Firestorm: Red Thunder

First contact was hard on Panzergrenadier Battalion 24, especially their CO Hauptmann Franz Messer; a long serving officer in the Bundeswehr. It was only yesterday night when his Battalion, stationed near Niederbayern, was tasked with an Eastern push. Assaulting embedded Russian positions near the old industrial town under the cloak of darkness sounded like a good idea at the time. Poor high level resource allocation had left the Grenadiers without armoured support, but they marched onwards regardless. Messer could still remember the small crack of the radio that coincided with a plume of flame and smoke from his subordinate’s positions. He’d lost a lot of men in that disordered attack, along with the notion that he was mentally sturdy enough to get through even one more day of this war.

“Hello ANVIL leader, this is HAMMER leader. Be advised we are approaching due South from your position, area charlie-charlie-one-zero, moving to primary positions, copy.” The foreign voice spoke down the radio set with a confidence Messer envied, even his own call sign started to sound ill-gotten given yesterday’s performance. The British had arrived with their heavy hitters following the feedback from Messer to high command.

Hauptmann Messer cleared his throat. “HAMMER leader, this is ANVIL leader. I copy. We’ll leave the Southern sector to you. The roads will let you push in fast, my men and I will advance through the farmland to the North.” He croaked. The effort required to produce words was much higher than he remembered, he didn’t even recognise his own voice. “Over.”

Before he could snap out of his trance, all units were in position and reports of Russian armour sightings began popping up in the radio feed. No time for indulging in self-flagellation, Messer needed to focus on taking the town back from the Reds with one more push. That’s the only way he can ensure the deaths of his fellow men were not in vain.

The forward scouting Luchs units called it in first, roughly five T-72s, line abreast behind the hedgerows. A British Scorpion unit radioed in another gun line of tanks bunkered down along the road. This was the iron-clad cage protecting the enemy AA platoons, preventing NATO air support from venturing anywhere near the AO. The plan was simple, strike quickly before the night is out, eliminate enemy Anti-Air assets then let air support mop up when dawn breaks. Moving the Luchs and Marder units that were setup on the rail tracks dismounted, infantry scattered into the fields, sizing up the barn. Too dangerous, enemy tanks are looking right into the doorways. Another team of scouts huddled around the gas silos, spotting a Spandrel unit in the open. “Guns firing!” At that moment, tracer fire danced toward the slumbering armoured vehicles, their crew bailing before any damage was done.

Meanwhile, with the help of some smoke rounds from German artillery, the British armoured column was moving down the road with momentum, immediately flanking one of the Russian tank lines. The Chieftains came to rest, pausing briefly before launching a volley of ballistics into the sides of the unaware metal giants before them, tearing three tanks to shreds of glowing hot steel.

The Russians react immediately, the remaining tanks jerk back to another line of hedges, pulling their guns around to fire on the Chieftains barrelling up the road. The lack of night equipment on their visuals proves to be of great detriment, the guns lose their shots to the darkness. The other tank platoon, along with the Shilkas, swings around to the North They cut off the advance of the Marders and infantry from the railroad; they had obviously been spotted. Again, the Russians night fighting equipment let them down as shots whizz overhead of the advancing Germans.

The scout unit that had been harassing the Spandrels continue their relentless fire, picking off one of the cars and dismounting another crew. In their furore, they clock the second enemy AA unit behind the hedges, deep into Russian territory. Spotting information is relayed back through the chain, the artillery unit’s OP moves up at dash pace ready to line up shots at the enemy AA units. In an effort to pour fire onto the Germans, the Shilkas had moved into the open and presenting NATO forces with an opportunity to pick them off. The scout units burst out into the open, the Marders slowly advancing behind them in the bushes, positioning their guns to fell the AA unit. All guns open up, and after the cacophony of heavy fire had ceased, a short pause. Then, the screeching of exploding ammunition from within the target. The first AA unit had been destroyed.

The British keep their head, sitting low on the road waiting for the Russian tanks to present themselves. The newly arrived second tank company creeps up on the Russians directly from the West. A muzzle flash reveals the location of one of their hiding tanks, the British guns answer, bailing out another Russian vehicle.

The remaining Red tank units tighten their grip on their entrenchments, pulling back even further behind the town square and mustering up their firepower upon the approaching Chieftains. With a deep echo, the rounds ping off the slopes of the Chieftain turrets like skipping stones off a still pond. At the same time, their Northern section unit dispatches the Luchs, now in the open. Ballistics from the main gun slice clean through their non-existant armour. The remaining guns turn and train on the Marder, stuck in the bushes. It didn’t stand a chance; point-blank, the cannons ripped through the metal shell of the now empty infantry carrier. The flames spread to the field nearby where German infantry remain still in wait, stirring only at the thought that the tanks may see them with their heads in the dirt.

A familiar voice comes through the radio, and another, reinforcements. They were late, but damn they were welcome. The pieces of the puzzle began falling into place; no doubt more armour and Hinds will be showing up. Gepard Flak units rally forward into a forward firing position the moment they make visual contact with the invading forces. Jaguar 2s, with improved thermal imaging, follow suite and roll up to the wall overlooking the massed Russian forces. With the momentum this created, the British set to take the initiative yet again, focusing all fire onto the remaining tank unit to the South. Their keen marksmanship proved to be second to none, shots rung through the bushes, lighting up the remaining two tank teams embedded there.

“Hello ANVIL leader, this is HAMMER leader. Enemy armour in our AO is destroyed, repeat, enemy armour destroyed. We are proceeding to defensive positions around village square. Copy, over.”

Sure enough, as Hauptmann Messer glanced up through his cupola, the enemy lines were indeed receding. Maybe they no longer valued the defensible position they were in, perhaps they didn’t have reinforcements coming, or even the Reds knew when to cut their losses. Who knows, all Messer knew was that, by some miracle, and with the help of neighbouring allies, they had managed to drive Ivan back, cutting a swathe into the Red Horde. Perhaps this small reprise will provide an opportunity in the grand scheme of the war, a chance to fight back, hunt instead of being the prey.