ARMAGEDDON'S SONG (Volume 3) 'Fight Through' (42 page)

The front rank slowed and almost instantly the combat
spacing between vehicles was lost, the ranks of vehicles bunching up as result
of the unannounced change of pace.

Venables looked up in response to a mournful droning
overhead, and then having identified the sound he laughed aloud and thumped the
rim of his hatch in appreciation of the cooperation between the mortars and the
heavy artillery.
“Beautiful, just beautiful.”

Looking back in the direction of the approaching
armour he raised once again the binocular’s to his eyes, but could make out
little.

Improved munitions were mixed in with the conventional
shells, and these scattered Skeet above the clustered ranks of Czech armour.
The thin top armour of fighting vehicles struck by the Skeet’s
were
pierced and whatever lay beneath suffered accordingly.
For the lucky ones this was an engine getting trashed, but for the unlucky ones
their last moments were a burning purgatory from which only the sympathetic
detonation of onboard ammunition brought a welcome release.

The Czech battalion commander, from his position in
the rearmost rank of the formation, had no option but to urge his men to press
on. The NATO artillery quite obviously had their range so to loiter was to
invite total disaster. The leading vehicles pressed on, driving faster than
they would have chosen to if given the choice and this resulted in a number of
motorway style pile-ups. Some vehicles encountered the lane unexpectedly,
plunged down into the defile at 30mph or faster, and came to a crashing halt
against the far side, snapping axles and shearing drive sprockets. For the
occupants of such vehicles never fitted with such niceties as safety harnesses,
the result was in many cases fractured skulls and broken bones. Vehicles
following behind these found the way ahead blocked and were prevented from
backing up and finding another way around by vehicles coming up behind.

A BTR-70s driver saw the hedgerow that bordered the
lane at the last moment, and managed to brake to a halt, but before he could
proceed to negotiate the steep bank at an appropriate speed his vehicle was
rammed from behind by a T-72. Shunted forward with such momentum the APC
pitched down the bank where it struck the unyielding tarmac, stood on its nose
briefly before flopping onto its back. Only cutting torches could have opened
the thoroughly mangled rear troop door, and the roof hatches were useless as a
means of escape, so it was a blessing that all the occupants had been rendered
unconscious.

A flight of German Alpha Jets took advantage of the
confusion to stage a hit and run attack, dropping canisters of napalm along
that section of the lane, which further blocked the lane and immolated those
trapped within wrecked vehicles.

It was a moment that should have been capitalised on
by either launching a counter attack, or by piling on the artillery fire, but
they lacked the strength to capitalize on such a thrust, and only a second
salvo arrived from the guns.

As the smoke screen began to dissipate Venables cursed
the lack of available artillery but he knew that the Royal Artillery AS-90s
were relocating because the Red Army’s battlefield radar now knew within ten
feet where those guns were.

In the fields beyond the avenue of trees he could see
burning vehicles and other perfectly serviceable tanks and APCs milling about
as a safe passage across the lane was sought. He could only guess at what was
taking place in the lane and how many vehicles had come to grief there from the
smoke and flames that were climbing skyward.

Calling up the CP he found himself talking to Pat Reed
in person, and explained exactly how vulnerable the enemy force now was, but
the CO had a bird’s eye view thanks to Phoenix and was as equally as frustrated
as the Hussar.

“Hello Tango One Nine, this is India Nine, we are
trying for more air assets but we only got those Alpha’s because I promised
them full and unbridled use of Mrs India Nine whenever they were next in
town…over.”

The levity of the CO’s words could not disguise the
underlying frustration he could hear in the voice, and he looked again at the
armour stranded beyond the lane before replying resignedly.

“Tango One Nine roger, out.”

He glowered into the binoculars as he saw the tracks
and underside of a tank seemingly grow out of the lane as it climbed the steep
bank, then the machine tipped over, crushing the hedgerow beneath it and
accelerating into the field on this side of the obstacle, the T-90s long barrel
traversing from side to side as it sought targets. The enemy had found one gap
in the fire and wreckage and where there was one there was sure to be more.

His view was again obscured by smoke but this time the
rounds were coming from the enemy, providing cover whilst they organised
themselves.

In the absence of artillery, air strikes, or an
armoured force of sufficient strength to sally forth and hit the enemy whilst it
was off balance, another troop of tanks to support 4 Company was what was
required. He had just the three troops worth of tanks and his own vehicle,
there were no reserves and 2 Troops position was between 1 and 2 Company in
accordance with Pat Reeds desire to have a strong second line, should the
forward companies be rapidly overwhelmed. 3 Troop could not be moved left as
they were crucial to the flank of the battalion’s defence, which really said it
all in regard to their circumstances. No matter how well they did now, they did
not have the numbers to win.

Major Venables spat over the side of his turret as if
to be rid of the taste of lost opportunities before ordering the driver to back
them up and find an empty position nearer to 4 Company where they could lend a
helping hand.

Whereas Pat Reed and Mark Venables were feeling merely
frustrated, the commander of the 23
^rd
was positively apoplexic with rage. His superior, the
division’s Romanian commander had treated him to an ear-blistering rebuke over
the radio for his lack of foresight and planning, even before his first
battalions attack had arrived. The divisional commander obviously expected it
to fail so he had ordered the 23
^rd
MRRs commander to prepare and launch a further attack
using the rest of his regiment, or answer for the consequences.

First battalion was using smoke to cover its crossing
of the sunken lane and shake out into formation once more, but despite already
losing a quarter of its strength there was no reason its attack should not succeed.

However, Third battalion was forming up a klick to the
rear of the farm and Second battalion, which had borne the brunt of the losses
against the British marines and from whom had come the initial two-company
attack from the lane, were now attached to the Third battalion.

The vehicle commanders of the two tanks and four APCs
that had survived his regiment’s first attack had been arrested and marched off
into some trees nearby, their departure being witnessed by the battalion
staff’s from Third Battalion and their own.

The regimental commander had remained at the farm to
observe, and from here he gave his orders to the staffs by radio, for an attack
to be launched with the farm and sunken lane being to the right of the start
line. The attack was to bear straight ahead until it reached the point where
the lane curved away to run down the valley, and then the force would swing
half right and drive for the NATO positions that had defeated the first
assault. 

As he handed the radio handset back to a signaller he
chanced to see on the hills behind them the Romanian regiment that had trailed
them was deploying in readiness for an assault. No doubt the remainder of the
division was also deploying and he suddenly realised that the divisional
commander thought he would fail.

A flurry of shots sounded from the trees where the
vehicle commanders had been taken, the sound causing ominous echoes that
lingered in his ears, and for the first time he felt the cold finger of fear.

Under the circumstances the First Battalion’s
commander did a good job of job of reorganisation on the hoof, but the
formation was rather ragged and still trying to sort itself out when he gave
the order to continue the advance.  Under pressure himself to make
progress he had pushed his subordinates to get across the obstacle and lost
another two in the process, two precious plough tanks that ventured too far to
the right in search of a safe crossing. Despite the suppressing fire being
directed on their positions the French Foreign Legion paratroopers could not
look such a pair of gift horse’s in the mouth, they engaged both vehicles and
destroyed them.

The 4 Company men had watched 3 Company’s action and
had been heartened by the result, but now as they watched the Czech’s emerge
from the ragged smoke screen, driving straight at them, it caused a few men to
swallow hard.

The Soviet artillery which had slackened during the
artillery duel now picked up once more, but it was concentrated on the fields
and slopes before them, attempting weaken the mine fields which had to be there
somewhere.  There was heavier fire falling behind and to the sides of the
Czechs intended victims, and they knew it was to isolate them, to divide and
conquer. The Milan crews picked their targets and awaited the order to open
fire, and the men in the fighting holes checked their spare magazines and
grenades for the umpteenth time.  

Major Venables and his crew were finding the going
less than straightforward in their journey along the slope to support 4
Company. Vehicular movement between the two forward companies had been carried
out by using an existing track half way up the hill, following the contours
through the trees. By accident or by design this track had suffered
particularly badly in the Soviet’s preparatory bombardment. Fallen trees and
shell craters had provided obstacles the tank could only seek to bypass, but
having found their way around one obstacle and returned to the track they
encountered further blockages within yards.

The radio transmission that warned of the renewed
advance was not best received by the crew of a Challenger that had found itself
in a cul-de-sac formed by fallen trunks.

“
Arghfukit
!”

Had the shelling not picked up then a crewman could
have gone out on foot and found them a way through by now. The only area Mark
Venables was sure had been spared this level of shelling was the reverse slope.

“Driver, we need to back up about thirty feet and then
head straight uphill.” There was no immediate response on the intercom and he
was about to call again when the voice of Trooper Abbot, the driver, sounded in
his earpiece.

“Er, no offence boss, but what makes you think we
can
find
a route that way?”

“I don’t know that we will, but I know we’ve tried
every other direction except up.” Shrapnel struck the turret, and the sound
made them all feel strangely more vulnerable rather than snug behind armour
plate. Mark Venables was trying not to let the feeling of exasperation get the
better of him because they needed to be in a firing position already, not stuck
in this maze.

“Just
get this thing
moving
Abbot, there’s a good chap.”

He used the vision blocks to assist the driver as he
first backed up and then pivoted the big machine. Major Venables brought the
barrel of the 120mm gun to full elevation to prevent its digging into the
hillside, and once that was accomplished he turned one of the radios to 1
Troop’s net to inform them that the going was slow but they would assist just
as soon as they could.

No matter how much money had gone into the research
and development of the perfect seat, they hadn’t cracked the problem yet. That
was the considered opinion of Ann-Marie Chan as she tried to regain some
feeling in her posterior. Her operators were used to these long hours, which
was just as well because although they had been on-station for over fourteen
hours, their day wasn’t over yet.

On the ground the troops of both sides may be
criticising their respective air forces for not being more visibly active on
their behalf this day, but her screens gave a different story.

There was a lot of air activity behind the lines, with
NATO interdicting strikes bound for the front or for autobahns carrying the US
4 Corps to the fight. She had four stacks of aircraft configured for air intercept
that were employed in defending 4 Corps, and three wings of strike aircraft on
the ground that she could not use because they were earmarked for close air
support for 4 Corps when they eventually reached the front. It left her with an
available, though somewhat ragtag force that had been attempting to thin out
the Red armour before it got to Vormundberg. They were all desperately tired
and in need of a rest that she was not empowered to allow.   

The airborne operation had unquestionably dealt the
enemy a severe blow, the Red Air Force
was having
to
employ fields further from the fighting, and due to the losses in the tanker
fleet most of the sorties coming from those bases had been unable to take off
with full ordnance loads. She knew that would not continue, and indeed the
Soviet’s had been moving aircraft, including tankers, from other areas all
morning, and sending them to the available fields. The Red AWAC fleet was
another matter though, they had reactivated old Il-76s, the first type to properly
fulfil that role, but they were being kept too far from the front to be
effective. Ann-Marie could just about detect the weak pulse of one that had to
be back over Berlin way, so unless that changed then her and her controllers
were the kings.