It was Sergeant Polgar and his thin line of infantry that were hit first. Just after 2300, movement was detected to their front. The first indication they had that they were about to be attacked was the faint rustling of leaves and sound of a twig snapping. Neither was sufficient to tell Polgar or his people just how many Russians were coming or what direction they were coming from. Soon, however, the infantrymen, using their night vision devices, began to make out a line of figures slowly advancing in a staggered column on either side of the trail.
Upon hearing this, Polgar smiled to himself. The Russian formation and direction of their attack was coming from could not have been any better as far as he was concerned. As planned, he intended to allow whoever was leading them to get within ten meters of his foxhole before giving his own people the order to fire.
As he waited for them, Polgar’s pulse began to beat harder and faster. The fear of premature disclosure of his position by one of his men ratcheted up his nervous anxiety, causing him to glance to the left, down his line of positions, then right, and back to the left. His platoon, clearly visible through his night vision goggles, were ready and, like himself, eager to fire.
When he turned his full attention back to the front, Polgar saw the Russians had stopped thirty meters short of his positions, causing his heart to skip a beat. Had they been discovered? Had he lost the element of surprise? One of the two lead Soviet soldiers, now fully exposed and clearly visible, glanced back over his shoulder. Another figure, ten meters behind them, waved a pistol and pointed it forward, whispering a command of some type. Turning his head back to the front, the man who’d looked behind used his head to indicate to his comrade they were to proceed. They, Polgar told himself, were the point element. And the one with the pistol was obviously the officer in charge, the man he personally would take out.
Only when the point element was within ten meters did Polgar slowly released the safety his M-16, take aim on the Russian officer, and fire.
His single shot unleashed the well-rehearsed and deadly ambush drill. His two squad leaders detonated a pair of Claymore mines that sent thousands of one-eighth-inch steel balls ripping through the Soviet column. Machinegunners laid down a withering crossfire that cut down those still standing after the mines had detonated. The grenadiers added to this mayhem by methodically plunking 40mm grenades wherever they spotted two or more Russians gathered in a cluster. The riflemen, like the grenadiers, scanned their designated sectors, seeking out targets and taking them out one by one.
The violence and shock of the ambush was overwhelming. The Russian officer never had the chance to utter a single command before he was cut down. The deadly and accurate point-blank fire that pelted any Russian who survived the initial volley ensured that any movement by him was his last. The darkness, the violence of execution, the loss of their leaders, and the resulting confusion proved to be too much. Those who had been fortunate enough to be in the rear of the column withdrew back down the trail, pursued by a hail of bullets.
Only when he determined they’d inflicted all the damage on the Russians they were going to did Polgar give the order to ceasefire. As quickly as it had started, the firing stopped and quiet returned. The report he passed back to Bannon was matter-of-fact, accurate, and succinct. In his opinion, the Russians that had hit his position had been a platoon sized patrol looking to find out where the Team’s positions were. That discovery had been costly for the Russians. But they could afford the price.
While the Team awaited the next Soviet move, Polgar shifted his men back several meters to a new line of positions. If the Soviets decided to hit the Team in all directions, the survivors would surely lead the next group back to the point of the ambush. No doubt they would be in attack formation and ready to launch a full blooded assault. By dropping back, the next Soviet attack would hit an empty sack. If the Soviets didn’t catch on to this right off and instead, began to mill about checking out the abandoned positions, some of which were booby trapped, Polgar just might catch them off guard again. With so few men, he needed every advantage he could get.
About forty-five minutes after the firefight in the woods, two of the tanks in the village of Arnsdorf cranked up and began to move to where the trail entered the wooded lot. The slowness of their progress gave Bannon the impression the Russians were trying to hide this move. Since any movement by a tank is very difficult to hide, he wondered if they were a decoy, sent out to draw the Team’s fire and, in doing so, betray the position of his tanks. Since they could be on their way to support another attack on Polgar’s position, Bannon informed Polgar he needed to be ready for tanks. Smugly, Polgar simply replied, “Send ’em. We’re ready.”
As the pair of Soviet tanks continued to creep along the road across the Team’s front, the OP in front of the Team Yankee’s tanks reported it could hear the sound of many engines cranking up and vehicles moving about just inside that part of Arnsdorf that faced Hill 214. When Bannon radioed to Polgar that he thought both the tanks and infantry positions would be hit at the same time, Uleski also reported movement to his front. The Russians were putting on a full court press. The moment of truth was at hand. After ordering the OP in front of the tanks to pull back, Bannon instructed Garger in Alpha 31 to move up as soon as he heard 55 crank up. As he was waiting for his loader to return from the OP, Bannon wondered if the next move the Russians made would be check, or checkmate.
The barrage that hit Alpha 55 and 31 were not preceded by the whine of artillery Bannon was becoming painfully accustomed to. Incoming mortar rounds simply begin to explode. Instinctively, Bannon dropped all the way down into the tank and masked. Specialist 4 Newman, 55’s loader, was already masked and looking over at Bannon. “Those don’t sound like the shells we were hit with the other day,” he stated in a matter-of-fact manner as if he was discussing sports or the weather. “There’s no whine before they impact.”
“Mortars. They must be firing mortars,” Bannon informed him as he was fumbling with his mask. “Probably 120mm mortars from the battalion’s mortar battery. They can’t do much to us.” At least, Bannon hoped, they couldn’t.
Once masked and hooked into the intercom, Bannon had the driver crank up the tank and move up to its fighting position. As they were doing so, he popped his head up and surveyed the scene. The mortar rounds were falling just to the rear of the tanks. The volume of fire was impressive, but doing little more than making noise and tearing up more trees. A check with Polgar and Uleski revealed that 55 and 31 were the only ones being shelled, causing Bannon to guess the Soviet commander was attempting to draw their attention to the sector facing Arnsdorf.
Once in position, 55 and 31’s gunners watched as a line of fifty or more Russian soldiers emerged from the village, deployed into line, and begin to advance toward the hill on foot. They were followed by four BTR-60s and two tanks. Behind them came another line of troops followed by their BTRs. The Russians were coming in force this time.
Bannon ordered 31 to engage the T-72 on the left on order. 55 would take out the one on the right. As they would be hit the T-72 with head-on frontal shots. Bannon wondered if the 105mm rounds of the M-l would penetrate the front slope those tanks. He therefore instructed Garger to continue to engage until it burned. There was no time for second-guessing. The last thing he wanted was to have some Russian do to them what he had done to the trio of T-62s he’d met earlier in the day.
Once the T-72s were destroyed, Garger was instructed to concentrate on suppressing the infantry while 55 took out the BTRs. Not that a BTR was particularly dangerous to a tank. With only a 14.5mm gun in its turret, the most the BTRs could do to an M-1 was tear up the crew’s gear and punch holes in its front fenders. But the destruction of the tanks, the methodical destruction of their BTRs, and a steady stream of lead pinning them to the ground in the darkness, compounded by the confusion that often is part and parcel of a night attack, would have a devastating psychological impact on the individual Russian soldier. Bannon hoped that it would discourage them from rushing forward to become a Hero of the Soviet Union.
As the tanks were preparing to meet the attack coming from Arnsdorf, Polgar came up on the net and reported that he could hear tanks coming down the trail toward his positions. No sooner had Bannon given him a “ROGER, OUT,” than Uleski, reported there were about one hundred dismounted infantry advancing toward him in a column formation, confirming Bannon’s fear the Russians were going all out this time. It seemed they wanted to hold the Team’s attention in the front, pin the infantry their recon element had stumbled upon in the woods with a secondary attack, and sneak up behind. Team Yankee was in check.
The infantry were the first to engage. The Russian lead tank, slowly trundling along the wooded trail, hit one of the antitank mines Polgar’s people had put out. This was followed by a wild volley of small-arms fire from the accompanying Soviet infantry who took to firing wildly in whatever direction they’d been facing when the tank had hit the mine. To a man, they simply dropped down wherever and continued to fire. Polgar, on the other hand, managed to keep his men in check and quiet. He wanted to suck the Russians in before they opened fire.
When it became apparent that the lead tank was crippled, unable to move forward, and blocking the advance of the second tank, the Russian leading the infantry shouted out a series of commands that quelled their panicked shooting and got them back up on their feet. Once he had his men sorted out, he led them forward.
This time, as the Russians advanced in a line perpendicular to and straddling the trail, they fired from the hip and yelled in an effort to psych themselves up. Their firing was, as before, wild and of more danger to themselves than to Polgar’s and his men. The only thing it did was to allow Polgar to keep track of the progress of their advance.
Step by step the line of Russian infantry came on. When they reached the line of deserted foxholes, some of the Russians began to throw grenades in the foxholes they stumbled upon and increase their rate of fire. As it became obvious that there was no one there, the Russian officers began to shout orders in attempt to regain control of their men. It was while they were milling about in an effort to reorganize and reorient for their next move that Polgar hit them.
As before, the infantry set off several Claymore antipersonnel mines, followed by machine-gun and automatic-rifle fire. With the Russians haphazardly arrayed in a line parallel to the new infantry position rather than perpendicular as the first group of Russians had been, the effects of the fire Polgar’s men were hitting them with was far more devastating, killing many of the officers. Again, individual soldiers scattered, dropping to the ground, or sought cover before engaging in a desultory exchange of small arms fire with Polgar’s infantry. The disabled tank, unable to maneuver, did its best to provide support from where it was by firing its main gun.
There then began a deadly game of hide and seek. The Russians, lacking night vision devices, waited until an American infantryman fired. When he fired his first few shots, the Russian would orient his weapon to the general location that he had seen the muzzle flash. If the American did not move before he fired again, the Russian would take aim and fire a burst. Doing this, however, exposed the Russians to the same risks and results. In this way, the infantry battle bogged down into a series of sporadic and violent exchanges of gunfire punctuated by brief pauses as both sides tried to find and fix new targets. This was followed by a fresh eruption of small arms fire as someone found a mark and opened up.
Just as the infantry fight reached this standoff, a volley of Soviet artillery hit the trail junction in the center of the wood lot. Its purpose, Bannon guessed, was to isolate each element of the Team and keep it from shifting to reinforce an endangered sector.
Upon hearing the impact of their artillery, the infantry advancing on 55 and 31 began to pick up their pace. As they were not masked, Bannon ordered the crews of 55 and 31 to unmask and prepare to fire when the T-72s were at 700 meters. He then quietly issued his own fire command, watching through his extension as Sgt. Gwent, his gunner laid on the T-72 to the right. When he saw how large it was in the sight, he grinned. Hitting it would not be the problem. Killing it was the concern.
The first time Gwent hit his laser range finder button with his thumb, the range return digits in the bottom of Bannon’s extension showed 750 meters. In silence the two of them watched as the T-72 continued to rumbled along, straining to hold back behind the line of infantry. The next time Gwent ranged to it, the display read 720 meters. “Almost there,” Bannon muttered.
The tank, growing larger and more menacing by the second, continued to advance. It had but a single purpose, to kill Americans.
Gwent ranged again. 690 meters!
“FIRE!”
“ON THE WAAY!”
The flash, the recoil, and the sharp report of 55’s main gun broke the silence. Target! But the Russian kept coming, turning his gun toward 55. “TARGET! REENGAGE — FIRE!”
“UP!”
“ON THE WAY!”
Again the flash, the recoil, and the blast announced the firing of a main gun round. Again 55 hit the T-72. Not only did it keep coming, it was returning fire. 55 shuddered in almost the same instant that the T-72 fired. 55 had been hit.
Startled, Newman, the loader, looked over at Bannon. “WHAT’S THAT?”
“NEVER MIND. ARE YOU UP?”
“UP!”
“FIRE!”
“ON THE WAY!”
This time 55’s efforts were rewarded. The third round found its mark. In a quick, blinding flash, the commander’s hatch of the T-72 was blown open, emitting a blinding sheet of flame that lit up the battlefield. This was followed by a series of internal explosions that caused the T-72 to shudder. The T-72 was dead. The range showing at the bottom of extension was 610 meters.
Relieved, Bannon stuck his head out of the hatch to see what 31 was up to. Its T-72 was also burning. Steady streams of tracers from 31’s COAX, loader’s machinegun and caliber .50 were raking the line of Soviet infantry. Already most of them had gone to ground, either dead or trying to keep from becoming that way. When he saw two of the BTRs open fire on 31, Bannon decided to take them out first. Grabbing the override, he slued the turret to the left.
“GUNNER, HEAT, TWO BTRS, LEFT BTR!”
“UP!”
“IDENTIFIED!”
“FIRE!”
The first HEAT round found its mark just below the small turret on the BTR. The impact and the internal explosions caused the BTR to swerve to the left and out of the battle. Both the gunner and Bannon yelled target at the same instant. Without waiting, Gwent laid his sights on the next BTR and gave a quick, “IDENTIFIED!”
Once Newman had replied with an “UP,” Bannon gave the command to fire, dispatching a second BTR in less than a minute.
Over on 31, Garger paused to survey the scene before him as he was reloading his .50. This, he thought to himself, was becoming all too easy. Both 55 and 31 were just sitting there as if they were on a gunnery range firing at cardboard and plywood targets instead of real people and vehicles. Both his gunner and his loader were firing their machineguns, each covering a different area. The flames from the burning T-72s and BTRs were lighting up the entire area between 31 and the village of Arnsdorf, allowing the loader and gunner to fire without needing to use night vision devices.
The sight of a small group of Russians inching their way forward, moving from cover to cover, caused Garger to slew his cupola around toward them and open fire on them with the .50. When they went to ground, he took to systematically beating the hedges and brush they’d ducked behind with ten to fifteen round bursts of fire. While he imagined some of them were already dead, he continued to hack away at them, doing his best to make sure those who weren’t joined those who were. Like his commanding officer, he was in no mood to take any chances.
It took the sound of heavy caliber rounds pinging off the front sloop of his tank to draw Garger’s attention away from what was left of the Russian infantry he’d been shredding and over to the BTR that was firing on 31 with it KPV heavy machinegun. The first thought that popped in the young officer’s mind was not the sort of thing most people would have imagined. Rather than fear or anger, Garger saw the opportunity to take on the armored personnel carrier as something of a challenge. At Knox he had been taught that a caliber .50 could take out a BTR. Here, he thought, was the perfect opportunity to find out if that was true.
As Bannon was preparing to engage his next target, he noticed that 31 was engaging a BTR with the caliber .50. It was clear from what he was seeing that though the rounds were hitting the BTR, they were causing little, if any serious damage. As a way of reminding Garger to get back to concentrating on pinning the infantry, he turned 55’s main gun on the BTR that the lieutenant was engaging. One HEAT round was all it took.
In the wake of this, Newman informed Bannon 55 was out of HEAT and down to nine SABOT rounds. Since he didn’t want to waste any of them on BTRs, he ordered the loader to load a SABOT round, but not to arm the gun. Then he ordered 31 to switch roles with 55. Garger was to work on the last of the BTRs while 55 would fire on the infantry. Garger’s reply betrayed his joy. As 31 had, Bannon assigned his gunner and loader a different sector to concentrate their fire on. The gunner engaged the troops to the front and right. The loader, manning his machinegun, fired at any troops he could spot to the left. When he was satisfied they understood his orders and were complying, Bannon called Uleski and Polgar for an update.
This request for a SITREP found caught the infantry in a standoff. The exchange of fire ebbed and flowed. Every time a Russian officer or NCO managed get some of their troops up and moving, a volley of fire from Polgar’s infantry would drive them back to ground. Hiding behind whatever cover they could find, the pinned Russians would return fire as those officers and NCOs who were still able to went about doing all they could to get them back on their feet and advancing.
Eager to end this deadlock, Polgar decided sent a Dragon gunner on a wide sweep around the flank to destroy the two Russian tanks that were doing their best to support the beleaguered infantry. Two other men, each carrying an extra Dragon round, went with the Dragon gunner to provide cover or, if he was hit before he was able to take out the tanks, take over from him. One of them was Kelp, who volunteered when he heard Polgar giving the order to the Dragon gunner.
Before going forward, the three-man team dropped back a short distance while the rest of the infantry line increased their fire to cover the move. The Dragon gunner, a Specialist 4 named Sanders, led the other two as they circled around the firefight, using the sound and the gun flashes to guide on. Whenever the Soviet tank fired, Sanders would reorient himself on it before continuing. They were going to go for the second tank first since it was still fully capable and therefore more dangerous. The crippled tank could be dispatched at their leisure.
Taking their time and taking care they didn’t run across any Russians who were in the process of making their end run to the rear of the Mech platoon’s positions, they closed in on the second tank from behind. To Sanders’ relief, he saw that it was wedged in between some trees, unable to move forward or backwards. After looking and listening for a moment to make sure there were no stray Russian soldiers around, he moved to a spot where he was fairly sure the trees and branches between him and the tank would not interfere with his wire-guided missile. Once he’d reach the spot he’d picked, he carefully set up his weapon as if he was on a shooting range, laying the tracker’s aim point on the rear of the Soviet-tank. After giving Kelp and the other man with him a heads-up that he was about to fire, the gunner let fly.
The missile left the tube with a blinding flash and whoosh. This was followed by the sound of the Dragon’s rocket and a series of pop-pop-popping sounds as the small guidance jets ignited, keeping the missile on track. The impact lit up the surrounding area and immediately ignited fires in the tank’s engine compartment.
“One down, one to go,” Sanders muttered as he began to head off in search of a new firing position from which he could take out the other tank.
The three of them were in the process of creeping up on the crippled tank when a lone figure stood up in front of Sanders at a distance of five meters and fired his AK into his chest. Without a second’s hesitation, Kelp leveled his submachine gun and cut down the lone figure. Both Kelp and the other infantryman, a private no older than Kelp by the name of McCauley, remained rooted to the spot as they waited to see if any other Russians popped up. Once they were satisfied that the Russian had been stray, the two knelt beside Sanders’ body.
In the darkness Kelp felt for his pulse, first on his wrist, then in his neck. There was none. “He’s dead.”
“How do you know?” asked McCauley.
“I know. He’s dead.” At nineteen, Kelp was fast becoming an expert on death. “Do you know how to work that thing?”
“Yeah. We had a class on it once. I think I can do it. But I’m not sure how we’re going to get around to the other tank. There may be more Russians.”
“You just get that thing there and follow ole Kelp here. I’ll get you to the Russians’ back door.”
With that, the two privates made their way through the dark.
The rattle of small arms fire from of the infantry’s firefight, the crash of artillery behind him, and the sharp crack of 55’s and 31’s main guns was unnerving to Uleski. It wasn’t easy to wait there in the dark, listening to the sounds of a battle all around him while watching a hundred trained soldiers whose sole intent was to kill you calmly advance on your position. Not that Uleski had any doubt about the outcome. Unless there were tanks in the far tree line, the infantry would be no match for the tanks and PCs with him. Uleski was simply getting impatient. Like everyone else in Team Yankee, he wanted to get on with it. Now.
The nausea and fear that had crippled him during the first battle were not present this time. Instead, a seething hatred welled up. As he watched the Soviet infantry advance ever closer to his small detachment’s position, he subconsciously took to pounding the fist of his good hand against the roof of the PC. The image of dead and wounded men scattered about 55 after the second attack on the first day flashed through his mind, fanning his hatred into an open rage. “Come on, you motherfuckers,” the XO softly muttered. “Come on and die.”
As eager as he was to engage the enemy to his front, Uleski watched and waited as the Russian company began to deploy into platoon columns, maintaining a nice steady walking pace as they came on. They were in no hurry to join the chaos in the woods on which they were advancing. It seemed to Uleski as he watched them these Russians would be just as happy if they arrived in time to help with the body count and not a minute sooner. There was definitely a lack of gung-ho spirit here.
Uleski had parked the PC he was on sideways in a depression near the tree line. One of the infantrymen who had been on the OP and the PC driver were standing up in the open cargo hatch next to him with their M-16s resting on the side of the PC. The PC commander had the caliber .50 pointed over the side, locked and loaded with several boxes of additional ammunition opened and ready at an arm’s distance. A loaded M-16 he’d gotten from Polgar lay on the roof of the PC lay next to Uleski’s good arm. When the time came, he had every intention of joining the killing.
The other PC with the second man from the OP was also ready, in position to the left of Uleski. Alpha 22 and 24 were deployed to the right of the PCs, ready to engage the infantry and any tanks as yet unseen that might suddenly emerge from the darkness and surprised them.
When the Russians were about two hundred meters from the PCs, Uleski gave the order to fire. Eight machineguns and four M-16s cut loose, unleashing a hail of tracers and lead that tore into the Russians while they were still in the process of deploying. For a moment most of them stood there transfixed, unable to comprehend what was happening to them. Uleski watched through his night vision goggles as some of the Russians first ran one way, then the other as if seeking someplace to hide before giving up and going to ground. Officers could be seen here and there doing all they could to rally their men and drive them on before they were cut down as the machineguns from the tanks and PC’s raked the area with steady, measured bursts of fire.
It didn’t take Uleski long to conclude that this was a green unit and tonight was its baptism by fire. A smile slowly crossed his face. “So be it,” he whispered quietly to himself as he picked up the M-16. “You shall be baptized in blood.” In the space of three days, Robert Uleski had made the journey from being good-natured Ski to a man who was a cold, hard killer.
As with the infantry firefight, once the Russians went to ground, an impasse seemed to settle in. The Russians stayed where they were while the PCs and tanks did their best to find and finish the prone figures off. Too impatient to allow this to continue, after emptying the magazine of the M-16, Uleski decided to break the deadlock by ordering Alpha 22 and 24 to move out and make a sweep of the area where the Russians were pinned. Hebrock protested that there could be tanks or antitank guided missile teams in the woods across the way. Uleski, however, was insistent. He wanted the Russians swept away and swept away now. Besides, he reasoned, if there had been tanks or antitank guided missiles in support of the attack, they would have fired by now.
Reluctantly, Hebrock and the Alpha 22 cranked up and moved out. Swinging out wide before turning north, the two tanks slowly began to advance side by side, beating the ground before them with their machineguns as if they were spraying for insects. The violence and terror of being in their first firefight, coupled with the irresistible advance of the steel monsters proved to be too much for some of the Russians. Rather than stay where they were, or follow their officers, they began to break and run. From their positions, the crews of the PCs watched, waiting for targets. Every time a Russian in their sector of fire got up, the riflemen and machine gunners cut him down before he managed to take two steps. When the tanks reached the end of the area where the Russians had gone to ground and began to mask the fire of the PCs, they swung around and went back through the area again, searching out those who had survived the first run. A few, who had managed to keep their wits about them played dead, waited for the first chance that came their way before crawling away and out of the line of fire.
With no more targets, Uleski ordered 22 and 24 to move to their alternate positions. He also moved the two PCs. Once this repositioning was finished and quiet returned to his sector, he reported the status of his element to Bannon.
Potecknov was not at all pleased with the progress, or more correctly, the lack of progress that his companies were making. From the second floor window of a house on the edge of Arnsdorf, he watched the destruction of the tanks and BTRs, followed by the methodical massacre of his troops. Although he could see officers here and there attempting to get their men up and moving, their efforts accomplished little more than adding to the carnage he was witnessing.
Making matters worse, Potecknov had lost contact with the company on the far side of the hill following an initial and incomplete report that they were in contact. Only the company commander in the woods attacking from the east had reported that he was making progress. As if to confirm this, Potecknov could hear the report of the T-72’s cannon and see an occasional flash. Deciding that the attack offered the best chance of success, he turned to his deputy and ordered him to stay there with the political officer. They were to do all they could to reorganize the unit to their front while he went around to east and pushed the attack through the woods. Without further ado, Potecknov ran down the stairs and into the street to his vehicle. He was determined to win, regardless of the cost.
Uleski’s report found 55 and 31 in the same type of stalemate that he had been in before the sweep by 22 and 24. As Bannon monitored that action, he considered doing the same thing. Thus far, Alpha 55 and 31 had destroyed six BTRs in addition to the two tanks. Two BTRs and some of the infantry in the second line had managed to pull back into the village. Those Russians who had been in first-line had scattered and gone to ground. Some, who had taken cover near the burning vehicles, used every opportunity that came their way to crawl away from the light and heat thrown off by the burning vehicles. Sometimes they misjudged, as they quickly learned when their efforts were rewarded by a burst of fire from either 55 or 31. A few stout-hearted souls, realizing they were going to die anyway, even attempted to engage 55 and 31 with RPGs. Their efforts to crawl close enough to engage the American tanks were quickly and effectively dealt with by the tanks.
While there was no longer any return fire from the line of pinned Russian infantry, Bannon knew there were many of them who were still alive. If they were allowed to stay where they were or managed to make it back to Arnsdorf, they would be of no immediate concern. But if some of their officers were able to rally a few men and slip around to the rear, 55 and 31 would be in danger.
The shifting of the barrage that had been pelting the trail junction to the tree line where 55 and 31 were located decided Bannon’s next move. Rather than sit there and be pounded, 55 and 31 were going to attack.
“MIKE 77, THIS IS ROMEO 25, OVER.”
“THIS IS MIKE 77.”
“THIS IS 25, WE ARE GOING TO ATTACK. WE WILL ADVANCE ABREAST TOWARD THE VILLAGE AT 10 MILES PER HOUR. ONCE WE REACH THE VILLAGE WE WILL GO UP THE STREET THE BTRS WENT UP. FALL IN BEHIND ME AS WE GO THROUGH THE VILLAGE AND COVER OUR REAR. HOW COPY SO FAR? OVER.”
“THIS IS 77. GOOD COPY. OVER.”
“THIS IS 25. ONCE IN THE VILLAGE WE WILL TURN RIGHT ON THE MAIN ROAD AND GO NORTH OUT OF THE VILLAGE. FROM THERE FOLLOW ME. I’M NOT SURE WHERE WE WILL GO, OVER.”
“THIS IS 77. WILCO. OVER.”
“THIS IS 25, LET’S ROLL.”
“THIS IS 77. I HEARD THAT.”
Garger didn’t have to tell his driver twice. He was just as anxious to get out from under the artillery fire as his lieutenant was. As 31 broke the tree line, Garger could see 55 illuminated by the fires of the burning Russian vehicles. Both he and his loader increased their rates of fire as they began to indiscriminately spray the ground before them with machinegun fire without slowing down.
The sudden appearance of the American tanks proved to be too much for many of the survivors still lying on the ground between the village and the tree line. First there had been the battle between the tanks, which their tanks had lost. Then there had been the accurate and deadly machinegun fire that had cut down their comrades, their officers, and anyone who was foolish enough to move. Their BTRs had been reduced to burning hulks that were incinerating their crews and lighting up the area round them, leaving them exposed. Everywhere they looked their eyes fell upon a fresh vision of horror, burning vehicles, and scores of dead and wounded comrades, creating a growing sense in each man that he was alone. All this pushed the green Russian soldiers to the limit of their endurance. The appearance of the American tanks closing on them, indiscriminately spewing death as they came, pushed them beyond it.
Alpha 55 and 31 had no sooner cleared the tree line and gotten out from under the artillery when individual Russian soldiers began to jump up and flee. Lorriet, 55’s driver, fought the urge to go faster than ten miles an hour. Bannon, the loader, and the gunner each covered a different sector, engaging Russians as they came across them. Newman was oriented to the left flank, Gwent the center, and Bannon the right. Those who were smart and not in the direct path of the advancing tanks stayed put and played dead. There were few smart Russians that night.
Slowly the tanks converged on the village. At the edge of it, Alpha 31’s driver slowed down in order to allow Alpha 55 to take the lead. Before plunging into the narrow streets of Arnsdorf, Garger traversed its turret around and over his tank’s rear deck, taking every opportunity that came his way to fire on Russians who were attempting to flee the carnage.
When Alpha 55 reached the first corner in the village and turned, it was greeted by a BTR at a range of twenty meters that was frantically trying to back up and get out of the way. Both the BTR commander and Bannon looked at each other for the briefest of moments before they began to issue frantic orders.
“GUNNER, BATTLESIGHT, BTR!”
The shock of seeing a target so close caused the gunner to raise the level of his reply several decibels.
“IDENTIFIED!”
“SABOT LOADED UP!”
“FIRE!”
At this range, and with the speed of the SABOT round, firing and impact were almost simultaneous. Bannon felt heat of the impact on his face. The brilliant flash of contact and the shower of sparks lit up the street and momentarily blinded him. The SABOT round, designed to penetrate the thick frontal armor of tanks, cut through the center of the BTR and continued down the street behind the BTR and into a building. The BTR burst into flames and staggered to a stop.
For a moment, 55 stood there with its gun tube almost touching the BTR. All action seemed to stop. It was as if everyone had to pause and catch his breath. Carefully, Bannon guided 55 around the burning BTR and continued down the street. As 31 followed, Garger and his loader had to shield themselves from the heat of the flames roiling up out of hatches that had been blown open by internal explosions. Once clear of the BTR, 31 continued on behind 55, searching for new targets.
Taking their time, Kelp and McCauley carefully picked their way through the forest toward the crippled T-72. When they finally found a position to the rear of it that afforded them a clear shot and the two privates were settled, McCauley took to fumbling about as he struggled to affix the Dragon sight to a new round by the light burning T-72 tank.
Kelp, growing impatient with McCauley’s when he saw the difficulties that soldier was having, jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “I thought you said you knew how to use that thing,” he hissed as loud as he dared least he attracted the attention of any Russians who might be lurking about nearby.
“I told you, I only had one class on it, and that was a long time ago. Give me a break, will ya? I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Well, do your best faster, damn it.” For a moment their exchange reminded Kelp of countless times in the past when Sergeant Folk resorted to prodding him along using the exact same words he had used to motivate the hapless grunt. As he watched McCauley fumble with the sight, Kelp finally realized why Folk had been so hard on him. He owed Folk a huge apology.
“Got it!”
“About time. Let’s do it.”
With the launcher resting on his shoulder, McCauley braced himself as he had seen the other gunner do while Kelp scooted over to one side and scanned the area for Russian soldiers.
“Here goes.”
The shock of firing the weapon for the first time made McCauley jump as the missile left the tube. It flew but a few meters before brushing against a tree, causing it to veer off course and hit the ground where it spun madly around as the rocket motor burned and sputtered.
“SHIT! GET THE OTHER ROUND!” McCauley cried out in panic as he scrambled to detach the sight from the expended launcher tube.
Alerted by the missile launch, the TC of the crippled T-72 rose up out of his hatch and looked to the rear to where the first missile’s rocket motor was still burning. Realizing he was in danger, the Russian began to traverse the turret to the rear.
McCauley became frantic as he waited for Kelp to pass him the last missile. “SHIT! HURRY OR WE’RE DEAD MEAT!”
Fear and the specter of imminent death were all the motivation McCauley needed to move as quickly as he could and attach the sight to the new round the first time.
Kelp could do little to help as he kept glancing back and forth between the T-72 and McCauley. It was a race that would have horrible consequences for the loser.
Equally panicked, T-72’s commander was on the verge of bringing its main gun to bear on the two privates when the long gun tube slammed into a tree. Frantically, he yelled an order to his gunner who traversed the turret back a few meters toward the front, then quickly slew it around as fast as he could toward Kelp and McCauley in an effort to knock the tree down using the gun tube. But the tree proved to be too thick and deeply rooted. When the tank commander saw they were not going to be able to get the turret around, he unlocked his 12.7mm machinegun, trained it in their direction, and fired. His first burst was wild, flying harmlessly over the heads of the two privates.
Kelp, determined to buy McCauley the time he needed to finish what he was doing, brought his submachine gun up to his shoulder and fired an equally harmless burst at the Russian tank commander. Both Kelp and the Russian were in the midst of adjusting their aim when McCauley let loose with the second missile. The flash and whoosh of launch, the burn of the rocket motor, and the detonation of impact put an end to this desperate contest.
The sound of small arms fire to their rear and the destruction of the second tank took whatever fight the Soviet infantry facing Polgar still had left out of them. Individually and in small groups, they began to drift back along the trail and away from the American positions. At first Polgar thought the Russians were thinning their line in order to form up for an end run. But as the Russian return fire slackened, then ceased, he knew the truth. The shadows created by the Russians as they drew back past the burning tanks kept moving north. For the second time that night, the order to ceasefire rang out through the wooded lot.
The firing to his front began to slacken, then stop even as Colonel Potecknov was making his way down the trail on foot. At first he was elated. They had succeeded in breaking the American line. That assumption was quickly put to pay when he heard the sound of orders being shouted out in English further up the trail, followed by sudden the appearance of his own men streaming back toward him. Realizing that success had not been his, Potecknov broke out into a trot, calling out to his men, ordering them to turn around and go back as he went.
The relief and elation over their victory against the T-72 was short-lived. Kelp and McCauley had just begun to carefully pick their way back to rejoin Polgar when several figures came toward them from the direction of the infantry positions. Both of them took refuge behind a tree, back to back. At first Kelp thought the Russians were looking for them. But the figures running past were in a hurry. They were making no effort to search the bushes for the tank killers. That was when it dawned upon him that the Russians were retreating. That was good. Unfortunately, they were right in the middle of the Russians’ path of retreat.
The two soldiers continued to huddle behind the tree, each facing out with their weapons at the ready. Kelp watched as the number of Russians increased. It hadn’t occurred to him that there were so many of the bastards, causing him to wonder how the handful of men with Sergeant Polgar had not only managed to hold, but had caused the Russians to flee.
He was watching this flood of refugees when a lone figure came running south down the trail, waving a pistol over his head and shouting. Had to be an officer, Kelp thought. The dumb bastard was trying to stop the retreat. For a moment he wondered if he should kill the officer. But that feat of heroism on his part was not needed.
Kelp watched as the officer stopped a group of three retreating soldiers and tried to push them back. To Kelp’s surprise, one of the three leveled his AK, stuck in into the officer’s stomach, and let go with a burst. The officer fell over backwards, flopping to the ground like a rag doll. The one who had fired the AK said something in Russian before the trio continued their flight north. As one of them was stepping over the dead officer, he kicked the officer in the head. “Looks like they’ve had enough for one night,” Kelp whispered to McCauley.
No sooner had he said this than his attention was suddenly drawn to his front as a Russian stumbled and fell right next to him. Both Kelp and the Russian stared at each other for a moment before they realized that they were looking eyeball to eyeball at the enemy. As the Russian opened his mouth to let out a scream, Kelp leaped on the Russian’s chest, wrapping one hand around the Russian’s throat and the other over his mouth. In response, the Russian grabbed the hand Kelp had over his mouth with both hands and tried to pry it off, causing Kelp to push down as hard as he could to keep the grip he had from slipping.
Just as the Russian succeeded in prying Kelp’s hand off his mouth, he went stiff and let go of Kelp’s hand. Glancing over his shoulder, he watched as McCauley jab his bayonet into the Russian’s stomach a second, then a third time. When he felt Russian go limp, Kelp released the grip he had on him. Gripping McCauley’s arm, he stopped the frenzied infantryman from stabbing the Russian a fifth time. After looking at each other, two privates resumed their back-to-back position behind the tree as the last of the Russians went by without ever taking note of the small battle that had occurred in the dark.
Colonel Potecknov lay on the trail, unable to move. If there was pain, he didn’t feel it. What he could feel was the cold, which he thought odd, given that it had been a warm summer evening when his attack had begun. That he was bleeding to death never occurred to him. In his last minutes, his thoughts were not on death or fear of the unknown fate that awaited him. Rather, he was puzzled and bewildered. His battalion should have succeeded. He had done everything right. The plan had been a good one. What had gone wrong? Why hadn’t it worked? The Russian colonel sought answers for these questions until darkness swept over him.
Alpha 55 was just entering the village square when Bannon received Polgar’s report that the Russians had broken contact and had withdrawn to the north. The run through the village so far had been quick and dirty. After the BTR Alpha 55 had run into had been destroyed, everyone and everything scattered up alleys or into houses. In the town square there were several trucks and two BTRs with soldiers scrambling to board them in an effort to flee.
When 55 rolled into the square, the trucks began to pull away with troops hanging half in, half out. One of the BTR drivers panicked and backed up over a group of soldiers that had run behind it for cover. A truck driver watching 55 and not paying attention to where he was going ran over an officer waving him down before crashing through a store window at the edge of the square. All this confusion was created just by 55’s appearance. When 31 pulled up next to 55, and both tanks began to fire with main guns and machineguns, the situation really went to hell.
Satisfied that all the Russians were gone, Kelp and McCauley began to cautiously make their way back. After what they had gone through, the last thing Kelp wanted was to get blown away by his own side. As he moved forward, he stepped onto a piece of metal. Looking down, he was overpowered by a sudden surge of fear. In the faint light from the burning tanks, Kelp saw that he was standing on one of the antitank mines they had put out earlier. He knew he was dead.
But nothing happened. Ever so slowly it dawned upon him that he was not heavy enough to set off the mine. Even so, when he was finally able to mustered the courage to remove his foot, he did so with the greatest of care. Sweat rolled down his face as he stood there, breathlessly fighting to catch his breath and calm down before moving on. There were too many ways to get killed out here, he told himself. He wanted his tank back. This infantry shit was for the birds.
When he thought that they were close enough to the infantry positions, Kelp called out to let the infantry platoon sergeant know they were coming back. Polgar, unfamiliar with Kelp’s voice, ordered them to advance and be recognized. When they were in the open, Polgar gave them the challenge. Only after Kelp gave the proper password were the two tank killers welcomed back into the fold.
Once the tanks were clear of the village, Bannon ordered 31 to move up to the right of 55. As they were starting to swing south to return to their positions, they ran into the Russian infantry that had just broken contact with Polgar. Only then did it occur to Bannon the Russians who had been attacking Polgar’s positions had not heard of the run through the village by 55 and 31. Thinking they were their own tanks, the Russians simply stood aside to let them pass. Only when the tanks cut loose with machineguns did they realize their mistake, shattering the last semblance of order as the Russians scattered to the four winds. The battle for Hill 214 was over, for now. Checkmate.
In silence, Alpha 55 and 31 followed the tree line as they moved back toward their original position. The only sound, other than the whine of engines and squeak of tracks being pulled around each tank’s drive sprocket, was Bannon’s voice as he radioed Uleski and Polgar. Satisfied there would be a pause before the next Soviet attack came, he ordered them to pull their people back to the trail junction and form a coil. Polgar and his men would cover the north, Uleski and his element would cover the east and south, and 55 and 31 face out west. When everyone was in, they were to meet him at the trail junction.
Bannon was the last to arrive. Uleski, Polgar, Jefferson, and Hebrock greeted Garger and him with nothing more than a nod. With not so much as a word of greeting, he simply asked, “Ok, what do we have?”
Uleski had suffered only one wounded, a PC driver who had been hit in the shoulder. Though the man had lost a lot of blood, he was in stable condition. Both the PCs and the 2nd Platoon tanks had ample ammo on hand. Polgar’s dismounted element had suffered two killed, including the Dragon gunner, and four wounded, two of them seriously. Although his people had been running low on ammunition, now that they were with the PCs, the dismounts who had been with him could replenishing their ammo pouches from ammunition stored on the PCs. The only casualty between 55 and 31 had been 31’s loader. He had been hit in the face by a bullet during the run through the village. Though he was in a lot of pain and was missing several teeth, he would survive. For the price of two dead and six wounded, Team Yankee had held.
But the Team had reached the end of its rope. Even as they stood there, Bannon could tell that the stress and strain of this last fight had used up every man’s final reserve of energy. They had done their best and done well. But they had nothing more to give. Besides the exhaustion, the tanks were down to a grand total of thirty-one main gun rounds and four thousand rounds for the COAX and loader’s machinegun. Even if the men could hold up under another attack, which was impossible, the ammunition couldn’t.
Bannon informed the Team’s leadership that at 0330 they would leave Hill 214 and move south in order to reenter friendly lines. There was no need to explain. There were no protests or speeches. Everyone understood the situation and knew there was nothing more to be gained here. Now the Team’s mission was to save what was left for another day.
To prepare for the move, the wounded were loaded onto the PCs, three in each. Folk, who could drive a PC, took the place of the wounded PC driver. Kelp took the place of the wounded loader on 31. Uleski would command one of the PCs and half of the infantry while Polgar took the other PC and the other half of the infantry. The tank crews redistributed the ammunition between the tanks. When all was ready, the Team settled in to wait until 0330 and move out.
Deep inside, Bannon wanted to believe that at the last minute the battalion would come forward and link up. He was going to give them another hour and a half. If they didn’t arrive by then, he was going to save as much of Team Yankee as he could.