Bob Forrest-Webb - Chieftains

Six hundred meters to the rear of the regiment's forward battle positions, Studley's Chieftain was attacked. It was unexpected, only a little way from the clearing where the infantry APCs had been stationed. Fortunately, Studley had the tank's hatches closed-down, but he didn't see the Soviet infantryman hurl his grenade which bounced off the deck of the tank and exploded close to the right track. The grenade was the light RGD-5 whose frag liner failed to penetrate the Chieftain's armour. Studley's driver swerved the tank instinctively. As he did so there was a heavy concussion to the rear of the vehicle and more metal sprayed the hull.

The woods appeared to be alive with green-clad infantrymen and there was little room for the Chieftain to manoeuvre. The driver hesitated as another grenade exploded against the thick armour below the main gun. Studley shouted: 'Keep going…and fast' He felt the Chieftain accelerate. Trees snapped beneath its weight as it crashed forward through the undergrowth. A group of men scattered thirty meters away and Studley followed them with a long burst of fire from the machine gun. He saw an infantryman run diagonally towards him from the left, the man's path curving through a patch of open ground as he ran to meet the Chieftain. His arm was already raised, and Studley caught a glimpse of a long-handled anti-tank grenade trailing its drogue towards the tank as the man threw himself flat. The grenade only fell short by a meter, exploding in the soft earth as the Chieftain reached the clearing where the APCs had been stationed; all that remained were their wrecked and smoking hulks, the crews dead, nearby.

'Don't stop…' There was no need for Studley's order, Horsefield was already pushing the Chieftain towards its maximum speed. It lurched and bounced across the open ground, crashing through a dense copse of young trees as the ground dipped towards the command position.

'Hullo Bravo Nine, this is Sunray Rover One…'Studley was being thrown around in his seat by the violent movement.

'Hullo Sunray Rover One this is Bravo Nine.'

'Where are you?'

'Four hundred meters south of Primrose…and still under attack, over.'

'Infantry?' questioned Studley.

'Armour. Two T-64s…wrong, three T-64s in position near derelict barn.'

'Barn?'

'It's on fire. There seem to be vehicles burning, too. The T-64s are downwind, in smoke.'

God, so that was why the RTO had sounded hysterical. The command post had been attacked, and by the sound of it, destroyed. Studley's immediate emotion was anger. 'Disengage, Bravo Nine. Russian infantry in woods to your left. Get through them Go to Firefly. Verify.' There was no response. 'Hullo Bravo Nine…Hullo Bravo Nine…verify, over.' Studley was dismayed to find he was directing his anger at his own men, and felt ashamed. He spoke again, more calmly. 'Hullo Bravo Nine…verify please, over…'

There was a lengthy pause, then a voice. 'Shit!' Another short break and then he recognized the voice of one of his junior lieutenants. 'Hullo Sunray, this is Colin…damn sorry, sir. We've lost Nine…lost contact…a lot of Soviet armour…Sunray. Go to Firefly, wilco…' There was a pause. 'It's getting warm here, Sunray…sorry, sir, over.'

'Roger Bravo…out.' The lieutenant was polite…terrible radio technique thought Studley. Still young for leadership of a squadron, he had sounded overwhelmed, temporarily confused. Keep your damned head, lad, Studley willed. There was no time for him to contemplate the destruction of the command post and the loss of the staff.

He called through to the Headquarters command Sultan. 'Hullo Ops, this is Sunray Rover One, have you been eavesdropping? Over.'

'Hullo Sunray Rover, this is Ops. Yes, we understand the situation.'

'Give me Amphora.' This was Max Fairly's code name. It was a small personal joke, a reference to the 2nd IC's slightly pear-shaped figure.

'Hullo Sunray Rover One. Reference Amphora; regret no can do. Amphora is MBK.'

Missing believed killed? Max? Perhaps he had misheard the Operations Officer. 'Say again. Over.'

'Hullo Sunray Rover One. Reference Amphora; regret Amphora is MBK. We have had a report on the incident from Kilo Nine.'

'Ops, take over. Send all to Firefly. I'll join you soonest.' He switched to the intercom. 'Horsefield…move us out.' He tried the group net a few moments later, but the Soviet jamming had taken over the wavelengths. It was more efficient than had been estimated, and was making communication difficult…at the moment impossible as the high-pitched whine cut deep into his head. He switched it off. Poor old Max…Max! Damn them! And how complete was the encirclement of the battle group? Total? If so, could the circle be broken? Studley realized he should have pulled back when his adjutant had suggested it earlier. Studley had erred in his decision that the group should hold its position longer. Everything had looked fine…no reason to suppose a breakthrough would happen so quickly. God, he had cocked it up, his first battle! He had made a mistake; a costly one.

The thought of the adjutant drew Studley's mind back to the overrun command vehicle. 'Horsefield…go right…more right…I want a look at the command APC's. And keep your eyes peeled…'

Corporal Riley interrupted him: 'Sir…traversing three o'clock.' Broadside on, not thirty meters away, was the green hull of a Soviet fire-support tank, the insignia of its parachute battalion clearly showing on its skirt. At point-blank range, it was impossible for Riley to rotate the turret fast enough to counter the forward movement of the tank. 'Halt the bloody tank, Horse,' Riley yelled fiercely. Horsefield dug both his feet hard on the brake pedal.

The turret stopped traversing. The fire-support tank was not more than sixty meters away, standing amongst the trees. Studley could see men moving near its rocket launcher, silhouetted against the skyline. It seemed a lifetime before Riley fired and the Chieftain echoed the instantaneous explosion of its shell against the hull of the Russian vehicle. Studley saw one body arc high into the air before the smoke obscured the wrecked tank.

Horsefield had no intention of remaining stationary longer than necessary, and began moving the Chieftain forward at a brisk pace. The smoke cloud from the wrecked vehicle was drifting across their path, a useful screen. Visibility was now less than forty meters; the smoke thickening. Studley could feel heavy concussions but couldn't hear the sounds of the explosions which accompanied them. The ground ahead was clearer, and he thought they must have reached the outskirts of the wood, only a hundred meters from the command position. A vehicle was burning, spurting red flames in the smoke. There were bodies hunched around it; he couldn't identify them, but thought the helmets were Russian. There was another wrecked vehicle, this time a British APC, and beyond it a burned-out Chieftain, its hull ripped open and its turret and gun missing. The ground was churned and cratered…more bodies. Horsefield swerved, found it impossible to avoid the corpses, and drove over them…he recognized their combat smocks as NATO-issue and hoped there were no wounded amongst the motionless figures he was crushing beneath the tracks.

There were dark shapes in the smoke not twenty meters away, closer, men moving. Studley identified a T-72, the nearer of the vehicles. 'Reverse, Horsefield.' The figures scattered as the Chieftain loomed out of the smoke behind them. The turret of the T-72 began moving. Horsefield crashed the gearbox into reverse so fiercely the tracks skidded. For a few moments the fifty-two tons of the Chieftain kept her slithering forward, then the tracks gripped. The muzzle of the Chieftain's 122mm gun was no more than four meters from the rear of the T-72 when Riley fired. The close proximity of the detonation twisted the Chieftain sideways and a billowing spray of burning fuel swept over its hull. Horsefield was trying to regain control when a second explosion tilted the Chieftain on to her side. It dropped back with a bone-jarring crash then settled. Horsefield began accelerating again. He couldn't see where they were going, and was hoping the colonel was watching to the rear. He locked the right track and hammered the Chieftain into forward gear, to swing her round. The Soviet RPG-7V anti-tank rocket, fired by an infantryman forty meters away, hit the Chieftain on the flat slab of armour directly beneath Horsefield's feet. The hollow-charge high explosive round punched its way through the metal as it exploded, killing Horsefield instantly, wrecking the driving compartment, and spraying the interior with fine shrapnel; a heavy scab of metal ricochetted from the floor and buried itself in Sergeant Pudsey's chest as a searing white flame leapt around the breech of the gun, the charge bins and the stacked ammunition. Studley's head felt as though it had burst. He could smell explosive, burning fuel. The air was unbreathable. He was choking.