Team Yankee

CHAPTER FOUR Into the Vacuum

The quiet chatter of the evacuees watching the loading of the C-141 was drowned out by the blast of air raid sirens. Everyone froze in place, looking at her companions to the left and right, not knowing what to do. An Air Force sergeant began to run up along the window yelling for everyone to get back and down on the floor facing away from the windows. The Air Base would be under air attack in a minute.

Like a deer in a forest fire, Pat turned and looked for a way to safety. She noticed that the stairs leading down to the flight line had a solid wall on both sides. While not offering complete cover, they would be protected from flying glass. Pat yelled to her group to follow her, grabbed Sarah, and ran for the stairs. At the top of the stairs, Pat told everyone to go halfway down and get against the wall on the air field side. When everyone was accounted for and on the stairs, she followed.

The children huddled against the adult they were with and held their hands over their ears.

They all had a look of sheer terror on their faces. Kurt, Sarah, and Jane's baby were crying, Kurt pleading with his mother to make the noise stop. Pat and the other women were barely able to hold back their screams.

From outside in the distance soft muffled explosions of air defense weapons could be heard above the wailing of the siren. The detonations grew closer at an alarming rate. They were joined by the pop-pop-pop of more antiaircraft guns. Just outside the terminal the report of a gun that sounded like a chainsaw joined in. Then, the first bombs impacted. A series of crashing explosions outside was mixed with the sound of shattering glass and screams of women and children on the second floor. Now all the children were crying and screaming.

Fran pulled Sean and Debby in closer. Sue, tears running down her face, held on to Kurt, trying to cover his ears and face. Jane and Pat did the same with their babies. Just as the tinkling of glass and the screams from upstairs began to subside, another series of bombs went off closer to the terminal, blowing out more glass and causing the screams to begin anew.

They were going to die. They were all going to die. This trip was no longer one of inconvenience and discomfort. It had become a life and death ordeal. Any second now the next series of bombs could hit the terminal and they would all be dead. Pat was horrified.

What had she ever done to deserve this? What harm had her children ever done to anyone?

What purpose would their deaths serve? It wasn't fair. It wasn't right. Pat began to weep and rock Sarah in a vain attempt to comfort her baby.

At the height of the bombing, an Air Force officer without a hat came running in from the flight line and began to run up the stairs. He noticed the group and stopped. He looked at them for a moment, then yelled, "YOU PEOPLE, FOLLOW ME. QUICKLY!"

Pat looked at the officer, the other women looked at Pat. The officer reached down and grabbed Pat's arm. "COME ON. FOLLOW ME. I'M TAKING YOU OUT OF HERE NOW. "

Pat thought anywhere would be better. There must be a shelter the officer was taking them to under the terminal. Pat got up and yelled to her group to follow the officer. Fran told him to carry Sean while she picked up Debby and began to follow. Pat waited to make sure that her group was in motion before she followed, taking up the rear.

Pat reached the bottom of the stairs and turned the corner. To her horror she saw that the officer had gone out of the door and was running out onto the flight line. The rest of her group was following obediently. What were they doing? Was that man mad? Why are we going away from shelter? After a brief moment of hesitation, she ran after them. She had to. The officer had Sean and Sue had Kurt. She had to go.

Once outside the pop-pop-pop, the detonations, and the gun that sounded like a chainsaw became louder. The giant C-5 that had been taxiing up to the terminal had been hit and was now burning and shaking from explosions, its huge wings drooping down to the ground like an injured bird: Together with the siren, it drowned out the officer's voice when he turned to scream something to them. Pat saw the C-141 beyond him. He was running straight for it.

He was going to get them out of here. Pat's heart began to beat faster as she picked up her pace. A chance to survive. A chance to escape this madness. This was it. She would use whatever reserve she had left on this one last effort. All or nothing.

The group ran. The officer began to swerve to avoid a shell crater on the flight line. The line of women followed. As they swerved around the next crater, Fran suddenly stopped dead, causing Sue to ram into her from behind. The officer saw her stop, turned, and ran back. Pat caught up and looked down.

There in front of the women were the remains of several bodies tossed about the flight line.

The brightly colored clothing was civilian, not military. Some of the people headed for the C-141 before the attack had been caught in the open and killed. The officer had come back for more evacuees to take their place.

Pat looked up, saw the officer coming back with Sean. No, she wasn't going to let anything go wrong this time. Every step of the way during this evacuation had been screwed up.

Now, when they were only a few feet away from their means of salvation, Pat was determined they were going to finish this trip. Pat pushed Fran and yelled at her to go. When Fran began to run, Pat pushed Sue along behind her. Jane followed. The officer stopped, let Fran catch up to him, then grabbed her with one arm and pulled her along. The crew chief of the C-141 came down the ramp and helped the women up. Another airman inside pushed them over to some empty nylon seats arranged along the sides and middle of the aircraft's cavernous body. As soon as they were all on board, the officer handed Sean to the crew chief who threw the boy on a seat and buckled him in. The officer then ran down the ramp and back to the terminal. He was halfway there when the closing ramp shut out the view of the shattered flight line.

The crew chief and airman buckled in the new arrivals as the plane began to roll. The dark interior of the aircraft was full of women and children. Their sobs inside and the sound of the air attack outside were drowned out by the roar of the engines. It sounded and looked as if they were inside of a huge vacuum cleaner.

The plane picked up speed. The pilot was just as anxious to leave as Pat was. The lift-off was quick and steep, causing a chain reaction as everyone was thrown sideways into the person seated next to her. When the pilot quickly leveled the plane, everyone was thrown back towards the front. The climb hadn't been much. Pat turned and looked out a small porthole-like window behind her. The plane was skimming along at tree top level and moving fast. The pilot apparently didn't want to go high and become mixed up in the air battle.

Pat turned and surveyed her little group. There was a blank, emotionless stare on the face of every woman and child. They were drained, exhausted, listless. The climax of their ordeal had finally succeeded in beating the last bit of energy and emotion out of them. The long flight home was made in silence, only the steady drone of the engines filling the cavelike interior.

Bannon was not ready to wake. It was too soon, far too soon to end his retreat from reality and misery. Even with the protective mask on and lying on the hard turret roof, the sleeping bag was too comfortable to surrender without a struggle. It was too damned soon to get up.

But Folk was persistent. As soon as he registered a muffled obscenity and some independent movement on his commander's part, he stopped shaking. In less than thirty minutes it would be dawn. The second day of World War III; and just as difficult to greet as the first had been.

The pain from sleeping on a hostile surface, the dullness of the mind from too little sleep, and the realization that this day would be no better than the last was a poor way to begin the day.

Sitting up, he leaned forward and squinted at Folk, trying to see if he was masked. Satisfied that he wasn't, Bannon removed his protective mask, the cool morning air hitting his face.

After sweating for two hours with the rubber mask against his skin, the air felt like a slap in the face. Looking around, he saw Kelp stowing his gear. Folk ordered Ortelli to crank up the tank. It was 0400. In the dark forest, the sound of other tracks doing likewise could be heard.

At least some of the Team was awake and alert. As soon as Bannon was ready to climb down to his position, Folk slid to the gunner's position. Still groggy but at least functioning, the crew went through their checks while they waited for stand-to and the new dawn.

Computer checks. Weapon checks. Thermal sight check. Engine readings and indications.

Ammo stowage and count. The 66 tank was ready.

Just before dawn, Lieutenant McAlister called. He and his platoon were observing a group of six to eight personnel in the woods across the valley from them. Early morning is the best time for detecting targets with the thermal sight because the ground and trees lack any warmth from the long absent sun. McAlister wanted to engage with the platoon's caliber .50s. Bannon vetoed that idea and opted to hit the intruders with artillery instead. That way they would cause the same amount of damage, or more, without having any of the Team's tanks expose themselves. His best guess was that the dismounted intruders were there in order to locate the Team and either call in and adjust artillery or engage with antitank guided missiles. Either way, they had to go.

McAlister contacted the FIST Team. Using a known target reference point to shift from, he provided Unger with the location of the target and what the target was. Bannon cut into the conversation and instructed Unger to fire at least three volleys of artillery with mixed fuze settings of superquick and delayed. The superquick fuze setting would go off as soon as the round hit the tree branches, creating an air burst effect and showering shell fragments down on exposed personnel. The delayed fuze setting would burrow into the ground, hopefully getting anyone in foxholes. The FIST replied that he would try. Bannon told him to try hard.

The call for fire took close to five minutes to process. At this hour, it was not surprising.

Everyone waited impatiently, hoping that the Russians didn't leave before the artillery hit. It was almost as if they were preparing to spring a prank on another fraternity. They knew it was coming and the other people didn't. But this prank was deadly. In a very few moments, some of the other "fraternity" brothers would be dead. The more, the better. Maybe they wouldn't come back.

To the rear of Team Yankee the low rumble of the firing guns could be heard as the FIST called, "SHOT-OVER" on the Team net. McAlister replied, "SHOT-OUT." Unger's call of "SPLASH-OVER" was drowned out by the detonation of the impacting rounds.

In an excited, high-pitched voice, McAlister called, "TARGET-FIRE FOR EFFECT-TARGET-FIRE FOR EFFECT." In the excitement of the moment, he forgot that they were, in fact, firing for effect. From 66, Bannon could see the impact through the trees.

He wanted to move forward to observe but knew that would serve little purpose and unnecessarily expose 66. So he sat where he was, having to content his morbid curiosity by listening to McAlister's reports.

The guns to the rear boomed again, followed by another series of impacts. The rounds with superquick fuze settings burst high in the trees with a brilliant orange ball of fire. For a split second, it lit the surrounding trees and area like a small sun. Then it died as fast as it had appeared. Anyone staring at the blast lost his night vision. In the place of clear images there was only the fading afterimage of the bright orange blasts engraved in their eyes. The final volley was no less spectacular.

As Bannon waited for the results, he began to hope that the results would be worth the efforts of the artillery. More was involved than merely the act of making the calculations, preparing the rounds, laying the guns, and shooting twentyfour rounds. The firing battery now had to displace rapidly. If the Russians were alert, their target acquisition people would have picked up the flight of these incoming rounds. With some calculations of their own, they would be able to locate the guns and fire counter-battery fires. It was therefore important for the artillery to keep moving. Shoot'n scoot was a popular way of putting it. In modern combat you're either quick or you're dead. There is no middle ground.

After observing the area for ten minutes, McAlister reported that neither he nor any other tank in his platoon could detect any more movement in the target area or to the left or right.

Bannon therefore reported to battalion that they had engaged and probably killed eight dismounted personnel. Whatever those people had been doing or planning to do, they weren't going to do it to Team Yankee this morning. The efforts of the cannon cockers were rewarded.

The Soviets were also placing demands on their artillerymen early that morning. The American guns barely had fallen silent when the sky to the east was lit up with distant flashes, followed by the now familiar rumble of enemy artillery. At first, Bannon thought that it was counterbattery fire searching out the guns that had just fired for the Team. But the distant crash of the impacting rounds drifted down from the north, not from the rear. After watching and listening to the barrage for five minutes and unable to detect any sign of letup, it became obvious that this was more than counterbattery fire. In all likelihood, it was the preparatory fire for the attack of the 28th Guards Tank Division.

The night slowly gave way to the new dawn as the Soviet artillery preparation to the north continued. First Sergeant Harrert appeared with breakfast, passing the word to the track commanders to send half of their men at a time back for chow. At first Bannon was apprehensive about allowing the men to dismount for breakfast. He was fearful that the enemy would launch another holding attack against them as they had yesterday. If not a ground attack, he at least expected the Soviets to pin the battalion down with artillery. But nothing happened. Perhaps the Soviets didn't have any more units they could throw away in useless holding attacks. Perhaps the people the Team had hit with artillery across the valley were antitank guided missile teams or artillery forward observers who had the mission of pinning the battalion. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. As the platoon leaders began to gather for the early morning meeting, he gave up on the second guessing. No one was shooting at him or the Team right now and that was all that mattered.

The leadership of Team Yankee gathered around the rear of the first sergeant's PC, map case and notebook tucked under arm, breakfast and coffee in hand as they had done just twenty-four hours earlier. But this morning there was a difference. The nervous apprehension of yesterday was gone. There was a slightly haggard and disheveled look from too little sleep and too much stress. That was to be expected. Today, however, there was also a look of confidence on everyone's face, a calm, steady look. In the words of

Civil War veterans, they had seen the elephant and had changed forever. It didn't matter that they had been incredibly lucky, that the task had been simple and straightforward. It didn't matter that the new mission was going to turn the tables around and expose the Team to the same punishment that it had given to the Soviets. What did matter was that they had won their first battle and any doubts as to equipment, leadership, and each individual's perceived ability to face combat had been temporarily put aside. The Team was ready to move forward and tackle its new mission. The meeting started with a discussion of the previous day's action. Just as they had done numerous times after a training exercise, the leaders went over step by step what had happened. First the platoon leaders gave their account and observations. Then Bannon gave his. They briefly discussed what needed to be done better the next time. With that aside, Bannon issued the completed Team operations order that he had worked on earlier that morning. After he finished, Unger went over the fire-support plan in detail and answered any questions. Finished with that, Bannon informed the platoon leaders that he would visit each of them for a one-on-one brief back of their platoon plans. In the meantime, they were to prepare for the attack.

As he prepared to turn the meeting over to the XO and first sergeant so that they could cover the Team's admin and maintenance chores, a call from battalion put an end to his plan to catch up on some sleep. There was going to be a meeting in thirty minutes at the battalion CP to go over the new mission. Not wanting to move 66 out of position, he decided to use Harrert's PC. While the platoon leaders moved and the PC prepared to roll, Bannon quickly shaved and washed his hands and face. Cleaning up was going to make him late, but it was a matter of pride that he look as sharp as possible. He might be miserable, but he didn't have to look miserable. Standards had to be preserved.

The lack of change at the battalion CP struck Bannon as odd. He really couldn't say what should have been different. But something should have been. Back at Team Yankee he could feel the change that had occurred between yesterday morning and this morning. At the CP, all was still running as if a training exercise was being conducted. The M-577 command post vehicles were parked side by side with their canvas tent extensions set up and connected. A massive camouflage net covered the tracks and extensions. Around this was barbed wire with one entrance guarded by a soldier checking access passes as staff officers and other commanders entered the tactical operations center, or TOC. Somehow, things should have been different.

While the outside was quiet and peaceful, the inside was utter chaos. There were staff officers and NCOs busily updating and preparing their maps and charts for the briefing.

Team commanders were in one corner talking and joking. The battalion commander and his XO sat in the middle talking over maintenance and supply matters. All the running around, confusion, and last-minute preparation by the staff made Bannon wonder what they had been doing all night. But that wasn't really hard to figure out. The lack of haggard faces and bags under eyes betrayed the fact that late nights and little sleep were not part of their daily schedule. He wondered how long that would last.

Off to one side by himself was First Lieutenant Peterson, formerly the XO, now the commander, of Team Bravo. In sharp contrast to the staff and the other commanders, his uniform and gear were dirty and disheveled, his expression gaunt and without emotion.

Bannon watched for a few minutes while Peterson simply sat there, staring at his notebook.

Everyone in the crowded TOG was making a valiant effort to ignore him, even to the point of taking the long way around if they had to go from one end of the center to the other. He had been under fire and his team had been hit hard. Those who hadn't "seen the elephant" yet didn't know how to treat him, so they left him alone. Ignored him was more correct.

Bannon felt sorry for Peterson. Yesterday had been an emotional nut roll for Team Yankee despite the fact that he had been in command for ten months and had been training for what happened. It must have been hell for Peterson to watch his team get ripped to shreds, then be given the job of putting the remains together again. The treatment the staff was giving Peterson was, Bannon felt, cold and inappropriate.

The battalion XO, Major Willard, began by going over the briefing sequence and then instructed the intelligence officer, or S-2, to start. With pointer in hand and every hair in place, he began to talk about the big picture. He talked about how the "hostile forces" had "initiated hostilities," how this combined arms army was driving here and that combined arms army was pushing there and some tank army was moving forward ready to exploit the penetration to our north.

The situation in NORTHAG, or Northern Army Group, was grim. Soviet airborne forces had seized Bremerhafen. Soviet ground forces were making good progress and had broken through in several areas. In CENTAG, Central Army Group, the situation wasn't nearly as bad. Both forwarddeployed U.S. corps were in CENTAG. While one could immediately claim that U.S. forces made the difference, anyone who understood the overall strategy knew better. The terrain in NORTHAG was more conducive to massed, mobile warfare than the hilly, heavily forested south. The North German Plain provided a natural highway for armies to flow from the east to the west through Germany into Holland, Belgium, and France. By luck of the draw and post-World War II agreements, the U.S. had the easiest and least important area to defend. Bannon sat waiting patiently to hear about the enemy forces that were across the valley from the Team and the composition, locations, and strength of the forces in the area where the battalion was going to attack. He wanted to know about nuts and bolts, and the S-2 was lecturing on skyscrapers. When the S-2 finished and turned to sit down without mentioning a thing about the Soviet forces they faced or were going to face, Bannon half jumped out of his seat.

"Wait a minute! What about the people across the valley from us? What are they doing now and what do you expect them to do?"

For a moment, the S-2 looked at Bannon as if he didn't understand the question. "Oh. Well, I don't think they will be doing much after the pounding we gave them." He continued to his seat.

Bannon was livid! The pounding we gave them! "What kind of a bullshit answer is that? And what's this we shit? Except for a few shots from the scouts, I only know of one team that engaged the 'hostile forces' yesterday."

In a flash, the battalion commander jumped up and turned to face Bannon. With his index finger almost touching Bannon's nose and his face contorted with rage, he laid into him.

"That will be enough, Bannon. If you got a burr up your ass about something, you see me after this. We got a lot to cover and not a lot of time. Is that clear?"

Bannon had overstepped his bounds, lost his cool, and offended Colonel Reynolds and his staff. But he wasn't going to buckle under either. The S-2 hadn't given him a single piece of useful information that would contribute to the success of the upcoming mission.

Bannon wanted that information. "Sir, with all due respect, the S-2 hasn't told me squat about the enemy now facing me or those we will be attacking. I need to know what they are doing and where they are if we're going to pull this attack off."

"With all due respect, Captain, I recommend that you shut up and pay attention." The battalion commander had spoken, and the conversation was terminated. Without waiting for any sign of acknowledgement, he turned around and sat down, instructing the S-3 to proceed. Chances were the S-2 really didn't know what was happening anyway. Bannon dropped the matter. The battalion S-3 stood up, prepared to present his portion of the briefing. Maj. Frank Jordan, the S-3, was an outstanding officer and a professional by any measure. He more than made up for the shortcomings of the other battalion staff officers and was the real driving force behind the battalion. Colonel Reynolds might make the final decisions and do the pushing in the field, but it was Jordan who developed the battalion's game plans and made all the pieces fit. He also was easy to work with. After waiting a moment until everyone was settled again, he began his briefing. The organization of the battalion, or task force, as a battalion with tanks and infantry companies combined is called, remained as it had been from the beginning. The friendly situation, or the mission of the units to the battalion's left and right as well as the mission of the battalion's higher headquarters, hadn't changed from what the S-3 had briefed last night. "Our mission is as follows: Task Force 3-78 Mech will attack at 0400 hours Zulu 6 August to seize the town of Amsdorf. The task force will then continue the attack to the north to seize the high ground south of Unterremmbach, northeast to the bridge at Ketten am Der Hanna or west against objects yet to be determined."

Jordan then began to explain the plan of how the battalion would carry out its new mission. It was basically the same plan that he had explained the night before. The main difference was that he tied together a lot of the loose ends and explained what would happen after the battalion got to Arnsdorf. They would be relieved in place that night by the divisional cavalry squadron starting at 2400 hours Zulu. One company at a time would pull out of line and begin to move north toward the new area of operations.

Team Bravo, now in reserve, would lead the battalion. Team Yankee would be the first unit to pull out of line, followed by company C and company D in that order. Once the battalion was closed up on Team Bravo, it would move north. The route was not the most direct, as division wanted to deceive the Soviets as to the intent of the battalion and the point of attack for as long as possible. If all worked out as planned, they would arrive at the line of departure, or LD, on time and would roll straight into the attack without stopping.

The battalion would attack in columns of companiesone company behind the other. When they approached the town of Kernsbach, they would leave the road and move cross-country.

Just east of Kernsbach they would pass through the U.S. front lines and begin to deploy.

Team Bravo would move to the high ground northeast of Kernsbach and take up overwatch positions in the northern edge of the Staat Forest, from which it would be able to cover the movement of Team Yankee. Major Jordan did not expect that Team Bravo would encounter any sizable enemy forces during this maneuver. If there were any enemy force, they would be reconnaissance and would give ground quickly. Once Team Bravo moved into position, Team Yankee would be in the lead. Team Yankee, followed by company C and overwatched by Team Bravo, would first attack and seize an intermediate objective called Objective LOG located midway between the line of departure, Team Bravo's location, and Arnsdorf. Once Team Yankee had cleared Objective LOG, company C would turn west and seize the village of Vogalburg. Company D, the trail company, would close up behind Team Yankee once company C was out of the way. Team Yankee was not to stop but was to continue to move north to Hill 214, called Objective LINK. From the north slopes of Hill 214, Team Yankee would take up positions to overwatch company D, much the same as Team Bravo had done for Team Yankee before, and cover the attack of company D as they moved in and seized Amsdorf. Once in Amsdorf, the brigade commander would then decide where the battalion would strike. This would depend upon the situation at that time and the reactions of the Soviets to an attack into their flank.

There were aspects of the plan that made Bannon uneasy. The total lack of information on enemy strength and disposition was number one on his list. The seizure of Vogalburg by company C appeared to be unnecessary and dangerous. They would be out there alone, unable to receive support from other battalion elements. Their presence in Vogalburg would, however, protect the left flank of Team Yankee as it was moving to Hill 214. So he didn't raise any objections over that issue.

The issue he did object to was the lack of artillery preparation on Objective LOG. That position was just too good a position not to be occupied by the Soviets. When the S-3 finished and asked for questions concerning the execution of the mission, Bannon recommended that a short but violent artillery prep followed by smoke be put on that objective. Both the S-3 and the colonel denied the request, stating that the element of surprise would be lost. Apparently, they expected the attack to be so fast that anyone there would be unable to react in time. Besides, they assured Bannon that Team Bravo would be in overwatch and artillery would be ready to fire if needed. Unger and he exchanged glances. After his tiff with the S-2, anything Bannon said was bound to be wrong, and he was not in the mood for another public flogging by the colonel.

The S-3 was followed by the battalion S-4, who briefed on the current status of supply and maintenance, supply routes, and a myriad of other details. As they were all covered in a written order that they had been handed, Bannon tuned him out. He began to go over the map sitting in his lap, looking at the operation again from beginning to end in an effort to make sure he understood all of the missions and tasks Team Yankee had to perform. There is nothing worse than to leave a battalion briefing, go back to the company, give an order, then have one of the platoon leaders ask a question on a point that had been missed. As they were playing for real this time, Bannon wanted to make damn sure that he didn't miss anything.

The colonel's rousing "Let's go kick ass and take names" speech at the end of the briefing brought Bannon back to the here and now. Reynolds knew he had not been paying attention to the last portion of the briefing and especially to his "go get 'em" speech. Bannon didn't really care. His Team was only an attachment, a very bothersome one at that, and therefore he was expected to be somewhat different and a bit of a maverick. Today had been a good case in point. With the company C commander chanting obscene ranger chants, the briefing broke up.

On his way out, Bannon briefly stopped in front of the intelligence map to see if there was any useful information he could glean from it. The S-2 watched him as if he expected Bannon to turn and attack. After studying the red lines and symbols for a couple of minutes without being able to find anything of use, he gave up and left. Team Yankee would find out soon enough what was there, the hard way.

The balance of the day passed rather slowly. After arriving back at the Team position, Bannon made another analysis of the terrain they would be covering. Satisfied that he had gotten as much as he could from his map, he rewrote those parts of the plan that had changed because of the briefing at battalion and the second map study. In reality, not much had changed. A few new artillery targets, a better concept for crossing the stream west of the village of Lemm, and some more information on what would happen after Arnsdorf was all. With that finished, he sent Kelp with word to the platoon leaders that they were to assemble at 66 at 1300 hours for an update and further instructions.

Throughout the morning the Team had gone on about its business in a slow and deliberate way. After stand-to, the checks and inspections that had not been performed while waiting for the dawn were completed. All problems that turned up were reported to the platoon sergeants, who in turn reported them to the first sergeant, who in turn reported them to maintenance personnel.

There were several tanks being worked on when Bannon returned from battalion.

Once the checks were complete, the weapons were cleaned. First, the crew-served weapons. Every tank and personnel carrier had one M2 caliber .50 machine gun, called a Ma Duce. It was the same heavy machine gun the Army had used in World War II and was still one of the best. This was the tank commander's weapon. Then there were two 7.62mm machine guns, M240s, on each tank. These were of Belgian design and were good weapons. One was located next to the main gun, mounted coaxially with it, hence its nickname "COAX." The second M240 was mounted on a free-swinging mount outside the loader's hatch. The loader had little need for a weapon as his primary job was to feed the main gun. But since the loader's M240 was interchangeable with the COAX, it had value. Besides, it gave the loader something to hang onto when the tank was moving.

While some of the platoon were working on the machine guns, three or four of the men went around cleaning out the main guns with a twenty foot rammer staff topped with a bore brush.

It took three to four men to maneuver the staff and then ram the tight-fitting brush down the gun tube. Rather than have each crew assemble its own staff, the platoon sergeant had one tank, usually his, put one together and then had one man from each crew on the detail. It was efficiency and teamwork in action.

After the tanks and the personnel carriers with all their crew-served weapons were squared away, each man's individual weapon was cleaned. For the tankers, this was a caliber .45 pistol for the tank commander and the gunner. The driver and loader each had a .45 and a caliber .45 M3 submachine gun. This last weapon also was a veteran of World War II, but it had not aged as well as the M2 machine gun. Some said the M3 was worthless. Bannon always considered that rating too generous.

Only after all the equipment had been squared away were the men free to tend to their personal needs and hygiene. The Team worked under the old cavalry principle, "The horse, the saddle, the man." The men understood this and for the most part abided by it. The majority on the second day wished they were elsewhere, but they were not elsewhere, and the war wasn't going away. They didn't know what was going to happen next, but they did realize that their best chance of survival was to stay with the Team. They knew what the Team was doing, and there was safety in numbers. What lay behind the hills to the front and rear was now a mystery that none were interested in exploring. They wanted to stay with the Team, and to stay with the Team, their track and weapons had to work. There was no false patriotism, no John Waynes, only tankers and infantrymen doing their jobs and surviving.

Except for some sporadic shelling by the Soviets, the afternoon passed quietly. The tank commanders and squad leaders kept half of their men on alert while the rest slept. After the 1300 hour meeting with the platoon leaders, Bannon was able to catch up on some personal needs. Washing from head to toe was a priority. After twenty-four hours in the chemical protective suit, he was ripe. The only reason no one else had noticed was because they were equally dirty and smelly. It had only been at the battalion CP that he had noticed how filthy he was in comparison to people who were not-the battalion staff. At battalion, however, he really hadn't cared if he had offended anyone. Once clean again, he let Uleski know that he was checking out of the net and finally took time to get some sleep. His sleep lasted exactly forty-five minutes. The cavalry troop commander and platoon leaders from the troop that would be relieving the Team that night showed up for coordination and a reconnaissance. They were from B troop 2nd of the 14th Cavalry, the divisional cavalry squadron. He had met the troop commander several times before so he was surprised when a tall, lanky first lieutenant introduced himself as the troop commander. Bannon asked what had happened to the man he had met and was told that he was missing in action.

The former troop commander had given the order for the troop to withdraw and after that was not seen again. He, his personnel carrier, and its crew had all disappeared while they were moving back to their next position. This put a chill on the coordination meeting and the recon. Conversation was limited to simple questions and answers as to the positions, enemy activities, and the lay of the land. As soon as the first lieutenant was satisfied that he had all the information he needed, he and his platoon leaders left.

Towards dusk the Soviets became really restless and began a massive shelling to the rear of the Team. Everyone either buttoned up in his tracks or made friends with the bottom of his foxhole as scores of shells screamed overhead, searching for targets in the battalion's rear.

Their fears were only partially relieved by the fact that it could have,been worse; those shells could be hitting the Team itself. They waited patiently, alert and ready for either a ground attack or a shift in the artillery fire onto their positions. Given a choice, the ground attack was the more inviting prospect. At least they could do something to the attacking troops. The enemy was in the open. He could be seen, hit, and destroyed. That wasn't true of artillery. Of course friendly artillery could direct counterbattery fires against the Soviet guns. But that wasn't the same. The Team, the target, would not be able to do anything but hunker down and pray. A ground attack would be better.

As it turned out, neither occurred. As the day finally ended, the Team began to prepare for the move. While the rest of the crew prepared, Bannon pondered the meaning of the prolonged artillery attack. Had the Soviets somehow gotten wind of the planned move? Had they destroyed the roads and bridges to the rear? Had Team Bravo been hit again, or had it been the turn of the battalion CP to see the elephant? Would Soviet artillery strike again while they were moving? He, of course, did not have the answers, and the silence on the battalion radio net remained unbroken. He therefore turned his efforts to a more useful pursuit, dinner.

At 2345 hours the Team started their engines and revved them up to as near normal operating RPMs as possible. As they were not going to have friendly artillery fire cover the noise of the movement, they hoped that by running the engines all together, the Soviets might not notice any change in established habits. Chances of that working for long were slim, however; the high-pitched squeak of a tank's sprockets and the crunching noise of tracks in motion could not be covered. But it was worth a try.

The cavalry troop began to arrive on schedule for the relief in place. They came up along a small trail that ran west to east to the rear of the 2nd Platoon. The 2nd Platoon began the relief by pulling back from the tree line and moving south along the trail. As soon as the 2nd was out of its position and cleared the trail junction, the first cavalry platoon moved in where 2nd Platoon had been. As the 2nd moved farther down the trail, Bannon counted the tanks passing in the darkness. When the fifth passed, he gave Ortelli the order to move. The 66 fell into line behind the last 2nd Platoon tank. The movement of 66, followed by Unger's FIST track, was the signal for the 3rd Platoon to begin its move, and they too swung out onto the trail and began to follow. As with 2nd Platoon, as soon as the last 3rd Platoon tank pulled out, the second cavalry platoon began to move into 3rd Platoon's vacated positions.

The process was repeated with the Mech Platoon, which followed the 3rd. In this way, two companysized units changed places in the dark without a single word other than that between the track commanders and their drivers.

Uleski, leading the Team, hugged the tree line on the northern side of the small valley that the Soviets had tried so hard to reach. When he reached a point about three kilometers west of the village, he moved onto the road and slowly began to pick up speed at a predetermined rate. Had he gone too fast at the beginning, the Mech Platoon at the tail of the column would have been left behind, as they were still hugging the tree line. When the column finally reached the designated march speed, Bannon began to relax. So far, all was going well. The relief had gone off without a hitch and the Team had gotten out of the line without drawing fire. Now they were on the route of march about to hit the first checkpoint along the route on time. This was a good omen.

If the rest of the operation went off this well, it would be a piece of cake.

The drive through the dark countryside was quiet and eerie. The only lights visible were the small pinpricks from the taillights of the tank in front and the blackout drive lights of the tank behind. The steady whine of the tank's turbine engine along with the rhythmic vibrations caused by the tracks had a hypnotic effect. Bannon had to make an effort to pay attention to where they were as the column moved along. Reading a map with a covered and filtered flashlight on a moving tank while trying to pick out terrain features on the darkened countryside was difficult but not impossible. Although Uleski was leading, Bannon needed to monitor exactly where they were at all times as a check on Uleskifs navigation and in case something unexpected popped up. The platoon leaders and platoon sergeants were expected to do the same.

On board the tank all was quiet. Both the Team and the battalion radio nets were on radio listening silence. If the radios were used freely, Soviet radio direction finding units would be able to follow them and keep track of where they were going. Kelp was standing on his seat, halfway out of the turret and facing to the rear of the tank. He was the air guard. It was SOP that the loader would watch to the rear for air attack and any surprises from that quarter.

Folk, in his seat, was fighting sleep. He was having little success. During a road march the gunner was supposed to cover his assigned sector of observation at all times. But when there is a whole column in front and little prospect of action, it is difficult to maintain a high state of vigilance. But Bannon knew that when he needed him, Folk would be on his sight and ready.

Every ten minutes or so Bannon talked to Ortelli. Marching in column like this is worst for the driver. Not only does he have to fight the hypnotic effects of the steady engine noise and vibration, but he must also keep alert to any changes in the distance and speed of the tank in front of him. Drivers moving in column had a tendency to stare at the taillights of the tank in their front and become mesmerized by them. When that happens, they are slow to notice a sudden change in distance. Rear end collisions are common under such conditions. Therefore, tank commanders tried to ensure that even if no one else was alert, the driver was.

As they moved deeper into the rear area, other traffic and friendly units began to appear.

The farther back the Team went, the more numerous they became. At first, there were the combat support forces and the artillery units. Team Yankee went past a self-propelled artillery battery lined up but pulled off to the side of the road. Apparently they were waiting for the battalion to pass. Every now and then a single vehicle or a group of three or four trucks would pass headed in the opposite direction toward the front, probably supply vehicles of units still there. At road junctions, MPs directed traffic, alternately letting one vehicle from the battalion column go through, then one from another column on the intersecting road go through. Occasionally the Team would pass lone vehicles on the side of the road. Some were broken down. Some had been destroyed by artillery or air attacks.

The villages the Team passed were now populated with a new class of inhabitants. Signal units, headquarters units, and support units of every description had moved in and set up housekeeping. Night was the time when many of these units came to life to do the majority of their work, especially supply units. They were in a hurry to resupply their units for the next round and get back under cover before the new day brought out the Soviet birds of prey that feed on supply convoys.

It was just after passing through one of these busy little hubs of nocturnal activity that the Team hit its first snag. The 66 lurched to an abrupt halt without warning. At first, Bannon thought they had hit something. Ortelli informed him that they were all right, but that the tank in front had stopped. Bannon watched its dark form for a few minutes, expecting it to move out and continue the march. When it didn't, he became concerned and decided to dismount and walk up to the head of the column. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't serious enough to break radio listening silence. As he dismounted, Folk moved up into the commander's position, just in case.

Bannon was not happy about the disruption in the march but was thankful for the chance to walk around some, stretch his legs, and break the monotony. It was 0345 Alpha time. They had been moving for almost three hours and were scheduled to attack in another hour and fifteen minutes. As he moved up the column, he noticed a lot of activity in front of the Team and in the fields at the side of the road. There were lights on all over just a little beyond the head of the column.

Uleski was already dismounted and talking to some people when Bannon arrived. As he reached the group, he noticed that it was an engineer unit and that the people in front of the column and in the fields beyond were working on sections of a combat bridge.

"Well, Ski, what do we have?"

"Sir, this is Captain Lawson, commander of the 79th Bridge Company." Uleski motioned to a tall captain across from him, then continued, "His people put this ribbon bridge in earlier today. When Team Bravo crossed it, too many tanks got onto the bridge at once and did some damage. Captain Lawson has to close the bridge and repair it before we can pass."

"Captain Lawson, Sean Bannon, commanding Team Yankee. How long is it going to take your people to unscrew the mess some of my tanks made?" Lawson gave him an estimate and a brief explanation of what had to be done and why the work had to be finished before he would chance having any more tanks across. He was hoping to be done within thirty minutes, barring any unforeseen problems. As Lawson seemed to know what he was about, and his people were hustling, Bannon asked him to keep the XO posted, excused himself and Uleski, and let Lawson get on with his work. Both agreed that except for the bridge, everything so far was going very well. Uleski was told to stay at the front and monitor the work on the bridge. Bannon was going to walk down the column and have the tanks disperse and shut down. This halt would give the people a chance to dismount, shake out their legs, and check their tracks. If the engineers finished before he returned, Uleski was to have his driver crank up 55 as a signal.

The crews were slow to respond. They were tired. Perhaps the halt was a good thing. It would give everyone a break. The tanks moved off the road, every other one on the opposite side, and all facing out at a forty-five degree angle. This was a formation called a herringbone, used by mechanized forces at times like this. By the time Bannon had reached the 3rd Platoon, he didn't need to tell the crews any more. The tank commanders began to move their tracks off onto the side in the alternating pattern when they saw the tanks in front of them do so. The entire center of the road was cleared by the time he reached the Mech Platoon.

It was then that it occurred to him that something was wrong. Had C company maintained its time schedule, it should have been closing up behind the Team by now. But there was no one behind the Mech Platoon. The road behind Team Yankee was clear. When the last of the tracks had shut down their engines, he walked about a hundred meters down the road and listened for the whine of C company's personnel carriers. Still night air, an occasional rumble from distant artillery, and the pounding and yelling of the engineers working on the bridge were all that could be heard. After five minutes, he abandoned his vigil and began to walk back to the head of the column. He really didn't know if there was in fact anything wrong. With radio listening silence in effect, he had no way of finding out. Of course, if something really terrible had happened to the rest of the battalion, he hoped someone would take the initiative to break radio listening silence and spread the word. But that was a hope, not a sure thing. Bannon had a bad feeling that things were not going well. Something was wrong, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about whatever it was.

It took Pat's parents a moment to realize that their joyous welcome and enthusiasm wasn't evoking any response. Pat barely acknowledged their presence. She briefly looked at them, softly said, "Hi Mom, Dad," and then turned her head down to look at her children. Sarah hung around her mother's neck, making no attempt to move. Sean leaned against her side and wrapped both hands around the arm Pat held Sarah with. Kurt held her free arm and leaned against her on the other side, head tucked down, sucking his thumb. For an uncomfortable moment, her parents stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Pat's father offered to go get their suitcases while they waited there. Pat's simple response, "There aren't any," made her parents more uneasy. Her father gave her a look, then went to pull the car around to the front of the terminal.

When Pat and her children moved to leave, they moved as one, none of them wanting to let go of the other for the briefest moment. Pat's mother continued to stare, feeling less and less at ease in the presence of her daughter. As they left the terminal, an airman took Pat's name, the children's names, her husband's name and unit, and Pat's destination. The final checklist and roster in their long odyssey.

Outside, Pat and the children climbed in the back seat. Even in the car they continued to hold on to each other. As they pulled away, Pat turned and watched the terminal. They were finally leaving military control. She thought about that for the moment. She thought about the other wives and their children. She looked at her parents in the front seat and began to wonder, Now what? The evacuation was over, but now what? There was nothing more to do.

She was safe. Her children were safe. She was going back to her parents' home. But what then? Wait? Wait for what? For the war to end? For word to come about her husband? And what kind of word? Pat had listened to stories from wives who had waited while their husbands were in Vietnam. She wasn't ready. Even now, safe in the U.S., the dark abyss of the trackless future opened before her. Like an earthen dam that had tried to hold back more water than it could, her resolve collapsed, and she began to cry. Her children silently tightened their grips on their weeping mother to comfort her and themselves. Her parents in the front seat stared ahead, not knowing what to do or say.