Alerted by the shout, the RSM raised his head above the rim of the turret hatch in time to see the Padres headless body topple over and his attacker dashing back into cover.
The Spetznaz major in the guise of a Royal Marine corporal was no longer speaking in the tones of east London, he was cursing in gutter Russian as he waited for someone on the other end of his radio to acknowledge the fire mission he had just requested.
The first burst of fire from the Warrior did nothing accept punctuate the fact that the jig was definitely up for the Spetznaz team. Pieces of bark and an amputated branch fell to the muddy ground but the Russians were all lying flat. The diggers pulled back on their equipment, lying on their backs to struggle into the webbing before turning back onto their stomachs. The major ceased his attempts to raise the gun line by radio, rolling onto his side and pulling a smoke grenade from his pouch instead.
“Boys, when this goes off we all run like hell into the trees uphill from here, the cannon on that fighting vehicle can’t elevate above ten degree’s and it is only equipped with iron sights so they will be firing blind.” He had been their officer for over four years and they trusted him to get them out of this spot, he could see that trust in each man’s eyes and it bothered him not one iota that he was lying to them now in order to save his own skin.
“Keep the trees between you and that machine gun, and keep on up to the top of the hill, we’ll RV there and I’ll lead the way through a gap in the lines I noticed earlier…any questions?”
They could see the Warriors turret traversing as the 30mm cannon was brought to bear, and in the headlong flight triggered by the detonation of the WP grenade, none of the runners noticed that the major was not with them.
The dense smoke proved to be no obstacle to Rarden’s thermal sight, and the two soldiers not brought down by the first cannon shells were higher than the paltry ten degrees the major had told them of when the second burst of 30mm caught them.
Arnie was not familiar with the Rarden cannon so he relegated himself to the position of observer, and because he was not focused solely on the fleeing shapes in the smoke he caught a movement out of the corner of his eye.
The major had waited a few seconds until he was sure his running men had the full attention of the NATO troops, before snaking away on his belly in the opposite direction. He now needed to put some distance between the action and himself, so it was a little frustrating when a webbing strap became snagged on the lower branches of a sapling. The sinewy growth, barely six feet in height, bent slightly and the tiny branches and leaves at its apex dancing a wild jig under the influence of the majors efforts to free himself before springing back into the fully upright position.
On the hillside, three still forms dressed as Royal Marines lay in the mud whilst the other three thrashed and screamed, of these one would make it whilst the other two would succumb to their wounds.
Arnie memorised the spot where he had seen the agitation in the undergrowth before taking in the situation on the hill, the wounded were calling out in Russian so it didn’t take a genius to work out what the Padre had stumbled upon. The six who had broken from cover were out of the fight, but there could be more of them.
“Gunner, cease fire…100 metres, half right, in the thicket, watch and shoot.”
“Rog’”
“Driver, back up…stop, turn right…stop.” The Warrior had pivoted about its axis and now the turret swung back until its 30mm faced the same direction as the vehicle. “Driver, take us forward slowly.”
Arnie was relieved that the Padre’s head was lying face down when they reached the body, but he spared the gruesome sight the merest of glances anyway. They passed the Padre, and the Warrior nosed into the bushes and saplings that had provided cover for their enemy. The weight of the armoured vehicle either crushed the undergrowth, or the younger and suppler growth bent to the inevitable, only to emerge from beneath the vehicles rear end and slowly straighten once more.
In the scramble to buckle on webbing and gather up their weapons, the contents of both stretchers had been bared to view by the Spetznaz troopers and the Warriors driver deviated from course slightly in order to crush the laser designators he could see upon them before continuing.
The major had paused momentarily on hearing the British armoured fighting vehicles engine alter from its low idling murmur. It rose in pitch as it approached and the major felt the first tinge of panic, and his features took on a hunted expression as he looked about desperately for a hiding place. He assumed that the commander of the vehicle would debus the infantry section it was designed to carry before driving on down to the bottom of this slope. The infantry, he thought, would then spread out in a line and like beaters, and drive him on to the Warriors guns.
A short distance ahead was a thick, chest high bramble patch some fifteen metres across with a tunnel-like badger run just visible and he crawled rapidly towards it. The webbing was a hindrance and so he rolled onto his side to unbuckle, and then shove it out of sight deep beneath the brambles before easing his head and shoulders into the run. The barbs caught at the material of his camouflage smock and trousers, pierced the palms of his hands and left bloody scratches in his skin, but he forced his way on, ignoring the pain and the barbs tore free. The run almost pierced the heart of the bramble patch before curving around to the down slope side where the major suddenly found himself staring at the entrance to the badgers set. It was an old and well-established habitat that many generations of badger had occupied. The creature that had first chosen this spot had found granite lay beneath the earth but had persevered, tunnelling down at an angle, following a slab of the rock for yards before it gave way to manageable earth, as such the rock formed the floor of the tunnel and now bore the marks of its occupants claws, past and present. Over the years the elements had played their part in eroding away at the exposed entrance, the upper reaches however, were reinforced by the mesh of roots of the overlying undergrowth and had therefore resisted better than the bottom and sides, so it jutted above the entrance like a shelf. The Russian majors feeling of panic gave way to one of relief when he took in the dimensions of the excavation, and he wormed his way inside to where it tapered down to the sets proper entrance, and four feet of deep shadow lay between himself and the open.
Regimental Sergeant Major Moore had not dismounted his handful of Guardsmen, he did not know what numbers or weaponry they faced, except that they probably had no anti-armour kit or they would have used it already. Arnie was at the ready with the Gimpy in the commander’s hatch from where he had the advantage of height to observe, peering down into the brush, seeking out his quarry with a finger applying first pressure to the weapons trigger. He was getting queries over the air from the nearby platoons wanting to know the reason for the gunfire, coming as it did from the ground lying between the left hand depth and forward companies, so he gave a brief sitrep followed by a terse
“Wait Out!”
The major smiled to himself in the darkness when he heard the throb of the approaching engine and wiped at the sweat which had beaded his forehead before resting his face against the cool granite he was laying on. Only a diligent search by men on foot could have discovered this hidey-hole, so he was safe for the time being and with luck the hunters would assume he had slipped away and so abandon the search, so he could afford to relax.