The impact of the missiles, the detonation of the reactive armor and, in two cases, secondary explosions lit up the night. Three more flashes from the opposite flank pulled everyone's attention in that direction. The battalion was in an ambush of some type. Instead of being greeted by the recon battalion of the forward motorized rifle division, it had run into the Americans. At least, Vorishnov hoped it was the Americans and not the recon battalion firing. How terrible, he thought, to have come all this way and be killed by our own people.
While the battalion commander issued orders to deploy into battle formation, Vorishnov reported the attack to Regiment. The regiment, tracking the battalion's progress, had concerns similar to Vorishnov's.
Regiment wanted confirmation that it was the Americans doing the firing.
Vorishnov replied that there was no time for that. Regardless of who they were, the battalion was attacking. The battle drill that it executed put into action the contact drill practiced many times by the battalion. The lead company deployed and turned to attack. The next company followed, ready to deploy and support the attack or bypass the lead company if it became too heavily involved. The third company also followed, ready to swing around and hit the enemy in the flank or the rear once the flanks were found. The battalion was committed.
Reports of the scout platoon's initial success were welcomed by all at the TOC. There had been a great deal of concern over the effectiveness of the Bradley's TOW missile against the T-80. Although not every hit was a kill, at least some Russians were dying. The scouts had the task of developing the situation as well as screening and buying time for the deployment of the remainder of the battalion. Lewis followed the orders being issued by the S-3 to the companies and watched as Smithson plotted the progress of the battalion. In another five minutes all the units would be in their assigned positions. The S-2 plotted the advance of the Soviets. The fire-support officer called out that artillery-fire missions were on the way.
Two of the battalion's own companies, reinforced with improved TOW vehicles, called ITVs, deployed on either side of the line of march they expected the Soviets to take. They formed a funnel that led into a tank company, a Kentucky National Guard unit, attached to the battalion. That company took up positions in the center, blocking the path of the onrushing Soviets. The fourth company of the battalion, held in the back of the center, stood ready to swing to either the left or the right, depending on how the Soviets reacted.
With nothing more to do for the moment, Lewis listened to the reports and watched Smithson and the S-2 plot the progress of the battle. The scouts continued to engage, drawing back slowly. Somehow the first report of a loss in the scout platoon passed unnoticed, until the number six listed as the number of operational Bradleys for the scouts was changed to a five.
It's begun, Lewis thought, the dying has begun. That the same thought had not occurred to him when the destruction of Soviet tanks had been reported was not unusual. After all, the scouts were killing tanks; the crews of the T-80 tanks had no faces, no names. The men in the scout Bradleys, however, were very real to Lewis. They were people who lived in Memphis with him.
They were the people he worked with, had gone to annual training with, dealt with on a daily basis. Sam Cane, a young teacher who taught Ed's youngest son, commanded one of the Bradleys in the scout platoon. Was Sam dead? Or was it Tim Wheaton, owner of the gas station just off the interstate exit, now a scout-squad leader? Was it his track that had been hit? The black grease-pencil figures on the chart next to the situation map translated into very real people. Real people whom Lewis knew.
Slowly the Soviets drew near. The scouts ceased fire and pulled away.
Now the companies, in their hasty defensive positions, began to report sighting the Soviets and their readiness to engage. The tension began to build again. Everyone waited, the silence broken only by the traffic over the artillery-fire-control net as artillery lieutenants with the companies requested fires and submitted corrections after observing the impact of adjustment rounds. All waited for the battle to be joined in earnest.
There was no doubt that the regiment had run into an American force of some size. The increasing tempo of artillery, and its accuracy, betrayed the fact that someone was watching and directing it upon the 3rd Battalion. Vorishnov, his head raised slightly out of the turret, saw no sign of more TOW-missile firings. That, however, was not comforting. It could only mean that the forward elements were finished and were pulling back to clear the way for the main body of the enemy force. Vorishnov wondered whether the Americans had been in defensive positions that were missed by the regimental recon or whether the battle developing was a bona fide meeting engagement in which the Americans now had the upper hand. The truth, however, did not matter at that moment. What did matter was that the battalion was again going into battle, regardless of how it had come about. Their orders were to find and fix the Americans. Once the situation had been developed, the tank battalion behind the 3rd would move to the left or the right to seek the Americans' flank. The quickest and most effective method of finding the enemy was to continue the attack. Once contact was reestablished, the battalion would turn and attack whoever did the firing.
The bright flash, the dazzling shower of sparks caused by the impact of a kinetic-energy round on a T-80, followed by the sharp crack of a tank cannon, told Vorishnov that they had found the enemy's main body. Just as the battalion began to reorient on the source of the tanks firing, it was hit by a wave of antitank guided missiles, artillery and artillery-delivered mines. In less than a minute, command and control vaporized as the attacking force was overwhelmed with superior firepower and with confusion.
Having nothing left to control but his tank, Vorishnov joined the battle.
With his hatch buttoned up, he searched for a target. In his sight, the flash of an American tank firing caught his eye. "Target tank! Traverse left." The gunner turned his control handle and searched for the target.
Vorishnov saw it first. The green image of a tank's turret was protruding above a mound, its gun pointed in another direction. "Target twelve o'clock. Fire!"
The gunner now saw what his commander saw, Lined his sight on the center of the target, depressed the laser range-finder button and waited for the system to input the data. When he was ready, he announced, "Firing!" and pulled the trigger.
The T-80 rolled on, its sights continuing to track the tank they had just engaged. In the distance a brilliant light cut through the obscuration kicked up by the firing of the gun. Vorishnov watched as a ball of fire rose into the black sky, casting long shadows on everything around. The American tank was dead.
Without waiting for its crew, the T-80's automatic loader was already preparing for the next engagement. The gun jerked into the loading position, slamming the breech open with a bang. The mechanical arm reached down and scooped up the next projectile and guided it into the breech.
Finished, the arm reached down and scooped up the powder bag, ramming it home behind the projectile. As his gunner searched for targets, Vorishnov watched the loading of the main gun, careful to stay out of the mechanical arm's path. It's too slow, he thought, too terribly slow.
Targets were now plentiful. Less than four hundred meters to their front an American Bradley appeared out of nowhere. As Vorishnov prepared to engage, the reports of the follow-on battalion could be heard over the regimental command net. He was not concerned with those reports, however. The regimental battle was no longer his. His battle had degenerated to a one-on-one contest: his tank against whatever crossed its path.