The current operation had done little to overcome the hatred shared by the two. The KGB major who had brought the mission to the regiment had selected Ilvanich's company for it. The major insisted on speaking to Ilvanich, ignoring Lvov, during all the briefings and meetings. The senior officers of the regiment, seeing this, began to do the same. There was, after all, an obvious connection between the young lieutenant and the KGB, and such connections were not taken lightly. Despite his best efforts, Lvov was unable to change this. As bad as that had been for Lvov, the situation became worse when 309 the company was being briefed and prepared. Whenever one of the officers or noncommissioned ofcers in the company had a question or a problem, he instinctively turned to Ilvanich.
Lvov was careful not to say anything in the presence of the KGB major.
In one stormy session when the major was absent, Lvov raged and cursed at Ilvanich, threatening that he had best find himself a new unit after the current mission was over. When Lvov was finished, Ilvanich, face frozen in an expressionless stare, responded as his right hand toyed with the safety of his AK, "If the company is too small for both of us, Comrade Captain, other arrangements can be made."
Above the din of the helicopter's engines and the roar of the storm, the pilot yelled to Ilvanich, "Comrade Lieutenant, we are going down!"
The sudden announcement galvanized Ilvanich. He undid his seat belt and moved up behind the pilot. "What do you mean, we are going down? Are we crashing?"
The pilot was fighting with the controls and peering into the impenetrable sandstorm and darkness. Sweat from exertion and fear covered his face. He answered in a harried manner, "The dust is clogging the engines and the entire system. There are warning lights coming on all over." With a sweep of his hand, he showed Ilvanich a half-dozen flashing red lights on the instrument panel. "Either we land now, while we still have control, or we crash in five minutes."
Ilvanich looked at his watch. "How far to the landing zone?"
Without hesitation, the pilot responded, "Fifteen minutes."
"No, kilometers. How many kilometers?"
"Oh, sorry." The pilot looked at his instruments and thought for a moment.
"Fifty kilometers."
"That's too far. You must get us closer. Keep going as long as you can before you put it down."
The pilot protested, "if I wait too long, the engine will seize up and the helicopter will never fly again. We must land now." Angry, Ilvanich leaned closer to the pilot's ear. "The hell with your helicopter. What happens to it is unimportant. You must get us closer. Do you understand?"
The pilot, his face grim with fear and concentration, nodded in the affirmative. "Yes, Comrade Lieutenant, we will do the best we can. Now go back and strap in, just in case."
The smell of burnt flesh and rubber permeated the area. The wreckage of a Soviet M-8 transport helicopter sat just inside the patch of green vegetation that surrounded the well. The bodies of its crew and passengers were sprawled about the wreckage. Only one survivor, a major, apparently overlooked by the attackers in the darkness and confusion, had been found.
Unfortunately, he was severely wounded and could not, or would not, speak English. While the company medics tended to him, Second Lieutenants Cerro and Kinsley, followed by Lieutenant Commander Hensly, USN." checked out the area. They decided that most of the Russians had been out of the helicopter when it was hit. The discovery of an expended LAW antitank-rocket-launcher tube and small piles of 5.56mm. rounds left no doubt who had hit the Russians as they were disembarking.
Cerro walked up to the helicopter, looked around, then kicked it and let out a string of curses. To date, the whole operation had been plagued with problems. One of the C130 transports that had been loaded on for the jump blew an engine, requiring some of Cerro's company, overburdened with parachutes, weapons and ammunition, to off load and move to a backup plane while the rest waited. When they were all set, they were put on a weather hold-a sandstorm had suddenly cropped up in the area of the drop zone.
After they finally did take off and then made their jump, they found themselves five kilometers from the intended drop zone. As a fitting conclusion to the string of mishaps, the Special Forces team and the pro-U.S. Iranians were not at the well when Cerro's company arrived. Instead of finding them, the company found a smoldering Soviet helicopter and dead bodies, left by the Special Forces team.
Hensly waited for a minute before he asked the question that was on everyone's mind. When Cerro had gotten over his fit, Hensly said as nonchalantly as he could, "Well, I suppose this puts an end to this operation."
Cerro replied, "No bullshit, sir. Unless you happen to know where the place is, how many troops are there, how they're deployed, how many buildings there are and a few other minor details, this operation is officially over."
Hensly was more surprised than upset. "Didn't they tell you anything?"
With a sneer, Cerro shot back, "Yeah, bring lots of ammo and be on time. The green beanies were going to brief us on all the details once we got here." Looking up at the twisted tail boom of the M-8, he mused, "Guess they had everything figured out except for these yahoos. Wonder what they were after."
"Could be a routine patrol or a strike force looking for our friends the snake eaters and their friendly rag heads Maybe they were after the same thing we're here for."
Cerro looked at his platoon leader and laughed. "Now, wouldn't that be a trip. Both we and the Reds chasing a bunch of Irans with the Device." Both Cerro and Kinsley laughed.
Hensly, picking through the wreckage, called out, "That, gentlemen, may be right on the money."
"Come on, Commander. Do you know what the odds of that happening are?"
"Before you put your money where your big mouth is, Lieutenant, come over here and look at this."
Their curiosity aroused, Cerro and Kinsley walked over to where the lieutenant commander was picking through what appeared to be a tool bag.
Without looking up, he asked, "You know that bag of special instruments I carry around?" He picked up a spanner and several other tools. "Look familiar, don't they?"
Cerro stared at the tools, then at the helicopter. "I'll be damned."
Hensly stood up and looked Cerro in the eye. "We'll all be damned if the Iranians pull off what I think they're after. Lieutenant Cerro, you're in command of the ground operation. I'm here only as a technician to identify anything we find and tell the Army what to blow up. I cannot order you to continue the mission. God knows, we've had enough bad luck as it is. But if we fail, and the Iranians do have another Device that they manage to set off, a lot of people are going to die. And that dying may not be confined to this country."
The two lieutenants thought about that. "You mean that the Russians might think we set the bomb off and retaliate?" Kinsley asked.
"Or, Lieutenant," Hensly replied, "it could be the other way around. Both the U.S. and the Soviet Union have a policy of retaliation in kind. Once we start popping nukes, who knows where it will end."
For a long time the three officers stood there, looking at the burned tool bag and one another. Cerro finally broke the silence. "Well, I guess it's decided. We go for it. Now, anyone got any bright ideas on how we're going to do it?"