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Both sides were caught unaware. Even so, the Americans’ response was quick and proficient. Within seconds, Miguel unleashed a TOW with devastating effect. A BMP was ripped apart. A thundering explosion rocked the bitter morning. The remaining Bradleys of Walton’s platoon joined in. Two T-72s fell. The American M-1s discharged their mighty cannons. The approaching armor fell. The staggered enemy battalion ground to a halt. The unanticipated battle was over as precipitously as it had begun. Leaving seven burning pyres, the Iraqis turned and ran.
* * *
—
Ten a.m. Walton checked their location. The information from the global positioning satellite indicated they were six miles from the Iraqi border.
“Okay, Wally, we’re right where we should be. Make a ninety-degree turn to the east.”
The Bradley driver did as he’d been instructed. The huge formation changed direction.
“Keep going until I tell you to stop,” Walton said. “It’s time to encircle the Iranians.”
The Bradley headed toward the midmorning sun. Hundreds of combat vehicles followed.
* * *
—
Noon. The lead platoon was on the move through the unending desert. The trailing column of armored vehicles was growing shorter as every few minutes units reached their designated locations. The 1st Cavalry soldiers had encountered only token resistance since the fleeting combat three hours earlier. It was obvious the Iraqis were in full retreat. The bewildered Iranians were on their own. The cavalry division was five miles north of where intelligence placed the last of their ruinous opponent’s forces. It wouldn’t be long before they slammed the door shut. They rushed to surround their immense adversary.
Walton and Sanchez sat in the Bradley’s open hatches. To their left and right, the wide steel treads of the platoon’s remaining fighting vehicles plowed forward. Behind them, the M-1s rolled through the barren lands. They continued on for nearly an hour. In that time they saw neither friend nor foe. Without warning, however, that was about to change.
“Hey, Sarge, we’ve got company!”
“Where?”
“Big dirt cloud to the southeast. Got to be armored vehicles. Lots of armored vehicles. Looks like they’re headed this way in one hell of a hurry.”
“I’ve got them, Miguel. Iranians must’ve figured out what we’re up to and are trying to escape. Let’s see what battalion wants us to do.” The time had come to break radio silence. Walton picked up his handset. “Two-Six, this is Alpha-Four-Five. Two-Six, this is Alpha-Four-Five.”
“Roger, Alpha-Four-Five, this is Two-Six, go ahead.”
“Two-Six, we’ve got a large formation in front of us, approximately four miles east. They’re headed this way. How do you want us to proceed?”
“Wait one, Alpha-Four-Five,” the battalion radio operator said.
While he waited for a response, Walton’s Bradley moved toward the billowing sand. The voice soon returned. “Alpha-Four-Five, you’re to continue on your present course. Engage the target head-on. Remainder of Alpha and Delta troops are to follow on Alpha-Four-Five’s lead and attack the approaching formation. The rest of the regiment is to swing farther north to cut them off. The division commander doesn’t want any of those pathetic bastards to escape.”
“Roger, Two-Six. Will head straight for the enemy and make a frontal assault.”
“Attacking forces will open fire on Alpha-Four-Five’s cue.”
It would be up to Darren Walton to determine when and where to commence the developing fray. Once he engaged the retreating Iranians, the remaining ten Bradleys of Alpha Troop and the sixteen M-1s of Delta Troop would follow his lead.
Walton watched the mountains of dust and sand drawing near. It was painfully apparent the grouping they were racing to meet was considerable. At their present speed, the platoon would reach the attack point in three minutes.
“Looks like we’ve got our hands full,” he said. The concern in his voice couldn’t be masked. “Miguel, drop into the compartment, slide behind those TOWs of yours, and get ready.”
The lead Bradley flew across the banal desert. The impending onslaught was near. A few insignificant dunes and an immense battle would be joined.
“Get ready, Miguel, they’re almost here. Fire on my order.”
Walton readied his Bradley’s Bushmaster cannon.
Using his periscope, Sanchez searched the barren world. He soon located the summoning arrangement’s foremost armor. He aligned his initial shot. There was no way he was going to miss the massive quarry. In a few seconds, there’d be one less Iranian tank to worry about. It was then he realized what it was he’d acquired.
“Sarge, whatever you do, don’t fire. Did you hear what I said? Don’t fire!”
“Why the hell not, Miguel?”
“Look at the silhouette of the lead tank. That’s no T-72, it’s an M-1. And there are Bradleys behind it. Those aren’t Iranians, they’re our guys! It’s the 25th.”
“Are you sure?”
“Hell yes, I’m sure. Those are Americans coming this way.”
* * *
—
One p.m. The encirclement was complete. The Iranian army was surrounded. Now the division’s job was to keep their opponent from escaping the rearing slaughter. The final 1st Cavalry battalions began selecting defensive positions throughout the expansive desert. They needed to ensure they’d left no weaknesses their monstrous adversary could exploit. To their left, the 25th Infantry’s forward elements did the same.
Walton quickly identified firing locations for his foot soldiers and Bradleys. The platoon started digging in. The M-1s did the same. The beginnings of individual foxholes and armored fighting holes soon appeared. Sandbagged walls rose. By shortly after nightfall, their Bradleys would be in their comforting burrows with only their turrets visible.
Once they were in place, the word would go out. In the night’s dreadful darkness, the two French divisions and the Americans’ 1st Armor would hit the cocksure invaders with everything they had. A thousand Allied tanks would roar across the frightening sweep. They’d signal the waiting air forces, attack helicopters, and Multiple Launch Rocket Systems. America’s great armored killers would be unleashed to annihilate and destroy. The trap would be sprung.
* * *
—
Eight p.m. Walton’s men were set. The 25th Infantry’s forces indicated they also were ready.
The final strands of the deadly spider’s web had been strung. The platoon sergeant picked up his radio handset. He sent out the coded signal to the waiting attackers. The time had come to finish their abhorrent rival.
A half million were about to die in a single, decisive battle.
The Allied armored divisions edged forward.
55
6:37 P.M., OCTOBER 30
