Since there was no chance for surprise, Polgar stormed into the town mounted. The four PCs rolled into the center of the town square where the infantry dismounted and began to conduct a systematic search of the buildings. Working in three-man groups, with one group on each side of a street and their PC following down the middle and a little behind, ready to support them with machinegun fire if they ran into trouble, the infantry began to make their sweep.
The teams conducting the search all followed the same pattern when they entered a building. One of the soldiers would peep into a window to see if there were any obvious signs of occupants. Once they had done so, the three would converge on the door through which they would enter. Leaving one outside, keeping an eye on the street and the house across from his group lest they become so preoccupied with the building they were about to enter that an unseen enemy came up from behind and surprised them, the other two would kick open the door and rush in. It didn’t take Polgar’s men long to find out throwing themselves against a stout, unyielding door could be a painful experience. After bouncing off of a few doors that refused to give, they all began to try the doorknobs first, a technique that was surprisingly successful and infinitely less bruising.
This had been going on for thirty minutes when Polgar, who had remained in the town center monitoring the progress of his squads, heard the muffled report of a Soviet AK followed by the detonation of a grenade. Making his way to where the shots had come from as quickly as he dared, he was greeted by the sight of two of his men coming out of a house dragging a third. The TC of the personnel carrier that had been overwatching this team, after having his track roar up to the front of the house, was systematically peppering the windows along the second floor with machinegun fire. Polgar, stopping behind this PC, covered the three men as they made for the rear of the PC.
Once safely behind the PC, the two men that had been fired on watched for a moment as a medic who’d followed Polgar ripped open their wounded comrade’s chemical protective suit and tore away the T-shirt to get at the wound. A quick check showed that the man had taken two rounds in his left shoulder. The wound was painful and bloody, but wouldn’t be fatal.
When they were satisfied their friend was in good hands, they reported to Polgar. “McGill was on point,” one of the trio, a young corporal by the name of Cooper explained between desperate gulps of breath. “After we’d cleared the ground floor and found nothing there, McGill started up the stairs to check out the second floor. That was when the shooting started. The first volley caught McGill on the stairs, sending him tumbling back down them. Hector covered me while I ran out and dragged him back. Once I had McGill out of the way, Hector threw a grenade onto the second floor to cover our withdrawal. None of us saw who was doing the shooting or how many of the bastards are in there.”
By this time the squad leader of the trio who’d been ambushed had joined Polgar with the rest of his squad. After assessing the situation and deciding he needed to clear the house, if for no other reason than to find out who’d been shooting at them and what strength they were in, he directed the squad leader and one of the teams to circle around back and cover the rear of the house in case someone tried to slip out. He then ordered the TC and driver of the PC to cover the front of the building. He would personally lead the two men who had first entered the house back in to deal with the unseen enemy.
After getting a rundown on the layout of the ground floor, this three-man assault party rushed the front door. Once there, Polgar stationed himself on one side of the door, opposite Hector. This time, however, Hector leaned over and threw a grenade into the opened door before they entered. As soon as the grenade went off, Cooper, followed by Polgar, went charging into the house, guns leveled and blazing away. Once inside, the two of them sought the nearest cover available and waited to see what happened.
When nothing did, Polgar signaled for Hector to enter and cover him as he approached the stairs. When Hector was set, Polgar slowly began to climb the stairs, craning his neck in an effort to see up and over onto the second floor. When he was halfway up the stairs, Polgar halted, took a grenade off of his web gear, pulled the pin, and threw it into the room at the head of the stairs. As soon as this grenade detonated, he charged to the top of the stairs, taking two steps at a time and firing as he went. Once he reached the head of the stairs, he threw himself into the room he’d thrown the grenade and, as before, sought cover.
Just as Polgar began to get up, a yell to halt came from the portion of the squad that was outside at the rear of the building. This was followed by the sound of M-16s firing. In an instant, he realized that the people they were looking for had tried to slip out through the rear and had been caught by the team sent to the back of the house. As Cooper and Hector came up and began to check out the other rooms on the second floor, Polgar went to a window overlooking the rear of the house and peered out.
In the small yard below, two of his men were standing over the body of a young German boy sprawled in a flowerbed bleeding from several wounds. An AK was lying beside him. For a brief, sickening moment, it reminded Polgar of a similar scene in Vietnam some fifteen years earlier. One of his first firefights had involved a VC unit that consisted mainly of fourteen and fifteen-year-old boys. It was an experience that often haunted his dreams. Knowing exactly what his men were thinking, he did what his sergeant had done on that day. “Is he dead?” Polgar barked gruffly.
One of the soldiers standing over the body looked up and saw Polgar looking down at him. “Yeah. Kind of young to be running around shooting at people, Sarge.”
“Just remember Patterson, that sorry piece of trash was old enough to put two holes in McGill. Given a chance, he would have done the same to you.”
Patterson looked at his platoon sergeant for a moment, then down at the dead German boy. After another moment of reflection, he reached down, picked up the AK, and went around to the front to continue the house-by-house search.
Polgar’s report on the Mech Platoon’s contact didn’t surprise Bannon at all. His only regret was the discovery that the town’s total population seemed to consist of a lone fanatic who couldn’t have hurt the Team had cost him a WIA he could ill afford.
Anxious to find out how much longer they were going to sit there, Bannon dismounted and walked over to where the battalion S-3’s track had pulled in to find out what Jordan’s best guess was. Major Jordan’s track was nestled up against a large hedgerow that separated two fields. The troop door on the back ramp was open as was the cargo hatch on top. Stopping at the door Bannon stuck his head inside.
Major Jordan, seated across from his radios, had arms folded with chin resting on his chest, giving all the appearances of being asleep.
“Must be nice to have a cushy staff job where you can take a nap three times a day.”
“Bannon, someday when you grow up, and I trust you will, you’ll come to appreciate the fact that we grown-ups need to conserve our energy if we’re going to be able to keep up with you kids,” Jordan replied without moving a muscle or opening his eyes.
“Oh, is that what you call it? Conserving energy? Back home we call it sleep.”
“Shit, don’t they teach you tread-heads anything at Fort Knox?”