The Ten Thousand (11 page)

“The electromagnetic pulse has destroyed these radios. Unless there is another radio somewhere here that can reach battalion, we have no means of contacting them.” Ilvanich paused to let that fact soak in.

“The blast, I am sure, has also released radiation, some of which will be residual. That means we cannot stay here for very long. And no doubt once they get over their own shock, the Ukrainians will be back in force.” Again Ilvanich paused. Now as he prepared for the moment of truth, he drew in a deep breath.

“With the weapons which we came for destroyed or buried, there is no reason for us to remain in place and accumulate radiation. Follow-on forces will no doubt be diverted to the other weapons storage site by either the battalion commander or corps. While your battalion commander will no doubt organize a survey and monitoring team to come over here and check out the situation here, that will take time, time in which we will continue to be exposed to radiation and the danger of a counterattack. I do not believe it is a good idea to wait and depend on what others may or may not do. So we are going to move out from here.”

The reaction by the sergeants, though muted, was positive. The decision to move, regardless of who made it or who led them, was welcomed. Not only would they escape the stench of burned bodies that was beginning to permeate the area, but they would move away from the invisible enemy, radiation, that each suspected would soon saturate the area. Ilvanich allowed himself a few seconds to enjoy his success. Then, as was his habit, he got back to the matter at hand. “All right, if you have no objections, we must get on with this. Now give me a complete account of your units, their conditions, and positions.

Then we will go over how I expect the next thirty minutes to go and what we will do.”

Without hesitation, the leadership of Company A gathered around to render their reports and hear their commander’s orders.

After a brief discussion over a map with Fitzhugh and his senior sergeants, Ilvanich decided on where they would go and the formation they would use. As they prepared to break up and head back to their platoons to pass the word, one of the sergeants stood up and stared at the tunnel behind him. “Major, I think we need to go in there and see if there are any survivors.”

This comment caused everyone to stop what they were doing, for each of them, except Ilvanich, had been thinking the same thing. Looking first at the tunnel, then at Ilvanich, they waited for his response.

Ilvanich looked at the tunnel, and then at the faces of his leaders. It was, he knew, foolish to go in there. No one, he knew, could have survived, the blast. Even if they had somehow miraculously survived the fireball, that same fireball would have eaten every cubic centimeter of air in the tunnel and replaced it with superheated gases. Exposure to that, even for a second, would be enough to destroy a man’s lungs.

After considering his response, he was about to point this out in graphic detail, but decided not to. The men in that tunnel were their comrades and friends, people they felt a responsibility to. “You realize that the chances of anyone being alive in there are nil.”

The sergeant who had brought up the matter nodded. “We know that, Major. But we have to try.

Otherwise I’d never again be able to face the wives and kids of people I know in there.” There was a pause before he added, “We have to try. You understand, don’t you?”

No, Ilvanich thought, he didn’t understand why a man was willing to go and confirm something that he already knew. “What is your name please?”

“Rasper, Sergeant First Class Allen Rasper. Platoon sergeant for 1st Platoon.”

“You realize, Sergeant Rasper, that whoever goes in there will absorb more radiation, perhaps a lethal dose.”

The only response by Rasper to Ilvanich’s observation was to repeat his comment. “Sir, we have to try.”

Realizing that Rasper’s comment was more of a statement than a plea, Ilvanich decided to give in.

Although he knew it was not meant to be a test, to refuse this request, as insane as it was, would jeopardize his tenuous position as their temporary commander and could lead to further disaster. “All right, we will go. But we go with a radiacmeter. Once the radiation level becomes too high, we turn back.

Agreed?”

Rasper and the others nodded.

Ilvanich looked about the group. “Who is going with me?”

Caught off guard by the idea that Ilvanich was going, the Americans looked at each other for a second. Then Rasper stepped forward. “I’ll handle the radiacmeter, Major.”

Ilvanich reached out and put his hand on his shoulder. “Good, good.” Then he turned to Fitzhugh.

“While we’re in there, you are in command. You are to prepare the company to move from here as soon as we return. Bring your map and come over here.”

Moving up next to Ilvanich, Fitzhugh turned his small flashlight onto a map he held between himself and Ilvanich. Ilvanich, a professional soldier to the core, had already considered their situation and had come to a decision. Using his finger to trace a line on the map, Ilvanich issued his orders. “We will move to the south, along the side of the mountain to a point here. That line of march should take us away from the downwind area of this mess, away from where I expect the Ukrainians to launch their next attack, and take us to a landing zone, here, that we can defend. Have the company ready to move when I return.

Understood?”

Fitzhugh nodded. “Yes, sir. Understood.”

“Good, now get moving.” When the rest of the leaders had gone, and while Rasper checked out his radiacmeter, Ilvanich dug about the ruins of the guard shack looking for some rubberized ponchos he had come across before. Finding them, he pulled two out, tossing one to Rasper. “They will not give us much protection, but it will help. We can discard them after we are finished.”

Rasper put on the poncho Ilvanich had handed him and his protective mask. When he and Ilvanich were ready, the two men tromped off into the gaping black void that reeked of burned flesh. For a moment every eye in the company was on them as each man shared two common feelings: that someone was going to at least search for survivors and, at the same time, relief that they were not the ones going in.

“Colonel Dixon, the corps G-3 is on the line for you.”

Dixon, seated in front of the operations and intel maps between Cerro and his intelligence officer, leaned way back in the folding chair he was seated in until the front legs of the chair left the ground and his back began to arch forward. Reaching behind him blindly with his right hand, he opened it and waited for the phone. Behind him, the operations duty officer got up, leaned over the table he was at, and placed the phone receiver in Dixon’s outstretched hand. As soon as Dixon had a firm grasp on it, the duty officer grabbed the phone line and began to feed more toward Dixon in anticipation of Dixon’s returning back forward. Even this effort, however, did not help as Dixon, already talking on the phone, dragged the receiver across the duty officer’s table, creating an avalanche of pens, pencils, notebooks, clipboards, coffee cups, and scraps of paper onto the ground. While Dixon was oblivious to this, Cerro shot the duty officer a dirty look while Command Sergeant Major Duncan grabbed the operations sergeant by the arm and quietly reprimanded him for failing to keep the duty desk neat and clear of unnecessary trash and clutter.

“Dixon.”

The corps G-3’s voice betrayed how tired and harried he was. “Scott, we have to pull the Apaches from you. Things aren’t going well for the rangers, and they may need the attack helicopter support.”

Dixon grunted. “Yes, sir. I understand that, sir. But that, sir, puts my flank guards in a tight spot. I expect that reserve brigade from Uzlovaya to plow into our southern flank any minute. I’ve only got one company down there. Taking away the Apaches leaves me little choice but to pull more forces from the drive on Mukacevo to cover my flanks.”

The corps G-3 wasn’t moved by Dixon’s argument. Not that Dixon expected him to be. “I know, but you need to remember, you’re only a supporting attack. The corps commander never expected you to make it to Mukacevo.”

“Yeah, I know. We’re the red cape and it’s our job to keep the bull busy while the rangers cut off his nuts. Well, tell Big Al that he had better hurry before we lose ours.”

The corps G-3 laughed. “You know what Big Al will say to that.”

Dixon laughed too. “Yeah, I know. He’ll look at you and say, ‘What’s Dixon worried about? He doesn’t know what to do with ‘em anyway.’ ”

Turning serious, the G-3 asked Dixon how his brigade was doing. “We’re in good shape. No surprises, no problems yet that we didn’t anticipate. Other than the fact that the Youkes are reacting faster than we had thought they would and my battalion commanders are moving into the Ukraine with everything that their units own plus, we’re doing quite well. Loss of the Apaches may slow us down later, but for now, no problems.”

The corps G-3, satisfied with Dixon’s assessment, promised him that he would return control of the Apaches as soon as they were finished supporting the extraction of the ranger company. Failing that, the G-3 promised Dixon that the Air Force would have some A- 10s on station at dawn to sweep the road and high ground ahead of his brigade.

Finished, Dixon held the phone over his head, waiting for the operations duty officer to take it, while he turned to Cerro. “Well, you heard?”

Cerro nodded. “We lose the Apaches. Okay, no problem. Do we shift another company down to the Latorica?”

Dixon, relieved of the phone, folded his arms and looked at the map for a moment as he thought. “No, not yet. Hal, contact the 2nd of the 35th Armor. Tell them I want a string on one of their companies, tank heavy. Their mission, if I need it, will be to move south to reinforce or relieve Kozak at the Latorica.”

“Do we want to shift priority of fires to Kozak’s company?”

Dixon thought about that, then shook his head. “No, not yet. But I do want you to have one of the OH-58 Delta scouts move south and keep an eye on things down there.” Dixon turned to Cerro and pointed his finger at him. “Be prepared to shift priority of fires if things get really tight down there, but don’t do so without my permission. With the Apaches gone and the A-10s unavailable until dawn, we may need the artillery to blow through any roadblocks further down the line. Our main effort still remains keeping the pressure up on Mukacevo and drawing the Ukrainians’ heavy forces away from the rangers.

The best way we can do that is to keep moving. Kozak will have to do the best she can with what she has.”

Turning toward the map, Cerro looked at the blue map symbol that represented Kozak’s company.

Sitting at a point just north of the Latorica River, where the road to Chop crossed it, the small blue company marker was threatened by an ominously large red marker that represented a Ukrainian tank brigade. The intelligence duty officer, having posted the Ukrainian brigade symbol, had drawn a large red arrow pointing from it right at the center of the symbol that represented Kozak’s company. Cerro mused as he continued to look at the map, “Well, young Captain Kozak has her work cut out for her.”

Dixon said nothing at first. Instead he stood up and stretched, his hands reaching the canvas roof of the forward command post’s tent extension. “Hal, I got the feeling that before this thing is over, we’ll all have our hands full.” Dropping his arms, he put his hands on his hips and looked about his command post, then back to Cerro. “Get on the horn and let 3rd of the 3rd Infantry know the Apaches are going away.”

Turning to Command Sergeant Major Duncan, Dixon informed him that he and Colonel Vorishnov were going forward in his tank.

Without another word, he walked out and let his staff go about issuing the orders and instructions necessary to deal with the brigade’s new situation.

The attack on Kozak’s position north of the Latorica River was slow to develop, reflecting the Ukrainian brigade commander’s surprise that American forces were already deployed so close to Chop, his uncertainty of the precise location and composition of those forces, and his standing orders. While the loss of his entire advanced guard detachment of three tanks before they could provide him with any detailed information was regrettable, at least the initial garbled report of their platoon leader gave him something to work with. The report that they were being hit by long-range tank fire, and subsequent reports from a recon unit that arrived moments later, confirmed that the engagement had taken place two thousand meters south of the bridge. Based on the information he had at hand, he assumed he was facing a flank screen by an armored cavalry unit. That would account for the speed with which the Americans had arrived at their positions and the presence of tanks. A deliberate attack, he decided, rather than a hasty one, would therefore be more effective, since a series of progressively larger hasty attacks would only allow the Americans to grind up his combat power a little at a time. One full-blooded and coordinated attack, with all the combat power he could bring to bear, would not only scatter the screening force, it would leave his forces in the proper formations for further attacks north toward Uzhgorod.

There was, of course, the problem of crossing the river. Destruction of the highway bridges complicated his mission. As the Ukrainian brigade assembled west of Chop, its commander and his staff pondered their options at the junction where Highway 17 turned north toward the Latorica. As throngs of frightened refugees struggled to get around, past, or through the tanks and personnel carriers of the brigade, the brigade commander realized that only two real choices existed. He could either move his forces to the east and cross at another site or conduct an assault crossing north of Chop.

His choice of options, however, was limited due to his literal translation of his standing orders. If, those orders stated, an attack originated from Slovakia, he was to deploy his brigade from their garrison at Uzlovaya to Chop. From there, he was to cross the Latorica via the highway and railroad bridge, which the orders assumed would be intact. Once assembled on the north side of the Latorica, the Ukrainian brigade was to attack north along Highway 17, into the flank of the invading force, using Uzhgorod as their objective. Unable to contact the commander of the Ruthenia Military District, the Ukrainian brigade commander felt he had little choice but to carry out his standing orders to the letter.