For a moment, 55 stood there with its gun tube almost touching the BTR. All action seemed to stop. It was as if everyone had to pause and catch his breath. Carefully, Bannon guided 55 around the burning BTR and continued down the street. As 31 followed, Garger and his loader had to shield themselves from the heat of the flames roiling up out of hatches that had been blown open by internal explosions. Once clear of the BTR, 31 continued on behind 55, searching for new targets.
Taking their time, Kelp and McCauley carefully picked their way through the forest toward the crippled T-72. When they finally found a position to the rear of it that afforded them a clear shot and the two privates were settled, McCauley took to fumbling about as he struggled to affix the Dragon sight to a new round by the light burning T-72 tank.
Kelp, growing impatient with McCauley’s when he saw the difficulties that soldier was having, jabbed him in the ribs with his elbow. “I thought you said you knew how to use that thing,” he hissed as loud as he dared least he attracted the attention of any Russians who might be lurking about nearby.
“I told you, I only had one class on it, and that was a long time ago. Give me a break, will ya? I’m doin’ the best I can.”
“Well, do your best faster, damn it.” For a moment their exchange reminded Kelp of countless times in the past when Sergeant Folk resorted to prodding him along using the exact same words he had used to motivate the hapless grunt. As he watched McCauley fumble with the sight, Kelp finally realized why Folk had been so hard on him. He owed Folk a huge apology.
“Got it!”
“About time. Let’s do it.”
With the launcher resting on his shoulder, McCauley braced himself as he had seen the other gunner do while Kelp scooted over to one side and scanned the area for Russian soldiers.
“Here goes.”
The shock of firing the weapon for the first time made McCauley jump as the missile left the tube. It flew but a few meters before brushing against a tree, causing it to veer off course and hit the ground where it spun madly around as the rocket motor burned and sputtered.
“SHIT! GET THE OTHER ROUND!” McCauley cried out in panic as he scrambled to detach the sight from the expended launcher tube.
Alerted by the missile launch, the TC of the crippled T-72 rose up out of his hatch and looked to the rear to where the first missile’s rocket motor was still burning. Realizing he was in danger, the Russian began to traverse the turret to the rear.
McCauley became frantic as he waited for Kelp to pass him the last missile. “SHIT! HURRY OR WE’RE DEAD MEAT!”
Fear and the specter of imminent death were all the motivation McCauley needed to move as quickly as he could and attach the sight to the new round the first time.
Kelp could do little to help as he kept glancing back and forth between the T-72 and McCauley. It was a race that would have horrible consequences for the loser.
Equally panicked, T-72’s commander was on the verge of bringing its main gun to bear on the two privates when the long gun tube slammed into a tree. Frantically, he yelled an order to his gunner who traversed the turret back a few meters toward the front, then quickly slew it around as fast as he could toward Kelp and McCauley in an effort to knock the tree down using the gun tube. But the tree proved to be too thick and deeply rooted. When the tank commander saw they were not going to be able to get the turret around, he unlocked his 12.7mm machinegun, trained it in their direction, and fired. His first burst was wild, flying harmlessly over the heads of the two privates.
Kelp, determined to buy McCauley the time he needed to finish what he was doing, brought his submachine gun up to his shoulder and fired an equally harmless burst at the Russian tank commander. Both Kelp and the Russian were in the midst of adjusting their aim when McCauley let loose with the second missile. The flash and whoosh of launch, the burn of the rocket motor, and the detonation of impact put an end to this desperate contest.
The sound of small arms fire to their rear and the destruction of the second tank took whatever fight the Soviet infantry facing Polgar still had left out of them. Individually and in small groups, they began to drift back along the trail and away from the American positions. At first Polgar thought the Russians were thinning their line in order to form up for an end run. But as the Russian return fire slackened, then ceased, he knew the truth. The shadows created by the Russians as they drew back past the burning tanks kept moving north. For the second time that night, the order to ceasefire rang out through the wooded lot.
The firing to his front began to slacken, then stop even as Colonel Potecknov was making his way down the trail on foot. At first he was elated. They had succeeded in breaking the American line. That assumption was quickly put to pay when he heard the sound of orders being shouted out in English further up the trail, followed by sudden the appearance of his own men streaming back toward him. Realizing that success had not been his, Potecknov broke out into a trot, calling out to his men, ordering them to turn around and go back as he went.
The relief and elation over their victory against the T-72 was short-lived. Kelp and McCauley had just begun to carefully pick their way back to rejoin Polgar when several figures came toward them from the direction of the infantry positions. Both of them took refuge behind a tree, back to back. At first Kelp thought the Russians were looking for them. But the figures running past were in a hurry. They were making no effort to search the bushes for the tank killers. That was when it dawned upon him that the Russians were retreating. That was good. Unfortunately, they were right in the middle of the Russians’ path of retreat.
The two soldiers continued to huddle behind the tree, each facing out with their weapons at the ready. Kelp watched as the number of Russians increased. It hadn’t occurred to him that there were so many of the bastards, causing him to wonder how the handful of men with Sergeant Polgar had not only managed to hold, but had caused the Russians to flee.
He was watching this flood of refugees when a lone figure came running south down the trail, waving a pistol over his head and shouting. Had to be an officer, Kelp thought. The dumb bastard was trying to stop the retreat. For a moment he wondered if he should kill the officer. But that feat of heroism on his part was not needed.
Kelp watched as the officer stopped a group of three retreating soldiers and tried to push them back. To Kelp’s surprise, one of the three leveled his AK, stuck in into the officer’s stomach, and let go with a burst. The officer fell over backwards, flopping to the ground like a rag doll. The one who had fired the AK said something in Russian before the trio continued their flight north. As one of them was stepping over the dead officer, he kicked the officer in the head. “Looks like they’ve had enough for one night,” Kelp whispered to McCauley.
No sooner had he said this than his attention was suddenly drawn to his front as a Russian stumbled and fell right next to him. Both Kelp and the Russian stared at each other for a moment before they realized that they were looking eyeball to eyeball at the enemy. As the Russian opened his mouth to let out a scream, Kelp leaped on the Russian’s chest, wrapping one hand around the Russian’s throat and the other over his mouth. In response, the Russian grabbed the hand Kelp had over his mouth with both hands and tried to pry it off, causing Kelp to push down as hard as he could to keep the grip he had from slipping.