by Harold Coyle
Finally, at the fifteen-mile point, the controller gave Omaha 01 the word to turn on their radars and intercept, but not engage unless fired upon. At the same instant, both F- 15s hit their radars. In a flash the radar screens lit up showing two bright-green blips at a range of fifteen miles and slightly below. The intercept plot they had received from the Sentry had been so good that the pilots needed only minor corrections before they were able to achieve radar lock on the boggies.
In the Soviet aircraft, radar-warning receivers flashed on, sending a rapid beeping tone through the pilots' headphones. For an instant, the two Soviet pilots were bewildered. Their heads darted about, looking from their radar screens to the outside, unable to detect anything on radar or visually.
When the warning changed pitch to a steady tone, indicating that their unseen assailants had achieved radar lock and were about to engage, they both reacted 104 by increasing speed, taking a sharp, turning dive and jiggling their planes in an effort to break radar lock.
Both Omaha 01 and 02 had anticipated the Soviets' reaction. With a "Tally ho!" from Martain, they followed the Soviets' maneuver. Though the Soviets were able to break radar lock momentarily, the F-15s were quickly able to get it back. After several seconds of this, the Soviets realized that if the Americans were going to attack they would have already done so. Having accomplished the mission of their patrol, to test the U.S. reaction and find out how far they could go before being intercepted, the Soviet flight leader ordered his wingman to follow him. Making a sharp turn to the northwest, the two Soviet fighters came about and kicked in their after burners. When the commander aboard the Sentry saw the Soviets break and fly northward, he ordered the controller to instruct the F-15s to break off the pursuit and vector them to a waiting KC-130 for in-flight refueling. From there, they were to return to their patrol pattern.
Martain balked. His heart was racing a mile a minute. His breathing was rapid but controlled. His whole being was riveted on the Soviet aircraft now racing to the north as his thumb stroked the safety cover over the missile arming switch. He didn't want this to end, at least not like this.
For the first time in his life he was doing what he was trained for. He had the drop on the Communist and he wanted to splash him, now. He called for permission to continue pursuit. The controller denied him permission and repeated his orders. Martain came back to argue, but was cut short by the commander, who repeated in a clear and uncompromising voice that Omaha
Flight was to break contact and follow previously issued instructions.
Martain watched the two Soviets, now mere dots in the bright-blue sky, for a moment before he turned. "Shiiit," uttered in a low and disgusted voice over the open radio net, preceded the turning of Omaha.
Flight as Martain complied with his orders.
The first serious confrontation between the Great Satan and the Lesser Satan had ended in a moral victory for the United States.
Soviet Embassy, Tehran, Iran 0715 Hours, 11 June (0345 Hours, 11 June, GMT)
Colonel Sulvina stood on the balcony of the Soviet Embassy looking out over the city they had secured almost without a struggle. With his tunic unbuttoned, one hand 'in his pants pocket and the other holding a half-empty glass of vodka, he listened to the sounds of rifle fire.
Mopping up. Here and there small pockets of Revolutionary Guards held out, hell-bent to die for Allah. Intelligence estimates, revised after the 28th Combined Arms Army had entered Tehran, showed that the entire defending force in and around that city had never exceeded four thousand. Why Tehran had been given up so freely baffled Sulvina. It didn't matter, he thought as he scanned the city skyline before him.
They would eventually find the bastards somewhere along the line and send them to Allah. If not today, then tomorrow. As far as he was concerned, tomorrow was fine. He was too tired just now, and so was the rest of the army. There was plenty of time tomorrow to make more martyrs.
He took a long drink, then turned his head toward the garden below.
Soldiers were still searching for bodies buried there. The staff of the Soviet Embassy had stayed on in Tehran right up to the beginning of the invasion on 25 May. To have evacuated them might have alerted the Iranians that something was about to happen. So for reasons of national security, the staff, including most of the families, had stayed on. The Iranians had spared no one when they entered the embassy on the twenty-fifth. Sulvina watched impassively as two soldiers carefully brushed away dirt from a body in a shallow grave.
The body belonged to a girl not more than ten years old. Her pink dress was spattered with dried blood and speckled with dirt.
Gently they lifted her from the grave and placed her in a cotton shroud.
Sulvina kept telling himself that she had died in the service of the State.
He knew that. But to what end her death served the State, he could not say.
Such thoughts were disturbing, bordering on treasonous. He turned to walk back into the office.
He stopped, however, in the doorway and stared at the desk before him.
Piled to one side were reports from the units on their status, locations and intelligence estimates. On the other side were orders from Front Headquarters and requests for information. He was not concerned about them.
They were routine and could be handled by one of his subordinates. It was the single red folder in the center of the desk that he stared at.
Sulvina lifted the glass of vodka to his lips and drained it before proceeding any further. Thus fortified, he walked up to the desk, seated himself, opened the folder and began to reread the reports it contained.
Any joy that he had experienced when the 28th Combined Arms Army reached Tehran ahead of the other two armies had been snuffed out when a young KGB major woke him and handed him the red folder two hours ago. As he studied the reports again, he found it hard to believe that the Iranians could do such a thing. If the CAA intelligence officer's estimate was right, this could have terrible consequences for them all.
He carefully read the report of a young captain who had been with the lead elements that entered Tehran; then he reread the intelligence officer's covering report. They supported each other. Sulvina got up, walked over to a map of Iran and began to study it, wondering where he would have taken half-assembled nuclear device if he were the Iranians.
More important, he wondered what they intended to do with it, when and if it became functional.
Tarorn, Iran 0845 Hours, 11 June (0515 Hours, 11 June, GMT) The Blackhawks came in low and fast. Ahead of them two A-10 ground-attack aircraft, affectionately called Warthogs, were working over several positions with their 30mm. guns. From where he sat in one of the Blackhawks, Second Lieutenant Cerro could see two AH-64 Apache attack helicopters coming up. The Apaches would take over covering the air assault when it actually touched down and the A-10s left. Because they were out of range of friendly artillery, the Warthogs and the Apaches were the sole fire support the men of A Company, 2nd of the 517th Airborne, would have as they went in.
Although resistance was expected to be very light, the division commander was going to ensure that everything would be done to keep up momentum while minimizing losses. He had the firepower available and would use it whenever possible.
The Iranians on the ground, on the other hand, did not have the firepower they needed to combat the Great Satan on equal terms. All they could do was lie low in their foxholes and bunkers and wait until the enemy had landed.
Once the enemy was on the ground, the Iranians could employ their advantages-superiority in numbers and a belief in their cause that bordered on fanaticism. While the balance sheet showed that they were losing everywhere, it also showed that neither the United States nor the Soviets were winning. The leaders of Iran knew that they could not win a war against both, or even one, of their opponents. What they could do, however, was keep both of their enemies from winning. In a no-win situation, Iran would come out ahead.
The commander of the local
militia, Major Hasan Rahimi, was a veteran of many desperate fights. He had been a battalion commander, in the war against Iraq before he lost his right eye. No longer fit for front-line duty, he had been assigned to command regional militia forces and a small training center near Tarom. His hopes of serving his country and Allah as a fighter had almost died. Now, with the Great Satan striking north, he again had the chance to lead men in battle.
Rahimi had been ordered to hold the crossroads at Tarom. To do so, he had fewer than three hundred men and only a couple of mortars. More men could have been fielded, but there were no weapons for them. Other militia units would eventually arrive, but until then he and his men would have to hold.
The Americans, using helicopters to strike deep and almost without warning, made it difficult for Rahimi to decide where to concentrate his forces. After studying the area, he established dug-in positions at the most likely landing zones, with alternate positions covering the road leading up from Bandar Abbas, in case there was a ground attack.
His plan of battle was simple. Holding half of his force as a mobile reserve, he dispersed the rest to the dug-in positions. The men occupying those positions would hit the transport helicopters as they were about to land. That would be when the Americans were most vulnerable, with the landing transport helicopters blocking the supporting fire of the attack helicopters. Rahimi, leading the mobile reserve, would lead a counterattack as quickly as possible against those Americans who were able to land. He could not allow the Americans to become established. Once they were, they would be able to bring all their awesome firepower to bear, firepower Rahimi could never hope to match.
Even though Lieutenant Cerro preferred air assault operations to jumping, they, like all military operations, were not without their hazards. As with the combat jump, the soldiers are useless as long as they are in the helicopters. Helicopters are able to fly low and maneuver about, using terrain to hide and cover their move. Transport planes, on the other hand, fly high and in relatively straight lines, making their routes predictable.
Flying low, however, exposes the helicopters to small-arms fire that transports need not worry about. Anyone on the ground with a rifle can, and usually does, take potshots at low-flying helicopters.
Air assault operations share the same hazards as airdrops during the initial buildup stage. The small force in the airhead is exposed to counterattack and does not have all its support on the ground such as artillery and heavy mortars. These items, which are normally part of the follow-on forces, all must come in by air, just as the initial assault force did. Only, the follow-on forces do not have the element of surprise to protect them. The enemy on the ground knows exactly where the airhead is and, as a result, knows where the follow-on forces will come. This allows the enemy the ability to mass antiaircraft weapons around the landing zones or along the routes leading into the landing zone. Often, it is better to be with the initial force going in than with the follow-on force. Besides the antiaircraft weapons, artillery and mortars massed to fire on the small, well-defined airhead are a great danger to the follow-on forces while the helicopters are on the ground disgorging their cargoes.
The assault force that Cerro was with waited until the last minute before making its final approach, in order to keep the Iranians guessing as to where the landing zone would be. When the Blackhawks were less than a kilometer away from the landing zone, they made a sharp turn to the left and began their descent. The A-10s were gone by this time, but the Apaches were coming in on either side of the assault force, ready to hit any target that appeared. Cerro, looking out the open cargo door, could clearly see dug-in Iranian positions as the Blackhawks made their approach. There was, however, little ground fire. The A- 10s must have done their job well, Cerro thought-they had either killed the defenders or caused them to reconsider the value of martyrdom.
Suddenly all that changed. At one side of the landing zone Iranians popped up out of hidden positions. The door gunner seated in front of Cerro began to fire wildly. An Apache flew by, firing rockets at positions out of Cerro's field of vision. Tracers from the defenders could be seen racing up toward the attackers while tracers from the door gunner's machine gun and the Apaches rained down upon the defenders. The crash of rockets threw up fountains of black smoke and dirt. In just a few seconds, Cerro and his men would be dropped into the middle of that caldron.
First Lieutenant Griffit watched intently the scene unfolding below him.
Having assumed command of the company after the death of Captain Evans, Griffit was "the Man." Until the battalion commander arrived, he would be in charge of the operation on the ground. Success or failure of the entire operation depended on his actions during the initial phase, and he was nervous. Griffit had had it easy as the XO. It was the company commander who had to make all the hard decisions. It was the commander who was responsible for everything the unit did or failed to do. Evans, dynamic and a workaholic, had run the company almost single-handedly, leaving Griffit to deal with little details. Now, even with reassurance from the battalion commander, and with several small combat operations under his belt, Griffit was unsure and hesitant. He knew that he would eventually grow used to the awesome responsibility of command and the need to make rapid life-and-death decisions, given time. But there was no time.
He had a few seconds left to memorize the view below him-the lay of the land, enemy dispositions and key terrain features-which he would not have again once he was on the ground. His initial decisions during the first few minutes on the ground would be based on these quick observations. Griffit, engrossed in watching the battle before him and screwing up the courage he would need to carry him through his next ordeal under fire, did not notice the tracers reaching up at them from the other side of the helicopter. The pilot, however, did, and he knew what they meant. Instinctively he tilted the Blackhawk over to avoid the hail of bullets, watching the tracers rather than where the aircraft was going.
Griffit felt the Blackhawk tilting, but paid no heed until it began to buck violently. Falling debris caused him to look up and straight out the open door. To his horror he saw the blades of his Blackhawk hacking away at the blades of the Blackhawk across from them. In the effort to escape the machine-gun fire from the ground, the pilot of Griffit's helicopter had flown into another.
The pilot and the co-pilot struggled to control their aircraft while the Blackhawk they had hit fell helplessly away. Then, unable to regain full mastery of the helicopter, the two men fought to reduce their rate of descent and at least control their crash. There was, however, too much damage. The blades, no longer balanced, wobbled wildly. In one sweep, a section of torn blade angled down and cut into the crew compartment, decapitating the pilot and showering the co-pilot with deadly splinters of Plexiglas and aluminum. All semblance of control was lost as the Blackhawk rolled over on its side, then nose-dived into the ground.
Cerro watched the two Blackhawks go down. He knew that the XO was in one of them. The first smacked into the ground on its belly. One of the paratroopers on board, wanting to escape, rushed out before the blades stopped spinning, not realizing that they were lower to the ground than normal. A blade seemed to pass through his body, tossing it about like a rag doll. The second Blackhawk, the XO's, went in at a steep angle, nose first. The entire aircraft, the crew and the cargo of paratroopers disappeared in a fireball that rose above Cerro's own helicopter.
He sat there transfixed. In an instant his Blackhawk swept by the scene of the crash and prepared to land. The image of the crash had come and gone, but Cerro did not move, paralyzed. The first clear, conscious thought that came to his head was that he, the senior surviving officer, was now in command of the company.
The thump of the wheels on the ground jerked Cerro back to reality. He unsnapped his seat belt instinctively and jumped down from the Blackhawk into a swirl of dust. Cerro ran forward alongside his men for several meters, then flopped down onto his stomach. Once all the paratroopers were clear, the Blackhawks lif
ted off, made a hard bank and flew back to Bandar Abbas to pick up their next load.
The paratroopers stayed put for a moment, waiting for the dust to settle so that they could get their bearings. The Iranians didn't wait. With the helicopters gone, they leveled the barrels of their machine guns and began to sweep the landing zone. The paratroop squad leaders and platoon leaders sized up the situation in their immediate areas and began to issue orders.
Those who were not pinned by the machine-gun fire maneuvered their units against the nearest Iranian positions. The techniques the paratroopers used were the same they had used against the Iranians while mopping up Bandar Abbas: find them, pin them, get around them, kill them. The Apaches assisted in this effort. They circled overhead, trying to sort 112 out good guy from bad guy. When they had a positive ID on an Iranian position, they went after it with 2.75-inch rockets or 30mm. cannons. Between the Apaches and the ground attack, the Iranian positions in the immediate vicinity of the landing zone were overwhelmed and silenced within ten minutes.
After the firing stopped, Cerro turned command of his platoon over to Sergeant Arnold and made the rounds to determine what the situation was with the rest of the company. He was pleased to find that, despite the loss of two Blackhawks, casualties had been light. The Blackhawk that had crashed on its belly had lost only one man, the paratrooper who had run out into the blades. The crew of that aircraft, dragging their door guns with them, had joined the company. The XO's Blackhawk, on the other hand, had taken everyone with it. The entire company headquarters element, except for the first sergeant, was dead. There were only a few other casualties, however-not enough to keep the company from carrying on with its mission.
Satisfied that all was in hand, Cerro gave one of the company's three remaining radios to the other platoon leader, Second Lieutenant Robert Kinsley, and ordered him to hold the landing zone with his platoon until the follow-on forces arrived. Cerro, with 2nd and 3rd Platoons, would begin to move into Tarom. The faster they got moving, the better chance they had of seizing — their objective while the enemy was off balance. Besides, taking the battle to the enemy kept them away from the airhead and increased the odds for the follow-on force. With a three-man point team two hundred meters in front, A Company started for Tarom.