small bomblets that hit the tops of the tanks and BMPs of the lead battalion.
Each bomblet had a tiny shaped charge that could penetrate the thin armor covering the tops of the vehicles. Every volley of American artillery engulfed a large portion of the lead battalions in a sudden cloud of black smoke and flame. As it cleared, T-80 tanks and BMPs could be seen staggering out of line or simply burning where they had been hit.
Neboatov saw multiple puffs of smoke and dust appear in the distance to the front. Enemy tanks and antitank guided missiles firing. He watched as near-misses threw great clouds of dirt up in front of tanks and BMPs in the lead battalions. There were, however, few misses.
Armor-piercing penetrators traveling a mile a second impacted with a large, brilliant white spark when they hit steel. Reactive armor on the T-80s detonated but did not deter the depleted uranium penetrator as it literally pushed its way into the tank it hit. As the penetrator did so, it also pushed a plug of the tank's own armor, the same diameter as the penetrator, into the interior of the tank. Both the plug of armor and the penetrator, superheated by the rapid conversion of kinetic energy into heat, ripped through everything in their path.
Crewmen, on-board ammunition, hydraulic lines and fuel cells were torn open. Flammables were ignited. Propellants of stored main-gun rounds, blowing up in the confined space of a tank with all hatches closed and locked down, rocked the tank with thunderous explosions.
Sometimes the explosions tore the fifteen-ton turret from the hull and threw it into the air as if it were made of cardboard.
The pace of the advance did not quicken. As the lead battalions moved at what appeared to Neboatov to be a painfully slow pace, they left in their wake a trail of shattered and burning hulks quivering from the explosions of their own ammunition and cremating their crews. There was little doubt that Neboatov's company, part of the follow-on battalion, would be committed early that day. Watching the number of burning and disabled vehicles increase by the minute, he realized they would be needed even before they had cleared the American cavalry screen and hit the enemy's main defensive positions.
The paratroopers were slow to form up into squads and disperse. Too many stood on the drop zone waiting for someone to tell them what to do and where to go. Senior Lieutenant Ilvanich seemed to be everywhere that morning, directing men where to go, yelling at those too scared to react and using his boot to motivate the slow and reluctant. Junior Lieutenant Malovidov followed Ilvanich's lead as the two officers struggled to establish some semblance of order after a near-disastrous jump. Their efforts were assisted by the faint light thrown off by the burning wreckage of a transport plane brought down by American antiaircraft missiles.
As he ran from group to group, Ilvanich couldn't help but think how few of the men he knew. Losses sustained during two combat jumps, two major air assault operations, several raids and numerous patrols and ambushes had made serious inroads in the company's original complement.
There were few men with the company that day who had jumped into Tabriz on 25 May.
Replacements and men from units that had been disbanded may have brought the company up to full strength, but did not make a coherent, combat-capable unit. The new officers and men did not know one another or the old members of the company. The trust and confidence between leaders and those they led that resulted from countless hours of training were missing. The men new to the unit knew the basics of soldiering but had never worked together. Simple combat drills that used to be easily executed by Ilvanich's old platoon required twice the time to perform and all of Lieutenant Malovidov's efforts to make happen simply because they had not had enough time to practice.
Once the drop zone was clear and all the strays had been rounded up, Ilvanich paused to consider his next action. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face as he surveyed the eerie scene before him.
Discarded parachutes and cylindrical equipment containers littered the drop zone. The brightly burning wreckage of two transports were visible in the distance.
The thought that the company's BMD personnel carriers were aboard them did nothing to brighten an already dark situation. Without them the paratroopers had little chance of forming an effective strongpoint astride the Americans' main supply route. Any combat unit that had tanks would have no problem blowing through them anytime they wanted.
Around the drop zone he could see the heads of paratroopers pop up as they checked out their sector from the prone position. Well, we are as ready as we are ever going to be, he thought. Time to get out of here.
From out of the darkness Malovidov came running up, hunched over, carrying his AK assault rifle at the ready. Panting, he reported to Ilvanich. 'All men are accounted for. Both of the other platoons report the same. We are ready to move out.' Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, 'Oh, yes, Captain Lvov has been found. He has a broken ankle. He is with 2nd Platoon right now and wishes to see you immediately.'
Ilvanich didn't turn or look at the junior lieutenant. He stood there and pulled out his canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a short swallow of water. Finished, he turned to Malovidov. 'I suppose it is time to go see our commander. Lead off, Comrade.'
With that, Malovidov turned and began to run off at a trot, crouched over, until he noticed that Ilvanich was following at a walk, standing erect.
Malovidov stopped, straightened up and waited for the senior lieutenant.
When they reached Lvov, he was lying on the ground and seemed to be embarrassed. Ilvanich saluted and reported, then stood with one hand on his hip and the other resting on the AK that dangled from his right shoulder while his commander babbled about how he had hit the ground wrong and had to crawl over to where the company had rallied. As he listened, Ilvanich thought, So, you can't run away this time, you worthless bastard. Now I get the chance to see what a good Party man is made of.
His thoughts and Lvov's story were interrupted by a radioman who came up to Ilvanich and, out of habit, handed the radio mike to him, saying that the battalion commander wanted to speak to the commander. Without thinking, Ilvanich took the mike, pressed the transmit button and began to speak, then stopped. Lvov was staring at him. Their eyes met. Without apology, Ilvanich held out the mike to his commander and said he had forgotten that the captain was with them. He intentionally held the mike several inches beyond Lvov's reach, forcing the captain to prop himself up and stretch to get it. When he had it, Ilvanich stepped back, saluted and told his commander he would prepare the company to move out. He did not wait for a return salute, which he knew he would not get, or permission to leave, which he didn't care whether he got or not. He simply pivoted and walked off, feeling Lvov's eyes burning their way through his back as he went into the gathering dawn.
Duncan marched down the line, checking weapons, equipment and the men.
In the background dozens of Blackhawk helicopters were going through preflight checks and coming to life. How different, he thought as he compared the fully armed, well-equipped, well-fed soldiers before him and what he and his platoon had been like while they were escaping from Rafsanjan. Most of the men in his platoon were new to him, the result of amalgamating bits and pieces of other units.
The remnants of the units of the 12th Infantry Division had been merged into a single brigade. Though many were strangers, most of the men had three things in common. First, they had all had experiences similar to those Duncan and his men had gone through. As a result, the second thing they shared was a burning desire to avenge their friends and the honor of their unit. Finally, they were all fully trained and competent combat infantrymen.
Duncan and his lieutenant, a man who had fought at Pariz and Sa'idabad, drove their platoon hard in the short time they had been given to prepare for combat. No one complained. No one asked why. They knew.
They had seen the face of battle and knew it well. The only problem that Duncan had to deal with was impatience. They were ready to go, now. They were all impatient to wreak vengeance on an enemy that had once seemed unstoppable.
Shortly after stand-to that morning, word came down that they were about to be given their opportunity. Duncan could barely contain his excitement as the platoon leader briefed them on their mission. They were going to deploy north by helicopter to contain and destroy a Soviet airborne unit that had been dropped a few hours before in the vicinity of Qotbabad. The lieutenant told them that the airhead straddled the main supply route to the north and had to be eliminated.
He had accentuated the word 'eliminated.' When he had finished, he asked Duncan whether he had anything to add.
