Satisfied, Hewett turned to survey the back blast area. Firing a Dragon could be just as deadly to friendlies as to the enemy. As he was checking that area, the squad leader came up.
"This looks like a good place, Sarge," Hewett said. "What do you think?"
The squad leader examined the position, then slapped Hewett on the back.
"Good to go. Set up here." Without waiting for a response, the leader was gone, moving down to check the next position.
Hewett pulled the boxlike thermal sight from the pouch at his side and attached it to the Dragon missile he had been carrying. He could not see what he was doing, but that was not necessary. Hours of redundant drilling had made the handling of the missile launcher second nature.
Once the sight was in place, Hewett hoisted the Dragon onto his right shoulder, put his eye up to the rubber eyepiece, then flicked the switch with his finger. The darkness disappeared. Through the thermal sight, he viewed the landscape in more detail, looking for any sign of life or movement. Everything to his front was now black and red. He could clearly see everything worth seeing, which wasn't much.
Nor did he expect to see anything. As part of the rear guard, they were looking in the wrong direction. The enemy was to the north. They were facing south, just in case the enemy tried to sneak through the back door.
As Hewett scanned the area, he thought about their mission and weighed the mixed feelings that cluttered his head. On one hand, he did not like the idea that they probably would not get a chance to shoot at anyone all night. They had pulled rear guard before on smaller raids.
It was frustrating to get all psyched up preparing for combat, then spend several days rolling around the godforsaken country and doing nothing. On the other hand, combat meant danger, the chance to get torn apart, maimed or killed.
Every mission completed alive meant that he was that much closer to home.
The thought of home pushed aside Hewett's debate on whether it was better to be in the rear or the front. Instead, images of the lush green pine forest that covered the mountains came to mind. His mountains were alive, vibrant, inviting. The stark black and red images he was viewing were so foreign, so different, so hostile.
The order to find the enemy's flank or rear came as no surprise. Kurpov made one more sweep of the area before he ordered his platoon to move out.
This time, the platoon proceeded with great caution. The BMP over watched as the two BRDMs crept forward. They advanced for a while under the watchful eye of the BMP until the BMP could no longer cover their movement. Then Kurpov held the BRDMs in place until the BMP could advance, find a new position to cover the next move and settle in. As the BMP moved forward, Kurpov and the other BRDM commander scanned their areas looking for signs of the enemy. When the BMP commander was ready, he signed Kurpov, who then moved out again. Though the process was slow, it was the safest and most thorough.
Because he wanted to find the enemy rear, Kurpov initially moved south.
He knew that the enemy was immediately to the west. That piece of information had cost the recon company one of its last two platoons.
Only Kurpov's platoon was left of the original company. Kurpov intended to be a live veteran after the war. He reasoned that the Soviet Union already had more than enough heroes. Besides, a dead recon leader provides his unit with no information, other than where not to go.
Only when he was satisfied that they had gone south far enough did Kurpov turn west. He would proceed west for about two kilometers and then turn north. When he did that, he intended to go even slower.
Following Kurpov's platoon was a motorized rifle company. They would strike once the rear had been found and plotted by the recon element.
Success or failure now hinged on which commander had made the best guess and who found whom first.
Hewett's mind was still wandering about the slopes of Vermont when the faint image of two dust clouds first appeared in his sight. By the time he jerked his mind back to the present, the two BRDMs had stopped in concealed defilade positions. The dust kicked up and heated by the engines' exhaust was dissipated when Hewett made his next sweep of his assigned area.
Kurpov studied the far slope as he waited for the BMP to move into its next position. He wanted to cut north, but did not like the idea of running across the open area that stretched from his position to the next covered position. The BMP would have difficulty covering them all the way. Kurpov was still mulling over the alternatives when the BMP signaled that he was set and ready to cover.
Kurpov was about to move out and continue to the west when the battalion radio net came alive with contact reports. The two main bodies had collided. The battle was on. Kurpov no longer had all the time in the world to sneak about and find the safest, most secured route. He had to find the enemy rear quickly and guide the rifle company following him to a position from which it could launch a surprise attack. The red flashes to the north and the faint boom of tank cannons in the distance galvanized Kurpov into action. He ordered his driver to move out 298 and to the right. They would try to bound across the open as rapidly as possible. Luck favors the bold, Kurpov told himself.
The sound of tanks firing and explosions broke into Hewett's dreams of home. He turned around and looked to the north for a moment. He could see the sky suddenly glow as a weapon fired. Here and there a fireball leaped up, announcing the death of an armored vehicle and its crew.
That thought convinced Hewett that rear guard wasn't so bad after all.
He turned around, hoisted the Dragon back onto his shoulder and put his eye to the sight. In an instant, the image of two armored vehicles burned itself into his eye.
Hewett felt himself go cold. His heart began to beat faster. He could almost feel the adrenaline course through his veins. The enemy.
In a voice that was neither a whisper nor a shout, he alerted his squad leader. In an instant he, followed by the platoon leader, came stumbling up to where Hewett sat transfixed, tracking the progress of the enemy vehicles.
The platoon leader spoke first. "What do you have, Marine?"
"Two vehicles. Looks like BRDMs, Skipper, headed straight for us at about twelve hundred meters."
Reaching for the Dragon, the lieutenant whispered, "Let me see." Hewett relinquished control of the Dragon to him. The lieutenant needed only a second. When he had convinced himself, he turned it back over to Hewett, issuing orders to the squad leader as he did so. "Kendle, find Gunney. Have him report to the CO that we have two BRDMs moving on our position from the south. We are engaging and will hold here until we receive further orders."
Turning to Hewett, "Marine, you take out the one on the right. Fire when he gets to five hundred meters. I'll get Thompson to take out the other. Be prepared to get the second one if Thompson misses."
The lieutenant was gone before Hewett could say, "Aye aye, sir."
Turning to his assistant, Hewett told him, "No doubt the skipper's telling Thompson to be ready to take out the other BRDM in case we miss. Well, we ain't gonna miss."
His assistant slapped Hewett on the shoulder and acknowledged with "Fuckin' a-men."
Hoisting the Dragon back into position, Hewett set the sight's cross hair on the center of mass of the BRDM on the right and began to track it. His fingers lightly tapped the trigger as he waited for the enemy vehicle to reach the designated range.
They were at the halfway point. Kurpov stood upright in his hatch and looked to his right. The other BRDM was having difficulty keeping up with him. Turning to the front, he could see no sign of activity on the slope that they were fast approaching. There were only six hundred meters to go.