The poor weather had obviously hampered Voshchanka’s scouting operations, because at least one patrol helicopter flew within two kilometers of First Brigade’s hiding place and failed to spot them. Now most of the scouts had moved ahead, tightening their search patterns as they moved closer to Vilnius.
“Radar reports more helicopters inbound,” Zukauskas said. “Multiple inbounds, faster than the first group. It’s got to be the assault helicopters. Position is very close to Third Brigade’s.”
“Signal Third Battalion to stand by to attack when the helicopters pass by,” Palcikas said. Messages were sent between Palcikas’ units via old-style field telephones, since a radio broadcast originating so close to the Byelorussian troops would have been detected and pinpointed immediately. Palcikas walked, then crawled over to a small knot of soldiers lying on the very rim of the butte, studying the Byelorussian armored column through a large telescope. “You got us a target yet, Sergeant?”
Sergeant of Infantry Markuc Styra looked up, saw that it was General Palcikas himself lying in the mud next to him, and gulped. “No, sir. I see the vehicles all right, but I can’t make out the missile vehicles or ZSU-23-4 units.” His telescope was a large, bulky, Soviet-made CSR-3030 night scope, able to amplify tiny amounts of light to illuminate the entire scene and allow them to “see in the dark.” Unfortunately, the older device needed a lot of light to be useful, such as moonlight, and with a full-blown spring thunderstorm on top of them, it was going to be all but useless.
“Hang tight, then. We’ll have to get you some illumination.” He crawled back out away from the crest of the butte, then said to his deputy, “Colonel, get the helicopters ready to attack.”
It was not any of the troops in the armored column below, but the weapons officer aboard a Byelorussian Mil-24 assault helicopter flying south of the highway who first issued the warning: “Brigade, brigade, this is flight one-five-four. Enemy helicopters atop the butte to the south. I have them in sight — closing to attack.” The gunner had locked his infrared scanner on the very hot profile of the helicopter below. “Target!” he cried out.
“Call out range,” the pilot responded. “Rocket pods coming hot.” In a Mil-24, the gunner usually controlled only the infrared TV sensor in the nose and whichever weapon the pilot would let him have. But since most pilots did not like to retake control of a weapon only to find no more ammunition in it, most retained full control over all weapons — relegating the gunner to the role of a high-tech observer.
The gunner used an optronic device in the infrared scanner to judge range: “Estimated three kilometers … two kilometers … left three degrees … coming up on one kilometer …”
But something was wrong. The object he thought was a helicopter was not looking anything like a flying machine now. “Stand by.”
It wasn’t a helicopter! As they got closer, the gunner saw it was a truck, apparently with a broken axle or two flat front tires, with some ammunition crates behind it to form the outline of a large helicopter and some sort of weathervane-type device mounted on the roof to make it look like a helicopter’s rotor. A few strategically placed flares made it look like an idling helicopter through the infrared scanner. “It’s not—”
But he wasn’t adamant enough about making the withholding call. “Missile away,” the pilot said, and let fly a salvo of ten 57-millimeter rockets. The explosion was spectacular — too spectacular. The thing must have been loaded with oil or gasoline, because the truck exploded with a great big orange fireball that lit up the night sky like a beacon — it was bright enough out there to see the armored column a good two or three kilometers away.
“Good hit, good secondaries,” the pilot radioed.
“It wasn’t a helicopter,” the gunner reported. “It was a decoy! Let’s climb out of here and—”
It was too late.
The Mil-24 was hit a few seconds later by a Soviet-made SA-7 missile fired by one of Palcikas’ infantrymen as the attack helicopter flew overhead — at a range of less than a thousand meters, even the relatively unreliable SA-7 Strela missile could not miss. The infantryman even knew enough not to wait until the helicopter passed by, but to hit it as it was moving abeam his position since the Mil-24’s engine exhaust is diverted sideways and downwards to(deter heat-seeking missiles fired from astern.
The Mil-24 continued flying after its destroyed left engine was shut down, but it crashed several kilometers away moments later.
But the downing of the Mil-24, although a real bonus for the Lithuanians, was not the main objective — Palcikas’ men needed a big distraction and a bright source of illumination while they searched for specific vehicles in the armored column, and they found it after the gasoline-laden decoy went up in flames. Layered within most Soviet-style armored columns were air-defense weapons, usually surrounded by other vehicles to disguise and protect them — but when the column reconfigured to deal with the “attack” from the Osmansky Highlands, the protection broke apart.
The spotters on the ridgeline above the column finally saw their objective: spaced every ten vehicles or so were four SA-8 road-mobile surface-to-air missile units, with four short-range antiaircraft missiles per unit; every fifteen vehicles was one SA-6 tracked surface-to-air missile unit carrying three medium-range missiles, along with its “Long Track” and “Straight Flush” surveillance and tracking radars and maintenance-support vehicle chugging alongside; and spread out laterally from the column every five vehicles were two ZSU-23-4 air-defense-artillery tracked units.
As well as learning lessons from historical battles, Palcikas had learned a lesson from the more recent Persian Gulf War — hit an objective with heavy, sustained firepower, then move. That is exactly what he did. As soon as the air-defense vehicles revealed themselves, Palcikas ordered his tanks and attack helicopters to attack. The Lithuanians streamed out of the Osmansky Highlands, opening fire on the air-defense vehicles before they had a chance to react.
The Lithuanians had nothing more powerful than mortars, bazookas, and rocket-propelled grenades, but their targets were not heavily armored main battle tanks but the fairly lightly armored air-defense vehicles. The truck and Jeep-mounted RPGs did the most damage, moving in to very close range before opening fire, then darting away.
The ZSU-23-4s were hit hard.
Palcikas’ few tanks, all older-model T-55 and T-62 units, created enough distraction to allow the smaller vehicles to close in for the kill. Once the ZSU-23-4s were out of the fight, his helicopters hit next, blasting the SA-8 and SA-6 units with cannon fire and 40-millimeter grenades launched by the copilots. The Byelorussian SA-8 and SA-6 missiles could be disabled by heavy-caliber gunfire or even a grenade exploding too close, and the SA-6 was vulnerable to a hit on its companion radar vehicle, so they were easily put out of commission.
The Byelorussian trucks were having considerable difficulty deploying to defend their column by the time Palcikas’ troops all along the Osmansky Highlands completed their fast attack. There was a deep, water-filled ditch on either side of the highway, and tall, strong fences beyond that kept stray cattle and blowing dirt, rocks, and debris off the highway. Even the heavy T-64 and T-72 tanks had trouble crossing the wide, deep ditch, and the lighter vehicles had no chance. Any vehicle hung up in the ditch or the fence for even a moment was easy prey for the Lithuanian cannons and RPGs.