While the battalion commander and the staff officers spoke, the brigade commander studied them and listened. He could see that they were tired or, more correctly, exhausted. The success of the day, however, added positive notes to their briefing. Overall, their units were in far better shape than could be expected. The day before, the brigade had fought a battle in the morning and conducted a withdrawal under pressure in the afternoon; that night they had planned an operation, conducted a fifty kilometer movement and rolled in the attack at 0500 hours. Since then the entire brigade had been on a rampage, spreading out and smashing anything and everything it ran across. While their losses had been minimal to date, they could not count on their good fortune lasting much longer. The Soviet divisions that had been poised to strike south for the Gulf had turned around and were beating feet north in a mad dash to clear their rear area and crush the 2nd Brigade. The brigade had accomplished its mission. It was time, the brigade S-3 said, "to take the money and run."
The brigade commander himself stood and began the orders briefing.
"Gentlemen, a situation that was hopeless less than twenty-four hours ago is now simply critical." He paused for a moment while those present chuckled. "Good, I'm glad to see some of you are still alive." More chuckles. Turning serious, he began to outline the next operation with the aid of a map board propped against the wall. "Radio intercepts and what little information Corps has been able to get to us show that the tank division that was headed south has been turned around and is charging back north. No doubt he is going to be looking for us. I do not intend to be here when he gets here. We've had our fun and have done what we were sent to do.
Commencing immediately, the 2nd Brigade will withdraw to the southeast along the same general route we used this morning. Upon reaching a point northeast of Tarom, we will link up with the 4th of the 4th Armor, now there, and turn either north toward Hajjiabad or south toward Tarom. That decision will be based on the enemy situation at the time. From that point on, our orders are to conduct a movement to contact. Once we have made contact, we will develop the situation. If we encounter only a light screen, we will push on until we find his main defensive belt. When we do find it, we stop, deploy and hang on.
The one thing we cannot do is become involved in a slugfest. There are simply too few forces in the country yet to afford that. While we have crippled the enemy and stopped him for now, he ain't dead yet. Be aggressive, but don't piss your units away. There's plenty of fighting left to do." He stopped and let that sink in before he continued. "Now that I have totally confused you, the S-3 will explain what I just said."
With that, the brigade commander sat on a wobbly chair while his staff went over the details.
In the gathering darkness the 3rd Battalion of the Soviet 68th Tank Regiment completed its pivot, deployed and began to sweep to the east.
The 2nd Battalion was to the south of Aliabad, and the 1st was following the 2nd. Security patrols had been flung out on both flanks to protect against a surprise attack. Patrols from the regimental recon were deployed well forward, seeking any sign of enemy activity or presence.
While they did not find the Americans, they found ample signs that they had been there. Smashed vehicles and equipment dotted the desolate countryside.
Scattered around the wreckage were the bodies of Red Army soldiers.
Here and there groups of survivors came out of hiding upon seeing the advancing T-80 tanks. This, however, was dangerous. The tank crews, exhausted from two continuous days of movement, physically beaten by extremes of heat and bad roads, were on edge. They were moving into an area overrun by the enemy, an enemy they now sought; everything was suspect and assumed hostile. More than a few Red Army soldiers, relieved to see friendly forces and anxious to make contact, died that night at the hands of their saviors.
To Vorishnov's horror, the opposite was also true. On three separate occasions the battalion had been fired on by soldiers whom it had bypassed and who were expecting the Americans. Such encounters were generally harmless to the tanks of the battalion, thanks to their reactive armor and the inept handling of antitank-rocket launchers on the part of the combat service support troops. Some of the men firing the antitank rockets, however, paid for their error with their lives.
Vorishnov looked forward to the end of the current operation. He began to pray that they would not be the ones who found the Americans, if they were still in the area. He longed for a break from the stress of endless operations, the threat of imminent combat and the pressure of having to produce plans and orders with little or no guidance. How good it would feel to be able to lie down and sleep. That, above all else, was what he wanted, needed. He looked at his watch, then glanced at his map. He couldn't let his mind wander too far. They were out there somewhere. Still, if all went well, the battalion would reach its objective just east of Dasht-e Bar in another two to three hours.
There the regiment would assume a hasty defense and await further orders. With luck, orders would not arrive until dawn, maybe later. He could sleep. He would be able to lie down on the ground and wrap a blanket about himself and sleep. How wonderful that idea seemed to Vorishnov. One could always hope.
The two Bradleys slowly inched their way up the small hill. Their engines were barely running above idle, almost inaudible in the still night air. The sound of track grinding on the sprockets was, on the other hand, piercing.
Capell stood in his open hatch, stretching in an effort to see over the top of the hill. He should have dismounted the scouts, now sleeping in the rear of the track, but had decided against it. They were exhausted. The whole platoon was. Since midnight the night before, the battalion had been on the move. An attack in the north, a withdrawal, now a movement to contact the enemy. At least when the enemy was finally found this time, the battalion was to go to ground and hold for a while. Perhaps they would finally have an opportunity to rest. Until then, the battalion, with the scouts out front, continued forward.
The tank commander of the T-80 heard the squeaking but could not pinpoint it. He whispered to his gunner to search the area, but got no response.
Looking down, the tank commander saw the gunner hunched over, asleep.
With his left boot the commander kicked the gunner in the back. The gunner began to curse, but was cut short when the tank commander curtly reminded him that the penalty for sleeping while on outpost duty was death. When he had the gunner's attention, the commander ordered him to search the area. There was something moving out there.
The gunner switched on his night-vision sight and put his eye up to it.
The darkness turned to day. On his first sweep he scanned his sector without noticing anything. But as he traversed the turret back, he saw an antenna, not more than four hundred meters away. He yelled to his commander that he had them. The commander, watching through his sight, also did not see the antenna at first. Only when the turret of the Bradley slowly began to rise above the crest of the hill did he see the source of the noise.
Pleased and excited, the tank commander reported the sighting and ordered the gunner to prepare to engage.
As they pulled into a turret defilade, Capell ordered the driver to stop.