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

CHAPTER 4 INTO THE VACUUM

The quiet chatter of the evacuees watching the loading of a C141 was drowned out by the blast of air raid sirens. Everyone froze in place, then took to frantically looking about in the hope someone, anyone, near them knew what to do.

The first to come forward was an Air Force sergeant who began to run up along the window, yelling as he went for everyone to get back away from the windows, adding that the Air Base would be under air attack in a minute.

Like a deer in a forest fire, Pat sought safety. She noticed that the stairs leading down to the flight line had a solid wall on both sides. While not offering complete cover, they would at least provide some protection from flying glass. Yelling to her group to follow her, she grabbed Sarah and ran for the stairs. At the top of them, she told everyone to go halfway down and get against the wall on the airfield side, following only when everyone with her was accounted for and on the stairs.

The children, with a look of sheer terror on their faces, huddled against the adult they were with and held their hands over their ears. Sarah and Jane’s baby were crying while Kurt pleaded with his mother to make the noise stop. Pat and the other women could offer little in the way of comfort as they were barely able to hold back their own screams.

Outside the soft muffled report of large caliber air defense weapons, heard above the wailing of the siren, grew louder and closer at an alarming rate. A gun just outside the terminal that sounded like a chain saw joined in just before the first bombs hit.

A series of crashing explosions, accompanied by the sound of shattering glass and screams of women and children on the second floor filled the terminal. Now all the children were crying or screaming. Fran pulled Sean and Debby in closer. Sue, with tears running down her face, held on to Kurt, doing her best to cover his ears and face. Jane and Pat did the same with their babies. Just as the tinkling of glass and the screams from upstairs began to subside, another series of bombs went off closer to the terminal, blowing out what glass was left and causing the screams to begin anew.

We’re going to die, a panicked voice in Pat’s head screamed. We’re all going to die. This trip was no longer one of inconvenience and discomfort. It had become a life and death ordeal. Any second now the next series of bombs could hit the terminal, killing them all in the blink of an eye. This thought horrified Pat. What had she ever done to deserve this? What harm had her children ever done to anyone? What purpose would their deaths serve? It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t right. Unable to hold back any longer, Pat began to weep as she rocked Sarah in a vain attempt to comfort her baby.

At the height of the bombing, a disheveled Air Force captain without a hat came running in from the flight line. When he turned to run up the stairs. He stopped when he saw Pat and her group. He stared at them for a moment, then started yelling. “YOU PEOPLE, FOLLOW ME. QUICKLY!”

Pat looked at the captain. The other women looked at Pat. With no time to waste trying to cox them on with persuasion or threats, he reached out and grabbed Pat’s arm. “COME ON. FOLLOW ME. I’M TAKING YOU OUT OF HERE NOW.”

Without the need to give the matter the thought it deserved, and realizing anywhere would be better than where they were, Pat got up and yelled to her group to follow the officer.

Fran was first to respond, pushing Sean into the officer’s arms and telling him to carry the boy before picking up Debby and following. Pat was last to leave the shelter of the stairway, watching to make sure everyone in her little group was in motion.

At the bottom of the stairs, Pat flew around the corner, bringing up the rear. Only then did she realize, to her horror, that the Air Force captain had run out of the door of the terminal and onto the flight line followed by the rest of her group. What the hell was he doing? She asked herself as she slowed, then stopped. After a brief moment of hesitation, she continued on after them. She had to. The bastard leading them had Sean and Sue, who was on the man’s heels, had Kurt.

Once outside the pop-pop-pop, the detonations, and the ripping burr of the gun that sounded like a chainsaw became deafening. The shattered fuselage of the giant C-5 that had been taxiing up to the terminal was engulfed in flames, its huge wings drooping down to the ground like an injured bird. The ear splitting screech of the air raid siren, the sharp report of anti-aircraft guns and the roar of explosions drowned out the captain’s voice when he turned to scream something to them. Only when she looked past him did Pat see the C-141 he was running straight toward it. He was going to get them out of here.

With a sudden clarity of mind, Pat appreciated that plane represented their last chance. This was it. There was no going back, no options. Calling upon the last reserve of nerve and strength she had left, she threw herself into this one last effort. It was now all or nothing.

Onward the group ran, swerving to the left or right only to avoid shell craters and debris strewn about the flight line. As they were circling around one of the craters, Fran suddenly stopped dead, causing Sue to ram into her from behind. When the captain noticed the women behind him had stopped, he turned, and ran back. By the time he’d reached Fran, Pat caught had up enough to see what had caused Fran to stop.

Looking down, Pat’s eyes fell on the remains of several bodies tossed about the flight line. The brightly colored clothing marked them as civilian, not military. No one needed to tell her they were some of the very same they had seen heading for the C-141 before the attack had been. Caught in the open, they had been killed, which was why the captain had come back for more evacuees to take their place.

Looking up, Pat saw the captain was coming back with Sean. NO! a voice in her head screamed. NO! She wasn’t going to let anything go wrong this time. Every step of the way during this evacuation had been a screw up. Now, when they were only a few feet away from what she saw as their last means of salvation, Pat was determined they were going to finish this trip. Pushing Fran, she yelled at her to go. When Fran began to run, Pat turned to Sue and took to pushing her along as well. Jane, who seemed to share Pat’s resolve, followed without the need for further encouragement. When he saw the women were on the move once more, the captain let Fran catch up to him, then grabbed her with one arm and began to pull her along.

Not waiting until they reached him, the crew chief of the C-141 ran down the ramp in order to helped the women up. Another airman inside pushed them over to some empty nylon seats arranged along the sides and middle of the aircraft’s cavernous body. Only when they were all on board did the captain hand Sean to the crew chief who threw the boy on a seat and buckled him in. Having done all he could for Pat and her little group, the Air Force captain ran back down the ramp toward the terminal. He was halfway there when the closing ramp shut out the view of the shattered flight line.

The crew chief and airman were still hustling about buckling in the new arrivals as the plane began to roll. Above the sobs of the women and children who filled the dark cavernous interior of the transport and the sound of the air attack outside, Pat was deafened by the roar of the transport’s engines as it began to pick up speed and rumble down the runway. The pilot, she appreciated, was just as anxious to leave as she was. As if to confirm this, when he did bring the transport’s nose up for lift-off, the aircraft shot up at an angle that was alarmingly steep, causing a chain reaction as everyone in the cargo bay was thrown sideways into the person seated next to her.

Pat had no sooner managed to recover from this that the transport suddenly leveled off, throwing everyone in the opposite direction, back towards the front. Glancing over her shoulder and out a small porthole-like window behind her, she saw that they were skimming along at tree top level and moving fast. No doubt, she thought, the pilot had no wish to become mixed up in the air battle or be taken under fire by nervous anti-aircraft gun crews.

Only when she was sure they were well away from Rhein-Main and safe did Pat take stock of her little group. There was a blank, emotionless stare on the face of every woman and child she laid eyes on. They, like she, were drained, exhausted, and listless. The harrowing climax of their ordeal had succeeded in beating the last bit of energy and emotion out of them. If there was one thing to be said for this sad state of affairs, it was that the long flight home was made in near total silence, with only the steady drone of the engines and an occasional whimper of a child seeking what comfort its mother could give them.

Bannon was not ready to wake. It was too soon, far too soon to end his escape from reality and misery. Even with the protective mask on and lying on the hard turret roof, the sleeping bag was too comfortable to surrender without a struggle. It was just too damned soon to get up.

But Folk was persistent. As soon as he registered a muffled obscenity and some independent movement on his commander’s part, he gave one more shake before seeing to it the rest of the crew was stirring.

In less than thirty minutes it would be dawn. The second day of World War III, and, as far as Bannon was concerned, just as difficult to greet as the first had been. The pain from sleeping on a hostile surface, the dullness of the mind from too little sleep, and the realization that this day would be no better than the last was a poor way to begin the day.

Sitting up, he leaned forward and squinted at Folk, trying to see if he was masked. Satisfied that he wasn’t, Bannon removed his protective mask and paused to relish the feeling of cool morning air hitting his face. After sweating for two hours with the rubber mask against his skin, it was a relief to be able to breath the crisp, unfiltered morning air. Looking around, he saw Kelp stowing his gear. Folk was ordering Ortelli to crank up the tank. It was 0400. All around them, in the dark forest the sound of other tracks doing likewise could be heard. At least some of the Team was awake and alert.

Only after he’d finished stowing Folk’s sleeping bag and relieve himself by standing on Alpha 66’s back deck and pissing off to the side did Bannon climb down to his position as Folk slid to the gunner’s position. Still groggy, but at least functioning, the crew went through their checks while they waited for stand-to and the new dawn. Computer checks, weapon checks, thermal sight check, engine readings and indications, ammo stowage and count were all ticked off until Bannon was satisfied Alpha 66 was ready.

Just before dawn, Lieutenant McAlister reported that he and his platoon were observing a group of six to eight personnel in the woods across the valley from them. Early morning is the best time for detecting targets with the thermal sight because the ground and trees lack any warmth from the long absent sun. McAlister requested permission to engage with the platoon’s caliber .50s. which Bannon vetoed that idea, opting instead to hit the intruders with artillery. That way they would cause the same amount of damage, or more, without having any of the Team’s tanks give away their positions, which was what the people McAlister had spotted were hoping to provoke. Bannon’s best guess was that the dismounted intruders belonged to a recon unit that would either call in and adjust artillery on any targets they spotted or engage with antitank guided missiles if they had them. Either way, they had to go.

At Bannon’s direction, McAlister contacted the FIST Team. Using a known target reference point to shift from, he provided Unger with the location of the target and what the target was. Bannon cut into the conversation and instructed Unger to fire at least three volleys of artillery with mixed fuse settings of super-quick and delayed. The super-quick fuse setting would go off as soon as the round hit the tree branches, creating an air burst effect and showering shell fragments down on exposed personnel. The delayed fuse setting would burrow into the ground, hopefully getting anyone in foxholes. The FIST replied that he would do his best to comply. Bannon urged him to try real hard, with a great deal of emphasis on the word real.

The call for fire took close to five minutes to process. At this hour, this was not surprising. Everyone waited impatiently, hoping that the Russians didn’t leave before the artillery hit. It was almost as if they were preparing to spring a prank on another fraternity. They knew what was coming and the other people didn’t. But this prank was deadly. In a very few moments some of the other “fraternity” brothers would be dead. The more, Bannon thought, the better.

To the rear of Team Yankee, the low rumble of the firing guns could be heard as the FIST called, “SHOT, OVER” on the Team net. McAlister replied, “SHOT, OUT.” Unger’s call of “SPLASH, OVER” was drowned out by the detonation of the impacting rounds.

In an excited, high-pitched voice, McAlister called, “TARGET, FIRE FOR EFFECT. TARGET, FIRE FOR EFFECT.” In the excitement of the moment, he forgot that they were, in fact, firing for effect. From 66, Bannon could see the impact through the trees. He wanted to move 66 forward into its firing position to observe, but knew that would serve little purpose and unnecessarily expose his tank and crew. So he sat where he was, having to content his morbid curiosity by listening to McAlister’s reports.

The guns to the rear boomed again, followed by another series of impacts. The rounds with super-quick fuse settings burst high in the trees with a brilliant orange ball of fire. For a split second it lit the surrounding trees and area like a small sun. Then it died as fast as it had appeared. Anyone staring at the blast lost his night vision. In its place were bright orange dots the blasts etched in their eyes. The final volley was no less spectacular.

As Bannon waited to hear McAlister’s report on the effects of the barrage, he began to hope the results would be worth the efforts of the artillery. More was involved than merely the act of making the calculations, preparing the rounds, laying the guns, and shooting twenty-four rounds. The firing battery would now have to displace. If the Russians were alert, their target acquisition people would have picked up the flight of these incoming rounds. With some calculations of their own, they would be able to locate the guns and unleash counterbattery fires. It was therefore important for the artillery to shoot ’n’ scoot. In modern combat there is no middle ground, no almost. You’re either quick, or you’re dead.

After observing the area for ten minutes, McAlister reported that neither he nor any other tank in his platoon could detect any more movement in the target area or to the left or right. Bannon therefore reported to battalion that they had engaged and probably killed eight dismounted personnel. Whatever those people had been doing or planning to do, they weren’t going to do it to Team Yankee this morning. The efforts of the cannon cockers were rewarded.

The Soviets were also placing demands on their cannon cockers that morning. The American guns barely had fallen silent when the sky to the east was lit up with distant flashes, followed by the now familiar rumble of distant artillery. At first Bannon thought that it was counterbattery fire searching out the guns that had just fired for the Team. But the crash of the impacting rounds drifted down from the north, not from the rear. After watching and listening to the barrage for five minutes without any noticeable letup, it became obvious that this was more than counterbattery fire. In all likelihood, it was the preparatory fire heralding the attack of the 28th Guards Tank Division.

The night slowly gave way to the new dawn as the Soviet artillery preparation to the north continued. First Sergeant Harrert appeared with breakfast, passing the word to the track commanders to send half of their men at a time back for chow. At first Bannon was apprehensive about allowing the men to dismount for breakfast. He was fearful that the enemy would launch another holding attack against them as they had the day before. If not a ground attack, he at least expected the Soviets to pin the battalion with artillery. But nothing happened. Perhaps, he reasoned, the Soviets didn’t have any more units they could throw away in useless holding attacks. Perhaps the people the Team had hit with artillery across the valley were antitank guided missile teams or artillery forward observers who had had the mission of pinning the battalion. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. As the platoon leaders began to gather for the early morning meeting, he gave up on the second guessing. No one was shooting at him or the Team right now and that, in Bannon’s mind, was all that mattered.

One by one the leadership of Team Yankee gathered around the rear of the first sergeant’s PC, map case and notebook tucked under arm with breakfast and coffee in hand as they had done just twenty-four hours earlier. But this morning was different. The nervous apprehension of previous day was gone. They still had the same slightly haggard and disheveled look from too little sleep and too much stress all soldiers who had been in the field too long wore. That was to be expected. Today, however, there was also a look of confidence on everyone’s face, a calm, steady look. In the words of Civil War veterans, they had seen the elephant and having done so, had been changed forever.

It made little difference that the Team had been incredibly lucky, that their task had been simple and straightforward. It didn’t matter that the new mission was going to turn the tables around and expose the Team to the same punishment that it had given to the Soviets. What did was that they had won their first battle, erasing any doubts as to their equipment, their leadership, and their own perceived ability to face combat. The Team was ready to move forward and tackle its new mission.

The meeting started with a discussion of the previous day’s action. Just as they had done numerous times after a training exercise, the officers and senior NCOs present went over step-by-step what had happened. First the platoon leaders gave their account and observations. Then Bannon gave his. This was followed by a brief discussion on what needed to be done better the next time. With that aside, Bannon issued the completed Team operations order that he had worked on earlier that morning. After he finished, Unger went over the fire-support plan in detail and answered any questions. Bannon ended his portion of the meeting by informing the platoon leaders he would visit each of them for a one-on-one brief back of their platoon plans. In the meantime, they were to prepare for the attack.

Bannon was about to turn the meeting over to the XO and first sergeant so that they could cover the Team’s admin and maintenance chores when a call from battalion put an end to his plan to catch up on some sleep. There was going to be a meeting in thirty minutes at the battalion CP to go over the new mission. Not wanting to move 66 out of position, he decided to use Harrert’s PC. While the platoon leaders moved and the PC prepared to roll, Bannon quickly shaved and washed his hands and face. Cleaning up was going to make him late, but it was a matter of pride that he look as sharp as possible. He might be miserable, but he didn’t have to look miserable. Standards had to be preserved.

The lack of change at the battalion CP struck Bannon as odd. He really couldn’t say what should have been different. But something should have been. Back at Team Yankee he could feel the change that had occurred between yesterday morning and this morning. The CP, on the other hand, was still running as if it were conducting a training exercise. The M-577 command post vehicles were parked side by side with their canvas tent extensions set up and connected with a massive camouflage net covered the tracks and extensions. Around this was barbed wire with one entrance guarded by a soldier checking access passes as staff officers and other commanders entered the tactical operations center, or TOC. Somehow, this just seemed wrong to Bannon.

While the outside was quiet and peaceful, the inside was alive with the usual chaos that comes before the issuance of an operations order. At one end of the crowded space staff officers and NCOs busily updating and preparing maps and charts for the briefing. Team commanders gather in a corner, quietly talking amongst themselves. The XO sat with the battalion commander in the middle going over maintenance and supply matters with him. The sight of all this running around, confusion, and last-minute preparation by the staff left Bannon wondering what they had been doing all night. Not that that wasn’t hard to figure out. The lack of haggard faces and bags under the eyes of the staff officers and their NCOs betrayed the fact that late nights and little sleep were not a part of their daily routine. How long, he wondered, was that going to last.

Off to one side was First Lieutenant Peterson, formerly the XO, was sitting in the seat his commanding officer should have been occupying. Dirty and disheveled, his gaunt, vacant expression stood in sharp contrast to everyone around him. Bannon watched for a few minutes while Peterson simply sat there, staring down at the map and notebook he held in his lap. Everyone in the crowded TOC was making a valiant effort to ignore him, for those who hadn’t seen the elephant yet didn’t know how to treat him.

Bannon felt sorry for Peterson. Yesterday had been an emotional nut roll for Team Yankee despite the fact that he had been in command for ten months and had been training his people for what happened. It must have been sheer hell for Peterson to watch his team get ripped to shreds, then be given the job of pulling what remained together. The treatment the staff was giving him was, in Bannon’s opinion, beyond cold. It was downright cruel. Yet having come to that conclusion, Bannon found himself at a loss as to what he could do to help the poor bastard. In the end, despite his feelings, he did as the others were doing. He did his best to avoid Lieutenant Peterson.

Major Willard, the battalion XO, began by going over the briefing sequence before turning to the intelligence officer, or S-2, who began the formal portion of the briefing. With pointer in hand and every hair in place, he went over the big picture, talking about how the hostile forces had initiated hostilities, how this combined arms army was driving here, and that combined arms army was pushing there, and some tank army was moving forward ready to exploit the penetration to our north.

The situation in NORTHAG, or Northern Army Group, was already grim according to him. Soviet airborne forces had seized Bremerhaven. Soviet ground forces were making good progress and had broken through in several areas. In CENTAG, or Central Army Group where both forward-deployed US corps were, the situation wasn’t nearly as bad. While one could claim that US forces made the difference there, anyone who understood Germany’s geography and Soviet strategy knew better. The terrain in NORTHAG was far more conducive to massed, mobile warfare than the hilly, heavily forested landscape of central and southern Germany. The North German Plain provided a natural highway for armies to flow from the east to the west across Germany and into Holland, Belgium, and France. By luck of the draw and post-World War II political agreements, the US had the easiest and least important area to defend.

As interesting as the overall picture was, Bannon needed to know what enemy forces were facing his Team as well as the composition, locations, and strength of the Soviet forces in the area where the battalion was going to attack. But instead of nuts and bolts, the S-2 continued to lecture them on skyscrapers. When he finished and turned to sit down without mentioning anything about the Soviet forces they would be facing, Bannon half jumped out of his seat.

“Wait a minute! What about the people across the valley from us? What are they doing now and what do you expect them to do?”

For a moment the S-2 looked at Bannon as if he didn’t understand the question. “Oh. Well, I don’t think they will be doing much after the pounding we gave them.” With that, he continued to his seat.

Bannon was livid! The pounding we gave them! “What kind of a bullshit answer is that?” he growled. “And what’s this we shit? Except for a few shots from the scouts, I only know of one team that engaged the hostile forces yesterday.”

In a flash, the battalion commander was on his feet and staring down at Bannon. With his index finger almost touching Bannon’s nose and his face contorted with rage, he laid into him. “That will be enough, Bannon. If you got a burr up your ass about something, you see me after this. We got a lot to cover and not a lot of time. Is that clear?”

Bannon had overstepped his bounds, lost his cool, and offended Colonel Reynolds and his staff. But he was in no mood to buckle under, either. The S-2 hadn’t given him a single piece of useful information that would contribute to the success of the upcoming mission. He wanted that information.

“Sir, with all due respect, the S-2 hasn’t told me squat about the enemy now facing me or those we will be when we move into the attack. I need to know what they are doing and where they are if we’re going to pull that attack off.”

“With all due respect, Captain,” Reynolds snapped, “I recommend that you shut up and pay attention.”

The battalion commander had spoken, and the conversation was terminated. Without waiting for any sign of acknowledgement, he turned around and resumed his seat, instructing the S-3 to proceed. With the odds being that the S-2 really didn’t know what was happening, Bannon let the matter drop.

In the tense silence that followed, Major Frank Jordan stood up and took his place in front of the map displaying the graphics for the battalion’s attack. Jordan was, In Bannon’s opinion, an outstanding officer and a professional by any measure. In the past he had always done all he could to make up for the shortcomings of the other battalion staff officers. By doing so, he became the real driving force behind the battalion. Colonel Reynolds might make the final decisions and do the pushing in the field, but it was Jordan who developed the battalion’s game plans and made all the pieces fit. He was also easy to work with, a quality that made the time Bannon spent with the 3rd of the 78th a bit more tolerable.

After waiting a moment until everyone was settled again, Jordan began his briefing. The organization of the battalion, or task force as a battalion with tanks and infantry companies combined is called, remained as it had been from the beginning. The friendly situation, or the mission of the units to the battalion’s left and right as well as the mission of the battalion’s higher headquarters, hadn’t changed from what the S-3 had briefed the previous night. “Our mission is as follows. Task Force 3-78 Mech will attack at 0400 hours Zulu 6 August to seize the town of Arnsdorf. On order, the task force will continue the attack to the north to seize the high ground south of Unterremmbach, northeast to the bridge at Ketten am Der Hanna, or west against objects yet to be determined.”

From there, Jordan went over the plan as to how the battalion would carry out its new mission step-by-step. Little had changed from what he’d told Bannon the night before. The main difference was that he tied together a lot of the loose ends and explained what would happen after the battalion got to Arnsdorf.

The operation would kick off with a relief in place that night by the divisional cavalry squadron starting at 2400 hours Zulu. Team Bravo, already out of the line, would be the first to move. Team Yankee would follow once it had been relieved in place. Next would be Charlie Company, then Delta Company. Once the battalion was closed up on Team Bravo, it would make its way north. The route the battalion would move along was not the most direct, as division wanted to deceive the Soviets as to the intent of the battalion and the point of attack for as long as possible. If all worked out as planned, they would arrive at the line of departure, or LD, at 0400 and roll straight into the attack without stopping.

The battalion would attack in columns of companies, with one company behind the other. When they approached the town of Kernsbach, they would leave the road and move cross-country. Just east of Kernsbach they would pass through the US front lines and begin to deploy. Team Bravo would move to the high ground northeast of Kernsbach and take up overwatch positions in the northern edge of the Staat Forest. From there it would cover Team Yankee’s advance. Major Jordan did not expect that Team Bravo would encounter any sizable enemy forces during this maneuver. If there were any enemy force, he pointed out as a subtle sop to Bannon, they would most likely be reconnaissance elements who would give ground quickly. Once Team Bravo moved into position, Team Yankee would be in the lead.

Team Yankee’s first task was the seizure of an intermediate objective called Objective LOG, which was located midway between the line of departure, Team Bravo’s location, and Arnsdorf. Once it had cleared Objective LOG, Charlie Company would turn west and seize the village of Vogalburg. Delta Company, the trail company, would close up behind Team Yankee once Charlie Company was out of the way. If all went without a hitch, Jordan explained, Team Yankee was to continue to move north to Hill 214, called Objective LINK, without stopping. Once on Hill 214, Team Yankee would take up positions to overwatch Delta Company, much the same as Team Bravo had done for Team Yankee before in order to cover the attack of Delta Company as they moved up and seized Arnsdorf. Once in Arnsdorf, the brigade commander would then decide where the battalion would strike. That decision would depend upon the situation at that time and the reactions of the Soviets to an attack into their flank.

As he listened, Bannon became mildly alarmed. There were aspects of the plan that made him uneasy. Chief amongst them was a total lack of information on enemy strength and disposition. From an operational stand point, the seizure of Vogalburg by Charlie Company appeared to be unnecessary and dangerous. They would be out there alone, unable to receive support from other battalion elements. The only thing that kept him from raising any objections over that issue was their presence in Vogalburg would protect the left flank of Team Yankee as it was moving to Hill 214.

The issue he did feel strong enough about to voice his concern was the lack of artillery preparation on Objective LOG. In his mind, that hill was just too good a position not to be occupied by the Soviets. When Jordan finished and asked for questions concerning the execution of the mission, Bannon recommended that a short but violent artillery prep, followed by smoke, be put on that objective. Both the S-3 and the colonel denied the request, stating that the element of surprise would be lost. “I expect the attack to be so fast and such a surprise to the Soviets that anyone there would be unable to react in time,” Reynolds pointed out. “Besides, Team Bravo will be in overwatch, ready to smother that hill with direct and indirect fire if it’s needed.

This statement caused Unger and Bannon to exchange glances. The temptation to press Reynolds on this matter, in the wake of his tiff with the S-2, caused Bannon to conclude that no matter what he said, someone was bound to tell him he was wrong. He therefore kept his peace. There’d be time later, he told himself, to get together with his own FIST and make sure he drafted up a backup plan just in case Bravo failed to cover them.

The S-3 was followed by the battalion S-4 who updated the gathered commanders and staff on the current status of supply, maintenance, supply routes, and a myriad of other details. As they were all covered in a written order they had been handed, Bannon tuned him out, turning his attention, instead, to the map sitting in his lap and going over, in his mind, the operation from beginning to end in an effort to make sure he understood all of the missions and tasks Team Yankee had to perform. To him, there is nothing worse than returning to the company after a battalion briefing to give his order only to be confronted by one of his platoon leaders who asked him a question he could not answer. As they were playing for keeps this time, Bannon wanted to make damn sure that he hadn’t miss a thing.

The colonel’s rousing “Let’s go kick ass and take names,” speech at the end of the briefing brought Bannon back to the here and now. Reynolds knew he had not been paying attention to the last portion of the briefing, especially to his kick ass speech. Bannon didn’t really care. His Team was only an attachment, a very bothersome one at that. As such, he was expected to be somewhat different and, on occasion, a bit of a maverick. Today had been a good case in point. With the sound of Charlie Company’s commander chanting an obscene Jody call, the briefing broke up.

On his way out, Bannon briefly stopped in front of the intelligence map to see if there was any useful information he could glean from it. The S-2 watched him as if he expected Bannon to turn and attack. After studying the red lines and symbols for a couple of minutes without being able to find anything of use, he gave up and left. Team Yankee would find out soon enough what was there, the hard way.

The balance of the day passed rather slowly. After arriving back at the Team position, Bannon made another analysis of the terrain they would be covering. Satisfied that he had gotten as much as he could from his map, he rewrote those parts of the plan that needed to change because of the briefing at battalion and the second map study. In reality, not much had. A few new artillery targets, a better concept for crossing the stream west of the village of Lemm, and some more information on what would happen after Arnsdorf was about all. With that finished, he sent Kelp off to notify the platoon leaders that they were to assemble at 66’s location at 1300 hours for an update and further instructions.

As Bannon had been going over his plan, the Team went about its business in a slow and deliberate way. After stand-to, the checks and inspections that had not been performed while waiting for the dawn were completed. All problems that turned up during them were reported to the platoon sergeants, who in turn reported them to the first sergeant, who in turn reported them to maintenance personnel.

Once all checks had been complete and requests for maintenance made, the weapons were cleaned. First came the crew-served weapons. Every tank and personnel carrier had one M2 caliber .50 machinegun, affectionately known as a Ma Duce by every generation of American service personnel from before World War II. It was the same heavy machinegun the Army had used in that war and, despite monumental leaps in weapons technology, was still considered the best heavy machinegun in the world.

Then there were two M240, 7.62mm machineguns on each tank. These were of Belgian design and, when compared to the weapon they’d replace, were good weapons. Of course, anything would have been better than the M219 machinegun which some of the old tankers claimed had been the only single-shot machinegun in the world. One of the M240s was located next to the main gun, mounted coaxially with it, hence its nickname “COAX.” The second M240 was mounted on a free-swinging mount outside the loader’s hatch. The loader had little need for a weapon as his primary job was to feed the main gun. But since the loader’s M240 was interchangeable with the COAX, it had value. Besides, it gave the loader something to hang onto when the tank was moving.

While some of the platoon were working on the machineguns, three or four of the men went around cleaning out the main guns with using a twenty-foot rammer staff topped with a bore brush. It took three to four men to maneuver the staff and then ram the tight-fitting brush down the gun tube. Rather than have each crew assemble its own staff, the platoon sergeants had one tank, usually his, put one together and then, pulling one man from each crew for the detail, had them go from tank to tank and clean all the platoon’s gun tubes. It was efficiency and teamwork in action.

After the tanks and the personnel carriers with all their crew-served weapons were squared away, each man took to cleaning his own individual weapon. For the tankers, this was a caliber .45 pistol for the tank commander and the gunner. The driver and loader each had a .45 and a caliber .45 M3 submachine gun. This last weapon also was a veteran of World War II, but it had not aged as well as the M2 machinegun. Some said the M3 was worthless. Bannon always considered that rating too generous.

Only after all the equipment had been squared away were the men free to tend to their personal needs and hygiene. The Team worked under the old cavalry principle, “The horse, the saddle, the man.” The men understood this and, for the most part, abided by it. None, including Bannon, had any clear idea what was going to happen next. All they knew with any degree of certainty was that their best chance of survival was to stay with the Team. They knew what the Team was doing, and that there was safety in numbers. What lay behind the hills to the front and rear was a mystery few were interested in exploring. They wanted to stay with the Team, and to stay with the Team, their track and weapons had to work. There was no false patriotism, no John Waynes in Team Yankee, only tankers and infantrymen doing their jobs in order to survive.

Except for some sporadic shelling by the Soviets, the afternoon passed quietly, allowing tank commanders and squad leaders to keep half of their men on alert while the rest slept. After the 1300 hour meeting with the platoon leaders, Bannon was free to catch up on some personal needs he’d not had time for earlier. Washing from head to toe was a priority. After twenty-four hours in the chemical protective suit, he was ripe. The only reason no one else had noticed just how bad he stunk was because they were just as dirty and smelly as he was. It had only been at the battalion CP that he had noticed how filthy he was in comparison to people who were not on the battalion staff, not that he really cared if he had offended anyone on the staff. Once he’d finished washing up, he let Uleski know that he was checking out of the net and get some sleep.

This latest respite lasted a grand total of forty-five minutes, for the cavalry troop commander and his platoon leaders who would be relieving the Team that night showed up for coordination and a reconnaissance. They were from Bravo Troop, 2nd of the 14th Cavalry, the divisional cavalry squadron. Bannon had met the troop commander several times before, so he was surprised when a tall, lanky first lieutenant introduced himself as the troop commander. When he asked what had happened to Captain Farrar, Bannon was told that he was missing in action.

The former troop commander, it seemed, had given the order for the troop to withdraw, after that was not seen again. He, his personnel carrier, and its crew had all disappeared while they were moving back to their next position. This put a chill on the coordination meeting and the recon. Conversation was limited to simple questions and answers as to the positions, enemy activities, and the lay of the land. As soon as the first lieutenant was satisfied that he had all the information he needed, he and his platoon leaders left.

It wasn’t until near dusk that the Soviets became restless and began a massive shelling to the rear of the Team. This sent everyone in the Team scrambling for cover in his tracks or diving for the bottom of his foxhole as scores of shells screamed overhead, blindly searching for targets in the battalion’s rear. Their fears were only partially relieved by the fact that it could have been worse; those shells could be hitting the Team itself. Once crews were buttoned up and dismounted infantry were snug in their holes, all they could do was wait patiently, alert and ready for either a ground attack, or a shift in the artillery fire onto their positions.

Given a choice, the ground attack was the more inviting prospect to Bannon and the bulk of Team Yankee. At least they could do something to the attacking troops. The enemy would in the open where he could be seen, hit, and destroyed. That wasn’t true of artillery. Of course friendly artillery could direct counterbattery fires against the Soviet guns. But that wasn’t the same. The Team, if it were the target, would not be able to do anything but hunker down and pray.

As it turned out, neither occurred. As the day finally came to a close, the Team began to prepare to move out. While the rest of the crew readied 66, Bannon pondered the meaning of the prolonged artillery attack. Had the Soviets somehow gotten wind of the battalion’s planned move? Had they destroyed the roads and bridges to the rear? Had Team Bravo been hit again, or had it been the turn of the battalion CP to see the elephant? Would Soviet artillery strike again while they were moving? He, of course, did not have the answers to those questions, and radio listening silence on the battalion radio net remained in force and unbroken. He therefore turned his efforts to a more useful pursuit, dinner.

At 2345 hours the Team started their engines and revved them up to as near normal operating RPMs as possible. As they were not going to have friendly artillery fire cover the noise of the movement, they hoped that by running the engines all together, the Soviets might not notice any change in the Team’s established habits. Chances of that working for long were slim, however, for the high-pitched squeak of a tank’s sprockets and the crunching noise of tracks in motion could not be covered by anything less than an artillery barrage. But in Bannon’s mind, it was worth a try.

The cavalry troop began to arrive on schedule. They came up along a small trail that ran west to east to the rear of the 2nd Platoon. That platoon began the Team’s relief in place by pulling back from the tree line and moving south along the trail. As soon as the 2nd was out of its position and cleared the trail junction, the first cavalry platoon moved in where 2nd Platoon had been. As the 2nd moved along the trail, Bannon counted the tanks passing 66’s position. When the fourth one had passed, he gave Ortelli the order to fall in behind the last of 2nd Platoon’s tank. The movement of 66, followed by Unger’s FIST track passing it was the signal for the 3rd Platoon to begin its move. As with 2nd Platoon, as soon as the last 3rd Platoon tank pulled out, the second cavalry platoon began to move into 3rd Platoon’s vacated positions. The process was repeated with the Mech Platoon, which followed the 3rd. In this way, two company-sized units changed places in the dark without a single word other than that between the track commanders and their drivers.

Uleski, leading the Team, hugged the tree line on the northern side of the small valley that the Soviets had tried so hard to reach. When he reached a point about three kilometers west of the village, he moved onto the road and slowly began to pick up speed at a predetermined rate. Had he gone too fast at the beginning, the Mech Platoon at the tail of the column would have been left behind, as they were still hugging the tree line. Only when the column finally reached the designated march speed and were about to hit the first checkpoint along it on time did Bannon began to relax. The relief had gone off without a hitch and the Team had gotten out of the line without drawing fire. Now, he thought, if the rest of the operation went off this well, it would be a piece of cake.

The drive through the dark countryside was quiet and eerie. The only lights visible were the small pinpricks from the taillights of the tank in front and the blackout drive lights of the tank behind. The steady whine of the tank’s turbine engine along with the rhythmic vibrations caused by the tracks had a hypnotic effect, forcing Bannon to make an effort to stay awake and pay attention to where they were as the column moved along. Reading a map with a red filtered flashlight on a moving tank while trying to pick out terrain features on the darkened countryside was difficult but not impossible. Although Uleski was leading, Bannon needed to monitor exactly where they were at all times as a check on Uleski’s navigation and in case something unexpected popped up. The platoon leaders and platoon sergeants were expected to do the same.

On board the tank all was quiet. Both the Team and the battalion radio nets were on radio listening silence. If the radios were used freely, Soviet radio direction finding units would be able to keep track of where they were going and, if passed to their intel officers in sufficient time, figure out what they were up to. In the loader’s hatch next to Bannon, Kelp was standing on his seat, halfway out of the turret and facing to the rear of the tank. He was the air guard. It was SOP that the loader would watch to the rear for air attack and any surprises from that quarter. Folk was like Bannon, fighting to stay awake. He was having little success. During a road march the gunner was supposed to cover his assigned sector of observation at all times. But when there is a whole column in front and little prospect of imminent action, it is difficult to maintain a high state of vigilance. Only Bannon’s knowledge that he would be ready when he was needed allowed the gunner to doze off and remain undisturbed.

The only chatter that took place over 66’s intercom was between — Bannon and Ortelli. Marching in column at night, after a long day is worst for the driver. Not only does he have to fight the hypnotic effects of the steady engine noise and vibration the rest of the crew labored under, he had to be ever vigilant least the vehicle to his front suddenly stopped or changed directions. Drivers moving in column had a tendency to stare at the taillights of the tank in their front and become mesmerized by them. When that happens, they are slow to notice a sudden change that would result in a collision. Therefore, tank commanders tried to ensure that even if no one else was fully awake and alert, the driver was.

As they moved deeper into the rear area, other traffic and friendly units began to appear. The farther back the Team went, the more numerous these run-in became. The first formed units they came across were the combat support troops and the artillery units. At one point Team Yankee went past a self-propelled artillery battery lined up but pulled off to the side of the road as if waiting for the battalion to pass. Every now and then a single vehicle or a group of three or four trucks would pass headed in the opposite direction toward the front carrying fuel, munitions, supplies and other badly needed commodities units still there needed in order to stay in the fight. At one road junction MPs were directing traffic, alternately letting one vehicle from the battalion column proceed, then one from another column on the intersecting road go through. Occasionally the Team would come across lone vehicles on the side of the road. Some were broken down. Others had been destroyed by artillery or air attacks. A few were filled with sleeping men who, having grown too tired to continue or had become separated from their unit, decided the best thing they could do was to pull over, get some sleep, and wait for daylight before going on.

The villages the Team passed were now populated with a new class of inhabitants. Signal units, headquarters units, and support troops of every description had moved in and set up housekeeping. Night was the time when many of these units came to life and went about carrying out their assigned tasks. This was especially true of supply units. All were in a hurry to resupply the units they were supporting before the new day brought out the Soviet birds of prey that feed on supply convoys.

It was just after passing through one of these busy little hubs of nocturnal activity that the Team hit its first snag. Alpha 66 lurched to an abrupt halt without warning. At first Bannon thought they had hit something. Without waiting for Bannon to ask, Ortelli informed him that they were all right, but that the tank in front had stopped. Bannon watched its dark form for a few minutes, expecting it to move and continue the march any minute. When it didn’t, he decided to dismount and walk up to the head of the column. Whatever was wrong, it wasn’t serious enough to break radio listening silence. In his place Folk, wakened by the jarring stop, moved up into the commander’s position.

Bannon was not happy about the disruption in the march, but was thankful for the chance to walk around some, stretch his legs, and break the monotony. It was 0345 Alpha time. They had been moving for almost three hours and were scheduled to attack in another hour and fifteen minutes. As he moved up the column, he noticed a lot of activity in front of the Team and in the fields at the side of the road. Further up ahead he could see lights a little beyond the head of the column.

Uleski was already dismounted and was talking to some people when Bannon reached Alpha 55. One of the people with the XO turned out to be an engineer officer.

“Well, Ski, what do we have?” Bannon asked as he joined them.

“Sir, this is Captain Lawson, commander of the 79th Bridge Company” Uleski informed Bannon as he motioned to a tall captain across from him. “His people put this ribbon bridge in earlier today. When Team Bravo crossed it, too many tanks got onto the bridge at once and did some damage. Captain Lawson has to close the bridge and repair it before we can pass.”

“Captain Lawson, Sean Bannon, commanding Team Yankee. How long is it going to take your people to unscrew the mess some of my tanks made?”

Lawson gave him an estimate and a brief explanation of what had to be done and why the work had to be finished before he would chance having any more tanks cross. “Barring any unforeseen problems, it shouldn’t take more thirty minutes.” As Lawson seemed to know what he was about, and his people were hustling, Bannon asked him to keep the XO posted, excused himself and Uleski, and let Lawson get on with his work.

Both Bannon and Uleski agreed that except for the bridge, everything so far was going very well. After telling him to stay at the front and monitor the work on the bridge, Bannon was going to walk down the column and have the tanks disperse and shut down. This halt would give the people a chance to dismount, shake out their legs, and check their tracks. If the engineers finished before he returned, Uleski was to have his driver crank up 55 as a signal.

The crews were slow to respond. They were tired. Perhaps the halt was a good thing, Bannon quickly concluded. It would give everyone a break. One by one the tanks moved off the road, with every other one alternating to the left, then the right. All stopped facing out at a forty-five-degree angle. This was a formation called a herringbone, used by mechanized forces at times like this. By the time Bannon had reached the 3rd Platoon, he didn’t need to tell the crews any more. The tank commanders began to move their tracks off onto the side in the alternating pattern when they saw the tanks in front of them do so. By the time he reached the Mech Platoon, the entire center of the road was cleared.

It was then that it occurred to him that something was wrong. Had Charlie Company kept to the road march timetable published by battalion, it should have been closing up behind the Team by now. But there was no one behind the Mech Platoon belonging to the battalion. The road was clear for as far as Bannon could see. When the last of the tracks had shut down their engines, he walked about a hundred meters down the road and listened for the distinctive whine of Charlie Company’s personnel carriers. Still night air, an occasional rumble from distant artillery, and the pounding and yelling of the engineers working on the bridge at the head of the column was all that could be heard. After five minutes, he abandoned his vigil and began to walk back to the head of the column. He really didn’t know if there was, in fact, anything wrong. Unfortunately, with radio listening silence in effect, he had no way of finding out. All he could do was hope that if something really terrible had happened to the rest of the battalion, someone would take the initiative to break radio listening silence and spread the word. But that was a hope, not a sure thing, giving rise to a bad feeling that things were not going as well as he had thought before their unscheduled halt. If something was wrong, there wasn’t a damned thing he could do about it.

It took Pat’s parents a moment to realize that their joyous welcome wasn’t evoking any response. She barely acknowledged their presence. All she did was look at them with a unblinking stare, returning their greeting with a soft, almost hesitant, “Hi Mom, Dad,” as she stood there with her three children. Sarah had her arms wrapped tightly around her mother’s neck as if holding on for dear life. Sean was leaning against her side, grasping one of her hands with both of his while Kurt clung to her other arm with head tucked down, sucking his thumb.

For an uncomfortable moment Pat’s parents simply stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Her father broke this uncomfortable silence by offering to go get their suitcases while they waited there. Pat’s simple response, “there aren’t any,” further ratcheted up her parents already anxiety. After her father gave her a long, hard look, he turned and went off to pull the car around to the front of the terminal.

When Pat and the children moved to leave, they moved as one, none of them wanting to let go of the other. Pat’s mother continued to stare, feeling less and less at ease in the presence of her daughter. As they left the terminal, an airman took Pat’s name, the children’s names, her husband’s name and unit, and Pat’s destination. The final checklist and roster in their long odyssey.

Outside, Pat and the children climbed in the back seat of her father’s car. Even in the car they continued to clutch onto each other as if fearful of letting go. Only as they were pulling away did Pat turn and watched as the terminal faded from sight. They were finally leaving military control.

She thought about that for the moment. She thought about the other wives and their children. She looked at her parents in the front seat and asked herself the same question tens of thousands of other military wives were asking themselves; Now what? The evacuation was over, but now what? There was nothing more to do. She was safe. Her children were safe. She was going back to her parent’s home.

But what then? Wait? Wait for what? For the war to end? For word to come about her husband? And what kind of word would it be? Pat had listened to stories of Old Army wives who had waited while their husbands were in Vietnam. She wasn’t ready for that, she told herself. Even now, safe in the US, the dark abyss of the trackless future opened before her.

Like an earthen dam that had tried to hold back more water than it could, her resolve collapsed. As she began to cry, her children silently tightened their grips on their weeping mother in an effort to comfort her as well as themselves.

In the front seat her parents, not knowing what to do or say, simply stared at the road ahead.