Alex peered through the vision blocks, turning the cupola, trying to make some sense of the chaos out there. Three-Three-Bravo and Three-Three-Charlie shot past. Charlie Troop would get into a position where they could cover Alpha and Bravo Troop for when it was their turn to pull back — if you could call the single tank, One-One-Alpha, a troop. One-One-Bravo had just been destroyed and One-One-Charlie moments earlier.
Alex observed a platoon of three BMP-2s. Their senior commanders, noticing a potential opening, had ordered them forward to break the British line, at whatever cost.
“BMP-2, 500 metres, left, sabot,” Alex screamed.
Ellis, his arms aching, his head banging, went through the motions, robot-like: sabot, bag-charge, breech, small charge, gate. “Up!”
Patsy fired, stopping the BMP-2 dead. A second MICV flared up violently as a Milan missile blew the turret completely off the main body. Two more Maverick missiles hit home, but one failed to kill its target. Only one of the Harriers banked left this time to return to its base to refuel and rearm, the second aircraft in the flight having flown directly into a hail of fire from two ZSU 23-4s.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Mechanised infantry units withdrawing. Cover for figures five. No longer. Figures five. Understood?”
“Roger that. Who do I have for company? Over.”
“One-One-Alpha and Two-Two-Charlie. Pass through Three-Three. Out.”
Three tanks. That’s all he had: three tanks to hold back an entire Soviet tank regiment and an airborne force bent on revenge. But, he knew they would have to commit to staying the full five minutes if the infantry were to get out of this maelstrom alive. The breech of the 120mm main gun slammed back again, Patsy identifying his own targets. Alex checked through the rear vision blocks. He could see the two tanks of Charlie Troop, about 200 metres further back, getting into position. He also spotted a dip in the ground.
“Two-Two-Charlie. We’re moving back fifty. We hold for figures five. Over.” He ordered the second tank in his troop.
“Roger, we’ll over-watch.”
“Mackinson. Take us back fifty metres. There’s a dip in the ground. It will give us some cover.”
“Sir.”
The engine groaned slightly before increasing power, and the driver reversed the vehicle, guided by his troop commander, until they dropped slightly, now with a shallow ridge across their front providing some additional cover.
“Two-Two-Charlie. We’re in a good defilade position. Move now.”
“Roger.”
“Get ready to bug out quickly, Mackinson. What can you see, Patsy?”
“Just fucking dust, sir. Bastards will sneak up on us.” Responded Corporal Patterson.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. You have company. Alpha Squadron to your left and Charlie Squadron to your right. Standby to move while they cover.”
“Roger.”
Thank god, thought Alex. The remnants of Alpha and Charlie Squadrons, with only fourteen tanks between them, had managed to extract themselves from the melee and pull back. A forward line was slowly forming. If they could get into some decent cover, they could hit back; perhaps hold the Soviets off until darkness covered the area and restricted their massed tank attacks.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Pull back, pull back. Alpha and Charlie covering.”
“Location? Over.”
“November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four.”
“Roger. Who’s with me? Over.”
“You plus Three-Three. Over.”
“Roger that. Moving now.”
“We’ll meet you there. We will cover you until then. Then we can get the hell out of here. Zero-Bravo out.”
“Two-Two-Charlie, Two-Two-Alpha.”
“Go ahead. Over.”
“Go to grid, November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four. I repeat, November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four. Pull back beyond Alpha and Charlie, then flat out and we’ll see you there.”
“What about you? Over.”
“We’ll cover for figures one. Then we’ll be right behind you. Out.”
Alex grabbed the map and did a quick calculation of the approximate area east of Bad Munder. He warned Mackinson to be prepared to move; then he turned the cupola, sussing out the activity to his front. The tank rocked as Patsy fired another sabot round, a BMP-2 suffering the same fate as the last. Alex’s head shot back, his bone dome striking the rear of the cupola as he recoiled back from a now chipped and clouded vision block. Round after round pummelled the Chieftain as a Hind-D fired short bursts of 12.7mm rounds at its target.
Thump, thump, thump. Clang… clang. The turret and fighting compartment resonated as round after round battered the Chieftain’s armour. The attack-helicopter had used up its stock of anti-tank missiles, but the pilot was determined to keep the pressure on, pushing the enemy back.
“Back! Back!” yelled Alex.
The tank jolted, the roar of the engine mingling with the heavy-calibre bullet strikes. A tremor racked the tank as Mackey depressed the accelerator and the battle tank surged rearwards, clawing its way back, the tracks gripping the earth and laying a metal carpet for the giant to escape over. Alex peered through one of the clear vision blocks, observing plumes of smoke and dust as their own artillery had finally managed to relocate and put down a short bombardment before they too were forced to move again, escaping any Soviet counter-battery fire. The fighting compartment juddered and the tracks ceased moving, the diesel engine coughing into silence.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” hollered Mackinson as he desperately tried to restart the engine that had now left them stranded and vulnerable. The Hind had left but, once the British artillery barrage petered out, the enemy would push west even harder, leaving Two-Two-Alpha high and dry. The engine spluttered, hesitated, and then burst into life only to cut out again.
“For fuck’s sake, Mackey, get it sorted. We’re in the shit here,” screamed Ellis, the Loader.
The engine caught again as the driver played with the starting motor and accelerator pedal. A sudden roar was followed by an unwelcome squeal from the L-60 diesel engine, and the Chieftain jolted backwards, steadily gaining momentum but achieving little more than ten kilometres an hour.
“Well done, Mackinson. Is that all we have?”
“Yes, sir. If I change gear again, I’m worried she’ll give up the ghost.”
Alex squinted through the rear vision blocks. “OK. Just keep it moving. Corporal Patterson, how are we for ammo?”
“OK with HESH, sir, but seven sabot.”
“Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Pull back, pull back, now. Acknowledge. Over.”
“Two-Two-Alpha. Received. Engine playing up. Over.”
“Roger that. We’ll direct you to a safe location. Just get out of there. We’ll cover.”
“Roger. Out.” Alex keyed the internal comms. “Mackinson, will we be able to spin and go forward?”
“Tricky, sir, but I can try.”
Alex did a quick scan of the area: no immediate threats were spotted. British gunners were putting down more artillery fire, making it difficult for the Soviets to go in pursuit of the two battered Battle Groups.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Alpha. Start pulling back to the high ground now; then head west to Behrensen. Acknowledge. Over,” radioed the Company Commander.