Grabbing the radio switch on the side of his CVC, Bannon keyed the Team net. “ALL BRAVO 3 ROMEO ELEMENTS. DEPLOY INTO LINE IN THE STREAMBED. BREAK. ZULU 77, BRING YOUR PEOPLE BACK. THIS IS ROMEO 25, OUT.”
Commanders are paid to make decisions. Sometimes there is ample time to consider all the options, to analyze the situation, develop several courses of action, compare each, and then decide which alternative is best. Then there are occasions when there is no time for all that, occasions when the commander must see, decide, and act in almost the same instant. This was one of those times.
“GUNNER, STAND BY TO ENGAGE.”
Bannon looked to his right and saw the FIST track halted next to his. The tanks of the 2nd Platoon were entering the streambed and nosing their way up the embankment on the far side. He turned to his left and saw two of the PCs plop back into the streambed. They had also fired their grenade launchers. He next turned back to the front. The smoke was beginning to dissipate. Off to the front left, about fifty meters from 66, a PC was still sitting in the open and on fire with one of its passengers hanging out of the troop door in the back of the vehicle. Bright flames spilled out of the door and through open hatches. Alpha 66 had been exceedingly lucky. The PC hadn’t.
The turret of 66 suddenly jerked to the right as Folk yelled out an acquisition report without bothering to key the intercom. “ENEMY TANK, TWELVE O’CLOCK.”
“GUNNER, SABOT, TANK.” Bannon yelled in response even as he was dropping down to view through the commander’s extension. He couldn’t see the target.
“UP!”
Putting his trust in Folk, Bannon did not hesitate. “FIRE!”
“ON THE WAAAY!”
Alpha 66 rocked back as the main gun went off. The view to the front was obstructed by the muzzle blast and dust it created.
As soon as he could see through his sight, Folk yelled out his sensing of the round he had just fired. “TARGET!”
Bannon put his eye up to the extension and confirmed Folk’s sensing. The enemy tank he had not seen before was now clearly visible as it burned. But he had a Team to run. He had no time to play tank commander right now. He had to let Folk search for his own targets and engage them when he found them. “CEASE FIRE. GUNNER, ENGAGE AT WILL.”
“ROMEO 25, THIS IS TANGO 77. ON LINE AND READY, OVER.” 2nd Platoon was ready.
“ROGER TANGO 77.”
“ROMEO 25, THIS IS ZULU 77. READY, OVER.”
“ROMEO 25, THIS IS MIKE 77. READY, OVER.” The Mech and 3rd Platoons were ready.
“SPLASH, OVER.”
The last voice had been Unger’s. Artillery was on the way.
The hill that was Objective LOG appeared to disappear as the artillery impacted. Bits of trees and fountains of dirt rose up above the tree line. “BRAVO 3 ROMEO ELEMENT’S, THIS IS ROMEO 25. MOVE! MOVE! MOVE! LIMA 61, KEEP THE ARTY COMING.”
As one, Team Yankee lurched forward. For the second time 66 moved up over the stream’s embankment. This time Ortelli had the accelerator to the floor. The tank flopped down on level ground with a bang and took off at a dead run. A line of three tanks and three PCs to the left of 66 were also out of the streambed and charging forward past the burning PC.
It wasn’t until they were up and out in the open and Bannon was looking left, then right to see what the other tracks in his command were doing that he noticed the tank that had been to the right of 66 during the move to the stream was stopped, half hanging out of the streambed. It was burning and shuddering as its on-board ammo cooked off. Second Lieutenant McAlister was dead.
If the rest of 2nd Platoon wasn’t aware they were now without a platoon leader, they weren’t acting like it, for the other tank commanders in the platoon were keeping up with 66.
Within 66, Folk yelled out again. “LOADER, LOAD SABOT. TANK!”
“UP!”
“ON THE WAAAY!”
Again 66 shuddered as the main gun fired, recoiled, and spewed out a spent shell casing. This time the obscuration didn’t cling to the tank as 66 rolled through the dust cloud created by the muzzle blast. Bannon turned to see what Folk had been firing at but saw only a column of dirt. He had missed whatever it was. Not that it mattered. Another tank to the left got it. A brilliant flash and a shower of sparks marked the Soviet tank that had been Folk’s target.
A quick survey of Objective LOG revealed four burning vehicles, two of which were definitely tanks. The other two were partially hidden but emitting angry billows of black smoke and flames. Freshly dug dirt was now visible just inside the tree line. There were Soviet infantrymen dug in on the objective. Bannon had no intention of fighting it out with the Soviets on LOG. He did not want to dismount the Mech Platoon in the open. “BRAVO 3 ROMEO — THIS IS ROMEO 25, THERE ARE DUG-IN TROOPS ON LOG. WE WILL CONTINUE TO ATTACK THROUGH. DO NOT DISMOUNT OR STOP ON THE—”
Bannon’s transmission was cut short by two huge explosions on either side of 66, causing the tank to buck violently from side to side and throwing Bannon off his perch and down onto the turret floor. Twisting about in his seat, Kelp reached down to help him as he struggled to climb back up into the commander’s cupola, yelling as he did so. “ARE YOU OK?”
“Yeah. Get ready to man your machinegun!”
“Your face is bleeding.”
Bannon brought one hand up and touched his face. When he pulled it away, there was blood on it. But it couldn’t be too bad. He was still moving and talking. His wound could be ignored. He had to regain control of the tank and the Team. With an effort, he boosted himself up and back into place.
The scene outside was chaos. The explosions that had rocked 66 were from Soviet artillery. 66 was on the verge of rolling out of the impact area. To the right he could see there were still two tanks moving forward. One of the 2nd Platoon tanks was several hundred meters to the rear, just sitting there. The FIST track was also gone. To the left there were two other tanks closing up on 66. The missing 3rd Platoon tank was nowhere to be seen. The Mech Platoon PCs had fallen behind and, as a result, were still in the middle of where the Soviet artillery was impacting. Bannon could make out only two PCs bobbing and weaving through the columns of flame and dirt. Seven vehicles. As best he could tell, that was all the Team had left. Seven out of fourteen vehicles.
“TROOPS, TWELVE O’CLOCK! ENGAGING WITH COAX!”
Folk’s call pulled Bannon’s attention back to the front. They were now within three hundred meters of the objective. Several Soviet infantrymen had popped up to engage them head-on with RPGs. The total stupidity of that was, in Bannon’s mind, beyond comprehension, for they were being cut down by the machine-gun fire from 66 and the surviving tanks without doing a damned bit of good. An RPG just wasn’t going to stop an M-l head-on, regardless of how brave the gunner was. Those tank commanders who could cut loose with their M-2s, adding to the mayhem. Every now and then, one of the Team’s tank would fire a HEAT round, adding to the effect of the friendly artillery that was still pounding LOG. In another minute, the four tanks that were still with 66 would be on the objective.
The destruction of the tanks and most of their BTR personnel carriers, the steady artillery fire, and the failure of their RPG gunners to stop the rush of Team Yankee proved to be too much for Soviet soldiers who had thus far survived the carnage being rained down on them. Just as the Team was about to enter the tree line, some began to take to their heels and flee.
As 66 made its way onto the objective, Bannon caught sight of a hidden Soviet BTR-60 personnel carrier began to back up, seeking to escape. But before he could issue a fire command and slew the main gun onto, it was taken out by a 2nd Platoon tank.