there's an order to move out in ten minutes.'
With great reluctance, Dallas let out a grunt to acknowledge his loader's efforts. When he was ready, Dallas moved his right hand from where it had been resting mummy style on his chest and pushed the face cloth off. Though he was prepared for the cold, Dallas was not at all ready to be sprinkled with a shower of freshly fallen snow that had accumulated on the cloth. In an instant the peace and tranquility that Dallas had felt just after waking was wiped away. Sitting up, he looked about but saw nothing. Even when he looked up, he couldn't see any sign of sky. The only thing he could detect was the soft, cold, wet pinpricks of falling snow on his face. It was, he realized, going to be another miserable day in Krautland.
With the speed and efficiency of a professional, Dallas was up, dressed, and on his way to his platoon leader's tank in minutes, leaving his gunner, Sergeant Tim Doyle, to pack up sleeping bags, camouflage nets, and to prepare the tank. When Dallas arrived at his platoon leader's tank, the lieutenant was standing in front of his tank with the platoon sergeant studying a map spread out on the front slope of the tank. Walking up to one side of the platoon leader to where he could see the map, Dallas made his presence known without interfering with the discussion between platoon leader and platoon sergeant. Though both of them realized that Dallas was there, neither acknowledged him nor broke off the discussion that had been in progress.
'You're right, Sergeant Emerson. I don't like the idea of running down the middle of a two-lane highway in the middle of the night either. But the CO was clear. He wanted us to physically make sure that Highway 84 was clear as far as Rasdorf and check out the reports from the division's cavalry squadron of tracked vehicles moving into that village. To me that means he wants us to roll along every inch of that hardball road.'
The platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Emerson, looked at his lieutenant, thought for a moment, then leaned forward over the map. With a small red-filtered maglight, Emerson studied the map for several moments. 'Look here, Lieutenant, there's this logging trail running parallel to the highway. If this map is right, there's a number of smaller logging trails that run from the logging trail out to the main road at regular intervals. I could take my wing man and run the logging trail, sticking my nose out onto the highway every now and then to take a look, while you and your wing man run the main road, but further back. When I see that the road is clear, I'll call. Then you can come up to where I am and hold while I drop back to the main parallel logging trail and go down to the next crossover point. That way we can satisfy the old man's desire to pound the pavement without stumbling down the middle of the road like a bunch of drunks.'
Looking at the logging trail that Emerson had pointed out, the lieutenant thought for a moment. 'It sounds good, Sergeant Emerson, but that's going to take a long time.'
'Did the old man give you a time limit, sir?'
'No, no, he didn't. He just said do it.'
'I don't see what the big deal is then. So long as we're doing exactly what he said, it doesn't make any difference how long it takes.'
Conceding Emerson's point, the lieutenant sighed. 'You're right, Sergeant Emerson. As always, you're right. We'll do that until we get here, just west of Rasdorf. There we'll set up on both sides of the road, with you on the north side and my section on the south. The only difference is that I'll take my section down the logging trail and you run the road. Gotta remember, I'm the platoon leader.'
Emerson, trained long ago that there were certain things that you didn't argue about with a West Pointer, merely shrugged. 'Okay by me. Unless you have something else, sir, I'm going to go and give Allston and his crew a swift kick and get ready to move.'
Emerson, not waiting for a response, disappeared into the darkness. For the first time since his arrival, the lieutenant turned and faced Dallas. 'Did you get most of that, Sergeant Dallas?'
Dallas, not pleased that his platoon leader had opted to take the logging trail, something that could be hazardous under the best of conditions, said nothing. Though the risk would have been higher, Dallas would have preferred to go down the road, especially on a night like this. Dicking around on a rutted logging trail at night when you couldn't see your hand in front of your face was not his idea of excitement. Just as Emerson had discovered a long time before, Dallas was finding out that there were some things that you just didn't debate with a young second lieutenant. Instead, Dallas just grunted. 'Got it, sir, loud and clear. I'll be ready to roll in less than five.'
Satisfied, the lieutenant brushed off the snowflakes that had fallen on his map as he carefully folded it in a manner that would show their route to Rasdorf. 'Fine, real fine, Sergeant. Bring your tank around as soon as you're ready and meet me here.' Giving his platoon leader a halfhearted salute out of habit, Dallas turned and stumbled back to his tank to prepare for the start of a new day.
Progress, as the lieutenant had anticipated, was slow because the condition of the logging trail was everything that Dallas had expected. The map that both the platoon leader and Dallas used, though it was the most detailed, couldn't show every twist and turn in the logging trail. At times Dallas even wondered if they were on the right trail. But after making the left turn and popping out onto Highway 84 a couple of times, as Emerson had suggested, Dallas stopped worrying. If there was one thing that his platoon leader could do well, it was use the position locator on his tank and read a map. Satisfied that all was going well, Dallas began to relax some by the time they reached the halfway point to Rasdorf.
Tracking their progress on his own map, Dallas figured that they should have reached the next turnoff. Looking up from his map, he saw the cat-eyed taillights of his platoon leader's tank slow and then turn to the left. After making a tick mark on his map case to indicate where they were, Dallas called to his driver, Specialist Bobby Young, to slow down and prepare to turn. Young, already aware of what to do, said nothing in response. He knew that it was just Dallas's way of checking on him and keeping the rest of the crew aware of what was going on. With the greatest of ease, Young began to feel his way into the turn while Dallas leaned as far out of his open hatch as he could to watch that the huge 120mm main gun didn't smack any trees as the tank turned onto the connecting trail that led to Highway 84. When they were on the trail and Dallas saw the taillights of his platoon leader's tank again, he eased himself back down into his open hatch and watched as his platoon leader moved forward slowly toward the main road.
Just before the two tanks reached the road, Dallas ordered Young to stop. He wanted to give the platoon leader some room to back up just in case he needed it. From the hatch of his tank, Dallas watched his platoon leader's tank break free of the woods, climbing up a slight embankment and traversing its turret to the right in the direction of Rasdorf as it went. To Dallas, who didn't like using night vision goggles, everything was black and shades of gray. Even his platoon leader's tank was nothing more than a large black mass before him, with the gun tube slowly moving to the right being the only clear feature of the turret he could see. Turning away for a moment to look down along the side of his own tank to check how well it was doing in negotiating the logging trail, Dallas was startled when suddenly the whole forest seemed to light up around him.
Young, the driver, hit the brakes when he saw a mass of flames leap out of the platoon leader's tank in front of him. Thrown forward and then back, Dallas struggled to regain his balance before looking up at his platoon leader's tank. That tank, now dwarfed by sheets of flame leaping up from the turret, was rolling backwards toward his own tank. Though he had no idea what happened, he suspected the worst. Looking to his left, then to his right, Dallas saw that there was no way to get around his platoon leader's tank, now being racked by a series of secondary explosions. Nor was there any way that he could fight his tank where it stood if he had to. Stuck on the narrow trail, and lit up by the fires from his platoon leader's tank, he would be a sitting duck. The only thing that Dallas could think of was escape. 'BACK UP! Young, back up! NOW!'
There was no need for Dallas to repeat his order. Young was already shifting gears before Dallas said anything. When he felt the tank lurch, and then begin to move back, Dallas twisted about in his open hatch, facing to the rear as he prepared to direct Young. Dallas's night vision, however, was shot by the conflagration that was consuming his platoon leader's tank. He saw nothing of what was before him. Dots and blurred images of flames burned into his eyes, blinded him to where he was going and what was happening around him. Keying the intercom switch on the side of his crewman's helmet, Dallas told Young to take it slow and hold the tank straight. Though Dallas didn't hear a response, he could feel the tank slow slightly, telling him that Young had heard and understood.
Both Dallas and Young were calming down and getting their act together when the loader, watching back toward the road, yelled over the intercom, 'Dallas! There's something moving on the road. It's?
To the west, sitting on the side of Highway 84 just around a bend in the road from where his platoon leader was supposed to come out of the woods next, Sergeant Emerson saw the ball of flame leap up over the treetops.
