Swiecie was the forward support base for the 3rd Brigade and its three infantry battalions, and drab green- gray vehicles lined its narrow streets. The Piast Hotel, the only one in town, had been taken over as the brigade’s headquarters. Reynolds guessed that Americans now outnumbered Poles in this village, especially with so many of the original inhabitants in flight.
As he watched his men debark, all stretching and yawning, a private came up and saluted. “Battalion brief in the hotel, sir, right away.”
Reynolds acknowledged his salute, gathered up his assembling platoon leaders, and headed for the hotel.
The Piast was a stone and brick building, shabby enough to be “rustic” but really just spartan and old. The dining room on the main floor was quickly filling with the 3rd Battalion’s officers, all silent as they waited for the final details of their assignment. Tables and chairs had been pushed to one side, while easels in the center held maps and status boards.
Reynolds spotted his battalion commander, Lieutenant Colonel Jeff Colby, conferring with the brigade’s civil affairs officer. The S-5’s responsibilities included the civilian evacuation plan, and while their convoy hadn’t been horribly delayed by the refugees streaming north, the main road was supposed to have been kept clear. Reynolds was sure the hapless captain was receiving some pithy, pungent feedback from the colonel.
Reynolds liked Colby. A flamboyant, energetic commander, he had passed on some of that energy to his battalion — to some extent compensating for Colonel Iverson’s restrained style. Sometimes, though, he seemed too flamboyant, too “hell-for-leather,” to be real. The colonel had the “army look,” a lean frame with a long, tanned face and close-cropped hair, in this case brown. He was also a Desert Storm veteran, though not as a battalion commander.
Reynolds sighed. The real issues weren’t with Colby, but with himself, and with the entire battalion. Would they hang together? Would this complex machine built of men and weapons work right? The shooting was still too far away for him to feel any personal fear, but he’d admitted to himself that he was terribly afraid of screwing up.
Colby finished his conversation, straightened up, and looked around. Only a few of the battalion’s thirty-odd officers were absent, and he said, in a powerful, carrying voice army wags said was only issued to lieutenant colonels and above, “All right, let’s get it done.”
Even as he spoke, an enlisted man passed out copies of the battalion operations order. Reynolds quickly scanned its cramped, coded, familiar format:
TF CONTROL
Scouts
81mm Mortars
3/C/326 EN (OPCON)
3-320 FA (DS) (105mm)
213 Polish FA BN (155mm)
A/1/101 AVN (DS)
1. Situation a. Enemy Forces. II EurCon Corps is expected to continue offensive operations, driving on Gdansk. In our sector we can expect to see reinforced brigade and division-sized attacks, supported by air and artillery. They are at 75 % to 90 % strength, and their morale is good.
b. Friendly Forces. To our front is the Polish 314th Mechanized Regiment. To our left (across the Vistula River, division and corps boundary) is the Polish 9th Mechanized Division. On our right we tie in with 2-187th. To our rear is Gdansk. 3rd BDE’s mission is to defend in sector to allow passage of the Polish 11th Mech Div and destroy enemy first echelon units. On order withdraw to subsequent battle positions near Laskowice.
c. Attachments and detachments. None.
2. Mission. TF 3-187 conducts defense NLT 2400 29 Jun to destroy enemy in sector VIC Swiecie. Assist the rearward passage of the Polish 314th Mech Rgmt. On order withdraw…
The rest of the order was amplification and explanation, but Reynolds instantly understood his task. Their battalion had its left flank anchored on the Vistula River, and would deploy its three infantry companies, with their attachments, on a line. Bravo Company, “Team Bastard,” had the left flank, west of the highway, then “The Choppers,” Charlie Company, then Reynolds’ Alpha Company. Engineers and TOW missiles were attached to every company but his. He might have been disappointed by that, but at least it meant that his men weren’t expected to take the heat.
He’d still see plenty of action, though. Third Brigade guarded the most direct route between the EurCon II Corps and Gdansk. EurCon would want that road, real bad.
Out in front of them, the Polish 314th Mechanized Regiment clung to a battle line north of Bydgoszcz. At its present strength of just forty tanks and APCs, it should have been withdrawn from the line and reequipped, but Poland had no reserves left. The 314th would have to hold the enemy for as long as it could, bloodying and delaying them.
After falling back through the 101st, the battered Polish regiment and its parent division would form a mobile reserve, resting and refitting. Meanwhile, the Screaming Eagles, and Reynolds’ “Angels from Hell,” would be responsible for keeping the advancing French and Germans at bay.
It took Alpha Company’s soldiers thirty minutes of hard marching to reach their section of the new line, minutes Reynolds was already ticking off against a midnight deadline. He and his troops had what seemed like a million things to do before then.
Standard operating procedure saved him. His troops knew what they had to do as soon as they arrived. While that still left a lot of work and planning for the officers and noncoms, the routine items were already part of the plan.
Reynolds quickly walked the ground with his platoon commanders. He forced himself to take the time to do it right, to do it by the book, because the book wouldn’t let him forget anything important. To hold his section of the line, he had three platoons of infantry of about thirty men each, armed with automatic rifles and machine guns. The company’s heavier firepower came from two 60mm mortars, useful for laying smoke or harassing unprotected troops but not much else, and six Javelin antitank missile launchers.
He took strength from the familiar routine, even in an unfamiliar landscape. But behind the quiet, calm front, dozens of troubling questions filled his mind. Would his men hold up under enemy fire? Would he? Had he forgotten anything — anything that might get his soldiers killed unnecessarily? At last, he shrugged inwardly. There was no way he could answer questions like that. Not until tomorrow.
The sun lay low on the western horizon by the time Alpha Company broke for dinner. Reynolds squatted on the grass near the other men in his company headquarters, chewing reflectively on the rubbery Swedish meatballs in his mess tin. His troops had accomplished a lot, he decided. Ammunition was still a problem, but their communications nets, both radio and landline were in place, and battalion had promised him engineer support to help build obstacles and lay minefields…
“Movement to the front!” The sudden shout snapped everyone’s eyes around, and those few men who did not have their weapons immediately to hand cursed their error and raced to get them.
Even as he was moving to cover, Reynolds spotted a Humvee roaring up a dirt road from the southwest. The driver seemed to be doing his best to keep the utility truck airborne as much as possible, and Alpha Company’s commander carefully checked to make sure there wasn’t an enemy in hot pursuit.
As the wheeled vehicle roared closer, Reynolds recognized Colby in the passenger seat, along with Captain Marino, the battalion’s intelligence officer, or S-2. Another lieutenant colonel, a stranger, drove. The Humvee was heading for a stone barn serving as the company CP, and Reynolds hurried back, making it there just as the dust cleared and the riders disembarked.
Colby had on his best outgoing, cheerful manner. “Can you take three more for dinner, Mike?”
“No problem, Colonel,” Reynolds answered, glad that he had successfully arranged a hot meal for this evening. With combat imminent, it might be their last for some time.
The battalion commander introduced the other lieutenant colonel. “Captain, meet Ferd Irizarri, liaison with
