by Harold Coyle
To do so would cost them their momentum.
Suddenly the platoon leader of the tanks leading Neboatov's company came over the net and reported he was stopped by an antitank ditch.
Neboatov swore. Though the ditch would be of little consequence, it would cost them their momentum and require his men to dismount.
Neboatov went on the air and ordered the tanks to cover and the BMPs to close up and prepare to breach the obstacle.
As his BMP pulled up next to the leader's tank, Neboatov saw the ditch.
It was ten to fifteen meters wide and two meters deep. On the lip of the far side were rolls of 74 barbed wire. No doubt there were mines in the ditch or along the lip of the far side. Without waiting any longer, he ordered his 1st Platoon to dismount, cross the ditch, secure the far side and cut lanes through the wire. The 2nd Platoon would dismount and cover the 1st Platoon from the near side of the ditch.
Although he knew that the battalion commander would already be sending an MTU armored bridge layer that could span the ditch, the 3rd Platoon was ordered to dismount with shovels and begin to knock down the side of the ditch and build ramps for crossing. Better to do something with what you had than wait for something you might never get. Neboatov himself dismounted in order to better observe and, if required, direct the efforts of his men.
His supervision, however, was not needed. As he watched, his men went about their tasks quickly and with little wasted motion even though artillery fire was beginning to fall on both sides of the ditch.
Fortunately their own artillery, firing high explosive and smoke, continued to strike just two hundred meters beyond the edge of the ditch, suppressing most of the Iranian positions and obscuring the Iranians' ability to direct artillery fire accurately onto Neboatov's company.
The 1st Platoon reached the ditch and went in with little difficulty, while the 2nd Platoon set up to provide cover. But when the 1st Platoon began to emerge on the other side and cut through the wire, effective fire hit them.
The first two men of Neboatov's company had just popped their leads up and begun to cut the wire when a well-aimed burst of machine-gun fire hit them and knocked them back into the ditch. The leader of the 2nd Platoon had managed to catch a glimpse of the Iranian machine gun's muzzle flash. He directed his machine guns to fire on it. The tracers from the 2nd Platoon's machine gun served to mark the target for a tank and the crews of two nearby BMPs. All three opened fire, the tank with its main gun and the BMPs with their 30mm. cannon. They were effective. The Iranian machine gun never fired again. With a little more caution, the men of the 1st Platoon 75 popped up again and began to cut the wire. Once spaces large enough had been cut, the platoon leader led his men through and set up a shallow arc protecting a breach they had made. By this time, the 3rd Platoon was busy knocking down the side of the ditch with their shovels. Their efforts, however, were wasted. No sooner had they succeeded in completing a ramp that would allow a vehicle to descend into the ditch than the MTU arrived.
Neboatov himself leaped up and directed the MTU to where he wanted the bridge laid. The MTU moved to the edge of the ditch and stopped across from where the 1st Platoon had cut the barbed wire. The operator settled the MTU into a good position and began to play out the bridge.
Slowly the bridge extended until it reached across the ditch. When its far edge was past the far lip of the ditch, the operator allowed the bridge to drop into place.
Then he disconnected the MTU from the bridge and backed away. Now the tanks began to cross, joining the 1st Platoon's perimeter. When all the tanks were on the other side, Neboatov ordered the 2nd and 3rd Platoons to remount and go over the bridge. As each platoon went over, the little bridgehead expanded until the entire company was on line again. The company moved forward slowly; Neboatov needed to give the rest of the battalion time to cross.
With the antitank ditch breached, the Iranian front lines, lacking sufficient antitank weapons, began to crumble. It was not noticeable at first. The tanks and the artillery from both sides were still creating so much dust and smoke that no one could get a good feel for exactly what was happening. Initially the commanders in the lead vehicles could see only a few hundred meters to either side and submitted only the sketchiest reports. Soon, however, there was a noticeable drop in the volume of fire being directed against them. As the first echelon of Soviet tanks and BMPs rolled through the Iranian positions and continued on, the firing stopped altogether with the exception of random artillery and mortar rounds. Even those stopped as the second-echelon battalion of the regiment reached the point of breakthrough.
Within thirty minutes of the commencement of the attack, the issue had been decided. Five days of work and the best forces the Iranians could muster had failed to stop the Soviet advance. The realization of this and the effects of being pounded by artillery took the fight out of many of the Iranians who watched the Russian tanks roll by.
Individually, and then in small groups, the Iranians left their positions and walked, crawled or ran to what they thought to be the rear and safety. The safety they sought was illusory, however, as the Soviet division commander committed his tank regiment to strike deep and smash any semblance of organization the Iranians had left.
The 28th Combined Arms Army finally was able to realize the success that had been eluding it and to achieve a victory which proved beyond a shadow of a doubt that the Iranian Army could not and would not be able to stop it. Tehran now seemed to be within easy grasp, and reaching the army's final goal, the Strait of Hormuz, only a matter of time and logistics.
10th Corps Headquarters, Fort Hood, Texas 1700 Hours, 5 June (2300 Hours, 5 June, GMT)
The sharp report of the evening gun just outside his office window broke
Lieutenant General Weir's train of thought. He had been studying so intently the material spread across his desk that he had not heard the duty officer play "Call to the Colors" over the outside PA system.
Slowly Weir rose and went over to the window. He looked out across the front of Building where the MPs were taking down the post flag. Another day had ended. Our last day of peace, Weir thought. For a while.
When the flag had been lowered, he glanced at his watch. Some quick calculations gave him the time in Egypt and Iran. He turned his head toward his desk and looked for a moment at the plan for the invasion of Iran, then turned back to stare out the window. As he watched the cars passing below him, carrying their operators home from work, he knew that somewhere over
Saudi Arabia transport aircraft were lumbering northeast toward their objective, carrying their human cargo to war. Off the coast, a Navy task force carrying a Marine amphibious brigade would be making its final course change and beginning its run into its line of departure.
In less than four hours, all hell would break loose as the United States committed ground forces in Iran.
Weir understood his corps's role and the intent of the Commander in Chief, Central Command. He and his staff had gone over the plan again and again.
Each reading, however, did little to improve it as far as Weir was concerned. The 17th Airborne Division had the mission of seizing Bandar Abbas, an important seaport located at the head of the Strait of Hormuz. The 6th Marine Division had the task of seizing the port of Chah Bahar, located on the Gulf of Oman. Both divisions had the task of securing a lodgement on the Iranian mainland and preparing their respective ports to receive reinforcements and supplies. Until those ports could be made ready to receive and off load ships, everything would have to come in by air or over the beach. Weir knew that large-scale operations could not be sustained indefinitely that way.
That, however, was only the beginning. The follow-on forces of the 13th Airborne Corps would take more than three weeks to arrive after the initial assault. Once ashore, the assembled units had to move north, establish a perimeter and hold it against anything the Russians, and the Iranians, cared to throw against it, until the heavy forces arrived. These forces, namely Weir's 10th Corps, depe
nded on the ports and the sea-lanes, sea-lanes patrolled by Soviet warships. Whether or not the Soviets would actively interfere was still unknown. To Weir, the whole plan was shaky.
Too much depended on precise timing and optimum conditions. The 10th Corps was already starting at a disadvantage, depending on a line of communications that stretched over twelve thousand miles on exposed sea-lanes while its main adversary was less than a thousand kilometers by land from his homeland. If the 10th Corps was delayed or the Soviets made better time than anticipated, the 13th Airborne Corps would be unable to hold them for long.
A knock at his office door gave Weir an excuse to turn his mind away from his troubled thoughts. His aide opened the door slightly and announced that Major Jones had arrived for his 1700 hour office call. Weir looked at his watch again, then told his aide to send the major in.
Major Percy Jones, British Army, entered the room, walked forward, stopped, and saluted with the palm of his hand facing out in the manner of the British forces. "Major Jones reporting as ordered, sir." Jones was an exchange officer assigned to the 25th Armored Division. An American major was serving in a similar capacity in a British unit in Germany.
Weir motioned to a chair. "Have a seat, Major."
Weir's aide brought two cups of coffee from the outer office and set one of them on a small table next to the chair where Jones was seating himself.
The aide handed the other cup to Weir. With a slight nod, Weir dismissed the aide, who left, closing the door on his way out.
Weir sat down in a chair across from Jones, sipped his coffee and began.
"I have just been informed that Her Majesty's Government has agreed to join the United States and France in our upcoming operations in Iran.
An armored brigade, currently slated to be attached to this corps, has been assigned to the Allied Expeditionary Force, along with units of the Royal Navy and the Royal Air Force. Until further notice, you are being reassigned to my staff as an adviser and liaison officer."
Weir paused for a moment and let that sink in before he continued. "One of the primary reasons I want you on my staff is the fact that one of the regiments in the armored brigade is the 7th Royal Tank Regiment."
Jones, calm and businesslike until then, was startled by that bit of information. He belonged to the 7th RTR. His father had belonged to that regiment and had fought with it during World War II. To him, as to most British officers, the regiment was a home, a family, a tradition. The thought that his regiment was going to go to war without him was staggering.
Weir continued. "Though it will be some time before we, and the 7th RTR, actually make it to Iran, I want you 79 to start working with the rest of my staff and provide them with everything we need to know so that we can integrate the brigade into the corps. I am particularly concerned about logistical support of that unit. Your assistance there will be critical."
For a moment, there was an awkward silence. Although Jones had been looking at the General, it was obvious that he had not been listening to what Weir said. Jones blinked and then spoke, hesitantly at first.
"I am terribly sorry, General, I was just absorbing the news you have given me. It's all rather sudden. Expected, yes, but still it's quite a surprise. You do understand, don't you?"
Weir leaned back in his chair and nodded. "Yes, I am still having difficulty believing we are actually going."
Again hesitantly, Jones continued. "With all due respect, General, and fully understanding your needs, I must insist on being relieved from my current posting, to rejoin my regiment. This will be the first action the regiment will see since 1945."
"I appreciate your desire to rejoin your unit. I expected as much. And I know that your father belonged to the regiment and what that means to you.
You are, of course, free to request reassignment. But I must warn you, I will recommend against it. You, and your knowledge of how we, the U.S_
Army, operate, coupled with your intimate knowledge of the armored brigade being attached, are far too important to me to lose. You will be a valuable member of my staff."
Jones stood up, faced the General and stood at attention. "I do understand your needs, but I shall nevertheless request reassignment.
Is there anything else?"
Weir looked at Jones. The major was visibly disturbed by the news he had given him. "No, Major, I have nothing else. You will report to the corps G-3 tomorrow and begin work with the planning staff. Good night."
Jones saluted, turned and left. Weir stood, walked over to his window and resumed watching the traffic below. He thought, How easy it would be if we could all just grab our rifles and run out to war. So simple, so direct.
But instead, I and the major have the "paper wars" to fight. As Weir turned and went back to his desk, still cluttered with the plan, an old Japanese saying came to mind: "Duty is heavy, but death is lighter than a feather."
He decided that he finally understood what it meant.
Chapter 5
Minds are like parachutes. They only function when they are open.
— SIR JAMES DEWAR
Over the Persian Gulf En Route to Bandar Abbas, Iran 0358 Hours, 6 June (0028 Hours, 6 June, GMT)
The gentle sway of the C-130 transport and the steady drone of its engines had managed to lull many of the sixty-five men of A Company, 2nd Battalion of the 517th Airborne, to sleep. The excitement and fear that had gripped them at Ras Banas as they made final preparations and during the early part of the flight had given way to sleep. Word that they were finally going to leave had been greeted with great excitement by some of the men, who, after eight days in the Egyptian desert, were glad to be going somewhere else and gave little thought to the fact that they were going to another desert. The idea that they were going into combat was treated with a similar cavalier attitude. Most believed the rumors that the Iranians would not resist them once the Americans had landed. After all, the Americans were coming over there to fight the Russians. It would be stupid to try to fight both the U.S. and the USSR. Any American could understand that.
Captain Evans drifted back and forth between consciousness and sleep. Their eight days at Ras Banas had been demanding ones but profitable. The men had learned a great deal while they were there and had had an opportunity to get used to the desert. He shuddered to think what would have happened if they had been dropped straight into Iran. As it was, he was concerned that his men were still not prepared for the task ahead.
Too many had the idea that the Iranians would welcome them with open arms, as liberators. The President's message, read before their departure from
Egypt, had not helped. Phrases like "going forth in the name of freedom and justice" and "seeking out and punishing aggression wherever it rears its head" obscured the cold hard fact that they were being sent into a country populated by a hostile race in order to fight someone else. Evans leaned over and looked down the line of men as they slumped in the nylon seats, overburdened with equipment and overwhelmed by exhaustion. For a moment he wondered how many of them would be alive that night.
A buzz drew his attention to the transport's crew chief, who was seated next to him. The crew chief reached up and grabbed a phone handset.
Before he put the handset back, Evans knew what the message had been.
It was time.
The crew chief leaned over and told Evans they were ten minutes out.
Both he and Evans unsnapped their seat belts and stood up. The men also sensed what was going on and began to stir, waking those who were still in a deep sleep. At the top of his lungs, Evans called out, "Ten minutes."
As if on cue, the ramp behind Evans began to open, letting in the cold night air, known to the paratroopers as "the Hawk." The blast of air and the buildup of adrenaline one experiences before a jump washed away the cobwebs in the minds of the men who had just woken. They needed that. It was critical that everyone have a clear mind. They began to psych themselves up for the coming ordeal. For some, the awful reality of what was
about to happen hit home. They were going, they were really going. As they looked down the line of men toward the gaping hole at the rear of the aircraft, some wondered whether they could really do it.
On signal from the pilot, Evans, extending his arms in an exaggerated raising motion, yelled, "Outboard personnel, stand up."
The men along the side of the aircraft struggled to stand, fighting the weight and confinement of their equipment and the swaying of the transport.
Instinctively, they reached up and grabbed the thin wire cable that ran the length of the transport above the aisle between the seats. Once up, they turned and faced to the rear.
Evans repeated his motions and yelled, "Inboard personnel, stand up."
The men in the seats arranged down the center of the transport stood up, taking their places between the men already standing. There were now two lines, called "sticks," facing to the rear.
Next Evans raised his hands above his head, formed them into hooks and moved them up and down while he yelled, "Hook up." Each man grabbed the metal static line hook attached to the reserve parachute hanging on the front of his web gear and fastened it to the cable he was holding on to.
Once on the cable, he snapped the small gate shut and gave the static line a tug to ensure that it was hooked up.
When the men were settled, Evans brought one hand up, formed an O with his hand and moved the hand away from him as he ordered, "Check static line."
Each man, starting where the static-line hook hung from the cable, ran his free hand down along his gear, touching snaps and links to ensure that all were closed and secured. When he finished his own gear, he checked the parachute of the man to his front that could not be reached by the wearer.