These reflections were cut short when he heard the termite grenade pop. Having no wish to be anywhere near 66 when the on main gun rounds started going off, Bannon took off to catch up with the rest of the crew. Ortelli and Alpha 66 were gone. It was time to carry on.
Folk and Kelp were both lying in the tree line watching 66 burn by the time Bannon caught up. He plopped down next to them and began to watch as well. The tank was fully involved now, burning from front to rear and quivering as HE rounds cooked off and detonated. Off to the left the T-62s were also burning. That’s when it struck him. For the past three days he had thought of the Soviet tanks as nothing more than objects, machines to be smashed, destroyed, or “serviced” as the Army had once referred to the act of engaging targets. But in “servicing” those “things,” they had killed twelve men and had lost one of their own.
The whole scene began to seem unreal. Bannon felt detached from the horrors and the dangers that surrounded them. It was all like a bad dream, the sort you can’t seem to wake up from even though you want to. Turning away from the devastation, he lay on his back, closed his eyes, and let his mind go blank. The nervous stress and the emotional strain, as well as the physical exhaustion, were catching up to him. He was thirsty but too tired to do anything about it. What he really needed was a few minutes alone to get himself together.
In the stillness that followed, Bannon listened to sounds of battle to the north drifting down from Hill 214. He listened for several minutes without thinking or moving. To the south the sounds of small-arms fire could be heard from Objective LOG. The battle there was still going on. The familiar pop-pop of M-16s firing was answered by rifle reports that were not familiar to his ears. Probably Soviet AKs, he imagined. It was the high-pitched whine of two personnel carriers approaching that finally got him to move.
Rolling over onto his stomach, he propped himself up on his elbows in time to catch sight of a pair of M-113s coming up along the same route 66 had taken. As they approached 66 from behind, they slowed down and passed it, one on each side, the TC in each track scanned the area. They turned toward the wood line and headed to where Bannon, Folk, and Kelp were. Bannon knew they hadn’t seen them. All they were probable interested in was getting out of the open, using the tree line for cover. At least, Bannon mused, he and the rest of his crew would be able to ride up to Hill 214.
Without thinking, Bannon began to rise up on his knees. Just as he was about to wave down the PCs, the closest PC cut loose with a burst of machinegun fire. His wild volley ripped through the trees above him, showering Bannon with splinters and pieces of bark. As he dropped back down Folk let out a stream of obscenities while Kelp covered his head, curled up into a ball, and started to howl. “JESUS CHRIST! THE FUCKERS ARE TRYING TO KILL US!”
Still on his stomach, and with his face buried in the ground, Bannon raised his right arm and waved frantically. When the shooting stopped, he ever so carefully raised his head, looking out to see both tracks side by side headed for him, guns aimed and ready. Once more raising his arm, he continued to wave as he slowly rose, ready to go down again if they fired. This time, they didn’t.
Once the commander of the lead PC was satisfied they weren’t Russians, they both picked up speed and continued toward the tree line. Neither TC, however, turned his Cal .50 off Bannon. It seemed no one was taking any chances.
When the lead PC pulled up even with Bannon and stopped, its TC grinned. “Damn, sir, we thought you were dead,” Polgar cried out.
“Thanks to you we almost were. Is this all that’s left of your platoon?”
“No, Sir. There are a few men back on LOG with the L. T. but they’re mostly wounded, including the LT. I got most of the 2nd and the 3rd Squads with me. The 1st Squad bought it on that first volley back at the stream.” Pausing, he took a quick glance over his shoulder to where Alpha 66 and the T-62s sat burning, then turned back toward Bannon. “I see you got some before you lost your tank.”
“Yeah. We did. Have you been in radio contact with anyone else in the Team?”
“Yes, sir. The XO. He’s up on Hill 214 with the rest of the Team. That’s where we’re headed now.”
Bannon felt as if someone had just removed the bloody big stone that had been sitting on his heart. There still was a Team Yankee! Right now he didn’t care that it wasn’t much of a team. Nor did it matter that they were in the wrong place. All that was important was that there was at least something left. Despite all the foul-ups of that morning, he hadn’t pissed away the whole Team.
While Folk and Kelp headed for the other PC, Bannon climbed into Polgar’s track and stood up in the open cargo hatch behind the TC. Once everyone was loaded, they headed for Hill 214, hugging the tree line until they were just across from the woods of Hill 214. From there they dashed across the open area and up onto the eastern slope of Hill 214. After wandering cautiously through the forest, they came up to the four remaining tanks of the Team.
The four tanks with Bob Uleski were deployed along the tree line overlooking Arnsdorf, ready to support Delta Company’s attack. As Polgar’s PCs were coming to a halt about fifty meters to the rear of the tanks, Bannon caught sight of Uleski as he was dismounting from the tank in the center. Even at that distance, he could see his XO was injured. Eager to find out what was going on, Bannon clambered out of Polgar’s PC and hustled over toward Uleski.
With his right arm in a sling and splint, Uleski made a show of saluting Bannon with his left hand. “Anyone else coming, sir?”
Bannon replied with nothing more than a shake of his head. “From the Team, no. As far as the battalion, I haven’t a clue. Do you know where they are and what they’re up to?”
Like Bannon, Uleski simply shook his head. “Battalion frequency is being jammed. I’ve been trying to work through it, but so far, nothing on it or the battalions alternate command frequency.”
Bannon and Uleski then turned to Polgar and asked if he had made any contact with battalion before coming up to Hill 214. His reply was also negative.
“So, to the best of anyone’s knowledge, battalion has no idea where we are and what we’re doing,” Bannon grunted.
Uleski dropped his gaze as he slowly nodded. “Looks that way, sir.”
As important as it was to report to battalion that some of the Team had made it to Hill 214, as well as find out what the other companies were doing, Bannon’s first priority was getting an update on what kind of condition the tanks on Hill 214 were in and what the enemy situation was. Retreating to Polgar’s PC, the three of them sat down on its rear ramp once it had been dropped and the squad the PC had been carrying had deployed to the right of the tanks.
Despite the pain his arm was giving him Uleski, described how the four tanks with him had continued onto Hill 214 as Bannon had ordered. “It wasn’t until we’d cleared the woods on LOG and were out from under the artillery fire that I noticed you weren’t with us,” Uleski explained. “When all my attempts to contact you failed, I had the remaining tanks close up, ordered the Mech Platoon, to follow up when they could, and pushed on. We reached Hill 214 without further contact and began to sweep through the Objective. As the tanks crested the hill, we ran right into the middle of a Soviet artillery battery of towed guns preparing to move.” At this point, the hint of a grin began to tug at the corner of Uleski’s lips. “You should have seen the faces of the Russian gunners as we were sweeping through their position, sir. It made my day.”