As the meeting broke up, First Lieutenant Matthews, who apparently was traveling with the brigade S-3, came over to Dixon. "Have you seen Randy,
I mean Lieutenant Capell, lately, sir?"
Dixon's anger left him as he looked into Matthews' eyes. "Yes, I just came from there. Randy is doing fine. He's happier than a pig in slop. Do you have a message you want me to give him?"
A smile lit Matthews' face. She reached down into a pocket of her BDUs, pulled out a crumpled letter and offered it to Dixon. "Would you give this to him, sir?"
With a grin, Dixon took the letter. "Sure, and I'll tell him you send all your love."
That made Matthews blush. She saluted, turned and hurried out to where the brigade S-3 was waiting.
When everyone but the people on shift had cleared out of the TOC, Master Sergeant Nesbitt came out of the S-3 M577 command track, carrying two steaming cups. "Looks like you could use some coffee."
Dixon took the cup offered by Nesbitt and began to shake his head in disbelief. "What I need is a good drink, Sergeant Nesbitt. Can you imagine that? The bloody Communists are close enough to spit on us, and the brigade commander wants to change things." He stopped, took a drink of coffee and thought for a moment before continuing. "Well, twenty-four hours from now we'll know who was right."
"You staying here tonight or going back forward?" "I really should go back out, but I won't. I need to 222 clean up some and get some sleep.
You got anything worth a damn to eat around here, Sergeant Nesbitt?"
Nesbitt went back into the command track and returned with two brown plastic pouches. "You have a choice tonight, sir. Pork patties or chicken a la king."
A disgusted look crept across Dixon's face. "Then the answer is no, you don't have anything worth a damn to eat."
"Well, sir, it's your choice, malnutrition or indigestion. I have them both."
"A comedian. I'm starving to death and I get a comedy act. Give me the chicken A la king. At least I know what that used to be." Dixon took the brown pouch offered by Nesbitt, tucked it under his arm and left after reminding the duty officer where he would be and when to wake him.
With everyone else gone, the people on duty in the TOC settled down for what promised to be a long and busy night.
In the gathering darkness the shadowy area between the opposing forces began to come to life. The Soviet juggernaut, long awaited by the 2nd Brigade, had finally come within striking distance. Rather than crashing into the forward elements of the brigade, the lead Soviet forces slowed, then stopped for reconnaissance. The Soviets knew the approximate front-line trace of the American forces but not exact unit and vehicle locations. Reconelements and patrols would now creep forward under the veil of darkness to verify what information they had and pin exact locations of vehicles and weapons.
Plans at the operational level had been made by the 28th Combined Arms Army and issued the day before. Its subordinate divisions had, in turn, deployed in accordance with the army's orders and issued their own to their regiments. Regimental commanders and staffs decided on the tactical deployment their units would use 223 and issued orders for the execution of those tactics.
The exact axis of attack and timing of deployments as well as targeting would be based on intelligence gathered by patrols working their way into the midst of the Americans' positions. At an early-morning briefing just before the attack, the regimental intelligence officers would present a complete picture of U.S. forces to their front. With that information, the regimental commander would issue his final orders for the attack.
Forward of their main defensive positions, both American battalions deployed their scout platoons as a counter-reconnaissance screen. The mission of the scouts was to keep the Soviet recon elements from infiltrating into the battalions' area of operations and deceive them as to where the main defensive positions really were. The success or failure of the attack hinged on the skills of a handful of men sneaking about in the dark.
With darkness upon them, Capell signaled his scout platoon to move into their night positions, which stretched across the small valley that was the battalion's front. His squad leaders knew where to go and what to do. The tank platoon attached to him as part of the screen moved into shallow holes scooped out of the dirt in the center of the battalion's sector; though spread out with a distance of four hundred meters between tanks, the platoon was able to cover the entire center with surveillance and direct fire.
Two ground-surveillance radar teams, called GSRs, each equipped with a radar capable of detecting moving personnel at four thousand meters and moving vehicles at ten thousand, also were operating with Capell's scouts.
Only a few wadis and cuts along the flanks could not be covered by the M-1 tanks or the GSRs. That was where the scout platoon set up.
Capell and his men had no sooner moved into positions than a GSR team reported two wheeled vehicles eight thousand meters to their front.
Several minutes of tracking them left no doubt in Capell's mind that they were BRDMs of the Soviet regiment's recon company. Though he had sufcient information to call artillery on them, Capell held back. He wanted to see where they were 224 going without the Soviets knowing they were being tracked. At a range of five thousand meters, the two vehicles split up. One disappeared into a wadi that ran down the American battalion's western flank. The other moved forward slowly along the eastern flank, still being tracked by the GSR. The scout section on the western flank was notified of the approaching BRDM and was ordered to take it out. The tanks were able to track the other BRDM on the eastern flank with their thermal sights. They had the task of taking it out when the scouts hit the first BRDM.
Now began a deadly game of cat and mouse as the scouts waited for the BRDM to pop into view. There was always the possibility that the BRDM in the wadi would find cover and slip past Capell's waiting scouts. If that happened, the Soviets would be able to get into the battalion's main defensive areas. Capell worried about this but trusted his initial dispositions. Besides, it was too late to change them.
Across the valley from where Capell was, the low hills were suddenly lit up by the flash of a small cannon firing somewhere down in the wadi. As he slewed the turret of his Bradley in that direction, the pop-pop-pop report of a Bradley's 25mm. gun reached his location.
Watching, Capell saw a series of tiny flashes, then the eruption of a fireball. The first BRDM had been hit and killed.
The crack of a tank cannon and the streak of a 105mm. HEAT antitank round tore Capell's attention away from the burning BRDM in the far wadi. The tank crews had not waited for the order to fire. Instead, they had seized the opportunity to kill the second BRDM. A flash and a brilliant shower of sparks signaled to Capell that they had succeeded.
When silence returned to the valley, Capell called for all sections to report. This they did promptly. Capell in turn consolidated the information into one short, concise spot report and submitted the first of many sightings and contacts that night to battalion.
The staff of the 28th CAA's main command post had spent a good part of the day recovering from an early afternoon air attack. A group of F-15s had hit both the headquarters and a fuel dump four kilometers south of it. Losses in men and equipment had been heavy. Fortunately the commander and the first officer, Colonel Sulvina, had been absent at the time. Upon their return, they found their once efficient and orderly command post the scene of pandemonium and despair. The chief of staff, though alive, had been stunned by the concussion of a general-purpose bomb and was temporarily out of action. Until he recovered, Sulvina assumed the role of chief of staff.