The Red Line

The missiles craved the heat. They needed the heat.

In seconds, the Sidewinders closed with their targets. Each rammed its lethal nose into the rear of its prey. Four explosions rocked the eastern skyline. Pieces of burning metal fell in twisted clumps into the woods a half mile east of the hiding tanks.

The immediate threat to the platoon was no more. The F-35 stealth fighters roared low over the trees. They dipped their wings in victory. In less than a minute, the fighters were nothing more than fading specks in the darkening sky.

“Okay, Richardson,” Mallory said, “let’s get the hell out of here while we still can.” The relief in the platoon leader’s voice was vividly evident.

“You heard the man, Jamie. Let’s get going.”

Richardson’s tank pushed through the gnarled thicket and back onto the winding roadway. The other two tanks were close behind. Westward, ever westward, the platoon ran.

Westward, ever westward, the Americans retreated.

• • •

Five minutes later, the platoon arrived at the place for which they’d been searching. Richardson’s tank reached the edge of a wide glade with a deep, swift brook running through it.

“Richardson,” the lieutenant said, “our secondary position should be up ahead somewhere on the left. It’s supposed to be inside the trees on the other side of this meadow. We’ll cover you while you cross the open ground.”

“Roger, Lieutenant, we’re on our way. Keep a good eye on the skies for us, guys. We’re going to be kind of vulnerable out here.”

“Come on, Tim,” Greene said. “After what we just went through, you should be used to it by now. Find those holes the engineers left so we can all get out of the open.”

The lead tank entered the somber clearing. The charred remains of four cars and a Humvee were scattered about the night-tinged meadow. The five vehicles had been attacked late on the previous day by a MiG-29. Each had stopped smoldering hours earlier. The ravaged metal was cool to the touch. Inside the destroyed vehicles, Richardson could see the blackened skeletons of those who’d died while attempting to cross the same ground he was entering. A child’s doll, singed and gutted, lay in the snows covering the dead winter grasses near the closest car.

The tank hurried across the three-hundred-yard clearing. As it neared the trees on the far side, Richardson spotted a likely location for the platoon’s new fighting positions.

“I think I see the holes, Lieutenant,” Richardson said. “Fifty yards away, right between the second and third trees on the left side of the road.”

“That sounds about right,” Mallory said. “You need to check it out fast. We’ve got to find those holes and dig in before it gets too dark and we’re unable to locate them.”

“Or, worse yet, before the Russians find us,” Greene said.

“Jamie,” Richardson said, “ease her into the trees just far enough that she won’t be easy to spot from the air. Then bring her to a stop.”

The tank continued to move forward.

“Okay, right here’s good.” The M-1 came to a halt. “I’m pretty certain the spot we’re looking for is in that area over to our left. I’ll need to get down on the ground to check it out. Tony, you and Vincent watch real close for the bad guys. Don’t let anything happen to my tank while I’m gone.”

“Don’t worry, Tim. I’ll protect your spoiled child real good while you’re out playing in the woods,” Warrick replied.

Richardson spoke into the radio. “Lieutenant, I’m dismounting to take a look around.”

“Roger. But make it quick. We’re in trouble if we stay out here much longer.”

“Okay, Lieutenant, I’m on my way.”

Richardson lifted himself from the commander’s hatch. He made his way across the tank. Leaping into the snows, he quickly moved through the maze of evergreens toward the location where he believed he’d find the platoon’s next ambush position.

There they were, just as he suspected. In front of him were three tank holes, protected by heavy logs and mounds of dirt. He took a look around. This was certainly not as good a position as the first had been. The ground was flat, so they’d lose many of the advantages the hill had given them in the earlier battle. And there was only a single escape route through the trees. Still, as he’d learned a few minutes earlier, any fortified position was going to be a vast improvement over fighting on the open ground.

Richardson ran back through the deepening shadows. The rapidly closing night was pressing in on them from all sides. He scrambled onto his tank and disappeared into the commander’s compartment.

“Okay, Lieutenant, we’re in business. The holes are right where I thought. They’re waiting for us fifty yards to the left of my position.”

“Sounds good. Cover us, we’re coming across.”

“Roger, Lieutenant, bring ’em on in.”

“Okay, Greene, you’re up. Take her straight across the meadow and drop her into her hole. We’ll start over as soon as you’re safely into the trees on the other side.”

“We’re on our way.”

A second cautious tank headed through the wide glen. They rushed by the grisly reminders of how fragile the soldiers’ lives truly were. The M-1 hurried for the protection of the trees on the far side. In thirty seconds, Greene’s tank passed Richardson’s. It disappeared into the thick forest.

“Okay, Lieutenant,” Richardson said, “ready whenever you are.”

“Roger. We’re coming over.”

The final Abrams edged across the open meadow. Richardson watched the lieutenant’s tank pass his position and disappear into the trees. He scanned the darkening skies for any sign of the enemy. So far, their tenuous luck was holding.

• ?

? •

Greene stood on the cold ground in the shadows of the forest. He directed his driver’s efforts as he slid seventy-two tons into the hole on the left. Lieutenant Mallory waited in the open commander’s hatch of the second tank.

Greene’s broad tank dropped into its hole. One down, two to go. The lieutenant leaped to the snows. He guided his driver as the second tank eased into its lair on the far right. Mallory clambered back into his tank.

“Okay, Richardson, we’re all set, bring it on in.”

“Roger, Lieutenant, we’re on our way.”

Under Jamie Pierson’s skillful control of the handlebars, the final tank dropped into the middle den a short while later.

“Echo-Yankee-One, this is Sierra-Kilo-One-One,” the lieutenant said into the radio.

“Roger, Sierra-Kilo-One-One.”

“Echo-Yankee-One, have arrived intact and are emplaced in our secondary position. We’re waiting to repulse a strong ground assault by a second Russian column. Anticipate enemy arrival at our location in the next half hour. We’ll notify when contact is made.”

“Roger, Sierra-Kilo-One-One. Rifle platoons from Delta Company will be linking up with you on your left and right shortly. Good luck.”

• • •

The battalion radio operator knew the three tanks were going to need it.

CHAPTER 48

January 30—4:45 p.m.

Defense Information Systems Agency

Mildenhall Air Base

Fifteen minutes after the withdrawing tank platoon settled into its holes, George O’Neill was waiting on the tarmac at Mildenhall Air Base as a deafening C-17 cargo plane slowed to a stop. The moment the rear ramp lowered, he walked around the side of the plane to wait for the DISA civilian engineers to exit.