"ON THE WAY!"

The 55's efforts were finally rewarded. The third round found its mark. The tank commander's hatch on the T-72 was blown open. A fireball rose above the battlefield and was followed by a sheet of flame. The T-72 was dead. The range showing at the bottom of extension was 610 meters. Bannon stuck his head out of the hatch to see what 31 was up to. Its T-72 was also burning. Steady streams of tracers from 31's COAX, loader's machine gun, and caliber .50 were raking the line of Soviet infantry. Already most of them had gone to ground, either dead or trying to keep from becoming that way. Two of the BTRs were starting to fire at 31. Bannon decided to take them out first. Grabbing the override, he slued the turret to the left.

"GUNNER-HEAT-TWO BTRS-LEFT BTR!"

"UPS"

"IDENTIFIED! "

"FIRE!"

The first HEAT round found its mark just below the small turret on the BTR. The impact and the internal explosions caused the BTR to swerve to the left and out of the battle. Both the gunner and Bannon yelled target at the same instant. Without waiting, the gunner laid his sights on the next BTR and yelled "IDENTIFIED!" Once the loader gave an up, Bannon gave the command to

fire, and another BTR was dispatched.

Garger surveyed the scene before him. This was becoming all too easy. Both 55 and 31 sat there as if they were on a

gunnery range firing at cardboard and plywood targets instead of real people and vehicles.

All three of his machine guns were firing, each one covering a different area. The flames from the burning T-72 provided more than enough light for him and his gunner to fire without the use of night vision devices. A move on the part of the Russians was rewarded by a hail of machine-gun fire. When he couldn't see any movement, he fired at the forms he saw lying on the ground. No doubt he was hacking away at men who Nwere already dead.

When he became bored with that, he personally turned the caliber .50 on a BTR. It was something new and would be challenging. At Knox he had been taught that a caliber .50

could take out a BTR. Here was the perfect opportunity to learn if that was true.

As Bannon was preparing to engage his next target, he noticed that 31 was engaging a BTR with the caliber .50. The rounds were hitting but causing little damage. As a way of reminding Garger to get back to concentrating on

pinning the infantry, he turned 55's main gun on the BTR that the lieutenant was trying to destroy with his fifty. One HEAT round was all it took.

Newman informed Bannon that 55 was out of HEAT and down to nine SABOT rounds. As he didn't want to waste those on BTRs, he ordered the loader to load a SABOT round but not to arm the gun. Then he ordered 31 to switch roles with 55. Garger was to work on the last of the BTRs, and 55 would pin the infantry. Garger's reply betrayed his joy. As 31 had, 55 divided its fire into sectors. The gunner engaged the troops to the front and right. The loader manned his machine gun and fired at the troops to the left. When his crew began to fire, Bannon called Uleski and Polgar for an update.

The infantry was still engaged in a standoff fire fight; Just as a Russian officer or NCO would get some of their troops moving, a volley of fire from the infantry would drive them to ground.

The Russian leaders would have to start all over

again. Polgar decided to break the deadlock. He sent his Dragon gunner on a wide sweep around the flank to destroy the two Russian tanks. Two other men, each carrying an extra Dragon round, also went to provide cover to the gunner. One of them was Kelp, who volunteered when he heard Polgar giving the order to the Dragon gunner.

The three-man team dropped back a short distance while the rest of the infantry line increased their fire to cover the move. The Dragon gunner, a specialist 4 named Sanders, led the other two as they circled around the fire fight, using the sound and the gun flashes to guide on. When the lead Soviet tank fired, Sanders would reorient himself on his objective and continue. They were going to go for the second tank first because it was still fully capable and therefore more dangerous. The crippled tank could be dispatched at their leisure.

They closed in on the second tank from behind. It was apparently wedged in between some trees and unable to move forward or backwards. Sanders watched for a moment and then moved to a spot where the trees and branches would not interfere with his wireguided missile. He carefully set up his weapon as if he was on a shooting range. When he had the thermal tracker sighted in on the rear of the Soviet-tank, he let the missile fly. The missile was launched with a flash and whoosh followed by the igniting of the Dragon's rocket and the pop-pop-pop of the small guidance jets. The impact lit up the surrounding area and immediately ignited fires in the tank's engine compartment. One Soviet tank was down with another to go.

As he was maneuvering against the crippled tank, a lone figure stood up in front of Sanders at a distance of five meters and fired his AK into his chest. Kelp leveled his submachine gun and in turn cut down the lone figure. Both Kelp and the other infantryman, a private as young as Kelp by the name of McCauley, stood there frozen as they waited to see if any other Russians would pop up. Once they were satisfied that the Russian had been alone, the two knelt beside Sanders' body.

In the darkness Kelp felt for his pulse, first on his wrist, then in his neck. There was none.

"He's dead."

"How do you know?" asked McCauley.

"I know. He's dead." At nineteen, Kelp was fast becoming an expert on death. "Do you know how to work that thing?"

"Yeah. We had a class on it once. I think I can do it. But I ain't sure how we're going to get around to the other tank. There may be more Russians." "You just get that thing and follow ole Kelp here. I'll get you to the Russians' back door."

With that, the two privates set out in the dark hunting for the second tank.

The sound of the infantry's fire fight followed by the artillery barrage and then the firing of 55

and 31 began to unnerve Uleski. It wasn't easy

to

stand there in the dark, listening to the sounds of a battle immediately to

the rear while watching a hundred trained soldiers, whose sole intent was to kill you, calmly advance on your position. Not that Uleski had any doubt about the outcome. Unless there were tanks in the far tree line, the infantry would be no match for the tanks and PCs. Uleski was simply getting impatient. He wanted, as did everyone else, to get on with it. Now. The nausea and fear that had crippled him during the first battle were not present this time.

Instead, a hatred was welling up in him. As he watched the advance, he pounded the fist of his good hand against the roof of the PC. The image of the dead and wounded men scattered about 55 after the second attack on the first day flashed through his mind, flaming his hatred into an open rage. Quietly, the easygoing, fun-loving XO began softly to repeat,

"Come on, you mothers, come on and die."

The column of Russian infantry began to deploy into platoon columns. Their advance was at a nice steady walk. They were in no hurry to join the chaos in the woods on which they were advancing. It seemed to Uleski as he watched that this group of Russians would be just as happy if they arrived in time to help with the body count and not a minute sooner. There was definitely a lack of gung-ho spirit here.

Uleski had his PC turned sideways in a depression near the tree line. One of the infantrymen who had been on the OP and the PC driver were standing up, hanging out of the cargo hatch, their M 16s resting on the side of the PC. The PC commander had the caliber

.50 over the side, locked and loaded. Several boxes of additional ammunition were opened and ready at an arm's distance. A loaded M 16 lay on the roof of the PC next to Uleskifs good arm. When the time came, he had every intention of joining the killing. The other PC

with the second man from the OP was also ready, in position to the left of Uleski. The two tanks were deployed to the right of the PCs, ready to engage the infantry or any tanks that popped out and surprised them.

When the Russians were about three hundred meters from the PCs, Uleski gave the order to fire. Eight machine guns and four M 16s cut loose, unleashing a hail of tracers and lead that peppered the deploying Russians. For a moment they stood there transfixed, unable to comprehend what was happening to them. Uleski watched through his night vision goggles as some of the Russians first ran one way, then the other, before going to ground for cover.

Officers would try to rally their men and drive them on, only to be cut down as the machine guns from the tanks and PCs raked the area with steady, measured bursts of fire. Uleski decided that this was a green unit and tonight was its baptism by fire. A smile came across his face. Quietly, he said to himself as he picked up the M16, "So be it. You shall be baptized in blood." Robert Uleski, good-natured Ski, had become a cold and hard man.

As with the infantry fire fight, once the Russians went to ground, an impasse seemed to settle in. The Russians stayed where they were while the PCs and tanks were unable to finish the prone figures off. Uleski was too impatient for this. After emptying the magazine of the M 16, he decided to break the deadlock. He ordered the two tanks to move out and make a sweep of the area where the Russians were pinned. Hebrock protested that there could be tanks or antitank guided missile teams in the woods across the way. But Uleski would not hear of it. He wanted the Russians swept away and swept away now. Besides, if there had been

tanks or antitank guided missiles in support of the attack, they would have fired by now.

Hebrock and the 22 tank cranked up and moved out. Swinging out wide and then turning north, the two tanks slowly began to advance side by side. They sprayed their machine guns to their front as if they were spraying for insects. The fury of their first fire and the irresistible advance of the steel monsters was too much for some of the Russians. They got up and began to withdraw, some without their weapons. The PCs watched, waiting for such targets.

When the Russians got up, the riflemen and machine gunners cut them down. When the tanks reached the end of the area where the Russians had gone to ground, they swung around and went back through the area again, searching out those who had survived the first run. Most of those who were still alive played dead. They would wait till later to make good their escape.

With no more targets, Uleski ordered the tanks to their alternate positions. He also moved the two PCs. Once his repositioning was finished, and quiet returned to his sector, he reported the status of his element to Bannon.

Potecknov was not at all pleased with the progress, or more correctly, the lack of progress that his companies were making. From the village he watched the destruction of the tanks and BTRs followed by the methodical massacre of

his troops. Although he could see his officers attempting to get the men up and moving, it was to no avail. The officers were cut down, and the men, seeing that, decided that it was unwise to expose themselves.

Contact with the company on the far side of the hill had been lost after an initial and incomplete report had stated that they were in contact. Only the company commander in the woods reported progress. Potecknov could hear the report of the T-72's cannon and see an occasional flash. He decided that the attack from the north through the woods offered the best chance of

success. Turning to his deputy, he ordered him to stay there with the political officer and try to reorganize the unit to their front. He would go around to the north and push the attack through the woods. Without further ado, Potecknov ran down the stairs and into the street to his vehicle. He was determined to win, regardless of the cost.

Uleski's report found 55 and 31 in the same type of stalemate that he had been in before the counterattack by 24 and 22. Bannon had monitored that action and pondered doing the same thing. Tanks 55 and 31 had destroyed six BTRs in addition to the two tanks. Two BTRs and some of the infantry in the second line had managed to pull back into the village.

The surviving first-line infantry were on the ground and dispersed. Those near the burning vehicles attempted to crawl away from the light and heat created by the fires. Sometimes their efforts were rewarded by a burst of fire from either 55 or 31.

Earlier in the fight a few stout-hearted souls had attempted to engage 55 and 31 with RPGs.

Quick reaction ended these efforts.

While there was no longer any return fire from the line of pinned Russian infantry, Bannon knew there were many of them who were still alive. If they stayed out there or withdrew to the village, they would be of no immediate concern. But if some of their officers were able to rally a few men and slip around to the rear, 55 and 31 would be in danger.

The shifting of the heavy artillery barrage from the trail junction to the tree line, where 55 and 31 were located, decided the next move. Rather than sit there and be pounded, 55 and 31

were going to attack.

"MIKE 77-THIS IS ROMEO 25-OVER."

"THIS IS MIKE 77-OVER."

"THIS IS 25-WE ARE GOING TO ATTACK-WE WILL ADVANCE ABREAST TOWARD

THE VILLAGE AT 10 MILES PER HOUR-ONCE AT THE VILLAGE WE WILL GO UP THE

STREET

THE BTRS WENT UP-FALL IN BEHIND ME AS WE GO THROUGH THE VILLAGE AND

COVER

OUR REAR-HOW COPY SO FAR7-OVER. "

"THIS IS 77-GOOD COPY-OVER."

"THIS IS 25-ONCE IN THE VILLAGE WE WILL TURN RIGHT ON THE MAIN ROAD AND

GO

NORTH OUT OF THE VILLAGE-FROM THERE FOLLOW ME -I'M NOT SURE WHERE

WE WILL GO-OVER."

"THIS IS 77-WILCO-OVER."

"THIS IS 25-LET'S ROLL."

"THIS IS 77-1 HEARD THAT."

Garger didn't have to tell his driver twice. He was just as anxious to get out from under the artillery fire as his tank commander was. As 31 broke the tree line, Garger could see 55

illuminated by the fires of the burning Russian vehicles. Both he and his loader increased their rates of fire and began indiscriminately to spray machine gun fire before the tank as it advanced.

This was too much for many of the survivors still lying on the ground between the village and the tree line. First there had been the battle between the tanks, which their tanks had lost.

Then there had been the accurate and deadly machinegun fire that had cut down their comrades and officers and anyone who tried to stop it. Their BTRs had been destroyed one at a time and were now burning hulks incinerating their crews. Around them were visions of horror: burning vehicles, steady fire from an unseen enemy, apparent failure of their tanks and artillery, death of their comrades, moans of the wounded, screams of men burning to death, and the smell of burning flesh. And worst of all, the feeling that they were the only survivors, that every man around them was dead or dying. All this pushed the green Russian soldiers to the limit of their endurance. The appearance of the American tanks closing on them, spraying death, pushed them beyond.

The 55 and 31 had no sooner cleared the tree line and the incoming artillery when individual Russian soldiers began to jump up and flee. The driver kept 55 at a steady ten miles an hour. Bannon, the loader, and the gunner covered their sectors, engaging Russians as they made their appearance. The loader covered the left flank, the gunner the center, and Bannon the right. Those who were smart and not in the direct path of the advancing tanks stayed put and played dead. There were few smart Russians that night.

The tanks converged on the village. At the edge of the village, 31 slowed down, let 55 take the lead, and swung its turret over the rear, continuously engaging soldiers who were attempting to flee the carnage. As

55 turned the first corner in the village, it was greeted by a BTR at a range of twenty meters.

The BTR was frantically trying to back up and get out of the way. Both the BTR commander and Bannon looked at each other for the briefest of moments before they began to issue frantic orders. "GUNNER- BATTLESIGHT-BTR!

The shock of seeing a target so close caused the gunner to raise the level of his reply several decibels. "IDENTIFIED!"

"SABOT LOADED-UP!- "FIRE!"

At this range and with the speed of the SABOT round, firing and impact were almost simultaneous. Bannon felt heat of the impact on his face. The brilliant flash of contact and the shower of sparks lit up the street and momentarily blinded him. The SABOT round cut through the center of the BTR and went flying down the street behind the BTR into a building.

The BTR burst into flames and staggered to a stop.

For a moment, 55 stood there with its gun tube almost touching the BTR. All action seemed to stop, as if everyone had to pause and catch his breath. Carefully, Bannon guided 55

around the burning BTR and continued down the street. Tank 31 followed, Garger and his loader shielding themselves from the heat of the flames. The tanks continued into the town, searching for new targets.

Kelp and McCauley had finally managed to get themselves into a good position. The rear of the crippled T-72 was less than a hundred meters to their front. They had a clear shot. The burning hulk of the other T-72 provided just enough light for McCauley as he fumbled about fitting the thermal sight to a new Dragon round.

Kelp was getting impatient, "I thought you said you knew how to use that thing."

"I told you, I only had one class on it, and that was a long time ago. Give me a break, will ya?

I'm doin1 the best I can. "

"Well, do your best faster, damn it." For a moment the situation reminded Kelp of many similar conversations between him and Folk. Folk was always on his back to do things faster or better. As he watched McCauley fumble with the sight and round, Kelp realized why Folk had been so hard on him. He owed Folk a huge apology. "Got it! I think."

"About time. Let's do it."

McCauley set up the Dragon and braced himself as he had seen the other gunner do. Kelp got over to one side and scanned the area for Russian soldiers.

"Here goes. "

The shock of firing the weapon for the first time made McCauley jump as the missile launched. The missile flew a few meters and hit a tree, causing it to fall to the ground and spin around as the rocket motor burned and popped.

"SHIT! GET THE OTHER ROUND!"

McCauley scrambled to detach the sight from the expended round as Kelp rolled the next one to him. Kelp watched as a figure came up out of the T-72's TC's hatch and looked to the rear where the first missile was still burning. The turret began to traverse around. "SHIT!

HURRY OR WE'RE DEAD MEAT!" yelled Kelp.

Fear of death motivated McCauley. He managed to connect the sight to the new round the first time. Kelp kept glancing back and forth between the T-72 and McCauley. It was a race that would have horrible consequences for the loser.

Just as the T-72's long gun was about to lay on the two privates, it slammed into a tree and stopped. The tank commander yelled an order. The gunner swung the turret back a few meters and then tried to knock the tree down with the gun tube. But the tree was too big.

They could not finish laying on the two privates. When the tank commander saw they were not going to get the turret around, he unlocked his 12.7mm machine gun, trained it in their direction, and fired.

The wild burst flew harmlessly over the heads of the two privates. Kelp brought his submachine gun up to his shoulder and fired an equally harmless burst at the Russian tank commander. It was then that McCauley let loose with the second Dragon missile. The flash and whoosh of launch, the burn of the rocket motor, and the detonation of impact ended the fire fight.

The small-arms fire to their rear and the destruction of the second tank took the last fight out of the Russians facing Polgar. One at a time and in

pairs they began to drift back north along the trail. At first Polgar thought that they were thinning the line to form a group for an end run. But as the Russian return fire slackened, then ceased, he knew the truth. The shadows created by the Russians as they drew back past the burning tanks kept moving north. For the second time that night, the order to cease fire rang out through the wooded lot.

The firing began to slacken, then stop, as Colonel Potecknov moved down the trail. At first, he was elated. They had succeeded in breaking the American line. But the faint yells in English, followed by the appearance of figures headed in his direction convinced the colonel that success had not been his. His men were retreating.

Potecknov was not about to give up. Picking his pace up to a slow trot, he began to wave and yell at his men, ordering them to turn around and go back.

The relief and elation over their victory against the T-72 were short-lived. Kelp and McCauley had just begun to move back to rejoin the rest of the infantry when several figures came toward them from the direction of the infantry positions. Both of them dropped down behind a tree, back to back. At first Kelp thought the Russians were sending men back to find them. But the figures went past them in a hurry. They were making no effort to search the bushes for the tank killers. It dawned upon Kelp that the Russians were retreating. That was good. Unfortunately, they were right in the middle of the Russians' path of retreat. The two soldiers continued to huddle behind the tree, each facing out to one side with their weapons at the ready. Kelp

watched as the number of Russians increased. It hadn't occurred to him that there were so many of them. It was amazing that the infantry had not only held, but had caused the Russians to retreat. As he was watching this flood of refugees from the front, a lone figure came running south down the trail, waving a pistol and shouting: Had to be an officer, Kelp thought. The dumb bastard was trying to stop the retreat. For a moment, Kelp wondered if he should kill the officer. But that feat of heroism was not needed. Kelp watched as this figure stopped a group of three retreating Russians and tried to push them back. To Kelp's surprise, one of the three leveled his AK, stuck it into the officer's stomach, and let go a burst. The officer flew back and sprawled over the trail like a rag doll. The one who had fired the AK said something in Russian. All three continued north, stepping over the dead officer.

One of the party kicked the officer in the head as he went by. The Russian soldiers had had enough for the night. Kelp's attention was suddenly drawn to his front as a Russian stumbled and fell right next to him. Kelp and the Russian stared at each other for a moment before they realized that they were looking eyeball to eyeball at the enemy. As the Russian opened his mouth to let out a scream, Kelp leaped on the Russian's chest, putting one hand on the Russian's throat and the other over his mouth. The Russian grabbed the hand Kelp had over his mouth with both hands and tried to pry it off. Kelp pushed down harder but felt his grip slipping.

Just as the Russian succeeded in prying Kelp's hand off his mouth, he went stiff and let go of Kelp's hand. Kelp turned around to see McCauley jab his bayonet into the Russian's stomach a second and third time. When the Russian went limp, Kelp let him go and grabbed McCauley's arm as he started to stab the Russian a fifth time. The two privates looked at each other, then resumed their back-to-back position behind the tree as the last of the Russians went by without noticing the small battle that had occurred in the silent and dark wood.

Colonel Potecknov lay there on the trail, unable to move. In the silence of the dark woods he could feel his life slipping away. There was pain, intense pain. He also began to feel cold even though it had been a warm summer evening. He was bleeding to death, and he knew there was nothing that he could do to stop that. In his last minutes, his thoughts were not on the fears of the unknown fate that awaited him or of the shame of failure. Rather, he was puzzled and bewildered. His battalion should have succeeded! He had done everything right. The plan had been a good one. It had been foolproof. What had gone wrong? Why hadn't it worked? The Russian colonel sought answers for these questions until darkness swept over his mind.

The 55 was just entering the village square when Bannon received Polgar's report that the Russians had broken contact and had withdrawn to the north. The run through the village so far had been quick and dirty. After the BTR had been destroyed, everyone and everything scattered up alleys or into houses. In the town square there were several trucks and two BTRs with soldiers scrambling to board them and get out. When 55 rolled into the square, the trucks began to roll with troops hanging half in, half out. One of the BTR drivers panicked and backed up over a group of soldiers that had run behind it for cover. A truck driver watching 55 and not paying attention to where he was going ran over an officer waving him down and crashed into a store window at the edge of the square. All this confusion was created just by 55's appearance and without a shot being fired. When 31

pulled up next to 55, and both tanks began to fire with main guns and machine guns, the situation really went to hell.

Satisfied that all the Russians were gone, Kelp and McCauley began to move forward cautiously toward the infantry positions. After what they had gone through, the last thing Kelp wanted was to get blown away by his own side. As he moved forward, Kelp stepped up onto a piece of metal. When he looked down, he was overpowered by a surge of fear. In the faint light from the burning tanks Kelp saw that he was standing on one of the antitank mines they had put out earlier. He knew he was dead.

But nothing happened. It finally occurred to him that he was not heavy enough to set off the mine. Even so, when he mustered the courage to remove his foot, he did so with the greatest of care. Sweat rolled down his face as he tried to regain composure before moving on. There were too many ways to get killed out here. Kelp wanted his tank back. This infantry shit was for the birds.

When he thought that they were close enough to the infantry positions, Kelp called out to let them know they were coming back. Polgar, unfamiliar with Kelp's voice, ordered them to advance and be recognized. When they were in the open, Polgar gave them the challenge.

Only after Kelp gave the proper password were the two tank killers allowed back into the fold.

Once the tanks were clear of the village, Bannon ordered 31 to move up to the right of 55.

As they were starting to swing south to return to their positions, they ran into the Russian infantry that had just broken contact with Polgar. Apparently, the Russians had not heard of the run through the village by the American tanks and thought 55 and 31 were Russian. They simply stood aside to let them pass. When the tanks cut loose with machine guns, the last semblance of order evaporated and the Russians scattered to the four winds. Only the jamming of 55's last operational machine gun broke off the engagement. The battle for Hill 214 was over, for now. Checkmate.

As 55 and 31 moved south along the tree line in silence, Bannon radioed Uleski and Polgar.

He ordered them to pull their people back to the trail junction and form a coil. Polgar and his men would cover the north, Uleski and his element would cover the east and south and 55

and 31 would cover the west. When everyone was in, they were to meet at the trail junction.

Bannon was the last to arrive. Uleski, Polgar, Jefferson, and Hebrock greeted Garger and him with nothing more than a nod. With not so

much as a word of greeting, he simply asked, "OK, what do we have?" Uleski had suffered only one wounded, a PC driver who had been hit in the shoulder during their fire fight and had lost a lot of blood but was in stable condition. Both the PCs and the 2nd Platoon tanks had ample ammo on hand. Polgar's dismounted element had suffered two killed, including the Dragon gunner, and four wounded, two of them seriously. Although his people had run low on ammunition while on the firing line, now that they were with the PCs, the men were replenishing their ammo pouches from ammunition stored on the PCs. The only casualty between 55 and 31 had been 31's loader. He had been hit in the face by a bullet during the run through the village. Though he was in a lot of pain, he would survive. For the price of

two dead and six wounded, Team Yankee had held.

But the Team had reached the end of its rope. Even as they stood there, Bannon could tell that the stress and strain of this last fight had used up

every man's final reserve of energy. They had done their best and done well. But there was no more to give. Besides the exhaustion, the tanks were down to a grand total of thirty-one main gun rounds and four thousand rounds for the COAX and loader's machine gun. Even if the men could hold

up

under another attack, which was impossible, the ammunition couldn't. Bannon informed the Team's leadership that at 0330 they would leave Hill

214 and move south in order to reenter friendly lines. There was no need to

explain. There were no protests or speeches. Everyone understood the situation and knew there was nothing more to be gained here. Now the Team's mission was to save what was left for another day.

To prepare for the move, the wounded were loaded onto the PCs, three in each. Folk, who could drive a PC, took the place of the wounded PC driver. Kelp took the place of the wounded loader on 31. Uleski would command one of the PCs and half of the infantry while Polgar took the other PC and the other half of the infantry. The tank crews redistributed the ammunition between the tanks. When all was

ready, the Team settled in to wait until 0330 and move out. Deep inside, Bannon wanted to believe that at the last minute the battalion would come forward and link up. He was going to give them another hour and a half. If they didn't get here by then, he was going to save as much of Team Yankee as he could.

CHAPTER EIGHT.

R and R.

The damned fly kept bothering him. It wasn't the buzzing so much. Bannon could block that out. It was the fact that the bastard kept landing on the cut on the side of his face and irritating it. He'd no sooner shoo it away with a halfhearted wave of his hand than it would come back and land. How could he get any sleep with that damned fly bothering him. Sleep.

"SLEEP! MY GOD, I'VE FALLEN ASLEEP!" That thought stunned Bannon. His eyes popped open and were greeted by the morning sun. Almost instinctively, his arm shot up to check the time on his watch. 0548. The Team had missed its move-out time by over two hours! Now it was full daylight. Chances of slipping away under the cover of darkness were gone.

Bannon looked over into the loader's hatch. Newman was sitting upright on his seat sound asleep. A scan of the tight circle of tank and PCs failed to reveal any sign of movement. Instead of being alert and watching their sectors, track commanders were slumped across their machine guns asleep. Infantrymen lay curled up on the ground asleep where they had fallen. Even the wounded were quiet. The calamity was complete. Team Yankee had collectively gone to sleep.

Bannon jumped down to awaken the crew of 55. The gunner was lying up against the main gun. "Sergeant GWENT! Sergeant GWENT! WAKE UP!" Gwent sat up, shook his head, then jumped when he realized he had fallen asleep.

"Oh shit, sir. I fell asleep. Goddamn, I'm sorry." "Well, don't feel like the Lone Ranger.

Everyone is asleep. " Gwent suddenly realized what Bannon was telling him, and that it was light outside. His eyes grew big. "You mean we didn't pull off that hill yet? We're still behind enemy lines?"

"Target. Now get the rest of the crew up while I wake the Team up. AND DON'T CRANK

THE TANK."

Without waiting for a response, Bannon climbed out and began to dismount the tank. The spaghetti cord connecting the CVC to the intercom jerked his head back to remind him to disconnect it before jumping off 55. Once disconnected and on the ground, he headed for the first leader he saw, Polgar. Polgar was asleep, leaning against the side of a tree with his Ml6 cradled in his arms. After being shaken a moment, his eyes opened into narrow slits, looked to the left, looked to the right, looked at Bannon, then flew wide open. "SHIT! I fell asleep."

"Well, Sergeant Polgar, you ain't alone. Wake up the XO and your people while I get the tank crews. Gather the leadership at 55 when they're up. AND DON'T START ANY ENGINES.

Clear?"

"Clear." With that, Polgar was up in a flash, hustling from body to body, waking each one up with kicks, shakes, and curses. Bannon trotted over to

31.

Garger was leaning over backwards, asleep, arms extended and stiff. He looked as if he had been shot. "Gerry! Gerry! Lieutenant Garger! WAKE UP!" His eyes opened in tiny slits.

Like Polgar, he looked at Bannon for a moment, then jumped upright. "OH SHIT!" It occurred to Bannon that "Oh shit!" was fast becoming the standard greeting for the Team instead of good morning. If their predicament wasn't so serious, this whole situation would have been comical.

"Gerry, get the rest of the tank crews up and have the TCs meet me over at 55. And tell the TCs not to crank the tanks." As Bannon was getting off, Garger reached down and kicked his gunner in the back, telling him to wake up.

As he headed back to 55, Bannon began to work on a way out of this one. There would be no slipping away under the cover of darkness. If the Team moved, it would be in broad daylight, just like yesterday. That thought was disturbing. But staying here to face a new series of Russian attacks was equally distasteful. The collapse of the Team's security confirmed his belief that it was at the end of its tether. The Russians were sure to come back with more people and tanks. Bannon didn't dare face a wounded bear with a handful of punch-drunk soldiers. They had to pull out, the sooner the better.

Once the leaders were together, he issued his orders. The Team would go out the way they had planned. Since the Soviets had not hit them from the south, that was the direction the Team would take. The 55 and 31 would lead, traveling abreast once they were in the open.

The PCs would come next, in the center, followed by 24 and 22. The Team would move around the west side of the hill that had been Objective LOG and go back into friendly lines the same way they had come out. The only difference in the plan was that rather than creep along in an effort to sneak out, they would roll as fast as the PCs would allow. In addition, the tanks would fire up their smoke generators and blow smoke the entire way back. While 55

and 31 would be exposed to the front and flank, the PCs and the other two tanks would be hidden in a rolling cloud of smoke.

As they were about to break up and return to their vehicles, a volley of artillery fire impacted to the south in the vicinity of Hill 214. Everyone turned in that direction. When a second volley confirmed their fears, all eyes turned back on Bannon. They had been too late. The Russians were coming back.

"All right. Sergeant Polgar, you come with me. We're going to go up there and see what's going on. Bob, you're in charge while we're gone. Be ready to crank up and roll if the Russians come. Until then, stay alert and keep quiet. If the

Russians come before we're back, leave without us. Move in the opposite direction until you're in the open. Then carry out the plan as we have discussed. Any questions?"

There were none. What else could they do? Bannon turned to Polgar. "Do you have an extra M 16?"

"Yes, sir. I can take one from one of the wounded."

"Good, get me one, a couple of magazines, and meet me back here, pronto." Polgar went over to one of the tracks. Bannon turned to Uleski. "Bob, no heroics. If there's trouble, and we're not back, get out of here. Clear?" "Clear."

By the time he had his helmet and web gear on, Polgar was back with the rifle. After inserting a magazine and chambering a round, the two turned and started to head south.

Polgar followed Bannon at a distance of five meters and a little to his right. The assembled leaders watched them for a

moment before Uleski bellowed out the order to mount up and be ready to move.

After they had gone a hundred meters, the artillery stopped. He and Polgar paused and squatted down to listen for a moment. The sound of tracked vehicles could be heard to the south. Bannon motioned to Polgar. They continued on. As they were nearing the crest of the hill and the tree line, he saw movement to his front. Instinctively, he dropped into a prone firing position behind the nearest tree. Both he and Polgar watched and waited. To the left Bannon noticed a movement. Then there was more to the front at a distance of fifty meters.

As they watched, a line of figures approached through the woods. He turned to Polgar and whispered, "When I start shooting, run like hell back to the XO and tell him to go east out of here. " Polgar thought about it. "You're the Team commander, I'll cover you. You go

back and tell the XO."

"Damn it, Polgar, I gave you an order. You better be ready to move when I let go. Clear?" Polgar didn't reply. He only nodded.

Bannon turned back to watch the line of figures continue forward. Slowly he

reached into his pocket and pulled out the two frag grenades he had taken off 66 before destroying it.

He raised the M 16 up to his shoulder and began to sight in on the nearest figure. This was going to be a very short fight.

As Bannon watched the figure in his sight, it occurred to him that the uniform was very familiar. It was camouflage. Then he noticed the rifle. It was an M 16. They were Americans. He turned to Polgar and whispered,

"Americans." Polgar stuck his head up a little higher, looked, and then smiled.

Remembering the day before, he was a little more cautious in making contact. He let the line of infantry get within twenty meters and then bellowed out, "HALT!"

The line of infantry froze where they stood, ready to drop and fire. Their heads slowly turned to find the origin of the voice.

"Advance and be recognized."

Their heads snapped as one in Bannon's direction. He slowly rose up to the kneeling position but kept his rifle trained on the nearest man. He began to move toward him. When he was close enough, Bannon repeated the order,

"Halt." At that point, he was unable to recall the challenge and password.

He had to do something fast before the people in front of him got excited and fired. "We're Team Yankee, Task Force First of the Seventy Eight. We were cut off. Who are you?" Bannon kept his rifle aimed at the figure.

"What's the challenge?"

"I don't know. We were cut off yesterday. I'm Captain Bannon, the team commander." The infantry was beginning slowly to spread out. Things were not working out well at all.

From behind, Polgar called out, "Hey, Kerch. Is that your mob of dirt bags out there?"

The infantryman in front of Bannon straightened up, let the muzzle of his rifle drop some, and turned toward Polgar's voice. "Polgar, is that you?"

"Yeah, it's me. Now tell your mob to ease up so the captain and I can get up." With that, Polgar stood up and began to come over to where Sergeant First Class Kerch, A company 1st of the 78th Mechanized Infantry, and Bannon had been holding each other at bay. Team Yankee had been relieved.

Polgar led Kerch and his people through the woods to where Team Yankee was located.

Bannon went up to the top of Hill 214 where the battalion command group was. It occurred to him as he followed the trail to the top of the hill that he'd been here for over twenty hours, had fought for the hill and done his damnedest to hold it and had never been on top of it. He was finally going to see what the Team had paid for so dearly. At the wood line he passed the tracks from a platoon of the 1 st of the

78th that had been attached to the I st of the 4th Armor. They were waiting for word to go in and pick up the dismounted element he and Polgar had encountered. Just below the crest of the hill, two tanks and a PC sat, peering over the top toward Arnsdorf below. There were three figures standing next to the PC looking at a map board. When one of the figures looked up and saw Bannon approaching, he motioned. The other two looked up, put down the map board, and started towards him. They were the battalion commander, XO, and S-3

of the 1 st Battalion, 4th Armor, Team Yankee's parent battalion. As he closed, Bannon saluted and, as nonchalantly as possible, greeted Team Yankee's saviors.

"Sean, Colonel Reynolds told us you had been wiped out last night." "Sir, the news of our demise has been greatly exaggerated. D company is reporting for duty." Not that they could do anything but, what the hell, it

sounded good.

Maj. Frank Shell, the S-3, looked him over for a moment, then turned to the battalion commander. "If the rest of his people look as bad as Sean, the infantry was right, Team Yankee was wiped out." Then he turned back to Bannon and, seriously this time, asked if the rest of the Team did look like him. Bannon's eyes were bloodshot and had dark circles around them. Every exposed patch of skin was dirty. He had two days' growth of beard. The cut on the side of his face had become swollen from infection, and there was dried blood on his face and neck and around his collar. There was also dried blood on the chest and sleeves of his chemical suit from pulling Ortelli from 66. This was mixed with diesel and oil stains. Bannon guessed he couldn't have looked much worse. As they walked over to the PC, he explained the Team's situation and requested that an ambulance be sent immediately to the trail junction to bring out the wounded. The battalion XO got on it and had an M-113 ambulance rumbling down to the Team in minutes. They stopped by the tanks and looked down into Arnsdorf. There were still wisps of smoke rising from some of the burned-out Soviet vehicles. Scores of dead Russians littered the field among the smashed vehicles. The battalion commander looked at Bannon, "I take it you did that last night."

"Yeah. With a little help. Very little help," he replied without turning away. It all seemed so remote now, so foreign. Bannon had difficulty equating the scene before him with the horror show that had been last night. He gazed up at the clear blue morning sky, across the valley to the green hill to the north, and then at the battalion commander. "Yes, sir. We did that and more."

After the battalion commander and XO left to go down into Arnsdorf and follow the attack, Major Shell updated Bannon on what had happened since yesterday morning and how 1st of the 4th had come into play. The Mech Battalion that Team Yankee was part of had become spread out all over the division's rear during the night road march. While passing through one of the villages at night, part of the column had taken a wrong turn. The people leading the two line companies, C and D, the battalion trains, and the battalion CP all realized their mistakes at different times and tried to get back onto the proper route separately. This led to confusion and more errors, just as the first sergeant had reported.

D company was the first to show up and join Team Bravo on its overwatch position at 1730

last night. C company went into the rear areas of the German panzer division that was to the south of the division, got turned around, and then ran out of fuel. It never reached its destination, being held in the rear as part of the division reserve. The battalion trains pulled in

at night but never told anyone. Major Jordan found them by accident in the area where they were supposed to be. The S-4, in charge of the trains, thought the battalion was still under radio listening silence, never realizing the net had been jammed, and the battalion had moved to another frequency. Team Bravo, which had been in position to support Yankee, moved up to LOG but was thrown off in the late morning by a dismounted counterattack from Lemm.

When all this had been sorted out by the battalion and brigade commanders, it was decided to pull the 1st of the 78th Mech out and throw in the 1 st of the 4th Armor. As Team Bravo was combat ineffective, and everyone thought that, except for recovered tracks, Team Yankee was gone, the I st of the 78th was sent to the rear to reconstitute and act as reserve.

The

1st of the 4th relieved the Mech Battalion at 0300, just after the battle of Hill 214, and began its attack at 0530, just before the Team woke up. Major Shell told Bannon that he, the commander, and the XO were trying to figure out what had happened to all the Russians that the 1 st of the 78th had reported and who had done all the damage in Arnsdorf when Bannon showed up.

The good news from this comedy of errors was that Team Bravo held LOG long enough for First Sergeant Harrert to gather up the Team's wounded and recover those tracks that had only been damaged. To Bannon's surprise, he found out that First Sergeant Harrert had four tanks and two PCs, including the HQ PC, in varying states of repair. In the attack against LOG, Team Yankee had had only two tanks totally destroyed, 21 and 66, one PC, the 1 st Squad of the Mech Platoon, and the FIST track. For casualties, not counting the men who were killed on Hill 214, the Team had lost fifteen killed and six wounded. The number of killed seemed staggering and out of proportion. But as he thought about it, it made sense.

Tank 21 and the infantry PC alone accounted for thirteen of the dead.

While Bannon pondered the Team's good fortune, Major Shell contacted brigade and received orders for Team Yankee. The Team was to road march to the rear and join the 1 st of the 78th in reserve. He gave Bannon the location of the Mech Battalion's new CP in the rear and the route the Team

was to use. Bannon asked for and received permission to stop by the 1 st of the 4th1s combat trains and pick up some diesel. With a battalion to run, the S-3 had to go. He told Bannon to get the cut on his face taken care of while the Team was refueling at the trains and wished him luck. The S-3 mounted his PC, they exchanged salutes, and then he rolled down into Arnsdorf to join his commander. Bannon went back to Team Yankee, relieved in every sense of the word.

The formal portion of the morning briefing at the Tenth Corps Headquarters was over. The commanding general got up and walked over to the two maps that were displayed before him. On the large-scale map the overall situation in Germany was displayed. It was not good. In the NORTHAG, or Northern Army Group, area the Soviets were fast approaching the Dutch border. Hamburg and Bremerhaven had fallen. Though there had not been a breakthrough, several portions of the front were threatened with collapse. Already two corps commanders had requested the release of tactical nuclear weapons in order to break up concentrations of Warsaw Pact units. Follow-on Soviet, Polish, and East German units were moving toward the front to resume the attack.

The CENTAG or Central Army Group area, where the Tenth Corps operated, was much better. The terrain there was not the best for armored warfare. In addition, French forces were readily at hand and beginning to reach the front.

Turning to his small-scale map that depicted the corps' area of operation and current situation, he began to run his finger along the front line trace of his units, stopping every so often to study Warsaw Pact forces that were opposing the corps. At one point, he stopped his finger on a group of Soviet units and turned to his Intel officer. "George, these people here, you said that they are continuing west?"

"Yes, sir. We expect them to be in the vicinity of Kassel by tomorrow morning at the latest unless we can get the Air Force to delay them." "What's coming up behind them, George?

Who is going to be in the Leipzig area two to four days from now?"

"Well, sir, right now, no one. There is one Polish division here that could be in that area, but that's about it."

Without turning away from the map and motioning with his hand, the general began to issue instructions to his operations officer. "Frank, get your Plans people to work on an attack centered around the 21 st Panzer Division. As soon as the French relieve it, I want the 21st to move here and attack north into the Thuringer Wald. The mission of the 21 st is to breach the Soviet security screen and then cross the Inner German Boundary here. The second phase of the operation will be a passage of lines by the 52nd or 54th Division with orders to continue the attack north across the Saale River towards Leipzig. I want this operation to commence in three days. Have your people prepared to present me a decision briefing by 1800 hours tonight. What are your questions?"

The operations officer studied the map for a moment, then turned to the general, "Sir, can I plan on using the 25th Armored Division? Also, how far do you want us to plan after we reach Leipzig?"

"Frank, I want your plan to use everything we've got. For planning purposes you will consider our axis of advance from where we are to Leipzig, Berlin, and finally the Baltic coast. If I can convince the CINC, we're going to go

for broke."

Without further ado, the briefing broke up, staff officers scurrying in all directions to prepare for the evening briefing.

The road march was uneventful. Team Yankee had fortyfive kilometers to cover and could have done it in an hour had it not been for the traffic. As Team Yankee was going to the rear this time, and its road march had not been scheduled by the division's movement control center, it was bumped by higher priority traffic going to the front or wounded headed for the rear. It was amazing how many vehicles there were driving around in division's rear. As they sat on the side of the road waiting for a convoy to go by before the Team could move again, Garger wondered if someone was really in charge of all this. There were long convoys of supply and fuel trucks, artillery batteries, columns of ambulances moving

rearward, a field hospital moving forward, engineers all over, and equipment he had never seen before and whose purpose he had no idea of. That an army could bring order out of this apparent chaos, keep people fed, vehicles fueled, and units arriving at the right place at the right time was a source of wonder to him.

The biggest problem Bannon had during the long pauses while the Team waited for a break in the traffic was waking everyone up when it was time to move. It seemed that each time they stopped, the men fell over asleep. Once, when a break in the traffic appeared, it took so long to wake everyone up that by the time they were ready to roll, a new convoy came by and the Team had to wait again. The men immediately went back to sleep.

The worst part of the march was seeing the suffering of the local Germans who had stayed.

As the Team rolled past, if they acknowledged them at all, it was only with blank stares.

Bannon shuddered to think what was going through their minds, especially the old people.

This was the second time in

their lives that they had seen war. As the Team passed through one of the villages, an old woman stopped pushing a cart and watched. Bannon could see tears running down her cheeks as they went by. He would never know for whom she was crying.

The children bothered him the most. During peacetime maneuvers through the German countryside they would wave and laugh and run along the side of the tracks, yelling to the soldiers to throw them candy or rations. American soldiers often did. But now the children didn't come. Instead, when they heard the rumble of the tanks, they ran and hid. Only a few would peek to see whose tanks they were. Even when they saw that the tanks were American, there were terror and fear in their eyes.

Bannon began to understand why the pacifist movement had been so large in Europe. The children of the last war, who had witnessed his uncle's Sherman tank roll through their villages, had not wanted their children to experience the same horror. Unfortunately, the good intentions of the parents were no match for the intentions of the Soviet leaders. As had happened too often in the past, good intentions and the desire for peace were useless against cold steel and people willing to use it.

Looking at these children caused Bannon to wonder about his own. They still didn't know if all the families had made it out before hostilities. After awhile, he began to turn away whenever he saw the children. The thoughts they brought to his mind were too painful.

Three hours after they started, Team Yankee finally rolled into the town where the I st of the 78th was supposed to be. As the Team entered the town, they passed a group of American soldiers sitting in front of a house cleaning their weapons. They were stripped down to their T-shirts or bare chests, enjoying the weather and in no hurry to finish the tasks at hand.

Some of the men didn't even have their boots on. Their PC was parked in an alley. Clothes and towels were draped on it to dry. A shirt was even hanging on the barrel of the caliber .50.

Bannon stopped 55 and signaled the rest of the column to halt. Turning to the group of soldiers, he called out, "Who's in charge here?"

A couple of the soldiers looked to the left and the right, then chattered among themselves. One young soldier turned and yelled back: "Who the fuck wants to know?"

Garger later told Bannon that he had never seen him move so fast. When the soldier gave him that reply, he was out of the turret of 55 and on the ground headed for the man at a dead run, all in one motion. "ON YOUR FEET, YOU SORRY EXCUSE FOR A SOLDIER! ALL OF YOU! YOU TOO!"

They suddenly realized that perhaps they were talking to an officer and began to stand up. Not that they could tell-the only thing different about Bannon since his meeting with the Tank Battalion command group that morning had been the cleaning of the wound on the side of his face. Regardless of who he was or how he looked, "Who the fuck wants to know" is a poor reply, especially for a soldier.

"All right, soldier, I'll ask you one more time. And if you give me a smartass answer like you just did they'll be sending your remains home in a very small envelope. Is that clear?"

Before answering, the soldier took stock of this godawfullooking and -smelling figure before him. Taking no more chances, he came to attention. "Sir, our squad leader is not here. "

"That's not what I asked you, soldier. I asked you who is in charge. There is someone in charge of this gaggle, isn't there?" "I guess I am, sir."

"YOU GUESS! YOU GUESS! DON'T YOU KNOW?" "Yes, sir, I am in charge, sir." "What unit are you, soldier?" "Company C, sir."

"Good, great! You wouldn't happen to know what battalion you belong to, would you?"

"Sir, the Fighting First of the 78th, sir."

By this time, the tracks in Team Yankee had shut down and were listening to the conversation. When the soldier Bannon was dressing down came out with the fighting first comment, everyone in the Team broke out in uproarious laughter. From struggling with his rage, Bannon suddenly found himself struggling to hold back his laughter. He lost. The C

company soldiers were enraged at being the object of laughter, but they said and did nothing. They were not about to tempt the wrath of a column of soldiers who looked as Bannon did. They simply stood at attention and bit their tongues. After regaining control of himself, barely, Bannon continued, "All right, soldier. Where is your Battalion CPT' The soldier told him that it was in a school just down the street and how to get there. With that Bannon turned and climbed aboard 55, gave the hand and arm signal to crank up and move out, then led Team Yankee at a dead run to the headquarters of the Fighting First.

As Bannon and Uleski walked down the corridors of the German school. Bannon felt out of place. In the field he felt

at ease. They belonged in the field. That was where they worked. But this was a school, a place where young children came to learn about the world and to prepare for the future.

Bannon was a soldier whose job was to close with and destroy the enemy by fire, maneuver, and shock effect. In short, to kill. He had no business here, in a place of the future. The two hurried down the corridors in silence so as not to offend the spirit of the school. When they entered the classroom where the battalion staff and company commanders were having a command and staff briefing, they felt more out of place. Though hard to imagine, the battalion staff appeared to be even cleaner than they had been two days ago, when the order to take Hill 214 had been given. It could have been that Bannon was just dirtier. Both he and the XO had gone tromping into the room like two men storming into a strange bar looking to pick a fight with the first man who said boo. They stood there for a moment, surveying the scene as the assembled group surveyed them. It reminded Bannon of a scene from a B-grade western. He looked at Uleski, who appeared to be thinking the same thing, and almost began to laugh.

It was Major Jordan who first came up and greeted them with a sincere smile and a handshake, as if they were longlost cousins. The battalion commander and the other company commanders followed. Only the C company commander hung back. Bannon imagined it was from embarrassment. When the greetings were over, Colonel Reynolds took him to the front of the group and sat him on the seat next to his, displacing the C

company commander. This move shocked Bannon since Captain Cravin, commander of C

company, had always been Colonel Reynolds's fair-haired boy. Whatever Cravin did was good and right. Major Jordan, who didn't think much of Cravin or his company, smiled at the sight of the colonel's fair-haired boy being taken down a notch. As the meeting continued, Reynolds would stop, turn to Bannon, and ask what Team Yankee needed from the battalion motor officer, the S-4, the S-1, and so on. It quickly became apparent that the colonel was prepared to

give Team Yankee first choice on whatever was available. Given the opportunity, Bannon grabbed it and ran. When the S-1 wanted to know about personnel needs, Bannon told him that the Team needed eighteen infantrymen to replace Polgar's losses. The S-1 stated that it would not be possible to replace them now. Bannon turned to the battalion commander and told him that since C and D companies were still up to strength, if each of their squads gave up one man, Polgar could be brought up to strength. He had meant this as a cheap shot at the two companies. To his surprise, the colonel told the S-1 to see that this was done and to ensure that only the best soldiers went. He then turned to the S-4 and told him that if the S-4 couldn't get another PC for Polgar right away, C company was to turn one over to Team Yankee.

At the end of the meeting Bannon and Uleski briefed the colonel and the S-3 on what had happened after Team Yankee had crossed the line of departure in its attack on Objective LOG and Hill 214. The Colonel and S-3 would stop them and ask questions about certain aspects of the operation, effects of weapons, where the Team's soldiers seemed to be wanting, how the Soviets reacted, and so on. Jordan recommended that the leadership of Team Yankee prepare a briefing for the officers and NCOs of the battalion. In this way, lessons learned could be passed on. The colonel endorsed the idea.

Major Jordan gave Bannon the location where the first sergeant had the rest of Team Yankee, congratulated both him and Uleski on a job well done, and ended the meeting. The colonel also congratulated them and then left with Jordan.

When everyone was gone, Bannon and Uleski sat in the silent room, staring at the floor in front of them. Without looking up, Uleski quietly asked, "Did we really do as well as they said we did?"

Bannon thought for a moment. In the discussion, it had all seemed so easy. It was as if they had been discussing a tactical exercise at Fort Knox, not a battle that had meant life and death for the thirty-five men that had set out to defend Hill 214 yesterday. Their discussion had covered the effects

of weapons, the deployment of forces, and the application of firepower. In the cool, quiet setting of the German classroom it all seemed to make sense, to fit together. The dread and fear of dying was missing. The stinging, cutting emotional pain he had felt as the crew of 66

removed Ortelli's shattered body from the burning tank had not been covered. The disgust and anger he had experienced when it seemed that Team Yankee had been wiped out was not important. The battle they had talked about and the one Team Yankee had fought were not the same and never would be. At least not for those who had been there. Bannon turned to Uleski, "What do you think, Bob?"

He stared at Bannon for a moment before answering, "I think we were lucky.

Damned lucky."

"You know, Bob, I think you're right." With that, they left the classroom and went about rebuilding the Team.

For the next three days Team Yankee licked its wounds and pulled itself back together.

Their assembly area was a few kilometers from the battalion CP. First Sergeant Harrert had found and claimed it. Soon after arriving Bannon found out why. In the center there was a small gasthaus where Germans used to stop and eat after taking their long weekend walks through the forest. The old man and woman who ran the place were indifferent to the Team at first but began to become friendly after the first day. By the second day, the old woman was cooking for them and doing their laundry. She said that since she couldn't take care of her son, and since their mothers couldn't take care of them, she would help them. The old man told of his son, a panzer trooper like the men in Team Yankee, and of his own experiences in "the last war."

Replacements came in for men, equipment, ammunition, uniforms, weapons, radios, and a myriad of other things modern war required. The first people they got were the infantrymen stripped from the other companies. While the Team didn't get the best, those they did get were usable. When these men came in, Polgar gathered them up and gave them the law according to Polgar. One of the first rules he

had established was that they never forget they now belonged to Team Yankee. That struck Bannon as strange at first. In the past, the assignment of a Mech Platoon to the tank company was equated to exile to Siberia. Now it was a matter of pride. In fact, most of the infantry replacements had volunteered to be assigned to the Team. As one of the new men told him, if he had to be in this war, he wanted to be with people who knew how to fight. The Team was not as fortunate in the replacements they received for the tank crews. Most of them came straight from the advanced individual training course at Fort Knox. Some had never even been in a tank when a round was fired. It seemed that if they could recognize a tank two out of three times, they were shipped. So the Team's number-one priority became training the new men and integrating them into the crews and squads as quickly as possible.

One of the most interesting transitions that had occurred in the Team had taken place in Pfc.

Richard Kelp. Before the war he had always been an average soldier, nothing more, nothing less. Since the Team had come off Hill 214, however, he had become a man with a purpose. When they picked up a replacement tank from war stocks, Kelp was the first man on it. Instead of Folk having to keep on Kelp to work, Folk now found it difficult to keep up with him. With the new 66 came a new man. As it is easier to train a loader, Kelp was reassigned as the driver and given the mission of training Pvt. Leo Dowd as the loader.

After conducting several hours of crew drills on the second day, Bannon asked Dowd how things were going for him. He reluctantly answered that he thought that Kelp was being too hard on him. Bannon put on his official company commander's face and told him that Kelp was doing just fine. He added that if Dowd listened to Kelp and did just as Kelp told him, maybe he would make it out of this war alive. After that there were no more complaints.

Along with his new direction in life, Kelp received official recognition for his efforts in the defense of Hill 214. After questioning both of the privates who had come back from the tank-killing detail that night, Polgar put them in for Silver Stars. As the Dragon gunner who had been killed had led the group for awhile and had taken out the first tank, Bannon added him for a posthumous award. By the time the citations made it to division level, the efforts of the three men took on epic proportions. The story was turned slightly. The killing of the two tanks became the critical event for the battle of Hill 214 that caused the whole Soviet battalion to withdraw. In reality, things weren't that clearcut, but Bannon went along with it since it expedited the awards.

One change that had taken place that was not to Bannonfs liking was the outlook on life that Bob Uleski had adopted. His arm had been dislocated during the initial attack on Hill 214.

The battalion physician's assistant at the 1st of the 4th Armor's aid station had popped it back into place while the cut on Bannon's face was being cleaned and dressed. They wanted to have Uleski evacuated for a few days to convalesce. But he refused. As the Team was short of officers, Bannon allowed him to stay on as long as he could perform his duties. Despite obvious pain, he performed. For the most part, he slipped back to his good-natured self. But when it came to training, he was a different man. His personality changed to that of a cold and emotionless being, unable to tolerate the slightest error or any action that was not up to standard. When drilling his crew, he would turn on them with a vengeance if their times were not to his liking. When Bannon approached him on it, he simply shrugged it off as nerves. But there was more to it. Bannon wouldn't ask to replace him simply because he had changed. Everyone had changed. In his case, however, it was not a change for the better. So Bannon watched him closely.

One of the jobs that Bannon had dreaded most began the first night in the assembly area.

After the Team had stood down for the night, and only those personnel required for minimal security were posted, he sat alone at a table in the gasthaus. In the quiet of the night, with, no noise but the hiss of the coleman lantern, he began to write letters to the families of those who had died. "Dear Mrs. McAlister, I was your son's company com-

mander. You have been informed, I am sure, by this time, of the death of your son, John.

While this is small consolation for the grief that you must feel, I want you to know that your son died performing his duties in a manner befitting the fine officer he was. His absence ..."

"Dear Mrs. Ortelli, As you know, I was your husband's company commander and tank commander. You have been informed, I am sure, by this time, of Joseph's death. While this is ..." "Dear Mr. and Mrs. Lorriet, I was ..."

As he wrote the letters, the images of those who had been lost came back. In his mind's eye he could see 21 hanging on the edge of the ditch, burning and shaking from internal explosions; Ortelli, wrapped in his sleeping bag; Lorriet's eyes that stared and saw nothing; the severed arm belonging to a

soldier Bannon didn't even know. Those images were perfectly clear to him. To the responsibility of running the Team, he now added the haunting and frightful baggage of remembering those who had been entrusted to his care and had died. In all his readings, in all the classes he had attended, nothing had prepared him for this. Each commander was left to deal with the images of the dead in his own way. "Dear Mr. and Mrs. . . . '

On the afternoon of the second day the first sergeant brought 2nd Lt. Randall Avery to the Team's assembly area. Avery had been assigned to take over the 2nd Platoon. As he was hauling his gear out of the first sergeant's vehicle, he noticed Garger going through a sand table exercise with his tank commanders. As the two lieutenants had both been in the same officer basic course at Fort Knox, Avery was thrilled to see the face of an old drinking buddy in this sea of strangers. He called to Garger. But instead of coming over and giving him a hearty greeting and hello, Garger merely acknowledged the new lieutenant's presence with a nod and continued to work with the 3rd Platoon's leaders. Avery could not understand the cold reception. The reception he got from Bannon was even colder.

Bannon and Uleski were sitting at a table on the terrace in front of the gasthaus going over the next day's schedule of training and maintenance when the first sergeant brought Avery over. "Captain Bannon, this is Lieutenant Avery. He's straight out of Knox and has been assigned to take over the 2nd Platoon."

With that introduction, Avery came to attention, saluted, and reported. "Sir, Second Lieutenant Avery reporting for duty."

Bannon and Uleski looked at each other, and then looked at the first sergeant. With a nod, Bannon acknowledged the lieutenant's salute. For a moment Avery stood there, not sure what to do. "At ease, Lieutenant. We don't do much saluting in the company area. Where are you coming from?" "I came over from Fort Knox, where I was attending the motor officers' course after AOB. I was in the same class as Gerry, I mean Lieutenant Garger. We were good friends there, sir."

Again Bannon and Uleski exchanged glances. "That's nice. What college did you graduate from?" "Texas A and M, sir."

Uleski couldn't resist. He let out three loud whoops. Neither First Sergeant Harrert nor Bannon could keep from breaking out in laughter. Avery stood there at a loss. He didn't appreciate being the butt of the XO's joke. Neither was he in a position to do anything about it. He was totally unprepared for this kind of reception.

Seeing the lieutenant's discomfort, Bannon put his official company commander's face back on. "You are going to the 2nd Platoon. The man you are replacing was a damned good lieutenant who was killed three days ago. I hope you have better luck. Your platoon sergeant is Sergeant First Class Hebrock. He's been running the platoon since Lieutenant McAlister was killed. Your only hope of surviving is to listen to what that man has to say. I don't know how much time we have before we move out again. You have a lot to learn and not much time, so don't waste any. Is that clear?" Taken aback by this cheerless how-do-you-do, Avery simply replied, "Yes, sir," and waited for the next shock.

"Bob, we'll finish this up later during the evening meal. I want you to take the lieutenant down to 2nd Platoon and turn him over to Sergeant Hebrock. Then you best get down to battalion CP and check on the replacement for our FIST track. I damned sure don't want to let battalion let that one slip. " "OK. You need anything else from battalion while I'm there?"

"Just the usual; mail, if there is such a thing."

With that, Uleski got up, gathered up his notebook and map and took off at a fast pace.

"Come on, Avery, this way. "

Avery glanced at the XO, turned back to Bannon, gave him a quick salute, then gathered up his gear and took off at a trot to catch up to Uleski who was already thirty meters away.

Somehow, Avery had expected something different. His mind was already racing in an effort to figure out what was going to happen next.

It wasn't until the evening meal that Avery had a chance to talk to Gerry Garger. The whole afternoon had been one rude shock after another. The greeting from the Team commander had been warm compared to that received from the platoon. Although Randy Avery was no fool and knew not to expect open arms and warm smiles, he had at least expected a handshake. What he got instead was a reception that ranged from indifferent to almost hostile. Hebrock had been proper but short, following the same line that the Team commander had taken, "We have a lot to do and not much time, so you need to pay attention, sir. " The sir had been added almost as an afterthought. Hebrock then continued with the training under way.

Sergeant Tessman, the gunner on 21, was less than happy to see the new TC and made little effort to hide it. Even the tank was not what he had expected. Unlike the new 66, which was out of war stocks, the new 21 had belonged to another unit, had been damaged and then repaired, and reissued. Inside the turret there were still burn marks and blackened areas. The welds to repair the damage had been

done quickly and crudely and had not been painted. Tessman made a special effort to show his new TC the stains where the former TC had bled all over the tank commander's seat.

Even his good friend, Gerry Garger, appeared to be standoffish. At least Gerry acknowledged him with a hello and a handshake while waiting to eat. But Gerry didn't seem interested in talking while they ate. When asked about the war so far, Garger would give simple, short answers, such as, "It's hard" or "It's not like our training at Knox." By the end of the day, Randall Avery was feeling alone and very confused.

Uleski returned with something that was almost as valuable as news that the war was over: the first letters from families in the States. The announcement that there was news from home stopped everything. Even Bannon could not hide his hopes and apprehensions. Hope that he had a letter, just one letter. Apprehension that it was not there. There was no thought of setting the example of the cool, calm, patient commander. This was too important.

When Uleski handed him his letter, he thanked God, the Postmaster General, the Division Postal Detachment, and anyone he could think of as he turned away and walked to a quiet spot. Bannon did not notice those who still stood there in silence when all the letters had been distributed. Pat and the children were safe and staying with her parents. He read that line four times before he went on. It was as if nothing else mattered. His family was safe.

After having experienced emotional highs and lows in quick succession over the past six days, the elation he felt over this news set an all-time high. Not even the ending of the war right now could have boosted him any higher. It was because of that elation that Bannon did not detect the subtle implications in Pat's language until he had read the letter for the sixth time the next day. In reading it more carefully, what she didn't tell him spoke louder than what she had written. Not all was well with her or the children. This realization dulled his joy and caused new apprehensions. Even though they were safe, something terrible had happened.

It would be

weeks before Pat was able to bring herself to fully recount the story of their departure from Europe. In that time, the war rolled on, taking new and ominous turns, as wars have a tendency to do.

CHAPTER NINE.

Deep Attack.

After two days with Team Yankee, Avery came to realize that the cold reception he had received had not been personal. That is, he had not been the only one who had been received in that manner. All the newly assigned personnel that had been fed into the Team had received the same treatment. At first, he resented this fact. He looked at it as if it were some kind of planned initiation, and he thought that he and the others deserved better.

When he commented on this to his friend, Gerry Garger, Garger looked at him, thought about the question, and then told Avery that he had no idea what he was talking about. He told the new platoon leader that as far as he was concerned everyone in the Team got along exceptionally well. He went on to tell Avery that he was being overly sensitive and should settle down to the business at hand. Without so much as a see you later, Garger turned around and walked away from Avery.

Avery began to understand that there was a difference between the newly assigned personnel and the original members of Team Yankee when the CO authorized the tank commanders to paint "kill rings" on the gun tubes of the Team's tanks. The old German that owned the gasthaus made the suggestion that the Team should do as the German panzer troops had done in World War II: paint a ring on the tank's gun tube for every enemy tank destroyed by that crew. The idea was popular and accepted under certain conditions.

The kills had to be confirmed. Only the first sergeant, who didn't have a tank, could authorize the kill rings if, in his opinion, there were sufficient confirmation. The kill rings were to be one-inch black rings, one for each kill, painted on the gun tube just forward of the bore evacuator.

Once the kill rings had been painted on the tanks, the tank commanders and gunners went around to see who the top gun was. To Avery's surprise, it was Garger. His 31 tank had eleven rings on it. The CO's tank, 66, had seven rings. Hebrock told Avery that the CO could have claimed six more kills but instead allowed them to go on 55, the tank that he had been commanding at the time of the kills. Of the ten tanks in Team Yankee, only Avery's tank, 21, had a clean gun tube.

It suddenly dawned upon him that since his arrival in the Team, no one had talked about what he had done in the war. Every time he asked questions about the battles the Team had been in when talking to Garger, his friend would move on to another subject. When the CO, XO, and Polgar gave a class on lessons learned thus far in the war, they gave it in a very impersonal and academic manner. At times, it seemed as if they were talking about another unit. It was as if there was a secret fellowship that only those members of the Team that had been in combat could belong to.

To have bragged about their deeds would have seemed out of place, not right somehow.

But the kill rings gave the crews a chance to show what they had done without overtly blowing their own horn. Avery suddenly found himself wanting to go into combat. This revelation shocked him because the first reason that popped into his mind when he thought about it was not to defend freedom or to do his duty in the defense of his country. The reason that drove this desire was a longing to belong to the Team as an equal, to be accepted. Avery wanted kill rings too.

The battalion seemed to have a knack for screwing up breakfasts. On the morning of the fourth day in the assembly

area, the eighth of the war, a messenger from battalion came up to the Team with word that there would be an operations order given at battalion headquarters in an hour. All the platoon leaders, the XO, the first sergeant, and the Team's new FIST chief, a second lieutenant by the name of Plesset, were having a working breakfast with Bannon. After finishing green eggs that were once warm, bacon strips that were as crispy as wet noodles, and toast that could have doubled as shingles, they were about to go into the day's training schedule when word of the pending change in mission came. Bannon promptly cancelled all activities that had been planned except those involving maintenance and preparation.

Instead, the platoon leaders were to

conduct precombat inspections and start a sleep plan for the majority of the crews. He had no idea when they would move but the odds were it would be at night, probably tonight.

Bannon wanted the Team to be ready and rested.

Uleski and the FIST went to the meeting with Bannon. They arrived a few minutes before the briefing was scheduled to start so that Bannon could talk to the S-3. Major Jordan was at the front of the classroom that served as the battalion's conference room talking to Colonel Reynolds. The three of them walked up to the front of the room to the operations map. The graphics depicting the new mission were on it, ready for the briefing. A chill went down Bannon's spine when he saw that it was another attack. He and Uleski exchanged glances. Physically, the Team had recovered from the last attack.

Mentally, though, Bannon had his doubts. Especially about himself. He wasn't sure if he could deal with another horror show like the last one. Images of the dead and dying flashed through his mind. No, he wasn't ready.

It was an ambitious plan, involving the entire brigade striking deep into East Germany-driving at the heart of the enemy. The arrows depicting the axis of advance that the brigade was to use went through a German panzer grenadier battalion that had already crossed the inter-German boundary, as the border between West and East Germany was called. They were to advance up a narrow valley in the Thuringer Wald, in the direction of Leipzig, north of the

Thuringer Wald and on the North German Plain. The arrow showed the brigade going past the city and pointing to an objective to the north. The map the battalion was using was too small to show the ultimate objective they would probably go for. But that wasn't necessary.

Berlin, the heart of East Germany and center of communications, was the objective they were aimed at. The S-3 saw Bannon studying the map. When he came over, he paused a moment before speaking, "Well, what do you think?" "Let's see if I can guess who's leading-C company?"

"Sean, you know damned well who's going to lead the attack, at least initially. Team Yankee is the best company we have, and you have most of our armor. It would be stupid to put anyone else in the lead." Bannon looked at the S-3 for a moment, considering his answer.

"Sir, are you attempting to win me over with logic or flattery?" "A little of both, I guess."

The battalion XO started the briefing by telling everyone to take their seats. Colonel Reynolds called Bannon to sit next to him. His friendly attitude and smile reminded Bannon of the cat who praised the canary for his beautiful song before eating him. When everyone was settled, the battalion XO gave the briefing sequence and told the S-2 to start. The last six days of war had done nothing to improve the Intel officer's skills in preparing a useful briefing. He started by summarizing the progress of the war to date and the gains the Soviets had made in the north. These gains were indeed impressive. Denmark was isolated. Despite the efforts of the NATO allies in the Northern Army Group, the Dutch border had almost been reached. Most of the German sea coast was in Soviet hands. In the central and southern portions of Germany, German, French, and American forces had, for the most part, held the Soviets to minor gains. In

one area, a German panzer division found a weak point between two Soviet armies and had driven into East Germany before the drive spent itself. It was this drive that would provide the

springboard for the attack the battalion was about to undertake. The S-3, as usual, provided the meat of the briefing. The entire division would be involved in this effort. Brigade would lead off, widening the breach the Germans had made and going north into the enemy rear.

French units deploying from the interior of France were replacing those divisional units still in contact as well as another U.S. division. If the brigade and then the rest of the division were successful in widening the breach, eventually the attack would grow into a corps-size operation. The brigade was to advance along two axes, along two valleys running south to north. The 1st of the 98th Mech would lead the attack up one valley to the west while I st of the 78th Mech, followed by 1st of the 4th Armor, would advance up a valley called the Nebal Valley. The battalion's scheme of maneuver called for two company teams to lead the attack, Team Yankee

on

the right and Team Bravo on the left. The two infantry pure companies, C and D, would follow, C company behind Team Yankee. At this point in the briefing, the urge to take a cheap shot at C company was too strong to suppress. Bannon interrupted Major Jordan.

"Excuse me, sir, but I seem to remember trying that before. I don't know if

Team Yankee is ready to be supported by C company again."

There was a moment of silence. Everyone looked at Bannon, then they looked at the battalion commander, waiting for his reaction. Colonel Reynolds exchanged glances with the S-3, then smiled. "Sean, I can assure you, there will be no rat fucks like the last time. I will personally assure you that C company is where it is supposed to be." The colonel turned to Cravin, the C company commander, "Isn't that right, Captain Cravin?" Cravin, smarting from the exchange and visibly upset, simply replied yes in a low voice. Major Jordan winked when he and Bannon exchanged glances, then continued with the order.

The battalion had learned its lessons from the last attack well. While it was moving at night, as before, it would temporarily occupy an assembly area to the rear of the German unit it was to pass through. There they would sort out any last-minute changes, refuel, allow the accompanying artillery time to deploy, and conduct last-minute preparations. They then would be escorted through the German lines by a liaison officer from the German unit. To expedite the actions in the assembly area, the battalion XO would leave at noon with representatives from each company, the battalion's Scout Platoon, and the fuel trucks. The scouts would be used as road guides where needed. When the S-3

finished, the colonel got up and emphasized certain points that he felt were important. The first one was that the battalion was going for the deep objective, Leipzig. Any resistance that could not be overcome in the first rush was to be bypassed. The second was that he wanted to keep the battalion closed up and tight so that if there was a major fight, the full weight of the battalion could be brought to bear on the enemy rapidly and with maximum violence. The last point he made was that there would be no tolerance for screw-ups as in the last operation. He was looking straight at Cravin as he covered the last point.

As usual, Bannon's mind turned to the new mission as the S-4 and S-1 and all the other staff officers covered their areas. Uleski would catch any important information that they might accidentally put out. Bannon studied the map on his lap and ran a finger along the axis of advance. There would be more than enough room to maneuver the Team in the valley they would be moving through. There were a few choke points but nothing of any significance.

The biggest threat would come from the hills to the east. He began to draw red goose eggs around those spots that appeared to be ideal for defense or from which a counterattack might come. When this was done, he assigned each one a letter then looked for the best way to move the Team. The ideal formation appeared to be a wedge with the two tank platoons deployed forward and the Mech taking up the rear.

The end of the battalion meeting interrupted his train of thought. He met with Uleski and his FIST, gave each one some items to cover with various staff officers, and then went to the S-3 to clarify some points and make

some recommen-

dations. When all questions had been answered, they went back to the Team to prepare the Team order and get ready for the move.

The Team received the news of the new mission with the same dread that Bannon had.

While they knew that they could do their part, they had no confidence in the rest of the battalion. The thought of another fight like that for Hill 214 was not a pleasant one to contemplate. Only Avery seemed anxious to get on with the attack. Bannon passed it off as inexperience. No

doubt he would lose all enthusiasm the first time he had to collect the dog tags from one of his people. Provided he made it that far.

The rest of the day passed quickly. Bannon issued the Team order just prior to the departure of Uleski at noon. Uleski would go forward to prepare their assembly area along with one man from each tank platoon and an infantry squad for security and to act as guides. He was also to go as far forward as possible. Bannon wanted him to recon the routes through the German lines and coordinate with the Germans for fire support and cover during the passage through their lines. He had no doubt that the Soviets saw the danger that the German penetration presented and would be rushing to seal it off or eliminate it. The question now was who would get there first.

After receiving a brief back from each of the platoon leaders on how they were going to perform their assigned tasks and satisfying himself that they were ready, Bannon decided to get some sleep. He went to the gasthaus and borrowed one of the rooms where he could have a few uninterrupted hours. After having slept on the ground for eleven days, the sensation of sleeping between clean sheets on a soft bed was foreign. But it was a sensation that his body adapted to easily.

The easy manner with which the other platoon leaders and Hebrock went about preparing for the attack amazed Avery. They all were going about their business as if this were a tactical exercise at Fort Knox, not an attack that would take them deep into enemy territory.

As hard as he tried, he could

not settle down. His mind was racing a mile a minute, trying to remember everything that he had learned at the Armor School as he prepared to issue his platoon order.

Not that he had to worry. Hebrock was normally a step ahead of him, issuing orders and checking out the tanks. The two of them went over the order, item by item, crossing out those parts that were not needed and adding things that Avery had overlooked. Hebrock was diplomatic in the manner in which he "advised" his platoon leader of what he needed to do and say. Even as he issued the order, Avery would occasionally look up at Hebrock for his approval.

When the order had been given and the CO satisfied with the brief back, Hebrock advised his lieutenant to get some sleep. Only after the platoon sergeant assured him that there was nothing more to be done did Avery make the attempt. Attempt was all that he could manage.

His mind was cluttered with thoughts, fears, and problems, real and imagined. Did he cover everything in his order? What if they got lost during the road march? How would he know when they were through the German lines? Would he remember all of his crew and platoon fire commands when they made contact? Would he be alive tomorrow? His mind did not stop. Sleep never came.

The Team began its move at 1800 hours. The old German and his wife watched as they rolled out. First Sergeant Harrert left them two weeks worth of rations, an envelope with dollars and deutsch marks that he had collected, a first-aid kit, and two cans of gasoline. In order to keep them from having any trouble with German or U.S. authorities, a receipt with Bannon's signature, in English and German, identified those items left as payment in kind for services rendered by the old couple. The old woman cried, and the old man saluted as the tanks went past them. Bannon returned the salute. Watching them as 66 moved off made him think of his own parents. He thanked God that they did not have to suffer as these people did.

As the Team column reached the proper march speed and interval, Garger leaned back in the cupola and relaxed. He

considered the last twelve days and the changes that had occurred in him and the Team.

The loss of his platoon sergeant was unfortunate. Pierson had taught him a lot and had been very patient with him. Had it not been for Pierson, Garger knew he would have been relieved. The thought of such a disgrace had been more terrifying to him than the prospect of combat. Garger had not only survived but had found that he had a natural talent for tanking and combat. The panic, the tenseness, the sick feeling in his stomach, the stammering he had experienced at Fort Knox and during his first weeks in the unit were gone. When the firing had started, everything seemed to fall in place. There was no panic, no fear. He had a clarity of mind that he had never experienced before. There was still much he needed to learn and the CO and XO had helped him a great deal while the Team was recovering.

Eventually he would learn company tactics and all the ins and outs of staff work, for he knew that he could, and would, master his chosen profession.

The road march to the forward assembly area was a hard and wearing one for Avery. His inability to sleep that afternoon compounded his apprehensions and nervousness. Garger had told him before they left that he was going to have to lighten up or he would have a nervous breakdown before the first Russian got a chance to shoot at him. His friend had meant that as lighthearted but sound advice. Avery had tried to relax but found himself worried now about having a nervous breakdown. That would be disastrous. At least he could live with a wound. Evacuation because of a nervous breakdown before the first battle was a disgrace too terrible to contemplate. Only the sudden realization that he no longer knew where he was caused Avery to divert his attention from his fears of suffering a nervous breakdown to his fear that he wouldn't be able to find his location again on the map.

Shortly after 2200 hours the Team pulled into the forward assembly area. The movement in and occupation of the marked positions went like clockwork. In peacetime maneuvers the Team had never had such a smooth road march and

assembly area occupation. Bannon greeted Uleski as he dismounted from 66, "Well, Bob, you've done good. Real good. Have you been able to coordinate with the people we'll be passing through?"

"Yes, sir. I was forward this afternoon in their positions and have gone over the route several times. It's a piece of cake."

"What about the Russians? What have they been up to and does the unit have any information on them?"

"Well, first off, they're not Russians. They're Poles. The Poles hit them just after I arrived there. It appeared that the Russians hadn't told them where the Germans were because they just rolled right up to the Germans in column formation. The German company commander let them come into his positions before he cut loose. The Poles never had much of a chance. They were cut to pieces. The company commander was killed but his XO took over and is still holding. Our battalion XO passed word down to us that the German battalion commander expects them to make another try sometime tonight."

"What kind of units are we facing?" "Tanks so far, T-55s. Real second-class stuff."

"Hey, that's OK by me. I get paid the same amount for blowing away old tanks as I do for tangling with tanks that don't want to die. Tell me, do you have any qualms about going up against your own people, Bob?" "Sir, those aren't my people. They're as red as the Russians. I'd rather be

killing Russian Communists but, if all we have is Polish Communists, they'll do."

Uleski's cold, unfeeling remark sent a chill down Bannon's spine. The dark side of First Lieutenant Uleski had come out again, the side that worried his commander. Bannon wondered if his hatred would cloud his judgment. He hoped not. For his sake and his crew's, he hoped not.

"Bob, make sure all the people that came with you make it back to where they belong. Then gather up the leadership and have them meet me here."

The battalion S-3 came into the company area while Uleski was briefing the Team's leaders. Major Jordan waited

until the XO was finished before he gave them his information. The battalion was closed up and ready. The 1st of the 4th Armor as well as the artillery battalions would also be in place on time. So far, all had gone well. As far as anyone could tell, the Polish unit didn't know of the battalion's presence. Things would go as planned.

Team Yankee would lead out at 0330 hours. At 0350, two battalions of U.S. and one battalion of German artillery would begin a ten-minute preparation on the Polish forward positions, both identified and suspected. At 0400 hours, Team Yankee's lead element, the 3rd Platoon, would pass through the German positions and begin the attack. If all went well, by early afternoon the battalion would be on the Saale River waiting for the 1st of the 4th Armor to pass through and drive on to Leipzig. This, of course, didn't take into account any Soviet reaction. The Soviets would surely do their damnedest to smash the brigade somewhere along the line. But there was always the possibility that maybe, just maybe, this time the plan might work.

Once all the last-minute details had been covered, and all the questions answered, the meeting broke up. The platoon leaders went back to pass the word on and answer any questions their TCs had. When everyone was gone, Bannon climbed onto 66, and told Folk that they would split guard duty. Jokingly, he told his gunner that since Folk had gotten so much sleep during the road march he would pull first shift while Bannon would pull second.

Without further ado, Bannon rolled out his sleeping bag on top of the turret and went to sleep.

After Avery and Hebrock finished putting out the information they had to the other TCs, Hebrock told his platoon leader to forget about pulling any duty between now and the move-out time and instead go to bed. Avery was too far gone to argue. By now, he had just about worried himself to death. It took all of his effort to keep his eyes open. While the lieutenant leaned against 21 for support, Tessman threw a sleeping bag down to Hebrock who spread it out next to the track. Avery didn't even bother to take his boots off. He simply flopped down, wrapped one side of the sleeping bag over himself, and passed out from exhaustion. He stayed in the same position until he was roused at 0310 hours.

Team Yankee missed colliding head-on -with the expected Polish attack by fifteen minutes.

Again the fortunes of war smiled on the Team. Instead of having to go forward and dig out the Polish tank and motorized infantry from their defensive positions, the Poles came out and were smashed by the combined weight of the German defensive fires and the artillery that was already scheduled to fire. In war, one's good fortune is sometimes nothing more than a matter of timing: being, at the right place at the right time. Had a staff officer or the brigade commander set the time of attack at

0330, it would have been the Poles enjoying the advantage. As it was, Team Yankee gained a double advantage. Not only did the Poles impale themselves on the Germans' defenses and save the Team the trouble of seeking them out, they allowed the Team to get an extra half hour's sleep.

The sound of the raging battle to their front, the eerie shadows caused by the illumination rounds as they floated down to earth, and the flash from impacting artillery rounds made the crossing of the East German border seem unreal. It was like a scene from a cheap science-fiction movie. Moments like this, when one is not actually involved in the fight but close enough to see and hear it, is when fear reaches a peak. The fear of failure. The fear of being ripped apart by artillery. The fear of death. All these fears run through the mind as a soldier closes to do battle. Once engaged, training and instinct take over. Fear is pushed aside by the necessity to fight or die. But before, when there is still the chance to back out, the rational mind pleads for reason, to stop, to quit before combat is joined. The tank, however, keeps going forward and ignores the rational mind. Combat will be joined, despite reason and one's better judgment.

As Sergeant Polgar's personnel carrier eased down the ramp into the antivehicle ditch that ran along the East German border, he became elated. After being in the Army for sixteen years, something he was doing was making sense. He recalled how, as a private in Vietnam, he and his buddies felt frustrated and betrayed when they had to break off pursuit of the North Vietnamese as soon as they came up to the Vietnamese border. They were never allowed -to go all the way in and finish the enemy and the war. He had been in Korea in 1977 when two American officers were hacked to death with axes in broad daylight by North Korean soldiers, and no action was taken to retaliate. He remembered the 444 days of embarrassment when a third-rate nation, Iran, held Americans hostage, and the Army wasn't able to free them. Like others in the military, the half-measures and restrictions placed on the U.S. military didn't make sense to him.

This attack, however, did make sense. For the first time in his military career, he was carrying the war into the enemy's homeland. He and his soldiers were going to be given a chance to strike at the heart of the enemy. No more running up to an imaginary line and then stopping while some politician reflected on what move would come out best on the next public opinion poll; no more letting the enemy run into a safe hole to lick his wounds and come out again at a time and place of his choosing, as in Vietnam. The Army was going to rip out the enemy's heart and drink his blood. That made sense to Polgar. That was the only way to fight a war.

For a moment Colonel Reynolds considered halting the attack to allow the Germans to sort out the situation before the battalion passed. When he called Bannon and told him to be prepared to halt in place, Bannon immediately called back and told him to let the Team go.

The Poles were pulling back. This was the ideal time to strike, while they were still confused.

The enemy obviously didn't know the battalion was coming; otherwise, they would not have attacked. They had T-55s with old sights. Team Yankee had thermal sights. This was the time to speed up, not slow down. The colonel agreed and told him to go for it. When Bannon dropped to the Team net and ordered Garger to pick up speed, to hit hard, and to keep rolling, all he got back from 3rd Platoon was a simple "I heard that."

The 3rd Platoon rolled through the German positions, deploying into a wedge as they went, and engaging the fleeing Poles. The surprise was complete. Some of the Polish tanks attempted to return fire. They had to stop to shoot, however, and this telegraphed their intentions. Garger's people quickly singled them out and destroyed them. Other Polish tanks simply picked up speed and attempted to get out of the way. In this too, they failed. For once, the Americans had better and faster tanks. 3rd Platoon kept up the pursuit and took out the retreating Poles one at a time. As they were closing in for the kill, Bannon directed the FIST to shift the artillery fires to the left and the right of the Team's axis of advance and to fire smoke as well as HE. This would keep the Polish infantry still in defensive positions facing the Germans pinned as the Team passed through their front line. Once Team Yankee was in their rear, those Poles still facing the Germans would be obliged to retreat or surrender.

The speed of the 3rd Platoon's attack was causing the Team to become spread out.

Bannon was right behind 3rd Platoon and found it difficult to catch up. The 2nd Platoon was behind 66 but still in column. He was sure that the PCs in the Mech Platoon would soon be falling behind. Reluctantly, he ordered the 3rd Platoon to slow down in order to allow the rest of the Team time to deploy. He didn't want to go charging off with only half of the Team, as had happened at Hill 214. He doubted if they would be lucky a second time. Once the tanks in front of 66 began to slow, Bannon had the driver swing 66 over to the left of the 3rd Platoon and ordered the 2nd Platoon to pick up speed and deploy to the left of 66.

The scene before him was incredible. Dante's Inferno could not have been more terrible. In his wildest dreams Avery could not have imagined such chaos and pandemonium. Artillery impacted with no rhyme or reason. The exchange of fire between the lead tanks and the Poles continued. Colored star clusters were popping overhead. Burning tanks were everywhere. Mortar and artillery illumination rounds cast a sickly pale light on everything. The bucking and jolting of 21 running at full throttle to catch up with the CO's tank tossed him about in the cupola. Then, in the middle of this, the CO came up on the net and in a matter of fact manner ordered the 2nd Platoon to deploy to his left. Avery had no idea where he was and even less idea where the CO was. The best the lieutenant could do was give a "ROGER-OUT" on the radio and continue to head in the direction that the CO' s tank was headed the last time he had seen it.

As 21 crested a hill in search of 66 and the 3rd Platoon, it almost collided with another tank that appeared to its left. Only a quick order to

the driver to go right prevented the accident. The TC in the other tank had also seen the near collision at the last minute and had swung to the left some. The two tanks then straightened out and began to run side by side at a distance of twenty meters. Avery was relieved. He had found the CO's tank. As he was about to key the net to order his platoon to begin to deploy, it dawned upon him that the direction of travel of the tank to his left didn't make sense. If the CO's tank was to appear, it should have been to his right, not to the left. He leaned over to take a better look at the tank to his left.

A T-55! It was a goddamned T-55! The sudden realization that he was running side by side with a Polish tank was numbing. It was the sensation of urine running down his leg that galvanized Avery into action. He began to slew the turret and issue his fire command.

"GUNNER-BATTLESIGHT-TANK!"

The target was so near and the thermal sight image so uniformly green that Tessman didn't recognize the object in his sight as a tank. "CANNOT

IDENTIFY!"

The belligerent move by 21 caused the Polish tank commander to give 21 a closer look. He, too, realized his error and began to lay his gun. Tessman repeated his call, "CANNOT IDENTIFY!"

"FROM MY POSITION-ON THE WAY!"

Avery fired the main gun from his override without bothering to go down to his sight. The report of 21's gun and the impact on target were as one. The T-55 veered off to the left, stopped, and began to burn. For a moment Avery simply stood there and watched the T-55 as 21 continued to roll forward. The loader's report of "UP!" broke his trance. "CEASE FIRE."

The retreat of the Poles had lost all form and formation. They were everywhere. Most of the tanks were gone, destroyed or scattered. Now Garger and his platoon were coming across trucks and personnel carriers. As the platoon crested one knoll, they came face to face with a battery of heavy mortars. The tanks didn't even break stride. They simply continued to roll forward, firing at the fleeing mortarmen with machine guns and crushing the mortars under their tracks. Gerry Garger was impatiently awaiting word to move out at top speed again.

The whole Polish rear area was in an uproar. He wanted to finish them before they were able to reorganize. The CO came over the Team net again and ordered the 3rd Platoon into a right echelon. Garner ordered his platoon into the required formation and watched them as they did so. The tanks dropped back and took up their assigned stations, swinging their guns to cover the Team's right flank. It was already becoming light. Garger turned in the cupola and watched 66 come up on his left. Behind 66 he could barely make out the forms of the 2nd Platoon tanks coming on fast. Once they were up, the Team could continue on.

Unless something terrible happened, they would be able to reach the Saale River that afternoon with ease.

Finally, 66 was in sight. He hadn't lost the Team. Avery felt relieved. Then, the first humorous thought that he had had since his arrival in Germany ran through his mind: that made the second time that morning that he had been relieved. He thought about the near brush with the T-55 and his reactions. Hip shooting a tank main gun was not in the book, any book. But what the hell, it had worked. Tank 21 had killed the Pole and saved its hide. The platoon had caught up and was deployed to the left of the CO's tank. With the exception of his wet pants, all was working out rather well so far. Avery began to think that maybe he would make it as a platoon leader after all. He was a veteran and 21 had earned its first kill ring.

CHAPTER TEN.

Red Dawn.

Just prior to dawn, Colonel Reynolds accomplished what the Poles had not been able to, stop Team Yankee. Bannon was sure the colonel would haveliked to let the Team keep going if he could have, but that was not possible. The colonel found it necessary to stop them, just as Bannon had been compelled to rein in the 3rd Platoon as it had forged out ahead of the Team. From the reports on the battalion command net, Bannon could tell all was not going well.

While Team Yankee had been able to achieve complete surprise and scatter the Polish units directly to its front, those Poles who had been to the left and right of the penetration did not panic or flee. Instead, they attempted to close off the penetration as soon as Team Yankee and Team Bravo had passed through. Apparently C and D companies' lack of tanks encouraged the Poles to try. Their initial efforts were successful as they greeted the appearance of C company with a deadly crossfire. The garbled and fragmented reports given by Cravin over the battalion net betrayed his confusion and panic.

The battalion XO, who had been following C company, reported the situation and his actions to the colonel. D company was deployed into positions from which they could support C

company. The XO was still in contact with the

German battalion and was able to get them to add their support to the growing battle. Once a firm base of fire had been established and friendly artillery began to enter the fray, he moved forward to rally C company and reopen the breach.

His efforts, however, were rewarded with a direct hit on his track when it reached the place where C company had gone to ground. The D company commander reported the loss of the battalion XO to Reynolds. He then informed the battalion commander that he was taking over the battalion's rear battle and requested further orders. Unable to contact the C

company commander and sensing that the entire operation was in jeopardy, Colonel Reynolds ordered Team Yankee to stop where it was, instructed Major Jordan to stay forward with Team Yankee, and then turned Team Bravo around and led them back to hit the Poles in the rear. The day that had begun so well appeared to be turning against the battalion.

The order to halt and take up hasty defensive positions threw Sergeant Polgar. For a minute he thought that the Team Commander had made a mistake. The 3rd Platoon leader thought the same, for no sooner had Bannon stopped talking, than Lieutenant Garger came back and asked him to repeat his last transmission. A little agitated at being so questioned, Bannon made it a point to repeat his instructions slowly, in such a way as to ensure that they would not be misunderstood. As each of the platoon leaders responded back to the Team Commander with

an

acknowledgement, Polgar noted the difference between the two tank platoon leaders. The 3rd Platoon leader was clearly upset with his commander for stopping the mad dash that the 3rd Platoon had been leading. Polgar wanted to get on with the attack himself, especially since they had such a clear advantage over the enemy. But he was an old soldier and realized that Bannon would not have stopped their forward movement unless there was a damned good reason to do so. The new platoon leader of the 2nd Platoon, on the other hand, sounded as

if he were relieved to get the order halting

their drive. Not that he could be blamed. The U.S. Army had a tradition of being rough on second lieutenants. It had to be hell on the new lieutenant, being assigned to a unit in the middle of a war and then going right into an

attack like this. Polgar couldn't remember the new lieutenant's name, not that it really mattered. He definitely had not impressed anyone so far. The fact was, there was a lottery going around the Team among the enlisted men betting on how long the new lieutenant would last once they went into action. The big money was on two days. Some bet it would be hours. Polgar had been one of the more optimistic. He had his bet riding on three and a half days.

As the Team's tracks settled into positions along an east-west road and cut off their engines, the sun began to rise. Bannon watched the horizon change from black to a deep red. He was reminded of the old saying, "Red sun at night, sailor's delight. Red sun in the morning, sailor take warning." The sun that was greeting Team Yankee this morning was blood red. Watching the great red orb rise in the east, he silently prayed that this was not an ill omen.

Once the Team was set, Bannon turned his attention to Team Bravo and their progress as that unit retraced its steps. The colonel prepared to hit the Poles with everything he had available. He called the battalion's artillery fire-support officer and designated targets he wanted hit and when they were to be hit. He instructed the D company commander to get with the Germans and see if they would support the battalion's maneuver with fire. Finally, based on information provided by the D company commander, he gave Team Bravo and D

company their orders.

His plan was simple. Hold the attention of the Poles to their front with D

company and the Germans, pin the Poles with artillery, and hit them from behind with Team Bravo. D company and the Germans played the anvil, the artillery and Team Bravo played the hammer. The plan proved to be as effective as it was simple. The violence that had smashed their initial attack; their failure to destroy C company; the weight of the firepower of D company, the Germans, and 'the artillery; and the violence of Team Bravo's attack to their rear finally broke the Poles. One of the surviving Poles grimly observed that the Americans and Germans had used so much firepower that even the sun had been hit and was bleeding.

Forty kilometers east of Team Yankee's hastily assumed positions, a Soviet tank company commander was about to finish briefing his platoon leaders when he noticed how red the morning sun was. For a brief moment he reflected on its significance. Pointing to the solar orb, he told his gathered platoon leaders that the Great Motherland to the east was sending a red sun as an omen to them. The company commander promised his gathered leaders that if they performed their duties as they had been trained and adhered to the great truths that were the pillars of strength to true Communists, the red dawn that they were witnessing would be the end of the imperialist dreams in Europe and the beginning of a new socialist era. Dismissing them with a salute, the company commander turned away from his platoon leaders and headed for his tank.

As he walked back, he wondered if any of his platoon leaders had believed the line of horseshit he had just served them. He turned for a moment, looked at the red sun, then heaved a great sigh. It wasn't important if they did or not, he thought. The political commissar had been pleased with his outpouring of propaganda. Perhaps that miserable party hack would stay out of his way for the rest of the morning, leaving the serious business of

killing Americans in the hands of the professional soldiers. The Soviet captain began to smile. The political commissar is happy, we are finally going to get a chance to kill some Americans, and, if we're lucky, some of those worthless Poles will get in the way, and we can run them down. This truly was shaping up to be a great day.

The end of the Poles did not signal an immediate resumption of the battalion's attack. This had been C company's first time under fire, and the experience had been shattering. The battalion commander informed Major Jordan that it would take anywhere from thirty minutes to an hour to sort out the tangled mess that the three companies had become. In the meantime, the divisional air cavalry troop was going to recon forward to find out what the Soviets were up to. That suited Bannon just fine. He was becoming tired of stumbling around like a blind man waiting for the Soviets to hit the Team. Let the cavalry earn their pay.

As it was now obvious that the Team would be here awhile, he began to scrutinize the lay of the land and the Team's dispositions. Ahead, across the road along which they were deployed was a long valley about ten kilometers wide. Wooded hills rose sharply on either side. Immediately to the Team's left was a small town named Issel. As he looked at the town through his binoculars, Bannon could see no sign that it was occupied. There was the possibility that the Soviets had cleared the village prior to the attack in order to maintain operational security. There also was the possibility that they had left someone behind to observe the area and report on the American advance. It was this second possibility that worried him.

After a quick consultation with Major Jordan on the battalion radio net, Bannon ordered the 2nd Platoon to get into a position from which they could place effective fire onto the town. As they were preparing to do so, he dismounted and walked over to Polgar's track to give him his instructions. With the tanks overwatching his move, Polgar was to take his platoon into the town and check it out. The Mech Platoon really didn't have the manpower to do a thorough job. But at least they could check out the more obvious places and keep anyone who was there busy for awhile. Besides, at least this way some of the Team would be doing something useful. This last point was most appealing to Polgar, who did not like the idea of sitting out in the open waiting for some hotshot Russian pilot to come along and fire up his platoon.

Since there was no chance for surprise, Polgar stormed into the town mounted and with the pedal to the floor. The

four PCs rolled into the center of the town square where the infantry dismounted and began to conduct a systematic search of the buildings. The dismounted infantry worked in three-man groups, one group on each side of a

street with their PC following down the middle ready to support them with machine-gun fire if they ran into trouble.

The teams conducting the search all followed the same pattern when they entered a building. One of the soldiers would peep into a window to see if there were any obvious signs of occupants. Once they had done so, the three would converge on the door that they would use for entry. One man would continue to watch the street and the house across the street lest they become so involved in the building they were about to enter that an unseen enemy came up from behind and surprised them. The other two men, one on either side of the door, would prepare themselves for forced entry if necessary. At first, all the teams tried kicking the doors in. They soon found, however, that this could be a painful experience.

Besides, many of the doors had been left unlocked. After bouncing off of a few doors that refused to be kicked in, they all began to try the doorknobs first. This routine had been going on for thirty minutes when there was the muffled report of a Soviet AK followed by the detonation of a grenade. Polgar ran up to the house where the shots and explosion had originated. He

was greeted by two men coming out of the front dragging a third. The PC that had been overwatching this team roared up to the front of the house and began to fire its M2 machine gun at the windows along the second floor. Polgar covered the three men as they made for the rear of the PC, then followed.

Once safely behind the PC, the two men watched for a moment as the medic ripped open their wounded comrade's chemical protective suit and tore away the T-shirt to get at the wound. A quick check showed that the wounded man had taken two rounds in his left shoulder. The wound was painful and bloody, but wouldn't be fatal.

When they were satisfied that their friend was in good hands, they reported to Polgar. The soldier who had been wounded was the point man for the group. They had cleared out the ground floor of this particular house and found nothing. It was when the point man had started up the stairs to check out the second floor that the shooting had started. The first volley hit the point man, sending him tumbling back down the stairs. The two men ran up to help him, one man dragging away the wounded point man, the other throwing a grenade onto the second floor to cover their withdrawal. None of the men had seen anyone or anything.

By this time a squad leader and two other teams had gathered around the PC. Polgar directed the squad leader and one of the teams to circle around back and cover the rear of the house in case someone tried to slip out. He ordered another team to stay with the PC to cover the front of the building. They were also to be prepared to reinforce the team that would clear the house. He would personally lead the two men who had first entered the house back in to deal with the unseen enemy.

After getting a rundown on the layout of the ground floor, the three-man assault party moved back to the front door. As before, two men, one of them Polgar, stationed themselves on either side of the door. This time, however, the third man leaned over and threw a grenade into the opened door. As soon as the grenade went off, Polgar and the man across from him went charging into the house, guns leveled and blazing away. Once inside, the men sought the nearest cover available and waited to see what happened. When nothing happened, Polgar signaled for the third man to enter and cover him as he approached the stairs. He slowly began to climb the stairs, always peering up to see over onto the second floor. When he was halfway up

the stairs, Polgar halted, took a grenade off of his web gear, pulled the pin, and threw it into the room at the head of the stairs. As soon as this grenade detonated, he charged to the top of the stairs, taking two steps at

a time and firing as he went. Once he reached the head of the stairs, he threw himself into the room where he had thrown the grenade and, as before, sought cover.

Just as Polgar began to get up, a yell to halt came from his men outside. This was followed by the sound of two M 16s

firing in the rear of the building. In an instant he realized that the people they were looking for in the house had tried to slip out through the rear and had been caught by the team sent to the back of the house. As the other two men with him came up the stairs and began to check out the other rooms on the second floor, Polgar went to a window overlooking the rear of the house and peered out.

In the small yard, two of his men were standing over the body of a young German boy, sprawled in a small flower bed, bleeding from several wounds. An AK rifle was still in his lifeless hand. For a moment it reminded Polgar of a similar scene in Vietnam some fifteen years earlier. One of his first fire fights had involved a VC unit that consisted mainly of fourteen- and fifteen-year-old boys. That experience had been a rude introduction to war, one that often haunted his dreams. He knew what his men were experiencing. "Is he dead?"

One of the soldiers standing over the body looked up and saw Polgar looking down. "Yeah.

He wouldn't stop when I yelled to him to halt. Kind of young to be running around shooting at people, Sarge."

"Just remember, Patterson, that sorry piece of trash was old enough to put two holes in McGill and would have done the same to you if he had had the chance."

Patterson looked at his platoon sergeant for a moment, then down at the dead German boy.

After another moment of reflection, he reached down, picked up the AK, and went around to the front to continue the house-by-house search.

Polgarfs report on the Mech Platoon's contact didn't really surprise Bannon. His only regret was the discovery that the town was populated by a

lone fanatic who couldn't have hurt the Team. The price of a casualty hadn't been worth the results.

Impatient and anxious to find out how much longer they were going to sit there, Bannon dismounted and walked over to the battalion S-3's track to find out what Jordan's best guess was. His PC was nestled in a large hedgerow that separated two fields. The troop door on the back ramp was

open as was the cargo hatch on top. Bannon stopped at the door and saw Major Jordan seated across from his radios, arms folded and chin resting on his chest. He appeared to be sleeping.

"Must be nice to have a cushy staff job where you can take a nap three times a day."

Without moving a muscle or opening his eyes, Jordan replied, "Bannon, someday when you grow up, and I trust you will, you'll appreciate the fact that we old folks need to conserve our energy."

"Oh, is that what you call it? Conserving energy? Back home we call it sleep. "

"Shit, don't they teach you treadheads anything at Fort Knox?" "Sure they do, Major. And someday, when Infantry Branch clears you to use words with more than one syllable, I'll tell you all about it." "I'm sure there's a reason you came over here other than to harass me, Bannon. Hopefully, it has to do with that shooting in the town you haven't reported to me yet."

"That was a small affair. Some hyped-up commie highschool kid wanted to play Rambo. He wounded one of Sergeant Polgar's men and got his ass blown away. So far, that's all we've come across. What I really came over here for is to find out when we're going to get this circus moving again. If it's going to be awhile, I want permission to move up onto the high ground to the northeast where we can get under some cover. I'm not thrilled about sitting out here trying to hide my tanks behind these damned bushes." "I expect we'll be moving soon.

The brigade commander just got off the radio with Colonel Reynolds. Colonel Brunn was all over the Old Man. Told him that if he couldn't get this battalion moving, brigade was prepared to pass the I st of the 4th through us to continue the attack." "Sir, pardon me if I seem like an underachiever, but, if the brigade commander wants to let the I st of the 4th take the lead, that's fine by me. I could get into playing second team for awhile." "You don't understand, Bannon. Colonel Brunn damned

near relieved Reynolds after the Hill 214 debacle. The only reason he didn't was because there didn't happen to be any spare lieutenant colonels lying around at the time. If the battalion screws the pooch on this operation, the Old Man is gone. The battalion has to succeed."

"Well, sir, between you, me, and that dumb bush your track is trying to hide in, even if what you say is true, I have no intention of taking any undue risks simply to save someone's reputation. Colonel Reynolds is a good officer and a great guy, but his reputation isn't worth a single unnecessary casualty in Team Yankee."

"I don't think we need to worry about that. The colonel is too much of a professional to do anything dumb simply to save face."

"God, I hope you're right, sir."

They turned to covering the next move. The air cavalry had come across some trucks and reconnaissance vehicles as they roamed out to the front. They scattered the trucks and destroyed the recon vehicles. Unfortunately, the cavalry scouts could not tell if they were Polish or belonged to someone else. A scout helicopter had tried to land near one of the destroyed vehicles to check this out but had drawn fire from an unseen enemy. Not being able to obtain this information and confident that the front would be clear for awhile, Major Jordan requested that the air cav troop shift over to the east and cover the battalion's right flank. The brigade S-3 replied that he would look into that.

Colonel Reynolds, having monitored the reports from the air cav troop, called Jordan on the battalion net and ordered him to get Team Yankee on the move again but at a slower pace.

He informed the Major that the rest of

the battalion would be moving out momentarily and would be able to catch up provided Team Yankee didn't get carried away again. Major Jordan looked at Bannon, grinned, and told the colonel that he would keep the tankers in check. As soon as the transmission ended, Jordan asked if Bannon had any questions. He replied in the negative; he was to get moving but keep it slow. With that, he went back to 66 and prepared to move the Team.

Orders to stop clearing the town came none too soon as far as Sergeant Polgar was concerned. The house-to-house search was getting old. He didn't want to lose any more of his people to some runny-nosed commie who had not even begun to shave yet. Besides, this kind of work was hard. When he had charged the stairs and thrown himself into the room in the house where the sniper had been, he had landed flat on his chest, forgetting there were still grenades hanging on his web gear. The force of the fall had knocked the wind out of him, and the grenades had dug into his chest. He could feel the bruises forming. As the tracks pulled out of town and headed back to the Team, he decided that he was getting too old to be running around playing John Wayne. In the future, he was going to leave the gung-ho stuff to the young kids in his platoon. He also decided that in the next war, he was going to find himself a nice cushy staff job at the Pentagon, fixing coffee for the generals. His campaigning days were over. War, thought Polgar, belongs to the young and strong.

Avery had mixed feelings about moving again. While sitting in this semi-exposed position was dangerous, moving out into the open again, this time in broad daylight with high ground to both sides of the Team, was more unnerving. The Team commander had ordered him to have his platoon go into a left echelon. This he had done. The 21 was now in the lead with the rest of the platoon trailing off to the left and behind him. The Team commander was off to the right of 21 with 3rd Platoon farther to the right, also in an echelon formation but refusing its right. The Mech Platoon was to the rear in the center traveling with the XO.

As the Team moved forward, Avery found it difficult to observe his assigned sector, keep track of where they were on the map he had out to his front, control 21's driver, and keep one eye on the platoon and the other on the Team commander. On top of this, 21 was running across a plowed field against the furrows and an occasional drainage ditch. It seemed that every time he looked down at the map to see where they were, the driver would hit a ditch, catching the young lieutenant by surprise and rattling him around in the cupola. At times, it seemed that he was unable to control 21,

let alone the platoon, and that he was only along for the ride. There had to be a way to manage all of this with some degree of efficiency. How to do that, however, was beyond him.

The Soviet attack helicopter pilot slowly eased his aircraft into position. With a little luck, their target would be just over the rise to their front. They were lucky to have made it this far.

The lead helicopter had barely avoided an enemy scout helicopter on their run in. Although the weapons operator had felt confident that they could have taken out the frail scout, it was not their assigned mission to do so. Someone else would deal with the bothersome scout.

They were hunting for tanks.

The two attack helicopters stationed themselves on either side of an ancient keep that they had used as their rally point and for reference. If the reports were correct, when they popped up over the trees, there would be a town to their front and a group of tanks sitting stationary east of it. When the pilot of the lead helicopter signaled that he was set, the attack helicopters began to slowly raise until the weapons operator's field of vision was clear. The pilot, seated behind and a little higher than the weapons operator, saw the town first. Once he had the town in sight, he then began to search to the east of the town for the enemy tanks.

He couldn't see them. He ordered the weapons operator to search the area with his powerful sight.

As the weapons operator was searching, something caught the eye of the pilot. There was movement to the north of the town. He turned and looked. Several objects were moving.

Over the intercom, he informed the weapons operator of his sighting and turned the aircraft until it was facing almost due east. The weapons operator had no trouble finding his targets.

He quickly identified them as M- I tanks and M-113 personnel carriers. The pilot reported this to his leader who also shifted his orientation to the east and found the targets.

Like great cats preparing to pounce on their prey, the two Soviet MI-24D attack helicopters studied their targets for a moment. The leader called back and asked if the pilot or the weapons operator had observed any antiaircraft guns or missile launchers. The weapons operator replied in the negative. The pilot checked his radar warning device to ensure that it was functioning and had not detected any enemy search radars before reporting back to his leader. The pilot and weapons operator then continued to track their targets, which were far out of range, while they waited for their leader's orders.

The orders came. Both helicopters would swoop-down on the moving tanks at high speed.

The leader would go for the far tanks, and the second MI-24D would attack the near tanks.

They were not concerned with the personnel carriers. The two attack helicopters would be able to take out two tanks, maybe four, on their first pass. After overflying the target, the two MI-241s would turn north, loop around, and attack the tanks head-on. The leader felt confident that they would be able to make two passes on the enemy before any outside help could intervene. After the second run, both helicopters were to rally at the castle keep. They would then decide if they should continue the attack or break it off. Yelling an old Russian battle cry over the radio, the leader signaled the start of the attack.

Avery was hanging on to the machine-gun mount with one hand to steady himself while he ran his finger along his map trying desperately to find

a

landmark he could use as a reference. The cry of "HELICOPTERS-NINE O'CLOCK,"

followed rapidly by "MISSILE-MISSILEMISSILE," caught him by surprise.

Instinctively he looked up and to his front. There was nothing there. He then turned to his right to look at the Team commander's tank to see what he was doing. For a moment, Avery watched as 66 began to spew out clouds

of white smoke from its exhaust and then turn to the right, disappearing behind the smoke.

When 66 and the 3rd Platoon began to fire wildly above his head, it suddenly dawned upon him what was happening. Avery turned around just in time to see the hideous attack helicopter bearing down

on him, preceded by a round object, growing larger by the second and spewing flames. The impact of the antitank guided missile came before Avery could react.

The attack helicopter pilot was surprised at the speed with which the tanks reacted. Almost as one, the tanks had turned and begun to blow huge clouds of white smoke from their engines. The tanks began to weave about and fire. The shooting was wild and totally inaccurate. Still, it was disconcerting to

watch the red tracers rise up toward him. A couple of the tanks were even firing their cannons. He had to fight his natural instincts to break off the attack and concentrate on closing on their target.

One of the lead tanks had not turned or cut on its smoke generator. The pilot quickly oriented on this stray and ordered his weapons operator to engage it. Then he launched an antitank guided missile. For several tense moments, the attention of both the pilot and the weapons operator was on the tank as the pilot held the aircraft on course and the weapons operator held his sight on the target. The missile, linked to the weapons operator's sight guidance system by a hair-thin piece of wire, received course corrections and homed in on the targeted tank. Only after the missile impacted on the tank did the pilot jerk his joystick to the left and fly north. He wasn't about to try for a second shot on this run. One hit was good enough.

As the pilot brought the helicopter around, a fast-moving object caught his attention. He looked up to see an American attack helicopter bearing down on him from the north. It must have been with the scout they had seen before. The weapons operator saw it, too, and began to lay his cannon on the closing enemy aircraft. But before the weapons operator could fire, the pilot jerked his joystick to the left again in order to evade. The American, however, was quicker.

The pilot felt his craft shudder, then saw the weapons operator in front of him disappear in a series of small explosions as the American's 20mm cannon shells ripped into the MI-241. The attack helicopter's canopy was riddled and the cockpit was filled with smoke. The pilot struggled to

control his aircraft but couldn't. The MI-24D disappeared in a great ball of fire upon impact with the ground.

"WE GOT 'EM! WE GOT 'EM!"

Bannon turned around to see what Kelp was yelling about. Kelp was hanging onto his machine gun with one hand and pointing to the north with the other. In the distance, Bannon could see a fire and black smoke. Kelp, with a grin from ear to ear, turned back to view the conflagration he was sure he had contributed to.

"Forget him, Kelp. He's gone. Keep your eyes open for the other son-of-a-bitch." Bannon ordered the driver to cut the smoke generator off but to be ready to

kick it back on. He then called to the platoon leaders for a status report and to find out if anyone saw where the second Hind helicopter had gone. Garger came back with the report that two of his tanks had observed the second Hind disappear to the east, chased by two AH 1 attack helicopters. The two AH 1 s were probably from the air cav troop and had just happened to be in the area. For a moment, Bannon reflected on the fact that someone was looking out for the Team.

With the air clear he ordered the platoon leaders to rally their tracks, then rally on him. The air attack had scattered the Team. The smoke and confusion still had not cleared, and it would take a few minutes to sort things out. As they were doing so, Hebrock came up on the Team net and reported that the 21 tank had been hit.

"Damn!" Bannon thought, "2nd Platoon lost another platoon leader." Not everyone could be lucky. In war someone has to die. But the second lieutenants in the 2nd Platoon seemed to be making it a habit. He looked around to see how bad 21 was but was unable to do so because the smoke the tanks had put out still had not dissipated. He called back to find out some more details as 66 came around to head back north. Hebrock reported that as

soon as he had any, he'd call back.

As 24 closed on the smoking hulk of the 21 tank, Hebrock was convinced that everyone in the crew was dead. Main gun

rounds in the turret ammo compartment were still cooking off, throwing great balls of flame and smoke into the air. The blow-off panels, designed to come off when the ammunition cooked off and vent the force of the explosion up and away from the crew, were lying fifty meters away from where 21 sat. Hebrock brought 24 to within forty meters of 21 and stopped. Both he and his loader watched as the fire died down and smoke slowly rose from the ammo storage compartment on the rear of the turret. Neither man said a word. Just as he was about to report to the Team commander that 21 was a write off, the loader's hatch on 21 swung open. Hebrock watched for a moment. To his amazement, he saw 21's loader climb out, turn around, then reach down to help someone else. Hebrock ordered his driver to pull up next to 21 and called the first sergeant, telling him they needed the ambulance ASAP.

The air attack had given the rest of the battalion a chance to catch up. Colonel Reynolds called to ask if the Team could continue in the lead or if he needed to pass C company forward. Bannon replied that that wasn't necessary. The platoon leaders had been able to rally their people with no trouble, 2nd Platoon using the shattered 21 as their rally point. Bannon ordered Hebrock to leave the recovery of personnel and 21 to the first sergeant and get his platoon moving.

After he had made the transmission, he thought how cold such an order must seem to an outsider. He had no doubt that every man in the 2nd Platoon wanted to help his buddies in 21. Within the platoons there was a strong personal bond that held the men together. It was natural.

But they were at war. It was unfortunate that lieutenant what's-his-name had been hit and was probably dead. That happens in war. He and his crew would be taken care of, however, by someone else. It was the Team's job, and 2nd Platoon's, to continue the mission. They could not stop each time a tank was hit or a man fell. To do so would be to place the other personnel in the Team in jeopardy. Bannon didn't like the thought of rolling away and leaving 21 on its own,

but he had his duty, and the Team had a mission, two very cold and uncompromising words.

Team Yankee, having collected itself, moved forward again. This time, however, they were not alone. Far to the left, Bannon could catch glimpses of some of Team Bravo's tracks.

They were now abreast of the Team and moving north. To the rear, he could make out tracks of the battalion command group. He had no doubt that C company was close behind.

Satisfied that all was back on track within the Team and the battalion, he turned his attention to the town of Korberg just to the north. That, and the valley to the east of it, would be the next critical point.

As his track and the ambulance closed on 21, First Sergeant Harrert could feel his stomach begin to knot up. He knew that he wasn't going to see anything new. Two tours in Vietnam, training accidents, and the first few days of this war had exposed him to many such scenes.

Once he was there and doing something, he would be all right. It was the anticipation that bothered him the most. How bad was it this time? How many? Was there something he could do, or did they simply need the body bags? Did he know them, their wives, their children? Would they be able to identify the bodies? First sergeants are supposed to be detached, able to handle these things without a second thought. But first sergeants are also human. It was with great relief that First Sergeant Harrert found that there had been only one casualty. Tessman greeted Harrert and led him and the medic to where the lieutenant was lying, face down.

While the medic began to work on Avery, Tessman explained what had happened. Avery had been standing up in the cupola when the missile hit. The force of the explosion from the main gun rounds set off by the missile hit him squarely in the head and back. The lieutenant simply dropped down to the turret floor. Fortunately for the rest of the crew, the ballistic doors that separated the crew from the stored ammunition had been closed. Some flames did get into the crew compartment, but nothing serious. The tank stopped and the halon fire extinguishers activated. After the

explosions stopped, they abandoned the tank and did what they could for the lieutenant.

There wasn't much that they, or the medic, could do for Avery. He was in a

very bad way with massive wounds and severe burns on his back and head. The medic told the first sergeant that they needed to get him medevacked right away or they would lose him. With the help of the crew, Avery was placed

on

a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance which took off for the battalion aid station.

With the ambulance gone, the first sergeant and Tessman began to look over 21. They had the driver try to start the engine but to no avail. The 21 would have to be towed back to the rear by the M-88 recovery vehicle. Looking into the turret and the burned out ammo storage compartment, Harrert commented that the tank would probably be back in action within twenty-four hours. Tessman, observing that this was the second time that this tank had been hit, dryly replied that they should retire it and use it

for spare parts. Harrert agreed, but noted that the U.S. Army was fast running out of tanks and couldn't afford to throw them away simply because they had had a run of bad luck. To that, Tessman offered 21 to the first sergeant after it had been repaired. The first sergeant had to stop and think about that one. Maybe this tank should be scrapped.

The Soviet tank company commander did not like the idea of moving through the woods in single file. He would have preferred to have gone north past the town of Langen. By doing that, the company, and the battalion following it, would have been able to deploy into combat formation before making contact with the Americans. The regimental commander, however, had vetoed that idea because of the activity of American reconnaissance helicopters. To have gone through Langen would have exposed them to observation. Not only would the regiment lose the element of surprise, they would also be open to attack from the air.

Instead, the lead tank battalion was winding its way along trails through the woods in order to maintain the element of surprise.

There were few options open to him. Once his tanks began coming out of the woods high on the hill, they would be visible to everyone in the valley. After they had been observed, there would be little time to take advantage of their surprise. Therefore, rather than have the three tanks of his lead platoon, the regiment's combat patrol, go out on its own, he had them pull back with the rest of the company. To succeed, they had to take chances.

He

gambled that his commander would not find out that he had pulled in the combat patrol, and the company would not stumble into an ambush. Thus the entire company was bunched up as they neared the edge of the woods overlooking the valley. The company would therefore be able to clear the tree line and deploy into a tight battle formation rapidly. It was a good plan, and he was sure that it would work.

The only thing that could possibly go wrong now was an antitank ambush along the trail they were on. If the lead tank was hit, the others would

be

backed up, unable to bypass or fight. The thought of such a thing gave the tank company commander chills. The sooner he was out of these damned woods and in battle formation, the better, as far as he was concerned.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Counterattack.

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

Now the two A-lOs, having barely made it back from behind the enemy lines, were being diverted into a holding pattern where they would wait until a good target was nominated. It made sense. It would have been dumb to send the aircraft back to the air field loaded with ordnance. But Snowman wasn't interested in logic right now. He was madder than hell for wasting their time and being sent on a worthless mission. If someone didn't come up with a good mission fast, he was going to lead the other A-10 to Flight Ops and bomb it, just for the hell of it.

The Team was making good progress, too good. Colonel Reynolds called Bannon and ordered him to slow down. C company was having a hard time keeping up, creating a large gap between Team Yankee and it. The colonel wanted to keep the companies close together. Bannon turned around in the cupola and looked back at the Mech Platoon. They were having no problem keeping up with the tanks. He couldn't imagine what the problem was with C company. Those boys were having a rough morning.

As he prepared to give the necessary orders to slow their rate of advance, the thought occurred to him that the longer he took to give the order, the farther they would go. At their current speed, every second he delayed meant the Team advanced another meter. The faster they went, the less time the Soviets had to throw something at them. A few extra minutes could mean the difference between seizing a bridge over the Saale intact or finding them all destroyed. Of course, speed could work against the Team. If it got far ahead and ran into trouble, the rest of the battalion might not be able to catch up in time to pull its chestnuts out of the fire. Orders were orders and, as they say, discretion was the better part of valor. Team Yankee slowed down for the third time that morning.

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

From their vantage point, this was not a difficult task. Before them, on the valley floor deployed in a great vee, was a company of armored personnel carriers and TOW vehicles being led by a small gaggle of three more personnel carriers. A quick count revealed that there were at least fifteen, maybe as many as twenty personnel carriers to their front less than four kilometers away. It had to be an American mechanized infantry company. The Russian commander watched the advance of his

tanks, now moving at a rate of over forty kilometers per hour. The absence of American tanks with the personnel carriers worried him. The fact that the personnel carriers were M-113s and not the new Bradleys pleased him. But there had been reports of tanks. He would have, liked to have taken out the tanks in the first volley. They were the greatest threat to his company. The M-113s would have been easy to deal with after the tanks. But, without any tanks in sight, the American mechanized company would be dealt with first. No doubt, once the shooting began, the American tanks would come out of hiding.

Even with his CVC on and 66's engine running, the sharp crack of tank cannons firing was clearly audible to Bannon as the sound reverberated through the valley. Automatically, he straightened up and looked around to see who was under fire. There were no telltale puffs of smoke or dust clouds from tank cannons to the front. A quick scan to the rear revealed nothing. Someone was shooting someone.