pressed the firing button of the machine gun. Nothing happened. He tried again; the weapon was dead. He looked towards Sidworth's tank, the lieutenant was using his GPMG, the muzzle flickering orange flame. Davis felt frustrated; the infantry had scattered to cover and he could no longer see them.
'Charlie Bravo Two...get yourself into position and wait...Charlie Bravo Four, this is Nine...come and join us now, over.'
'Charlie Bravo Four, wilco Nine.'
Sergeant Davis didn't see the single Polish SU20 which swept down towards the troop, its pilot making a second circuit of the combat zone where he had been picking off the Lynx helicopters who were slowing the advance of the right flank of the Soviet division's armour. The Sukhoi was the only surviving aircraft of a squadron which had been brought down from Warsaw twenty-four hours before. The pilot had been reluctant to operate against the NATO forces, until he witnessed the loss of his friends in the first minutes of battle.
He had two Kerry missiles left in his pylons. As he dived from the north-west, the battlefront was a broad band of smoke across the plains. He could see the explosions of shells and rockets, and the spearhead of the Russian attack in the direction of the distant town of Braunschweig that was just visible on his horizon. On his first circuit his 30mm cannon shells had destroyed one of the Lynx helicopters; it had exploded violently and he had only just missed the disintegrating wreckage as it fell. He had seen the movement of the NATO tanks against the hill, and the chance of a shot at a new type of target was attractive. He cut his speed to sub-sonic and narrowed his turn, keeping the hill in his view as he did so. At first as he returned he could not see the Chieftains, then he spotted two close together and a third some distance to the east, moving through the scrub at the edge of the woods. He had little time for decision, and chose the tank on the left of the pair, cutting his speed further and holding the aircraft level. The target grew in his sights.
Several smoke shells had exploded on the lower ground ahead of Sergeant Davis's tank, the dense dark smoke swirling across the fields. Somewhere inside would be the Soviet armour in their familiar patterns of tight tanks, supported by the infantry carriers. Just ahead of the screen, in the lower woods, the artillery barrage had increased again.
'Charlie Bravo Four passing you now Nine...sixty meters to your rear. We'll go ahead another hundred meters and-cover you.'
'Roger Charlie Bravo Four...you still with us Charlie Bravo Two? Give Charlie Bravo Four a minute and...' In Lieutenant Sidworth's mid-sentence his Chieftain blew to fragments. Davis had been able to see it from the corner of his eye as he watched down the slope. One moment it was there, and the next the concussion of the explosion rocked Charlie Bravo Two, and the troop Leader's tank had become a mass of flying metal and flame.
The Sukhoi swung upwards. The pilot glanced behind and felt satisfaction at the sight of the orange ball of fire where his rockets had struck. He opened his throttle and pushed the SU20 into a spiralling climb, levelling out at 29,000 feet and turning east towards his airfield. He had flown three sorties since dawn, and hoped he would be allowed to rest for a few hours.
Davis was now in command of the troop; at least, in command of what was left of it...two Chieftains. 'DeeJay, don't go berserk, I want to see what's going on. Keep the speed down.' On the troop net: 'Charlie Bravo Two. The boss has bought it. We'll move back to Firefly and rejoin Charlie. And remember your training; keep a good overlap. Less than half gun range on each move...a foot on the ground, Sealey. Off you go, we'll hold here until you're in position. Out.' Christ, thought Davis, talk about unauthorized procedure? He could hardly have been more casual, but Sealey hadn't commanded a tank for long and
'Charlie Bravo Two...get yourself into position and wait...Charlie Bravo Four, this is Nine...come and join us now, over.'
'Charlie Bravo Four, wilco Nine.'
Sergeant Davis didn't see the single Polish SU20 which swept down towards the troop, its pilot making a second circuit of the combat zone where he had been picking off the Lynx helicopters who were slowing the advance of the right flank of the Soviet division's armour. The Sukhoi was the only surviving aircraft of a squadron which had been brought down from Warsaw twenty-four hours before. The pilot had been reluctant to operate against the NATO forces, until he witnessed the loss of his friends in the first minutes of battle.
He had two Kerry missiles left in his pylons. As he dived from the north-west, the battlefront was a broad band of smoke across the plains. He could see the explosions of shells and rockets, and the spearhead of the Russian attack in the direction of the distant town of Braunschweig that was just visible on his horizon. On his first circuit his 30mm cannon shells had destroyed one of the Lynx helicopters; it had exploded violently and he had only just missed the disintegrating wreckage as it fell. He had seen the movement of the NATO tanks against the hill, and the chance of a shot at a new type of target was attractive. He cut his speed to sub-sonic and narrowed his turn, keeping the hill in his view as he did so. At first as he returned he could not see the Chieftains, then he spotted two close together and a third some distance to the east, moving through the scrub at the edge of the woods. He had little time for decision, and chose the tank on the left of the pair, cutting his speed further and holding the aircraft level. The target grew in his sights.
Several smoke shells had exploded on the lower ground ahead of Sergeant Davis's tank, the dense dark smoke swirling across the fields. Somewhere inside would be the Soviet armour in their familiar patterns of tight tanks, supported by the infantry carriers. Just ahead of the screen, in the lower woods, the artillery barrage had increased again.
'Charlie Bravo Four passing you now Nine...sixty meters to your rear. We'll go ahead another hundred meters and-cover you.'
'Roger Charlie Bravo Four...you still with us Charlie Bravo Two? Give Charlie Bravo Four a minute and...' In Lieutenant Sidworth's mid-sentence his Chieftain blew to fragments. Davis had been able to see it from the corner of his eye as he watched down the slope. One moment it was there, and the next the concussion of the explosion rocked Charlie Bravo Two, and the troop Leader's tank had become a mass of flying metal and flame.
The Sukhoi swung upwards. The pilot glanced behind and felt satisfaction at the sight of the orange ball of fire where his rockets had struck. He opened his throttle and pushed the SU20 into a spiralling climb, levelling out at 29,000 feet and turning east towards his airfield. He had flown three sorties since dawn, and hoped he would be allowed to rest for a few hours.
Davis was now in command of the troop; at least, in command of what was left of it...two Chieftains. 'DeeJay, don't go berserk, I want to see what's going on. Keep the speed down.' On the troop net: 'Charlie Bravo Two. The boss has bought it. We'll move back to Firefly and rejoin Charlie. And remember your training; keep a good overlap. Less than half gun range on each move...a foot on the ground, Sealey. Off you go, we'll hold here until you're in position. Out.' Christ, thought Davis, talk about unauthorized procedure? He could hardly have been more casual, but Sealey hadn't commanded a tank for long and
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