The Germans’ fourth try at Walker’s position was their strongest. Although firing blindly, their artillery began to impact near his company’s positions. Without overhead cover, the American infantry began to take casualties. As the biggest wave poured over the crest, both Bradley teams on the flanks reported contact and the dismounted elements radioed back that they were down to less than fifty rounds per man. Beseiged with crisis on all sides, Walker didn’t even notice the 3-29th’s Bradleys coming up behind him.
The lead company of TF 3-29 ran head-on into the German assault. It was a case of the irresistible force meeting the immovable object. Thanks to their scouts’ warning, the contact came as no surprise. Alpha Company swung quickly into the German assault’s flank, the Bradleys dropping ramps and the infantrymen deploying on line, firing as they went. Alpha Company, which hadn’t looked forward to busting a hole in the German line, instead braced open the door that the Germans had so thoughtfully opened with their attack. Moving up from behind, Travers’s platoon took the lead, picked up speed, and headed for the hills beyond.
At his forward CP, tucked away in a grove of trees just off Autobahn 5, Joel Guterman monitored the reports flowing in from his infantry battalions fighting in the bowl. Colonel Shror paced anxiously next to him.
“Why have they not yet overrun the Americans, Herr Guterman?”
“Our enemy fights quite stubbornly and the terrain works in his favor. Perhaps if you had not rushed the attack so, the battalions could have brought their full force to bear, rather than attacking a platoon at a time.”
“Rushed the attack? Herr Colonel, behind us, doing nothing, sits a force of nearly two hundred tanks and a thousand mounted infantrymen.”
“I will move them when the time is right. The enemy must first wholly commit himself to the fight in the woods.”
An operations sergeant leaned out of the back of the command post vehicle. “Herr Colonel, reconnaissance reports fresh American infantry forces attacking in battalion strength along the eastern edge of the bowl!”
“There’s your enemy!” shouted Shror, almost rejoicing. “Now attack, attack!”
But Guterman remained unconvinced. “Something is not right here, Herr Shror. Where are the American tanks?”
“Does it matter? You have almost twice his number!”
“Herr Shror, if this is a trap, we risk everything by moving too soon.” Shror stomped off and stood staring out into the trees. Guterman watched him take his pistol from its holster. Then Shror turned and marched up to him, the pistol held level, pointing into Guterman’s midsection.
“We will go to your combat vehicle now, Herr Colonel.”
“Killing me will little profit the high command.”
Shror smiled. “No, Herr Guterman, I shall not kill you. I shall merely see that you do your duty. You will lead the attack, and I shall be beside you to see that you do so. I can only attribute your reluctance to engage the Americans as cowardice, and so I will go with you to ensure that this attack indeed happens.”
“No man calls me a coward!”
Shror stuck the pistol into Guterman’s belly. “Give the order, then we will go.”
All eyes in the command post were on him. Guterman turned his head to address the operations sergeant. “Contact the battalions.” He looked at Shror. “Shall we go to my vehicle, Herr Colonel?”
“Surely, Herr Guterman.” Shror kept the pistol at Guterman’s back as they walked.
Soon they were riding alongside the lead tank battalion. The Leopards seemed to pour endlessly out of the cover of the forest, but Guterman ignored them, focusing instead on his map, marking sightings and contacts, preoccupied with the battle in the woods. Along the east side of the bowl, the Americans were hitting his battalion hard, a battalion already suffering heavily from its advance through the forest.
Shror, who was also monitoring the radio, rocked as the track hit a bump. He still held the pistol, but for a second he let go of his handhold and waved at Guterman.
“Don’t worry about the infantry battle, Herr Guterman. You should concentrate on this, your main thrust. I do not agree with your decision to go around a flank, though. If I were in charge, there would be one rapid thrust up the middle, right along the autobahn.”
“And right into the enemy’s guns.”
“The enemy is in the trees, Herr Colonel. But this time we will try it your way. We shall hit him from behind.”
Guterman’s battalions checked in, reporting their readiness to begin the attack. Shror nodded, gently waving the pistol. Guterman spoke into the microphone and the mass of German armor began to roll.
On the hill mass to the west of the autobahn, a lone armored cavalry Bradley idled as it hid in the trees. Its commander, peering through his binoculars, watched the valley below fill with German Leopards and Marders. The low ground below and to his north was literally packed, like a great moving parking lot. For several minutes he could do nothing but stare as the great wave of vehicles, far too many to count, spread out before him. Ralph McKay was the troop commander now — if you could call seven Bradleys, counting his own, a troop. All of Blue Platoon was gone. What was left of White Platoon and McKay’s platoon had been combined under his command after the CO and the XO had been killed by artillery. Seven Bradleys. That was all that remained of G Troop, 12th U.S. Cavalry. McKay picked up the handset. As the Cav troop commander, he had direct access to the brigade commander to pass critical information, and this, thought McKay, is as critical as it gets.
“Six, this is Ironhorse Six. Spot report.”
Stern was waiting. Forward with the attacking infantry battalion, he first switched the intercom to internal and spoke to Eads.
“Here it comes. Get ready to turn us around and get back to the autobahn.” He switched back to brigade command.
“This is Six. Send it, Ironhorse.”
“Major enemy formation, armor heavy, of at least four battalions, massing north of Autobahn 5 vicinity…” McKay read off the grid coordinates. “Enemy is moving west at a high rate of speed.”
“Roger. Continue to monitor their movement and report the locations of their lead elements.”
“Wilco. Over.” McKay put down the microphone, not expecting a reply. It seemed so simple, so impersonal, this passing of the most key piece of information. He sighed. I shouldn’t expect anything special for doing my job. That’s what they pay me for.
“Ironhorse, this is Six. Good job; keep it up. Six out.”
Ralph McKay smiled and shook his head. He lifted his binoculars back to his eyes and watched the German armor roll by.