Here's some more story for ya!
“Not too sure how we’ve survived the past couple of weeks…If it hadn’t been for that M-1 tank platoon showing up, our goose woulda been cooked back at PotsdammeBrucke! As it is, we’ve stuck with them during the pull back, along with the rest of the Lancers we managed to get out of the base before the Soviets finally overran it.
We’re holed up in an old schoolyard now - right in the middle of the school, as an M-1 with a ‘dozer blade punched a hole right the way through! Now, we can only be seen from directly above. Not feeling as safe as you might expect from that though - Sarge Winston reckons that there’s something coming ‘in the wind’, as he puts it - something bad…”
“Come on Yank, get your nose out of that book - your bosses want to see us! Jacobs was startled out of his reverie by Winston shouting and gesturing at him from the door to what was the school hall. He followed Winston through the hallway, past the debris of primary school lessons long past - a row of cheery pictures beamed up at him from under the wreckage of a display cabinet, and dog eared school notices hung limply from a noticeboard.
They rounded a corner, and stepped into the hive of activity that was the temporary command post. Maps seemed to cover every available surface, most with officers crowded around them, animatedly discussing tactics and troop movements. A nearby radio crackled with reports that were studiously not replied to; no-one could afford to give the enemy the slightest tip off to the C.P’s location.
Winston and Jacobs approached the main map table, and stood taking in the situation for several minutes before one man looked up at them tiredly - he motioned them closer, and they could see the rank of Major battered but proud on his collar, along with the fatigue evident in the deep lines around the man’s eyes.
“My name’s Johnson, and Ah guess you’re Winston an’ Jacobs?” At their affirmative reply he grunted, “Well, nice work so far guys - but Ah’m afraid we got a little job for you - come look at this here map…”
Johnson motioned at a section of the map, where they could see counters representing what seemed to be a whole Soviet army group, apparently hiding behind a mountain range. “We’re not too sure what these guys are waiting for - by rights, they should be pressing our lines, looking for a weak spot to exploit, but they’re just sitting there waiting - have been for two whole days now. We’re moving troops up to plug the gaps in our lines, provide some defence in depth“.
Johnson paused, leaning heavily on the map table. “Truth be told, we reckon they might be gearing up for a Nuclear strike, but we need to know what is going on - so we’re going to do a little recon in force, and you guys are gonna be the anti-air support!” He pointed at an area near the edge of the mountains “If you see a recon plane of any sort orbiting around here, you’ll know they’re fixing on ordering in some kind of NBC strike - so, take it out FAST!”
Soon enough, the Bull was trundling through ruined towns, and pockmarked cornfields, in convoy with a four tank platoon of M-1’s, and a pair of Humvee weapons carriers further ahead that acted as their scouts.
Winston was standing up in the gunners hatch, with a large map spread out in front of him, when Jacobs opened up the cupola hatch next to him, and asked jokingly “What! You lost already Sarge!?!”
Winston grunted good - humouredly “Quiet dumbass, I’m thinking” Jacobs smiled wickedly, “Oh, that’s what the noise is” chuckled Jacobs, “I thought we’d bust a drive sprocket!”
“I reckon”, said Winston thoughtfully, “That if we head on over to this ridgeline, and park on top, we’ll have a pretty good view of the approaches to that mountain range”
As they spoke, two ominous specks appeared low on the horizon. “Uh, Sarge…we might have a problem here…“ Jacobs peered at them intently, as the Bull’s RWR started ticking slowly…
--------- z ---------
General Kirilenko savoured his vodka, as his Ilyushin Il-76 Airborne Command Post cruised over (?), towards the (?) mountains. From this lofty eyrie, he could command his divisions, control other Warsaw Pact forces, and, most importantly command the disposition, and firing, of his fleet of tactical nuclear weapons.
He turned to the tactical display, and noted the readiness of the assault units for the cleanup operation. As he did so, his deputy appeared at his side.
‘Comrade General, the pilot reports we are 5 minutes from the mountains. The man smiled grimly. ’Shall I order the strategic rocket troops to readiness?’
‘Patience Valentin!’ The General scolded gently, ‘We shall teach the Frenchies the error of their ways soon enough!’ He patted the side of the launch order code transmitter to illustrate his point. Both men chuckled darkly as they turned to look out of the observation window.
Meanwhile, the Bull was clawing its way up the hill, engine howling in low gear. They’d already mowed down one of the roving fighters protecting the command post : the one remaining Su-27 was hiding somewhere nearby, sticking to the valleys amongst the low hills, staying clear of the deadly AAA fire that had savaged his wingman. Joey was working the controls furiously to keep the Bull upright on the steep slope, Jacobs helping by keeping the turret facing their direction of travel as much as possible, lest the heavy ammo bins upset their delicate balancing act.
Meanwhile, Winston was sitting in front of the radar screen, nervously watching the display for signs of the returning Soviet fighter, and softly swearing under his breath. The perilous ascent didn’t help his mood at all - Jacobs could just about hear ‘…not designed for this…strip the final drive for sure….’ as he chuntered under his breath, mostly to allay his nerves.
Then, with a thump that surprised them all, the Bull crested the top of the hill, and crashed down heavily on it suspension.
‘Come on Yank!’ called Winston , as he jumped up through the hatch, and onto the top of the turret. Jacobs followed suit, and helped Winston disconnect the heavy secondary APHE ammo magazines . Next, they opened up one of the storage bins on the tanks fenders, to reveal the two stand-alone super-charge magazines, carefully packed in foam holders. Jacobs reached out for one of the magazines, but Winston stopped him. ‘Be careful with these things lad - they’ve got three times the standard powder load, and they’re packed with Octol, same explosive they use to detonate nukes…I haven’t had a chance to test these yet…they may be a little…twitchy, if you know what I mean!’
Jacobs nodded slowly, gingerly hoisted one of the magazines into his arms, and carefully climbed back onto the turret. There, he and Winston seated each magazine into the breeches of the Bofors, before sliding back into the confines of the turret, casting worried glances around them for the missing Sukhoi.
The big Ilyushin thundered closer to mountain range, and in the command centre, Kirilenko turned to his deputy. ‘It is time Valentin - ready the troops!’ As the man began relaying orders to his radio operators, Kirilenko began typing his codes into the nuclear launch order transmitter.
The Bull was now operating on EMCON, or emissions control, Winston only activating the radar in short bursts, and at low power. The radar had just picked up a large target, closing slowly, and Jacobs fed the height, range, and speed into the predictor computer . After a couple of seconds of clicking and clattering, one of the secondary displays showed the aircrafts projected track and position. A countdown appeared in the top right corner, showing when the computer thought that the target would be in range. ‘Well‘, remarked Winston conversationally, ‘this is either gonna work, or we’re gonna have plenty of egg on our faces…not to mention bits of breech block…’ He punctuated that by jabbing his thumb onto the cocking button - a series of clunks echoed through the turret as the breech blocks cycled open, chambering a round, then slamming shut again. They were ready.
The countdown reached ten seconds, the radar began powering up, and the turret turned slowly to the left, guns elevating…
The timer reached zero, and the world erupted in noise.
Kirilenko was lost in his thoughts, as he waited for the aircraft to begin its descent to the safety of the shadow of the mountains. Soon, he would have his breakthrough, when his nuclear missiles tore a gaping hole in the Allied lines, which Third Shock Army was poised to take full advantage of. He was so entranced by the nearness of victory, that he failed to notice the first of the shells exploding nearby.
The first of the shells leaving the barrel startled Joey badly: he was expecting the shot, and had locked the suspension to stabilise the Bull as far as possible. What he wasn’t expecting was the 27 foot long muzzle blast, as the super-charge rounds blasted skywards, the recoil mechanisms barely coping with the high powered shells. Inside the turret, Jacobs and Winston watched the liquid cooled guns temperature gauges in awe as they visibly climbed towards the red zone. The whole 35-ton tank shook repeatedly as each over powered round left the barrels. The temperature gauges soared further into the red with each successive shot…
In the Ilyushin’s cockpit, the professional calm was shattered by the wail of a klaxon. The colour drained from the co-pilots face as he saw the threat display light up. Immediately, they threw the controls hard over , as the first shells began to detonate.
The plane suddenly began banking sharply to the left, staggering Kirilenko. His deputy grabbed him as he went past, pulling him into an empty seat. ‘the pilot reports we are under fire!’ he yelled over the rising howl of the engines.
Over twenty of the super-charge shells had been fired, the triple powder load giving them an effective altitude of better than 30,000 feet. As they neared their target, the shells semi automatic fusing systems registered the detonate command from the Bull’s radar, and began exploding. Unfortunately, as the Ilyushin turned sharply, it lost a little altitude - no more than a hundred feet at most, but it was enough. Instead of detonating near the plane, at least four of the high powered shells slammed into the aircraft’s wing box, exploding a fraction of a second after impact, and leaving dustbin-sized holes through the structure.
Unsurprisingly, the whole wing began to shear away, fires blossoming along it’s length as fuel lines ruptured, and sparks flew from decimated electrical systems. The plane shuddered viciously as it began to come apart.
Kirilenko struggled along the deck, fight the g-forces as the plane began to spin out of control, trying to reach the launch code transmitter, when one of the final shells, perhaps guided by vengeance, slammed through the observation windows and exploded, blowing apart the command centre, and ending the ambitions of one General Yuri Kirilenko.
The temperature gauge pegged at the top of its travel, and Winston leaned over and slapped his hand down on the emergency shutdown button, ‘That’s it - shut it down before rounds cook off in the breeches!’ The radar screen told its own tale, as the target blip separated into smaller pieces, and both men sat back in relief as the blips left the bottom of the screen. ‘Looks like we saved the world, Sarge!’ Jacobs joked. Winston began to reply, when the radar screen bleeped at them, and a small, fast trace appeared, headed straight for them.
The Su-27 popped up from the valley at the bottom of the hill, and bored in on the strange tank that had blasted it’s wingman into ashes. The pilot bared his teeth in triumph as he armed and launched two missiles straight at the vehicle.
Joey was leaning out of the drivers hatch, watching the fireworks thousands of feet above, when sudden movement in his peripheral vision caught his attention. To his horror, the missing Sukhoi was bearing down on them, the sunlight glinting viciously off of the deadly needles of the missiles slung under its wings. Joey dove back into the drivers seat, landing hard with a grunt. He slammed the tank into gear and floored the throttle, even before the first cries of “MOVE IT” crackled through his headset. The Bull’s Continental R-975 radial screamed brutally as it went from idle to full power in seconds, hurling the tank forwards.
The missiles slammed into the ground where the Bull had just been moments before, the Sukhoi screaming overhead seconds later, pilot howling obscenities to the wind as his quarry tore away.
Inside the Bull’s turret, there were plenty more obscenities, as Winston furiously tried to reset the fire control system, while Jacobs wrestled with the magazine controls, attempting to reload the guns with their high explosive AAA ammo.
“It’s no good Yank, the guns are still too hot! The system won’t re-initialise with the gauges still pegged!
Meanwhile, on the radar screen, the Sukhoi looped around, and began cruising back for the kill.
Then, it happened. Joey, trying to see where the fighter was attacking from, failed to see a large boulder stuck in the earth near the edge of the trail. He swerved at the last second, but it was too late: the Bull skidded sideways into the boulder, slamming into it roughly next to the left front roadwheel. The armoured track guard withstood the blow, but the force of it, coupled with the full speed skid pulled the left track clear off its sprocket. The Bull immediately slewed to a halt, engine stalled. In the turret, it was chaos, as the crash threw Jacobs hard into the turret wall, his left shoulder dislocating with a sickening pop. Over his groans of agony, Winston could hear Joey calling out groggily, “TRACK!!, we’ve thrown a track!!”
The radar, running on power from the APU, showed the Sukhoi, still bearing down on them, closing slowly, probably for a gun pass, thought Winston sourly. He thumped the console hard out of pure frustration - any second now, 30mm shells from the fighter would tear through the thin turret armour, and that would be that.
Then, Winston blinked in surprise: the red ’overheat warning light’, which had been constantly glaring at him from between the twin barrel heat gauges had gone out, and the temp. had dropped! Desperately, Winston threw himself at the ‘AUTO’ setting switch, as the Sukhoi began to fire.
The guns jerked upwards in their mounts as the system re-engaged, and erupted into a cacophony of noise and flame as the twin Bofors went to maximum rapid fire mode, hurling 40mm death at the attacking fighter.
Far too close to dodge, the Flanker seemed to literally absorb every round fired into it, before erupting into a titanic fireball.
The flaming wreckage screamed downwards, straight at the Bull. Winston gaped in horror at the camera display, and then just shut his eyes, and did something truly out of the ordinary - he prayed.
Epilogue
30th August, 1986
Berlin
Newly minted Major Shaun Jacobs stood on the review stand, barely hearing the congratulations of the senior officers clustered around him. The gleaming medal on his chest contrasted harshly with the plaster cast that ran from his shoulder to his wrist, holding his left arm across his chest, at a semi comfortable angle. It seemed like no time at all had passed since that final, awful confrontation on that hilltop in (?).
Row after row of vehicles and troops paraded past the stand, so many that they just became a blur after a while.
‘Cheer up lad!’ whispered the gray haired British General to his right, ‘Looks like some of your chums have dropped in to say hello…!’ He gestured down the street, where Jacobs could faintly hear a familiar clattering. As it grew louder, he was astounded to see the Bull, resplendent in freshly painted Berlin Brigade camouflage, clank around the street corner, with a proud figure stood upright in the turret hatch.
As the tank trundled sedately past the review stand, Winston turned to face the reviewing officers, and performed a perfect salute, which Jacobs and the Generals returned. Joey gave his own, inimitable salute - as they drew abreast Jacobs, a hand shot up from the drivers hatch, and gave a huge thumbs up…
And there the story of the Bull and her crew comes to a close. Jacobs going on to a stellar career with US Army Systems Command, and finally getting together with that Dutch Generals daughter.
As for ‘Sarge’ Winston, he and Joey retired to Norfolk, and work at the Muckleburgh Tank Collection, where he ‘arranged’ for the Bull to be shipped to. Every so often, he regales visitors with tales of ‘The Third World War’, and his part in it, which grows more death-defying and with every telling, Joey smiles quietly at the stories, shakes his head, and contents himself with taking visitors for rides in the Bull along the beaches.
Six Months Later:
Somewhere in Whitehall
The last of the committee members entered the room, took their seats according to rank, and the doors were locked and sealed. The security personnel performed one last sweep of the room, and, satisfied that they had found nothing, nodded to the man standing at the top of the table, and withdrew to their side room.
The man tapped gently on the glass sitting by his notebook to silence the light chatter in the room;
‘Gentlemen’, he intoned graciously, ‘Thank you for coming - let us begin’ He motioned to the projectionist, who dimmed the lights, and activated her projector. As images of an AFV with a large, boxy turret, retractable radar, and a low, sleek hull began to appear on the screen behind him, the man began his report.
‘As you can see, the prototype has been assembled, using hull components from the new Challenger MBT, and has undergone some successful mobility testing already. Our technicians assure me that the prototype will be nuclear-capable by the end of the month…’
