“Steel Six, roger. All Steel elements, Steel Six. Stay on weapons tight until the final Knight elements are through the passage point or I issue the order, over.”
“Red Four, wilco.”
“White One, roger.”
“Blue Four, roger.”
“Steel Six, out.”
Dillon scanned along the Steel battle position from his position in the center behind First Platoon. Doc’s and Bluto’s tanks were well dug in. He could just make out some of the tank commanders’ heads poking above ground level. The tanks were in tiered fighting positions. Currently they were all in the lowest position—their “hide.” From this position the TCs scanned with their eyes and PVS-7s or binoculars while their vehicles remained hidden below ground level. By pulling forward in the sloped hole to the next higher level, the gunner could use his sight to look downrange, even though the tank was still hidden for the most part. This was possible because the sight mechanism on the M1 is located on top of the turret. When ready to engage enemy vehicles, the tanks pulled forward in their holes. This unmasked the gun tube but still offered protection for the lower half of the tank. Once they fired, the tank could back down until they located another target, then repeat the process.
Dillon’s concern was Third Platoon. The ground that comprised their position was rocky and the engineer vehicles hadn’t been able to dig in it. God knows they’d tried. Their Armored Combat Engineer vehicles, or ACEs, were literally bleeding hydraulic fluid for their efforts. They managed to get one tank dug in. The other three, plus Thad Mason’s tank, were nestled in folds of the terrain. This offered some protection, but not much. They did receive a bonus in that it left them mobile. It didn’t really matter. There was nothing any of them could do about it. You fought the terrain you were given the best that you could. Period.
As Dillon waited the task force net hummed to life.
“Tiger Six, Knight Six, over.”
“Tiger Six.”
“Tiger Six, Knight Six. Engaged and destroyed twelve enemy tanks, two PCs, vicinity TRPs Mike-One to Mike-Four. No contact at this time. Looks like the enemy’s attack has stalled. My slant is four tanks. Request permission to move back on Route Dagger. Also, be advised. The sabot rounds being used by the enemy are resulting in significant destruction on the friendlies. They’ve got something new in their arsenal, over.”
Dillon sighed. Stuart had lost one. The Iron Tigers had been blooded. And from the sounds of it, their job had just gotten tougher.
“Knight Six, Tiger Six. Roger, begin your move now. Tell your men ‘excellent work.’ Striker Six reports all 2-35 elements pulled back successfully and casualties recovered. Call once you’re set in task force reserve position, out.”
The men of Cold Steel watched the final Knight vehicles passing silently through the checkpoint. Some of the Team Knight tanks showed signs of battle damage, but to the men watching from the darkness, the damage represented a right of passage. Knight had proven itself under fire. To a man, the soldiers of Cold Steel hoped they could do as well when the enemy came to them.
CHAPTER 8
Dawn
Tawakalna Division Tactical Headquarters, Southern Iraq
22 October, 0415 Hours Local
“Do you know who I gave assurances to today? Do you?” General Hamza cried, inches from his victim’s face.
The operations officer blinked furiously to clear spittle from his eyes as he stood at attention. “Yes, sir.”
The general leaned into the colonel’s face even more. “Do you know what will happen if we do not accomplish our assigned mission?”
The colonel hesitated, then nodded. Historically, Iraqi leadership didn’t fare well on the heels of failure.
“I will be a dead man!” Hamza turned his back to his subordinate and calmed himself. Regaining control, he turned and smiled. “Colonel, do not think that I will die alone. There will be ample blame for you to receive a portion.” Hamza looked pointedly at his subordinate. “Do we understand one another?”
The man’s Adam’s apple bobbed once. “Yes, General.”
The Tawakalna commander stepped back. “Good. Then let us get back to the business of defeating our enemy. What is the current situation?”
The colonel walked to the operations map. “As of now, our lead brigade has stopped. They had begun the penetration in the area where we had reconnaissance success earlier. As expected, the terrain allowed the Americans little room for repositioning.”
The operations officer continued. “We caught them by surprise with the size of our attack. We had almost completed a penetration of their forward forces.” The colonel pointed to the area where their attack had centered. “There was one American company here, screening forward of the main battle position.” The operations officer now moved his pointer from north to south, indicating the brigade’s direction of attack. “We attacked into the company like a fist, quickly overwhelming them. The new sabot ammunition had great success against the American armor.”
The general interrupted. “So what happened? Our fist seems to have turned into the slap of a woman!”
The colonel grimaced and moved the pointer to the east. “Our observers report that an American company was here, tied into the point we were attempting to penetrate. As we initiated our attack, we received reports that they fired smoke and pulled out. It made sense. The Americans were sacrificing one company rather than losing two.”
It was the general’s turn to grimace. “Let me guess. They didn’t withdraw.”
“Most of the company did, sir. It appears a platoon remained in place to support the other company’s withdrawal.”
“A platoon? One platoon stopped a brigade’s attack? But of course! That makes perfect sense! They were only outnumbered twenty to one!”
“Sir, when the Americans opened fire from the flank, they took out our lead company with two volleys. The battalion commander died during the exchange. Command and control was lost as the remnants of the other American company joined the battle. The lead battalion was decimated. Rather than have the rest of the brigade stumble blindly into a kill sack, the brigade commander pulled them back. That’s where we stand now.”
The general looked at the map and nodded with a grimace. “What is their current disposition?”
The colonel pointed. “There is a battalion, or more accurately a task force, as we have identified tanks and Bradleys mixed together, here at the point we attacked. We estimate they lost ten of their combat vehicles during the fighting last night.” He pointed east. “Another task force here, which appears to be primarily tanks.” He pointed farther east. “Their final task force is in this rocky terrain.”
“Their reserve?”
The colonel shook his head. “Our reconnaissance has not located it. We assume it is centrally located somewhere behind their brigade. One could further assume that they would now use it to fill the losses they’ve taken in the west.”
General Hamza looked at the array of American forces and shook his head. “Not yet. They’ll wait to see if we attack in the west again before they commit their reserve.”
The colonel hesitated. “Sir, we have already battered them once. If we place a chemical attack on the other two task forces in the east, it will immobilize them. They will not be able to influence the fight at all. We can wipe out the remainder of the western task force and continue our march south. Let the Madinah and the Hamourabi worry about mopping up the Americans.”
Hamza looked at his subordinate. “We do not have permission to use chemical munitions. Besides, we have the forces necessary to defeat the Americans without their use and without the other two divisions. They’ve only bought a little time for themselves.”
The colonel made one last effort. “Then, sir, may I suggest we shift our attack farther west and attack the Kuwaiti brigade. We have found a piece of their lines manned by M-84 equipped tank units. We can penetrate there and then hit the Americans from the flanks and rear.”
&nb
sp; General Hamza looked into his operations officer’s eyes. He wasn’t seeing the colonel, but the fly-covered and disfigured corpse of his son. “We will continue the attack through the Americans, as ordered. Our leader’s wishes encompass more than just tactical considerations.”
The general looked back to the map. “Has there been any indication that the Americans have reinforced the western position?”
The colonel shook his head. “I don’t believe so, sir. We’ve got reconnaissance teams moving into position now to observe.”
“Inform me when they have an answer.”
3rd Brigade, 4th ID TAC, Northern Kuwait
22 October, 0425 Hours Local
Colonel Jones and his S3 exchanged tired looks. The night was almost over but the fighting had just begun.
“You got any cigarettes left, Tom?”
Major Tom Proctor smiled faintly and shook his head. “You know I don’t smoke, sir.”
“I worry about you, Tom. I don’t trust an officer with no vices.” Jones sipped his coffee. “Okay, we’re in the lull before the storm. Task Force 2-35 is at eighty-five percent strength.” He looked his operations officer in the eye. “You think they can hold?”
The major looked at the map. For the first time in his life, the list of combat losses that bordered the symbology was real. He scratched his face and realized he needed a shave, then further realized he hadn’t answered his commander’s question. He looked up from the map. “Sir . . . I just don’t know. We could always move the reserve up. Or reposition some forces from another battle position.”
Jones tapped a fresh cigarette out and pulled his Zippo from a cargo pocket. His eyes melded with the operations map over the flames as he lit the cigarette. He shook his head. “I’m not committing the reserve yet. They’re in position to reinforce the west within ten minutes. From their current position they can also reinforce 2-77 in the center.”
As he continued to stare at the map, Jones imagined himself in his opponent’s position. He had an accurate read in the west. He knew he’d whittled down the forces there. Now he’d want to know . . . Slowly a smile spread across the craggy face.
“Tom, you worthless son of a bitch, call 2-77. Tell Estes I want him to . . .”
Cold Steel Battle Position, Northern Kuwait
22 October, 0530 Hours Local
Dillon acknowledged the order and signed off the task force command net. What the hell was this? As he considered the order it suddenly struck him what was in Jones’s mind. Dillon smiled. That wily old bastard. He keyed his CVC.
“Steel Five, Blue One . . . Steel Six, over.”
“Steel Five, over.”
“Blue One, over.”
“Frago follows. Blue element with Steel Five in operational control will move in two minutes. Mission . . .”
Thad Mason copied the order onto the border of his map and acknowledged. What the fuck was this? He shook his head. No time, he needed to move.
“Blue One, Steel Five. Follow my move.”
A slightly bewildered voice answered. Takahashi obviously had the same questions running through his mind. “This is Blue One, roger. We’re moving.”
The five tanks from C Company pulled back from the rocks they’d been using for cover as the east colored with the promise of dawn. Once behind the company battle position, they spread out on line and kicked the tanks into high gear. They headed west into the desert. As they sped across the open sand, the tanks executed a series of zigzag maneuvers, kicking up huge clouds of dust in the process. They moved behind Anvil’s battle position and continued west toward Task Force 2-35.
Forward of 2-35 Armor, Northern Kuwait
22 October, 0600 Hours Local
The BRDM scout car slowly pulled into a hide position behind the berm. The crew had worked patiently over the past two hours getting in position. Their instructions were to identify any forces attempting to reinforce the western American position. The sergeant in charge of the recon team ordered the engine shut off.
“Abdul,” he said to his radio operator, “follow me.”
The two men exited the vehicle, carrying only their personal weapons, a pair of binoculars, and a portable radio. The driver began draping a camouflage net over the small, lightly armored scout car. It was almost daylight and it looked as if they’d be here for a while.
Carefully the recon team crawled up the berm. On reaching the crest, the sergeant slowly raised his head above the edge until he could observe to the south. Satisfied there were no enemy forces in the immediate vicinity, he motioned for the binoculars. Again, he rose up just enough to observe south without silhouetting himself against the brightening sky. As he looked toward the area his brigade had attacked last night, he scanned slowly back and forth with the binoculars. While continuing to scan, he reached a hand down and snapped his fingers. The radio operator placed the handset in his palm.
“Base, this is Recon Team Two, over.”
“This is Base.”
“Base, this is Recon Team Two. We are set. The Americans have pulled out of their forward positions. I can observe the fallback position they occupied and am able to observe if anything moves into or from there. At this time, no enemy vehicles visible. . . . Stand by, I can hear engine noises. . . .”
The sergeant released the handset and grabbed the binoculars with both hands. As the mike snapped back on its cord, it hit the startled radio operator in the face, exciting a stream of curses targeting his sergeant’s lineage.
“Silence!” hissed the team leader. “Give me the handset.”
The radio operator handed it up again as he muttered another string of curses.
“Base, this is Team Two, situation update follows. . . . There is a large cloud of dust moving in the direction of the western battle position, over.”
“This is Base. Can you give us a vehicle count by type? Over.”
The team leader shook his head as he continued looking through the binoculars. “No, not yet. It appears to be a large number based off of the size of the cloud. I will be able to give you a count when they are closer.”
The American scouts sat silently in their observation post, looking west. They’d moved to this position just before dawn in case their old position had been compromised during the night attack. Their mission was to stay low and report when and where the enemy main body attacked. The new orders they’d received a few minutes ago sounded strange, but it wasn’t the first time that had happened.
“Lighthorse Two-One, Lighthorse Six, over.”
The transmission was muted on their man-portable radio so that it couldn’t be heard from over a couple of feet away.
The senior scout picked up the handset.
“Lighthorse Two-One, over.”
“Lighthorse Two-One, Six. Any change to your contact? Over.”
The scout looked through his binoculars at their target, an Iraqi recon team. The team had moved into the area a few minutes ago in their BRDM and gone to ground. Per SOP, the scouts had called in mortars to take out the enemy’s eyes without exposing themselves. The fires had been denied and the scouts were told to continue to observe their Iraqi counterparts.
“This is Two-One, negative. They are in a hide position and attempting to observe into the 2-35 BP, over.”
“Roger. Two-One, look south and tell me if you can observe a large dust cloud, over.”
The scout turned around and looked toward the friendly lines. Holy shit!
“This is Two-One. Affirmative. Anyone within a ten-mile radius can observe it, over.”
“This is Lighthorse Six. You are free to continue call for fire on your target at this time. Out.”
The scout shook his head, wondering what the hell all of that had been about. He shrugged. Time to get back to work. “Thunder Six, Lighthorse Two-One. I have one PC and three troops stationary at grid . . .”
The recon team continued observing the approaching dust cloud. As the vehicles moved into view it became clear that there wa
s not a large number of vehicles, but rather just a few tanks. The team leader motioned once more for the handset.
“Base, this is Recon Team Two, over.”
The sergeant heard two sounds simultaneously. His higher headquarters replying to his call and the whistling sound of the mortar rounds about to impact on his position.
The senior scout watched as the rounds impacted on the enemy recon position. It disappeared in a cloud of dust and a roar that could be heard distinctly from their position. He winced as he reached for the radio. Man, that had to hurt.
“Thunder Six, Lighthorse Two-One. Good mission. Repeat, over.”
Tawakalna Division Headquarters, Southern Iraq
22 October, 0610 Hours Local
General Hamza looked at the report in his hands, then looked back at the colonel. “This is the last report?”
The operations officer nodded. “Yes, sir. They attempted a transmission a few minutes ago, but we lost communications.” During the previous hour, the reconnaissance effort had not gone well for the Tawakalna Division. In the span of forty-five minutes, they had lost communications with every element they’d sent forward.
Continuing to read over the intelligence report, the general gave a decisive nod. “Very well. It is enough information. It is obvious the Americans were trying to reinforce the western position before sunrise, hoping our reconnaissance forces would not be able to observe. Unfortunately for them, they did not quite make it in time. “Do we know where the reinforcements originated?”
The colonel pointed to the center of the American position. “Here, sir. We tracked their movement all the way.”
The general was ecstatic. Did they think to hide such a large movement of vehicles in the desert? “Call the brigade commanders. The attack will commence in twenty minutes. They think we will attack in the west again? Very well, we will show them what they want to see—to an extent.”
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