Under Siege (13 page)

Aziz came from an influential family. He knew it was partly due to his father’s confidential talks with some generals that he made it into the Tank Brigade Academy. From there it was a straight shot into the tank regiments. He had done well at the academy, graduating second in his class, and had been promoted to Captain and given command of a company of twelve tanks. Long, long months of training followed, from individual tank movements, to company-sized problems, and then to a mock attack by all forty-eight tanks in a week-long exercise in the desert. He loved the monsters and the damage they could do with their big gun and fifty rounds of cannon fire. The strategy, the movement, the ploys, the moves and counter moves were what he lived for.

The column came to an open stretch and the big machines moved faster. He saw trucks whipping past them all loaded with infantrymen. There must be a big push coming. Thirty miles into Iraq meant only another fifty miles into Baghdad. What a thrill it would be to charge down the Iraqi capital streets to the very center of the city. He reveled in the idea until his radio came on.

“To all commanders. We’re now about two miles from the front lines. The Lightning Units have stalled. They are out of the anthrax rounds and now must slug it out with the Iraqi tanks. There we have no advantage. Their best tanks are the same Soviet model that we drive. So we will over-power them with numbers. Company A and B are to swing
to the left. A Jeep with a red flag will lead you through some villages and up to the point of attack. Here our corridor will be slightly wider. We will push forward at twenty miles an hour. Ground troops will follow us. Be on the lookout for enemy tanks dug in at every possible point. We’ll use counter fire whenever we can. Company C and D will follow the same pattern, only they break to the right following a Jeep with a green flag. Good luck to all of you. This is our day to race into Baghdad!”

The crew cheered and Aziz saw the last tank in A Company do a hard left turn and roar away at a 45-degree angle.

“B Company,” Aziz said. “We’ll drift back to a hundred-yard interval between tanks. As in our exercises, A Company will take the left flank and we’ll be in the center with C on our right flank and D on his flank. Let’s keep our eyes open. We will be in enemy territory in about five minutes.”

They rolled. He saw the last A Company tank swing farther left and come on line with that company. As he watched the tank with the orange triangle on the back, it suddenly exploded with a roar he could hear inside his tank. The body of the tank shattered into a hundred pieces as the rounds inside evidently detonated all at once.

“Steady, keep us straight ahead,” Aziz barked at his driver.

“Yes, sir. Did you see that explosion?”

“I did. No tank round could do that. It must be air. A laser-guided missile maybe. I thought we had control of the air.”

His headset spoke again. “Commanders, we have just lost two tanks to enemy air. We no longer have total air superiority. Suggest you make a zig-zag approach to the line. We’re moving up to it now. Maintain your position and drive ahead at twenty with the movements. We will overcome!”

“I have a partly dug-in enemy tank dead ahead,” the gunner shouted. “He’s at about a thousand yards.”

“Acquire target and fire.” Aziz said-Moments later, the tank shuddered as the big round left the barrel and the empty shell clattered out of the gun and hit the floor. The loader rammed a new round in place and the gunner scanned the target.

“Hit on the edge of the bunker,” the driver said. “Might have damaged the tank. No, he’s moving.”

“I have him,” the gunner said. “Acquired and firing.”

The big gun spoke again and this time the driver cheered. “Direct hit, Astar, it’s burning.”

“Good shooting, Astar. Now we have enemy air, so let’s stagger back fifty from the tank on our left. Slow down just a little. Good.”

“Enemy tank ahead, firing,” the driver bellowed. “A hard right, I’m making a hard right.” A second later the round slammed into the ground and exploded thirty feet to their right.

“Back left, left,” Aziz shouted.

Four thousand feet above the tank battle, two American F-18s slammed onto the scene.

“Rocket One, you see them ducks?”

“Roger, Rocket Two. The bad guys are pointing toward Baghdad.”

“We have guns free on targets of opportunity. Let’s make a run. I get the one in the middle of the line.”

They-swung around in a circle and came back at the minimum altitude of 2,000 feet, slanting down at the line of tanks with Maverick missiles up for firing. The laser-guided 495-pound missile carried a 300-pound warhead of high explosives.

“I have target acquisition and firing,” Rocket Two said.

“That’s a ditto for me, little buddy, one away.”

The two missiles streaked for the ground at mach 1.5 and hit the tanks just as the jets slammed over the top of them.

“Splash two tanks,” Rocket Two said. “Seconds anyone?”

* * *

Below, the men in two of the advancing line of Iranian tanks had no idea they had just fired their last rounds. The Mavericks hit them squarely on the turret of one and the front plates of the other, detonating the high explosive rounds in the tanks and splattering them over a quarter-mile radius.

One after another the tanks in the line exploded or were knocked out of action by near misses, as the American planes answered the desperate calls for aid from the Iraqi military. More than half of the Iraq fighter aircraft had been lost to the better trained Iranian pilots. In two hours, sixteen American aircraft killed forty-two of the advancing tanks. They had previously reduced the Lightning Strike force of tanks to a third of their original strength. The entire advance stalled, even as the five thousand Iranian foot soldiers jumped off trucks and dug in a defensive line just behind the tanks.

In his command post armored motor home twenty miles into Iraq, General Majid stared at the situation board and pounded it with his fist. The colored markers jumped, and aides quickly put them back in place.

“General Majid, sir. You asked for a report on our air situation,” General Ubaidi said. He was second in command of the whole invasion force. “General Khalifa reports that we have suffered almost sixty percent loss of our fighter aircraft. We no longer have air superiority. The American pilots have riddled our planes and destroyed many of our tanks.”

Majid looked up, his eyes hard black diamonds. “How many tanks do we have left for the push into Baghdad?”

“Not certain, sir. The third battalion we sent up has lost twenty-two of its forty-eight. They are regrouping and reorganizing. The lead elements are worse off. Our Lightning Force has reported a loss of all but three of its larger tanks. It can’t carry out its assigned task.”

“Then our advance is stalled?” Majid asked.

“At this time there is no forward movement.”

Majid looked at the map again. Only fifty miles from Baghdad. The resistance would stiffen, he knew that. The Iraqi military had apparently learned a lot since the second Iraq war with the Coalition Forces back in ’03. But he would not let go of his dream of conquering Baghdad. “How long to darkness? Can’t we move after dark?”

“It’s almost three hours to full dark,” General Ubaidi said. “I’m afraid that won’t help much, General Majid. The American planes have some new capability of night vision, or night radar. They can find our tanks and trucks at night as easily as they can during the day.”

Majid looked around at his top field staff. “So, gentlemen, what are your recommendations?”

General Musuli was a short, rotund tank expert who had developed the Lightning Force for Iran. His usually happy face was now drawn and scowling. “The Iraqis said they would never ask for help from the Americans. They did, and that changed everything. We have lost half of our engaged tank force, most of it to American air. We do not have the capability of driving our Lightning Attack forward. It is my suggestion that we regroup our forces and work out a strategic withdrawal, conserving what we have left of our men and materiel.”

Majid nodded and looked at the next man. “General Kadri, your evaluation of our situation.”

Kadri stood almost six-feet two-inches and was clean shaven with a close-cropped haircut. He had been a soldier for over forty years, and it was starting to show. He wiped one hand across his weathered face and sighed.

“There is no option, my General. We must withdraw. Even now we’re having trouble maintaining our corridor to the border. If we extend it even twenty more miles, our forces along the flanks of the corridor will be stretched so thin a camel attack could penetrate it and disrupt our
supply lines. Withdraw, yes, quickly, efficiently, conserving as many men and machines as we can.”

Majid nodded and looked at the last general at the table, a man with a pointer and a determined look. He was General Ubaidi. His shoulders showed four stars.

“General Majid. With all respect for your dream of sacking Baghdad, it doesn’t look like this is the time. We are outgunned in the air. We have lost half of our tanks, ineluding most of our Lightning Force. It is time to do a strategic withdrawal.”

General Majid turned and walked into his private section of the motor home, stood looking at the wall for a moment, then turned and strode back with quick steps.

“All right, it is decided. We will regroup. The Third Battalion will take the place of the Lightning Force and we will push forward in exactly two hours. Make your arrangements with your troops. Call on all of the air support we can find. We move out in two hours, and we are not stopping until I ride a tank into the central square in Baghdad!”

Alluvial Diamond Mine

New Namibia, Africa

Lieutenant Commander Blake Murdock looked around the mine. Slowly, men began coming out of hiding places. One man ran up to Murdock.

“You okay, guy? We hear shooting. We hide. Bad guys all gone?”

“We think so. Did they have a woman with them?”

“Yes, woman.”

“We need a truck to follow them. Can you loan us one?”

“Ask boss.” The worker pointed to an older man with a crisply trimmed beard and a straw hat. He marched across the compound and stared at Murdock.

“You U.S. Marines?”

“No, we’re U.S. Navy SEALs. We need a truck. Those men who were here are kidnappers. We’re chasing them. Can you loan us some transport?”

The man frowned and rubbed his chin. “You won’t get it shot up, or wreck it?”

“Not planning on it. We need to chase those guys who just left here.”

“Left an hour ago. In no hurry. Tried to find our diamonds. No luck.” The man frowned again. “Okay. You use big truck. Flatbed. You all climb on it.”

Ten minutes later the SEALs and Delta men crawled on
the twenty-foot stake truck and headed down the well-graded gravel road.

“How far to town?” Jaybird asked.

“Who knows, at least we’re moving.” Mahanani said.

The road wound downslope sharply, but the grade was gradual enough and the bends well worked out. A mile down the road, the truck came around a curve and slowed to go up a slight slope.

Two rifle rounds slammed into the side of the engine and Bradford brought the rig to a stop.

“Bail out,” Murdock shouted. Men scrambled off the truck and into the heavy growth on the far side of the road away from the gunman.

“Who in hell?” Senior Chief Neal asked.

“Why in hell?” Jaybird cracked.

“Anybody see anything?” Murdock asked.

“Some brush moving up the slope to the left about two hundred,” Lam said. Murdock tossed him the Bull Pup.

“Put a Twenty on his ass,” Murdock said.

The round slammed out of the tube and exploded in the air over the spot Lam had guessed the gunner would be by then. They heard nothing but the echoing of the shot through the valley below them.

Bradford checked the engine. “Looks like the round got through the sheet metal but didn’t do any damage inside the hood. We can travel.”

“Load up, and keep a watch,” Murdock said.

A half-mile later, around another curve, a rifle round zipped over the top of the men sitting on the truck bed. They piled out of the truck and waited, but no more shots came and no one saw any movement.

Murdock was ready to drive again when Lam held up his hand.

“Cap, we’ve got a chopper warming up. Not too far down the hill. It’ll be taking off in two or three, I’d guess.”

“Let’s drive on down, maybe there’s time to stop it,” J.G. Gardner said.

“Not a prayer, Lieutenant,” Lam said. “Looks like she’s lifting off right now.”

Soon they could hear the roar and thump of the rotors as a chopper appeared from behind the next hill, turned, and angled toward the coast.

“Six-place job,” Engle said. “Means they left some rear guard for us to handle before we get to the coast.”

“Right,” Murdock said. “Everyone back on the truck. All weapons aimed to the port side and safeties off. Let’s roll until we’re stopped, Bradford. Now.” Murdock used the Motorola again. “Don Stroh, do you read me? How far are we from you? Come in if you can hear.” He shook his head. They had to be farther than the six miles range of the radios from the airport. He’d have to try again when they were closer.

They went a half-mile when a volley of shots from the left sent the men into a flurry of return fire before they dove off the truck to the right and took cover. To the left they saw a small valley with a flat area large enough for a chopper to land. There was an old pickup there and a barrel that could hold fuel.

“The damn kidnappers planned ahead,” Murdock said. “Gardner, take your squad across the road and through the brush and try to flush them out. We’ll put Twenties anywhere we see muzzle flashes with rounds coming your way. Go.”

They crossed the road in a rush, all at once, so there would be no picking them off one by one as they ran over the open area. It must have surprised the gunners because only one shot came, and it missed. Then the SEALs vanished into the brush and trees.

“Who you have for your scout?” Murdock asked on the Motorola.