Team Yankee

CHAPTER ONE Stand-To!

The noise and the metallic voice sounded as if they came from the far end of along, dark corridor. There were no other feelings or sensations as he drifted from a dead sleep through that transitional period of half-asleep-halfawake. An inner, soothing voice on the near end of the corridor whispered, "It's not important, go back to sleep." But the radio whined back to life again and the metallic voice called out unanswered, "BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER."

The inner voice was silent this time. Duty called and further sleep had to be abandoned.

As Captain Bannon began the grim process of waking up, other senses began to enter play.

First came the aches and pains and muscle spasms, the result of sleeping on an uneven bed of personal gear, vehicular equipment, ration boxes, ammo boxes, and other odds and ends that tend to clutter the interior of a combat vehicle. A tumbled and distorted bed made up of paraphernalia ranging from soft, to not-so-soft, to downright hard does cruel things to the human body. Only exhaustion and the desire to be near the radios whenever possible allowed Bannon to survive the ordeal of sleeping like that.

While still sorting out the waves of pains and spasms, he opened his eyes and began to search the interior of the armored personnel carrier in an effort to reestablish his orientation.

The personnel carrier, or PC, was dimly lit by a dome light just above his head. It bathed everything in an eerie blue green light that reminded him of a scene from a Spielberg movie.

First Lieutenant Robert Uleski, the company executive officer, or XO, was sitting in the center of the crew compartment, on a box of field rations, staring at the radio, waiting for it to speak to him again. Cattycorner from where Bannon was perched was the PC's driver, Sp4

James Hurly, huddled up and asleep in the driver's compartment. For a moment Bannon stared at Hurly, wondering how the boy could sleep in such a godawful position. A twinge and a spasm from one of his contorted back muscles reminded him of his accommodations. Perhaps, he thought, the driver wasn't in such a bad spot after all.

A static crackle, a bright orange light on the face of the radio and the accelerating whine of a small cooling fan heralded the beginning of another incoming radio call: "BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER." Without changing his expression or moving any other part of his body except his right arm and hand, which held the radio hand mike, Uleski raised the mike to within an inch of his mouth, pressed the push-to-talk button, and waited a couple of seconds. The little cooling fan in the radio whined to life. When the fan reached a steady speed, he began to talk, still facing the radio without changing expression.

"KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-THIS IS BRA VO THREE MIKE FIVE SIX-STAY OFF THE AIR-I SAY AGAIN-STAY OFF THE AIR-OUT." Releasing the push-to-talk button, Uleski allowed his hand to fall back slowly into his lap. He continued to stare at the now silent radio as if he would pounce and attack it if it dared to come to life again. But it didn't.

Bannon's first effort to speak ended in an incoherent grunt due to a dry mouth and a parched throat. After summoning up what saliva he could, his second effort was slightly more successful. "Is that 3rd Platoon again?"

Still staring at the radio with the same expression, Uleski provided a short, functional, "Yes, sir." "What time is it?"

Uleski raised his left arm in the same slow, mechanical manner as he had used when answering the radio. Looking at his watch, he considered for a moment what he was looking at and in the same monotone he simply stated, "0234 hours."

It wasn't that Lieutenant Uleski was an expressionless automaton without feelings. On the contrary, "Ski," or Lieutenant U, as the enlisted men called him, was a very personable man with a good sense of humor, a sharp wit, and an enormous capacity to absorb Polish jokes and retaliate with appropriate ethnic jokes aimed at his opponent. It's just that in the very early morning, everyone falls into a zombielike state. The requirement-to sit on a hard surface for hours on end, in a small, cold aluminum armored box called a PC, with two sleeping bodies as your only company, with nothing better to do than stare at a radio that you did not expect, or want, to come to life-only added to one's tiredness. Uleski was not an exception. Nor was Bannon.

Considering for a moment the information his XO had given him, Bannon slowly plotted his next move. The PC was quiet and Uleski had gone back to watching the radio. Slowly, his mind began to come alive and it became apparent that sitting there, watching Uleski watching the radios was definitely nonproductive. Besides, Bannon was now in too much pain to go back to sleep and movement was the only way he was going to stop the aches and spasms. It was time to make the supreme effort and get up. Besides, the Team would be having stand-to within the hour and he needed some time to get himself together. While it was permissible for everyone else to look like he had just rolled out of bed at stand-to, the Team commander, at least, had to give the appearance that he was wide awake and ready to deal with the world. The night, if four hours of sleep on a pile of assorted junk could be called a night, was over. It was time to greet a new day, another dawn, the fourth since Team Yankee had rolled out of garrison and headed for the border.

Long before the tanks rolled out of the back gate toward the border, Pat Bannon knew that Sean was involved in more than another exercise. After eight years of marriage and life in the army, Pat could read her husband's moods like a book. At first, there was little change.

The sinking of the oil tankers in the Persian Gulf by perpetually warring nations was just another story on the Armed Forces Network evening news. Life in the military community continued as usual, as did Sean's comings and goings. It was the closing of the Straits of Hormuz and the commitment of a U.S. carrier battle group to the area that began the change. The husbands began to spend more time at their units. The normal twelve-hour day that commanders and staff officers put in stretched into fourteen and fifteen hours. They tried to shrug off the extra hours as prep for an upcoming field exercise. But the wives who had "been in the service" awhile knew that the new routine was not the norm.

Some wives became upset and nervous. They didn't know what was happening but felt that, whatever it was, it was not good. Others talked about nothing else, as if it was a challenge to find out what the big dark secret was. During the day they would gather together with the rest of the "grapevine" and compare notes in order to pool information they had gleaned from their husbands the night before. Pat chose to follow the lead of the older wives in the battalion. Cathy Hill, wife of the battalion commander of 1 st of the 4th Armor, went out of her way to carry on as if everything was business as usual. So did Mary Shell, the wife of the battalion S-3. Pat and many of the wives followed their lead, not asking questions or nagging. They agreed that, whatever was happening, nagging wives would not help the situation.

It was the public announcement that the Soviets were sending a naval battle group to the Persian Gulf to "assist in maintaining peace in the Gulf" that destroyed the last pretense of normalcy. When Pat told Sean the news after he came home from morning PT, he simply replied, "Yeah, I know." His attitude convinced Pat that he had already known about the incident and probably more. The feeling of dread and foreboding became more pronounced when word spread around the community that the. training exercise for which the battalion had been preparing for months was suddenly canceled. In their two-and-a-half years in Germany, that had never happened before. To make matters worse, cancellation of the exercise did not change the new fourteenhour day routine.

Over the next few days every new deterioration in the world situation seemed to be matched with further preparations by the battalion. One night, Sean brought home his field gear and took out his old worn fatigues and clothing and put some of his newer fatigues in. The next day, while returning from the commissary, Pat saw trucks with ammo caution signs on them in the motor pool, dropping off boxes at each of the tanks. Even the community dispensary began to pack up. The news that a U.S. and Soviet warship in the Gulf had collided and then exchanged fire, silenced the last optimist.

Pat wasn't ready for this. It suddenly dawned on her that her husband might be going to war.

The possibility was always there. After all, Sean was a soldier and soldiers were expected to fight. As Sean would say on occasion, that's what he was paid for. Pat knew that someday it might come to that but had never given it much thought. Now she had to. It was like a great dark abyss. She had no guidelines, no idea of what to do. The Army spent a fortune training and preparing Sean for this moment but not a penny to prepare her, the wife of a soldier. Pat decided that the only thing she could do was to make this period as comfortable and as easy for Sean as possible.

Besides Sean, there were the children. Little Sean, the eldest, already knew something was not right. For a child of six, he was very perceptive and picked up on the tension and fear that both his mother and father were trying to hide. He didn't talk about it but would show his concern by asking his father each morning if he was going to come home that night.

Little Sean would stay awake until his father did come and then would get out of his bed, run to his father and hug him with no intention of letting go. Sean had to carry his son to bed, lay him down and talk to him for awhile. Kurt, at three, was hell on wheels and just the opposite of his older brother. Their daughter Sarah, at one, was fast growing up by trying to do everything her brothers did; her busy schedule of exploration and mischief kept her from noticing a break in routine.

The transition from home and family to field and prep for war boggled Bannon's clouded mind. It was almost as if he had been moved into a different world. Pondering such deep thoughts, however, was getting him nowhere. He had to get moving and live in the present world and hope for the best in the other.

New pains and spasms were Bannon's reward for placing his body in motion.

Slowly and with care, he moved each appendage of his body. Once in the sitting position, he stopped, rested, and considered his next move. These things can't be rushed. Minds work just as slowly as bodies do at 0234 hours.

"Well, I guess it's time for Garger's early morning ass chewing," Bannon said, more to himself than to Uleski. "You would think that after getting beaten about the head and shoulders for the same damn thing three days in a row he would learn. Oh Lord, save me from second lieutenants."

For the first time Uleski's face showed expression as a small grin preceded a chuckle and his retort, "Yeah, especially this one."

"Don't be so smug, Ski. The only reason I like you is because I never knew you when you were a second lieutenant. "

Uleski faced Bannon, still grinning. "I never was a second lieutenant.

Wouldn't have any part of it and told the ROTC recruiter so. Naturally, once they found out who I was, they agreed. So here I am, a full-grown U.S.

Army first lieutenant, guarding the frontiers of freedom and making the world safe for democracy."

Bannon smirked and shook his head. "God, the sun isn't even up and already the bull is getting deep in here. I better get out before I'm drowned." They both chuckled. It's amazing what soldiers find humorous and amusing at 0234 hours.

"I'm going over to 3rd Platoon first and give Garger his early morning lecture on the meaning of radio listening silence. Then I'm going to swing by the Mech Platoon and see how they're doing. I expect to be back for stand-to. When was the last time you checked the batteries?"

"About twenty minutes ago. They should be good until stand-to. "

"You better be right. I don't want to have the track that both the CO and XO occupied be the only one that has to be sla,ed off in the morning. Bad for the image."

With a feigned look of surprise on his face, Uleski shot back, "Image? You mean we're going to start worrying about our image? Do you think the men can take it?"

"At ease there, first lieutenant. XOs as well as platoon leaders can get jacked up in the morning too, you know."

Hunching his head down between his shoulders and putting his hands up in mock surrender, Uleski repeated "Yes, sir, yes, sir, don't beat me too hard, sir," as he turned back toward the radio with a grin on his face.

Digging through the pile of junk that had been his bed, Bannon pulled out his gear and started to get ready. Field jacket, protective mask, web gear with weapon and other assorted items on it, and, of course, the helmet.

Putting on this gear always reminded him of a bull fighter preparing for the arena. All the gear that the well-dressed American soldier was supposed to wear was definitely not designed with the armored vehicle crewman in mind. Bannon was reminded of this when he exited the PC through the small rear troop door. Climbing through this four-foot door was always a challenge. In the dark, with all one's gear on, made it that much more interesting. But at that hour in the morning the last thing he needed was a challenge.

It felt good to Bannon to be able to stand upright and stretch his legs.

The chill and early morning mist were refreshing after being in the cramped PC for hours. It reminded him, however, more of an April or early May morning back in Pennsylvania than August-the German weather in August was more like a New England spring.

The chill cleared his mind and it began to turn to matters at hand. Yesterday had been hot and sunny, and with as much moisture as there was in the air, they were bound to have a heavy fog throughout most of the morning. That meant moving a listening post down into the valley to the Team's front, even though the cavalry was still deployed forward. This was the Mech Platoon's job and although they would probably do it automatically as soon as they saw the fog rising, Bannon intended to remind them when he got there. The old saying, "The one time you forget to remind someone of something is the one time he forgets and it is the one time it really needed to be done," kept buzzing through his head.

Bannon's eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. He could now make out images of other nearby vehicles like the headquarters PC he had just exited pulled into the tree line. One track, an Improved Tow Vehicle or ITV, attached to the Team from the mech battalion to which Team Yankee was attached, sat forward at the edge of the tree line. Its camouflage net was off and the hammerheadlike launcher and sight was erect, peering down into the valley below. This track was one of the Team's OPs, or observation posts, using its thermal sight to watch the Team's sector of responsibility through the dark and now through the gathering fog.

Bannon walked over to the ITV to make sure the crew was awake. He stumbled over roots and branches that reached up and grabbed his ankles while low branches swatted him in the face. He stopped for a moment, pushed the offending branches out of the way and began to go forward again, remembering this time to pick up his feet to clear the stumps and using his arm to clear the branches. As he proceeded, Bannon decided that rather than fight the underbrush and roots on his way over to 3rd Platoon, he would skirt the tree line.

This was not a good practice, but as it was dark and hostilities had not been declared yet, he decided to do it, one more time.

When he reached the ITV, the launcher's hammerheadlike turret slowly moved to the right, indicating that the crew was awake and on the job. Knowing that the crew would have the troop door combat-locked, Bannon took out his buck knife and rapped on the door three times. As he waited for a response, the shuffle of the crewman on duty could be heard as he climbed back over gear and other crewmen to open the door. Struggling with the door handle, the crewman rotated the lever and let the door swing out. Bannon was greeted by a dark figure hanging halfway out the door and a slurred, "Yeah, what ya want?"

"It's Captain Bannon. Anything going on down in the valley?"

Straightening up slightly, the ITV crewman realized whom he was talking to. "Oh, sorry, sir, I didn't know it was you, sir. No, we ain't seen nothin' all night 'cept some jeeps and a deuce 'n a half going up to the cavalry. Been quiet. We expectin' something?"

"No, at least not that I've heard. The cavalry should give us some warning but just in case, I need you to stay on your toes. You checked your batteries lately?"

"Yes, sir, 'bout an hour ago we cranked her up and ran it for twenty minutes."

"OK. Keep awake and alert. Let the XO over there know if something comes along." After a perfunctory "yes, sir," the crewman closed his door and locked it as Bannon turned away and walked out to the edge of the tree line. It bothered him that he didn't know the crewman's name. Bannon had only seen that ITV crewman for the first time three days ago after the Team had pulled into its positions. That's the trouble with attachments. You never know whom you're going to get and you never get a chance to know them. Except for the fact that he was the CO and the Team headquarters track was parked nearby, the ITV crewmen didn't know much about him either. And yet, very shortly, they might have to take orders from him in combat. Bannon hoped that the ITV crewmen trusted his ability to command in battle with the same blind faith that he trusted their ability to kill Russian tanks with their ITV.

As he trudged over to the 3rd Platoon, he reviewed the Team's dispositions and mission.

The Team had gone over it often enough using map exercises, terrain walks, battle simulations and field training exercises, or FTXs, on similar ground. But Bannon was still not totally satisfied that they were in the best possible positions to meet all eventualities. Team Yankee was deployed on the forward slope of a large hill overlooking a river valley. The forest where the Team was located came halfway down the slope until it reached a point where it dropped all the way down onto the floor of the valley. That point was the Team's left flank and it was where 2nd Platoon was positioned.

From there the platoon could fire across the face of the slope, into the valley or across the valley, toward the high ground opposite them.

In the center was the Team's headquarters section, consisting of Bannon's tank, the XO's tank and two ITVs from the mech battalion's antitank company. From there they had a good view of the valley, a small village situated in the valley to the right front, a road, and a separate small valley that ran along the Team's right flank. This constituted the limit of the Team's battle position.

It was on the right that the Team had the greatest concentration of power, the 3rd Platoon and the Mech Platoon. The Mech Platoon was equipped with M113 armored personnel carriers and Dragon antitank guided missiles. This Platoon had been scheduled to receive Bradley fighting vehicles, but that kept getting put off since procurement of those powerful fighting vehicles had slowed down. The Mech Platoon was split into two elements. The dismounted element, led by the platoon leader, consisted of most of the infantrymen, two Dragons and three M60 machine guns. This element held a walled farm in the small valley on the right. The mounted element, led by the platoon sergeant, consisted of the Platoon's PCs, their crews and two more Dragons. They were above the same farm on the slope in the tree line. From their positions, the Mech Platoon could block the small valley and keep anyone from exiting the village if and when the other people got in there.

The 3rd Platoon was located a little further behind and higher up on the slope from the Mech Platoon. The 3rd Platoon could fire into the main valley, the small valley to the right, the village, or across the valley at the opposite heights. This platoon would also cover the withdrawal of the Mech Platoon if and when that became necessary.

Bannon was not comfortable with the idea of defending on a forward slope. Should a withdrawal under fire be necessary, all the Team's vehicles would have to go uphill, at times exposed to observation and fire from the enemy on the other side of the valley. In addition, the only positions from which most of the Team would be able to fire were immediately inside the tree line. This position was so obvious it hurt. Bannon could visualize some Soviet artillery commander plotting likely targets and coming across their hill during his terrain analysis. Glee would light up on the Russian's face as he told his trusted subordinate,

"There, there they will defend, in this tree line. Make sure we target that area with at least five, no six, battalions of artillery, comrade." Bannon had been over it all before and if they came out of this deployment without going to war he resolved that he would go over it again.

But for now, he, and Team Yankee, were obliged to fight on the ground where they sat.

As Bannon approached the 3rd Platoon's position he heard a slight rustling followed by the two low voices. He had reached the 3rd Platoon's OPLP. "Halt, who goes there?" came the challenge in a voice that was a little too loud and sounded surprised. Bannon had no doubt caught the soldiers manning the OP half-asleep and had startled them. The voice that had issued the challenge sounded like Private Lenord from the 32 tank. The sentry repeated his challenge, "Who goes there?" It was Lenord. "Captain Bannon."

"Oh, okay. You can come on in then."

While this homey invitation was a refreshing change of pace from the less-than-cheerful thoughts Bannon had been pondering, it was definitely not the way to do business while on guard. As he approached, he could hear a second soldier telling Lenord that he had screwed up. When Bannon was no more than arm's distance from them, the two men quietly stood up to face their commanding officer. As they were just inside the tree line, none of them could see the other's face. But Bannon was reasonably sure there was a pained expression on Lenord's face. Not knowing which of the two forms facing him was Lenord, Bannon directed his comments to both. "Is that the proper way to challenge someone?" "No, sir, it's not, sir."

"How are you supposed to challenge a stranger when he approaches your position, Lenord?"

Without hesitation, and as if he were reciting from a book, Lenord went through the correct challenge and password procedures. With a plaintive voice and a few expletives, Bannon asked Lenord why he hadn't used the correct procedures. "Because you said you were the CO and I recognized your voice, sir." The answer was honest but wrong. Bannon explained that everyone gets the full treatment. Lenord didn't seem to understand the logic in this but promised that he wouldn't forget the next time. As Bannon walked away toward the 32 tank he could hear the second soldier tell Lenord, "See, I told you so," as they settled down into their positions again.

Upon reaching the 32 tank, Bannon started climbing up on the right front fender but stopped halfway up when he heard the cocking of a .45 and a low, firm "Halt." The voice belonged to SSgt Joelle Blackfoot, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian and tank commander of 32. Bannon had no doubt that there was a .45 cocked, loaded, and aimed at him. "Who goes there?"

"Captain Bannon."

"Advance and be recognized."

Bannon finished climbing up and moved slowly to the edge of the turret, now able to make out the figure in the cupola with an outstretched arm holding a .45. In a lower voice just audible to him, Blackfoot gave the challenge, "Wrinkle."

"Bait," was Bannon's reply.

Satisfied with the answer, Blackfoot raised his pistol and slowly let the hammer down. "When's the war going to start, Captain?"

Pulling himself up onto the top of the turret so that he was lying across the length of it with his head near Blackfoot's, Bannon spoke to Blackfoot about Lenord's failure to challenge properly and how things were going with the crew's preparations for combat. Being the thorough NCO that he was, Blackfoot was not happy with the crew drill between him and his gunner. Blackfoot explained that his gunner was slow to pick up targets that he had acquired and on which he had laid the main gun. He wanted some time on a road or someplace where they could move the tank and practice their crew drill. Bannon explained that for security reasons all vehicular movement had to be kept down to a minimum. Blackfoot, like everyone else in the Team, would just have to do the best he could from a stationary position. Blackfoot replied that he knew that but he saw no harm in asking. After getting the weather prediction for the day and his best guess as to when the fog would lift, Bannon climbed down and proceeded to Lieutenant Garger's tank, the next in line.

As he approached the 31 tank, Bannon began going over the "counseling" he would use with Garger this morning. Garger wasn't a naturally bad lieutenant. In fact, he was no different from any other second lieutenant, including himself, that Bannon had known. It took time, training, and a lot of patience to develop a good second lieutenant tank platoon leader.

For only having been in the country for three weeks, Garger wasn't doing half bad. But while half bad was all right on a training exercise, it wouldn't hack it in combat. The time and opportunity to teach the lieutenant-everything he needed to know just wasn't there anymore. The Team was about to go into combat and Bannon had no faith in Garger's ability to perform.

The platoon sergeant, SFC Gary Pierson, a veteran of Vietnam and an outstanding trooper, had been doing his best to train the lieutenant when Bannon wasn't. Pierson was also trying to cover for Garger so that the platoon didn't look bad. But Pierson couldn't do it all. Either the lieutenant had to perform or he had to go. At this late stage of the game, Bannon wasn't about to put lives in the hands of a lieutenant who had, so far, screwed up most of the tasks given him. He intended to talk to the battalion commander about the matter later that day. But first, there was the business at hand.

Climbing up onto the right front fender of the 31 tank, he was stopped as he had been on Blackfoot's tank with a "Halt, who goes there?" Only instead of using a .45 to keep the unknown intruder at bay, the figure in the cupola tried to crank his M2 machine gun down and in Bannon's direction. As the firing mechanism is part of the gun's elevation handle and is easily activated, a brief moment of panic swept over Bannon. He 'considered whether it were better to jump, scream, or hope for the best. Fortunately, inept handling of the machine gun's controls frustrated the figure in the cupola and he decided to go to his .45 as an alternative. As the figure fumbled for his pistol, Bannon identified himself and finished climbing on board.

Abandoning all hopes of covering the intruder with a weapon, the figure simply finished the challenge and password procedures in a dejected and apprehensive voice. Lieutenant Garger was running true to form this morning.

Bannon crawled onto the turret and propped himself up on his elbows so that he was less than a foot from Garger. "Well, what shall we talk about this morning, Lieutenant Garger?"

Garger paused for a moment, not knowing if he was expected to answer or if the Team commander was simply going to lay into him. Hesitantly, he replied in a halfquestion, half-statement, "RTO procedures, sir?"

"No, no. Close, but a no-go. How about radio listening silence? You remember our discussion on that subject yesterday morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"THEN WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU BREAK RADIO LISTENING SILENCE AGAIN TODAY? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID OR JUST SOFT IN THE HEAD?" While waiting for his answer, Bannon did his best to pull himself back and calm down. He had a tendency to become excited and abusive. He had told himself time and again that it wouldn't do to get this cranked up; he had to be calm and logical. But habits are hard to break, especially so early in the morning. There would, no doubt, be plenty more reasons for getting excited later today.

Falteringly, Garger replied, "No, sir. I just wanted to make sure the radios worked since we changed frequencies and all."

With his composure regained, Bannon continued, "Did your radio work yesterday before I chewed your ass out for breaking radio listening silence?" "Yes, sir."

"And did your radio work the day before yesterday just before I chewed your ass out for breaking radio listening silence?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why did you do it again? I mean, by now even you should be able to figure out that, a, your radio works every time you use it and b, every time you use it I am going to come down and jump in your shit. Do you understand what I'm telling you, I mean, do you really understand?"

"Yes, sir, I do, it's just that, well, I…"

"One more time, I swear, one more time…"

Without finishing or waiting for a response, Bannon slid himself back off the turret and climbed down the same way he had come up. To stay any longer would not do him or his nervous system any good. If the point hadn't been made by now, it never would be.

Bannon hadn't walked ten meters from the 31 tank when Pierson's low, firm voice startled him. "This is starting to be a regular routine, isn't it, Captain Bannon? I'm going to start setting my watch by you." Bannon stopped, turned toward Pierson's figure, and leaned against a tree for support. He still hadn't calmed down from his discussion with Garger and Pierson's sudden appearance had scared the hell out of him. As he collected his wits, he thought to himself, "The sun isn't even up and it is building up to be a real peachy day." Looking at the dark figure approaching him, he asked, "Are you looking to give me a heart attack or is this some type of leadership reaction course?"

"No, sir, I just wanted to come over and save our favorite lieutenant before the wolves got him. But from the roar, I figured I was too late so I decided to wait for you here."

"You know, I could charge you with attempted murder."

"You wouldn't do that, Captain. Then, who would you find to whip this collection of derelicts and criminals you call a tank platoon into shape?" "You're right, Sergeant Pierson. No sane man would take the job. I guess I'll have to keep you. But I'm not too sure about your lieutenant. After stand-to and breakfast I'm going to talk to the Old Man about pulling Garger out. If I give you Williams as a loader do you have a gunner who can take over the 31 tank and a loader that can move into a gunner's seat?" "Sergeant Pauly could handle the tank and I have a couple of loaders who are ready to gun. But do you want to start screwing around with crews at this late stage? I mean, the lieutenant may not have all his stuff together yet but given a little more time, I'm sure he'll catch on. You know how it was your first time out."

"Yes, Sergeant Pierson, I know what it was like. I really wasn't much better than Garger. But this is different. When I screwed up as a young platoon leader the worst I got was an ass chewing from the CO, a lot of smirks from the men in the platoon, and a sick feeling in my stomach. If the balloon goes up in the next couple of days and Garger blows it, he not only stands a damn good chance of losing his own behind and his crew's, but a failure on his part could cost me the whole platoon and more. I feel sorry for the kid and I wish I could do more for him. But I have a whole company to look out for and I'm not going to take any chances that I don't have to."

Bannon and Pierson stood for a minute and stared at each other, neither of them able to see the other's facial expression. Both knew that what the other said was right, to a degree.

Pierson hated to admit defeat, the defeat of not being able to train his new lieutenant.

Bannon felt the same. But they also knew that there simply was no time left, that they had to deal with bigger issues than pride. Garger might do well once the shooting started. There was no way to tell. Bannon didn't want to take the chance. His mind was set. If he could swing it, Garger would go. The two men exchanged a few more remarks, mostly about the condition of the platoon's vehicles, plans to improve the positions, and the training that needed to be done that day. Then they parted, Bannon proceeding around the hill to the Mech Platoon while Pierson started rousing his platoon for stand-to. The war, or at least the preparations for war, went on.

By the time Bannon had worked his way down to the walled farm and to the dismounted element of the Mech Platoon's positions, it was getting light. Not that you could see the sun.

In fact, the rising fog made it almost impossible to see anything beyond twenty meters. The Mech Platoon, led by 2nd Lt. William Harding, was already moving into its position and preparing for stand-to.

Bannon decided to stay with them until after stand-to. This platoon was good. They had an unusually good combination of platoon leader, platoon sergeant, and squad leaders.

Harding and the platoon sergeant, a SFC Leslie Polgar, had been together for almost a year and they complemented each other. Harding did the thinking, gave the orders, and led the platoon while Polgar led the training and did the motivating and the ass kicking, which to Polgar were all one and the same.

It was easy to see that the soldiers were well trained and confident in themselves, their weapons, and their leaders, Bannon thought as he watched them. The men moved into their positions with hardly a word, checked their weapons, situated themselves to cover their assigned areas, ready for the enemy or stand down, whichever came first. By the time Bannon had arrived at the farm, Harding had already sent a squad into the village to establish a listening post, or LP. The men manning the LP had taken two Dragons with them. Harding kept his other two Dragons with the mounted element. As he leaned against the farmhouse wall, looking out of the window across from Harding, Bannon kept thinking how worthless he would be here if the other people came boiling out of the fog. Without his sixty-one-ton tank wrapped around him, he wouldn't be much good to anyone in a fire fight armed only with a .45 pistol that was probably older than he was. Not that the .45 was a bad weapon. It's just that in a real fire fight Bannon wanted to have the ability to reach out and touch someone.

Hand-to-hand combat, eyeball-toeyeball brawls with the enemy might make great war movies, but it simply wasn't his idea of doing business. At the first opportunity, he resolved to secure himself an Ml6 rifle. It might be a pain to carry around, but an M 16 provides its owner with a much greater sense of security when he is fumbling around in the dark alone.

By 0500 it was as light as it was going to get and there were no Russians, or anyone else for that matter, in sight. Bannon told Harding to maintain the squad in the village until the fog lifted and to stand down the rest of his platoon. He also reminded Harding of the 0730 platoon leaders' meeting and the weapons inspection for the Mech Platoon at 0900 hours. Bannon knew that by the time he returned to the platoon all weapons would have been checked for cleanliness, functioning, headspace, and timing by either Harding or the platoon sergeant or both. But it was part of the routine that had been established, and it gave him a chance to learn more about the men in the platoon and a chance for them to see him. It was important that the attached units know that their commander had high standards when it came to important items like weapons, positions, camouflage, and all those things that separated the quick from the dead.

On his way back, Bannon walked from track to track, greeting each crew as they prepared for breakfast and another day on the border. He made some corrections, a few comments, listened to a complaint or two, and generally let himself be seen. Only around the 31 tank was his presence greeted with a proper but chilled reception. The other crew members of 31 were in a depressed mood, for they, like Pierson, did not want to be defeated by the loss of their lieutenant. But they were far less sanguine than Pierson about fighting for his retention. The crew knew that if Garger screwed up in combat they would be the first to pay for it. Unlike a dismounted infantry squad where every man can go off on his own if something gets screwed up, a tank crew is a joint venture where one's fate is welded to the actions of the other crew members. The sixty-one tons of steel that enclose them silently bind their collective fates together. So there is a strong self-serving motivation that causes tankers to work together and ensures that each member of the crew can perform his job. Pride was running a distant second to survival for most of the 31 crew.

Uleski, the tank crews of the two headquarters tank and the ITV crews were either washing and shaving or squaring away their tracks by the time Bannon finished his morning rounds.

The ITV that had been at the edge of the tree line had pulled back into its hide position and was camouflaged. Uleski was squatting next to the PC, stripped down to his waist, washing himself from a small pan of water. Looking up as Bannon approached, he grinned, "I knew you would be back by stand-to. I just didn't know what day. Do you have a murder to report and an emergency requisition for a second lieutenant platoon leader to submit?"

"Come on, U, I'm a nice guy. Do you for one moment think that I would bring any harm to that poor young man over in 3rd Platoon? I mean, do I look like a mean person?"

Standing up and squinting his eyes as he looked Bannon over, he replied, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were my CO, the one who isn't worth a damn in the morning until he's eaten a second lieutenant."

"Yeah, it's me alright. Only this morning a second lieutenant wasn't enough. Now I'm looking for a first lieutenant for dessert." Uleski looked to his left, then to his right, using exaggerated movements, then turned back to face Bannon. "Ain't seen any o'them 'round here. Y'all might try over in yonder hill cuntree," pointing east to the border. With the second round of poor humor decided in Uleski's favor, the Team commander and XO got down to the morning's business while Uleski finished washing and Bannon dug his shaving gear out and prepared to wash up. Uleski had a long day ahead and Bannon wanted him to get started. There were maintenance problems that needed attention, and spare parts that had to be requested, borrowed, or scrounged. The laundry point needed to be located and arrangements made to turn in the company's laundry. Batteries for field phones and wire to replace some which had been torn out by a cavalry track that had wandered into the Team's area had to be found.

These and many small but important tasks were required to keep the Team in business.

Once the first sergeant came up to the position with breakfast, he and Uleski would divide up the list of tasks between them and go about the day's duties.

The Team wasn't in bad shape. The last tank that had fallen out of the line of march during the movement to the border had finally closed in yesterday afternoon, giving Team Yankee a total of ten tanks, five M I 13s, and two ITVs. Two of the tanks had problems with their fire control system but nothing that would take more than another day to repair. In fact, the vehicles were in better shape than the people were.

Not that they were falling apart. However, life in the field wears away at soldiers unless simple creature comforts such as food, clean dry clothes, and other such necessaries are provided. Added to the problems of living in the field, the tension caused by the alert and move to the border, followed by the flurry of almost panicked activity during the first twenty-four hours in position, followed by three days of waiting and there is potential for a disaster. This was made worse by the lack of solid news from the outside world and the concerns of the married personnel, including Bannon himself, about the evacuation of the dependents back to the States. To top it off, many of the men had not brought extra fatigues and some hadn't even brought a change of underwear.

After three days of hot weather and hard work, the company was getting funky.

Efforts to secure reliable news from the outside world had failed. The rear areas were in a state of panic as German civilians ignored their government's call to stay in place and instead took to the roads leading west. The Office of Public Information, in a less than brilliant move, had taken the Armed Forces Network off the air. Censorship of the BBC and German radio only told the men in Team Yankee that NATO forces were mobilizing and deploying, something they already knew, and negotiations between NATO and Warsaw Pact representatives were still going on at a secret location. So the men were in the dark, not knowing much more than what was going on within their platoon position and unable to find out from anyone whether they were going to go home tomorrow or be part of the first act of World War III. The longer this situation lasted, the more it tended to erode the men's morale. While there was nothing that Bannon could do about news or settling the dispute that started the whole thing, he and the rest of the Team's leadership could do something about the physical well-being of the men. The first sergeant, Raymond Harrert, had found a gasthaus where the men could wash up and rinse out some underwear. A schedule and transportation had been set up to rotate everyone through the first sergeant's comfort station, now being run by the company supply sergeant. The battalion had switched from dehydrated field rations that came in little brown bags, called MREs, to two hot meals a day, breakfast and dinner, and only one meal of MREs. A work and training schedule, which would allow the Team to improve positions, work out any last-minute crew coordination problems, and rest the men, had been instituted. In effect, the leadership was keeping the men as busy as possible doing constructive things without wearing them out. This kept their minds off the grim situation they were facing while preparing them to meet it. It was all that could be done. Just as Bannon finished washing up, the first sergeant arrived with breakfast.

His arrival at the headquarters position meant that the rest of the Team had finished breakfast, as headquarters tanks and ITVs were always the last to eat. When the men on the position had been served, Harrert, Uleski, and Bannon served each other breakfast.

Standing around the hood of Harrert's jeep, they ate their cold powdered eggs, rubbery bacon strips, and soggy toast as they listened to the latest news the first sergeant had from the rear.

Most of Harrert's news was bad. The evacuation of dependents, which had started only yesterday, was going slowly. German military and civilian police had set up checkpoints to stem the flow of refugees and clear roads. The opposite was happening as monumental traffic jams became worse. Newspapers were scarce and none were making it farther forward than Division rear. Nor was the delivery of mail straight yet. Finally, there were no batteries or WD-1 wire to be found anywhere in the brigade.

The good news was limited but welcome. Harrert had located a quartermaster field laundry.

The men would be able to exchange underwear. Uleski commented that the Environmental Protection Agency would be glad. The maintenance contact team working for the Team had located a new laser range finder for the 23 tank and would be up to install it that morning.

While only a few problems would be solved, any forward progress was welcome. The three agreed that, given two more days of peace, the Team would have all the big problems squared away and would be one hundred percent ready. As they finished up their working breakfast, they were joined by the platoon leaders coming up for the 0730 meeting. The group moved over to the PC where Bannon sat on the lowered ramp with Harrert and Uleski sitting on either side of him. The platoon leaders dropped down on the ground facing the three men, taking off their helmets, unbuckling their LBE belts, pulling out notebooks and pencils as they did so. The meeting had no sooner started when the first sergeant nudged Bannon and pointed to the left, "Here comes the Old Man."

Driving up through a logging trail that ran behind the Team's position came the battalion commander's jeep. One could always tell Lt. Col. George Reynolds's jeep. Four antennas that were never tied down were whipping wildly as the jeep rolled down the trail. The jeep had no top and a big infantry blue license plate mounted on the front fender displaying the silver oak leaf cluster of a lieutenant colonel with a black "6" superimposed on it. This violated every security measure the Army had, but "6" didn't give a damn. He was the battalion commander, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. Bannon turned the meeting over to Uleski, telling him to find out what the platoons needed as far as fuel and supplies were concerned. He then got up, put on his gear, and walked over to the trail to greet Reynolds.

The jeep hadn't stopped rolling before the colonel jumped out and started heading toward Bannon. They met halfway and exchanged salutes. Instead of "Hi, how are you?"

Bannon was greeted with a gruff "Well, Bannon, how are those overpriced rattletraps of yours this morning?"

"Sir, they're ready to kick ass and take names. When are you going to send me some Russians?"

Falling in on the colonel's left, he and Reynolds walked up to the gathering of platoon leaders despite Bannon's best efforts to steer him clear so that Uleski could go on with the meeting. Everyone stood up, dropping notebooks and maps while they put their helmets back on. Salutes, greetings, and some one-sided small talk ate up about five minutes before Bannon could pry the colonel off to the side and let Uleski carry on. As they walked to the tree line, Bannon informed Reynolds of his intention to replace Garger. The colonel took the same position that Pierson had. War was imminent, and it didn't seem like a good idea to switch platoon leaders. As Bannon was going over his reasons and justification, they both stood at the tree line and watched a two-and-a-half-ton truck drive down from the far side of the valley. The fog had cleared by now except along the river. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky and getting hot. The colonel was about to reply when the earsplitting screech of two fast-moving jets flying at treetop level cut him off. The two officers turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see two more jets come screaming into the valley from the east, drop down lower, and fly up the small valley on the right of the Team's positions.

Bannon didn't recognize the aircraft type, aircraft recognition wasn't one of his strong points.

But it wasn't necessary to identify the exact type. A glimpse of the red star on the fuselage told him everything that he needed to know about the two jets. The waiting was over. The balloon had gone up. Team Yankee was at war.

Despite his best efforts to give the impression that the current situation was nothing to worry about, Sean quietly had begun to make sure that the family affairs were in order. He saw to it that Pat had her emergency evacuation kit ready with food and blankets. He packed a special envelope for her containing the important family documents. All the little details were reviewed and listed.

These efforts, while possibly reassuring to Sean, were disquieting to Pat. But she said nothing, listened intently to Sean's instructions, and prayed that all this wasn't going to be necessary.

Pat had known it would be the last night when Sean came in. In his eyes was a look of disbelief that all this was happening. She saw the same thing in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. When little Sean ran up to his father, rather than taking him to bed, Sean carried him over to the sofa, pulled out the family album, and began to leaf slowly through the pages. The two sat there quietly looking at the pictures until little Sean fell asleep. With great reluctance, Sean put his son to bed. After fifteen minutes, he came out of his son's room with red and moist eyes. For a moment he looked at Pat, then simply said that he was tired and was going to go to bed. Pat went with him.

The phone rang. Sean was up and out in a flash, as if he had never gone to sleep but had been lying there waiting for the call. When he came back, Pat watched him for a moment in the shadows of the dark bedroom as he gathered up his uniform and boots. When she spoke, she startled him. "Are you going in already?"

"Yes. Gotta. Wouldn't look good for the CO to be late, would it?"

"Will you be home for breakfast?"

"No, I won't."

"Should I hold supper for you tonight?"

"No, no need to."

Pat knew. And Sean knew Pat knew. After eight years of marriage, it's hard to hide secrets and harder to hide feelings. Sean came over to the bed and sat next to his wife. "Pat, the battalion is moving to the border in an hour. I don't know when we will be back."

"Is everyone going?"

"Everyone. The NATO ministers and their governments are mobilizing. Everyone is going, including you."

"Are they really going to evacuate?"

"Starting this morning at 0900. That was going to be announced anyway. Now, there's no doubt."

As he finished dressing, Pat dressed. There was much to do. Sean was in the children's bedroom. She watched him for a moment and then went to the kitchen where she fixed her husband a bag lunch. As she was finishing it, all the restraint she had exercised and all her efforts to give Sean a cheery face and smile when he left collapsed. She began to cry. Her husband was going out the door in a minute to fight World War III, and all she could do for him was fix him a bag lunch.