“Target BMP with antennae’s.”
The gunner took a half second to answer.
“Identified!” He thumbed the laser rangefinder and Venables released the over-ride, allowing the gunner sole control over the weapon once more. A sabot round was already loaded but there were more tanks out there then they had sabot rounds to kill them with, so each one counted.
“Load HESH.”
His loader opened the guns breach, removing one of the bag charges along with the sabot before replacing it with a HESH round, closing the breach once more and sliding the safety gate across.
“HESH loaded!”
“Firing!”
Overall command of the two companies had been borne by the commander of the infantry company since the loss of his opposite number in the first tank to be taken out, and he would probably have managed it quite ably had he been given a few more minutes to settle into the job. Having been struck by a round fired a greater height than the BMP-2 enjoyed, its angled frontal armour stood no chance of deflecting the round away. The HESH round struck the armour plate square on, its hollow nose cone flattening against the 9mm thick armour even as the projectiles rear mounted fuse fired. Roof hatches, gun ports and the rear troop door blew off, sent spinning away by the expansion of white-hot gasses from within the armoured vehicle. A second later the heat set off the 30mm cannon rounds stored within the vehicle and it blew up.
Venables did not dwell on the vehicles destruction; he was looking for more targets.
“Okay, let’s find anoth…” and then the suns reflecting off a smooth surface caught his eye, drawing it to the insect-like body and bug eyes of a machine hovering just above the ground a half kilometre beyond the APCs, but it took a moment for his brain to register the thing was pointing unerringly at them.
“…back us up NOW!”
Not needing to be told twice his driver gunned the engine and the Challenger jerked backwards down the ramp and not a moment too soon. A SPIRAL, anti-tank guided missile fired from the Mi-24V, Hind-D passed six inches above the turret of the retreating Challenger and exploded against a tree a dozen feet behind the position.
Having missed the shot the attack helicopters gunner cursed in frustration and loosed of a barrage of 23mm rounds from the twin, nose mounted cannons. He was hoping for either a lucky hit or to startle the tank into seeking fresh cover, but receiving only an angry rebuke from his squadron commander whom he had not realised was watching. It really wasn’t his day at all and if he hadn’t been busy wasting ammunition he would possibly have noticed a Stinger being fired from elsewhere in the enemy lines.
Veneer watched the helicopter stagger as the missile struck the side of its port engine and explode. It wasn’t a very big explosion, and although he knew the weapon had only a quite small warhead he was disappointed. He remembered once as a small boy in the run up to Bonfire night he had spent a week’s pocket money on a biggish rocket with an impressive sounding name, but he had felt cruelly cheated at the feeble bang and lacklustre sparkles when he had let it off on the night. The Stinger seemed to have the same lack of punch as the ‘Galactic Zammer’ because after the impact the pilot had steadied the aircraft and there it hovered, twelve feet above the ground and apparently undamaged.
The first derisive catcalls were sounding from the neighbours when a gout of black smoke issued from the port exhaust and the aircraft suddenly lost power. It dropped to the ground, bounced once and then toppled onto its side, its rotor blades shattering against the earth and the fragments flying off in every direction. The Hind-D didn’t blow up and it didn’t catch fire, but it definitely counted as a kill.
“Buggermesideways!” He allowed the launcher to be taken from him by Troper, muttering about sheer flukes and that it was his turn now.
“I thought that Stinger was a dud for a minute.”
“Don’t talk soft, do ya really think he would have carried on just sitting there if something hadn’t got broke?”
They noticed that the 82nd men had fallen silent, and both Guardsmen began a soccer chant, pointing their fingers at the paratroopers as they taunted them.
“Oh it’s all gone quiet, all gone quiet; it’s all gone quiet over there!”
Any listening music lovers were spared the horrors of a second chorus by a 57mm rocket striking the hillside twenty feet below, and sending everyone in the vicinity headlong back into the shelter bays, where they rolled themselves into protective balls as the victim’s squadron commander worked over the area of hillside that the Stinger had been fired from.
Once that Mi-24V had relocated, leaving in search of fresh targets for its remaining three pods and four SPIRALS’ it carried, the Guardsmen re-emerged. Thirty-two rockets had added to the damage already inflicted by the artillery, but that damage was limited to the trees, hillside and defence works, but the downing of the helicopter had not endeared them to their neighbours. A rocket had caused a cave-in at the position occupied by the trio from the far side of the pond, and when the two Coldstreamers eventually reappeared, they paused in their frantic spadework to glare in a most hostile fashion.
Unable to think of anything else to say, Troper called across. “Nice morning for it!” He gave a half-hearted wave that was as sheepish as the awkward smile on his face, and ducked back out of sight.
Venables driver eased the big machine into their third firing position and the squadron commander cracked the hatch. Standing half inside the turret he studied the panorama before him, and nodded to himself in satisfaction before reporting on the battalion net that a half dozen Czech AFVs were retreating back the way they had come. The remainder were burning fiercely in the fields below, and none had come closer than a quarter of a mile.
All of 3 Troops vehicles were intact and ammunition expenditure had been light, so it was a pretty good start to the fight.
He took in the heavier than normal scent of pine, courtesy of all the freshly splintered trees, and smiled wistfully because he had always liked the smell of pine. Pine scented disinfectants, air fresheners and those tablet things that they put in urinals didn’t count, they just weren’t the same thing at all. He enjoyed the moment, even if the flavour was tainted with the stink of spent explosives, and then raised his binoculars to look off to where about three times the number of the last attackers was approaching the sunken lane.
The advancing battalion was coming on with two companies abreast, and those lead companies were fast approaching the sunken lane which the Major could only make out at that distance by the avenue of trees marking its passage. He studied the distant shapes, trying to fathom what calibre of soldier was manning these personnel carriers and tanks, and grudgingly allowed that they were probably veterans, judging by the combat spacing between the vehicles and general good order of the formation.
By his reckoning the left wing of this new attack would overlap 4 Company to encompass 3 Company’s number 7 Platoon, and the right could well be driving on positions held by their neighbours 2LI, the 2nd Battalion Light Infantry.
Pat had visited the Wessex Regiment soldiers, those who were on loan to the Light Infantry, and he had no doubts about their courage and skill but the boundary between units was always the weak spot, the seam between two separate command and control organisations that could be widened and exploited by a determined enemy.
The Hussar’s C Squadron, commanded by Jimmy McAddam an old acquaintance, was attached to 2LI and he was tempted to call them up, but there was nothing he could tell him that he wouldn’t already be aware of and now was not really the time.