“These spots have been chosen because they are deep inside the forested areas of the M-8 and will leave the British little maneuver room for their vehicles. Along this second ambush point, we’ve stationed the battery of BM-27 Uragan rocket artillery trucks you’ve assigned to me. When the British pass through this point, the rockets will blanket this entire three-kilometer swath of the highway with the 220mm high-explosive rockets.
“Once the battery has fired their volley, they’ll relocate to Vologda, where they will reload and wait for orders. I anticipate that the British forces will push through the ambush and survive the artillery barrage. At that point, they will move to capture this very village within a half an hour to an hour, but then they’ll run into a company of soldiers waiting for them in this forested area here,” Maslov explained, pointing to two clusters of trees.
Colonel Chirkin looked at the positions, which would create a very effective crossfire, and at the composition of the troops. They were mostly equipped with antitank missiles and heavy machine guns. “They’ll do,” he thought.
The battery of BM-27s was a godsend. Colonel Chirkin also had a battery of BM-21 Grad rocket trucks, but they were old and only fired the lighter 122mm rockets. This was unfortunately the only artillery he had assigned to his brigade until the higher-ups deemed his defensive effort worthy enough to properly reinforce and staff. For the life of him, he could not understand how those fools in Moscow didn’t see the threat this Allied force presented.
Chirkin nodded his head in approval. “OK. This plan looks good. Execute it as best you can, and I’ll hope to see you in Yaroslavl in a couple of weeks. I need to get going; my helicopter should be refueled by now.”
Colonel Chirkin knew this might be the last time he spoke with his battalion commander. Once this attack started, Lieutenant Colonel Maslov would be very busy. Once the Allies reached Yaroslavl, the rest of Chirkin’s brigade would make their final stand. Beyond their last line of defense lay Moscow, a mere 260 kilometers away. If road and weather conditions cooperated, the Allied forces could travel that distance in four hours.
“Ripper Six, Ripper Six, this is Citadel Six. We’ve just been ambushed!” shouted the regiment commander, Brigadier Kyle Jenson. “We’re being hit by enemy rocket artillery originating from sector G8. It’s most likely coming from the village of Chekshino. We need your scout element to advance quickly and see if you can intercept the artillery unit. How copy?”
Lieutenant Colonel William Watkins looked at the map board he kept in his vehicle. Doing some quick math in his head, he saw that the location was roughly twenty kilometers from the current position of the main convoy, and maybe ten kilometers from his position. Grabbing the radio receiver tightly in his hand, he depressed the talk button. “Citadel Six, Ripper Six, that’s a good copy. We’re less than ten kilometers from that location. We’ll move to engage them now. Out.”
Watkins quickly turned to the vehicle commander and shouted, “Head to sector G8, Chekshino, at maximum speed. We’re looking for an enemy rocket artillery unit. We also need to keep our eyes open for possible ambushes along the way.”
He switched his radio frequency over to his little scout party of vehicles and relayed what was happening to the main column. When he was done, the vehicles started to move at a rapid clip, racing to the village in hopes of catching the enemy artillery unit still in the process of firing, and defenseless. The two Ajax vehicles led the way, quickly followed by the two Warriors, which had traded places with the two Challenger tanks. The two Viking armored personnel carriers pulled up the rear.
Watkins turned to Sergeant Jones. “Let’s get the troop hatches open,” he ordered. “Have two of your guys help look for smoke contrails and potential ambushes. We have no idea if we’re racing into a trap or not.”
When Sergeant Jones’s Viking had been destroyed, Lieutenant Colonel Watkins had been kind enough to let his five-man squad pile into his command vehicle. He’d figured if he was going to be riding in the front of the armored column with the scouts, he might as well as take the Marines with him; he had the room and they needed a ride. Now he was glad he had — they might need their added firepower.
Looking at the map, Watkins spotted a potential enemy ambush point. He grabbed the radio again and called ahead to the lead vehicle. “Ripper One, we should be approaching the edge of this forested area in a couple of minutes. When we do, I want you to veer off the main road to the field on our right. Drive the rest of the way through this field and stay off the highway. There’s a copse of trees near a truck park on the left-hand side of the highway, and I believe the enemy’s hoping to ambush us once we cross that point. How copy?”
A short pause ensued, and then the radio crackled to life. “That’s a good copy, Ripper Six. We’re coming up to that point right now… we’ve left the main road and we’re moving through the field. The snow is kind of deep over here, so be advised. We’ll have to travel a lot slower.”
Seconds later, Watkins’s own vehicle veered off the main road, hitting a few hard bumps as they followed the rest of the vehicles into the open field that skirted the edge of the town.
“Contrails, Sir!” shouted one of the Marines who had been standing in one of the troop hatches.
The vehicle commander, who was also standing in his turret, also looked off in the distance. “Found the enemy artillery, or at least where they launched from, Sir,” he announced. “I’d say we’re probably two kilometers away. Heading that direction now,” he added. The vehicle lurched a bit as it changed directions.
The eight vehicles in their little scouting party picked up speed again, tearing through the snow and this farm field as they raced toward the village. One of the Marines then shouted, “Missile! Ten o’clock!” as he pointed in the direction of the incoming threat.
The lead Ajax vehicle turned its turret in the direction of the missile and let loose a string of 40mm rounds. The missile operator must have either been killed or had to duck for cover, because the missile then veered off course and exploded harmlessly away from them.
Two more missiles jumped out of the copse of trees and flew right for Watkins’s group of vehicles. Then they heard two loud explosions. Looking behind them, Watkins saw a splash of sparks hit the oblique-angled armor of one of the Challengers as the enemy tank round bounced harmlessly away. The second tank was struck near the rear half of the tank, and the engine exploded in spectacular fashion; the tank came to a creaking halt, billowing thick black smoke and flames. The Challenger that had survived the hit then moved its turret slightly and fired its own main gun.
Boom… Bang!
An enemy tank exploded. The turret was ripped cleanly from the chassis of the tank and rolled along the ground, flipping end over end. Then a giant fireball expanded into the sky. Seconds later, the Challenger fired a second round, slamming into the remaining enemy tank, exploding it as well.
BOOM!
The lead Ajax scout vehicle was hit, flipping end over end as it burst into flames, rolling several times until it came to a fiery stop upside down. A second loud explosion rang out as one of the remaining antitank guided missiles slammed into the trailing Viking armored personnel carrier, bursting it into a scorching cauldron of death for the Marines inside.
The turret on the Warrior opened fire on the cluster of trees, raking it with its 30mm Rarden cannon, shredding the trees and the enemy missile crews hidden within it. As he continued to take in the scene around him, Watkins grabbed the radio. “Keep going!” he shouted. “We need to catch that artillery unit!”