by Harold Coyle
When that happened, the men would automatically begin to fire in whichever direction their rifles happened to be pointed. Cerro had the damnedest time getting them to stop and trying to figure out what was really happening.
Once the enemy had been located, part of the platoon would deploy and lay down a base of fire to pin the enemy and cover the movement of the platoon's maneuver element. It was the job of the maneuver element to find an exposed flank or surround the Iranians while the rest of the platoon covered the movement with fire. When the Iranians were trapped, everyone would cut loose until the last Iranian had surrendered or died. Most Iranians preferred the latter. Now that the airfield had been secured, the Sheridan armored assault vehicles arrived and simplified the process with their 152mm. main guns and their machine guns. The paratroopers used the Sheridan like a mobile pillbox to destroy Iranian positions. If a pocket of resistance was hit and there was a Sheridan nearby, someone would summon it. Often all that was needed to break resistance was a burst of machine-gun fire and a menacing maneuver by the ugly tracked vehicle. When true diehards were encountered, a high-explosive round from the main gun quickly decided the issue.
When word came that the battalion was to move up to seize a place called Kuh-e Genu, the men welcomed the opportunity to end the deadly cat-and-mouse game they had been playing with the small groups of Iranian fanatics. Their enthusiasm evaporated, however, when they found out that Kuh-e Genu was the name of the mountain that rose to nearly twenty-four hundred feet above them. Genu dominated the entire area. Until it was secured, it posed a threat to air and port operations in and around Bandar Abbas. The task of seizing the mountain was made even more difficult by the fact that helicopters were not yet available for an air assault operation against the mountaintop. The entire operation would have to be conducted on foot. On the afternoon of 7 June, the battalion moved forward to climb Kuh-e Genu and begin the process of expanding the airhead.
Takestan, Southwest of Qazvin, Iran 0745 Hours, 8 June (0415 Hours, 8 June, GMT)
The halting and frustrating progress that had characterized the first days of the invasion had given way to rapid and unrestricted advances wherever the 28th Combined Arms Army went. After the tank battle north of Mianeh, the greatest delay the army had experienced had been a monumental traffic jam in the town of Mianeh as the two divisions advancing from the west ran into the two advancing from the north.
After days of frustrations and delays, no one expected the Iranians to collapse as completely as they did. Plans for organizing the pursuit of shattered Iranian forces were therefore incomplete when the units of the 28th CAA were ordered to execute them.
The 68th Tank Regiment, though badly mauled during the tank battle on 6 June, was the vanguard for the army simply because it was the first unit through the town and didn't stop. The regiment, initially shaken and gun-shy after that battle, overcame their caution and rushed forward with few reservations. All were determined to be the first to reach Tehran and have the honor of parading down the broad avenue to the former Royal Palace of the Shah. Despite the heat, the lack of sleep, the irregular meals and the incessant dust, the men were, for the moment, happy to be moving forward at full speed.
Major Vorishnov, working with the regimental staff, had the task of ensuring that his battalion, the lead battalion, kept moving. Although he was the first officer of the battalion and usually concerned himself with only operational matters, the task of securing fuel, food and other necessary items to keep the drive going was beyond the capability of the battalion's supply officer. In addition, Vorishnov's rank helped, on occasion, to overcome bureaucratic inertia. When his rank failed to impress the rear-echelon supply people Vorishnov had no qualms about using his vast size and a not-too-subtle hint of violence to get what he wanted. After watching men fight and die to make the breakthrough possible, he was not about to let a pencil-pushing supply officer stop his battalion. They would reach Tehran ahead of everyone else, procedures be damned.
On his way to the rear in search of fuel trucks that had failed to make it to the battalion the night before, Vorishnov stopped at the division command post. It wasn't much of a command post: several armored cars and personnel carriers, configured as mobile command vehicles, clustered together with canvas spread between them to provide shade for the working officers. The first officer of the division was glad to see Vorishnov. He was having trouble keeping track of the lead unit's progress and could not get accurate reports on the condition of the roads and bridges, what few there were, and other details of what lay ahead. The lead regiment was moving so fast that communications often failed. Therefore anyone coming from the front of the column was pumped for information.
In the course of their conversation, the division first officer made comment about the difficulties the American airborne division was experiencing in securing its airhead around Bandar Abbas. At first, Vorishnov didn't realize what the division officer was saying.
Vorishnov had never heard of Bandar Abbas and assumed it was in another Arab country.
Only when the division officer mentioned in a disgusted tone that all Soviet naval and air forces were ordered not to engage American forces going into Iran did Vorishnov make the connection.
Vorishnov stopped what he was doing, grabbed the division officer by the arm and asked him to repeat what he had just said. The division officer, taken aback, looked at him for a moment before he realized that word had never gotten down to him about the American intervention in Iran. Word traveled slowly in both directions.
University of Tehran, in Tehran, Iran 0930 Hours, 8 June (0600 Hours, 8 June, GMT)
The three men seated around the large table were not only from vastly different backgrounds, but figuratively speaking, from different ages.
The physicist, noticeably uncomfortable and jumpy, was from the late twentieth century. A man of the future. The Air Force colonel, equally uncomfortable but determined to hide it from the third man in the room, belonged to an age when honor and glory meant something.
The man at the head of the table, dressed in the garb of a mullah, was a product of the Middle Ages, in thought and deed.
The mullah leafed through a report on the table before him, then let the pages drop and stared at the physicist. "So, you are not ready, despite your promises.
The physicist jumped. "I… I never told you we were ready or gave a date when the device would be ready. I simply said that we had everything we needed and could, given time, put together a couple of devices. This is not easy. If the triggers are not set right, if the material is not of sufficient uniformity-"
The mullah pounded his fist on the table, cutting the physicist off.
"You have deceived us. A great deal of money and effort has gone into your project. You always reported that things were proceeding well and would be ready soon. For six years, you have said the same thing, over and over. Now is the moment of truth. The Council will not tolerate any more delays. The Lesser Satan is almost at the gates of this city. If he is not stopped here, Qom will fall to him. You will produce or pay with your life."
The physicist was now shaking and stammering. He tried to reply, but could not. The colonel, ever conscious of his delicate position, gambled and intervened on the physicist's behalf. "The doctor is right: While we do have all the parts, putting together a functional device is not easy. None of us has ever done so. If we make an error, just the slightest error, we lose everything. Besides, the time is not right."
The mullah, surprised at the show of support from the colonel, stared at him before asking him to explain why the time was not right.
The colonel explained. "We now have to face both Satans. The Soviets continue to advance and, no doubt, will go as far south as possible. They want the oil and the ports on the Persian Gulf. The Great Satan wants to stop them." The colonel stopped for a moment. He had the mullah's complete attention. "Eventually, they will meet in battle. When they do, there will be much confusion. Then, and only then, will b
e the right time to set off the device. In the heat of the moment and the confusion of battle, no one will be able to tell who, for sure, fired the device. Both, knowing that we do not have such a thing, will believe the other did it. As is their policy, they will retaliate in kind. In this way, with only a single device, we can serve Allah, His name be praised, and destroy not only the forces of the two Satans in our country but, Allah willing, their homelands too."
The colonel sat back in his chair and watched as the mullah thought over the argument just put forth. The colonel had used all the right words and had given the mullah something more than he could have hoped for-a means to strike at both of the godless infidels. In return, the colonel had, he hoped, bought a little more time for sanity to win out.
It was a desperate game the colonel was playing. But the stakes were high. Horribly high.
The mullah looked at him. "Your plan has merit. I will present it to the Council. In the meantime, remove everything you need for the device from Tehran to a safe place where you can continue your work. Destroy all evidence of your work and keep us informed of your progress and when you will be ready."
Without waiting for a response, the mullah stood up and left the room.
Both the physicist and the colonel sat there in silence for a moment, staring at each other, wondering what their next move would be and where the unfolding insanity would eventually end.
Chapter 6
Ever forward, but slowly.
— GEBHARD LEBERECHT VON BLUCHER
Bandar Abbas 0535 Hours, 11 June (0205 Hours, 11 June, GMT)
The crews of the two F-15E Strike Eagles were impatient to go. While the ground crew made last-minute checks around the aircraft, they sat in their cockpits and watched the comings and goings of military transports and of civilian airliners pressed into military service. The sun was hardly up and already the place was a zoo. At one end of the runway, Army equipment taken off C-141 and huge C-5A transports was being marshaled. Next to that area was a supply dump where forklifts shuttled back and forth, moving crates from the runway to a temporary open-air storage site. Along the edge of the runway discarded packing materials and tie-downs were strewn about. For the past five days a steady stream of transports and airliners had been bringing in the rest of the 17th Airborne Division and its support equipment. Despite almost frenzied efforts on the part of the Military Airlift Command, called MAC for short, it would be another five days before the entire division was on the ground and the 12th Infantry Division could begin deployment.
Across from the F-15s a flight of Army UH-60 Blackhawk utility helicopters was winding up, preparing for the day's mission. The F-15s were to provide cover for the flight of Blackhawks, whose mission was to pick up a battalion of the 517th Airborne, one company at a time, and move it to a crossroad town by the name of Tarom, seventy kilometers north of Bandar Abbas. The Army was expanding the airhead by leapfrogging units to the north, east and west along the major avenues of approach leading to the Strait of Hormuz. The Marines, operating out of the port of Chah Bahar, were doing likewise. Both forces ran the danger of overextending and isolating themselves rather than isolating the people they were bypassing.
Risks, however, had to be taken. So long as the Soviets were still over five hundred miles to the north and Iranian resistance was disjointed, the risks appeared to be acceptable.
Finally cleared for takeoff, Major Ed Martain, nicknamed "Thunderballs," rolled his F-15 out onto the runway and taxied down to one end. The second aircraft followed Martain's. For a moment, all traffic was held up for them. As they went past the huge transports that were scattered about, Martain's weapons-system operator, or wizzo, commented that it reminded him of driving on the New Jersey Turnpike. Upon reaching the end of the runway, the two F- 15s turned, got themselves set and began to increase power. When they were ready, the pilots released the brakes, allowing the two aircraft to thunder down the runway. Both Martain and the other pilot, by unspoken agreement, kicked in their after burners and lifted off faster than necessary. They wanted to clearly demonstrate to all the trash haulers (their term for transport pilots) who the kings of the roost were.
Once the planes were off the ground, the wizzos changed over to the radio frequency of the E-3 Sentry Airborne Warning and Control System, or AWACS.
Martain contacted the AWACS controller, using his call sign for the day, Omaha 01. The controller gave him an update on the situation in the area of operations. With everything in order, the F-15s climbed to an altitude of 40,000 feet. Martain's wingman, Omaha 02, took up aposition two miles to Martain's left, a little behind and at 42,000 feet. When they were set, the two aircraft proceeded north of Tarom, where they took up station, flying in an oval patrol pattern. In this way they placed themselves between the most likely threat, the Soviets, and the air assault operation that was going into Tarom, while the E-3 Sentry, operating over the Persian Gulf, scanned the entire. area of operations with its powerful radar, watching for threats from any direction.
Radar, first used in World War II, is a double-edged sword. Radar emits an electronic beam capable of searching and tracking, like a flashlight's beam. And, like a flashlight's beam, it can, itself, be detected by an enemy and used to locate its source. Unfortunately for the transmitter of the beam, it can be detected at a greater distance than it can detect targets. Furthermore, each type of radar has its own peculiar signature, so that a radar beam transmitted by an E-3 Sentry and intercepted by an enemy can be identified as originating from a Sentry. For this reason the F-15s were running with their radars off. Although Soviet radar would be able to see the F- 15s, the type of aircraft would not be known until the F- 15s turned on their own radars or were within visual range of Soviet fighters.
Before that happened, the Sentry would see the Soviets coming and alert the F-15s. An airborne controller on the Sentry would track the Soviets, estimate their destination and intentions, and relay the information to the F15s. This information would include a plotted course that would allow the F-15s to intercept the Soviets from a position of advantage. Soviet controllers, working from the other side, would be doing the same for their pilots.
Omaha 01 and 02 had been on station for better than forty minutes when the controller on the Sentry alerted them that two "boggles"-enemy planes-were flying southeast on a course that would take them over Bandar Abbas. As the control relayed information on the targets, the commander on the Sentry decided to commit Omaha 01 and 02 to intercept the boggies. Though Martain's two planes were primarily ground-attack aircraft, there was little use for them in that role and a pressing need for fighters. This suited Martain just fine. He had never liked the idea of becoming a mud mover and relished the idea of playing Steve Canyon, even if it was only for a day. While the pair of aircraft were still over two hundred miles away, the controller began to vector, or direct, Omaha 01 and 02 along an intercept course.
While one controller worked the intercept, others aboard the Sentry were looking for telltale signs of additional Soviet activity. The electronic-warfare operator checked for any signs of interference, jamming or electronic deception, called "spoofing." Other controllers watched their assigned sectors in an effort to find more boggies. The commander of the Sentry contacted headquarters at Bandar Abbas and informed them of the situation. He then instructed the controller working Omaha's intercept to remind Omaha 01 of the rules of engagement: he was not to fire unless fired upon. As yet, there had been no shooting incidents between U.S. and Soviet forces. This was shaping up to be the first confrontation between the two superpowers in Iran.
While the two sets of blips-one representing Omaha Flight and the other the boggies-converged on each other on the controller's radar screen, the commander of the Sentry watched the Soviets intently. He tried to detect any deviation that might indicate that they were being controlled by a Soviet AWACS or ground-control station and were aware of the F-15s' presence. At the one-hundred-mile point, there were no indications of that as the two sets of
blips continued to close. The Soviets were coming in fast and dumb. The controller continued to relay information to Omaha 01 and study the two converging plots.
At the fifty-mile mark the F- 15s had maneuvered into a position to the left of the Soviets' flight path. This put them out of the area covered by the forward-looking radar of the Soviets, meaning that the boggies could not detect the F-15s on their own. The Soviets continued to fly along their original course without deviating, despite the threat the F-15s now posed, indicating that they were 103 operating without ground or air control. The commander of the Sentry leaned back in his seat, stroked his chin and paused to think about that for a moment. That was dumb, really dumb. The Soviets had AWACS in Iran.
They also had forward-deployed ground-control stations. He could not imagine why these two Soviet aircraft were flying blind and without control. The commander knew that the only way to find out what they were about was to challenge them. On board the Sentry, it was decided, therefore, to have the F-15s continue without turning on their radars until they were within missile range.
Two hundred miles away, Martain was becoming anxious. He wanted to gain control of the situation. Although he trusted the controller and agreed that the decision to continue with their radar off until the last minute was probably a good one, he didn't like getting this close to a shooting situation without being in positive control. His wizzo was equally anxious in the backseat, surrounded by millions of dollars of equipment, with nothing to do as they traveled at hundreds of miles an hour toward a potentially hostile contact. Secretly, the wizzo prayed that when the word was given and he hit the switch, all his gizmos would work. Otherwise, they would be very embarrassed.