Prologue

Associated Press news story, 15 July: "Escalation of the Persian Gulf War continued today when Iranian aircraft attacked two oil tankers just outside the territorial waters of Bahrain. A ship of Dutch registry was reported sunk early this morning shortly after leaving port. At this time there is no

report of survivors. The second ship, registered in Panama, was inbound to Bahrain when it was attacked by two Iranian war planes. Casualties are reported to be high . . . . "

Television news story, 22 July: "Despite condemnation by the UN, Western European nations, Japan, and the U.S., Iran has pledged to continue attacks on any vessel that enters the Persian Gulf, now declared a war zone by that country. Outside the Straits of Hormuz, entrance to the Persian Gulf, the number of tankers sitting at anchor, waiting for a break in the deadlock, continues to grow. The ships' owners and their captains feel that this deadlock will not last long. As one ship's captain stated, NThey have tried this before and always backed off. They need us too much to keep this up for long.' "

State Department press release, 26 July: "The attack by Iranian war planes on commercial vessels in the international

waters of the Indian Ocean yesterday is a threat to the security of the free world. The United States and the free world cannot allow such acts of deliberate terrorism to go unpunished.

While the United States continues to pursue all available means to resolve this issue peacefully, military options are being considered."

Department of Defense press release, 27 July: "The destroyer U.S.S. Charles Logan, while on patrol in international waters off the Straits of Hormuz, was rammed, then fired upon by a Soviet Cruiser of the Gorki class this morning. U.S. forces returned fire. Damage and casualties on either side are not known at this time."

TASS news release, 28 July: "A meeting of the Warsaw Pact ministers ended today with a pledge to stand together in the face of threats and increased war preparations on the part of the United States. Representatives from Poland, the German Democratic Republic, Hungary, Bulgaria, Czechoslovakia, and the Soviet Union released a joint statement pledging to meet American aggression against any member state with retaliation in kind."

White House press release, 28 July: "In view of the current crisis, the President has issued an order federalizing 100,000 Army Reserve and National Guard personnel. Personnel and units affected have been notified and are reporting to their mobilization stations."

Vatican press release, 29 July: "A request on the part of the Holy Father to travel to Moscow to talk to the Soviet premier in an attempt to find a peaceful solution to the current crisis was denied. The Holy Father calls for both sides to remember their responsibility to their people and to the world and again offered his services in any future negotiations." BBC news release, 30 July: "A stormy session between the French president and the Soviet foreign minister in Paris today ended when the Soviet foreign minister warned the French president that the national interests of France would best be served if that nation did not involve itself in the current crisis between the

Soviet Union and the United States. In a statement immediately after the meeting, the president announced that France would stand by her treaties and do her part to defend Europe against aggression from any quarter. The president went on to announce that the French military forces, with the exception of its strategic nuclear forces, would actively cooperate with other NATO nations during the current crisis."

Television news story, 1 Aug: "We interrupt this program for a special announcement.

Unconfirmed reports from Brussels, headquarters for NATO, state that the NATO nations have ordered their armed forces to mobilize and commence deployment to wartime positions. While there is no official word from Washington concerning this, announcement of an address to the nation by the president at seven o'clock this morning, followed by a joint press conference by the secretaries of state and defense, seems to add credibility to these reports."

CHAPTER ONE.

Stand-To!

The noise and the metallic voice sounded as if they came from the far end of along, dark corridor. There were no other feelings or sensations as he drifted from a dead sleep through that transitional period of half-asleep-halfawake. An inner, soothing voice on the near end of the corridor whispered, "It's not important, go back to sleep." But the radio whined back to life again and the metallic voice called out unanswered, "BRAVO THREE

ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER."

The inner voice was silent this time. Duty called and further sleep had to be abandoned.

As Captain Bannon began the grim process of waking up, other senses began to enter play.

First came the aches and pains and muscle spasms, the result of sleeping on an uneven bed of personal gear, vehicular equipment, ration boxes, ammo boxes, and other odds and ends that tend to clutter the interior of a combat vehicle. A tumbled and distorted bed made up of paraphernalia ranging from soft, to not-so-soft, to downright hard does cruel things to the human body. Only exhaustion and the desire to be near the radios whenever possible allowed Bannon to survive the ordeal of sleeping like that.

While still sorting out the waves of pains and spasms, he opened his eyes and began to search the interior of the armored personnel carrier in an effort to reestablish his orientation.

The personnel carrier, or PC, was dimly lit by a dome light just above his head. It bathed everything in an eerie blue green light that reminded him of a scene from a Spielberg movie.

First Lieutenant Robert Uleski, the company executive officer, or XO, was sitting in the center of the crew compartment, on a box of field rations, staring at the radio, waiting for it to speak to him again. Cattycorner from where Bannon was perched was the PC's driver, Sp4

James Hurly, huddled up and asleep in the driver's compartment. For a moment Bannon stared at Hurly, wondering how the boy could sleep in such a godawful position. A twinge and a spasm from one of his contorted back muscles reminded him of his accommodations. Perhaps, he thought, the driver wasn't in such a bad spot after all.

A static crackle, a bright orange light on the face of the radio and the accelerating whine of a small cooling fan heralded the beginning of another incoming radio call: "BRAVO THREE

ROMEO FIVE SIX-BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN

SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER." Without changing his expression or moving any other part of his body except his right arm and hand, which held the radio hand mike, Uleski raised the mike to within an inch of his mouth, pressed the push-to-talk button, and waited a couple of seconds. The little cooling fan in the radio whined to life. When the fan reached a steady speed, he began to talk, still facing the radio without changing expression.

"KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-THIS IS BRA VO THREE MIKE FIVE SIX-STAY OFF

THE AIR-I SAY AGAIN-STAY OFF THE AIR-OUT." Releasing the push-to-talk button, Uleski allowed his hand to fall back slowly into his lap. He continued to stare at the now silent radio as if he would pounce and attack it if it dared to come to life again. But it didn't.

Bannon's first effort to speak ended in an incoherent grunt due to a dry mouth and a parched throat. After summoning

up what saliva he could, his second effort was slightly more successful. "Is that 3rd Platoon again?"

Still staring at the radio with the same expression, Uleski provided a short, functional, "Yes, sir." "What time is it?"

Uleski raised his left arm in the same slow, mechanical manner as he had used when answering the radio. Looking at his watch, he considered for a moment what he was looking at and in the same monotone he simply stated, "0234 hours."

It wasn't that Lieutenant Uleski was an expressionless automaton without feelings. On the contrary, "Ski," or Lieutenant U, as the enlisted men called him, was a very personable man with a good sense of humor, a sharp wit, and an enormous capacity to absorb Polish jokes and retaliate with appropriate ethnic jokes aimed at his opponent. It's just that in the very early morning, everyone falls into a zombielike state. The requirement-to sit on a hard surface for hours on end, in a small, cold aluminum armored box called a PC, with two sleeping bodies as your only company, with nothing better to do than stare at a radio that you did not expect, or want, to come to life-only added to one's tiredness. Uleski was not an exception. Nor was Bannon.

Considering for a moment the information his XO had given him, Bannon slowly plotted his next move. The PC was quiet and Uleski had gone back to watching the radio. Slowly, his mind began to come alive and it became apparent that sitting there, watching Uleski watching the radios was definitely nonproductive. Besides, Bannon was now in too much pain to go back to sleep and movement was the only way he was going to stop the aches and spasms. It was time to make the supreme effort and get up. Besides, the Team would be having stand-to within the hour and he needed some time to get himself together. While it was permissible for everyone else to look like he had just rolled out of bed at stand-to, the Team commander, at least, had to give the appearance that he was wide awake and ready to deal with the world. The night, if four hours of sleep on a pile of assorted junk could be called a night, was over. It was time to

greet a new day, another dawn, the fourth since Team Yankee had rolled out of garrison and headed for the border.

Long before the tanks rolled out of the back gate toward the border, Pat Bannon knew that Sean was involved in more than another exercise. After eight years of marriage and life in the army, Pat could read her husband's moods like a book. At first, there was little change.

The sinking of the oil tankers in the Persian Gulf by perpetually warring nations was just another story on the Armed Forces Network evening news. Life in the military community continued as usual, as did Sean's comings and goings. It was the closing of the Straits of Hormuz and the commitment of a U.S. carrier battle group to the area that began the change. The husbands began to spend more time at their units. The normal twelve-hour day that commanders and staff officers put in stretched into fourteen and fifteen hours. They tried to shrug off the extra hours as prep for an upcoming field exercise. But the wives who had

"been in the service" awhile knew that the new routine was not the norm.

Some wives became upset and nervous. They didn't know what was happening but felt that, whatever it was, it was not good. Others talked about nothing else, as if it was a challenge to find out what the big dark secret was. During the day they would gather together with the rest of the "grapevine" and compare notes in order to pool information they had gleaned from their husbands the night before. Pat chose to follow the lead of the older wives in the battalion. Cathy Hill, wife of the battalion commander of 1 st of the 4th Armor, went out of her way to carry on as if everything was business as usual. So did Mary Shell, the wife of the battalion S-3. Pat and many of the wives followed their lead, not asking questions or nagging. They agreed that, whatever was happening, nagging wives would not help the situation.

It was the public announcement that the Soviets were sending a naval battle group to the Persian Gulf to "assist in maintaining

peace in the Gulf" that destroyed the last pretense of normalcy. When Pat told Sean the news after he

came home from morning PT, he simply replied, "Yeah, I know." His attitude convinced Pat that he had already known about the incident and probably more. The feeling of dread and foreboding became more pronounced when word spread around the community that the.

training exercise for which the battalion had been preparing for months was suddenly canceled. In their two-and-a-half years in Germany, that had never happened before. To make matters worse, cancellation of the exercise did not change the new fourteenhour day routine.

Over the next few days every new deterioration in the world situation seemed to be matched with further preparations by the battalion. One night, Sean brought home his field gear and took out his old worn fatigues and clothing and put some of his newer fatigues in. The next day, while returning from the commissary, Pat saw trucks with ammo caution signs on them in the motor pool, dropping off boxes at each of the tanks. Even the community dispensary began to pack up. The news that a U.S. and Soviet warship in the Gulf had collided and then exchanged fire, silenced the last optimist.

Pat wasn't ready for this. It suddenly dawned on her that her husband might be going to war.

The possibility was always there. After all, Sean was a soldier and soldiers were expected to fight. As Sean would say on occasion, that's what he was paid for. Pat knew that someday it might come to that but had never given it much thought. Now she had to. It was like a great dark abyss. She had no guidelines, no idea of what to do. The Army spent a fortune training and preparing Sean for this moment but not a penny to prepare her, the wife of a soldier. Pat decided that the only thing she could do was to make this period as comfortable and as easy for Sean as possible.

Besides Sean, there were the children. Little Sean, the eldest, already knew something was not right. For a child of six, he was very perceptive and picked up on the tension and fear that both his mother and father were trying to hide. He didn't talk about it but would show his concern by asking his father each morning if he was going to come home that night.

Little Sean would stay awake until his father did come and then would get out of his bed, run to his father and hug him with no intention of letting go. Sean had to carry his son to bed, lay him down and talk to him for awhile. Kurt, at three, was hell on wheels and just the opposite of his older brother. Their daughter Sarah, at one, was fast growing up by trying to do everything her brothers did; her busy schedule of exploration and mischief kept her from noticing a break in routine.

The transition from home and family to field and prep for war boggled Bannon's clouded mind. It was almost as if he had been moved into a different world. Pondering such deep thoughts, however, was getting him nowhere. He had to get moving and live in the present world and hope for the best in the other.

New pains and spasms were Bannon's reward for placing his body in motion.

Slowly and with care, he moved each appendage of his body. Once in the sitting position, he stopped, rested, and considered his next move. These things can't be rushed. Minds work just as slowly as bodies do at 0234

hours.

"Well, I guess it's time for Garger's early morning ass chewing," Bannon said, more to himself than to Uleski. "You would think that after getting beaten about the head and shoulders for the same damn thing three days in a row he would learn. Oh Lord, save me from second lieutenants."

For the first time Uleski's face showed expression as a small grin preceded a chuckle and his retort, "Yeah, especially this one."

"Don't be so smug, Ski. The only reason I like you is because I never knew you when you were a second lieutenant. "

Uleski faced Bannon, still grinning. "I never was a second lieutenant.

Wouldn't have any part of it and told the ROTC recruiter so. Naturally, once they found out who I was, they agreed. So here I am, a full-grown U.S.

Army first lieutenant, guarding the frontiers of freedom and making the world safe for democracy."

Bannon smirked and shook his head. "God, the sun isn't even up and already the bull is getting deep in here. I better get out before I'm drowned." They both chuckled. It's amazing what soldiers find humorous and amusing at

0234 hours.

"I'm going over to 3rd Platoon first and give Garger his early morning lecture on the meaning of radio listening silence. Then I'm going to swing by the Mech Platoon and see how they're doing. I expect to be back for stand-to. When was the last time you checked the batteries?"

"About twenty minutes ago. They should be good until stand-to. "

"You better be right. I don't want to have the track that both the CO and XO occupied be the only one that has to be sla,ed off in the morning. Bad for the image."

With a feigned look of surprise on his face, Uleski shot back, "Image? You mean we're going to start worrying about our image? Do you think the men can take it?"

"At ease there, first lieutenant. XOs as well as platoon leaders can get jacked up in the morning too, you know."

Hunching his head down between his shoulders and putting his hands up in mock surrender, Uleski repeated "Yes, sir, yes, sir, don't beat me too hard, sir," as he turned back toward the radio with a grin on his face.

Digging through the pile of junk that had been his bed, Bannon pulled out his gear and started to get ready. Field jacket, protective mask, web gear with weapon and other assorted items on it, and, of course, the helmet.

Putting on this gear always reminded him of a bull fighter preparing for the arena. All the gear that the well-dressed American soldier was supposed to wear was definitely not designed with the armored vehicle crewman in mind. Bannon was reminded of this when he exited the PC through the small rear troop door. Climbing through this four-foot door was always a challenge. In the dark, with all one's gear on, made it that much more interesting. But at that hour in the morning the last thing he needed was a challenge.

It felt good to Bannon to be able to stand upright and stretch his legs.

The chill and early morning mist were refreshing after being in the cramped PC for hours. It

reminded him, however, more of an April or early May morning back in Pennsylvania than August-the German weather in August was more like a New England spring.

The chill cleared his mind and it began to turn to matters at hand. Yesterday had been hot and sunny, and with as much moisture as there was in

the air, they were bound to have a heavy fog throughout most of the morning. That meant moving a listening post down into the valley to the Team's front, even though the cavalry was still deployed forward. This was the Mech Platoon's job and although they would probably do it automatically as soon as they saw the fog rising, Bannon intended to remind them when he got there. The old saying, "The one time you forget to remind someone of something is the one time he forgets and it is the one time it really needed to be done," kept buzzing through his head.

Bannon's eyes were becoming accustomed to the darkness. He could now make out images of other nearby vehicles like the headquarters PC he had just exited pulled into the tree line. One track, an Improved Tow Vehicle or ITV, attached to the Team from the mech battalion to which Team Yankee was attached, sat forward at the edge of the tree line. Its camouflage net was off and the hammerheadlike launcher and sight was erect, peering down into the valley below. This track was one of the Team's OPs, or observation posts, using its thermal sight to watch the Team's sector of responsibility through the dark and now through the gathering fog.

Bannon walked over to the ITV to make sure the crew was awake. He stumbled over roots and branches that reached up and grabbed his ankles while low branches swatted him in the face. He stopped for a moment, pushed the offending branches out of the way and began to go forward again, remembering this time to pick up his feet to clear the stumps and using his arm to clear the branches. As he proceeded, Bannon decided that rather than fight the underbrush and roots on his way over to 3rd Platoon, he would skirt the tree line.

This was not a good practice, but as it was dark and hostilities had not been declared yet, he decided to do it, one more time.

When he reached the ITV, the launcher's hammerheadlike turret slowly moved to the right, indicating that the crew was awake and on the job. Knowing that the crew would have the troop door combat-locked, Bannon took out his buck knife and rapped on the door three times. As he waited for a response, the shuffle of the crewman on duty could be heard as he climbed back over gear and other crewmen to open the door. Struggling with the door handle, the crewman rotated the lever and let the door swing out. Bannon was greeted by a dark figure hanging halfway out the door and a slurred, "Yeah, what ya want?"

"It's Captain Bannon. Anything going on down in the valley?"

Straightening up slightly, the ITV crewman realized whom he was talking to. "Oh, sorry, sir, I didn't know it was you, sir. No, we ain't seen nothin' all night 'cept some jeeps and a deuce 'n a half going up to the cavalry. Been quiet. We expectin' something?"

"No, at least not that I've heard. The cavalry should give us some warning but just in case, I need you to stay on your toes. You checked your batteries lately?"

"Yes, sir, 'bout an hour ago we cranked her up and ran it for twenty minutes."

"OK. Keep awake and alert. Let the XO over there know if something comes along." After a perfunctory "yes, sir," the crewman closed his door and locked it as Bannon turned away and walked out to the edge of the tree line. It bothered him that he didn't know the crewman's name. Bannon had only seen that ITV crewman for the first time three days ago after the Team had pulled into its positions. That's the trouble with attachments. You never know whom you're going to get and you never get a chance to know them. Except for the fact that he was the CO and the Team headquarters track was parked nearby, the ITV crewmen didn't know much about him either. And yet, very shortly, they might have to take orders from him in combat. Bannon hoped that the ITV crewmen trusted his ability to command in battle with the same blind faith that he trusted their ability to kill Russian tanks with their ITV.

As he trudged over to the 3rd Platoon, he reviewed the Team's dispositions and mission.

The Team had gone over it often enough using map exercises, terrain walks, battle simulations and field training exercises, or FTXs,

on

similar ground. But Bannon was still not totally satisfied that they were in the best possible positions to meet all eventualities. Team Yankee was deployed on the forward slope of a large hill overlooking a river valley. The forest where the Team was located came halfway down the slope until it reached a point where it dropped all the way down onto the floor of the valley. That point was the Team's left flank and it was where 2nd Platoon was positioned.

From there the platoon could fire across the face of the slope, into the valley or across the valley, toward the high ground opposite them.

In the center was the Team's headquarters section, consisting of Bannon's tank, the XO's tank and two ITVs from the mech battalion's antitank company. From there they had a good view of the valley, a small village situated in the valley to the right front, a road, and a separate small valley that ran along the Team's right flank. This constituted the limit of

the Team's battle position.

It was on the right that the Team had the greatest concentration of power, the 3rd Platoon and the Mech Platoon. The Mech Platoon was equipped with M

113 armored personnel carriers and Dragon antitank guided missiles. This Platoon had been scheduled to receive Bradley fighting vehicles, but that kept getting put off since procurement of those powerful fighting vehicles had slowed down. The Mech Platoon was split into two elements. The dismounted element, led by the platoon leader, consisted of most of the infantrymen, two Dragons and three M60 machine guns. This element held a walled farm in the small valley on the right. The mounted element, led by the platoon sergeant, consisted of the Platoon's PCs, their crews and two more Dragons. They were above the same farm on the slope in the tree line. From their positions, the Mech Platoon could block the small valley and keep anyone from exiting the village if and when the other people got in there.

The 3rd Platoon was located a little further behind and higher up on the slope from the Mech Platoon. The 3rd

Platoon could fire into the main valley, the small valley to the right, the village, or across the valley at the opposite heights. This platoon would also cover the withdrawal of the Mech Platoon if and when that became necessary.

Bannon was not comfortable with the idea of defending on a forward slope. Should a withdrawal under fire be necessary, all the Team's vehicles would have to go uphill, at times exposed to observation and fire from the enemy on the other side of the valley. In addition, the only positions from which most of the Team would be able to fire were immediately inside the tree line. This position was so obvious it hurt. Bannon could visualize some Soviet artillery commander plotting likely targets and coming across their hill during his terrain analysis. Glee would light up on the Russian's face as he told his trusted subordinate,

"There, there they will defend, in this tree line. Make sure we target that area with at least five, no six, battalions of artillery, comrade." Bannon had been over it all before and if they came out of this deployment without going to war he resolved that he would go over it again.

But for now, he, and Team Yankee, were obliged to fight on the ground where they sat.

As Bannon approached the 3rd Platoon's position he heard a slight rustling followed by the two low voices. He had reached the 3rd Platoon's OPLP. "Halt, who goes there?" came the challenge in a voice that was a little too loud and sounded surprised. Bannon had no doubt caught the soldiers manning the OP half-asleep and had startled them. The voice that had issued the challenge sounded like Private Lenord from the 32 tank. The sentry repeated his challenge, "Who goes there?" It was Lenord. "Captain Bannon."

"Oh, okay. You can come on in then."

While this homey invitation was a refreshing change of pace from the less-than-cheerful thoughts Bannon had been pondering, it was definitely not the way to do business while on guard. As he approached, he could hear a second soldier telling Lenord that he had screwed up. When Bannon was no more than arm's distance from them, the two men quietly stood up to face their commanding officer. As they were just inside the tree line, none of them could see the other's face. But Bannon was reasonably sure there was a pained expression on Lenord's face. Not knowing which of the two forms facing him was Lenord, Bannon directed his comments to both. "Is that the proper way to challenge someone?" "No, sir, it's not, sir."

"How are you supposed to challenge a stranger when he approaches your position, Lenord?"

Without hesitation, and as if he were reciting from a book, Lenord went through the correct challenge and password procedures. With a plaintive voice and a few expletives, Bannon asked Lenord why he hadn't used the correct procedures. "Because you said you were the CO and I recognized your voice, sir." The answer was honest but wrong. Bannon explained that everyone gets the full treatment. Lenord didn't seem to understand the logic in this but promised that he wouldn't forget the next time. As Bannon walked away toward the 32 tank he could hear the second soldier tell Lenord, "See, I told you so," as they settled down into their positions again.

Upon reaching the 32 tank, Bannon started climbing up on the right front fender but stopped halfway up when he heard the cocking of a .45 and a low, firm "Halt." The voice belonged to SSgt Joelle Blackfoot, a full-blooded Cherokee Indian and tank commander of 32. Bannon had no doubt that there was a .45 cocked, loaded, and aimed at him. "Who goes there?"

"Captain Bannon."

"Advance and be recognized."

Bannon finished climbing up and moved slowly to the edge of the turret, now able to make out the figure in the cupola with an outstretched arm holding a .45. In a lower voice just audible to him, Blackfoot gave the challenge,

"Wrinkle."

"Bait," was Bannon's reply.

Satisfied with the answer, Blackfoot raised his pistol and slowly let the hammer down. "When's the war going to start, Captain?"

Pulling himself up onto the top of the turret so that he was lying across the length of it with his head near Blackfoot's, Bannon spoke to Blackfoot about Lenord's failure to challenge properly and how things were going with the crew's preparations for combat. Being the thorough NCO that he was, Blackfoot was not happy with the crew drill between him and his gunner. Blackfoot explained that his gunner was slow to pick up targets that he had acquired and on which he had laid the main gun. He wanted some time on a road or someplace where they could move the tank and practice their crew drill. Bannon explained that for security reasons all vehicular movement had to be kept down to a minimum. Blackfoot, like everyone else in the Team, would just have to do the best he could from a stationary position. Blackfoot replied that he knew that but he saw no harm in asking. After getting the weather prediction for the day and his best guess as to when the fog would lift, Bannon climbed down and proceeded to Lieutenant Garger's tank, the next in line.

As he approached the 31 tank, Bannon began going over the "counseling" he would use with Garger this morning. Garger wasn't a naturally bad lieutenant. In fact, he was no different from any other second lieutenant, including himself, that Bannon had known. It took time, training, and a lot of patience to develop a good second lieutenant tank platoon leader.

For only having been in the country for three weeks, Garger wasn't doing half bad. But while half bad was all right on a training exercise, it wouldn't hack it in combat. The time and opportunity to teach the

lieutenant-everything he needed to know just wasn't there anymore. The Team was about to go into combat and Bannon had no faith in Garger's ability to perform.

The platoon sergeant, SFC Gary Pierson, a veteran of Vietnam and an outstanding trooper, had been doing his best to train the lieutenant when Bannon wasn't. Pierson was also trying to cover for Garger so that the platoon didn't look bad. But Pierson couldn't do it all. Either the lieutenant had to perform or he had to go. At this late stage of the game, Bannon wasn't about to put lives in the hands of a lieutenant

who had, so far, screwed up most of the tasks given him. He intended to talk to the battalion commander about the matter later that day. But first, there was the business at hand.

Climbing up onto the right front fender of the 31 tank, he was stopped as he had been on Blackfoot's tank with a "Halt, who goes there?" Only instead of using a .45 to keep the unknown intruder at bay, the figure in the cupola tried to crank his M2 machine gun down and in Bannon's direction. As

the firing mechanism is part of the gun's elevation handle and is easily activated, a brief moment of panic swept over Bannon. He 'considered whether it were better to jump, scream, or hope for the best. Fortunately, inept handling of the machine gun's controls frustrated the figure in the cupola and he decided to go to his .45 as an alternative. As the figure fumbled for his pistol, Bannon identified himself and finished climbing on board.

Abandoning all hopes of covering the intruder with a weapon, the figure simply finished the challenge and password procedures in a dejected and apprehensive voice. Lieutenant Garger was running true to form this morning.

Bannon crawled onto the turret and propped himself up on his elbows so that he was less than a foot from Garger. "Well, what shall we talk about this morning, Lieutenant Garger?"

Garger paused for a moment, not knowing if he was expected to answer or if the Team commander was simply going to lay into him. Hesitantly, he replied in a halfquestion, half-statement, "RTO procedures, sir?"

"No, no. Close, but a no-go. How about radio listening silence? You remember our discussion on that subject yesterday morning?"

"Yes, sir."

"THEN WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU BREAK RADIO LISTENING SILENCE AGAIN

TODAY? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID OR JUST SOFT IN THE HEAD?" While waiting for his answer, Bannon did his best to pull himself back and calm down. He had a tendency to become excited and abusive. He had told himself time and again that it wouldn't do to get this cranked up; he had to be calm and logical. But habits are hard to break, especially so early in

the morning. There would, no doubt, be plenty more reasons for getting excited later today.

Falteringly, Garger replied, "No, sir. I just wanted to make sure the radios worked since we changed frequencies and all."

With his composure regained, Bannon continued, "Did your radio work yesterday before I chewed your ass out for breaking radio listening silence?" "Yes, sir."

"And did your radio work the day before yesterday just before I chewed your ass out for breaking radio listening silence?"

"Yes, sir."

"Then why did you do it again? I mean, by now even you should be able to figure out that, a, your radio works every time you use it and b, every time you use it I am going to come down and jump in your shit. Do you understand what I'm telling you, I mean, do you really understand?"

"Yes, sir, I do, it's just that, well, I . . ."

"One more time, I swear, one more time ..."

Without finishing or waiting for a response, Bannon slid himself back off the turret and climbed down the same way he had come up. To stay any longer would not do him or his nervous system any good. If the point hadn't been made by now, it never would be.

Bannon hadn't walked ten meters from the 31 tank when Pierson's low, firm voice startled him. "This is starting to be a regular routine, isn't it, Captain Bannon? I'm going to start setting my watch by you." Bannon stopped, turned toward Pierson's figure, and leaned against a tree for support. He still hadn't calmed down from his discussion with Garger and Pierson's sudden appearance had scared the hell out of him. As he collected his wits, he thought to himself, "The sun isn't even up and it

is

building up to be a real peachy day." Looking at the dark figure approaching him, he asked,

"Are you looking to give me a heart attack or

is

this some type of leadership reaction course?"

"No, sir, I just wanted to come over and save our favorite lieutenant before the wolves got him. But from the roar, I figured I was too late so I decided to wait for you here."

"You know, I could charge you with attempted murder."

"You wouldn't do that, Captain. Then, who would you find to whip this collection of derelicts and criminals you call a tank platoon into shape?" "You're right, Sergeant Pierson. No sane man would take the job. I guess I'll have to keep you. But I'm not too sure about your lieutenant. After stand-to and breakfast I'm going to talk to the Old Man about pulling Garger out. If I give you Williams as a loader do you have a gunner who can take over the 31 tank and a loader that can move into a gunner's seat?" "Sergeant Pauly could handle the tank and I have a couple of loaders who are ready to gun. But do you want to start screwing around with crews at this late stage? I mean, the lieutenant may not have all his stuff together yet but given a little more time, I'm sure he'll catch on. You know how it was your first time out."

"Yes, Sergeant Pierson, I know what it was like. I really wasn't much better than Garger. But this is different. When I screwed up as a young platoon leader the worst I got was an ass chewing from the CO, a lot of smirks from the men in the platoon, and a sick feeling in my stomach. If the balloon goes up in the next couple of days and Garger blows it, he not only stands a damn good chance of losing his own behind and his crew's, but a failure on his part could cost me the whole platoon and more. I feel sorry for the kid and I wish I could do more for him. But I have a whole company to look out for and I'm not going to take any chances that I don't have to."

Bannon and Pierson stood for a minute and stared at each other, neither of them able to see the other's facial expression. Both knew that what the other said was right, to a degree.

Pierson hated to admit defeat, the defeat of not being able to train his new lieutenant.

Bannon felt the same. But they also knew that there simply was no time left, that they had to deal with bigger issues than pride. Garger might do well once the shooting started. There was no way to tell. Bannon didn't want to take the chance. His mind was set. If he could swing it, Garger would go. The two men exchanged a few more remarks, mostly about the condition of the platoon's vehicles, plans to improve the positions, and the training that needed to be done that day. Then they parted, Bannon proceeding around the hill to the Mech Platoon while Pierson started rousing his platoon for stand-to. The war, or at least the preparations for war, went on.

By the time Bannon had worked his way down to the walled farm and to the dismounted element of the Mech Platoon's positions, it was getting light. Not that you could see the sun.

In fact, the rising fog made it almost impossible to see anything beyond twenty meters. The Mech Platoon, led by

2nd Lt. William Harding, was already moving into its position and preparing for stand-to.

Bannon decided to stay with them until after stand-to. This platoon was good. They had an unusually good combination of platoon leader, platoon sergeant, and squad leaders.

Harding and the platoon sergeant, a SFC Leslie Polgar, had been together for almost a year and they complemented each other. Harding did the thinking, gave the orders, and led the platoon while Polgar led the training and did the motivating and the ass kicking, which to Polgar were all one and the same.

It was easy to see that the soldiers were well trained and confident in themselves, their weapons, and their leaders, Bannon thought as he watched them. The men moved into their positions with hardly a word, checked their weapons, situated themselves to cover their assigned areas, ready for the enemy or stand down, whichever came first. By the time Bannon had arrived at the farm, Harding had already sent a squad into the village to establish a listening post, or LP. The men manning the LP had taken two Dragons with them. Harding kept his other two Dragons with the mounted element. As he leaned against the farmhouse wall, looking out of the window across from Harding, Bannon kept thinking how worthless he would be here if the other people came boiling out of the fog. Without his sixty-one-ton tank wrapped around him, he wouldn't be much good to anyone in a fire fight armed only with a .45 pistol that was probably older than he was. Not that the .45 was a bad weapon. It's just that

in a real fire fight Bannon wanted to have the ability to reach out and touch someone.

Hand-to-hand combat, eyeball-toeyeball brawls with the enemy might make great war movies, but it simply wasn't his idea of doing business. At the first opportunity, he resolved to secure himself an Ml6 rifle. It might be a pain to carry around, but an M 16 provides its owner with a much greater sense of security when he is fumbling around in the dark alone.

By 0500 it was as light as it was going to get and there were no Russians, or anyone else for that matter, in sight. Bannon told Harding to maintain the squad in the village until the fog lifted and to stand down the rest of

his platoon. He also reminded Harding of the 0730 platoon leaders' meeting and the weapons inspection for the Mech Platoon at 0900 hours. Bannon knew that by the time he returned to the platoon all weapons would have been checked for cleanliness, functioning, headspace, and timing by either Harding or the platoon sergeant or both. But it was part of the routine that had been established, and it gave him a chance to learn more about the men in the platoon and a chance for them to see him. It was important that the attached units know that their commander had high standards when it came to important items like weapons, positions, camouflage, and all those things that separated the quick from the dead.

On his way back, Bannon walked from track to track, greeting each crew as they prepared for breakfast and another day on the border. He made some corrections, a few comments, listened to a complaint or two, and generally let himself be seen. Only around the 31 tank was his presence greeted with a proper but chilled reception. The other crew members of 31 were in a depressed mood, for they, like Pierson, did not want to be defeated by the loss of their lieutenant. But they were far less sanguine than Pierson about fighting for his retention. The crew knew that if Garger screwed up in combat they would be the first to pay for it. Unlike a dismounted infantry squad where every man can go off on his own if something gets screwed up, a tank crew is a joint venture where one's fate is welded to the actions of the other crew members. The sixty-one tons of steel that enclose them silently bind their collective fates together. So there is a strong self-serving motivation that causes tankers to work together and ensures that each member of the crew can perform his job. Pride was running a distant second to survival for most of the 31 crew.

Uleski, the tank crews of the two headquarters tank and the ITV crews were either washing and shaving or squaring away their tracks by the time Bannon finished his morning rounds.

The ITV that had been at the edge of the tree line had pulled back into its hide position and was camouflaged. Uleski was squatting next to the PC, stripped down to his waist, washing himself from a small pan of water. Looking up as Bannon approached, he grinned, "I knew you would be back by stand-to. I just didn't know what day. Do you have a murder to report and an emergency requisition for a second lieutenant platoon leader to submit?"

"Come on, U, I'm a nice guy. Do you for one moment think that I would bring any harm to that poor young man over in 3rd Platoon? I mean, do I look like a mean person?"

Standing up and squinting his eyes as he looked Bannon over, he replied, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were my CO, the one who isn't worth a damn in the morning until he's eaten a second lieutenant."

"Yeah, it's me alright. Only this morning a second lieutenant wasn't enough. Now I'm looking for a first lieutenant for dessert." Uleski looked to his left, then to his right, using exaggerated movements, then turned back to face Bannon. "Ain't seen any o'them 'round here. Y'all might try over in yonder hill cuntree," pointing east to the border. With the second round of poor humor decided in Uleski's favor, the Team commander and XO got down to the morning's business while Uleski finished washing and Bannon dug his shaving gear out and prepared to wash up. Uleski had a long day ahead and Bannon wanted him to get started. There were maintenance problems that needed attention, and spare parts that had to be requested, borrowed, or scrounged. The laundry point needed to be located and arrangements made to turn in the company's laundry. Batteries for field phones and wire to replace some which had

been torn out by a cavalry track that had wandered into the Team's area had to be found.

These and many small but important tasks were required to keep the Team in business.

Once the first sergeant came up to the position with breakfast, he and Uleski would divide up the list of tasks between them and go about the day's duties.

The Team wasn't in bad shape. The last tank that had fallen out of the line of march during the movement to the border had finally closed in yesterday afternoon, giving Team Yankee a total of ten tanks, five M I 13s, and two ITVs. Two of the tanks had problems with their fire control system but nothing that would take more than another day to repair. In fact, the vehicles were in better shape than the people were.

Not that they were falling apart. However, life in the field wears away at soldiers unless simple creature comforts such as food, clean dry clothes, and other such necessaries are provided. Added to the problems of living in

the field, the tension caused by the alert and move to the border, followed by the flurry of almost panicked activity during the first twenty-four hours in position, followed by three days of waiting and there is potential for a disaster. This was made worse by the lack of solid news from the outside world and the concerns of the married personnel, including Bannon himself, about the evacuation of the dependents back to the States. To top it off, many of the men had not brought extra fatigues and some hadn't even brought a change of underwear.

After three days of hot weather and hard work, the company was getting funky.

Efforts to secure reliable news from the outside world had failed. The rear areas were in a state of panic as German civilians ignored their government's call to stay in place and instead took to the roads leading west. The Office of Public Information, in a less than brilliant move, had taken the Armed Forces Network off the air. Censorship of the BBC and German radio only told the men in Team Yankee that NATO forces were mobilizing and deploying, something they already knew, and negotiations between NATO and Warsaw Pact representatives were still going on at a secret location. So the men were in the dark, not knowing much more than what was going on within their platoon position and unable to find out from anyone whether they were going to go home tomorrow or be part of the first act of World War III. The longer this situation lasted, the more it tended to erode the men's morale. While there was nothing that Bannon could do about news or settling the dispute that started the whole thing, he and the rest of the Team's leadership could do something about the physical well-being of the men. The first sergeant, Raymond Harrert, had found a gasthaus where the men could wash up and rinse out some underwear. A schedule and transportation had been set up to rotate everyone through the first sergeant's comfort station, now being run by the company supply sergeant. The battalion had switched from dehydrated field rations that came in little brown bags, called MREs, to two hot meals a day, breakfast and dinner, and only one meal of MREs. A work and training schedule, which would allow the Team to improve positions, work out any last-minute crew coordination problems, and rest the men, had been instituted. In effect, the leadership was keeping the men as busy as possible doing constructive things without wearing them out. This kept their minds off the grim situation they were facing while preparing them to meet it. It was all that could be done. Just as Bannon finished washing up, the first sergeant arrived with breakfast.

His arrival at the headquarters position meant that the rest of the Team had finished breakfast, as headquarters tanks and ITVs were always the last to eat. When the men on the position had been served, Harrert, Uleski, and Bannon served each other breakfast.

Standing around the hood of

Harrert's jeep, they ate their cold powdered eggs, rubbery bacon strips, and soggy toast as they listened to the latest news the first sergeant had from the rear.

Most of Harrert's news was bad. The evacuation of dependents, which had started only yesterday, was going slowly. German military and civilian police had set up checkpoints to stem the flow of refugees and clear roads. The opposite was happening as monumental traffic jams became worse. Newspapers were scarce and none were making it farther forward than Division rear. Nor was the delivery of

mail straight yet. Finally, there were no batteries or WD-1 wire to be found anywhere in the brigade.

The good news was limited but welcome. Harrert had located a quartermaster field laundry.

The men would be able to exchange underwear. Uleski commented that the Environmental Protection Agency would be glad. The maintenance contact team working for the Team had located a new laser range finder for the 23 tank and would be up to install it that morning.

While only a few problems would be solved, any forward progress was welcome. The three agreed that, given two more days of peace, the Team would have all the big problems squared away and would be one hundred percent ready. As they finished up their working breakfast, they were joined by the platoon leaders coming up for the 0730 meeting. The group moved over to the PC where Bannon sat on the lowered ramp with Harrert and Uleski sitting on either side of him. The platoon leaders dropped down on the ground facing the three men, taking off their helmets, unbuckling their LBE belts, pulling out notebooks and pencils as they did so. The meeting had no sooner started when the first sergeant nudged Bannon and pointed to the left, "Here comes the Old Man."

Driving up through a logging trail that ran behind the Team's position came the battalion commander's jeep. One could always tell Lt. Col. George Reynolds's jeep. Four antennas that were never tied down were whipping wildly as the jeep rolled down the trail. The jeep had no top and a big infantry blue license plate mounted on the front fender displaying the silver oak leaf cluster of a lieutenant colonel with a black "6" superimposed on it. This violated every security measure the Army had, but "6" didn't give a damn. He was the battalion commander, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. Bannon turned the meeting over to Uleski, telling him to find out what the platoons needed as far as fuel and supplies were concerned. He then got up, put on his gear, and walked over to the trail to greet Reynolds.

The jeep hadn't stopped rolling before the colonel jumped out and started heading toward Bannon. They met halfway and exchanged salutes. Instead of "Hi, how are you?"

Bannon was greeted with a gruff "Well, Bannon, how are those overpriced rattletraps of yours this morning?"

"Sir, they're ready to kick ass and take names. When are you going to send me some Russians?"

Falling in on the colonel's left, he and Reynolds walked up to the gathering of platoon leaders despite Bannon's best efforts to steer him clear so that Uleski could go on with the meeting. Everyone stood up, dropping notebooks and maps while they put their helmets back on. Salutes, greetings, and some one-sided small talk ate up about five minutes before Bannon could pry the colonel off to the side and let Uleski carry on. As they walked to the tree line, Bannon informed Reynolds of his intention to replace Garger. The colonel took the same position that Pierson had. War was imminent, and it didn't seem like a good idea to switch platoon leaders. As Bannon was going over his reasons and justification, they both stood at the tree line and watched a two-and-a-half-ton truck drive down from the far side of the valley. The fog had cleared by now except along the river. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky and getting hot. The colonel was about to reply when the earsplitting screech of two fast-moving jets flying at treetop level cut him off. The two officers turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see two more jets come screaming into the valley from the east, drop down lower, and fly up the small valley on the right of the Team's positions.

Bannon didn't recognize the aircraft type, aircraft recognition wasn't one of his strong points.

But it wasn't necessary to identify the exact type. A glimpse of the red star on the fuselage told him everything that he needed to know about the two jets. The waiting was over. The balloon had gone up. Team Yankee was at war.

Despite his best efforts to give the impression that the current situation was nothing to worry about, Sean quietly had begun to make sure that the family affairs were in order. He saw to it that Pat had her emergency evacuation kit ready with food and blankets. He packed a special envelope for her

containing the important family documents. All the little details were reviewed and listed.

These efforts, while possibly reassuring to Sean, were disquieting to Pat. But she said nothing, listened intently to Sean's instructions, and prayed that all this wasn't going to be necessary.

Pat had known it would be the last night when Sean came in. In his eyes was a look of disbelief that all this was happening. She saw the same thing in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. When little Sean ran up to his father, rather than taking him to bed, Sean carried him over to the sofa, pulled out the family album, and began to leaf slowly through the pages. The two sat there quietly looking at the pictures until little Sean fell asleep. With great reluctance, Sean put his son to bed. After fifteen minutes, he came out of his son's room with red and moist eyes. For a moment he looked at Pat, then simply said that he was tired and was going to go to bed. Pat went with him.

The phone rang. Sean was up and out in a flash, as if he had never gone to sleep but had been lying there waiting for the call. When he came back, Pat watched him for a moment in the shadows of the dark bedroom as he gathered up his uniform and boots. When she spoke, she startled him. "Are you going in already?"

"Yes. Gotta. Wouldn't look good for the CO to be late, would it?"

"Will you be home for breakfast?"

"No, I won't."

"Should I hold supper for you tonight?"

"No, no need to."

Pat knew. And Sean knew Pat knew. After eight years of marriage, it's hard to hide secrets and harder to hide feelings. Sean came over to the bed and sat next to his wife. "Pat, the battalion is moving to the border in an hour. I don't know when we will be back."

"Is everyone going?"

"Everyone. The NATO ministers and their governments are mobilizing.

Everyone is going, including you."

"Are they really going to evacuate?"

"Starting this morning at 0900. That was going to be announced anyway. Now, there's no doubt."

As he finished dressing, Pat dressed. There was much to do. Sean was in the children's bedroom. She watched him for a moment and then went to the kitchen where she fixed her husband a bag lunch. As she was finishing it, all the restraint she had exercised and all her efforts to give Sean a cheery face and smile when he left collapsed. She began to cry. Her husband was going out the door in a minute to fight World War III, and all she could do for him was fix him a bag lunch.

CHAPTER TWO.

First Battle.

Both Colonel Reynolds and Captain Bannon stood there transfixed, staring at the point where the two Russian jets had disappeared up the valley. Bannon's mind was almost numb. He kept trying to convince himself that maybe he hadn't really seen two Russian jets.

Maybe he was mistaken. It had to be a mistake. The thought, "We can't really be at war. That isn't possible," kept running through his mind.

They both snapped their heads back toward the east as a crash and rumble like distant thunder rolled over them. They could only see the hill across the valley. But neither man needed to see to know what the distant noise was. The endless chain of distant crashes and rumblings, caused by hundreds of guns, could only be the Soviets' preparatory bombardment on the cavalry's forward positions.

Bannon turned and looked at the colonel. He continued to stare east as if he could look through the hill across the valley and see what was going on. The numbness and shock Bannon had felt was giving way to a sickening, sinking feeling. They had failed. The primary purpose of the U.S. Army in Europe was to prevent war. Deterrence. That's what was supposed to happen. But it had failed. Something terrible had gone wrong, and they had failed. Now they had to fight. They

were at war. And at that moment Bannon felt very alone, very unsure of himself, and very scared.

Reynolds turned and looked at Bannon. The colonel's face hadn't changed expression. If he were feeling the same things, he wasn't showing it. Reynolds studied Bannon for a moment, sensing the shock and uncertainty that showed on the captain's face. He had seen it before, in Vietnam, so Bannon's reactions didn't surprise him. "Well, Captain, let's see if those buckets of bolts you always brag about are worth the money the government spent on them.

Get your company in MOPP level II, stand by to occupy your fighting positions, and stay on the net, but don't call me unless you need to. I expect the cavalry will come screaming back through that passage point like a whipped dog. Be ready to cover them and get them out of the way as fast as you can. You got any questions?"

Bannon took in what the colonel was saying. What was there to question? This was what all the training was about. All their preparations were for this moment. Now all they had to do was put it into action. "No, sir, no questions."

"Well then, get moving and good hunting." Without waiting for a response, the colonel turned and began to move back to his jeep with a quick, purposeful pace. He did not look back.

Reynolds was setting the example, and he expected Bannon to follow it.

As Bannon turned back toward the PC where he had left the platoon leaders, a new series of artillery concentrations began to impact closer to the Team's positions. Additional Soviet artillery units were joining in, hitting the cavalry's rear positions. The latest series impacted just behind the hill on the other side of the valley. "Hell, the colonel could be cool and walk,"

Bannon thought. "This is my first war and I damn sure don't care about impressing anyone with my calm right now." He broke out into a slow run, weapon, protective mask, and canteen bouncing and banging against his body as he trotted through the trees to the PC.

As he neared the PC, Bannon could see the platoon leaders, Uleski, and the first sergeant watching the colonel's jeep go tearing down the logging trail, throwing up stones and disappearing in a cloud of dust. They had heard the jets and the artillery. Bannon slowed down to a walk, caught his breath, and moved up to them. All eyes turned to him.

"All right, this is it. The Russians are laying into the cavalry and when Ivan finishes with them, we're next. I want everyone in MOPP level II. Leave the nets over your tracks but clear them away from the front so that you can move forward into position quickly. First Sergeant, take the PC and fire team from the Mech Platoon that are designated to man the passage point and get down there. Lieutenant U, you'll stay up here with the ITVs and fight them with 2nd Platoon if necessary. I'm going to move my tank down to the right of 3rd Platoon and fight from there. Other than that, we do it the way we trained and planned. Stay off the air unless you have something really critical to report. Anyone have any questions?" He looked into each man's eyes, just as the colonel had done to him. He saw the same dark thoughts he had reflected in their expressions. Only the first sergeant, also a Vietnam vet, wore the stern, no-nonsense look he always did. For a few moments there was silence, broken only by the continuous crash and rumble of the artillery in the distance. "All right, let's move out and make it happen." Without waiting for a response, Bannon turned and began to walk towards his tank. As the colonel had done for him, he was setting the example for his people. He suspected that they would do the same with their tank commanders, and their TCs would, in turn, get their people moving. At least, that's what he hoped would be happening.

The drumbeat of the impacting Soviet artillery continued, growing louder but less intense.

The Russian gun crews must have been getting tired of humping rounds by now, and the rate of fire was slowing down. The distant rumble was joined by the noise of Team Yankee coming to life. The PC's driver cranked up its engine, revved it up, and began raising the rear ramp. The crews of the ITVs and of Bannon's tank, 66, also cranked up their engines.

As he neared his 66 tank, Bannon could see Sgt. Robert Folk, the gunner, in the cupola. Folk had his combat vehicle crewman's helmet, or .CVC, on and was manning the M2

machine gun, ready for action. Bannon tried to yell to him to dismount with the rest of the crew so they could tear down the net. The noise of the engine, the muffling of outside noise through his CVC, and Folk's preoccupation with trying to see what was going on to his front frustrated Bannon's efforts.

It wasn't until Bannon started climbing up on the front right fender that Folk noticed his commander. "Let's get this net off! You and Kelp get out here and help me with this net.

We're moving." Without waiting for a response, Bannon dropped down to the ground again and began to pull down the support poles and spreaders that held the net up. Whether Folk heard him or not was unimportant. As soon as he saw his captain tear at the net, Folk took off his CVC, leaned over toward the loader's hatch, and, with his left hand, slapped Kelp, the loader, on top of his CVC. Kelp looked up at Folk who pointed to Bannon, who continued to tear at the net. Getting the message, Kelp also removed his CVC and climbed out to help.

"Let's get this net down and stowed, just like we do during training. Only let's do it a little faster this time, OK?" Neither man answered. The expression on their faces was the same that had been on the platoon leaders'-stunned disbelief.

Folk dropped to the ground and circled the tank, pulling up the net's stakes as he went. Kelp started to pull down the supports and spreaders that were on the tank. With the stakes out and the poles down, the hard part began. The net caught on everything, including the crewmen taking it down. Tugging seldom did any good. One had to find what the net was caught on, pull it free, roll it up a little until it caught again, and repeat the process. Trying to hurry only seemed to make it worse. Despite the delays, the crew finally gathered the net up into a pile on the bustle rack and secured it. They hadn't done the neatest job of stowing it, but it was probably one of the fastest.

Before they climbed in, Bannon told his crew to get their chemical protective suits on. This was MOPP level II. As Folk and Kelp dug their suits out of their duffle bags, Bannon walked forward to the driver's compartment and told Pfc.

Joseph Ortelli, the driver, to climb out and get his suit on. As Ortelli reached over to kill the engine, Bannon stopped him, not wanting to run the risk of screwing something up. The last thing he needed was a tank that wouldn't restart. It was running, and he didn't want to mess with anything that was working properly.

As Bannon pulled his chemical suit on, the crew watched him. He took his time to ensure that he didn't fumble and fall. He had always been told that calm, like panic, was contagious.

Now was a good time to find out. Besides, it had been a long time since they had trained in their chemical protective clothing and he had to figure out where all the snaps and ties went.

The heavy protective clothing was a necessary evil of modern war. When Bannon was finished, he turned to Folk. "We ready to roll, Sergeant Folk?"

Folk looked at him for a moment. "Yes, sir. We're ready." Folk's tense expression relaxed slightly.

"Are all weapons loaded and on safe?" Bannon's second question caused the relaxed look to be replaced by one of embarrassment as both Folk and Kelp stopped pulling at their suits and looked at each other. "I take it that that's a big negative on my last question."

Sheepishly, Folk replied that it hadn't occurred to him to do so because they were in an assembly area with cavalry still out in front. All the range safety briefings and all the times the men had been harangued about keeping weapons clear and elevated except when on a live fire range were coming home to haunt them. Bannon couldn't blame the men. In their first battle, he could only expect them to do what they were taught in training, no better, no worse.

Stopping for a moment, Bannon leaned back on the side of the turret and looked at his crew. "Alright, guys, here it is. We're really at war. I don't know what's happening yet, but from the sound of that artillery you can bet the Russians are letting the cavalry have it. The cavalry is out there to buy us some time and let us get our shit together. That's what they get paid for. When the Russians finish with the cavalry, we're next. What I want you to do is to calm down and start thinking. Remember what we did in training and do it now.

Only think! There are a couple of habits we picked up in training that you're going to have to forget about. Do you understand what I'm saying?" With a nod and a glance sideways at each other, they gave their tank and team commander a subdued but nervous, "Yes, sir."

"Alright, finish getting your suits on. We're going to move over to the right of 3rd Platoon and take up a position there. If nobody has any questions, let's get moving." By the time the crew of 66 was finished and mounted, the rest of the crews and tracks in the headquarters position were in their chemical gear and mounted. The first sergeant, now mounted in the headquarters PC with his jeep following, had already pulled out of position and was moving down the logging trail. Bannon noticed that all the tracks were running. Everyone was cranked up and ready to move. As the cavalry's covering force battle would take hours, possibly a day, there was no sense in leaving the tanks running. All that would do was burn diesel, something the M-I was very good at, and create a tremendous thermal signature, another trait of the M-I. The savings in diesel would be worth a small violation of radio listening silence. Besides, it might be good for at least the leadership of the Team to hear their commander issue an order and give some advice. Unless the Soviet radio direction-finding detachments were fast, it would do no harm. Checking first the remote box to ensure that the radio was set on the Team net, Bannon keyed the radio and paused for a moment to let the radio come up to speed. "ALL BRAVO 3 ROMEO ELEMENTS-THIS IS

ROMEO 25-IT IS GOING TO BE

AWHILE BEFORE THOSE OTHER PEOPLE GET HERE-SHUT DOWN AND SETTLE

DOWNCHECK

YOUR SYSTEMS AND LOCK AND LOADACKNOWLEDGE-OVER."

The platoons checked in and acknowledged. Uleski, in the 55 tank, simply stood up in its cupola, turned toward the 66 tank and waved, indicating that he understood. The ITVs did not respond but shut down. With nothing more to do there, Bannon turned around in the cupola and faced to the rear.

Locking the push-to-talk switch on his CVC back so he could talk to the driver on the intercom and hang on with both hands, Bannon began to back the tank onto the logging trail.

As he leaned over to the right side of the cupola, watching the right rear fender as 66 moved back, Kelp popped out of the loader's hatch and leaned over to the left, watching the left rear fender. Once on the trail, the tank made a pivot turn to the right and started forward toward 3rd Platoon.

The drive down to 3rd Platoon was a short one, only about 700 meters. But it felt good to be in the tank and moving. Standing in the TC's hatch of a

tank, rolling down a road or cross-country, was always an exhilarating experience for Bannon. He never tired of the thrill. Despite all the pain, misery, and headaches tanks could give him, it was fun being a tanker. It is the little joys in life that keep one going, and right now Bannon needed a little joy.

As they moved along the trail Bannon watched to the left, catching an occasional glimpse of the 3rd Platoon tanks. Their nets were still up but were propped up clear of the exhaust to keep them from melting. When 66 cleared the last of 3rd Platoon's tanks, Bannon ordered Ortelli to turn left into the forest and move down a small trail cut by a combat engineer vehicle that had dug the Team's positions. As they had not planned to fight from here, 66

was taking one of the alternate firing positions from the 33 tank, now to their immediate left at about seventy-five meters. The 33 tank would now have only its primary position to fire from and one alternate firing position to its left. The 66 would not have an alternate. If 66

were detected and fired at while in this position, the best Bannon could do would be to blow smoke grenades, back out of sight, and hope that whoever had shot at them gave up before 66 reoccupied its firing position. Rather than stay back and hide in the forest, Bannon eased the tank into the firing position where he could observe the village, the valley, and the hills across the valley. The walled farm was just off to the right, out of sight in the small valley.

Satisfied with his position, he ordered Ortelli to shut the engine down and to get out with Kelp to cut some camouflage. Folk came up to the TC's position to man the M2 and monitor the radio while the rest of the crew camouflaged the tank.

Ortelli took the ax and began to cut some branches as Kelp and Bannon draped the camouflage net over the rear of the turret and back deck. They didn't put up the supports or stake it down; all Bannon wanted to do was

to

break up some of the tank's outline. Finished with the net, Kelp and Bannon began to place the branches dragged over by Ortelli on the side and front of the tank not covered by the net.

They were careful to ensure that the gunners' primary sight was not blocked and that the turret could be traversed some without knocking off the camouflage. When they were finished, Bannon stepped back a few meters to view their handiwork. The 66 looked like a tank covered with branches. Someone looking hard would be able to see it, no doubt about that. But, with a little luck and some harassment from the air defense artillery, the Russian pilots would be moving too fast to take a hard look. Satisfied that they had done the best they could, the crew remounted and waited.

Bannon stood in the turret and watched to the east, taking off his CVC and laying it down on top of the turret. The radio was turned up so he could hear any traffic being passed. He began to listen to the noise of the battle to his front. The massive bombardment continued but had died down some. The noise of the impacting artillery had been joined by new sounds and faint cracks of new high velocity tank cannons firing. The cavalry probably was returning artillery and tank fire. That meant the enemy was out and coming. There was no way to find out what was going on out there. For a moment Bannon was half tempted to switch his auxiliary radio receiver over to the cavalry's frequency. But doing so would have meant leaving either the battalion or the Team net. Were he still up on the headquarter's position, that would not have been a problem because Uleski could have covered the vacated net. Thinking hard, but not coming up with a solution, he resigned himself to the fact that until the battalion started to pass information down, he would be in the dark. He felt it was more important

to

be near 3rd

Platoon in case Garger blew it than to know what was happening.

Now the waiting began. It wasn't even 0830 yet. The last hour had gone fast but had been emotionally draining. Everything had changed that morning. Wars, once started, take on a life of their own, and what occurs and how they end are seldom controllable by either side.

World War I, World War II, Korea, and Vietnam all took twists and turns no one foresaw.

Bannon had no reason to doubt that this one was going to be any different. Those thoughts were disquieting. His mind needed to be diverted to something less ominous and more comprehensible.

He put on his CVC, muffling most of the noise of the unseen covering force battle. He locked the push-to-talk switch back into the intercom position. "Sergeant Folk, have you run a computer check yet this morning?"

"No, sir, we haven't."

"Well, let's make sure we don't get any surprises during the first engagement. I intend to go home a veteran and collect some of those benefits Congress is always after. How about you, Kelp?"

Kelp stood on the turret floor and looked up out of the loader's hatch at Bannon with a grin.

"I'm with you. My uncle was in Nam an' he's always tellin' me how rough it was. By the time we get done kickin' ass on Russian tanks, I'll be able to tell 'em what a real war was like."

Bannon left the CVC keyed to the intercom position so that the rest of the crew could hear their conversation. "Well, if Ortelli can keep this beast running and Sergeant Folk can hit the targets I find him, you and I should do pretty well, Kelp." Both Ortelli and Folk chimed in, vowing that they were going to be the ones waiting for Bannon and Kelp. After a couple more minutes of banter, Bannon judged that they were in a more normal state of mind, and he started them on the crew checklist. He read the list, item by item, and watched as the crewman responsible performed his check. Like an airline crew preparing for flight, the crew of 66 prepared for combat.

He began to feel more comfortable, and the crew seemed to be less tense. For the first time this morning he felt at ease. It would be possible to relax awhile, both physically and mentally.

Bannon took his CVC off again. To his front he could see pillars of black smoke rising in the sky, joining together high above the horizon, and drifting away to the east. Burning tanks. A lot of them. No doubt about that. Hundreds of gallons of diesel together with ammunition, rubber, oil, and the "other" burnable material on a tank provides plenty of fuel when a penetrating round finds its mark.

The noise of the battle was more varied now. The initial massive bombardment was replaced by irregular spasms of artillery fire. The artillery batteries shifted their fires to hit targets of opportunity as they presented themselves. Irregular cracks, booms, and thuds were joined by a rapid chain of booms as an artillery unit fired all its guns simultaneously. He began to wonder how long the cavalry could maintain the tempo of the battle they were involved in.

Modern war consumes ammunition, material, and, worst of all, men at a frightening rate.

Rapid-fire tank cannon coupled with a computerized fire control and laser range finders were capable of firing up to eight aimed rounds per minute at tank-sized targets at ranges in excess of 2000 meters. Guided munitions, fired from ground launchers or helicopters, had a better than ninety percent probability of hitting a target at 4000 meters. Soviet multiple rocket launchers could fire hundreds of rockets in a single volley and destroy everything within a one-by-one kilometer grid. Chemical agents produced by the Soviets were capable of penetrating exposed skin and attacking the body's nervous system, crippling the victim in seconds and killing him in minutes. All the implements of war had become more capable, more deadly. All were designed to rip, crush, cripple, dismember, incapacitate, and kill men faster and more efficiently. In all the armies arrayed across the continent, the only thing that technology had not improved was the ability of the human body to absorb punishment.

Such thoughts were disquieting. The mind, left free, tends to wander into what might be and what could happen, as frightening as the Ghost of Christmas to Come was to Scrooge. A diversion from these thoughts came from the east.

Two dots, growing rapidly into aircraft, came screaming toward the small valley from the east just as the others had this morning. Bannon hoped the Team would abide by the standard operating procedures, or SOP, and not engage them. With only machine guns, they stood little chance of hitting fast-moving jets. The only thing that would be accomplished by firing would be to give away the Team's positions.

A Stinger team somewhere in the cavalry's sector had no hesitation about engaging, however. Bannon watched as the white smoke trail of a Stinger surface-to-air antiaircraft missile raced up after the second jet. But it did not find its mark. The Soviet pilot dropped small flares and made a hard turn and dive. The missile detonated harmlessly in midair as the second jet turned to join the first, and both disappeared up the small valley. The ripping chainsaw-like report from a Vulcan 20-millimeter antiaircraft gun somewhere behind the Team's position revealed that problems for the Russian pilots were just starting. The air defense system was now alert and in action.

As if to underscore that point, two more dots emerged from the east. Apparently the Soviets liked this air approach and were sending their aircraft through four at a time. Their heavy use of the small valley cost them this time. Two Stinger missiles raced up to greet the Soviet jets. The pilot of the trail jet in this pair was not as quick or as lucky as the other pilots had been; one of the Stingers found its mark. The missile detonated, causing the jet to tumble over as if kicked from behind, then disintegrate in a rolling orange ball of fire. The first jet kicked in his afterburners, dropped lower, and kept flying west, to the waiting Vulcan. Kelp, who had been watching.the engagement, let out an "Ah, neat! Hey, Sarge, you missed it!"

as if he were

watching Fourth of July fireworks instead of the destruction of a pilot and a multimi11ion dollar aircraft. Kelp then described, in his own colorful way, the action to Folk. As Bannon reflected on Kelp's reaction, he, too, had to admit that it was kind of neat.

Announcement of plans to evacuate the dependents was on the TV before AFN went off the air the morning Sean had left. The radio station stayed on the air but didn't provide much information. About the only news the radio provided was the closing of the commissary and the PX and the movement of all U.S. families living off post onto U.S. installations. Pat Bannon prepared for their departure. Fran Wilson, the wife of the commander of Team Charlie, came over later in the morning. She had to be with someone. Fran had sat alone in her quarters waiting for word on when to leave and where to go. When word didn't come, she gave up and sought some company. Sitting alone with her fears and nothing to do but think about what was happening was driving her crazy-she needed someone to talk to and be with. Fran's coming caused Pat to remember that Sue Garger, the wife of one of Sean's platoon leaders, was still staying alone in a German gasthaus in town. The Gargers had been in country less than a month and were waiting for quarters. Pat had met Sue only once and was afraid that Sue might not have heard the news and, because she was new to the unit, might have been overlooked. She called the number listed for Garger on Sean's alert roster. A German answered. Pat's attempt to talk to him in her broken German amused Fran but finally got results. As they talked, Pat could tell that Sue was lonely and nervous. When Pat invited Sue to stay with her Sue jumped at the offer. Like Fran, fear and loneliness had made the deplorable situation worse for Sue. Leaving Fran to watch the children, Pat took off to pick up Sue.

At the entrance to the housing area there was an MP roadblock. Pat was halted and told she could not leave the area. She tried to explain to the MP that she had to pick up a wife that was living in town. The MP held his ground, insisting that she turn around and go back. Pat decided to escalate and told the private she wanted to speak to his superior. The MP went over to his sergeant and spoke to him a moment. The sergeant came over. "I'm sorry, miss, you can't go off post."

Pat was used to dealing with the military by now and seldom took no for an answer first time out. She had also learned that there were ways of dropping Sean's rank without being pushy or obvious. "Sergeant, like I explained to the other MP, the wife of one of my husband's platoon leaders is at a gasthaus in town and has no way of getting in. I'm simply going to get her. Now, unless you or your commander will go get her, I have to." The sergeant thought about it, then told Pat to wait while he checked with his platoon leader. After a few minutes, he came back and told her to go straight to the gasthaus, pick up the other wife, and come straight back. She was not to stop for anyone or anything else and she was to check back with him when she returned. The speech and precautions worried Pat and made her wonder if this was such a good idea. But she was committed, and Sue Garger was depending on her.

Even for the families of servicemen, the old Army rule of hurry up and wait applied. While Pat was gone, Cathy Hall had called and passed on the word that the evacuation probably would not start until the next day. The Air Force needed some additional time to gear up. To maintain the appearance

of

normalcy, preparations for the evacuation of dependents had been delayed to

the last possible moment. Some of the older wives compared the situation to

Iran, where the families were pulled out only at the last minute. Pat was not at all pleased that she and her children had been retained in this country just for appearances but kept her own council. No need to cry over spilt milk now.

As the day wore on and it became apparent that the families were not, in fact, going to go anytime soon, the wives began to visit each other and let the children out to play. Cathy Hall put out the word that she was going

to host a

potluck dinner for the battalion wives. Most of the wives, with children in tow, showed up.

Even though the conversations were guarded and there was a pall on the whole affair, anything was better than sitting alone and worrying. There was some comfort in collective misery.

By the end of the first day, Pat was physically and mentally exhausted. It seemed that so much depended on her now. With no husband to help her along, she felt uneasy and under pressure. Pressure to be mother and father. Pressure to set the example for Sue and the other wives. Pressure to make sure all was ready to go when the word came. Pressure to tend to the children and ease them through this crisis. Sean had always been around whenever there had been a big crisis in the family or a major decision to be made. But now he was gone and could not help with the biggest crisis Pat had ever faced. Having Sue Garger in the quarters helped. Sue had calmed down some and proved to be a big help with the children. But Sue was as lost as Pat was and still was learning about being in the Army.

So Pat bottled up her fears and apprehensions and continued to stumble along the dark and mapless trail that her family was going down, alone.

The second day dragged along like the first. AFN TV came back on but spent most of the time making public service announcements and broadcasting news that really didn't tell anyone anything. Rain in the afternoon only made the dark and apprehensive mood of the community worse. Word that evacuations would start momentarily kept circulating along with a blizzard of other rumors.

But it wasn't until that evening that official word and instructions for the evacuation of the community came down. It was like a vent had been opened to relieve some of the pressure.

At least now they knew what to do and when it would happen. For the sixth time in two days Pat went over the evacuation kit that had been sitting by the door. Blankets, food, water, cups, diapers, a small first-aid kit, a change of clothes for the boys, two for Sarah, a pocket knife, coloring books for the children, and other "essential" items.

It was telling the children that Pat dreaded the most. She had put this off for as long as possible in the hope that some sanity would prevail and the whole affair would blow over.

But there was no more putting it off. She assembled her children on Sean's bed and sat down with them. She told them that tomorrow they were going to leave Germany and visit Grandma's. Kurt was overcome with joy. He jumped up and down and began to ask what toys he could take. Sarah simply looked at Pat and tried to say Grandma, a word she had heard but could not associate with an object since she had never seen her grandparents.

As anticipated, Sean was the tough case. His first question was about his father, "Is Daddy coming with us?" "No, Daddy's not coming with us." .Why?"

"Daddy has to stay here and work. Remember I told you he went to the field? Well, he is still in the field with his company. He can't come with us this time."

"When will we see Daddy again?"

"Daddy will come and join us when he is finished in the field." "When will that be?"

Pat was fast becoming exasperated. The boy was concerned, and she felt sorry for him because all that was going on so dwarfed him. But the line of questions only heightened her own fears and apprehensions. Before she lost her restraint and began to cry, Pat cut short the question-andanswer period and told Sean that his father would be home as soon as he could. This didn't satisfy Sean, but it was the best Pat could do.

The morning continued with little change. The heat of the day was turning the tank into an oven. The chemical suits only made things worse. Bannon began to let two men out at a time to stretch, smoke, cool off, and eat. During his break he walked over to check on the 33

tank. The TC was also rotating his crew out. Just after noon, Polgar came over to 66 from Mech Platoon's mounted element to report. Bannon and Polgar were joined by the battalion command-

er and S-3, who came rolling up the logging trail in their M-113. Apparently, they were also bored and getting a little antsy with nothing to do but watch and wait. While the colonel went to visit his Mech Platoon on foot, the S-3, Maj. Frank Jordan, brought Bannon up to speed on the status of the covering force battle.

The cavalry was taking a beating and wouldn't last much longer. They had fought the first attacking echelon to a standstill and had badly weakened it. But they had paid for that success, as the parade of ambulances and evacuation of damaged vehicles, coming down the opposite hill through the village and down the small valley to the rear, indicated. Brigade was anticipating a passage of lines sometime in the late afternoon. The cavalry wanted to hold on until night in order to withdraw under the cover of darkness. But the bets were against them. The colonel rejoined the others, made some small talk, and then left with the S-3.

Rather than waiting out the afternoon doing nothing, Bannon decided to visit the platoons.

The battalion commander had just been by and it was going to be a while before the cavalry came through. This was as good a time as any to show his face, to check on the rest of the Team to see how they were adapting to war, and to pass the word to be prepared for the passage of the cavalry. He told Folk where he was going to be; if a call came in on the battalion net, Folk was to drop to the company net and tell the XO to respond if he hadn't already done so. With helmet, pistol, and LBE, Bannon started his tour.

As he had that morning, Bannon went from tank to tank, working his way to those elements on the left first. When he reached the 31 tank, Bannon went over the information that had been passed to him and reviewed the status of

3rd Platoon with Garger. Then they reviewed the Team's and the platoon's actions during the passage and the conduct of the defense. Bannon was pleasantly surprised to listen to Garger go over each phase of the pending action and line out clearly those actions required of his platoon. Either Pierson had been working overtime with the lieutenant or the boy was catching on. Regardless of how, at least he had the concept of the operation straight in his mind. There was still the question, however, of whether he could make it work.

Even in the shade of the forest, tromping up the hill in the chemical protective suit and the floppy, loose-fitting chemical overshoes was brutal. By the time Bannon reached Uleski's tank, he was beat and needed a

rest and a long drink of water. As he settled down in the shade next to 55, Uleski reached down and handed him a can of Coke, a cold can of Coke. Bannon had no idea where it could possibly have come from. He probably didn't want to know, either-something that good had to be illegal somehow. As he rested, Bannon went over not only the plan for the Team but also the battalion with Uleski. If he became combat ineffective, a subtle way of saying wounded or killed, Uleski, the XO, would have to be able to fight the Team within the framework of the battalion's battle plan as effectively as Bannon. In the Army, everyone was supposed to be expendable and replaceable. While it was not a comforting thought, it was part of the job and, in

theory at least, universally understood.

Finishing with Uleski, Bannon toyed with the idea of letting the XO go over to 2nd Platoon to check them and pass on the word about the cavalry. It was tempting. But 2nd Platoon was the one platoon he had not seen that morning. It was only proper that an effort should be made to visit them. As with 3rd Platoon, Bannon stopped at each tank, checked on their readiness, and exchanged small talk. When he reached the platoon leader's tank Bannon passed on word about the cavalry and reviewed the Team and platoon plan with him. No sooner had they finished when the hills across the valley erupted in a thunderclap of explosions and flames. The Soviets were committing their second echelon. It would not be long now. Bannon tromped on back to the 66 tank as fast as his floppy chemical overshoes would let him.

The cavalry had not lasted as long as had been expected. The fresh battalions of the Soviet's second attacking echelon broke the worn and severely weakened cavalry like a dry twig. Thirty minutes after the second echelon struck, it was obvious that the covering force battle was over, and it was

time for the cavalry to pass through the Team's positions. The lazy, boring late morning and early afternoon gave way to a steady buildup of tension as the cavalry began the process of handing off the battle.

The first elements through were the support elements: medical, maintenance, and supply vehicles. These were followed by artillery units and headquarters elements. The passage was not the neat paradelike processions practiced during training. Vehicles would come down singly, in pairs, sometimes in groups as large as fifteen. Some were dragging damaged vehicles. Some were limping or wobbling along like drunks, all showed some sign of damage. Trucks had their canvas tops shredded. Tracked vehicles that had had gear stowed on the outside now had it scrambled and tossed about on top, with articles of clothing hanging from the sides. There were even a couple of trucks running on tire rims, unable or unwilling to stop to change tires. If there was any semblance of order to the cavalry unit passing through the Team, it was not evident from where Bannon was watching.

During the passage, a scout helicopter, followed by two attack helicopters, came weaving down through the valley from the north. The three slowed to a hover, with the scout across from 66 and an AH IS Cobra attack helicopter on either side.

The OH-58 scout slowly rose until it was just barely peering over the trees on the opposite hill. Its tail-boom moved- slowly left, then right, as it scanned the landscape on the other side of the hill. Like a bird dog alerting, the scout froze, pointing to the northeast. The Cobra on the left rose slowly to treetop level, hovered there for a moment, orienting in the same direction as the scout. With a flash and streak of white smoke, the Cobra let fly a TOW

antitank missile. The Cobra remained in place for about fifteen seconds, then dropped down and flew a few hundred meters north to another position, preparing to fire again. The second Cobra rose into position as soon as the first had fired. The second also fired, remained locked on target for about fifteen seconds, and then dropped down and moved to another position just as the first had done. By that time, the first Cobra was ready to pop up from his new position and fire again.

After each Cobra had fired two TOWs, they flew back up the valley behind their scout to find a new firing position.

The thought that the Soviet lead elements were now close enough to be engaged by TOWs from across the valley startled Bannon. That meant that the enemy was now within five kilometers. To add weight to that point, friendly artillery from a unit behind the Team's position came whistling overhead to

the east. The adrenalin started to pump. Across the valley the first undamaged cavalry combat vehicles came racing back from the opposite hill. M-l tanks and M-3 Bradley cavalry vehicles, mixed together, their guns to the rear and their orange identification panels flapping as they moved, came rolling through the lanes marked in the Team's minefields and into the village. These vehicles looked worse than those that had preceded them. The ordeal for the cavalry wasn't over yet. As the first vehicles entered the village, the streets erupted into a ball of flames and explosions. The Soviets were firing at least a battalion's worth of artillery against the town. The initial impacts were followed by a steady stream of artillery shells impacting every few seconds. Bannon had no idea of the caliber of rounds they were using nor how many were impacting. Not that he needed to know. Without doubt, the battalion commander was able to see it from his position. Bannon's immediate concern was his first sergeant and the fire team, who were in the village in the middle of all that fire.

"ROMEO 25-THIS IS MIKE 77-SHELLREPOVER." Garger was on the ball. Reporting per the Team SOP, the lieutenant was calling to inform him of the artillery barrage to their front.

Garger hadn't considered that Bannon, from his position, would be able to see the same thing. The fact that he was at least thinking of the SOP and had the presence of mind to report, however, was encouraging.

"ALL BRAVO 3 ROMEO ELEMENTS-THIS IS ROMEO 25-1 CAN OBSERVE THE

ACTION AT

179872 -NO NEED TO REPORT THAT." Bannon let the CVC

push-to-talk switch go for a few seconds to frustrate Soviet direction-finding attempts, then started again. "OCCUPY YOUR FIRING POSITIONS NOW-I SAY AGAINOCCUPY YOUR

FIRING POSITIONS NOW-THE RUSSIANS WILL

BE RIGHT BEHIND THOSE PEOPLE COMING THROUGH-ACKNOWLEDGE-OVER. "

The platoons rapidly responded. The tracks to the left and right of 66 cranked up and pulled forward. In their excitement, some of them forgot about their camouflage nets. Bannon watched the 33 tank as the net supports tumbled and the net stretched forward as if it were a large spider web stuck to the tank. Once the stakes were yanked free, the net trailed the tank limply. In a belated plea, Bannon called over the company net to remind the platoons to remember the nets. Then he and Kelp jumped out, dragged theirs in, and jumped back into position.

The battalion net now came to life as the battalion Scout Platoon began to report sighting, then contact with the lead enemy element. As Team Yankee's artillery fire-support team, or FIST, was detached to the Scout Platoon while they were deployed forward, Bannon listened intently, hoping he wouldn't lose that valuable combat asset. The Scout Platoon's mission was to cover the withdrawal of the last of the cavalry, engage the enemy's lead elements in an effort to deceive them as to where the covering force area ended and the main battle area, or MBA, began, and then withdraw through Team Yankee. Their fight was to be short but important. Once they started firing, the battle had passed from the cavalry to the battalion. Though it still had to roll through sporadic artillery fire impacting in the village and up the little valley to the Team's right, the cavalry's battle was over. Team Yankee's first battle was about to begin.

The radio on the Team net came to life as First Sergeant Harrert called, "ROMEO 25-THIS

IS ROMEO 970VER." He was still in the village and still alive.

"ROMEO 97-THIS IS ROMEO 25-WHAT KIND OF SHAPE ARE YOU IN7-OVER." "THIS IS

97-1 HAVE ONE WHISKEY INDIA APLHA

-THE NOVEMBER 8 TANGO ELEMENT HAS COMPLETED PASSAGE-WAITING ON

THE TANGO 9

FOXTROT ELEMENT NOW-OVER."

"THIS IS 25-DO YOU NEED THE BANDAID FOR THE CASUALTY7-OVER." "THIS IS

97-NEGATIVE-HE CAN WAITOVER."

"THIS IS 25-THE TANGO 9 FOXTROT ELEMENT IS NOW IN CONTACT-I EXPECT THEM

TO

START BACK WITHIN THREE ZERO MIKES-HANG IN THERE-OVER."

"THIS IS 97-WILCO-OVER."

So far everything was working according to plan. In their haste to occupy firing positions, the Team had probably screwed up most of its camouflage nets. But right now, that was the least of Bannon's worries. He continued to listen to the Scout Platoon's fight, now being joined by reports from Team Bravo. Team Bravo, occupying the hill across the small valley from Team Yankee, was under fire from several battalions' worth of Soviet artillery. The initial and frantic report from the Team Bravo commander over the battalion radio net was cut off in mid-sentence. Attempts by the battalion S-3 to reestablish contact with Team Bravo failed. That meant that either its command track had had its antennas blown off or it had been hit.

The 1st Tank Platoon of Team Yankee was attached to Team Bravo. The I st Platoon was probably in the middle of the impact area, judging from the fragmented report Bannon had monitored. Although he was concerned that some of his people were under fire, there was nothing that he could do. The thought "Better them than me," flashed through his mind. For a moment, Bannon was ashamed that he could harbor such a selfish thought. However, he immediately was able to rationalize by reminding himself that he was only human. With that, he turned his attention to more immediate and pressing problems.

Reports from the scouts continued to come in. One of the scout tracks had been hit, and contact with another had been lost. From the reported locations of the enemy's lead element, the scouts weren't slowing him down. Finally, the scout platoon leader requested permission to displace. Realizing that leaving the scouts out there wasn't going to do the battalion any good, the battalion commander gave his permission to withdraw.

Unfortunately, this permission had come too late. The barriers and artillery that were supposed to slow the Soviet advance and allow the Scout Platoon a chance to pass through Team Yankee didn't slow the enemy. Ignoring losses inflicted on them by mines, artillery, and the Scout Platoon, the Soviets pushed forward. They were hell-bent for leather to break through and intended to do so regardless of the price. The Scout Platoon leader informed the battalion commander that rather than try for the passage through Team Yankee, he was going to withdraw to the south and cross at an alternate passage point.

This was not a good turn of events for the Team. With the scouts went Team Yankee's artillery FIST Team. Bannon had never been keen on the idea of letting his FIST go with the scouts, pointing out that they might not be able to rejoin the Team. But he had always been reassured that the FIST track would be back long before Team Yankee had any contact.

This was one time he was sorry he had been right. Not only did he have to fight the Team, now he also had to play forward observer. Contacting the battalion S-3, Bannon asked him if he had any bright ideas on the subject. Major Jordan informed him that Team Yankee now had priority of artillery fire and all calls for fire would be directed to the battalion fire-support officer, or FSO. Jordan also informed him that Team Bravo had taken a lot of casualties, including its commander, who was dead. The battalion commander was going over to Team Bravo to attempt to rally the survivors. In the meantime, battalion was writing off Team Bravo as combat ineffective. Both the S-3 and the battalion commander were depending on Team Yankee to carry the fight.

Two company teams fighting a motorized rifle battalion would have been no problem. But one company team, even with priority of artillery fire, would have a hard time.

Bannon contacted the battalion fire-support officer and made sure he had all the Team's preplanned artillery targets. The FSO had them. Quickly they reviewed his plans for fire support.

Bannon intended to let the Soviet lead elements reach the valley floor. When that happened, the Team would engage them with both tank platoons and the ITVs simultaneously. The 2nd Platoon would engage the lead element, the

3rd Platoon would hit the enemy still on the opposite slope, and the ITVs would engage supporting vehicles on the far hill. He wanted the artillery to impact along the crest of the opposite hill at the same time the Team began to fire. First, DPICM, an artillery shell that scattered many small armordefeating bomblets, would be fired in order to take out as many Soviet PCs and self-propelled guns as possible. Then the artillery would fire high explosives, HE, and smoke rounds, laying down a smoke screen to blind any Soviet antitank system or artillery observers that might take up position there to engage the Team. That would leave the Team free to slug it out with only a portion of their force isolated from the rest. The FSO assured Bannon the artillery could handle the mission. All he needed was the word. A sudden detonation in the village followed by the hasty retreat of alone PC out of the village back to the Team's positions reminded Bannon that the first sergeant hadn't been told to blow the bridge in the town and withdraw. In the scramble to sort out the artillery fire plan he had forgotten the first sergeant. Fortunately, either Harrert had monitored the battalion net, figured out what was going on, and taken the initiative, or Uleski had ordered him out after hearing that the scouts would not be returning on the planned route. Either way, it worked out, and the first sergeant was headed back.

"ROMEO 25-THIS IS MIKE 77-SPOT REPORT-5 T-72 TANKS MOVING WEST-GRID

190852-CONTINUING TO OBSERVE-OVER." Bannon snapped his head to the left. There was no need to use a map. There was only one place where the Russians would be, and that was on the hill 2200 meters away. All the training, planning, and preparations were over. Team Yankee was about to learn if the Team's seventy-nine men and twenty-five million dollars worth of equipment could do what they were supposed to do: close with and destroy the enemy by fire, maneuver, and shock effect.

The five T-72 tanks began their descent into the valley in a line with about 100 meters between tanks. One of them had a mine roller attached to the front of its hull. He would have to be taken out in the first volley. As soon as the tanks started down, a line of Soviet armored personnel carriers, BMP-2s, appeared on the crest of the hill and followed the tanks down. There were fifteen of these personnel carriers deployed in a rough line about one hundred meters behind the tanks. The tanks and the BMPs moved down the opposite slope at a steady and somewhat restrained pace, as if they really didn't want to go into the valley, or they didn't want to get too far ahead of follow-on elements.

A third group of follow-on vehicles appeared. These were a gaggle of dissimilar armored vehicles. As they reached the crest of the hill, they paused for a moment. Just before they started their descent, the tanks and the BMPs in front made a sharp oblique to the left and headed for the north side of the village. With one BMP, a T-72, a BTR-60, followed by an MTU bridge tank and a ZSU 23-4 antiaircraft gun, this could only be the battalion command group.

The scene before Team Yankee was too good to be true. For some unknown reason the Team had not been hit by artillery yet. The Soviets were rolling forward as if they were on maneuvers, not attack. Their change in direction offered most of the Team flank shots. And the actions by the command group had telegraphed who they were. If luck held for another minute or two, it would be all over for this motorized rifle battalion.

"ROMEO 83-THIS IS ROMEO 25-DO YOU SEE THAT LAST GAGGLE COMING DOWN

THE HILLOVER."

" 25-THIS IS 83-ROGER-OVER."

"83-THIS IS 25-THAT IS THE COMMAND

GROUP-I WANT YOU AND THE TWO TRACKS YOU HAVE UP THERE TO TAKE THEM

OUT-THE

BMP AND TANK FIRST-OVER."

"THIS IS 83-WILCO."

Uleski considered this last order before he relayed instructions to the ITVs. He paused for a moment and watched the advancing Soviets. The 55 was silent except for the hum of the engine. Uleski could feel the tension build up in himself and his crew. In the past, he had always been able to crack a joke or say something funny to lighten the pressures of a tense moment. But he couldn't, not this time. It suddenly dawned upon him that this was real. The tanks and BMPs were manned with real Soviets and they were coming his way.

Despite the heat of the day, Uleski felt a cold shiver run down his spine. His stomach began to knot up and he felt as if he were going to throw up. It was real, all real. In a minute, maybe two, all hell was going to break loose and he was right in the middle of it. Uleskifs head, flooded with disjointed thoughts, began to spin, with one thought coming back over and over, "Oh God, please make this go away."

When Bannon had finished with Uleski, he switched to the battalion net and instructed the FSO to fire the prearranged artillery barrage. When the FSO acknowledged the request, Bannon went back to the Team net, "ALL BRAVO 3 ROMEO ELEMENTS-UPON IMPACT

OF FRIENDLY ARTILLERY, YOU WILL COMMENCE FIRINGMAINTAIN FIRE

DISTRIBUTION AND GOOD SHOOTING-ROMEO 25 OUT."

This last message neither upset nor unnerved Garger. Without bothering to acknowledge the commander's orders, Garger switched to the platoon net and issued his own. The clear, sunny day, with the sun to the 3rd Platoon's back, made it all too easy. All the BMPs were exposed to the entire platoon. Garger ordered Pierso and Pierso's wingman, the 33 tank, to engage the right half of the BMPs. Garger instructed his own wingman, Blackfoot, to begin to engage

the far left BMP and then work his way toward the center of the line. He would begin in the center and work his way to the left. In this way, the platoon would avoid killing the same BMP.

With nothing to do but wait for the artillery, Garger leaned back and considered the scene before him. This was easier than the Armor School at Fort Knox. It couldn't be that simple.

There had to be a catch. The Soviets were coming at them as if the Team wasn't there.

Garger tried hard to think if there was something he had missed, an order to be given.

Something. But there wasn't. All seemed to be in order. All was ready. "What the hell," he thought. "Might as well relax and enjoy the moment."

In the Mech Platoon's positions Sergeant First Class Polgar grasped the hand grips of his M2 machine gun as he watched the Soviets. He was amazed. When he was a young private, Polgar had been in Vietnam two months before he had seen his first VC, and they had been dead VC. In the first day of this war, he was looking at all the Soviets he cared to see. He looked to his left and then to his right at his PCs. The four M- I 13s with him weren't going to do a hell of a lot if the tanks in the Team fell flat on their ass. As the Soviets drew near, Polgar tracked the Soviets with his M2

and thought, "Those dumb-ass tankers better be as good as they think they are, or this is going to be a damned short war."

The Team was charged and ready. Bannon could feel it. Now, he prepared to fight his own tank crew.

He grabbed the TC's override and traversed the turret to his intended victim, yelling out the fire command without switching on the intercom, "GUNNER-SABOT-TANK WITH MINE

ROLLER."

"IDENTIFIED." Folk had the target in his sight.

"UP." Kelp had armed the main gun and was clear of the path of recoil. Bannon knelt down on top of his seat, perched above the gunner and loader, watching through the extension as Folk tracked the T-72. They waited. The enemy continued to advance. And they waited. The line of tanks was now

beginning to reach the valley floor. And they waited. The sweat was rolling down Bannon's face and he was beginning to lose nerve. And they waited. "SPLASH-OVER." The FSO's call on the battalion net heralded the impact of the artillery. Across the valley, the crest of the far hill erupted as hundreds of small bomblets impacted and went off. On target! "FIRE!"

"ON THE WAAAAAY!"

The image of the T-72 disappeared before Bannon's eye in a flash and cloud of smoke as Folk fired. The tank rocked back as the gun recoiled and spit out the spent shell casing.

Kelp hit the ammo door switch with his knee, causing it to slide open with a bang. He hauled out the next round, loaded the gun, and armed it before the dust and obscuration cleared.

When it did, the T-72 with the mine roller was stopped, broadside to 66, and burning furiously.

"TARGET-CEASE FIRE." They had drawn their first blood. "STAND BY GUNNER." Bannon popped his head up to get an overall picture of what was going on. Just as he did, the 33

tank fired a HEAT-T round at a BMP. He watched the tracer streak towards the target and impact with a bright orange flash and black ball of smoke. The BMP lurched forward another few meters then stopped, quivered, and began to burn. Bannon scanned the valley floor and opposite slope watching that scene repeated again and again. When the first round missed a BMP, the BMP would turn away from the impact. This maneuver, however, only added a few more seconds to its life because the second round usually found its mark. He watched as two BMPs, scrambling to avoid being hit, rammed each other and stopped. This calamity only made it easier for Team Yankee's gunners, and both BMPs died within seconds of each other, locked together.

The crest of the far hill had disappeared from view. The smoke and DPICM were doing their jobs. So far, nothing had followed the Soviet command group down. The command group had scattered, but it, too, was suffering. The BMP from the command group was lying on its side, a track hanging off and burning. The tank that had been with it had been hit but had only shed its right track. It stood, immobile but defiant, returning fire towards the headquarters position. This'uneven contest, however, did not last long. In return, the T-72

received a TOW missile that detonated at the turret ring and ripped the turret off with a thunderous explosion.

"I have a BMP in my sights, can I engage." Folk was impatient. Bannon knelt down, glanced at Kelp to ensure he was clear, checked that the gun was armed, and gave the command to fire. Folk gave an on-the-way and fired. The rock and recoil shook the tank. A glance in the extension told him that Folk had been on the mark again. Another BMP crew and infantry squad had become heroes of the Soviet Union, posthumously. "Sergeant Folk, find your own targets, if there are any left, and engage at will. Just make sure you're not killing dead tracks."

"Yes, sir!" His reply had a glee in it that reminded Bannon of a teenager who had just been given the keys to the family car. Bannon popped up again to survey the battlefield.

The devastation in the valley was awesome. Over twenty armored vehicles lay strewn there, dismembered, twisted, burning hulks. Folk had nothing to engage. The lead echelon of the motorized battalion had been annihilated. Six T-72 tanks, sixteen BMPs, a BTR-60, a ZSU

23-4, and an MTU bridge launcher, along with almost two hundred Russian soldiers, were gone. The engagement had lasted less than four minutes. Team Yankee had won its first battle.

CHAPTER THREE.

Change of Mission.

When the decision to evacuate military dependents from Europe was finally made after countless delays and hesitations, 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, on that evening took nearly four. There was solid traffic on the autobahn from the time Pat Bannon and the others left the housing area until they pulled into the Air Base.

The regular German police, reinforced with military personnel, had established checkpoints along the route. At every checkpoint the NCO on the bus had to present his paperwork before being cleared through. Pat noticed that the Germans were retaining some people at one checkpoint. There was a stationary car riddled with bullet holes on the autobahn's median. Next to it a white sheet with red blotches covered a mound. No one could imagine what offense could have caused such a response by the Germans. Whatever the reason, the fact that the Germans were ready to use their ever-present submachine guns highlighted the seriousness of the 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. Two more security personnel had the bus driver open the baggage compartments of the bus. While one of the security officers checked them and the driver, the other stood back and covered the driver with his weapon. The German police on duty at the gate with the U.S. personnel were questioning two women off to one side. Pat guessed that they there German nationals trying to get out with the U.S.

families.

The Air Base was swarming with activity. At one of the intersections, the bus was stopped while a line of trucks rolled by, coming up from the flight line and heading to a back gate. In the trucks were U.S. troops, reinforcements from the States deployed under the REFORGER program. Pat guessed that the dependents would fly back on the same planes that were bringing these troops in. Maybe this nightmare was almost over. 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. There were already a large number of people there. On the gym floor, rows of cots with blankets were set up. As at the post theater, 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 told that since the terminal was already overflowing with evacuees, they had been sent to the gym until it was their turn to go. Pat was told that the Air Force personnel running the evacuation were better and more helpful than the Army community personnel but were having difficulties dealing with all the incoming 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.

This depressed Pat. She, like the other wives and mothers, was ready to go. They had finally geared themselves up for the final leap. Now, they had to spend a night in an open gym with hundreds of other dejected and anxious people. It seemed that every new move only added more stress and pressure. The situation, however deplorable, had to be endured. Pat decided that she could hold out a little longer. She had to. A little group was beginning to depend on her. And it was growing. Jane Ortelli, the wife of Sean's tank driver, joined them. She was nineteen years old and had never been out of the state of New Jersey until she came over to

Germany. Jane stood at the side before boarding the bus, clutching her four-month-old baby as she would a teddy bear, for security and comfort. Pat went over to her and insisted that she join them since they were all going on the same bus. Jane was thankful and relieved.

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 had volunteered to escort the eight-year-old girl back to the States where her grandparents would meet her.

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 fears, 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 no 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. He was enjoying all the attention Sue was giving him.

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 in. Pat prayed that all this would end tomorrow. It had to. There was only so much

more that she could give and hold back. It had to end, soon. 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 ride to the terminal was a quiet one.

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 and discarded blankets and clothes. 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, though the gym had been miserable, 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 they could look out onto the airfield and watch the aircraft coming in. To one side of the flight line there were trucks and buses waiting to pick up the newly arrived troops arriving from the States. Pat and the children watched as a large C-141 transport taxied to a stop. Its large clamshell doors opened, reminding Pat of an alligator. 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 began to move to the trucks and load up. While the troops were still deplaning, Air Force personnel scrambled out

to

service the aircraft. A fuel tanker lumbered up and began to refuel the aircraft. Everyone seemed anxious to get the C-141 turned around and on its way.

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. The ground crew finished up and moved into position to service the next aircraft that was already coming in, a huge C-5. The sight of that plane caused excitement. Fran turned to Pat and said she was sure they would be able to get on that one. Inside, Pat prayed that would happen.

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

small arms ammunition igniting in the burning Soviet tracks, with an occasional rumble as a main gun round cooked off, was all the noise that rose from the valley. Distance and CVCs hid the moans and screams of agony of those wounded or burning to death in their disabled tracks. The report of a machine gun from the 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. As soon as the firer found the range, he let

go

a long burst in the center of the group. While some rounds kicked up dirt, a few found their mark, causing the Russians to either spin around, drop and roll back downhill, or simply plop down.

For a moment he thought of ordering the firing to stop. The Russians had suffered enough.

But quickly this humanitarian thought gave way to cold, practical, professional considerations. If these survivors were allowed to live, they would only fall in on equipment in storage or being produced. Team Yankee would never see them again, but another NATO

company would. They were at war, a war the Soviets had started. The Soviets must pay.

Reports started to come in over the company net as other tanks began to search out and destroy the Russian fugitives. Both tank platoons reported in with no losses, a total main gun expenditure of thirty-seven rounds, and inflated kill reports. Only the launcher on one of the ITVs had been hit and destroyed. The ITV crew was untouched and the track was still operational. But without its launcher and sight, the ITV was worthless to the Team. Bannon instructed Uleski to have that crew pass all the TOW rounds that it could handle to the operational ITV, then have the damaged ITV report back to the maintenance collection point.

He then called the battalion S-3 and passed the Team situation report, or SITREP, to him.

With the reports and status of the unit in hand, Bannon ordered the Team to cease fire and move to alternate firing positions. The smoke screen along the crest of the far hill was lifting, and the third company of the Soviet motorized rifle battalion was unaccounted for. The possibilities of where it was and what it was doing ran through his mind. The lead units, instead of having eight tanks and twenty BMPs, had had only five tanks and fifteen BMPs. Perhaps the Soviet motorized 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, listening to the demise of the rest of the battalion had convinced the third company commander that he stood a

better chance against the KGB than against the Americans. Or perhaps 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 reinforcements. Whatever the case, it was now his move. The Team prepared to parry that move.

While Bannon was pondering the larger tactical questions, Kelp stood up in his hatch. Using the binoculars, he surveyed the carnage he had helped create. As Kelp looked, Folk slowly traversed the turret, doing likewise. Ortelli, because the valley was hidden from his view by the berm that protected 66's hull, asked the other two crewmen to describe the scene.

Talking in hushed voices so as not to disturb their commander's train of thought, 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. He dropped hints but received no response. 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 weapons. Yet the tank, radios, and gear 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.

Commanders share an easier and closer relationship with their crew than they do with other tankers in the 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. He felt drained, physically and mentally. It was all he could do to lift his canteen and take a mouthful

of

water. Swishing this around for a moment, he spit it out over the side of the tank. The taste of vomit still lingered, but it wasn't nearly as bad. After replacing his canteen, he sat there for a moment and watched the crewmen from the ITVs move from one track to the other, carrying 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 about 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. A blinding flash and an overwhelming blast struck Uleski and knocked him back. Instinctively, he allowed himself to drop down to the turret floor

as

the soft green image of the forest 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. They had almost crossed the border before the scheduled attack time. It took the rest of the morning to get them turned around and back to their proper place. Then the resistance of the American cavalry was far greater than expected. 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 the whole day, the major's battalion commander had managed to get himself killed, leaving the major in command.

The major was in a dark mood. Not even the sight of burning American equipment cheered him. He had already seen far too much destroyed Soviet equipment. His orders and mission kept running through his mind. They were simple enough-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 the major to move as rapidly as possible and that all the artillery planning would be taken care of for him. Even the battalion's political officer balked when they were told that a battalion, attacking in the same place earlier, had failed. There was, however, nothing to do but to follow orders and hope for the best. The major put all his faith in the effects of the chemical weapons being used and his attack 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 and then closed his hatch.

Bannon's wandering thoughts were jarred back to the present by the impacts of artillery to his left on Team Yankee's hill. He could not see anything but had no doubt that the headquarters position and possibly the 2nd Platoon position were under fire. A second attack was starting. "GAS! GAS! GAS!" The muffled cry by someone in a protective mask on the Team net electrified the crew of 66.

As one, they tore open their protective mask cases and scrambled to mask. First, the CVC

came off. Then the mask, chin first, emplaced. Once on securely, the hood had to be pulled over. Next, the CVC placed back on and the protective mask's mike jack plugged into the CVC. All this had to be done in less than twenty seconds. "ROMEO 25-THIS IS TANGO

77-SHELLREPOVER."

"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, and his platoon were safe. But the XO and the ITVs were catching hell. Because the Soviets were only firing up the hilltop and not at the actual positions of the Team's two tank platoons, it was obvious that they did not know for sure where the Team was. The Soviets were 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, that Uleski was still alive.

"TANGO 77-THIS IS ROMEO 25-1 NEED AN NBC-1 REPORT AS SOON AS

POSSIBLE-OVER."

"ROMEO 25-THIS IS TANGO 77-WE'RE WORKING IT UP NOW-OVER." The Team had not been informed by battalion that the Soviets were using chemical weapons. It may have been an oversight on their part. Just in case, Bannon needed to pass on information about the attack as soon as possible. This new aspect only promised to make their existence more intolerable. Bannon decided not to wait for the complete report from 2nd Platoon before informing battalion. This information caused a great deal of concern on the battalion net. Judging from the pitch of the voices and the excited chatter, Team Yankee had been the first unit within the brigade to be hit by chemical weapons. The snap analysis was that the Soviets were anxious to make a breakthrough and were getting desperate. The chemical attack, the massive

artillery barrage, and the loss of contact with the XO and the ITVs seemed to signal a change in the Team's fortunes.

The shadows in the valley were getting 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 2nd Platoon sent up its NBC-1 report indicating that the Soviets were using GB, a nonpersistent 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.

To Bannon's 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 attack soon. Bannon had expected the Soviets to wait until night to attack. But apparently they were being pushed by their commanders to break through and could not wait. 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.

The 2nd Platoon reported the new attack first. At a range of 2500 meters, the Soviet vehicles appeared as green blobs in the thermal sights. The Soviets were emerging from the tree line on the hill to the Team's right front, across from Team Bravo. They were either going to go straight into the village or through Team Bravo's position. Bannon informed the battalion S-3 of the enemy's appearance and direction of attack. The S-3 replied that Team Bravo was in no shape to fight. With only two functional tanks and three Dragon teams, Bravo would be pressed to protect itself, let alone stop a determined attack. Team Yankee would have to do the major portion of

the fighting again.

Because of the range and the quality of the image produced on the thermal sight, it was impossible to distinguish which of the attacking blobs were tanks and which were BMPs.

Bannon ordered the 2nd Platoon to engage the

lead vehicles with SABOT, assuming that the Soviets would 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 follow their doctrine. The Mech Platoon stood ready to catch anything that got through. With no time left for a coordinated ambush like the one the Team had used for the first echelon, Bannon gave the platoons permission to fire and then began to work 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 it more awkward. 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. He had to stop and fling the protective mask carrier, containing the filter, over his shoulder to get the hose out of the way. This succeeded in clearing his view of the map but now the weight of the filter pulled at the hose and kept pulling his head over to one side. That he was able to accomplish anything amazed him. But he succeeded in finding a suitable target reference point, contacted the FSO, and got the call for fire in.

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 that he 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 had to catch up on the battle. He called each platoon leader for 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 try 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 the tracks on the slope 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 grow greener 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 moving up the small valley. The small Soviet force consisted of two T-72s and three BMPs. The platoon leader's voice betrayed no nervousness or confusion. Bannon felt more apprehensive than Harding.

It would have been far better, Bannon thought, if there were some tanks in the small valley to deal with the T-72s. He had little 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 main valley to the small valley. He had no idea what in the hell he was going to do once he reached his objective. That plan had to wait for now. All he wanted to do was to get out of the Americans' kill zone and seek some cover. The major turned his small force toward a walled farm complex in the small valley in the hope he could find some protection there.

The Mech Platoon was ready. 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 machine guns, would take out 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 Hardingfs order, every machine gun 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 machine guns, the Soviets would have been impressed by the performance of the Mech Platoon.

The firing died away slowly. This last fight had lasted some twenty minutes from when the enemy first appeared to when the order came to cease fire. The Soviet artillery barrage on the headquarters position and to the Team's front had stopped. The clearing smoke screen revealed twentythree newly smashed and burning hulks 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 them just then. All that was important was that the Soviets had stopped coming. Like two fighters after a round, the opponents were both 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 and tried to establish commo with Uleski. His

calls received no response. Second Lieutenant McAlister, the 2nd Platoon leader, reported that his flank tank could see a burning vehicle to its rear. Bannon immediately contacted First Sergeant Harrert and instructed him to get up to the XO's location with the ambulance and the M-88 recovery vehicle. When 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 66 was headed into the center of where the chemical attack had been directed, the crew remained masked.

As they neared the position, the logging trail that had run behind the position ceased to exist. Shell craters and smashed and uprooted trees dimly lit by the failing light of late evening and small fires blocked their passage. Progress was slow as Ortelli carefully picked 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.

The condition of the three tracks that had occupied the headquarters position matched that of the shattered forest. One ITV was lying on its side, burning brightly. Its aluminum armored sides were glowing bright red and collapsing inward. Burning rubber and diesel created a thick, black, rolling cloud of smoke. The TOW launcher of the second ITV was mangled; chunks of electrical components dangled down from the launcher on wires. Set back and in the center of the ITVs was the 55 tank. Moving around on the right side of the tank were several figures. They were unmasked, so

66's crew unmasked as soon as the tank stopped.

Bannon dismounted and moved toward 55. Uleski was kneeling next to a figure on the ground. He looked at Bannon

as he approached, then back at the figure. There were three men lying on the ground and two more sitting up next to 55. Even from where Bannon was, he could see that they were wrounded, badly. Two of 55's crew, the gunner and the loader, were working on the wounded men. They were frantic in their efforts, not knowing where to start or how to deal with a body so badly ripped apart.

Bannon's attention was diverted when he stepped on a broken tree branch that gave way under his weight. He looked down, froze, then jumped back in horror. The tree branch was an arm, shredded, torn, and bloody. For a moment, he was unable to do anything except stare at the limb, unable to force himself to think or move. Only when Folk brushed him as he ran by with 66's first-aid kit was he able to proceed. Even then, he walked slowly and carefully, watching where he stepped. The Team's charmed life had run out. It had paid in blood for winning the second round.

After reaching the tank, he looked at each of the wounded men as the crew of 55 and Folk tore at clothing to expose wounds and began to work on them. One of the men had lost a foot. He was in horrible pain, his head rolling from side to side, his arms thrashing the ground next to him. Another soldier beside him simply lay there, not moving. It took a second look to see if he was still breathing. A check of the other three showed they all had their arms. Bannon turned for a moment and surveyed the shattered landscape. The thought that one of his people was out there, smashed and scattered, was repulsive and frightening.

Whoever he was, that soldier was beyond help. There were those who needed more immediate attention. Bannon knelt down beside the body on the ground across from Uleski.

For the first time he looked closely. It was Sp4 Thomas Lorriet, the driver for 55. He was from a small town somewhere in Indiana. Lorriet was motionless. His right hand still grasped the hose of his protective mask. His mouth was opened as if he were gasping for air. His eyes were wide open but unseeing, his skin ashen white. He was dead.

Bannon looked up at Uleski who continued to stare at Lorriet. Uleski was shaken. Bannon had never seen him so despondent. After a few moments, the XO finally realized his Team commander was staring at him. He looked back, showing no emotion as he spoke.

"The ITV crews were transferring TOW rounds when the first volley hit. 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 the men lying over there was just wounded. He screamed for help but no one went for him. He just kept screaming until the gas reached him. The chemical alarm went off before it was smashed. We all buttoned up and waited.

When there was no letup, I ordered Lorriet to back it up. He didn't answer. I started to scream, but he wouldn't answer. I cursed at him and called him every dirty name I could think of. The whole crew started to yell at him to get the tank out of here. The whole tank shook.

Smoke and dust and gas seeped in. Shrapnel kept pinging on the outside, and each round sounded as if it was closer than the last. We all yelled at Lorriet till we were hoarse. He didn't answer."

Uleski paused for a moment. He was starting to tremble. His eyes were filling with tears. He turned away for a moment in an effort to regain his composure. Once he had settled down, he continued, "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 yelled at him he was dead.

We didn't know, 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 broke the silence. Bannon reached out and grabbed Uleski's shoulder 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-1 and S-4. Do you have that?"

For a moment Uleski looked at the Team commander as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then he blinked and acknowledged the instructions and slowly picked himself up.

Without another word, the XO headed for the first sergeant's track, turning and looking at Lorriet's body one last time.

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. He repeated the question. Gwent slowly 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 can take care of them. I need you to check out that tank and find out if it can still fight. The Russians may come back and the Team needs every track it's got. Get 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, he looked at the tank, then he gave his commander a "yes, sir" and called his loader over. They both started to walk around the tank, checking the suspension and tracks in the gathering darkness.

As soon as the wounded were on board, the ambulance took off, making the best possible speed. Bannon walked over to the first sergeant and Folk as they watched the ambulance disappear in the darkness. When he closed up on them, Harrert asked about Uleski. Before answering, Bannon turned toward the 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. Bannon then told Harrert to search the area for dead and to get 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 turned to their tasks, Bannon walked back to 66.

Ortelli was 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. When he was satisfied that the bolt was tight, he would go to the next one. Kelp was perched in the commander's cupola, manning the machine gun 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, watching the dark hill across the valley.

Bannon hadn't realized how tired he was until he tried to climb onto 66. He fell backwards when his first boost failed to get him on the tank's fender. He rested for a moment, one foot on the ground, one foot in the step loop, and both hands on the hand grip.

With a hop and a pull, he managed to pull his body up. He stood on the fender pondering his next move for a moment. Decisions were becoming hard to make. He moved over to the turret and sat on the gun mantel with both feet on the main gun. He was dead tired, physically and mentally. So much had happened since the 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 the scene before him now was foreign and strange. It was all too much for a tired brain to take in. The Team commander let his mind go blank as he sat there perched over the 105mm cannon of 66.

Folk startled him. For a moment Bannon lost his balance and almost toppled off the gun mantel. He had fallen asleep. The fearful day had finally ended, and it was dark. The short nap only accentuated his exhaustion. The ITV that had burned was still glowing red, with small fires consuming the last of its rubber. Through the trees he could see smashed Soviet vehicles still burning. Some were like the ITV, red and glowing. Others were still fully involved, yellow flames licking at dense black clouds of smoke rising in 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 was standing on the ground in front of the tank looking up. They looked at each other while 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 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-1. There's nothing more for us to do here. "

Harrert's last comment was 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.

He stood on the front slope of the tank and stretched, then, squatting down closer to the first sergeant, he 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 there, 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. The 66 pulled out of the old headquarters position, carefully picking 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