Ayres had no idea where the shot had come from, but he was sure it was something new.
“Joe, move left to that clump… get us out of sight pronto.”
The driver shifted down easily and the tank surged towards safety, just in time to get out of the way of a silver streak, as a Soviet shell missed the turret by less than a metre.
The pungent smell of urine filled the inside of the tank as more than one bladder emptied itself in fright.
Ayres had spotted the flash and looked at his map.
He radioed Travers, requesting some artillery.
Satisfied that his own tank, ‘Hawkeye’, was in cover, he jumped out and moved up through the snowy undergrowth, the tank’s Thompson submachine gun cradled in his arms, just in case.
The arrival of Travers’ salvo coincided with him spotting the all-white enemy vehicle as it moved away from the artillery strike zone.
‘Shit, the bastard bugged out.’
Kon was too wily a soldier to spend too long in one spot, and he had been well away from the strike that accurately fell on his former position.
Ayres also knew his trade, and had been pushing vehicle recognition with his unit since day one of the new war. However, this one wasn’t in the book.
‘What the fuck is that?’
It was a question that none of the Soviet soldiers would have been able to answer either, so new was the prototype tank that Kon had brought to the day’s combat.
At just over thirty-nine tons, the T-54, known until recently as Obiekt137, was equipped with excellent armour, a 100mm main gun, fender mounted defensive machine guns, and had an increased combat range.
All in all, it promised much.
However…
The list of faults was long, as Kon and his crew found issue after issue with the design. Today, it would have its christening on the hardest test facility known to man; the modern battlefield.
The strange Russian tank disappeared behind some burning buildings before Ayres’ gunner could get a shot.
The radio was suddenly alive with warnings about something new and nasty in the Soviet inventory.
“Well, at least the gun works, Comrades.”
Starshina Kon joked for the benefit of his crew, as the driver nursed the tank into cover, its engine temperature rising dramatically with a suspected coolant leak.
‘Make that yet another fucking coolant leak,’ Kon thought to himself, as his crew were already quite jittery.
He pulled out a dirty notebook and made some additional entries, announcing his solution to each in turn.
“Right. Oleg, get that traverse fixed. Check the fuse box first. Maybe it’s the same as last time.”
“Leonid, coolant… and tighten every hose before you top it up this time.”
The driver had already been ribbed to death over his previous efforts.
“David, stand security. I’ll be back soon, Comrades.”
Kon dismounted and left his crew to overcome the latest difficulties his tank had thrown at them, both of which were serious enough for him to seek a safe refuge to repair. The enemy artillery was dropping close, but seemed disinterested in the area the T-54 was presently sat in, having already worked it over heavily.
As the tank commander moved through the destruction wrought by the American artillery, he saw the products of the high-speed union of metal and flesh scattered in all directions, the infantry company positioned here at the start of the battle having paid a heavy price.
Twenty could easily have been forty corpses, as pieces lay close to other pieces, but did not necessarily originate from the same son of Russia.
A Junior Lieutenant lay wrapped in a blanket, ready to be evacuated although, to Kon, he looked like he had already made his final journey.
An infantry Captain sat smoking, staring at an imagined object a thousand miles away, clearly in shock, and not functioning.
His men protected him, failing to report his breakdown, so the whole company, or what was left of it, was commanded by a dirty and bloodied Senior Sergeant from the attached mortar unit.
“Comrade Starshy Serzhant. Looks like you’ve had a shit time, Comrade. How are your soldiers? Can you hold?”
Had it not been for the two HSU’s on Kon’s chest, the answer might have been very different, but the NCO realised that the tanker was a serious soldier.
“Comrade Starshina, I’ve sixty-one still standing, thirty-six’ve been evacuated to the aid station,” the Starshy Serzhant gesticulated at a slightly grander house, apart from the main group that formed Dahlem’s western environs, “And fifty-one unaccounted for or dead.”
‘Fifty-one? Fuck!’
As an ex-artillery officer, Kon could appreciate the work done by that arm of service.
‘Poor bastards.’
He paused long enough for the NCO to know that he appreciated their plight before doing what he had come to do.
“I’ve got problems with my tank, and my crew must have time to fix it… Comrade…?”
“Ponichenkarova. Dina Ponichenkarova, Comrade Starshina… and yes, we will hold.”
The woman slipped the magazine from her PPD and checked its contents simply by weighing the metal in her hands.
Sliding the magazine back in place, Ponichenkarova took a swig from her water bottle and proferred it to Kon, who was extremely surprised to find it contained water.
“Thank you, tovarich.
He reciprocated by sharing his cigarettes as the female NCO explained the defensive position to him, pointing out where the surviving mortars were concealed, something that was wholly necessary as, even when told they were there, Kon could still not see them.
The position contained two 76.2mm ZiS-3 guns, three DSHK heavy machine-guns, and three of the increasingly rare Panzerfaust.
The tank commander could not help but be impressed by the woman’s calm approach and manner.
However, he was more impressed by three mugs of something hot that arrived in the hands of an extremely attractive young Junior Sergeant.
Renata Astafieva handed the scalding coffee to both NCO’s, and started on her own after accepting a cigarette from Kon.
“How is the ammo, Renata?”
“Twelve per weapon at the moment, Comrade Ponichenkarova, but I have sent Tania and her tribe back to pick up more. That was ten minutes ago.”
Kon choked as the hot liquid hit is throat, announcing the presence of something more serious than coffee.
Astafieva smiled disarmingly.
“Special brew, Comrade Starshina.”
“Nice, very nice. Thank you, Comrade Mladshy-Serzhant.”
The landing of a mortar shell interrupted the calm scene, and all three were back to business immediately.
More shells followed, betraying increased American interest in their position.
“I’m afraid that may be because of me, Comrades. Tanks do attract such attention.”
Ponichenkarova knocked back the last of her drink, drawing an incredulous look from the tanker.
“Well then, Comrade Kon, perhaps you should be back there, spurring your men to higher efforts in their repair work.”
Kon searched for humour in the statement but found none. Ponichenkarova was just business, and her business was keeping her troops alive, so getting the lame duck moved was a priority for her.
Ignoring the burning pain, he finished his own drink and handed the cup back to the pretty young soldier.
“Spassiba, Comrades. Best of luck.”
When he got back to the T-54, the news was encouraging.
“Fire!”
Ponichenkarova punctuated her command by slapping the back of the DSHK gunner.