“Traverse right, Pats. There’s a gaggle coming out of the woods. Line of tanks… new type… see them?”
“Yep. I’m on.”
Charles examined the enemy vehicles.
“They’re the new 54 type I think.”
Patterson gave a murmur of agreement.
“Beefy, change to HESH next.”
“Sarnt-major.”
“Still on, Pats?”
“Yep.”
“FIRE!”
The gun rocked back.
“Hit! Don’t think we killed the bastard though.”
“Again.”
Silverside had slid one of the new shells into the breech.
Patterson made his adjustments.
“Same target, on.”
“FIRE!”
The APCBC shell hadn’t killed the T-54, but it had damaged it by jamming the turret in the forward position.
Quickly working the problem through his mind, the commander decided to alter course towards a small rise where he could take cover and evaluate the damage.
The HESH shell arrived and made his efforts immaterial.
It struck on the turret, roughly two foot to one side of the main gun.
The thin shell casing collapsed and the explosive filler spread like a lump of dough, all in a fraction of a second. A base fuse did the initiation of the explosives and the shock wave was dispatched through the armour plate.
On the inside, the wave detached, the technical term was spalled, three pieces of the inner armour surface.
The smallest piece of metal was five centimetres across its largest section, the biggest piece nearly twenty-three centimetres at its widest point.
The three ‘missiles’ mowed through the tank interior, not discriminating between equipment and man, and reducing both to instant wreckage.
Death was swift and the insides of the T-54 was bathed in the fluids of men who were literally chopped to pieces.
Practice with the HESH rounds had revealed an unusual problem, in that there was often no tell-tale revelation that the target had been killed; no penetration evidence, no smoke and flame, no crew abandoning.
The problem posed a question. To fire again, risking a wasted shell, or find another target, risking leaving an adversary still operational?
Charles made the call.
“Target, left one, T-54, stationary.”
Patterson found the tank just as its gun spouted flame.
The enemy shell roared down the side of Godiva’s turret, missing by no more than four coats of paint.
“On!”
“FIRE!”
Another HESH, another messy end for four sons of the Rodina.
The radio waves were full of the voices of ‘C’ Squadron officers and NCOs, their own tanks driven off the trailers and almost ready for combat.
The tell-tale sound of a 17-pdr cannon indicated that at least one of them had got into a firing position.
The Soviet force split yet again. The T-54s sought positions of cover from which to engage the British tanks at distance, the T34s and halftracks advanced, jinking as they came, trying to close the range as quickly as possible.
Soviet artillery also joined in, as Sarkashian directed his final concealed artillery unit into destroying the threat to his own flank.
Unfortunately for him and the Soviet artillerymen, one of the latest British CBR units was positioned just south of Matzlow-Garwitz.
The much-improved ground radar system was a few steps ahead of the AA radar that had proved so successful in locating Soviet mortar units.
Counter-battery fire was fast becoming a major tool in the Allied armoury, reducing the effectiveness of one of the Red Army’s strongest arms even further, by causing artillery to reposition quickly or risk catastrophic loss to incoming artillery.
The 755th Counter-Battery Radar Section, temporarily attached to 55th Field Regiment, Royal Artillery, had the very latest technology and the skill to use it appropriately. In this instance, the 755th proved extremely effective.
Their four sets were laid out in the approved manner and quickly fed back information to the waiting battery commander. Using accurate maps, combined with the radar data, the likely position of the enemy guns was extrapolated, and the artillery Captain dialled in his guns in a matter of seconds.
His battery of 25-pdrs, kept silent for one purpose and one purpose only, was quickly brought into action, and it pumped shells into the sky at an alarming rate, and with great accuracy.
1510th Self-Propelled Artillery Regiment’s last two batteries were caught as they moved off to an alternate firing position.
Whilst only two of the monster SP guns were knocked out or disabled, the real losses lay in ammunition vehicles.
The ZIS-6 and Gaz-AAA supply trucks had moved off as soon as the firing had commenced, but had been restricted by a bottleneck, that had nicely concentrated the vulnerable vehicles.
A single 25-pdr shell turned one ZIS into a fiery projectile, which in turn smashed into two other trucks, as well as sending some of its cargo of projectiles flying in all directions.
The chain reaction was impressive, and within a minute a dozen trucks and their precious cargoes of munitions were either ablaze or destroyed by the numerous explosions that followed.
Further 25-pdr shells added to the indignities wreaked upon the Soviet artillerymen, including the artillery commander and his staff, who were stood transfixed by the horrors in front of their eyes when a British shell landed roughly six foot behind the irate Lieutenant Colonel.
What was left of him was propelled into the growing inferno that was his supply column.
The leaderless artillerymen elected to move back, rather than sideways, and withdrew from the battle without further contribution.
Not that Charles and his crew really noticed their absence, as the Soviet T34s charged closer, covered by the T-54s to the rear.
“On.”
“FIRE!”
Charles had switched to the oncoming T34s, and the APDS shell struck its target directly on the driver’s hatch, destroying the Soviet tanker before going on to create havoc inside the model 45 tank.
“He’s dead. Target tank, left two, range four hundr…”
Like a sledgehammer hitting a bell, a T-54s shell clanged off the turret and flew skywards, deflecting off the leading front edge just above were Patterson was pressed to the gun sight.
“Fuck!”
His face jerked away as the power of the strike pushed the sight into his face, something that hurt despite the soft rubber edging.
“Bastard…”
He spat blood, some from his gums, some running down from one nostril.
“You ok, Pats?”
“Fine.”
He reseated his face on the rubber surround and found the target.
Another enemy shell sped past Lady Godiva III, closely followed by one that ploughed into the ruined wall that provided them with much of their cover.
“C’mon gunner. Driver, standby to move.”
“On.”
“FIRE!”
Another APDS shell burrowed into a Soviet tank, although the T34 seemed to shrug it off like no more than a mosquito bite.
“Again!”
Another Centurion did the job for them, and much more impressively, as the Soviet tank simply came apart with a massive bang and flash that left only the basic chassis and half the body in place.
“Driver, reverse.”
The Centurion moved back off the mound and into cover.
“Ammo?”
“Eight sabot, seven HESH, ten BC, full load of HE and Canister.”
Charles hummed a response to Beefy’s precise reply and made a decision.
“Lads, I’m going after their 54s. We’re the only 20-pounder here, so it’s up to us to take the buggers on.”
He checked his vision blocks again, noting even more of ‘C’ Squadron deployed in line and engaging the Soviet charge.