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

CHAPTER 12 “THEY CAME IN THE SAME OLD WAY”

The Team spent what was left of the morning in its positions, collectively catching its breath and awaiting orders. Slowly, almost unnoticed, a new and unexpected enemy made its appearance, a forest fire. That it happened should not have come as a surprise to anyone. The tracer elements that are part of the main gun and machine-gun rounds, burning vehicles, and flammable liquids leaking from ruptured fuel tanks provided ample ignition sources, the dry, summer foliage, the kindling. Ensconced in a high tech, million-dollar tank, it is easy for soldiers to forget just how much their action and activity affected everything it touched, manmade and natural.

At first no one noticed the burning trees and shrubbery. Fire had become a common sight by now. Only slowly, as the fire in the woods Team Yankee was deployed in began to grow and spread did anyone pay any attention to it. Its epicenter, as best as anyone could tell, was around the tanks that Polgar’s men had destroyed in the first engagement. Puddles of fuel, ignited by burning rubber and other onboard consumables set the tree branches hanging over them alight.

Eventually Bannon became aware of the new threat coming from the east. Standing upright in Alpha 66’s cupola, he began to study the growing fire. When Uleski, who had been checking the headspace and timing of his M-2 saw his commander warily eyeing the tree line across the small clearing from them, he turned to see what he was looking at. With a single glance, he understood Bannon’s concerns. Without using call signs or names, Uleski came up on the Team net, “YOU THINKING WHAT I’M THINKING? OVER.”

Looking over at his XO who was seated on top of Alpha 55’s turret with his feet dangling through the open hatch of the TC’s cupola, Bannon simply nodded before turning his gaze back at the growing forest fire.

After weeks with no appreciable rainfall, the trees and undergrowth was grade — A kindling. Knowing the Team had no choice but to move and move soon, without bothering to call battalion to explain why, Bannon ordered the 3rd Platoon and the Mech get out of the woods. Neither Garger nor Polgar, both of whom had been watching the forest fire as it crept closer and closer to their positions, needed to ask for an explanation.

The move was going to be hazardous. To start, the two platoons could not back away from the tree line and into the woods before turning around. The rapidly spreading fire had, by then, begun to circle around behind them. Instead, they were going to have to move forward into the open and turn, flanking themselves to any enemy force that might still be to their front. Once clear of that hazard, the tracks had to pick their way slowly along the trail leading back to the valley. This would not only slow the Team’s displacement, it would be dangerous. One error by a driver or TC could cause a tank to lose its track, blocking the Team’s escape route in the same way the Soviet tank battalion had had to deal with. The crew of Alpha 66 already knew about that danger. At the rate the fire was moving, a tank would have little chance of being recovered if it lost a track.

No attempt was made to establish an orderly withdrawal. Bannon ordered the platoons to move on their own using the 2nd Platoon, which was still acting as the battalion’s reserve, as a rally point. Uleski in Alpha 55 and Bannon in 66 sat overwatching the Mech, then the 3rd Platoon as they began their move. The air, already oppressively hot from the fire and thick with choking smoke from burning wood, diesel, rubber, and flesh, was filled with tension as the first of the 3rd Platoon tanks rolled into the open. Folk, with his eye glued to his sight as he slowly traversed the turret, watched for any hint of movement from the far side of the clearing. Once Bannon was satisfied that there was no one on the other side who would do anything to his command, he signaled Uleski to begin his move. Alpha 66 stayed in place for another minute, watching the far tree line, before following 55.

The movement through the woods was agonizingly slow for Garger. Even though the platoon had moved forward into positions by creeping along between trees as they were now, it had taken less time, or so it seemed. The idea of being in a tank loaded with ammunition and diesel, surrounded on all sides by a raging forest fire, did not appeal to him. There wasn’t a block of instruction taught at Fort Knox that covered what to do in such a situation. Sticking one’s ass out to fight the Russians was one thing. Letting yourself get overrun by a forest fire was something else entirely. It was an experience Garger had no wish to embrace.

Following Alpha 32, Garger leaned as far forward as he dared, watching as its crew carefully picked their way through the woods. As the lead tank, 32 had the task of blazing the trail. The most difficult part for 31’s crew was to maintain their distance and not crowd 32. This was easier said than done. When he wasn’t watching where they were going, Garger was glancing between the approaching fire and 32. He had to restrain himself from egging 32 on over the radio. Haranguing SSG Blackfoot would serve no useful purpose other than to add to the growing apprehensions everyone in the platoon was feeling. So he held his tongue as he continued to watch 32 plodded along at an unnerving three miles an hour.

The whine of M-113s to his right momentarily diverted his attention. The smaller and more agile tracks of the Mech Platoon were making better time. Their drivers were running at a good pace, weaving between the trees like skiers dashing between poles in a downhill slalom. When Polgar went by, he waved to Garger. The lieutenant returned the wave, then pointed at the approaching fire. Polgar acknowledged the lieutenant’s problem with a nod and a thumbs up before his PC disappeared from sight, leaving Garger to wish, for the first time since the war had begun, that he was in an M-113 rather than a tank.

Some say leadership is the art of motivating men to do something that they might not otherwise do. That sounds great in a textbook. As Alpha 66 slowly inched along behind 55 in an effort to escape the forest that was coming on fast, Bannon came up with a few new definitions of leadership. The one that appeared to be most appropriate at that particular moment was something along the lines that a leader was the first man in the unit to put his buns out on the line, and the last to pull them in. As 66 continued its maddeningly slow move through the woods, he wondered if those buns weren’t going to get overdone this time.

To take his mind off 66’s dilemma, he switched the radio to the battalion net and called Major Jordan in order to inform him of the Team’s move. Not surprisingly, instead of contacting the major himself, Bannon found himself conversing with a slow-talking radio/telephone operator who answered for the major. Relaying a message through an RTO can be like getting a new secretary for a major corporation. You know that your message is going to be screwed up even if it finds its way to the right person. His conversation with the major’s RTO was a case in point.

First, the man didn’t know the proper call signs, insisting that Bannon identify himself fully before letting him proceed with the message. Once he accepted the fact that Bannon really did belong on the battalion net, he couldn’t find the major. He had no idea where the major had gone, but said that he would take a message and pass it on. Next, Bannon had to repeat the message twice before the RTO got it down. It wasn’t a very long or complicated message. All he had to do was tell the major that a forest fire had forced Team Yankee to displace and that the Team was now en route to the 2nd Platoon’s location. Simple. When the RTO finally read the message back slowly and correctly, he made Bannon authenticate to make sure that he wasn’t the enemy.

The unusual situation Team Yankee was having to deal with and his efforts to get a message through a slow-witted RTO was all too common, and could be viewed as funny, but only in the past tense. In the present, however, Bannon was finding it to be extremely frustrating and unnerving. There he was, a commander who was in the middle of dealing with a crisis in desperate need of passing an important message over the radio to his higher ups. The only person he can manage to raise on the radio and leave that message with is a class-three moron sitting snug and secure in a command track back in the rear who is just learning how to use a radio. In Bannon’s top ten list of frustrating things a commanding officer had to deal with, this sort of thing was near the top.

He had no sooner cleared his mind of the painfully slow conversation with the RTO when the same man came back and told him that his request to displace was denied, that the Team was to stay in place until the major came to the position and discussed the matter in person with him. Bannon was livid. How the RTO had managed to screw up the message even after he’d had the man to read it back to make sure the man had it right was beyond him. He didn’t give the RTO another chance. Controlling himself, Bannon told the RTO to put the major on the radio ASAP.

By the time he finished with the RTO the second time, 55 was beginning to clear the forest and reenter the valley. It came none too soon, for Alpha 66 emerged from the forest just as the fire began to spread to the tree branches above the tank. A few more minutes would have been a few too many. Once again, luck and timing was on Team Yankee’s side.

It was early afternoon before Major Jordan made it up to the Team’s new position. By then the two platoons that had escaped the fire had established themselves in the tree line that was not in danger of catching fire on either side of 2nd Platoon. Once there the Team paused to catch its collective breath, unwind, and look after personal needs. It had been on the move or in combat without a serious break for almost nine hours, leaving everyone in a something of a stupor. To a man, the soldiers belonging to the Team were moving with a stilted deliberateness that put Bannon in mind of men who’d had a wee too much to drink. Before the Team could be of any use to anyone, they needed a break. That included him.

Major Jordan found Bannon sitting against a tree a short distance from Alpha 66, stripped down to his tee shirt with his gear in a tangled heap next to him munching on an MRE. Bannon made no effort to stand up or stop what he was doing as Jordan approached.

When he reached Bannon, Jordan stood looking down at him for a long moment. Then, without a word, he dropped down next to Bannon, removed his helmet, unbuckled his LBE, and leaned back against the same tree. When Bannon offered him a canteen, Jordan took it and drank as Bannon continued to eat.

“Sean, it’s been a hell of a day so far,” Jordan opined after a few minutes “A hell of a day.”

Bannon arched a brow as he glanced over at Jordan warily out of the corner of his eyes. “So far? You got some cheery news that’s going to make my day even more exciting than it’s already been?”

“I just finished talking with the brigade commander. He told me the battalion’s done a great job, that he’s proud to have it in his command. He then went on to inform me that he had all the confidence in the world that I would do well as its commander.”

“Oh-oh. Sounds to me as if the Old Man was setting the new battalion commander up for a hummer of a job. Care to share what it is with this broke dick tanker?”

“I was just about to do that,” Jordan declared glumly. “It seems the tank battalion we were hit by is part of a Soviet tank regiment Division believes is still headed our way with the mission of sealing off the breakthrough we’ve made. The brigade commander feels that since we did such a good job dealing with its lead battalion, we should have the honor of finishing it off when it arrives.”

“Bully for us. Did anyone bother to tell you tell you how and where we’re to accomplish this martial feat?”

“The where is easy. Everyone thinks they’ll attack through the Langen Gap, just north of here. The how is up to us.”

“You got any brilliant ideas yet, sir?”

“Not yet. That’s why I came here to talk to you. I figure between the two of us we can come up with something.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir. My daddy always said misery enjoys company. Lunch, however, has a higher priority at the moment. Care to join me?”

“Hell, why not. I need some time to get myself together. After spending the last two hours down in the valley sorting out the rest of the battalion, I finally know what General Terry felt like when he came across Custer and the 7th Cavalry at the Little Bighorn.”

“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t envy your position.”

“Sean, stow the saddle soap and pass me some food.”

For the next quarter-hour the events of the morning were forgotten, as best they could be, and the chore of preparing for their new mission was set aside as the two officers munched on dehydrated foods. Just as it is necessary for the body to digest a meal, the mind had to be given a break and allowed an opportunity to sort itself out. For most of Team Yankee, the morning events had been nothing new. If anything, some of the men were becoming a little too casual about the death and destruction that surrounded them. For Major Jordan, however, this morning had been his baptism by fire. He was experiencing now what Bannon had gone through during the Hill 214 debacle. No one needed to tell Bannon the major had come to the Team to escape the horror show in the valley as well as in search of someone with whom he could share his new burden. Whether misery really did enjoy company was something Bannon could not attest to. It did, however, need sympathy, and sympathy, in being able to spend time with someone who wasn’t staring at him, waiting to be told what to do, or trying to get something from him he could not give was something Major Jordan was in desperate need of at the moment. It was something Bannon was more than happy to give without needing to be asked, or making a big deal of it.

The afternoon was passing quietly. Only the distant rumble of artillery and an occasional crack from a tank cannon to the north broke the stillness. The bright day had given way to clouds and a cool wind coming from the west, foreshadowing a coming storm. In the Team area the crews continued to check their tracks, clean weapons, and redistribute ammunition between tanks in an unhurried, but purposefulness manner. There wasn’t much talking or shouting. Very little motion was wasted. A casual observer would have had difficulty determining who was in charge. Officers and NCOs were just as dirty and just as busy, except for Bannon, as the rest of their people. The men knew what had to be done and did it. No one was shouting, no one was rushing about. The Team, through habits born from countless hours of training and drills, was preparing for its next battle.

When they had finished their meal, Jordan unfolded a map and laid it out on the ground before them. Easing into a prone position, Bannon studied the map as the major went over the information he had received from brigade. The Langen Gap was actually a small valley running from east to west, connecting the main valley the battalion was in and the valley to the east where the Soviet tank regiment was located. The town of Langen itself was in the center of the gap with high ground to the north and south.

After studying the terrain, they discussed the various ways the Soviets could come. Both were in agreement they probably would not try sneaking through the woods again. They had already tried that and failed miserably. Odds were, they would attempt to bull through this time using a high speed avenue of approach that would allow them to fully deploy before making contact, hence Division’s belief that they would come through the Langen Gap, a conclusion both Jordan and Bannon concurred with. If the Soviets did come through the gap with the intent of maintaining the momentum of their attack, they would be forced to veer north or south of Langen. Thus, the village provided a natural strongpoint and breakwater.

In the gap itself there were few natural positions, other than Langen, from which the battalion could defend. Even if he could, Jordan made it clear he had no intention of putting the whole battalion in the town of Langen or anywhere in the middle of the valley leading up to it. Right off it was decided that Delta Company, along with the remnants of Charlie Company, would be the only company given the mission of hunkering down in Langen and turning it into a strongpoint. It was deciding where the two teams, Bravo and Yankee, would go that was difficult. There were very few options. If they were deployed on the eastern slopes of the high ground flanking the valley, they would be out on their own and exposed to Soviet artillery and supporting fires. A team deployed on the southern slope of Hill 358 would be masked by the town of Langen and be at too great a range to be of much use.

After some discussion, Major Jordan decided that they would go with a reverse slope defense. It would be risky, but there seemed to be little choice. It was the only way they could protect the force and deploy everyone where the entire battalion would be mutually supporting. Team Yankee, with its eight tanks, the Mech Platoon, and two ITVs would deploy southeast of Langen on the high ground facing northwest. Team Bravo, with four tanks, a mech platoon, and two ITVs would deploy northeast of Langen facing southwest. Two ITVs would be positioned on the lower slopes of Hill 358 facing southeast and Delta Company would hold the eastern portion of Langen facing east. In this way, as the enemy force approached Langen and turned either north or south, it would be hit in both flanks. Jordan anticipated that the Soviets would turn south, which is why Team Yankee and the majority of the tanks went there. Just in case they turned north, Bannon was given a contingency mission of being prepared to attack into their flank and rear.

In addition to normal artillery fire support, the brigade was allocating several artillery-delivered scatterable minefields to the battalion. These artillery-delivered minefields, known as FASCAM, consisted of submunitions, in this case mines that were released from an artillery projectile that opened up like a clamshell just above the ground. As soon as the mines landed, they armed themselves automatically. While not powerful enough in most cases to kill a tank, the mines could easily immobilize them by destroying the tracks, slow others that were following, and sow confusion. The plan was to save the scatterable mines until Major Jordan knew for certain where the Soviets were going and were about to be engaged by the battalion’s massed direct fire weapons.

The battalion’s scout platoon with its five Bradleys would be deployed well forward as a combat outpost line. In addition to warning of an approaching attack, its mission was to engage the Soviets early, stripping away any security elements they might have in front and causing the main body to deploy early. When the Soviet return fire became too intense, they would pull north into the woods and let the Soviets pass. If, in the opinion of the scout platoon leader, his scout tracks could take potshots at the Soviets after they had bypassed his position, they would come back out of hiding and snipe at the Soviet flank and rear.

After dividing the battalion’s area of operation up into kill zones and doing some initial plotting of artillery, Major Jordan ordered Bannon to recon Team Yankee’s position. He was going to contact the other commanders and have them meet him in Langen. There he would issue his instructions to them and allow them to recon the area. “I want the battalion to be in place and ready by 1800 hours,” Jordan concluded as he was preparing to leave. “Do you think you and the other company commanders can manage that without much trouble?”

“We’ll be ready,” Bannon replied.

“We better be, or I’ll go down in history as having had the briefest tenure of command for 3rd of the 78th,” Jordan muttered as he gathered up his map.

“Don’t worry, sir. The Team will have your back.”

Pausing, Jordan regarded Bannon for a moment before giving him a wary smile and a nod. “I’m counting on that.”

By 1700 hours all platoons were settled in and preparing their positions. Although the brigade could not provide the battalion with replacements to make good its losses in men and equipment, they sent something to them almost as good. A company of engineers with heavy equipment arrived in Langen in the early afternoon. Major Jordan wasted little time in putting them to work digging positions for the two teams and an antitank ditch running from Langen to the northeast. Before the engineers even began the anti-tank ditch, the commanding officer of the engineer company told Major Jordan the chances of finishing it were almost nil. This didn’t dissuade the major. In his mind, the presence of even a partially completed ditch might be enough to cause the Soviets to shy away from the northern route and, instead, turn south, where he wanted them to go. In addition to the digging, a squad of engineers assisted Delta Company in setting up a protective minefield in front of Langen.

While Delta and the engineers were busy preparing Langer, Team Yankee deployed along the tree line south of Langen facing the village. Provided the Soviets obliged them, they would be facing the Soviet’s left flank as they moved to the southwest. Bannon placed the Mech Platoon on the right at the northern tip of the hill the Team was occupying. From there they would be able to protect the Team’s blind side and prevent any dismounted infantry the Soviets might have with them from rolling up the Team’s right flank. Next in line was Uleski with Alpha 55, situated between the Mech Platoon and the 2nd Platoon. The 2nd Platoon was to his left. Bannon placed Alpha 66 between the 2nd Platoon and put 3rd Platoon. Garger in Alpha 31 tank was on the Team’s far left.

During the afternoon, Major Jordan had done some reshuffling of the battalion’s task organization based on his recon. The two ITVs Team Yankee was supposed to have were taken away. Instead, they were placed on Hill 358. The major felt the ITVs would have a better field of fire from there. Because the battalion fire-support officer had been killed when the command group had been hit, Lieutenant Plesset, Team Yankee’s FIST, was taken by Major Jordan to fill in as the battalion’s FSO. As in the first battle, Bannon would have to go through battalion to request artillery. This time, however, it would not be as difficult since the number of options open to the Team and the Soviets were limited and all were well covered with preplanned target reference points.

At 1800, just as the companies and teams were settling in for what promised to be a long and brutal night, a downpour that blackened the sky and came in sheets swept through the area. At first it was a welcome relief. After twenty minutes, however, it started to become a hindrance. The engineers who were still digging the antitank ditch and positions found themselves fighting mud as well as time. The tedious job of emplacing the minefield became a miserable one as well. Hastily dug foxholes rapidly filled with water, forcing the occupants to abandon them and seek shelter in the PCs when they could. They were not the only ones who sought shelter in their tracks. Only Delta Company, with the exception of those people working with the engineers in the minefield, was lucky, for it had been able to take up position in the homes and buildings along the eastern edge of Langen. By the time the last shower passed through at 2000 hours, any joy the men in the battalion had felt over the break in the summer heat had been washed away, replaced by muttered complaints about the cold, the damp, and the mud.

The rain did have one beneficial effect. By coming late in the day, it cooled everything that was not generating heat, thus increasing the effectiveness of the thermal sights. The attacking Soviet tanks would show up as clear thermal images against the cool natural backdrop.

With the exception of the engineers who would continue to work until all light was gone, the battalion was set and as ready as it would ever be. All it had to do now was wait. The tank crews, the infantrymen in the town and on the hills, the scouts, the ITV crewmen, the battalion’s heavy mortar men, and the numerous staff and support people that kept the battalion going settled in to wait.

During this interlude Team Yankee, like the rest of the battalion, went to half-manning. The scouts, deployed in the path of any Soviet advance, would be able to give them a good five minutes warning of a pending attack. Uleski took the first watch for the Team while Bannon got some sleep. At first he found staying awake easy. The cold and the damp, coupled with the nervous anticipation kept him alert for the first hour. Boredom and exhaustion, however, soon caught up to him. By 2330 hours he was losing his fight to stay awake and alert. Nothing seemed to be working. Shifting his weight from one foot to another, or shaking himself out made little difference. He even tried slapping his own face. That proved to be just as useless, not to mention painful. Inevitably, no matter how hard he tried, he found he was unable to keep from leaning up against the side of the copula and dropping off to sleep, awakening only when his head fell forward and crashed into the M2 machinegun mount.

Just before midnight, he gave up his efforts and roused his gunner to replace him in the cupola. At the same time, he had the loader replaced the driver. When Gwent was ready, Uleski told him he was going to check the line, wake up the CO, and come back to get some sleep.

As he moved down the line, starting with the Mech Platoon, he was glad to see that the rest of the Team had been able to remain more alert than he had. In the Mech Platoon’s area he ran into Sergeant Polgar, who never seemed to sleep. The only way Uleski was ever able to tell that Polgar was tired was to listen to him speak. His slow southern drawl became noticeably more pronounced when he was exhausted, sounding like an old 45 record being played at 33 RPMs.

At Alpha 66 Uleski found Bannon stretched out on top of the blow-off panels of Alpha 66’s turret asleep. Looking at Bannon nestled in the middle of the tank’s folded camouflage net with the loader’s CVC on and plugged into the loader’s radio control box, Uleski was at first reluctant to wake him. To have left him alone, even for a little while longer, would have been kind, but ill advised. One of them needed to be awake and alert at all times. Uleski waited until Bannon was fully awake and coherent before he began to updated him on the status of the Team and the current situation. This did not take long, as there was little that had changed in the past few hours. Nothing had come over the battalion or team radio nets since radio listening silence had gone into effect. All was quiet.

Bannon was about to tell his XO to go back to his tank and get some rest when a thunderous volley of artillery slammed into Langen and in the saddle between the hill the Team was on and the one just east side it. The flash from the impacts lit up the sky. Division and brigade had been right. The Soviets were coming through the gap.

The men of the Mech Platoon scrambled into their positions as the Soviet artillery continued to crash into the far side of the hill they were on. The water in their foxholes had long since dissipated, but the mud had not. Wherever the infantrymen made contact with the ground, the mud clung to their boots. The added weight, leaving them with the feeling their boots were made of lead rather than leather, slowed them, but not by much as adrenalin and the advent of battle spurred on even the slowest of Polgar’s troops.

No one needed to tell them what they needed to do. Riflemen checked their magazines, tapping them against their helmets to ensure that the rounds were properly seated before they loaded their weapons, chambered a round, took their weapons off safe, and placed the barrel on the stake placed along their principal direction of fire. Grenadiers checked the function of their grenade launchers and chambered their first rounds. Machinegunners checked the ammo to ensure that it was clean, dry, and ready to feed. Dragon gunners switched on their thermal sights, checked their systems, and began to scan their areas for targets.

As they were doing so, Polgar trooped the line, stopping at each foxhole, to give each soldier his final instructions, make any corrections that were needed, or offer up a word of encouragement. When he came to a squad leader, he had him to repeat his orders. The image of their platoon leader, illuminated by the flashes from impacting artillery, squatting above their foxhole as he calmly gave them instructions, served to steady rattled nerves and calm fears. His confident and businesslike manner was contagious, binding the platoon into a usable weapon.

The tankers also prepared for their ordeal with a greater sense of urgency, for if the coming battle played out as their commanding officer expected it to, its outcome would be determined by them. The ITVs and the Scout Platoon, firing their TOW antitank guided missiles, and the infantry with their Dragons would contribute. In a battle against a superior and determined foe, every weapon that could be brought to bear counted. In a tank-on-tank engagement, however, the fast-firing M68A1 105mm tank cannon, capable of firing up eight aimed rounds per minute, would decide the issue.

A tank and its crew has but one reason to exist. To maneuver the tank’s cannon to a position where it could do the most damage and feed it once it was there. All else takes a distant second. Loaders checked the ammo stored in the turret’s ready rack to ensure that the rounds were placed in the order they would be needed. Since they would be fighting tanks tonight, the majority of the rounds fired would be the armor-piercing fin-stabilized discarding SABOT rounds with their long needle-like projectiles. When the loaders were satisfied that the proper ammo was readily at hand, they closed the heavy armored doors that separated the crew from the ammo in the ready rack and checked that the turret floor was clear. In the heat of battle, it would not do to have things clutter the turret. The spent shell casings spewed out onto the turret floor after the main gun fired, rattling and rolling around at his feet, would be more than enough of a challenge to the loader.

The gunners checked their thermal sights, adjusting the contrast and clarity of the image to obtain the best possible sight picture before turning their attention to their computers, checking settings and functions to ensure the fire-control system was ready and operating. Tank commanders, perched in their cupolas, divided his time between watching their crews as they prepared for battle and scanning the tank’s assigned sectors. When all was ready, a TC would turn to his wingman and wave until the wingman acknowledged him.

With their weapons ready, the men of Team Yankee prepared mentally for their ordeal, each in his own way. Those who had not forgotten how to do so and still put their faith in God said a prayer. Many of the young soldiers, infantry and tanker alike, weaned on technology, found it so much easier to put their trust in their machines than the concept of a divine being, leading them to check and recheck their weapons. Still, even the most technologically savvy member of Team Yankee could not escape the humbling experience of war, an experience that tends to strip all who survive their baptism of fire of smug pretenses and arrogance. The awesome spectacle of war, and the ever present death tends to bring a man face-to-face with himself. For many of the young men in Team Yankee, it was the first time in their lives they found themselves facing their own mortality. Some found they lacked something, an emptiness. Along the way, a fair number sought refuge and comfort in beliefs long dormant. In the shadow of death, amidst the violence of the coming attack, simple, heartfelt prayers completed the Team’s preparation for battle.

Not long after the artillery began pounding Langen, the scouts reported the appearance of the Soviets. They were, as had been expected, tanks, advancing in company columns down the center of the Langen gap. As was their habit, the Russian in command of them was waiting until the last minute to deploy. This made it easy for the scouts to divide up the Soviet formation up among themselves and engage without needing to worry about the optical tracker of their sights accidently becoming confused with the thermal beacon of a missile launched by another track, a catastrophe that would cause the missile the gunner should have been tracking to lose control of it.

With no need of further instructions from battalion, the scouts began the grim business of the night by engaging at maximum range and calling for supporting artillery fires. The commander of each track focused his full attention on carrying out the battle drill he and his crew had practiced countless times in training, firing, moving, firing, moving.

For his part the Soviet commander, who recognized this threat for what it was, also adhered to his battle drill, doing his best to ignore the scouts. He appreciated the scouts did not constitute a major threat to his regiment. To stop and engage the scouts would not only cost him tanks he could ill afford to lose, doing so would prevent him from reaching the valley and accomplishing their mission in a timely fashion before the enemy could bring addition forces to bear.

The scouts were persistent. Just as a single mosquito can keep a full-grown man from sleeping, the scout platoon eventually did succeed in drawing some of the Russian tanks away from their mission. A company of tanks peeled off from the formation and began to engage the scouts. In accordance with their instructions, when they found themselves in danger of becoming decisively engaged, the scouts fired a few more rounds to draw their attackers farther away from the advancing regiment. Then, they disappeared into the darkness. The Soviet regimental commander knew they were still out there, waiting to strike again. And though they had done little to impede his advance, they had cost him a number of tanks as well as an entire company that would need to stay behind and keep them at bay.

To the men in Team Yankee, the Soviet advance was an awesome spectacle. Silently they watched as the neatly arrayed horde of Russian tanks bypassed Langen and began to move across their front. The fires burning in Langen provided a perfect backdrop, silhouetting the Soviet tanks as each company deployed from column of companies into line, with one company behind the other as if they were on parade. As the lead company began to pass to the south of Langen, Major Jordan called for the scatterable mine fields.

Amidst the noise of the Soviet artillery fire that continued to pound Langen, the US artillery-delivered mines arrived almost unnoticed. That is, until Soviet tanks began to run over them. The Soviet officers knew about scatterable mines and their capabilities. There wasn’t anything they didn’t know about the American military. But to have knowledge about a weapon system does not always mean that you know what to do about it when you encounter it for the first time. The manner in which the Soviets dealt with the scatter-able minefields was a case in point.

As tanks began to hit the mines, shedding tracks severed by the detonation and stopping, company and battalion commanders became confused. Buttoned up and with limited visibility, they at first thought they were under fire and took to searching for the telltale flashes of tank fire or the back blast of anti-tank missile launchers. All the while more tanks hit the mines, stopping them and causing other tanks to slow down or swerve left or right to avoid colliding with disabled tanks in front of them. Belatedly, it occurred to them they were in a minefield.

It was, in the opinion of the regimental commander, an unexpected inconvenience but one that his battalions could deal with. With a single order, the companies began to reform into columns behind tanks equipped with mine plows and rollers. Once he was sure his tanks were out of the minefield, he would give the order to redeploy and continue as before. It was a battle drill they had rehearsed many times before and were able to carry out with little trouble.

It was at this point, when the Soviets were in the midst of redeploying, that Major Jordan ordered Delta Company, the ITVs, and Team Bravo to open fire. The sudden mass volley caught the Soviet regimental commander and the commander of his lead tank battalion off-guard. They had thought that once they had cleared the choke point between the two hills and had begun to bypass Langen there would be no stopping them. It had been, after all, the logical place to stop them as evidenced by the American minefield. Confusion, both in the Soviet battle formation caught in the middle of redeploying and in the minds of commanders faced with an unexpected problem became worse as the Soviet tank company commanders and platoon leaders began to die.

With the Soviets thrashing about in the open, Jordan directed the artillery to switch to firing dual-purpose improved conventional ammunition, or DPICM. Like the scatterable mine, the artillery projectiles were loaded with small submunitions. The submunitions in DPICM, however, were bomblets that exploded on contact and were designed to penetrate the thin armor covering the top of armored vehicles. Confusion quickly degenerated into pandemonium. Some tanks simply stopped and began to fire at their tormentors in Langen or on the hillside to their right. Others tried to carry out the last orders they’d received or simply pressed on. Tanks from the second tank battalion of the regiment which were still in the gap between the hills charged directly toward Langen. In doing so they ran afoul of the minefields laid by the engineers and infantry. Some tanks, leaderless and commanded by NCOs who possessed a strong sense of self preservation turned toward the woods where Team Yankee was, thinking the silent tree line there offered safe haven.

Sensing that the time was right, Major Jordan delivered his coup de grace. He ordered Team Yankee to fire. The Team’s first volley was devastating. Those Soviets headed toward the Team’s positions were dispatched without ever knowing what happened. After this first, well-measured volley, the tank crews in Team Yankee began to engage the Soviet tanks in their assigned sectors of responsibility. Firing rapidly, they methodically took out the Soviet tanks starting with those closest to the Team’s positions. Above the din of battle, the shouted orders of tank commanders could be heard again and again;

“FIRE!”

“GUNNER, SABOT, TWO TANKS, LEFT TANK, FIRE!”

“TARGET, NEXT TANK, FIRE!”

Like a wolf smelling a crippled animal’s blood, the scout platoon swung around to the rear of the Soviet regiment and began to engage, striking the tank company that had been left to guard against it from an unexpected quarter. When the remaining vehicles of that company had all been dispatched, the scouts rushed forward as the battalion began the final stages of its killing frenzy.

The scene before Bannon was staggering. Rising upright in the open hatch of his cupola, he watched the unfolding slaughter taking place in the valley below. Folk no longer needed him to direct his fire. His gunner, the loader, and the cannon they fed and fired were functioning automatically, efficiently, and effectively.

Hell itself could not have compared with the scene in the open space to the front of Alpha 66. Serving as a backdrop was the village of Langen as flames, sent roiling up into the night sky by the impact of incoming artillery rounds, rose high above the village and disappeared in low hanging clouds. From the far left of Bannon’s field of vision to the far right and beyond, smashed Soviet tanks and tracked vehicles burned, spewing out great sheets of flames as the propellant from onboard ammunition ignited and blew off whole turrets, sending them tumbling through the air. Burning diesel from ruptured fuel cells formed flaming pools around dead tanks. Tracers and missiles from all directions rained down upon those that were still moving or attempting to return fire, causing stunning showers of sparks when a tank round hit a Soviet tank, or a brilliant flash as a missile found its mark. Soviet crewmen, some engulfed in flames, abandoned their tanks only to be cut down as the chattering machineguns added their stream of red tracers to the fray. Transfixed by this scene, Bannon finally understood what Wilfred Owen was saying when he penned the grim poem, Dulce et Decorum Est at the height of the First World War.

As in all the Team’s battles, there was no really clear-cut ending. The deafening crescendo of battle suddenly tapered off as gunners ran out of targets. It was replaced by spats of random shooting, usually machineguns searching out fugitive Soviet crewmen trying to escape. No order was given to ceasefire. There was no need to. As before, Bannon allowed the Team to strike down the strays who had somehow survived the destruction of their vehicles. Mopping up is a useful term for this random killing. Team Yankee and Delta Company continued to mop up for the better part of an hour.

When he was sure that the last of the Soviet tanks had been destroyed, Bannon called for a SITREP from the platoons. From his position he could not see any more of the Team than the tanks to his immediate left and right. In the heat of battle, he and the platoon leaders had become totally absorbed in fighting their tanks, often to the exclusion of doing what they should have been doing; commanding their unit. During this engagement, there had been no need to exercise any command or control once the order to fire had been given. It had been a simple case of fire quickly and keep firing. The result was that, although he knew they had stopped the Soviets, Bannon had no idea what it had cost the Team.

At first the replies he received from the platoons were difficult to believe. Though several tanks had been hit, the total cost to the Team had been two men killed and four wounded, all from the Mech Platoon, as usual, and one damaged tank. The positions dug by the engineers, and the fact that Team Yankee had been the last to join the battle after the Soviet commanders has lost control of the situation allowed the Team to come out with relatively light casualties.

Listening to the SITREPs from the other companies being passed over the battalion net, it came as no great surprise to Bannon that Delta Company had suffered far more than either Bravo or Yankee due to the artillery bombardment they had been subjected to. Even so, that company was still in good shape and was still able to field three slightly understrength platoons.

By the time Major Jordan got around to calling for a SITREP from him, Bannon’s elation at coming out of this last fight as well as the Team had gave way to cockiness. When asked for a report, Bannon took a page of Wellington’s book and used the same response he gave when describing the Battle of Waterloo; “They came in the same old way, and you know, we beat them in the same old way.”