Keeping low, Ilvanich backed away from the fence several paces before he stood upright and headed for the cinder block guard shack to find Lieutenant Zack. Moving through the darkness that his eyes were still struggling to adjust to, Ilvanich began to wonder if he would find Lieutenant Zack. That thought had no sooner occurred to him when Ilvanich's feet stumbled over something. Stopping, he peered down to see what it was. Unable to see, he squatted, reaching down with his left hand. It was, he found, a chunk of stone, smooth on one side but with jagged edges. Ilvanich realized that it was a piece of cinder block. To his front a pile of rubble slowly began to take shape as his eyes finally began to adjust to the darkness. Glancing to the left at the tunnel entrance, then following the direction that the force of the explosion would have followed until it reached the pile of rubble, Ilvanich realized that the guard shack, and everyone who had been in it, was finished.
The fact that he had been right and the ranger company executive officer wrong about the guard shack was no comfort to Ilvanich, for he quickly realized that along with Zack the radios for the company command net and the battalion command net were also probably smashed. Russian tactical radios, Ilvanich thought, especially those used by airborne units, were generally more robust than their users. Hoping that the American radios had the same qualities, he slung his assault rifle over his back and moved forward into the rubble to search for those radios.
He had just started pulling away sheets of roofing when a voice with a slight quiver behind him called out, 'Zack! Lieutenant Zack! Is that you?'
Ilvanich did not stop. He was near where he thought the radios should have been. Instead he responded to the voice as he continued to work his way down through the pile of broken blocks and metal sheets. 'No. I think Lieutenant Zack is dead. Who are you?'
'Fitzhugh, Lieutenant Fitzhugh, 1st Platoon. Are you the Russian major?'
Ilvanich continued to dig away, feeling his way about in the darkness, heaving broken cinder blocks out of the way and working around anything soft that his gloved hands came across, since anything like that was a body or body part, something that he was not interested in at that moment. 'Yes. Are you the next senior officer after Lieutenant Zack?' There was silence. 'Well, are you or aren't you?'
Fitzhugh's response was slow and halting. 'Well, no, not really. You see, Lieutenant Jacobsen, the platoon leader for 2nd Platoon, he was next. Then Burglass of 3rd Platoon. Then me.'
'Well, then, go find me one of those two and have him come over here. And while you're at it, send over some men to help me find the radios.'
Fitzhugh didn't move. Instead, he turned and looked at the tunnel entrance. In the darkness he saw or heard nothing coming from it. He thought for a moment, then turned back to Ilvanich, who was still digging away. 'They were both in the tunnel, I think, with the old man.'
For the first time, Ilvanich stopped what he was doing and twisted his body to face where he thought Fitzhugh was. 'Well, if that is the case, then that makes you the senior surviving officer, doesn't it?'
The dark, faceless form that stood a few feet from Ilvanich didn't reply. Ilvanich was becoming annoyed. 'You are the next in command. Do you understand that, Lieutenant?'
Fitzhugh's response was low, barely audible, and almost plaintive. 'Well, yeah, I guess I am. I mean, if everyone is really dead. I mean, they might not all be dead. Maybe?'
Ilvanich tossed a cinder block he was holding to one side and moved over to Fitzhugh's form. Grabbing both arms with his hands, Ilvanich shook Fitzhugh. 'All right, Lieutenant, calm down. Just calm down and think for a moment. Maybe they are not dead. Maybe they are still somewhere around here. I do not think so, but anything is possible. That, however, is not important. What is important is that they are not here able to command what is left of the company. You and I are here and able to command. That, right now, right this moment, is all that matters.' Ilvanich paused, letting that thought sink in before continuing. 'Until one of the other officers shows up, the rest of the company is depending on us. Do you understand me, Lieutenant?'
Ilvanich felt Fitzhugh straighten up. Still unable to see the expression on the lieutenant's face, he had no idea what Fitzhugh's response was going to be. When it came, it surprised him. 'Yes, sir. I understand. What do you want me to do?'
Ilvanich suddenly realized that Fitzhugh, confused and unsure of himself, was relinquishing command of the company to him. He had not expected that. He wasn't sure that he wanted that. How would the American sergeants and soldiers respond to taking orders from a Russian? That thought, however, was quickly replaced by Ilvanich's own logic. The American lieutenant was shaken. It would be some time before he would recover enough from the shock of becoming the company commander of a shattered company before he could be effective. He himself had just said they were the only ones who could command. So Ilvanich quickly decided to push aside his concerns and assume command, something that he had already done instinctively. 'All right. First pass word down the line that everyone is to hold their positions and put on their protective masks. There is, no doubt, fallout from the explosion. Have your platoon sergeants get a head count, and then you and the platoon sergeants report here to me with that status. And bring three men to help me find the damned radios. Clear?'
Fitzhugh pulled his right arm away from Ilvanich's grasp and saluted. 'Yes, sir. I got it.' He turned and began to go back to his platoon, then stopped. Ilvanich paused to see what he wanted. 'Major, I'll be okay. I'm just a little, well, I?'
Ilvanich felt a slight pang of sympathy for the young American officer. He had felt the same way once, had been through the same experience. Command in battle is not easy. It was, Ilvanich knew, even harder the first time. 'Yes, I know. Now go. We must hurry.'
Standing along the side of the road leading out of Uzhgorod, Dixon, with Cerro at his side, watched an artillery battery rumble by them. 'Hal, this is taking too long. It's taking too damned long.'
Cerro watched another M-109 self-propelled howitzer roll by without responding as Dixon continued his one-sided conversation. 'We have too much shit going forward. This is a raid, like you said, not an invasion. Most of these units look like they're making a permanent change of station move.'
Dixon paused to watch an ammo carrier for the self-propelled gun trundle on by. 'Well, Hal, it's too late to do anything about that now. Make a note, will you, to get ahold of the task force and battalion ops officers and have them give you a list of exactly what they took along. It's obvious that the commanders in this brigade still don't understand the meaning of essential vehicles only.'
Like in a tennis match, as soon as the ammo carrier passed and the next self-propelled gun came closer, both Dixon and Cerro snapped their heads to watch its passing. With nothing better to do at that moment, and needing to escape the cramped confines of their command post carrier, Dixon and Cerro had left those tracks, leaving captains and sergeants to monitor the incoming status reports. Wandering to the side of the road, the two officers watched the follow-on elements of the brigade pass. Watching columns of military vehicles roll by, Cerro had once thought, was sort of like watching television. It was repetitive and required no thinking, a mindless diversion that was therapeutic, the perfect way, he had found a long time ago, for a commander to give his mind a rest while appearing to be doing something and showing his face. Everyone, even the notorious Scott Dixon, needed a break. Like Dixon, Cerro had stood on the side of the road watching vehicles of every description and size go by while allowing his brain to simply drift about and rest. Dixon's comments, his first in almost five minutes, were followed by a couple more minutes of silence as his brain drifted free again.
Dixon was busy watching the first of a long line of five-ton cargo trucks begin to roll by when Cerro heard the rapid approach of footsteps and crunching of snow behind him. Turning, he saw one of his young captains, a slip of paper in his hand that Cerro assumed to be a message form, headed for him. 'Looks like a dispatch from the field, sir.'
It took Dixon a moment to catch on, first looking over at Cerro, then at the approaching staff captain. 'Hmm. Must be an update from 3rd of the 3rd on the fight at the Latorica River.
Seems like the Youkes aren't wasting any time moving their forces from Chop.'
'Won't do 'em any good, Colonel. Not with Kozak on the prowl.'
The arrival of the staff captain cut off Cerro's retort. Momentarily out of breath and excited, the young captain looked at Dixon, then glanced at Cerro. Cerro nodded for him to go ahead and report directly to the colonel. Dixon, feeling good, returned the captain's salute and quipped, 'Well, what news from the Old Guard down at the Latorica River?'
The captain shook his head as he reached out to offer Dixon the small slip of paper he had been carrying. 'No updates from the Task Force 3rd of the 3rd after their report that they had defeated the advanced guard detachment. This report is from Tenth Corps headquarters in Prague, sir. They picked up a report over Sky Net from SAC. Satellites have detected what they believe was a nuclear detonation south of Svalyava. Corps has advised all
