Podini said: ‘Countdown begun… ten… nine…’
‘Very funny you Wop nut…’Adams wasn’t amused.
The explosion of the bowser had stirred wild activity into the area; a group of infantrymen were hurrying across the open ground in front of the nearest of the bridges. A twin automatic anti-aircraft gun with a high rate of fire began loosing off indiscriminate bursts into the hillside above the XM1. It wouldn’t take them too long to find their target… the Abrams had got off the first shot without being seen, but plenty of eyes would be scouring the darkness watching for the source of the second:
Podini fired. The explosion of the shell was unspectacular. ‘Come on Gins… come on… move your ass…’
‘Loaded…’
‘Go you shit…’ The XM1 surged as Podini fired again.
‘Okay… move out, Adams,’ shouted Browning.
Adams slammed the Allison transmission into reverse and spun the XM1 sideways, then ten meters back along the gulley into the open field. As he did so the hull vibrated to the rapid explosion of a dozen high explosive rounds in the hollow where they had been hull-down. Adams changed to forward gear and accelerated fast. He hit the low wall and the XM1 bucked wildly, the stone glancing off the hull like shrapnel and scattering into the darkness.
Browning hadn’t seen the gun’s third shell strike. Near the first bridge the fuel bowser was still blazing furiously. He thought he could make out the position of the anti-aircraft gun, and was bringing the.5 to bear when the entire strip of ground that was his night vision horizon burst upwards in a blinding flash of white fire. He saw trees blasted out of the ground, and huge pieces of unidentifiable debris hurled from the centre of the explosion. The tight was so fierce he was forced to cover his eyes with his hand, but the vision of the towering explosion remained. The XM1 hit the shock wave as though it were being driven into a deep snow drift.
‘Christ!’ Browning didn’t know whether Podini was cursing or praying.
Adams had his feet on the brake and the XM1 was almost stationary.
‘Keep her going, Adams… move the cowson…’ Browning found that so long as he was looking directly towards the raging fires near the bridges he could see, but the remainder of the landscape which had formerly been twilight through his night-sight was now pitch-black.
The whole stretch of woodland beyond the dump where the missile launcher had been conceded was blazing, as though a hundred napalm bombs had been dropped within the small area.
‘HE, I told you it was HE,’ Podini was shouting joyfully. ‘Boy, see that rocket go… Jesus Christ…’
A Russian truck was being driven furiously but blindly on a diagonal collision course towards Utah. Browning expected Adams to change direction; he didn’t. Utah struck the truck a third of the way along the body, tore it apart and tossed the wreckage high into the air. The tank shuddered. Behind them the front end of the truck somersaulted across the field shedding bodies, and then burst into flames.
Browning began using the.5 machine gun, concentrating on the riverbank where some of the anti-aircraft defaces had been positioned. He could not see a clear target, but hoped his bullets were encouraging the AA gunners to keep their heads down. ‘Adams… right a bit… Podini… go for the bridges…’ As he spoke the nearest bridge erupted into a mass of fire and twisted metal. ‘Forget it… leave them to the BGS… hit the transports.’
Podini was firing as fast as Ginsborough could get shells and charges into the breech, and Adams had cut the speed again, keeping Utah close to the cover below the hill. The first of the PG-7 anti-tank rockets exploded three meters ahead, followed by a second more to the right. Adams accelerated. He saw a group of infantry twenty meters ahead and drove for them; three chose the wrong direction and were pulped beneath the XM1’s tracks.
Two shells fired by one of the twin 23mm anti-aircraft guns shrieked off Utah’s Chobham armour, the third exploded on the turret ring, failed to penetrate, but jammed the Cadillac Cage turret drive.
Podini yelled, ‘Let’s get the fuck out of here…’
Utah rocked as an anti-tank grenade exploded close to the hull. Browning could see a platoon of enemy infantry charging towards the hill. ‘Okay, Mike… let’s go.’
Adams spun the tank, the violence of his action tossing Browning against the equipment which surrounded him. Adams, like Browning, had lost most of his night vision. Now that Utah was heading into the darkness he could see nothing, and they were closer to the river than he realized.
The NATO bar mine, ploughed into the riverbank the previous night by US Engineers, exploded under the rear of the tank, tearing off the track, rear bogeys and drive wheel, and rupturing the fuel tanks. The driving and fighting compartments were filled with a fine mist of diesel fuel. Utah stopped dead as the transmission locked solid.
Browning knew they had only seconds before the fuel would ignite and Utah burst into flame. He yelled: ‘Bale out, guys…’ He rammed the hatch open and climbed on to the hull. He could see Ginsborough pulling himself from the loader’s hatch nearby. Podini’s head and shoulders were close to him, he grabbed them and lifted the man dear of the turret, pushing him off the hull before jumping down beside him.
‘Where’s Mike?’ Podini shouted the question wildly.
‘Get down… she’ll go any second.’ Browning tried to drag Podini further away from Utah but Podini wrenched himself free and ran towards the front of the tank, pulling himself on to the sloping foredeck. He reached the driver’s hatch and tried to open it. It was jammed. Browning heard a burst of machine gun fire and saw Podini spin back against the turret, his body jerking with the impact of the bullets before it folded over the barrel of the M68. Smoke billowed suddenly from the hatches, and ignited with a dull roar.
Browning was on his knees. He could see Ginsborough to his left, crouching, watching, his eyes wide and his mouth open as though he were screaming silently. Silhouetted against the fires of the supply dump the body of Podini hung across the Abrams’ gun-barrel, his clothes burning. Four Soviet infantrymen were running towards the tank.
Browning stood up. There was nothing more to be done; it was all over. He raised his hands, saw that the Russians had stopped and were watching him in the light of the flames, and felt a strange sense of relief. He took a step forward, and as he did so the infantrymen began firing. Will Browning’s second war had lasted his lifetime.
SIXTEEN
Second Lieutenant Robin Sache-Worrel was feeling very uncertain of a situation which had developed in the stay-behind unit ‘Magpie’. For the past three and a half hours he had been sitting in the fighting compartment of his Scimitar questioning his own memory, He had been standing near Captain Fellows when the orders had come through from headquarters. He heard Fellows repeat the radio message. ‘Apex Crown Echo… Trophy Bacon Sunset Juliet area.’
Then the captain had translated for Lieutenant Hinton: ‘Wizard had given us one K west of Hehlingen as the location of the Soviet Divisional HQ.’
Things had happened so quickly after the unit received its orders that Sache-Worrel gave them no more thought until the SAS had left to reconnoitre the area and determine the exact situation of the enemy headquarters the stay-behind-unit were to attack. Sache-Worrel’s mind had been keyed up by the thought of the coming action. He had no experience of death or pain in war, and there had been no sense of fear to dull his anticipation. He knew its dangers only secondhand.
His present uncertainty had nothing to do with his own future in a physical sense. It had arisen during the waiting period, when the adrenalin level had eventually dropped and his thoughts became more reasoned. Captain Fellows’ translation of ‘Trophy Bacon Sunset Juliet area’, had been incorrect.
‘Bacon’ was not Hehlingen; Sache-Worrel was certain it was Bisdorf.
He had run through the day’s codes a hundred times in his head. The more he did so the more positive he became that the code-name for the town of Hehlingen was ‘Brandy’; ‘Bacon’ as Bisdorf was a full ten kilometers further south.
Sache-Worrel was very aware he was the most junior of the Scimitar commanders in the stay-behind unit. It was unusual for all commanders, within what was virtually a troop, to be commissioned. But it had been thought by HQ that, with a high casualty probability, this would enable the unit to continue to function regardless of losses. Sache-Worrel was only a second lieutenant, and above him in rank were two first lieutenants, Roxforth and Gunion,
