Team Yankee: a novel of World War III

by Harold Coyle

  the fighting again.

  Because of the range and the quality of the image produced on the thermal sight, it was impossible to distinguish which of the attacking blobs were tanks and which were BMPs.

  Bannon ordered the 2nd Platoon to engage the

  lead vehicles with SABOT, assuming that the Soviets would lead off with tanks. The 3rd Platoon was to fire over the village at the center and rear of the attacking formation as it came out from the tree line. They would engage with HEAT on the assumption that the BMPs would follow their doctrine. The Mech Platoon stood ready to catch anything that got through. With no time left for a coordinated ambush like the one the Team had used for the first echelon, Bannon gave the platoons permission to fire and then began to work on getting some friendly artillery into the act.

  As the firing commenced, Bannon fumbled with map and grease pencil in the confined space in which a tank commander has to work. The rubber gloves and the protective mask only made it more awkward. As he searched his map for an appropriate artillery target reference point, the hose of his protective mask kept flopping down in front of him, obstructing his view of the map. He had to stop and fling the protective mask carrier, containing the filter, over his shoulder to get the hose out of the way. This succeeded in clearing his view of the map but now the weight of the filter pulled at the hose and kept pulling his head over to one side. That he was able to accomplish anything amazed him. But he succeeded in finding a suitable target reference point, contacted the FSO, and got the call for fire in.

  The second attack had caught Garger by surprise. He had not expected the Soviets to be foolish enough to continue the attack in this sector. He had read that the Soviets never reinforce defeat. It was a practice in the Red Army to push everything into the attack that succeeded. They had not succeeded before, and Garger was confident they would not succeed now. Even the artillery impacting to his right, close enough so that the shock waves could be felt, did not alter his opinion. Garger listened to the Team commander's orders and acknowledged them. He sized up the Soviet force that he was to engage and issued his instructions to the platoon. Then he got down to the serious business of killing Russians.

  With artillery on the way, Bannon had to catch up on the battle. He called each platoon leader for a SITREP. The 2nd

  Platoon reported destroying six vehicles but had been unable to stop five vehicles that had disappeared south of the village. Bannon assumed that these tracks were going to swing south, using the village for cover, and either try for the small valley or go up the hill where Team Bravo was. The Mech Platoon had to be ready to deal with them.

  The 3rd Platoon, being at closer range, was enjoying a higher percentage of first-round hits. They had dealt easily with the tracks on the slope and were now playing a cat-and-mouse game with Soviet tracks still emerging from the tree line. Observing through his extension, Bannon watched as the

  3rd Platoon allowed two or three Soviet tracks to emerge and start down the hill. When they were 100 meters or so from any cover, the whole platoon would fire. In a flash the Soviet tracks, still appearing as green blobs in

  the thermal sight, would stop, then grow greener as the heat of onboard fires provided a clearer, more intense thermal image.

  A Spot Report from Harding, the Mech Platoon leader, alerted Bannon to the fact that the five Soviet tracks that had disappeared to the south of the village were moving up the small valley. The small Soviet force consisted of two T-72s and three BMPs. The platoon leader's voice betrayed no nervousness or confusion. Bannon felt more apprehensive than Harding.

  It would have been far better, Bannon thought, if there were some tanks in the small valley to deal with the T-72s. He had little confidence in the Dragons' ability to stop tanks.

  It was a disaster, a bloody disaster, and there wasn't a damned thing the Soviet major could do but carry out the insanity he found himself in to its final conclusion. A quick check revealed that only two tanks and two other BMPs had made it with him across the main valley to the small valley. He had no idea what in the hell he was going to do once he reached his objective. That plan had to wait for now. All he wanted to do was to get out of the Americans' kill zone and seek some cover. The major turned his small force toward a walled farm complex in the small valley in the hope he could find some protection there.

  The Mech Platoon was ready. Using sound-powered phones connected in a loop, the platoon leader passed his instructions down to Polgar and the squad leaders. The two Dragons and the dismounted infantry in the farm would take out the two T-72 tanks. Polgar, with his two Dragons and the M2 machine guns, would take out the BMPs and provide suppressive fires. For good measure, in case a Dragon missed its mark, the infantrymen in the farm had light antitank rockets, called LAWs, at the ready.

  They allowed the Soviets to advance to within 300 meters of the farm before the Platoon cut loose. At that range, it was very difficult to miss with a Dragon. They didn't. On Hardingfs order, every machine gun and Dragon launcher in the Platoon cut loose. The speed and accuracy with which modern weapons are capable of killing is as awesome as it is frightening. Had they survived the Dragons and the massed machine guns, the Soviets would have been impressed by the performance of the Mech Platoon.

  The firing died away slowly. This last fight had lasted some twenty minutes from when the enemy first appeared to when the order came to cease fire. The Soviet artillery barrage on the headquarters position and to the Team's front had stopped. The clearing smoke screen revealed twentythree newly smashed and burning hulks in the valley to the Team's right front.

  The eight T-72s and fifteen BMPs amounted to more than a company but less than a motorized rifle battalion. The why of this did not concern them just then. All that was important was that the Soviets had stopped coming. Like two fighters after a round, the opponents were both in their corners, licking their wounds and eyeing each other for the next round.

  Reports started to come in from the platoons, but Bannon cut them off and tried to establish commo with Uleski. His

  calls received no response. Second Lieutenant McAlister, the 2nd Platoon leader, reported that his flank tank could see a burning vehicle to its rear. Bannon immediately contacted First Sergeant Harrert and instructed him to get up to the XO's location with the ambulance and the M-88 recovery vehicle. When the first sergeant acknowledged, Bannon pulled 66 out of position and headed up the hill to the headquarters position. Enroute he checked in with 2nd Platoon to learn if there was still evidence of a chemical agent. McAlister reported that he had no indications of any agent at his location and requested permission to unmask. This was granted. The 3rd Platoon was instructed to do likewise after they had conducted a survey of their area for contamination. Because 66 was headed into the center of where the chemical attack had been directed, the crew remained masked.

  As they neared the position, the logging trail that had run behind the position ceased to exist. Shell craters and smashed and uprooted trees dimly lit by the failing light of late evening and small fires blocked their passage. Progress was slow as Ortelli carefully picked his way through the debris. Despite his skill, the craters and irregular pattern into which the trees had fallen threatened to throw one of 66's tracks as they proceeded. Through the shattered forest Bannon could make out a burning vehicle.

  The condition of the three tracks that had occupied the headquarters position matched that of the shattered forest. One ITV was lying on its side, burning brightly. Its aluminum armored sides were glowing bright red and collapsing inward. Burning rubber and diesel created a thick, black, rolling cloud of smoke. The TOW launcher of the second ITV was mangled; chunks of electrical components dangled down from the launcher on wires. Set back and in the center of the ITVs was the 55 tank. Moving around on the right side of the tank were several figures. They were unmasked, so

  66's crew unmasked as soon as the tank stopped.

  Bannon dismounted and moved toward 55. Uleski was kneeling next to a figure on the gro
und. He looked at Bannon

  as he approached, then back at the figure. There were three men lying on the ground and two more sitting up next to 55. Even from where Bannon was, he could see that they were wrounded, badly. Two of 55's crew, the gunner and the loader, were working on the wounded men. They were frantic in their efforts, not knowing where to start or how to deal with a body so badly ripped apart.

  Bannon's attention was diverted when he stepped on a broken tree branch that gave way under his weight. He looked down, froze, then jumped back in horror. The tree branch was an arm, shredded, torn, and bloody. For a moment, he was unable to do anything except stare at the limb, unable to force himself to think or move. Only when Folk brushed him as he ran by with 66's first-aid kit was he able to proceed. Even then, he walked slowly and carefully, watching where he stepped. The Team's charmed life had run out. It had paid in blood for winning the second round.

  After reaching the tank, he looked at each of the wounded men as the crew of 55 and Folk tore at clothing to expose wounds and began to work on them. One of the men had lost a foot. He was in horrible pain, his head rolling from side to side, his arms thrashing the ground next to him. Another soldier beside him simply lay there, not moving. It took a second look to see if he was still breathing. A check of the other three showed they all had their arms. Bannon turned for a moment and surveyed the shattered landscape. The thought that one of his people was out there, smashed and scattered, was repulsive and frightening.

  Whoever he was, that soldier was beyond help. There were those who needed more immediate attention. Bannon knelt down beside the body on the ground across from Uleski.

  For the first time he looked closely. It was Sp4 Thomas Lorriet, the driver for 55. He was from a small town somewhere in Indiana. Lorriet was motionless. His right hand still grasped the hose of his protective mask. His mouth was opened as if he were gasping for air. His eyes were wide open but unseeing, his skin ashen white. He was dead.

  Bannon looked up at Uleski who continued to stare at Lorriet. Uleski was shaken. Bannon had never seen him so despondent. After a few moments, the XO finally realized his Team commander was staring at him. He looked back, showing no emotion as he spoke.

  "The ITV crews were transferring TOW rounds when the first volley hit. One minute it was quiet, the next all hell broke loose. They didn't know which way to turn. Some just flopped on the ground. Others tried for the tracks. One of the men lying over there was just wounded. He screamed for help but no one went for him. He just kept screaming until the gas reached him. The chemical alarm went off before it was smashed. We all buttoned up and waited.

  When there was no letup, I ordered Lorriet to back it up. He didn't answer. I started to scream, but he wouldn't answer. I cursed at him and called him every dirty name I could think of. The whole crew started to yell at him to get the tank out of here. The whole tank shook.

  Smoke and dust and gas seeped in. Shrapnel kept pinging on the outside, and each round sounded as if it was closer than the last. We all yelled at Lorriet till we were hoarse. He didn't answer."

  Uleski paused for a moment. He was starting to tremble. His eyes were filling with tears. He turned away for a moment in an effort to regain his composure. Once he had settled down, he continued, "After the shelling stopped, we found him like this. His hatch was pulled over but not locked down. He never got his mask on. All the time we yelled at him he was dead.

  We didn't know, we just didn't know." These last words trailed off into silence.

  The sound of the first sergeant's M-113 and the M-113 ambulance coming up broke the silence. Bannon reached out and grabbed Uleski's shoulder to make sure he was paying attention. "All right, Bob, I want you to,go over to the first sergeant's track and contact the platoons on the company net. I haven't taken any SITREPs from them yet nor have I reported to battalion. Once you've consolidated the platoon reports, send up a Team SITREP to the S-3 and a LOGREP to the S-1 and S-4. Do you have that?"

  For a moment Uleski looked at the Team commander as if he were speaking a foreign language. Then he blinked and acknowledged the instructions and slowly picked himself up.

  Without another word, the XO headed for the first sergeant's track, turning and looking at Lorriet's body one last time.

  As the medics, Folk, and the loader from 55 worked on the wounded, Bannon grabbed Sergeant Gwent, the gunner on 55, by the arm. "What's the condition of your tank?"

  Gwent looked at him as if he were crazy. He repeated the question. Gwent slowly turned his head to look at his tank for a moment, then back at Bannon.

  "I ... I don't know. We were so busy with the wounded and all. I don't know."

  "OK, OK. I understand. But the medics and the first sergeant can take care of them. I need you to check out that tank and find out if it can still fight. The Russians may come back and the Team needs every track it's got. Get your loader and do a thorough check, inside and out. When you're done, report back to me. Is that clear?" Gwent looked at Bannon, he looked at the tank, then he gave his commander a "yes, sir" and called his loader over. They both started to walk around the tank, checking the suspension and tracks in the gathering darkness.

  As soon as the wounded were on board, the ambulance took off, making the best possible speed. Bannon walked over to the first sergeant and Folk as they watched the ambulance disappear in the darkness. When he closed up on them, Harrert asked about Uleski. Before answering, Bannon turned toward the M-113. He could hear the XO talking on the radio to battalion, sending up the SITREP, line by line. Uleski would be all right. Bannon then told Harrert to search the area for dead and to get a dog tag from each of the bodies, if he could find one. Folk was sent over to the ITV with the damaged launcher to see if it could be driven. As they turned to their tasks, Bannon walked back to 66.

  Ortelli was walking around the tank, checking the suspension and tracks. Every now and then he would stop and look closer at an end connector or pull out a clump of mud to check a bolt. When he was satisfied that the bolt was tight, he would go to the next one. Kelp was perched in the commander's cupola, manning the machine gun and monitoring the radio.

  His eyes followed the first sergeant as he went about his grim task. When Kelp saw Bannon approach, he turned

  his head back to the east, watching the dark hill across the valley.

  Bannon hadn't realized how tired he was until he tried to climb onto 66. He fell backwards when his first boost failed to get him on the tank's fender. He rested for a moment, one foot on the ground, one foot in the step loop, and both hands on the hand grip.

  With a hop and a pull, he managed to pull his body up. He stood on the fender pondering his next move for a moment. Decisions were becoming hard to make. He moved over to the turret and sat on the gun mantel with both feet on the main gun. He was dead tired, physically and mentally. So much had happened since the morning. His world and the world of every man in the Team had changed. They hadn't budged an inch from where they had been, but the scene before him now was foreign and strange. It was all too much for a tired brain to take in. The Team commander let his mind go blank as he sat there perched over the 105mm cannon of 66.

  Folk startled him. For a moment Bannon lost his balance and almost toppled off the gun mantel. He had fallen asleep. The fearful day had finally ended, and it was dark. The short nap only accentuated his exhaustion. The ITV that had burned was still glowing red, with small fires consuming the last of its rubber. Through the trees he could see smashed Soviet vehicles still burning. Some were like the ITV, red and glowing. Others were still fully involved, yellow flames licking at dense black clouds of smoke rising in the still night air. The shattered and skewed trees and tree trunks added to the unnatural scene.

  "Captain Bannon, the battalion commander wants to see you." First Sgt.

  Harrert was standing on the ground in front of the tank looking up. They looked at each other while Bannon collected his thoughts. "Are you OK, Captain?"

  "Yeah. Yeah, I'm OK. Gi
ve me a minute to get my shit together. Where is the Old Man?"

  "He said he's back down where you last saw each other. He wasn't sure how to get in here and didn't want to throw a track finding a way in."

  "Are you finished here, Sergeant?"

  "Yes, sir. The other ITV was still running. Newell is going to drive it down to the maintenance collection point. We'll turn it over to the infantry there. 55 is still operational. The only real damage was to the antennas. We replaced them with the spares we carry around and made a radio check. 55's good to go." "And bodies?"

  "Folk and I moved them over out of the way and covered them with 55's tarp. The location has been reported to S-1. There's nothing more for us to do here. "

  Harrert's last comment was more like fatherly advice than a statement of fact. He was right, of course. The hilltop had been a dumb place to put a position. It took three men killed to convince Bannon of that. He had no desire to invest any more here.

  He stood on the front slope of the tank and stretched, then, squatting down closer to the first sergeant, he told him to pass word on to the XO to move

  55 over to the 2nd Platoon position. Harrert was to follow the XO over. Once there, the first sergeant was to pick up the XO and the 2nd Platoon leader in the PC and bring them over to 66's position to the right of 3rd Platoon. A runner would go for the 3rd and Mech Platoon leaders. No doubt there would be some new information to pass out once he had finished with the battalion commander. There might even be a change of mission. Even if there weren't he still wanted to gather the leadership and assess the impact of the first day's battle on them and their platoons. The 66 pulled out of the old headquarters position, carefully picking its way through the debris until they reached the logging trail. Once on the trail it only took a couple of minutes to reach their former position. They did not pull all the way up to the berm this time but stayed back in the woods about ten meters. The other tanks had also pulled back just far enough so that they could still observe their sectors without being readily visible to the other people across the valley. The battalion commander was waiting as 66