tc.redstormrising-第149部分

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〃The　report　of　enemy　tanks　at　Bremke　was　incorrect。〃　A　junior　officer　came　over。　〃The　observer　saw　our　tanks　ing　south　and　misidentified　them！〃
〃And　this　is　good　news？〃　Alekseyev　demanded。
〃Of　course；　rade　General；〃　the　captain　answered　lamely。
〃Did　it　occur　to　you　to　inquire　why　our　tanks　were　heading　south？　Goddamn　it；　must　I　do　all　the　thinking　here？〃　He　couldn't　scream　at　the　right　person。　He　had　to　scream　at　somebody。　The　captain　wilted　before　his　eyes。　Part　of　Alekseyev　was　ashamed；　but　another　part　needed　the　release。

They　had　the　job　because　they　had　more　battle　experience　than　anyone　else。　It　had　never　occurred　to　anyone　that　they　had　no　experience　at　all　in　this　sort　of　operation。　They　were　advancing。　Except　for　local　counterattacks；　no　NATO　unit　had　done　very　much　of　that；　but　Lieutenant…he　still　thought　like　a　sergeant…Mackall　knew　that　they　were　best　suited　to　it。　The　M…1　tank　had　an　engine　governor　that　limited　its　speed　to　about　forty…three　miles　per　hour。　It　was　always　the　first　thing　the　crews　removed。
His　M…1　was　going　south　at　fifty…seven　miles　per　hour。
The　ride　was　enough　to　rattle　the　brain　loose　inside　his　skull；　but　he'd　never　known　such　exhilaration。　His　life　was　balanced　on　the　knife…edge　of　boldness　and　lunacy。　Armed　helicopters　flew　ahead　of　his　pany；　scouting　the　route；　and　pronounced　it　clear　all　the　way　to　Alfeld。　The　Russians　weren't　using　this　route　for　anything。　It　wasn't　a　road　at　all；　but　the　right…of…way　for　an　underground　pipeline；　a　grassy　strip　one　hundred　feet　wide　that　took　a　straight　line　through　the　forests。　The　tank's　wide　treads　threw　off　dirt　like　the　roostertail　from　a　speedboat　as　the　vehicle　raced　south。
The　driver　slowed　for　a　sweeping　turn　while　Mackall　squinted　ahead；　trying　to　see　whatever　enemy　vehicle　the　helicopters　missed。　It　didn't　have　to　be　a　vehicle。　It　just　could　be　three　guys　with　a　missile　launcher；　and　Mrs。　Mackall　would　get　The　Telegram；　regretting　to　inform　her　that　her　son　。　。　。
Thirty　kilometers；　he　thought。　Damn！　Only　a　half…hour　since　the　German　grenadiers　had　punched　a　hole　in　the　Russian　lines；　and　zoom！　goes　the　Black　Horse　Cav！　It　was　crazy；　but　hell；　it　was　crazy　to　have　stayed　alive　ever　since　his　first　engagement…an　hour　after　the　war　started。　Ten　klicks　to　go。
〃Look　at　that！　More　of　our　tanks　southbound。　What　the　hell　is　going　on？〃　Sergetov　snarled　to　his　driver；　even　talking　like　his　general　now。
〃Are　they　our　tanks？〃　the　driver　asked。
The　new　major　shook　his　head。　Another　one　passed　through　the　gap　in　the　trees…the　turret　had　a　flat　top；　not　the　usual　dome　shape　of　Soviet　tanks！
A　helicopter　appeared　over　the　gap　and　pivoted　in　the　sky。　Sergetov　didn't　mistake　this　for　a　Russian；　and　the　stubby　wings　on　either　side　of　the　fuselage　marked　it　as　an　armed　attack…chopper。　The　driver　lurched　to　the　right　just　before　the　nose…mounted　machine　gun　flashed　at　them。　Sergetov　jumped　clear　as　the　tracers　reached　out。　He　landed　on　his　back　and　rolled　toward　the　treeline。　His　head　was　down；　but　he　could　feel　the　heat　blast　when　the　machine…gun　tracers　ignited　the　spare　gas　tank　on　the　back　of　the　truck。　The　young　officer　scampered　into　the　trees　and　looked　around　the　edge　of　a　tall　pine。　The　American　helicopter　flew　to　within　a　hundred　meters　of　his　vehicle　to　ensure　its　destruction；　then　spun　off　to　the　south。　His　radio　was　in　the　overturned；　burning　truck。
〃Buffalo　Three…One；　this　is　anche；　over。〃
〃anche；　this　is　Three…One。　Report；　over。〃
〃We　just　popped　a　Russian　truck。　Everything　else　looks　clear。　Roll　'em；　cowboy！〃　the　helicopter　pilot　urged。
Mackall　laughed　at　that。　He　had　to　remind　himself　that　this　wasn't　really　fun。　Quite　a　few　tank　drivers　had　gotten　into　trouble　by　getting　just　a　little　too　unwound　on　the　German　countryside；　and　now　they　were　being　ordered　to！　Two　more　minutes　and　three　kilometers　passed。
Here's　where　it　gets　tricky。
〃Buffalo　Three…One；　we　show　three　Russian　vehicles　standing　guard　on　the　hilltop。　Look　like　Bravo…Tango…Romeos。　All　the　bridge　traffic　seems　to　be　trucks。　The　repair　shop　is　on　the　east　bank　north　of　the　town。〃
The　tank　slowed　as　they　came　to　the　last　turn。　Mackall　ordered　his　〃track〃　off　the　road；　onto　the　meadow　grass；　as　it　edged　ponderously　around　a　stand　of　trees。
〃Target　BTR；　eleven　o'clock；　twenty…seven　hundred！　Fire　when　ready；　Woody！〃
The　first　of　the　eight…wheel　vehicles　exploded　before　any　of　their　crews　knew　a　tank　was　near。　They　were　looking　for　aircraft；　not　enemy　tanks　forty　kilometers　in　the　rear。　The　next　two　died　within　a　minute；　and　Mackall's　platoon　of　four　tanks　dashed　forward。
They　all　reached　the　ridge　three　minutes　later。　One　by　one；　the　huge　Abrams　tanks　crested　the　hill　overlooking　what　had　once　been　a　small　city。　Many　days　of　continuous　air　attacks　and　artillery　fire　had　ended　that。　Four　ribbon　bridges　were　in　operation；　with　numerous　trucks　crossing　or　waiting　to　cross。
First　the　tanks　located　and　engaged　anything　that　looked　even　vaguely　dangerous。　Machine…gun　fire　began　working　on　the　trucks；　while　the　main　guns　reached　into　the　tank…repair　yard　established　in　the　fields　north　of　the　town。　By　this　time；　two　full　troops　were　in　place；　and　infantry　vehicles　took　on　the　trucks　with　their　light　25mm　cannon。　Within　fifteen　minutes；　over　a　hundred　trucks　were　burning；　along　with　enough　supplies　to　keep　a　whole　Russian　division　in　business　for　a　hard　day　of　bat。　But　the　supplies　were　incidental。　The　rest　of　the　squadron　was　catching　up　with　the　advance　party；　and　their　job　was　to　hold　this　Russian　munications　nexus　until　relieved。　The　Germans　already　had　Gronau；　and　the　Russian　forces　east　of　the　Leine　were　now　cut　off　from　their　supplies。　Two　of　the　Russian　bridges　were　clear；　and　a　pany　of　M…2　Bradley　infantry　carriers　darted　across　to　take　up　position　on　the　eastern　edge　of　the　town。
Ivan　Sergetov　crawled　to　the　edge　of　the　grassy　road…he　didn't　know　what　it　was…and　watched　the　units　pass　while　his　stomach　contracted　into　an　icy　ball。　They　were　Americans；　at　least　a　battalion　in　strength；　he　estimated；　traveling　light。　No　trucks；　just　their　tracked　vehicles。　He　kept　his　wits　enough　to　begin　a　count　of　the　tanks　and　personnel　carriers　that　raced　before　him　at　a　speed　that　he'd　never　really　appreciated　before。　It　was　the　noise　that　was　most　impressive。　The　turbine…driven　M…1　tanks　did　not　make　the　roar　of　diesel…powered　tanks。　Until　they　were　a　few　hundred　meters　away；　you　couldn't　even　know　they　were　there…the　bination　of　low　noise　and　high　speed　。　。　。　They're　heading　towards　Alfeld！
I　have　to　report　this。　But　how？　His　radio　was　gone；　and　Sergetov　had　to　think　for　a　minute　to　determine　where　he　was　。　。　。　two　kilometers　from　the　Leine；　right　across　that　wooded　ridge。　His　choice　was　a　difficult　one。　If　he　returned　to　the　mand　post；　it　was　a　walk　of　twenty　kilometers。　If　he　ran　to　the　rear；　he　might　find　friendly　units　in　half　the　time　and　get　the　alarm　out。　But　running　that　way　was　cowardice；　wasn't　it？
Cowardice　or　not；　he　had　to　go　east。　Sergetov　had　the　sickening　feeling　that　the　alarm　had　not　been　sounded。　He　moved　to　the　edge　of　the　trees　and　waited　for　a　gap　in　the　American　column。　It　was　only　thirty　meters　to　the　far　side。　Five　seconds　to　cross　the　gap；　he　told　himself。　Less。
Another　M…1　blazed　past　him。　He　looked　left　and　saw　that　the　next　was　nearly　three　hundred　meters　away。　Sergetov　took　a　deep　breath　and　ran　into　the　open。
The　tank　mander　saw　him；　but　couldn't　get　to　his　machine　gun　fast　enough。　Besides；　one　man　on　foot　without　even　a　rifle　wasn't　worth　stopping　for。　He　reported　the　sighting　on　his　radio　and　returned　to　the　mission　at　hand。
Sergetov　didn't　stop　running　until　he　was　a　hundred　meters　into　the　trees。　Such　a　short　distance；　but　he　felt　as　if　his　heart　would　spring　from　his　chest。　He　sat　down　with　his　back　against　a　tree　to　catch　his　breath　and　continued　to　watch　the　vehicle　pass。　It　took　several　minutes　before　he　could　move　again；　then　it　was　up　the　steep　hill；　and　soon　he　was　once　more　looking　down　at　the　Leine。
The　shock　of　seeing　the　American　tanks　was　bad　enough。　What　he　saw　here　was　far　worse。　The　Army　tank…repair　yard　was　a　smoking　ruin。　Everywhere　there　were　burning　trucks。　At　least　it　was　downhill。　He　ran　down　the　east　side　of　the　ridge　right　up　to　the　river。　Quickly　stripping　off　his　pistol　belt；　Sergetov　leaped　into　the　swift　current。
〃What's　that？　Hey；　I　see　a　Russian　swimming！〃　A　machine　gunner　swiveled　his　。50　caliber　around。　The　vehicle　mander　stopped　him。
〃Save　it　for　the　MiGs；　soldier！〃
He　climbed　up　the　east　bank　and　turned　to　look　back。　The　American　vehicles　were　digging　into　defensive　positions。　He　ran　to　cover　and　stopped　again　to　make　a　count　before　proceeding。　There　was　a　traffic…control　point　at　Sack。　Sergetov　ran　all　the　way。
After　the　first　hour；　things　settled　down。　Lieutenant　Mackall　got　out　of　his　tank　to　inspect　his　platoon's　positions。　One　of　the　few　ammunition　carriers　to　acpany　the　troop　stopped　briefly　at　each　tank；　its　crew　tossing　out　fifteen　rounds　each。　Not　enough　to　replace　what　they'd　fired；　but　not　bad。　The　air　attacks　would　be　next。　Crews　were　out　chopping　down　trees　and　shrubs　to　camouflage　their　vehicles。　The　acpanying　infantry　set　out　their　Stinger　crews；　and　Air　Force　fighters　were　already　circling　overhe