Firestorm: Red Thunder

Battle number two from this afternoon, and I really messed up my formation on this one. For some reason I had it in my head that Chieftains were 7pts each, before Stillbrew. So, I was calculating my points at 49pts for seven Chieftains, and then upgrading the HQ to have Stillbrew... My mistake, but for some reason, things still panned out.

Mission was Free-For-All from the Short Missions.

Captain Hughes was a tall Welshman from near Glamorgan. He gathered his crews round the front of their rather small Chieftain company.

"This is it, boys. We're to hold the line here."

He gestured out across the German countryside. The other tankers glancing round. There wasn't much to see in their opinion; a lonely petrol station, an abandoned wheat field growing wild now, and a fast flowing river to their west.

"Sir? How are we going to hold out... I saw the news report this morning. We're done for sir."

One of the loaders from second troop raised his hand, a few nodding, whilst others shook their heads with a bit more bravado.

"Well, the way I see it. We'll just have to pretend there's more of us. Headquarters don't have the manpower to send more. Something about a mathematical error."

The Welshman's words stretching out in his accent.

"And anyway, remember our Motto: Death, or Glory. Now, mount up... it's almost time."

A distant rumbling began, the sound of jet engines, and a familiar, fearsome sound of rotors filling the early afternoon air.

"And we'll be ready."

"Hold the line!"

The call went out across the comm. Nestled in the woods to the North of the fields, the crews huddled in their tanks, awaiting the Soviet advance.

"They've got a whole bleedin' army coming at us, sir!"

Hughes' gunner reported, using his scope to spot the field. A whole battalion of T-72s were rolling through the fields, whilst overhead a pair of Hinds roamed into view.

"Don't worry, boys. We'll give them a nice, warm welcome. On my mark!"

"Command! Engaging hostiles!"

A crackling report came across the radio, followed by the staccato of machine-gun fire, one of the Hinds twisting, dipping and careening into the dirt, before exploding in a fireball as some lucky fire took their pilot. The response was a panicked one as the missiles from the 'Krokodil' streaked past the trees.

"Well, if that's done anything, it's made them mad, let's move boys!"

"On my mark... Give them hell!"

Captain Hughes barked over the comm, his calm, soft tone replaced by a sharp one as the Chieftains roared into life, moving quickly into position. 2nd Troop loading and firing, igniting the T-72s in the field as they advanced, a shocking tell on the Soviets, and one that even caught Hughes by surprise.

"Good job, boys, just-..."

His words were cut short as the Hind rolled back into view, settling and hitting home this time, no.3 of 2 troop grinding to a halt, with fire roaring out of the engine block.

"Command, no.3 is out of action. Sergeant Grey is reporting no casualties, but they're out of this one, sir!"

"That's received, 2 troop. Keep fighting!"

Hughes turned to view the effect of his own tankers. A few slightly wild shots across the wall of the petrol station finding only trees.

"No backing down now, boys. We're in for the long haul."

Hughes orders over the radio. The rattle of machine gun fire chasing the stray Hind away from their lines again, pushing it back as missiles streaked past their position.

"What in the bloody hell was that?"

Hughes demanded as he got a glimpse of two jets streaking overhead.

"Well, thank the Lord they're no good at lining up their fire, eh, boys?"

He tried to lighten the mood with a joke, but only slightly humourless chuckles were the response. Hughes focused on the task at hand again, setting up his sights as he spied the T-72s advancing to the edge of the wood.
Across the field some T-55s stick their noses out of the woods, and 2 troop make them pay for it, a few shots lighting them up, and sending them retreating back round the trees.
To his left, no.3 suddenly goes up in flames as a lucky shot flips the turret off it.

"Dammit! Return fire, all guns, focus... What in the blue blazes was that?!"

The entire tank rocked to the side as something impacted on the side.

"Sir! BMP, 3-o'clock, firing HEAT!"

"Well, give him what for, gunner! Get to it!

The turret swung round, the smaller vehicle rolling across the lumpy meadows towards them, gun flaring as they roared forward.

"Engage that target!"

The loader slammed the shell into the breech, the gunner lining up his sight, before pulling the trigger. The BMP stood no chance, grinding to a halt, pops and sparks flying as the ammunition lit up.

"The poor bastards. We'll have to say at least a dozen 'Hail Marys' for that one, boys."

Hughes groaned, but was snapped back to reality by the comm again.

"Command! no.2 is lost, that damn helicopter got them! We're sticking around, but we're going undercover, over."

"Command to 2. Understood, good work, and stay safe. Out.
Okay boys, time to take the fight to them, advance!"

"Push them back!"

Hughes snapped over the comm as his troop rolled out of the woods, over the petrol station wall, firing as they went. The final few T-72s bailing, and burning as 120mm rounds hit home. The poor Volksarmee's armour no match for the heavy shells.

"1 Troop. Take that ridge. If we push onto it, there's no escape for their west flank. Move!"

Hughes commanded, a sudden burst of sound, followed by bright lights and a blaring alarm sounding in the fighting compartment.

"S-r... -it... hi-... I said, we took a hit, we're tracked sir... That damned helo got a lucky one on us..."

His loader's voice echoing around his head as he tried to get his vision straight.

"Damn... and 1. troop?"

"They've got the ridge, sir. The Reds are pulling back. I think we won, sir."

"Oh, gwaith da... Let me get my head together, and we'll report in."

Hughes rubbed his temples as he stood up in the cupola. He could see the two remaining tanks of 1. troop holding the hill as around him Soviet tanks burned. The remaining T-55AM2s which had been mainly held back on the south-west flank were pulling back, followed by some strange trucked vehicles, mounting missile racks. The loan Hind sailing off into the sunset as his compatriot lay smoking in a nearby field.

"Home for tea and medals, sir?"

His loader asked, sitting on the front plate, watching the dust plumes fade into the distance.

"Yes. Home for tea and medals."

"2. troop is reporting engine damage to no.3, and no.2 is almost a write off. While 1. troop reports no.3 is scrap."

"Damn. Well, get on the line to the Engineers, that's their job. We've done ours."

In a little twist, I've used Welsh for the headings. But don't worry if you can't read Welsh, the first line of dialogue from Hughes or his men is what is written above