Episode 9: Have We Lost

February 1st – 5th


Chapter 339: Aftermath

Wednesday, February 1st, Early Morning (Central European Time)

(Song lyrics in Italics)

"Splash!" Tarheel called out and watched the Walberge tank erupt in a pillar of flames.

"Yay!" Palmer called out, but suddenly in the din of battle, things seemed to slow down, but there's an eerie silence in the tank.

"Commander target?" Tarheel asked over the intercom. There's no response.

"What do I load?" Palmer asked, forgetting is training for a moment.

"Commander target?" Tarheel asked again over the intercom, again no response.

Tarheel looked across the gun breech at Palmer. Palmer had dropped into the turret to arm the gun and prepare the load their second round. The silence shook Palmer, Tarheel in the faith blue light of the turret, could see that. "Loader! Check on the Commander!" Tarheel ordered.

Palmer popped back out the open loader's hatch. Just sticking the top of his head out of the hatch. "Holyshit!" Palmer yelled, and the open mic of the intercom caught it.

"What's wrong, Palmer?" Tarheel asked.

"Palmer?" Letty asked over the intercom.

"Garrison's dead!" Palmer yelled.

Tarheel nodded in his seat grimily. He was supposed to set the gun and command from the Commander's seat. They're in a firefight, and they would have to move the body. This is one of those beg for forgiveness moments. "Palmer! Find me a target!" Tarheel ordered over the intercom.

"What?" Palmer asked, confused.

"They're still fucking shooting at us; we need to return fire! Find me a target!" Tarheel yelled back.

"Garrison's dead!" Palmer yelled.

"Private Masterson, find us and our gun a fucking target!" Tarheel yelled over the intercom. Tarheel thought he heard Letty gasp.

"Yes, Sergeant!" Palmer reported. He slowly raised his head and used his Mark-One-A eyeball to look around for a target. "Gunner-target-tank-four o'clock!" Palmer yelled out, his voice cracking and broken.

Tarheel started to slew the turret. He was glad they trained to do this the old fashion way without the CITV. Finally, he found the target Palmer spotted. "Loader! Load SABOT!" Tarheel ordered and indexed the gun for Sabot rounds. Palmer should've loaded the same round they had in the breech when Garrison didn't give a command, but Palmer panicked.

"Sabot loaded," Palmer reported after he dropped back into the turret and loaded the gun, which confirmed the gun indexing.

"Identify!" Tarheel yelled.

"Up!" Palmer replied, arming the main gun.

"On the way!" Tarheel yelled, skipping the fire command since we would have just given it to himself, and depressed the firing trigger. The gun fired, and with the recoil, the breech opened and shot out the remaining stub of the main gun round.

"Splash!" Tarheel reported as they hit the tank. The terminal image of the battlefield showed several more burning tanks and not much of anything else alive. Tarheel also noticed the fire was starting to slacken. The background was starting to get lighter as the fighting across the border kept dying down. Through his gunsight, Tarheel could confirm multiple vehicles burning on the Walberge side of the border.

"Load MPAT!" Tarheel ordered.

Palmer pulled another round out of the bustle ammo rack and slammed it home in the breech.

"MPAT Loaded," Palmer reported, and catching on before ordered to, he popped his head out of the hatch to look for their next target. Tarheel changed the gun index for the new round type.

"All units cease fire!" The Lieutenant ordered over the radio.

"Delta-one-three-two roger," Tarheel reported over the radio.

As the silence fell over the landscape, Tarheel scanned the battlefield through his gunsight. It was just like they described a clash of arms—a surprise, followed by a short but violent exchange. The turret had an odd smell, a mixture of the gun propellant and something that Tarheel could only describe as death.

The Lieutenant ordered the patrol into a defensive position around Dixie, Tank D12. The tank seemed to have been damaged in the engagement. As soon as they got into position, Tarheel looked to Palmer.

Do you feel the thorns?
Do you see the tears?
Do you see the bloodshed in this fell war?
Have you forsaken us?
Have you forgotten our faithful men calling your name?

"Palmer, you, okay?" Tarheel asked.

Palmer nodded over the gun breech, "Yes," he said softly.

"Get your head out of the turret and spot for us," Tarheel ordered.

"Yes, Sergeant," Palmer replied.

"Also, check on Garrison while you're up there," Tarheel said.

"Yes, Sergeant," Palmer said and climbed up into the loader's hatch.

Tarheel sighed and looked to his feet and below the gun. "Letty, monitor the radio; I'm going to check on things," Tarheel said.

"Yes, Sergeant," Letty said, kind of stiff.

Tarheel disconnected his CVC from the intercom and pushed his bulk out from the gunner's seat. Tanks might look big, but they were very cramped inside—most of the space being taken up by armor and equipment for the weapon system. Tarheel was one of the larger tankers in the company. Tarheel got as close as he could to the loader's side and looked up the hatch, filled with Palmer's legs.

While I stand before you
While we perish
While I lay down a crimson rose
While holding hands
Are forced apart
While hopes bog like condemned men

Were you there?

"How bad is it?" Tarheel asked.

"He's fucking dead!" Palmer yelled.

"What was that, Private?" Tarheel asked.

"He's dead, Sergeant," Palmer yelled back.

Tarheel sighed; they would have to live with a corpse in the Commander's hatch until they can get him removed.

"Tarheel," Letty called out.

"Yeah!" Tarheel called back.

"Lieutenant is looking for us," Letty said.

Tarheel crept over to close to his station and plugged back into the radio system. "Delta-one-one, to Delta-one-three, over," Tarheel heard.

Tarheel keyed the mic. "Delta-one-three-two, to Delta-one-one, over," he replied.

"Delta-one-three, report status, over," The Lieutenant came back.

"Delta-one-one, Delta-one-three, reporting one KIA," Tarheel reported.

"Roger, Delta-one-three, over and out," The Lieutenant replied.

Tarheel nodded; he had to slip back into his gunner's seat. Shaking his head, not something he's looking forward to.

The sky is falling on me
As your hand's turning old and weak
I'm giving myself up to thee
A futile sacrifice gone sere
(falling on me)

Palmer reported some of the attached infantry had taken up position near them with their Infantry Fighting Vehicle. Finally, Tarheel could unplug, again, and get about clearing the turret and the smell of death.

"Palmer, let's get Garrison out of the hatch," Tarheel said.

"You serious?" Palmer asked.

"You serious, Sergeant," Tarheel corrected.

"Yeah, sure, Sergeant," Palmer reported.

Palmer climbed out of the loader's hatch, and Tarheel disconnected again. He positioned himself where he could push the body up while Palmer pulled. "You ready, Palmer?" Tarheel asked.

"Yes," Palmer called back.

"Let's do this!" Tarheel said, and they worked their way to get Garrison out of the tank's hatch. Once the hatch was clear, Tarheel slid out the Commander's hatch. Garrison's body was sitting on the bustle as Palmer was digging through some of their stuff for something. Once Palmer found what he was looking for, he threw it to the ground. Palmer returned to the turret, and they looked at the body. Tarheel shook his head, and they knew what they had to do next.

Carefully, they moved Garrison's body off the tank. Once the body was on the ground, they wrapped it in his poncho that Palmer threw off the turret. During this time, the reinforcements showed up. Tarheel saw the Strykers of the 2nd Cavalry Regiment join their small patrol. Tarheel and Palmer returned to the turret; this time, Tarheel was in the Commander's hatch, which he noted was covered in Garrison's blood.

In your nemeton
These grey stone walls
Are cold and silent
As the fallen
Mother gone deaf
Mistress of shattered hopes
And forever broken dreams

Were you there?

Once the Strykers set up a new parameter, Tarheel and Palmer slipped off of the tank. They walked around the tank to do a battle damage assessment and check the tracks. Letty was on radio watch, in the driver's hole. After they finished, each crew member rotated off the tank to spend a moment alone with Garrison.

Tarheel was the last one to have a private moment with Garrison. He squatted down and rested his hand on the body of his friend. How much time did he spend with this man, on drills, in classes, and at each other's homes? They'd been guests at each other's homes many times, and their families knew each other well. When Garrison got this tank, Tarheel could've gotten his wing tank, but Tarheel chose instead to be Garrison's gunner. He wanted to be on the same crew as his friend.

The sky is falling on me
As your hand's turning old and weak
I'm giving myself up to thee
A futile sacrifice gone sere

Were you there?

That was where Tarheel's thoughts were when two officers came over looking for them. Tarheel slowly got to his feet and looked at the two officers before him. One, Tarheel knew was his platoon leader, Lieutenant Marc R Weller, jr., the other officers, also a Lieutenant must be from the Cavalry, the man's name tape said Lesnik.

"Morning, Sirs," Tarheel said, coming to attention.

"Sergeant, how's your tank and crew?" Lieutenant Weller asked.

"We're operational, some minor damage, and well, sir," Tarheel said.

"One causality," Lieutenant Weller said.

"Yes, Sir, one KIA," Tarheel said.

"Ammunition?" Lieutenant Weller asked.

"Two main gun rounds expended, Sir," Tarheel said.

"Very good, carry on, Sergeant," Lieutenant Weller said.

"Sergeant, our medic will be becoming over to take charge of the body. We're medevacking him out," Lieutenant Lesnik said.

"Yes, Sir," Tarheel said.

"Sergeant, you did well, considering," Lieutenant Weller said.

"Yes, Sir," Tarheel said.

Lieutenant Lesnik looked at Tarheel and nodded. "Sergeant, why do they call you Tarheel?" Lieutenant Lesnik asked.

Epo, Epo why hast thou forsaken me?
Together we go unsung
Into thy hand, I commend my spirit
Together we go down with our people

Were you there? Were you there?

"I graduated from the University of North Carolina, Sir," Tarheel said.

"Sergeant, tell your crew we've confirmed you have two T-72 kills," Lieutenant Weller said.

Tarheel nodded slightly, like that would make things better; he reflected, "Yes Sir, hopefully, that will brighten their day, considering, Sir," Tarheel said.

"I understand, Sergeant," Lieutenant Weller asked.

"Sir, how did Dixie's crew make out?" Tarheel asked.

"Track and suspension damage, their mobile, but we have to head back for repairs. You can get rest, a hot meal, and a shower," Lieutenant Weller said.

"Yes, Sir," Tarheel said.

"You did good, Sergeant," Lieutenant Lesnik said.

"Yes, Sir," Tarheel said.

Lieutenant Weller nodded and looked at Tarheel. "Sergeant Scott, see to your tank and crew," he said.

"Yes, Sir," Tarheel said and watched the two officers walk away. Staff Sergeant Keith J "Tarheel" Scott, USA NCNG, climbed back onto the tank he now commanded, D13 named Damage Plan, with a sigh and a nod.

The sky is falling on me
As your hand's turning old and weak
I'm giving myself up to thee
A futile sacrifice gone sere
Falling on me