Team Yankee: a novel of World War III (32 page)

While the medic began to work on Avery, Tessman explained what had happened. Avery had been standing up in the cupola when the missile hit. The force of the explosion from the main gun rounds set off by the missile hit him squarely in the head and back. The lieutenant simply dropped down to the turret floor. Fortunately for the rest of the crew, the ballistic doors that separated the crew from the stored ammunition had been closed. Some flames did get into the crew compartment, but nothing serious. The tank stopped and the halon fire extinguishers activated. After the

explosions stopped, they abandoned the tank and did what they could for the lieutenant.

There wasn't much that they, or the medic, could do for Avery. He was in a

very bad way with massive wounds and severe burns on his back and head. The medic told the first sergeant that they needed to get him medevacked right away or they would lose him. With the help of the crew, Avery was placed

on

a stretcher and loaded into the ambulance which took off for the battalion aid station.

With the ambulance gone, the first sergeant and Tessman began to look over 21. They had the driver try to start the engine but to no avail. The 21 would have to be towed back to the rear by the M-88 recovery vehicle. Looking into the turret and the burned out ammo storage compartment, Harrert commented that the tank would probably be back in action within twenty-four hours. Tessman, observing that this was the second time that this tank had been hit, dryly replied that they should retire it and use it

for spare parts. Harrert agreed, but noted that the U.S. Army was fast running out of tanks and couldn't afford to throw them away simply because they had had a run of bad luck. To that, Tessman offered 21 to the first sergeant after it had been repaired. The first sergeant had to stop and think about that one. Maybe this tank should be scrapped.

The Soviet tank company commander did not like the idea of moving through the woods in single file. He would have preferred to have gone north past the town of Langen. By doing that, the company, and the battalion following it, would have been able to deploy into combat formation before making contact with the Americans. The regimental commander, however, had vetoed that idea because of the activity of American reconnaissance helicopters. To have gone through Langen would have exposed them to observation. Not only would the regiment lose the element of surprise, they would also be open to attack from the air.

Instead, the lead tank battalion was winding its way along trails through the woods in order to maintain the element of surprise.

There were few options open to him. Once his tanks began coming out of the woods high on the hill, they would be visible to everyone in the valley. After they had been observed, there would be little time to take advantage of their surprise. Therefore, rather than have the three tanks of his lead platoon, the regiment's combat patrol, go out on its own, he had them pull back with the rest of the company. To succeed, they had to take chances.

He

gambled that his commander would not find out that he had pulled in the combat patrol, and the company would not stumble into an ambush. Thus the entire company was bunched up as they neared the edge of the woods overlooking the valley. The company would therefore be able to clear the tree line and deploy into a tight battle formation rapidly. It was a good plan, and he was sure that it would work.

The only thing that could possibly go wrong now was an antitank ambush along the trail they were on. If the lead tank was hit, the others would

be

backed up, unable to bypass or fight. The thought of such a thing gave the tank company commander chills. The sooner he was out of these damned woods and in battle formation, the better, as far as he was concerned.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

Counterattack.

Air Force Maj. Orrin "The Snowman" Snow was pissed. As he led his wingman to where their two A-lOs were to loiter and wait for good targets, he reflected that the people running Flight Operations had to be morons. He could understand how the Army pukes could screw up. Hell, most of them couldn't tell the difference between their planes and the Russians', let alone what to do with them. But getting the royal weenie from your own people was too much. It was bad enough that they had had to fight their way through enemy flak that wasn't supposed to be there to get at the target. But then to discover that the target wasn't there now, if it ever had been there, was too much.

Now the two A-lOs, having barely made it back from behind the enemy lines, were being diverted into a holding pattern where they would wait until a good target was nominated. It made sense. It would have been dumb to send the aircraft back to the air field loaded with ordnance. But Snowman wasn't interested in logic right now. He was madder than hell for wasting their time and being sent on a worthless mission. If someone didn't come up with a good mission fast, he was going to lead the other A-10 to Flight Ops and bomb it, just for the hell of it.

The Team was making good progress, too good. Colonel Reynolds called Bannon and ordered him to slow down. C company was having a hard time keeping up, creating a large gap between Team Yankee and it. The colonel wanted to keep the companies close together. Bannon turned around in the cupola and looked back at the Mech Platoon. They were having no problem keeping up with the tanks. He couldn't imagine what the problem was with C company. Those boys were having a rough morning.

As he prepared to give the necessary orders to slow their rate of advance, the thought occurred to him that the longer he took to give the order, the farther they would go. At their current speed, every second he delayed meant the Team advanced another meter. The faster they went, the less time the Soviets had to throw something at them. A few extra minutes could mean the difference between seizing a bridge over the Saale intact or finding them all destroyed. Of course, speed could work against the Team. If it got far ahead and ran into trouble, the rest of the battalion might not be able to catch up in time to pull its chestnuts out of the fire. Orders were orders and, as they say, discretion was the better part of valor. Team Yankee slowed down for the third time that morning.

As his tanks began to spill out of the woods onto the slope overlooking the valley, the Soviet tank company commander gave one short command. Like the well-drilled machine it was, the company rapidly deployed into a combat line. Once all the tanks were on line, they began to pick up speed and search for targets.

From their vantage point, this was not a difficult task. Before them, on the valley floor deployed in a great vee, was a company of armored personnel carriers and TOW vehicles being led by a small gaggle of three more personnel carriers. A quick count revealed that there were at least fifteen, maybe as many as twenty personnel carriers to their front less than four kilometers away. It had to be an American mechanized infantry company. The Russian commander watched the advance of his

tanks, now moving at a rate of over forty kilometers per hour. The absence of American tanks with the personnel carriers worried him. The fact that the personnel carriers were M-113s and not the new Bradleys pleased him. But there had been reports of tanks. He would have, liked to have taken out the tanks in the first volley. They were the greatest threat to his company. The M-113s would have been easy to deal with after the tanks. But, without any tanks in sight, the American mechanized company would be dealt with first. No doubt, once the shooting began, the American tanks would come out of hiding.

Even with his CVC on and 66's engine running, the sharp crack of tank cannons firing was clearly audible to Bannon as the sound reverberated through the valley. Automatically, he straightened up and looked around to see who was under fire. There were no telltale puffs of smoke or dust clouds from tank cannons to the front. A quick scan to the rear revealed nothing. Someone was shooting someone.

"BRAVO 3 ROMEO-THIS IS ROMEO 25-WHO IS UNDER FIRE AND WHERE'S IT

COMING

FROM?OVER."

Both tank platoons rapidly reported back that they were not under fire. It was the Mech Platoon that provided the answer.

"ROMEO 25-THIS IS ZULU 77-1 THINK THE PEOPLE THAT WERE FOLLOWING US

ARE

UNDER ATTACK-I CAN SEE SEVERAL FIRES BEHIND USOVER."

Bannon turned completely around in the cupola and stood as high as he could. In the distance, to the rear of the Mech Platoon, he now could clearly see four pillars of black smoke rising into the air. C company had been hit. But from where? By whom? And why no reports from battalion? He dropped down and switched to the battalion net to try to contact the battalion commander. When there was no response, Bannon tried to contact the S-3. Still no luck.

It was the D company commander who told him what was going on. In rapid-fire fragments he reported that C company

was under attack from Soviet tanks coming from the east. He went on to report that he was deploying his company into a hasty defense along the road from Issel to Korberg. There was no time to get away. With that, he dropped off the net and stayed off despite Bannon's efforts to contact him. No doubt he was busy running his company.

He then contacted the Team Bravo commander to learn if he was in contact. Lieutenant Peterson reported that he was not in contact but could see the Soviet tanks coming down off the hill to the east. He estimated that there were at least ten, maybe more. He couldn't make out what kind they-were but since they were shooting on the move and hitting, he figured that they were T-72s or better.

It was clear that the battalion was in trouble. The battalion commander and the S-3 could not be reached. C company was probably scattered and fighting for its life. D company had checked out of the net as it prepared to greet the Russian onslaught. That left Team Yankee and Bravo with Bannon the senior officer. Suddenly he found himself in the position of being in command of half the battalion and having to come up with a solution to the nightmare or face losing the whole damned battalion. As these thoughts ran through his mind like a runaway locomotive, Team Yankee continued to move north, away from the battle, at a rate of one meter a second.

The Soviet tank company commander could feel the adrenaline run through his veins. They were closing on the Americans. Already a half-dozen personnel carriers were burning hulks with the rest scattering to get out of the way. All semblance of order had been lost as the Americans turned and ran. Surprise had been complete. Now they were reaping the benefits that their speed, fire, and shock effect had created.

With curt orders he directed the fire of his platoons. A report that there were more personnel carriers deploying to the west of the road drew his attention to the ten or twelve that were some three kilometers away. These carriers were dropping their ramps to let their infantry dismount. The tank

company would have to finish the first enemy company fast and get to the second before they had time to set up a viable defense. Speed was critical! He began to issue new orders to his platoon leaders.

With little chance to think the whole problem out, Bannon began to issue orders. On the battalion net, he ordered Team Bravo to turn east, cross the north-south road, go about a kilometer, then turn south, and take the Soviets under fire in the flank with TOWS and tanks.

When Peterson acknowledged those orders, Bannon dropped down to the Team net and ordered the FIST chief to call for all the artillery and close air support he could and to get into position from which he could control it.

He then ordered the Mech Platoon to move to the southeast along the tree line into the gap formed by the two hills to their right. He was sure that the Soviets had come from there and expected more would follow. The Mech Platoon was to set up an antiarmor ambush in the woods and keep the Soviets from reinforcing the company already in the valley. The two tank platoons and the XO were ordered to follow 66.

As 66 turned east and headed up the hill to the tree line, Bannon explained over the Team net what they were going to do. Once they reached the tree line, they would turn south, following the tree line. When they got to the gap, if there were more Soviet tanks already coming out, they would hit them in the flank. If, however, Polgar got to the gap first, the tanks would turn west once they reached the gap and attack the Soviets in the rear. The Mech Platoon would be left to deal with any follow-on Soviets as best they could.

It was all Uleski could do to hang on. The Team commander had his tank roaring along the tree line at full speed, with the rest of the tanks in the Team trying hard to keep up. The Mech Platoon had taken off on its own as soon as it had its orders. To their right they could see the battle in the valley. A dozen burning tracks were scattered about the area. The Soviet tanks were clearly visible as they fired and

moved forward. At the ranges the Soviets were firing at, they seldom missed. Gwent, the gunner, kept his gun laid on the Soviets below. The range was too great even if the Team commander had given them permission to fire. At the rate they were moving, however, that would not be a problem in a few minutes.

Uleski could feel his blood rising as he worked himself into a rage in preparation for the upcoming battle. He stoked the fires of his hatred of the Soviets by recalling how his first driver, Thomas Lorriet, had died. The image of the young soldier's body on the ground that first day pushed aside any last shred of compassion he had for the enemy as he cursed the Russians out loud over the whine of 55's engine.

As his tank raced along behind 66, Garger realized that he was thoroughly enjoying himself.

At first, it was frightening. Men were dying there in the valley. In a few minutes he would be in the middle of the fray, adding to the killing and, if his luck ran out, being killed himself. The very idea that he should be enjoying this seemed inappropriate at first. But there was no denying the feeling. He had never felt so alive. Standing in the turret of 31 as it raced along, the image of the U.S. cavalry riding out to the rescue flashed through his mind. The only things missing from this scene were the troop's guidon and a bugler sounding the charge.