Battlefield Ukraine

The Crossroads

LTC Brian Munch of the 1^st Armored Division, 1^st Battalion, 37^th Armored Regiment, was the only operational commander in the area. He had ordered the remnants of 2^nd Cavalry Troops to form up with his battalion, along with their field artillery squadron (aptly named the "Artillery Hell") to take up positions in the strategic towns of Berezan and Baryshivka. The two municipalities sat on the P03 highway and the E40, which led straight to Kiev and passed by the Boryspil International Airport.

Sergeant Childers looked over at Lieutenant Taylor. “So, what do you think of our position?” he asked, wanting to know if the lieutenant was thinking the same thing he was about this plan.

Taylor thought for a minute before responding, “I think we have our Strykers and LATVs placed well; they have fall back positions and alternative firing positions, just like the tanks do. Overall though, I’m concerned about our placement near these two towns. While we are in an excellent blocking position, we are also sitting right in the way of what is probably a very large Russian force that is headed our direction. With no air cover, and no idea if we will have reinforcements, I think we should fall back to Kiev. Unfortunately, Captain Richards and Colonel Munch want to make a stand.”

Childers nodded in approval. The lieutenant was finally learning, putting together the bigger picture and then figuring out how his platoon fit into it. While it’s not the sergeants job to handle the big picture stuff, a good sergeant will understand it so that he can help guide his lieutenant or captain to best utilize their unit’s strengths.

“I agree, LT,” responded SFC Childers. “Now that we both have the same understanding of the situation, our goal should be to make sure our guys come out of this alive — and that we can bloody up as many Russians as possible in the process. I’m going to walk the line and make sure the Javelin crews are ready and know what to do. Perhaps you can check on the vehicles and make sure the TOW gunners are ready Sir.”

Once Lieutenant Taylor nodded in agreement, Luke turned away to go walk the line where the infantry soldiers were still digging their fox holes and other fighting positions.

Jack had always been a smart young man, scoring well on academic tests and making good grades. That kind of book smarts didn’t always translate into real-world intelligence though. He was grateful for the guidance of Sergeant Childers; having a sounding board to bounce his thoughts off of was really helping to boost his confidence (and surviving their first encounter with the Russians also increased his poise and self-assurance). He still had fear, but it was healthy fear; respect for the force of the enemy. He put his head down and put one foot in front of the other; the best thing he could do now was to make sure that his forces were as ready as they could be to meet the Russian force that would undoubtedly head their way.

Lieutenant General Mikhail Chayko, the Commander of the 1^st Tank Army, had moved his field headquarters from Rostov, Russia, to the new Capital of East Ukraine, Donetsk, just as soon as it had been secured a few days ago. As he sat in an underground bunker, he poured over the digital map of Ukraine and the various units on it.

He smiled like a child seeing a video game for the first time; these new maps that the technology sector had developed were amazing. The large one-meter by one-meter touch screen was fully interactive, and several of the operations staff kept it updated with the exact real-time location and disposition of the various Russian and East Ukrainian militia units as they advanced across the demarcation line. In addition, each friendly or enemy artillery strike was displayed as it was happening, as well as showing each enemy aircraft as it entered the area of the map. Most of that information was being delivered via a series of Russian and commercial satellites, as well as Russian ground and airborne radar and surveillance platforms. The end product was incredibly detailed, and allowed the mission planners to direct or redirect military units to where they were truly needed most.

Chayko smiled and thought to himself, “The Americans aren’t the only ones who know how to integrate technology into battle management and combat operations.”

As he continued to examine the map, General Chayko’s smile disappeared completely. What caught his eye at that exact moment was the stall in the advancement of the 12th Guard’s Tank Regiment. They had apparently run into a well-organized American unit that had somehow managed to nearly destroy a battalion’s worth of tanks and infantry fighting vehicles. The map showed that the unit had lost 12 main battle tanks and 19 BMPs and BTRs — that was a lot of men and material lost, with very few Americans killed in return. It appeared they had only destroyed two of the Americans’ new HUMVEE replacement vehicles and one Stryker vehicle. They had captured two wounded Americans and found five other dead bodies. “I’ll bet the Americans tried to collect their wounded and dead before they left,” he thought. “There is no way that is all they lost from that engagement.”

The other lines of attack were showing great progress. The 6th Tank Brigade and the 27th Guard’s Motor Rifle Brigade had pushed Mykolaiv along the coast and would be at Odesa by tomorrow. Once they reached Odesa, they would continue to drive West and push through southern Moldova and the coastal area of Ukraine. His biggest concern now was making sure the Allied air forces were not able to slow down or destroy his tank regiments before they had met their objectives. The goal was not to invade further NATO countries, but to make them believe that invasion was a real threat, forcing them to the negotiation table.

As he re-centered the map over Pryluky, General Chayko suddenly felt angry. He turned to the army group’s operation officer, who had been examining the map with him, and demanded answers. “Colonel Sokolov, why is there a delay in capturing the NATO airbase at Pryluky? It should have been in our hands by now.”

Sokolov swallowed hard. “Sir, I spoke with the division commander, and they are moving to take it now. We have several Su-34s assigned to provide them air support. He says they should have the base in our hands by tomorrow morning,” the Colonel responded, knowing that was not the answer the general was looking for.

Looking at the map and the division’s location, General Chayko could see that his men were only 50 miles away from Pryluky. That division should be able to have that base under his control by dark, not the following morning. “I may have to replace him if he doesn’t get a move on,” he thought.

SFC Childers and 2^nd Lieutenant Taylor sat in their fighting position along a narrow tree line, overlooking the E40 highway. It was the first time since the fighting started nearly ten hours ago that they had a chance to just sit, drink some water, and eat an MRE. Today’s Meal-Ready-to-Eat consisted of beef steak, but it came with a special prize, the jalapeño cheese sauce — the most-prized condiment in any MRE. It was the most-often traded item, and was treated like pure gold by those who regularly ate MREs. Childers looked briefly at his watch as he squeezed some cheese on his crackers. “It will be dark soon; we have maybe another hour of light,” he said.

“You think the Russians are going to hit us at night?” asked Lieutenant Taylor. He was not sure if that would be a good thing or a bad thing for them, since all the American soldiers in their unit had night vision goggles, and most of the Russian soldiers would likely not be equipped with them.

Childers paused for a moment, calculating. “Probably,” he answered. “I would. If you want to rush through an area, what better time to do it than at night? They know we are tired, and they know we are a small group of Strykers and tanks… we’ll make them pay for it though.” As he finished speaking, he patted his pouch of night vision goggles.

Luke wanted to change the subject and take his mind off the war, if only for a few minutes. “Why did you join the Army, LT?” he asked.

“Hmm, that’s a good question Sergeant, and it’s a long story. Not sure we have time for it right now,” he replied with a wry laugh.

Snickering himself, Childers responded, “Well, we have a few minutes until the Russians decide to do something. Besides, it’ll help take my mind off our situation here. So, why did you join?”

“OK, OK,” Taylor said, putting his hands in the air as if to say, “I give up.”

“Well, believe it or not, I was accepted and went to college at Yale. I originally wanted to be a lawyer, so going to Yale made sense. I figured I’d go to another Ivy League school afterwards and go to work for some fancy law firm in New York and make the big bucks. During my junior year, I got an internship for a law firm in New York over the summer — it was a prestigious firm, the kind that pays you high salaries right out of college. They had me working 100-hour work weeks, which was brutal. I talked with a few of the first-year lawyers and they told me they also worked more than 100 hours every week; most of them did their first two or three years, until they got promoted to associate lawyer. Then their schedule dropped down to sixty to eighty hours.”

Pulling out his wallet, the LT handed Childers a picture of a very beautiful woman. “Then I met her over the summer of my senior year — Cindy. She was going to school for accounting. We dated, and by the time the fall semester of my senior year was over, I was completely head-over-heels in love. She got pregnant unexpectedly, and I realized that I couldn’t live a moment of my life without her and asked her to marry me.” He began to rub his wedding ring, and looked like he might get emotional.

“With a new fiancé and a baby on the way, I suddenly realized that I couldn’t be a lawyer. My father was a workaholic, and I never saw him much. We had a nice house, nice cars, and fancy clothes growing up. I mean, I never wanted for anything… except time with my dad. He never made it to any of my sporting events at school, or anything else that really mattered to me. Now that I was going to be a father, I vowed I would not be like my dad. My entire perspective changed and I knew I needed to change my path. So, what was I supposed to do? I was about to graduate Yale with $82,000 in student debt and I was no longer going on to law school to get one of those high-paying lawyer jobs in New York to pay it all off.”

“As fate would have it, I ran into an Army recruiter during finals’ week. He asked me if had I given any thought to how I was going to pay off my student loans. Well, that got me to stop and talk with him. He told me if I joined as an infantry officer, he could get me a $10,000 signing bonus, and the Army would pay off all $82,000 of my student loans over a six-year enlistment. After that, I was free to stay in the Army or leave.”

“I talked it over with my fiancé and we agreed that I should join and get my student loans wiped out. She was going to have a degree in accounting, so she could get a job anywhere the Army sent us, except here in Germany. But, then again, our son is only a few months old, so she will just plan on being a stay-at-home mom until we return to the States. So, that is how I ended up in the Army. How about you? How did you end up here, Sergeant Childers?” Taylor asked.

Just as Childers was about to go into his story of how he ended up joining the military, they heard a missile streak over their position towards a target just over the horizon. Seconds later, they heard a Bang! Then a Russian Hind helicopter emerged in the distance, flying straight for their position. The Hind was emitting some smoke, but appeared to still be combat effective as it continued to head towards them. Then, another missile streaked over their position and hit the Hind just below the rotor blades, exploding directly into the engine. The chopper was not flying that far off the ground, so when this second Stinger missile hit it, it did not have very far to fall before it blew up.

A loud whistling noise overwhelmed their ears, which meant either artillery or bombs falling. Explosions began to rock the area all around their positions. The Russians began to hit the American positions with 152mm artillery rounds, softening them up before their tanks and infantry fighting vehicles began their attack. The artillery barrage lasted for about five minutes; then, as soon as it ended, they heard the unmistakable sound of tanks.

SFC Childers poked his head above their foxhole and saw numerous Russian tanks spread out in a wide attack pattern, supported by dozens of BMPs and BTR infantry assault vehicles. They were racing towards the American positions, trying to get within knife range and limit the ability of the American tanks from their primary advantage, their long reach. Following behind the armored vehicles was the infantry — and not a small number of soldiers, but a whole regiment’s worth. “It looks like it’s time for us to earn our pay again,” SFC Childers said with a wicked grin on his face as he raised his rifle and took aim at the advancing Russian infantry.

LTC Brian Munch was sitting in his Stryker command vehicle, scarfing down an MRE before the next round of fighting started. As tough and macho as he acted in front of his men, he was nervous. He knew they were outnumbered, and he knew the smart move would have been to fall back to the international airport or even Kiev. However, he also knew that they needed to buy NATO time to get more forces into Ukraine and to the front lines. The rest of their division was less than a day away. If they could hold this position until morning, the rest of the division might reach Kiev and even be able to relieve them.

He was also concerned about his oldest brother, who he knew had been commanding the carrier, USS Bush, in the Black Sea. He was aware that the ship had been sunk, but so far, he had no updates on the whether or not his brother had survived the attack. The Munch family was a military family, through and through (of course, Brian was the only one to join the Army). The rest of the family was all a part of the Navy; his father had retired as a three-star admiral, James was the two-star admiral in charge of the carrier, and his other brother Adam was a submarine commander. Even though his brothers often gave him a hard time about bucking the family trend and going Army instead, he really hoped that everyone would come out of this OK and they would all see each other at Christmas.

A warning came over the radio, interrupting his thoughts. One of the Avenger crews announced, “We’ve detected two Russian Hind helicopters heading towards our position. We are currently engaging the choppers. Chances are, there will be tanks behind these helicopters.”

“Copy that,” answered LTC Brian Munch.

He switched frequencies on the radio to address his battalion. “Listen up everyone. Our air-defense guys are going to engage some enemy helicopters. Be ready for a possible bum rush by some enemy tanks,” he announced, wanting to make sure everyone was as ready as they could be.

Then Munch turned to his drone operator. “Specialist Lee, move the scout drone towards where that Hind is coming in from. I want to see if there is anything else that may be following the helicopters,” he directed.

“Yes, Sir,” responded the specialist, and he dutifully redirected the drone.

As Brian was watched the drone feed and re-examined the electronic map with the disposition of his forces, he felt confident in their position.

A voice from one of the cavalry troops interrupted everyone’s thoughts. “This is Outlaw-one-one. We have tanks, three kilometers to our front. T-80s it looks like,” the voice said. His voice sounded like it was filled with adrenaline and anticipation.

Then another troop reported tanks to their front, then a third troop reported BMPs and BTRs coming from a different direction. As LTC Munch looked over the various troop locations on the map, he could see that the Russians were coming at them from three different directions.

LTC Munch snapped his fingers and waved his hand to get the attention of his Fire Support Team (FIST) LNO; the FIST coordinated artillery missions between the armor units and the battalion of self-propelled 155mm Paladins.

Captain Charlie Prim had been on the radio with his Squadron, letting them know that they should be ready for a fire mission and that several of the cavalry troops had spotted enemy tanks. He saw LTC Munch was trying to get his attention, so he placed the hand receiver down and looked up. “You have a fire mission, Sir?” he asked.

Munch just nodded and signaled for Captain Prim to scoot over to the map table. “It’s nearly dark right now. The scouts are reporting enemy tanks here and here, and BMPs moving in from this direction. I’d like your guns to throw some illumination rounds in these areas. We need to make sure we don’t have additional enemy troops or vehicles trying to slip through under the cover of night. Also, make sure they know to keep the flares constantly coming throughout the night, all right?”

“I understand sir. We’ll keep the illumination rounds coming. I’ve let the Squadron know to expect fire missions at any time. They are ready, Sir,” he said confidently.

Then, just as they were starting to gather more information and get themselves ready for the pending Russian assault, they heard the unmistakable sound of incoming artillery. Dozens of 152mm artillery rounds began to land among the various clusters of trees and among the buildings of the two villages where the Americans had taken cover.

“Get in your vehicles and move out!” shouted LTC Munch, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the explosions nearby. Everyone rushed to their armored IFVs and raced off. As his tires peeled out, Munch grabbed his radio and told the others to fall back. He didn’t want everyone to stay there like sitting ducks, waiting to be hit from above.

The artillery fire was ferocious as the Russian tank and infantry fighting vehicles continued to maneuver to get in place for their attack. Once the artillery fire started to taper off, the Russians launched an all-out attack. Nearly 130 Russian T-80s and T-14 Armatas began to race towards the American positions from multiple different directions, followed quickly by waves of BTRs, BMPs, and T-15 heavy infantry fighting vehicles.

Alpha Five was commanded by Sergeant First Class Joe Dukes, “JD” to his friends and tank companions. His M1A2 Abrams was positioned to the side of a house that had an overview of the E40 highway. The home also had a lot of trees and overgrown bushes surrounding it, which made it about as good of a tank hiding place as he were going to find. He had identified a couple of firing positions they could use, all nearby and easily accessible. When the scouts began to tell the group they were spotting tanks, JD had his driver inch the vehicle forward, so they could see the highway.

JD and his gunner, Smokey, switched their sights to thermals as the sunlight began to disappear; they quickly spotted the Russian tanks from their heat signatures. Sergeant Jay Smokes had been Joe’s gunner for the past year, and the two of them got along well. They were both from Texas, so their families and upbringing had been very similar. It certainly didn’t hurt anything.

“Smokey, I’m going to start calling targets. I want you to get them locked up with the gun and then start taking them out,” JD announced, making sure his gunner knew what the plan was.

“Roger that,” Smokey replied.

Next, he turned to his loader, Specialist Eric Jones. “Jones, make sure you have the Sabot rounds ready. We are going to focus on the tanks and let the Scouts use their TOWs on the BMPs, OK?” JD asked, again looking to clarify his expectations.

“Roger that Sergeant. Sabot. All day. Got it,” Jones said with a wry grin. He had joined the team about eight months ago. He was a sharp young guy who had been in the Army for two years. He was also their unofficial tech guy, since he seemed to have a knack for anything electronic.

Then JD addressed his driver. “Specialist Miller, be ready to move us to our other firing positions when I give the order. We are going to be moving a lot once the shooting starts, OK?”

“Roger that Sergeant,” Miller replied.

JD went back to looking through his commander’s scope and started to identify targets. “Crap, that’s a T-14. I didn’t think they had any of those ready for combat,” he said to the crew. The others looked up at him, not sure what to say.

“T-14’s burn just as easily as a T-80 or T-90. It’s just a tank JD — let’s kill it,” Smokey said nonchalantly.

JD just smiled and laughed. “I don’t think you know anything about that tank. But you’re right, let’s kill it. Target, T-14, three o’clock. 2,500 meters, Sabot,” he said as they began to get into their rhythm of calling targets, just like in training.

“Sabot up,” said Jones as he stood to the side of the gun waiting for it to recoil from being fired.

“Fire!” yelled JD.

“Round away,” announced Smokey as he pulled the trigger on his targeting control. The whole tank rocketed back on its track as the gun fired its round.

JD watched as the Sabot round flew directly for the T-14. Then to his utter shock, he saw the tank’s defense system fire some kind of small explosive device that threw the Sabot round off course just slightly, causing the depleted uranium dart to hit the tank at the wrong angle. The round ricocheted off the tank and flew harmlessly into the sky. “My God… the round missed. That tank has some sort of defense mechanism. Give me another Sabot round!” he yelled out.

Smokey saw the round fly off the tank as well, and he couldn’t believe it either. This time, he aimed the round a little lower and towards the rear of the tank. He was going to try and nail the engine.

“Sabot up!” yelled Jones, letting everyone know the round was ready.

“Fire!” shouted JD, and the tank rocketed back on its track from the recoil. This time the round flew a little lower and slammed directly into the side of the engine compartment. In seconds, the engine blew out flames and smoke. The T-14 suddenly stopped moving forward and stopped entirely. The engine compartment then became a burning cauldron as the fuel tank exploded. The top hatch of the tank flew open as the crew rushed to try and bail out.

Smokey switched from the main gun control to the coax gun and fired a quick burst of the M2 .50 as the crew tried to get out of the burning tank. He managed to cut down two of the three crew members. The third guy managed to roll off the tank and out of Smokey’s sights.

“T-80, two o’clock, twelve hundred meters,” JD directed as he identified the next tank. “Sabot.”

“T-80, twelve hundred meters identified,” Smokey replied.

“Sabot up,” Jones answered, letting them know he was ready.

“Fire!” yelled JD to his gunner.

“Firing. Reload Sabot,” Smokey said as he tracked the round to the tank. Seconds later, the Sabot slammed into the side of the turret and the chassis of the body. It blew the turret right off the tank, killing the crew instantly.

This went on for a while; they lost track of time as they got into the zone. It was spot, aim, load, fire, and repeat. Then, the tank near them was blown up by Russian fire, and JD yelled to his driver, “It’s time to change locations!”

As they moved on to the next spot, JD breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten so zeroed in on blowing the enemy up that he had put his men at risk. He felt very lucky that they were all alive, and vowed not to let the same mistake happen again.

SFC Lance Peeler was laying on the roof of a two-story house in the village, overlooking the E40 highway. There were a few three-story buildings, but Peeler stayed away from them since those would likely be the first ones destroyed by the Russians. SFC Peeler was a new addition to the 2^nd Cavalry field artillery squadron. He had joined the unit eight weeks ago, after spending two years as an instructor at the Army’s Artillery School at Ft. Sill in Oklahoma. He had two young soldiers with him, and ironically enough, they were students of his not that long ago.

They had lugged their AN/PED-1 Lightweight Laser Designator Rangefinder (LLDR) up on the roof with them, along with their own scout drone and Toughbook to watch the real-time video from it. The LLDR was a great new tool. It had been in service for roughly ten years, but the newest version was a huge improvement over previous models. It was lighter, smaller, and more accurate. This tool definitely helped them to identify specific targets much more accurately, and it could also be used to lase for guided munitions.

SFC Peeler turned to one of the young soldiers with him. “Hey, I need you to get the scout drone up,” he instructed. “It’s nearly dusk and the enemy will most likely launch their attack soon.”

Not long after the drone got airborne, they heard the unmistakable scream of incoming artillery. The Russians were known to flatten an area with artillery rounds before sending in their troops or armored vehicles, so Peeler had expected an incoming barrage, but no one could ever really be prepared for the experience. Explosions were going off all around, and there wasn’t anything they could do, except lie in wait on the roof and pray that a round did not land on top of them.

Fortunately, the specialist had managed to get the drone up to around a thousand feet, and guide it over to the village of Borschiv (roughly three thousand meters away) before the artillery started to hit. At the far end of the village, they spotted the Russian armored units, all fanned out in a combat formation, waiting for their artillery support to stop; then they would launch their own attack.

“Private, you see those armored vehicles? They are getting ready to move. Hand me the radio, will you?” Peeler asked the PFC that was lying on the roof next to him.

“Yes, Sir,” he responded over the cacophony of blasts.

With the radio in hand, SFC Peeler called back to get the first fire mission going. “Hellraisers, this is Foxtrot-Three. Fire mission. Regimental size element of Russian armor. Requesting fire for effect, three rounds WP, 300-foot airburst, grid…Second fire mission. Same grid, fire for effect, eight rounds HE, Ground burst. How copy?”

The two young soldiers sitting on the roof with him looked at him in awe of how easily he had just called in what was a very complex fire mission. They felt bad for the enemy that was about to have death and destruction unleashed on them.

A few seconds went by, then the radio crackled to life, “Foxtrot-Three. This is Hellraisers. Good copy. Standby for fire mission.”

In the Russian Army, armored vehicle commanders typically drove into an attack while standing in the hatch of their turret. This provided the commander with the best possible field of vision, and allowed him to take in the scene of the battle far better than he could while looking through the observation slits in the turret. Since the Russian tanks did not incorporate nearly as much targeting technology as the American tanks did, it meant the tank commander had to be a lot more observant and rely on seeing the enemy.

To take advantage of this tactical difference, SFC Peeler had called for a fire for effect of three rounds of WP, which stands for White Phosphorus. “Willie Pete,” as it was called by the gun bunnies, was an incredibly hot burning chemical. By calling the rounds as a 300-foot airburst, it would essentially rain 24 WP canisters down on top of the entire enemy position, creating a chemically-induced burning gas cloud. It would force the tank commanders to get back into their vehicles and move out of the area.

The second fire for effect mission would send 64 high-explosive rounds at the enemy. Due to the number of rounds being requested, the blasts would probably be distributed across the squadron rather than just one battery. If everything played out in their favor, the Americans would destroy more than a few dozen enemy armored vehicles between these two attacks.

The radio came to life again when the Fire Direction Command (FDC) who was coordinating the artillery fire announced, “Rounds shot.”

Ten seconds later, the voice came back over the radio saying, “Splash,” indicating the rounds should begin to impact in five seconds.

SFC Peeler responded, “Splash Out,” letting the FDC know that he had received the message.

While the Russian artillery bombardment continued, SFC Peeler and his two young soldiers watched the scout drone’s footage of their own artillery rounds starting to land amongst the Russian armored vehicles. As the WP rounds began to air-burst, sure enough, the tank commanders dropped back into their tanks, closing their hatches to escape the chemical cloud. The entire column began to start their engines and try to get out of the area. Just as most of the vehicles were beginning to move, the 64 high-explosive rounds landed across their positions, killing dozens of soldiers who had not returned to their vehicles yet. Several tanks also took direct hits, exploding in place.

Moments later, the Russian bombardment of their positions ended and the ground attack began, utilizing whatever forces had survived the American artillery attack.

SFC Peeler told the two soldiers with him, “Start calling out targets as they enter the previously designated zones.” They had arranged pre-arranged fire missions with the battalion FDC to hit certain zones around the American positions as the enemy started to enter them. This would save an enormous amount of time and provide for faster, more accurate, fire support. Considering they had no air support, the artillery battalion’s support was going to be worth its weight in gold.

As the bombardment ended, SFC Childers poked his head above his hastily-dug foxhole to see who else from the troop was still alive. The scream of wounded soldiers could be heard all around, sending a chill down his spine. Childers climbed out of his hole and moved down the line, checking on his soldiers.

He approached the foxhole next to his, and saw the two soldiers sitting in the bottom of it, shaken, but OK. “Hey, stay frosty guys,” he said. “The ground attack is most likely going to come next.” Then he proceeded to move to the next foxhole.

While moving forward, he heard some crying to his left, near a thicket of bushes. He moved towards the noise and saw one of his soldiers had crawled over to the greenery for cover. The man had been hit by shrapnel in multiple places; his right leg was nearly torn off and bleeding steadily. He had jimmied his own tourniquet and tried his best to stop the bleeding on his own. “Hang on soldier. I’m here,” said Luke calmly.

He moved to the injured man’s side and began to apply an additional bandage. “Medic! I need a medic over here!” he shouted to the soldiers around them.

A second later, one of the medics called back, “I’m on the way!”

Another soldier nearby heard Childer’s cry for help and ran over to assist as well. Within moments, the medic had arrived at their position. He placed his aid bag on the ground next to the wounded soldier, opening it swiftly and deftly searching for the exact supplies he needed. The medic immediately poured a clotting powder on the wounded man’s leg, then made sure the tourniquet was on tight. He gave the soldier a quick shot of morphine and began to establish an IV bag.

Once the initial life-saving measures were complete, Childers knew he would have to move on. He addressed the medic, “Specialist Jenkins, try to get him stabilized and back to the aid station. I’m not sure if or when we’ll be able to get any additional medical help, so do your best son”

Jenkins nodded, and the other soldier stayed with them to help move their injured comrade.

Sergeant Childers grabbed his rifle and walked further into the woods, checking the rest of the firing positions as he went. He needed to make sure the platoon was ready for the next attack.

He found Lieutenant Taylor helping one of the soldiers get their heavy machine gun repositioned. A large tree branch had fallen and pinned the weapon to the ground until they were able to wrestle it out and get it set up in a new position. “Everyone OK here LT?” he asked, hoping no one was killed or injured.

Looking up, he saw Childers, covered in dirt and sweat, and a little bit of blood trickling down from a small cut on the side of his right cheek. “You look like crap sergeant. Are you OK?” he asked in reply.

Chuckling, Childers answered, “Yeah I’m OK. We had a couple of guys wounded down by my section of the line. The medics are getting them back to the aid station. We got lucky the Russians didn’t focus that barrage on our position like they did the armor guys.” He said looking off towards where the tanks were hiding. He saw a couple columns of smoke, which meant a few of them must have been hit.

Suddenly, the percussion of tank cannon rounds, mortars, and heavy machine guns broke the conversation. “It appears the ground attack is about to start. Sergeant, get the rest of the platoon ready while I help get this gun operational again,” the LT said as he turned back to the gun.

Sergeant Childers smiled and ran towards the next line. “I’m glad to see the LT is starting to take ownership of the platoon. We’ll make an infantry officer out of him yet,” he thought.

Luke saw that the next group of three soldiers was ready. They had the M240 mounted on a tripod with the spare barrel and glove nearby, ready to be swapped out. “You guys have enough ammo for that thing?” he asked, hoping they had plenty.

One of the soldiers, who couldn’t have been much older than eighteen, looked up. “Yes, Sergeant. We have fourteen belts.”

Childers nodded and then moved down to the next foxhole. He saw only one soldier, where there should have been two or three, so he jumped in. “Where are your battle buddies?” he asked, genuinely concerned.

“They both got injured during the artillery barrage. I’m here alone,” he answered, still clearly in a bit of shock.

Childers reached out, putting his hand on the young soldier’s shoulder. “Hey, it’s OK. They will be fine and so will you. I’ll stay here with you. You’ll be my battle buddy now OK?” His kindness brought a smile to the soldier’s face.

“Thank you, Sergeant Childers. You are a good sergeant,” the young soldier said.

Snap… Zip… Crack! Dozens of bullets began to fly over their heads, hitting the tree branches and other objects they were using for cover in front of their fighting position.

“Private Torres, remember to aim each shot. Find your target, then gently squeeze the trigger and move to the next target. Don’t stay up for more than a few seconds before ducking back down, OK?” Childers felt the need to try to convey some of his experience to the youngster.

“Man, we have a lot of young soldiers in this platoon,” Childers realized.

PV2 Jesus Torres looked over the top of his fighting position with his M4 at the enemy soldiers, heading towards their position. He did just as Sergeant Childers told him; he found a Russian soldier that was bounding from one covered position to another, stopping every few minutes to fire his AK-47 at their positions. He placed the red dot on the soldier’s center mass, just as he had been taught in Basic Combat Training at Ft. Benning, and gently squeezed the trigger. He felt his rifle bark once and recoil back. The enemy soldier clutched his chest, and fell to the ground. He had hit him.

PV2 Torres then slid down the side of his fighting position, his heart and mind racing.

He looked at Childers, “Sergeant, I did it. I got one of them!” he yelled over the now continuous popping of the platoon’s weapons.

Looking at the young soldier, Luke responded, “Great job, Torres! I told you that you could do it. Now, keep going. We have to stop these guys and the platoon is depending on you!”

Sergeant Childers spotted what appeared to be a Russian officer. He was the only guy he saw yelling at the soldiers, pointing them to various parts of the American lines where they would pour machine gun fire on. Childers took careful aim, and gently squeezed the trigger, just as he had done so many times throughout his military career. He released a three-round burst which hit the Russian officer in the chest. The officer dropped to the ground, dead. The soldiers near the officer suddenly looked up and pointed directly at Childers. Childers and Torres then found their position being heavily raked over with enemy gunfire. Pieces of dirt, grass, and tree leaves were all being kicked up around them as the enemy lit up their position.

Childers put his hand on Torres’ shoulder, indicating for him to stay down a bit longer. “Let the enemy fire at us for a while. Once they believe they got us, they’ll move on to the next position. Then we can get up and start shooting at them again, OK?”

After what felt like an eternity (but was probably no more than thirty-seconds), Childers popped back up and brought his rifle to bear. He sighted in a group of Russian soldiers moving towards their position. They were being smart about it. Two of them would run, while the other three would lay down covering fire. One of the soldiers had an RPG-7 and would stop from time to time to fire a rocket at the American lines. Childers looked down at Torres, and signaled for him to get up.

“See that group of soldiers over there to our ten o’clock? Try and take out the guy with the RPG. I’m going to try and take out the other guys around him, OK?”

Torres just nodded, still rattled from all the gunfire happening around them. Childers took aim at one of the attackers. He had stopped shooting to change out magazines; that’s when Childers placed the red dot on him and squeezed the trigger. The Russian soldier fell backwards. His buddy to the left looked right at Childers just as he squeezed the trigger a second time, hitting the soldier in the face.

It was practically dark now. The Americans had moved to using their night vision goggles. Roughly half the Russian soldiers had them. The other half didn’t; they were just running and attacking in the direction they were told. As night descended on the battle, it turned into complete chaos. Red and green tracer fire was crisscrossing back and forth across the battle lines while soldiers and armored vehicles attempted to race between them. Explosions could be heard everywhere. Bullets were whipping through the air, striking tree trunks, branches, vehicles and human flesh. It was the sickening sound of war as the cacophony just continued unabated, both sides trying relentlessly to kill each other.

The ground attack lasted nearly two hours before the Russians broke off their attack. They had not penetrated the American positions, but they had bloodied the Americans up pretty well. For the moment, the Americans had delayed a significantly larger enemy force from moving on to capture the international airport and the capital — at least for several hours, maybe more.