Firestorm: Red Thunder

Captain Dogwood and the other lads of the Kings Own Scottish Borderers get a little lost as they accidentally cross into the Frankfurt area of the warzones, but end up meeting up with Captain Hughes pulling back from Hanover.

You'll notice the tables are a little different today, this is because Nabeshin, K. Alexander, Mother Crusher and myself took a trip to Common Ground Games in Stirling for a day of gaming to round off the Firestorm Campaign.

Cpatain Dogwood and the rest of the boys were seated in the back of the FV432, trundling through the serene German countryside when the column suddenly came to a halt. He let out a frustrated sigh, they were already delayed returning to the line in Hanover and join up with the rest of the British I Corps. He got up and gave the command to dismount and see what the hold up was.
In the early morning sunshine, he could see the Scimitars leading the column had come to a halt just past some train tracks on the edge of a small town.

"Horseham, get the men out to stretch their legs, I'm going to find oot whit this mad bastard is up tae..."

He grumbled patting the side of the APC and starting down the road towards the Cavalry troop.

"Bridge-watter! Explain yersel'!"

He yelled at the small group of men assembled round the lead vehicle, gesturing in various directions and raising their voices to try to get the point across. The call from Dogwood hushed them as they stood aside to reveal a slightly drained looking 2nd Lieutenant.

"Sah... It could be that we perhaps took the wrong road at Dortmund, and instead of heading East, we came South... a little ways away." The officer reported smartly, trying to hide his embarrassment. Dogwood put a hand over his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally counting to ten in his head.

"So, whit yer sayin' tae me is... we're lost?" He asked, as calmly as he could. The tall man in front of him nodding sheepishly.

"Well you see, the map was dirty, I think it was coffee an-..."
"HORSEHAM! Get the men spread oot, we're goin' to ask some of the locals. Bridge-watter... you'd best be drivin' on and seein' if there's a sign doon the road, do ye understand me?" He barked directions, men scattering into vehicles and heading towards the town. "McLellan! Take your boys down to yon petrol station and see what you can find, arty your boys park up behind those trees in case some wanker catches sight of ye, Horseham, Moray, lads, we'll check this station oot.."

It was an hour later, 1st Platoon was camped out in the little garden in front of the train station, 2nd platoon was milling around the petrol station a short distance away, and the Scimitar troop had vanished into the distance to try to understand where they were.

"Sir... those hay bales are massive, sir." One of the young corporals commented, pointing to the wheat field nearby.

"Aye son, you could hide a tank in wan of them" Dogwood chuckled, thinking back to the night-time encounter in Hamburg almost month ago. "Hang aboot..." He got up and jogged over to the field, leaning on the small fence, and almost fell backwards as a British soldier stuck his head out of the wheat.

"Sorry to startle you, sir. Tanker Jones, second troop, 4th Armoured. We're the Welsh Troop, sir." The man informed him.

"Whit in the blue blazes is goin' on?" Dogwood demanded, pulling himself up.

"Captain Hughes is commander of our squadron, sir. He's currently en route, but we're taking a little moment for camouflage training, sir." He pointed to the hay bale behind him, a barrel just about visible from within.

"Are you tellin' me there's a tank in there?" Dogwood demanded in disbelief, more that once again one of the tankers had pulled this trick.

"Yes sir, and-..."

"Captain Dogwood, sir! We have reports of an armoured force heading our direction!" Horseham yelled from the station.

"Well, yer trainin' is field work now, good luck lads." Dogwood nodded to him, returning to his men and barking orders into the comm as the Milan troop climbed the roof of the train station for a clear field of view, the men in the petrol station took position and the tanks in the field melted back into non-existence.

"Good luck lads." He echoed again.

"Don't bother with the pipes, Moray. We don't want them to know we're here yet." Dogwood commanded as the steady stream of Soviet tanks rolled into range. It didn't look like a full Battalion, but then again, where there's a dozen tanks, the other dozen wasn't far behind.

The lead tanks rumbled towards their positions, tipping and rolling as they traversed the fields, swinging right past the concealed Chieftain troop in the other. They suddenly pulled to a stop, guns levelling and opening up on the train station.

"Jesus! Heads doon lads!" Dogwood commanded as the station took hit after hit, one seemingly catching a Milan team, but the soldiers emerged from the rubble unscathed.

"2nd Platoon to Whisky Command. We're sighting multi-" A crack of 73mm fire from a BMP split the communication.

"McLellan! Open fire, give them whit fir!" Dogwood yelled down the comm, grabbing the collar of one of his sergeants and pointing to the apartment buildings to their left. "In there, get them movin'!" He commanded as the Abbot troop opened up, wreaking havoc amongst the Soviet tanks encroaching on their position, but doing no permanent damage.

Dogwood was just about to give another order when three of the tanks in the wheat field burst into flames, one of them lighting up like a Roman Candle as the ammunition took a direct hit, the hay bales shaking themselves apart as the tanks rolled out of them.

"I cannae believe that worked... again!" Dogwood laughed heartily as he pushed men through the doors of the apartment block, into safety.

The pounding of gunfire from outside seemed to be dulled by the thick concrete walls of the apartment building as Dogwood counted his men in, before carrying on and jogging up the stairs to get a clearer view of the battle.
He burst out onto the roof and looked out over the field below. He could see the burning hulls of the T-64s setting the field on fire below him, the lone survivor rolling his tank round to engage the newly appeared threat, but the shock seemed to have put him off as the shots flew wide, but his luck held out as the crews of the Chieftains returned fire, his armour saving him from peril.

Over the other side of the field, Dogwood could see the other company of T-64 tanks steaming down the road, bypassing the threat of his men entrenched in the petrol station, until the lead tank took some hits from the front and ground to a halt.

"Whisky Command? This is Hughes of the Welsh, we ran into your boys down the road, they said you might need a hand, over!" A friendly Welsh voice crackled over the comm as a troop of Chieftains crested the hill into the town, guns blazing, but the lucky T-64s holding out against their barrage.

"Welsh Armoured? Well, we're glad yer here tae get stuck in. Have at them!" Dogwood watched on excited at the armoured backup.

With the flank his men were holding with the Chieftain troop just about secured, Dogwood was going to focus on the arrival of the Welsh. But his attention was caught for a moment by an artillery shell slicing through a BMP huddled behind the large gas storage tanks, splitting it apart.

"Well, looks like yer aim has improved, arty," He muttered to himself and turned back to the newly arrived tanks.

The T-64s, stopped by the sudden appearance of the Chieftains began to roll forward again, one of the British tanks taking a bad hit and careening into a hedgerow where it sat smouldering. The comm crackling back into life.

"Swingfire troop, engage!" The voice of Hughes commanded, as Dogwood watched three converted FVs roll round behind the hapless tanks, missiles streaking out of the top of them and impacting with incredible power into the rear of the Soviet armour. The combined fire of the Welsh troop putting paid to any more resistance from the Russians, the remaining tankers popping their hatches and surrendering, including after Dogwood grabbed his binoculars and checked his opposite number.

"Well then, this isnae something I'd planned on doin' today." He mentioned off-hand, Horseham looking to him.

"Not disappointed you weren't involved, sir?"

"No, no this time. We didnae have tae send anyone home in a bag."

The very confused German housewife scurried back and forward, passing out cups of watery tea and what little bread she had to the uniformed men who had knocked politely at her door.

"Ta, a nice cuppa." Hughes accepted his as Dogwood sipped his own, disappointed it didn't contain something stronger.

"Well, good thing ye happened along when ye did. That could've gotten ugly." Dogwood complimented, nodding to Hughes and even Bridgewater-Smythe in gratitude.

"We just happened to be in the area, pulling back from Hanover to resupply, before he head back in." Hughes replied, setting his tea down.

"We're goin' back in, how is it?"

"It's... not good. But then again, when is it ever?"

"True."