by Harold Coyle
By the time Bannon had worked his way down to the walled farm and to the dismounted element of the Mech Platoon's positions, it was getting light. Not that you could see the sun.
In fact, the rising fog made it almost impossible to see anything beyond twenty meters. The Mech Platoon, led by
2nd Lt. William Harding, was already moving into its position and preparing for stand-to.
Bannon decided to stay with them until after stand-to. This platoon was good. They had an unusually good combination of platoon leader, platoon sergeant, and squad leaders.
Harding and the platoon sergeant, a SFC Leslie Polgar, had been together for almost a year and they complemented each other. Harding did the thinking, gave the orders, and led the platoon while Polgar led the training and did the motivating and the ass kicking, which to Polgar were all one and the same.
It was easy to see that the soldiers were well trained and confident in themselves, their weapons, and their leaders, Bannon thought as he watched them. The men moved into their positions with hardly a word, checked their weapons, situated themselves to cover their assigned areas, ready for the enemy or stand down, whichever came first. By the time Bannon had arrived at the farm, Harding had already sent a squad into the village to establish a listening post, or LP. The men manning the LP had taken two Dragons with them. Harding kept his other two Dragons with the mounted element. As he leaned against the farmhouse wall, looking out of the window across from Harding, Bannon kept thinking how worthless he would be here if the other people came boiling out of the fog. Without his sixty-one-ton tank wrapped around him, he wouldn't be much good to anyone in a fire fight armed only with a .45 pistol that was probably older than he was. Not that the .45 was a bad weapon. It's just that
in a real fire fight Bannon wanted to have the ability to reach out and touch someone.
Hand-to-hand combat, eyeball-toeyeball brawls with the enemy might make great war movies, but it simply wasn't his idea of doing business. At the first opportunity, he resolved to secure himself an Ml6 rifle. It might be a pain to carry around, but an M 16 provides its owner with a much greater sense of security when he is fumbling around in the dark alone.
By 0500 it was as light as it was going to get and there were no Russians, or anyone else for that matter, in sight. Bannon told Harding to maintain the squad in the village until the fog lifted and to stand down the rest of
his platoon. He also reminded Harding of the 0730 platoon leaders' meeting and the weapons inspection for the Mech Platoon at 0900 hours. Bannon knew that by the time he returned to the platoon all weapons would have been checked for cleanliness, functioning, headspace, and timing by either Harding or the platoon sergeant or both. But it was part of the routine that had been established, and it gave him a chance to learn more about the men in the platoon and a chance for them to see him. It was important that the attached units know that their commander had high standards when it came to important items like weapons, positions, camouflage, and all those things that separated the quick from the dead.
On his way back, Bannon walked from track to track, greeting each crew as they prepared for breakfast and another day on the border. He made some corrections, a few comments, listened to a complaint or two, and generally let himself be seen. Only around the 31 tank was his presence greeted with a proper but chilled reception. The other crew members of 31 were in a depressed mood, for they, like Pierson, did not want to be defeated by the loss of their lieutenant. But they were far less sanguine than Pierson about fighting for his retention. The crew knew that if Garger screwed up in combat they would be the first to pay for it. Unlike a dismounted infantry squad where every man can go off on his own if something gets screwed up, a tank crew is a joint venture where one's fate is welded to the actions of the other crew members. The sixty-one tons of steel that enclose them silently bind their collective fates together. So there is a strong self-serving motivation that causes tankers to work together and ensures that each member of the crew can perform his job. Pride was running a distant second to survival for most of the 31 crew.
Uleski, the tank crews of the two headquarters tank and the ITV crews were either washing and shaving or squaring away their tracks by the time Bannon finished his morning rounds.
The ITV that had been at the edge of the tree line had pulled back into its hide position and was camouflaged. Uleski was squatting next to the PC, stripped down to his waist, washing himself from a small pan of water. Looking up as Bannon approached, he grinned, "I knew you would be back by stand-to. I just didn't know what day. Do you have a murder to report and an emergency requisition for a second lieutenant platoon leader to submit?"
"Come on, U, I'm a nice guy. Do you for one moment think that I would bring any harm to that poor young man over in 3rd Platoon? I mean, do I look like a mean person?"
Standing up and squinting his eyes as he looked Bannon over, he replied, "Oh, sorry. I thought you were my CO, the one who isn't worth a damn in the morning until he's eaten a second lieutenant."
"Yeah, it's me alright. Only this morning a second lieutenant wasn't enough. Now I'm looking for a first lieutenant for dessert." Uleski looked to his left, then to his right, using exaggerated movements, then turned back to face Bannon. "Ain't seen any o'them 'round here. Y'all might try over in yonder hill cuntree," pointing east to the border. With the second round of poor humor decided in Uleski's favor, the Team commander and XO got down to the morning's business while Uleski finished washing and Bannon dug his shaving gear out and prepared to wash up. Uleski had a long day ahead and Bannon wanted him to get started. There were maintenance problems that needed attention, and spare parts that had to be requested, borrowed, or scrounged. The laundry point needed to be located and arrangements made to turn in the company's laundry. Batteries for field phones and wire to replace some which had
been torn out by a cavalry track that had wandered into the Team's area had to be found.
These and many small but important tasks were required to keep the Team in business.
Once the first sergeant came up to the position with breakfast, he and Uleski would divide up the list of tasks between them and go about the day's duties.
The Team wasn't in bad shape. The last tank that had fallen out of the line of march during the movement to the border had finally closed in yesterday afternoon, giving Team Yankee a total of ten tanks, five M I 13s, and two ITVs. Two of the tanks had problems with their fire control system but nothing that would take more than another day to repair. In fact, the vehicles were in better shape than the people were.
Not that they were falling apart. However, life in the field wears away at soldiers unless simple creature comforts such as food, clean dry clothes, and other such necessaries are provided. Added to the problems of living in
the field, the tension caused by the alert and move to the border, followed by the flurry of almost panicked activity during the first twenty-four hours in position, followed by three days of waiting and there is potential for a disaster. This was made worse by the lack of solid news from the outside world and the concerns of the married personnel, including Bannon himself, about the evacuation of the dependents back to the States. To top it off, many of the men had not brought extra fatigues and some hadn't even brought a change of underwear.
After three days of hot weather and hard work, the company was getting funky.
Efforts to secure reliable news from the outside world had failed. The 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 negotiations between NATO and Warsaw Pact representatives were still going on at a secret location. So the men were in the dark, not knowing much more than what was going on wit
hin their platoon position and unable to find out from anyone whether they were going to go home tomorrow or be part of 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 dehydrated field rations that came in little brown bags, 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 the men as busy as possible doing constructive things without wearing them out. This kept their minds off the grim situation they were facing while preparing them to meet it. It was 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 served each other breakfast.
Standing around the hood of
Harrert's jeep, they ate their cold powdered eggs, rubbery bacon strips, and soggy toast as they listened to the latest news the first sergeant had from the rear.
Most of Harrert's news 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 roads. The opposite was happening as monumental traffic jams became worse. Newspapers were scarce and none were making it farther forward than Division rear. Nor was the delivery of
mail 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.
The men would be able to exchange underwear. 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 the 23 tank and would be up to install it that morning.
While only a few problems would be solved, any forward progress was welcome. The three agreed that, given two more days of peace, the Team would have all the big problems squared away and would be one hundred percent ready. As they finished up their working breakfast, they were joined by the platoon leaders coming up for the 0730 meeting. The group moved over to the PC where Bannon sat on the lowered ramp with Harrert and Uleski sitting on either side of him. The platoon leaders dropped down on the ground facing the three men, taking off their helmets, unbuckling their LBE belts, pulling out notebooks and pencils as they did so. The meeting had no sooner started when the first sergeant nudged Bannon and pointed to the left, "Here comes the Old Man."
Driving up through a logging trail that ran behind the Team's position came the battalion commander's jeep. 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 "6" didn't give a damn. He was the battalion commander, and he wanted to make sure everyone knew it. Bannon turned the meeting over to Uleski, telling him to find out what the platoons needed as far as fuel and supplies were concerned. He then 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?"
"Sir, they're ready to kick ass and take names. 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 while they 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, Bannon informed Reynolds of his intention to replace Garger. The colonel took the same position that Pierson had. War was imminent, and it didn't seem like a good idea to switch platoon leaders. As Bannon was going over his reasons and justification, they both stood at the tree line and 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 getting hot. The colonel was about to reply when the earsplitting screech of two fast-moving jets flying at treetop level cut him off. The two officers turned in the direction of the noise just in time to see two more jets come screaming into the valley from the east, drop down lower, and fly up the small valley on the right of the Team's positions.
Bannon didn't recognize the aircraft type, aircraft recognition wasn't one of his strong points.
But it wasn't necessary to identify the exact type. A glimpse of the red star on the fuselage told him everything that he needed to know about the two jets. The waiting was over. The balloon had gone up. Team Yankee was at war.
Despite his best efforts to give the impression that the current situation was nothing to worry about, Sean quietly had begun to make sure that the family affairs were in order. He saw to it that Pat had her emergency evacuation kit ready with food and blankets. He packed a special envelope for her
containing the important family documents. All the little details were reviewed and listed.
These efforts, while possibly reassuring to Sean, were disquieting to Pat. But she said nothing, listened intently to Sean's instructions, and prayed that all this wasn't going to be necessary.
Pat had known it would be the last night when Sean came in. In his eyes was a look of disbelief that all this was happening. She saw the same thing in her own eyes every time she looked in the mirror. When little Sean ran up to his father, rather than taking him to bed, Sean carried him over to the sofa, pulled out the family album, and began to leaf slowly through the pages. The two sat there quietly looking at the pictures until little Sean fell asleep. With great reluctance, Sean put his son to bed. After fifteen minutes, he came out of his son's room with red and moist eyes. For a moment he looked at Pat, then simply said that he was tired and was going to go to bed. Pat went with him.
The phone rang. Sean was up and out in a flash, as if he had never gone to sleep but had been lying there waiting for the call. When he came back, Pat watched him for a moment in the shadows of the dark bedroom as he gathered up his uniform and boots. When she spoke, she startled him. "Are you going in already?"
"Yes. Gotta. Wouldn't look good for the CO to be late, would it?"
"Will you be home for breakfast?"
"No, I won't."
"Should I hold supper for you tonight?"
"No, no need to."
Pat knew. And Sean knew Pat knew. After eight years of marriage, it's hard to hide secrets and harder to hide feelings. Sean came over to the bed and sat next to his wife. "Pat, the battalion is moving to the border in an hour. I don't know when we will be back."
"Is everyone going?"
"Everyone. The NATO ministers and their governments are mobilizing.
Everyone is going, including you."
"Are they really going to evacuate?"
"Starting this morning at 0900. That was going to be announced anyway. Now, there's no doubt."
As he finished dressing, Pat dressed. There was much to do. Sean was in the children's bedroom. She watched him for a moment and then went to the kitchen where she fixed her husband a bag lunch. As she was finishing it, all the restraint she had exercised and all her efforts to give Sean a cheery face and smile when he left collapsed. She began to cry. Her husband was going out the door in a minute to fight World War III, and all she could do for him was fix him a bag lunch.
CHAPTER TWO.
First Battle.
Both Colonel Reynolds and Captain Bannon stood there transfixed, staring at the point where the two Russian jets had disappeared up the valley. Bannon's mind was almost numb. He kept trying to convince himself that maybe he hadn't really seen two Russian jets.
Maybe he was mistaken. It had to be a mistake. The thought, "We can't really be at war. That isn't possible," kept running through his mind.
They both snapped their heads back toward the east as a crash and rumble like distant thunder rolled over them. They could only see the hill across the valley. But neither man needed to see to know what the distant noise was. The endless chain of distant crashes and rumblings, caused by hundreds of guns, could only be the Soviets' preparatory bombardment on the cavalry's forward positions.
Bannon turned and looked at the colonel. He continued to stare east as if he could look through the hill across the valley and see what was going on. The numbness and shock Bannon had felt was giving way to a sickening, sinking feeling. They had failed. The primary purpose of the U.S. Army in Europe was to prevent war. Deterrence. That's what was supposed to happen. But it had failed. Something terrible had gone wrong, and they had failed. Now they had to fight. They
were at war. And at that moment Bannon felt very alone, very unsure of himself, and very scared.