Team Yankee: a novel of World War III

by Harold Coyle

  As he watched the T-72 burn, Uleski got Polgar on the radio and told him to get into position fast. It wouldn't be long before the Soviets made their next move. Uleski then entered the battalion net to report, requesting artillery on the trail across the open area from him where the Soviets were probably lined up. It was now a question of who would be ready first.

  The Soviet battalion commander was not at all happy with his situation. The regimental commander was pushing him to attack and would not listen to reason. The Americans had his battalion bottled up on the trail with almost no room to maneuver. When his last appeal to the regimental commander was greeted with a hail of threats and abuse, he gave up. He ordered his remaining tanks, now down to eighteen, to

  bunch up under cover of the woods. When he gave the order, they were to rush into the open area to their front, deploy on line, and attack the far tree line. He hoped they would be able to overwhelm the enemy with speed and firepower. There was nothing else to do.

  Major Snow blew up when he received word to turn around and fly back to attack the target he had just been told was no longer there. Over the air he told his wingman, so that everyone on the net would hear, "Those people in flight operations have no idea what they're doing! If they wave us off one more time, we're going to go back there and bomb them." His wingman went along with the abuse of their ground controllers by recommending that they forget the mission and just bomb the controllers. Major Snow simply shook his head and turned back to the heading they had just left. Maybe, just maybe, there was something there this time.

  The T-72s began to pour out of the tree line and fanned out to the left and right. Polgar was still not yet in position. With so short a distance and so few tanks to stop the Soviets, Uleski had no doubt that some of the T-72s would make it to them. He knew as they began to fire that it was going to be a hard fight this time.

  As the two A- 1 Os came up to the target area, they saw numerous pillars of black smoke rising up into the sky. To the front left in the valley there was a large amount of smoke. But that wasn't where they had been directed. Further east, in a saddle between two hills there were fewer columns of smoke. That was where they were going. As the A-lOs closed on the spot, a clearing crowded with tanks appeared to their front. Neither he nor his wingman knew whose they were. Without an air controller on the ground to help, the only thing left to do was to overfly them and check them out. Commenting to his wingman that this was a hell of a way to do business, Snow dropped down and went in.

  One pass was all Major Snow needed. He brought his A-10 up, circled around, and told his wingman to follow him in on the next run. The tanks were Russians'. Finally, they were going to get to kill something.

  At first Uleski thought the aircraft that buzzed overhead was Soviet. It had come and gone too fast for anyone to see, not that anyone had been looking. The entire clearing was filled with T-72s. The 3rd Platoon was firing as fast as possible and receiving return fire from the advancing Soviets. When he reported the aircraft, the Team's FIST came back and told him that they should be A-lOs that had been requested. Not sure, Uleski continued with the business at hand and hoped for the best.

  The A-IOs came in from behind the Soviets and opened up with their 30mm cannons. In a shower of armor-piercing and HE shells, several T-72s blew up. As the two A-IOs overflew the west side of the tree line Snow noticed the American tanks there firing on the Soviets.

  He cautioned his wingman to

  watch out for them. There was only two hundred meters between the U.S. and the Soviet tanks. This was truly close air support.

  By the time Bannon arrived on the scene it was all over. Coming up next to 55 from behind, he stopped and surveyed the open area. There were at least fifteen T-72s burning to the front. Looking down the tree line he could see that one of the 3rd Platoon tanks was also burning. After making sure that the Soviets had really broken off the attack, Bannon dismounted and ran over to 55. Uleski was just getting over the shock of having been in such a near thing. One Soviet tank had managed to reach a point less than fifty meters from 55. He quickly pulled himself together and reported what had happened and the status of the Team. Satisfied that Uleski had the situation well in hand and that the Soviets wouldn't be coming back this way, Bannon reported to Major Jordan and cancelled the order for 2nd Platoon to come up. As he waited for new orders, he went over the morning's events in his mind. It wasn't even noon and already the Team had been in four different engagements and had lost three tanks. The mission of the battalion had been changed, and instead of being the lead battalion in the attack, it was now defending the flanks. It was shaping up to be a hell of a day.

  CHAPTER TWELVE.

  "They Came, in the Same Old Way."

  The Team sat in its positions, collectively catching its breath and awaiting orders. Slowly, almost unnoticed, a new and unexpected enemy made its appearance: a forest fire. That it happened should not have been a surprise. The tracer elements in the main gun and machine-gun rounds, aided by burning tanks, were more than enough to set the dry foliage aflame. In high-tech fighting machines it is easy to forget that each action and activity affected everything it touched, manmade and natural. Wrapped in a million-dollar tank, it's easy to forget the natural laws that drive the universe.

  At first no one noticed the burning trees and shrubbery. Fire had become a common sight after an engagement. Slowly, however, the fire began to grow, as ruptured fuel cells spread their burning contents. Flames from the two tanks that Polgar's men had destroyed in the first engagement ignited the tree branches that hung over them. In a surprisingly short period, the 3rd Platoon found itself between two growing fires.

  Bannon stood upright in the cupola and surveyed the growing fire to the rear. Uleski, who had been keeping a watch to the front, saw his commander and turned to see what he was studying so intently. With a single glance, he

  understood Bannon's concerns. Without using call signs or names, Uleski came up on the Team net, "YOU THINKING WHAT I'M THINKING7-OVER." Turning toward 55 and facing the XO, Bannon simply nodded his head yes.

  The flames continued to spread. There had not been any appreciable rain for weeks, making the trees and undergrowth grade-A kindling. Knowing the Team had no choice and not bothering to call battalion or explain why, Bannon ordered the 3rd Platoon and the Mech to pack up and move out. Like Uleski, Gerry Garger turned to his rear and immediately realized what was happening.

  The move was going to be hazardous. To start, the two platoons could not back away from the tree line into the woods before turning around. The fire had spread too far for that.

  Instead, they were going to have to move forward into the open and turn, flanking themselves to any enemy force that might still be to their front. Once clear of that hazard, the tracks had to

  pick their way slowly through the trees back to the valley. Movement therefore was not only going to be slow, it was going to be potentially dangerous: One error by a driver or TC could cause a tank to lose its track. The crew of 66 already knew about that danger. At the rate the fire was moving, a tank would have little chance of being recovered if it lost a track.

  No attempt was made to establish an orderly withdrawal. Bannon ordered the Mech Platoon to move on its own to a rally point where the 2nd Platoon was already sitting in reserve.

  Uleski and 66 sat overwatching the move of the

  3rd Platoon as they began to move. The air, already oppressively hot from the fire and thick with choking smoke from burning wood, diesel, rubber, and flesh, was filled with tension as the first of the 3rd Platoon tanks rolled into the open. Folk had his eye glued to his sight as he slowly traversed the turret watching for any hint of movement from the far side of the clearing. Once Bannon was satisfied that there was no one on the other side who would do anything to his command, he signaled Uleski to begin his move. Tank 66 stayed in place for another minute, watching the far tree line, then joined the withdrawal behind 55.

  The movement through the woods w
as agonizingly slow for Garger. Even though the platoon had moved forward into positions by creeping along between trees as they were now, it had taken less time, or so it seemed. He did not like the idea of being caught in the middle of a forest fire in a tank loaded with ammunition and diesel. He really didn't know what would happen if the forest fire engulfed the tank. No one did. That wasn't something they taught you at Fort Knox. He had no intention, however, of finding out. Sticking one's ass out to fight the Russians was one thing. He knew the odds then and could do something about it. Letting yourself get overrun by a forest fire was something else. It was an unnecessary risk that Garger was glad they were going to avoid, provided the tanks reached the valley before the fire reached them.

  As 31 crept along, Garger leaned over, watching as the driver carefully picked his way through the woods. Tank 31 was following in the 32 tank's path. As the lead tank, 32 had the task of blazing the trail. The most difficult part for 31's crew was to maintain their calm and not crowd 32. This was easier said than done. When he wasn't watching the drive, Garger was glancing between the approaching fire and 32. He had to restrain himself from egging 32 on over the radio. That would serve no useful purpose other than to make the rest of the platoon more nervous. So he held his tongue and kept watching as 32 plodded ahead at an unnerving three miles an hour.

  The whine of M-113s to his right momentarily diverted his attention. The smaller and more agile tracks of the Mech Platoon were making better time. The drivers were running at a good pace, weaving between the trees like skiers dashing between poles in a downhill race. When Polgar went by, he waved to Garger. The lieutenant returned the wave, then pointed at the approaching fire. Polgar acknowledged the lieutenant's problem with a nod and a thumbs up before the M-113s disappeared to the front of the column.

  Some say leadership is the art of motivating men to accomplish a mission or do something that they might not

  otherwise do. That sounds great in a textbook. As 66 slowly inched along behind 55 in an effort to escape the spreading forest fire, Bannon came up with a few new definitions of leadership. The one that appeared to be most appropriate at that particular moment was something along the lines that a leader was the first man in the unit to put his buns out on the line, and the last to pull them in. As 66 continued its maddeningly slow move through the woods, he wondered if those buns weren't going to get overdone this time.

  To take his mind off 66's dilemma, he switched the radio to the battalion net and called Major Jordan in order to inform him of the Team's move. Not surprisingly, instead of contacting the major himself, Bannon found himself conversing with a slow-talking radiotelephone operator who answered for the major. Getting an RTO is like getting a new secretary for a major corporation. You know that your message is going to be screwed up even if it finds its way to the right person. His conversation with the major's RTO was a case in point.

  First, the man didn't know the proper call signs, insisting that Bannon identify himself fully before letting him proceed with the message. Once he

  accepted the fact that Bannon really did belong on the battalion net, he couldn't find the major. He had no idea where the major had gone but said that he would take a message and pass it on. Next, Bannon had to repeat the message twice before the RTO got it down. It was no big message. All he had to do was tell the major that a forest fire had forced Team Yankee to move and that the Team was now en route to the 2nd Platoon's location. Simple.

  When the RTO finally read the message back slowly and correctly, he made Bannon authenticate to make sure that he wasn't the enemy. This situation, the company commander trying to get a message through a slow-witted RTO, is common and sometimes funny when it is in the past tense. In the present, however, it is extremely frustrating and unnerving. On one end of the radio is a man in danger, wanting to pass a message rapidly or requesting orders or seeking support. On the other end is a class-three moron sitting snug and secure

  in a command track, learning how to use a radio for the first time and mad because the radio call interrupted his lunch. A leader can know no greater frustration than this.

  Bannon had no sooner cleared his mind of the painfully slow radio conversation with the RTO when the same man came back and told him that the request was denied and that the Team was to stay in place until the major came to the position and saw what was wrong.

  Bannon was livid. How the RTO had managed to screw up the message in less than five minutes was beyond him. He didn't give the RTO another chance. Controlling himself, Bannon told the RTO to get the major and have him call immediately. By the time he finished with the RTO the second time, 55 was beginning to clear the forest and reenter the valley. It came none too soon. The 66 came out of the forest just as the fire began to spread above the tank. A few more minutes would have been a few too many. Once again, luck and timing were on Team Yankee's side.

  It was early afternoon before Major Jordan made it up to the Team's position. The two platoons that had escaped the fire established themselves in the tree line on either side of 2nd Platoon. The fire had been momentarily stopped by some old fire breaks. The tank positioned nearest the fire, however, had the task of keeping an eye out in that direction for any spread of the flames.

  The Team spent the time unwinding and taking care of personal needs. It had been on the move or in combat for almost nine hours when it finally pulled in with the 2nd Platoon. The emotional roller-coaster ride and physical efforts of the morning left everyone in a slight stupor. The crews moved at

  half-speed and with a deliberation that put one in mind of a drunkard. Before the Team could be of -any use to anyone, the men, including Bannon, needed a break.

  Major Jordan found Bannon sitting against a tree behind 66, eating some dehydrated rations, and drinking from a canteen. He was stripped to the waist, his gear in a tangled heap next to him. He remained where he was as Jordan approached. He noted that the major was also suffering from

  fatigue. When he reached Bannon, he stood and looked down. Then, without a word, Jordan dropped down and took off some of his gear and helmet. Bannon handed him a canteen without a word, and he took it and drank from it without a word. The two sat there in silence for a moment, both with their backs against the tree, watching the men in Team Yankee go about their business.

  "Sean, it's been a hell of a day so far. A hell of a day." "So far? You got some cheery news that's going to make my day or something?"

  "I just got done talking with the brigade commander. He told me that the battalion had done a great job and how he was proud to have it in his command. Then he went on to tell me that he had all the confidence in the world that I would do well as its commander."

  "Oh oh. Sounds to me, major, like the Old Man was setting the battalion up for a hummer of a job. You got something you're trying to tell this broken down tanker?"

  "'Fraid so, Sean. It seems like the tanks we were hit by were only part of a Soviet tank regiment. Division and brigade seem to think that the rest of that regiment is going to try to stop the division's attack again tonight. The brigade commander feels that since we did such a good job with the lead battalion, we should be allowed to finish off the regiment. "

  "Bully for us. Did anyone tell you how and where?"

  "The where is easy. Everyone thinks they'll attack through the Langen Gap, just north of here.

  The how is up to us."

  "You got any brilliant ideas yet, sir?"

  "Not yet. That's why I came here to talk to you. I figure between the two of us we can come up with something."

  "Thanks for the vote of confidence, sir. My daddy always said misery enjoys company.

  Lunch, however, has a higher priority. Care to join me?" "Hell, why not. I need some time to get myself together. After spending the last two hours down in the valley sorting out the rest of the battalion, I

  know what General Terry felt like when he found Custer and the 7th Cavalry at the Little Bighorn."

  "Well, if it makes you
feel any better, I don't envy your position. "

  "Sean, save the saddle soap and pass me some food."

  For a few minutes, the events of the morning were allowed to pass as the two officers munched on dehydrated foods. Just as it is necessary for the body to digest a meal, the mind had to be allowed to sort out events and images. For most of Team Yankee, the morning events were not new. If anything, some of the men were becoming a little too casual about the death and destruction that surrounded them. For Major Jordan, however, this morning was his baptism by fire. He was experiencing now what Bannon had gone through during the Hill 214 debacle. Bannon thought that the major had come to the Team to escape the horror show in the valley and to find someone with whom to share his new burden.

  The afternoon was passing quietly. Only the distant rumble of artillery and an occasional crack from a tank cannon to the north broke the stillness. The bright day had given way to clouds and a cool wind coming from the west, foreshadowing a coming storm. In the Team area the crews were moving about, checking their tracks, cleaning weapons, or redistributing ammunition between tanks.

  There wasn't much talking or shouting. Very little motion was wasted. A casual observer would not be able to determine who was in charge of the Team. Officers and NCOs were just as dirty and just as busy, except for Bannon, as the rest of the crew. The men knew what had to be done and did it. No shouting, no unnecessary rushing about. The Team, through habits born from countless hours of training and drills, was preparing for its next battle.