Sword Point (35 page)

Saadatabad, had collapsed. Seizing the opportunity to escape the chaos and ignorance of the main command post, the deputy decided to go forward and “get control of the situation.” Weir watched and listened as the deputy ordered the corps chief of staff to reorganize the staff as he saw fit, reestablish communications and begin to focus combat power at the point of penetration, wherever that was. The deputy then left by helicopter for

Saadatabad.

Weir stayed for another half hour without seeing any change. Unable to bear sitting there doing nothing while he watched the 13th Corps, and one of his brigades, go down the tubes, he stormed out and headed for his own advance command post. En route, he scribbled notes, his mind racing through options open to his corps. As he did so, he wondered whether any of the naval officers in the area had ever studied the British evacuation at Dunkirk. As distasteful as that thought was, he could not discount the possibility that the U.S. forces could be forced to withdraw. The warning his friend had given him the night before he left Washington, that the United States could not afford to lose all the ground forces in Iran, kept popping up in his mind. He included

“Evacuation of forces” on his list of options right after

“Request for release and use of tactical nuclear weapons.”

At his headquarters Weir was greeted by his own chief of staff with word from the chief of staff of the 13th Corps that the helicopter carrying the 13th Corps’s deputy commander had been shot down. Initial reports were that there were no survivors. Given the current situation and the rapid loss of both senior officers, the 13th Corps’s chief of staff had requested that General Weir assume command.

For a moment, Weir considered telling him no, or at least consulting with the
CINC
. That, however, would take time, a commodity quickly running out.

Weir asked his chief how long it would be before the 10th Corps headquarters could assume control of the battle. The chief, having anticipated the question, told him that while not all the staff principals were in place, the operations staff, the fire-support element, the plans section and the airspace-management element were preparing to do so and could be ready for a battle takeover from 13th Corps in three or four hours, but that the 13th would need to continue to control all personnel and logistic operations for at least another twenty-four hours. The 10th

Corps G-1 and G-4 as well as the corps support command were still heavily involved in assembling the 10th Corps. Satisfied that his chief had the situation well in hand, Weir told him to inform the 13th Corps chief of staff that he was en route back and wanted to see all 13th Corps staff principals and special staff officers upon his arrival. He handed his chief his scribbled notes, told him to have his staff start working on those options, and left.

The greeting he got at 13th Corps headquarters was cold and strained.

He was no longer a visitor or an observer. He was their commander, come to replace two who had failed or died. The officers and the men watched him the way the condemned watches the executioner. The staff was assembled in a small dirty conference room, seated around a long table cluttered with scraps of paper. When Weir walked in, they slowly stood to attention. Their faces betrayed a mixture of fear, exhaustion and stress. They’re beat, Weir thought to himself as he stood there and looked at them. They’ve lost the battle and have given up. For an awkward moment, they looked at each other, not knowing quite how to proceed.

In his desperate search for some way to get the 13th Corps staff going again, the Battle of Marengo suddenly came to his mind. During that battle, a French general, Louis Desaix, who commanded a detachment of the main French army, was recalled by Napoleon to save a losing battle. When the two met, a discouraged Napoleon asked what he thought of the situation. Desaix, according to the story, casually pulled out his watch and replied,

“This battle is completely lost, but it is only two o’clock. There is time to win another.”

The slight smile that flitted across Weir’s face confused the staff officers. Without further ado, Weir announced, “Gentlemen, we have much to do. There is a battle that needs winning, and you’re going to do it.”

Robat-a Abgram, Iran 0215 Hours, 9 July (2245 Hours, 8 July,
GMT
) The Iranian major dressed himself slowly. The dim light from an oil lamp gave a soft yellow cast to everything in the small room that was nothing more than a hovel. A mattress on the floor and a chair comprised all the room’s furniture. The major’s worn flight suit was carefully draped across the back of the chair. How fortunate he was, the major thought, to be selected for this mission. Since the Soviets came he had resigned himself to dying. Doing so was easy. What concerned him was dying in a manner befitting his heritage as a Persian and in the service of Islam.

His selection to fly an F-4, hidden for months, and strike at both Satans was truly a gift from Allah. The Air Force colonel in charge of the operation had personally selected him and asked him to fly the mission. The major had accepted willingly despite the colonel’s warning that it would be a one-way trip. He had replied, with a smile, that it would be a trip to glory and martyrdom.

The mission was simple. The major would fly the F-4 along a roundabout route to a point just north of Saadatabad. The Americans and the Russians were locked in combat there, busily hacking away at one another, according to the colonel. The F-4 would carry just one bomb, an atomic one. Once he reached the designated point, the major would hit a switch that would begin the 252 chain reaction. It was not possible to drop the bomb.

The device was too crude and the trigger mechanism needed for such a drop was beyond their capability. Even if the aircraft crashed, the device would not go off. Only a precise sequence of firing would cause it to detonate. The F-4 would, in effect, be a manned guided missile.

Since little on the aircraft worked, that was about all it was good for.

He did not ponder what would become of his family or the nation. When compared to what he was about to do in the name of the Islamic Revolution, those matters were unimportant. What was important was the punishing of the nonbelievers and those who had defiled his country. He knew that what he was about to do was right. He placed his trust in his skills as a pilot to get him there. Everything else after that was in the hands of Allah.

Aliabad, Iran 0230 Hours, 9 July (2300 Hours 8 July,
GMT
) The day that had begun so well and had held so much promise for the 28th

Combined Arms Army had turned bad before noon. The breakthrough and encirclement that should have taken place before in a matter of hours never happened. Instead of blowing through the American infantry deployed south of

Harvand, the attacking regiment became involved in a slugfest. By the time the last of the die-hard enemy infantry had been dug out or had withdrawn, it was late afternoon and the 381st Motorized Rifle Regiment was combat ineffective.

Even that had not spelled the end of problems for the 28th
CAA
. When the 127th Motorized Rifle Division finally committed its tank regiment to pass through the infantry melee and seize Tarom, it was greeted by an American battalion equipped with AH-64 attack helicopters.

Constricted by the terrain and the narrow opening held by the 381st
MRR
, the tank regiment was an easy target. Volleys of Hellfire missiles rained on the tight tank formations and wreaked havoc without the tanks being able to strike back.

Only through extraordinary effort and great sacrifices by the Red Air Force was the attack-helicopter threat finally checked. That success came too late for the 127th MRD’s tank regiment.

It wasn’t until midafternoon that there appeared to be a slackening of the

Americans’ resistance. Air activity ceased. Troops broke contact and withdrew. For a while, Colonel Sulvina suspected that the Americans were preparing to employ tactical nuclear weapons. To prevent that, subordinate commanders were ordered to reestablish contact and stay close to the enemy. (You don’t set off atomic weapons on your enemy when he is so close to your own forces that you will also be affected by your own weapons.) The army’s intelligence officer reported, however, that there were few indicators other than the reduction of activity that pointed to imminent use of nuclear weapons. Instead, the withdrawals were felt to be part of a general retreat south to positions below Saadatabad. Still unconvinced, Sulvina ordered the army’s nuclear-capable weapons to stand by for immediate use, just in case.

In the meantime, Sulvina decided to commit the 33rd Tank Division. If the intelligence officer was right about the Americans retreating, that was the time to hit and hit hard. Shortly after dark, the 33rd Tank Division rolled forward and began its advance on Saadatabad. As he waited for word from the lead elements, Sulvina considered all the options open to him and the

Americans. If the. Americans succeeded in making it to Saadatabad intact and establishing themselves in strong defensive positions south of that town, the 28th
CAA
would not have the combat power or the ammunition to dig them out or conduct a deliberate breakthrough attack.

With no fuel reserves, major flanking maneuvers were out of the question. All depended on the 33rd Tank Division catching the retreating Americans while they were still in the open and smashing them. To keep the pressure on, the 67th

Motorized Rifle Division was ordered to move south along the main road from

Hajjiabad to Tarom. The 33rd Tank, advancing farther to the west, was to race past the retreating Americans and hit them in the flank or, if possible, get around into their rear. All depended on speed.

For the fourth time in ten minutes, Sulvina looked at his watch, then at the situation board. It had not been updated in four hours. He got up and walked over to the operations duty officer. “What word do we have from the 33rd Tank Division?”

The major looked at his reports and began to read off the last status report received from that unit. Sulvina cut him short. “What time, Comrade

Major, was that report received?”

The major looked at the time entry and replied, “Twenty-two forty-five hours, Comrade Colonel.”

“Don’t you think we should find out where they are now and what they have been up to for the last four hours?” Sulvina returned.

“Of course, Comrade Colonel. We have been trying. However, most of the networks are being jammed. The Americans are concentrating most of their electronic jamming from both ground and airborne platforms, against the 33rd Tank Division. The rest are being turned on the 67th
MRD
. We are having great difficulty-‘

Sulvina’s face went red as he pounded his fist on the table. He was so angry, spit flew as he yelled, “Damn you, Major! If I wanted an excuse, I would have asked for it. I want to know where in hell they are and what they are doing. Find out, now!”

The major, taken aback by the sudden outburst, looked at the colonel, then simply replied, “Yes, Comrade Colonel, at once.”

Sulvina walked away and out into the cool night air. He was tired. As he stood in the darkness, smoking a cigarette, he looked at the stars and wondered what they saw to the south. How frustrating it was for him to be there, unable to influence the fight. He wished he were forward, with the lead column. At least there he could do something.

Five Kilometers Northwest of Tarom, Iran 0305 Hours, 9 July (2335

Hours, 8

July,
GMT
)

In the darkness Major Vorishnov walked along the line of silent tanks.

Hours of waiting and dodging air attacks had been replaced by a mad dash south through the dark along goat trails and wadis. When they had finally been given the word to advance, it was greeted with a collective sigh of relief.

At last they were going to have an opportunity to end the fight, once and for all. The speed of the move south strengthened that hope.

Shortly after 0200 hours, however, that hope died. One at a time, tanks began to drop out of the column. Vorishnov, bringing up the rear, stopped at each. At first, he thought the crews were falling asleep. As he approached the first tank, however, he found the crew awake but dismounted.

He immediately assumed that the tank had had a mechanical failure. The tank commander greeted him with news that was far more serious. They had run out of fuel. Vorishnov criticized the commander for not refueling and left without waiting for an excuse.

Before Vorishnov’s own tank had traveled a kilometer farther he came across a second stopped tank. Its crew was also dismounted,. and for the same reason: they were out of fuel. This time Vorishnov did not say anything. He returned to his tank and asked his driver how much fuel they had. The response sent a chill down his back. His own tank’s fuel gage was reading empty. He immediately radioed the battalion commander and informed him of the problem. The battalion commander ordered the battalion to pull off the road and halt for ten minutes. That done, he radioed Vorishnov and ordered him to dismount and personally check each tank’s fuel status and then report to him.

By the time Vorishnov finished and approached the battalion commander’s tank at the front of the column, the regimental commander was there.

Vorishnov saluted the two colonels and reported, “As we suspected, the battalion is out of fuel. Half of the tanks’ fuel gages, including nunc, show they are empty. A commander on one of those tanks said he had no idea what his tank was running on anymore.

We also have three tanks that have completely run dry. The rest of the tanks are approaching empty.” He was about to add that the battalion could no longer advance, but decided not to. That conclusion was obvious, but the decision had to be made by a commander, not by a battalion staff of cer

The regimental commander spoke first. “We must continue. Continue until we can go no further. Fuel, I am sure, will make its way forward.”

The battalion commander did not hesitate to disagree. “Comrade Colonel, we cannot do that. If we run ourselves completely out of fuel, the battalion will be totally strung out and unable to maneuver.