For a moment he thought of issuing a ceasefire. The Russians had suffered enough. But just as quickly as that thought had popped up in his mind, it was replaced by cold, practical, professional considerations. If these survivors were allowed to live, they would only fall in on units that needed replacements or be issued older model equipment kept in storage and brought forward from Russia to replace that which had been lost. The odds of Team Yankee ever encountering the same Russians again were slim. But another NATO company would. That, and the wish to see the Soviets pay for a war they had started was enough to stay Bannon’s hand.
One by one, reports from the platoons started to come in over the company net as other tanks continued to seek out and destroy fugitives from what had been little more than a slaughter. Both tank platoons reported in with no losses, a total main gun expenditure of thirty-seven rounds, and, as often happens in war, inflated kill reports. Only the launcher on one of the ITVs had been hit and destroyed. The ITV’s crew was untouched and the track was still mechanically sound. But without its launcher and sight, the ITV was worthless to the Team. With that in mind, Bannon instructed Uleski to have that crew pass all the TOW rounds that it could off to the operational ITV, then have the damaged ITV head back to the maintenance collection point. With all the reports in and satisfied he had a handle on the team’s status, he then called the battalion S-3 in order to pass the Team situation report, or SITREP, to him.
It was after Bannon had finished with his report to battalion, and while the Team was moving to its alternate firing positions that Bannon realized the third company of the Soviet motorized rifle battalion was unaccounted for. Just where it was, and what it was doing, concerned him.
The lead units, instead of’ having eight tanks and twenty BMPs, had had only five tanks and fifteen BMPs. Perhaps, he reasoned, the Soviet motorized rifle battalion had suffered so many losses in their fight with the cavalry that it had merged all its companies into two weak, composite companies. Or perhaps, upon witnessing the demise of the rest of his parent battalion, the commander of the third company decided he stood a better chance of standing up to his regimental commander’s wrath for not pushing on than he did if he took on the Americans on his own. Of course, there was always the possibility instead of gallantly rushing down into the valley and joining his comrades in a death ride, the Soviet company commander decided to stop on the crest of the hill and engage his yet-unseen opponent in a long-range duel once the smoke cleared and while he waited for further orders. Whatever the case, the next move was his, a move Team Yankee needed to be ready to parry.
While Bannon was pondering the larger tactical questions, Kelp took advantage of the break in action to stand up on his seat and pop his head up out of his hatch. Using Bannon’s binoculars, he surveyed the carnage he had helped create. Folk, slowly traversing the turret, was doing likewise. Ortelli, because the valley was hidden from his view by the berm that protected Alpha 66’s hull, asked the other two crewmen to describe the scene. Talking in hushed voices so as not to disturb their commander’s ruminations, Folk and Kelp described the scene in a gruesome, if colorful, manner. Folk was particularly proud of his destruction of the T-72 with mine roller and made sure that Kelp identified it.
Ortelli wanted to come up and see what it looked like but knew better than to ask. Instead, he dropped hints that went unanswered. At times, it was difficult to be the crew of the Team commander’s tank. Bannon was seldom there to help in the maintenance of the tank or its weapons. Yet the tank, its radios, and the prodigious amount of gear Americans take to war with them always had to be ready whenever he came running up and climbed aboard or there was hell to pay. And the crew had to be straighter and more correct than the crews in other tanks. It’s not that team commanders are ogres. Company commanders tend to share an easier and closer relationship with their crew than they do with other tankers in their company. But the commander is still the commander, and this thought is never far from the crew’s, or commander’s, minds.
Uleski was only beginning to calm down. The short, sharp fight had left him drained, physically and mentally. When the ceasefire order had finally been given, it was all he could do to lift his canteen and take a mouthful of water. Swishing this around for a moment, he spat it out over the side of the tank. Still, the taste of vomit lingered.
After replacing his canteen, he sat on Alpha 55’s TC seat for a moment, watching the crewmen of the ITVs move from one track to the other, transferring rounds to the undamaged vehicle. It was late afternoon; the sun was softly filtering down through the trees. Except for an occasional pop or bang from ammunition cooking off in the valley below, all was quiet, all peaceful. The XO thought how nice it would be if it could be over, just for a day, just an hour, just enough time for him to pull himself together.
That thought had no sooner come to the fore when a blinding flash and an overwhelming blast struck Uleski, knocking him back. Instinctively, he allowed himself to drop down to the turret floor as the soft green image of the forest Alpha 55 was hidden in disintegrated into flames and explosions.
The Soviet major was completely flustered. Nothing, absolutely nothing had gone right that day. First, the traffic regulators had misdirected their column before the attack. It took the rest of the morning to get them turned around and back on their proper route. Then the resistance of the American cavalry proved to be far greater than anticipated. The division’s second echelon, to which the major’s battalion belonged, had to be committed before the division’s first objective was reached. The delay required a complete revision of the plan, a plan that had been drilled and practiced for months. Artillery units were now in the wrong place and did not have the detailed fire plans needed to support a breakthrough attack properly. And to top off everything else, the major’s battalion commander had managed to get himself killed, leaving him in command.
The major was in a dark mood. Not even the sight of burning vehicles belonging to the American cavalry regiment they passed as they moving forward cheered him. He had already seen far too much destroyed Soviet equipment. His new orders, issued hastily over the radio in the clear, kept running through his mind. They were simple enough. He was to cross a major valley, advance up a small side valley, and seize the regiment’s objective, an intersection where two autobahns met. But the major had not been given any time to plan properly, recon, or coordinate for artillery support. The regimental commander, under pressure from his commander, merely told him to move as rapidly as possible, that all the artillery planning would be taken care of for him. Even the battalion’s political officer, a man who was usually annoyingly eager to do whatever was required of him by his superiors, balked when they were told that a battalion, attacking in the same place earlier, had failed.
There was, however, nothing to do but to obey the orders he’d been given and hope for the best. To that end, the major put all his faith in the effects of the chemical weapons that were to be employed by his supporting artillery and the surprise he was trying to achieve by attacking from an unexpected direction. As they neared the line of departure, he took one more look around at the mass of vehicles huddled near his before he closed his hatch.
Bannon’s wandering thoughts were jarred back to the here and now by the impact of artillery to his left on Team Yankee’s hill. Though he could not see where, exactly it was landing, he had no doubt that the headquarters position and possibly the 2nd Platoon’s position, were under fire. A second attack was about to start.