Sergeant Tinker Shildon, Ellerbee's gunner, in his usual matter-of-fact New England accent and style, answered Ellerbee without moving his head away from the eyepiece of his primary sight or keying his intercom. "Yup. A tank. Looks like 34 got a tank. A T-80 from the looks of what's left of its turret."
Although every tank that wasn't American was a T-80 to Tinker, Ellerbee felt a rush of relief. At least his gunner was on the ball. Ellerbee's relief, however, was short-lived as the voice of the mech company commander came over the earphones of his crewman's helmet. "Alpha Three One, Alpha Three One, this is Charlie Six. Sitrep. Over." Even at that moment, when Ellerbee was still in the throes of confusion and near panic, the soft feminine voice coming over his tank's tactical radio bothered Ellerbee. It shouldn't have. He had told himself over the past three days that such trivial things should not bother him. After all, this was the twenty-first century, and women in combat arms had been a fact of life for many years. But it still did not seem right to him. The idea of going into battle with a woman, let alone listening to her orders, went against just about every convention his society had armed him with. The image of his company commander, standing at five foot eight, with big brown eyes that peered out from under the Kevlar helmet that hid long auburn hair and topped a well-proportioned body that wasn't an ounce over 135 pounds, did not even come close to what Ellerbee pictured as the typical infantryman.
Still she was his commander and at that moment demanding a report that Ellerbee was not prepared to render. Considering his options, Ellerbee tried to decide whether it was better to ignore her call while he contacted Rourk or to swallow his pride and admit over an open company radio net that he didn't know what was going on. Not that he needed to dwell on the subject for long. Taking a deep breath, Ellerbee keyed the radio net and blurted, "CHARLIE SIX, THIS IS ALPHA THREE ONE. WAIT, OUT." Without waiting for a response, Ellerbee released the lever on the side of his crewman's helmet that keyed the radio, reached over to the radio's remote control box, and changed the radio's frequency from the company command net to his platoon's radio net. She could wait, he thought. It was, after all, his platoon in contact.
A little less than a kilometer away, in a hidden position overlooking the bridge and river, Captain Nancy Kozak, commander of Charlie Company, 3rd Battalion, 3rd Infantry, sat perched on top of her Bradley. Looking out across the river at the burning hull of a T-80 tank, she thought a moment about Ellerbee's response. He didn't know what was going on. In her heart she knew without asking or needing to press the point. Easing herself down into her seat, Kozak looked over to her gunner, Sergeant Danny Wolf. There was a broad grin on Wolf's face. "The boy's fucked up, ain't he?"
Though Kozak didn't care for Wolf's referring to a second lieutenant as boy, she didn't say anything about it. Instead she nodded. "I think so. Let's find out." Bending over and twisting her body so that she was facing to the rear into the crew compartment of her Bradley, Kozak called out to Specialist Paul Paden, her radioman. "Pee, switch the aux receiver to the tank platoon's frequency."
Paden, whom everyone, including Kozak, referred to as Pee Pee, or Pee for short, was facing the radio. Acknowledging Kozak's order with a thumbs-up, Paden reached over to the auxiliary radio receiver and flipped the frequency control knobs until he hit the one assigned to Ellerbee's platoon. As soon as he did, the aux receiver's speaker came to life. "THREE FOUR, THREE FOUR, THIS IS THREE ONE. I SAY AGAIN, WHAT'S GOING ON OVER THERE? OVER." Ellerbee's voice was excited. Wolf chuckled. "Told you he was fucked up."
From a distance the report of a tank firing drifted over to Kozak's Bradley. Kozak ignored Wolf's comment and continued to lean over and listen to the aux receiver.
"THIS IS THREE FOUR. WE'RE ENGAGING SOME T-80 TANKS ON THE OTHER SIDE OF THE RIVER AT A RANGE OF 2700 METERS. OVER."
There was a pause. Then Ellerbee came on again. "THIS IS THREE ONE. DO YOU HAVE A GRID FOR THE LOCATION AND NUMBER OF THE T-80S? OVER."
Rourk's response to Ellerbee's request for a grid was quick, short, and final. "THREE ONE, I'M TRYING TO ENGAGE. I'LL REPORT WHEN I CAN. OUT."
Drawing in a deep breath, Kozak fought to control her anger. To have a subordinate cut her off as Ellerbee had, even in the heat of battle, was too much for her. After all, how could she, a company commander, coordinate and mass fires if her platoon leaders didn't submit accurate and timely reports? Stuffing her anger as best she could, Kozak told Paden to contact the engineer platoon and find out if they were under fire, then to contact 2nd Platoon, which was on the other side of the river covering the engineers, and find out if they were in contact.
Turning away, Kozak noticed that Wolf was grinning. "What's so funny, Sergeant?"
"Told ya the boy was fucked up."
Rather than become upset with Wolf, Kozak nodded. "You know, you're right, Sergeant Wolf. How about we go down there and straighten out poor Lieutenant Ellerbee?"
Wolf's smile disappeared in a flash. The thought of moving around in the middle of a firelight didn't seem like a good idea to him, especially since they would be going right where the enemy return fire was bound to be the thickest. He didn't, however, say anything. Kozak was serious. As dangerous as it would be, Wolf knew that it was the only thing, given Ellerbee's inability to control his platoon, that made sense. Besides, Wolf knew it was Kozak's style. In every training exercise, she simply could not stay out of the middle of things. Unable to get a clear view of what was happening from their position, Wolf had known in the back of his mind that Kozak's ordering them to move closer was only a matter of time.
"Sure thing, Captain." Turning away from Kozak, Wolf yelled over the intercom to Specialist Tish, the driver. "Hey, Terri, crank this bad boy up. The CO wants to go down and talk to them tankers."
The stunned silence that followed the explosion and the resulting fireball at the nuclear weapons storage site south of Svalyava seemed to last an eternity. The area outside the tunnel entrance was plunged into darkness as the security lights finally were snuffed out when the power to them was cut by the explosion. Like a gun's barrel, the access tunnel aimed the fireball and the main force of the explosion in a straight line across the open area out toward the road, wiping away the mortar section and leveling the cinder block guard shack before its force dissipated into the night. Members of the 1st and 2nd platoons who had been deployed along the chainlink fence or were off to either side of the access tunnel were unaffected physically by the explosion. Everyone else was either dead, dying, or simply gone.
Wide-eyed, Pape looked back at the tunnel. From the gaping mouth of the tunnel he could see the faint glow of fires burning inside. "What the hell happened? What's going on?" He was excited, almost screeching. Pulling away from the rocks and small berm of dirt that had provided cover to his front, Pape began to get up on his knees before Ilvanich's hand grabbed him by the shoulder and kept him from doing so.