Sensing that the time was right, Major Jordan delivered his coup de grace. He ordered Team Yankee to fire. The Team’s first volley was devastating. Those Soviets headed toward the Team’s positions were dispatched without ever knowing what happened. After this first, well-measured volley, the tank crews in Team Yankee began to engage the Soviet tanks in their assigned sectors of responsibility. Firing rapidly, they methodically took out the Soviet tanks starting with those closest to the Team’s positions. Above the din of battle, the shouted orders of tank commanders could be heard again and again;
“FIRE!”
“GUNNER, SABOT, TWO TANKS, LEFT TANK, FIRE!”
“TARGET, NEXT TANK, FIRE!”
Like a wolf smelling a crippled animal’s blood, the scout platoon swung around to the rear of the Soviet regiment and began to engage, striking the tank company that had been left to guard against it from an unexpected quarter. When the remaining vehicles of that company had all been dispatched, the scouts rushed forward as the battalion began the final stages of its killing frenzy.
The scene before Bannon was staggering. Rising upright in the open hatch of his cupola, he watched the unfolding slaughter taking place in the valley below. Folk no longer needed him to direct his fire. His gunner, the loader, and the cannon they fed and fired were functioning automatically, efficiently, and effectively.
Hell itself could not have compared with the scene in the open space to the front of Alpha 66. Serving as a backdrop was the village of Langen as flames, sent roiling up into the night sky by the impact of incoming artillery rounds, rose high above the village and disappeared in low hanging clouds. From the far left of Bannon’s field of vision to the far right and beyond, smashed Soviet tanks and tracked vehicles burned, spewing out great sheets of flames as the propellant from onboard ammunition ignited and blew off whole turrets, sending them tumbling through the air. Burning diesel from ruptured fuel cells formed flaming pools around dead tanks. Tracers and missiles from all directions rained down upon those that were still moving or attempting to return fire, causing stunning showers of sparks when a tank round hit a Soviet tank, or a brilliant flash as a missile found its mark. Soviet crewmen, some engulfed in flames, abandoned their tanks only to be cut down as the chattering machineguns added their stream of red tracers to the fray. Transfixed by this scene, Bannon finally understood what Wilfred Owen was saying when he penned the grim poem, Dulce et Decorum Est at the height of the First World War.
As in all the Team’s battles, there was no really clear-cut ending. The deafening crescendo of battle suddenly tapered off as gunners ran out of targets. It was replaced by spats of random shooting, usually machineguns searching out fugitive Soviet crewmen trying to escape. No order was given to ceasefire. There was no need to. As before, Bannon allowed the Team to strike down the strays who had somehow survived the destruction of their vehicles. Mopping up is a useful term for this random killing. Team Yankee and Delta Company continued to mop up for the better part of an hour.
When he was sure that the last of the Soviet tanks had been destroyed, Bannon called for a SITREP from the platoons. From his position he could not see any more of the Team than the tanks to his immediate left and right. In the heat of battle, he and the platoon leaders had become totally absorbed in fighting their tanks, often to the exclusion of doing what they should have been doing; commanding their unit. During this engagement, there had been no need to exercise any command or control once the order to fire had been given. It had been a simple case of fire quickly and keep firing. The result was that, although he knew they had stopped the Soviets, Bannon had no idea what it had cost the Team.
At first the replies he received from the platoons were difficult to believe. Though several tanks had been hit, the total cost to the Team had been two men killed and four wounded, all from the Mech Platoon, as usual, and one damaged tank. The positions dug by the engineers, and the fact that Team Yankee had been the last to join the battle after the Soviet commanders has lost control of the situation allowed the Team to come out with relatively light casualties.
Listening to the SITREPs from the other companies being passed over the battalion net, it came as no great surprise to Bannon that Delta Company had suffered far more than either Bravo or Yankee due to the artillery bombardment they had been subjected to. Even so, that company was still in good shape and was still able to field three slightly understrength platoons.
By the time Major Jordan got around to calling for a SITREP from him, Bannon’s elation at coming out of this last fight as well as the Team had gave way to cockiness. When asked for a report, Bannon took a page of Wellington’s book and used the same response he gave when describing the Battle of Waterloo; “They came in the same old way, and you know, we beat them in the same old way.”
CHAPTER 13
TO THE SAALE
Dawn of the tenth day of war revealed the full extent of their success. Over eighty Soviet vehicles lay smashed and strewn in the Langen Gap. The largest gaggle of burned-out hulks lay scattered about between Langen and Team Yankee’s positions. A few of the tanks had been less than fifty meters away from Team Yankee when they had been knocked out. The battalion, heavily outnumbered and outgunned, by all rights should have paid dearly for holding the gap. But it had held and had done so cheaply was mostly due to favorable ground, thorough planning and preparation before the battle, and an enemy whose ridged tactical doctrine gave commanders little freedom to deal with a sudden and unexpected crisis.
Yet despite the magnitude of what they had done, there was no visible sign of joy or pride to be found among the tank crews and infantry squads that made up Team Yankee that morning. The efforts of the previous day and night, the emotional roller coaster caused by fleeting brushes with death and brief but intense periods of combat had taken their toll. When Bannon trooped the line shortly after dawn, he was greeted with simple nods or stares by those who were still awake. Uleski, stretched out on top of Alpha 55, was sound asleep. Deciding his XO needed his sleep more than he needed him, Bannon left instructions with Gwent to have him report to Alpha 66 when he woke.
In the Mech Platoon area Polgar had split his men up evenly, with half of them in the foxholes on alert and the rest back at their tracks. Since the mud in the foxholes hadn’t begun to dry and wouldn’t do so anytime soon, Polgar allowed those men who weren’t on duty to stay in their PCs where they could sleep where it was dry. Polgar himself was sitting with his back against a tree, his M-16 cradled in his arms, asleep when Bannon came upon him. As with Uleski, Bannon didn’t bother waking him, leaving the same message he’d given to Uleski’s gunner with the squad leader in charge.
Only when he was satisfied there was nothing more he needed to do did Bannon make his way back to Alpha 66 where he settled in to enjoy, as best one can, an MRE.
The morning passed quietly. The Team simply remained in position and watched the area to its front for any signs of activity. The chore of sweeping the battlefield after the last of the scatterable mines had self-destructed was left up to Delta Company. This operation gave rise to random shots being fired that no one paid much attention.
Working in small groups, the patrols sent out by The Delta Company commander stopped at each Soviet vehicle to check it. When they were satisfied that the vehicle was harmless, the NCO in charge would mark it with chalk. Those tracks that were still burning were given wide berth. The bodies strewn about the field were also checked. Not many Soviet crewmen had managed to abandon their tanks and tracks when they had been hit. Some had, however, and in spite of the machinegun fire laid down by Team Yankee and Delta Company, a few had survived. When a wounded Russian was found, the patrol would stop and call for medics. An ambulance track darted from place to place picking up those who could be saved. The patrols even came across a few Russians who had managed to hide or play dead through the night. Those who showed even the slightest reluctance to surrender were not given a second chance by infantrymen who were in no mood to be charitable.