As they continued to watch the motorized rifle company and tanks move into Arnsdorf, Bannon asked if anyone knew how many men a BTR-60 could carry. Without hesitating, Garger informed him that it could carry twelve passengers and a crew of two. For a moment Bannon lowered his binoculars and looked over at the young lieutenant. In the past three days he had done exceedingly well. His performance had been on par with that of McAlister and Harding. The fact that he had made it this far was a testament to his ability as a tank commander. Bannon had often heard stories about men who came across as complete zeros in peacetime but turned into tigers in war. That Garger seemed to be one of them made him glad circumstances had prevented his replacing him.
Not long after entering Arnsdorf, all vehicles in the Soviet column cut off their engines. In the silence that followed, Bannon could hear Russian officers somewhere in the town shouting orders.
SFC Hebrock broke the silence. “Well sir, what do you think?”
Bannon thought for a moment. “If I were in command down there, I’d wait until dark before trying anything. First, I’d send out some dismounted infantry to conduct a thorough recon of this hill. Only when I had a firm grasp of what I was facing would I launch an all-out attack.”
Hebrock grunted. “Let’s hope the Russian down there who’s doing all the yelling isn’t as smart or as cautious as you are.”
Yeah, Bannon thought to himself as he glanced over toward the west, wondering if the red setting sun was an omen of things to come. Let’s hope he’s not.
From the edge of Arnsdorf, Colonel Potecknov, his deputy, his operations officer, and his political officer surveyed the hill to the southeast. They could see the debris of the artillery battery that had been caught in the open as well as the track marks gouged out by the American tanks that had destroyed it. He tried to listen for any telltale signs of activity from the hill, but couldn’t hear a thing due to the noise his own men were making in the town. If there were still Americans on the hill, and if they were watching, which the colonel had no doubt they were, they weren’t showing themselves. “Very well,” he declared as he was turning to his operations officer. “If the Americans won’t show themselves, we will go in and find them. Prepare a patrol.”
As the operations officer scurried off to issue the necessary orders, the colonel went back to studying the hill in the failing light. “A simple exercise,” the battle hardened veteran of the war in Afghanistan muttered to no one in particular. “We shall squeeze this hill like a grape and see what comes out.”
While they continued to watch Arnsdorf in the failing light, 55’s loader crawled up beside Bannon and informed him that Polgar had received a report from the OP on the east side. Apparently they had heard the sound of vehicles moving through the woods to the southeast.
“Looks like the Soviets intended to hit the Team from both sides at once,” he informed Garger and Hebrock. “Best we head back and get ready for ‘em.”
Bannon used the time it took them to crawl back to the tanks to figure out how the Team was going to deal with this new threat. He had no doubt the Team could easily handle one attack. Two, coming from entirely different directions, was a whole different kettle of fish. There was always the possibility the motorized rifle company and tanks that had put on quite a show while entering Arnsdorf was nothing more than a deception intended to mask the approach of units that would launch the main attack from the east. As there was less open ground to cover from that direction, this made sense.
Once back at 55, Bannon radioed Uleski. He ordered the XO to move from the hilltop and go over to where the infantry OP was sited on the east side. He informed him he was also sending the two 2nd Platoon tanks over. Uleski was to organize the defense there but was to be prepared to send the tanks back if they were needed. Polgar and his men were to stay put for now, but he was to be prepared to reinforce either Bannon or the XO.
Bannon’s final instructions to the Team reflected the pessimism he could do little to mask. “If it looks like we’re going to be overrun, break contact and make your way back to friendly lines as best you can with as many men as you can.”
After everyone on the net had acknowledged this last message, Bannon went over his plan in his mind one last time. The odds were not good. The other people had at least four tanks in support of two hundred or more infantry. It was too late to have second thoughts about fighting or fleeing. The Team was committed. With the last light of day gone, all that was left for the Team to do was wait for the Russians to come.
They didn’t have long to wait.
CHAPTER 7
CHECK AND CHECKMATE
It was Sergeant Polgar and his thin line of infantry that were hit first. Just after 2300, movement was detected to their front. The first indication they had that they were about to be attacked was the faint rustling of leaves and sound of a twig snapping. Neither was sufficient to tell Polgar or his people just how many Russians were coming or what direction they were coming from. Soon, however, the infantrymen, using their night vision devices, began to make out a line of figures slowly advancing in a staggered column on either side of the trail.
Upon hearing this, Polgar smiled to himself. The Russian formation and direction of their attack was coming from could not have been any better as far as he was concerned. As planned, he intended to allow whoever was leading them to get within ten meters of his foxhole before giving his own people the order to fire.
As he waited for them, Polgar’s pulse began to beat harder and faster. The fear of premature disclosure of his position by one of his men ratcheted up his nervous anxiety, causing him to glance to the left, down his line of positions, then right, and back to the left. His platoon, clearly visible through his night vision goggles, were ready and, like himself, eager to fire.
When he turned his full attention back to the front, Polgar saw the Russians had stopped thirty meters short of his positions, causing his heart to skip a beat. Had they been discovered? Had he lost the element of surprise? One of the two lead Soviet soldiers, now fully exposed and clearly visible, glanced back over his shoulder. Another figure, ten meters behind them, waved a pistol and pointed it forward, whispering a command of some type. Turning his head back to the front, the man who’d looked behind used his head to indicate to his comrade they were to proceed. They, Polgar told himself, were the point element. And the one with the pistol was obviously the officer in charge, the man he personally would take out.
Only when the point element was within ten meters did Polgar slowly released the safety his M-16, take aim on the Russian officer, and fire.
His single shot unleashed the well-rehearsed and deadly ambush drill. His two squad leaders detonated a pair of Claymore mines that sent thousands of one-eighth-inch steel balls ripping through the Soviet column. Machinegunners laid down a withering crossfire that cut down those still standing after the mines had detonated. The grenadiers added to this mayhem by methodically plunking 40mm grenades wherever they spotted two or more Russians gathered in a cluster. The riflemen, like the grenadiers, scanned their designated sectors, seeking out targets and taking them out one by one.
The violence and shock of the ambush was overwhelming. The Russian officer never had the chance to utter a single command before he was cut down. The deadly and accurate point-blank fire that pelted any Russian who survived the initial volley ensured that any movement by him was his last. The darkness, the violence of execution, the loss of their leaders, and the resulting confusion proved to be too much. Those who had been fortunate enough to be in the rear of the column withdrew back down the trail, pursued by a hail of bullets.