“This is Bravo Two. I’ve got one of the vehicles from here.” “This is Tango Two. Nothing but a blur on my screen.”
“Tango Four. Ditto.”
“All Bravo and Mike, this is Bravo One. Somebody give me a grid on these guys, and we’ll get arty.”
There was silence as, in the confines of their turrets, tank and vehicle commanders wrestled with their maps, trying to orient the lines on the paper with the folds of the ground while attempting not to lose the infiltrating Germans. After a minute of bouncing back and forth between the thermal sight and the 1:50,000 map, Travers called it off, swearing to himself that, if he ever pulled a mission like this again, he’d both draw a terrain sketch and revive the long-lost art of making range cards — practices the invention of the thermal sight had supposedly rendered obsolete.
“All Mike and Bravo, this is Bravo One. Forget it, we’ll use direct fires. Bravo Three, Bravo Two, you still got them?”
A long wait.
“This is Bravo Three. Roger.”
“This is Bravo Two. Affirmative.”
“Okay,” Travers said into the microphone, “here we go. Just like we talked about. Bravos designate for the Mikes. We’ll get the hard targets first, everybody together. Mike elements, you ready?”
He got four Ups almost immediately.
“Bravo Two and Three, report when you’re on target.”
“Two up.”
“Three ready.”
“Commence fire.”
Through his commander’s sight, Shelley saw the Bradley’s 25mm tracers arc downrange, impacting on a dull blob in the distance. Grabbing the TC’s override, he swung the Ml’s main gun toward the target.
“I got it, Corporal,” Winchell called out over the intercom as he took over control of the weapon. He swung the sights on target and hit the laser range finder. As soon as he got a readout, he stabbed a button and the tank’s computer took over, setting precise elevation and minute deflection changes based on data from the wind sensor, the laser range finder, and the type of ammunition Winchell had indexed. All Winchell had to do was keep centered on the target, which was now trying to back down into cover. Winchell squeezed the trigger.
“On the way!”
Two flashes from the farmland to his front let Travers know the tanks had connected.
“Mike, this is Bravo One. Target, cease fire. Bravo Three, track those dismounts.”
He could hear the chain gun firing in the background as the track commander responded.
“Roger, I got ’em under fire already. They’re running, but they ain’t going far.”
Travers didn’t have a chance to acknowledge.
“Bravo One, Bravo Three. Dismounted threat eliminated.”
For the second squad of dismounted Germans, the destruction of the recon vehicles and their sister squad was sufficient motivation to abort their mission. They lay quietly for thirty minutes, then one by one infiltrated back to the protection of a farmhouse. From there they radioed what they had observed. The Americans, at least one company of tanks and one company of infantry, were deployed in force along the base of the Alterkoop and protected by impenetrable obstacle belts of mines and barbed wire. Their report was an exaggeration bom partly of the Americans’ rapid destruction of the rest of the force and partly of fear and exhaustion.
Having accomplished their mission, the Germans were directed to return to their unit and prepare for the morning’s operation.
In Panzerbrigade 11’s TOC, the brigade intelligence officer regretted the loss of six vehicles and their crews, consoling himself with the knowledge that not only was the enemy down one scout Bradley, but he had also revealed the layout of his defense. It was a small triumph for the S2, for he would be able to advise Colonel Shror that the enemy had disposed his forces in a long line and that the planned feint toward the gap near the base of the Alterkoop and breakthrough in the center would strike a strung-out enemy. In fact, the center seemed to be the weakest point in the enemy’s defense, for the two recon vehicles he’d dispatched up Autobahn 5 had traveled for nearly five miles, reporting no contact, before they’d gone off the air. As he left Panzerbrigade ll’s command post to find and brief the colonel, Maj. Wilhelm Schluker congratulated himself on two small victories: winning the intelligence battle and avoiding Shror’s wrath, which would have surely come had the plan needed revision.
In the 195th’s TOC, Dexter Cooper also felt satisfied after a long night. On both flanks he’d portrayed strength where weakness really existed. The l-89th had stopped the infiltration through the woods, and Lawson’s tanks had shown the Germans armor near the Alterkoop. The masterstroke, however, was his own. It was Cooper who had ordered the three battalions massed around the autobahn to hold their fire, and it was Cooper who had hopped in a HMMWV and led a tank platoon from the reserve to where the two Luchs armored cars that penetrated through the middle had finally been killed. Had they noticed the great array of firepower digging in along the autobahn? Had they reported that squads of American engineers were laying mines and stringing wire as fast as their tired hands could go? Doubtful at best, thought Cooper as he slugged down a cup of cold coffee, barely noticing that it was this liquid, and not a Coke, that he reached for upon entering the TOC. The Germans had maintained a steady pace right down the road, never noticing that the engineers had been closing the door behind them with obstacles. Only when they ran up against the four tanks that Cooper positioned square in the middle of the autobahn, and which he’d ordered to hold fire until he was sure the Germans had time to accurately report their location, did the two armored cars try to leave the road. Four tank rounds ended that attempt and their reports.
So Cooper had given Maj. Wilhelm Schluker exactly what the German S2 had asked for.
Minus both legs and an arm, Lieutenant Rusht lay on the ground where he’d landed when his Luchs blew apart. So very cold, he thought, I feel so very cold. Find the enemy. Yet the night is a warm one. The stars are so pretty. Find the enemy. I can’t in this dark, it’s so dark. So dark.
Mercifully, the darkness took him quickly.
Griffin glanced at his watch. The glow of the radium dial told him that it was well after 2:00 in the morning. The point man signaled the final halt. From here it’s mechanical for a while, thought Griffin; that makes it all the more dangerous. On countless previous patrols, behind countless other enemy lines — some real, some in training — The Griffin had gone through the drill of closing on and conducting reconnaissance of an objective. It was always the same, just like in the manuals. He would take communications and security and move forward to pinpoint their objective rally point (ORP). His ORP security would clear it, report to him, and stake themselves out at both ends. Then he’d come back for the rest of the team; bring them in; and, once security was established, they’d reorganize into reconnaissance (R) and security (S) elements. Then he’d go forward, once again with security, and pinpoint the objective — the German brigade command post.
Once he came back to the ORP, the two-man R and S teams would work their way around, and possibly through, the German position.
Those teams would note weapons positions, command vehicles, antenna sites, guard posts, and shift changes. They would probe for mines, try to identify key personnel locations, listen for conversations, look for gaps in whatever barbed wire was strung, and make a sketch of it all before they came back.