The waiting was over. The balloon had gone up. Team Yankee was at war.
Despite his best efforts to give the impression that the current situation was nothing to worry about in the days leading up to his departure for the Inter Zonal Boarder that separated East and West Germany, Sean had quietly begun to make sure that his family’s affairs were in order. He saw to it that Pat had her emergency evacuation kit ready with food, water, and blankets set aside. To this he added an envelope containing important family documents and a listing of such things as bank account numbers, credit card companies, the addresses of family members in the states and, most important of all, a copy of his most current last will and testament. These efforts, while possibly reassuring to Sean, were disquieting to Pat. But she said nothing, listened intently to Sean’s instructions while silently praying that none of what she was hearing was going to be necessary.
Pat had known it would be Sean’s last night home when he came in, for in his eyes she saw a look of disbelief that the unfolding crisis had reached a critical and unavoidable impasse. She saw the same thing in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. When little Sean ran up to his father, rather than taking him to bed, Sean carried him over to the sofa, pulled out the family album, and began to leaf slowly through the pages. The two sat there quietly looking at the pictures until little Sean fell asleep. It was with great reluctance that Sean put his son to bed where he lingered for the longest time. When he finally did come out of his children’s room, his eyes were red and moist. For a moment he looked at Pat, then simply said that he was going to go to bed. Pat went with him.
Not long after they had, the phone in the other room rang. Sean was up and out in a flash, as if he had never gone to sleep but had been lying there waiting for the call. When he came back, Pat watched him for a moment in the shadows of the dark bedroom as he gathered up his uniform and boots. When she spoke, she startled him. “Are you going in already?”
“Yes. Gotta. Wouldn’t look good for the CO to be late, would it?”
“Will you be home for breakfast?”
“No.”
“Should I hold supper for you tonight?”
“No.”
With that, Pat knew. And Sean knew Pat knew. After eight years of marriage, it’s hard to hide secrets, and even harder to hide feelings. Sean didn’t even try. Coming over to the bed, he sat next to his wife. “Pat, the battalion is moving to the border in an hour. I don’t know when we’ll be back.”
“Is everyone going?”
“Everyone. The NATO ministers and their governments are mobilizing. Everyone is going, including you.”
“Are they really going to evacuate?”
“Starting this morning at 0900. It’s no great secret. It was going to be announced later today anyway.”
As he finished dressing, Pat also dressed. There was much to do. Sean was in the children’s bedroom by the time she’d finished. Pausing in the door of their bedroom, she watched him for a moment before heading off to the kitchen where she fixed a bag lunch for him. As she was finishing it, all the restraint she had exercised thus far, and all her efforts to see Sean off with a cheery face and smile collapsed. She began to cry. Her husband was going out the door in a minute to fight World War III, and all she could do for him was fix him a bag lunch.
CHAPTER 2
FIRST BATTLE
Both Colonel Reynolds and Captain Bannon stood there transfixed, staring at the point where the two Russian jets had disappeared up the valley. Bannon’s mind was almost numb. He kept trying to convince himself that maybe he hadn’t really seen two Russian jets, that maybe he was mistaken. It had to be a mistake, he told himself. “We can’t really be at war. That isn’t possible. We can’t.”
As if in response to Bannon’s desperate effort to deny the reality of their situation, a crash and rumble like distant thunder rolled over them, causing the two commanders snapped their heads back toward the east. From where they stood, they could only see the hill across the valley. But neither man needed to see beyond that to know what the distant noise was. An endless chain of distant crashes and rumblings caused by hundreds of guns could only be the Soviets’ preparatory bombardment on the cavalry’s forward positions.
Bannon turned and looked at the colonel who continued to stare east as if he were trying to see through the hill across from them. The numbness and shock Bannon had felt was giving way to a sickening, sinking feeling. They had failed. The primary purpose of the US Army in Europe was to prevent war. Deterrence. That’s what was supposed to happen. But it had failed. Something terrible had gone wrong, and they, NATO, the United States, the United States Army, his unit, and he had failed. Now they had to fight. They were at war. And at that moment, Bannon felt very alone, very unsure of himself, and very scared.
Eventually Reynolds turned toward Bannon and took to regarding him with an expression that betrayed nothing. If he were feeling the same things, he wasn’t showing it. Reynolds, on the other hand, saw the shock and uncertainty on Bannon’s face. He had seen that very same look before, in Vietnam, so Bannon’s reactions didn’t surprise him.
“Well, Captain, let’s see if those buckets of bolts you always brag about are worth the money the government spent on them,” he muttered in same gravely tone of voice he often used when addressing a subordinate. “Get your company in MOPP level II, standby to occupy your fighting positions, and stay on the net, but don’t call me unless you need to. I expect the cavalry will come screaming back through that passage point like a whipped dog. Be ready to cover them and get them out of the way as fast as you can. Any questions?”
Bannon took in what the colonel was saying. What was there to question? This was what all the training was about. All their preparations were for this moment. Now all they had to do was put it into action. “No, sir, no questions.”
“Well then, get moving and good hunting.” Without waiting for a response, the colonel pivoted sharply on his heels and began to move back to his jeep with a quick, purposeful pace. He did not look back. Reynolds was setting the example, one he expected Bannon to follow.
As Bannon turned back toward the PC where he had left the platoon leaders, a new series of artillery concentrations could be heard impacting closer to the Team’s positions. Additional Soviet artillery units were joining in, hitting the cavalry’s rear positions. The latest series were coming down just behind the hill on the other side of the valley.
“Hell, the colonel could be cool and walk,” Bannon muttered to himself. “This is my first war and I damn sure don’t care about impressing anyone with my calm right now.” With that thought in mind, he broke out into a slow run, weapon, protective mask, and canteen bouncing and banging against his body as he trotted through the trees to the PC.
As he neared the PC, Bannon could see the platoon leaders, Uleski, and the first sergeant watching the colonel’s jeep go tearing down the logging trail, throwing up stones and disappearing in a cloud of dust. They too had heard the jets and the artillery and understood what they meant. Upon seeing them, Bannon slowed down to a walk, caught his breath, and moved up to them before they had a chance to shift their attention away from the cloud of duct kicked up by the colonel’s jeep and over to him.