1 Section was down over half its fire power without the gun group, ergo they were too under-gunned to leave behind as a point of fire so Baz looked for cover that would allow the platoon to get closer without being seen. There was none.
Baz pressed the quick release clips on his bergan’s straps before he made the rolling motion with both hands, to signal they were going to do it the hard way, skirmishing forwards.
The art of skirmishing is to judge how long it takes an enemy to see you, aim at you and fire at you. If you are up on your feet longer than three seconds you are living on borrowed time.
Jez Hancock had come to him from B Company on promotion to sergeant and Baz pointed to himself, meaning Jez would give covering fire as Baz moved first. The sections had all been numbered off and those numbers were etched on their brains, they moved by half sections, by even and odd numbers.
In case someone had spotted him he rolled before getting up and dodged to the side, a little zigzag, and then he was down, rolling, setting his sights and firing an aimed shot at the Chinese gun group.
It was tiring, very tiring, but as they closed with the Chinese machine gun the enemy tried to bug out.
No way.
The GPMG does not have a single shot facility; it is automatic repetitive fire or nothing. 2 Section’s gun was keeping the Chinese gun group pinned with accurate but short bursts, double-tapping the trigger to expend two rounds at a time, although a really good gunner could single tap.
With the rest of the platoon getting dangerously close to the line of fire the 2 Section gun ‘switched’, it picked a point an enemy doing a runner from the trench would head for, and by switching they denied them that option.
As the gun switched 1 Section closed on the enemy, careful not to bunch up on the position and it was Cpl Dave Whyte who grenaded them in their hole before he followed through with the bayonet for good measure.
The platoon moved beyond the trench and went to ground in all round defence with Baz signalling Dopey to come up with his section.
With a very hot barrel to contend with the gunner made-safe, gripped the gimpy by its butt and put it over his shoulder, finding the point of balance and high tailing it over to rejoin the platoon.
Dopey left just one of their number to care for Spider who had been shot through the shins.
They stayed there in the fragrant wild flowers, under a perfect blue sky, as the rest of the company caught up and 13 Platoon took over as point.
“Fortune Cloverleaf, Smackdown is flight of two Foxtrot One Fours, eleven hundred pounds of fuel internal for thirty minutes on station, loadout is CBU, Mk-77 and 250 pound retarded.”
“Roger Smackdown, a very good morning to you, we will have trade for you in a jiffy, please wait out.” The Irish Guard’s FAC’s voice was a calm and pleasant Irish lilt at complete odds to the cacophony going on in the background. The British had not expected an easy time of it and the Chinese 9th Tank Regiment was not disappointing them. Snatches of a fiercely fought ground war arrived in stereo to Lt Comdr. Pelham with each transmission from the forward air controller.
As promised, they soon had their first tasking of the day and turned east towards the battlefield.
Pillars of smoke, the funeral pyres of men and vehicles, were visible from the moment the F-14s descended through thick cloud on clearing the high ground of Morton National Park. The Chinese may have been on short rations but they had all kinds of ordnance to spare. The Guards Mechanised Division had been spotted by a forward O.P whilst still traversing the Kangeroo Valley, beyond Cambewarra Mountain. It was unfortunate but an armoured unit on the move tends to be a little low on stealth. As they had emerged from the woods at the base of the mountain the enemy had been ready for them. The leading unit, the Irish Guards, had been shaking out into a more extended formation on countryside not unlike the North German Plains from the mountains to the sea. Nice for long range tank gunnery and the Chinese had some good ones.
To the west of the F-14s, roughly centred over the Ettrema Gorge, the ‘orphans’ cab rank, the surviving aircraft from USS Nimitz and USS Constellation, orbited and awaited the FACs call.
“I don’t see them…anybody have eyeball on the target?” The sun was still fairly low in the sky, shining in their eyes and making observation difficult. The Chinese were very good indeed at avoiding the attentions of NATO close air support by hunkering down when aircraft where about. The target indication described the enemy as a tank in a small copse, fifty metres west of a farmhouse with a red roof. She eventually saw the farmhouse, and the copse, but no tank.
“Zero One this is Zero Two, I have a visual on a small structure at the corner of a field just east of the copse with exhaust fumes visible.”
The ‘structure’ was a vehicle of some description with rust streaked corrugated sheets laid over it and around its sides. The early morning chill had revealed the ruse.
“Zero One, roger…any evidence of SAMs that you can see?” Her ECM was silent, showing no radar activity that suggested the presence nearby of AAA.
“Zero Two, negative, just the fake hen house.”
“Zero One, okay, take it.”
“Roger…Fortune Cloverleaf this is Smackdown Zero Two coming in hot with two 250 pounders from the southwest.”
“Roger.”
Nikki watched her wing man descend and begin his ordnance run, coming across the British armoured vehicles from their rear.
Aboard Smackdown Zero One her ECM detected a SAM radar had come up and the ‘hen house’ suffered a structural defect as the vehicle rotated its turret towards the approaching F-14 Tomcat. It was no tank; it had two barrels, not one.
The Type 59 SPAAG locked up the low flying F-14 and fired a long stream of shells from its auto flak cannons, both airburst and armour piercing rounds.
Nikki saw the puffs of smoke from flak all around the other aircraft and the bright flash of striking rounds hitting its port wing. The wing and the fuselage parted company with the crew ejecting but the Tomcat had already begun a sharp roll to the right. Both seats, with their occupants still attached, hit the ground and bounced, spinning dizzily before crashing down into the field in a welter of flung earth.
Zero Two’s killer reversed, ejecting smoke grenades to cover its retreat, magnesium and phosphorus providing a hot, IR defeating screen for a limited period. It encountered the cow field’s wooden fence and ground it beneath the steel caterpillar treads.
Nikki rolled inverted and dived, selecting a 250lb retard bomb and calling in her intentions to the Irish Guards FAC.
Having reversed behind the copse the Type 59 spun on its tracks and headed east. Its radar detected the diving F-14 and its turret rotated with remarkable speed, its twin 59mm cannons elevating but the US Navy aircraft was punching out chaff as well as flares, reducing its targeting options to that of ‘best guess’. Tracer rose to meet them, some exploded in their path and others, the armour piercing rounds, tore past like meteors.
Candice let out a startled yelp as they were hit by shrapnel from the flak but she was pretty much the solid veteran now, forty sorties had taken place since that first mad scramble to get airborne at RAAF Pearce.
They released their bombs but they were stick heavy as Nikki recovered, and the ground uncomfortably close.