Unlike his platoon, the balance of the Team, after spending a relatively peaceful afternoon near Langen, had been on the run ever since the Team commander had returned with its new mission. Pre-combat checks, preparation for the night move, boresighting the tanks, receiving the Team order, and issuing the platoon order had taken up the balance of the afternoon. Immediately after darkness had fallen, the Team moved out for its forward assembly area where it was to wait for the order to pass through the 2nd of the 94th.
Weiss was pleased with the Team’s mission and the orders Bannon had issued. In order to create the illusion that it was more than a single company sized element, Bannon had divided the Team into two parts. The XO, with the 2nd and 3rd Platoons, would move along a separate route about one kilometer west of the rest of the Team. Bannon, with the 1st Platoon, the Scout Platoon, and the Mech Platoon took a more direct and obvious route toward a highway bridge on the Saale. The order to bypass all resistance and go flat out regardless of the cost pleased both Weiss and Garger. The two lieutenants were tired of being held in check and having to wait for someone else to get their shit together. Although the Team commander tried to dampen their enthusiasm, explaining that moving fast in the face of the enemy was receipt for disaster, the lieutenants were thrilled that they finally were going to have a chance to do some no-holds-barred tanking.
The crack of a tank cannon and the blurted contact report from 3rd Platoon jarred Weiss back to the realities of war. The element with the XO had made contact. The Team commander had been right, Weiss told himself as he straightened up in the cupola and began to scan the horizon with greater care.
No one saw where it had come from. One minute there was nothing. The next minute, there it was. It was as if the BTR-60PB had popped up out of the ground less than two hundred meters in front of Alpha 32. Without slowing his pace, and with a single round that went right through the BTR, Blackfoot destroyed it.
The engagement was over before it even registered on Garger his platoon was in contact. He automatically ordered the platoon to go from a wedge to an echelon formation angled back and to the left. This was done without confusion and without breaking stride. After a quick contact report to the XO, Garger turned back to his front and peered into the darkness. Neither he nor any of his tank commanders were able to detect any further signs of the enemy. As best Garger could tell, the burning BTR, now well to the rear of his platoon had been alone, leaving him to wonder if it was part of a forward security screen. If that was the case, then the Russians knew they were coming.
A tank belonging to the 2nd Platoon, to 3rd Platoon’s right, fired next, causing Garger to whip around to see what it was firing at. Following the tracers from the 2nd Platoon’s rounds, he saw several forms moving away from the Team. A brilliant flash and shower of sparks, followed by an eruption of flames lit up the night. One Soviet tank had been hit and destroyed. A second Russian tank, clearly illuminated by the flames from the one that had been hit, could be seen fleeing north. It did not make it, however. Another tank in 2nd Platoon dispatched it within seconds of the first.
“TANK, TWELVE O’CLOCK, MOVING NORTH!” At first, Garger thought that his gunner was looking at the same tank that he was looking at. Then he realized that the gun tube was still pointed to the left. Dropped down to his sight, he saw the tank his gunner had found. For a moment he hesitated. Bravo Company, 1st of the 4th, was somewhere off to their left. The last thing he wanted to do was fire on a friendly tank.
Garger studied the target in his thermal sight for a moment. He could make out the turret and the tracks. It was definitely moving north. But did it belong to Bravo Company, or was it Russian? Then he noticed that the rear of the tank was dark. The exhaust from an M-l tank is vented out the rear, creating a tremendous heat signature. If the tank was an M-l, its rear would have been bright green. The tank was Russian. Without further delay, Garger issued his fire command, cutting short the flight of another Soviet tank.
When a quick scan of the area to the left and right of the tank they had destroyed showed no sign of any other threats, Garger stood upright in the cupola. As harrowing as the previous day’s engagements had been, the suddenness of these encounters and the unpredictable randomness with which the enemy seemed to be popping up all over was proving to be down right nerve-wracking. “Give me a stand up fight in the open any day of the week,” he muttered to himself.
“What was that, LT?” his gunner called out to him over the intercom.
When Garger realized his CVC push-to-talk was keyed in the intercom lock position, he told his gunner he was just thinking out loud before unkeying his CVC.
Having grown use to the strange ways of officers, the gunner thought nothing of it as he went back to searching for new targets.
The young Ukrainian engineer lieutenant was not pleased with his orders or with having a KGB captain at his side watching his every move. The KGB captain and his people were supposed to be at the bridge to gather up stragglers and control movement. The young lieutenant was smart enough, however, to realize that the squat, stone-faced captain also had the task of ensuring that the people defending the bridge and preparing it for destruction followed orders. Why else did the little shite follow his every move and question every order he gave?
At the moment the officer of engineers had nothing much to do but watch elements of the 15th Guards Tank Division as it withdrew across the bridge. Though no expert on tank tactics, the lack of anything resembling order with which the units were crossing left him with an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of his stomach. A tank unit was followed by a maintenance detachment, which in turn was followed by an artillery unit with a field hospital mixed in. To add to the confusion, the KGB captain would halt units at random and demand to see written orders giving them permission to withdraw to the north side of the river. Most of the units did not have these, having received orders over the radio. The KGB captain knew this, but persisted in stopping units anyway.
The thing that bothered the engineer lieutenant the most was the manner in which the KGB dealt with stragglers. When individuals were spotting crossing without their unit, they were taken over to the side of the road and questioned. At first the KGB captain was called in to consider each case. After awhile, however, he tired of this and allowed a young and enthusiastic KGB lieutenant to deal with the enlisted stragglers. The captain only wanted to be called if there was a need to deal with an officer who could justify his need to retreat north of the river.
Justice, KGB style, was quick. The engineer, at the insistence of the KGB captain, watched each series of executions. Once a straggler was determined to be a deserter, he was put into a small wooden shed at the south end of the bridge. When the shed was full, the convicted deserters were lined up next to the road in full view of the troops moving across the bridge. The KGB lieutenant would read a statement outlining the crimes committed against the State and Party before giving the order to fire. The first time he watched, the engineer lieutenant became violently ill. As he bent over to throw up, the KGB captain slapped him on the back and told him he had nothing to worry about. “Officers who follow their orders need not concern themselves with me or my men. It’s the miscreants I am here to deal with, the scum who value their own miserable hides above the needs of the Motherland.”
The engineer was no fool. He understood the captain’s statement was a promise, not a threat. He also knew that if he dropped the bridge without first receiving permission, the next time the KGB captain slapped his back, there would be a knife in his hand.