how they end are seldom controllable by either side.
World War I, World War II, Korea, and Vietnam all took twists and turns no one foresaw.
Bannon had no reason to doubt that this one was going to be any different. Those thoughts were disquieting. His mind needed to be diverted to something less ominous and more comprehensible.
He put on his CVC, muffling most of the noise of the unseen covering force battle. He locked the push-to-talk switch back into the intercom position. 'Sergeant Folk, have you run a computer check yet this morning?'
'No, sir, we haven't.'
'Well, let's make sure we don't get any surprises during the first engagement. I intend to go home a veteran and collect some of those benefits Congress is always after. How about you, Kelp?'
Kelp stood on the turret floor and looked up out of the loader's hatch at Bannon with a grin.
'I'm with you. My uncle was in Nam an' he's always tellin' me how rough it was. By the time we get done kickin' ass on Russian tanks, I'll be able to tell 'em what a real war was like.'
Bannon left the CVC keyed to the intercom position so that the rest of the crew could hear their conversation. 'Well, if Ortelli can keep this beast running and Sergeant Folk can hit the targets I find him, you and I should do pretty well, Kelp.' Both Ortelli and Folk chimed in, vowing that they were going to be the ones waiting for Bannon and Kelp. After a couple more minutes of banter, Bannon judged that they were in a more normal state of mind, and he started them on the crew checklist. He read the list, item by item, and watched as the crewman responsible performed his check. Like an airline crew preparing for flight, the crew of 66 prepared for combat.
He began to feel more comfortable, and the crew seemed to be less tense. For the first time this morning he felt at ease. It would be possible to relax awhile, both physically and mentally.
Bannon took his CVC off again. To his front he could see pillars of black smoke rising in the sky, joining together high above the horizon, and drifting away to the east. Burning tanks. A lot of them. No doubt about that. Hundreds of gallons of diesel together with ammunition, rubber, oil, and the 'other' burnable material on a tank provides plenty of fuel when a penetrating round finds its mark.
The noise of the battle was more varied now. The initial massive bombardment was replaced by irregular spasms of artillery fire. The artillery batteries shifted their fires to hit targets of opportunity as they presented themselves. Irregular cracks, booms, and thuds were joined by a rapid chain of booms as an artillery unit fired all its guns simultaneously. He began to wonder how long the cavalry could maintain the tempo of the battle they were involved in.
Modern war consumes ammunition, material, and, worst of all, men at a frightening rate.
Rapid-fire tank cannon coupled with a computerized fire control and laser range finders were capable of firing up to eight aimed rounds per minute at tank-sized targets at ranges in excess of 2000 meters. Guided munitions, fired from ground launchers or helicopters, had a better than ninety percent probability of hitting a target at 4000 meters. Soviet multiple rocket launchers could fire hundreds of rockets in a single volley and destroy everything within a one-by-one kilometer grid. Chemical agents produced by the Soviets were capable of penetrating exposed skin and attacking the body's nervous system, crippling the victim in seconds and killing him in minutes. All the implements of war had become more capable, more deadly. All were designed to rip, crush, cripple, dismember, incapacitate, and kill men faster and more efficiently. In all the armies arrayed across the continent, the only thing that technology had not improved was the ability of the human body to absorb punishment.
Such thoughts were disquieting. The mind, left free, tends to wander into what might be and what could happen, as frightening as the Ghost of Christmas to Come was to Scrooge. A diversion from these thoughts came from the east.
Two dots, growing rapidly into aircraft, came screaming toward the small valley from the east just as the others had this morning. Bannon hoped the Team would abide by the standard operating procedures, or SOP, and not engage them. With only machine guns, they stood little chance of hitting fast-moving jets. The only thing that would be accomplished by firing would be to give away the Team's positions.
A Stinger team somewhere in the cavalry's sector had no hesitation about engaging, however. Bannon watched as the white smoke trail of a Stinger surface-to-air antiaircraft missile raced up after the second jet. But it did not find its mark. The Soviet pilot dropped small flares and made a hard turn and dive. The missile detonated harmlessly in midair as the second jet turned to join the first, and both disappeared up the small valley. The ripping chainsaw-like report from a Vulcan 20-millimeter antiaircraft gun somewhere behind the Team's position revealed that problems for the Russian pilots were just starting. The air defense system was now alert and in action.
As if to underscore that point, two more dots emerged from the east. Apparently the Soviets liked this air approach and were sending their aircraft through four at a time. Their heavy use of the small valley cost them this time. Two Stinger missiles raced up to greet the Soviet jets. The pilot of the trail jet in this pair was not as quick or as lucky as the other pilots had been; one of the Stingers found its mark. The missile detonated, causing the jet to tumble over as if kicked from behind, then disintegrate in a rolling orange ball of fire. The first jet kicked in his afterburners, dropped lower, and kept flying west, to the waiting Vulcan. Kelp, who had been watching.the engagement, let out an 'Ah, neat! Hey, Sarge, you missed it!' as if he were watching Fourth of July fireworks instead of the destruction of a pilot and a multimi11ion dollar aircraft. Kelp then described, in his own colorful way, the action to Folk. As Bannon reflected on Kelp's reaction, he, too, had to admit that it was kind of neat.
Announcement of plans to evacuate the dependents was on the TV before AFN went off the air the morning Sean had left. The radio station stayed on the air but didn't provide much information. About the only news the radio provided was the closing of the commissary and the PX and the movement of all U.S. families living off post onto U.S. installations. Pat Bannon prepared for their departure. Fran Wilson, the wife of the commander of Team Charlie, came over later in the morning. She had to be with someone. Fran had sat alone in her quarters waiting for word on when to leave and where to go. When word didn't come, she gave up and sought some company. Sitting alone with her fears and nothing to do but think about what was happening was driving her crazy-she needed someone to talk to and be with. Fran's coming caused Pat to remember that Sue Garger, the wife of one of Sean's platoon leaders, was still staying alone in a German gasthaus in town. The Gargers had been in country less than a month and were waiting for quarters. Pat had met Sue only once and was afraid that Sue might not have heard the news and, because she was new to the unit, might have been overlooked. She called the number listed for Garger on Sean's alert roster. A German answered. Pat's attempt to talk to him in her broken German amused Fran but finally got results. As they talked, Pat could tell that Sue was lonely and nervous. When Pat invited Sue to stay with her Sue jumped at the offer. Like Fran, fear and loneliness had made the deplorable situation worse for Sue. Leaving Fran to watch the children, Pat took off to pick up Sue.
At the entrance to the housing area there was an MP roadblock. Pat was halted and told she could not leave the area. She tried to explain to the MP that she had to pick up a wife that was living in town. The MP held his ground, insisting that she turn around and go back. Pat decided to escalate and told the private she wanted to speak to his superior. The MP went over to his sergeant and spoke to him a moment. The sergeant came over. 'I'm sorry, miss, you can't go off post.'
Pat was used to dealing with the military by now and seldom took no for an answer first time out. She had also learned that there were ways of dropping Sean's rank without being pushy or obvious. 'Sergeant, like I explained to the other MP, the wife of one of my husband's platoon leaders is at a gasthaus in town and has no way of getting in. I'm simply going to get her. Now, unless you or your commander will go get her, I have to.' The sergeant thought about it, then told Pat to wait while he checked with his platoon leader. After a few minutes, he came back and told her to go straight to the gasthaus, pick up the other wife, and come straight back. She was not to stop for anyone or anything else and she was to check back with him when she returned. The speech and precautions worried Pat and made her wonder if this was such a good idea. But she was committed, and Sue Garger was depending on her.
Even for the families of servicemen, the old Army rule of hurry up and wait applied. While Pat was gone, Cathy Hall had called and passed on the word that the evacuation probably would not start until the next day. The Air Force needed some additional time to gear up. To maintain the appearance of normalcy, preparations for the evacuation of dependents had been delayed to the last possible moment. Some of the older wives compared the situation to Iran, where the families were pulled out only at the last minute. Pat was not at all pleased that she and her children had been retained in this country just for appearances but kept her own council. No need to cry over spilt milk now.
As the day wore on and it became apparent that the families were not, in fact, going to go anytime soon, the wives began to visit each other and let the children out to play. Cathy Hall put out the word that she was going to
