by Harold Coyle
One of the soldiers standing over the body looked up and saw Polgar looking down. "Yeah.
He wouldn't stop when I yelled to him to halt. Kind of young to be running around shooting at people, Sarge."
"Just remember, Patterson, that sorry piece of trash was old enough to put two holes in McGill and would have done the same to you if he had had the chance."
Patterson looked at his platoon sergeant for a moment, then down at the dead German boy.
After another moment of reflection, he reached down, picked up the AK, and went around to the front to continue the house-by-house search.
Polgarfs report on the Mech Platoon's contact didn't really surprise Bannon. His only regret was the discovery that the town was populated by a
lone fanatic who couldn't have hurt the Team. The price of a casualty hadn't been worth the results.
Impatient and anxious to find out how much longer they were going to sit there, Bannon dismounted and walked over to the battalion S-3's track to find out what Jordan's best guess was. His PC was nestled in a large hedgerow that separated two fields. The troop door on the back ramp was
open as was the cargo hatch on top. Bannon stopped at the door and saw Major Jordan seated across from his radios, arms folded and chin resting on his chest. He appeared to be sleeping.
"Must be nice to have a cushy staff job where you can take a nap three times a day."
Without moving a muscle or opening his eyes, Jordan replied, "Bannon, someday when you grow up, and I trust you will, you'll appreciate the fact that we old folks need to conserve our energy."
"Oh, is that what you call it? Conserving energy? Back home we call it sleep. "
"Shit, don't they teach you treadheads anything at Fort Knox?" "Sure they do, Major. And someday, when Infantry Branch clears you to use words with more than one syllable, I'll tell you all about it." "I'm sure there's a reason you came over here other than to harass me, Bannon. Hopefully, it has to do with that shooting in the town you haven't reported to me yet."
"That was a small affair. Some hyped-up commie highschool kid wanted to play Rambo. He wounded one of Sergeant Polgar's men and got his ass blown away. So far, that's all we've come across. What I really came over here for is to find out when we're going to get this circus moving again. If it's going to be awhile, I want permission to move up onto the high ground to the northeast where we can get under some cover. I'm not thrilled about sitting out here trying to hide my tanks behind these damned bushes." "I expect we'll be moving soon.
The brigade commander just got off the radio with Colonel Reynolds. Colonel Brunn was all over the Old Man. Told him that if he couldn't get this battalion moving, brigade was prepared to pass the I st of the 4th through us to continue the attack." "Sir, pardon me if I seem like an underachiever, but, if the brigade commander wants to let the I st of the 4th take the lead, that's fine by me. I could get into playing second team for awhile." "You don't understand, Bannon. Colonel Brunn damned
near relieved Reynolds after the Hill 214 debacle. The only reason he didn't was because there didn't happen to be any spare lieutenant colonels lying around at the time. If the battalion screws the pooch on this operation, the Old Man is gone. The battalion has to succeed."
"Well, sir, between you, me, and that dumb bush your track is trying to hide in, even if what you say is true, I have no intention of taking any undue risks simply to save someone's reputation. Colonel Reynolds is a good officer and a great guy, but his reputation isn't worth a single unnecessary casualty in Team Yankee."
"I don't think we need to worry about that. The colonel is too much of a professional to do anything dumb simply to save face."
"God, I hope you're right, sir."
They turned to covering the next move. The air cavalry had come across some trucks and reconnaissance vehicles as they roamed out to the front. They scattered the trucks and destroyed the recon vehicles. Unfortunately, the cavalry scouts could not tell if they were Polish or belonged to someone else. A scout helicopter had tried to land near one of the destroyed vehicles to check this out but had drawn fire from an unseen enemy. Not being able to obtain this information and confident that the front would be clear for awhile, Major Jordan requested that the air cav troop shift over to the east and cover the battalion's right flank. The brigade S-3 replied that he would look into that.
Colonel Reynolds, having monitored the reports from the air cav troop, called Jordan on the battalion net and ordered him to get Team Yankee on the move again but at a slower pace.
He informed the Major that the rest of
the battalion would be moving out momentarily and would be able to catch up provided Team Yankee didn't get carried away again. Major Jordan looked at Bannon, grinned, and told the colonel that he would keep the tankers in check. As soon as the transmission ended, Jordan asked if Bannon had any questions. He replied in the negative; he was to get moving but keep it slow. With that, he went back to 66 and prepared to move the Team.
Orders to stop clearing the town came none too soon as far as Sergeant Polgar was concerned. The house-to-house search was getting old. He didn't want to lose any more of his people to some runny-nosed commie who had not even begun to shave yet. Besides, this kind of work was hard. When he had charged the stairs and thrown himself into the room in the house where the sniper had been, he had landed flat on his chest, forgetting there were still grenades hanging on his web gear. The force of the fall had knocked the wind out of him, and the grenades had dug into his chest. He could feel the bruises forming. As the tracks pulled out of town and headed back to the Team, he decided that he was getting too old to be running around playing John Wayne. In the future, he was going to leave the gung-ho stuff to the young kids in his platoon. He also decided that in the next war, he was going to find himself a nice cushy staff job at the Pentagon, fixing coffee for the generals. His campaigning days were over. War, thought Polgar, belongs to the young and strong.
Avery had mixed feelings about moving again. While sitting in this semi-exposed position was dangerous, moving out into the open again, this time in broad daylight with high ground to both sides of the Team, was more unnerving. The Team commander had ordered him to have his platoon go into a left echelon. This he had done. The 21 was now in the lead with the rest of the platoon trailing off to the left and behind him. The Team commander was off to the right of 21 with 3rd Platoon farther to the right, also in an echelon formation but refusing its right. The Mech Platoon was to the rear in the center traveling with the XO.
As the Team moved forward, Avery found it difficult to observe his assigned sector, keep track of where they were on the map he had out to his front, control 21's driver, and keep one eye on the platoon and the other on the Team commander. On top of this, 21 was running across a plowed field against the furrows and an occasional drainage ditch. It seemed that every time he looked down at the map to see where they were, the driver would hit a ditch, catching the young lieutenant by surprise and rattling him around in the cupola. At times, it seemed that he was unable to control 21,
let alone the platoon, and that he was only along for the ride. There had to be a way to manage all of this with some degree of efficiency. How to do that, however, was beyond him.
The Soviet attack helicopter pilot slowly eased his aircraft into position. With a little luck, their target would be just over the rise to their front. They were lucky to have made it this far.
The lead helicopter had barely avoided an enemy scout helicopter on their run in. Although the weapons operator had felt confident that they could have taken out the frail scout, it was not their assigned mission to do so. Someone else would deal with the bothersome scout.
They were hunting for tanks.
The two attack helicopters stationed themselves on either side of an ancient keep that they had used as their rally point and for reference. If the reports were correct, when they popped up over the trees, there would be a town to their front and a group of tanks si
tting stationary east of it. When the pilot of the lead helicopter signaled that he was set, the attack helicopters began to slowly raise until the weapons operator's field of vision was clear. The pilot, seated behind and a little higher than the weapons operator, saw the town first. Once he had the town in sight, he then began to search to the east of the town for the enemy tanks.
He couldn't see them. He ordered the weapons operator to search the area with his powerful sight.
As the weapons operator was searching, something caught the eye of the pilot. There was movement to the north of the town. He turned and looked. Several objects were moving.
Over the intercom, he informed the weapons operator of his sighting and turned the aircraft until it was facing almost due east. The weapons operator had no trouble finding his targets.
He quickly identified them as M- I tanks and M-113 personnel carriers. The pilot reported this to his leader who also shifted his orientation to the east and found the targets.
Like great cats preparing to pounce on their prey, the two Soviet MI-24D attack helicopters studied their targets for a moment. The leader called back and asked if the pilot or the weapons operator had observed any antiaircraft guns or missile launchers. The weapons operator replied in the negative. The pilot checked his radar warning device to ensure that it was functioning and had not detected any enemy search radars before reporting back to his leader. The pilot and weapons operator then continued to track their targets, which were far out of range, while they waited for their leader's orders.
The orders came. Both helicopters would swoop-down on the moving tanks at high speed.
The leader would go for the far tanks, and the second MI-24D would attack the near tanks.
They were not concerned with the personnel carriers. The two attack helicopters would be able to take out two tanks, maybe four, on their first pass. After overflying the target, the two MI-241s would turn north, loop around, and attack the tanks head-on. The leader felt confident that they would be able to make two passes on the enemy before any outside help could intervene. After the second run, both helicopters were to rally at the castle keep. They would then decide if they should continue the attack or break it off. Yelling an old Russian battle cry over the radio, the leader signaled the start of the attack.
Avery was hanging on to the machine-gun mount with one hand to steady himself while he ran his finger along his map trying desperately to find
a
landmark he could use as a reference. The cry of "HELICOPTERS-NINE O'CLOCK,"
followed rapidly by "MISSILE-MISSILEMISSILE," caught him by surprise.
Instinctively he looked up and to his front. There was nothing there. He then turned to his right to look at the Team commander's tank to see what he was doing. For a moment, Avery watched as 66 began to spew out clouds
of white smoke from its exhaust and then turn to the right, disappearing behind the smoke.
When 66 and the 3rd Platoon began to fire wildly above his head, it suddenly dawned upon him what was happening. Avery turned around just in time to see the hideous attack helicopter bearing down
on him, preceded by a round object, growing larger by the second and spewing flames. The impact of the antitank guided missile came before Avery could react.
The attack helicopter pilot was surprised at the speed with which the tanks reacted. Almost as one, the tanks had turned and begun to blow huge clouds of white smoke from their engines. The tanks began to weave about and fire. The shooting was wild and totally inaccurate. Still, it was disconcerting to
watch the red tracers rise up toward him. A couple of the tanks were even firing their cannons. He had to fight his natural instincts to break off the attack and concentrate on closing on their target.
One of the lead tanks had not turned or cut on its smoke generator. The pilot quickly oriented on this stray and ordered his weapons operator to engage it. Then he launched an antitank guided missile. For several tense moments, the attention of both the pilot and the weapons operator was on the tank as the pilot held the aircraft on course and the weapons operator held his sight on the target. The missile, linked to the weapons operator's sight guidance system by a hair-thin piece of wire, received course corrections and homed in on the targeted tank. Only after the missile impacted on the tank did the pilot jerk his joystick to the left and fly north. He wasn't about to try for a second shot on this run. One hit was good enough.
As the pilot brought the helicopter around, a fast-moving object caught his attention. He looked up to see an American attack helicopter bearing down on him from the north. It must have been with the scout they had seen before. The weapons operator saw it, too, and began to lay his cannon on the closing enemy aircraft. But before the weapons operator could fire, the pilot jerked his joystick to the left again in order to evade. The American, however, was quicker.
The pilot felt his craft shudder, then saw the weapons operator in front of him disappear in a series of small explosions as the American's 20mm cannon shells ripped into the MI-241. The attack helicopter's canopy was riddled and the cockpit was filled with smoke. The pilot struggled to
control his aircraft but couldn't. The MI-24D disappeared in a great ball of fire upon impact with the ground.
"WE GOT 'EM! WE GOT 'EM!"
Bannon turned around to see what Kelp was yelling about. Kelp was hanging onto his machine gun with one hand and pointing to the north with the other. In the distance, Bannon could see a fire and black smoke. Kelp, with a grin from ear to ear, turned back to view the conflagration he was sure he had contributed to.
"Forget him, Kelp. He's gone. Keep your eyes open for the other son-of-a-bitch." Bannon ordered the driver to cut the smoke generator off but to be ready to
kick it back on. He then called to the platoon leaders for a status report and to find out if anyone saw where the second Hind helicopter had gone. Garger came back with the report that two of his tanks had observed the second Hind disappear to the east, chased by two AH 1 attack helicopters. The two AH 1 s were probably from the air cav troop and had just happened to be in the area. For a moment, Bannon reflected on the fact that someone was looking out for the Team.
With the air clear he ordered the platoon leaders to rally their tracks, then rally on him. The air attack had scattered the Team. The smoke and confusion still had not cleared, and it would take a few minutes to sort things out. As they were doing so, Hebrock came up on the Team net and reported that the 21 tank had been hit.
"Damn!" Bannon thought, "2nd Platoon lost another platoon leader." Not everyone could be lucky. In war someone has to die. But the second lieutenants in the 2nd Platoon seemed to be making it a habit. He looked around to see how bad 21 was but was unable to do so because the smoke the tanks had put out still had not dissipated. He called back to find out some more details as 66 came around to head back north. Hebrock reported that as
soon as he had any, he'd call back.
As 24 closed on the smoking hulk of the 21 tank, Hebrock was convinced that everyone in the crew was dead. Main gun
rounds in the turret ammo compartment were still cooking off, throwing great balls of flame and smoke into the air. The blow-off panels, designed to come off when the ammunition cooked off and vent the force of the explosion up and away from the crew, were lying fifty meters away from where 21 sat. Hebrock brought 24 to within forty meters of 21 and stopped. Both he and his loader watched as the fire died down and smoke slowly rose from the ammo storage compartment on the rear of the turret. Neither man said a word. Just as he was about to report to the Team commander that 21 was a write off, the loader's hatch on 21 swung open. Hebrock watched for a moment. To his amazement, he saw 21's loader climb out, turn around, then reach down to help someone else. Hebrock ordered his driver to pull up next to 21 and called the first sergeant, telling him they needed the ambulance ASAP.
The air attack had given the rest of the battalion a chance to catch up. Colonel Reynolds called to ask if the Team c
ould continue in the lead or if he needed to pass C company forward. Bannon replied that that wasn't necessary. The platoon leaders had been able to rally their people with no trouble, 2nd Platoon using the shattered 21 as their rally point. Bannon ordered Hebrock to leave the recovery of personnel and 21 to the first sergeant and get his platoon moving.
After he had made the transmission, he thought how cold such an order must seem to an outsider. He had no doubt that every man in the 2nd Platoon wanted to help his buddies in 21. Within the platoons there was a strong personal bond that held the men together. It was natural.
But they were at war. It was unfortunate that lieutenant what's-his-name had been hit and was probably dead. That happens in war. He and his crew would be taken care of, however, by someone else. It was the Team's job, and 2nd Platoon's, to continue the mission. They could not stop each time a tank was hit or a man fell. To do so would be to place the other personnel in the Team in jeopardy. Bannon didn't like the thought of rolling away and leaving 21 on its own,
but he had his duty, and the Team had a mission, two very cold and uncompromising words.
Team Yankee, having collected itself, moved forward again. This time, however, they were not alone. Far to the left, Bannon could catch glimpses of some of Team Bravo's tracks.
They were now abreast of the Team and moving north. To the rear, he could make out tracks of the battalion command group. He had no doubt that C company was close behind.
Satisfied that all was back on track within the Team and the battalion, he turned his attention to the town of Korberg just to the north. That, and the valley to the east of it, would be the next critical point.
As his track and the ambulance closed on 21, First Sergeant Harrert could feel his stomach begin to knot up. He knew that he wasn't going to see anything new. Two tours in Vietnam, training accidents, and the first few days of this war had exposed him to many such scenes.