3:56 A.M., OCTOBER 17
3RD PLATOON, BRAVO COMPANY, 2ND RECONNAISSANCE BATTALION, 2ND MARINE DIVISION
THE SANDS OF NORTHERN EGYPT
Gunny peered at the distant desert. “Sir, there’s more company on the way.” The anxiousness in his voice was unmistakable.
“What? Where?”
Fife raised his arm and pointed toward the endless void. “South-by-southwest, cloud of dust about three miles out. Four tanks headed this direction in one hell of a hurry.”
“Aw shit, get Whitehurst’s team up here. As fast as those things are moving, they’ll be here in five or six minutes.”
The platoon sergeant keyed his headset.
Erickson watched as the rushing giants continued to approach the depleted platoon’s lines.
In seconds, the Humvee armed with antitank missiles roared up the sandy slope and stopped next to the platoon leader’s position. Their furious opponent was closing fast.
“What do we have, sir?” Whitehurst asked.
“South-by-southwest, a platoon of tanks headed toward us.”
It only took a moment for the corporal to identify the approaching threat. “I’ve got them. From their silhouettes looks like American-made M-60s.” Whitehurst immediately understood the immense danger the Marines faced. His mounting concerns matched those of the platoon’s leaders. Yet even with the dire turn of events, he was too well trained and too confident in his abilities to panic. And the last thing he wanted was to further alarm the others. So he pushed aside any self-doubt and did his best to sound poised and professional. He knew his words wouldn’t fool Erickson or Fife, but hoped they would calm his fire team and keep them focused on the task ahead. “TOWs will handle ’em just fine. Dinkins, grab the replacement missiles. These guys are not yet in range. But that won’t last much longer. Half mile, maybe a bit more, and the TOWs can reach them. Unfortunately, their main gun will also be able to reach us. We’ve got to reload and fire as rapidly as possible. Our six missiles will be more than enough to eliminate them. All we need is time.”
Whitehurst began tracking the spectral forms. He soon located the leader in his crosshairs. As it grew nearer the corporal followed the feverish M-60 to get a feel for its range and speed.
“Smith, inform the task force that four tanks are about to attack,” Erickson directed.
The corporal started speaking into the radio.
“Wait!” Fife said.
The radioman stopped in mid-sentence. He stared at Fife, unsure of what to do.
“We’ve got much bigger problems than a platoon of tanks,” Gunny said. “Look beyond them. There’s an immense curtain of sand a few miles back that appears to go on forever.”
Those on the modest hilltop focused their attention on the platoon sergeant’s latest discovery. The strange image, giving every appearance of a savage Sahara sandstorm, also was coming their way.
But it wasn’t a sandstorm.
A startled Erickson was the first to recognize what it was they were viewing. “Give me the handset.” The radioman handed it to him. “Sierra-Victor, this is Bravo-Three-Six.”
“Go ahead, Bravo-Three-Six.”
“Sierra-Victor, four M-60s are three miles out and closing with our position. We’ve also identified a far more serious problem. The forward elements of a Pan-Arab armored division are five miles behind them. Like the M-60s, they’re headed this way at a high rate of speed. Be aware there may be additional divisions approaching that we’ve not yet identified. How do you wish us to proceed?”
The threat was undeniable. Three hundred tanks, an equal number of armored personnel carriers, thousands of zealous soldiers, untold artillery pieces, bristling air defense missiles, and scores of supporting equipment were flying across the desert intent on destroying the Americans. They had significantly more firepower than the Marine division, on its own, could muster. If not stopped, their lead units would reach the landing zone in twenty minutes.
“Wait one, Bravo-Three-Six.”
It felt like forever as the lieutenant lay holding the handset while the division leadership conferred. Finally a new voice came on. Erickson instantly recognized it was the division commander.
“Bravo-Three-Six, you are to proceed with the initial plan,” the general said. “We are landing here, we are landing now. We’ve been ordered to establish a second front before the sun peeks over the horizon. And the 2nd Marine Division will damn sure do everything in its power to ensure that happens. No matter how challenging this becomes, no matter what obstacles we face, there is no other option if we’re going to keep this potential planet-consuming holy war from erupting further.”
“Understood, sir.”
“We’re launching a dozen Hornets to blunt the enemy attack. The aircraft carriers are still one hundred miles out so it will take eight to ten minutes to launch the aircraft and have them reach the coast. In addition, every destroyer in the task force is aligning to unleash their five-inch guns. The estimate for that to occur is the same as the fighters. Eight to ten minutes before we’re ready to go. If that doesn’t hold the sorry bastards until we can get our forces ashore, I don’t know what will.”
“Yes, sir. But what about the four tanks closing with my position? They’ll be here in less than four minutes. Unless stopped they’ll reach the beach just prior to the first wave landing. The amtracs won’t stand a chance against such firepower. The tanks will rip them to shreds.”
“Understood. Be aware we’ve nothing that can reach you in time. So there’s no other option I’m afraid. For our plan to succeed we need you to take out those tanks. Can you do that, Lieutenant?”
“Sir, with a single antitank Humvee we’ll need some luck. But we do have enough missiles to handle a force that size. We’re tracking them right now and are seconds away from releasing a first TOW.”
“Good. No matter what the cost, take them out. The landing depends on it.”
* * *
—
“All right, here we go,” Whitehurst said.
After a quick glance to ensure no one was within the backfiring canister’s lethal discharge, the corporal released the first of his potent missiles. The noxious TOW burst from the firing tube. Trailing a thin fiber-optic cable behind it, the measuring slayer skimm
ed across the lifeless desert in pursuit of the targeted M-60. While it did, its fins popped out and a light came on in its tail. The approaching tanks continued on their determined way toward the Americans. Not one had the slightest notion that a hideous assailant was on the wing, ready to claim the first of them.
Whitehurst made a handful of adjustments to the menacing missile’s flight. In seconds, the TOW’s nose struck home. A mighty explosion rocked the callous morning. The dying M-60’s crushing fireball reached high into the heavens. Within its flaming walls, four frantic beings instantly were consumed by the all-devouring blaze.
The remaining leviathans didn’t hesitate. Without pause, they continued their fervent charge toward the American defenses. The horrid shadows came on, their shrilly creaking treads growing louder with every passing second.
Whitehurst reached for a replacement TOW to reload the firing tube. It would take at least a half minute to prepare for the next launch. For the next thirty seconds, the platoon would be at the mercy of the sordid tanks.
The lunging ogres were, however, too far away to open fire with their machine guns. And unlike the more sophisticated American M-1 tanks, they didn’t have fully integrated shoot-on-the-move capabilities. Each would have to come to a stop before its crew could target its foe and unleash its main cannon against the Marines. The Pan-Arabs decided to continue their maniacal rush. At thirty miles an hour, a frightful end was coming to claim the battered platoon.
Whitehurst was up and ready. He selected his next victim. Once more a TOW leaped from the fiery container to seek and destroy. Straight and steady the searching missile ripped across the tedious landscape at incredible speed. It relentlessly closed with the surging formation. The corporal made the final adjustments to its destructive flight. The injurious armament struck home. Another thunderous blast swept through the crisp night. A second fifty-ton beast’s roaring funeral pyre was added to the grisly bonfires near the coastline.