Boom, boom, crump! Bang! Flame, dirt and shrapnel were flying in all directions, cutting off radio antennas on the vehicles, ripping flesh from bone, and damaging everything in the camp. The attack did not last long, but it accomplished its goal of damaging the American positions and killing more soldiers.
Once the explosions ended, Childers got out of the trench. A couple of his soldiers were pointing upward, and he followed their line-of-sight to see a Russian pilot slowly drifting to the ground on a parachute. Apparently, his plane had been shot down during the attack. As he drifted into the woods, several of the soldiers in his platoon ran after him.
“Come on Sergeant Childers, we need to capture him!” shouted one of the soldiers as he took off running towards the woods.
Luke knew he better go with these young soldiers and supervise the capture of this Russian aviator before his soldiers beat him to death. As he ran after them, he came to the clearing. Sure enough, he saw four of his soldiers kicking and stomping on the Russian pilot as he tried to curl up in a ball to protect himself. “Enough!” he yelled. “All you, back off right now before I write you up and strip you of your rank!” SFC Childers yelled as he pulled one of the soldiers back and threw another one to the ground.
One of his soldiers yelled back at him, “He just attacked us! Why are you protecting him Luke?”
Now Luke was truly incensed; his vision turned red as his blood boiled over. He signaled for the Russian pilot to stay on the ground for a second while the other soldiers around him looked like they wanted to go right back to beating him. “First off, don’t ever address me by my first name! It’s either Sergeant or Sergeant First Class! Do you understand?!” yelled Luke at the young man, in an effort to snap his brain back into being a soldier and not some vengeance-driven animal.
The soldier lowered his head, realizing he had screwed up. “Yes Sergeant. I’m sorry. I do not know what came over me,” he said.
“I know you all are angry. I understand and respect that — but we are American soldiers. As such, you will not beat a prisoner. This pilot—” he said, pointing down at the Russian, “is just doing his job, just like you and me. He’s not some raghead terrorist. He’s a professional soldier like the rest of us, and you will afford him the same courtesies you would hope to receive as a prisoner. Do you all understand?” SFC Childers lectured, making a point of drilling this fact into their heads.
“This is not how American soldiers should act,” he thought. “I certainly won’t let it happen under my watch.”
“Now, let’s get this guy back to the Tactical Operations Center and let the intelligence guys see what they can get from him,” he said, extending his hand to the Russian pilot to lift him to his feet. The soldiers nodded in agreement, grabbed their weapons and escorted the pilot back to their area with Sergeant Childers in the lead.
Brigadier General (BG) Matt Fenzol was furious. His soldiers had been getting attacked by Russian aircraft for the better part of thirty-six hours. The last three hours saw a dramatic increase in air attacks, and he had little in the way of air defense capabilities to stop them. One of the captains in his operations center told him that one of the Avenger vehicles had just shot down a Su-25 ground attack aircraft a few minutes ago.
The Su-25 Frogfoot was designed to provide close air support, similar to the American A-10 Warthog. These planes carried a number of anti-personnel rocket pods, anti-tank missiles, and 500 lbs. bombs. It was also an armored plane like the A-10, so it could take a lot of damage without being shot down. With near air supremacy, the Russians began using a lot more Su-25 and Su-24 ground attack aircraft against the German and American positions. They had greater quantities of these aircraft, and if they lost a few, it wouldn’t hurt them nearly as bad as tier-one aircraft losses would. Those were being saved for the more dangerous missions and dog fighting against the growing presence of NATO fighters.
As BG Fenzol looked around his temporary command center, he was outraged. He had been promised greater air support several hours ago by those bureaucrats back at EUCOM, and here he was, still getting attacked. “Where the hell is my air cover?!” he yelled at one of his operations officers.
The Major who was running the operations group spoke up. “I just got off the horn with one of the air battle managers in the E-3s. He told me that they have a flight of F-22s that is just now coming on station near Kiev. They should be in orbit now for the next several hours, or until their ordnance is expended.” As he answered, Major Woods couldn’t hide his own disgust that they were not on station an hour ago like they said they would be.
Major Tyrone Woods hated working for General Fenzol. Being a Mormon, he disliked working for a commander who often used curse words and belittled those around him. Everyone in the operations group was doing their best. Three days ago, when they first arrived in Kiev, Colonel Jelanski had been the S3, but he had been killed during one of the many Russian air attacks, along with his deputy and the next person below him — that left Major Woods as the only senior officer left from the S3 office, forcing him to be General Fenzol’s S3 until a higher-ranked guy showed up.
Fenzol didn’t particularly care for his new S3 either, but they had to work together, at least for a while. “I’m not sure our joint US/German command will stand up to the Russian divisions that are amassing less than twenty miles away,” he worried. “The Russians have been hitting us hard with airpower all night and into the morning. It is only a matter of time until they launch their main attack.”
“Major Woods, what’s the status on 2nd and 3rd Brigade Combat Teams from the 1st Armored Division? Are they in Kiev yet?”
“Yes, Sir. We made contact with the 3rd BCT’s S3. They just finished off-loading their tanks on the west side of the city. Lieutenant Colonel Wightman said they were going to get underway and head for our position within the hour. He gave us an ETA of 1300 hours,” Woods said, hoping this might appease his hot-headed commander.
BG Fenzol nodded in approval. “Good job, Major Woods. Stay in contact with them and also see what the ETA of the 2nd BCT is as well. Let them know that the Russians are most likely going to launch their attack shortly. We desperately need their tanks if we are going to hold this position,” he explained.
Brigadier General Matt Fenzol knew he had a reputation as a tough nut, but this was the 82nd Airborne. They were Paratroopers. If people got their feelings hurt or bent out of shape by his hard-charging attitude, then they just weren’t cut out for the Airborne. He turned to his Command Sergeant Major and asked, “What’s the status on the ammunition front?”
In the Army, the three major functions a First Sergeant and Sergeant Major were responsible for were “beans, bullets, and soldiers.” At that exact moment, ammunition was a bigger concern than food. They had been expending a lot of it lately, and the NATO supply lines hadn’t exactly been established yet.
“We are OK for the moment General, but we will need a resupply if the enemy does launch any sort of major attack. We blew through a lot of Stinger and heavy weapons’ ammo trying to shoot down these Russian helicopters and attack planes,” the Command Sergeant Major explained as he spat out a stream of tobacco juice on the dirt floor of their command center.
“Stay on it Sergeant Major. Make sure Supply is getting us what we need,” the general responded, knowing that if anyone could make things happen, it was his sergeant major.