“Send. Over.”
“Two-Two-Delta. Have casualties, but still operational. Over.”
“Roger that.”
Alex was about to contact the Striker teams when… crump, crump, crump. Crump, crump, crump. Small mushroom-shaped clouds erupted along the entire front that was under the protection of the Bravo team, the rapidly expanding clouds of smoke taking the place of the dust, continuing to block out any visibility of what was beyond. Alex’s ears pricked up as he heard the distinctive sound of helicopters, not just to his front but off to the right. An explosion occurred somewhere amongst the smoky barrier, followed by a second somewhere down the road between Barfelde and Gronau.
The roadside mines have gone off, Alex thought to himself. A vehicle had been coming straight down the road; the other explosion either an armoured vehicle had run into the minefield placed there the previous day or…
“Stand by, stand by,” he yelled into the intercom. “They’re breaching the minefield! All Two-Two call signs, they’re on their way.”
“Roger,” responded Two-Two-Charlie.
Still nothing from Two-Two-Bravo. Alex feared the worst.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Two-Two-Echo. We don’t have a visual, but both units intact.”
“Roger that. Watch your front. There’s movement in the minefield. Out.”
Thank God, he thought, the 438s had come through it. They would need them before the day was out.
Another explosion. He could now see shapes and shadows through the murk that had been created by the Soviet smokescreen. The wind was not blowing in the Red Army’s favour. Although it wasn’t strong, the draughts, influenced by the high ground of the Hildesheimer Forest, running south-east to south-west, twisted the currents of air, now blowing in a northerly direction, pulling the smokescreen apart.
Alex’s binoculars flicked from left to right and back again as he desperately searched for a sign of the enemy. Boom. Another explosion. They had to be using mine roller attachments, specially fitted to the front of certain tanks, the heavy steel rollers setting off the mines, leaving a clear path for the tanks following on behind. Or maybe it was a mine plough. They were coming through. He estimated where the sound had come from: maybe south of the road, ten degrees left. The road was probably temporarily blocked. Whatever was moving along it would need to be shoved off the road. If they went off the road to bypass it, they would stumble into the minefield either side. He dropped down inside and turned the commander’s cupola ten degrees to the left.
“Possible target, eleven o’clock.” He rested his head on the brow pad and peered through the binocular sight, ready to get the range of the enemy armour, or engage the enemy should Patsy have a problem. He pushed the rocker switch up, selecting the laser option ready to use the laser rangefinder, the input going directly to the ballistic computer. The turret whined and traversed as Patsy followed his orders, aiming the main gun in the direction given by his commander.
“Load sabot,” Alex ordered.
Ellis grabbed a sabot projectile, slammed it into the breech, quickly followed by an explosive bag charge from one of the bag-charge containers. He pushed in the small charge, closed the breech and slid the safety shield, the loader’s firing guard, across to protect him from the recoil of the huge 120mm gun’s breech.
“Up,” Ellis shouted. The main gun was now armed.
Patsy checked the ammunition selector was set for sabot, the red light showing the gun was ready to fire. He traversed the turret a bit further via the control handle and elevated the gun slightly. Once fired, the armour-piercing round would leave the barrel at over one and a half kilometres per second.
“Here they come.” Lieutenant Wesley-Jones turned the cupola, enabling him to track the BMP that had just appeared out of the smoke. “Contact, 1,000 metres.”
Alex pulled the hatch down above him, immediately looking through the frontal vision blocks. “Two-Two-Charlie, watch your arc.”
“Roger.”
“On,” called Patsy, his head up against the binoculars, his finger lingering over the red fire button.
“Fire!” Ordered Alex.
The Chieftain jolted, and the breech shot back violently to the rear of the fighting compartment as the armour-piercing, fin-stabilised discarding sabot round left the barrel, a puff of smoke following close behind it. Travelling at just under two kilometres a second, the penetrator slammed into the mechanised infantry combat vehicle, practically lifting it off its tracks, stopping it dead, smoke pouring from the back as the two surviving soldiers clambered out, collapsing to the ground, disorientated and choking on fumes. Alex didn’t hesitate, pressing the selector button to switch from the main armament to the coaxial machine gun. Pressing on the elevation hand wheel for the commander’s GPMG, he hit the red Bakelite firing switch, two short bursts killing the two soldiers.
A second round hit another tank, the extremely dense, long, slender dart, a long-rod penetrator driven by a high level of kinetic energy, drilled through the T-80’s armour. Even the ceramic properties of the armour were unable to prevent a full penetration.
“Contact, 1,000, sabot.” Alex spun the cupola to the left, tracking the next target, the turret going with him as he targeted the T-80 suddenly appearing out of the smoke. Then he started his search for the next mark, leaving Patsy to finish his task as the gunner.
“Up,” yelled Ellis.
Patsy depressed the button, and another round headed for its target, this time something bigger. It struck the tank just to the right of the mantle, the force of the blow making the armoured giant shudder, but the exploding reactive armour blocks, initially designed for defeating shaped-charged weapons, still did a good job. Apart from some damage to the smoke dischargers, the tank kept rolling.
“Sabot,” ordered Alex, his voice almost shrill as the pace of the battle picked up. Recognising this, he forced himself to calm down, setting the appropriate example to his men.
“Up.”
Patsy fired again, the penetrator striking the Soviet tank in less than half a second from firing. This time, the strike was right in between the turret mantle and the main body of the tank, the hardened tungsten-carbide penetrator punching through the thick armour, smashing the auto-loader apart; then breaking up into fragments that ploughed into armour and flesh alike. Moments later, heat turned into fire, fire turned into an explosion as it ignited the ammunition, literally ripping the tank apart.
“A hit!” yelled Patsy.
“Steady, Patsy,” coaxed the commander as he turned the cupola left, taking the turret with him. “Target, BMP, 700 metres. HESH.”
Patsy again focused on his gunnery, his mind logging that the lieutenant had referred to him by his nickname. Ellis loaded a High Explosive Squash Head (HESH) round. “Up.”
Patsy fired. The BMP, that had suddenly swung right as it zig-zagged towards them, was struck full on the side, engulfed in a cloud of smoke and flame as it was literally pulverised. To the right, a second T-80 lurched into view, immediately taken out by Two-Two-Charlie. To the left, two striker missiles flared into view, launched at a ninety-degree angle, the gunners tweaking the controllers, keeping the 555-kilogram missile on track as the two rockets levelled out heading towards the two selected targets. All the controllers had to do was keep the target in the crosshairs, and the SACLOS would do the rest. The first went wildly off course, suddenly lurching upwards and flying vertically, no longer interested in its target. The second one, capable of penetrating up to 800 millimetres of armour, ploughed into a BMP, bringing it to a halt.