CHAPTER 1
STAND-TO
The noise and the metallic voice sounded as if they came from the far end of a long, dark corridor. There were no other feelings or sensations as he drifted from a dead sleep through that transitional period of half-asleep, half-awake. An inner, soothing voice on the near end of the corridor whispered, âItâs not important, go back to sleep.â But the radio whined back to life again and the metallic voice called out unanswered.
âBRAVO 3 ROMEO 56 â THIS IS KILO 8 MIKE 77. RADIO CHECK, OVER.â The inner voice was silent this time. Duty called and sleep had to be abandoned.
As Captain Bannon began the grim process of waking up, other senses began to enter play. First came the aches, pains, and muscle spasms, the result of sleeping on an uneven bed of personal gear, vehicular equipment, ration boxes, ammo boxes, and other odds and ends that tend to clutter the interior of a combat vehicle. A tumbled and distorted bed made up of paraphernalia ranging from soft, to not-so-soft, to downright hard does cruel things to the human body. Only exhaustion and the desire to be near the radios whenever possible allowed Bannon to survive the ordeal of sleeping like that.
While still sorting out the waves of pains and spasms, he opened his eyes and began to search the interior of the armored personnel carrier in an effort to reestablish his orientation. The personnel carrier, or PC, was dimly lit by a dome light just above his head. It bathed everything in an eerie blue green light that reminded him of a scene from a Spielberg movie.
First Lieutenant Robert Uleski, the company executive officer, or XO, was sitting in the center of the crew compartment on a box of field rations, staring at the radio with an intense expression on his face as if he were daring it to speak to him again. Cattycorner from where Bannon was perched was the PCâs driver, Sp4 James Hurly, huddled up and asleep in the driverâs compartment. For a moment Bannon stared at Hurly, wondering how the boy could sleep in such a god-awful position. A twinge and a spasm from one of his contorted back muscles reminded him of his own accommodations. Perhaps, he thought, the driver wasnât in such a bad spot after all.
A static crackle, a bright orange light on the face of the radio, and the accelerating whine of a small cooling fan heralded the beginning of another incoming radio call. âBRAVO 3 ROMEO 56 â BRAVO 3 ROMEO 56, THIS IS KILO 8 MIKE 77. RADIO CHECK, OVER.â Without changing his expression or moving any other part of his body except his right arm and hand which held the radio hand mike, Uleski raised the mike to within an inch of his mouth, pressed the push-to-talk button, and waited a couple of seconds. The little cooling fan in the radio whined to life. When the fan reached a steady speed, he began to speak, still facing the radio without changing expression.
âKILO 8 MIKE 77, THIS IS BRAVO 3 MIKE 56. STAY OFF THE AIR. I SAY AGAIN, STAY OFF THE AIR. OUT.â Releasing the push-to-talk button, Uleski allowed his hand to fall slowly back into his lap. He continued to stare at the now silent radio as if he would pounce and attack it if it dared to come to life again. But it didnât.
Bannonâs first effort to speak ended in an incoherent grunt due to a dry mouth and a parched throat. After summoning up what saliva he could, his second effort was slightly more successful. âIs that 3rd Platoon again?â
Still staring at the radio with the same expression, Uleski provided a short, functional, âYes, Sir.â
âWhat time is it?â
Uleski raised his left arm in the same slow, mechanical manner as he had used when answering the radio. Looking at his watch, he considered for a moment what he was looking at before responding in the same monotone voice, â0234 hours.â
It wasnât that Lieutenant Uleski was an expressionless automaton without feelings. On the contrary, âSkiâ, or Lieutenant U as the enlisted men called him, was a very personable man with a good sense of humor, a sharp wit, and an enormous capacity to absorb Polish jokes and retaliate with appropriate ethnic jokes aimed at his tormentor. Itâs just that in the very early morning everyone tends to fall into a zombie-like state. The requirement to sit on a hard surface for hours on end, in a small, cold aluminum armored box called a PC, with two sleeping bodies as your only company with nothing better to do than stare at a radio that you did not expect, or want, to come to life only added to oneâs tiredness. Uleski was not an exception. Nor was Bannon.
Considering for a moment the information his XO had given him, Bannon plotted his next move. The PC was quiet, and Uleski had gone back to his silent vigil. Slowly, as his mind began to come alive, it became apparent that sitting there, watching Uleski watching the radios was definitely nonproductive. Besides, Bannon was now in too much pain to go back to sleep and movement was the only way he was going to stop the aches and spasms. It was time to make the supreme effort and get up. Besides, the Team would be having stand-to within the hour and he needed some time to get himself together. While it was permissible for everyone else to look like he had just rolled out of bed at stand-to, the Team commander, at least, had to give the appearance that he was wide awake and ready to deal with the world. The night, if four hours of sleep on a pile of assorted junk could be called a night, was over. It was time to greet a new day, another dawn, the fourth since Team Yankee had rolled out of garrison and headed for the border.
Long before the tanks rolled out of the back gate toward the border, Patricia Bannon knew Sean was involved in more than another exercise. After eight years of marriage and life in the Army, Pat could read her husbandâs moods like a book. At first there was little change in his daily routine. The sinking of the oil tankers in the Persian Gulf by perpetually warring nations was just another story on the Armed Forces Network evening news. Life in the military community continued as usual, as did Seanâs comings and goings.
It was the closing of the Straits of Hormuz and the commitment of a US carrier battle group to the area that heralded the change. The husbands began to spend more time at their units. The normal twelve-hour day that commanders and staff officers put in stretched into fourteen and fifteen hours. They tried to shrug off the extra hours as prep for an upcoming field exercise. But the wives who had been around the service for a while knew something was in the offing.
Some wives became upset and nervous. They didnât know what was happening but felt that whatever it was, it was not good. Others talked about nothing else, as if it was a challenge to find out what the big dark secret was. During the day they would gather together with the rest of the grapevine and compare notes in order to pool information they had gleaned from their husbands the night before. Pat chose to follow the lead of the older wives in the battalion. Cathy Hill, wife of the battalion commander of 1st Battalion, 4th Armor, went out of her way to carry on as if everything was business as usual. So did Mary Shell, the wife of the battalionâs S-3. Pat and many of the wives followed their lead, not asking questions or nagging. They agreed that whatever was happening, nagging wives would not help the situation.
It was the public announcement that the Soviets were sending a naval battle group to the Persian Gulf to âassist in maintaining peace in the Gulfâ that destroyed the last pretense of normalcy. When Pat told Sean the news after he came home from morning PT, he simply replied, âYeah, I know.â His attitude convinced Pat that he had already known about the incident and probably more. The feeling of dread and foreboding became more pronounced when word spread around the community that the training exercise the battalion had been preparing months for was suddenly canceled. In their two-and-a-half years in Germany, that had never happened before. To make matters worse, cancellation of the exercise did not change the new fourteen-hour day routine.
Over the next few days, every new deterioration in the world situation seemed to be matched with further preparations by the battalion. One night, Sean brought home his field gear and took out his old worn BDUs were replaced with newer sets. The next day, while returning from the commissary, Pat saw trucks with ammo caution signs on them in the motor pool, dropping off boxes at each of the tanks. Even the community dispensary began to pack up. The news that a US and Soviet warship in the Gulf had collided and then exchanged fire silenced the last optimist.
Pat wasnât ready for this. It suddenly dawned on her that her husband might be going to war. The possibility was always there. After all, Sean was a soldier and soldiers were expected to fight. As Sean would say on occasion, âThatâs what Iâm paid to do.â Pat knew that someday it might come to that, but had never given it much thought. Now she had to. It was like a great dark abyss. She had no guidelines, no idea of what to do. The Army spent a fortune training and preparing Sean for this moment, but not a penny to prepare her, the wife of a soldier. Pat decided that the only thing she could do was to make this period as comfortable and as trouble free for Sean as possible.
Besides Sean, there were the children. Little Sean, the eldest, already knew something was not right. For a child of six, he was very perceptive and picked up on the tension and fear that both his mother and father were trying to hide. He didnât talk about it, but would show his concern by asking his father each morning if he was going to come home that night. Little Sean would stay awake until his father did come and then would get out of his bed, run to his father, and hug him with no intention of letting go, leaving the elder Sean no choice but to carry his son to bed, lay him down and talk to him for a while. Kurt, at three, was hell on wheels and just the opposite of his older brother. Their daughter Sarah, at one, was fast growing up by trying to do everything her brothers did. Her busy schedule of exploration and mischief kept her from noticing a break in routine.
The transition from home and family to field and prep for war boggled Bannonâs clouded mind. It was almost as if he had been moved into a different world. Pondering such deep thoughts, however, was getting him nowhere. He had to get moving and live in the present world and hope for the best in the other.
New pains and spasms were Bannonâs reward for placing his body in motion. Slowly, and with great care, he moved each appendage of his body. Once in the sitting position, he stopped, rested, and considered his next move. These things canât be rushed. Minds work just as slowly as bodies do at 0234 hours.
âWell, I guess itâs time for Gargerâs early morning ass chewing,â Bannon declared grimly, more to himself than to Uleski. âYou would think that after getting beaten about the head and shoulders for the same damn thing three days in a row he would learn. Lord, save me from second lieutenants.â
For the first time Uleskiâs face showed expression as a small grin preceded a chuckle and his retort. âYeah, especially this one.â
âDonât be so smug, Ski. The only reason I like you is because I never knew you when you were a second lieutenant.â
Still grinning Uleski glanced over his shoulder at Bannon. âI never was a second lieutenant. Wouldnât have any part of it and told the ROTC recruiter. Naturally, once they found out who I was, they agreed. So here I am, a full-grown US Army first lieutenant, guarding the frontiers of freedom and making the world safe for democracy.â
Bannon groaned as he shook his head. âGod, the sun isnât even up and already the bull is getting deep in here. I better get out before I drown in it.â
They both chuckled. Itâs amazing what soldiers find humorous and amusing at 0234 hours.
âIâm going over to 3rd Platoon first and give Garger his early morning lecture on the meaning of radio listening silence. Then Iâm going to swing by the Mech Platoon and see how theyâre doing. I expect to be back for stand-to. When was the last time you checked the batteries?â
âAbout twenty minutes ago. They should be good until stand-to.â
âYou better be right. I donât want to have the track that both the CO and XO occupied be the only one that has to be slaved off in the morning. Bad for the image.â
With a feigned look of surprise on his face, Uleski snorted, âImage? You mean weâre going to start worrying about our image? Do you think the men can take it?â
âAt ease there, first lieutenant. XOs as well as platoon leaders can get jacked up in the morning too, you know.â
Hunching his head down between his shoulders and putting his hands up in mock surrender, Uleski feigned whimpering. âYes, sir, yes, sir, please donât beat me too hard, sir,â before turning back toward the radio with a grin on his face.
Digging through the pile of junk that had been his bed, Bannon pulled out his gear and started to get ready. Field jacket, protective mask, web gear with weapon and other assorted attached to it, and, of course, his helmet. It was a ritual that always reminded him of a matador preparing for the arena. All the gear that the well-dressed American soldier was supposed to wear was definitely not designed with the armored vehicle crewman in mind. Bannon was reminded of this when he exited the PC through the small troop door that was part of the PCâs rear ramp. Climbing through this four-foot door was always a challenge. In the dark, with all oneâs gear on made it that much more interesting. But at that hour in the morning, the last thing he needed was a challenge.
Once on the ground, it felt good to be able to stand upright and stretch his legs. The chill and early morning mist were refreshing after being in the cramped PC for hours. It reminded Bannon, however, more of an April or early May than August, for German weather in late summer was more like a New England spring.
The chill was not all bad. It not only cleared his mind, it allowed him to focus on matters at hand. Yesterday had been hot and sunny. With a hint of moisture as there was in the air, he expected the valley to the Teamâs front would be shrouded in a heavy fog throughout most of the morning. That meant moving a listening post down into it even though the cavalry was still deployed forward. This was the Mech Platoonâs job. And though they would probably do so automatically as soon as they saw the fog rising, Bannon intended to remind them when he got there. The old saying, âThe one time you forget to remind someone of something is the one time he forgets and it is the one time it really needed to be done,â kept buzzing through his head.
Ever so slowly Bannonâs eyes became accustomed to the darkness. He could now make out images of other nearby vehicles like the headquarters PC he had just exited pulled into the tree line. One track, an Improved Tow Vehicle or ITV, attached to the Team from the mech battalion to which Team Yankee was attached, sat forward at the edge of the tree line. Its camouflage net was off and the hammerhead-like launcher and sight was erect, peering down into the valley below. This track was one of the Teamâs OPs, or observation posts, using its thermal sight to watch the Teamâs sector of responsibility through the dark and now gathering fog.
Bannon walked over...