Rinaldi

Having a go at this in singleplayer since James and I had to end our PBEM due to mutual time constraints (both of us being teachers, being 7 hours apart and playing a regimental-sized scenario apparently did not occur to us to be an issue...). 
Some shots from the seizure and holding of Hill 203.1. 







Really itching to play since it's a slow period at work but my laptop is in for repairs. Praying that the replacement parts don't necessitate a reinstallation of Windows. I'll despair if I loss the save data. 

Gonna just put things back on track.  Ha!

I could not believe when I saw it !! 😲 but yes - hard to say -  though war crime also exists in CMBN ...
Look at that  ! He shots him in the head as he would not surrender. Can even see the ammunition cartridge being ejected from his rifle.
Is there a an international court of justice for pixel troopen ? 🧐

StG44 wait for the medic to show up and then shoot him. Some tactics always work in CM.

Some screens from my ongoing playthrough of Broken Shields.
 

A screen shot or two would be helpful. It normally takes a few minutes for them to deploy in buildings. 

Sorry was letting the two sources talk over things before I came back here. As Greyfox already said, reproducible on 2.11. The screenshots I shared were on the same. 

Evening. Was asked to pass this along from a Discord community where some players don't have forum accounts, so I have not independently verified. 
Images of the apparent bug below with some context.

0005 Hours, condition: heavy snow. Artificial brightness is on, so don't be mislead by the image. 

Similar conditions as to the first picture. German infantry had been engaged by the partial contact, a lend-lease HT.

Perhaps the most compelling proof. Test set up by a second player; thick smoke screen in front of infantry in and around treeline at night. Engaged with effect through the smoke. 
 
I do imagine this has been reported before, and if so, I hope it's helpful to show the bug is still extant.

Evening. Was asked to pass this along from a Discord community where some players don't have forum accounts, so I have not independently verified. 
Images of the apparent bug below with some context.

0005 Hours, condition: heavy snow. Artificial brightness is on, so don't be mislead by the image. 

Similar conditions as to the first picture. German infantry had been engaged by the partial contact, a lend-lease HT.

Perhaps the most compelling proof. Test set up by a second player; thick smoke screen in front of infantry in and around treeline at night. Engaged with effect through the smoke. 
 
I do imagine this has been reported before, and if so, I hope it's helpful to show the bug is still extant.

Cool, thanks!  That was one of my favorite battles of all time.  What a slugfest w combined arms. 

Thanks, I have had some delays but determined to finish it now.
I too was confused by the position of those guns, the only thing I could think was that he had to move them from somewhere else and knowing how slow they move he must have only just got them in place when I turned up. Maybe.
MMM

Have just caught up. Really glad this is still going on, and enjoying the aggressive use of the SPWs in supporting the dismounts. 

Those two destroyed Soviet infantry guns are in an...intriguing position. I think your opponent has been suffering from buck fever all game and moving a lot of assets forward prematurely to engage. More of the same perhaps with these new armoured contacts. 

Played through (a slightly edited) Getting Ugly. Likely would've been a bloodbath if the Germans hadn't done the old "immediate counterattack" schtick one times too many. Made a little vignette of the final attack. Read it here:  Springboard: A Red Thunder Vignette AAR (rinaldiaars.blogspot.com)
Some of my favourite shots from the blog:

Consolidating behind Chernverka.

Aftermath.

Dying hard. 

Played through (a slightly edited) Getting Ugly. Likely would've been a bloodbath if the Germans hadn't done the old "immediate counterattack" schtick one times too many. Made a little vignette of the final attack. Read it here:  Springboard: A Red Thunder Vignette AAR (rinaldiaars.blogspot.com)
Some of my favourite shots from the blog:

Consolidating behind Chernverka.

Aftermath.

Dying hard. 

Played through (a slightly edited) Getting Ugly. Likely would've been a bloodbath if the Germans hadn't done the old "immediate counterattack" schtick one times too many. Made a little vignette of the final attack. Read it here:  Springboard: A Red Thunder Vignette AAR (rinaldiaars.blogspot.com)
Some of my favourite shots from the blog:

Consolidating behind Chernverka.

Aftermath.

Dying hard. 

The One Hundred and Seventh and One Hundred and Eighth Minutes
KG Leino -  Die Mitte
2 Zug continue to probe forward.

I've not seen anything for a while so I risk bringing one of the Tigers forward to support 2 Zug in their endeavours. Jean is still on the engine deck of THQ but the spotting info still hasn't passed on, hmmm.

My intrepid scouts move cautiously towards the farm off to the north. Es gibt noch nicht kein Kontact.

KG Koskela - die Links
We spot a cheeky wee monkey with a mortar in the treeline and take him under fire. He quickly goes to ground.

My experiment kicks off as I move a Panther with an engine deck crammed with some infantry off to the left. He should hear this if he has any infantry screening his panzers.

KG Perala - das Rechts
I start brining up some supporting assets, the blizzard means I have to keep them closer than I'd like to the skirmish line out front.

The skirmishers get eyes on a HMG team behind a wall on the objective and let loose a volley as time expires. If he didn't know I was here yet, he does now!

They also pick up another contact behind another wall covering the open ground, likely to be another HMG team?

Over at the crossroads I have my fingers crossed that the infantry we saw last turn hasn't spotted my AT team. Just in case I bring up a couple of SPWs, just out of range of the trees, to react if need be.

I quickly get the answer, my AT team are taken under fire from the treeline and we get even more infantry contacts popping up.

The SPWs move up to provide supporting fires.

They take some fire in return.

Then something very interesting happens. Two armour contacts appear moving toward the treeline.

SITMAP

Things are hotting up. The armour contacts intrigue me. There are only two and they are moving away from KG Leino and toward KG Perala. Is this the remains of the platoon that were on objective ROT? I'm going to assume so for the time being, unless he had more tanks stashed in that area, but we may know before too long. If he has indeed pulled them back then it's go-time for the Tigers as they will be free to push over the bridge and attack them in the rear, but I need more info before committing to something like that!
What will be interesting is how he reacts to the attack on GRAU. He knows I'm there now, has probably realised I'm there in force and will be formulating plans. Does he sit tight? Pull any forces from the farm to the west to attack me in the side? Reinforce from BLAU? We shall see.
MMM

The One Hundred and Fifth and One Hundred and Sixth Minutes
KG Leino -  Die Mitte
Jean makes it back and climbs onto the engine deck of THQ. Strangely the contact info does not seem to be passed to the panzer, I'll check it again next turn. Must be noisy what with the weather and the engine noise.

The rest of his Zug advance under covering fire from the MGs and the Tigers.

On the right I send a team forward to see if the can determine if that T34 is still guarding the approach.

KG Koskela - die Links
I move my infantry back to the road as mortars are still falling near to their location.

I get a full spot on the guns on the right, they are both knocked out.

I'm sending a SPW to the left through the trees. I want to see if his tanks move, this will tell me if he has an infantry screen or not.

KG Perala - das Rechts
It's go-time. The scout teams start advancing toward the objective, overwatched by the IFVs and the rest of the Kompanie.

All except that two man AT team. Now the way is clear they advance towards the road junction...

..and they get a spot on infantry walking away from ROT towards GRAU. My guys hit the deck (they were on HUNT).

Shortly after an AT rifle team is seen advancing in the same direction.

I think this is the remnants of the squadron that was guarding ROT. I could of course be wrong but given the direction they are coming from it makes sense that he would drop them back to reinforce GRAU, what I don't know is if he knows KG Perala are where they are or if this was a chance encounter. Has he moved the supporting panzers back over the bridge as I suspected and is sending them up to reinforce the objective too? If so then I could have started this attack at a bad time.
SITMAP

Nervous about the right. It might be time to push the Tigers up the centre to see if he has indeed moved his armour back over the stream. Interesting times.
MMM

A free trip to Berlin they said...what could possibly go wrong?

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not. 


 

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not. 


 

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not. 


 

some shots from arnhem/oosterbeek and other market garden locales... all comments, critiques, etc. welcome.
 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

cheers,
rob

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not. 


 

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not. 


 

Not dead, just busy. Sorry all. Had some trouble storyboarding this one too. Let's continue.
____
Rally Point Zulu, 1600 hours, July 16th. Southwest of Schlüchtern.
CPT Sharp watched the vehicles enter the clearing in the woods. They came in at first in drips and drabs, waved in by MPs to camouflaged positions beneath the trees. He had already been at the rally point for about an hour, the result of hurried orders the night before to take his Company across the divisional boundary line. His triangular “SPEARHEAD” insignia made it obvious he was not where he normally should be, to be sure, but it was the presence of 11 squat, evil-looking tanks with their angular cheek plates that truly made his command stand out. For the tired GIs rolling in, it was the first sign that something was up. The next indication that the game was afoot was the image of the COL, their Brigade commander, standing on the engine deck of one of the tanks. Fists balled on his hips, he stood like a statute as his battalion coiled into the perimeter, eyes following one vehicle at a time. 

Sharp had initially thought the unit had been truly roughly handled, given how the initial men coming in had looked extremely disorganised and spread out. By 1630 however, entire platoons, and then companies, were rolling into the rally point. He made a quick count of the companies. The Alpha and Bravo callsigns looked to be down about a platoon of vehicles but clearly remained combat effective. Charlie and Delta looked a bit worse for wear, with several of the platoons down to only two vehicles each, one M113 coming in with an entire squad riding on top of it, Soviet style. Overall, 2-8 INF looked to have weathered the first 48 hours of fighting phenomenally well. A CPT of similar shape and build to himself was moving between the companies, hurriedly organising cross-munitions loading and refuelling, sharing a quiet word with the company leaders. Sharp was watching the man intently when he sensed, more than saw, the COL approach him.
“There’s your man. CPT Booth. We’ll speak to him.” the COL spoke in practical monosyllables. His stern countenance and greying side-hair did nothing to mask the obvious fatigue and strain.
“Where’s the LT COL, sir?”
“There is none.” A tightening of the jaw. Clearly a sore subject.
“Further, you are to take a platoon equivalent of your tanks and have them liaise with the C Company commander. They are to escort the unit to The Citadel.”
Escort? The CPT was about to inquire but the COL, sensing the question, pre-empted him.
“Soviets scattered company sized air assault units to hell and back all over the MSR. Once your detached tanks have reached the Citadel, they are to refuel, and begin running ROADRUNNERs of Brigade trains forward. Now, come with me…”
What followed was the most “fragmentary” FRAGO Sharp had ever received. All semblance of good order and TOC-based SOP clearly thrown away by the expedients and urgency of the situation. The orders were entirely verbal, and CPT Booth received them almost without emotion, utterly passive. A few quiet questions from him, and in less than 3 minutes, the briefing was complete. It took another 5 minutes to organise a quick movement-to-contact, hashing out a map-based scheme with an overlay draped across the hood of a jeep. It was all so insanely hurried, that Sharp could feel a building pressure in his sinuses. It was insane, but it was nevertheless a scene being repeated all over the FRG, from the Baltic coast to the Alps.
Their orders were simple: NLT 1700 hours, 2-8 INF (-) to move towards Schlüchtern and ascertain the goals and strength of the Soviet second echelon. If possible, fix and destroy the lead elements, observe, report, retreat. Destroy key communications infrastructure.
A raid, a classic counterpunch. Unsurprisingly, Sharp’s unit would form the main punching power of the ad-hoc force, right in the centre of the line. CPT Booth organised his unit into three rough company teams. 

1LT Noonan would lead B Team essentially unchanged, but newly reinforced by two replacement M60A1s and crews. Their objective was to probe towards Elm, on the right flank, secure it and shoot up the lead elements of any force that approached it. CPT Sharp, with a platoon of infantry cross attached from A/2-8 INF would advance through the village of Drasenberg to secure the hamlet of Gromfritz. This would secure a massive central ridge that dominated Route 66. They were to form BPs and engage by fire any lead Soviet elements they encountered.  CPT Guidry would lead A team; his own company less a platoon of tanks and infantry, and establish an ambush at an underpass, securing the TF's right flank.  The scheme was, in all reality, a guessing game. Sharp also noticed with trepidation that it left a massive gap in a forest series of side roads that could squeeze an enemy unit between his team and Noonan’s. Booth was banking on the Soviets sticking to doctrine. It made him uneasy; he would absolutely try to squeeze part of his own unit through there. He knew, though, that Booth’s assumption of risk made absolute sense. The Soviets were fighting and thinking in SOPs and frontages, and nothing suggested that was going to change. The plan, of course, was set to parry what was the presumed Soviet objectives.

Successfully parrying their attempt to regain momentum after Neuhof could create opportunities for further exploit. Delay, delay, delay the COL had stressed in his brief talk. The Soviets couldn’t afford it. Their mission was to create one.
1700 Hours, July 16th. Route 66, Forward Edge of the Battle Area, near Elm.  
They were shortly to be in sight of their objectives, free from the claustrophobic environs of the tree-lined roads they were marching up in extended columns. The first sign that the enemy was near were the sign of Hinds, flitting just above the canopies in the distance. Whatever they were looking for, they were not particularly vigilant. Though .50 cals and Vulcans tracked the targets, they passed on without incident. 2-8 INF fanned out as they exited from the treelines, the individual companies heading for their targets.

Radio silence lifted, as planned, and Sharp ensured one of his radios was monitoring the Battalion net. He was immediately greeted by a clearly frustrated Noonan trying to prevent his company from fragmenting in the difficult terrain. The inexperienced company leader was clearly suffering from the pressure. Sharp just prayed he would settle down before any contact, which was so clearly imminent. He didn’t want his flank twisting in the wind.

More satisfactorily, at 1706 the reports came in from Guidry that his unit was at their destination and deploying in ambush. That’s one flank secured, at least. A small sense of relief. The slow winding-up of tension briefly paused. Sharp continued to scan from his cupola, straining every nerve as his unit wound its way up towards their first checkpoint. Adding to the pressure was the knowledge that the ersatz-CO was riding with him. The battalion net continued to squawk with terse reports and replies, 2LT Clausen, from Noonan’s team, was in position in the high ground to the left of Elm. The pieces were falling into place.

In his own sector, things were going equally well. They had passed through Drasenberg without incident, slowly leapfrogging in sections of tanks and APCs through it. They had won the race for the high ground.

Then, a burst of chatter:
“Bravo Two Tango reports contact with enemy BMP. Am engaging”
“Roger Bravo Two. Continue to report. Bravo Two push your tracks into Elm, hustle” came Booth’s response.
Contact! Sharp looked down at his wristwatch, a modern digital watch his old man had bought him a year before, its chunky plastic band being perfect for the hazardous interior of a M1 tank. It was 1708 hours.  He looked over, his right-flanking callsign oriented its turret ever so slightly more to the right, but otherwise, the fight was Noonan’s concern.


“One times BMP destroyed. Visual on platoon sized element of enemy tangoes. Continuing to engage” calm and collected, Bravo team’s tank platoon leader continued to narrate the battle. Sharp listened intently, as was everyone else on the net. 

By 1711 enough information had come in for Booth to issue orders. Largely superfluous as they were, they reconfirmed the initial scheme. B Team were to put up a shield at Elm, where they had clearly hit the enemy CRP, and therefore the likely main enemy axes of advance. Guidry was to stay firm with A team.

Sharp, for his part, had slowly been leapfrogging his company team; three Abrams moving near-silently along the reverse slope of the hill whilst the rest of the company waited just behind Drasenberg. His lead platoon leader, 1LT Rose, had already reported a good approach route. He quickly issued hurried orders via the company net; confident Booth’s command track would have the wherewithal to follow his lead. With a defensive fight developing in front of Elm, it was clear that his Company team was going to remain the main offensive element for the battle. 

The attack on Gomfritz was to be a straightforward matter of fire and movement. With a platoon grouping of Abrams in overwatch, an infantry platoon was to push through the forest to determine if the village was devoid of the enemy. The remaining four Abrams would push around the “blind corner” on signal of the infantry. It was a good plan for something come up on the spot. It never got put to the test. Just as the first group of Abrams nosed into their BP, the company team net exploded with simultaneous contact reports from the callsigns. 

Then came the reports that the enemy was burning. First it was one T-64, then another. Sharp moves himself and a wingman up, cognizant that the enemy would try to push through the fire if they could not identify the source of it.

 A handful of contacts quickly matures into an entire tank company. Sharp, peering “eyes down” out of his cupola spots a trio of BMP-2s flitting out of sight, working his flank. He knows the BP covering the right flank should be able to pick them up and doesn’t even bother handing off the contacts. “Gunner: Sabot, tank” he roars into the internal communications set, slewing the turret with override.
“Identified!” his gunner confirms. He lets go of the controls. A blinding flash from the muzzle. 

“Target!”
His gunner, dependably, starts identifying targets on his own and “fighting the turret”, leaving Sharp freedom to command his abbreviated group of Abrams. The T-64s, belatedly, begin to slew their turrets. They were aware. Sharp begins to micromanage the jockeying of his individual callsigns.
Even as Sharp is fighting the lead elements of the T-64s, the dismounted infantry had begun pushing through to Gomfritz. They hear the roar of enemy engines even over the sound of battle and duly report it to Booth, who passes it back down to Sharp. More enemy armour was clearly heading their way. It was time to press the attack.

Sure enough, another platoon of Soviet tanks appear and, skirting slightly to their left, continue to try and gun around Sharp’s flank. They dip out of sight, but not before another T-64 is turned into an inferno.

Sharp had no intention of letting any enemy armour through. Four Abrams push up, line abreast, and catch the remaining Soviet tanks in the flank at alarmingly close range. 


Even as Sharp is savaging the enemy armour, 1LT Rose reports three BMPs destroyed. The enemy motor rifle platoon had carefully attempted to work its away through dead ground but, as it exited a draw on the far right flank, was quickly picked up by Rose’s tank section. They were all knocked out in a single volley, a frightening testament to the new tanks fire control system. 

Immediate exploitation was out of the question, however. Sharp and his three wingmen were looking over their handiwork, when he suddenly saw a green dot in the distance. It hung, lazily, in front of his eyes. He was confused for a moment too long – what was he looking at? Then, a wave of heat, a bright flash, and a mild-rash-like pain on his left cheek as he turned instinctually to avoid the projectile.
An ATGM. They had just been hit!
He was alive. Was the tank operable? He didn’t bother to check first, instead ducked inside the turret and fired off his defensive smoke mortars while roaring into the internal comms for his driver to reverse. The tank moved, evidently none the worse for wear. Even as Sharp moved to preserve his mount and its crew, a wingman identified the source of fire and knocked it out. A query came in from Rose; was all well? 

Sharp peered over the cupola. His face still stung, but it didn’t seem particularly bad. What the hell had happened? He soon had his answer: the .50 calibre was gone. Eviscerated by a direct hit. He decided not to question how the chemical jet from the missile did not kill him. It would be the closest call he would have in this terrible conflict, though of course he would not know it at that time.
What the close call did signal for the immediate time was a halt to Sharp’s advance. Until the infantry had secured Gomfritz and established an artillery observation post, he could not risk exposure to other ATGMs with his precious MBTs.      ***
Sharp’s focus is entirely on Gomfritz and the targets to his front. As his tanks’ cannons bark, the background noise of the Battalion net fades into the distance. He does not hear the rising crescendo of battle near Elm, illustrated by the increasing strain evident in the voices of B Team’s callsigns. Elm has become a raging inferno. The Soviets FSE have arrived and, turrets oriented towards the threat, try to pass through the survivors of their CPR. The Tank section appears to be excellently positioned, able to enfilade their targets sky lined on the hill. Another T-64 burns. All appears well.

Then from the dust and fury comes a booming report. A M60A1 burns, shuddering from the impact. No hatches open. Alarmed, the section leader (the Platoon NCO) jockeys out of position. The Soviets roar on, now no longer under fire from their flank. 

They remain under fire, however, from the front. ITOWs deployed in exposed hasty positions nevertheless possessed dominating fields of fire and make the most of it. Burning enemy bonfires begin to build up on the high ground to the right flank of Elm.

Sensing danger, 1LT Menard roars out of his hide with his wingman tank under the cover of the ITOWs to try and blunt the Soviet advance at close range. Taking positions on the fly in his jolting cupola he directs his section to a low hedge separating cabbage fields; they do not have long to wait. T-64s come over the slope and are hit at “cannot miss” range. Menard’s knees sag slightly from this hair-raising encounter. If he had more time to ponder what he had just ordered and executed, he would’ve bailed out of his vehicle and never looked back. The line between courage under fire and irrationality was a fine one. 

Ensconced and hidden in a hedge near the ITOWs was B Team’s FIST. In alarm, he sees what appears to be the main body appear along the road running directly into Elm.


It is not long before 155mms are working overtime to pummel the approaches to Elm. The Soviets, as always, push through it with determination. The FIST can hear over the dull crumps the hiss-pop of the ITVs continuing to engage. Quite a number of the BMPs that push through the indirect fire are knocked out by this re-engagement.

The next set of BMPs try to follow in the footsteps of the CRP, perhaps believing the way remains open. By this point Menard’s PNCO has taken a new, hasty, battle position and is once again able to enfilade them. Another pair of BMPs is flamed between the tank fire and the ITVs. 

Noonan’s team is giving the Soviet tank battalion a destructive beating, but it’s not enough. The Soviets continue to push simultaneously towards the high ground to the northeast and down the centre road. B Team simply cannot keep up the rate of fire necessary to stop the Soviets cold. The ITVs are forced to pop defensive smoke as the BMP-2s begin to identify and fire back with their 30mms at their assailants.

With the high ground finally under Soviet control, things begin to unravel quickly. Menard’s PNCO and another member of his crew are wounded heavily when his vehicle is struck by return fire, even as they attempt to jockey out of position. 

Driven by outrage more than courage, Menard attempts to repeat his previous feet, waving SGT Marx forward with him into a counterattack. All goes well initially, with Menard’s gunner destroying a T-64 from the gallop. Marx then identifies a T-64 to the northwest, across the valley. Slewing the turret on override, he knocks it out as well. Even as Marx’s loader hefts another sabot into the breech, he could see for himself the turrets of several other T-64s slewing in his direction. 

“How did –“ he doesn’t have time to finish the thought before a Soviet round slams into the turret of his tank. The resulting pressure blows him out of the turret where he shortly regains consciousness. Marx’s legs are spattered with shrapnel and all he can focus on is crawling. One arm over another. He does not notice the rest of his crew following his lead, nor his new platoon leader and his crew also crawling, dragging a loader whose face was reduced to a bloody pulp, from their own tank. 

***   Noonan had heard enough. One by one his call signs had either dropped off the air suddenly or reported they were retreating. The pressure was on. It was going to have to come to close quarters. He grabbed his M16 and ordered the ramp down on his M113. He waved at his RTO to grab a few LAWs for good measure before they departed.   The Soviets were breaking in. 1st Platoon’s first squad had been wiped out, dying in place from a lethal combination of shrapnel, high explosives and machinegun fire which tore their fighting positions apart. The first Soviet BMPs had practically driven right up to the buildings and, when a LAW fired too hastily missed, had ripped into the buildings with everything they had.     2LT Leblanc had arrayed his squads in depth, mutually supporting one another. As quick as the 1st Squad’s end had come, revenge was not long in waiting. 2nd Squad opened fire with its Dragon and LAWs. Soviet riflemen came out of the lead BMP, even as it burned, the last four all human candles doing a grotesque dance. By the time the surviving Soviet infantry had organised themselves, their assailants had disappeared, falling back past the 3rd squad to a new position.      So it went. The Soviet infantry were simply nut numerous enough to effect more than a break in. It appeared to Leblanc and Noonan that the situation might have been finally stabilised when the unmistakeable squeal of tracks against pavement began to compete with the crescendo of battle. The Soviet armour was going right into Elm! Noonan knew he needed more bayonet strength if he was going to hold against rampaging armour.
“Bravo Two to Bravo Two-Two”
“Bravo Two-Two, send it.” 2LT Clausen’s voice responded immediately.
“Enemy MBTs have entered our BP. Punch out to your north and hit them in the flank.”
A pause, this time.
“Bravo Two-Two acknowledges. Out.”
Noonan knew it was a tall order. He was out of options that he could directly select. His next call was to Booth. There was a promise of an Abrams section – but would they arrive in time? 


Clausen had been posted in ambush covering the forested route that could see a Soviet unit deploy in the gap between Sharp and Noonan’s company team. They had passed the minutes in unease, listening to the sounds of battle travel up the ridge to their left, roaring in the valley to their right. Privates gripped their rifles tight and fidgeted with the undergrowth. The whispered orders to remount came as a relief; action meant agency. Soon the M113s were cautiously groping their way along a rail line, riflemen and Dragon gunners hanging out the cargo hatches, straining every nerve.
In Elm, things were falling apart. LeBlanc’s careful to-and-fro with the enemy could not keep up with the Soviets reckless urgency. The junior officer had just personally stalked and disabled a T-64 with part of his 3rd Squad, volleying LAWs into the vehicles side and rear, and spraying down nearby Soviet infantry, when he saw yet another tank roar through an allotment, crushing forgotten vegetables and crashing through a fence. They were being flanked. The M113 was just around the corner. There was time. They clambered aboard, and LeBlanc was roaring at the driver to advance when there was a bright red flash.     The T-64 had worked its way through several backyards and had barrelled out at an intersection just to the East. Locking a track the commander guided his gunner onto the M113. A terse “ogon!” followed. The 125mm crashed out.     LeBlanc was dead.
Now bereft of a leader, the remaining dozen men made a dash for Company HQ, where they hoped they could make a last stand under the remaining ITV’s field of fire. Even as they ran the Soviets, like sharks in bloody water, ran amok. All was chaos.     That chaos saved the remaining infantry of B Team, however. Amazingly, the Soviets seemed less concerned with finishing the job than they did trying to push right through Elm. It allowed the survivors to use every item in their arsenal they had left. One eagle-eyed SPC, seeing a Soviet tank with its cupola hatch open, manages to toss a fragmentation grenade in. He has little time to exult, his squad leader swiftly hustles him to the next scrap of cover.
Slowly, but surely, the survivors of 1st Platoon find their balance. Noonan and his HQ thicken the anti-tank fire with their LAWs. The Soviets push to the southern edge of Elm, but no further. Derelict T-64s meters away from the Company HQ demonstrate the high watermark.      The final remaining company of Soviet armour make the break for the eastern flank of the town, despite the congested terrain. The Battalion HQ follows with them. It is the definition of a forlorn hope. They meet fiery ends as they make their end run, when 1LT Rose and two other Abrams suddenly appear on their flank. The Soviets are savaged, but its not entirely one sided. The tank battalion’s attached ZSUs put up a fierce resistance, spraying the Abrams down with 23mm with such violence that it strips the turrets entirely. Fire control and thermal imagers are disabled and require resets. One of Rose’s NCO has to resort to boresighting, staring down the barrel. At such close range, they cannot possibly miss. It’s all over in minutes.        A few enemy tanks push past, roaring through the fiery gap. It is a paltry amount, and the shattered survivors are not able to effect any type of effective breakthrough. They are ultimately policed up by Cobras patrolling the immediate rear areas of the TF.
B Team has received a severe drubbing but has mauled the lead element of a Soviet tank regiment. The battle is over. The counteroffensive is not.