The tanks moved forward at a top speed of about thirty-five miles per hour, with the BMPs bouncing a thousand meters behind. The BMP-2 could easily keep up with the T-80s, but it was a rough ride. The torsion bar suspension was stiff, and every time a bump was hit, the soldiers' heads slammed against the low steel roof. The rough ride, the stench of diesel fumes, and the smell of the rubber chemical masks made many of the soldiers nauseous. They each had a small periscope in front of them to see outside. But the ride was so rough it was hard to keep an eye on the periscope long enough to see what was happening. The soldiers were bunched up in the back of the vehicle with no room to move. It was dark except for a small electric light bulb at one end of the compartment, which did little more than create strange shadows. The inside of a BMP on an attack run was no place for someone prone to claustrophobia.
An element of fear was added by nagging memories of the BMPs that had been destroyed in previous skirmishes. The soldiers knew that at any moment a Milan antitank missile might come slamming into the vehicle, incinerating the crew. In four days of fighting, they had seen plenty of examples of what happens when a BMP is hit with an antiarmor missile.
The BMP is so full of ammunition and fuel that a solid hit nearly anywhere leads to a catastrophic fire or explosion. Seldom does any of the crew survive. The German troops had begun calling the vehicles "Ivan cookers." After a few kilometers, the troops were very anxious to get out of the BMPs into the open air. It was hard to keep the men calm. Chazov realized that it would be especially difficult to control the troops with the added fear of gas mixed in.
The men from Dudkov's old company were riding on the back roof of the BMPs behind the turret. They were very vulnerable to artillery, but it was better than walking the five kilometers.
It was a real adventure trying to hold on with the BMPs going thirty-five miles an hour. But in a way, the ride was less draining for the troops on the roofs than it was for those canned up inside. They could clearly see the ruins of the town in the front of them and the waves of BMPs and T-80 tanks advancing to either side. Reality was far less frightening than the frenzied imaginings of the troops cramped together inside. The town was obscured by mist and by a cloud of smoke from the gas attack. No German positions were visible. If they were still alive, they were holding their fire.
When the first wave of tanks got about 1,500 meters from the town, eerie flickers of Milan missiles could be seen racing through the mist. If the Milan was coming right in your direction, the small tail flare was nearly impossible to see. But the missiles fired at neighboring units could be seen skimming a few feet over the ground. At least two T-80Ms in front of Chazov's company were hit. There was a big flash as the missile and reactive armor went off almost simultaneously. At first it was hard to tell the results. Some German units still had the old Milan 2 missiles.
These couldn't get through reactive armor. But some had the improved Milan 2T, which had a fifty-fifty chance of burning through reactive armor. So much flame and dust were thrown up when the missile hit, it was difficult to tell if the tanks had survived. As the smoke cleared, Chazov could see that the crew of one tank was bailing out. Their coveralls were on fire. The tank erupted as an internal fire reached the ammunition under the turret and cooked off. Chazov watched in horror as the turret flew up in the air, somersaulting like a carelessly tossed skillet.
He hoped his men hadn't seen it. Obviously, there was going to be a fight for this town.
Chazov ordered his company to prepare to dismount. They were still more than two kilometers from the town, but he didn't want to risk losing any BMPs to the missiles. The mist would cover the advance of his infantry. He warned the BMP-2 gunners to be careful not to fire too low, for fear of hitting their own men. While climbing out of his BMP-2, Chazov noticed that the neighboring BMP companies on either side were following suit.
His troops were deployed in a standard skirmish line, as they had practiced so often in peacetime training. They advanced at a slight crouch, Kalashnikovs at the hip. The line was a bit ragged, but then this was no parade ground. German small arms fire could be expected in another 500 meters. There was one real advantage to the Soviet style of training: It was very simple.
Even troops scared witless could remember the basic drill. Chazov's men seemed relieved to be outside of the BMPs. They were moving forward without hesitation.
Chazov heard the whine of incoming artillery rockets overhead. He instinctively hit the ground. Afghanistan had taught him the sound of artillery rockets. The dushmani loved those Chinese artillery rockets! The rounds must have passed overhead, but he did not hear the usual groundshaking crunch of their impact. Instead there was a series of loud bangs, more like grenades than normal artillery. It suddenly occurred to him why. The Germans were firing gas rounds back.
Shit!
Chazov couldn't have known it, but NATO intelligence had expected a Soviet gas attack along this front. The day before, several reconnaissance drones had spotted Soviet chemical troops preparing decontamination facilities in the rear. Soviet communication nets started behaving in a peculiar fashion, and Soviet artillery units were obviously receiving an unusual munition. Soviet deceptive measures, maskirovka, had failed them. Local German and American artillery units were supplied with chemical munitions and authorized to use them if the Soviets attacked first. Troops along the front were instructed to don their protective gear at the first signs of a Soviet attack. The German garrison in Geiselhoring expected the early morning attack and had donned their suits at 0300. The NATO forces decided to use a nerve gas in hope of forcing the Soviets to don full protective suits as well. This would slow them down a bit.
The first salvo of gas projectiles burst among the BMPs behind the advancing wave of infantry.
A few also seemed to hit in front. But in the mist it was hard to tell. One soldier in the company carried a small gas testing kit. But it was manual, and you had to be inside the cloud of gas to tell what type it was. By that time, it would be too late. Chazov was a bit confused. The troops had stopped moving forward and were crouched near the ground, looking around aimlessly.
Chazov signaled to his radioman to bring the manpack radio over to him. He called back to Sergeant Aksai in the command BMP. "Any word from division about a German gas attack?" There was a lot of static on the line, probably NATO jamming. He could barely hear Aksai even though he was only 500 meters away.
"Comrade Lieutenant, the divisional warning net said they've been hit by a nerve agent attack. They instruct all units to don protective gear immediately." Nerve gas!
Chazov instructed Sergeant Aksai to warn the other platoons. "Everyone with OP-1 suits, don them immediately and withdraw to the BMPs for further instruction. Everyone without suits, back to the BMPs immediately and get inside. BMPs to start up vehicle overpressure and filtration systems. Keep all doors and hatches closed except in absolute emergencies."
A second salvo of artillery rockets struck the regiment. A few landed right in the midst of the BMPs, some of the others nearer to the troops. There was panic everywhere he looked. Some of the soldiers broke and ran with no regard for their equipment. The worst affected were those without chemical suits. A few from Sudro's platoon got about halfway back to the BMPs when they encountered the first mists of nerve gas. After a few gulps they collapsed to the ground, shuddering with uncontrollable twitches as the gas attacked their nervous system. Some troops kept calm and hurriedly put on the outer OP-1 coveralls. There was no time to strip, and don the undergarment and then the coveralls. The outer coveralls would have to do. Pretty soon, Chazov was surrounded by a platoon of bugeyed Martians. The slime suits came in a pea green and rusty orange color, not the usual drab khaki of Soviet military uniforms. Chazov led his remaining men back to the BMPs at a slow pace to prevent premature exhaustion. It took a lot of courage to do this under the circumstances. Some soldiers tried to run ahead, but the exertion soon forced them to stop.