Sword Point (48 page)

Through a great deal of effort and deception, the brigade had been

“smuggled” into Iran. Though the world knew that the British were committed to send troops, a sham movement of forces and troops kept the media occupied while the 33rd Armored Brigade was brought into Iran on U.S. ships, then moved in small groups at night and assembled in the forward areas. Weir was betting that the psychological impact of the sudden and unexpected appearance in Iran of ground forces from a
NATO

ally would give the Soviets great concern and cause them to question their intelligence analysis. The

French Airborne Division, operating with the 6th Marine Division, had, by accident, had that effect. Weir intended to hold the 33rd Armored Brigade back, using it at the right moment to kick off his counter blow the first step to the counteroffensive that would, with luck, smash the Soviet forces then facing them in the central area.

Weir’s aide came in and told him the staff was ready. As Weir was leaving his office, he looked at the map on the wall. “Well, Ted,” he said to the aide, “what it all boils down to is that we’ve got to keep the enemy from breaking through and wear him out without him doing the same to the 10th

Corps. Pretty neat trick if we can do it. I sure hope the 25th Armored can pull it off.”

Moscow,
USSR
1620 Hours, 26 July (1320 Hours, 26 July, GM’) The shock of returning from the front to Moscow was overpowering.

Colonel

Sulvina had expected things to be different. He wasn’t quite sure what should have changed, but surely something had to be different. After all, the Soviet Union was locked in battle with the United States. Yet as the

Army sedan moved through the streets of the city, he saw no change.

People still came and went to work. Women queued up to buy everyday necessities.

Grandmothers walked babies and watched as children played in the parks.

Even the radio news, what little Sulvina heard, treated the war as just another news story.

Less than twenty-four hours before, Sulvina had been ordered to appear at the Moscow headquarters of
STAVKA
, the General Staff of the Red Army, concerning his written report on the operations of the 28th Combined Arms

Army. That report, forwarded to Front Headquarters and
STAVKA
before the army’s new commander had arrived, had been disturbing to both. It was to have been sent back to Sulvina to be rewritten. Instead, someone had forwarded a copy to a member of the Politburo. Rumors were that it was a

STAVKA
officer working for the
KGB
who had done that in an effort to discredit the Red Army and its conduct of operations in Iran. Now Sulvina, after a grueling session at
STAVKA
, was on his way to answer to the

Politburo.

Colonel Sulvina was not politically naive. He understood the State and the system. He was, after all, part of 345 it. He was, however, a soldier, first and foremost.

Schooled in all aspects of military science, with years of command and general-staff experience, Sulvina believed that it was his duty to keep his commander and higher headquarters informed of the situation as it really existed, not as they wished it to be. He had been taught from his first year as a cadet that commanders can make the proper decisions only if they have good, accurate information. It was in that vein that he had written his report. Not to blame or condemn, or to record excuses. Sulvina wanted to record what had happened so that corrections could be made before the next offensive.

His debriefing at
STAVKA
that morning had been a rude shock. Only slowly had he realized that some saw his report as a threat to them and their position, while others saw it as “the whimperings of a man unfit for a position of great responsibility.” When he was told personally by a Marshal of the Soviet Union to answer only yes or no to all questions of the

Politburo, Sulvina knew he was on trial for telling the “wrong”

truth.

For two hours Sulvina sat in a chair in the center of a room. Before him sat the eleven Politburo members who ran the Soviet Union. They alone determined national policy. They alone decided how the Soviet Union would achieve its national goals, goals which they established.

Each member had before him a copy of the report. Each member, with the exception of the

Foreign Minister, asked Sulvina questions, most of which skirted the real issues at hand. Diligently, Sulvina answered their questions with either yes or a no. The questioning was punctuated by discussions, sometimes heated, between the members as some of the senior members became annoyed at the cat-and-mouse game.

Finally, the Foreign Minister dropped the report, folded his hands before him and said, “We have all read the report, Comrade Colonel. We have all asked you many questions. I want you now, Comrade Colonel, to tell me in your own words what happened.”

The General Secretary, visibly upset, leaned forward and glared at the

Foreign Minister, but could not get his attention. Failing that, the General Secretary turned to face Sulvina.

Sweat ran down Sulvina’s face. His eyes turned to the Minister of Defense.

The Minister of Defense returned the stare. Looking back to the Foreign Minister, Sulvina replied, “Comrade, the report before you is my own words. It is what I believe to be the truth.” Sulvina did not look again at the Minister of Defense.

The Foreign Minister said after a moment, “Yes, of course. Now, Comrade

Colonel, what must we, the Politburo, do to prevent another disaster such as this from happening?”

Sulvirta was taken aback by the term “disaster.” Without realizing it, he went into the attack. “Comrade, there was no disaster. The actions of the commander of the 28th Combined Arms Army prevented a disaster.

We merely withdrew so that we could regroup, resupply and reestablish conditions that favored the resumption of the offensive and the seizure of the Strait of

Hormuz. A setback, yes. A disaster, no.”

For a long time, there was silence in the room. Then the Foreign Minister asked the question again, in a harsher tone this time. “What must we do to prevent another disaster, Comrade Colonel?”

Sulvina considered the question before continuing. For a moment he wavered in his convictions. Then he decided that if there was nothing he could do to save himself, perhaps he could do something to help those who would soon have to face the same situation he had faced.

“First, Comrade, we must employ chemical weapons. The Americans have little in the way of retaliatory capability. Even if they assume a fully protective posture, which they will, the heat casualties from wearing the protective clothing will be just as devastating to their efficiency as would losses to the chemical agents employed. Our troops, better trained, equipped and used to working in a chemical environment, will have a great advantage. Next, we must mass all combat power in Iran. If insufficient forces are available in the country, they must come from the reserves if necessary. Finally, we must strike at the source of American supplies. The war zone at sea must include the entire Indian Ocean, the Mediterranean, the Red Sea and the

Atlantic. It does us no good to wait until they reach Iran to kill them.”

Again there was a long silence. This time the Foreign minister smiled when he broke it. “You must understand, Comrade Colonel, there are certain political realities that come into play at the strategic level.

We cannot use chemical weapons. We know the Americans’ limitations in that area, but if we did use such weapons the entire world would condemn us. Even those who support us now in the United Nations would be reluctant to continue that support. Nor can we afford to spread the conflict without endangering our interests in other areas. To do so could push America’s reluctant allies into the conflict. And you know as well as I that the economy cannot sustain a large-scale mobilization. So, given those realities, what can we do?”

The General Secretary, agitated by the discussion, nonetheless allowed the

Foreign Minister to continue his game. The colonel, after all, was expendable. Perhaps, if the Foreign Minister played out his fool’s hand, he would discredit himself and give the General Secretary sufficient cause to replace him.

Sulvina knew he was a lost man. Nothing he said mattered anymore.

There was no going back. He had, by doing what he believed correct, dug his own grave. He straightened up in his chair, looked each member in the eye and spoke. “Then we must stop the war. If, Comrades, we are going to fight this war, we must fight it with every means available. If we want to win, the nation must be mobilized behind the effort. Otherwise, Comrades, we are asking our men to die for nothing.

I cannot go back and order our soldiers to go forward and die in the name of the State if the State is unwilling to provide the means for victory.”

Colonel Sulvina jumped into his grave with both feet and a clear conscience.

Aboard the Hospital Ship U.S.S. Tranquility in the Gulf of Oman 2205

Hours, 26 July (1805 Hours, 26 July,
GMT
)

Between bouts of pain and short periods of restless sleep, Randy Capell pondered his current state and his future.

Lying on his stomach with most of his body encased in bandages, Capell could do nothing on his own. That he had lived, he had been told, was nothing short of a miracle The battalion aid station, overwhelmed by incoming casualties, had classified him as being beyond help. He had second- and third-degree burns over half of his body, multiple fragment wounds, several broken bones and a severe loss of blood. A medic gave him morphine and set him aside while those who could be saved were worked on. Eventually the physician’s assistant did work on him, stabilized his condition and had him evacuated.

In the two weeks he spent at Bandar Abbas, Capell began the slow and painful process of recovery. While there he sent several notes to Amanda Matthews. A b medic had to write them for him. In return, he received two letters. The medic had to read them for him. As Amanda was quite graphic in describing her love for him, this proved embarrassing to Capell. His only regret was that he had not seen her before he was shipped out. Ca pell kept consoling himself with the thought that they would have plenty of time together after the war was over.

Besides, he was not sure he wanted her to see him as he was. That might have been hard for Amanda to accept and could have put an end to their relationship. By leaving, he would have time to recover and get back into shape. There were only two things that mattered to him now: Amanda Matthews and getting back into shape so that he could pursue his career. Capell pondered which was the more important of the two.

The launching of several cruise missiles from a sub marine set off alarms on escort ships throughout the area.

By the time the missiles broke surface, fire-control computers were already feeding data to the Seasparrow point defense-missile launchers.

On cue from the computer, air-defense officers began to launch the Seasparrows. While Soviet missiles flew toward their marks in the darkness, American missiles raced toward the Soviet missiles in an effort to head them off. Great balls of fire blossomed in the distance every time one of the defensive missiles found its target and destroyed it.

Not all Soviet missiles were felled by the Seasparrows. American radar continued tracking the surviving cruise missiles and preparing the close-in defense systems. The phalanx gun systems, set to automatic mode, picked up their targets and tracked them. The 20mm. mimgun, controlled by a computer, fired a stream of projectiles into the night in a last-ditch effort to bring down the remaining cruise missiles. As with the Seasparrows, each success was marked with the violent explosion of a Soviet missile.

When all active measures had been expended, the computers on the escorts began to fire chaff. Millions of tiny strips of aluminum were blown out of launchers, creating instant clouds to confuse the cruise missiles’ targeting radar. Those ships that had chaff escaped as the missiles broke radar lock and flew about, searching for a new target, until they ran out of fuel. Those ships that didn’t and were marked, died.

As in a nightmare, Capell heard the ripping of metal and the detonation of the cruise missile’s warhead. Unused fuel from the missile was ignited by the explosion and propelled forward by the momentum of the missile. The burning fuel was sprayed across the ward, covering everything in a sheet of fire. The bandages wrapped about Capell’s body to protect his burns now provided fuel to the fire that engulfed him and his ward mates. Only the crushing rush of seawater and the mercy of drowning saved Capell from burning to death.

Five Kilometers South of Saadatabad, Iran 0545 Hours, 27 July (0215

Hours, 27 July,
GMT
)

The mounted patrol, making its morning sweep of the division’s main supply route, came across an overturned hummer and the dismembered remains of three people. In a single glance they could tell it had been done by Iranians.

Russians weren’t in the habit of mutilating the dead.

As the platoon leader watched his patrol check the vehicle and the bodies for booby traps, his platoon sergeant came up to him. “No signs leading away from the ambush site. All we found were a few shell casings. What do you suppose they were doing out here alone last night?”

The platoon leader leaned against his vehicle and pulled out his canteen.

“Doesn’t really matter what they were doing, does it? They’re dead now.”

The lieutenant took a drink from his canteen. “Hell of a way to start the day.”

The platoon sergeant watched as two men checked a body. “You don’t suppose that the Iranians .. . well, do you think they .. . ?”

Finishing a second drink, the lieutenant looked at the body. “You mean raped her? I really don’t want to know, Sergeant. And you have no need to know. If some shit in grave registrations wants to find out, that’s his business. We just find ‘em, mark ‘em and report ‘em.”