//------------------------------// // Stand-To // Story: Team Yankee // by Eagle //------------------------------// The night and darkness that filled the German countryside was quiet. It was still, peaceful and full of bliss. If one sat there for long enough, they could forget that there was a force of war machines stationed there. They were deployed in a forest, or the edge of one, on the forward slope of a couple ridges that overlooked a peaceful valley, their line running perpendicular across the valley and sights trained at its entrance. The only other thing beyond their line in the forest was a river that ran parallel to their line about halfway across the valley. Should any Soviet forces make it this far, and they probably would, it was this team's job to stop them. Specifically, Team Yankee; 1st of the 4th Armored. The heavy tank company was broken up into three platoons, along with a fourth platoon of mechanized infantry. They were equipped with M1 tanks, along with two ITVs, Improved TOW Vehicles, while the Mech platoon was equipped with the M113 Personnel Carrier. They had been scheduled to receive the new Bradley Fighting Vehicles, but slow procurement of the vehicles, along with the unit being passed up for more important areas, meant they would have to make due. One of the PCs was sitting on the line, quiet and still. In the black of the night, it looked more like a giant box. Its occupants were, for the most part, trying to get some sleep until the small radio inside crackled with noise and a metallic, static voice that sounded like it echoed through a long corridor. “BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER.” The body of Captain Sean Bannon awoke to this; filled with aches and pains. The bed he had made with gear, ammo boxes, and other miscellaneous items was rather uneven. Over to his side the battalion XO, First Lieutenant Robert Uleski, was already at the radio. “Damn it. It’s 3rd platoon again,” he said to Bannon. “BRAVO THREE ROMEO FIVE SIX-THIS IS KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-RADIO CHECK-OVER.” “KILO EIGHT MIKE SEVEN SEVEN-THIS IS BRAVO THREE MIKE SIX SIX-STAY OFF THE AIR-I SAY AGAIN-STAY OFF THE AIR- OUT.” Bannon sat up slowly, illuminated by the PC’s dim light. “What time is it?” he asked. “0234.” Lieutenant Uleski, nicknamed ‘Ski’ and ‘U’, was usually a jocular person; enjoying life and joking around a good bit. Being Polish in decent, he usually absorbed a large amount of ethnic jokes aimed at him. He had a good sense of humor and took them well; being able to shoot one back with equal effect and wit. “Guess it’s time for Garger’s early morning ass chewing,” Bannon replied. “You’d think after three days of this he’d get the idea. Lord save me from Second Lieutenants.” “Especially this one,” Uleski commented. “Don’t be so smug, Ski,” Bannon replied. “The only reason I like you is because I didn’t know you when you were a Second Lieutenant.” “That’s because I never was a Second Lieutenant. Wouldn’t have any part of it and told the ROTC recruiter so. Naturally, when they found out who I was, they agreed,” Uleski recounted with a ridiculous grin on his face. “So here I am, a full-grown U.S. Army First Lieutenant, guarding the frontiers of freedom and making the world safe for democracy.” “God, the sun isn’t even up yet and the bull’s already getting deep in here,” Bannon replied, continuing the joke. “I’d better get out before I drown.” Bannon dug under his makeshift bed for his gear. Field jacket, protective mask, and other assorted items finishing off with the helmet. Putting it on, he stepped out of the cramped PC and began walking through the darkness. Walking along, Bannon felt better being able to stand upright after being in the cramped carrier. He stretched a bit as he went on his way, popping joints and working on the sore spots. The weather of the early German August morning reminded him more of spring time in Pennsylvania. The first vehicle he came across was one of the ITVs. As he approached, the launcher’s hammerhead-like turret moved slowly, indicating the crew was awake. Walking up to the door, he knocked on it three times with his buck knife. “Yea, what ya want?” a crewmember slurred, opening the door. “It’s Captain Bannon. Anything going on in the valley?” “Oh, sorry, sir. No, we ain’t seen nothin’ all night ‘cept some jeeps and a deuce-and-a-half. Should we be expectin’ something?” “No, at least not that I’ve heard. You checked your batteries lately?” “Yes, sir, we cranked her up about an hour ago and let her run for twenty minutes.” “Ok, keep awake and alert.” Continuing on, Bannon was bothered that he never even knew the names of the crew of the two attached ITVs. All he hoped was that the missiles were as effective as claimed. If the enemy managed to close with them, the two vehicles wouldn’t last long. The Captain continued to move through the woods, moving limbs and branches out of his face. Eventually, he came to the silhouette of an M1 Abrams main battle tank. It sat still and quiet, the long 105 mm main cannon pointing out of its cover. “Halt!” a figure near the tank ordered, drawing his .45 sidearm on the intruder. Bannon recognized the voice as that of SSgt. Joelle Blackfoot; full-blooded Cherokee and commander of tank number 32. “It’s Captain Bannon.” “Advance and be recognized.” Bannon inched slowly toward the figure. “Wrinkle” “Bait” Satisfied with the response, Blackfoot put away his pistol. “When’s the war going to start, Captain?” “Whenever it starts, Blackfoot.” Blackfoot and Bannon continued speaking on important issues. Blackfoot said his gunner was slow to pick targets and requested some more training or a replacement. Bannon explained personnel were limited and vehicle movement, especially direct combat ones, were restricted to avoid revealing their positions. Blackfoot would have work with what he had. Moving on, he marched on to 2nd Lieutenant Garger’s 31 tank; mentally going over the lecture he was going to give him. Garger was the commander of 3rd platoon. Each platoon consisted of four tanks, with the platoon leader’s track’s first number, such as 31, and the others named 32, 33, etc. “Halt! Who goes there?” Instead of training his .45 on him, as Blackfoot did, the figure in the cupola tried to turn his M2 machine gun on him. Since the M2’s firing mechanism is part of the elevation handle and easily activated, Bannon got scared. He thought if it was best to yell, dive for cover, or just hope for the best. Luckily, inept handling of the MG’s controls frustrated the figure until Bannon identified himself. “So, what shall we talk about today, Lieutenant?” Bannon asked. “RTO procedures, sir?” Garger replied. “No, no. Close, but no. How about radio listening silence,” Bannon said. “You remember our discussion on the subject the day before yesterday?” “Yes sir.” “THEN WHY THE HELL DID YOU DO IT AGAIN TODAY? ARE YOU FUCKING STUPID OR JUST SOFT IN THE HEAD?” Bannon tried to calm down; he didn’t like getting this angry, but this routine was getting old. “No sir, I just wanted to make sure the radios worked since we changed frequencies.” “Did your radio work yesterday before I chewed your ass out?” “Yes sir.” “And did your radio work the day before when I chewed your ass out?” “Yes sir.” “Then why did you do it again?” Bannon asked, his voice lowered to the point of a tired person trying to vainly explain. “I mean, by now even you should know that a, your radio works every time you use it and b, every time you do use it, I’m going to come down here and jump your shit. Do you get what I’m telling you? I mean, do you really understand this time?” “Yes, sir, it’s just, well, I…” “One more time, I swear,” Bannon finished while he hopped off the tank. “One more time…” It wasn’t that Garger was a bad soldier; in fact, he wasn’t doing half bad. Still, half bad wasn’t enough should a real war break out. Bannon and the platoon’s sergeant, Vietnam vet SFC Gary Pierson, had been trying their best to train him to be a proper soldier and Lieutenant. Following his inspection of 3rd platoon, he carried on with the same routine to the others. Next he stopped by McAlister’s 2nd platoon and Weiss’s first platoon, who were initially attached to Team Bravo, but had been rotated back in a split decision. The final platoon was the Mech platoon. The Mechanized platoon’s leader, 2nd Lieutenant William Harding, and the platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Leslie Polgar (another Vietnam vet) complemented each other perfectly. William was the smart LT; doing the leading, planning, and gave the orders. Polgar was the classic ‘Sarge’; doing the training, motivating, and ass kicking (which were all one in the same to him). It was the perfect match. By the time he reached them, it was 0500 and it was as light it was going to get. Bannon checked up on Harding about the men, equipment, and the platoons M113s. Upon seeing that everything squared away for stand-to, he told Harding to keep the OPs on watch for any Russian movement and began to return to his tank. On his way back, he passed by the Uleski’s tank 55. That was the one divergence in numbers; the XO’s tank number was 55, while Captain Bannon’s was numbered 66. He decided to swing by and talk to his friend. “I knew you’d be back before stand-to, just didn’t know the day,” Uleski joked. “You got a murder to report and an emergency report for a Second Lieutenant?” “Come on, U, I’m a nice guy. You don’t really think I would have brought harm to that poor boy in 3rd platoon, do you?” “Oh, I’m sorry. I thought you were my Captain; the one who isn’t worth a damn in the morning until he’s chewed out a Second Lieutenant.” “Only this morning I’m also looking for First Lieutenants.” Uleski looked around him, then continued in a poor accent. “Well I ain’t seen any ‘round here, mister. Ya’ll might wanna try over in yonder hill country,” he said, pointing over East in the Russian’s direction and trying to contain his laughter. Bannon just chuckled and continued on. The sun was high in the sky now, and Bannon was fully awake. He took the time to consider the team’s shape, which wasn’t bad. Since 1st platoon had been brought back, the team totaled 14 M1 tanks. The Mech platoon consisted of three squads and the PCs that transported them. Along with those were the attached ITVs. Finally, there was the support element that had an M113 Ambulance, an M88 Recovery vehicle, and an M113 FIST track, whose job was to call in and spot artillery, under the command of Second Lieutenant Rodney Unger. He made it back to the 66, where the crew was shaving, eating, and relaxing on the tank. The four man crew consisted of Bannon as commander, the gunner, Folk, the loader, Kelp, and the driver, Ortelli. Bannon joined them in a quick rest on the back of the tank, letting his mind wander on other thoughts. He wondered how the war would go when, not if, it started. He thought about his wife, Pat, and his two kids, who were also in the country with him. He thought if he would ever go past the rank of Captain, and if he wanted to. Something quickly ended these thoughts. His eyes shot open and he stood up to the sound of whines and impacts of artillery, but there was something else. A strange fog was starting to cover the valley. “Get in the tank and get your masks on!” Bannon yelled, though his crew was already ahead of him. He climbed in and closed the hatch, sliding into his seat and putting his protective gear. He heard the cry of “GAS!” and noticed something odd. The gas was a purplish color; it wasn’t the GB agent the Soviets were expected to use, so Bannon just hoped the masks could filter whatever this was. He grabbed the radio and tried to call the battalion HQ and send a report as the gas filtered into the tank. The crew began to get worried and when they started feeling sleepy, they began to panic. The masks weren’t filtering the gas at all. Knowing he would soon fall to the gas, he tried desperately to try and call HQ, but no one answered. He tried to radio one of the other tracks, but only got static. He finally gave up and fell back into his seat, grimly accepting his fate and waiting for whatever fate had in stock for him in the afterlife. “Damn buzzing,” Bannon thought in his sleepy vertigo when he was woken by the sound of static and speech from the radio. “I swear, if that’s Garger interrupting my sleep again…wait.” His eyes shot open. He sat up and took a deep breath. He palmed over his body to reveal his equipment was still there. He slapped himself on the side of the face a couple of hard times to confirm it. “I’m…ok. I’m really still breathing?” Bannon asked himself before coming to the conclusion. “I’m alive!” He looked over and saw his three other crewmen were sound asleep in their positions. “Folk! Sergeant Folk! Wake up!” He shook the gunner until he woke. “Huh? Wha-what’s going on, Capt-. Hey, wait, we’re alright, sir!” “Yea, get the others up!” Folk went to work yelling and kicking the back of Ortelli’s seat while Bannon reached the radio. The one calling was Uleski, who had already discovered the same thing Bannon had. He reached over to the radio to get an assessment. “...I SAY AGAIN-DO YOU COPY-I SAY AGAIN YANKEE ACTUAL-DO YOU COPY?” “THIS IS YANKEE ACTUAL-I READ YOU-SEND-OVER.” “YANKEE ACTUAL-BE ADVISED-WE ARE ALL OK, BUT THE SITUATION IS UNKOWN-CAPTAIN…SOMETHING’S CHANGED, SIR-OVER.” “WHAT DO YOU MEAN-OVER?” “WELL ACTUAL, WE SEEM TO BE SOMEWHERE ELSE-OVER.” Bannon was taken aback by this. Confused by exactly what he meant, he took a quick glance through his view and noticed they weren’t in a forest. Opening the hatch and getting up into the cupola to get a 360 degree view, he noticed that the entire team seemed to have moved from a forest to a wide field. Just a short ways away was 55, with Uleski in his cupola shrugging his shoulders at Bannon, who dropped back down. “YANKEE ACTUAL-TO ALL YANKEE UNTIS-RADIO CHECK-OVER.” One by one, each of the team’s tracks checked in, indicating everyone was ok. “YANKEE ACTUAL TO ALL YANKEES-ALL PLATOON LEADERS DISMOUNT AND MEET AT MY POSITION-HOW COPY?” All the troops answered back. Taking off his CVC, he began to exit before he heard the radio come to life again. The voice, however, was different, yet familiar. “DOES ANYONE COPY-I SAY AGAIN-IS ANYONE RADING ME?” “THIS IS YANKEE-WE READ YOU-IDENTIFY YOURSELF.” “CAPTAIN BANNON?” Bannon finally recognized the voice as the young 2nd LT Avery, who had been Garger’s good friend and he last saw at the armored training school. “SECOND LIEUTENANT AVERY-IS THAT YOU?” “AFFIRMATIVE SIR.” “WHAT’S YOUR STATUS-AND WHY THE HELL ARE YOU IN GERMANY-OVER?” “GERMANY?-SIR, LAST I HEARD WE WERE BACK IN THE STATES AND I WAS LEADING A PLATOON OF TANKS IN AN EXERCISE-OVER.” “WHAT?-NEVER MIND-BRING YOUR MEN TO THE TEAM AND MEET ME AND THE REST OF THE PLATOON LEADERS SO WE CAN FIGURE OUT WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON-HOW COPY, OVER?” “SOLID COPY-WILCO-OUT.” Once again, Bannon began to exit the tank. He told the crew to keep an eye out and check the tank’s status. Climbing out, he noticed the other crews were also in the process of checking their equipment and vehicles; they were well trained. Bannon leaned on the side of the Abrams while he waited on the others. Uleski was the first to come up, followed by McAlister, Garger, Weiss, and eventually Avery. Garger, despite the circumstances, was happy to see his friend again. Avery was the first to explain things. He told of how he was leading a platoon of M1s in a simulation when they were hit by what was apparently the same type of gas as the team. When his platoon came through, they were also in a field a short ways away from Team Yankee. Bannon then allowed the other leaders to give their reports. All of them reported the same problem of falling asleep and waking up here. Apparently, the entire team had moved in their sleep to a new location. Still, it was Avery’s story that caused the most confusion; how could a platoon in the states wind up in Germany like this? “So, does anyone have any idea as to what happened?” Bannon asked. “No sir, unless the team’s victors drove themselves here,” Uleski replied. “And still, that wouldn’t explain Avery here.” “Have we been able to get in contact with anyone else, sir?” Garger asked. “No, the radio’s been quiet on all channels except for the team.” “If I may, Captain,” Weiss interrupted, “We don’t know where we are, it’s obvious from Avery’s presence that something is seriously off, and we can’t get in touch with anyone to find answers. Just what exactly are we supposed to do now?” “Well, I don’t know a bit about the last two, but I think if we figure out where we are, then we can move somewhere where we can find some info,” Bannon stated. “Did anyone see any signs or noticeable landmarks?” “The only real landmarks are that large forest to our 12 O’clock and the road leading through it, neither of which are on the map,” McAlister explained. “Nor have we spotted any signs.” “Actually, Captain, when I was moving up to meet your team, I did spot a single road sign, but I wrote it off as a joke.” “What did it say?” “I’ll take you to it.” The group boarded Avery’s tank and Avery gave the driver the order to take them back to the sign. The tank moved a short ways down the road until it reached what looked like a small crossroads with several signs. Upon inspecting it, Bannon noticed the strange names of the places the signs were pointing in, with the closest to the team’s position being one called ‘Ponyville’. “It’s an odd name, odder still there isn’t a German translation of it,” Uleski commented. “You don’t think some of those German kids are playing pranks on us, do you?” “I doubt they could pull off something this big, U,” Bannon said. “C’mon, let’s get back to the team.” The group again mounted up and returned to the company’s location; all of the vehicles sitting idle and waiting for an order, any order. “Ok, here’s what we’ll do,” Bannon said, laying out the plan. “Avery, your platoon is going to come with us. From now on, you’ll be Yankee Four and the Mech Platoon will be Yankee Five. Uleski, since your callsign is already 5, you'll now be identified as Yankee 7, got it? We’ll move down the road, through the forest, and to wherever this…‘Ponyville’ place is got it?” “Yes sir,” they said almost unanimously. “Ok, mount up and get ready. 66 will lead on. Take care, guys.” The men returned to their tanks and began giving individual orders. Engines roared to life and vehicles lurched forward. Ortelli nudged 66 onto the road and held her there while the rest of the team assembled. “YANKEE ACTUAL TO ALL UNITS-FALL IN BEHIND ME ON THE ROAD-SINGLE FILE FORMATION-WEAPONS ON HOLD, BUT KEEP YOUR EYES OPEN-HOW COPY?” “THIS IS YANKEE ONE-ROGER.” “YANKEE TWO-AFFIRMATIVE.” “YANKEE THREE-ROGER.” “YANKEE FOUR-WILCO.” “YANKEE FIVE-SOLID COPY.” "YANKEE SEVEN-GOT IT." “OK-ALL YANKEES, LET’S MOVE-OUT.”