Captain Charlie Prim had been on the radio with his Squadron, letting them know that they should be ready for a fire mission and that several of the cavalry troops had spotted enemy tanks. He saw LTC Munch was trying to get his attention, so he placed the hand receiver down and looked up. “You have a fire mission, Sir?” he asked.
Munch just nodded and signaled for Captain Prim to scoot over to the map table. “It’s nearly dark right now. The scouts are reporting enemy tanks here and here, and BMPs moving in from this direction. I’d like your guns to throw some illumination rounds in these areas. We need to make sure we don’t have additional enemy troops or vehicles trying to slip through under the cover of night. Also, make sure they know to keep the flares constantly coming throughout the night, all right?”
“I understand sir. We’ll keep the illumination rounds coming. I’ve let the Squadron know to expect fire missions at any time. They are ready, Sir,” he said confidently.
Then, just as they were starting to gather more information and get themselves ready for the pending Russian assault, they heard the unmistakable sound of incoming artillery. Dozens of 152mm artillery rounds began to land among the various clusters of trees and among the buildings of the two villages where the Americans had taken cover.
“Get in your vehicles and move out!” shouted LTC Munch, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the explosions nearby. Everyone rushed to their armored IFVs and raced off. As his tires peeled out, Munch grabbed his radio and told the others to fall back. He didn’t want everyone to stay there like sitting ducks, waiting to be hit from above.
The artillery fire was ferocious as the Russian tank and infantry fighting vehicles continued to maneuver to get in place for their attack. Once the artillery fire started to taper off, the Russians launched an all-out attack. Nearly 130 Russian T-80s and T-14 Armatas began to race towards the American positions from multiple different directions, followed quickly by waves of BTRs, BMPs, and T-15 heavy infantry fighting vehicles.
Alpha Five was commanded by Sergeant First Class Joe Dukes, “JD” to his friends and tank companions. His M1A2 Abrams was positioned to the side of a house that had an overview of the E40 highway. The home also had a lot of trees and overgrown bushes surrounding it, which made it about as good of a tank hiding place as he were going to find. He had identified a couple of firing positions they could use, all nearby and easily accessible. When the scouts began to tell the group they were spotting tanks, JD had his driver inch the vehicle forward, so they could see the highway.
JD and his gunner, Smokey, switched their sights to thermals as the sunlight began to disappear; they quickly spotted the Russian tanks from their heat signatures. Sergeant Jay Smokes had been Joe’s gunner for the past year, and the two of them got along well. They were both from Texas, so their families and upbringing had been very similar. It certainly didn’t hurt anything.
“Smokey, I’m going to start calling targets. I want you to get them locked up with the gun and then start taking them out,” JD announced, making sure his gunner knew what the plan was.
“Roger that,” Smokey replied.
Next, he turned to his loader, Specialist Eric Jones. “Jones, make sure you have the Sabot rounds ready. We are going to focus on the tanks and let the Scouts use their TOWs on the BMPs, OK?” JD asked, again looking to clarify his expectations.
“Roger that Sergeant. Sabot. All day. Got it,” Jones said with a wry grin. He had joined the team about eight months ago. He was a sharp young guy who had been in the Army for two years. He was also their unofficial tech guy, since he seemed to have a knack for anything electronic.
Then JD addressed his driver. “Specialist Miller, be ready to move us to our other firing positions when I give the order. We are going to be moving a lot once the shooting starts, OK?”
“Roger that Sergeant,” Miller replied.
JD went back to looking through his commander’s scope and started to identify targets. “Crap, that’s a T-14. I didn’t think they had any of those ready for combat,” he said to the crew. The others looked up at him, not sure what to say.
“T-14’s burn just as easily as a T-80 or T-90. It’s just a tank JD — let’s kill it,” Smokey said nonchalantly.
JD just smiled and laughed. “I don’t think you know anything about that tank. But you’re right, let’s kill it. Target, T-14, three o’clock. 2,500 meters, Sabot,” he said as they began to get into their rhythm of calling targets, just like in training.
“Sabot up,” said Jones as he stood to the side of the gun waiting for it to recoil from being fired.
“Fire!” yelled JD.
“Round away,” announced Smokey as he pulled the trigger on his targeting control. The whole tank rocketed back on its track as the gun fired its round.
JD watched as the Sabot round flew directly for the T-14. Then to his utter shock, he saw the tank’s defense system fire some kind of small explosive device that threw the Sabot round off course just slightly, causing the depleted uranium dart to hit the tank at the wrong angle. The round ricocheted off the tank and flew harmlessly into the sky. “My God… the round missed. That tank has some sort of defense mechanism. Give me another Sabot round!” he yelled out.
Smokey saw the round fly off the tank as well, and he couldn’t believe it either. This time, he aimed the round a little lower and towards the rear of the tank. He was going to try and nail the engine.
“Sabot up!” yelled Jones, letting everyone know the round was ready.
“Fire!” shouted JD, and the tank rocketed back on its track from the recoil. This time the round flew a little lower and slammed directly into the side of the engine compartment. In seconds, the engine blew out flames and smoke. The T-14 suddenly stopped moving forward and stopped entirely. The engine compartment then became a burning cauldron as the fuel tank exploded. The top hatch of the tank flew open as the crew rushed to try and bail out.
Smokey switched from the main gun control to the coax gun and fired a quick burst of the M2 .50 as the crew tried to get out of the burning tank. He managed to cut down two of the three crew members. The third guy managed to roll off the tank and out of Smokey’s sights.
“T-80, two o’clock, twelve hundred meters,” JD directed as he identified the next tank. “Sabot.”
“T-80, twelve hundred meters identified,” Smokey replied.
“Sabot up,” Jones answered, letting them know he was ready.
“Fire!” yelled JD to his gunner.
“Firing. Reload Sabot,” Smokey said as he tracked the round to the tank. Seconds later, the Sabot slammed into the side of the turret and the chassis of the body. It blew the turret right off the tank, killing the crew instantly.
This went on for a while; they lost track of time as they got into the zone. It was spot, aim, load, fire, and repeat. Then, the tank near them was blown up by Russian fire, and JD yelled to his driver, “It’s time to change locations!”
As they moved on to the next spot, JD breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten so zeroed in on blowing the enemy up that he had put his men at risk. He felt very lucky that they were all alive, and vowed not to let the same mistake happen again.
SFC Lance Peeler was laying on the roof of a two-story house in the village, overlooking the E40 highway. There were a few three-story buildings, but Peeler stayed away from them since those would likely be the first ones destroyed by the Russians. SFC Peeler was a new addition to the 2nd Cavalry field artillery squadron. He had joined the unit eight weeks ago, after spending two years as an instructor at the Army’s Artillery School at Ft. Sill in Oklahoma. He had two young soldiers with him, and ironically enough, they were students of his not that long ago.