Once the drop zone was clear and all the strays had been rounded up, Ilvanich paused to consider his next action. He pulled a rag from his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face as he surveyed the eerie scene before him.
Discarded parachutes and cylindrical equipment containers littered the drop zone. The brightly burning wreckage of two transports were visible in the distance.
The thought that the company's BMD personnel carriers were aboard them did nothing to brighten an already dark situation. Without them the paratroopers had little chance of forming an effective strongpoint astride the Americans' main supply route. Any combat unit that had tanks would have no problem blowing through them anytime they wanted.
Around the drop zone he could see the heads of paratroopers pop up as they checked out their sector from the prone position. Well, we are as ready as we are ever going to be, he thought. Time to get out of here.
From out of the darkness Malovidov came running up, hunched over, carrying his AK assault rifle at the ready. Panting, he reported to Ilvanich. "All men are accounted for. Both of the other platoons report the same. We are ready to move out." Then, almost as an afterthought, he added, "Oh, yes, Captain Lvov has been found. He has a broken ankle. He is with 2nd Platoon right now and wishes to see you immediately."
Ilvanich didn't turn or look at the junior lieutenant. He stood there and pulled out his canteen, unscrewed the cap and took a short swallow of water. Finished, he turned to Malovidov. "I suppose it is time to go see our commander. Lead off, Comrade."
With that, Malovidov turned and began to run off at a trot, crouched over, until he noticed that Ilvanich was following at a walk, standing erect.
Malovidov stopped, straightened up and waited for the senior lieutenant.
When they reached Lvov, he was lying on the ground and seemed to be embarrassed. Ilvanich saluted and reported, then stood with one hand on his hip and the other resting on the AK that dangled from his right shoulder while his commander babbled about how he had hit the ground wrong and had to crawl over to where the company had rallied. As he listened, Ilvanich thought, So, you can't run away this time, you worthless bastard. Now I get the chance to see what a good Party man is made of.
His thoughts and Lvov's story were interrupted by a radioman who came up to Ilvanich and, out of habit, handed the radio mike to him, saying that the battalion commander wanted to speak to the commander. Without thinking, Ilvanich took the mike, pressed the transmit button and began to speak, then stopped. Lvov was staring at him. Their eyes met. Without apology, Ilvanich held out the mike to his commander and said he had forgotten that the captain was with them. He intentionally held the mike several inches beyond Lvov's reach, forcing the captain to prop himself up and stretch to get it. When he had it, Ilvanich stepped back, saluted and told his commander he would prepare the company to move out. He did not wait for a return salute, which he knew he would not get, or permission to leave, which he didn't care whether he got or not. He simply pivoted and walked off, feeling Lvov's eyes burning their way through his back as he went into the gathering dawn.
Duncan marched down the line, checking weapons, equipment and the men.
In the background dozens of Blackhawk helicopters were going through preflight checks and coming to life. How different, he thought as he compared the fully armed, well-equipped, well-fed soldiers before him and what he and his platoon had been like while they were escaping from Rafsanjan. Most of the men in his platoon were new to him, the result of amalgamating bits and pieces of other units.
The remnants of the units of the 12th Infantry Division had been merged into a single brigade. Though many were strangers, most of the men had three things in common. First, they had all had experiences similar to those Duncan and his men had gone through. As a result, the second thing they shared was a burning desire to avenge their friends and the honor of their unit. Finally, they were all fully trained and competent combat infantrymen.
Duncan and his lieutenant, a man who had fought at Pariz and Sa'idabad, drove their platoon hard in the short time they had been given to prepare for combat. No one complained. No one asked why. They knew.
They had seen the face of battle and knew it well. The only problem that Duncan had to deal with was impatience. They were ready to go, now. They were all impatient to wreak vengeance on an enemy that had once seemed unstoppable.
Shortly after stand-to that morning, word came down that they were about to be given their opportunity. Duncan could barely contain his excitement as the platoon leader briefed them on their mission. They were going to deploy north by helicopter to contain and destroy a Soviet airborne unit that had been dropped a few hours before in the vicinity of Qotbabad. The lieutenant told them that the airhead straddled the main supply route to the north and had to be eliminated.
He had accentuated the word "eliminated." When he had finished, he asked Duncan whether he had anything to add.
From the rear of the platoon, Duncan commented, "Well, I can't think of a better way to start the day. You people know the drill. Precombat inspection in twenty minutes. Now hit it."
There was no need to repeat the command. His men scattered to draw extra ammo, fill canteens and grab their rucksacks.
Throughout the morning the units of the U.S. 2nd Brigade monitored the progress of the battle between the lead Soviet motorized rifle division and the armored cavalry regiment. Once the main Soviet effort had been identified, the corps piled on with everything it could. Working in conjunction with one another, attack helicopters, artillery and Air Force close air support hammered exposed Soviet formations. Artillery, firing counter battery fires, reduced the responsiveness and effectiveness of Soviet artillery. The ground units of the cavalry regiment in front of the attacking Soviet regiments gave way grudgingly, moving back one step at a time, maintaining contact and exacting a toll from the enemy. While the cavalry's victory cost them dearly, by the time they were ready to pass the battle off to the 2nd Brigade the Soviet first-echelon motorized rifle division was incapable of further offensive operations.
The battle moving toward the 3rd of the 4th Armor was well defined.
Reports from the cavalry regiment, intelligence gained from electronic-warfare units and in-flight reports from Air Force pilots returning from strikes against the Soviets provided a clear picture of what was coming. That, some say, is half the battle. Now all the 3rd of the 4th had to do was destroy the enemy.
The Soviets also had their intelligence units gathering information.
They knew what they were getting into and had a plan for dealing with it. MI-28 Havoc attack helicopters moved in advance of the attacking ground formations, seeking targets. Artillery units began to move forward in preparation for the attack in the main battle area. Electronic-warfare units swept through the FM radio spectrum searching for active frequencies, jamming, listening or directing artillery against the transmitter. With grim determination, the second-echelon motorized rifle division moved forward through the shattered remains of the first-echelon division and continued the attack.