Withdrawal and Pursuit

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The driver was shivering, the temperature was dropping and the snow was falling harder. He didn't want to go back inside the tank, in these woods and on this narrow track he'd be lucky to see much from his periscope.

Reaching down with his left hand, he pulled his scarf up over his face. At the moment he did so, one of the tracks caught a root protruding from the soil and the tank lurched to the right. He got control quickly but not before catching hell from the commander.

"Driver, what the hell was that? Keep 'er under control, if we get off this path we'll probably throw a track."

"Sorry Skipper, won't happen again."

"Ah shit, driver, halt!"

The commander had turned to his rear to check on the infantry. They had stopped for some reason. It looked like their halftrack had bogged down, one of them was running up the trail to the tank.

The commander waited as the infantryman, a corporal, probably the new squad leader, climbed up onto the back deck of the tank.

"Sir! The halftrack has had it! Driver says the front axle is busted. Can we ride with you?"

The tank commander wondered if anything else could go wrong this day. He nodded and shouted, "Get a move on, we're still about two klicks from Checkpoint London. We need to hustle."

The infantryman waved a hand and went back to collect the remnants of his squad.

"Understood, we'll hold here, the reconnaissance element will be coming up to join us."

Once off the regimental frequency, he decided to go over and check on Three. The survivor had made it to them, but had died shortly thereafter. His gunner had tried to patch the man up, they thought they'd stopped the bleeding but the man's burns had been too extensive. His legs were charred.

"Gunner, come up here, I'm going over to Three. Somebody else might be alive over there. I saw two men get out of the turret hatches before she blew up. Besides, I need to clear my head."

Grabbing the machine pistol clipped inside the turret, the commander dismounted. Damn, it was cold. Putting his collar up, he started walking. Three was easy enough to find, just head towards the smoke.

He found the other man who had gotten out, on the far side of the vehicle. He saw immediately that the man was dead, when the tank's ammunition had cooked off, a sizeable piece of the turret had blown off and destroyed the man's upper torso. There wasn't much left of him above the waist.

"Shit."

He stood by the wreckage of Three, he felt guilty enjoying the heat produced by the funeral pyre of one of his tank crews, but the living had to press on. He would mourn his dead later, provided he didn't join them.

Checkpoint London was deserted, save for a small utility vehicle with two military policemen.

"Where the hell is everybody?" The commander of Firebird One was less than thrilled at the situation he found himself in. He turned to the infantry.

"Corp, have your men dismount and stretch their legs, I don't know how much further we have to go."

"Okay, Skipper."

As the infantry dismounted, the commander noticed one of the military policemen waving at him to get down off the tank. He thought for a moment, then told the crew he was dismounting.

As he walked over to the small vehicle, the policeman, a lieutenant he saw, barked at him.

"No salute, Sergeant? Can't you see I'm an officer?"

The Skipper sighed, some arrogant jerk from the rear echelon wanted to jerk his chain.

"This is the front, Sir. If I salute, someone might decide to shoot you. We don't do that up here."

The lieutenant placed his fists on his hips and took a deep breath, as if he was going to start screaming at the sergeant. As he did so, there was a commotion behind him. He turned.

The infantry corporal had his submachine gun leveled and pointed at the other military policeman who was blocking access to a small building the tank commander hadn't noticed. "My men are going in there to see if there is anything we can use. Move or I swear I will cut you down where you stand."

The lieutenant saw red, he drew his pistol and yelled out, "Goddamnit!"

"Corp, look out!"

The corporal turned his head, as he did so, the enlisted policeman grabbed the muzzle of his weapon. The corporal pulled the trigger.

The enlisted policeman hunched forward as three rounds tore into and through his midsection. A gout of blood escaped his mouth as he coughed convulsively. He was dead before he hit the ground.

The lieutenant had his pistol up and aimed at the corporal. The tank commander saw no way to stop the tragedy unfolding. When the shot came, the commander jumped. But the corporal was unharmed.

The police lieutenant dropped to his knees, "You sons of bitches, you ..."

He fell forward on his face and didn't move after that. One of the infantrymen came over, the man who had shot him as a matter of fact, and checked the man on the ground. He looked at his corporal, not the tank commander.

"He's still alive, Corp."

The corporal looked at the tank sergeant, who had drawn his sidearm.

A single shot rang out, the police lieutenant twitched and then moved no more. The tank commander had shot the man point blank. A large part of his head was gone.

"Corp, we better mount up and move on. You wanna take the car?"

"Sure," the corporal was shaking and his voice quivered, "much as I like your tank, it's kinda exposed back there."

Both men knew that they had just committed a crime, neither really cared at the moment. Somewhere, to their rear, was the enemy and they had to be coming on.

They grabbed everything useful at Checkpoint London, which wasn't much, then remounted the vehicles.

The commander had the turret rotated to the rear, the two infantrymen who didn't fit in the car were squeezed into the tank's crew compartment. The commander knew that in the event of a fight, he'd get one round off. It was too crowded in the turret to do much more.

They needed to get out of this forest!

Three followed the wheeled armored reconnaissance vehicle at a distance of fifty meters. That was their "reinforcement," a single scout car. but they had brought orders with them.

He looked at his map, about four kilometers from where the track led from the position they had attacked, was a small woodsman's hut. It was marked on the map as it was an official building, the foresters in this region tended the forest well and took their jobs seriously.

"Huh," the tank commander grunted, "state employees, probably loners living this far out in the woods."

The radio crackled.

"One, this is Foxhound. There's a halftrack up ahead on the trail. Looks abandoned."

"Jesus, Chief, where does this guy think he is? On maneuvers?"

Gesturing at his gunner to be still, he answered the scout car, "Put a couple of rounds into him, if he doesn't answer, then yes, he's abandoned."

Hearing the crack of the scout car's 20 mm cannon, he spoke into his microphone again, "Well, Foxhound? Do I have to guess what you discovered?"

"Sorry, One. Yes, it's abandoned, based on the tracks on the trail, there's a single vehicle, probably a tank, headed up the trail in front of us."

"Copy, hold your position while we join you."

His gunner spoke, "Okay, we saw two tanks and a halftrack, we've accounted for one tank and now the halftrack. Am I missing anything?"

The commander shook his head, "Yeah, that sums it up, let's get Two up here."

Tank Two had been left at the destroyed enemy position as security. Now that he felt he knew what was facing them, he decided to get his little force concentrated.

"Two, this is One."

"Go ahead."

"You see the forester's hut on your map?"

After a moment, Two answered, "Ah, yes, I see it."

"Rendezvous with us there, we'll wait."

"Copy."

"Foxhound, you on?"

"Yessir."

"Forester's hut, maybe another kilometer or so. We'll meet up there. I don't know what's ahead of us, so I'll lead the way."

"Thanks, Chief. I feel kinda naked in these damned woods."

"Copy. Move out after we pass the dead halftrack, give us about fifty meters interval."

"Copy."

Deeper into the forest they went.

To whatever Fate had in store for them ...