unsnapped his holster and drew his pistol, holding it at shoulder level and pointed in the air. At last he turned toward the wall where the prisoners had been. The white wall was now splattered with blood and pockmarked with bullet holes. Streams of blood ran down the wall onto the ground to where the prisoners lay in a tangled heap. For a moment Ilvanich remembered the trench. His stomach muscles tightened as he felt a tinge of bile rise in his throat. He fought for and gained composure before he proceeded.
Mechanically, he marched to the wall, staring not at the bodies but at one of the bloodstains on the wall until he reached the wall. When he got there, he stopped and looked down. The first person was a young woman, not more than twenty. For a second he wondered what had caused her to become an enemy of the State.
Ilvanich turned and looked in the direction of the KGB major. The major was still in the same position, leaning casually against the building. With the same nonchalant nod, he signaled Ilvanich to continue. Without further thought, the junior lieutenant lowered his pistol and fired one round into the head of each of the bodies before him. When he was finished, he turned and marched back to his post on the flank of his firing squad while other
Iranians came out, dragged away the bodies of the first prisoners and prepared to take their place against the wall. Ilvanich did not watch.
He merely replaced the magazine in his pistol with a fresh one, returned the pistol to his holster and stood by until the next group was ready.
As he waited, he saw the KGB major give him a faint smile and a nod of approval. Ilvanich and his men had performed their duty to the State well.
Socialism in Iran was a little more secure.
Fort Hood, Texas 2205 Hours, 4 June (0405 Hours, 5 June, GMT ) The officers’ club hadn’t done as well as this in years. It seemed that everyone was stopping by after a tough day in the pits to undergo liquid “stress reduction.” In the beginning, First Lieutenant Amanda Matthews couldn’t understand why officers would want to spend all day beating themselves to death at the office and then, for relaxation, go over to the club and spend more time with the same people from the office. For the first few days she left post as soon as she could, showered, changed out of uniform and tried hard to blend into the rest of society for a few hours.
She wanted to leave the office and the grim business she dealt in on post.
The more she tried, however, the less she succeeded. As she wandered the shopping mall, Soviet orders of battle raced through her mind. She found that it was difficult to talk to her civilian friends. She felt out of place as they talked about their jobs, stereos and cars, things that now meant little to Matthews. Issues such as Soviet offensive chemical and tactical nuclear capabilities in Iran had become her all-consuming concern.
Not finding escape in the outside world, she sought at the officers’
club the company of others who, like her, pondered the imponderable and needed escape.
From across the crowded lounge, another military intelligence lieutenant from the division staff beckoned her to join him. Matthews, feeling no pain after her second scotch, figured there was nothing to lose. After all, misery enjoys company.
First Lieutenant Tom Kovack was one of the more junior officers in the division G-2 shop. Although he was one of the most arrogant and conceited people she knew, he had been a very good source of back-door information for Matthews in the last ten days. She suspected his motives, for good reasons, but felt she could handle him. After all, she had three inches over him. Without rising as she came to the table, Kovack asked, “Do you always drink alone, Amanda?” Some men took seriously the fact that they were no longer commissioned “an officer and a gentleman.”
“Only when there is no one worth drinking with.”
“That’s cold, Amanda. Besides, I’m
Mechanically, he marched to the wall, staring not at the bodies but at one of the bloodstains on the wall until he reached the wall. When he got there, he stopped and looked down. The first person was a young woman, not more than twenty. For a second he wondered what had caused her to become an enemy of the State.
Ilvanich turned and looked in the direction of the KGB major. The major was still in the same position, leaning casually against the building. With the same nonchalant nod, he signaled Ilvanich to continue. Without further thought, the junior lieutenant lowered his pistol and fired one round into the head of each of the bodies before him. When he was finished, he turned and marched back to his post on the flank of his firing squad while other
Iranians came out, dragged away the bodies of the first prisoners and prepared to take their place against the wall. Ilvanich did not watch.
He merely replaced the magazine in his pistol with a fresh one, returned the pistol to his holster and stood by until the next group was ready.
As he waited, he saw the KGB major give him a faint smile and a nod of approval. Ilvanich and his men had performed their duty to the State well.
Socialism in Iran was a little more secure.
Fort Hood, Texas 2205 Hours, 4 June (0405 Hours, 5 June, GMT ) The officers’ club hadn’t done as well as this in years. It seemed that everyone was stopping by after a tough day in the pits to undergo liquid “stress reduction.” In the beginning, First Lieutenant Amanda Matthews couldn’t understand why officers would want to spend all day beating themselves to death at the office and then, for relaxation, go over to the club and spend more time with the same people from the office. For the first few days she left post as soon as she could, showered, changed out of uniform and tried hard to blend into the rest of society for a few hours.
She wanted to leave the office and the grim business she dealt in on post.
The more she tried, however, the less she succeeded. As she wandered the shopping mall, Soviet orders of battle raced through her mind. She found that it was difficult to talk to her civilian friends. She felt out of place as they talked about their jobs, stereos and cars, things that now meant little to Matthews. Issues such as Soviet offensive chemical and tactical nuclear capabilities in Iran had become her all-consuming concern.
Not finding escape in the outside world, she sought at the officers’
club the company of others who, like her, pondered the imponderable and needed escape.
From across the crowded lounge, another military intelligence lieutenant from the division staff beckoned her to join him. Matthews, feeling no pain after her second scotch, figured there was nothing to lose. After all, misery enjoys company.
First Lieutenant Tom Kovack was one of the more junior officers in the division G-2 shop. Although he was one of the most arrogant and conceited people she knew, he had been a very good source of back-door information for Matthews in the last ten days. She suspected his motives, for good reasons, but felt she could handle him. After all, she had three inches over him. Without rising as she came to the table, Kovack asked, “Do you always drink alone, Amanda?” Some men took seriously the fact that they were no longer commissioned “an officer and a gentleman.”
“Only when there is no one worth drinking with.”
“That’s cold, Amanda. Besides, I’m
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