One by one the leadership of Team Yankee gathered around the rear of the first sergeant’s PC, map case and notebook tucked under arm with breakfast and coffee in hand as they had done just twenty-four hours earlier. But this morning was different. The nervous apprehension of previous day was gone. They still had the same slightly haggard and disheveled look from too little sleep and too much stress all soldiers who had been in the field too long wore. That was to be expected. Today, however, there was also a look of confidence on everyone’s face, a calm, steady look. In the words of Civil War veterans, they had seen the elephant and having done so, had been changed forever.
It made little difference that the Team had been incredibly lucky, that their task had been simple and straightforward. It didn’t matter that the new mission was going to turn the tables around and expose the Team to the same punishment that it had given to the Soviets. What did was that they had won their first battle, erasing any doubts as to their equipment, their leadership, and their own perceived ability to face combat. The Team was ready to move forward and tackle its new mission.
The meeting started with a discussion of the previous day’s action. Just as they had done numerous times after a training exercise, the officers and senior NCOs present went over step-by-step what had happened. First the platoon leaders gave their account and observations. Then Bannon gave his. This was followed by a brief discussion on what needed to be done better the next time. With that aside, Bannon issued the completed Team operations order that he had worked on earlier that morning. After he finished, Unger went over the fire-support plan in detail and answered any questions. Bannon ended his portion of the meeting by informing the platoon leaders he would visit each of them for a one-on-one brief back of their platoon plans. In the meantime, they were to prepare for the attack.
Bannon was about to turn the meeting over to the XO and first sergeant so that they could cover the Team’s admin and maintenance chores when a call from battalion put an end to his plan to catch up on some sleep. There was going to be a meeting in thirty minutes at the battalion CP to go over the new mission. Not wanting to move 66 out of position, he decided to use Harrert’s PC. While the platoon leaders moved and the PC prepared to roll, Bannon quickly shaved and washed his hands and face. Cleaning up was going to make him late, but it was a matter of pride that he look as sharp as possible. He might be miserable, but he didn’t have to look miserable. Standards had to be preserved.
The lack of change at the battalion CP struck Bannon as odd. He really couldn’t say what should have been different. But something should have been. Back at Team Yankee he could feel the change that had occurred between yesterday morning and this morning. The CP, on the other hand, was still running as if it were conducting a training exercise. The M-577 command post vehicles were parked side by side with their canvas tent extensions set up and connected with a massive camouflage net covered the tracks and extensions. Around this was barbed wire with one entrance guarded by a soldier checking access passes as staff officers and other commanders entered the tactical operations center, or TOC. Somehow, this just seemed wrong to Bannon.
While the outside was quiet and peaceful, the inside was alive with the usual chaos that comes before the issuance of an operations order. At one end of the crowded space staff officers and NCOs busily updating and preparing maps and charts for the briefing. Team commanders gather in a corner, quietly talking amongst themselves. The XO sat with the battalion commander in the middle going over maintenance and supply matters with him. The sight of all this running around, confusion, and last-minute preparation by the staff left Bannon wondering what they had been doing all night. Not that that wasn’t hard to figure out. The lack of haggard faces and bags under the eyes of the staff officers and their NCOs betrayed the fact that late nights and little sleep were not a part of their daily routine. How long, he wondered, was that going to last.
Off to one side was First Lieutenant Peterson, formerly the XO, was sitting in the seat his commanding officer should have been occupying. Dirty and disheveled, his gaunt, vacant expression stood in sharp contrast to everyone around him. Bannon watched for a few minutes while Peterson simply sat there, staring down at the map and notebook he held in his lap. Everyone in the crowded TOC was making a valiant effort to ignore him, for those who hadn’t seen the elephant yet didn’t know how to treat him.
Bannon felt sorry for Peterson. Yesterday had been an emotional nut roll for Team Yankee despite the fact that he had been in command for ten months and had been training his people for what happened. It must have been sheer hell for Peterson to watch his team get ripped to shreds, then be given the job of pulling what remained together. The treatment the staff was giving him was, in Bannon’s opinion, beyond cold. It was downright cruel. Yet having come to that conclusion, Bannon found himself at a loss as to what he could do to help the poor bastard. In the end, despite his feelings, he did as the others were doing. He did his best to avoid Lieutenant Peterson.
Major Willard, the battalion XO, began by going over the briefing sequence before turning to the intelligence officer, or S-2, who began the formal portion of the briefing. With pointer in hand and every hair in place, he went over the big picture, talking about how the hostile forces had initiated hostilities, how this combined arms army was driving here, and that combined arms army was pushing there, and some tank army was moving forward ready to exploit the penetration to our north.
The situation in NORTHAG, or Northern Army Group, was already grim according to him. Soviet airborne forces had seized Bremerhaven. Soviet ground forces were making good progress and had broken through in several areas. In CENTAG, or Central Army Group where both forward-deployed US corps were, the situation wasn’t nearly as bad. While one could claim that US forces made the difference there, anyone who understood Germany’s geography and Soviet strategy knew better. The terrain in NORTHAG was far more conducive to massed, mobile warfare than the hilly, heavily forested landscape of central and southern Germany. The North German Plain provided a natural highway for armies to flow from the east to the west across Germany and into Holland, Belgium, and France. By luck of the draw and post-World War II political agreements, the US had the easiest and least important area to defend.
As interesting as the overall picture was, Bannon needed to know what enemy forces were facing his Team as well as the composition, locations, and strength of the Soviet forces in the area where the battalion was going to attack. But instead of nuts and bolts, the S-2 continued to lecture them on skyscrapers. When he finished and turned to sit down without mentioning anything about the Soviet forces they would be facing, Bannon half jumped out of his seat.
“Wait a minute! What about the people across the valley from us? What are they doing now and what do you expect them to do?”
For a moment the S-2 looked at Bannon as if he didn’t understand the question. “Oh. Well, I don’t think they will be doing much after the pounding we gave them.” With that, he continued to his seat.