Read Online Chieftains by Robert Forrest-Webb - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Robert Forrest-Webb
Tags: Fiction
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keeping them on the move; a few quick shots and then away. Their movement on his situation map was beginning to look like a spider's web.
Somewhere deep inside the layer of smoke, the Soviet armour had reached the second line of minefields. Added now to the thunder of their artillery support were the satisfying dull thumps of the mines, and where they exploded the mist turned crimson and churned black with fuel smoke.
Studley had been attempting, with no luck so far, to obtain the use of a command helicopter. It had been promised but had not arrived. He wanted to get above the position, if only briefly, to obtain a clearer idea of the enemy's intentions. The information he was getting over the rear net from Division was frequently too broad to be of great use to him. It seemed to him his battle group ms facing the spearhead of a main Soviet thrust, but this could be a feint to lead him to commit his men when perhaps the real attack was yet to come, elsewhere.
The air activity had increased over the battle zone, though much of it was at a high level above the broken cloud. There had been a brief attack by three East German Sukhoi Su-15s, who had come in from high altitude in the east, lost in the glare of the rising sun, in a Mach-2 30-degree dive. AA-8 missiles had been fired into a position evacuated minutes before by the Abbots. The battle group had suffered no casualties in the attack that lasted only seconds, and the Su-15s had not returned.
His adjutant drew his attention away from the battlefield. 'Charlie Squadron are engaging, sir.'
'Good. Order them to retire as soon as it gets too hot.'
'Yes, sir.' The adjutant thought it unnecessary to tell his CO the identical message, with the coded reference, for Charlie's new positions had already been sent out on the net.
EIGHT
Inkester shouted: 'Where is it? I've lost it!'
'Calm down...there, two o'clock, on the edge of the smoke.' Sergeant Morgan Davis saw the T-72 as a dark silhouette through the 'times-ten' magnification of his sight. The Soviet tank was three-quarters-on to Bravo Two, bucking as it crossed the furrowed land three thousand meters away, swerving occasionally to avoid the wider craters in its path.
'I've got it.'
'Take your time.'
'Sod...the bastard's gone.'
'Steady...there.' Davis was using the coupled sight giving him an identical view to that of Inkester the gunner. The sights were settled on the hull of the T-72 as Inkester traversed the gun. The tank heaved upwards with the shock as the gunner hit the firing button and the propulsion charge detonated in the breech. With the engine on tick-over the roar of the gun was impressive within the confines of the fighting compartment. An automatic flashguard within the sight protected the eyes of the gunner and commander from the glare of the barrel flame, but smoke from the muzzle blurred their vision for a few seconds.
'Load Sabot,' ordered Davis.
There was a heavy clank of metal from the vertically sliding breech-block as Shadwell reloaded, and a mist of cordite smoke swirled inside the hull; most of the fumes were exhausted outside the tank, but some always drifted back. Shadwell shouted: 'Loaded.' He made certain he was well clear of the gun before he did so. Gunners could get a shot off fast if they had a target and to be caught-out standing behind the gun was a sure way to die as the recoil hurled it backwards. It was only one of several ways a loader could come to grief; more commonly they managed to get themselves caught in the traverse, getting a leg or foot trapped behind the charge bins as the gunner or commander swung the turret.
'Shit!' Inkester swore, not at Shadwell but because the burst of the Chieftain's 120mm shell was ahead and to the right of the Soviet T-72. As he brought the sight onto it again, he suddenly realized with horror that he was staring right down the black muzzle of the T-72's gun. Through his
Somewhere deep inside the layer of smoke, the Soviet armour had reached the second line of minefields. Added now to the thunder of their artillery support were the satisfying dull thumps of the mines, and where they exploded the mist turned crimson and churned black with fuel smoke.
Studley had been attempting, with no luck so far, to obtain the use of a command helicopter. It had been promised but had not arrived. He wanted to get above the position, if only briefly, to obtain a clearer idea of the enemy's intentions. The information he was getting over the rear net from Division was frequently too broad to be of great use to him. It seemed to him his battle group ms facing the spearhead of a main Soviet thrust, but this could be a feint to lead him to commit his men when perhaps the real attack was yet to come, elsewhere.
The air activity had increased over the battle zone, though much of it was at a high level above the broken cloud. There had been a brief attack by three East German Sukhoi Su-15s, who had come in from high altitude in the east, lost in the glare of the rising sun, in a Mach-2 30-degree dive. AA-8 missiles had been fired into a position evacuated minutes before by the Abbots. The battle group had suffered no casualties in the attack that lasted only seconds, and the Su-15s had not returned.
His adjutant drew his attention away from the battlefield. 'Charlie Squadron are engaging, sir.'
'Good. Order them to retire as soon as it gets too hot.'
'Yes, sir.' The adjutant thought it unnecessary to tell his CO the identical message, with the coded reference, for Charlie's new positions had already been sent out on the net.
EIGHT
Inkester shouted: 'Where is it? I've lost it!'
'Calm down...there, two o'clock, on the edge of the smoke.' Sergeant Morgan Davis saw the T-72 as a dark silhouette through the 'times-ten' magnification of his sight. The Soviet tank was three-quarters-on to Bravo Two, bucking as it crossed the furrowed land three thousand meters away, swerving occasionally to avoid the wider craters in its path.
'I've got it.'
'Take your time.'
'Sod...the bastard's gone.'
'Steady...there.' Davis was using the coupled sight giving him an identical view to that of Inkester the gunner. The sights were settled on the hull of the T-72 as Inkester traversed the gun. The tank heaved upwards with the shock as the gunner hit the firing button and the propulsion charge detonated in the breech. With the engine on tick-over the roar of the gun was impressive within the confines of the fighting compartment. An automatic flashguard within the sight protected the eyes of the gunner and commander from the glare of the barrel flame, but smoke from the muzzle blurred their vision for a few seconds.
'Load Sabot,' ordered Davis.
There was a heavy clank of metal from the vertically sliding breech-block as Shadwell reloaded, and a mist of cordite smoke swirled inside the hull; most of the fumes were exhausted outside the tank, but some always drifted back. Shadwell shouted: 'Loaded.' He made certain he was well clear of the gun before he did so. Gunners could get a shot off fast if they had a target and to be caught-out standing behind the gun was a sure way to die as the recoil hurled it backwards. It was only one of several ways a loader could come to grief; more commonly they managed to get themselves caught in the traverse, getting a leg or foot trapped behind the charge bins as the gunner or commander swung the turret.
'Shit!' Inkester swore, not at Shadwell but because the burst of the Chieftain's 120mm shell was ahead and to the right of the Soviet T-72. As he brought the sight onto it again, he suddenly realized with horror that he was staring right down the black muzzle of the T-72's gun. Through his
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