Advance to Contact: 1980 (Soviet Endgame) by James Rosone & Alex Aaronson

Author:James Rosone & Alex Aaronson [Rosone, James]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Front Line Publishing Inc.
Published: 2022-11-06T16:00:00+00:00

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23 April 1980

Northeast of Ramhormoz, Iran

Staff Sergeant Felix Watkins scanned the desert town of Ramhormoz. They’d found exactly what they were expecting. The Iraqis were staging from here. They were building up forces for a major armored thrust on the city of Izeh. Izeh was forty-five miles northeast of Ramhormoz, and intel was certain that it was the next objective of the Iraqi Army.

Watkins and the rest of the 82nd Airborne Division had been given orders to head out to Egypt. Before the ink was dry on those orders, they’d been redeployed to Iran. After spending a week in Tabriz getting the Division situated, they’d started sending out patrols. From what Watkins heard from the brass, the 82nd would be joining the fight in earnest, but for now, they were providing as much support as they could.

“That’s a shitload of armor,” said Specialist Marlon Reeves, one of Watkins’s radiotelephone operators.

“You ain’t kiddin’, Reeves,” replied Watkins. “Let’s see if we can do something about it. Get me Simpson on the line.” Tech Sergeant Wayne Simpson was the Air Force combat controller who was the liaison between Watkins and the nasty surprise the Air Force had flying high above them.

“Hazard One-One, this is Pressure Two-Zero,” said Reeves into his radio.

“Pressure Two-Zero, Hazard, I have you fives.”

“Hazard, we have a massed formation of armor,” Reeves continued, giving the exact position and composition of the target. Once he completed his report, Hazard gave him some advice.

“Pressure Two-Zero, keep your head down but your eyes open. You’re not going to want to miss this.”

“Roger that, Juice. We’ll let you know,” said Reeves, using Simpson’s nickname.

The two Rangers looked at each other. They knew that there would be some close-air support, but they had no idea what made this run special. Within five minutes, they understood. The flight of four aircraft raced in from the northwest on the deck. It took a minute for Watkins to ID them.

“Warthogs,” said the staff sergeant, using the unofficial nickname for the Republic A-10 Thunderbolt IIs. They watched as all four aircraft unleashed six AGM-45 Maverick missiles each. One by one, the tanks exploded. The rapid succession of fireballs was dazzling. They couldn’t be sure, but at least twenty tanks had been damaged or destroyed in the first pass.

Watkins watched as a MANPAD followed one of the Warthogs, exploding behind it. The shrapnel from the warhead didn’t seem to faze the armored menace. Once the flight passed the tank formation, they entered into a wingover maneuver, where they climbed into the sky, then reversed course, heading straight at the enemy.

From their perch in the hills, the Rangers had the perfect view as the A-10s opened up with their GAU-8 Avenger cannons. The 30mm autocannon fired nearly four thousand rounds of depleted uranium a minute at the Iraqis. Even from miles away, the sound of the cannons was impressive.

“It’s like fabric ripping,” said Reeves.

“I think it sounds like the world’s loudest fart,” replied Watkins.

“I have no doubt those Iraqis are shitting themselves.

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