THE TEN THOUSAND

by Harold Coyle

  Even before Cerro acknowledged Dixon's order, Dixon shouted for his driver to move out and told his gunner to keep his eyes open, that they were going to go around the Jaguar they had just destroyed and see if there were any more following. As the driver engaged the transmission, Dixon squatted on his seat and looked over to see how Vorishnov was doing with reloading. Dixon, just in time to see the Russian ram the next round into the gun chamber, noticed that he was sweating. Vorishnov, seeing Dixon watching, grunted and yelled over the sounds of the tank's turbine engines, "Automatic loaders are much better." Then he added after keying the intercom, "HEAT loaded."

  With a quick smile and a thumbs-up, Dixon acknowledged the comment and popped back up just as his tank was about to pass the burning Jaguar. His gunner, who was not blinded by the flames of the burning German vehicle, shouted a new acquisition report. "Anti-tank, twelve o'clock!"

  Dixon noticed that his gunner's voice was calmer now, even though he saw at the same instant that the new target was even closer than the one they had just engaged. Without waiting to give a full fire command, Dixon yelled, "INDEX HEAT— FIRE!" in a single breath. Before the gunner fired, Dixon looked and saw another Jaguar desperately trying to back down the narrow street behind the one his gunner was engaging.

  The muzzle blast of his tank's 120mm main gun momentarily blinded Dixon, who had not heeded the gunner's warning of "On the way" and closed his eyes. Not that there was much to see. The second engagement ended as the first had, with a target hit on the second Jaguar at a range of less than forty meters. But there was no time to stop to catch their breath. For while the gunner was preparing to dispatch the second Jaguar, Dixon caught a glimpse of the other Jaguar halfway through the process of turning around further down the street. Suddenly Dixon began to doubt the wisdom of charging across the square in pursuit of Germans. For the briefest moments he understood how Custer could have allowed himself to get suckered into his own massacre.

  But this was no time for half measures, no time for backing up. Dixon felt he was committed and that it was better to keep going than to back off now. Taking a deep breath, Dixon looked about as his night vision began to clear and ordered the driver to keep heading down the street toward what he thought was the rail yard. Though he was pushing his luck or, more correctly, the luck of his entire crew, Dixon had no intention of stopping while he thought he had an advantage.

  In the rail yard, bewilderment was replaced by a panicked frenzy of activity as Captain Albrecht Benen and his first sergeant, once they realized what was going on, ran up and down the line of flatbed rail cars shouting at their men in an effort to get them to hurry. Not everyone was as panicked as their commander. One Jaguar commander, seeing that his crew was doing the best it could and noticing that the second tank cannon report was closer, climbed on his vehicle and began to mount an anti-tank guided missile. Even if they were still on the rail car when the enemy tank came, the Jaguar commander figured he would be able to get at least one shot off.

  Benen, pausing after he heard a third tank round fired, realized that in moments the enemy would be right there in the middle of the rail yard itself. Knowing that it was useless to try to take on the enemy tank in the town, Benen decided to prepare to meet the Americans in the rail yard. There, the anti-tank guided missiles would have enough stand-off distance between the launcher and the target, for it took several meters for an anti-tank guided missile to arm itself after being fired, something that he couldn't count on in the narrow streets of the town. Leaving the first sergeant to take care of the vehicles at the front of the train, closest to where he expected the enemy tanks to come from, Benen ran to the end of the rail cars where he intended to deploy several of his Jaguars. Though it would be close, he was confident that they could do it.

  Confidence, at that moment, was something that Second Lieutenant Tim Ellerbee could have used. Ordered to pick up his speed and get into the town of Dermbach as quickly as possible to protect the brigade command post from an enemy counterattack, Ellerbee and the rest of his platoon had left Captain Nancy Kozak and her slower Bradleys behind in the night in their efforts to reach the brigade command post before the Germans did.

  The sudden burst of speed that allowed Ellerbee and his tanks to break free of the numbing convoy speed, heightened by the prospect of battle, shook any traces of sleep from Ellerbee's mind. They were going into battle again. This time he and his platoon would do everything right. The problems that he had experienced in the Ukraine would be washed away in a single smashing success. And he would be able to prove to the female captain who spoke to him like he was an idiot that he was as good a soldier, if not better, as she was. Of all the thoughts that ran through Ellerbee's mind as his platoon reached the southern outskirts of Dermbach, that was the most important one.

  Which perhaps explains why Second Lieutenant Ellerbee missed the sign that indicated the main road, the one that would have taken his platoon to the center of town where the brigade command post was and where Scott Dixon and his crew were fighting for their lives. Instead Ellerbee found that he was rapidly leading his entire platoon down a blind alley instead of charging to the rescue. Not understanding what had happened, Ellerbee brought his tank to a screaming stop when he suddenly ran out of street and entered a factory complex. Pausing, he looked to his left, then to his right, then at his map while the sounds of Scott Dixon's lonely battle against Captain Albrecht Benen's Jaguar company reverberated through the empty streets.

  While Ellerbee was trying to figure out what had gone wrong and what to do about it, Sergeant First Class Rourk, Ellerbee's platoon sergeant, came over the platoon's radio net. "Alpha Three One, this is Alpha Three Four. We missed a turn back there somewhere. Do you want me to get everyone turned around? Over."

  Looking back down the line of tanks, Ellerbee realized that would take time, which the brigade command post might not have. Besides, if they missed the turn once, there was no guarantee that they wouldn't miss it again. Looking at his map again, Ellerbee noticed that there was a rail line that ran north to south. To his front, he could make out what he thought was a set of tracks in the factory's yard. Glancing back to his left, he followed the tracks toward the direction of the town center and the sounds of battle. It only made sense that the tracks in the factory yard had to be connected to the main rail line shown on his map.

  Stuffing his map back down the open hatch he stood in, Ellerbee keyed the radio mike. "Negative, Three Four. We're going to follow these tracks here to my front and into the center of the town. When we get close enough to the action, we'll cut up a side street and find the brigade CP. Over."

  Though Rourk wasn't too keen on Ellerbee's idea, Ellerbee was the platoon leader and they had to do something fast. So with a less than enthusiastic "Roger, we're right behind you," Rourk and the rest of 3rd Platoon made a sharp left and began to rumble along the railroad tracks toward the sound of the guns.

  In headlong pursuit down the twisting streets after another, and what he hoped to be the last, Jaguar, Dixon didn't notice that he had run out of street and was entering the wide-open rail yard. Not that this helped the Jaguar that they were chasing. When the gunner thought he had enough time, he yelled, "ON THE WAY." Without waiting for Dixon to give the order to fire, he fired the main gun. As before, this HEAT round found its mark.

  The sudden report of a tank cannon and the series of explosions caused by the destruction of one of his Jaguars right there in the middle of the rail yard caught Captain Albrecht Benen and the rest of his company by surprise. In an instant the dark rail yard was bathed in bright yellow and red light as flames from the burning propellant of ammunition stored in the latest Jaguar destroyed leaped into the black night sky. Every one of Benen's officers and soldiers turned and watched before the image of Dixon's tank, with its huge 120mm tank cannon turning toward them, caused them to redouble their efforts. This was it. Fight or flight.

  The sudden image of a dozen enemy armored vehicles, some still on rail c
ars but all of them pointing toward them, startled Dixon, Vorishnov, and his gunner. They were in deep shit with no good choices. Dixon knew that he had pushed his luck too far and it was now time to beat a hasty retreat if they could. Even the driver, without being told, understood their plight, had realized what was coming and had already applied the brakes before Dixon gave the frantic order to back up, repeating it several times, even after his tank had begun its rearward motion.

  Like Dixon, the explosion of the Jaguar in the rail yard and the sight of multiple targets less than one hundred meters to his front caught Ellerbee by surprise. He and the rest of his platoon, however, had an advantage. All the Germans were looking the other way. Somehow he realized they had come up behind the Germans and were in a perfect position to hit them from the rear before they had time to react. Without looking to see if there was room to properly deploy, Ellerbee keyed the platoon radio net and ordered his platoon to deploy on line to either side of his tank and begin to engage the enemy vehicles at will.

  Not waiting for acknowledgment from any of his tank commanders, Ellerbee let the radio mike go and issued a quick if somewhat confused initial fire command to his own gunner. The content of the fire command, including the target Ellerbee wanted to engage, didn't matter. Ellerbee's gunner had already laid his sights onto the rear of a Jaguar that was sitting on top of a rail car with its missile launcher up and ready to fire. When Ellerbee screeched his command to fire, the gunner gave a quick "On the way" and pulled the trigger on his right gunner's control.

  While the destruction of the Jaguar to their front had been a surprise, the firing of a tank and the explosion of another Jaguar behind the men of Benen's company was a shock. Captain Albrecht Benen turned around just in time to see a second American tank pull up next to the one that had just fired and turn its gun on the Jaguar that he was standing next to. Realizing what was coming Benen threw himself under the rail car to his left just as the second American tank fired, destroying another Jaguar.

  Rolling over onto his stomach and propping himself up on his elbows, Benen looked at his latest loss. He realized that all hope of salvaging this one-sided battle was gone. Though Benen had no idea that his company outnumbered the Americans engaged, that didn't matter. He had been unable to bring the weapons of his company to bear and had never been able to recover from the initial shock. As he lay there, Benen saw his men abandon their efforts to bring their Jaguars into the fight and, like him, seek safety behind cover or in flight. All thoughts of duty, honor, and country were forgotten as Benen crawled over the concrete rail sleepers and through puddles of waste oil, mud, and slush that dotted the rail yard and his path to safety.

  Though the tide had swung back in their favor, it was several minutes before Scotty Dixon and his crew realized that. And even when they did, neither he nor anyone else on his tank showed any great desire to rejoin the fighting. They had done what they had hoped to do; they had saved their own lives. That they had killed other men in the process didn't matter. What mattered was that they were alive, that they were in one piece, and that the hope of making it home that way was still a realistic and achievable goal. There was no joy, no pride. Only four sweating men relieved that they had survived somehow and for the moment had nothing to do.

  It was Vorishnov, in his indomitable style, who finally broke the silence and pulled Dixon and the rest of his crew out of their own personal reflections and thoughts.

  Climbing up and out of the open loader's hatch, Vorishnov looked toward the rail yard, hidden by the twisting street but marked by many fires and secondary explosions. After taking off his helmet and wiping the sweat from his brow, Vorishnov looked at Dixon and pointed a finger at him. There was a stern look on Vorishnov's face. "You know, Colonel, it would have been much better with an automatic loader. This juggling act to load this cannon is too much for one man, especially an old one like me. You must tell your generals you need automatic loaders."

  Dixon laughed. "Well, Colonel, remind me of that when we get to Bremerhaven."

  Vorishnov nodded. "I will do that, Colonel. I promise you."

  CHAPTER 15

  20 JANUARY

  In relative terms, the forces engaged were small given the area involved and the nations participating. The area defined by Giessen in the west and Eisenach in the east, Kassel in the north, and Fulda in the south belonged to the German state of Hesse and encompassed over 4,000 square miles, or slightly less than the state of Connecticut. The only river of any consequence was the Fulda, running north to south from the town of Fulda to Kassel. Most of the towns and villages scattered throughout this area were, comparatively speaking, small. Except for the major road networks that ran through some of them, few were of any significance.

  It was the hills, forests, and small valleys that gave the Battle of Central Germany its character. Because of this, maneuver space was quite limited and the opportunity to use the sophisticated long-range weapons that both armies were equipped with to their maximum effective range was rare. The broken and hilly terrain, cluttered with forests, meant that the series of battles that took place seldom involved more than a single company on either side. There were no long-drawn-out battles of maneuver and massed firepower where generals and colonels maneuvered massed formations here and there. Instead, the Battle of Central Germany was a series of seemingly random and disjointed actions that were short but vicious. These confrontations, often fought at very close range, never involved more than a handful of tanks or infantry fighting vehicles, controlled by captains and lieutenants, and fought by soldiers who seldom saw more than one or two other vehicles of their own unit. Although violent surprise attacks against strong points and ambushes were the preferred technique of both sides, chance meetings were just as likely as the Tenth Corps shifted to deal with the aggressive 2nd Panzer Division and the leisurely probes of the 10th Panzer.

  The weather added its own cruel touch to the battles fought throughout the state of Hesse. Short days and long nights, nights that lasted from 4:30 in the afternoon until almost 7:30 in the morning, added to the difficulties of combatants and those supporting them. Even when day did make its brief appearance, leaden gray skies filled with angry dark clouds often shielded the soldiers of both sides from the warming rays of the sun. It was perhaps the prevailing gloom of winter weather and the discomfort it brought to members of the Tenth Corps and the Bundeswehr that made the foul business of war even fouler and more unpleasant.

  In war the weather can be as deadly and vicious an opponent as any human being. Freezing temperatures can kill the unprepared or careless soldier just as dead as a bullet. And even when the freezing temperatures rise long enough to melt snow, the weather gives no warmth, no relief. Instead, warmer weather generates mud, mud that coats both soldiers and their equipment. Mud that fouls weapons and machines. Mud that grabs an infantryman's ankles and makes each step an effort that further saps the soldier's diminishing strength and stamina. With the approach of night, when the temperature dips again below freezing, uniforms and jackets, now wet and covered with mud, give their owners little protection from the bitter winter winds. Nor do the cold and tasteless combat rations do anything to relieve the sufferings of the soldiers. Together with the lack of dry clothing and the inability to stop long enough to tend to personal needs, including sleep, hope, as well as a soldier's ability to function, slowly erodes. As physical discomfort and the frustrations of not being able to relieve them continue, nerves fray and tempers wear thin, adding mental gloom and despair to an already gloomy and desperate situation. With each kilometer that the Tenth Corps moved north toward the sea and the Bundeswehr fought to stop it, the hopes and spirits of the soldiers sagged lower and lower. Only the efforts of the commanders on both sides, who themselves suffered under the same conditions that were slowly breaking their men, kept both armies going.

  Seventeen kilometers south of Bad Hersfeld, Captain Friedrich Seydlitz stood shivering in the open hatch of his Leopard II tank, watching and wai
ting impatiently for the American mechanized infantry forming up in the wood line across from his company to make its attack. That they were there and that they were preparing for an attack was obvious to everyone in Seydlitz's company. Since moving west out of Hünfeld, the Americans had been putting continuous pressure on Seydlitz's brigade while it continued to make its way to Autobahn A7. Seydlitz, standing on the forward edge of battle and unaware of the activities of other units, couldn't understand why, after such a magnificent start, he and his company were now standing on the defensive. No one, not even his battalion commander, bothered to explain to him that the lack of fuel and the unexpected counterattack of an American brigade in the rear of the 2nd Panzer Division kept Seydlitz and his men from reaching their objective. Instead, Seydlitz was simply ordered to move to such and such a place, assume a hasty defensive position, and be prepared to beat back any and all counterattacks.

  Turning up the collar of his field jacket, Seydlitz wondered what the Americans across from him were up to. They had been fooling around just inside the tree line five hundred meters across a narrow valley from his company for better than three hours. Every now and then one of his tank commanders or gunners would catch a glimpse of an American combat vehicle and ask permission to fire. Seydlitz, without exception, declined permission. They, not the Americans, were at a disadvantage in this situation and had to be careful. Better, he thought, to wait until the enemy came at him in force and in the open than to pick ineffectually at them and expose his own tanks to systematic destruction. Though Seydlitz, like his tank commanders, was chafing at the insufferable delay and anxious to do something, there was nothing to do but curse the cold and dampness that inflamed every joint in his body.