There would be no quarter. None asked, for none given. Perhaps it was the heat. Perhaps it was the layers of bitter history that the M1 tracks heedlessly shook awake from its lumbering deep sleep. Or was it the hatred of a 1,000 years of blood, recrimination and accusation? What ever it was Sargent York really did not give a fuck. He wanted to kill some Russkies and their rag head turn coat friends.
All he really knew was that his men were at war. Suddenly and with little warning. They were rotated from cushy postings in the Med to here. The dry intense searing heat, dust that jammed guns and made visibility scarily short range and the inability to trust anyone was a war unlike anything he had fought in before. He was not concerned, he was resigned to his situation.
Yet this was no strange thing for him. This desert war. This was just like ‘Nam. except less bugs, oh and more dust. Rotating home is not going to happen he thought. This war, these new machines, more rounds per second, more accuracy, higher survival rates and better medicine meant at best he was going home a cripple or maimed. Anything but that he muttered to himself, as he spat a wad of tobacco juice from his mouth upon the fine Persian rug on the now dusty floor already filthy, littered with his spit, and casually discarded MREs of his squad.
He did know that no son of Bitch was going to take him alive, nor were his men going to give any quarter. They had all seen the atrocities committed by the Russians and their ‘friends’. The Goddam civilians were stripping captured soldiers naked and stomping them to death.
The Soviets let it happen, bastards, bastard political officers and KGB. Fuckers. York knew he could rely on his men, scattered as they were, across this part of the sector. The probing attacks had caught them by surprise. Completely. Still they knew now the war was for real and there would be no going home until it was done or they were dead. It was really that simple he thought. Stay alive longer than the other side.
The Radio squawked, it was the boss again. “Just checking in York, what is your SITREP?” York dryly replied ” Same as 5 minutes ago sir. I’d hold off calling in the reserves till either you or I are over run. Then we head to Phase Line 1, and take it from there with some armor help….assuming they actually come this time”
The US setup against the Russians. Each team puts a unit down, it may not be adjacent to an enemy unit, not stacked with a friendly.