by Harold Coyle
Dixon could now see the Soviet companies, all fully deployed and following one behind the other, rushing toward his position. The Soviet tanks had cut on their smoke generators, creating clouds of white smoke that obscured everything behind them to the naked eye.
Thermal sights, however, cut through the diesel smoke. In another minute the lead elements would begin to encounter the broken-ground and wadi system where the dismounted infantry and the Bradleys waited. Artillery continued to fall about the Bradleys in spurts, taking its toll.
With nothing to do but wait until contact was made, Dixon began to notice small, obscure details. One of the T-80s in the lead was holding back and swerving from side to side. The tank commander, no doubt, was nervous and did not relish being with the lead element. For the first time, Dixon realized how nervous he was.
He could sympathize with that tank commander. How much easier it was to be sitting in the defense than running out across the open, knowing that everyone with an antitank missile was tracking you. Dixon looked down into his own turret. His gunner was calmly tracking a Soviet tank. Their TOW launcher was up and the ready-to-fire indicator was illuminated. All the gunner needed was one word.
The commander of Charlie Company gave that word as the lead Soviet tanks tripped across an imaginary line on the ground and entered Charlie Company's kill zone. Dixon watched as four Bradleys let fly their TOW missiles. The nervous T-80 was quickly alerted to the oncoming danger.
He fired smoke grenades and stopped moving, in an effort to screen himself.
The TOW that was targeted for him found its mark, however. The TOW gunner merely kept his thermal sight on the center mass where the T-80 had been and let the missile fly into the screen of smoke. A ball of flame followed by a rush of black smoke pushed the white smoke aside.
The T-80 was dead.
Not all the T-80s died from their first hits. Reactive armor, explosives in small metal boxes arrayed in front of the turrets of the T-80s, detonated with thunderous explosions and in some cases prevented the TOWS' warheads from penetrating the tanks' main armor. Dixon was amazed that crews were able to survive such a cataclysmic explosion.
Some did, rolling on, trailing a thin veil of smoke from smoldering scraps and hot steel. These successes were normally short-lived, however, as other TOWs marked the same tank and bored through. In less than a minute, all four lead tanks were burning or stopped: With the tanks gone, the Soviet BTRs came rolling out from under the smokescreen generated by the tanks. Their alignment was gone as they drove past burning tanks or zigzagged in an effort to confuse the Bradleys' TOW antitank guided missiles. But the Bradley gunners were not confused by the evasive maneuvers, and the BTRs, not protected by reactive armor, were easy prey: most of the TOW missiles found their mark and took their toll.
Despite the demise of the lead company, the next Soviet motorized rifle company rolled forward, past the foundering lead company. The second company had only two tanks in the lead and five BTRs. Artillery had already made its inroads. The folly of the Soviet deployment in column manifested itself as the second and third companies were, in their turn, smashed by
Charlie Company. Rather than hit in mass, the Soviets had presented themselves a little at a time. It reminded Dixon of watching a butcher feed meat into a grinder. Though each motorized rifle company drew closer to Charlie Company in its turn and was finally able to return fire, this gained it nothing but a quicker death as the 25mm chain guns came into play.
For a moment, there was a pause. The firing died down but did not completely stop. A few of the BTRs had made it into the wadis and their infantry had dismounted. A fight, pitting Soviet infantrymen supported by their BTR armored personnel carriers against Charlie Company's infantrymen and their Bradleys, now developed in the broken ground and wadis along the western flank of the American battalion's sector. Charlie Company had more than enough people and firepower to decide the issue if the Soviets were not reinforced. Dixon listened to the reports from the scouts as the second Soviet motorized rifle battalion entered the sector of the 3rd of the 4th Armor.
The Soviet second-echelon battalion apparently did not know that the first battalion had gained a foothold in the wadis. Instead of rushing forward and adding its weight to that fight, it rolled down along the eastern flank. The only reasonable explanation was that the regimental commander, surprised at the strength encountered in the west, had decided to try the left, hoping to find it lightly defended. Since the eastern side of the 3rd of the 4th Armor's sector was more open, the Soviets were able to deploy two companies forward, with the second company close enough to the first to support it by fire. The same openness also allowed the 3rd of the 4th to 235 mass the firepower of the remaining company and two teams, with telling effect. Once the Soviets were committed, Dixon called for the artillery to fire scatter able mines. These mines, in conjunction with the antitank ditch and the mines already in place, slowed and disrupted the well-orchestrated Soviet battle drill. Despite large volumes of artillery- and tank-generated smoke, efforts to breach the obstacles were frustrated by accurate M-1 tank fire. Soviet mine rollers and plows, along with MTU bridge layers, were destroyed as soon as they ventured forward.
T-80 tanks standing off and attempting to provide cover fire for the mine rollers and plows were, in their turn, destroyed. Seeing no way around the obstacle and little chance of bulling through, the Soviets began to withdraw.
As the battle began to ebb, Dixon's assistant called him on the radio and asked if he had been monitoring the brigade-command frequency.
Dixon, caught up in the battalion's fight, had not. The assistant S-3 reported that the brigade was having difficulty contacting the 1st of the 503rd Infantry. That battalion had reported earlier that it was being hit by tanks and BMPs, and after several sketchy reports it had stopped answering the brigade's calls.
Dixon was concerned. If the infantry battalion had been hit by a regiment equipped with BMPs, odds were that the main effort was going in against the 503rd and not the 3rd of the 4th Armor. The fight that was dying out to his front was probably nothing more than a supporting attack whose purpose was to divert attention while the Soviets broke through the infantry battalion.
Dixon contacted his commander and relayed his conclusions. The battalion commander concurred and, in turn, contacted the brigade commander, with the result that the armored battalion was instructed to make physical contact with the 1st of the 503rd Infantry and clarify the situation over there.
With the scouts forward, Charlie Company still flushing out the Soviet survivors, and the battalion commander needed in the battalion sector, it was up to Dixon to make that contact. Besides, Dixon knew where the two battalions'
designated contact points were. Without giving it further thought, he ordered his driver to back the Bradley out of its position.
Even after the Bradley had moved into the infantry sector-having avoided enemy fire by traveling along covered and concealed routes-it inched along with caution. Since they were approaching the other battalion's positions from the rear and were five kilometers from where the front line should be, they had more to fear from a nervous U.S. infantryman armed with an antitank rocket launcher than from the Soviets.
As they moved forward through a narrow, twisting wadi, Dixon had a crewman in the rear compartment switch the radio to the battalion-command frequency of the 1st of the 503rd Infantry and attempted to raise someone on that net. There was no response. After three unsuccessful attempts, he decided to try a company command net in that battalion. Just as Dixon lowered himself onto his seat inside the turret and pulled out his code book to look up the company frequencies, his gunner screamed, "Jesus Christ! Back up-no, driver, stop! On the waaay!" This was immediately followed by a long burst of 25mm cannon fire as the gunner held his trigger down, pumping out rounds.
Dixon was startled. He looked at his gunner, who had now stopped firing, and shouted at him without keying the intercom, "What the fuck are you doing?"
Chapter 13
My center gives way, my right is pushed back, situation excellent, I am attacking.
— FERDINAND FOCH
Twenty Kilometers South of Hatvand 0810 Hours, 8 July (0440 Hours, 8 July, GMT)
Instead of diminishing, the volume of small-arms fire directed against the advancing Soviet formations was increasing. Isolated pockets of enemy infantry were coming out of hiding and engaging the men of the 1st Battalion, 381st Motorized Rifle Regiment. The Americans had not crumpled as before and had, instead, recovered from their initial attack and in some cases seemed to be counterattacking.
Neboatov's company had again been the second attack echelon of the battalion. As before, the preparatory artillery bombardment had silenced all resistance as the attacking force approached. Again the battalion had rolled over the American forward positions and driven for the regiment's objective. This time, however, the battalion had been hit by a combination of close-in antitank rockets and long-range antitank guided missiles. The antitank guided missiles, or ATGMs, had been set up behind hills and in wadis in the Americans' rear areas.
From these well-covered and well-concealed positions, the ATGM teams were impossible to detect before they fired.
Even when the positions were detected, by the time effective fire could be massed against them the ATGM teams were gone, moved to another hidden position farther up the valley.
While the American level of fire was insufficient to stop the attacking columns, it slowed the advance, delayed the commitment of follow-on forces and forced the lead regiment to turn against the resisting Americans. This task fell to the 381st Motorized Rifle Regiment. It was forced to dismount its riflemen, in order to clear the shoulders of the penetration in preparation for the commitment of the 127th Motorized Rifle Division's own tank regiment and the 33rd Tank Division.
The resulting fight pitted the regiment's riflemen, backed by their tanks and BMP-2 infantry-fighting vehicles, against an elusive foe that moved from one hidden position in the high ground to the next. American infantrymen, deployed on the lower heights, defended the antitank-guided-missile teams located farther up the hillside. When Soviet riflemen began to close on a position and threaten to overwhelm it, the ATGM teams would move while the infantry covered them. They, in their turn, would move to the next prepared position that covered the ATGM teams already in place.
The problem for Neboatov's battalion was to get past and around the Americans, isolate them. bring superior firepower and numbers to bear and then crush them. While they had the advantage of having BMPs to carry them, the vehicles were easily tracked and often frustrated by obstacles, mines or antitank guided missiles. A hit on a BMP by an antitank guided missile resulted in the dual loss of a fighting vehicle and a squad of riflemen.
Cutting off the Americans did not seem to bother them; they remained just as dangerous, moving about along concealed routes in small groups, infiltrating past the surrounding Soviet riflemen. On occasion, they would fall on the rear of Soviet riflemen who were maneuvering against another position. The result was a confusing swirl of battle that knew no front or rear, no friendly lines or hostile positions. Just chaos and sudden death.
After a failed attempt to destroy a pocket of resistance, Neboatov was trying to rally his men and plan their next move. After three hours of playing cat and mouse among the rocks and the wadis, he was running out of ideas and was frustrated. He ordered his driver to tuck their BMP into a small draw near one of his platoons so that they would be out of harm's way while he collected his command and his thoughts. No sooner had they pulled in than his battalion commander's BMP rolled up. Both officers dismounted from their vehicles and walked over to a spot near some large rocks to discuss the situation out of earshot of their men.
The crews of the two BMPs, exhausted and hot from driving about buttoned up, dismounted and took the opportunity to relax and eat something. Sitting on top of their vehicles, they picked at their combat rations, drank from their canteens and speculated among themselves what would happen next.
The battalion commander, like Neboatov, was frustrated. The regimental commander wanted the Americans cleared before the division's tank regiment was committed. He, in turn, was being pressured by Division to give the all clear. The two officers knelt to study a map the battalion commander laid out on the ground. As he pointed with a grease pencil to key areas that he wanted Neboatov to clear, sweat from his brow dripped onto the map.
Neboatov wiped his own face with a dirty rag as he listened to his commander explain how the battalion would systematically clear the valley.
The task would be long and tedious, not to mention dangerous.
A sudden warning shout from one of the BMP crewmen was cut short by a burst of automatic fire. Neboatov and his commander, looking up to see what was happening, watched in horror as the crews of the two BMPs were cut down by accurate small-arms fire. The two officers turned in the direction the fire was coming from in time to see four American infantrymen jump out from behind one of the rocks. The two in the lead were firing their rifles from the hip as they rushed forward. The other two were lobbing grenades in the direction of the BMPs.
The battalion commander was the first to react and the first to fall.
The sudden motion as he stood up and reached for his pistol caught the attention of the Americans. One of them stopped in place, turned toward the two officer's and, firing from the hip, let go two quick bursts. Both bursts hit the battalion commander square in the chest, ripping it open and throwing him backward on top of Neboatov, who was still kneeling. The impact of his colonel's body sent him sprawling, and he hit his head against a rock.
Though not unconscious, Neboatov had the wind knocked out of him and was unable to clearly focus or react. Pinned beneath the body of his dead commander, his head reeling, he watched the Americans rush forward and drop grenades into the open hatches of the two BMPs. One of the American infantrymen noticed the map on the ground and walked over to recover it. As he was bending over, Neboatov tried to reach for his pistol. His spastic fumbling-served only to catch the American's attention. Dropping the map, the American swung around and raised his rifle, its muzzle stopping inches from Neboatov's face.
Neboatov knew he was going to die. He closed his eyes. After what seemed to be an eternity, the familiar burst of several AKs caused him to open them.
The threatening rifle muzzle and the American were gone. From where he lay,
Neboatov could see several of his men from the nearby platoon running forward. While some of them pursued the surviving Americans, a lieutenant and two men came over to give their company commander a hand. Gently, they moved the battalion commander's body off Neboatov and helped him up.
Neboatov scanned the area as he collected his thoughts and caught his breath. He was shaking like a leaf. Two Americans, one of them the soldier who moments before had held Neboatov's life in his hand, were down. The other two were gone. Small-arms fire from beyond the rocks told that they were fighting as they withdrew. The battalion commander's BMP was burning, and ammunition on board popped as it cooked in the fire. Neboatov's BMP was smoking. The bodies, wounded and dead, of both BMPs' crews were scattered about the ground or hanging limp off the BMPs. Half-eaten rations and spilled canteens were scattered among the bodies or held in lifeless hands.
Neboatov walked over to his BMP on shaky legs, stopping where the body of his driver lay. He knelt and pulled the leather helmet from the soldier's head, freeing a crop of dirty blond hair matted down by sweat and oil. The soldier was more boy than man, not more than nineteen years old. He had been born and raised on a small collective farm in the east
ern Ukraine, a true son of Mother Russia. Though Neboatov seldom bothered with the enlisted men in his command, he had taken special interest in this youth because of his loyalty to family and country, his skills as a tracked-vehicle driver, and a shy, easygoing manner that Neboatov found refreshing. Now he was gone, killed in a barren land miles from his beloved family and country. The young girl he spoke of often would probably never know how he had died. His mother would never be able to tend to his needs again. He was dead, killed in action in the service of the Party and his country.
Neboatov stood up and turned his face to the rising sun. He felt its heat.
How brutal, he thought, this day is going to be.
North of Harvand 0845 Hours, 8 July (0515 Hours, 8 July, GMT)
The two attacking A-10 aircraft were a long time gone before all firing ceased. Once the tank crews did cease fire, they automatically turned 180 degrees, preparing for an attack by a second pair of American planes.
Vorishnov knew that the Americans would not come from the same direction again. As he picked himself up off the ground, he looked about in an effort to guess which way they would come if they did return. Deciding that this was an exercise in futility, he turned his attention to more immediate problems.
The 3rd Battalion was scattered about in an open field, dispersed as a precaution against air attack. That, however, had not saved them this time.
Two A-10s had come swooping down out of the sun as the tanks sat waiting for the order to move forward, an order that had not yet been given. From where he stood, Vorishnov counted three of his battalion's tanks burning. He was about to heave a sigh of relief when his eyes fell upon his BTR-60. Smoke was pouring from its open hatches. It had been hit.
