Chieftains

Davis had been watching the machine gun crew in the growing daylight. There was a kind of sadistic satisfaction in sitting inside the Chieftain with his mug of hot tea cupped in his hands, while the infantry shivered outside. One of the soldiers was standing, stretching, shaking his arms. He was taking a risk, a good sniper with a Dragunov and telescopic sight could pick him off from across the river. What the hell was he doing? He had stripped off the upper part of his NBC suit and was waving his helmet above his head. Another of the members of the GPMG crew was going to get him…no, was ignoring him…what in God's name were they doing with the machine gun? A man was lifting it off its bipod…he dropped it…picked it up, then threw it at one of the soldiers on the ground. They were laughing. One stumbled to his knees, then lay on his back, kicking his legs in the air like a crippled insect.

'Christ!' Davis shouted in horrified realization – tossing his half-finished mug of tea out of the way under his seat. 'Gas…gas…gas…All stations, this is Bravo One…gas…gas…gas…check all vehicles and close down.' He switched quickly to the squadron net. 'Hullo Shark, this is Bravo One…gas…gas…gas…Over.' He rammed on his respirator and blew out hard.

'Shark here…Roger Charlie Bravo One.' Captain Willis's voice was reassuringly steady. 'Do you have casualties? Over.'

'The infantry…I'll check the troop.' Davis's voice was slightly muffled, but he knew it would transmit.

'What kind of gas?'

'Chemical…unidentified.'

'How was it delivered?'

'No idea…no shells over…haven't seen aircraft. High altitude rockets, maybe.'

'Roger Charlie Bravo One…out.'

'DeeJay,' shouted Davis, 'you got your hatch clamped down and your respirator on?

'Yes.'

'Spink…check yours, lad.' Davis peered out through his lenses. The infantrymen he could see were hunched on the ground, curled into grotesque foetal postures; one was convulsing rhythmically, but the others were now all still. God, it was nasty…bloody terrifying. An unseen, unheard form of death that drifted in without warning. He could have been out there…leaning out of the turret for a breath of air when it arrived. The bastards; those bastard Russians. What about the rest of his troop?

'All stations Bravo, this is Nine…acknowledge. Over.'

'Bravo Two. Over.'

'Bravo Three. Over.'

Davis waited. Where the hell was Four? 'Bravo Four, this is One…acknowledge. Over?'

'Bravo Four. Over.'

Relief made Davis angry. 'Bravo Four, this is Nine. When I say acknowledge, I mean acknowledge…and fast okay? All Bravo Troop standby…and for God's sake stay closed-down. Any casualties near you? Over.'

Only one of the troop replied to his question. 'Bravo Three…report Milan squad knocked out here.'

'Roger Bravo Three. Out.'

PBI, they used to nickname them; poor bloody infantry. It was appropriate. 'Inkester, keep your eyes peeled.' DeeJay had already started the Chieftain's engine. 'Everything okay down there, DeeJay?'

'Ace, sir.'

'Spink? Spink, wake up, lad!'

'Yes, sir. I'm all right.'

'Fucking stay that way,' warned Inkester. 'Shit…look at that…' Four stub-winged aircraft in a tight diamond formation were swinging up above the distant woods, rising into a steep climb. Below them the ground was already a seething mass of napalm flame. 'What the hell are they, sir?'

They had come in so fast Davis had not seen their approach dive. 'Tomcats maybe…Yanks…ours anyway.' The aircraft were already only small dots; the formation broke, sunlight glinted on perspex and they were gone.

It's begun again, thought Davis. As though in confirmation, the hull of the Chieftain began to quiver with the shock of exploding missiles. Overhead, the shrieking roar of heavy artillery shells rose above the throb of the tank's engine. Two more days, please God…that's all, just two days…keep us alive for two more days until we're pulled out.

Floggers! He saw them in the distance against the dawn sky, chunky, menacing, only a hundred meters above the ground. They seemed to be aiming themselves directly at Charlie Bravo One. He lost them for a second and they were suddenly terrifyingly close…one disintegrated into a vast orange flame; a comet spewing flaming debris as it fell. The others…he saw missiles briefly…heard the explosions somewhere to the rear. Smoke! Shell bursts ahead of him. Ethereal dark serpents writhing from the earth, to envelop the fields and swell along the riverbanks. The ground leapt, trees and shrubs flattening beneath the sharp aerial detonations of canister, aimed against infantry already incapacitated by the gas; steel pellets hammered the Chieftain's armoured body, shot-blasting the paintwork from polished metal.