Team Yankee: a novel of World War III (19 page)

As they caught, Ortelli applied more power. The slack in the cables was taken out, and they became taut. For a moment the tracks stopped and the engine began to strain. Bannon hoped the hooks could stand the pressure and not snap. If the scheme worked, 66 would be free. Ortelli continued to apply power slowly. The tank began to inch forward, moaning and screeching as the hull scraped across the stump. The cables held. The 66 continued to move and rise up over the stump. Once the tank's center of gravity was past the stump, the front of 66 flopped down. The tracks bit into the ground, and 66 began to roll forward on its own. Bannon signaled to Folk to have Ortelli stop. He crawled to the rear, disconnected the cables from around the tracks, then climbed back on. They were going to leave the hooks and cables behind. With luck, someone could get them later. There were far more important things to do, including getting out from under the Soviet artillery.

As Bannon was climbing back into the commander's cupola, he noticed for the first time that 66 had lost its antennas. Both were sheared off at the base. That explained why the other four tanks had not stopped when he had called them. The last order the Team had heard from him was to keep moving and not stop. Apparently, they had thought that he wanted them to keep going all the way to Hill 214. When they couldn't contact him, they simply carried on with the last order they had received. As 66 began to roll off the hill that had been Objective LOG, Bannon wondered how much that misunderstanding had cost the Team. Clausewitz called it the friction of war. Some called it Murphy's law. Right now, the thought of losing what was left of the Team to a simple misunderstanding was devastating: Sixteen men and four tanks lost because a damned antenna was broken.

Once in the open and out from under the Soviet artillery fire, Bannon had Ortelli move as fast as they could go. He had to find out if there were any tanks in the Team still on Hill 214. If there were, he would be able to contact battalion and find out what everyone else was doing and what the colonel wanted the Team to do. Not that there was much left to do anything with. If battalion couldn't be contacted, then the ball was back in his court. He had to decide what to do with the surviving tanks. Bannon was fast becoming tired of making these decisions. They were too expensive in terms of men and equipment. He wondered what he would lose first, the Team or his nerve.

Movement to Bannon's right diverted his attention. Three Soviet T-62 tanks were moving north on an intersecting course with 66. They must have come out of Lemm and were headed to hit the tanks on Hill 214 in the rear. Bannon grabbed the TC's override and jerked it over as far as he could, swinging the turret toward the threat. "GUNNER-SABOT-3

TANKS!"

Kelp dropped down and yelled, "HEAT LOADEDUP!"

The last round Kelp had put in the chamber had been a HEAT round. Not as good as a SABOT round when fighting a tank, but it would do. There was no time to switch ammunition.

"IDENTIFIED!" The gunner had acquired the targets and was ready to take over. Bannon let the override go. At the same instant, the lead T-62 began to traverse its turret toward 66.

"FIRE HEAT-LOAD SABOT!" At least the next round would be right.

"ON THE WAAAY!" Folk fired.

As if it was all one action, the main gun recoiled, and the tank shuddered and bucked as if hit on its side by a massive hammer. The sound of the gun firing was replaced by a high-pitched scream of agony over the intercom and the hiss of the halon gas fire extinguishers discharging. The turret was instantaneously filled with the halon gas. The 66

jerked to the right and staggered to a stop; it had been hit.

"What happened? Why are we stopping?" Kelp was panicked and about to go out through the loader's hatch. Bannon could feel Folk grab at his leg to get by him and out. Ortelli was screaming. "Shut up, Kelp. Everyone stay where you are. Crew report. "

"We're on fire! Get out!" Folk kept trying to get past.

"GET BACK IN YOUR SEAT AND PREPARE TO ENGAGE." To make his point, Bannon took his free foot and blocked Folk's route out. For the briefest of moments Folk stared at him, then got back into position. "KELP. IS THE GUN UP?" He looked at Bannon dumbfounded. "LOADER-LOAD

SABOT-NOW!" Kelp turned and grabbed the next round.

The screaming on the intercom had been replaced by a continuous moaning from Ortelli. He had been hit. Bannon had no idea how badly, nor could he find out at that moment. He popped his head back out to find out what the Russians were doing.

There was thick black smoke coming from the engine compartment and rolling over the tank. The fire extinguishers in the engine compartment had failed to put out the fire. Across the open field one of the T-62s was burning and shuddering from secondary explosions. The other two had just begun to move out again for Hill 214. Their gun tubes were pointed at 66.

Apparently they thought 66 was finished.

"Sergeant Folk, can you see the other two tanks?"

"Yeah, I got them. They're at the edge of my sight."

"Move your turret slowly and lay on. We don't want to let on that we're still functional. When you're on, fire. I'll hit the smoke grenades. That should cover us from return fire. Kelp, you up?"

Across the turret from Bannon, Kelp was standing against the turret wall. There was a look of terror on his face, but the gun was loaded and armed. "Kelp, give me an up." "SABOT

UP."

"Anytime you're ready, gunner." Through his extension Bannon watched the T-62s. The range readout digits on the bottom of the sight changed. Folk had ranged and gotten a good range return. 950 meters. God, they were close. The ready-to-fire indicator was also on. He put his finger on the smoke grenade launcher, ready to fire.

"ON THE WAAAY!"

As the gun fired, Bannon hit the grenades, covering 66 with a curtain of white smoke.

"SWITCH TO THERMAL!"

As Folk slid the sight shutter into place, the view of the smoke screen was shut out. But instead of the green thermal image, the sight remained black. "The thermal is out!"

"Switch back to the day channel and look sharp. They're going to make sure we're dead this time so we have to get the f up?"

"UP."

"STAND BY TO ENGAGE."

The fire in the engine compartment was growing. The black smoke mixed with the white smoke from the grenades. Ortelli's moaning was softer and weaker now. Within the turret there was the smell of cordite from the spent shell casing, diesel from a ruptured fuel cell, the acrid smell coming from the engine fire, and the odor of sweat from the crew as they waited for the T-62s to reappear.

"IDENTIFIED!" A T-62 was charging down on 66, gun aimed dead on them.

"FIRE!"

"ON THE WAY!"

Both tanks fired at the same time and both hit. The difference was that the Soviet round didn't penetrate the turret of 66. The 66's found its mark and with telling effect. There was the flash of impact followed in rapid succession by secondary explosions. The first series ripped off the turret of the T-62, flinging the fifteen tons of steel high in the air as if it was cardboard. The turret slammed into the ground and flopped over upside down. A quick scan of the area revealed that the other T-62 that 66 had engaged was smoking.

Though it was not burning as the other two were, the body of the tank commander was draped over the side of the turret. Even at that range, the spatter of red on the Russian's black uniform was visible. That and the high angle of the gun tube told Bannon that it was dead. With no other threat in sight and the fire in the engine compartment becoming larger, it was time to abandon 66.

Ortelli had stopped moaning. Folk slowly traversed the turret until he reached the driver's compartment. Ortelli's crumpled form lay limp against the side. There was diesel and blood spattered all over him, his seat, and the compartment. While Bannon held him forward, Kelp lowered the seat back. They eased his body back onto the turret floor. The right side of his face had been torn open and burned. The chest of his chemical protective suit was shredded and soaked with blood and diesel. His right sleeve ended just below the elbow in a bloody tatter. Ortelli was dead.

Bannon's first thought was to leave the body and abandon the tank. But he felt they owed Ortelli better than that. He had been a good soldier and a loyal crewman. To just leave the body there and give it to the fire that would soon engulf 66 was unfeeling. If they survived, Bannon, at least, wanted to be able to tell his family that they had done all they could for him, even in the end. "Let's get him out of here."

Kelp and Bannon dragged Ortelli's body out of the driver's compartment and propped it up.

Folk, kneeling on the turret roof, reached down and took Ortelli under the arms and pulled him out as the other two pushed from below. Bannon reminded Kelp to take his submachine gun and the ammo pouch before he exited. Bannon stayed behind to prepare 66 for destruction. Though the engine compartment fire would probably finish off 66, he wanted to make sure that his tank was not going to be displayed in Red Square as a trophy. Bannon opened the ammo ready door and locked it open. He pulled one round out and put it halfway in the main gun's chamber,

then placed several more rounds on the turret floor. He turned the radio frequency knobs off of the Team's frequency. As he really didn't know by whom they would be picked up, he took his CEOI that contained all the radio frequencies and call signs for the brigade and tore the pages out, spreading them around the turret. Satisfied that 66 was ready, he put two frag grenades and one thermite grenade in his pocket and climbed out. Once outside, Bannon threw his CVC down into the turret, put on his web gear, helmet, and binoculars and grabbed his map case. He ordered Folk and Kelp to head for the woods to their right. Once they were on the way, he took the thermite grenade, pulled the pin and dropped it in the loader's hatch among the shells on the floor. He leaped down on the right side of the tank and crouched low, waiting for the first explosion to make sure 66 would burn.

He landed next to Ortelli. While Bannon had been inside, Folk and Kelp had put Ortelli into a sleeping bag and laid him a few feet away from the tank. There was a tag with his name and social security number attached to the zipper. They had placed his head so that the damaged side of his face was not exposed. Except for the tag, he looked as if he were asleep. Folk and Kelp had felt the same way Bannon had about their friend. Just as they had cared and looked out for each other in life, they had done so in death. When the first round went off, Bannon took off to catch up with the rest of

the crew. Ortelli and 66 were gone. It was time to carry on.

Folk and Kelp were both lying in the tree line watching 66 burn by the time Bannon caught up. He plopped down next to them and began to watch, too. The tank was fully involved now, burning from front to rear and quivering as rounds cooked off and detonated. Off to the left the T-62s also were burning. He studied the four burning tanks. For the past three days he had thought of the Soviet tanks as nothing more than objects, machines to be smashed, destroyed, or "serviced" as the Army had once referred to the act of engaging targets. But in

"servicing" those "things," they had killed sixteen men and had lost one of their own. The whole scene began to seem unreal. Bannon felt

detached from the horrors and the dangers that surrounded them. It was all like a bad dream. Not real. His head began to spin, and he became nauseated. He turned away and lay on his back, closing his eyes and letting his mind go blank. The nervous stress and the emotional strain, as well as the physical exhaustion, were catching up to him. He was thirsty but too tired to do anything about it. He needed a few minutes alone to get himself together. The sounds of battle to the north from Hill 214 drifted down to their refuge. The boom of tanks firing their main guns rolled over them. Bannon listened for several minutes without thinking or moving. To the south the sounds of small-arms fire could be heard from Objective LOG. The battle there was still going on. The familiar pop pop of the Ml6 firing was answered by rifle reports that were not familiar to his ears. Probably Soviet AKs. It was the high-pitched whine of two personnel carriers approaching that finally got him to move.

He rolled over onto his stomach and propped himself up on his elbows. Coming up along the same route 66 had taken were two PCs. As they approached 66 from behind, they slowed down, passing it, one on each side, checking out the area. They turned toward the wood line and headed for Bannon. He knew they hadn't seen him or his crew. They were going to get out of the open and hug the tree line for cover. At least 66's crew would be able to ride up to Hill 214.

Without thinking, Bannon began to stand up to wave down the PCs. Just as he was about to straighten up, the closest PC cut loose with a burst from its caliber .50

machine gun. The wild burst ripped through the trees above him, scattering splinters and pieces of bark all over. He dropped down like a ton of bricks. Folk let out a stream of obscenities while Kelp covered his head and curled up, "JESUS CHRIST! THOSE

FUCKERS ARE TRYING TO KILL US!" Still on his stomach and with his face buried in the ground, Bannon raised his right arm and waved frantically. The shooting stopped. He looked up to see both tracks side by side headed for him, guns aimed and ready. He continued to wave as he slowly rose, ready to go down again if they

fired. This time, they didn't. Once the PC commanders were satisfied that they were not facing Russians, they picked up speed and continued toward the tree line. Their guns, however, stayed aimed at Bannon. No one was taking any chances.

"Damn, sir, we thought you were dead!" It was Polgar, the platoon sergeant of the Mech Platoon. The two PCs pulled into the tree line on either side of them, turned around to face out, and stopped.

"Thanks to you we almost were. Is this all that's left of your platoon?" "No, sir. There are a few men back on LOG with the L. T. but they're mostly wounded, including the L. T. I got most of the 2nd and the 3rd Squads with me. The 1st Squad bought it on that first volley back at the stream. I see you got some before you lost your tank."