Team Yankee: a novel of World War III (15 page)

As it turned out, neither occurred. As the day finally ended, the Team began to prepare for the move. While the rest of the crew prepared, Bannon pondered the meaning of the prolonged artillery attack. Had the Soviets somehow gotten wind of the planned move? Had they destroyed the roads and bridges to the rear? Had Team Bravo been hit again, or had it been the turn of the battalion CP to see the elephant? Would Soviet artillery strike again while they were moving? He, of course, did not have the answers, and the silence on the battalion radio net remained unbroken. He therefore turned his efforts to a more useful pursuit, dinner.

At 2345 hours the Team started their engines and revved them up to as near normal operating RPMs as possible. As they were not going to have friendly artillery fire cover the noise of the movement, they hoped that by running the engines all together, the Soviets might not notice any change in established habits. Chances of that working for long were slim, however; the high-pitched squeak of a tank's sprockets and the crunching noise of tracks in motion could not be covered. But it was worth a try.

The cavalry troop began to arrive on schedule for the relief in place. They came up along a small trail that ran west to east to the rear of the 2nd Platoon. The 2nd Platoon began the relief by pulling back from the tree line and moving south along the trail. As soon as the 2nd was out of its position and cleared the trail junction, the first cavalry platoon moved in where 2nd Platoon had been. As the 2nd moved farther down the trail, Bannon counted the tanks passing in the darkness. When the fifth passed, he gave Ortelli the order to move. The 66 fell into line behind the last 2nd Platoon tank. The movement of 66, followed by Unger's FIST track, was the signal for the 3rd Platoon to begin its move, and they too swung out onto the trail and began to follow. As with 2nd Platoon, as soon as the last 3rd Platoon tank pulled out, the second cavalry platoon began to move into 3rd Platoon's vacated positions.

The process was repeated with the Mech Platoon, which followed the 3rd. In this way, two companysized units changed places in the dark without a single word other than that between the track commanders and their drivers.

Uleski, leading the Team, hugged the tree line on the northern side of the small valley that the Soviets had tried so hard to reach. When he reached a point about three kilometers west of the village, he moved onto the road and slowly began to pick up speed at a predetermined rate. Had he gone too fast at the beginning, the Mech Platoon at the tail of the column would have been left behind, as they were still hugging the tree line. When the column finally reached the designated march speed, Bannon began to relax. So far, all was going well. The relief had gone off without a hitch and the Team had gotten out of the line without drawing fire. Now they were on the route of march about to hit the first checkpoint along the route on time. This was a good omen.

If the rest of the operation went off this well, it would be a piece of cake.

The drive through the dark countryside was quiet and eerie. The only lights visible were the small pinpricks from the taillights of the tank in front and the blackout drive lights of the tank behind. The steady whine of the tank's turbine engine along with the rhythmic vibrations caused by the tracks had a hypnotic effect. Bannon had to make an effort to pay attention to where they were as the column moved along. Reading a map with a covered and filtered flashlight on a moving tank while trying to pick out terrain features on the darkened countryside was difficult but not impossible. Although Uleski was leading, Bannon needed to monitor exactly where they were at all times as a check on Uleskifs navigation and in case something unexpected popped up. The platoon leaders and platoon sergeants were expected to do the same.

On board the tank all was quiet. Both the Team and the battalion radio nets were on radio listening silence. If the radios were used freely, Soviet radio direction finding units would be able to follow them and keep track of where they were going. Kelp was standing on his seat, halfway out of the turret and facing to the rear of the tank. He was the air guard. It was SOP

that the loader would watch to the rear for air attack and any surprises from that quarter.

Folk, in his seat, was fighting sleep. He was having little success. During a road march the gunner was supposed to cover his assigned sector of observation at all times. But when there is a whole column in front and little prospect of action, it is difficult to maintain a high state of vigilance. But Bannon knew that when he needed him, Folk would be on his sight and ready.

Every ten minutes or so Bannon talked to Ortelli. Marching in column like this is worst for the driver. Not only does he have to fight the hypnotic effects of the steady engine noise and vibration, but he must also keep alert to any changes in the distance and speed of the tank in front of him. Drivers moving in column had a tendency to stare at the taillights of the tank in their front and become mesmerized

by them. When that happens, they are slow to notice a sudden change in distance. Rear end collisions are common under such conditions. Therefore, tank commanders tried to ensure that even if no one else was alert, the driver was.

As they moved deeper into the rear area, other traffic and friendly units began to appear.

The farther back the Team went, the more numerous they became. At first, there were the combat support forces and the artillery units. Team Yankee went past a self-propelled artillery battery lined up but pulled off to the side of the road. Apparently they were waiting for the battalion to pass. Every now and then a single vehicle or a group of three or four trucks would pass headed in the opposite direction toward the front, probably supply vehicles of units still there. At road junctions, MPs directed traffic, alternately letting one vehicle from the battalion column go through, then one from another column on the intersecting road go through. Occasionally the Team would pass lone vehicles on the side of the road. Some were broken down. Some had been destroyed by artillery or air attacks.

The villages the Team passed were now populated with a new class of inhabitants. Signal units, headquarters units, and support units of every description had moved in and set up housekeeping. Night was the time when many of these units came to life to do the majority of their work, especially supply units. They were in a hurry to resupply their units for the next round and get back under cover before the new day brought out the Soviet birds of prey that feed on supply convoys.

It was just after passing through one of these busy little hubs of nocturnal activity that the Team hit its first snag. The 66 lurched to an abrupt halt without warning. At first, Bannon thought they had hit something. Ortelli informed him that they were all right, but that the tank in front had stopped. Bannon watched its dark form for a few minutes, expecting it to move out and continue the march. When it didn't, he became concerned and decided to dismount and walk up to the head of the column. Whatever was wrong, it wasn't serious enough to break radio listening silence. As he dismounted, Folk moved up into the commander's position, just in case.

Bannon was not happy about the disruption in the march but was thankful for the chance to walk around some, stretch his legs, and break the monotony. It was 0345 Alpha time. They had been moving for almost three hours and were scheduled to attack in another hour and fifteen minutes. As he moved up the column, he noticed a lot of activity in front of the Team and in the fields at the side of the road. There were lights on all over just a little beyond the head of the column.

Uleski was already dismounted and talking to some people when Bannon arrived. As he reached the group, he noticed that it was an engineer unit and that the people in front of the column and in the fields beyond were working on sections of a combat bridge.

"Well, Ski, what do we have?"

"Sir, this is Captain Lawson, commander of the 79th Bridge Company." Uleski motioned to a tall captain across from him, then continued, "His people put this ribbon bridge in earlier today. When Team Bravo crossed it, too many tanks got onto the bridge at once and did some damage. Captain Lawson has to close the bridge and repair it before we can pass."

"Captain Lawson, Sean Bannon, commanding Team Yankee. How long is it going to take your people to unscrew the mess some of my tanks made?" Lawson gave him an estimate and a brief explanation of what had to be done and why the work had to be finished before he would chance having any more tanks across. He was hoping to be done within thirty minutes, barring any unforeseen problems. As Lawson seemed to know what he was about, and his people were hustling, Bannon asked him to keep the XO posted, excused himself and Uleski, and let Lawson get on with his work. Both agreed that except for the bridge, everything so far was going very well. Uleski was told to stay at the front and monitor the work on the bridge. Bannon was going to walk down the column and have the tanks disperse and shut down. This halt would give the people a chance to dismount, shake out their legs, and check their tracks. If the engineers finished before he returned, Uleski was to have his driver crank up 55 as a signal.

The crews were slow to respond. They were tired. Perhaps the halt was a good thing. It would give everyone a break. The tanks moved off the road, every other one on the opposite side, and all facing out at a forty-five degree angle. This was a formation called a herringbone, used by mechanized forces at times like this. By the time Bannon had reached the 3rd Platoon, he didn't need to tell the crews any more. The tank commanders began to move their tracks off onto the side in the alternating pattern when they saw the tanks in front of them do so. The entire center of the road was cleared by the time he reached the Mech Platoon.

It was then that it occurred to him that something was wrong. Had C company maintained its time schedule, it should have been closing up behind the Team by now. But there was no one behind the Mech Platoon. The road behind Team Yankee was clear. When the last of the tracks had shut down their engines, he walked about a hundred meters down the road and listened for the whine of C company's personnel carriers. Still night air, an occasional rumble from distant artillery, and the pounding and yelling of the engineers working on the bridge were all that could be heard. After five minutes, he abandoned his vigil and began to walk back to the head of the column. He really didn't know if there was in fact anything wrong. With radio listening silence in effect, he had no way of finding out. Of course, if something really terrible had happened to the rest of the battalion, he hoped someone would take the initiative to break radio listening silence and spread the word. But that was a hope, not a sure thing. Bannon had a bad feeling that things were not going well. Something was wrong, and there wasn't a damned thing he could do about whatever it was.

It took Pat's parents a moment to realize that their joyous welcome and enthusiasm wasn't evoking any response. Pat barely acknowledged their presence. She briefly looked at them, softly said, "Hi Mom, Dad," and then turned her head down to look at her children. Sarah hung around her mother's neck, making no attempt to move. Sean leaned against her side and wrapped both hands around the arm Pat held Sarah with. Kurt held her free arm and leaned against her on the other side, head tucked down, sucking his thumb. For an uncomfortable moment, her parents stood there, not knowing what to do or say. Pat's father offered to go get their suitcases while they waited there. Pat's simple response, "There aren't any," made her parents more uneasy. Her father gave her a look, then went to pull the car around to the front of the terminal.

When Pat and her children moved to leave, they moved as one, none of them wanting to let go of the other for the briefest moment. Pat's mother continued to stare, feeling less and less at ease in the presence of her daughter. As they left the terminal, an airman took Pat's name, the children's names, her husband's name and unit, and Pat's destination. The final checklist and roster in their long odyssey.

Outside, Pat and the children climbed in the back seat. Even in the car they continued to hold on to each other. As they pulled away, Pat turned and watched the terminal. They were finally leaving military control. She thought about that for the moment. She thought about the other wives and their children. She looked at her parents in the front seat and began to wonder, Now what? The evacuation was over, but now what? There was nothing more to do.

She was safe. Her children were safe. She was going back to her parents' home. But what then? Wait? Wait for what? For the war to end? For word to come about her husband? And what kind of word? Pat had listened to stories from wives who had waited while their husbands were in Vietnam. She wasn't ready. Even now, safe in the U.S., the dark abyss of the trackless future opened before her. Like an earthen dam that had tried to hold back more

water than it could, her resolve collapsed, and she began to cry. Her children silently tightened their grips on their weeping mother to comfort her and themselves. Her parents in the front seat stared ahead, not knowing what to do or say.

: CHAPTER FIVE.

Hunter and Hunted.

Twenty-eight minutes from the time Bannon had talked to Lawson, 55 cranked up. The bridge was opened and ready for Team Yankee. The engineers, however, made sure that the tanks didn't screw up their work again. An engineer NCO stood at the near end of the bridge, stopping each tank as it approached the ramp. He would hold the tank there until the tank on the bridge got off on the far side of the river. When it was 66's turn at the on ramp, Lawson came up to the side of the tank.

"Right on schedule, Lawson. Your people done good. Give 'em an atta boy." "Will do, Bannon. You give those Russians hell."

With a thumbs up and a grin, 66 rolled onto the bridge as Lawson waved. The military was strange like that. In the middle of the night you run into a major problem. You suddenly find yourself depending on someone you never met before and probably would never see again.