by James Rosone
He was also concerned about his oldest brother, who he knew had been commanding the carrier, USS Bush, in the Black Sea. He was aware that the ship had been sunk, but so far, he had no updates on the whether or not his brother had survived the attack. The Munch family was a military family, through and through (of course, Brian was the only one to join the Army). The rest of the family was all a part of the Navy; his father had retired as a three-star admiral, James was the two-star admiral in charge of the carrier, and his other brother Adam was a submarine commander. Even though his brothers often gave him a hard time about bucking the family trend and going Army instead, he really hoped that everyone would come out of this OK and they would all see each other at Christmas.
A warning came over the radio, interrupting his thoughts. One of the Avenger crews announced, “We’ve detected two Russian Hind helicopters heading towards our position. We are currently engaging the choppers. Chances are, there will be tanks behind these helicopters.”
“Copy that,” answered LTC Brian Munch.
He switched frequencies on the radio to address his battalion. “Listen up everyone. Our air-defense guys are going to engage some enemy helicopters. Be ready for a possible bum rush by some enemy tanks,” he announced, wanting to make sure everyone was as ready as they could be.
Then Munch turned to his drone operator. “Specialist Lee, move the scout drone towards where that Hind is coming in from. I want to see if there is anything else that may be following the helicopters,” he directed.
“Yes, Sir,” responded the specialist, and he dutifully redirected the drone.
As Brian was watched the drone feed and re-examined the electronic map with the disposition of his forces, he felt confident in their position.
A voice from one of the cavalry troops interrupted everyone’s thoughts. “This is Outlaw-one-one. We have tanks, three kilometers to our front. T-80s it looks like,” the voice said. His voice sounded like it was filled with adrenaline and anticipation.
Then another troop reported tanks to their front, then a third troop reported BMPs and BTRs coming from a different direction. As LTC Munch looked over the various troop locations on the map, he could see that the Russians were coming at them from three different directions.
LTC Munch snapped his fingers and waved his hand to get the attention of his Fire Support Team (FIST) LNO; the FIST coordinated artillery missions between the armor units and the battalion of self-propelled 155mm Paladins.
Captain Charlie Prim had been on the radio with his Squadron, letting them know that they should be ready for a fire mission and that several of the cavalry troops had spotted enemy tanks. He saw LTC Munch was trying to get his attention, so he placed the hand receiver down and looked up. “You have a fire mission, Sir?” he asked.
Munch just nodded and signaled for Captain Prim to scoot over to the map table. “It’s nearly dark right now. The scouts are reporting enemy tanks here and here, and BMPs moving in from this direction. I’d like your guns to throw some illumination rounds in these areas. We need to make sure we don’t have additional enemy troops or vehicles trying to slip through under the cover of night. Also, make sure they know to keep the flares constantly coming throughout the night, all right?”
“I understand sir. We’ll keep the illumination rounds coming. I’ve let the Squadron know to expect fire missions at any time. They are ready, Sir,” he said confidently.
Then, just as they were starting to gather more information and get themselves ready for the pending Russian assault, they heard the unmistakable sound of incoming artillery. Dozens of 152mm artillery rounds began to land among the various clusters of trees and among the buildings of the two villages where the Americans had taken cover.
“Get in your vehicles and move out!” shouted LTC Munch, trying to make his voice heard over the din of the explosions nearby. Everyone rushed to their armored IFVs and raced off. As his tires peeled out, Munch grabbed his radio and told the others to fall back. He didn’t want everyone to stay there like sitting ducks, waiting to be hit from above.
The artillery fire was ferocious as the Russian tank and infantry fighting vehicles continued to maneuver to get in place for their attack. Once the artillery fire started to taper off, the Russians launched an all-out attack. Nearly 130 Russian T-80s and T-14 Armatas began to race towards the American positions from multiple different directions, followed quickly by waves of BTRs, BMPs, and T-15 heavy infantry fighting vehicles.
*******
Alpha Five was commanded by Sergeant First Class Joe Dukes, “JD” to his friends and tank companions. His M1A2 Abrams was positioned to the side of a house that had an overview of the E40 highway. The home also had a lot of trees and overgrown bushes surrounding it, which made it about as good of a tank hiding place as he were going to find. He had identified a couple of firing positions they could use, all nearby and easily accessible. When the scouts began to tell the group they were spotting tanks, JD had his driver inch the vehicle forward, so they could see the highway.
JD and his gunner, Smokey, switched their sights to thermals as the sunlight began to disappear; they quickly spotted the Russian tanks from their heat signatures. Sergeant Jay Smokes had been Joe’s gunner for the past year, and the two of them got along well. They were both from Texas, so their families and upbringing had been very similar. It certainly didn’t hurt anything.
“Smokey, I’m going to start calling targets. I want you to get them locked up with the gun and then start taking them out,” JD announced, making sure his gunner knew what the plan was.
“Roger that,” Smokey replied.
Next, he turned to his loader, Specialist Eric Jones. “Jones, make sure you have the Sabot rounds ready. We are going to focus on the tanks and let the Scouts use their TOWs on the BMPs, OK?” JD asked, again looking to clarify his expectations.
“Roger that Sergeant. Sabot. All day. Got it,” Jones said with a wry grin. He had joined the team about eight months ago. He was a sharp young guy who had been in the Army for two years. He was also their unofficial tech guy, since he seemed to have a knack for anything electronic.
Then JD addressed his driver. “Specialist Miller, be ready to move us to our other firing positions when I give the order. We are going to be moving a lot once the shooting starts, OK?”
“Roger that Sergeant,” Miller replied.
JD went back to looking through his commander’s scope and started to identify targets. “Crap, that’s a T-14. I didn’t think they had any of those ready for combat,” he said to the crew. The others looked up at him, not sure what to say.
“T-14’s burn just as easily as a T-80 or T-90. It’s just a tank JD--let’s kill it,” Smokey said nonchalantly.
JD just smiled and laughed. “I don’t think you know anything about that tank. But you’re right, let’s kill it. Target, T-14, three o’clock. 2,500 meters, Sabot,” he said as they began to get into their rhythm of calling targets, just like in training.
“Sabot up,” said Jones as he stood to the side of the gun waiting for it to recoil from being fired.
“Fire!” yelled JD.
“Round away,” announced Smokey as he pulled the trigger on his targeting control. The whole tank rocketed back on its track as the gun fired its round.
JD watched as the Sabot round flew directly for the T-14. Then to his utter shock, he saw the tank’s defense system fire some kind of small explosive device that threw the Sabot round off course just slightly, causing the depleted uranium dart to hit the tank at the wrong angle. The round ricocheted off the tank and flew harmlessly into the sky. “My God…the round missed. That tank has some sort of defense mechanism. Give me another Sabot round!” he yelled out.
Smokey saw the round fly off the tank as well, and he couldn’t believe it either. This time, he aimed the round a little lower and towards the rear of the tank. He was going to try and nail the engine.
“Sabot up!” yelled Jones, letting everyone know the round w
as ready.
“Fire!” shouted JD, and the tank rocketed back on its track from the recoil. This time the round flew a little lower and slammed directly into the side of the engine compartment. In seconds, the engine blew out flames and smoke. The T-14 suddenly stopped moving forward and stopped entirely. The engine compartment then became a burning cauldron as the fuel tank exploded. The top hatch of the tank flew open as the crew rushed to try and bail out.
Smokey switched from the main gun control to the coax gun and fired a quick burst of the M2 .50 as the crew tried to get out of the burning tank. He managed to cut down two of the three crew members. The third guy managed to roll off the tank and out of Smokey’s sights.
“T-80, two o’clock, twelve hundred meters,” JD directed as he identified the next tank. “Sabot.”
“T-80, twelve hundred meters identified,” Smokey replied.
“Sabot up,” Jones answered, letting them know he was ready.
“Fire!” yelled JD to his gunner.
“Firing. Reload Sabot,” Smokey said as he tracked the round to the tank. Seconds later, the Sabot slammed into the side of the turret and the chassis of the body. It blew the turret right off the tank, killing the crew instantly.
This went on for a while; they lost track of time as they got into the zone. It was spot, aim, load, fire, and repeat. Then, the tank near them was blown up by Russian fire, and JD yelled to his driver, “It’s time to change locations!”
As they moved on to the next spot, JD breathed a sigh of relief. He had gotten so zeroed in on blowing the enemy up that he had put his men at risk. He felt very lucky that they were all alive, and vowed not to let the same mistake happen again.
*******
SFC Lance Peeler was laying on the roof of a two-story house in the village, overlooking the E40 highway. There were a few three-story buildings, but Peeler stayed away from them since those would likely be the first ones destroyed by the Russians. SFC Peeler was a new addition to the 2nd Cavalry field artillery squadron. He had joined the unit eight weeks ago, after spending two years as an instructor at the Army’s Artillery School at Ft. Sill in Oklahoma. He had two young soldiers with him, and ironically enough, they were students of his not that long ago.
They had lugged their AN/PED-1 Lightweight Laser Designator Rangefinder (LLDR) up on the roof with them, along with their own scout drone and Toughbook to watch the real-time video from it. The LLDR was a great new tool. It had been in service for roughly ten years, but the newest version was a huge improvement over previous models. It was lighter, smaller, and more accurate. This tool definitely helped them to identify specific targets much more accurately, and it could also be used to lase for guided munitions.
SFC Peeler turned to one of the young soldiers with him. “Hey, I need you to get the scout drone up,” he instructed. “It’s nearly dusk and the enemy will most likely launch their attack soon.”
Not long after the drone got airborne, they heard the unmistakable scream of incoming artillery. The Russians were known to flatten an area with artillery rounds before sending in their troops or armored vehicles, so Peeler had expected an incoming barrage, but no one could ever really be prepared for the experience. Explosions were going off all around, and there wasn’t anything they could do, except lie in wait on the roof and pray that a round did not land on top of them.
Fortunately, the specialist had managed to get the drone up to around a thousand feet, and guide it over to the village of Borschiv (roughly three thousand meters away) before the artillery started to hit. At the far end of the village, they spotted the Russian armored units, all fanned out in a combat formation, waiting for their artillery support to stop; then they would launch their own attack.
“Private, you see those armored vehicles? They are getting ready to move. Hand me the radio, will you?” Peeler asked the PFC that was lying on the roof next to him.
“Yes, Sir,” he responded over the cacophony of blasts.
With the radio in hand, SFC Peeler called back to get the first fire mission going. “Hellraisers, this is Foxtrot-Three. Fire mission. Regimental size element of Russian armor. Requesting fire for effect, three rounds WP, 300-foot airburst, grid...Second fire mission. Same grid, fire for effect, eight rounds HE, Ground burst. How copy?”
The two young soldiers sitting on the roof with him looked at him in awe of how easily he had just called in what was a very complex fire mission. They felt bad for the enemy that was about to have death and destruction unleashed on them.
A few seconds went by, then the radio crackled to life, “Foxtrot-Three. This is Hellraisers. Good copy. Standby for fire mission.”
In the Russian Army, armored vehicle commanders typically drove into an attack while standing in the hatch of their turret. This provided the commander with the best possible field of vision, and allowed him to take in the scene of the battle far better than he could while looking through the observation slits in the turret. Since the Russian tanks did not incorporate nearly as much targeting technology as the American tanks did, it meant the tank commander had to be a lot more observant and rely on seeing the enemy.
To take advantage of this tactical difference, SFC Peeler had called for a fire for effect of three rounds of WP, which stands for White Phosphorus. “Willie Pete,” as it was called by the gun bunnies, was an incredibly hot burning chemical. By calling the rounds as a 300-foot airburst, it would essentially rain 24 WP canisters down on top of the entire enemy position, creating a chemically-induced burning gas cloud. It would force the tank commanders to get back into their vehicles and move out of the area.
The second fire for effect mission would send 64 high-explosive rounds at the enemy. Due to the number of rounds being requested, the blasts would probably be distributed across the squadron rather than just one battery. If everything played out in their favor, the Americans would destroy more than a few dozen enemy armored vehicles between these two attacks.
The radio came to life again when the Fire Direction Command (FDC) who was coordinating the artillery fire announced, “Rounds shot.”
Ten seconds later, the voice came back over the radio saying, “Splash,” indicating the rounds should begin to impact in five seconds.
SFC Peeler responded, “Splash Out,” letting the FDC know that he had received the message.
While the Russian artillery bombardment continued, SFC Peeler and his two young soldiers watched the scout drone’s footage of their own artillery rounds starting to land amongst the Russian armored vehicles. As the WP rounds began to air-burst, sure enough, the tank commanders dropped back into their tanks, closing their hatches to escape the chemical cloud. The entire column began to start their engines and try to get out of the area. Just as most of the vehicles were beginning to move, the 64 high-explosive rounds landed across their positions, killing dozens of soldiers who had not returned to their vehicles yet. Several tanks also took direct hits, exploding in place.
Moments later, the Russian bombardment of their positions ended and the ground attack began, utilizing whatever forces had survived the American artillery attack.
SFC Peeler told the two soldiers with him, “Start calling out targets as they enter the previously designated zones.” They had arranged pre-arranged fire missions with the battalion FDC to hit certain zones around the American positions as the enemy started to enter them. This would save an enormous amount of time and provide for faster, more accurate, fire support. Considering they had no air support, the artillery battalion’s support was going to be worth its weight in gold.
*******
As the bombardment ended, SFC Childers poked his head above his hastily-dug foxhole to see who else from the troop was still alive. The scream of wounded soldiers could be heard all around, sending a chill down his spine. Childers climbed out of his hole and moved down the line, checking on his soldiers.
He approached the foxhole next to his, and saw the two soldiers sitting in the bottom of it, shaken, but OK. “Hey, s
tay frosty guys,” he said. “The ground attack is most likely going to come next.” Then he proceeded to move to the next foxhole.
While moving forward, he heard some crying to his left, near a thicket of bushes. He moved towards the noise and saw one of his soldiers had crawled over to the greenery for cover. The man had been hit by shrapnel in multiple places; his right leg was nearly torn off and bleeding steadily. He had jimmied his own tourniquet and tried his best to stop the bleeding on his own. “Hang on soldier. I’m here,” said Luke calmly.
He moved to the injured man’s side and began to apply an additional bandage. “Medic! I need a medic over here!” he shouted to the soldiers around them.
A second later, one of the medics called back, “I’m on the way!”
Another soldier nearby heard Childer’s cry for help and ran over to assist as well. Within moments, the medic had arrived at their position. He placed his aid bag on the ground next to the wounded soldier, opening it swiftly and deftly searching for the exact supplies he needed. The medic immediately poured a clotting powder on the wounded man’s leg, then made sure the tourniquet was on tight. He gave the soldier a quick shot of morphine and began to establish an IV bag.
Once the initial life-saving measures were complete, Childers knew he would have to move on. He addressed the medic, “Specialist Jenkins, try to get him stabilized and back to the aid station. I’m not sure if or when we’ll be able to get any additional medical help, so do your best son”
Jenkins nodded, and the other soldier stayed with them to help move their injured comrade.
Sergeant Childers grabbed his rifle and walked further into the woods, checking the rest of the firing positions as he went. He needed to make sure the platoon was ready for the next attack.
He found Lieutenant Taylor helping one of the soldiers get their heavy machine gun repositioned. A large tree branch had fallen and pinned the weapon to the ground until they were able to wrestle it out and get it set up in a new position. “Everyone OK here LT?” he asked, hoping no one was killed or injured.