Battlefield Pacific

Cowboys and Indians

General Tony Wilde had been put in charge of the US First Army Group, which had formed around the original I Corps, or “Eye Corps.” Once the Marines had been ordered to the South Pacific, he had moved his soldiers from the Korean front to the Russian Far East. It had been a real challenge in the spring to get the entire Corps and Army Group formed up and ready for combat. I Corps, like the other army commands, had essentially doubled in size with all of the draftees arriving by the thousands per day. When his army group surpassed 180,000 troops, General Wilde felt ready to take the Indian Army head-on and defeat them. Now he was poring over maps, reviewing the battle plans.

All that stood between him and the Russian city of Irkutsk was the newly formed Indian Fifth Army. While the Russians had been fighting a delaying action against his forces, the Indians had consolidated their army near Irkutsk. Once his forces had pushed the Russians to within a few hundred miles of Irkutsk, the Indian Army finally moved forward to meet the Americans.

Intelligence indicated the strength of the combined Russian-Indian Army to be somewhere around 240,000 soldiers, a solid 60,000 soldiers more than the Americans they were gearing up to battle. However, the American soldiers were battle-hardened, not just from the recent fighting in Korea, but the decades of fighting in Iraq and Afghanistan. What General Wilde lacked was a sufficient number of vehicles to allow the majority of his forces to be mobile. He had to rely heavily on helicopters to transport troops near their objectives, and then they had to move in on foot. This lack of necessary equipment was the one area that concerned General Wilde the most, but it was also the one area he had no control over until the factories back home were able to produce the needed tools to support such a massive army fighting in both Europe and Asia.

Brigadier General Sam Sykes got his attention as he pointed to sections on the digital map. “Sir, the latest reports from the field show the Indians are deploying their armor units here, here and here,” he explained.

Wilde nodded. “Those are good positions. It gives them a lot of maneuver room,” he replied and then ran his hand across the map along the road that led to this particular plateau.

“This is good tank country,” he concluded privately.

“Deploy our tanks here but do not engage,” General Wilde suggested. “The Indians are using T-72s. Those tanks do not have nearly the reach ours do. Let’s draw them in to us and then snipe at them from a distance.” He looked around the room to see if there were any objections from the group or any possible considerations he might have missed.

Brigadier General Todd Jackson spoke up. “If we deploy the tanks there, then we should move some of our antitank vehicles and troops to these locations here,” he explained, pointing. “This will protect our flanks. My concern with luring the enemy armor closer to us is that they outnumber us a good six to one. By placing our antitank units here, we not only protect our flanks, but we’ll be able to hammer them when their reserve units charge forward in a pincer move.”

General Wilde smiled. “I knew there was a reason why we invited you tankers to these strategy meetings,” he said to a few laughs and head nods.

“Well, someone needs to make sure headquarters knows what’s going on out there,” General Jackson replied with a wry smile.

General Wilde put a lot of stock in anything Jackson said — he was a brilliant tanker. He commanded the newly reconstituted 4th Armored Division, which had famously spearheaded General Patton’s charge at the Battle of the Bulge during World War II. General Jackson had commanded a tank brigade during the early days of the Second Korean War and had fought with great distinction. His reward had been taking command of this newly constituted and largely inexperienced division in the Russian Far East.

“If I could, General, I’d also like to recommend that we place a battalion of self-propelled 155mm Howitzers, our Paladin unit, in this area here,” Jackson said, pointing to an area a few kilometers back from where the battle would take place. “This gives the guns space to maneuver when they take counterbattery fire and still keeps them close enough to hit the enemy’s rear area.”

General Wilde nodded. “No objection here,” he said.

Since General Jackson had received one ask, he decided to push for two. “I was also made aware that the 57^th Field Artillery Brigade had recently been equipped with the new M142 high-mobility artillery rocket system or HIMARs,” he said. “When the enemy moves their armored force ten kilometers into the bulge, I’d like your permission to have the entire brigade’s worth of HIMARs launch their antitank rockets. Saturating the enemy advance with hundreds of 227mm rockets will hammer them right before I unleash my ambush.”

Looking at the map, and at the units he had available for this coming battle, General Wilde nodded in agreement again. “I think that’s a good plan. Once the enemy armor has spent themselves, we’ll need to go on the offensive, and this still keeps that battalion close enough to the front, so they can catch up when we advance and still provide good artillery coverage.”

General Wilde signaled for his Air Force liaison officer, or LNO, and his Army aviation LNO to come join them at the table. He addressed the Air Force LNO first. “Colonel, it’s going to be imperative that you flyboys keep the Indian fighters and ground-attack aircraft off our backs during this battle. I’ve heard nothing but good things about those Jaguar aircraft, and that is the last thing we need hitting our tanks. Plus, if you can’t keep the skies clear, I can’t make heavy use of our own Apache helicopters and the handful of A-10s. Do you foresee a problem with being able to keep the skies open?”

When the US Seventh Fleet had moved to the South Pacific along with the Marines, it had placed a much larger burden on the Air Force to provide air cover for the Allied forces. Fortunately, a Japanese squadron of F-15s had joined them in Russia, but what they really needed was a couple of squadrons of F-22s or F-35s — two aircraft that were in hot demand all across Europe and Asia.

“We’re going to do our best, General. We’ve got the Japanese tasked with high-altitude combat air patrols while a squadron of F-16s will handle the Jaguars. The best news I can give you is that the two squadrons of aircraft we have assigned for this battle are at 100 % strength and have combat experience against the Russians,” the Air Force colonel offered, trying to reassure everyone present that they would do their part.

Sighing, Wilde reached down, grabbed his mug of coffee and took a couple of gulps. “This is going to be a tough battle, gentlemen, but it’s one we can win. The enemy may outnumber us, but let’s not forget, they’re largely using older-model Russian equipment — equipment we know we can defeat. Our soldiers are better trained, better equipped and highly motivated to go kick some butt. Take some time and go over the plans with your own staffs. This offensive will get underway in a couple of days,” Wilde concluded.

Once they all left the room, the planning officers and division commanders went about implementing the plan they had just discussed. Wilde was hopeful, but he was also hedging his optimism with a heavy dose of realism.

Brigadier General Todd Jackson was taking a few minutes to be alone in his tent before the day went into full gear. It was his twelve-year-old son’s birthday in ten days, and he wanted to make sure he took some time out of his day to write a personal letter, just in case something did happen and he didn’t make it back home. Pulling his pen out of his breast pocket, he wrote:

Placing his pen down, he gently folded the piece of paper and placed it in an envelope he had addressed earlier. After he peeled the self-adhesive strip and sealed it up, the letter was ready to send back home.

It was now 0530, time to get some breakfast before the division pulled up stakes and headed toward the first major battle of US and Indian forces in the two nations’ history. Walking into the field kitchen, he got in line with the others for some morning grub. “Ah, the smell of fresh bacon, biscuits n’gravy, and black coffee… this is the best part of being a soldier in the field,” he thought. Well, that and shooting tanks at the range.

Prior to the beginning of hostilities, he had planned to retire in December after twenty-eight years of military service. He had risen to O-6 colonel and commanded an armor brigade. When the war had started, his retirement papers had been withdrawn, and he’d been told he would be given his first star. He was to command a large armored force in Korea, as part of I Corps, moved to the Korean Peninsula in preparation for the Second Korean War.

That was eight months ago. Now his division had moved from Korea to the Russian Far East. Never in a million years had he thought he’d be leading an armor division into Russia-Siberia, but here he was, preparing for a massive tank battle that would take place near a small Russian village he hadn’t known existed just a few weeks ago. The battle, of course, had been brewing for some time as the three factions maneuvered their forces, angling to find the right ground from which to do battle.

Walking into the back of his command vehicle, General Jackson looked for his operations officer, a charismatic young lieutenant colonel who had risen quickly through the ranks of the Minnesota Army National Guard. In the private sector, the man worked for Amazon as an operations manager. Thus far, he had proven himself to be an adept operations staff officer.

“General, here’s the latest intelligence report on the enemy troop movement,” said the colonel. “They’ve moved their armor and supporting units to the exact location you said they would. The enemy has deployed their formations and should be advancing to meet ours within the hour.”

Jackson smiled. He had used one of his battalions as bait the day before, and now the enemy was advancing right into his well-laid trap. “I knew they would go for it,” he thought.

“Excellent, Paul,” Jackson responded. “Send the order to the rest of the division. The enemy has taken the bait. Prepare for contact.” It was now a matter of letting things play out and adjusting to the enemy’s movements and countermoves.

Captain Bennie McRae, captain of Charlie Company, yawned. He had just finished brushing his teeth, so he quickly spat the toothpaste residue out onto the ground in front of him. He reached over, grabbing his canteen. He took in some water, sloshing it around in his mouth before spitting it out as well on the ground as well. That task complete, it was time to do a quick shave before they moved out. McRae grabbed the portable electric shaver from his little toiletry bag and ran the vibrating blades across the stubble that had grown in during the last thirty hours. “This might be the last time I shave for the next couple of days,” he thought as he ran over the day’s plan of action in his head.

His battalion was going to be advancing to contact with the enemy. Once they ran into the opposing force, his battalion would conduct a fighting retreat, hopefully luring the enemy to the well-placed trap the division had set up.

“You ready to get moving, Sir?” inquired Captain McRae’s gunner, Sergeant Justin Spence.

Placing the last few items back in his bag, McRae looked up with a grin on his face. “Yup. Face is as soft as a baby’s butt,” he replied as he ran his hand across the now-stubble-free skin on his face.

Sergeant Spence shook his head, sporting a half smile. Then he placed his foot in the cable stirrup hanging from the bottom of the front ballistic skirt, reached for the metal handle welded to the top of the fender and pulled himself upon the hull of the tank. He climbed onto the turret, dropped down the loader's hatch, and moved to his gunner seat, which was positioned in front of the commander's position.

McRae did likewise, and less than a minute later had plopped down in the commander’s position in the tank. Reaching over, he grabbed his CVC helmet, placing it firmly on his head. He attached the communications cord to the vehicle’s communications system and then did a quick crew report check with his crew before reaching out to the other vehicles in his company.

“OK, guys. Let’s get this bad boy ready to go,” McRae announced. “It’s nearly time to roll out. Crew report!”

A few minutes went by as the individual crewmen ran through their various checks to make sure the targeting computer was up and running, the radios were set on the right frequencies for the day, and they had entered in the various navigational waypoints they’d be working off of for the next couple of days. Having completed their checks, all three crewmen reported ready, and it was time to get moving.

Changing to the company net, Captain McRae called out to his company, “This is Black Six to all Guidon elements. We’re moving out in three mikes. I want a wedge formation with Blue Platoon in the middle, Red Platoon on the right and White Platoon on the left in echelon formation. Acknowledge and send Redcon status.” he inquired of his platoon leaders.

“This is White One. Roger, Second Platoon is Redcon One,” said Sergeant First Class Mark Moore, who commanded Second Platoon.

“This is Blue One. Acknowledged, and we’re at Redcon One,” said Sergeant First Class Bobby Rickets, the sergeant in charge of Third Platoon, which consisted of the attached infantry platoon in the Bradleys. The Third Platoon also had the company artillery LNO, riding in his own fire support team vehicle, a Bradley Fist, which was why Captain McRae wanted them placed in the center of their formation.

“This is Red One. Red is Redcon One and ready to get some,” answered the young second lieutenant in command of First Platoon.

"Black Six, this is Black Five. We are Redcon One," reported his executive officer, First Lieutenant Charley Smith.

"Roger, Guidons, begin your movement," said Captain McRae.

In short order, his company team of tanks and Bradleys quickly formed a wedge and moved forward down the side of the P-258 highway toward the enemy. Intelligence said they were roughly sixty kilometers away, so they had a few minutes before they would run into each other. As his company of tanks and Bradleys continued to move toward the enemy, Captain McRae couldn’t help but think back to just five months ago.

His Minnesota Army National Guard unit, the 1st Combined Arms Battalion, 194th Armor had just completed an intense armor refresher course at Fort Benning, Georgia. One of their instructors, Major Joe Dukes, or “JD” as he preferred to be called, had been awarded the Medal of Honor. He often regaled them of tales of tank battles he had taken part of against the Russians; McRae couldn’t help but marvel at what this guy must have seen and lived through. What he’d said always carried a lot more weight than any of the other instructors, so at this moment, McRae had his words burned into his mind: “When in doubt, attack without mercy.”

As their tank rumbled down the field next to the two-lane road, his gunner keyed the intercom on his CVC helmet. “Captain McRae, you think your finance job at the dealership will still be there for you when we get back from the war?” he asked, trying to take their minds off the inevitable battle.

The mention of the car dealership immediately brought McRae back home. While in college, he’d worked part-time selling cars for a Chevy dealership in town. Once he’d finished his degree in finance, a position for assistant finance manager at the dealership had opened up. He had talked to the general manager about it and had been hired for the position. Three years later, he had been promoted to finance manager for the entire dealership and had personally been doing extremely well financially. He loved helping families and individuals acquire the financing to purchase the vehicle they either needed or dreamed of having. Of course, being gone and fighting in this war might have placed that position in jeopardy. Someone needed to fill in for him while he was gone, and the longer he was gone, the more the current managers might take a liking to that person over him. It concerned him, especially since he had four little kids to think about.

“I think they will, Spence. At least I hope they will,” said McRae. “I’ve worked with the general manager for eleven years and know the owner well. I send them a short note every now and then to remind them that I’m still alive and kicking. What about you? Is your boss still holding your job for you?”

“Yeah, I’m pretty sure they will. If they don’t, I’ll sue,” the gunner shot back, which brought some laughter from the others in the tank. Sergeant Justin Spence worked as a pharmaceutical rep for a large drug company. Judging by the Maserati he drove to drill weekends, he must have been pretty good at his job. He always picked up the tab when they’d go to a bar after training in Georgia.

Forty minutes went by as their tank rumbled through the prairie when they heard the first sounds of war. A jet engine roared overhead. “Whoa, what was that?” asked Specialist Gary Kostic, the loader.

“Probably just a jet on his way to attack the Indians,” replied Spence, trying to calm the young kid’s nerves. Specialist Gary Kostic was the newest member to their company, having arrived as a replacement roughly five weeks ago. The team wasn’t exactly coddling him, but they were trying to help ease the transition a bit.

Captain McRae opted to poke his head out of the tank to see if he could catch a glimpse at the aircraft that had just buzzed over them. He heard several jets: some were close, others far off in the distance. Looking to his right, he saw one aircraft explode in the air. That was the first time he had witnessed a fighter plane die, and while it was spectacular to look at, it suddenly sent a shiver down his back. “The enemy must be close,” he said under his breath.

A voice came over the battalion net. “All units, enemy planes in the vicinity. Expect enemy contact at anytime.”

Returning his gaze to the front, Captain McRae caught sight of the silhouette of an aircraft swooping up and over him and several objects falling from beneath its wings, right toward his company of tanks. Reaching for the talk button on his headset, he yelled, “Guidons! Incoming bombs from enemy warplanes!”

He ducked into the tank, and the ground around his tank suddenly rocked hard from one explosion after another. McRae grabbed for anything that would help him stabilize himself as he prayed none of the bombs landed on him or any of his tankers or infantry.

Seconds later, Sergeant Spence yelled out, “Tanks to our front, 3,500 meters!”

Turning to look at the commander's sight extension, Captain McRae at once spotted a line of tanks deploying from a single-file line to a full battle line, just as they had been told a lot of the Russian-equipped militaries did with their T-72s. “Holy crap, that’s a lot of tanks!” he exclaimed.

He switched to the company net. “Guidons, enemy tanks to our front, 3,500 meters. I want all tanks to change formation and move to a line formation. We’re going to snipe at them while they advance. Engage when you see my tank fire!”

He turned his attention next to his FIST team. “Black Eight, this is Black Six. I need a fire mission. Get us some arty immediately!”

Captain McRae then switched back to the battalion net, sending a quick message to his commander letting him know what they were seeing and asking if it would be possible to get some air support.

“Captain those tanks are charging!” alerted Sergeant Spence. “They’re crossing 3,200 meters.” The turret turned slightly to the right as it tracked their first target.

Looking into the commander's sight, McRae saw the cluster of T-72s his gunner was tracking, and he picked out the one with the most antennas on it — it was probably the company or battalion commander's tank. “Gunner Sabot Tank!" he ordered.

"Identified!" exclaimed Sergeant Spence.

Specialist Kostic yelled, “Sabot up!”

"Fire!" screamed McRae.

"On the way!" shouted Sergeant Spence.

Boom!

The cannon fired, recoiling back inside the turret as the vehicle rocked back on the tank’s tracks. The spent aft cap of the sabot round clanged on the turret floor as the turret filled with sulfuric fumes after the round was fired.

McRae watched the round fly out from his tank, the flat trajectory crossing the distance in a couple of seconds, only to see the round sail right over the tank and hit the dirt harmlessly, right behind the tank.

“Crap! We missed,” he yelled. “Load Sabot. Spence, manually adjust for the speed of the enemy tank and lead it a bit.”

Now that he had led the way and fired the first shot, Captain McRae watched the rest of his company fire on the enemy. A couple of his fellow tankers also missed their targets, but many more found their marks. The turrets of some of the T-72s blew clean off from the sheer force of the Sabot rounds, slicing through their armor and setting off their own ammunition. He made a mental note to ensure that all his tanks do a complete boresight when time permitted, to avoid further misses in any future engagements.

“Sabot up!” shouted the loader as he pulled up the arming handle.

"Fire!" ordered McRae.

“On the way!” yelled Spence as he depressed the firing button again.

This time the round found its mark, and the tank they had originally aimed at took a direct hit. The enemy tank slowly came to a halt. Seconds later, the top hatch opened up, and as McRae watched the enemy soldier try to get out of the vehicle, it blew up. A flaming jet of fire shot through the enemy soldier and blasted past the turret, blazing at least ten feet in the air before the entire structure of the tank was ripped apart by another explosion.

“Good hit, Spence! New target identified. Load Sabot,” he bellowed.

While Captain McRae’s company was steadily picking off the attackers, their tanks received a series of enemy artillery rounds, indicating they had stayed still in one place for too long.

“Guidons, pop smoke and fall back two hundred meters,” he directed over the company net. They needed to obscure the enemy artillery observers and back out of their crosshairs.

Crump! Crump! Crump! Crump! Explosions continued to rock their area as pieces of shrapnel pinged off their armor shell.

"Doppler, back us out of this artillery," McRae said to his own driver as he toggled his own tank's smoke grenade launchers.

“Those tanks are now 3,100 meters. We’ll be in their range momentarily,” Spence yelled to be heard over the roar of enemy artillery going off around them.

“This is all happening too fast,” muttered McRae.

Looking through the commander's sight extension, Captain McRae found the next target just as he observed a series of their own artillery rounds landing amongst the enemy tanks. Some of the rounds scored hits, while others did not. Taking his eyes away from the commander's sight, he looked at Spence. “I need you to take over calling targets and engaging them. I have to start managing the company,” he said. Then he turned his attention his computer tracking system, which let him see an electronic overview of where his tanks were.

He needed to get a status on his platoons and find out how many of his tanks had been hit. In all the confusion, he had neglected his duty to make sure the other platoons were doing what they were supposed to do. As he made contact with his platoon leaders, he learned they had lost two tanks to that enemy air attack. One other tank was destroyed during the enemy artillery bombardment and one more damaged. He quickly got on the radio relaying the information back to battalion headquarters, once again requesting an air strike to hit the enemy force advancing on him. He also ordered his medics and first sergeant to evacuate as many of the wounded as they could. The dead would have to wait.

When Captain McRae was just about finished relaying the information to his battalion commander, his tank was jarred hard. He knocked his head against the commander's extension, causing him to momentarily see stars.

“It bounced off our armor,” someone yelled as McRae tried to regain his composure and continue to relay his report. It took a second for his mind to register what had just happened.

His battalion commander interrupted his fuzzy thoughts. “Charlie Six, I’m ordering your unit to withdraw to rally point Bravo now. You guys are about to be overrun. Fall back now!” he yelled.

Realizing his commander was right, McRae snapped out of his head fog and sent a message out to the rest of his company to fall back to rally point Bravo.

Their driver plugged in the coordinates, and they began a fighting retreat rearward. As they fought their way back, they would eventually cross the next line of American tanks as they continued to make their way further back in the intentional bulge in their lines they were letting the enemy carve out. Once the Indian forces had pushed their way deep into the bulge, the division would close the trap, and if the Americans were lucky, they’d destroy a large chunk of the Indian Army in Russia.

General Jackson looked on in amazement as the tank battle continued to unfold on the digital monitor they had set up in his makeshift 4^th Armored Division headquarters. His forward tank elements did a phenomenal job luring the enemy in. The Indian Army seemed to sense hesitation on the Americans’ part; once they saw a battalion of American tanks retreat, they must have assumed they had broken the Americans will to fight and now wanted to press their attack. They ordered one brigade after another into the ever-growing bulge in the American lines.

Five hours into the attack, it looked like the entire center of the American lines was in the process of falling apart. The division’s PSYOPS and signals intelligence group were sending out frantic calls for reinforcements, saying that the tanks were running out of ammunition and fuel. They did their best to spread general hysteria over the open net and frequencies they knew the Indian Army could intercept. This must have caused the enemy commanders to believe they were on the verge of an American collapse if they could just press the Americans a little further.

Six hours into their offensive, the Indians sent in their third brigade of enemy tanks into the bulge, which had now expanded to fifteen miles deep.

Jackson turned to his air operations LNO. “I think it’s time we send you flyboys into the soup,” he said.

The LNO smiled. The Air Force had a couple squadrons of new tank busters they wanted to test on the Indian Army. He made a call to the airfield to release the hounds.

The Air Force had been terribly short on ground-attack aircraft since the commencement of the war, and there weren’t enough A-10 Warthogs to go around. The A-10s had also been taking some terrible losses in Europe and Asia, which were taking a long time to replace as older airframes were still being pulled out of mothball and made ready for combat. Searching for a stopgap, the Air Force had ordered 1,000 Beechcraft AT-6 Wolverine turboprop ground-attack planes.

The Wolverine was unique in that it was the first turboprop aircraft the Air Force would be using in combat since the Vietnam war. It had a large glass bubble canopy, which provided exceptional visibility for both the pilot and the weapons officer. Because it was a turboprop as opposed to a jet engine, it could land and take off on a much shorter runway. It could also operate on some pretty rugged airstrips, which made it highly suitable to the hostile environment of Siberia. Although the Wolverine was incredibly inexpensive in comparison to its jet counterparts, it still packed a lethal punch.

Once the Air Force had torn into the enemy tanks, it would then be time for the four battalions of tanks that General Jackson had lying in wait on the outer edges of his flank to move into position and prepare to close the trap.

For the next forty-five minutes, the brigade he had at the center of his line continued to fall back, giving ground to keep drawing the enemy in. Then the two squadrons of Wolverines swept in and began to hit the enemy positions. Each of the Wolverines had been armed with four Hellfire antitank missiles and antimateriel rocket pods. The 32 turboprop planes flew in fast, just above treetops, hitting the enemy’s frontal attack units with their Hellfires and then hammering the rear-echelon units with their rockets.

As the AT-6s turned for home, several Indian MiGs swooped in and managed to down four of the Wolverines before a pair of Japanese F-15Js shot them down and covered the withdrawal of the remaining ground-attack planes.

Once the Air Force had hit the Indians, General Jackson sent a message to his hidden tank battalions that it was time to swing the gate shut on their pincer movement and finish the enemy off. It was time to stop retreating and stand and fight.

The following three hours were complete chaos as nearly 320 American tanks and three times that many Indian tanks fought it out on the fields of Siberia in what was probably the largest tank battle of the war in Asia. The American AT-6s returned several more times, adding their own carnage and so did several dozen Indian Jaguars and MiGs. As the day turned to evening, the battle continued, only it turned decisively in the favor of the Americans whose tanks were better equipped to fight in the dark and had trained extensively in this type of environment. The lone squadron of Apache helicopters General Jackson had also torn into the remaining enemy vehicles, using their specially equipped night and thermal targeting equipment.

By the time the sun came up the following morning, the Indian armored force that had been the tip of the spear the previous day now lay as a burning graveyard strewn across the nearly 400 square-mile battlefield. It was the single greatest combat loss the Indian Army had ever experienced up to that point. More than a thousand tanks and another two thousand armored vehicles had been destroyed. Over five thousand Indian soldiers had been killed, while another seven thousand had been captured.

With the defeat of five Indian armor divisions at the hands of the US 4th AD, General Wilde’s First Army Group was quickly able to encircle the remaining Indian Army group and tighten his noose on the enemy force.

Captain McRae rubbed his hand across the front armor of the turret, noticing the dents and gashes from hits they’d taken the day before. By all accounts, he and his crew should be dead. Their tank had been hit no less than three times, but their armor had held. Unfortunately, not all of the other tankers in his company had fared as well, and many of his fellow comrades in arms had died.

“Why did I live when so many of my soldiers did not?” he asked himself. He wiped away a tear. Suddenly overtaken by emotion, he sank to his knees on top of the turret.

Sergeant Justin Spence walked around to the front of the tank, and they locked eyes for a brief moment. When Captain McRae realized that someone had seen him cry, he wiped away his tears and pulled himself up.

“It’s OK, Sir,” said Spence. “We’ve all thought the same thing. Why were we so lucky to live when so many died?” It was as if he was reading his captain’s mind.

McRae nodded. “We were hit three times. How did we survive? I lost seven of my ten tanks and one of my five Bradleys yesterday — men we’ve known in many cases for years. How do I explain to their families that we lived, and they died, Spence?”

"Sir, I know it’s tough, but Charlie is still here, and Charlie don't surf!" said Sergeant Spence.

Captain McRae smiled slightly when Sergeant Spence mentioned the unofficial company's motto.

"Yeah, Charlie don't surf, but Charlie can fight and die…," McRae mumbled to himself.

A second later, the radio inside the turret crackled to life. “Charlie Six, this is Cowboy-Six.” Shaking off the moment of sadness, Captain McRae reached down inside the commander’s hatch for his CVC.

“This is Charlie Six. Go ahead Cowboy Six,” he said in reply to his battalion commander’s call.

“I need your tanks to return to the rear area and resupply. Come see me when you get here. Out.”

Captain McRae put down the radio with a bit of a grunt. “Great, that’s all I need,” he said, muttering to himself. “Go see the battalion commander — he’s probably going to chew my butt off over the loss of more than half of my command.”

Looking at the rest of his crew, McRae announced, “Saddle up, boys. We’re headed to the rear with the gear.”

The others nodded and climbed back in. His driver, Private Edgar Doppler, started the tank up and moved toward the rear of the American positions. The remaining three tanks and four Bradleys of his company followed as they made their way back. While driving down the road, they drove past hundreds of Allied vehicles that had not participated in the battle yet. Many of the crewmen who were standing in their turrets looked at them in amazement, seeing the battle scars on their tanks. Several of the officers and NCOs rendered salutes out of respect. A column of Type 90 Japanese tanks passed them on their way to the front; the officer standing in his turret even bowed as they passed.

It was strange seeing so many of their own countrymen and allies rendering them respect like this, with the rumblings of war still audible in the distance. These men were heading into the battle, while Captain McRae and his men were leaving it.

Nearly an hour later, their ragtag group of tanks made it back to the marshaling area their battalion had set up in. When Charlie Company pulled in, they saw that Alpha and Bravo Companies had taken some losses as well, though not quite as bad as McRae’s unit. When the tank was finally parked, and he checked to ensure what was left of Charlie Company was set in their portion of the battalion's assembly area, Captain McRae made his way to find the battalion CO. It took him a few minutes to find the CO’s tank and command vehicles. Once he did, he saw the other company commanders were present as well.

“Ah, there you are, Captain McRae,” said Lieutenant Colonel Lewis. “I was hoping you hadn’t gotten lost on the way back here. I was about to debrief you all on the battle and what brigade has planned for us next.” He walked up to McRae, placing a hand on his shoulder and guiding him toward the map board he had hanging by some five-fifty cord from the tent walls.

Once he had ushered McRae further into the room, Lewis cleared his throat to get everyone’s attention. “First off, I want to acknowledge the horrible losses most of you guys suffered yesterday — especially you, Captain McRae. I know Charlie Company took the brunt of the battalion losses and saw the most combat. Your tanks were the tip of the spear for the entire division, and you guys performed marvelously. Your crews performed so well, in fact, that General Jackson wants to meet your men personally and award your crews some valor medals… but we’ll discuss that more later,” Colonel Lewis said, trying to acknowledge the men’s losses but also making sure they knew the battle was not over just yet.

Before anyone else could ask any questions or get sidetracked on anything, Colonel Lewis continued. “When the battle began yesterday, we had no idea how hard or how well the Indians would fight. America’s never faced off against the Indian Army, so they were a complete wild card. They showed themselves to be incredibly aggressive and proficient in their weapon systems, even if they are outdated. That said, General Wilde has stated the Indians aren’t ready to give up the fight just yet. While the 4th AD continues to encircle the Indian 4th Army Group, the enemy is moving two divisions to our south in an attempt to try and force us to break our encirclement of their army group.”

Captain McRae raised his hand. “Sir, I lost 60 % of my command, and nearly half of my remaining tanks and Bradleys have extensive battle damage. Shoot, my own tank took three hits, which tore large chunks out of our armor. What are they planning to do with our battalion after we took these heavy losses?” he asked, hoping he hadn’t just sunk his career. He felt that he had to ask for the sake of his remaining soldiers.

Lieutenant Colonel Lewis’ face fell. He seemed to be overcome with immense sadness. In a calm and reassuring voice, he replied, “I said as much to Brigade. They can’t take us off the line entirely, but they’re going to hold our battalion in reserve. What I need to know from you guys is how many of your tanks are combat effective, and how many have too much battle damage to continue to fight? I’m going to form a small task force of tanks combining those that are still combat effective to form our reserve force. The rest of you will serve in support functions until your vehicles are ready.”

Everyone nodded. Once they had tallied up the tanks that could still fight, they had roughly twelve tanks out of the original thirty-six that were still battle-ready.

The battle in Siberia raged on for another five days before the remnants of the Indian Army withdrew back to Irkutsk to lick their wounds, and to figure out what to do next. With the battle of Siberia largely over, the US First Army Group now turned its attention to Mongolia and the liberation of Ulaanbaatar, the capital of the country. With little in the way of Chinese forces in the area, the capture of Ulaanbaatar wouldn’t take long, and the liberation of Mongolia would have the immediate effect of cutting off access to the mineral-rich mines the Chinese factories desperately needed.