With artillery on the way, Bannon turned his attention back to the battle unfolding in front of him by calling on each platoon leader and requesting a SITREP. The 2nd Platoon reported destroying six vehicles, but had been unable to stop five vehicles that had disappeared south of the village. Bannon assumed that these tracks were going to swing south, using the village for cover, and either make a run for the small valley or go up the hill where Team Bravo was. The Mech Platoon had to be ready to deal with them.
The 3rd Platoon, being at closer range, was enjoying a higher percentage of first-round hits. They had dealt easily with all the tracks that had been exposed on front slope of hill across the way and were now playing a cat-and-mouse game with Soviet tracks still emerging from the tree line. Observing through his extension, Bannon watched as the 3rd Platoon allowed two or three Soviet tracks to emerge and start down the hill. When they were 100 meters or so from any cover, the whole platoon would fire. In a flash the Soviet tracks, still appearing as green blobs in the thermal sight, would stop, then glow brighter as the heat of onboard fires provided a clearer, more intense thermal image.
A spot report from Harding, the Mech Platoon leader, alerted Bannon to the fact that the five Soviet tracks that had disappeared to the south of the village were now moving up the small valley. This small Soviet force consisted of two T-72s and three BMPs. While the voice of the platoon leader who would soon be engaging them betrayed no nervousness or confusion, Bannon became apprehensive. It would have been far better, he thought, if there were some tanks in the small valley to deal with the T-72s due to his lack of confidence in the Dragons’ ability to stop tanks.
It was a disaster, a bloody disaster, and there wasn’t a damned thing the Soviet major could do but carry out the insanity he found himself in to its final conclusion. A quick check revealed that only two tanks and two other BMPs had made it with him across the valley and into the mouth of the small east-to-west valley he was expected to advance up. He had no idea what in the hell he was going to do once he was in it. Figuring that out would have to wait for now. At the moment, all he wanted to do was to get out of the Americans’ kill zone and find some cover. To this end, the major turned his small force toward a walled farm complex at the head of the small valley in the hoped that it would provide the tattered remnants of his battalion who were still with him with shelter from the brutal pounding his battalion was taking from the American tanks.
The Mech Platoon was ready for the Soviets who were fast closing on their positon. Using sound-powered phones connected in a loop, the platoon leader passed his instructions down to Polgar and the squad leaders. The two Dragons and the dismounted infantry in the farm would take out the two T-72 tanks. Polgar, with his two Dragons and the M2 machineguns, would take on the BMPs and provide suppressive fires. For good measure, in case a Dragon missed its mark, the infantrymen in the farm had light antitank rockets, called LAWs, at the ready.
They allowed the Soviets to advance to within 300 meters of the farm before the Platoon cut loose. At that range, it was very difficult to miss with a Dragon. They didn’t. On Harding’s order, every machinegun and Dragon launcher in the Platoon cut loose.
The speed and accuracy with which modern weapons are capable of killing is as awesome as it is frightening. Had they survived the Dragons and the massed machineguns, the Soviets would have been most impressed by the performance of the Mech Platoon. As it was, the Soviet major had just enough time to realize his last roll of the dice had come up craps.
As before, the firing died away slowly. This last fight had lasted some twenty minutes from when the enemy first vehicle had appeared, to when Bannon finally gave the order to ceasefire. Somewhere during that time, the Soviet artillery barrage on the headquarters position and to the Team’s front had stopped. As the smoke screen dissipated, the shattered remains of twenty-three newly smashed and burning hulks had been added to the previous carnage in the valley to the Team’s right front. The eight T-72s and fifteen BMPs amounted to more than a company, but less than a motorized rifle battalion. The why of this did not concern Bannon just then. All that was important was that the Soviets had stopped coming. Like two fighters after a round, the opponents were back in their corners, licking their wounds and eyeing each other for the next round.
Reports started to come in from the platoons, but Bannon cut them off as he tried to establish commo with Uleski. When his calls to the XO received no response, Second Lieutenant McAlister, the 2nd Platoon leader, reported that his flank tank could see a burning vehicle to its rear. Upon hearing this, Bannon immediately contacted First Sergeant Harrert and instructed him to get up to the XO’s location with the M-113 ambulance attached to the Team and the M-88 recovery vehicle. As soon as the first sergeant acknowledged, Bannon pulled 66 out of position and headed up the hill to the headquarters position.
Enroute he checked in with 2nd Platoon to learn if there was still evidence of a chemical agent. McAlister reported that he had no indications of any agent at his location and requested permission to unmask. This was granted. The 3rd Platoon was instructed to do likewise after they had conducted a survey of their area for contamination. Because Alpha 66 was headed into the center of where the chemical attack had been directed, Bannon decided it was best if he and his crew remained masked.
As they neared the position, the logging trail that had run behind the position was no longer there. Shell craters, smashed and uprooted trees dimly lit by the failing light of late evening and small fires slowed their progress as Ortelli took his time carefully picking his way through the debris. Despite his skill, the craters and irregular pattern into which the trees had fallen threatened to throw one of 66’s tracks as they proceeded. Through the shattered forest Bannon could make out a burning vehicle, causing his heart to sink lower than it already was. The last fight, unlike the first, had been costly.
The condition of the three tracks that had been occupying the headquarters position matched that of the shattered forest around them. One of the ITVs was lying on its side, burning. Its aluminum armor, glowing cherry red, was already collapsing into the center of the shattered remains by the time Alpha 66 came upon it. Burning rubber and diesel combined to create a thick, roiling black pillar of smoke, adding to the grim scene Bannon beheld. The TOW launcher of the second ITV was mangled, with bits and pieces of electrical components dangling by clusters of tangled wires. Between the ITVs sat Alpha 55, around which several figures could be seen moving. When Bannon saw they were unmasked, he ordered his own crew to do so as well once the tank had stopped.
Dismounting, Bannon carefully picked his way through the maze of uprooted trees and shell holes toward where Uleski was kneeling next to a figure on the ground. Upon hearing Bannon approaching, he glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing. Instead, he turned his attention back at the figure.
Besides the man Uleski was with, Bannon could see five more who were either lying on the ground or leaning up against the damaged ITV. Even from a distance, he could tell that they were all badly wounded. The temptation to go over to them and see what he could do was quelled by a compelling need to check on the condition of his XO. Besides, Alpha 55’s gunner and loader were already doing all they could for the wounded despite having no idea where to start or how to properly deal with wounded men who had as badly ripped apart as the ITV had been.
Bannon’s deliberations on who needed him the most were interrupted when something underfoot gave way under his weight. Looking down in order to see what he’d stepped on, he froze, then jumped back in horror. What he had thought was a tree branch was an arm, shredded, torn, and bloody.