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Firestorm: Red Thunder

The Team Yankee Global Campaign

Armoured Clash - Russians vs British - 50pts

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Warsaw Pact
Comrade Crapinsky
VS British
K. Alexander
2nd Battalion's starting positions

Colonel Orinsky leant over the lip of the cupola, his T-72 hull down behind a low hill, and stared into the inky space ahead of him. It was a cloudy, moonless, night, and he could barely see the Hanover skyline in the distance. Last night's reconnaissance flypast had revealed that the sector ahead of him was all but empty, the British withdrawing most of their forces after the area had been punished by an air strike; but that was six hours ago.

“Damn this darkness,” he muttered to himself. His foe could have moved a whole battlegroup right under his nose and he wouldn’t have known. Orders had been to wait for dawn before attacking, to coordinate with the other battalions, but Orinsky wasn't about to lose the initiative.

“All units,” he barked into his mouthpiece, “make ready to attack.”

To his left, second company rolled towards the bridge, intent on securing the empty hamlet beyond. First company would loiter behind, as a reserve, while on his right the BMPs of the regimental recce company were spread out and moving forward, hoping to ford the river under the cover of darkness.

“Contact! Ahead! 200 metres!”

2nd Company engages the British

The silence was broken, and Orinsky ducked into the turret, instructing the gunner to swing left and survey second company's route of advance. In the distance, through their night vision equipment, they could see the outlines of British tanks in the supposedly deserted hamlet, but they had yet to engage the T-72s bearing down on them. Captain Ruskov had other ideas, and a volley of shells flew towards the capitalist tanks, kicking up dust and rubble but inflicting little damage on their targets.

Orinsky awaited the return, listening to the chatter of the BMP crews as they moved forwards. The BMP-2s had taken up overwatch positions in a field, covering the river and the few open lanes of fire with their powerful anti-tank missiles while further right his BMP-1s had bogged down trying to cross the river, infantry disembarking to dig out their transports. Orinsky was still chuckling at the irony when the first T-72 detonated.

“First company, advance!” he yelled, realising the British had found their marks. It took seconds for his order to be carried out, and only a minute to close the gap, but that was all the capitalists needed, annihilating a company of brave Russians as if it were nothing.

1st Company moves to the front

“Fire when ready!” he barked to his gunner, as he watched first company negotiate their way through smoke and wreckage. The British were manoeuvring, trying to put some space between them and the second wave.

“Contact right!” A new voice screamed, explosions in the background, and Orinsky realised his BMPs were coming under fire from somewhere.

“Back up! Reverse!” Another new voice, suddenly replaced with static as the BMP-2s caught fire.

“Contact ahead, move the Shilkas up to the river!” Orinsky yelled, hoping that it was enough, that whatever was attacking his BMPs could be taken down by autocannon fire.

The BMPs are caught in the open

The situation was chaos. He was throwing whatever he could at the British, hoping to inflict losses. His T-72s were trading fire with the British tanks, missiles streaked overhead from his right and the autocannon fire suddenly stopped. Another missile from behind him hit the side of a Chieftain, and a barrage of 125mm shells hit home. Explosions ahead of him, rather than to his side, comforted him for a second before he realised he was boxed in by wrecks, rubble, and the river.

The Russian fire finally hit home

The bridge was surely mined, the British weren't stupid, and he realised his folly had been a costly one. Orinsky signalled a withdrawal to first company, realising he couldn't do much more. As his driver reversed, Orinsky felt the tears coming. He had ignored his orders, thrown away his men, and for what?

He knew chastisement awaited him. The best he could hope for was a demotion or a reassignment, but he knew he deserved far worse. . .

Colonel Orinsky sounds the withdrawal

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British
K. Alexander
Wins

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