Bannon was not ready to wake. It was too soon, far too soon to end his escape from reality and misery. Even with the protective mask on and lying on the hard turret roof, the sleeping bag was too comfortable to surrender without a struggle. It was just too damned soon to get up.
But Folk was persistent. As soon as he registered a muffled obscenity and some independent movement on his commander’s part, he gave one more shake before seeing to it the rest of the crew was stirring.
In less than thirty minutes it would be dawn. The second day of World War III, and, as far as Bannon was concerned, just as difficult to greet as the first had been. The pain from sleeping on a hostile surface, the dullness of the mind from too little sleep, and the realization that this day would be no better than the last was a poor way to begin the day.
Sitting up, he leaned forward and squinted at Folk, trying to see if he was masked. Satisfied that he wasn’t, Bannon removed his protective mask and paused to relish the feeling of cool morning air hitting his face. After sweating for two hours with the rubber mask against his skin, it was a relief to be able to breath the crisp, unfiltered morning air. Looking around, he saw Kelp stowing his gear. Folk was ordering Ortelli to crank up the tank. It was 0400. All around them, in the dark forest the sound of other tracks doing likewise could be heard. At least some of the Team was awake and alert.
Only after he’d finished stowing Folk’s sleeping bag and relieve himself by standing on Alpha 66’s back deck and pissing off to the side did Bannon climb down to his position as Folk slid to the gunner’s position. Still groggy, but at least functioning, the crew went through their checks while they waited for stand-to and the new dawn. Computer checks, weapon checks, thermal sight check, engine readings and indications, ammo stowage and count were all ticked off until Bannon was satisfied Alpha 66 was ready.
Just before dawn, Lieutenant McAlister reported that he and his platoon were observing a group of six to eight personnel in the woods across the valley from them. Early morning is the best time for detecting targets with the thermal sight because the ground and trees lack any warmth from the long absent sun. McAlister requested permission to engage with the platoon’s caliber .50s. which Bannon vetoed that idea, opting instead to hit the intruders with artillery. That way they would cause the same amount of damage, or more, without having any of the Team’s tanks give away their positions, which was what the people McAlister had spotted were hoping to provoke. Bannon’s best guess was that the dismounted intruders belonged to a recon unit that would either call in and adjust artillery on any targets they spotted or engage with antitank guided missiles if they had them. Either way, they had to go.
At Bannon’s direction, McAlister contacted the FIST Team. Using a known target reference point to shift from, he provided Unger with the location of the target and what the target was. Bannon cut into the conversation and instructed Unger to fire at least three volleys of artillery with mixed fuse settings of super-quick and delayed. The super-quick fuse setting would go off as soon as the round hit the tree branches, creating an air burst effect and showering shell fragments down on exposed personnel. The delayed fuse setting would burrow into the ground, hopefully getting anyone in foxholes. The FIST replied that he would do his best to comply. Bannon urged him to try real hard, with a great deal of emphasis on the word real.
The call for fire took close to five minutes to process. At this hour, this was not surprising. Everyone waited impatiently, hoping that the Russians didn’t leave before the artillery hit. It was almost as if they were preparing to spring a prank on another fraternity. They knew what was coming and the other people didn’t. But this prank was deadly. In a very few moments some of the other “fraternity” brothers would be dead. The more, Bannon thought, the better.
To the rear of Team Yankee, the low rumble of the firing guns could be heard as the FIST called, “SHOT, OVER” on the Team net. McAlister replied, “SHOT, OUT.” Unger’s call of “SPLASH, OVER” was drowned out by the detonation of the impacting rounds.
In an excited, high-pitched voice, McAlister called, “TARGET, FIRE FOR EFFECT. TARGET, FIRE FOR EFFECT.” In the excitement of the moment, he forgot that they were, in fact, firing for effect. From 66, Bannon could see the impact through the trees. He wanted to move 66 forward into its firing position to observe, but knew that would serve little purpose and unnecessarily expose his tank and crew. So he sat where he was, having to content his morbid curiosity by listening to McAlister’s reports.
The guns to the rear boomed again, followed by another series of impacts. The rounds with super-quick fuse settings burst high in the trees with a brilliant orange ball of fire. For a split second it lit the surrounding trees and area like a small sun. Then it died as fast as it had appeared. Anyone staring at the blast lost his night vision. In its place were bright orange dots the blasts etched in their eyes. The final volley was no less spectacular.
As Bannon waited to hear McAlister’s report on the effects of the barrage, he began to hope the results would be worth the efforts of the artillery. More was involved than merely the act of making the calculations, preparing the rounds, laying the guns, and shooting twenty-four rounds. The firing battery would now have to displace. If the Russians were alert, their target acquisition people would have picked up the flight of these incoming rounds. With some calculations of their own, they would be able to locate the guns and unleash counterbattery fires. It was therefore important for the artillery to shoot ’n’ scoot. In modern combat there is no middle ground, no almost. You’re either quick, or you’re dead.
After observing the area for ten minutes, McAlister reported that neither he nor any other tank in his platoon could detect any more movement in the target area or to the left or right. Bannon therefore reported to battalion that they had engaged and probably killed eight dismounted personnel. Whatever those people had been doing or planning to do, they weren’t going to do it to Team Yankee this morning. The efforts of the cannon cockers were rewarded.
The Soviets were also placing demands on their cannon cockers that morning. The American guns barely had fallen silent when the sky to the east was lit up with distant flashes, followed by the now familiar rumble of distant artillery. At first Bannon thought that it was counterbattery fire searching out the guns that had just fired for the Team. But the crash of the impacting rounds drifted down from the north, not from the rear. After watching and listening to the barrage for five minutes without any noticeable letup, it became obvious that this was more than counterbattery fire. In all likelihood, it was the preparatory fire heralding the attack of the 28th Guards Tank Division.
The night slowly gave way to the new dawn as the Soviet artillery preparation to the north continued. First Sergeant Harrert appeared with breakfast, passing the word to the track commanders to send half of their men at a time back for chow. At first Bannon was apprehensive about allowing the men to dismount for breakfast. He was fearful that the enemy would launch another holding attack against them as they had the day before. If not a ground attack, he at least expected the Soviets to pin the battalion with artillery. But nothing happened. Perhaps, he reasoned, the Soviets didn’t have any more units they could throw away in useless holding attacks. Perhaps the people the Team had hit with artillery across the valley were antitank guided missile teams or artillery forward observers who had had the mission of pinning the battalion. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. As the platoon leaders began to gather for the early morning meeting, he gave up on the second guessing. No one was shooting at him or the Team right now and that, in Bannon’s mind, was all that mattered.