As difficult as that would be, given the muddled state of affairs among combat service support units, efforts to secure reliable news from the outside world was even more problematical. Division and Corps rear areas were in a state of panic as German civilians ignored their government’s call to stay in place and instead, took to the roads leading west. The Office of Public Information, in a less than brilliant move, had taken the Armed Forces Network off the air. Censorship of the BBC and German radio only told the men in Team Yankee that NATO forces were mobilizing and deploying, something they already knew, and that negotiations between NATO and Warsaw Pact representatives were still going on at an undisclosed location. So the men were in the dark, not knowing much more than what was going on within their platoon position and unable to find out from anyone whether they were going to go home tomorrow, or be actors in the first act of World War III. The longer this situation lasted, the more it tended to erode the men’s morale.
While there was nothing that Bannon could do about news or settling the dispute that started the whole thing, he and the rest of the Team’s leadership could do something about the physical well-being of the men. The first sergeant, Raymond Harrert, had found a gasthaus where the men could wash up and rinse out some underwear. A schedule and transportation had been set up to rotate everyone through the first sergeant’s comfort station, now being run by the company supply sergeant. The battalion had switched from a steady diet of dehydrated field rations that came in little brown plastic sacks, called MREs, to two hot meals a day, breakfast and dinner, and only one meal of MREs. A work and training schedule, which would allow the Team to improve positions, work out any last-minute crew coordination problems, and rest the men had been instituted. In effect, the leadership was keeping their people as busy as possible doing constructive things without wearing them out. This helped somewhat by keeping their minds off the grim situation they were facing while preparing them to meet it. At the moment, it was about all that could be done.
Just as Bannon finished washing up, the first sergeant arrived with breakfast. His arrival at the headquarters position meant that the rest of the Team had finished breakfast, as headquarters tanks and ITVs were always the last to eat. When the men on the position had been served, Harrert, Uleski, and Bannon took turns serving each other breakfast. It was a ritual that was not only sound from a leadership point of view, it provided them with an opportunity to gather around the hood of Harrert’s jeep and exchange news, update each other on their activities over the past few hours, and coordinate their activities as they ate their cold powdered eggs, rubbery bacon strips, and soggy toast.
Most of the news Harrert had to share with them was bad. The evacuation of dependents, which had started only yesterday, was going slowly. German military and civilian police had set up checkpoints to stem the flow of refugees and clear the autobahns and main roads. The opposite was happening as these check points resulted in monumental traffic jams. Newspapers were scarce, with none making it farther forward than the Division’s rear area. Nor was the delivery of mail of any kind straight yet. Finally, there were no batteries or WD-1 wire to be found anywhere in the brigade.
The good news was limited but welcome. Harrert had located a quartermaster field laundry. At least, he opined, the men would be able to exchange underwear, to which Uleski commented that the Environmental Protection Agency would be glad. The maintenance contact team working for the Team had located a new laser range finder for Alpha 23 and would be up to install it that morning. While only a few problems would be solved, any forward progress was welcomed. The three agreed that, given two more days of peace, the Team would have all the big problems squared away and would be as close to one hundred percent ready as could be expected.
Bannon, Uleski, and Harrert were just finishing up their working breakfast when they were joined by the platoon leaders and the ITV section leader coming up for the 0730 meeting. The group moved over to the PC where Bannon took a seat on the end of the lowered ramp with Harrert and Uleski sitting on either side of him. Without being told, the platoon leaders dropped down on the ground facing the three men, took off their helmets, unbuckled their LBE belts, and pulled out notebooks and pencils. When he saw all were ready, Bannon began.
He didn’t get much beyond good morning when the first sergeant nudged him and pointed off to the left. “Here comes the Old Man.”
Looking over to where Harrert was pointing, Bannon caught sight of the battalion commander’s jeep coming up along a logging trail that ran behind the Team’s position. One could always tell Lt. Col. George Reynolds’s jeep. Four antennas that were never tied down were whipping wildly as the jeep rolled down the trail. The jeep had no top and a big infantry blue license plate mounted on the front fender displaying the silver oak leaf cluster of a lieutenant colonel with a black “6” superimposed on it. This violated every security measure the Army had, but “Blue 6” didn’t give a damn. He was the battalion commander, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it.
Having no wish to keep his platoon leaders standing around waiting, Bannon turned the meeting over to Uleski, telling him to find out what the platoons needed as far as fuel and supplies were concerned before sending them back to their units. With that taken care of, he got up, put on his gear, and walked over to the trail to greet Reynolds.
The jeep hadn’t stopped rolling before the colonel jumped out and started heading toward Bannon. They met halfway and exchanged salutes. Instead of “Hi, how are you?” Bannon was greeted with a gruff, “Well Bannon, how are those overpriced rattletraps of yours this morning?”
Ignoring his commanding officer’s comment, Bannon smiled. “They’re ready to kick ass and take names, sir. When are you going to send me some Russians?”
Falling in on the colonel’s left, he and Reynolds walked up to the gathering of platoon leaders despite Bannon’s best efforts to steer him clear so that Uleski could go on with the meeting. Everyone stood up, dropping notebooks and maps before scrambling to put their helmets back on. Salutes, greetings, and some one-sided small talk ate up about five minutes before Bannon could pry the colonel off to the side and let Uleski carry on.
As they walked to the tree line overlooking the valley, Bannon informed Reynolds of his intention to replace Garger. Unfortunately, the colonel took the same position that Pierson had. As war was imminent, he felt it wouldn’t be a good idea to switch platoon leaders. Undeterred, Bannon went over his reasons and justification as they both watched a two-and-a-half-ton truck drive down from the far side of the valley. The fog had cleared by now except along the river. The sun was bright in a cloudless sky and it was getting hot.
The colonel was about to restate his reasons for leaving things as they were when the earsplitting screech of two fast-moving jets flying at treetop level cut him off. Both Bannon and Reynolds turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see two more jets come screaming into the valley from the east, drop lower, and fly up the small valley on the right of the Team’s positions. Bannon couldn’t identify just what type of aircraft they were as aircraft recognition wasn’t one of his strong points. But it wasn’t necessary to identify their exact type. A glimpse of the red star on the fuselage told him everything that he needed to know about the two jets.