Firestorm: Stripes

Apache was assigned the task of blunting the main German attack around the picturesque hamlet of Berga. 1stLt LaBoyteaux’s 1st Scout Section, accompanied by 1stLt Stovall’s FiST track, took up an over-watch position on a hilltop between Berga and Clodra to the west. From here, he could keep tabs on both villages and their bridges. SFC Romine’s 2nd Scout Section deployed in a wood line further to the east, watching the main road as it passed through Friedmannsdorf.
Brinkman, with 1Lt Ball’s 1st Platoon, manned defensive positions in Berga itself. Guessing the enemy would try to flank him and snatch both bridges in one fell swoop, Brinkman sent 1stLt Nguyen’s 2nd Platoon to set an ambush in Clodra then hold the village until reinforced.
A section of Cobras, call-sign “Fang”, hovered behind a copse of trees near the canal, ready to strike at anything that appeared.
Now, if the enemy would only cooperate . . .

... they did.
As expected, Fritz tried an end run with his infantry at Clodra. BMPs plunged into the river at full speed and began swimming across. Second Platoon springs their ambush, knocking out 4 BMPs, bailing 2 more, and sending their infantrymen to flounder in the icy cold water. LeBoyteaux’s Scouts sink another BMP while the Cobras send 2 more to the river bottom.
Lt Stovall had a nasty surprise in mind for Fritz and quickly put it into action as soon as the BMPs hit the water. Into the malestrom and pandemonium at the river, Stovall added more havoc and chaos--Apache’s six M109 Paladins dropped minelets into the river and along its banks.

Panic immediately gripped the German infantry as the water around them began to explode. Maddened soldiers, desperately trying to escape the carnage, found themselves facing a a minefield that just magically appeared among their ranks. New explosions and screams signaled the death of 4 more BMPs and several infantrymen.
With a satisfied grin, Lt Stovall leaned forward on his elbows and watched the carnage through his binoculars. “And that, gentlemen,” he said to no one in particular, “is how you do that.”

Under the cover of the overwhelming firepower, 2nd Platoon withdrew from their ambush positions and consolidated in the village, and readied themselves for a fight.

Not to be left out, SFC Romine reported a company of T-55s moving up to firing positions on the opposite riverbank. He ordered his ITV crew to engage the tanks while he took on the infantry that was sure to follow. One T-55 fell victim to a TOW, but no infantry appeared.

With a semblance of order restored, the German infantry managed to extricate themselves from their watery hell and consolidated behind a company of T-72s arranged in a firing line along a low ridge overlooking the bridge leading into Berga.
Enemy Hinds scream in to neutralize the American gunships, but to no avail. Fang-1 saw them in time and managed to avoid the big machines, albeit, in a hail of cannon fire. The Cobras reposition near the woods to the southeast of Berga.

Realizing the Hinds pose a real and uncontained threat, Captain Brinkman orders Sgt Natalini’s Stinger section forward. Careening through the German countryside in a fashion that would have made the Duke boys envious, the wiry little Italian from Kansas was feeling elated.
“Time for some duck hunting,” he smiled at his driver. “Bones!” he shouted at his gunner, “target the near one. Jimmy’ll take the far one.” With that, Natalini began prepping second missile for Bones.
In a cloud of dirt and turf, the two Humvees came to a screeching halt nearly under the Hinds. Natalini wondered if the missiles would have time to arm. “Screw it,” he thought. “If they don’t arm, then Fritz will have a huge hole in his airplane. Either way, he goes home.”

Brinkman took stock of the battlefield. The T-55s were out of position, busying themselves with reducing a small copse of trees to matchsticks. The German infantry was hiding behind the T-72s, licking their wounds and, undoubtedly, readying for another go. His concern now turned to the T-72s. They could provide covering fire for any infantry attack and follow up with a quick dash across the bridge. They had to be dealt with next.
Brinkman keyed his mike. “Foxtrot-Alpha,” he said, raising his FiST officer on the radio. “You see those tanks on the ridge? Make them disappear, will ya?”
“Already on it, sir,” replied Lt Stovall.

Now, under artillery cover, came the inevitable infantry attack. Full of anger and hatred (a probably a few shots of schnapps courage), the German infantry came across the bridge and into Berga. They shrugged off 1st Platoon’s fire were met in fierce hand-to-hand. A see-saw fight ensued with neither side wanting to give ground, the northwest building changing hands no less than five times. Casualties mounted and both sides fought themselves to exhaustion and near annihilation before breaking contact. Brinkman ordered 2ndLt McCoy’s 3rd Platoon and Blecher’s tank platoon forward to relieve Ball. First Platoon, bloodied and battered, was ordered to the rear.

The Abrams began pummeling the T-72s coming across the bridge, knocking out 2 of them in the middle of the bridge, effectively stopping their attack. The M113s of 3rd Platoon poured .50cal fire into the German positions as the infantry dismounted and advanced, only to be met by a half-dozen white flags. The Germans in Berga, cut-off and crippled, had had enough.

The battle now fizzled out. Wisely, the German commander decided to save the rest of his men instead of making a bad situation worse and chose to withdraw from the field.