As if an invisible hammer had struck him, Saada collapsed. The nerve agent spread rapidly throughout his body, destroying his central nervous system. Muscles, no longer controlled by the brain, involuntarily spasmed. As Saada fell to the floor, unable to do anything to break his fall, his bowels and kidneys discharged their contents. The gunner, surprised by Saada's fall and by the overpowering odor of loose bowels and urine, turned in his seat to see what had happened. For a moment he sat there, watching his commander's body twitch and jerk. In the eerie red glow of the tank's interior dome lights, the gunner looked into Saada's eyes. They were vacant, almost lifeless. When the loader, who had come down from his position to help Saada, keeled over on top of Saada and began to twitch, the reality of what was happening struck the gunner.
The gunner yelled "Gas!" at the top of his lungs so that the driver would hear as he tore at the cover of his protective-mask carrier. Pulling it out with one hand, he jerked his tank crewman's helmet off with the other. By the time he was ready to pull the mask over his head, however, he no longer had the ability to do so. Though he was not immediately exposed to the agent, as Saada and the loader had been, and not in direct contact, the vapors from the droplets on Saada and the loader had already permeated the tank. Struggle as he might, the gunner was unable to fit his mask to his face. Like his commander before him, he lost all control of his body, lapsing into a short coma before he died. The driver's death followed within seconds.
Standing in an open hatch of the specially equipped eight-wheeled BTR-80 armored personnel carrier-command vehicle, Uvarov watched the deployment of the lead Soviet tank battalion as it prepared to cross the line of departure. He knew that he was in all probability too far forward. Only the recon company and the tank battalion coming up alongside were between him and the Egyptians. But the Egyptians, if his intelligence officer was right, were still twenty kilometers to the east and northeast. So he paid little heed to the warnings of his chief of staff and went to where he could see something.
Besides, there was nothing for him to do at that particular moment. The deployment had gone well. Until something unexpected happened — something that required a command decision because it was not part of the plan and the commander in contact could not deal with it — there was nothing for Uvarov to do. Watching a tank battalion deploy in the early-moming twilight served to occupy his thoughts and time until he was needed.
Inside the BTR, Neboatov sat scrunched over in a comer, arms folded over his chest, dozing off. He wore an extra headset but used only one earphone as he listened to the command radio net. There had been no traffic on that net for the last ten minutes. Until contact, there wouldn't be. Opening one eye and glancing down at his watch, Neboatov noted the time. He gave a slight shiver from the early-morning cold, pulling his arms in tighter in an effort to warm himself. Looking around the interior of the BTR, he watched the assistant operations officer and assistant intelligence officer as they sat facing the radios. If a call came in, they would answer. The general, along with his chief of artillery and rocket troops, was standing with the upper part of his body out of the BTR. Neboatov could see only their legs. With nothing to do, he closed his eyes.
He had just begun to doze off again when the radio came to life. Neboatov recognized the voice of the front operations officer, Colonel Krasin, before he recognized the call sign. Krasin's voice was excited as he demanded to speak to General Uvarov immediately. Pushing himself into a seated position, Neboatov moved over to where Uvarov stood, and tapped the general on the leg. Uvarov looked down as Neboatov removed the headset and handed it up to Uvarov, telling the general that Colonel Krasin needed to speak to him urgently. Uvarov, making a face, took the headset, put it on, and spoke into the microphone.
Neboatov moved over behind the assistant operations officer to listen in on the conversation over the radio's speaker. The operations officer turned to Neboatov and put his hand over his microphone. "Moscow — I'll bet you it's Moscow with new orders."
The intelligence officer leaned over. "No — the Americans. They've seen us and they're committing forces. It has to be."
They were both wrong. As they listened, the three majors made faces and stared at each other with alternating looks of shock and amazement. Krasin informed Uvarov that the Libyans had just completed a massive chemical strike against the Egyptian 14th Armored Division. There were few details. Radio intercepts from both Egyptian and Libyan radio nets and reports from the airborne early-warning radars were the only source of information at that time. Attempts to contact the Libyan headquarters in Tobruk had been unsuccessful. Not even the Soviet liaison officer could be reached. Krasin didn't know whether or not that was intentional. He didn't, however, rule out the possibility of foul play.
For a moment no one spoke. It was all suddenly very clear to Uvarov: the evasiveness of Nafissi and his staff; the restrictions on where the Soviet attack would go; and, worse, the timing of the Soviet commitment and the Libyan chemical attack. In a bind the Libyans would be free to disavow any knowledge of the attack, claiming that it was initiated by the Soviets as part of their preattack bombardment. In any case the Soviets would be viewed as being just as responsible. They, after all, had trained, equipped, and advised the Libyans. It would be guilt through association.
Recovering from his shock, Uvarov asked some quick questions, including whether or not Moscow had been informed. Krasin responded that STAVKA had just contacted them, asking what the purpose of the missile attack was. Uvarov instructed Krasin to immediately contact STAVKA and demand that their commitment be halted. Perhaps, Uvarov said, there was still the chance that they could extricate themselves from a situation that would only spell disaster.
Finished with the conversation, Uvarov removed the headset and handed it back down to Neboatov. Lowering himself into the BTR, Uvarov sat across from Neboatov and the two majors at the radio. The general took off his hat with his right hand and ran the fingers of his left hand through his hair. No one spoke. The seriousness of their situation was overwhelming.
Finally Neboatov broke the silence. "Comrade General, should I order the helicopter to come here to pick you up for your return to headquarters?"
Uvarov paused and looked at Neboatov, pondering where he should go to best respond to the new, developing crisis. After a brief rundown of his options, he nodded his head. "Yes, Major. We must go back to the command post. I need to talk to STAVKA myself."
As was his custom, General Horn met with key staff officers before receiving his morning briefings, affectionately known as "the Seven O'clock Follies." With him werfe his chief of staff, Brigadier General Billy Darruznak, known alternately as General D or THE Chief, and the operations officer, Colonel Alexander Benton. They were drinking coffee and munching on doughnuts, going over details of the redeployment, when Dixon walked in unannounced. Horn looked up, surprised, but said nothing. Darruznak was angry at Dixon's intrusion but didn't have a chance to say anything before Benton turned on Dixon. "Colonel, we're in the middle of a meeting."
Dixon, visibly shaken, didn't take offense at Benton's tone. Clutching the clipboard he carried in both hands, Dixon stood in the center of the room before he spoke. He didn't think to apologize. Nor could he think of any way to tell the commander other than blurting it out. "Sir, the Soviets have committed at least two divisions into an attack in the vicinity of Bir Hakeim against the flank of the Egyptian 14th Armored Division."