Rinaldi

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Thank you, truly. I enjoy the NTC, so much more so when compared directly with the Soviet training scenarios. Which leads me to address this: 
 

Yep, and it clearly accomplishes its goal and it's useful to do this. In reality too, but only to a degree. It's a good first port of call but without more organic training scenarios (like the NTC) it leaves an individual with a superficial understanding. Which you will see when we get to the Valley of Ashes part of this, but you already know how that one ends. 
In the game the NTC gets people used to three things very quickly: good enemy soft stats, functional technological parity and taking losses. People either choose to accept those realities going into the title, or put it down and go back to Shock Force 2. 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

Boeing Yard, Fort Irwin, California
CPT Wren could feel a very strong headache coming on. It wasn’t the unbearable, searingly-dry heat, (well, it was the heat in part) so much as it was the logistical nightmare his company, and his Battalion Taskforce writ-large, had been dumped into. They had just arrived at the Boeing yard, serving as an initial assembly and equipment collection point for their rotation at the National Training Centre. The officers and senior NCOs were in absolute, collective shock at what greeted them. They had left most of their equipment behind at Ft. Stewart, with the promise that they would be provided with well-maintained, pre-positioned gear on arrival at Ft. Irwin.
The sight of the Battalion XO standing amidst the metaphorical wreckage, hands on hips, with an evil countenance on his face revealed how stretched the truth of that promise had been. If looks could kill, the MAJ would’ve struck down every civilian contractor in the yard by now. The displeasure radiating out of the Battalion XO was echoed by the companies’ XOs. Wren’s second in command, 1 LT Booth, looked like he was contemplating homicide whilst talking with the civilian contractors mounting MILEs gear to the Company’s M150 tank destroyers.
They had left behind relatively cutting-edge equipment, which they had left in top shape, back at their home posting. What greeted them were older models of M60 tanks and TOW launchers, lacking the excellent thermal sights they had come to rely on. The TF’s sister battalion that had just come back from rotation had never warned them about this. They had been put through the wringer and had warned his unit that the infamous OPFOR didn’t play by the rules.
Looking over at the rundown, dated equipment in poor repair, Wren couldn't help but feel that this was part of an elaborate plot to put them off balance before the rotation even began...
Chapter 1.1: The Hasty Attack
 
Near Brown Pass, National Training Centre, Fort Irwin.
The operations group had gathered around a sand table, essentially a scaled-down presentation of local terrain, to plan how they would kick off the mock war for the barren, craggy desert. Wren could feel the sun beating down on his exposed neck as he looked down. He had wisely kept his steel helmet off for the briefing, preferring a patrol cap. It offered some slight relief to the sensation that he was in an oven, and that he particularly was being burned in the pan.
The immediate mission was straightforward, in principle. Brigade had informed them that the lead elements of an enemy Motor Rifle Regiment (MRR) had entered the area of operations and was suspected to be heading towards one of several passages through the corridor. The enemy’s general intent was not difficult to divine: secure one of these features and allow the regiment to debouch onto the desert and deploy for an attack. The TF was to establish contact with the enemy’s forward elements, fix them and, if possible, destroy them. Follow up operations would then commence against the main body of the MRR.  
These first fights would devolve to the companies. The NTC was intended to train the army to fight a step down, that is, a company was expected to go toe-to-toe with an OPFOR battalion, and a battalion with a regiment. It was a tough ask. It put a lot of pressure on guys like Wren, but it also forged these junior leaders into the backbone of America’s army.
The NTC’s entire concept was one big, tough, ask. It had thus far put units, sometimes inadequately trained, always under-equipped, against a dedicated opposing force, or OPFOR. The US Army had played around with the idea of an opposing force before. What had resulted was a hokey B-movie routine simply called the “Aggressors.” They had no foundation in reality, no equipment that bore any relation to something in service, and failed completely to reflect any one of the many likely enemies the United States would face. The Aggressors, like the men who were tasked to portray them, had nothing worth fighting for. Units that rotated in to display them liked getting killed early and often, so they could get a hot meal at the mock casualty clearing stations. It was schlock, and the army had known it.
Fort Irwin, it’s dedicated OPFOR, and the MILEs system (think one giant game of angry laser tag) had changed all that.

This OPFOR had one task: play the Soviets better than the Soviets themselves, and brutalize their enemy whilst doing so. The fact the OPFOR was also expected to meet training standards as a US unit made it a nightmare opponent: a ruthlessly competent enemy that knew your playbook back-to-front.  The first bunch of battalions that had rotated through the NTC had come away shocked, and not infrequently in tatters. Wren’s TF had the advantage of learning from these initial rotations. Two TFs from sister brigades in their division had already gotten their NTC-issued hidings and had diligently and openly disseminated their experiences. They were, theoretically, the best prepared unit yet to come prepared for the fight.
This was their first opportunity to prove that. The Battalion S-2, a highly competent officer with a Master’s in psychology, had put his money down on the idea that the enemy’s lead elements would head for Brown pass. Wren’s area of responsibility. Considering this, the TF Commander had indicated he was willing to throw significant weight behind his company team. Combat aviation, and armour retained under task force control for support of his team, if need be. There were two courses of action: let the lead MRB come through the pass and hit them hard in the bottleneck or push through and find them in the open. The resources his CO was willing to allocate would change depending on the decision, but he trusted his CPT enough to reach one on his own and held his peace as to which he would have preferred.
Wren thought for a moment…Allowing the enemy to come through the pass was the “textbook” solution. It was canalizing terrain and would allow him to get the most out of his company team. It would be a mainly defensive operation, greatly aiding his chances of avoiding heavy losses. Thing is, textbook was obvious. The textbook made for poor reading in this situation, thought Wren. The first option ceded initiative to an OPFOR he knew was lean and mean on the offensive, especially one going to plan. He interrupted his thoughts with a question:
“Are you able to allocate me any of the scouts?” he asked his CO.
“No can do. We need them to tie into the armour battalion TF operating in the Southern Corridor, they can’t put dismounts in those hills as readily as we can.”
If he fought in Brown Pass himself, he would need to seriously contest the high valley mesas, or else the OPFOR would get observers up there and make any type of hasty defence untenable due to artillery fire. He wanted scouts for that, rather than have to put too much load on dismounted foot patrols taken from his platoon. The CO’s answer settled the dilemma. Wren reached over and pushed the little blue block representing his company team through the pass on the sand table.

He could see in his mind, the actual terrain leaping up around him. Wren had always had an eye for terrain, and he knew he could make the most of it here. The “open” ground north of Brown Pass was anything but. It was a series of plateaus, a giant natural staircase, that provided good cover to all but the tallest of vehicles and would allow a commander (on either side) to switch from a long-range engagement to a close-in one at a moment’s notice. The exit of the pass also had a craggy pair of mountains, impassable to vehicles, but perfect for dismounts. Pushing through would make that terrain all his. He intended to use it to its fullest effect.

Preparing for tomorrow’s operations meant it was going to be a long night. Wren, his hard-pressed XO and the platoon leaders had a lot of work to do to make the plan a reality. Wren also had to find the TACP, frustratingly absent at the briefing, and try to integrate the combat aviation into the plan, as he wouldn’t be able to have it “on call” and flexible once the rounds were flying back and forth.
***
16th October, 0900 Hours

They were through Brown Pass, without any enemy air interdiction. At least, 1st Platoon was through. So narrow was the defile, so real the threat of OPFOR air attack, that the Company team was deliberately strung out. This meant that, for 2LT Bunting’s forward group, if there was a fight, it would be his alone for some measure of time. His job was to fix the enemy for the rest of the Company team to manoeuvre aggressively. It was an important, high-risk task and a sign of the trust Wren put in his senior platoon leader. With Bunting’s platoon was the two M150 TOW vehicles, on loan from 1LT Benner’s platoon. The group was moving in staggered column, along a sandy trail, towards a low ridge that denoted the northern mouth of Brown Pass.
Bunting, riding in the lead M113 with a Dragon team and the assigned forward observer, looked over his shoulder. A pair of Cobras was providing intimate support and were hovering just behind Hill 165.5. Suddenly, one of the Cobras raised itself up a bit more and fired off a TOW missile with a hiss and a pop. Contact?

Contact! Urging his track forward, his driver cautiously nosed the M113 in fits and starts up the ridge. Calling a halt, he could see high, hanging dust clouds in the vicinity of PL “Yazoo”, one of several reporting lines to help the TOC track the advance of both B Company and the OPFOR. It quickly became apparent that multiple enemy BMPs were moving fast towards the mouth of the pass. More than he could handle in an open fight. Bunting reacted fast, and with clear-headedness. They had expected this. The Cobras were making the enemy squirm and push with haste, that could play to his advantage. The little bowl his group was in was excellent defensive terrain from which he could pin the enemy. Signalling over the platoon radio, as well as with his hands from the cargo hatch, he ordered his squad tracks into an umbrella-shaped defence.

The flying column cover being provided by the Cobras was showing its worth. Behind excellent positions, the Cobras took turns launching TOWs, which raced at knee-height over the desert to slam into BMPs’ flanks. Wren, hearing Bunting’s contact report, got the word back to TOC quickly. The planned F-16 strike went in 5 minutes after the initial contact report, and they laid their clusters in, presumably with devastating effect.


The OPFOR recon leader stayed calm. He must have known his best bet now was to get forward and to grab the enemy by the belt. The BMPs surged forward. They would be in Bunting’s perimeter within minutes if the Americans didn’t react strongly.

The TOWs weighed in, however, at Bunting’s command. They fired from excellent hull down positions along the low ridge he established his fighting position from. To Bunting’s chagrin, their first few shots are wildly off target. The TOW crews were inexperienced and clearly a bit awe-struck at the sight of a company of BMPs ruthlessly pushing through air attack. It takes two engagements to finally find their nerve – and their targets. A BMP burns.

Then the enemy weighs in with their own fire support. A thunderous crush of artillery impacts just to the left of Bunting’s track. He buttons up to avoid the angry, buzzing shards of shrapnel. The OPFOR artillery is off target but still denies a large part of this excellent battle position to him. More alarmingly, it kicks up the high, hanging dust Bunting has already learned defines the NTC’s desert terrain. Soon his attached TOWs are telling them they can no longer actively engage threats through the dust. ****, this is going to get close and messy, thinks Bunting.
“Earl, get that ramp down and get your ass out with the Dragon, get up there!” he screams to the mounted Dragon team, ducking back down into the cargo compartment.  “Evans, get posted somewhere on this ridge and the Chucks going!” he continues, calmer now, to the attached FO.

The BMPs were only 600 meters or so away now. The vagaries of the terrain were making themselves felt. BMPs were flitting in and out of sight, and the TOWs continued to have trouble engaging, only managing to pick off the occasional BMP.
SPC Earl, the platoon’s Dragon gunner, calmly sets up on a bit of the ridge, determined to cover the short front of the Platoon’s BP. He ignores the artillery, as best he can, and adopts the awkward cross-legged firing position, waiting for the first enemy to pop up over the plateau. A pair of BMPs shortly obliges him, even halting momentarily, to his delight. One is shortly burning. The TOWs catch a lucky break soon afterwards and tally two more BMPs.

In a furious five minutes, Bunting’s small force and air cover appeared to have mauled an enemy company. There was no time to rest on their laurels, however. Another platoon of BMPs, seeing the carnage to their front, smartly pull to their left, disgorging dismounts and creating smoke, and then surge past Bunting’s right flank, towards Point 199.1. Through gaps in the smoke, Bunting is able to track the line of enemy dismounts, and he spots in the distance even more BMPs – the enemy’s main security element?
The Cobras have ceased fire, displacing so as to avoid enemy anti-air fire. A wise move, to be sure, but a poorly timed one from Bunting’s perspective. He has no way of raising them quickly again, lacking a direct communications line to them. It was entirely his fight now.  
Movement is key to any defence, but especially a hasty one. The TOWs were ordered to displace to cover the burgeoning threat on the right flank, but this takes them dangerously close to the enemy artillery fire. The TOW crews find themselves constantly ducking back down to avoid shrapnel.

Nevertheless, they can re-engage, picking off a few of the flankers. 

Then, out of the smoke - and through its own artillery - surges a single enemy BMP. Bunting, too focused on the immediate fight, had never strictly given orders to his squads to dismount in the reverse slope. Luckily, his experienced NCOs read in between the lines and dismounted on their own initiative and had liberally handed-out LAWs to their men whilst doing so. The BMP is engaged effectively by these disposable rockets and is swiftly knocked out.

 
***
This is a beefy chapter, and I don't want to bore you to death...bite sized chunks. To be continued (as for the Normandy DAR, the backlog of photos do was larger than thought, apologies). 

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now. 

Between Two Fahrbahns March 1979 Brauersdorf July 1981 Czechmate June 1982 Direction Found July 1981 Everyone - Get Out of Dodge August 1980 Fleeing Altdorf May 1982 The Grieshof Meet and Greet August 1979 Hunter or Prey October 1982 Killing Time at Kirtof August 1982 Kriegsburg 1979 July 1979 Kriegsburg 1980 May 1980 Kriegsburg 1981 July 1981 Kriegsburg 1982 July 1982 Mittelaschenbach sudden awakening - 1979 March 1979 NTC If it aint cav… October 1982 NTC Tank Training 1979 May 1979 NTC Tank Training 1980 May 1980 NTC Tank Training 1981 May 1981 NTC Tank Training 1982 May 1982 Rumpenheim Rumpus Sept 1982 Scouts Out October 1979 Skirmish at Sichenhausen May 1981 Stem the Tide March 1982 The Last Starship Sept 1981 TRAINING Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB) June 1982 TRAINING Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (TB) June 1982 TRAINING Soviet Tactical Doctrine 2 (MRB) June 1982 TRAINING Soviet Tactical Doctrine 2 (TB) June 1982 A Hille to Die On July 1982 Bad and Worse July 1982 Bear in the Sun July 1982 Bumps in the Dark '82 July 1982 Dollbach Heights July 1982 Racing the Moon '82 July 1982 Route 66 July 1982 The Citadel July 1982 They Own the Night '82 July 1982 Unhook the Leesh July 1982 Valley of Ashes July 1981

I haven't played CMRT in a while.. but when I did the BETA AAR for the game I used the Russian Infantry as follows (quote from my AAR):
  There is no reason you can't use proper tactics when playing the Russians in CM... you will need to watch them though as a split Russian squad becomes very fragile when out of C2.
Many people will tell you that splitting Russian squads should not be allowed, but I contend that, especially by this point in the war, they must have used a fire and movement/squad attack drill type procedure when operating.  The basic Russian Rifle squad is organized for it with an LMG Team, a Rifle Team, and an SMG Team. 
For more on basic tactics visit my CM tactics BLOG (link in my sig).
Bil

German pressure on the Soviet's right flank has become unbearable and their line is starting to collapse.

This time the terrain helps funnel my attack into an acute point which overwhelms the defenders...


Many Soviets break and run for their lives.  This very lucky soldier doesn't realize how close he has come to never making it home.



As this portion of the line collapses the way opens for my troops to keep pushing into their objective proper.  Now we must keep applying pressure and dismantling the defenders dug in positions with overwhelming firepower, one by one.  This brave Russian soldier can't take anymore and decides he has had enough for this war...

Death in the snow.  The artillery has silenced, momentarily, and my troops move back into their previously held positions and are able to give aid.

There is lull in the artillery and the Soviet OPs have been suppressed.  First platoon is across and is clearing the woods to the north.  The time to move is NOW.  It's imperative to take the Stare Kozary rail station before I assault the village.  My men are tired just from running through the low frozen stream.

Los, los, los!

8th Guards Tank Army in its assembly area. Foreground unit is part of the 59th Guards Tank Brigade. “M3A1 x 2; 10 x T-34; 21 x M4A2. Tank battalions were brought together into one battalion” ref 8th Guards Tank Corps AAR 17/8/1944.

I'm not sure this will be the final force used in the scenario. I'm still untangling the actual course of events and how they went into action. The AAR I have shows them going in as a column so the assumption is they went in as deeply echeloned formation (which would tie in with doctrine) and also accounts for some of the early contact they made with the German armour in this sector. The rifle regiments from the 76th Guards seem to have broken the German lines (pretty quickly) so the armour went in by around mid-day to late afternoon BUT German account mention one armoured engagement in the morning where they KOd 12 'tanks'.
The 8th Guards Tank Corps had been pretty badly mauled by this stage was way understrength. So whilst it sounds a huge unit its actually comparatively small and easy handled in CM terms. The 75 Rifle Division attacked into this sector with two Rifle Regiments - though at moment unsure of their exact strength. Suspect be reduced given been in combat for a while so most likely 70% or even lower.
A zoomed out view showing the whole 8th Guards Corps including SU regiments. NOTE: 60th Guards Tank Brigade not shown as they came into action the following day from what I can gather.

Facing them were one German battalion (202 men) and elements from Wiking's Panther battalion with around 22 Panthers

I suspect I agree with this. My specific feelings about this scenario is that the lessons it's teaching are the most fundamental ones - particularly around coordination with artillery and the importance of mass (especially when it comes to overcoming deficiencies in spotting). I have seen people fail this scenario, which means I think it's doing it's job.

The second training scenario pair takes those same basic principles and puts them in a significantly more complex scenario, with a lot less hand-holding. That scenario is still simple, but there's a good progression from the absolute basics, into something more applied.

Beautiful work... brings a tear to my eye.  🥲

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now. 

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now. 

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now. 

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now. 

I have been slowly playing through Cold War's campaigns and standalone scenarios and have been completely blown away with the fidelity of the singleplayer experience. The AI plans have almost universally been some of the best I've seen in any title. It's been immersive. As I often do when I play, I started snapping pictures and making small gifs. When I arrived to scenario 3 in the US Campaign I thought "I should start making an AAR." So, I paused, went back to play the NTC campaign, a few of my favourite scenarios from the Soviet perspective, and started writing. 
I've learned two things: I can't write to save my life, and I really enjoyed it regardless. I already have 6 AARs completed of my experiences and will share them with you all, if only to distract. They strike a more narrative tone, but I have done my best to explain the tactics and decisions. I will label the scenario/mission at the start of every AAR. Without further ado...
 
Prologue:
Kiev Military District, Ukraine SSR.
It was a clear, late spring day somewhere south of Kiev. The open pastureland was starting to show the signs of recovery following the harsh winter. Grass grew tall and the sea of mud was firming up into dry terrain. To any casual observer it would seem a scene of idyllic pastoral calm.

It is a façade. The calm is shattered in an instant, and a brutish ballet begins.

A thunderous barrage deforms and rapes the landscape. It builds to a howling, shrieking crescendo. A cacophony of mortars, howitzers and “Grad” rockets form the orchestra. The impacts smother two wooded hills with a mix of high explosive, smoke, and chemical irritants similar to CS gas. It was all the fury and violence of war, at its apparent worst.
This was not war, however. Merely a facsimile of it. An exercise. To the stern-faced evaluators observing from several kilometres away, and the attached state TV camera crews, it was real enough. Real enough for citizens of the Soviet Union who would watch these scenes play out on their TVs, real enough for Western defence analysts who would pore over every frame of the video, and real enough indeed for young conscripts sat waiting in their tanks and personnel carriers a few kilometres away, in readiness behind a low ridge.

Belly crawling forward among tree, bush and scrub on this same ridge, were more of these young Soviet conscripts. These men were equipped with heavy weapons:  machine guns, recoilless rifles, grenade launchers and potent anti-tank missiles. They would soon make their presence felt, reaching out into the roaring inferno across the open field, destroying any target they could see which remained unharmed from the bombardment. Their missiles began reaching out, flying towards real and simulated targets. TV cameras panned, keeping up with the missiles, visible as green dots against the background.


The evaluators would duly note “hits” recorded by these weapons and, using an intricate set of rules and modifiers, adjust the amount of fire (and therefore casualties) the unit would be deemed to receive when they began their attack. The prospects were good: everything appeared to be within nominal parameters for this drill. The artillery was on target, the missile fire accurate.
As the artillery fire began to abate, the MRB commander – a tough, professional soldier who had been through several prestigious state academies and had seen service in Afghanistan – knew the time was right to begin his attack. Ensconced within his personnel carrier, his voice simultaneously filled the headset of every vehicle commander of this force: begin, armour forward, came the command.
A company of T-64s, a marvel of Soviet technology and a demonstration of its single-minded design philosophy, rumbled up the ridge they had sheltered behind. Taking effective hull down positions, their imposing 125mm cannons crashed out in volleys, striking targets on the forward edge of the forested hills.

The fire is deemed highly effective, scoring several “kills” of enemy vehicles.  With this report crackling through his headset from the tank company commander, the MRB leader issues the next orders, this time via pre-assigned codeword. Repeating himself so there could be no confusion, he tersely speaks: Hornet, hornet, hornet. The unit roars forward as one.
Again, the tanks lead, pushing up and over the ridge at top speed. They fire, with much less accuracy now, on the move, too fast for even the gyro stabilizers to compensate. It is no matter, movement now is key, rather than fire. 

As they pass the exposed area, their rate of advance slows again. Their fire becomes highly effective once more, volleys crashing out across the valley. The observers would note “losses”, of course, losses would always result as an attack neared an objective. They were well within normal parameters, however. What was expected, acceptable, in the science of the attack.

Then come the personnel carriers, surging over the ridge. They move with alacrity behind the armour, in two extended lines.

With pinpoint timing, the artillery fire redoubles on the wooded hills, once again smothering the MRB’s objectives. Any surviving enemy who would chance a shot at these vulnerable vehicles would undoubtedly be discouraged by the howling high explosives.

Again, losses are incurred by the observer/evaluators. Not enough, however. Again, everything is within acceptable parameters.
The MRB closes with shocking speed, crossing several hundred meters in only a few minutes. The momentum and impetus is irresistible. Most of the tanks halt 500 meters away from the wooded tree line, redoubling their fire into and around it. A handful of T-64s move forward with the personnel carriers to provide intimate support. They close the distance aggressively, moving through the final rounds of their own artillery. This particularly impresses the camera crews, still diligently recording, delighted at the realism of the exercise.


The vehicles rumble into the woods, their heavy machineguns thumping away at silhouette targets meant to simulate enemy infantry in their foxholes. Then, the orders come: “Dismount! Forward!” Soviet infantry scramble out of rear hatches and side doors, over engine decks, and into action. Units move in an extended line, firing bursts from their assault rifles. Occasionally, a squad halts at the knee, spraying down foxholes with automatic fire and rocket propelled grenades. They press forward, moving with astonishing speed, newer conscripts desperately sucking for air as they gallop forward.

Leaning out of the hatch of his command vehicle, the MRB commander witnesses his forward companies safely debussing on the objectives. Smoke, as planned, begins to land at the edges of the hills, isolating them from one another. Exultant, for he knows his unit is performing excellently, he urges forward the remainder of his force. Not onto these terrain objectives, these are not of the greatest importance, but beyond them. Breakthrough.
The tanks form into two columns and  roar through the hole ripped in the enemy’s defence, and the MRB commander pushes his command group, air defence vehicles and his third company through in the vacuum they create. They fire as they move, riflemen spraying the smoke-shrouded treeline from open cargo hatches on the rear of the personnel carriers.


***
“15 minutes.”
“What was that, comrade Colonel?” the TV producer asks, overhearing the supervising Colonel despite the dull thuds and crunches in the distance.
“15 minutes. That’s the average time it usually takes to complete this drill.” He explains.
“Is that good?”
The Colonel laughs, “Yes, 15 minutes is quite acceptable… this commander has done it in 12.”
The dismounted infantry may take hours, in reality, to comb through the wooded hills and defeat the surviving enemy infantry. That they would suffer heavily whilst doing so was not in dispute, nor was it of any particular importance. Even the uninitiated TV crewmen could deduce that. The real takeaway, the true objective, was that most of a tank company and an entirely unscathed set of motor riflemen were through the enemy’s defensive position. Havoc would ensue, and the destruction of the notional enemy unit was almost presaged. What the Colonel observing knew, and that the TV crewmen did not, was that inexorably, inevitably, behind this breakthrough would come a tank battalion, then another regiment, and then entire brigades. Victory would follow. It was as simple as that.
Notes/Thoughts
So, the scenario played here was "Soviet Tactical Doctrine 1 (MRB)" by Miller. I wanted to play because I thought it would make a great little compare and contrast piece to how the US would have to do things, especially in the NTC campaign. It's also just a solid concept for a mission, and a trend that I hope continues. For the absence of doubt, I played it straight, precisely as the briefing guides you to do. 
I also think there's some subtle criticism to be made, through the scenario, of how we know the Soviets trained in reality. Big, choreographed exercises. Useful for producing units that knew a series of SOPs and battle-drill evolutions, perhaps not as useful for producing units that know how to keep pushing through when BTRs and BMPs are exploding. They weren't organic like say, I feel the NTC was. Keep that in your minds for now.