Chieftains

'Inkester, you must have been a bloody aggravating kid!' Davis leant back in his seat. To his right, through his episcope, he could see the sector at the rear of the NATO defence lines, sparsely wooded country that was little more than a long sweeping plain until it met the outskirts of Hannover some forty kilometers away. He deliberately allowed his thoughts to drift, encouraging them away from the jaggedness of war, using memories to soften reality. He was with Hedda and the boys at Hamburg Zoological Gardens. The afternoon was warm, the children sticky-handed and the animals lethargic. The children were more interested in a playground than the animals; he and Hedda sat in the shade while the children exhausted themselves, shrieking and laughing. He couldn't remember how many Cokes he had bought, it seemed like a dozen, plus an equal number of ice-creams. When they had returned home the exhausted children were pleased to get to bed, and Hedda had brought him a beer on the apartment balcony. It had been a happy day, a family day, and the evening was good, too. It was satisfying just sitting there, drinking the beer and hearing Hedda prepare supper, knowing the kids were asleep in their room. It was the best part of being a father, a husband. Hedda had been in a loving mood; it had been a good day, all round. There were others like it to think about.

His eyes were half-closed and he was almost asleep. There was a sudden bright glow of light which penetrated his eyelids like the burst of a photographic lightbulb; he could feel intense heat on his cheeks. The light did not die away but increased rapidly until pain forced him to react. He ducked. The interior of the Chieftain was lit by sharp-edged beams flooding through the vision blocks in the turret.

The twenty kiloton nuclear warhead of a Soviet SS-1 Scud missile exploded close behind the NATO front line, its skyburst destroying all unprotected living things beneath it for an area of two and a half square miles.

Davis's mind had grasped and interpreted the brief warning. He attempted to shout but no sounds would come from his throat. For the first time in his life terror completely overcame him. He tried to scream to dispel the agonizing fear which twisted at his intestines, but his years gagged him.

The silence broke with the sudden roar of the pressure wave which lifted the stern of the Chieftain's fifty-two ton hull three meters from the ground, tilting the bow against the embankment until the tank was near vertical, the muzzle of the gun driving deep into the earth as the crew were hurled forward on to the instruments and controls.

The flame-blackened debris of uprooted trees, shrubs and buildings blasted past. The Chieftain's hull dropped, the suspension units shearing from their mountings as it bounced crazily.

A second vast concussion, the implosion, spun the tank sideways as though it were weightless, shaking it like a dog with a rag before discarding it, the thunderous roar dying only slowly.

The terror remained with Davis; it was night outside the Chieftain, swirling dust clouds thicker than the densest battle-smoke. The ground beneath the tank was no longer solid, quivering, rippling as it transmitted the shock of more distant nuclear explosions.

Spink, supporting himself against the breech, managed to switch on the fighting compartment lights; fine dust and fuel droplets haloed them in miniature rainbows until the wiring shorted and the tank was in darkness again.

He had seen Morgan Davis briefly; reaching forward to pull Inkester back into his seat. The gunner's head, his respirator torn away by impact with the sharp edges of the Chieftain's equipment, was cut and bleeding; his eyes were wide, staring like those of a hare cornered by a dog.

'Hewett…Spink?' Morgan Davis shouted the men's names, his voice urgent. There was a burst of red flame neat the ammunition locker. Spink tried desperately to open the hatch above him, but the hatch lever was jammed. He heard Davis again: 'Hang on, lads…it's over…it's all bloody over!'

The flames were growing, spreading along the floor beside the charge bins, scorching Spink's legs. He turned quickly towards Davis's cupola, the only escape route left. The warrant officer was sitting motionless, Mocking his way. The bright reflection of the fire made a halo around him. Like a painting on an icon.

***