship. By leaving, he would have time to recover and get back into shape. There were only two things that mattered to him now: Amanda Matthews and getting back into shape so that he could pursue his career. Capell pondered which was the more important of the two.
The launching of several cruise missiles from a sub marine set off alarms on escort ships throughout the area.
By the time the missiles broke surface, fire-control computers were already feeding data to the Seasparrow point defense-missile launchers.
On cue from the computer, air-defense officers began to launch the Seasparrows. While Soviet missiles flew toward their marks in the darkness, American missiles raced toward the Soviet missiles in an effort to head them off. Great balls of fire blossomed in the distance every time one of the defensive missiles found its target and destroyed it.
Not all Soviet missiles were felled by the Seasparrows. American radar continued tracking the surviving cruise missiles and preparing the close-in defense systems. The phalanx gun systems, set to automatic mode, picked up their targets and tracked them. The 20mm. mimgun, controlled by a computer, fired a stream of projectiles into the night in a last-ditch effort to bring down the remaining cruise missiles. As with the Seasparrows, each success was marked with the violent explosion of a Soviet missile.
When all active measures had been expended, the computers on the escorts began to fire chaff. Millions of tiny strips of aluminum were blown out of launchers, creating instant clouds to confuse the cruise missiles' targeting radar. Those ships that had chaff escaped as the missiles broke radar lock and flew about, searching for a new target, until they ran out of fuel. Those ships that didn't and were marked, died.
As in a nightmare, Capell heard the ripping of metal and the detonation of the cruise missile's warhead. Unused fuel from the missile was ignited by the explosion and propelled forward by the momentum of the missile. The burning fuel was sprayed across the ward, covering everything in a sheet of fire. The bandages wrapped about Capell's body to protect his burns now provided fuel to the fire that engulfed him and his ward mates. Only the crushing rush of seawater and the mercy of drowning saved Capell from burning to death.
The mounted patrol, making its morning sweep of the division's main supply route, came across an overturned hummer and the dismembered remains of three people. In a single glance they could tell it had been done by Iranians.
Russians weren't in the habit of mutilating the dead.
As the platoon leader watched his patrol check the vehicle and the bodies for booby traps, his platoon sergeant came up to him. 'No signs leading away from the ambush site. All we found were a few shell casings. What do you suppose they were doing out here alone last night?'
The platoon leader leaned against his vehicle and pulled out his canteen.
'Doesn't really matter what they were doing, does it? They're dead now.'
The lieutenant took a drink from his canteen. 'Hell of a way to start the day.'
The platoon sergeant watched as two men checked a body. 'You don't suppose that the Iranians.. well, do you think they.. ?'
Finishing a second drink, the lieutenant looked at the body. 'You mean raped her? I really don't want to know, Sergeant. And you have no need to know. If some shit in grave registrations wants to find out, that's his business. We just find 'em, mark 'em and report 'em.'
A soldier picked up something from the body and brought it over to his platoon leader. A pair of dog tags. The lieutenant poured water from his canteen over one of the tags and wiped away the blood. 'Well, Sergeant Mullen, at least we'll be able to notify the next of kin of one Matthews, Amanda, that their daughter died in the service of her country.'
Chapter 19
God is always with the strongest battalion.
For weeks forces had been moving forward on both sides of no-man's-land, assembling within striking distance of each other.
Savage little skirmishes between Soviet recon units and American armored cavalry units, sent forth to screen
