Dutifully, the aide trotted down the ramp, spoke to the MP lieutenant and trotted back up to his general's side to report. The MP lieutenant, according to the aide, knew nothing of the planned reception, had no idea where the 12th Division's chief of staff was and had orders to take the General to meet with the corps commander without delay.
Thorton swore loudly. Totally put out by the failure of his people to do as they had been told, he was in no mood to hop into a hummer with a second-lieutenant messenger boy and miss the chance of a lifetime. The first units of his division were due to arrive momentarily. He intended to greet them with full honors, a speech and a review of troops. He began to issue a string of orders. His aide was sent to find a photographer from somewhere. A major was sent with the MP lieutenant to find out what the corps commander wanted.
Another officer was instructed to begin marshaling the soldiers of the division into ranks as they deplaned and to find a suitable place from which the General could address them when they were assembled. The 12th Infantry Division was going to march into Iran and be greeted by the division commander in a manner befitting the occasion.
The preparations for the General's greeting to his troops were interrupted by a pair of hummers that came careening across the airstrip and stopped in front of the ad-hoc reviewing stand. Thorton was beside himself with rage until he saw the deputy commander of the 13th Airborne Corps get out of the lead hummer. As if he had flipped a switch, Thorton's face changed from anger to a broad grin, and he walked over to greet the deputy commander, extending his hand.
Instead of accepting the hand, the deputy blurted, "Thorton, what in hell do you think you're doing? The corps commander is waiting for you and is fit to be tied."
Thorton stopped. Obviously the people at Corps were in a foul mood.
Continuing to grin, he tried to put the best possible light on the subject.
"Gee, Tom, I sent one of my people to find out what the corps commander wanted while I stayed to greet my people as they came in."
"Don't give me that crap," the deputy said. "You ignored the commander's instructions so that you could stay here and put on your Hollywood production. Don't you know there's a fucking war going on?"
The deputy had gone too far, had hit too near the mark. Thorton changed expressions and went over to the attack. "Yeah, I know there's a war on.
And the division that's going to take care of those camel herders is coming in and is going to receive an appropriate welcome. The Muslim rag heads can wait another hour before we make them martyrs." The deputy looked at Thorton for a moment before he continued.
"Obviously, General, you don't understand what's going on. We're no longer concerned with the Iranians.
It's the Russians we're concerned with now. Since this morning we have been at war with the Soviet Union. Now get off your high fucking horse and get in the hummer. The corps commander is waiting."
Thorton was dumbfounded. He had had no idea that the Soviets were now fighting the United States. Without further ado, he followed the deputy and headed off to see his commander.
Like most of the men in the 2nd Battalion of the 354th Infantry, Ed Lewis had taken advantage of the three-day break they had before departing for
Iran to visit his family and say goodbye properly. He was almost sorry he had. The situation at home was very strained. Everyone, including Lewis himself, was trying hard to make believe that this was nothing more than another training exercise. No one talked about Iran or Lewis' impending departure. This pretense made everyone even more uncomfortable and on edge.
Each night Lewis' wife would lie next to him awake, unable to settle down.
When she thought he was asleep, she would get up and go into their bathroom and cry. Lewis heard her tonight, but said nothing. When she finally calmed herself and returned to bed, he rolled over and put his arm around her.
With her emotions vented, and comforted by her husband, she drifted off to sleep. When she had done so, Lewis got up carefully and went downstairs to watch the news on the cable network, something that he didn't do when his wife was awake, for fear of upsetting her.
The news of the U.S.S. Franklin and the retaliations by aircraft from the Hornet against Soviet warships in the Indian Ocean did not surprise Lewis, disturbing though it was. A confrontation had been inevitable.
Everyone had expected it. In fact, now that it had happened, things seemed clearer, easier.
What did disturb Lewis the most was that while he watched satellite films of the Franklin burning, while men were dying thousands of miles away, the news program was interrupted by commercials for a product to shrink swollen hemorrhoids and for a new improved panty shield to protect ladies' underwear. The new war, obviously, wasn't interfering with the pressing demands of life in the United States.
Chapter 8
Logistics is the ball and chain of armored warfare.
When the farewell ball for the brigade had been proposed by the wife of the brigade commander, it had seemed like a good idea-at least to her and to some of the other older wives. True, no one was sure of what proper etiquette demanded when it came to sending one's spouse to war.
The last war that anyone had any experience with had been Vietnam. But that war had been far different for the wives, who had seen their husbands go to war one at time except in a few rare cases. They remembered it as a very lonely and personal affair. It was because of this that the older wives pushed for the ball. It would give them a last night together before the two groups, the husbands and the wives, parted and dealt with their own little wars.
The commencement of hostilities between the U.S. and the Soviet Union had acted like a wet blanket on the entire affair. While it had been disquieting to imagine one's spouse going to war against the Iranians, it was even more so now that the Russians were actually shooting at Americans. The more realistic wives said that it had been inevitable, some even claiming it had been planned. But even the most cynical had hoped that somehow that conflict could be avoided. There had always been the hope that this crisis would blow over and go away.
The latest news reports coming from Southwest Asia crushed those hopes, however, on a daily basis. First there was the commitment of the 17th Airborne Division, followed by strong resistance from the Iranians and by mounting casualties. The sinking of the U.S.S. Franklin and the Gorki began a cycle of retaliation and escalation.
Air battles between American and Soviet planes over the Iranian desert and combat at sea had become daily features of the news. There was no doubt that once U.S. and Soviet forces met on the ground, they would do so with drawn knives and with blood in their eyes.
The ball was already degenerating by ten in the evening. Husbands and wives who desired to spend as much time as possible alone with each other or their families were already bidding good night to their commanders and their commanders' wives. The bachelors had rallied around the bars and were preparing to move down to the pub to continue the party. A few couples danced, while others sat at tables cluttered with glasses and coffee cups and talked about everything but the war.
Scott and Fay Dixon sat with some of the other officers of the 3rd Battalion of the 4th Armor and their wives. The wives talked about the children and other subjects while the men listened to them or conducted encrypted conversations among themselves. Dixon sat to one side watching the whole affair with a cynical eye as he slowly got himself drunk. Fay had been so busy that she had not noticed how much he was putting away. No doubt there would be hell to pay once she found out.