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The team whirled about and headed back toward the laboring platoon.
19
3:19 P.M., OCTOBER 18
3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
THE CAIRO–ALEXANDRIA HIGHWAY
Okay, Platoon Sergeant, fall the men out and have them fill their canteens.”
Erickson lifted the flap and entered the battalion command tent. Captain Richards, Bravo Company commander, was standing inside the entrance. He stuck out his hand.
“Been expecting you, Sam. Enjoy the trip?”
“Let’s put it this way, sir. Next time I book a tour of the Middle East, I’m going to pick a better travel agent.” Erickson attempted to smile, but all he could bring to his tired features was a halfhearted grin.
“Sorry to say your visit to ancient Egypt gets no better from here.”
“What’ve you got for us, sir?” Erickson asked.
“With the division digging in and our forces spread thin, the need for reconnaissance is on the back burner. For the moment, we’re assuming a more traditional role. As our recon battalion only has a couple hundred men, each regiment has provided a few units so that we can build our numbers to near a normal battalion’s size. I’ve been given command of three additional platoons. A few hours ago, a rocket attack took out one of the platoon leaders and his senior sergeant. You and Gunny Fife are going to have to take command of their men.”
“How many left in the platoon, sir?”
“Thirty last time I was up there. But they’ve still got three vehicles and ample ammunition. The platoon’s TOW-mounted Humvee just received six new missiles an hour ago.”
“Thirty. With my men that’ll give this new platoon a full complement. Where are they?”
“It’s real simple. Go south along the highway for another half mile. You’ll pass through three lines of defenders. When you get to the fourth line, your platoon will be waiting.”
“How many Marines in front of us, sir?”
“Sam, I’m sorry to say the only thing in front of you is a hundred thousand maniacs intent on killing every last one of us,” Richards answered. “You’ll have responsibility for holding the eight-lane highway and the desert for two hundred yards on either side. A platoon from Alpha Company’s on your left. One of my new platoons is on your right. If things play out like they have been, you can expect an armored attack of at least brigade size soon. At this point, we’re trying to keep our losses to a minimum. Should it look like you’re going to be overrun, fall back and link up with the next line. Keep falling back until we stop them. Right now we’re trying to buy time. Men are the precious commodity. They’re far more important than ground. So when in doubt, retreat and save as much of your platoon as you can. Still got one of your vehicles?”
“Yes, sir. Sergeant Joyce’s Humvee is right outside.”
“Good. A King Stallion landed with Javelins, TOWs, and a number of crates of LAWs a few minutes ago. Brought some claymores too. I’ll have your Humvee loaded with as many as it’ll carry. From what I’ve seen today you’re going to need every last one. Don’t tell anybody, but I also got my hands on some Stinger missiles. I’ll make sure you get a few of those too. Last Pan-Arab attack included a helicopter assault by Russian-made Hind-Ds.”
* * *
—
Richards stood next to the idling vehicle. Every inch was crammed with missiles and claymore mines.
“Okay, Sam,” Richards said, “there are four Stingers in there. Promise you won’t let on where you got them. Battalion commander allocated your platoon ten Javelins, eight TOWs plus two tripod launchers, twenty-four of the LAW light antitank missiles, and a dozen claymores. Use the Javelins and TOWs sparingly. Fire the LAWs when you have a choice. They’ve worked fine against the older BMPs and French armored personnel carriers the Pan-Arabs are using in this sector. But I want to warn you. They’ve been hitting us most of the day with Russian T-72 tanks. The frontal armor on the T-72s is quite stout. The LAWs can’t handle them. Every time we’ve tried to kill one with a LAW, the missile’s exploded against the hull without penetrating its defenses. So make sure you keep the Javelins and TOWs in reserve if you can. Otherwise, you’re going to find yourself defenseless against the enemy’s heavy armor.”
“Count on it, sir. My platoon already knows what that feels like. It’s something none of us ever again want to experience.”
“With the repeated counterattacks, some of our most critical supplies are running low. Got plenty of ammunition. And we’re hoping to have more missiles by sundown. Try to make what you’ve got last.”
“Yes, sir. We’ll do what we can.”
“Air support’s been real good. Call for it at the first sign of trouble. Cobras can be over your position in two minutes. Fighters off the Lincoln and Eisenhower are sitting with their pilots in the cockpits. They’ll be here in less than five if we need them.”
“Understood, sir. Anything else?”
“Just one thing, Sam—don’t be a hero. With the losses we’re sustaining, I’m going to need you with me for the rest of this war. And at this point it’s a hell of a long way from over.”
“Sir, I’ve every intention of sticking around to see how this ends. I’ll do my best to keep my head down. All right, Gunny, move the men out.”
* * *
—
The hard-pressed platoon wasn’t difficult to find. Neither were the Pan-Arabs. The boiling desert was littered with recently slaughtered ones. Many of the lifeless figures were still warm. The sated sands ran red with freshly flowing blood. The desolate landscape in front of the Marines also was filled with thousands upon thousands who were quite alive.
Behind each distant dune, in every cleft and gully, the Chosen One’s anxious soldiers prepared. They prayed for the sainted word to come. Mourad’s followers knew it wouldn’t be long before the next impassioned attack. His devotees’ hearts soared with the conviction that a place in the glorious beyond would soon be theirs.
It didn’t take Erickson long to size up the situation. Captain Richards was right. This was the end of the line. Behind them, the thin layers of immersed Marines waited. In front, the Sahara teemed with the agitated enemy. To the southeast, a short distance away, the barren desert made a remarkable turnabout as its shifting sands met the lush fields and swaying palms of the rich Nile Delta. Hidden within its fertile grasses, Mourad’s tanks waited for the order to attack. The time was drawing near. The fifth foray of the day was getting organized.
The instant they arrived, the platoon leader sprang into action.
“Sergeant Joyce, drop the claymores, Stingers, and two of the Javelins here. Leave the TOWs and tripods also. Then go along the line passing out the remaining Javelins and LAWs. Each squad leader gets two Javelins. Each fire team gets two LAWs.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell them there probably won’t be any more until sundown, so make every shot count.”
“Will do, sir.”
After they unloaded the weapons the lieutenant had identified as remaining there, the Humvee sped off toward the far left of the platoon. Joyce’s fire team was soon doling out the remaining missiles.
Satisfied with Joyce’s efforts, Erickson turned to his recon platoon’s remaining team leader. “Sergeant Merker, your team will handle the TOWs. Set a tripod up on each side of the highway. Four TOWs for each one. Once they’re in place, take the claymores and string them fifty yards in front of the platoon. Try not to blow yourselves up while doing so. And keep your heads down. Don’t get careless and let a sniper pick you off.”
“Yes, sir. Trip wires or detonators?”
“Detonators for now. When the attack comes, each team leader will fire his claymore as he sees fit. If we haven’t expended them by the time it gets dark, we’ll switch to trip wires. After you’ve finished positioning t
