The Chosen One

Walton couldn’t know it, but Sanchez’s rumor was, in fact, true. A brigade from the 3rd Infantry was rolling across the monumental sands at that moment. They were ten hours from relieving the battered battalion.

All the 1st Cavalry soldiers needed to do was live that long.

Because despite appearances the enemy wasn’t sleeping.

* * *

—

Deep inside the hastily constructed command bunker, the argument had been raging for hours among the Iraqi leadership.

“Omar, sit down, you’re making a fool of yourself,” Lieutenant Colonel Yousef Haddad said. “The men are weary of all this killing. They need to rest. Why don’t we let them get some sleep? Paradise can wait for a few hours more.”

But his best friend and fellow battalion commander, Omar Suradein wasn’t about to be silenced. “We’re nearly there. I can sense it. Victory’s within our grasp. The Americans have suffered many losses. They’re as exhausted as we are. And they grow weaker with each attack. If we concentrate everything we have at one key position, we can break through. Once we do, we’ll dash across the desert before anyone figures out what’s happened. By this time tomorrow, we’ll be setting fire to the Saudi oil fields. Won’t that be a pretty sight? Come on, where’s your courage? The Iranian infantry’s ready. They’ve even got one of their martyr battalions prepared to show the way. All they’re waiting for is our tanks to back them up.”

“Omar, the men are tired. And like our previous assaults, this one calls for bravery. Tired men are not courageous men. Many have lost their taste for the fight. They need to sleep if they’re going to rebuild their strength. Let’s go to bed. We can die as easily in the sunlight as we can now.”

“Cowards! Every one of you is nothing more than a coward. I’m ashamed to call myself an Iraqi soldier. Our friends the Iranians are willing to find a blissful beyond this night if that’s what Allah wishes. Their martyrs are eager to lead. The political officers have brought them to a fever pitch. There’ll be plenty of time to sleep in the honored place we go, my friends. And beautiful virgins to share our beds for eternity. Hear this, each of you, my battalion’s going to start its engines this instant. I’ve got thirty-six T-72s ready to support our courageous allies in their holy venture.”

“Omar, if you insist on this foolish thing, let me call for artillery. We’ll soften the Americans before you attack. Maybe we can find a few helicopters to support your operation.”

“Allah’s true believers need nothing to aid their efforts. Save the artillery shells and helicopters for your soldiers. Maybe after they’re given such help and a few days to relax, they’ll be brave enough to attack the heretics whose presence forever stains the Prophet Muhammad’s sacred homeland.”

Suradein stormed out. It wouldn’t be long before his tanks would be supporting a five-thousand-man Iranian infantry brigade’s attack on the American lines.

The Iranian plan was to first send one of their martyr battalions to cause the enemy to expend the majority of his munitions. With their opponent weakened, they’d concentrate everything they had against a single position in the defenders’ lines.

That position was being held by Walton’s platoon.

There would be no rest for the fatigued platoon sergeant on this night.

27

2:42 A.M., OCTOBER 19

4TH PLATOON, ALPHA TROOP, 1ST BATTALION, 5TH CAVALRY REGIMENT, 1ST HEAVY BRIGADE COMBAT

(IRONHORSE), 1ST CAVALRY DIVISION

OUTSIDE SAKAKAH, SAUDI ARABIA

Walton’s eyes momentarily closed.

“Sarge!” Sanchez called out. “Sarge, we’ve got company.”

“What? Where?”

“Where? There’s movement everywhere I look. Got to be at least a battalion of infantry out there, maybe more. Looks like they’re preparing to attack.”

Just then, three dozen T-72 engines roared to life. The first of the hideous tanks crept toward the front lines.

“Aw, shit. They’re bringing their Iraqi friends again.” Walton spoke into the radio. “Two-Six, this is Alpha-Four-Five. Two-Six, this is Alpha-Four-Five.”

Three miles south, the call was answered. “Roger, Alpha-Four-Five,” the familiar voice of the battalion radio operator said.

“Two-Six, be advised we’ve got a strong infantry force directly in front of us. They’re getting ready to attack. Sounds like lots of armored vehicles headed this way too. Request immediate air support.”

“Okay, Alpha-Four-Five. I’ll call for fighters. Then I’ll wake the battalion commander and see if he’ll release our last three Apaches to hold them until the jet jockeys arrive.”

“While you’re at it, Two-Six, can you scrounge up some ammunition for our Bushmaster cannons, machine guns, and rifles? We’re running low. And some additional TOWs wouldn’t hurt. My three Bradleys only have about a dozen missiles between them.”

“That I can do, Alpha-Four-Five. We received a complete resupply an hour ago. Got more stuff than anyone knows what to do with. You’d think with all the support helicopters left, they were servicing a brigade rather than a battalion. I’ll get one of the reserve platoons headed your direction. We’ll put a few crates of TOWs and all the ammunition they can hold into their Bradleys and bring it to you.”

“Make it fast. It looks like the infantry could charge at any second.”

“They’ll be there in fifteen minutes.”

Walton put down the handset.

“Sarge,” Sanchez said, “I’ve been watching the Iranian preparations. This one looks different somehow.”

Walton peered across the far field. “Different? What’s different?”

“The pieces don’t fit. Something’s not quite right about their actions. There’s some strange goings-on over there.”

“What’s so strange? The Iranian infantry’s about to charge and the Iraqi tanks are backing them up. There’s nothing unusual about that. It’s like they’ve been doing every few hours for the past week.”

“Maybe so. But I swear there’s something odd about their activity. I haven’t put my finger on it yet, but those bastards are up to no good.”

“Wake Wally and get him out there with his M-4. We’re going to need every rifle we’ve got for this one. As soon as he’s outside, button up good and tight.”

Sanchez spoke into the intercom. “Dimmit, you awake?” The corporal banged on the driver’s compartment. “Can you hear me, Dimmit? Get your ass up and get outside. The Iranians are getting ready to attack.”

The sleepy PFC emerged from the driver’s area in the front of the Bradley. He wandered over to a sandbagged foxhole twenty yards to the left. The armored vehicle’s driver rubbed his tired eyes, let out a wide yawn, and took the safety off his rifle. In the distance, the first group of Iranians marched single file onto the humble field. They continued forward until they passed the last of the burning tanks. Once there, they began spreading out side by side to create a lengthy line three hundred yards long in front of the demolished Iraqi armor. The moment the stretching formation was in place, a shrill whistle sounded. The Iranians started running across the chaotic ground. The lovers of Islam were screaming at the top of their lungs. The martyr battalion’s initial wave of three hundred had entered the coming contest. A thousand yards of open ground separated them from the Americans. An identical arrangement of anxious participants appeared behind the first on the crest. As the preceding array had done, they marched forward until they reached the front of the armor and started to disperse. They were ready to race forward upon command. Behind the small hill, out of sight of the Americans, two more queues waited.

“Here they come!” Sanchez said. He dropped into the compartment, grabbed his hatch, and pulled it shut.

Walton took one last look at the charging enemy and slipped inside the Bradley. He reached up and secured his hatch cover. “Ge

t ready to line up your TOWs, Miguel. If they do this one like the others, the tanks will appear as soon as the last of the infantry comes over the top of the hill.” The platoon sergeant spoke into the radio again. “Fourth Platoon, reinforcements and ammunition are on the way. Nobody panic. Hang tight and get those machine guns and Bushmasters ready. Make every shot count. Hold your fire until they’re within range, then let them have it with everything you’ve got. We’ll attack the infantry at three hundred yards. Open fire on my cue. When the tanks appear, select your targets and release your TOWs as you see fit.”