After Avery and Hebrock finished putting out the information they had to the other TCs, Hebrock told his platoon leader to forget about pulling any duty between now and when it was time to move-out and instead, get some sleep. Avery was too far gone to argue. By now, having come as close to worrying himself to death, it took every bit of effort to he had left to keep his eyes open. While the lieutenant leaned against Alpha 21 for support, Tessman threw a sleeping bag down to Hebrock who spread it out next to the track. Avery didn’t even bother to take his boots off. He simply flopped down, wrapped one side of the sleeping bag over himself, and passed put from exhaustion. He stayed in the same position until he was roused at 0310 hours.
Team Yankee missed colliding head-on with the expected Polish attack by fifteen minutes. Again the fortunes of war smiled on the Team. Instead of having to go forward and dig out the Polish tank and motorized infantry from their hastily prepared defensive positions, the Poles were smashed by the combined weight of the German defensive fires and the artillery that was already scheduled to fire in support of 3rd of the 78th’s attack. In war, one’s good fortune is sometimes nothing more than a matter of timing, being at the right place at the right time. Had a staff officer or the brigade commander set the time of attack at 0330, it would have been the Poles enjoying the advantage. As it was, Team Yankee gained a double advantage. Not only did the Poles impale themselves on the German’s defenses and save the Team the trouble of seeking them out, they allowed the Team to get an extra half-hour’s sleep.
The din of the raging battle to their front, the eerie shadows caused by the illumination rounds floating down to earth, and the flash of artillery impacting lighting up the night sky made Team Yankee’s crossing of the East German border seem unreal. It stuck Bannon as looking more like a scene from a cheap science-fiction movie than war. Moments like this, when one is not actually involved in the fight, but close enough to see and hear it, is when fear reaches a peak. The fear of failure, the fear of being ripped apart by artillery, the fear of death run through the mind as a soldier moves toward a battle already in progress. Only when he is actually engaged in the fight himself does training and instinct take over. Fear is pushed aside by the need to fight or die. It’s the before, the time when a soldier is little more than a spectator and there is still the chance to back out, that the rational mind pleads for reason, to stop, to turn back, to quit before it is too late. The tank, however, keeps going forward, ignoring the rational mind of its occupants, taking them ever closer to where they will have little choice but to join the mayhem and carnage.
As Sergeant Polgar’s personnel carrier eased down into the anti-vehicle ditch that ran along the East German border, he became elated. After being in the Army for sixteen years, something he was doing was making sense. He recalled how, as a private in Vietnam, he and his buddies felt frustrated and betrayed when they had to break off pursuit of the North Vietnamese as soon as they came up to the Vietnamese border with Cambodia. They were never allowed to go all the way in and finish the enemy. He felt the same frustration when, while serving in Korea in 1977, two American officers were hacked to death with axes in broad daylight by North Korean soldiers and no action was taken to retaliate. And then there were the 444 days of embarrassment when the Iranians held Americans hostage without any fear of being brought to account. Like others in the military, the half-measures and restrictions placed on the US military didn’t make sense to him.
This attack, however, did. For the first time in his military career he was carrying the war into the enemy’s homeland. He and his platoon were going to be given a chance to strike at the heart of the enemy. No more running up to an imaginary line and then stopping while some politician reflected on what move would come out best on the next public opinion poll. No more letting the enemy run across an imaginary line where he’d be able to lick his wounds and come back at a time and place of his choosing only when he was ready. The Army was going to rip out the enemy’s heart and drink his blood. That made sense to Polgar. It was, in his mind, the only way to fight a war.
For a moment Colonel Reynolds considered halting the attack to allow the Germans to sort out the situation before the battalion passed. When he called Bannon and told him to be prepared to halt in place, Bannon immediately called back and ask that he let the Team go. The Poles were reeling from the bloody nose the Germans had given them. This was the ideal time to strike, while they were still confused. The enemy obviously didn’t know the battalion was coming, he pointed out, otherwise they would not have attacked. “Those people have T-55s with old sights,” he added as Reynolds was mulling over Bannon’s request to continue. “We have thermal sights. Now is the time to speed up, not slow down.”
In the end, the colonel agreed, ordering him to go for it. When Bannon dropped to the Team net and ordered Garger to pick up speed, hit hard, and keep rolling, all he got back from 3rd Platoon was a simple “I heard that.”
The 3rd Platoon rolled through the German positions without slowing down, deploying into a wedge as they went and engaging the fleeing Poles on the fly. The surprise was complete. Some of the Polish tanks attempted to return fire. Unlike the M-1, they had to stop to shoot, telegraphing their intentions and making it easier for 3rd’s Platoon’s gunners to single out which tanks posed the greatest threats to them. Other Polish tanks simply picked up speed and swerve left or right in an attempt to get out of the way. Most failed. For once, the Americans had better and faster tanks. Without needing to break stride, 3rd Platoon pressed home its attack.
Following close on 3rd Platoon’s heels, Bannon directed the FIST to shift the artillery fires to the left and the right of the Team’s axis of advance. This would keep the Polish infantry pinned in their defensive positions as the Team passed through their front line. Once Team Yankee was in their rear, those Poles still facing the Germans would be obliged to either retreat or surrender.
The speed with which the 3rd Platoon was attaching was causing the Team to become spread out. While the 2nd Platoon, which was behind 66 would have no difficulty keeping up as it shook out of its column formation and into its attack formation, the PCs in the Mech Platoon would soon be falling behind if the lead elements of the Team continued at the pace they were going. Reluctantly, he ordered the 3rd Platoon to slow down in order to allow the rest of the Team time to deploy and assume their position. Having no wish to tempt the fates by madly rushing forward as quickly as he could a second time as he had on Hill 214, Bannon made sure the whole Team stayed together and under his control.
Once the tanks in front of Alpha 66 began to slow, Bannon instructed Kelp to angle over to the left of 3rd Platoon. Once he was satisfied Kelp knew where he was headed, he ordered the 2nd Platoon to pick up speed and deploy to the left of 66. When he saw that platoon’s lead tank take up station to his left, Bannon turned his full attention to his front.
The scene that Avery beheld as his tank pulled made its way through the German positions was incredible. Dante’s Inferno could not have been more terrible. In his wildest dreams he could not have imagined such chaos and pandemonium. Artillery was landing here and there with no rhyme or reason he could discern. The exchange of fire between the lead tanks and the Poles continued unabated. Colored star clusters were popping overhead. And there were burning tanks everywhere, lit up by mortar and artillery illumination rounds that cast a sickly pale light on everything.