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

CHAPTER 11 COUNTERATTACK

Air Force Maj. Orrin “The Snowman” Snow was pissed. As he led his wingman to where their two A-10s were to loiter and wait for good targets, he fast coming to the realization the people running Flight Operations didn’t have a clue as to what they were doing. He could understand how the Army pukes could screw up. Hell, most of them couldn’t tell the difference between their planes and the Russians’, let alone what to do with them. But getting the royal weenie from your own people was too much. It was bad enough that they had had to fight their way through enemy flak that wasn’t supposed to be there to get at the target. But then to discover that the target wasn’t there either, if it ever had been, was too much.

Now the two A-l0s, having barely made it back from behind the enemy lines, were being diverted into a holding pattern where they would wait until a new target was nominated. At least that made sense. It would have been dumb to send the aircraft back to the airfield loaded with ordnance. But Snowman, fuming over the way they’d but their butts on the line going after non-existent target wasn’t much interested in logic. What he wanted to do was kill something, anything. And if someone on the ground didn’t come up with a good mission fast, he was going to lead the other A-10 back to Flight Ops and bomb it, just for the hell of it.

The Team was making good progress, too good. Once more Reynolds called Bannon and ordered him to slow down. Charlie Company, it seemed, was having a hard time keeping up, creating a large gap between it and Team Yankee. “I want to keep the companies together,” he told Bannon.

Twisting about in the cupola, Bannon glanced back over his shoulder to where the Mech Platoon was. From what he could see, their PCs were having no problem keeping up with his tanks, leading him to wonder what Charlie Company’s problem was.

Folk, who enjoyed listening to the exchanges that took place on the battalion net, couldn’t help but chuckle, adding his own opinion on the matter. “Those boys sure are having a rough morning.”

“Not as rough as it’s going to get if they don’t pull their fifth point of contact out of their third,” Bannon replied dryly as he took to surveying the area to their front to see if there was a covered position up ahead where the Team could pause while waiting for Charlie to close up.

As he was preparing to give the necessary orders to slow their rate of advance, a thought occurred to him. The longer he took to give the order to slow down, the second in less than as many hours, the farther they would go. At their current speed, every second he delayed meant the Team advanced another meter. The faster they went, the less time the Soviets had to throw something at them. By now he appreciated just how important a few extra minutes, even seconds, could be in combat. Pressing on without pause could make all the difference between seizing a bridge over the Saale intact, or finding every one of them down. Of course, speed and time could just as easily work against the Team. If it got far ahead of the other companies and ran into trouble, the rest of the battalion might not be able to catch up in time to pull its chestnuts out of the fire.

In the end, Bannon decided orders were orders. Besides, discretion, he was always told, was the better part of valor. With that thought in mind, he gave the order to slow down.

As his tanks began to spill out of the woods onto the slope overlooking the valley, the Soviet tank company commander gave one short command. Like the well-drilled machine it was, the company rapidly deployed. Once all his tanks were on line, he gave the order to pick up speed and search for targets.

From their vantage point, this was not a difficult task. Before them, deployed in a great vee on the valley floor was a company of American armored personnel carriers and TOW vehicles being led by a small gaggle of three more personnel carriers. A quick count revealed that there were at least fifteen, maybe as many as twenty vehicles to their front at a range of less than 4,000 meters.

The only thing that bothered him was the absence of American tanks. The reports his commander had passed down to him all had mentioned tanks. He would have liked to have destroyed the tanks right off. They were the greatest threat to his company. But there were none in sight.

His concern over this point was quickly offset by the fact the personnel carriers before him were M-113s and not the new Bradleys. Even better, as best he could tell, they hadn’t spotted him yet. With the distance between his company and the enemy formation his company was boring down on rapidly diminishing, the Russian captain decided he had no choice but to engage it, hoping as he prepared to give the order to open fire that the enemy tanks that were nowhere to be seen weren’t sitting in ambush, waiting to surprise him, rather than the other way around.

Even with his CVC on and 66’s engine running, the sharp crack of tank cannons firing was clearly audible to Bannon as the sound reverberated down the valley. Automatically, he straightened up and looked around to see who was under fire. When he saw there were no telltale puffs of smoke or dust clouds kicked up by tank fire to the front or to his immediate left or right, he looked behind him to see if the Mech platoon was under fire. On seeing they were still with him and not being engaged, Bannon turned to his left, then to his right in search of who the hell was shooting. When he still saw nothing, he made a call over the company net, hoping one of his platoon leaders was in a position to enlighten him.

“BRAVO 3 ROMEO, THIS IS ROMEO 25—WHO’s TAKING FIRE AND WHERE’S IT COMING FROM? OVER.”

Both tank platoons rapidly reported back that they were not under fire. It was the Mech Platoon that provided the answer.

“ROMEO 25, THIS IS ZULU 77. THE PEOPLE THAT WERE FOLLOWING US ARE UNDER ATTACK. I CAN SEE SEVERAL FIRES BEHIND US, OVER.”

On hearing Polgar’s report, Bannon spun about and stood on his seat as high as he could. Sure enough, off in the distance and to the rear of the Mech Platoon he could clearly see four pillars of black smoke rising into the air. Charlie Company had been hit. But from where? By whom? And why no reports from battalion?

Dropping down, he switched to the battalion net in order to contact the battalion commander. When he did without receiving any response, Bannon tried to contact the S-3. Still no luck.

It was the Delta Company commander who told him what was going on. In rapid-fire bursts, he reported that Charlie Company was under attack from Soviet tanks coming from the east. He went on to inform Bannon was deploying his company into a hasty defense along the road running north from Issel to Korberg. With that, he dropped off the net and stayed off despite Bannon’s efforts to contact him. No doubt, Bannon concluded, he was busy running his company.

Bannon next contacted the Team Bravo commander, asking if he was in contact. Lieutenant Peterson, who was commanding that team, reported that he was not in contact but could see the Soviet tanks coming down off the hill to the east. He estimated that there were at least ten, maybe more. He couldn’t make out what kind they were, but since they were shooting on the move and hitting, he figured that they had to be T-72s.

It was clear that the battalion, who had been with Charlie, was in trouble, if not already dead. With the S-3 also off the net for some reason, and Charlie Company fighting for its life, Bannon quickly concluded he had to do something and do something fast before things really got out of hand. With Delta Company off the net as it prepared to greet the Russian onslaught, that left Team Yankee and Bravo in a position to respond to the crisis. As he was senior to Peterson, it was up to him to come up with a solution to the nightmare playing out to the rear of his Team before the whole damned battalion was wiped out. As these thoughts were running through his mind, Team Yankee continued to move north, away from the battle, at a steady rate of one meter a second.

The Soviet tank company commander could almost feel the adrenaline run through his veins. They were closing on the Americans to his front. Already half-dozen personnel carriers were burning hulks while the rest were scattering this way and that, try their damnedest get out of his company’s way. All semblance of order was gone. Surprise had been complete. His tanks were reaping the benefits resulting from the speed and violence of their attack.

With curt orders, he directed the fire of his platoons. A report that there were more personnel carriers deploying to the west of the road drew his attention to the ten or twelve that were some three kilometers away. Many of them were already under cover and were dropping their ramps to let their infantry dismount. His company would have to finish the enemy company to its immediate front quickly and reach the second one before they had time to set up a viable defense. Speed and violence were critical! With this in mind, he began to issue new orders to his platoon leaders.

With little chance to think the whole problem out, Bannon began to issue orders. On the battalion net, he ordered Team Bravo to turn east, cross the north-south road, go about a kilometer, then turn south, and take the Soviets under fire in the flank with TOWs and tanks. When Peterson acknowledged those orders, Bannon dropped down to the Team net and ordered the FIST chief to call for all the artillery and close air support he could, then find a position from which he could control it.

Convinced the Soviets had emerged from gap formed by the two hills to their right and guessing more would follow, he then ordered the Mech Platoon to move to the southeast along the tree line and into that gap. There it was to set up an anti-armor ambush in the woods and keep the Soviets from reinforcing the company already in the valley. His orders to the two tank platoons were simple. They were to make a wide sweep and follow 66.

As Alpha 66 turned east and headed up the hill to the tree line, Bannon explained over the Team net what they were going to do. Once they reached the tree line, they would turn south, following the tree line. When they got to the gap, if there were more Soviet tanks already coming out, they would hit them in the flank. If, however, Polgar got to the gap first and were able to block it, the tanks would turn west and attack the Soviets in the rear. The Mech Platoon would be left to deal with any follow-on Soviets as best they could.

It was all Uleski could do to hang on. The Team commander had his tank roaring along the tree line at full tilt, with the rest of the tanks in the Team doing their best to keep up. The Mech Platoon had taken off on its own as soon as it had its orders. To their right he caught quick glimpses of the battle in the valley. A dozen or so tracks were scattered about the area burning. The Soviet tanks were clearly visible as they moved forward, firing as they went. At the ranges the Soviets were firing at, they seldom missed.

Gwent, his gunner, kept the gun laid on the Soviets below. The range was too great even if the Team commander had given them permission to fire. At the rate they were moving, however, that would not be a problem in a few minutes.

Uleski could feel his blood rising as he worked himself into a rage in preparation for the upcoming battle. He stoked the fires of his hatred of the Russians by recalling how his first driver, Thomas Lorriet, had died. The image of the young soldier’s body on the ground that first day pushed aside any last shred of compassion he had for the enemy as he cursed the Russians out loud over the whine of 55’s engine.

As his tank raced along behind 66, Garger realized that he was thoroughly enjoying himself. Despite knowing full well men were dying in the valley below him, and that he and his crew would soon be in the middle of the swirling melee, he felt no fear. That his luck could run out just as easily as Avery’s had didn’t bother him.

Somehow the idea that he should be enjoying what he was doing, or about to do, seemed inappropriate. But there was no denying the feeling. He had never felt so alive. Standing in the turret of 31 as it raced along, the image of the US cavalry riding out to the rescue flashed through his mind. The only things missing from this scene was a guidon and a bugler sounding the charge. This was his moment. This was why he had joined the Army. “To hell with it,” Garger muttered out loud to himself, “This is great!”

A frantic and incomprehensible report on the radio was the first indication that the Soviet tank company commander had that his company was under attack from the north. He glanced to his right just in time to see an anti-tank guided missile slam into the side of a tank. As if on cue, the second American mechanized infantry company that had deployed along the road loosed a volley of antitank guided missiles. He was trapped. Without a second thought, the Soviet company commander ordered his tanks to turn left and cut on their smoke generators. They had been lucky. His company had succeeded in wreaking havoc on one American company. But the Americans were now gaining the upper hand. It was time to break off this attack, retreat back to the gap his company had emerged from, and wait for the rest of the battalion before renewing the attack.

Team Bravo was in position and firing just as Team Yankee reached the point where they needed to turn and go into the attack. As soon as Sergeant Polgar reported that he was in place, Bannon ordered the tanks to execute an action right, form a line, and attack. Following 66’s lead, the other tanks cut right and began to advance back down into the valley. Team Bravo’s fire had been effective in forcing the Soviets to break off their attack and had thus taken the pressure off Delta Company. In a massive cloud of smoke being thrown off by their smoke generators, the T-72 tanks that had survived disappeared to the south.

Without hesitation, Folk switched to the thermal sight and continued to track the Soviet tanks as they fled to the south. Bannon could now see that it was now a race, leading him to wonder if the Team would be able to catch up to the Soviet tanks fleeing south. Right now, that didn’t seem likely. Team Yankee’s grand maneuver had been a bust. It had, by going too far out in front of the battalion, taken the Team out of the fight.

Then it struck Bannon that this disaster, or at least part of it, had been his fault. Had he promptly obeyed the battalion commander’s orders, Team Yankee would have been closer to Charlie Company and able to support it when the Russians hit. A pure mech company in M-113s on the move was extreme vulnerable to enemy tanks. Team Yankee should have been able to simply turn around the support the infantry. He had, however, been in a hurry to get out in front and reach the Saale. Not only had Charlie Company and the command group paid for his error, the enemy who’d hit them were getting away.

Just as he finished his self-condemnation, the artillery began to impact to the front of the Soviet tanks. The FIST officer, Plesset, having seen the enemy turn south, adjusted the incoming artillery to where the enemy tanks were headed. He had wanted the artillery to impact directly on the tanks, but had misjudged the enemy’s speed and distance. This error caused the Soviets to turn east to avoid the artillery. Their rapid change of direction allowed them to escape the artillery, but drove them straight into the Team. The Soviets had either not seen Bannon’s tanks and thought their turning east would be safe or they had decided to take on the Team rather than the artillery.

Whatever the reason, the Team now had a chance to finish the job. Without further hesitation, Bannon ordered the tanks to fire at will before issuing his fire command as he laid 66’s gun on the lead tank coming out of their smoke screen.

“ENEMY TANKS TO THE FRONT!”

The Soviet tank company commander snapped his head to the front in response to his gunner’s yell. Stunned, he watched as a line of M-l tanks came charging down off the same hill his own company had come down from and toward him. It had been a trap. The Americans fooled me and now we are lost. As improbable as it seemed, that was the only way the Russian commander could explain it.

No matter now. There was no time for maneuver. The only thing left to do was fight it out with the American tanks head-to-head. With that thought in mind, he ordered his tanks to attack and began to direct his gunner to engage the lead American tank.

The scene was more like a medieval battle between knights than a clash between the most sophisticated tanks in the world. Like medieval knights, the two groups of tanks charged at each other with lowered lances. Team Yankee had the advantage of surprise and numbers, nine against five. The element of surprise allowed the Team to fire first. This first volley stopped three of the T-72s, blowing two of them up and crippling a third. The return fire from the Soviets claimed a 3rd Platoon tank.

By the time they were ready to fire again, the Team was right on top of the surviving Soviet tanks. Two of 3rd Platoon’s tanks drove past the crippled Soviet tank. The turrets of both US tanks stayed locked on the T-72 as they went by. When the two tanks fired on the Soviet at point-blank range, both rounds penetrated, causing the T-72 to shudder violently as internal explosions and sheets of flames blew open its hatches.

One of the last T-72s, about to be overwhelmed, just stopped. The shock of having so many targets so close was proving to be too much for the crew. With no more Soviet tanks that he could see that weren’t already aflame, Bannon watched in morbid fascination as the crew of that tank traverse its main gun to engage a tank, but then in the opposite direction to engage a tank that appeared to be a greater threat before suddenly traversing back toward its first target.

As he watched this bizarre spectacle play out, Bannon wondered why none of the Team’s tanks were firing on it. They had all slowed down by now so as not to bypass it. Most of the Team’s tanks had their guns trained on the hapless Soviet tank. Yet no one fired. Either they felt sorry for this lone survivor, or they were enjoying making the Russian crew suffer the agony of certain death. Whatever the reason, Bannon ordered Folk to fire. He and four other tank commanders had the same idea at the same instant, giving an effective and spectacular coup de grace to the last Russian tank.

Six kilometers to the east, on the other side of the hill, a Soviet tank battalion commander was in the middle of a raging fit. As the lead tank of his second company raced along the narrow trails to catch up with the company already engaged, it had thrown a track making a sharp turn. Now it was blocking the trail.

At first he was not worried. There appeared to be plenty of room for the other tanks of the battalion to bypass the disabled tank with ease. The fourth tank that tried to do so, however, also threw a track. Not only was the trail now hopelessly blocked, the Russian commander now had two fewer tanks with which to attack. As he was watching of the crews of the crippled tanks and a recovery vehicle struggle with the thrown tracks of the derelict tanks, nervously drumming his fingers on the receiver of his NSVT machinegun, the battalion political officer climbed on board his tank and up onto the turret next to him. Squatting down next to the battalion commander, he watched the efforts further up the trail in silence. The battalion commander tried to ignore the political officer, but found that was not possible. “The bastard,” he thought, “He’s come here to intimidate me. He’ll not succeed.”

Both were still waiting for the trail to be cleared when the lead company commander reported they were being engaged by American tanks. On hearing this, the political officer leaned over closer to the battalion commander. “Well, comrade, what are we going to do? Your attack seems to be failing.”

This was a threat, clear and simple. The political officer was telling the battalion commander that if he didn’t take action, he, the political officer, would. The commander did not hesitate. At least against the Americans he had a fighting chance. One had no chance with the KGB. Before dismounting, he ordered the three tanks that had already bypassed to continue forward and assist the lead company. Once his order was acknowledged, the battalion commander climbed out of his tank, dropped down onto the ground and made his way forward to personally to supervise the clearing of the trail. While there was nothing he could do to speed things up, at least the flailing of arms about and yelling might give the appearance he doing something. It was worth a try.

For a moment, Bannon drew a blank. The sight of smashed vehicles and the stench associated with burning tanks was becoming all too familiar. The fact that the battalion’s predicament was nowhere near what the plan had called for was not any different from other operations. It was the fact that he had no immediate superior to turn to for orders and assistance that threw him. On Hill 214 he had been alone, but at least he was still able to carry on with the order that had been issued. This was different. He had one company that appeared to have been wiped out and two companies that were facing the wrong way, watching the fourth company mill about waiting for him, their surrogate commander, to pull his head out and give them some orders. No sooner had the thought Why me? flashed through his mind than the answer followed Because you’re it. For the moment there was no one else, and if he didn’t start doing something fast to get the goat screw he found himself in the middle of squared away, the next wave of Russians would finish them.

With time being critical, he contacted Uleski and ordered him to rally the Team’s tanks and stand by for orders. Next he instructed Team Bravo to redeploy his team in an arch facing north. The Delta Company commander was ordered to rally his unit, sweep the battlefield to clear it of any Soviet survivors, and provide whatever help they could to Charlie Company’s survivors.

With the line companies well in hand, Bannon contacted the battalion S-3 Air, a young captain back at the battalion’s main CP and instructed him to report the battalion’s current location, its status, and the fact that it was halted to brigade. Additionally, brigade was to be informed that he had assumed command and would contact the brigade commander on its command net as soon as he was able to. With that, Bannon switched back to the Team’s command net and informed Uleski that until further notice, he would command Team Yankee.

Not wanting to sit out in the middle of the field by himself, Bannon ordered Kelp to follow 55. Dropping down to where the radios were, he flipped through his CEOI, found the radio frequency for the brigade’s command net, switched the frequency, and reset the radio’s preset frequencies.

While the battalion net had been relatively quiet, brigade’s was crowded with a ceaseless stream of calls, orders, half-completed conversations, and requests for more information. Bannon entered the net just as the battalion S-3 Air was finishing the report Bannon had directed him to make. Not surprisingly, most of the information was wrong. Colonel Brunn, the brigade commander, came back and asked the S-3 Air to confirm the battalion’s current location.

Before he could respond, Bannon cut in, giving the correct location of the companies that were still combat effective and his assessment of the battalion’s current situation. He ended by informing the brigade commander that in his opinion the battalion was no longer capable of continuing the attack, running down a list of the reasons why. When he finished, there was a moment of silence on the brigade net while the grim news sank in. Then, without hesitation or a long-winded discussion, Colonel Brunn contacted the commander of the 1st of the 4th Armor and ordered him to pass through the mech battalion and continue the attack north. After this message was acknowledged by 1st of the 4^th, Brunn came back to Bannon, ordering him to rally the battalion as best he could and to keep the brigade S-3 posted on its status. For the moment, Task Force 3rd of the 78th Infantry was pretty much out of the war.

As Garger led his platoon through the area where Charlie Company, then the Soviet tank company had, for all practical purposes, been wiped out, he realized that he was seeing another aspect of war that he had so far missed, the aftermath, up close and personal. Up until then, all the engagements he’d been part of had been at long range. Even the run through the town of Arnsdorf with the CO during the defense of Hill 214, where they had been eyeball to eyeball with the Russians, had been but a blur, a frenzied dash carried out at night at high speed.

This was different. The slow movement of the Team through the battle area afforded Garger his first opportunity bear witness to the carnage left in the wake of a battle up close and personal. Everywhere he looked there were smashed tanks and PCs. Some were burning fiercely, throwing off thick, oily black clouds of smoke. Others showed no apparent damage, almost as if its crew had simply stopped their vehicle and abandoned it. It was the dead and the dying sprawled about in tight little groups near the disabled or destroyed track that were most unsettling. To his left, there was a Russian tank crewman hanging halfway out of a burning tank, his body blackened and burning. Over to his right, a group of dead infantrymen who had abandoned their PC in the middle of the fight only to be cut down by machinegun fire. Here and there the wounded were being gathered by medics who were frantically sorting out those who could be saved from those who were beyond help. Garger didn’t want to watch. He wanted to turn away. But that was not possible. Even if he could close his eyes and shut out he horrors around him, the stench of burning rubber, diesel, and flesh would have been enough to paint a picture in his mind that was all too vivid, and all too real.

The time that lapsed between hearing the last shot in the valley to the west and the sound of tanks coming from the east could not have been more than five minutes. Polgar heard the distinctive squeak of tracks being pulled through drive sprockets just as the forward security team he had sent out reported that there were Russian tanks inching their way down the trail toward them. Before he gave them permission to pull back, he reminded the NCO in charge of the security element OP he needed to report the type and number of tanks they were observing. Sheepishly, the NCO informed him he could see three T-72s moving through the thick wood toward the draw where the first group of Soviet tanks had emerged.

Instead of trying to hold them in the open at the tree line, Polgar had decided to deploy his three squads further into in the dense woods where they would have the greatest advantages and the tanks would be the most vulnerable, if not downright helpless. The Dragons would be worthless in this fight. The antitank guided missile they fired needed to fly some distance before the warhead armed. There would neither enough standoff distance for them to arm nor a clear line of sight that the gunner would have between him and the tank he was tracking. This fight was going to be strictly man against tank and at very close range.

Anxious to get his dismounts in place as quickly as possible, his orders to the squad leaders were short and sweet. “Get you men in position and under cover. Fire on my command or when the lead tank hits a mine.”

With that, he set out along the trail at a trot accompanied by his driver who was carrying the last two anti-tank mines they had. They’d only have enough time for a surface lay and a quick scattering of leaves over them once they were armed. Hopefully, that would be enough. And if it wasn’t, then…

Polgar didn’t want to think about the then as he hustled down the trail. Hopefully, it wouldn’t come to that.

It came as great no surprise to Polgar that commanders of the three tanks were all standing upright and leaning as far forward out of their open hatches as they dare. More concerned about keeping from throwing a track as other tanks behind them had, their eyes were glued to the trail just in front of their tanks. None of them seem to be too concerned with security. The fact that the lead element had passed through these woods without incident apparently satisfied this group of Russian tankers that the trail was clear. Either that, Polgar reasoned, or they were hell-bent on joining the lead company as quickly as they could. Unable to help himself, Polgar chuckled he watched the T-72s advance. They would be, sooner than they expected.

The men who had been on Hill 214 with Polgar were far more confident than they had been before that fight. They’d seen with their own eyes that under the right circumstances, the big Soviet tanks could be defeated. So rather than being fearful, some saw the coming fight as a challenge of sorts, a test to see how fast it would take them to kill the tanks. The detonation of the first antitank mine was their cue to start the clock.

As the Platoon went into action, there was nothing for Polgar to do. Every man deployed along the trail had been hastily briefed on what was expected of him by his squad leader as he’d assigned a position. Machinegunners and riflemen cut down the tank commanders before they could drop down inside their tanks. Other infantrymen with light antitank rocket launchers, called LAWs, began to fire. A single M72 LAW with a 66mm warhead is not enough to kill a tank. All of the T-72s would need to be hit multiple times before it was destroyed or rendered combat ineffective. With this in mind, Polgar had had each squad leader organized a three-man tank killer team. Each man in the team carried several LAWs as well as his rifle. It was up to each of the three squad leader to designate the tank his tank killers were to target and give the order to fire. Once engaged, each man would fire in turn, hitting the same tank repeatedly until the squad leader gave the order to ceasefire or they ran out of LAWs.

The first two tanks were dispatched without much trouble. The driver of third tank, seeing the plight of the first two, had begun to back up as quickly as he dared. He didn’t get far. Two infantrymen, on opposite sides of the trail, pulled a mine attached to a rope onto the trail under the third tank as it was backing up. The detonation severed a track, blew off a set of road wheels and brought the tank to a standstill, but did not kill the crew. Trapped in his disabled tank, with his commander dead, the gunner began to spray the woods indiscriminately with machine-gun fire in an effort to keep his unseen assailants at bay.

Before firing its LAWs, the squad attacking this tank tossed smoke grenades at it. Once the smoke was thick enough, the squad leader maneuvered his tank killer team into position behind the tank where he knew the turret would not be able to be turned on them because of the trees lining either side of the trail. Once set, the LAW gunners waited for the smoke to clear. When they had a clear shot, the LAW gunners began to fire. The squad leader was the first to fire. Then the next man loosed his rocket. Then the third. At the range they were at, no one was missing. The LAWs slammed into the crippled tank one after the other at a measured interval. As Polgar watched, he saw that the third tank was doomed. It was only a question of how many LAWs it would take to do the job.

The crew of the tank knew this as well. Deciding there was no point in dying for the Motherland just for the sake of dying, they opted to surrender. Warily, the gunner stuck a hand up out of the commander’s hatch and waved a grease stained white rag. Both Polgar and the NCO in charge of the LAW gunners ordered a cease-fire. This was something new. They were finally going to meet the enemy, a defeated enemy.

After the firing had stopped, the Russian gunner stuck his head out through the open hatch and looked around. Only when he was sure he wasn’t going to be shot did he continued to climb out. When he saw the first American, he stopped and waved the white rag at him. The gunner didn’t move until the American signaled him to climb down. As he did so, the driver opened his hatch and climbed out and onto the ground.

Both Russians were terrified. Searched at gunpoint, their pistols and anything else that could be used as a weapon were stripped from them. While this search was in progress, a squad leader climbed up to check out the tank commander. When it was discovered he was still alive, two more infantrymen climbed up and gave the NCO a hand, lowering the wounded Russian down and away from the tank while the medic was called. The Russian gunner and driver, seeing this, relaxed. The horror stories their political officers had told them about Americans killing prisoners were lies. They were safe. They would live.

As he worked on the wounded tank commander, the medic thought how ironic this was. Not more than two minutes ago the Russian he was working on had trying to kill them. Now he was doing his damnedest to save the fucker’s life. War was definitely screwed up, the medic concluded. He hoped someday someone would explain it all to him. But not now. He had a man’s life that needed saving.

Bannon was in the process of gathering the commanders of Team Bravo and Delta Company when Polgar reported the tanks. As soon as he heard about it, he ordered Uleski to take the Team’s tanks up to the Mech Platoon’s position. Once there he was to establish a defensive position blocking that trail with one tank platoon and the Mech Platoon, holding the other tank platoon back as a ready reaction force for the battalion.

His meeting with the other commanders was further interrupted by the arrival of Major Jordan. A Delta Company PC making a sweep of the area had found the major and the survivors of the command group in a ditch where they had taken cover in when their tracks had been hit. Jordan was covered with mud and bloodstains and shaken, but was otherwise all right.

As soon as he saw the gathered commanders, he smiled. “Bannon, I never thought that I would be so damned happy to see those tanks of yours as I was when they came rolling down off the hill. It was great.” Still rattled by his near brush with death, Jordan’s eyes kept darting about as he talked fast, without pausing to catch his breath.

Bannon was no less happy to see the major and told him so. “You have no idea how glad I am to see you, sir. For a while we thought the whole command group was gone. Did Colonel Reynolds make it?”

“He’s been wounded, badly wounded. The medics have him now. Both our tracks were hit in the first volley. That any of us survived is nothing short of a miracle. As it was, we had three dead and five wounded in the command group alone. How did the rest of the battalion do?”

While the Major sat, drinking water and regaining his composure, Bannon went over the current status of the battalion. “Charlie Company has, for all practical purposes, ceased to exist. I attached the two squads of infantry and their PCs as well as one ITV that managed to make it out unscathed to Delta Company,” Bannon informed Jordan. “There are still a number of individual stragglers being policed up, but many of them were wounded. All of Charlie’s officers and senior NCOs who are dead, wounded, or still unaccounted for. I expect it’ll be awhile before anyone can come up with a total casualty count for that unit. Delta Company lost three PCs and one ITV. Their total casualties included five dead, thirteen wounded, and three missing. Team Bravo came out of the fight without a single casualty.”

“And Team Yankee?” Jordan asked.

“Not counting the one I lost to the Hinds, just one tank was damaged, Alpha 33. Two of its crew suffered minor wounds that don’t require anything more than a Band-Aid.”

Still shaken by his experience, it took Jordan a minute to take in what Bannon was telling him. When he did look up, he sighed. “The battalion’s lost a lot of good men and equipment.”

“By my count, fifteen PCs, three ITVs, and one tank in exchange for ten enemy tanks,” Bannon replied glumly. “If you ask me, that’s a shitty kill ratio. At that rate, we’ll run out of tanks and PCs long before they do.”

Jordan simply nodded. “Yeah, that’s the idea.” Then, after drawing in a deep breath, he rose to his feet. “Be that as it may, it is what it is. Now, you and I are faced with the chore of sorting this battalion out and getting back into the fight.”

Bannon was about to say he wasn’t exactly eager to get back in the fight, but didn’t. Shaken by the by the loss of an entire company and his sudden elevation to the command of a battalion that had just been knock on its ass, Jordan was in no shape to hear something like that. Instead, Bannon nodded. “Roger that, sir.”

Major Jordan was still standing on the side of the road with his surviving company commanders when the 1st of the 4th began to roll past and head headed north. Bannon watched as the tank commanders of his parent battalion surveyed the devastation on both sides of the road as they went by. When the command group of the 1st of the 4th rolled by Headquarters 33, the S-3’s tank, broke out of the column and headed over to where Bannon and Jordan were.

Major Shell, the battalion S-3 of 1st of the 4th Armor, climbed down off his tank and asked for a quick update on the enemy situation. Jordan gave him what he had, which wasn’t much. After taking one more look around, Shell wished him luck, gave Bannon a quick nod, mounted his tank, and took off to catch up with the rest of his command group.

Uleski’s report that there were more Soviet tanks coming down the trail towards Team Yankee’s position broke up this impromptu meeting. As he prepared to leave, Bannon asked Jordan if he had any orders for him. Still not completely caught up on the overall picture, Jordan simply shook his head. “No, just hold the flank and keep me posted.” With that, Bannon mounted Alpha 66 and moved up to rejoin the Team.

Bob Uleski was still in the process of redeploying the Team when an OP Polgar had sent out further up the trail reported more Russian tanks were coming on and coming on fast. Realizing this new wave of Soviets would be able to see the smoke of the burning tanks the Mech Platoon had ambushed, Uleski was reasonably sure the trick of hiding in the woods and hitting them in the flank would not work a second time. Besides, the Mech Platoon had used up most of the LAWs and the last of their anti-tank mines during the last one.

After a quick consultation with Polgar, Uleski decided on a slight variation. Rather than trying to stop the Soviets before they reached the small open area in the woods, they would yield this small patch of open ground to the Soviets. Uleski hoped the Soviet commander would seize upon any opportunity that came his way to deploy his tanks and attack whatever threat he came across in mass. The problem with this, from the Soviet’s perspective, was that the lead tanks would need to slow down in order to allow the follow-on tanks to emerge from the woods at the eastern edge of the clearing and swing out to the left and right in order to get into line before attacking across the small clearing.

To meet this attack, he deployed the 3rd Platoon on either side of the trail right at the tree line on the western edge of that clearing. The Mech Platoon, divided into two groups, deployed on either side of 3rd Platoon in positions that would allow them to cover the kill zone with a deadly crossfire using their Dragons. It was a risky plan, one neither Uleski not Polgar felt completely comfortable with, for the kill zone was little more than a two hundred meters deep, east to west, and three hundred meters wide, north to south. If the Soviets were quick, they’d be able to overrun the 3rd Platoon and push on into the valley where the mech infantry companies were still in the process of sorting themselves out.

As Polgar was about to leave his side, Uleski put a hand out and stopped him. The XO felt as if he should say something, give the veteran platoon sergeant some last minute advise, or share a word of encouragement as Captain Bannon often did. But nothing came to mind. Polgar knew what to do, Uleski told himself. So did he. With that, the young officer wished him luck before heading back to Alpha 55, which was sitting right in the middle of the trail with its main gun oriented to the east.

The lead Soviet tank slowed, then stopped as soon as it reached the eastern edge of the kill zone. Uleski had no doubt its tank commander was reporting back to his commanding officer. Concerned that the Russian had seen Garger’s tanks, which the crews had had no time to camouflage, he gave the order to open fire.

As one, two 3rd Platoon tanks let lose, quickly destroying the T-72 and giving away their positions. As he watched the T-72 burn, Uleski got Polgar on the radio and told him to get his people into position fast. With the ambush sprung before he had planned, the XO knew it wouldn’t be long before the Soviets made their next move. As he waited to see what it would be, he reported back to battalion, requesting artillery further east along the trail where the Soviets were probably beginning to stack up.

As unhappy as Uleski was with the situation, the Soviet battalion commander was even more distraught. Every time he thought he was on the verge of breaking out of the cursed woods and into the open, something happened to frustrate him. Even worse, his regimental commander, who was pushing him to attack and seal off the breach the Americans and Germans had made would not listen to reason. With his battalion bottled up on the trail with little room to maneuver, he once more appealed to his regimental commander to allow him to pull back, regroup, and seek out another, more tank friendly avenue of approach. This request was greeted with a hail of threats and abuse, which were followed by a threat the battalion commander knew the regimental commander had every intention of making good on if he failed.

Realizing he had no alternative, the battalion commander ordered his remaining tanks, now down to eighteen, to close up under cover of the woods and wait until he gave the order to advance. When he did, he told the last of his officers they were to rush into the open area to their front, deploy on line as best they could, and attack the far tree line before pushing on and through it. He hoped they would be able to overwhelm the enemy with speed and firepower. He hoped some of his tanks would breakthrough to the open ground beyond even as he was reminding himself that hope was never a sound basis for a plan. Still, with no other choice, he prepared himself as best he could and gave the order to advance.

Major Snow blew up when he was ordered to turn around and fly back to attack the target he had just been told was no longer there. “Those people in flight operations have no idea what they’re doing,” Snow declared to his wingman over the air and in the clear so that everyone on the net would hear him. “If they wave us off one more time, we’re going to go back there and bomb the shit out of them.” His wingman, who was just as peeved with the way they were being jerked around, came back with the recommendation that they forget the mission and just bomb the controllers. Still, with little choice but comply, Major Snow simply shook his head and turned back to the heading they had just left. Maybe, just maybe, he told himself, this time there would be something there.

To Uleski’s surprise, rather than pull in their horns and look for another avenue of approach, the T-72s began to pour out of the tree line and fanned out to the left and right just as he had hoped. The only problem was Polgar and his people were still not yet in position. With so short a distance and so few tanks to stop the Soviets, Uleski had no doubt that some of the T-72s would make it to them. He knew as they began to fire that it was going to be a hard fight, one he could very easily lose.

During their run in, Snow could clearly see columns of black smoke on the horizon, causing him to wonder if he and his wingman were too late to join the party thanks to the way flight ops had bungled the mission. As they neared the target area, he began to spot numerous vehicles, some of which had already been knocked out, scattered about in a broad valley that ran south to north. But they weren’t where he’d been ordered to attack. Further east, in a saddle between two wooded hills marked by several columns of smoke, was where he and his wingman had been directed to.

Banking sharply to their right, the A-10s closed on that spot, which turned out to be a small clearing in the woods crowded with tanks. Neither Snow nor his wingman knew whose they were. Without a forward air controller on the ground to help, the only thing left to do was to overfly them and check them out. Commenting to his wingman that this was a hell of a way to do business, Snow dropped down and went in.

One pass was all he needed. With a firm handle on what was happening on the ground, he brought his A-10 up, circled around, and told his wingman to follow him in on the next run. The tanks lined up on the east-west trail that were spilling out into a small open area were Russians. Finally, they were going to get to kill something.

At first Uleski thought the aircraft that buzzed overhead was Soviet. It had come and gone too fast for anyone to see, not that anyone had been looking. The entire clearing was filled with T-72s. The 3rd Platoon was firing as fast as possible and receiving return fire from the advancing Soviets. When he reported the aircraft, the Team’s FIST came back and told him that they should be A-l0s he had requested. Not sure, Uleski continued with the business at hand and hoped for the best.

The A-l0s came in from behind the Soviets and opened up with their 30mm cannons. In a shower of armor-piercing and HE shells, T-72s began to blow up. As the two A-10s overflew the western edge of the tree line, Snow noticed the American tanks there firing on the Soviets. He cautioned his wingman to watch out for them. There was only two hundred meters between the US and the Soviet tanks. This, he thought to himself as they came around to make another run, was truly close air support.

By the time Bannon arrived on the scene, it was all over.

Pulling up behind Alpha 55, he had Kelp stop. Just past 55, to his front, he could see at least a number of T-72s burning. A quick glance to his left and right told him on of 3rd Platoon tanks had been hit. Dismounting, Bannon made his way over to 55 where he found Uleski, who was just getting over the shock of having been in such a near thing, working up a report for battalion.

As he was waiting for his XO to finish what he was doing, Bannon took another look around. One of Soviet tanks, he saw, had managed to reach a point less than fifty meters from 55. After a quick update from Uleski, and satisfied the situation well in hand, Bannon told him to contact Major Jordan and have him stand 2nd Platoon down, that they wouldn’t needed by Team Yankee, at least not at the moment.

With nothing more to do at the moment, Bannon made his way back to 66 and waited for battalion to finish sorting itself out and issue new orders. In the meantime, he went over the morning’s events in his mind. It wasn’t even noon and already the Team had been in four different engagements that had cost it three tanks. “All in all,” Bannon muttered to himself, “this is shaping up to be a hell of a day.”