The Ten Thousand (15 page)

Suddenly the real problems of being a combat leader hit home. For several critical seconds Gross would have to trust that his squad leaders and every individual rifleman in those woods would continue to perform their assigned duties while ignoring the pain and suffering of their friends and comrades. In those seconds, with enemy vehicles everywhere, there was nothing that Gross or the infantry squad leaders in the woods with him could do to control the people under their command. If he failed to keep his head and suppress his own fear and panic, or the discipline and cohesion of the unit failed, the platoon would fall apart and cease to be a fighting unit. If his nerve and the cohesion of his platoon held, then Gross and his sergeants had a chance to reorganize the platoon after the BMPs had passed and continue to resist.

Jumping out of the path of a
BMP
that rolled on past him like a rogue elephant, Gross prayed that, one, he survived the next ten seconds, and two, he found something left to command at the end of those ten seconds.

The problem facing Ellerbee at that moment was, for him, equally distressing, though not nearly as hazardous. When he heard Kozak’s order to flex his platoon to the right, Ellerbee yelled down to his driver to crank it up and prepare to move out. Turning off his radio during the starting sequence, Ellerbee held his hand on the radio’s on-off switch while he waited for the sound of the engine turning over. When Wilk, his driver, hit the starter button, however, the only sound they heard was a clunk as the lights in the turret all but died out. “
JESUS
, LIEUTENANT!
THE
BATTERIES
ARE
DEAD!”

Startled by that announcement, Ellerbee let go of the radio’s on-off switch, leaned down, and yelled,

“
WHAT
DO
YOU
MEAN
,
THE
BATTERIES
ARE
DEAD?”

“
THEY’RE
DEAD! DRAINED! NO
POWER
TO
START
THE
TANK
. WE
NEED
A
SLAVE
.”

While Ellerbee sat there dumbfounded, Tinker Shildon turned around in the gunner’s seat, faced Ellerbee, and began to pull his crewman’s helmet off. “There’s a slave cable on Rourk’s tank. I’ll go get it.” Though his voice wasn’t excited, Shildon was up and out of his seat in a flash. Squeezing past Ellerbee, the breech block of the 120mm main gun, and the loader, Shildon didn’t stop until he was halfway out of the loader’s hatch. Then his voice betrayed his shock and surprise. “
WHERE
IN
THE

HELL
ARE
THEY
GOING?”

Shildon’s comment threw Ellerbee. As he scrambled in an effort to get his head up and out of his hatch to see what Shildon was yelling about, Ellerbee yelled, “WHO?
WHERE’S
WHO
GOING?”

“Sergeant Rourk and the rest of the platoon. They’re moving out!”

Like a floating toy held under water in a bathtub and suddenly released, Ellerbee popped up and looked about just in time to see the taillights of Rourk’s tank and his wing man disappear in the woods to their right. Instinctively Ellerbee reached up and keyed the push-to-talk lever on the side of his crewman’s helmet to activate the radio. When nothing happened, he suddenly remembered that he had switched the radio off and had failed to turn it back on in the confusion following Wilk’s announcement that they had no power. Just as he was prepared to drop down and turn the radio on, Ellerbee saw his own wing man’s tank, A32, go screaming right behind him. Jumping back up, Ellerbee pointed at A32 and yelled to Shildon, “
STOP
HIM
,
TINKER
.
STOP
HIM
.”

Pushing himself up and out of the loader’s hatch, Shildon scrambled to the edge of the turret roof, climbed over the crew’s personal gear stored in the bustle rack at the rear of the turret, hit the back deck with both feet, and took a flying leap onto the frozen ground, yelling at the top of his lungs as he did so.

His efforts, however, were for nought. By the time he got up and began chasing A32, that tank, like Rourk’s and his wing man’s, was gone, swallowed up by the dark woods. Stopping, Shildon looked at the woods where A32 had disappeared, then back at the dark form of Ellerbee, who was hanging halfway out of his hatch. In the distance, both Shildon and Ellerbee could hear the battle at the riverbank.

Remembering that the engineer platoon was down the road a few hundred meters, Ellerbee yelled over to Shildon, “
TINKER
. Go down the road. Find the engineers at that farmhouse and see if they have someone who can come up and give us a jump start.”

Looking through the woods toward the road, Shildon paused for a moment as he considered going back to the tank for his field jacket and helmet. A series of explosions from 2nd Platoon’s positions and the thunk-thunk-thunk of 25mm cannons firing told him he didn’t have time for that. Turning, he began to run. As he had before, Ellerbee sat there and watched Shildon disappear into the darkness, like the other tanks in his platoon had. Bad luck, he thought, piled on top of more bad luck, had left him and his disabled tank on the hill while Gross and the infantrymen in his platoon fought for their lives. Pounding his fist on the edge of his open hatch, Ellerbee began cursing out loud at Kozak and the incredible bad luck that had brought him to this spot.

No one in 2nd Platoon, or Kozak, realized that Ellerbee was out of the fight. Even Rourk, who had acknowledged Kozak’s order and had passed it on to the platoon, had no idea what had happened to his platoon leader. What he did know was that the infantry was in trouble and that his platoon leader had failed to respond. Assuming that his lieutenant was too busy trying to get himself and his tank ready to move, and that he would follow when he could, Rourk took over the platoon and moved out in response to Kozak’s order. There would be time later, if they won, to listen to Ellerbee’s excuses. Right now, all Rourk knew was that the grunts were in deep shit and needed help.

Clear of the river and in the woods, the commander of the Ukrainian company that was overrunning Gross’s dismounted infantry had three simple choices and not much time in which to make his decision.

He could stop in the middle of the American position in the woods, dismount his own infantry, and try to wipe out the enemy. Since he really didn’t know how many of his BMPs had made it, and his own company was as disoriented and confused at that moment as the enemy they were overrunning, he quickly decided against that. His next option was to move out of the woods and stop there. By doing so, his company would be clear of the enemy positions and in the open. The Ukrainian commander would then have time to dismount and organize his own command before going back into the woods to clear out the enemy. That, however, didn’t seem like a good idea, since there had been reports of enemy tanks in the area. They, he thought, might be on the high ground, ready to engage his company as soon as it emerged from the woods. To stop there would only make the job of the enemy tanks easier. The final option available to him, as the Ukrainian commander saw it, was to forget about the Americans in the woods by the river line and just keep advancing toward the high ground. There, in the woods overlooking the bridge and open areas near the riverbank, he could deploy his company and cover the engineers as they put their bridge across the damaged highway bridge. Once that bridge was in place, the two tank battalions of the brigade would be able to cross over and join him. Then they could deal with the enemy tanks. That, he decided, would be the most advantageous decision for his company and the entire brigade.

The impact of the conditions under which the Ukrainian commander had to make this decision played no small part in his choice. In the small, cramped confines of his own BMP’s turret, he could see precious little of the outside world, a forested world that was as black as the ace of spades and illuminated at random only by an occasional flash of gunfire or an explosion. The grinding of his BMP’s engine, mixed with the chatter of the machine gun and the thunk-thunk-thunk of the 30mm cannon in the same turret he sat in, mingled with the firing of other BMPs outside. Added to this was an occasional bing-bing-bing as bullets, both enemy and friendly, ricocheted off the outside of his
BMP
. Under such conditions, coupled with his temporary loss of control over his company and the tension and stress of combat, it was a wonder that the Ukrainian company commander was able to think at all. But he could and did. Without any hesitation, he ordered his remaining vehicles to continue to advance through the woods and up to the high ground beyond. The follow-on company, he decided, could deal with the mess in the woods. He wanted to get out into the open where he could fight his company.

After skirting the edge of the tree line where Gross and his dismounts were located, Kozak was about to order Tish to make a left and head into the woods when Wolf yelled that he had acquired two BMPs to their front. Dropping down, Kozak put her eye to her sight. In the center of her sight, at a range of less than four hundred meters, Kozak saw the distinctive image of two BMPs moving across their front through the gap toward the high ground. “GREAT! WE
MADE
IT.” Excited, Kozak began to issue her fire command. “
DRIVER
,
STOP
. GUNNER?
ARMOR
PIERCING? BMPS?
RIGHT
BMP
FIRST? ”

But before she could give the order to fire, something moved in front of their sights and blocked their view of their intended targets, causing Wolf to yell, “
WHAT
THE? ?”

Popping her head out of her hatch, Kozak was greeted by the image of three BMPs in a line emerging from the woods she had intended to go into. The nearest
BMP
, perpendicular to their line of fire, at less than ten meters, was blocking their line of sight. Kozak screeched, not bothering to key the intercom,

“BMPS! BMPS! FIRE! NOW!”

Realizing what was happening, Wolf jerked the trigger, sending a volley of 25mm armor-piercing and high-explosive rounds into the flank of the Ukrainian company commander’s
BMP
. At that range, none missed.

With her head still up, Kozak was blinded by the impact of her own Bradley’s rounds on the side of the
BMP
. The sound of the firing of the 25mm cannon and the impact of those rounds was mixed with the wild screams of the men and the explosion of stored ammunition inside the
BMP
Wolf was riddling.

In a second, Kozak regained her senses. “
CEASE
FIRE
,
CEASE
FIRE
.” Wanting to put some distance between her and the
BMP
they had just destroyed, so that they could maneuver around and engage the other two BMPs beyond it that continued to move forward, Kozak yelled to Tish, “DRIVER!
BACK

UP,
BACK
UP,
BACK
UP!”

Responding to her commands, Tish jerked the Bradley into gear and started moving the vehicle backwards. They had not moved more than five meters when a stream of tracers emerged from the woods to their left and streaked across the front of Kozak’s Bradley. Startled, Kozak looked over, just in time to see the nose and barrel of a
BMP
come out of the woods, almost ramming into the front left fender of Kozak’s own Bradley.

“WOOF! BMP!
LEFT
, FIRE! FIRE! NOOOOW!”

While Tish was still backing up, Wolf traversed the turret, firing blindly as he did so, hoping to hit the enemy vehicle that Kozak was screaming about. When the image of the BMP’s turret came into his sight, Wolf adjusted his fire and began to pump round after round into the turret of the enemy vehicle. As before, there was little chance to miss, and the effects on the enemy
BMP
were immediate and telling.

When he was satisfied that the turret was wrecked, Wolf let up on the trigger, lowered his gun, and then raked the length of the
BMP
where the infantry squad sat with another volley.

As she watched to both her flank and front, Kozak ordered Tish to turn on the smoke generator, hoping that the veil of smoke would buy her some time to sort out what was going on.

As they broke out of the tree line, Rourk’s gunner saw Kozak’s Bradley, still backing up, and the BMPs to its front. Even as he yelled to Rourk, the gunner laid his sight on the first undamaged
BMP
he saw. Rourk didn’t need the aid of a night vision sight to make out the forms of enemy BMPs and Kozak’s Bradley. Without hesitation, Rourk yelled down to his gunner, “Get the first
BMP
, to the right of the burning
BMP
, now.”

Used to Rourk’s informal fire commands, the gunner gave the crew warning that he was about to fire by yelling, “ON
THE
WAY
.” With the aiming dot of his sight reticle laid on the center of mass of the enemy
BMP
, now moving around the burning hulk of the first
BMP
that Kozak had engaged, the gunner hit the laser range finder button, watched for a return, and then fired. At a range of less than two hundred meters, the hypervelocity, armor-piercing, fin-stabilized round ripped through the
BMP
and went screaming out the other side almost without pause. Seeing the effect of his first round, Rourk ordered the loader to switch to
HEAT
, high-explosive anti-tank rounds, before ordering his gunner to traverse right and engage the next
BMP
.

His wing man, however, pulling up next to Rourk’s tank, got that one first. Like Rourk’s, A33’s gunner fired the armor-piercing round that was in the chamber. Though it was a waste of a good armor-piercing round, it was much quicker to empty the chamber by launching the round through the tube than having the loader try to unload it. And besides, in combat no one argued with a kill, even if the wrong ammunition was used.