Borin did a pushup and got to his feet. “Drink some water Grekov … And take a pee. You’ll be busy soon.” And with that he left.

  ***

  Finn lowered his binoculars. Everything looked normal. Or what he imagined normal to be. Why did he feel so jumpy then? Was it an understandable fear of the unknown? Or was a sixth sense trying to warn him of something?

  He thumbed his radio. “Alpha-Seven … This is Six actual. Everything looks good so far. But let’s check to make sure there aren’t any explosives under the bridge. Send a couple of EODs (Explosive Ordinance Disposal) specialists forward. The rest of the company will remain where it is. Out.”

  “Roger that,” Owens replied. “I’m on it. Out.”

  The WHEELER DEALER brought the EODs forward, and Finn went over speak with them. Garcia was short and built like a fireplug. Abbott had a boyish countenance and freckles. “What’s up, sir?”

  Finn jerked a thumb over his shoulder. “I want you to check the bridge for explosives. Disarm anything you find. Or, if you aren’t sure you can do so safely, pull out. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir,” the soldiers said in unison. Both men were carrying satchels full of gear as they took off at a trot.

  Finn watched them go. The heat settled onto his shoulders like a lead lined cloak. The air was still. And the only sound was the rumble produced by two Stryker engines. Something was wrong. He could feel it. But what?

  ***

  Borin was inside the remains of a house, standing next to a T-72 tank, and looking out through a window with binoculars. Der’mo! (Shit!) The pindos were checking for explosives. And, when they found them, the element of surprise would be lost.

  Borin thumbed his radio. “This is Agate-Zero-One. Start your engines. Check your targets. Fire at will.”

  Thanks to more than a day of prep, and the real time data provided by their drone, the Russian tankers were prepared to fire on specific targets. And they were going to do so with 125mm sabot rounds, which had the best chance of penetrating American armor.

  Borin still had ten tanks. Nine of them fired a ragged volley. The crew on the tenth was still trying to start their engine. But nine rounds, striking within seconds of each other, took a terrible toll—largely because the vehicles were out of Iron Fist interceptors.

  Bradley 1, better known as “HOT TRACKS,” was destroyed with a single shell. Ammo stored onboard exploded, killing all nine passengers and crew, including Platoon Commander Lieutenant Russ Bailey.

  The SPEAR OF ALLAH was destroyed by a sabot round, which shattered inside the Bradley, killing the crew and a team of soldiers.

  The same fate befell the tank BLACK DEUCE as a round landed on the front deck with such force that it went through the M-1’s composite armor, and produced what tankers call a “Jack-in-the box.” Meaning a terrible explosion.

  Finn ordered his tanks to launch smoke grenades and open fire on the village even though they didn’t have specific targets yet. He was about to ask the Raven operator for targeting information when he heard the pilot’s voice. “Alpha-Six … This is Freight-Train. There are five – plus new heat signatures in the village. Be advised that I’m being pinged. I think there’s some sort of surface-to-air platform in the village. Out.”

  A female voice chimed in. “Six, Ax and Scarecrow inbound from the north. We are two Warthogs with missiles and guns. You might be up against the Russian tank company my wingman and I tangled with last week. They have a Russian Pantsir missile system. Over.”

  “This is Alpha-Two,” Pinnick interrupted. “Roger both. Standby Ax. Hit ’em with an AGM-65. Let’s see if the Pantsir is there. Over.”

  “This is Alpha-Six actual,” Finn said. “Our UAV pilot reports five-plus heat signatures in the village. How ‘bout that Echo-Six? Have you got ’em? Over.”

  “Firing,” Lieutenant Tim Scott replied. “Over.” An M-1 fired two seconds later, immediately followed by a second and third.

  Finn saw three flashes in the village as the 105mm rounds landed then witnessed an explosion in the sky. “Bingo!” Pinnick said. “This is Two. Ax was right. The Pantsir blew the AGM out of the air. How ‘bout it Ax? Have you got this? Over.”

  “Ax and Scarecrow inbound with missiles and guns. We see the smoke.”

  “You’re cleared hot. Get him. Over.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rostam, Iran

  It was the perfect situation from Captain Linda Axeton’s perspective. She’d seen the flare as a missile was launched from a spot east of the crumbling mosque. Her A-10 Thunderbolt was armed with six AGM-65 Maverick heat seeking missiles and she fired three of them. One for Rowdy, Axeton thought. One for his momma. And one for me.

  The Pantsir blew the first AGM out of the air. But the second scored a hit on the vehicle’s sensor array. And, when the third struck, the unit exploded.

  ***

  Scarecrow followed Ax in and opened fire with his cannon. Armor piercing rounds drew a straight line through the village, found a Russian fuel tanker, and cut the truck in half. Fire billowed and black smoke rose to stain the blue sky.

  What remained of the Pantsir was directly ahead of him. It was on fire and the hulk shook like a thing possessed as a hundred rounds of 30 mike-mike pounded what remained of it.

  ***

  “Alpha-Two to Ax and Scarecrow,” Pinnick said. “Target neutralized. Stand by. Over.”

  ***

  Borin was shocked by the ease with which the Allied aircraft had been able to locate and destroy the Pantsir anti-missile system. He’d been counting on it. His tanks were in greater danger now, but far from helpless.

  Borin’s truck drivers had fourth generation 9K333 Verba (Willow) shoulder-fired, surface-to-air missile launchers, and knew how to use them. And, unlike the lumbering Pantsir system, the Verba teams could run, fire, and run again.

  After ordering the antiair teams to operate independently, Borin turned his attention back to the tank battle which, thanks to numerical superiority, he should be winning.

  Tank 9 was up and running at that point, so Borin had ten tanks to fight with, compared with what his drone operator assured him were three American M-1s.

  Borin was forced to take his word for it because the Americans were using smoke to conceal their movements. And that tactic was effective because Borin’s T-72Bs lacked infrared sights. Why was that the case? Because the dolbo yebs (dumb fucks) in the Kremlin wouldn’t spend the money.

  The bridge, Borin thought. It’s time to blow the bridge. Borin believed that he would win the tank battle. But, what if he didn’t?

  The Americans would have a straight shot at the Zahedan airbase which was where the bombs were. And his orders were to delay, if not stop them.

  “This is Agate-Zero-One,” Borin said. “Blow the bridge.”

  Fifteen seconds passed. Nothing happened. “Agate-Zero-One,” a voice said. “This is One-Eight. The detonator isn’t working. Over.”

  Borin swore. The charges had been neutralized. And it was his fault. You waited too long, Borin told himself. But he still had an option. A good option. “This Agate-Zero-One. Tanks 2 and 3 will depart for the highway. Blow a hole in the bridge, and do it quickly. Out.”

  ***

  Alpha-Two, this is Freight Train,” the Raptor pilot said. “Two tanks are breaking out. They’re headed for the highway. Over.”

  Finn was grateful for the heads up. The same smoke that was shielding Strike Force Three made it impossible for him to put eyes on the village.

  “This is Alpha-Six actual,” Finn said. “The charges didn’t blow, so they plan to take out the bridge with cannon fire. Kill them. Over.”

  “Roger that,” Freight-Train replied. “One, two, three AGM Hellfire missiles on the way. Out.”

  “Echo-Six,” Finn said. “This is Alpha-Six. Take your tanks across the bridge. Destroy any T-72s you see. Bravo-Seven will follow with infantry. Out.”

  “Roger that,” Lieutenant Scott replied. “Out.”

  Finn heard two loud bangs, followed by a resonant BOOM!

  “Two of Freight-Train’s missiles were intercepted,” Pinnick announced. “The third hit a tank. Scratch one T-72. Over.”

  ***

  The second tank is headed for the same bridge we’re supposed to cross, Scott thought. And more may follow. This shit is getting real.

  The commander’s station was equipped with six periscopes which, taken together, could provide Scott with a 360-degree view.

  But for the moment the only thing the platoon leader cared about was the situation directly in front of him as the AXIS ACE rolled onto the west end of the bridge, closely followed by MAMA’S BOY, and ROLLING THUNDER.

  As the smoke blew away Scott saw the bridge deck in front of him, the slope beyond, and the crest of the hill. That was where the Russian T-72B appeared.

  Scott was reminded of the shootouts in the old westerns. Movies in which the good guys always won. Would that apply to a “shootout” on a bridge in eastern Iran? He was about to find out. “Gunner, HEAT, vehicle ahead.”

  Prevo was ready. “Identified.”

  ***

  After loading the 105mm shell into the breech Tatum raised the arming handle. “Up!”

  ***

  Scott was waiting. “Gunner take over.”

  ***

  Prevo saw a puff of smoke as the T-72 fired, said “On the way!”, and pulled the trigger. Shell passed shell traveling in opposite directions. The Russian round landed twenty yards in front of the M-1 and blew a hole in the pavement. And that was no accident. If the Russian gunner could score significant damage the Americans wouldn’t be able to advance.

  Prevo’s round scored a hit on the T-72, but the Russian’s reactive armor was sufficient to diffuse the blast. Scott saw that and responded. “Gunner, sabot, vehicle ahead.”

  ***

  Prevo felt a tightness in his belly. “Identified.”

  ***

  Tatum loaded the round and pushed the lever into position. “Up!”

  ***

  Scott clenched his teeth. The Russian machine was equipped with an autoloader. Would that make an appreciable difference? “Gunner take over.”

  ***

  Prevo felt the AXIS ACE lurch as the Russian shell hit, triggered the M-1’s reactive armor, and was neutralized. The T-72 was getting closer with each passing second.

  “On the way!” Prevo pulled the trigger. The sabot round raced down range and hit the T-72 within a foot of the point where the first round had struck. And, because the Russian’s reactive armor had been expended, there was nothing other than bare steel to protect the machine.

  The armor-piercing sabot penetrated the T-72’s hull, punched another hole through the tank’s skin on its way out, and tumbled away. Meanwhile a combination of over-pressure and flying shrapnel annihilated the crew. All in a second.

  A fire started, flames found ammo, and it began to cook off. And, since the 72 was on the bridge deck by then, Scott’s column had to stop and wait.

  That was the moment Finn had been hoping for. “Alpha-Two, this is Six. It’s time to turn the Warthogs loose. Over.”

  Pinnick was ready. “Roger that, Six. Ax and Scarecrow are cleared hot. Find the rest of the tanks. Kill ’em. Out.”

  ***

  “In with missiles and guns,” Axeton declared, as she made her approach from the north. Some right stick was enough to line up on the first tank. It was firing at the Bradleys on the west side of the canyon and hotter than a fire cracker on the fourth of July.

  Mindful of the MANPADS (Man-portable air-defense systems) below, Axeton fired chaff to draw the interceptors away, and fired two AGM-65 Mavericks at the heat source. Shoulder launched missiles detonated harmlessly as they chased chaff and the Mavericks found their target.

  Scarecrow arrived next with rockets and guns. Red flashes marched north to south as the pilots fired on targets of opportunity. Finn was watching from cover on the west side of the canyon, and could imagine how it felt to be the subject of such a pounding.

  And it wasn’t over. The A-10s made three passes each before they began to run low on ordinance and fuel. ‘It’s been fun hanging out with you guys,” Ax said. “But we’re bingo fuel. A couple of Eurofighter Typhoons are inbound to provide air cover. Good hunting. Ax out.”

  ***

  Borin had lost five tanks, two transporters, a supply truck and his fueler in the last hour. The Americans had taken control of the bridge and were bringing their Bradleys across. That meant infantry, and they were entering the village from the west.

  But the battle wasn’t over. Borin had one last card to play. And that was a battery of two Iranian Fajr-5C rocket launchers located fifty miles to the south. Each weapon had a 385-pound fragmentation warhead, each containing 198 pounds of HE.

  The good news was that the Fajr-5C rockets were equipped with GPS guidance—which was better than nothing. The bad news was that, while the weapons were likely to fall on the village, there was no guarantee as to what they would hit. Americans? Russians? Or neither. There was no way to tell.

  The American tanks had just enough room to squeeze past the badly ravaged T-72B and were pushing across the bridge. Borin thumbed his transmit button. “DXC-Seven, this is Agate-Zero-One. Prepare to fire … Fire! Out.”

  ***

  South of Rostam, Iran

  The Iranian detachment included two missile carriers and each fired four rockets. They sleeted into the air and arced north. “May Allah guide you,” the officer in charge said.

  Then, rather than order his soldiers to reload their tubes, he told them to mount up. The missile carriers were going to run. Would the infidels come after them? And if they did, what would happen then? The officer thought he knew.

  ***

  Rostam, Iran

  “Alpha-Six, this is Freight-Train. Prepare for incoming fire from the south. Missiles, I think … But they could be rockets.”

  Pinnick interrupted. “This is Two. Have we got air cover?”

  “This is Stack and Freeze,” a voice replied. “We are Eurofighter Typhoons on station with missiles and guns. Your wish is our command. Over.”

  “Head south and destroy whatever was launched at us,” Pinnick responded. “Out.”

  “Roger that,” the voice said. “Out.”

  Finn was just about to issue orders when the rockets landed in quick succession. One hit a mud brick house and exploded. Chunks of adobe were tossed into air where they appeared to hang for a moment before raining down.

  Another weapon landed on what must have been a Russian vehicle, judging from the resulting boom, and the ascending fireball.

  A third scored a direct hit on the Bradley called COFFIN ED. It was forced to stop. But the hull was intact. The other rockets exploded harmlessly in and around the village.

  Finn was with First Sergeant Dyson, and Platoon Sergeant Tuttle, as they entered Rostam in CAMO CADDY and made contact with the soldiers from HELL BENT.

  “We’ll take a squad each,” Finn told the noncoms. “Find those tanks. Make sure your teams have a Javelin. And watch for IEDs.”

  That was when the crack of a rifle was heard, a bullet hit Tuttle, and a halo of red mist expanded away from his head. He dropped like a rock. Everyone took cover. “A fucking sniper,” Dyson remarked, as a medic crawled over to check Tuttle’s pulse.

  “Yeah,” Finn agreed. “And I’d put my money on the minaret. Put a missile on the top of it.”

  The fire-and-forget FGM-148 Javelins were useful against tanks and fortifications. On orders from Dyson, a private took up a position where he was partially protected by the CAMO CADDY, and took aim.

  The launcher jerked, the missile sped upwards, and struck just below the minaret’s domed top. The resulting explosion showered the area below with chunks of shattered masonry. “Nice shooting, private,” Finn said as he stood. “Let’s clear the village.”

  Finn believed the sniper was dead. If not, he’d make an excellent target. But it was imperative to go on offense. And if he stood, the others would do likewise. The gamble paid off. Finn led his eight-soldier squad forward into a narrow street.

  Mudbrick buildings lined both sides of the passageway. A horizontal scar was visible on the wall to Finn’s right. As if something had scraped it. And recently too, judging by the way it looked. A Russian tank? Yeah … That seemed likely.

  As the squad continued to advance Finn saw signs that seemed to support his theory. A shattered curb. Fresh oil droplets. And a Russian candy wrapper.

  “We’re getting close,” Finn said over the squad frequency. And, as if too eager to confirm that opinion, a wall crumbled as a T-72 appeared and fired. The noise was deafening.

  The shell flew over Finn’s head and landed somewhere behind him. He didn’t turn to look. “Hit it from above!” Finn shouted, and Private Bajwa knew what the officer wanted.

  By selecting the top attack mode, Bajwa could direct the missile to go high and strike downwards—hitting the tank where its armor was thinnest.

  The Javelin trailed gray smoke as it soared, reached apogee, and took a steep dive. The missile was equipped with two shaped charges, a precursor designed to trigger reactive armor, and a primary warhead which penetrated the hull.

  The T-72 appeared to swell slightly before exploding. Shrapnel sliced through the air in every direction and threw up geysers of dirt wherever it landed.

  “Good work, Bajwa,” Finn said, as the wreck burned. “That was seventy-eight-thousand dollars well spent.”

  ***

  The Americans were winning. Borin felt a deep sense of anguish. He’d failed his country, and worse than that, he’d failed his men. Only two choices remained. He could ask his soldiers to fight to the death, or lead the remaining handful to safety. Or attempt to.

  You owe them that much, Borin decided. As for you, well, you won’t be a provisional lieutenant for much longer. Or even a Starshina (sergeant major). But it won’t matter in the long run. The Axis is going to lose. And then, if you’re still alive, you can sit on the porch and feel the summer sun on your face.