Team Yankee: A Novel of World War III (Revised & Expanded Edition)

CHAPTER 9 DEEP ATTACK

After two days with Team Yankee, Avery came to realize that the cold reception he had received had not been personal. That is, he had not been the only one who was being like the red headed stepchild at the family picnic. All the newly assigned personnel that had been fed into the Team had received the same treatment. At first he resented this fact. He looked upon it as if it were some kind of planned initiation, behavior he thought to be offensive and inappropriate. When he mentioned this to a man he had thought was his friend and the only person in Team Yankee he felt he could share his thoughts with, Garger looked at him, and thought about the question for a moment before telling Avery he had no idea what he was talking about. He went on to tell the new platoon leader that as far as he was concerned, everyone in the Team got along exceptionally well. “You’re being overly sensitive,” he added. “This isn’t a fraternity or a social club. My advice to you is to settle down and get on with the business at hand.” Then, without so much as a see you later, Garger turned and walked away.

It didn’t take Avery long to understand what the difference between the newly assigned personnel and the original members of Team Yankee was when the CO authorized the tank commanders to paint kill rings on the gun tubes of the Team’s tanks. It had been the old German who owned the gasthaus that had made the suggestion that the Team do what the German panzertruppen had done in World War II. “We painted a ring on the tank’s gun tube for every enemy tank destroyed by that crew,” he told Bannon one night as the two were sharing a warm glass of beer. The idea was quickly adopted and proved to be popular. Before these rings could be painted on a tank’s gun tube, they had to be confirmed. Only the first sergeant, who didn’t have a tank, could authorize the kill rings if, in his opinion, there were sufficient evidence to support a crew’s claim. The kill rings were to be one-inch black rings, one for each kill, painted on the gun tube just forward of the bore evacuator. A three-inch black ring was used to denote five kills.

Once the kill rings had been painted on the tanks, the tank commanders and gunners went around to see who the top gun was. To Avery’s surprise, it was Garger. His Alpha 31 tank sported eleven rings. The CO’s tank, the new Alpha 66, had seven. Hebrock told Avery that the CO could have claimed six more kills, but instead allowed them to go on 55, the tank that he had been commanding at the time the kills had been made. Of the ten tanks in Team Yankee, only Avery’s tank, 21, had a clean gun tube.

It suddenly dawned upon him that since his arrival in the Team, no one had talked about what they had done in the war. Every time he asked questions about the engagements the Team had been in when talking to Garger, his friend would move on to another subject. When the CO, XO, and Polgar took to discussing lessons learned thus far in the war with a gathering of the officers and NCOs, they went over it in a very impersonal and academic manner. At times, it struck Avery that they were talking about another unit, not the one he had joined. It was as if there was a secret fellowship that only those members of the Team that had been in combat could belong to.

As if by mutual agreement, even the tankers refrained from bragging about their deeds. It was as if they felt doing so would somehow be disrespectful of those who were no longer with them. The kill rings, however, gave them a chance to show what they had done without the need to go about, blowing their own horn. When this finally dawned upon him, Avery found himself wanting to go into combat. This revelation came as something of a shock, for the motivation that was behind this desire to see combat had nothing to do with defending freedom or to doing his duty to God and country. The reason that drove this desire was a longing to belong to the Team as an equal, to be accepted. Avery wanted kill rings.

The battalion, Uleski often opined to Bannon, seemed to have a knack for screwing up breakfasts, a point Bannon could not argue when, on the morning of the fourth day in the assembly area, word of the pending change in mission came. This unwelcomed interruption arrived as Bannon, his platoon leaders, the XO, the first sergeant, and the Team’s new FIST chief, a second lieutenant by the name of Plesset, were having a working breakfast. After finishing green eggs that had once been warm, bacon strips that were as crispy as soggy noodles, and toast that could have doubled as roofing shingles, Bannon told the gathering they were put to off whatever training they’d been planning and instead, conduct pre-combat check. “You have as much idea as I have as to when we’ll be moving or where we’re going,” he told the Team’s leadership. “But wherever it is, the odds are we won’t be leaving here until late afternoon, at the earliest. So once you’re satisfied you people are ready to move on a moment’s notice, see to it everyone, including yourselves, get some rest.”

Uleski and the Plesset, who went to the meeting with Bannon, arrived a few minutes before the briefing was scheduled to start. As they waited for the battalion XO to begin it, Bannon made his way to the front of the classroom that served as the battalion’s conference room to where Major Jordan was talking to Colonel Reynolds.

When he joined them, after a quick round of perfunctory greetings, the three of them turned their attention to the battalion operations map. The graphics depicting the new mission were posted on it, ready for the briefing. A chill went down Bannon’s spine when he saw that it was another attack. While the Team had made great strides in recovering from the last attack it had participated in, Bannon had his doubts if those who had made it were mentally prepared to be part of another. This was especially true of himself. He wasn’t sure if he could deal with another horror show like the last one as images of the dead and dying flashed through his mind.

A quick glance at the map and the graphics displayed on it showed it was an ambitious plan, aimed at crossing the IZB, into East Germany, and driving deep into the enemy’s rear. The arrows depicting the axis of advance the brigade would be using went through a German panzergrenadier battalion that was already well across the border that had separated East and West Germany since the end of World War II. Once the brigade had passed through the Germans, it would advance up a narrow valley in the Thuringer Wald in the direction of Leipzig, north of the Thuringer Wald, and out onto the North German Plain. Where it would go after that could not be displayed on map the battalion was using as it was too small to show the ultimate objective. Not that Bannon needed to see what lay just beyond the northern edge of the battalion’s map. Berlin, the heart of East Germany and center of communications, was, he imagined, the real objective they were aiming for.

When Colonel Reynolds turned his attention to the commander of Team Bravo, the S-3 sidled up next to Bannon. “Well, what do you think?”

“Let’s see if I can guess who’s leading?” Bannon mused without taking his eyes off the map. “Charlie Company?”

“Sean, you know damned well who’s going to lead the attack, at least initially. Team Yankee is the best company we have, and you have most of our armor. It would be beyond stupid to put anyone else in the lead.”

Bannon took a moment mull his response over in his mind before responding. “Sir, are you attempting to win me over with logic, or butter me up flattery?”

“A little of both, I guess.”

Before Bannon could say another word, the battalion XO called for everyone to take their seats. When Colonel Reynolds motioned to Bannon he was to sit next to him, the battalion commander’s friendly attitude and smile reminded Bannon of the grinning cat who praised the canary for his beautiful song before eating him. When everyone was settled and ready, the battalion XO nodded to the S-2 to start.

The last six days of war had done nothing to improve the intel officer’s skills in preparing a useful briefing. He started by summarizing the progress of the war to date and the gains the Soviets had made in the north. Those gains were impressive. Denmark was isolated. Despite the efforts of NORTHAG, the Dutch border had been reached. Most of the German seacoast was in Soviet hands. Further south, in the central and southern Germany, German, French, and American forces had held the Soviets to minor gains. Only in one area, where a German panzer division had found a weak point at the boundary between two Soviet armies, had NATO forces been able to enjoy any offensive success. That division had managed to trust into East Germany before the drive spent itself. It was this toehold in the enemy rear that would provide the springboard for the attack the battalion was about to undertake.

The S-3, as usual, provided the meat of the briefing. The entire division would be involved in this effort. Brigade would lead off, widening the breach the Germans had made as it advanced north into the enemy rear. French units deploying from the interior of France were replacing those divisional units still in contact as well as another US division that would follow. If the brigade and then the rest of the division were successful in widening the breach, eventually, the attack would be expanded into a corps-size operation.

The specifics of the operation were rather straightforward. The brigade would advance along two axes that ran through two north-south valleys. The 1st of the 98th Mech would lead the attack up one valley to the west while 3rd of the 78th Mech, followed by 1st of the 4th Armor, would advance up a valley called the Nebal Valley. The battalion’s scheme of maneuver called for two company teams to lead the attack, Team Yankee on the right, and Team Bravo on the left. The two infantry pure companies, Charlie and Delta, would follow with Charlie Company behind Team Yankee. At this point in the briefing, the urge to take a cheap shot at Charlie Company was too strong to suppress. Bannon interrupted Major Jordan.

“Excuse me, sir, but I seem to remember trying that before. I don’t know if Team Yankee is ready to be supported by Charlie Company again.”

Bannon’s comment was followed by a moment of stunned silence. Everyone looked at Bannon, then at the battalion commander, waiting for his reaction. Colonel Reynolds, ignoring everyone else in the room, exchanged glances with the S-3, then smiled before turning to face Bannon. “Captain Bannon, I can assure you, there will be no rat fucks like the last time. As I will be with Charlie Company, you can rest assured they will be right where they are supposed to be.” He then turned to Captain Cravin, the Charlie Company commander, and gave him a look that would have peeled paint off a wall.

Cravin, smarting from the exchange, averted his gaze as he responded with nothing more than a simple “Yes” in a low voice. During this exchange, Major Jordan winked when he and Bannon exchanged glances before Jordan continued with his portion of the briefing.

The battalion, it seemed to Bannon, had learned its lessons from the last attack. While it was moving at night, as before, it would temporarily occupy an assembly area to the rear of the German unit it was to pass through before going into the attack. There they would sort out any last-minute changes, refuel, allow the accompanying artillery time to deploy, and conduct last-minute preparations. From there they would be led through the German lines by a liaison officer from the panzergrenadier battalion they would be passing through. To expedite the actions in the assembly area, the battalion XO would leave at noon with representatives from each company, the battalion’s Scout Platoon, and the fuel trucks. The scouts would be posted along the route to serve as road guides where needed.

When the S-3 finished and before the S-4 took his place at the map, the colonel got up and emphasized certain points that he felt were critical. The first one was that the battalion was going for the deep objective, Leipzig. Any resistance that could not be overcome in the first rush was to be bypassed. The second was that he wanted to keep the battalion closed up and tight so that if they did encounter major enemy forces, the full weight of the battalion could be brought to bear on the enemy rapidly and with maximum violence. The last point he made was that there would be no tolerance for a repeat of the screw-ups that had hamstrung the last operation. He was looking straight at Cravin as he made that point.

As usual, Bannon’s mind turned to the new mission as the S-4, S-l, and other staff officers covered their areas. Uleski would catch any important information that they might accidentally add to what had already been briefed. Tuning everyone else out, Bannon studied the map on his lap as he ran a finger along the battalion’s projected axis of advance. There would be more than enough room to maneuver the Team in the valley they would be moving through. There were several choke points, but nothing of any significance. In his opinion, the greatest threat would come from the hills to the east. He began to draw goose eggs around those spots that struck him as being ideal for defense or from which a counterattack might come. When this was done, he assigned each one a letter before turning his attention to plotting the best route the Team would need to take to pass through the choke points he’d marked and deal with any threats that came their way. Without needing to give the matter all that much thought, he quickly concluded the ideal formation appeared to be an inverted wedge, with the two tank platoons deployed forward and the Mech taking up the rear.

The conclusion of the briefing interrupted his ruminations. After a brief huddle with Uleski and his FIST, he gave each one some items to cover with various staff officers before seeking out the S-3 in order to clarify some points and make some recommendations. When all his questions had been answered to the best of Major Jordan’s ability and he was satisfied he, the XO and his first sergeant had everything they needed to get started with their own planning and preparation, the three of them headed back to the Team’s assembly area.

The Team received the news of the new mission with the same dread that Bannon had. While they knew that they could do their part, they had no confidence in the rest of the battalion. The thought of another fight like that for Hill 214 was not a pleasant one to contemplate. Only Avery seemed anxious to get on with the attack, an attitude Bannon passed it off as foolish naiveté. No doubt he would lose his enthusiasm the first time he had to collect the dog tags from one of his people. Provided he made it that far.

The balance of the day passed quickly. Bannon issued the Team order at noon, just prior to the departure of Uleski, who would be in charge of the Team’s quartering party. He took with him one man from each tank platoon and an infantry squad to provide security and serve as guides once the Team reached its designated assembly area. He was also to go as far forward as possible to recon the routes through the German lines and coordinate with the Germans for fire support and cover during the passage through their lines. As he had little doubt the Soviets saw the danger that the German penetration presented, Bannon expected them to rush everything they could to seal it off or eliminate it. The only question that mattered was who would get there first.

After receiving a brief-back from each of the platoon leaders later in the afternoon on how they were going to perform their assigned tasks and satisfying himself that they were ready, Bannon decided to get some sleep. To this end he made his way to the gasthaus where he borrowed one of the rooms where he could have a few uninterrupted hours. After having slept on the ground or the turret of his tank for eleven days, the sensation of sleeping between clean sheets on a soft bed was sinfully foreign, but welcomed.

The easy manner with which the other platoon leaders and Hebrock went about preparing for the attack amazed Avery. They all were going about their business as if this were a tactical exercise at Fort Knox, not an attack that would take them deep into enemy territory. As hard as he tried, he could not settle down. His mind kept racing, pinging form one thought to another as he did his best to remember everything he had been taught at the Armor School as he prepared to issue his platoon order and make sure his own tank and its crew was ready.

Had he taken a moment to slow down, he would have realized he had little need to worry. Hebrock was always a step ahead of him, issuing orders and checking out the tanks with a quiet efficiency that was reassuring to the platoon. When Avery came to him and told him he was ready to issue his order to the tank commanders, Hebrock suggested that he allow him to look it over. Recalling the team commander’s admonishment concerning listening to his platoon sergeant, Avery agreed. Together the two of them went over the order, item by item, crossing out those parts that Hebrock thought were not needed while adding a few things Avery had overlooked. Hebrock did his best to be as diplomatic and patient as he advised his platoon leader on what he needed to do and say when the time came to issue his order.

When the revised order had been issued and the Team commander satisfied with the brief-back Avery gave him, Hebrock told his lieutenant he needed to get some sleep. At first the young officer balked, claiming that he was fine. Only after the platoon sergeant assured him that there was nothing more to be done and all but insisted that he do so did Avery make the attempt.

An attempt was about all he could manage. As he lay on the turret roof of his tank, Avery’s mind was cluttered with a deluge of thoughts, fears, and problems, real and imagined. Did he cover everything in his order? What if they got lost during the road march? How would he know when they were through the German lines? Would he be able to recall all of his crew and platoon fire commands and issue them in a clear and understandable manner when they made contact? Would he be alive tomorrow? Try as hard as he could to banish these and a whole host of other concerns, his mind refused to slow down, let alone stop dredging up new worries and disquieting doubts. Sleep never came.

The Team began its move at 1800 hours. The old German and his wife watched as they rolled out. First Sergeant Harrert left them two weeks’ worth of rations, an envelope with dollars and Deutsch marks that he had collected, a first-aid kit, two cans of gasoline and the generator, which was safely hidden away in a small shed. In order to keep them from having any trouble with German or US authorities, a receipt with Bannon’s signature, in English and German, identified those items left as payment in kind for services rendered by the old couple. The old woman cried, and the old man saluted as the tanks went past them. Bannon returned the salute. Watching them as 66 moved off made him think of his own parents, thanking God they did not have to suffer as these people were.

Once the Team was on the route of march and he was satisfied his tanks were at the proper march speed and interval, Garger leaned back in Alpha 31’s cupola and relaxed. With little to occupy his thoughts of any great importance and no need to tell his driver what to do so long as nothing untoward happened during the road march, he took to going over the last twelve days and the changes that had occurred in him and the Team. The loss of his platoon sergeant was regrettable. Sergeant First Class Pierson had taught him a lot and had been very patient with him. Had it not been for Pierson, Garger knew he would have been relieved long before the first shot had been fired. The thought of such a disgrace had been more terrifying to him than the prospect of combat.

Even more importantly, Garger realized that it was due to Pierson’s efforts that he had not only survived thus far, but had come to discover he had a natural talent for tanking and combat. The panic, the tenseness, the sick feeling in his stomach, the stammering he had experienced at Fort Knox and during his first weeks in the unit were gone. When the firing had started, everything seemed to fall in place. There was no panic, no fear. In the midst of even the most trying moments of combat, he experienced a clarity of mind that was, in retrospect, nothing short of amazing to him. There was still much he needed to learn, he admitted to himself. But learn he would, if he lived long enough, he reminded himself. Eventually he would master company tactics and all the ins and outs of staff work, just as he had succeeded in achieving an acceptable level of proficiency as a platoon leader. That he was sure of.

The road march to the forward assembly area was a hard and wearing one for Avery. His inability to sleep that afternoon exacerbated his apprehensions and nervousness. Gerry Garger had told him before they left that he was going to have to lighten up on himself or he would have a nervous breakdown before the first Russian got a chance to blow him away. His friend had done his best to couch this sage advice as lightheartedly as he could. Unfortunately, it had the opposite effect, for the more Avery tried to relax without being able to do so, the more he worried that he just might be on the verge of a nervous breakdown. That would be disastrous, he concluded. At least he could live with a wound. Wounds were noble, a red badge of courage no one could argue with. Evacuation because of a nervous breakdown before the first battle, on the other hand, would be a disgrace too terrible to contemplate. Only the sudden realization that he no longer knew where he was because he hadn’t been following the Team’s progress on his map caused Avery to divert his attention from his fears of suffering a nervous breakdown to his fear that he wouldn’t be able to find his location again on the map if something terrible happened before they reached their forward assembly area.

Shortly after 2200 hours, the Team pulled into that assembly area. The movement in and occupation of the marked positions went like clockwork. In peacetime maneuvers the Team had never had such a smooth road march and assembly area occupation. Greeted by Uleski as he dismounted from Alpha 66, Bannon gave his XO a broad smile and a well-deserved atta boy. “Well Bob, you done good. Real good. Have you been able to coordinate with the people we’ll be passing through?”

“Yes, sir. I was forward this afternoon in their positions and have gone over the route several times. It’s a piece of cake.”

“What about the Russians? Does Herman have any information concerning Ivan?”

“Well, first off, they’re not Russians. They’re Poles. The Poles hit the Germans just after I arrived there. The German officer I spoke to said it looked as if the Russians never told them where his unit was because the Poles just rolled right up to the German positions in column formation. His commanding officer let them come into their positions before he cut loose. The Poles never had much of a chance. They were cut to pieces. The officer’s commander was killed but his XO took over and is still holding. Our battalion XO passed word down to us that the German battalion commander believe the Poles will make another try sometime tonight.”

“What kind of units are we facing?”

“Tanks so far, T-55s. Real second-class stuff.”

“Hey, that’s OK by me. I get paid the same amount for blowing away old tanks as I do for tangling with tanks that don’t want to die. Tell me, do you have any qualms about going up against your own people, Bob?”

“Sir, those aren’t my people. They’re as red as the Russians. Though I confess I’d rather be killing Russian Communists, in the end it makes no never mind to me they’re Polish Communists. A red is a red, and a red that’s a Pole and is dead smells as sweet to me as any other.”

Uleski’s cold, unfeeling remark sent a chill down Bannon’s spine. The dark side of First Lieutenant Uleski had come out again, the side that worried him, leaving him to wonder if his hatred would cloud his judgment. He hoped not. For his sake and his crew’s, he hoped not.

“Okay Bob, make sure all the people that came with you make it back to where they belong. Then gather up the leadership and have them meet me here.”

The battalion S-3 came into the company area while Uleski was filling in the Team’s leaders on what he knew of the situation to their front. Major Jordan waited until Uleski was finished before he shared his information them. “The battalion is closed up and ready,” he stated, taking care to make sure he didn’t add any unnecessarily snide comments concerning Charlie Company. “The 1st of the 4th Armor, as well as the artillery battalions that will be supporting us are expected to be in place and set as planned. So far, everything has gone well. As far as anyone could tell, the Polish unit to our front doesn’t know we’re here and hasn’t been reinforced. We will therefore proceed as planned.”

“Team Yankee will begin its move at 0330 hours,” Jordan continued. “At 0350, two battalions of US and one battalion of German artillery will fire a ten-minute preparation on the Polish forward positions, both identified and suspected. At 0400 hours, Team Yankee’s lead element will pass through the German positions and begin the attack.”

Looking over at Garger, Bannon gave him a nod before turning his attention back to Jordan. “That’ll be my 3rd Platoon.”

Jordan acknowledged this by giving Garger a nod before continuing. “If all goes well, the battalion will be on the Saale River by early afternoon, ready to pass 1st of the 4th Armor through us and drive on to Leipzig.”

“Provided the Soviets don’t object to our doing so,” Bannon interjected.

“There’s always that possibility,” Jordan intoned.

“What do we know about Ivan and what he’s up to?” Bannon asked. “Yeah. We did. Have you been in radio contact with anyone else in the Team?”

“Yeah. We did. Have you been in radio contact with anyone else in the Team?”

“We do know he’ll do his damnedest to keep us from crossing the Saale. They’re already dropping brigades on that river just in case the Poles don’t hold. Of course,” Jordan quickly added, “there’s always the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this time the plan will work.”

“Care to place a wager on that, sir?” Bannon offered.

Jordan shook his head. “Captain, I’m shocked, shocked to find gambling going on here.”

After sharing a halfhearted chuckle with the gathering, Jordan asked if Bannon had any questions. When he responded in the negative, the S-3 left, leaving Bannon to cover all the last-minute details he felt needed to be addressed, asked for and answered any questions, then dismissed his officers and senior NCO. When everyone was gone, Bannon made his way back to Alpha 66, clambered aboard, and informed Folk they would split guard duty. “Seeing how you slept during the road march, you get to pull first shift,” Bannon informed his gunner. Then, without further ado, Bannon rolled out his sleeping bag on top of the turret, laid on top of it, and fell asleep in minutes.

After Avery and Hebrock finished putting out the information they had to the other TCs, Hebrock told his platoon leader to forget about pulling any duty between now and when it was time to move-out and instead, get some sleep. Avery was too far gone to argue. By now, having come as close to worrying himself to death, it took every bit of effort to he had left to keep his eyes open. While the lieutenant leaned against Alpha 21 for support, Tessman threw a sleeping bag down to Hebrock who spread it out next to the track. Avery didn’t even bother to take his boots off. He simply flopped down, wrapped one side of the sleeping bag over himself, and passed put from exhaustion. He stayed in the same position until he was roused at 0310 hours.

Team Yankee missed colliding head-on with the expected Polish attack by fifteen minutes. Again the fortunes of war smiled on the Team. Instead of having to go forward and dig out the Polish tank and motorized infantry from their hastily prepared defensive positions, the Poles were smashed by the combined weight of the German defensive fires and the artillery that was already scheduled to fire in support of 3rd of the 78th’s attack. In war, one’s good fortune is sometimes nothing more than a matter of timing, being at the right place at the right time. Had a staff officer or the brigade commander set the time of attack at 0330, it would have been the Poles enjoying the advantage. As it was, Team Yankee gained a double advantage. Not only did the Poles impale themselves on the German’s defenses and save the Team the trouble of seeking them out, they allowed the Team to get an extra half-hour’s sleep.

The din of the raging battle to their front, the eerie shadows caused by the illumination rounds floating down to earth, and the flash of artillery impacting lighting up the night sky made Team Yankee’s crossing of the East German border seem unreal. It stuck Bannon as looking more like a scene from a cheap science-fiction movie than war. Moments like this, when one is not actually involved in the fight, but close enough to see and hear it, is when fear reaches a peak. The fear of failure, the fear of being ripped apart by artillery, the fear of death run through the mind as a soldier moves toward a battle already in progress. Only when he is actually engaged in the fight himself does training and instinct take over. Fear is pushed aside by the need to fight or die. It’s the before, the time when a soldier is little more than a spectator and there is still the chance to back out, that the rational mind pleads for reason, to stop, to turn back, to quit before it is too late. The tank, however, keeps going forward, ignoring the rational mind of its occupants, taking them ever closer to where they will have little choice but to join the mayhem and carnage.

As Sergeant Polgar’s personnel carrier eased down into the anti-vehicle ditch that ran along the East German border, he became elated. After being in the Army for sixteen years, something he was doing was making sense. He recalled how, as a private in Vietnam, he and his buddies felt frustrated and betrayed when they had to break off pursuit of the North Vietnamese as soon as they came up to the Vietnamese border with Cambodia. They were never allowed to go all the way in and finish the enemy. He felt the same frustration when, while serving in Korea in 1977, two American officers were hacked to death with axes in broad daylight by North Korean soldiers and no action was taken to retaliate. And then there were the 444 days of embarrassment when the Iranians held Americans hostage without any fear of being brought to account. Like others in the military, the half-measures and restrictions placed on the US military didn’t make sense to him.

This attack, however, did. For the first time in his military career he was carrying the war into the enemy’s homeland. He and his platoon were going to be given a chance to strike at the heart of the enemy. No more running up to an imaginary line and then stopping while some politician reflected on what move would come out best on the next public opinion poll. No more letting the enemy run across an imaginary line where he’d be able to lick his wounds and come back at a time and place of his choosing only when he was ready. The Army was going to rip out the enemy’s heart and drink his blood. That made sense to Polgar. It was, in his mind, the only way to fight a war.

For a moment Colonel Reynolds considered halting the attack to allow the Germans to sort out the situation before the battalion passed. When he called Bannon and told him to be prepared to halt in place, Bannon immediately called back and ask that he let the Team go. The Poles were reeling from the bloody nose the Germans had given them. This was the ideal time to strike, while they were still confused. The enemy obviously didn’t know the battalion was coming, he pointed out, otherwise they would not have attacked. “Those people have T-55s with old sights,” he added as Reynolds was mulling over Bannon’s request to continue. “We have thermal sights. Now is the time to speed up, not slow down.”

In the end, the colonel agreed, ordering him to go for it. When Bannon dropped to the Team net and ordered Garger to pick up speed, hit hard, and keep rolling, all he got back from 3rd Platoon was a simple “I heard that.”

The 3rd Platoon rolled through the German positions without slowing down, deploying into a wedge as they went and engaging the fleeing Poles on the fly. The surprise was complete. Some of the Polish tanks attempted to return fire. Unlike the M-1, they had to stop to shoot, telegraphing their intentions and making it easier for 3rd’s Platoon’s gunners to single out which tanks posed the greatest threats to them. Other Polish tanks simply picked up speed and swerve left or right in an attempt to get out of the way. Most failed. For once, the Americans had better and faster tanks. Without needing to break stride, 3rd Platoon pressed home its attack.

Following close on 3rd Platoon’s heels, Bannon directed the FIST to shift the artillery fires to the left and the right of the Team’s axis of advance. This would keep the Polish infantry pinned in their defensive positions as the Team passed through their front line. Once Team Yankee was in their rear, those Poles still facing the Germans would be obliged to either retreat or surrender.

The speed with which the 3rd Platoon was attaching was causing the Team to become spread out. While the 2nd Platoon, which was behind 66 would have no difficulty keeping up as it shook out of its column formation and into its attack formation, the PCs in the Mech Platoon would soon be falling behind if the lead elements of the Team continued at the pace they were going. Reluctantly, he ordered the 3rd Platoon to slow down in order to allow the rest of the Team time to deploy and assume their position. Having no wish to tempt the fates by madly rushing forward as quickly as he could a second time as he had on Hill 214, Bannon made sure the whole Team stayed together and under his control.

Once the tanks in front of Alpha 66 began to slow, Bannon instructed Kelp to angle over to the left of 3rd Platoon. Once he was satisfied Kelp knew where he was headed, he ordered the 2nd Platoon to pick up speed and deploy to the left of 66. When he saw that platoon’s lead tank take up station to his left, Bannon turned his full attention to his front.

The scene that Avery beheld as his tank pulled made its way through the German positions was incredible. Dante’s Inferno could not have been more terrible. In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined such chaos and pandemonium. Artillery was landing here and there with no rhyme or reason he could discern. The exchange of fire between the lead tanks and the Poles continued unabated. Colored star clusters were popping overhead. And there were burning tanks everywhere, lit up by mortar and artillery illumination rounds that cast a sickly pale light on everything.

The bucking and jolting of 21 running at full throttle to catch up with the CO’s tank tossed Avery about in the cupola as he struggled to respond to Bannon’s order to deploy to his left. Having no clear idea where he was, and even less idea where the CO was, the best Avery could do was give a “ROGER, OUT” on the radio and order his drive to keep heading in the direction that the CO’s tank had been heading the last time he had seen it.

As Alpha 21 crested a hill in search of Alpha 66 and the 3rd Platoon, it almost collided with another tank that suddenly appeared to its left. Only a quick order to the driver to go right prevented a collision with it. The TC in the other tank, apparently, had also realized he was about to collide with Alpha 21 at the last minute and had swung to the left to avoid 21. The two tanks then straightened out and began to run side by side at a distance of twenty meters.

The relief Avery felt at having found the CO’s tank was short lived. Just as he was about to key the net to order his platoon to begin to deploy, it dawned upon him that the direction the tank to his left was moving in didn’t make sense. Alpha 66 should have been to his right, not to the left. In an effort to verify that the other tank was Alpha 66, Avery leaned over as far as he could, squinted his eyes, and took a better look at the tank to his left.

A T-55! It was a goddamned T-55! The sudden realization that he was running side by side with a Polish tank was numbing. It was the sensation of urine running down his leg that galvanized Avery into action.

Grabbing the TC override, he began to slew the turret even as he was issuing a frantic fire command.

“GUNNERBATTLESIGHTTANK!”

The loader had no need to discern exactly what his TC was saying. Avery’s high pitched voice was enough to tell him they were about to engage. After throwing the arming lever out and pressing himself up against the turret wall on his side of the tank, he shouted out clear enough to be heard by the gunner without the need of the intercom. “UP!”

The target was so near and the thermal sight image so uniformly green that Tessman didn’t recognize the object in his sight as a tank. “CANNOT IDENTIFY!”

The belligerent move by Alpha 21 caused the Polish tank commander to give 21 a closer look. He too realized his error and began to lay his gun. Tessman repeated his call, “CANNOT’ IDENTIFY!”

“FROM MY POSITION — ON THE WAY!”

Without bothering to drop down and look through his extension, Avery fired the main gun from his override. The report of 21’s main gun and the impact of steel on target were as one, sending the T-55 staggering off to the left a few meters before coming to a stop.

For the longest time Avery could do little but stand there and watch the T-55 erupt in flames as 21 continued to roll forward. It was the cry of the loader reporting he’d reloaded the main gun and had armed it that snapped Avery out of his trance and croak out an order to ceasefire.

The retreat of the Poles turned into a rout. Polish tanks were everywhere. Most of them were gone, destroyed or scattered. Garger and his platoon now found themselves coming across trucks and personnel carriers. As the platoon crested one knoll, they came face to face with a battery of heavy mortars. Without slowing down on bit, the tanks of 3rd Platoon simply continued to roll through them, firing on the mortarmen as with machineguns and crushing their mortars under their tracks. In the midst of this carnage, all Garger could do was wonder when he’d receive permission to pick up his speed again. The whole Polish rear area was in an uproar. He wanted to finish them before they were able to reorganize.

His platoon had no sooner left the shattered remains of the Polish mortar battery behind when Bannon came up on the net and ordered his to deploy his platoon into a right echelon. After quickly acknowledging Bannon’s command, Garger passed the order onto his platoon, watching as the tanks to his right dropped back and took up their assigned stations, swinging their guns to cover the Team’s right flank as they went. It was only then that he noticed it was beginning to becoming light.

Twisting around in the cupola, he watched as Alpha 66 come up on his left. Behind 66 he could make out the forms of the 2nd Platoon tanks coming on fast. Once they were up, the Team would set to continue on. Unless something terrible happened, he expected they would reach the Saale River that afternoon with ease.

With Alpha 66 finally in sight, Avery allowed himself a sigh of relief. He hadn’t lost the Team. It was then that the first humorous thought that he had had since his arrival in Germany suddenly popped in his head. This made the second time that morning that he had been relieved, he thought to himself as he recalled what had happened during his near brush with the T-55. This led to his appreciation that while hip shooting a tank main gun was not in the book, any book, it had worked. Alpha 21 had killed the Pole, saving his hide and earning it its first kill ring.