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

CHAPTER 3 CHANGE OF MISSION

When the decision to evacuate American military dependents from Europe was finally made after countless delays and false starts, there was a rush of frantic and seemingly uncoordinated activity to get it done before hostilities broke out. The drive to Rhein-Main, which normally took one hour, took nearly four as the buses carrying Pat Bannon and her fellow evacuees from the housing area to the Air Base fought traffic on the autobahn all the way. The regular German police, reinforced with military personnel, had established checkpoints along the route where an NCO on the bus had to present his paperwork before being cleared through. At one of these stops, Pat noticed that the Germans were retaining several people. On the autobahn’s median, cross the roadway from where they were being guarded, was a stationary car riddled with bullet holes. Next to it a white sheet with red blotches covered a mound. No one on the bus around Pat could imagine what the car’s occupants could have done to cause the Germans to fire on them. Whatever the reason, the fact that the Germans were ready to use their ever-present submachine guns highlighted the seriousness of their situation.

The last checkpoint was at the main gate of Rhein-Main. Before the bus was allowed to enter, Air Force security personnel boarded the bus and checked everyone’s ID card. They, too, had their weapons at the ready. As this was going on, Pat noticed a German military policeman at the gate was questioning two women off to one side, leaving her to wonder if the women were German nationals trying to get out with the US families.

Beyond the gate, the Air Base was swarming with activity. At one intersection the bus was stopped while a line of trucks filled with American troops coming up from the flight line and heading to a back gate rolled by. They had to be reinforcements from the States, Pat reasoned, deployed to Germany as part of the REFORGER program. With luck the dependents would be flown back on the same planes that were bringing these troops in, causing her to hope this nightmare was nearing its end. At least they were now at the last stop on this side of the Atlantic.

Instead of going to the terminal, however, the buses dropped them off at the post gym, already crowded to near capacity by other dependents who had arrived there earlier. On the gym floor, rows of cots with blankets had been set up. As at the post theater back in the housing area where the wives and children belonging to her husband’s unit had gathered before departing the housing area, the families were grouped by unit. Some of the women from the battalion who had come up on the first group of buses had established an area for the families from each of the units. The new arrivals were informed that since the terminal was already overflowing with evacuees, they had would need to stay there until it was their turn to go. At least, Pat was told, the Air Force personnel running the evacuation were proving to be more helpful than the Army community personnel. The biggest problem they were facing was dealing with the sudden rush of families that were being dumped at Rhein-Main. One Air Force officer had told them that the people in the gym probably wouldn’t leave until the morning.

The thought of this annoyed Pat. Having geared herself up for the final leap, the idea they would have to spend a night in an open gym with hundreds of other dejected and anxious people was disheartening. It seemed that every new move only added more stress and pressure. Unfortunately, however deplorable their plight was, she, like the others, had no choice but endure it as best she could. She had to. A little group that was growing was now depending on her. Jane Ortelli, the wife of Sean’s tank driver had joined them at the post theater before boarding the buses. The nineteen-year-old mother had never been out of the state of New Jersey until she came over to Germany. Through the ordeal back at the post theater, during the ride to Rhein-Main, and in the gym, she clutched her four-month-old baby as a child would a teddy bear for security and comfort.

A little girl named Debby had also joined the group. Debby’s only parent was a medic who had been deployed to the border with everyone else. Fran Wilson, who followed Pat everywhere she went like a stray puppy, had volunteered to escort the eight-year-old girl back to the States where her grandparents would meet her.

And then there was Sue Garger, lost, bewildered, and just as afraid and worried as the rest. The only difference between her and Pat was she made no effort to hide her feelings.

Pat and her group established themselves a little area by taking eight of the cots and pushing them together. The four adults stationed themselves on the corner cots and put the children in the middle. Jane kept her baby with her, not wanting to part for a moment with the only thing of value she had on earth. Sarah, overcoming her apprehensions, insisted on having her own cot, just like her brothers. Sean and Debby stayed together. Sean, despite being a year younger, took over the role of big brother and helped Debby. He tried to explain everything to her like his father had to him, even though he had scant idea what he was talking about. Debby would listen intently to every word as if it were gospel, then ask Sean another question. But at least Debby was talking now and seemed to be more at ease. Kurt insisted on staying near his buddy, Sue Wilson. He was enjoying all the attention she was lavished upon him and she, someone she could care for.

There was little rest that night. Fear, apprehension, discomfort, and a desire to get on with the evacuation kept the adults awake while the adventure of the trip kept the children alert and active. Some of the adults talked in hushed voices, seeking company and escape from their fears. Others simply withdrew into themselves, no longer able to cope with the grim reality they found themselves facing. Pat took solace in pray and the hope that all this would end tomorrow. It had to. There was only so much more that she could give. It had to end, soon. Otherwise she would break down and take to mewling ceaselessly like one woman, somewhere in the gym, was doing. Only exhaustion allowed her to get a few hours’ sleep.

Movement to the terminal began early. Groups left in the order in which they arrived. Pat and her little group had time for breakfast before their turn. Everyone was tired. It had been nearly impossible for anyone to get a good night’s rest, cold meals, little sleep, overcrowded conditions, wearing the same clothes they had slept in, and the trauma of the whole ordeal had worn women and children down to the point of exhaustion. Pat could not remember a time when she had been more tired and miserable.

The passage of thousands of evacuees before them had left its mark on the terminal. The clean, modern building that had greeted Pat and Sean on their arrival in Germany was now strewn with litter, discarded blankets, clothes, and trash bins overflowing with used disposable diapers. Those who had left the gym before them were inside the terminal mixing with the evacuees that had spent the night there. Looking around as they entered, Pat decided that as miserable a night the gym had been, staying here would have been worse.

At the door, an airman took their names, gave them a roster number, and directed them to the second floor where they would wait until their numbers were called. From the second floor at least the children would be entertained, for the view beyond the plate glass windows allowed them to look out onto the airfield and watch the aircraft coming and going. Pat, eager to see an end to this ordeal, joined them.

To one side of the flight line she could see trucks and buses cued up and waiting as a C-141 transport taxied to a stop. Just as fascinated as the children, she watched as its large clamshell doors opened, reminding her of an alligator she’d seen at the Frankfort Zoo at feeding time. Only instead of consuming the waiting trucks, as soon as the cargo ramp was down, troops began to double time out and fall in on their NCOs, forming squads and platoons. Once formed, they headed toward the trucks, one platoon at a time.

While the troops were still deplaning, Air Force personnel scrambled out to service the aircraft. A fuel truck lumbered up and began to refuel the aircraft. Everyone seemed anxious to get the C-141 turned around and on its way.

Inside the terminal, a female voice began to call out roster numbers over the PA and give instructions. None of Pat’s little group heard their numbers called. So they stayed where they were and watched the lucky ones move onto the airfield, form into two lines, and move out to the C-141. By the time they’d reached it, the ground crew was finishing up and moving into position to service a huge C-5 that had just landed. The sight of that plane caused excitement. Turning toward Pat, Fran said she was sure they would be able to get on that one. Pat simply smiled as she prayed they would.

For a moment there was almost total silence in the valley in front of Team Yankee’s positions. It was a dull, numb silence that comes after you have endured prolonged exposure to a deafening noise. The crackle and popping of stored small arms ammunition igniting in the burning Soviet tracks, accompanied by an occasional rumble as a main gun round cooked off were the only sound that rose from the valley. Distance and CVCs hid the moans and screams of agony of those Soviet crewman who were wounded or burning to death in their disabled tracks.

The report of a machinegun off to his right alerted Bannon to the fact that not all the Soviets were hors de combat. He watched as a stream of tracers struck short, then climbed into a group of four Russians trying to make their way back up the hill across from the Team’s positions. As soon as the shooter had found the range, he let go a long killing burst in the center of the group. While many of rounds did nothing but kick up dirt, enough found their mark, sending the Russians either jerking wildly like a puppet whose strings were being yanked or simply tumbling over, head over heel.

For a moment he thought of issuing a ceasefire. The Russians had suffered enough. But just as quickly as that thought had popped up in his mind, it was replaced by cold, practical, professional considerations. If these survivors were allowed to live, they would only fall in on units that needed replacements or be issued older model equipment kept in storage and brought forward from Russia to replace that which had been lost. The odds of Team Yankee ever encountering the same Russians again were slim. But another NATO company would. That, and the wish to see the Soviets pay for a war they had started was enough to stay Bannon’s hand.

One by one, reports from the platoons started to come in over the company net as other tanks continued to seek out and destroy fugitives from what had been little more than a slaughter. Both tank platoons reported in with no losses, a total main gun expenditure of thirty-seven rounds, and, as often happens in war, inflated kill reports. Only the launcher on one of the ITVs had been hit and destroyed. The ITV’s crew was untouched and the track was still mechanically sound. But without its launcher and sight, the ITV was worthless to the Team. With that in mind, Bannon instructed Uleski to have that crew pass all the TOW rounds that it could off to the operational ITV, then have the damaged ITV head back to the maintenance collection point. With all the reports in and satisfied he had a handle on the team’s status, he then called the battalion S-3 in order to pass the Team situation report, or SITREP, to him.

It was after Bannon had finished with his report to battalion, and while the Team was moving to its alternate firing positions that Bannon realized the third company of the Soviet motorized rifle battalion was unaccounted for. Just where it was, and what it was doing, concerned him.

The lead units, instead of’ having eight tanks and twenty BMPs, had had only five tanks and fifteen BMPs. Perhaps, he reasoned, the Soviet motorized rifle battalion had suffered so many losses in their fight with the cavalry that it had merged all its companies into two weak, composite companies. Or perhaps, upon witnessing the demise of the rest of his parent battalion, the commander of the third company decided he stood a better chance of standing up to his regimental commander’s wrath for not pushing on than he did if he took on the Americans on his own. Of course, there was always the possibility instead of gallantly rushing down into the valley and joining his comrades in a death ride, the Soviet company commander decided to stop on the crest of the hill and engage his yet-unseen opponent in a long-range duel once the smoke cleared and while he waited for further orders. Whatever the case, the next move was his, a move Team Yankee needed to be ready to parry.

While Bannon was pondering the larger tactical questions, Kelp took advantage of the break in action to stand up on his seat and pop his head up out of his hatch. Using Bannon’s binoculars, he surveyed the carnage he had helped create. Folk, slowly traversing the turret, was doing likewise. Ortelli, because the valley was hidden from his view by the berm that protected Alpha 66’s hull, asked the other two crewmen to describe the scene. Talking in hushed voices so as not to disturb their commander’s ruminations, Folk and Kelp described the scene in a gruesome, if colorful, manner. Folk was particularly proud of his destruction of the T-72 with mine roller and made sure that Kelp identified it.

Ortelli wanted to come up and see what it looked like but knew better than to ask. Instead, he dropped hints that went unanswered. At times, it was difficult to be the crew of the Team commander’s tank. Bannon was seldom there to help in the maintenance of the tank or its weapons. Yet the tank, its radios, and the prodigious amount of gear Americans take to war with them always had to be ready whenever he came running up and climbed aboard or there was hell to pay. And the crew had to be straighter and more correct than the crews in other tanks. It’s not that team commanders are ogres. Company commanders tend to share an easier and closer relationship with their crew than they do with other tankers in their company. But the commander is still the commander, and this thought is never far from the crew’s, or commander’s, minds.

Uleski was only beginning to calm down. The short, sharp fight had left him drained, physically and mentally. When the ceasefire order had finally been given, it was all he could do to lift his canteen and take a mouthful of water. Swishing this around for a moment, he spat it out over the side of the tank. Still, the taste of vomit lingered.

After replacing his canteen, he sat on Alpha 55’s TC seat for a moment, watching the crewmen of the ITVs move from one track to the other, transferring rounds to the undamaged vehicle. It was late afternoon; the sun was softly filtering down through the trees. Except for an occasional pop or bang from ammunition cooking off in the valley below, all was quiet, all peaceful. The XO thought how nice it would be if it could be over, just for a day, just an hour, just enough time for him to pull himself together.

That thought had no sooner come to the fore when a blinding flash and an overwhelming blast struck Uleski, knocking him back. Instinctively, he allowed himself to drop down to the turret floor as the soft green image of the forest Alpha 55 was hidden in disintegrated into flames and explosions.

The Soviet major was completely flustered. Nothing, absolutely nothing had gone right that day. First, the traffic regulators had misdirected their column before the attack. It took the rest of the morning to get them turned around and back on their proper route. Then the resistance of the American cavalry proved to be far greater than anticipated. The division’s second echelon, to which the major’s battalion belonged, had to be committed before the division’s first objective was reached. The delay required a complete revision of the plan, a plan that had been drilled and practiced for months. Artillery units were now in the wrong place and did not have the detailed fire plans needed to support a breakthrough attack properly. And to top off everything else, the major’s battalion commander had managed to get himself killed, leaving him in command.

The major was in a dark mood. Not even the sight of burning vehicles belonging to the American cavalry regiment they passed as they moving forward cheered him. He had already seen far too much destroyed Soviet equipment. His new orders, issued hastily over the radio in the clear, kept running through his mind. They were simple enough. He was to cross a major valley, advance up a small side valley, and seize the regiment’s objective, an intersection where two autobahns met. But the major had not been given any time to plan properly, recon, or coordinate for artillery support. The regimental commander, under pressure from his commander, merely told him to move as rapidly as possible, that all the artillery planning would be taken care of for him. Even the battalion’s political officer, a man who was usually annoyingly eager to do whatever was required of him by his superiors, balked when they were told that a battalion, attacking in the same place earlier, had failed.

There was, however, nothing to do but to obey the orders he’d been given and hope for the best. To that end, the major put all his faith in the effects of the chemical weapons that were to be employed by his supporting artillery and the surprise he was trying to achieve by attacking from an unexpected direction. As they neared the line of departure, he took one more look around at the mass of vehicles huddled near his before he closed his hatch.

Bannon’s wandering thoughts were jarred back to the here and now by the impact of artillery to his left on Team Yankee’s hill. Though he could not see where, exactly it was landing, he had no doubt that the headquarters position and possibly the 2nd Platoon’s position, were under fire. A second attack was about to start.

“GAS! GAS! GAS!” The muffled cry by someone in a protective mask on the Team net electrified the crew of Alpha 66. As one, they tore open their protective mask cases and scrambled to mask. First, the CVC came off. Then the mask, chin first, was pulled up over each of their faces. Once on securely, the hood had to be pulled over the head, followed by the CVC. The final step was hooking the protective mask’s microphone jack into the CVC. In training, a tank crewman was expected to accomplish this in less than twenty seconds. And though no one had a stopwatch on him, Bannon had no doubt he’d more than beat that time as he took a second to settle himself before turning his full attention back to commanding his company.

“ROMEO 25, THIS IS TANGO 77. SHELLREP, OVER.”

“TANGO 77, THIS IS ROMEO 25, SEND IT.”

“THIS IS TANGO 77. HE AND GAS IMPACTING FROM 190896 TO 199893. CALIBER AND NUMBER OF ROUNDS UNKNOWN, OVER.”

From the coordinates given, Bannon knew that the 2nd Platoon leader, who was making the report, as well as his platoon, were safe. But the XO and the ITVs were catching hell. Because the Soviets were only firing on the hilltop and not at the actual positions of the Team’s two tank platoons, it was obvious they didn’t have a clear picture of where the Team was and were thus, firing blind. While that was good for the Team overall, Bannon had no doubt that that thought was cold comfort for Uleski and his people. Provided, of course, Uleski was still alive.

“TANGO 77, THIS IS ROMEO 25. 1 NEED AN NBC-1 REPORT AS SOON AS POSSIBLE, OVER.”

“THIS IS TANGO 77. WE’RE WORKING IT UP NOW, OVER.”

As he waited for an accurate NBC-1 report, Bannon began to wonder why battalion had not warned him the Soviets were using chemical weapons. While it may have been an oversight on their part, the idea that his team was the first to be hit with chemical weapons could not be totally discounted. Just in case they were, Bannon decided not to wait for the complete report from 2nd Platoon before informing battalion.

It goes without saying his report, as incomplete as it was, caused a great deal of concern on the battalion net. Judging from the pitch of the voices and the excited chatter, as best as anyone knew, Team Yankee had been the first unit within the brigade to be hit by chemical weapons. The snap analysis the battalion S-2 offered up was that the Soviets, anxious to make a breakthrough, were getting desperate.

As enlightening as this was, the chemical attack, the massive artillery barrage, and the loss of contact with the XO and the ITVs were of little comfort to Bannon, for it seemed to signal a change in the Team’s fortunes.

The shadows in the valley were growing long. Early evening was upon them, and there was no end of the Soviet attack in sight. The barrage on the hill had been going on unabated for ten minutes without letup. The NBC-1 report from 2nd Platoon indicated that the Soviets were using GB, a non-persistent blood agent. While that particular agent would not last once the attack was over, GB broke down the protective mask filters rapidly, making them useless. The Team would need to change filters quickly or suffer mass casualties in the next chemical attack, provided, Bannon thought, they survived long enough after the first one to do so.

This grim thought had no sooner played itself out in his mind when, to his surprise, another Soviet artillery unit began to lay down a massive smoke screen just in front of the Team’s positions. They were going to launch a full blooded attack, and soon. Bannon had expected the Soviets would wait until night and probe their positions with recon elements under cover darkness before attacking. That they weren’t left him wondering if the S-2 was right, that they being pushed by their commanders to achieve a clean breakthrough. Not that night would have made much of a difference. The gunners in the tank platoons and those manning the Dragons in the Mech Platoon were already switching to their thermal sights. The smoke screen the Soviet gunners were arduously building would offer the attacking force scant protection, if any.

“Well, if you’re gonna come, let’s get this over with,” Bannon muttered to himself, forgetting as he did so his intercom was keyed.

Upon hearing this, Folk nodded in response. “I’m with you on that one, sir.”

The 2nd Platoon reported the new attack first. At a range of 2500 meters, the advancing Soviet vehicles emerging from the tree line on the hill to the Team’s right front across from Team Bravo appeared as green blobs in the thermal sights of the Team’s tanks. They were either headed straight into the village, or through Team Bravo’s position. Bannon informed the battalion S-3 of the enemy’s appearance, direction of attack, and his thoughts on the enemy’s intentions.

Major Jordan was quick to reply, informing Bannon Team Bravo was in no shape to fight. With only two functional tanks and three Dragon teams, Bravo would be hard pressed to protect itself, let alone stop a determined attack. Team Yankee, Bannon was told, would have to carry the major portion of the coming fighting.

Because of the range and the quality of the image produced on the thermal sight, it was difficult, at first, to distinguish which of the attacking blobs were tanks and which were BMPs. Bannon therefore ordered the 2nd Platoon to engage the lead vehicles with SABOT, assuming that the Soviets would follow their own tactical doctrine and lead off with tanks. The 3rd Platoon was to fire over the village at the center and rear of the attacking formation as it came out from the tree line. They would engage with HEAT on the assumption that the BMPs would be following the tanks. The Mech Platoon was instructed to stand ready to catch anything that got through. With no time left for a coordinated ambush like the one the Team had used to stop the first echelon, Bannon gave the platoons permission to fire at will before turning his full attention to working on getting some friendly artillery into the act.

As the firing commenced, Bannon fumbled with map and grease pencil in the confined space in which a tank commander has to work. The rubber gloves and the protective mask only made this more awkward, for as he searched his map for an appropriate artillery target reference point, the hose of his protective mask kept flopping down in front of him, obstructing his view of the map. To keep this from happening again, he stopped and flung the protective mask carrier, containing the filter over his shoulder in an effort to get the hose out of the way. This succeeded in clearing his view of the map, but added a new complication to his labors as the weight of the filter yanked at the hose, pulling his head over to one side. That he was able to accomplish anything amazed him. But succeeded he did in finding a suitable target reference point, contacting the FSO, and putting in a call for fire.

The second attack had caught Garger by surprise. He had not expected the Soviets to be foolish enough to continue the attack in this sector. He had read that the Soviets never reinforce defeat. It was a practice in the Red Army to push everything into the attack that succeeded. They had not succeeded before, and Garger was confident they would not succeed now. Even the artillery impacting to his right, close enough so that the shock waves could be felt, did not alter his opinion. Garger listened to the Team commander’s orders and acknowledged them. He sized up the Soviet force his platoon was to engage and issued his instructions to the platoon. Then he got down to the serious business of killing Russians.

With artillery on the way, Bannon turned his attention back to the battle unfolding in front of him by calling on each platoon leader and requesting a SITREP. The 2nd Platoon reported destroying six vehicles, but had been unable to stop five vehicles that had disappeared south of the village. Bannon assumed that these tracks were going to swing south, using the village for cover, and either make a run for the small valley or go up the hill where Team Bravo was. The Mech Platoon had to be ready to deal with them.

The 3rd Platoon, being at closer range, was enjoying a higher percentage of first-round hits. They had dealt easily with all the tracks that had been exposed on front slope of hill across the way and were now playing a cat-and-mouse game with Soviet tracks still emerging from the tree line. Observing through his extension, Bannon watched as the 3rd Platoon allowed two or three Soviet tracks to emerge and start down the hill. When they were 100 meters or so from any cover, the whole platoon would fire. In a flash the Soviet tracks, still appearing as green blobs in the thermal sight, would stop, then glow brighter as the heat of onboard fires provided a clearer, more intense thermal image.

A spot report from Harding, the Mech Platoon leader, alerted Bannon to the fact that the five Soviet tracks that had disappeared to the south of the village were now moving up the small valley. This small Soviet force consisted of two T-72s and three BMPs. While the voice of the platoon leader who would soon be engaging them betrayed no nervousness or confusion, Bannon became apprehensive. It would have been far better, he thought, if there were some tanks in the small valley to deal with the T-72s due to his lack of confidence in the Dragons’ ability to stop tanks.

It was a disaster, a bloody disaster, and there wasn’t a damned thing the Soviet major could do but carry out the insanity he found himself in to its final conclusion. A quick check revealed that only two tanks and two other BMPs had made it with him across the valley and into the mouth of the small east-to-west valley he was expected to advance up. He had no idea what in the hell he was going to do once he was in it. Figuring that out would have to wait for now. At the moment, all he wanted to do was to get out of the Americans’ kill zone and find some cover. To this end, the major turned his small force toward a walled farm complex at the head of the small valley in the hoped that it would provide the tattered remnants of his battalion who were still with him with shelter from the brutal pounding his battalion was taking from the American tanks.

The Mech Platoon was ready for the Soviets who were fast closing on their positon. Using sound-powered phones connected in a loop, the platoon leader passed his instructions down to Polgar and the squad leaders. The two Dragons and the dismounted infantry in the farm would take out the two T-72 tanks. Polgar, with his two Dragons and the M2 machineguns, would take on the BMPs and provide suppressive fires. For good measure, in case a Dragon missed its mark, the infantrymen in the farm had light antitank rockets, called LAWs, at the ready.

They allowed the Soviets to advance to within 300 meters of the farm before the Platoon cut loose. At that range, it was very difficult to miss with a Dragon. They didn’t. On Harding’s order, every machinegun and Dragon launcher in the Platoon cut loose.

The speed and accuracy with which modern weapons are capable of killing is as awesome as it is frightening. Had they survived the Dragons and the massed machineguns, the Soviets would have been most impressed by the performance of the Mech Platoon. As it was, the Soviet major had just enough time to realize his last roll of the dice had come up craps.

As before, the firing died away slowly. This last fight had lasted some twenty minutes from when the enemy first vehicle had appeared, to when Bannon finally gave the order to ceasefire. Somewhere during that time, the Soviet artillery barrage on the headquarters position and to the Team’s front had stopped. As the smoke screen dissipated, the shattered remains of twenty-three newly smashed and burning hulks had been added to the previous carnage in the valley to the Team’s right front. The eight T-72s and fifteen BMPs amounted to more than a company, but less than a motorized rifle battalion. The why of this did not concern Bannon just then. All that was important was that the Soviets had stopped coming. Like two fighters after a round, the opponents were back in their corners, licking their wounds and eyeing each other for the next round.

Reports started to come in from the platoons, but Bannon cut them off as he tried to establish commo with Uleski. When his calls to the XO received no response, Second Lieutenant McAlister, the 2nd Platoon leader, reported that his flank tank could see a burning vehicle to its rear. Upon hearing this, Bannon immediately contacted First Sergeant Harrert and instructed him to get up to the XO’s location with the M-113 ambulance attached to the Team and the M-88 recovery vehicle. As soon as the first sergeant acknowledged, Bannon pulled 66 out of position and headed up the hill to the headquarters position.

Enroute he checked in with 2nd Platoon to learn if there was still evidence of a chemical agent. McAlister reported that he had no indications of any agent at his location and requested permission to unmask. This was granted. The 3rd Platoon was instructed to do likewise after they had conducted a survey of their area for contamination. Because Alpha 66 was headed into the center of where the chemical attack had been directed, Bannon decided it was best if he and his crew remained masked.

As they neared the position, the logging trail that had run behind the position was no longer there. Shell craters, smashed and uprooted trees dimly lit by the failing light of late evening and small fires slowed their progress as Ortelli took his time carefully picking his way through the debris. Despite his skill, the craters and irregular pattern into which the trees had fallen threatened to throw one of 66’s tracks as they proceeded. Through the shattered forest Bannon could make out a burning vehicle, causing his heart to sink lower than it already was. The last fight, unlike the first, had been costly.

The condition of the three tracks that had been occupying the headquarters position matched that of the shattered forest around them. One of the ITVs was lying on its side, burning. Its aluminum armor, glowing cherry red, was already collapsing into the center of the shattered remains by the time Alpha 66 came upon it. Burning rubber and diesel combined to create a thick, roiling black pillar of smoke, adding to the grim scene Bannon beheld. The TOW launcher of the second ITV was mangled, with bits and pieces of electrical components dangling by clusters of tangled wires. Between the ITVs sat Alpha 55, around which several figures could be seen moving. When Bannon saw they were unmasked, he ordered his own crew to do so as well once the tank had stopped.

Dismounting, Bannon carefully picked his way through the maze of uprooted trees and shell holes toward where Uleski was kneeling next to a figure on the ground. Upon hearing Bannon approaching, he glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention back at the figure.

Besides the man Uleski was with, Bannon could see five more who were either lying on the ground or leaning up against the damaged ITV. Even from a distance, he could tell that they were all badly wounded. The temptation to go over to them and see what he could do was quelled by a compelling need to check on the condition of his XO. Besides, Alpha 55’s gunner and loader were already doing all they could for the wounded despite having no idea where to start or how to properly deal with wounded men who had as badly ripped apart as the ITV had been.

Bannon’s deliberations on who needed him the most were interrupted when something underfoot gave way under his weight. Looking down in order to see what he’d stepped on, he froze, then jumped back in horror. What he had thought was a tree branch was an arm, shredded, torn, and bloody.

Horrified, Bannon just stood there, staring down at the limb he’d stepped on, unable to force himself to think, much less move. Only when Folk brushed him as he ran by with 66’s first-aid kit was he able to shake off his momentary panic and continue on. Even then, he took his time, watching where he stepped. The Team’s charmed life, it seemed, was over.

With more effort than such a simple act should have taken, Bannon forced himself to look at each of the wounded men as the crew of 55 and Folk tore at clothing to expose torn and burned flesh as they set about the gruesome task of tending to the wounds. One of the men had lost a foot. In horrible pain, he rolled his head from side to side, panting as if he’d just finished a race as he thrashed his arms on the ground. Another ITV crewman beside him simply lay there, not moving at all. It took a second look by Bannon to see if he was still breathing. A check of the other three showed that while not nearly as badly wounded as the other two, they were still in bad shape. Unable to do anything for them, Bannon continued on to where Uleski was.

Knelling down beside the body on the ground across from his XO, Bannon took a closer look at the still figure between them over. Only then did it dawn upon him that it was Sp4 Thomas Lorriet, the driver of Alpha 55. The twenty-year-old Indiana native’s hand still grasped the hose of his protective mask as he had when he’d been fumbling to pull it free of its carrier. His mouth was opened as if he were gasping for air. The skin of his face was ashen white. His eyes were fixed and wide, but unseeing. He was dead.

Looking over at Uleski, Bannon could see his XO was shaken. Never having seen the man so despondent, he found himself at a loss as to what to say. This uneasy silence became even more unnerving when the XO, finally realizing his Team commander was staring at him, returned his gaze with a blank expression that told Bannon Uleski, like him, was having trouble coming to terms with what had happened.

Realizing they both needed to get past this awkward impasse, Bannon placed a gentle hand a hand on Uleski’s shoulder and uttered one word. “Report.”

After closing his eyes and swallowing hard, Uleski took in a deep breath. “The ITV crews were transferring TOW rounds when the first volley hit,” he stammered. “One minute it was quiet, the next, all hell broke loose. They didn’t know which way to turn. Some just flopped on the ground. Others tried for the tracks. One of them just lay where he fell, screaming for help. He kept screaming until the gas reached him. The chemical alarm went off before it was smashed.”

Pausing, Uleski turned his gaze back down at Lorriet. “We all buttoned up and waited. When there was no letup, I ordered Lorriet to back it up. He didn’t answer. I screamed as loud as I could, but he didn’t answer. I cursed at him and called him every vile name I could think of. The whole crew started to yell at him to get the tank out of here as the impacting rounds shook the tank. By then smoke, dust and gas was seeping in as shrapnel ricocheted off the outside. All we could do was yell to Lorriet until we were hoarse. He didn’t answer.”

Again, Uleski paused as he started to tremble. When his eyes began to fill with tears, he turned away, either in an effort to regain his composure or to keep Bannon from seeing them. Only when he had settled down did he continued as he once more took to regarding the dead driver. “After the shelling stopped, we found him like this. His hatch was pulled over but not locked down. He never got his mask on. All the time we were yelling at him, he was dead. We didn’t know,” Uleski uttered mournfully. “We just didn’t know.” These last words trailed off into silence.

The sound of the first sergeant’s M-113 and the M-113 ambulance coming up with him broke the silence. Bannon gave the shoulder he was holding a shake in an effort to make sure he was paying attention. “All right, Bob. I want you to go over to the first sergeant’s track and contact the platoons on the company net. I haven’t taken any SITREPs from them yet. Nor have I reported to battalion. Once you’ve consolidated the platoon reports, send up a Team SITREP to the S-3 and a LOGREP to the S-l and S-4. Understand?”

For a moment Uleski looked at the Team commander as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then he blinked, acknowledging his commanding officer’s instructions with nothing more than a stiff nod before slowly coming to his feet and heading over to the first sergeant’s track.

As the medics, Folk, and the loader from 55 worked on the wounded, Bannon grabbed Sergeant Gwent, the gunner on 55, by the arm. “What’s the condition of your tank?”

Gwent looked at him as if he were crazy. Bannon repeated his question. Ever so slowly Gwent turned his head to look at his tank for a moment, then back at Bannon.

“I… I don’t know. We were so busy with the wounded and all. I don’t know.”

“OK, OK, I understand. But the medics and the first sergeant are here now. They can look after them. I need you to check out your tank and find out if it can still fight. The Russians may come back. If they do, the Team will need every track it’s got. Grab your loader and do a thorough check, inside and out. When you’re done, report back to me. Is that clear?”

Gwent looked at Bannon, looked at the tank, then nodded. “Yes, sir.” With that, he called his loader over and told him what they needed to do. Together, they began to circle around their tank, checking the suspension and tracks in the gathering darkness, leaving Bannon alone for a moment to collect his own wits and decide what he needed to do next.

As soon as the wounded were on board the ambulance, it took off for the rear, making the best possible speed. Together with the first sergeant and Folk, Bannon watched until it had disappeared in the darkness. Only when it was gone did Harrert turn to Bannon and ask him about Uleski.

Before answering, Bannon looked over at the company’s M-113. He could hear the XO talking on the radio to battalion, sending up the SITREP, line by line. Uleski would be all right, he concluded and told Harrert as much before sending him to collect a dog tag from each of the bodies, if he could find one. Folk was sent over to the ITV with the damaged launcher to see if it could be driven. As they headed off to their tasks, Bannon made his way back to Alpha 66.

There he found Ortelli walking around the tank, checking the suspension and tracks. Every now and then he would stop and look closer at an end connector or pull out a clump of mud to check a bolt. Only when he was satisfied that the bolt was tight did continue on to the next one. Kelp was perched in the commander’s cupola, manning the machinegun and monitoring the radio. His eyes followed the first sergeant as he went about his grim task. When Kelp saw Bannon approach, he turned his head back to the east, doing his best to pretend he’d been scanning the dark hill across the valley for signs of enemy activity the whole time.

Bannon hadn’t realized how tired he was until he tried to climb up onto 66. He fell backwards when his first boost failed to get him on the tank’s fender. After resting for a moment with one foot on the ground, one foot in the step loop, and both hands on the housing of 66’s headlights, he took a deep breath and pulled for all he was worth. This time he made it up onto the fender where he paused, pondering his next move for a moment.

Decisions were becoming hard to make as he made his way over to the turret and sat on the gun mantlet with both feet on the main gun. Only now did he realize just how physically and mentally drained he was. So much had happened since morning. His world and the world of every man in the Team had changed. They hadn’t budged an inch from where they had been, but everywhere he looked was so foreign, so strange. What had been a lush, green valley was now a charnel house. The peaceful woods he’d stepped out into just before dawn was no more. As much as he had done to prepare himself for this day, he found it hadn’t been near enough. It was all too much for a tired brain to take in. Not that he tried. Instead, he let his mind go blank as he continued to sit there perched over the 105mm cannon of 66.

Folk startled him. For a moment Bannon lost his balance and almost toppled off the gun mantlet. He had fallen asleep. The darkness that enveloped them told him this fearful day was finally over. That didn’t mean his responsibilities were at an end.

The short nap only accentuated his exhaustion. Looking about, Bannon saw that the ITV had pretty much burned itself out, though it was still glowing red as small fires consuming the last of its rubber. Through the trees he could see smashed Soviet vehicles were also burning. Some were like the ITV, red and glowing. Others were still fully involved with angry yellow flames licking at dense black clouds of smoke rising above them and into the still night air. The shattered and skewed trees and tree trunks added to the unnatural scene.

“Captain Bannon, the battalion commander wants to see you,” First Sgt. Harrert, who was standing on the ground in front of the tank, called out. The two men looked at each for a moment as Bannon collected his thoughts.

“Are you OK, Captain?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m OK. Give me a minute to get my shit together. Where is the Old Man?”

“He said he’s back down where you last saw each other. He wasn’t sure how to get in here and didn’t want to throw a track finding a way in.”

“Are you finished here, Sergeant?”

“Yes, sir. The other ITV was still running. Newell is going to drive it down to the maintenance collection point. We’ll turn it over to the infantry there. 55 is still operational. The only real damage was to the antennas. We replaced them with the spares we carry around and made a radio check. 55’s good to go.”

“And the bodies?”

“Folk and I moved them over out of the way and covered them with 55’s tarp. The location has been reported to S-l. We’ve done we can do for them. I think we’re finished here, sir”

Harrert’s last comment came across more like fatherly advice than a statement of fact. He was right, of course. The hilltop had been a dumb place to put a position. It took three men killed to convince Bannon of that. He had no desire to invest any more here.

Gathering himself up, Bannon came to his feet, stood upright on the front slope of the tank and stretched. Squatting down closer to the first sergeant, he then told him to pass word on to the XO to move 55 over to the 2nd Platoon position. Harrert was to follow the XO over. Once 55 was settled in, the first sergeant was to pick up the XO and the 2nd Platoon leader in the PC and bring them over to 66’s position to the right of 3rd Platoon. A runner would go for the 3rd and Mech Platoon leaders. No doubt there would be some new information to pass out once he had finished with the battalion commander. There might even be a change of mission. Even if there weren’t, he still wanted to gather the leadership and assess the impact of the first day’s battle on them and their platoons.

With nothing more to be done there, 66 pulled out of the old headquarters position and began to carefully pick its way through the debris until they reached the logging trail. Once on the trail it only took a couple of minutes to reach their former position. They did not pull all the way up to the berm this time, but stayed back in the woods about ten meters. The other tanks had also pulled back just far enough so that they could still observe their sectors without being readily visible to the other people across the valley. The battalion commander was waiting as 66 pulled in.

Not surprisingly, Bannon found he had been right on both counts. Colonel Reynolds, who had just returned from a meeting at brigade, was there to provide an update on the big picture and give him an order for a new mission. Rather than pull all the team commanders back to the battalion CP, he was making the rounds and passing the word out himself. Besides, Bannon suspected, like him, Reynolds wanted to gauge the impact of the first day’s battle on his principle subordinates.

The first item the battalion commander covered was a rundown on the battalion’s current situation. Team Yankee had been the only team to engage the enemy within the battalion task force. For a moment, Bannon wondered why the colonel bothered to inform him of that brilliant flash of the obvious. Team Bravo had been badly mauled by artillery, losing five of its ten PCs, two of the four ITVs that had been with them, and one of the four 1st Platoon tanks Team Yankee had attached to them. The destroyed tank had taken a direct hit on the top of the turret.

The armor on a tank can’t be thick everywhere, and the top is about as thin as it gets. None of Alpha 12’s crew survived. Of the remaining three tanks, one had lost a road wheel and hub but had been recovered and would be back up by midnight. Because of the losses, the trauma of being under artillery for so long, and the loss of its commander, Team Bravo had been pulled out of the line in order to allow them an opportunity to regroup. D Company, held back by brigade as a reserve, had moved up to replace Bravo along the front line trace.

Charlie Company, to the left of Team Yankee, had had an easy day. They hadn’t seen a Russian all day. Nor had it been on the receiving end of any artillery fire. The battalion commander told Bannon that the Charlie Company commander and his men were chomping at the bit, waiting for a chance to have a whack at the Reds.

In a dry and even voice Bannon told the battalion commander that if the gentlemen in Charlie Company were so fired up for action, they were welcome to Team Yankee’s position, including the bodies. This cold, cutting remark caught Reynolds off guard. He stared at Bannon for a moment before letting the matter drop by moving on to the battalion’s new mission.

In the colonel’s PC, Bannon received his new orders. On the wall of the PC was a map showing the brigade’s sector. The battalion task force was on the brigade’s left flank. 1st Brigade, to the north, had received the main Soviet attack and had lost considerable ground. The attack against the battalion, Reynolds stated glibly, had only been a supporting attack.

Bannon thought about that for a moment. The Team’s fight had been a sideshow, unimportant in the big picture. As that thought rattled around in his exhausted mind, he felt like screaming. Here the Team had put its collective ass on the line, fought a superior foe twice, and had three men killed and five wounded in an unimportant sideshow. His ego and pride could not accept that. What was he going to tell Lorriet’s mother when he wrote her? “Dear Mrs. Lorriet, your son was killed in a nameless, insignificant sideshow. Better luck next time.”

Ever so slowly, he became aware Reynolds and Major Jordan were staring at him. “May I proceed?”

The battalion commander’s curt question didn’t require a reply, not that Bannon would have been able to give one. The irrational anger he felt over Reynolds’ revelation was simply too great to allow him to do so in a manner that would have been, for lack of a better term, civil.

“The 1st Brigade would be hard pressed to hold another attack,” the S-3 informed Bannon in a workman like manner. “Intelligence indicates that the Soviet forces in front of 1st Brigade had lost heavily and are no longer able to attack. A second echelon division, the 28th Guards Tank Division, is moving up and is expected to be in position to attack not later than dawn tomorrow. The Air Force has been pounding the 28th Guards throughout the day, but hasn’t slowed it. We have the mission of attacking into the flank of the 28th Guards Division as soon as they were fully committed in the attack.”

“Okay,” Bannon muttered as he nodded, letting the S-3 know he was following what he was saying.

“Task Force 3rd of the 78th will pull out of the line on order, moving north, and spearhead the attack. Team Yankee will be in the lead.”

Once more Bannon’s mind wandered off the matter at hand. Several hours ago, somewhere in the division’s rear, while Team Yankee was still knee-deep in Russians the division’s commanding general had turned to his staff and pointed at a spot on the map. “Attack there.” While the first sergeant and Sergeant Folk had been dragging the bodies of Team Yankee’s dead to an out-of-the-way spot, the brigade commander had told the battalion commander, “Attack there.” Now the executor of the plan, the lead element commander, the lowest ranking person in the US Army to carry the coveted title of Commander, had his marching orders.

As he received the detailed instructions from the S-3 as to routes, objectives, fire support, and coordinating instructions, they were joined by the Team’s fire-support officer or FIST Team Chief, a 2nd Lt. Rodney Unger. He had finally made it back and was already familiar with the concept of the operation, so there was no need to go over anything with him. When the S-3 finished, he asked if there were any questions or anything that the Team needed. Bannon’s request that the Team be pulled out of the line now to an assembly area for a rest was denied. According to Reynolds, Team Bravo needed it more than Yankee did. As Team Bravo was going to be in reserve, Bannon next requested that the 1st Tank Platoon be returned. That request was also denied. He then requested that an ITV section be attached to the Team to make good their losses. That request too was denied as the other companies without tanks needed them more than Bannon’s team. Seeing that he wasn’t going to get anything from battalion but a pat on the back, a pep talk, and a boot up his ass, he stopped asking. With that, the meeting came to an end. The battalion commander and the S-3 left Team Yankee to go down to Charlie Company to calm them down before they chewed through their bit.

Uleski had the platoon leaders and the first sergeant assembled in the PC by the time the battalion commander left. They were exchanging information and observations as Bannon climbed into the track. Before he discussed the new mission, he had each platoon leader update him on the status of his platoon and the condition of the men and equipment.

All came across as tired, but confident. The first day’s success, it seemed, had removed many of the fears and doubts that they had had in themselves and in their men. The Team had met the Russians, laser range finder to laser range finder, and found that they could be beaten. Even Uleski came across as being more himself, which put Bannon in a far better mood. The negative thoughts that had kept clouding his mind while he had been in the battalion commander’s track were fading as the quiet, calm confidence of Team Yankee’s leadership gave its commander’s flagging morale a much needed boost.

According to the book, a leader is supposed to use one-third of the time he has available from when he receives a mission to when he executes it for the preparation of his order. That formula is a good guide, but it seldom works out in practice. Rather than keep his platoon leaders and FIST chief waiting while he came up with his plan, Bannon gave them what information he could. As the platoon leaders copied the graphics of the operation from Bannon’s map to theirs, he considered his plan of action and quickly wrote some notes for his initial briefing. This briefing included the general situation, the enemy situation, the Team’s mission, routes of movement, objectives, and a simple scheme of maneuver. The Team may have done well in its first fight, but it had been an easy one, conducted from stationary positions using a plan that had been developed for months. The new mission was an attack, a short notice one at that. He didn’t want to do anything fancy or complicated. Simplicity and flexibility were what he wanted.

To this end, he decided the Team would use standard battle drill and rely on their SOP. “Order of march out of the position will be the 2nd Platoon with 55 in the lead, followed by 66, the FIST track, 3rd Platoon, and the Mech Platoon,” Bannon explained. “Once across the LD, we’ll either move with the two tank platoons up and abreast and the Mech trailing, or in column with 3rd Platoon overwatching the advance of 2nd. This will put the majority of the Team’s combat power forward while leaving me some flexibility to change formations rapidly with minimum reshuffling. Detailed instructions, the artillery fire support plans, and any new information will be provided to you prior to the move. Anyone have any questions?”

Taking his time, he looked into the eyes of each of his subordinates, waiting for them to either ask him a question or shake their head. He followed this by reminding them they needed to ensure that their platoons stayed alert and on the radio. He also stressed the need to make sure they rotated with their crews when it came to sleeping. “We need to be wide awake and alert tomorrow when the Team rolls across the LD.” With that, he dismissed the platoon leaders and turned his attention over the needs of the Team and the support plan for the attack with Uleski and Harrert.

The news the first sergeant had was not good. The heavy fighting to the north had consumed huge amounts of ammunition, in particular tank main gun ammo. Because the corps ammo resupply point was still being established, division ordered the brigades to send whatever tank ammunition they had to the 1st Brigade. The result of this order meant that the rest of Team Yankee’s basic load of ammunition that was supposed to be in the battalion trains area was gone, headed north to someone else’s tanks. Too tired to work himself into a rage, Bannon simply sighed. The battalion commander and the S-3 had been there for over thirty minutes without bothering to inform him of that minor point, leaving Bannon to wonder whose side the Reynolds was on. It almost seemed as if this was some kind of test to see how far Team Yankee could go on its own.

The good news was that the Team would still get a hot meal in the morning, provided there was no interference from the Russians. New protective mask filters would be passed out at that time. Harrert, who had been working on securing them since he heard the news of the chemical attack, was confident he’d have enough replacements for the entire Team by then. An additional day’s worth of MREs would also be passed out to add to the two day’s supply already on the Team’s tracks. The Team was in good shape as far as fuel was concerned, but Bannon wanted to be sure, asking Harrert to see if he could arrange a top-off right after breakfast, provided battalion hadn’t taken the fuel too. The three of them exchanged a few sharp and humorous remarks on that subject and, with a chuckle, broke up the meeting. The first sergeant returned Uleski and McAlister to the 2nd Platoon’s positions before heading back to the trains area as Bannon, together with Unger, made their way to the FIST track where they could work on a detailed fire support plan.

Second Lt. Rodney Unger was a good FIST Team chief. He still had a lot to learn about tanks and infantry, but knew artillery and how to get it. When he was first assigned to the Team as the FIST nine months before, he still had a lot of funny ideas about what his role was and how he wanted to do business. It didn’t take long to convince him that a lot of what he had been taught at Fort Sill was best left there. Once that was accomplished, Bannon taught him all the Bad habits FIST chiefs use in the field.

While Unger worked up his initial fire plan based on what he had been given in the first sergeant’s track, Bannon sat across from him in the more spacious FIST track, going over the scheme of maneuver in more detail. He began by considering how the Soviets might be deployed to defend their flank. All likely locations and fields of fire were marked in red. Satisfied that this Russian plan of defense was plausible, Bannon took to working on the details of how the Team was going to seize its assigned objective quickly and with minimum losses. This time, he methodically went over the actions the Team had to execute in order for it to get from the line of departure to its objective. Whenever Bannon came across a Soviet field of fire he had plotted, he weighed all options before deciding how best to deal with it. If he could, he wanted to bypass them. When it wasn’t possible, he had to find a way to destroy the enemy without losing the Team in the process. He kept at this until he had charted the Team’s advance along the entire axis of advance he had been given.

Once Bannon finished, Unger superimposed his supporting fire plan over the scheme of maneuver. When there was a deficiency, or Bannon required a special method of engagement from the artillery in order to support his scheme of maneuver, he explained what he wanted and waited until Unger had made the changes before continuing. As most maneuver commanders are prone to do, he asked for an enormous amount of artillery-delivered smoke. If he could have, he would have moved the Team through one huge smoke screen from where they were all the way to the objective. This gave rise to a standing joke that if every company and team commander were given all the smoke he asked for, all of Germany would have been perpetually shrouded in a dense smoke screen. But reality and the constraints of the artillery basic load reduced his demands. Only when he was satisfied with the soundness of the plan did he climbed out of the FIST track and returned to 66, leaving Unger to rumbled off into the night in his track to pass his plan on to the battalion FSE.

The high-pitched whine of the FIST’s modified M-113 faded into the night and was replaced by a stillness punctured at random intervals by distant artillery fire. The moon was out and full. Its pale gray light provided near-perfect visibility of the hill across the valley. Many of the smashed Soviet vehicles were still glowing bright red. Fires in the village continued to burn, but had died down. Everything else was quiet and peaceful. The casual observer would have been hard pressed to find any sign of life in the valley. It was amazing how quiet hundreds of men, intent on killing each other, could be.

Folk was manning the 50 when Bannon reached 66. Ortelli was asleep in the driver’s compartment. Kelp was lying out asleep on top of the turret. For some reason, the image of the severed arm and wounded men at 55 flashed through Bannon’s mind as he took in the scene around him. Looking at Kelp lying there, exposed to artillery fire and anything else the Soviets might throw at them, he regretted not requiring the tank crews to dig foxholes. He would have to see that that was corrected in the future. At least Kelp had his protective mask on. If nothing else, he would be spared Lorriet’s fate if, sometime during the night, the Soviets launched a surprise chemical attack.

With far too many things going through his head, Bannon relieved Folk and told him to get a few hours’ sleep before switching places. If the lull continued after stand-to, he would issue his complete order during a working breakfast, then get some more sleep. It was a good plan, one he prayed like hell he could implement it.

For the next two hours Bannon stood there, alternately fighting sleep and boredom. He had to change his position every five minutes in order to stay awake and semi-alert. Every hour on the hour 66 and the rest of the tracks would crank up their engines to recharge their batteries. They didn’t all come up together but it was close enough. If every vehicle ran its engine on its own, the Soviets would be able to pinpoint every track by the sound of the engines. By running them together, that became more difficult. Once finished, Ortelli would immediately slip back into a deep, untroubled sleep.

With nothing else to occupy his mind once he was satisfied his plan for the attack was as good as it was going to get, Bannon began to wonder what was happening on the other side of the hill. Even with the muffled rumble of artillery in the distance and the smoldering remains of combat vehicles in the valley before him, it was difficult to come to terms with the reality that they were at war. From the Baltic Sea to the Austrian border, almost three million men were facing each other just as he and his crew were, waiting for another chance to hack away at the enemy on the other side of the valley, or across the river, or in the next village.

He tried to imagine what the young Russian company commanders were doing in the 28th Guards Tank Division. No doubt they were going over in their minds how they would seize their objectives, trying to guess where their enemy would be and how they would deal with the US forces once they were encountered just as he had. He knew enough about Soviet tactics to appreciate that their company commanders had few decisions to make. The regiment made most of them. Subordinate battalions and companies simply carried out the orders using fixed formations and battle drill. That, Bannon reasoned, must have made it one hell of a lot easier on the Russian company commander. But, if the end results were attacks such as the two Team Yankee had smashed, Bannon wanted no part of a system like that. Even if he didn’t get all the support he wanted, at least he had some control in deciding how to crack the nuts Team Yankee had been handed. His only worry now was whether he had guessed right and come up with the best possible plan.

At about 0130 he woke Folk. As he was giving his gunner a few minutes to get himself together, Bannon considered waking Kelp and putting him out as an OP. That, however, would have left him out there alone, violating the cardinal sin of placing only one man out on outpost duty. In the end, he abandoned the idea as being a waste since the 3rd Platoon OP to the left, and the Mech Platoon OP to the right was already covering 66. He also decided to violate the standing rule that required each tank keep half of its crew up and alert at all times. So in a moment of weakness, he let him sleep.

Once Folk was ready, they switched places. This didn’t take long, for rather than Folk rolling up his sleeping bag and Bannon rolling out another, they hot bunked with Bannon using Folk’s sleeping bag. It was a normal practice in a tactical environment that allowed the relieved crewman to crash without having to screw around in the dark with gear.

With pistol at arm’s reach, protective mask on, and the sleeping bag pulled over but not zipped, Bannon was finally free to close his eyes and let his mind go as the enormity of the events of the day quietly slipped away. Sleep did not follow, at least not right off, as in their place personal concerns crept in, concerns and thoughts that had been pushed aside by the needs of Team Yankee. Now that they were, for the moment taken care of, Bannon’s concern about the safety and welfare of his wife and three children could no longer be kept at bay. Where was his family? Had they made it out? Were the airfields still open? Was someone protecting them and caring for them? When would he find out about them? Only sleep quieted the Team commander’s troubled mind.