success. Turning to his deputy, he ordered him to stay there with the political officer and try to reorganize the unit to their front. He would go around to the north and push the attack through the woods. Without further ado, Potecknov ran down the stairs and into the street to his vehicle. He was determined to win, regardless of the cost.
Uleski's report found 55 and 31 in the same type of stalemate that he had been in before the counterattack by 24 and 22. Bannon had monitored that action and pondered doing the same thing. Tanks 55 and 31 had destroyed six BTRs in addition to the two tanks. Two BTRs and some of the infantry in the second line had managed to pull back into the village.
The surviving first-line infantry were on the ground and dispersed. Those near the burning vehicles attempted to crawl away from the light and heat created by the fires. Sometimes their efforts were rewarded by a burst of fire from either 55 or 31.
Earlier in the fight a few stout-hearted souls had attempted to engage 55 and 31 with RPGs.
Quick reaction ended these efforts.
While there was no longer any return fire from the line of pinned Russian infantry, Bannon knew there were many of them who were still alive. If they stayed out there or withdrew to the village, they would be of no immediate concern. But if some of their officers were able to rally a few men and slip around to the rear, 55 and 31 would be in danger.
The shifting of the heavy artillery barrage from the trail junction to the tree line, where 55 and 31 were located, decided the next move. Rather than sit there and be pounded, 55 and 31
were going to attack.
"MIKE 77-THIS IS ROMEO 25-OVER."
"THIS IS MIKE 77-OVER."
"THIS IS 25-WE ARE GOING TO ATTACK-WE WILL ADVANCE ABREAST TOWARD
THE VILLAGE AT 10 MILES PER HOUR-ONCE AT THE VILLAGE WE WILL GO UP THE
STREET
THE BTRS WENT UP-FALL IN BEHIND ME AS WE GO THROUGH THE VILLAGE AND
COVER
OUR REAR-HOW COPY SO FAR7-OVER. "
"THIS IS 77-GOOD COPY-OVER."
"THIS IS 25-ONCE IN THE VILLAGE WE WILL TURN RIGHT ON THE MAIN ROAD AND
GO
NORTH OUT OF THE VILLAGE-FROM THERE FOLLOW ME -I'M NOT SURE WHERE
WE WILL GO-OVER."
"THIS IS 77-WILCO-OVER."
"THIS IS 25-LET'S ROLL."
"THIS IS 77-1 HEARD THAT."
Garger didn't have to tell his driver twice. He was just as anxious to get out from under the artillery fire as his tank commander was. As 31 broke the tree line, Garger could see 55
illuminated by the fires of the burning Russian vehicles. Both he and his loader increased their rates of fire and began indiscriminately to spray machine gun fire before the tank as it advanced.
This was too much for many of the survivors still lying on the ground between the village and the tree line. First there had been the battle between the tanks, which their tanks had lost.
Then there had been the accurate and deadly machinegun fire that had cut down their comrades and officers and anyone who tried to stop it. Their BTRs had been destroyed one at a time and were now burning hulks incinerating their crews. Around them were visions of horror: burning vehicles, steady fire from an unseen enemy, apparent failure of their tanks and artillery, death of their comrades, moans of the wounded, screams of men burning to death, and the smell of burning flesh. And worst of all, the feeling that they were the only survivors, that every man around them was dead or dying. All this pushed the green Russian soldiers to the limit of their endurance. The appearance of the American tanks closing on them, spraying death, pushed them beyond.
The 55 and 31 had no sooner cleared the tree line and the incoming artillery when individual Russian soldiers began to jump up and flee. The driver kept 55 at a steady ten miles an hour. Bannon, the loader, and the gunner covered their sectors, engaging Russians as they made their appearance. The loader covered the left flank, the gunner the center, and Bannon the right. Those who were smart and not in the direct path of the advancing tanks stayed put and played dead. There were few smart Russians that night.
The tanks converged on the village. At the edge of the village, 31 slowed down, let 55 take the lead, and swung its turret over the rear, continuously engaging soldiers who were attempting to flee the carnage. As
55 turned the first corner in the village, it was greeted by a BTR at a range of twenty meters.
The BTR was frantically trying to back up and get out of the way. Both the BTR commander and Bannon looked at each other for the briefest of moments before they began to issue frantic orders. "GUNNER- BATTLESIGHT-BTR!
The shock of seeing a target so close caused the gunner to raise the level of his reply several decibels. "IDENTIFIED!"
"SABOT LOADED-UP!- "FIRE!"
At this range and with the speed of the SABOT round, firing and impact were almost simultaneous. Bannon felt heat of the impact on his face. The brilliant flash of contact and the shower of sparks lit up the street and momentarily blinded him. The SABOT round cut through the center of the BTR and went flying down the street behind the BTR into a building.
The BTR burst into flames and staggered to a stop.
For a moment, 55 stood there with its gun tube almost touching the BTR. All action seemed to stop, as if everyone had to pause and catch his breath. Carefully, Bannon guided 55
around the burning BTR and continued down the street. Tank 31 followed, Garger and his loader shielding themselves from the heat of the flames. The tanks continued into the town, searching for new targets.
Kelp and McCauley had finally managed to get themselves into a good position. The rear of the crippled T-72 was less than a hundred meters to their front. They had a clear shot. The burning hulk of the other T-72 provided just enough light for McCauley as he fumbled about fitting the thermal sight to a new Dragon round.
Kelp was getting impatient, "I thought you said you knew how to use that thing."
"I told you, I only had one class on it, and that was a long time ago. Give me a break, will ya?
I'm doin1 the best I can. "
"Well, do your best faster, damn it." For a moment the situation reminded Kelp of many similar conversations between him and Folk. Folk was always on his back to do things faster or better. As he watched McCauley fumble with the sight and round, Kelp realized why Folk had been so hard on him. He owed Folk a huge apology. "Got it! I think."
"About time. Let's do it."
McCauley set up the Dragon and braced himself as he had seen the other gunner do. Kelp got over to one side and scanned the area for Russian soldiers.
"Here goes. "
The shock of firing the weapon for the first time made McCauley jump as the missile launched. The missile flew a few meters and hit a tree, causing it to fall to the ground and spin around as the rocket motor burned and popped.
"SHIT! GET THE OTHER ROUND!"
McCauley scrambled to detach the sight from the expended round as Kelp rolled the next one to him. Kelp watched as a figure came up out of the T-72's TC's hatch and looked to the rear where the first missile was still burning. The turret began to traverse around. "SHIT!
HURRY OR WE'RE DEAD MEAT!" yelled Kelp.
Fear of death motivated McCauley. He managed to connect the sight to the new round the first time. Kelp kept glancing back and forth between the T-72 and McCauley. It was a race that would have horrible consequences for the loser.
Just as the T-72's long gun was about to lay on the two privates, it slammed into a tree and stopped. The tank commander yelled an order. The gunner swung the turret back a few meters and then tried to knock the tree down with the gun tube. But the tree was too big.
They could not finish laying on the two privates. When the tank commander saw they were not going to get the turret around, he unlocked his 12.7mm machine gun, trained it in their direction, and fired.
The wild burst flew harmlessly over the heads of the two privates. Kelp brought his submachine gun up to his shoulder and fired an equally harmless burst at the Russian tank commander. It was then that McCauley let loose with the second Dragon missile. The flash and whoosh of launch, the burn of the rocket motor, and the detonation of impact ended the fire fight.
The small-arms fire to their rear and the destruction of the second tank took the last fight out of the Russians facing Polgar. One at a time and in
pairs they began to drift back north along the trail. At first Polgar thought that they were thinning the line to form a group for an end run. But as the Russian return fire slackened, then ceased, he knew the truth. The shadows created by the Russians as they drew back past the burning tanks kept moving north. For the second time that night, the order to cease fire rang out through the wooded lot.
The firing began to slacken, then stop, as Colonel Potecknov moved down the trail. At first, he was elated. They had succeeded in breaking the American line. But the faint yells in English, followed by the appearance of figures headed in his direction convinced the colonel that success had not been his. His men were retreating.
Potecknov was not about to give up. Picking his pace up to a slow trot, he began to wave and yell at his men, ordering them to turn around and go back.
The relief and elation over their victory against the T-72 were short-lived. Kelp and McCauley had just begun to move back to rejoin the rest of the infantry when several figures came toward them from the direction of the infantry positions. Both of them dropped down behind a tree, back to back. At first Kelp thought the Russians were sending men back to find them. But the figures went past them in a hurry. They were making no effort to search the bushes for the tank killers. It dawned upon Kelp that the Russians were retreating. That was good. Unfortunately, they were right in the middle of the Russians' path of retreat. The two soldiers continued to huddle behind the tree, each facing out to one side with their weapons at the ready. Kelp
watched as the number of Russians increased. It hadn't occurred to him that there were so many of them. It was amazing that the infantry had not only held, but had caused the Russians to retreat. As he was watching this flood of refugees from the front, a lone figure came running south down the trail, waving a pistol and shouting: Had to be an officer, Kelp thought. The dumb bastard was trying to stop the retreat. For a moment, Kelp wondered if he should kill the officer. But that feat of heroism was not needed. Kelp watched as this figure stopped a group of three retreating Russians and tried to push them back. To Kelp's surprise, one of the three leveled his AK, stuck it into the officer's stomach, and let go a burst. The officer flew back and sprawled over the trail like a rag doll. The one who had fired the AK said something in Russian. All three continued north, stepping over the dead officer.
One of the party kicked the officer in the head as he went by. The Russian soldiers had had enough for the night. Kelp's attention was suddenly drawn to his front as a Russian stumbled and fell right next to him. Kelp and the Russian stared at each other for a moment before they realized that they were looking eyeball to eyeball at the enemy. As the Russian opened his mouth to let out a scream, Kelp leaped on the Russian's chest, putting one hand on the Russian's throat and the other over his mouth. The Russian grabbed the hand Kelp had over his mouth with both hands and tried to pry it off. Kelp pushed down harder but felt his grip slipping.
Just as the Russian succeeded in prying Kelp's hand off his mouth, he went stiff and let go of Kelp's hand. Kelp turned around to see McCauley jab his bayonet into the Russian's stomach a second and third time. When the Russian went limp, Kelp let him go and grabbed McCauley's arm as he started to stab the Russian a fifth time. The two privates looked at each other, then resumed their back-to-back position behind the tree as the last of the Russians went by without noticing the small battle that had occurred in the silent and dark wood.
Colonel Potecknov lay there on the trail, unable to move. In the silence of the dark woods he could feel his life slipping away. There was pain, intense pain. He also began to feel cold even though it had been a warm summer evening. He was bleeding to death, and he knew there was nothing that he could do to stop that. In his last minutes, his thoughts were not on the fears of the unknown fate that awaited him or of the shame of failure. Rather, he was puzzled and bewildered. His battalion should have succeeded! He had done everything right. The plan had been a good one. It had been foolproof. What had gone wrong? Why hadn't it worked? The Russian colonel sought answers for these questions until darkness swept over his mind.
The 55 was just entering the village square when Bannon received Polgar's report that the Russians had broken contact and had withdrawn to the north. The run through the village so far had been quick and dirty. After the BTR had been destroyed, everyone and everything scattered up alleys or into houses. In the town square there were several trucks and two BTRs with soldiers scrambling to board them and get out. When 55 rolled into the square, the trucks began to roll with troops hanging half in, half out. One of the BTR drivers panicked and backed up over a group of soldiers that had run behind it for cover. A truck driver watching 55 and not paying attention to where he was going ran over an officer waving him down and crashed into a store window at the edge of the square. All this confusion was created just by 55's appearance and without a shot being fired. When 31
pulled up next to 55, and both tanks began to fire with main guns and machine guns, the situation really went to hell.
Satisfied that all the Russians were gone, Kelp and McCauley began to move forward cautiously toward the infantry positions. After what they had gone through, the last thing Kelp wanted was to get blown away by his own side. As he moved forward, Kelp stepped up onto a piece of metal. When he looked down, he was overpowered by a surge of fear. In the faint light from the burning tanks Kelp saw that he was standing on one of the antitank mines they had put out earlier. He knew he was dead.