Battlefield Russia

Second Battle of Kursk

The weather had finally turned brutally cold. Along with the lower temperatures came a stormfront that threatened to bring a few dozen centimeters of snow with it. Lieutenant Colonel Grant Johnson pulled his parka a bit tighter as he fought against a slight shiver. Lately, the temperatures during the day hovered just below freezing and dropped to -30 degrees Fahrenheit at night. “To think the Germans thought they could brave this weather with little to no cold weather gear…” he marveled, wondering what madness had possessed the Nazis during World War II. At least the 1/8 Cav “Mustangs” weren’t that crazy.

Johnson walked back into his operations tent and saw his captains were assembled and ready. He’d wanted to hold one final meeting with his own commanders and leave them with some words of inspiration — this would be the last time he held a command briefing until after the battle was over. The company commanders were eager to get this next battle started; everyone could see the end of the war was within sight, and they just wanted to get it over with.

Lieutenant Colonel Johnson walked to the front of the tent and stood next to the map board hanging from some five-fifty cord. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Listen up, everyone. Tomorrow morning, at approximately 0600 hours, we launch Operation Grim Reaper. This may in fact be the largest armored warfare battle of our generation. I’m sure the historians or higher echelons will tell us in time how many tanks and soldiers were involved, but what I can tell you is this — this is the battle to end the war.”

He paused for dramatic effect. “Right now, I want you to ponder on this — seventy-five years ago, the Nazis launched Operation Citadel on this very spot. The Germans attacked the Soviet Army at Kursk with 780,000 soldiers and 2,900 tanks. The Soviets had 1.9 million soldiers and 5,100 tanks. These two armies fought for control of the same ground we are going to be fighting on tomorrow. We, however, are not going to meet the same fate as the Germans.”

Seeing that he had their full attention, he continued, “We are facing the remains of the Russian 4th Guard’s Tank Army, the 8th and 20th Guard’s Army, and the Indian 2nd and 9th Corps. Intelligence says this combined force is roughly 1,260,000 soldiers when the Russian reserve forces are added in. We have the entirety of the US Seventh Army, which consists of 510,000 soldiers, and roughly 320,000 German, French, British and other Allied soldiers. I’m telling you all this because I want you to know that when we go into battle tomorrow, we are going into battle with the largest, best-equipped army ever to invade Russia. Our orders are simple: we are going to move to contact, find and fix the enemy, and destroy them.”

Several of the men smiled and nodded, but he also saw a look of concern in their eyes. This was going to be a tough battle, one that would most likely result in a lot of casualties. A lot of their men were going to be killed, and they too might not survive the battle.

Johnson motioned toward Captain Jason Diss as he pointed at a spot on the map. “Captain Diss’s Mustangs are going to lead the battalion. They’ll advance to Waypoint Alpha at Oktyabr'ski, just across the Ukrainian-Russian border. They’ll skirt to the east of Belgorod into the open fields there and advance to contact until they reach Waypoint Bravo at Mazikino. This will place our battalion roughly 140 kilometers southeast of Kursk. We’ll hold up at Mazikino for the evening to refuel, rearm, and prepare for the next assault 130 kilometers northeast to Gorshechnoye, which will be Waypoint Charlie. Depending on how much resistance we encounter, we may continue on to our primary objective, the city of Voronezh 90 kilometers away.”

He shifted as he pointed to a new area on the map. “A large part of the Allied forces is going to converge on the city of Kursk itself. Our focus will be on expanding the front and punching further holes in it as we line up for the thunder run to Moscow.”

He paused for a second to look at his notepad. “We’ll have the 3rd Battalion, 16th Field Artillery Regiment, providing us with constant 155mm artillery support, should we need it. They also have one battery of HIMARS if we encounter any large enemy formations. In addition to the artillery support, we’re also going to have the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment’s Apache helicopters, so let’s make sure we leave them something to destroy,” he said, which elicited a few chuckles from the tankers.

“I also want you guys to keep an eye out for enemy artillery fire,” he continued. “This isn’t like invading Iraq; the Russians and Indians have a crap ton of artillery, as we’ve already learned, and they like to use it in spades. There’ll be a lot of counter-battery fire happening, but don’t let that detract from calling for artillery support. Our gun bunnies are good, and they can handle it.” A few more men laughed.

Johnson saw the eager looks on the faces of the men before him. They were ready. Seeing that he had no further information or words of wisdom to pass down, he dismissed the group.

That evening, Captain Jason Diss briefed his platoon leaders and first sergeant on the battle plan for the coming days. They went over the map and the detailed plans for how each platoon would move and what they would do as they met resistance. Seeing that their company would be maneuvering through some tight areas, they settled on a diamond formation, with their FIST element situated in the center. That would give them the best possible position from which to spot and provide artillery and mortar fire. With the battle looming just ten hours away, the men tried to catch some rest in their vehicles with the heaters on as Mother Nature persisted in providing them with a fresh coat of snow.

At 0530, Captain Diss ordered the company vehicles started. With synchronized precision, they started the vehicles at nearly the same time to help distort the sound so that any potential enemy scouts nearby would have a hard time determining how many engines they had heard start up.

“You ready to get moving, Captain?” inquired his gunner, Staff Sergeant Ryan Cox. He was obviously eager to get started.

“Hell yeah,” Diss answered, speaking over the internal crew network. “Get the systems up and running while I run through the company checks, OK?” He then switched to the company net, calling out to his platoons.

A few minutes went by as the individual crewmen ran through their various checks to make sure the targeting computers were 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 for the next couple of days. Having completed their checks, all three crewmen reported ready. It was time to get moving.

Depressing the talk button on his CVC, Captain Diss exclaimed, “This is Black Six to all Mustang elements. We’re moving out in five mikes. I want a diamond formation with Blue Platoon in the bottom. Acknowledge and send Redcon status.”

“This is White One. Roger, Second Platoon is Redcon One,” Second Lieutenant Henry Thomas said excitedly. Now that the company had a few battles under their belt, everyone felt a bit more confident than they had a few months ago, when they’d engaged an Indian tank unit for the first time.

“This is Blue One. Acknowledged, and we are at Redcon One,” said Second Lieutenant Tony Martin, the Third Platoon commander. He also oversaw 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 Diss wanted them placed in the bottom of their formation.

“This is Red One. Redcon One and ready to kill ‘em all,” came back his young and overly zealous second lieutenant, Doug Welsh. Even after a couple of battles, this guy was still full of piss and vinegar and not scared in the least. Despite his young age and newness to the company, his platoon had the most tank kills.

“Excellent. Everyone’s ready to go,” Captain Diss thought. He signaled his driver to begin moving forward.

“Roger, Mustangs, begin your movement," ordered Captain Diss. As the Abrams battle tanks moved across the open ground, he could feel the tracks crushing through the ice and snow beneath them.

“Make sure you keep the heater going,” Diss shouted down to his driver, who gave him a short grunt for a reply.

Within ten minutes, his company’s platoons had fallen into the diamond formation he’d briefed them on, and they continued their march toward the Russian border. When they got within five kilometers of the border, Captain Diss spotted a series of defensive positions the infantry soldiers had been manning. Many of the soldiers gave them a short wave or other gesture of support as they passed through their lines. The First Cavalry division was the lead element for the US Seventh Army, and if anyone was going to see a lot of action this first day of the offensive, it was going to be them.

From his perch in the commander’s seat, Captain Diss did his best to scan the horizon for the enemy. There was still a light dusting of snow falling, although it was nothing so heavy as to obscure his view. When they reached the official demarcation line that separated Ukraine from Russia and crossed it, Diss felt a sense of relief and joy — relief that they had not been attacked yet, and joy that they had officially invaded the Motherland. They were one step closer to victory.

In short order, they came across their first natural barrier and the first waypoint, the Siverskyi Donets River. With their attack helicopters zooming ahead of them to scout the area, they continued to move southeast of Belgorod into the open farmland that lay beyond the city.

As Captain Diss looked off in the distance, a thunderous roar of antiaircraft fire erupted from within the city. The heavy-caliber cannons spewed hundreds of high-velocity rounds in the direction of the Apache helicopters that were screening for his tanks.

Following a string of cannon shells and tracer rounds, Captain Diss saw the Apaches break hard to avoid the fusillade being fired at them. “I wish we could go in there and take those enemy guns out,” he thought. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the Stryker battalion that was slated to assault the city would be able to silence them soon enough.

Despite the frigid temperature, Captain Diss took the opportunity to open the hatch so he could get a better view of what was going on around them. Climbing up to his perch behind the M2 .50 machine gun, he watched and listened to the antiaircraft guns firing away a few kilometers to his left. Jets were roaring somewhere overhead. It was odd seeing the green tracers crisscrossing the morning sky, intermixed with the light dusting of snow. While he was taking everything in, an urgent call came in over the radio.

“Black Six, this is Avenger Six. Be aware, we have spotted what appears to be a Russian regiment-sized element, four kilometers to your front. We are moving to engage.”

Dropping back into the turret and closing the hatch, Diss jumped on the company net. “All Mustang elements, Avenger element is engaging enemy tanks, regiment-sized element, four kilometers to our front. Prepare for contact,” he announced.

Minutes later, their vehicle crested a small hill that bordered a large copse of trees to their right. As it did, he spotted one of the Apaches as it pulled a tight turn and banked its nose down, letting loose a string of antimaterial rockets on the tree line. Half a dozen explosions erupted within the trees, followed by several secondary explosions.

Captain Diss began to search the tree line for threats but was interrupted when explosions erupted all around them. His tank was jostled from side to side as chunks of shrapnel banged and clinked off their armor. “Look for targets! They must be close!” he shouted over the thunder of artillery explosions.

“Tank, 1,700 meters, three o’clock!” shouted his gunner excitedly.

Captain Diss moved his commander's independent thermal viewer and spotted the tank lurking under a white camouflage net a few meters inside the tree line. “How did Cox spot that thing?” he thought in amazement.

“Gunner, sabot tank!" he yelled.

"Identified!" exclaimed Sergeant Cox, eager to fire.

Specialist Mann acknowledged, yelling “Up!”

"Fire!" screamed Diss. It was hard to hear anything over the racket outside.

Crump, crump, crump!

Enemy artillery rounds continued to follow them as they advanced closer to the enemy positions.

"On the way!" Cox shouted. He depressed the firing button.

Boom!

The cannon fired, recoiling back inside the turret as the vehicle continued to race forward. The spent aft cap of the sabot round clanged on the turret floor, and the cabin filled with the sulfuric fumes so reminiscent of battle.

Returning his gaze to the front, Captain Diss caught sight of the silhouette of more enemy armor. Dozens of enemy vehicles had emerged from behind a bend in the nearby hill and from the forest to their right. The enemy vehicles appeared to be lining up for a charge.

Diss switched back to the company net. “Mustangs, we have a battalion-sized element 3,100 meters to our two o’clock. Company, change formation to a line position and advance to contact,” he ordered. He wanted to bring all of his platoons forward, so they could effectively mass their fire.

Captain Diss contacted his FIST team next. “Black Eight, this is Black Six. I need a fire mission. Get us some arty on that copse of trees and that mass of enemy vehicles charging us!” he yelled.

Then Diss turned to the battalion net and sent a quick message to his commander, letting him know what they were seeing.

“Captain, those tanks are charging toward us now!” yelled Sergeant Cox. “They’re crossing 3,000 meters.” The turret turned slightly to the right as he tracked their first target. “Enemy missiles, three o’clock!” he shouted.

Before the missiles could get close to them, the forested area erupted into a ball of fire as dozens upon dozens of artillery rounds landed all throughout the area. Secondary explosions added further carnage to the already messy scene. Many of the antitank missiles still streamed toward his vehicles, scoring a couple of hits against his tanks and Bradleys.

Bam!

A large blast detonated near their tank, sending a concussion through the air. Then a voice came over the company net. “Blue Two is hit.”

Diss had a sickening feeling in his stomach when he heard that announcement. He knew four of his troopers were most likely dead, judging by the intensity of the explosion nearby.

Turning his attention back to the immediate threat to his front, Captain Diss saw the enemy formation begin to advance toward them. However, another volley of 155mm artillery rounds hammered the enemy positions, and a couple of tanks suffered direct hits, exploding in spectacular fireballs. Some of the enemy BMPs and BTRs were also taken out of commission.

Spotting over a dozen T-90s heading toward them, Diss yelled, “Gunner, sabot tank! 1,800 meters, eleven o’clock.”

"Identified!" exclaimed Sergeant Cox. He had already found an enemy tank and placed the red targeting dot on it.

Specialist Mann tapped the loader's door lever with his knee, opening it up. He reached in the ammo well and grabbed another sabot round, slamming it into the breech of the cannon and pulling up on the arming handle. “Up!” he yelled.

"Fire!" screamed Diss. It felt like they could be blown up at any given second, and he was not about to waste time.

"On the way!" screamed Sergeant Cox.

He depressed the firing button. Boom! The cannon fired, recoiling back inside the turret. The more rounds they fired, the more the cabin filled with the sulfuric fumes of battle.

Continuing to press their attack, the Mustangs were now less than a thousand meters from the Russians as the enemy pushed their own assault.

Clang, clang, clang.

Three 30mm autocannon rounds from the BMPs bounced harmlessly off the turret of their tank. While the enemy rounds couldn’t penetrate their armor, it was still nerve-racking to realize their tank was taking multiple hits from the enemy.

While the Mustangs continued to charge the enemy formation, several of their brigade’s Apache helicopters let loose a string of hellfire missiles at the remaining enemy vehicles, destroying most of them. The helicopters then flew directly over their tanks, using their 30mm chain gun on the remaining armored vehicles as Captain Diss’s tanks continued to press home their attack.

Seeing a swarm of infantry disembarking the BTRs and BMPs, Captain Diss yelled to his gunner, “Keep firing the main gun!”

He needed to get up in the commander’s hatch and deal with the infantry. Swarms of infantry carrying RPGs were just as dangerous as an enemy tank if left unattended. Flipping the hatch open, Diss climbed up to his perch, unlocked the M2 .50 machine gun from its locking mount and trained the heavy weapon on a cluster of infantry soldiers maybe 800 meters to his front.

Depressing the butterfly button, he launched streams of .50-caliber rounds at the enemy soldiers, shredding many of them in seconds. One of the enemy soldiers had managed to set up an antitank missile with the help of one of his comrades — Diss sighted in on them and fired a short burst of fire in their direction. Afterward, all he saw was a red splattering of flesh and blood erupting, and then the missile they were trying to set up also exploded, adding its own shrapnel to the mix.

While his tank continued to charge forward, the main gun boomed nearly every eight seconds and they continued to nail enemy vehicles. As they got closer to the enemy soldiers, more bullets flew in his direction, many of them hitting the tank’s armor but not far away from hitting him in his perch. Captain Diss knew he needed to get back inside the tank, but he couldn’t resist the adrenaline high he was experiencing as his tank charged forward and he stood in the commander’s hatch, firing away on the infantry with his .50-caliber machine gun. He felt like a god swatting away all that stood before him. However, when the gun ran out of ammo, he loaded another box in its place and then dropped down into the turret again, closing the hatch behind him.

Five more minutes went by as they finished off the remaining enemy vehicles and passed through the Russian lines, using their machine guns to finish off whatever infantry they came across. Captain Diss was under strict orders to press home their attack and keep going. Follow-on units moving behind them would clean up any stragglers or fortified positions they felt they had to bypass.

Once they traversed through the enemy lines, Diss called in a crew report to find out how bad their losses were. By the time his platoons had reported in, he discovered they had one tank destroyed to enemy artillery, two tanks disabled from the enemy artillery, three tanks destroyed by antitank missiles, and two tanks destroyed by the most recent enemy action with another tank disabled. His company had effectively lost fifty percent of their tanks, making them combat ineffective.

“Dear God — and we’ve only reached waypoint Bravo,” he thought. Captain Diss shook his head in disappointment and sorrow at the loss of his men. He radioed in their losses to battalion, who ordered Charlie Company forward to take their place. For the time being, Delta Company was out of the fight until their disabled vehicles could get repaired and they could return to the battle.