by Harold Coyle
After six days of sustained combat, there were only two officers and thirty-three enlisted men who were not dead or wounded when the ground forces finally arrived.
The 285th Regiment's parent division was equally depleted, requiring reorganization and amalgamation of units. During this effort, the 285th was assigned garrison and patrol duties in and around Tabriz while the 28th CAA continued to advance south and west.
One of these duties was the apprehension and punishment of Iranians who violated the curfew. The punishment was death. Ilvanich did not realize what he and his men would be required to do when he reported to the garrison headquarters on the afternoon of the fourth. He was taken to a KGB major who would brief him and supervise him and his platoon during the performance of their duties. The KGB major was relatively young, Ilvanich guessed not more than thirty-two. He stood a bit over six foot and had a medium build. His looks and dress were average. But the fact that he was KGB made him different, a difference that one did not dare forget.
At first Ilvanich thought that his men were to be prison guards.
Slowly, as the KGB major talked, it dawned upon him that he was going to lead a firing squad and summarily execute anyone who had been apprehended for violating the curfew. Anyone, that is, who was not shot by the patrols.
When this revelation finally hit him, Ilvanich flushed. For a moment he felt lightheaded, as if he were going to faint. Then he noticed the KGB major staring at him. The major asked whether there was something wrong. livanich, mustering all the strength he could, collected himself and replied that he was simply tired, not fully recovered from his first battle. The KGB major appeared to accept that, heaping praise on the bravery and sacrifice of the airborne soldiers before carrying on with his briefing. When he got to the portion of the briefing where he described the duties of the officer in charge of the firing squad, he spoke slowly and looked into Ilvanich's eyes. The KGB major was searching for weakness or hesitation. Ilvanich returned the stare, turning his thoughts away from the task he was being given.
That night, for the first time in his career, Ilvanich struggled with his duties and his conscience. In the dark room where he was billeted, sleep did not come. He tossed and turned in his sweat-soaked bunk, trying to clear his mind and to reason out his current problem. His whole life revolved around duty to the State and the Army. The two were inseparable.
There was, in his mind, no other purpose to his life but to serve the State. He had performed, without question, his duties when he and his men were dropped into Iran. Despite the horrors, he was able to deal with what he was doing because the Iranians were the enemy, enemies of the State, armed and ready to do harm to the State. His role as an executioner, however, was different. He was being directed to shoot civilians whose sole crime was being in the street at night. Granted, some, if not most, were probably terrorists or guerrillas. But this killing was going to be different. On the front it had been so quick, so necessary. Now the process was going to be slow and the reason not so clear.
In the cool of the early morning Ilvanich paraded his firing squad.
Still unsure of himself and how he would react, he did his best to hide any show of emotion and chose his words carefully as he issued his instructions. His men quickly detected his stress and tension. But they, like their platoon leader, understood what was at stake and followed suit, doing exactly as they were told without any sign of feeling or hesitation.
The KGB major watched from a corner of the small prison courtyard as the first group of Iranians were brought out and stood against the clean whitewashed wall. His eyes were riveted on Ilvanich standing on the flank of the firing squad. Ilvanich could feel the major's eyes on him. He also felt himself getting dizzy again as he surveyed the prisoners. Of the ten people, four were women, two were boys who could not have been more than twelve years old, and one was an old man who walked with the aid of a wooden stick. How, Ilvanich thought, could any sane person consider this motley group a threat to the State? It was ludicrous. Carefully, he turned his head to where the KGB major stood leaning against the prison building, staring at him. With a simple nod, the major indicated it was time to proceed. Turning his head back to where he could face his men without seeing the people they were about to execute, Ilvanich began to give the orders.
"Ready."
His men raised their rifles to their shoulders.
"Aim."
They tucked their cheeks against the stocks of their rifles.
Ilvanich steadied himself and closed his eyes.
"Fire. "
The noise that reverberated off the courtyard walls was deafening. It caused Ilvanich to jump. Opening his eyes, he looked down the line of men as they fired. Some fired a single burst, with their eyes closed, then stopped. Others fired continuously, dipping their rifles to shoot into the bodies after they had fallen. Some fired until their entire magazines were empty.
Ilvanich did not issue an order to cease fire. He merely waited until the shooting stopped, then ordered his men to attention. While still looking along the line of his men, he reached down, unsnapped his holster and drew his pistol, holding it at shoulder level and pointed in the air. At last he turned toward the wall where the prisoners had been. The white wall was now splattered with blood and pockmarked with bullet holes. Streams of blood ran down the wall onto the ground to where the prisoners lay in a tangled heap. For a moment Ilvanich remembered the trench. His stomach muscles tightened as he felt a tinge of bile rise in his throat. He fought for and gained composure before he proceeded.
Mechanically, he marched to the wall, staring not at the bodies but at one of the bloodstains on the wall until he reached the wall. When he got there, he stopped and looked down. The first person was a young woman, not more than twenty. For a second he wondered what had caused her to become an enemy of the State.
Ilvanich turned and looked in the direction of the KGB major. The major was still in the same position, leaning casually against the building. With the same nonchalant nod, he signaled Ilvanich to continue. Without further thought, the junior lieutenant lowered his pistol and fired one round into the head of each of the bodies before him. When he was finished, he turned and marched back to his post on the flank of his firing squad while other
Iranians came out, dragged away the bodies of the first prisoners and prepared to take their place against the wall. Ilvanich did not watch.
He merely replaced the magazine in his pistol with a fresh one, returned the pistol to his holster and stood by until the next group was ready.
As he waited, he saw the KGB major give him a faint smile and a nod of approval. Ilvanich and his men had performed their duty to the State well.
Socialism in Iran was a little more secure.
Fort Hood, Texas 2205 Hours, 4 June (0405 Hours, 5 June, GMT)
The officers' club hadn't done as well as this in years. It seemed that everyone was stopping by after a tough day in the pits to undergo liquid "stress reduction." In the beginning, First Lieutenant Amanda Matthews couldn't understand why officers would want to spend all day beating themselves to death at the office and then, for relaxation, go over to the club and spend more time with the same people from the office. For the first few days she left post as soon as she could, showered, changed out of uniform and tried hard to blend into the rest of society for a few hours.
She wanted to leave the office and the grim business she dealt in on post.
The more she tried, however, the less she succeeded. As she wandered the shopping mall, Soviet orders of battle raced through her mind. She found that it was difficult to talk to her civilian friends. She felt out of place as they talked about their jobs, stereos and cars, things that now meant little to Matthews. Issues such as Soviet offensive chemical and tactical nuclear capabilities in Iran had become her all-consuming concern.
Not finding escape in the outside world, she sought at the officers' club the company of others who, like her, pondered the imponderable and needed escape.
From across the crowded lounge, another military intelligence lieutenant from the division staff beckoned her to join him. Matthews, feeling no pain after her second scotch, figured there was nothing to lose. After all, misery enjoys company.
First Lieutenant Tom Kovack was one of the more junior officers in the division G-2 shop. Although he was one of the most arrogant and conceited people she knew, he had been a very good source of back-door information for Matthews in the last ten days. She suspected his motives, for good reasons, but felt she could handle him. After all, she had three inches over him. Without rising as she came to the table, Kovack asked, "Do you always drink alone, Amanda?" Some men took seriously the fact that they were no longer commissioned "an officer and a gentleman."
"Only when there is no one worth drinking with."
"That's cold, Amanda. Besides, I'm supposed to be the conceited one."
Taking advantage of the opening, she gibed, "And so you are, I'll drink to that," and drained her glass.
She had hit him off guard and on the mark. His smirk disappeared and his ears turned red as he bit back a nasty remark. He changed subjects quickly. "You know the G-2 is beginning to lose his patience with your estimates of Iranian resistance. Do you really believe they're going to try to fight the Russians and us? I mean, it doesn't make sense."
Matthews looked at Kovack for a moment. She found it hard to believe that the two of them, with the same training and background, could look at the same information and come up with two entirely different conclusions.
"Kovack, I don't believe that even you can be so stupid. Haven't you been watching the news? Ten days after the Soviets invade their country, and with them less than a hundred and fifty miles from Tehran, the Iranians are still demonstrating against the U.S. There are just as many anti-American banners in their demonstrations as there are anti-Soviet. These people don't see any difference between us and them. They don't see any difference now and they won't see one when the first Americans land there."
With composure and confidence born from assurance of his convictions, Kovack countered her, point by point, clearly demonstrating, in his mind, the foolishness of her position. "Surely," he concluded, "once we're on the ground and they see we're there to fight the Russians and help them preserve their country, they'll flock to our side."
Matthews merely shook her head. "Kovack, you're an idiot as well as an asshole. We are dealing with fanatics. Fanatics that are part of a proud race of people. Anyone that is not a Persian or a Shiite is their enemy. No one, regardless of motivation, is going to change their minds.
They'll go down to a man before they embrace us as friends."
Leaning forward and placing his hand on her thigh, Kovack whispered, "Talking about going down and embracing friends, let's leave. The night's still young."
Matthews stood up without breaking eye contact. "Like the Iranians, I'm careful whom I pick for friends." With that she turned and walked away, followed by Kovack's taunt "I have not yet begun to fight."
Five Kilometers West of Kaju, Iran 0645 Hours, 5 June (0315 Hours, 5 June, GMT)
With a thunderous roar, the bombardment of the Iranian positions commenced on schedule. The lead elements of the 67th Motorized Rifle Division were already unraveling from their assembly areas and deploying for the attack.
To their north, the summit of the Kuh-a Sahand looked down on the mass of Soviet armor as it moved east, converging on a single point.
The Iranians had taken their time preparing their defensive positions before the town of Kaju. The town itself was of little importance.
What did matter was the rail line that ran through it. It was the main rail line running south from Tabriz, around Kuh-a Sahand and then to Tehran. The Soviets needed it. To secure it, and the road system running south from Tabriz, the 28th CAA had split at Tabriz, with one motorized rifle division and the tank division attacking straight south along the roads while two motorized rifle divisions swung west around the Sahand to clear the rail line.
The Iranians saw this splitting of forces as an opportunity to defeat the Soviets. Everything that they could muster, including most of their pitifully small tank reserve, was concentrated either at Kaju, to block Soviet efforts to clear the rail line out of Tabriz, or at Bastanabad, to block the Soviet advance along the roads leading south from Tabriz.
The Iranians did not want to lose any more of the northwest than they had to. Besides, the farther the Soviets pushed south, the easier the terrain became. The Iranians were gambling on a winner-take-all proposition.
The Soviets, on the other hand, welcomed the stand by the Iranians.
Instead of reacting to Iranians in small, isolated ambushes, the 28th Combined Arms Army would be able to fight the kind of war it was trained and equipped for. The commander of the 28th CAA prepared to fight a battle of annihilation. His goal was to pin, trap and destroy every organized Iranian unit deployed against him. The plan was simple and well proven. It was, in fact, nothing more than an updated version of the German blitzkrieg.
Units of the 28th CAA would close up on the Iranians, feeling out their positions for weak points with air, ground and electronic reconnaissance.
Once the Iranian units had been located, weaknesses identified and command posts targeted, the point of attack would be determined and a breakthrough assault would be launched.
Soviet doctrine calls for the concentration of numerical superiority at the point of attack in attacker-defender ratios of at least five to one in infantry, four to one in tanks and seven to one in artillery.
Superiority is achieved by the use of artillery and rockets; air attacks including attack helicopters, electronic warfare including radio direction-finding and jamming on command and control nets; and masses of men and tanks on the ground. The well-orchestrated assault designed to break through the defender commences with a violent twenty-minute artillery attack at the selected point. Not only does the artillery kill some defenders and destroy equipment, it also covers the advance of the attacking force by pinning the defenders and obscuring their observation.
The main instrument for a Soviet breakthrough assault is the motorized rifle regiment. Its battalions, normally deployed two abreast in a first-attack echelon and one back as a second echelon, start in columns five to ten kilometers from the front. As a motorized rifle battalion approaches, it breaks up into company columns, with four tanks normally leading a company of ten to twelve armored personnel carriers. When the battalion reaches the five-kilometer point, it breaks down into platoon columns, with a tank leading each rifle platoon of three or four personnel carriers. Finally, at the two- to three kilometer point, the personnel carriers swing into line as the tanks cut on their on-board smoke generators, shrouding the advancing storm in smoke. All this occurs at a steady, un altering pace of twelve to twenty miles an hour. At this point, the artillery, which has been firing at a rapid rate on the enemy positions, shifts to the next series of targets. Each battalion now has twelve tanks in line, followed by thirty or more personnel carriers fifty to one hundred meters behind the tanks. If antitank fire is heavy, the infantry will dismount a few hundred meters from the enemy and assault on foot, and the tanks and the personnel carriers will follow with support fire. If the defender's fire is of little consequence, the infantry will remain mounted and the battalion will roll through the defensive positions. Once through, the attacking unit will either continue to drive deep into the enemy's rear or turn and envelop him from the rear.
In addition to the tanks and the personnel carriers, the lead motorized rifle battalion will have two to four self propelled antiaircraft guns, a battery of six self-propelled artillery guns, and antitank-guided-missile carriers immediately behind the first line of personnel carriers. This force attacks with a frontage of fifteen hundred meters, just under a mile.
Two battalions abreast would give the regiment a frontage of three thousand meters. The third battalion, or second-echelon battalion, follows at a distance of
five hundred to one thousand meters behind the two lead battalions and is ready to move forward to take advantage of a success of either of them. Soviet practice is to reinforce success. A battalion that fails to break through will be left to its own devices while all support goes to one that is having success or has succeeded.
Once a clean breakthrough has been achieved, the tank battalions, regiments and finally divisions are pushed through. It is the tank unit that is viewed by the Soviets as the decisive arm that strikes deep and smashes the enemy. The motorized rifle units that did not attack will continue to hold and pin the enemy down; they are the anvil. The tanks strike deep and swing around, hitting them in the rear; they are the hammer. To the Soviets, defeat of the enemy requires more than merely gaining ground or breaking through. The enemy force in the field must be defeated in detail, or, in simple terms, annihilated, preferably to the last man.
After almost two weeks of a painfully slow advance into Iran punctuated by brief but sharp encounters with an unseen enemy, the deliberate attack was welcomed by Captain Neboatov and the men of his motorized rifle company.
Neboatov tried vainly to maintain visual contact with all of his vehicles.
The smoke created by the tanks to his front hid many of his BMP infantry-fighting vehicles from his view. From what he could see, however, all appeared to be going well. The BMPs had swung into line and were maintaining proper distance. Through brief breaks in the smoke he could see that the tanks were beginning to fire while on the move. Their fire would be very inaccurate; its primary intent in such an attack was to suppress the enemy rather than annihilate him.
With the exception of a few stray mortar rounds and an occasional wild burst of machine-gun fire, there appeared to be a total lack of return fire from the direction of the Iranian positions. Neboatov listened intently on the battalion command net for the next order. Very soon the battalion commander would need to decide whether the infantry was to remain mounted or to assault on foot. Neboatov hoped the decision would be to remain mounted. There appeared to be no need to dismount.