With the issue decided and the wheels set in motion, Bannon was anxious to get on with it. This wasn’t going to be a peacetime training exercise. There wouldn’t be an after-action critique to discuss who did well and who didn’t. This was really it. The graves registration people, either Russian or US, would be the ones sorting out the winners from the losers this time. Still, there was always the possibility that the Team just might pull this off, Bannon kept telling himself. He had to think positively, be positive. They had to go out there and make things happen. Like the roll-call sergeant on “Hill Street Blues” told his patrolman every day, “Let’s do it to them, before they do it to us.”
The Mech Platoon set off as ordered. As they broke out of the tree line, they began to deploy into a wedge formation. When their last track was in the open, Bannon gave Ortelli the order to move and joined the formation to the right and a little behind the far right personnel carrier. Unger and his track did likewise behind 66. The 2nd Platoon then began to deploy, each track always a little to the right and a little farther behind the track in front. When the entire Team was deployed, it formed a large wedge that measured 700 to 800 meters at the base with a depth of 500 meters. In this formation they could deal with any threat that appeared to the front or to either flank.
When the Team began its pivot on 2nd Platoon and turned north, Bannon saw the first sergeant’s track and the medic track waiting in the tree line behind the scout platoon position. Harrert stood just out from the tree line alone as he watched the Team roll into the attack. The first, sergeant, whom he had known for several years, was reliable, steady, and a good man to have near in a tight spot. Bannon wondered for a moment what was going through his mind. Given the chance, he imagined Harrert would have traded places with anyone in the Team. It was his company, his people, who were going into the attack, and he was staying behind. Unable to watch, he turned and walked away, pausing once in order to glanced over his shoulder before disappearing into the tree line.
The young Soviet lieutenant played with the remains of his breakfast. It wasn’t fit to eat, he thought, so he might as well get some pleasure from it. Around him his men sat around finishing their meals or simply enjoying the chance to rest. The entire company, or more correctly, what was left of the company, had spent all night preparing fighting positions on the small hill overlooking a town named Lemm. Since there had been no engineer support available, all the work had been done by hand.
On the first day of the war, the company had been with the first attack echelon. Heavy losses, including all of its officers except for him, resulted in the company being pulled out on the second day. But instead of going into reserve, they had been sent to establish an outpost on the regiment’s flank. The lieutenant didn’t much care for the mission. With the exception of two tanks that with him, and three in Lemm, his platoon was all alone. As he often did, he looked at the collection of tired soldiers he had and decided if a fight did come, it wouldn’t last long. Letting his mind wander, he thought that things could have been worse, the regiment could have sent a political officer with him.
As the Team passed between the two tree lines and crested a small hill, the terrain beyond opened up. The hill that was Objective LOG was directly in front about four kilometers away. The German countryside here had thus far escaped the ravages of war. It was lush and green on this August morning, just like countless August mornings before. The very idea that this quiet and beautiful landscape was a battlefield seemed absurd, almost obscene to Bannon.
But it was a battlefield. As the Team left its last cover behind, all eyes for kilometers around were turning on it. The Scout Platoon to the left, and Team Bravo on the right, watched Team Yankee as it rolled forward. Within the Team, all were as ready as they could be for whatever came their way. Guns were oriented to cover assigned sectors and all but the track commanders were buttoned up and ready for action. Like fans at a football game waiting for the opening kickoff, the officers and men of Team Bravo and the scouts watched in morbid curiosity, eager to see what would happen next, thankful that they weren’t the ones out in the open.
The other people, the Soviets, were also watching. Their reactions were different. To a man they scrambled to meet the American attack. Reports were flashed to their commanders. Gunners threw down their mess tins and slid into position. Loaders and ammo bearers prepared to load the next round. A new battlefield was about to mar the much-contested Germany countryside.
Team Yankee had two obstacles that had to be negotiated. The first was a railroad embankment that ran across their front. Going over it wasn’t the problem. All the Team’s tracks could do that with ease. The problem was that it required the Team to slow down. It would break up the formation momentarily and, as the tracks went over it, their soft underbellies would be exposed to enemy fire. If they were going to be hit, this is where Bannon expected it.
As the first track came up and began to go over, Bannon held his breath as he watched the PC crest the embankment, hang there for a moment fully exposed, then drop down to the other side. Two more PCs followed and trundled on without incident. Perhaps the Russians were waiting for the tanks, Bannon mused. Perhaps they wanted to let the PCs go over and let the embankment separate the Team before firing.
Then it was Alpha 66’s turn. Ortelli slowed 66 until it made contact with the embankment. As soon as the tracks bit into it, he gunned the engine, causing 66 to rise up at a steep angle. Instinctively, Folk depressed the gun to keep it level with the far horizon. Bannon grabbed the commander’s override, ready to elevate the gun once they were on the other side. If he didn’t, the depressed gun would dig itself into the ground as 66 went down the other side.
As the tank crested the embankment and started down, Ortelli switched from accelerator to brake while Bannon jerked the commander’s override back, elevating the gun. Folk kept fighting for control of the gun, but didn’t get it back until 66 was on level ground again. Once he had control of it, he reoriented the gun and went back to searching for targets.
With the first obstacle behind 66, Bannon turned in the cupola and watched the rest of the Team’s tanks made their way up and over the embankment two at a time. Satisfied that they were not going to be hit there, he faced front and eyed the next obstacle, a stream that, like the railroad embankment, ran perpendicular to their direction of travel. The first PC was already down in the stream and halfway across when he caught sight of it. The stream itself was not very wide. Centuries of erosion, however, had created a ditch some twenty meters in width with embankments a meter high. Upon reaching it, Ortelli eased 66 down into the streambed, crossed with ease, and began to climb the far bank. They were halfway up it when the shit hit the fan.
Several flashes from the hill that was Objective LOG were followed almost instantly by a thud and the appearance of a column of dirt in front of 66. “REVERSE! REVERSE! GET BACK IN THE DITCH!” The sudden change in direction threw everyone on 66 forward. Bannon reached for the smoke grenade dischargers and fired a volley. The six grenades launched and shrouded 66 in a curtain of white smoke just as the tank was settling back down in the streambed.