“Duly noted, Sir James. If the generals have a problem with our new stance, they’re free to resign, and I’ll replace them with ones that are willing to comply,” Chattem said with a grin on his face.
He was relishing the angst he was causing within the military. His goal was to keep Britain out of the war, and secretly, he didn’t think switching sides to the Eastern Alliance was all that bad of an idea. He was already sold on elements of the Russian-Chinese model of techno-communism.
Clearing his throat briefly, the National Security Adviser spoke up. “The country is still in the midst of a large military buildup, Mr. Prime Minister. We have tens of thousands of soldiers currently in training and nearly a hundred thousand soldiers on the Continent that will be returning. What is going to be our plan with them moving forward?”
“Our country cannot afford to sustain and build this large of a military, especially in light of our withdrawal from the war. This conflict has been the Americans’ doing from the beginning, and we never should have been involved. When our forces return from combat, I want an immediate halt to the expansion of the military, and I want a demobilization to start. We will return the military to its prewar size. Once we do, we will look for ways to trim the budget where we can, to give more monies to the reconstruction of our nation from the damage sustained during this disastrous war.”
Chattem turned to the Chief of the Army. “General, I’d like your resignation on my desk by tomorrow morning. You are relieved of your duties. Please assign your deputy to take over until I can appoint my own man. Sir Craig Martin, you are also relieved of your duties, and I expect your resignation on my desk by tomorrow as well. I ask that you both leave now so I can work with my own staff. Thank you both for your service,” Chattem said, concluding the meeting with the two senior members managing the war during the transition period.
The two got up and left without saying another word, though the scowls on their faces said everything that needed to be said. As they left the room, Mr. Chattem smiled when he overheard the General of the Army muttering something about needing a stiff drink.
Operation Nordic Thunder
Command Sergeant Major Luke Childers walked up to Lieutenant Colonel Alex Schoolman, who was squinting as he looked off in the distance with his field glasses, trying to see if he could spot any enemy tanks or other armored vehicles. His squadron was screening for a much larger tank force that was a couple of kilometers behind him, waiting for the word to advance forward and smash into the Russian lines once Schoolman’s unit found the enemy.
“What are your thoughts, Sergeant Major? You see anything?” he asked, hoping that Childers’ trained eyes might see something he was missing.
Childers scanned to the right with his own field glasses and then zoomed in on something that caught his eye. “There you are,” he said under his breath. A smile crept across his face.
“Yes, Sir. To my three o’clock, near the edge of those trees,” Childers responded. “If you look close enough, you’ll see the barrel from what’s probably a T-90.” He pointed in the direction of where the enemy tank was lurking.
“Good eye, Sergeant Major,” Schoolman said. He turned to some of the soldiers standing behind him. “Someone plot the grid to that location and send it back to brigade. Let’s see if we can get some artillery fire in that tree line and smoke these guys out of their position,” he ordered.
A flurry of activity happened around them as one of the soldiers guided one of the Stryker vehicles forward so they could use the laser range finder on the 105mm cannon. In a few minutes, they had the exact grid of the enemy tank. They relayed that to the artillery battalion for a fire mission to hit the tree line and see what else they could stir up. Five minutes later, they heard the whistling sounds of artillery rounds flying overhead toward the enemy lines.
Boom! Boom! Boom! Boom!
Geysers of dirt and tree parts billowed upward. Several large secondary explosions flashed in the woods. Then the counterbattery fire kicked in. The distinct whistles of enemy artillery raced over their heads in the direction of their own artillery battalion.
A loud whoosh rushed in the opposite direction. A pair of A-10 Warthogs flew in and strafed the forest, hitting several other tanks. Their attack was swiftly followed by multiple streams of antiaircraft fire as the Russian gunners tried to swat the tank busters from the sky. The 25mm and 30mm rounds crisscrossed the sky, intermixed with a few MANPADS that flew after the aircraft.
As the artillery duel continued and Allied warplanes took turns softening up the Russian lines, the mechanical sound of tanks — dozens upon dozens of tanks — and the low rumbling that shook the ground got closer and louder as the Allied tanks moved forward to their attack positions. Finnish and German tanks moved forward first; they would lead the assault, supported by American Apache gunships and the 2nd Cavalry Regiment. A battalion of American Abrams tanks were being held in reserve while the rest of the 1st Armored Division was further north of their position near Tillola.
Turning to look behind them, Childers almost felt a chill run down his back as he saw columns of German Leopard II tanks with their black Iron Crosses painted on them, advancing toward the Russians. They started to change their formation from a single-file column to a full-abreast attack line. While the first line formed, a second line of German tanks formed up and was quickly followed by a third line, this time a Finnish unit. The three armored lines were quickly being followed up by column after column of infantry fighting vehicles and armored personnel carriers.
“This is going to be an epic battle,” Sergeant Major Childers thought with glee.
He snapped a couple of pictures from his miniature camera. When he could, he had been sneaking pictures with his digital camera, documenting his participation in the war. Aside from a few mementos for himself, he thought they might hold some historical value someday.
Explosions reverberated through the air as Oberstleutnant Hermann Wulf’s 25th Panzergrenadier Battalion of forty-four Puma infantry fighting vehicles raced to keep up with the Panzers that were charging right into the Russian lines. Sitting behind the gunner, Wulf was looking at the video monitor display of what was happening in front of them. He could see red-hot tank rounds crisscrossing back and forth between the two opposing forces.
Bam! Boom!
Their vehicle was rocked by a near-miss, forcing Wulf to grab for something to hold on to. The driver of the vehicle somehow managed to keep them from rolling over. The soldier manning the vehicle’s 30mm autocannon fired at an unseen target. Then a slew of bullets hit their armored shell, reminding them that the enemy also got a vote in the fighting. This was by no means going to be a one-sided fight.
Wulf’s radio crackled. “Oberstleutnant, the Panzers are breaking to the right. It looks like they found a hole in the enemy lines. Should we follow them or dismount and fight here?” asked one of his company commanders.
“No, stay with the Panzers,” Wulf answered. “Our mission is to support their advance and keep the Russian infantry off their backs. We’ll let the Finns deal with this group of Russians.” Their driver did his best to follow the group of tanks that were now rushing through a hole in the enemy lines.