Chieftains

Davis saw the enemy armour. He had expected perhaps a single squadron, edging cautiously into the fields of the plain in the direction Sidworth had indicated. But far below him were row upon row of Soviet tanks, sixty or seventy, already crossing the misty corridor of ploughed ground that with its barbed wire had constituted the frontier. As his fear magnified them, for a moment they appeared as invincible monsters far greater in size, far more heavily armed than anything he had ever imagined. Where was the minefield? Could nothing stop them? What were the NATO gunners doing? Why weren't they firing? A minefield was only any good when covered by artillery. Davis controlled his growing sense of panic. Fear could take away a man's reason, make him commit fatal errors. He had a lot to live for…Hedda, the twins,…their future…his own. His hands were trembling, so he gripped the turret controls more tightly. Work to the book, he told himself. Take it easy and stay calm. Don't forget the lessons, the hundreds of hours of practice. Trust Bravo Two, she's a good tank. He took several deep slow breaths, then forced himself to concentrate on the terrifying landscape ahead.

The smoke screen was becoming denser but he could still see the advancing Russian tanks. They had already suffered heavy casualties. Several were burning in the ploughed strip of land that was freshly pitted with craters. In the woods beyond, more smoke, obviously from oil and fuel fires, was wreathing above the trees. He tried to identify the enemy vehicles. Some, at the head of the attack formation, were the new T-80s fitted with mine-clearing ploughs, but he recognized T-72s and the earlier T-62s It looked as if the Soviet division was using every available piece of armour it could find to add weight to their thrust.

Part of the battle group's Swingfire battery was concealed in a shallow gulley skirting a thin plantation of larches. From his position well above them on the ridge of high ground, Davis could see their vehicles, and even a few of the men. They were less than three thousand meters from the first wave of Soviet tanks, and had either survived the storm of the barrage, or been moved quickly into position under cover of the smoke. He watched two of their missiles leave the launchers almost simultaneously. He was unable to follow their course, but one of the leading T-80s disappeared in an inverted cone of fire, and a second later there was explosion at ground level beside a T-72, which slewed sideways as it shed a track.