and seek shelter in the PCs when they could.
Everyone who didn't need to be outside sought shelter in the tracks. The infantry company in the town, with the exception of those people working in the minefield, was lucky. They were able to improve their positions in the buildings and remain dry. By the time the last shower passed through at 2000 hours, any joy the men in the battalion had felt over the break in the summer heat had been washed away and replaced by mumbled complaints about the cold, the damp, and the mud.
The rain did have one beneficial effect. By coming late in the day it cooled down everything that was not generating heat. This would increase the effectiveness of the thermal sights.
The attacking Soviet tanks would be hot and would present clear thermal images against the cool natural backdrop.
While the engineers would continue to work until all light was gone, the battalion was set and as ready as it would ever be. All it had to do now was wait. The tank crews, the infantrymen in the town and on the hills, the scouts, the ITV crewmen, the battalion's heavy mortar men, and the numerous staff and support people that kept the battalion going settled in to wait.
The Team, like the rest of the battalion, went to halfmanning during the wait. The scouts, deployed in the path of any Soviet advance, would be able to give them at least five minutes warning. Uleski took the first watch for the Team while Bannon got some sleep. At first Uleski found staying awake easy. The cold and the damp coupled with the nervous anticipation kept him alert for the first hour, but boredom and exhaustion soon overtook him.
By 2330 hours he was struggling to stay awake and losing. Uleski would shift his weight from one foot to another, shake himself out, and then lean against the side of the turret every five minutes or so. Inevitably, however, he would drop off momentarily, awakening only when his head fell forward and crashed into the M2 machine gun mount.
Just before midnight, he gave up his efforts and roused his gunner to replace him in the cupola. The loader replaced the driver. When Gwent was ready, Uleski told him he was going to check the line, wake up the CO, and come back to get some sleep.
As he moved down the line, starting with the Mech Platoon, he was glad to see that the rest of the Team had been able to remain more alert than he had. At each point he was challenged. In the Mech Platoon's area he ran into Sergeant Polgar, who never seemed to sleep. He was always moving around checking on something or someone. Uleski didn't know how he did it. The only way one could tell that Polgar was tired was to listen to him speak. His normally slow southern accent became a little slower when he was tired. When Polgar sounded like a 45 record being played at 33, it was a sure sign that the sergeant was exhausted.
At 66, Ulerki found Bannon stretched out on top of 66's turret asleep. Looking at Bannon nestled on top of the camouflage net with the loader's CVC on, Uleski was at first reluctant to wake his commander. He was too tired, however, to be that kind. When Bannon was awake and coherent, Uleski updated him. Not that there was anything to report. Nothing had come over the battalion or team radio nets since radio listening silence had gone into effect.
All was quiet.
Bannon was about to tell his XO to go back to his tank and get some rest when a massive volley of artillery rounds impacted in Langen and on the east side of the hill Team Yankee was on. The flash from the impacts lit up the sky. Division and brigade had been right. The Soviets were coming through the gap. In very short order they would find out if the major had guessed right and come up with a winning solution.
The men of the Mech Platoon scrambled into their positions as the Soviet artillery continued to crash into the east side of the hill two hundred meters to their left. The water in their foxholes had long since dissipated, but the mud had not. Wherever the infantrymen made contact with the ground, the mud clung to them and soaked through to their skins.
In spite of the discomfort and fear caused by their environment and imminent attack, they prepared for battle. The riflemen checked their magazines, tapping them against their helmets to ensure that the rounds were properly seated. They loaded their weapons, chambered a round, took their weapons off safe, and placed the barrel on the stake placed along their principal direction of fire. Grenadiers checked the function of their grenade launchers and chambered their first rounds. Machine gunners checked the ammo to ensure that it was clean, dry, and ready to feed. Dragon gunners switched on their thermal sights, checked their systems, and began to scan their areas for targets.
Polgar went along the line, stopping at each foxhole. To each soldier he gave his final instructions. When he came to a squad leader he required him to repeat his orders. The image of their platoon leader, illuminated by the flashes from impacting artillery, squatting above their foxhole as he calmly gave them instructions, served to steady those who were nervous. His confident and businesslike manner was contagious and bound the Platoon into a usable weapon.
The tankers also prepared for their ordeal. The outcome of this fight would be determined by them. The ITVs and the Scout Platoon, firing their TOW antitank guided missiles, and the infantry with their Dragons would contribute. Every gun counted. The fast-firing M68AI 105mm tank cannon, however, would be the prime killer. Capable of firing eight aimed rounds per minute, the tanks would account for eight out of ten kills that night. The tank and the crew has but one reason to exist. To feed the tank's cannon. All else takes a distant second. Loaders opened their ammo doors to ensure that the rounds were placed in the order they wanted. They would be fighting tanks tonight so the majority of the rounds fired would be the armor-piercing fin-stabilized discarding SABOT rounds with their long needle-like projectiles. Satisfied that the ammo was ready, the loaders closed the doors and checked that the turret floor was clear. In the heat of battle, it would not do to have things clutter the turret. The spent shell casings would be more than enough of a challenge to the loader.
The gunners checked their thermal sights, adjusting the contrast and clarity of the image to obtain the best possible sight picture. They checked their computer settings and functions to ensure the fire-control system was ready and operating. Tank commanders sat perched in their cupolas, alternately watching their crews as they prepared for battle and scanning the tank's assigned sectors. When all was ready, a TC would turn to his wingman and wave until the wingman acknowledged him. With their weapons ready, the men of Team Yankee prepared mentally for their ordeal, each in his own way. Most said a prayer. Many of the men had forgotten how to do so. Technology was so much easier to grasp than the concept of a divine being. But war had been a humbling experience, stripping most of the men in the Team of their smug pretenses. The awesome spectacle of war and everpresent death brought each man face-to-face with himself, for many for the first time in their lives. Most found they lacked something; they felt an emptiness. Along the line, men found comfort in beliefs long dormant. In the shadow of death, amidst the violence of the coming attack, simple, heartfelt prayers completed the Team's preparation for battle.
The scouts reported the appearance of the Soviets. They were advancing in company columns, waiting until the last minute to deploy. This made it easy for the scouts to divide up the Soviet formation and engage their tanks without interfering with each other. The scouts began their battle drill, firing, moving, firing, moving. Engaging at maximum range and calling for supporting artillery fires, the scouts began the grim business of the night. The Soviets tried hard to ignore the scouts, for they knew that they were not the main force. To stop and engage the scouts would prevent their reaching the valley and accomplishing their mission.
The scouts were persistent. Just as a single mosquito can keep a full-grown man from sleeping, the Scout Platoon drew some of the Soviets away from their mission. A company of tanks peeled out from the formation and began to engage the scouts. In accordance with their instructions, the scouts fired a few more rounds to draw their attackers farther away from the advancing regiment. Then, they disappeared into the darkness. The Soviets knew that the scouts were still out there. The night betrayed no tell-tale fires from burning tracks. The Soviet commander found himself with ten fewer tanks and the need to keep looking over his shoulder as he began to pass between the two hill masses and turn southwest.
To the men in Team Yankee the Soviet advance was an awesome spectacle. They watched the Soviets pass to their front. The fires started in Langen silhouetted the Soviet tanks as they completed their deployment. The tank regiment was now in columns of companies, each company in line, one behind the other. As the lead company began to pass to the south of Langen, Major Jordan called for the scatterable minefields.
Amidst the noise of the Soviet artillery fire, the U.S. artillery-delivered mines arrived almost unnoticed. That is, until Soviet tanks began to run over them. The Soviet officers knew about scatterable mines, and they knew their capabilities. There wasn't anything the Soviets didn't know about the American military. But to have knowledge
