The flames continued to spread. There had not been any appreciable rain for weeks, making the trees and undergrowth grade-A kindling. Knowing the Team had no choice and not bothering to call battalion or explain why, Bannon ordered the 3rd Platoon and the Mech to pack up and move out. Like Uleski, Gerry Garger turned to his rear and immediately realized what was happening.
The move was going to be hazardous. To start, the two platoons could not back away from the tree line into the woods before turning around. The fire had spread too far for that.
Instead, they were going to have to move forward into the open and turn, flanking themselves to any enemy force that might still be to their front. Once clear of that hazard, the tracks had to pick their way slowly through the trees back to the valley. Movement therefore was not only going to be slow, it was going to be potentially dangerous: One error by a driver or TC could cause a tank to lose its track. The crew of 66 already knew about that danger. At the rate the fire was moving, a tank would have little chance of being recovered if it lost a track.
No attempt was made to establish an orderly withdrawal. Bannon ordered the Mech Platoon to move on its own to a rally point where the 2nd Platoon was already sitting in reserve.
Uleski and 66 sat overwatching the move of the 3rd Platoon as they began to move. The air, already oppressively hot from the fire and thick with choking smoke from burning wood, diesel, rubber, and flesh, was filled with tension as the first of the 3rd Platoon tanks rolled into the open. Folk had his eye glued to his sight as he slowly traversed the turret watching for any hint of movement from the far side of the clearing. Once Bannon was satisfied that there was no one on the other side who would do anything to his command, he signaled Uleski to begin his move. Tank 66 stayed in place for another minute, watching the far tree line, then joined the withdrawal behind 55.
The movement through the woods was agonizingly slow for Garger. Even though the platoon had moved forward into positions by creeping along between trees as they were now, it had taken less time, or so it seemed. He did not like the idea of being caught in the middle of a forest fire in a tank loaded with ammunition and diesel. He really didn't know what would happen if the forest fire engulfed the tank. No one did. That wasn't something they taught you at Fort Knox. He had no intention, however, of finding out. Sticking one's ass out to fight the Russians was one thing. He knew the odds then and could do something about it. Letting yourself get overrun by a forest fire was something else. It was an unnecessary risk that Garger was glad they were going to avoid, provided the tanks reached the valley before the fire reached them.
As 31 crept along, Garger leaned over, watching as the driver carefully picked his way through the woods. Tank 31 was following in the 32 tank's path. As the lead tank, 32 had the task of blazing the trail. The most difficult part for 31's crew was to maintain their calm and not crowd 32. This was easier said than done. When he wasn't watching the drive, Garger was glancing between the approaching fire and 32. He had to restrain himself from egging 32 on over the radio. That would serve no useful purpose other than to make the rest of the platoon more nervous. So he held his tongue and kept watching as 32 plodded ahead at an unnerving three miles an hour.
The whine of M-113s to his right momentarily diverted his attention. The smaller and more agile tracks of the Mech Platoon were making better time. The drivers were running at a good pace, weaving between the trees like skiers dashing between poles in a downhill race. When Polgar went by, he waved to Garger. The lieutenant returned the wave, then pointed at the approaching fire. Polgar acknowledged the lieutenant's problem with a nod and a thumbs up before the M-113s disappeared to the front of the column.
Some say leadership is the art of motivating men to accomplish a mission or do something that they might not otherwise do. That sounds great in a textbook. As 66 slowly inched along behind 55 in an effort to escape the spreading forest fire, Bannon came up with a few new definitions of leadership. The one that appeared to be most appropriate at that particular moment was something along the lines that a leader was the first man in the unit to put his buns out on the line, and the last to pull them in. As 66 continued its maddeningly slow move through the woods, he wondered if those buns weren't going to get overdone this time.
To take his mind off 66's dilemma, he switched the radio to the battalion net and called Major Jordan in order to inform him of the Team's move. Not surprisingly, instead of contacting the major himself, Bannon found himself conversing with a slow-talking radiotelephone operator who answered for the major. Getting an RTO is like getting a new secretary for a major corporation. You know that your message is going to be screwed up even if it finds its way to the right person. His conversation with the major's RTO was a case in point.
First, the man didn't know the proper call signs, insisting that Bannon identify himself fully before letting him proceed with the message. Once he accepted the fact that Bannon really did belong on the battalion net, he couldn't find the major. He had no idea where the major had gone but said that he would take a message and pass it on. Next, Bannon had to repeat the message twice before the RTO got it down. It was no big message. All he had to do was tell the major that a forest fire had forced Team Yankee to move and that the Team was now en route to the 2nd Platoon's location. Simple.
When the RTO finally read the message back slowly and correctly, he made Bannon authenticate to make sure that he wasn't the enemy. This situation, the company commander trying to get a message through a slow- witted RTO, is common and sometimes funny when it is in the past tense. In the present, however, it is extremely frustrating and unnerving. On one end of the radio is a man in danger, wanting to pass a message rapidly or requesting orders or seeking support. On the other end is a class-three moron sitting snug and secure in a command track, learning how to use a radio for the first time and mad because the radio call interrupted his lunch. A leader can know no greater frustration than this.
Bannon had no sooner cleared his mind of the painfully slow radio conversation with the RTO when the same man came back and told him that the request was denied and that the Team was to stay in place until the major came to the position and saw what was wrong.
Bannon was livid. How the RTO had managed to screw up the message in less than five minutes was beyond him. He didn't give the RTO another chance. Controlling himself, Bannon told the RTO to get the major and have him call immediately. By the time he finished with the RTO the second time, 55 was beginning to clear the forest and reenter the valley. It came none too soon. The 66 came out of the forest just as the fire began to spread above the tank. A few more minutes would have been a few too many. Once again, luck and timing were on Team Yankee's side.
It was early afternoon before Major Jordan made it up to the Team's position. The two platoons that had escaped the fire established themselves in the tree line on either side of 2nd Platoon. The fire had been momentarily stopped by some old fire breaks. The tank positioned nearest the fire, however, had the task of keeping an eye out in that direction for any spread of the flames.
The Team spent the time unwinding and taking care of personal needs. It had been on the move or in combat for almost nine hours when it finally pulled in with the 2nd Platoon. The emotional roller-coaster ride and physical efforts of the morning left everyone in a slight stupor. The crews moved at half-speed and with a deliberation that put one in mind of a drunkard. Before the Team could be of — any use to anyone, the men, including Bannon, needed a break.
Major Jordan found Bannon sitting against a tree behind 66, eating some dehydrated rations, and drinking from a canteen. He was stripped to the waist, his gear in a tangled heap next to him. He remained where he was as Jordan approached. He noted that the major was also suffering from fatigue. When he reached Bannon, he stood and looked down. Then, without a word, Jordan dropped down and took off some of his gear and helmet. Bannon handed him a canteen without a word, and he took it and drank from it without a word. The two sat there in silence for a moment, both with their backs against the tree, watching the men in Team Yankee go about their business.
'Sean, it's been a hell of a day so far. A hell of a day.' 'So far? You got some cheery news that's going to make my day or something?'
'I just got done talking with the brigade commander. He told me that the battalion had done a great job and how he was proud to have it in his command. Then he went on to tell me that he had all the confidence in the world that I would do well as its commander.'
'Oh oh. Sounds to me, major, like the Old Man was setting the battalion up for a hummer of a job. You got something you're trying to tell this broken down tanker?'
''Fraid so, Sean. It seems like the tanks we were hit by were only part of a Soviet tank regiment. Division and brigade seem to think that the rest of that regiment is going to try to stop the division's attack again tonight. The brigade commander feels that since we did such a good job with the lead battalion, we should be allowed to finish off the regiment. '
