As Alpha 24 closed on the smoking hulk of 21, Hebrock was convinced that everyone in the crew was dead. Main gun rounds in the turret’s ammo storage compartment were still cooking off, throwing great balls of flame and smoke into the air. The blow-off panels, designed to vent the force of stored main gun rounds set off by a hit up and away from the crew, were lying fifty meters away from where 21 sat. After bringing his own tank to within forty meters of 21, he ordered his driver to stop. From there both he and his loader watched in silence as they waited for the as last of the onboard ammo to cook off.
Just as he was about to report to the Team commander that 21 was a write off, the loader’s hatch on 21 swung open. Hebrock watched for a moment. To his amazement, he saw 21’s loader climb out. Turning around, he reached down to help someone else who was down inside the turret behind him. On seeing this, Hebrock ordered his driver to pull up next to 21, then made a call over the company net to the first sergeant, telling him they needed the ambulance ASAP.
The air attack had given the rest of the battalion a chance to catch up. As the follow on companies were about to reach Team Yankee, Colonel Reynolds called to ask if the Team could continue in the lead, or if he needed to pass Charlie Company forward. Bannon replied that wouldn’t be necessary as his platoon leaders had been able to rally their people with no trouble, with 2nd Platoon using the shattered 21 as their rally point.
Bannon waited until he saw the lead vehicles of Charlie Company closing up on his Mech platoon before ordering Hebrock to leave the recovery of 21’s wounded to the first sergeant, take over the platoon, again, and resume his place in formation.
Only after Hebrock had acknowledged his transmission did Bannon realize just how cold such an order must seem to an outsider. He had no doubt that every man in the 2nd Platoon wanted to help their buddies in 21. Within the platoons there was a strong personal bond that held the men together. It was not only natural, it was necessary, for the bonds that bound a soldier to the other men in his crew, squad, or platoon is often the only thing that keeps a unit from buckling under the stress and horrors of war. So is the need to carry on in the face of a tragedy such as the one that had befallen Alpha 21’s crew. It was unfortunate that lieutenant what’s-his-name had been hit and could very well be dead. That happened in war. Seeing to those who had fallen, however, was now somebody else’s responsibility. It was Bannon’s, as well as what was left of 2nd Platoon, to continue their mission. They could not stop each time a tank was hit or a man was hit. Not only would that hinder the accomplishment of their mission, doing so would place other personnel belonging to the Team in jeopardy. As much as he didn’t like the thought of rolling away and leaving the crew of Alpha 21 to fend for themselves until the medic track arrived, Bannon had his orders and the responsibility of seeing to it they were carried out, regardless of the cost.
Team Yankee, having collected itself, moved forward again. This time, however, they were not alone. Far to the left Bannon could catch glimpses of some of Team Bravo’s tracks. They were now abreast of the Team and moving north. To his rear, he could make out tracks of the battalion command group, followed by Charlie Company. Satisfied that all was back on track within the Team and the battalion, he turned his attention to the town of Korberg just to the north. That, and the valley to the east of it, would be the next critical point he needed to pay attention to, for if there were any Soviet or Polish forces in the area, that was where he expected they would be.
As his track, accompanied by the ambulance, closed on 21, First Sergeant Harrert could feel his stomach begin to knot up. He knew that he wasn’t going to see anything new. Two tours in Vietnam, training accidents, and the first few days of this war had exposed him to many such scenes. Once he was there and doing something, he’d be all right. It was the anticipation that bothered him the most. How bad was it this time? How many? Was there something he could do, or was this just another case of bagging and tagging what was left of men he’d known? Did he know their wives, their children? Would they be able to identify the bodies? First sergeants are supposed to be detached, able to handle these things without a second thought. But first sergeants are also human.
It was with great relief that Harrert found there had been only one casualty. Tessman, who greeted Harrert, led him and the medic to where the lieutenant was lying.
While the medic began to work on Avery, Tessman explained what had happened. “The LT had been standing up in the cupola when the missile hit the rear of the turret, setting off the ammo back there. The rest of us came out of it without a scratch,” he stated as he gave a quick nod of his head over to where his driver and loader were sitting. “The LT wasn’t so lucky. The force of the explosion from the main gun rounds set off by the missile hit him squarely in the head and back.”
Pausing, Tessman glanced over his shoulder to where the medic was working on Avery. “If the ballistic doors that separated us from the stored ammunition had been open, we’d all be dead.”
“Well, you’re not,” Harrert replied. “How bad is the lieutenant?”
The answer to this question was supplied by the medic. “He in bad shape, first sergeant. “He has massive wounds and severe burns on his back and head. If we’re going to save him, we need to evac most Ricky-tick.”
“Okay, get him loaded up then,” Harrert sighed as he turned to the crew and ordered them to help the medics place Avery on a stretcher and carry him over to the medic track. When it was gone, the first sergeant and Tessman began to look over 21. They had the driver try to start the engine but to no avail. Alpha 21 would have to be towed back to the battalion maintenance collection point by the M-88 recovery vehicle.
As he was waiting for the 88 to come up, Harrert looked up at the burned out ammo storage compartment. “I expect they’ll be able to get this tank back in action within two day, three at the most.”
Tessman, observing that this was the second time that this tank had been hit, dryly replied that they should retire it and use it for spare parts. Harrert agreed, but added the Army was fast running out of tanks and couldn’t afford to throw them away simply because they had had a run of bad luck. To that, Tessman offered 21 to the first sergeant after it had been repaired. The first sergeant had to stop and think about that one. Maybe this tank should be scrapped.
The Soviet tank company commander did not like the idea of moving through the woods in single file. He would have preferred to have gone north past the town of Langen. By doing that his company and the battalion following it would have been able to deploy into combat formation before making contact with the Americans. The regimental commander, however, had vetoed that idea because of the presence of American scout helicopters. To have gone through the Langen Gap would have left them to observation from the air. Not only would the regiment lose the element of surprise, they would also be open to attack by enemy attack helicopters and ground attack aircraft. Instead, the lead tank battalion was reduced to winding its way along narrow, twisting trails through the woods.
There were few options open to the Soviet company commander. Once his tanks began coming out of the woods high on the hill, they would be visible to everyone in the valley. After they had been observed, there would be little time to take advantage of their surprise. Therefore, rather than have the three tanks of his lead platoon, the regiment’s combat patrol, go out on its own, he had them pull back with the rest of the company. To succeed, they had to take risks. He gambled that his commander would not find out that he had pulled in the combat patrol and, in doing so, risk the possibility they would stumble into an ambush before the emerged from the woods.