Sorry about not updating, I got carried away writing and hence this chapter appeared :S next update in a week or so…
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2nd Lt Kroker – Challenger 2 commander
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30 miles south of Saint Arc, 14:00
Lieutenant Kroker rested his hands on the .50 cal mount, the Challenger 2 was sitting idle on the roadside, the road was packed with transports. Remnants of the 21st assault division were limping towards saint arc. Battered Armored personnel carriers and trucks drove by, the occasional M1A2 or linebacker followed suit. Their challenger were attached to the 2nd marine expeditionary force, ordered to delay the Eurasian forces long enough for the broken allied forces to fall back. The Marines had top cover for now, F/A-18's and Harriers flew patrols overhead, although lately they had been fewer and fewer of them…
His gunner passed him up a steaming mug of tea, his grubby face gaunt with exhaustion. They were all like this, for the past month they had been making desperate rearguard actions towards saint arc, they had no idea what had happened to their original unit, they had been separated after the fall of the Los Canas six weeks ago.
"Bravo-twelve, come in? Kroker you there?"
"Roger, we're here, whats up?"
"The 122nd airborne is late, go see whats holding them up"
"Confirmed, any news on finding us some ammo?"
"Nope, haven't come across anything you can use, lots of smoothbore but nothing that works with your barrel"
"Right, we see anything, we come right back ok?"
"Roger,"
Switching off the radio he shouted down to everyone, waking his loader and driver
"All right, we're moving out, the 122nd is late, the Captain wants us to see why"
15 minutes later they were heading down the road, the traffic had faded away to nothing, and the forest road was deserted.
"Nothing so far captain, but something's off, shouldn't there be units still using this road?"
"Roger, the 122nd airborne is supposed to be here by now"
"Wait a second, something's coming up…"
Ahead, he saw the burning wreaks of a pair of striker APC's bearing the crossed sword emblem of the airborne infantry
"Damnit!" he clicked on the radio, "sir, we found a pair of destroyed strikers, looks like the 122nd is not coming; we are pulling back before we…"
As he spoke Kroker's eye's caught the distinctive muzzle flash of a 125mm gun.
"Full reverse!" he screamed down to the driver, feeling the tank shudder as the engine roared. The SABOT round fired by the T-72 tank missed the Challenger 2 turret by scant feet, the T-72's autoloader reloading another anti-tank round into the 125mm gun.
"T-72, 9 clock on the ridgeline, range one seven zero zero meters, HEAT round"
"Loaded!"
"Firing!"
The 120mm gun of the challenger discharged, the hot gasses creating a halo around the barrels muzzle. The spinning depleted uranium shell covered the distance in just under a second, striking the Yuctobainen produced tank's frontal amour. Its impact boring into the hardened steel, its energy bled off by the thick frontal armor causing the shell to break up. The smaller particles still had enough energy to penetrate the tanks hard skin; this smaller debris proceeded to bounce around the crew compartment of the tank. The gunner was pulped instantly while the commander's legs were severed at the knee. One of the hot fragments penetrated the casing of the tanks main magazine, setting off the shells stored there. The chain reaction vaporized the crew, blowing the turret clean off.
"Kill confirmed! Scratch one T-72!" Shouted Perry from his gunner's postion, whooping at his fith tank to tank kill of the war.
Kroker looked through his binoculars towards the destroyed tank, only to see in the distance, the distinctive plumes of dust that announced approaching amour.
"Get us out of here!" He shouted down to his driver before picking up the radio "Commander! We have incoming amour! The 122nd has been overrun!"
"Numbers and disposition?"
"Confirmed contact with a T-72, others are unknown but they are in battalion strength"
"Pull back to the port, the last units are loading now, if you're not on the boat in the next hour, your swimming"
"Roger that, falling back now"
Saint art harbor 14:45
"…repeat, enemy aircraft are bombing the port, requesting additional air support!" the captain of the Frigate thunderchild reported into the ships satleite radio.
"Negative thunderchild, we have no air support avaible, cover the evacualtion fleet through the bering straghts
The last transport barge were being loaded, ISAF's huge losses were shown by the fact that even as the last vehicles loaded, most of the transports were only half full.
The escorts for the evacuation feet consisted of the thunderchild, a pair of destroyers and the damaged Essex Carrier Timberwolf. The Carrier's AV-8B's had been running missons around the clock for the last 4 days. Out of the orginal 15, only 2 remained serviceable, the rest of the flightdeck was occupied by an assortment of helicopters.
Looking to shore, The frigate's captain saw the last tanks being loaded onto the transport barge. As the boarding ramp rose he saw a lone challenger driving at full tilt towards the docks, its driver jinxing as anti-tank rounds impacted around it.
In the challenger 2, Kroker swore
"The bastards are bugging out!" he shouted in frustration, seeing the last transport barge moving out of the harbour, "turn us around, we're going to take at least one of those bastards down"
The challenger swung about, presenting its thick front armor to the ruined buildings as a pair of T-90's emerged from the smoke;
"T-90! 12 oclock, range two zero zero yards, SABOT round, Fire!" Kroker Shouted as his gunner dipressed the firing stud.
The Challenger rocked as its gun discharged, the shot leaving the barrel at just over mach 2, its ceramic casing peeling off the fin stablised dart. The range was point blank in armored warfare, the challenger's gun, designed to engage targets at over kilometer, was overkill at this distance. The T-90's reactive armour detonated as the discarding SABOT impacted against the tanks turret. The explosive power produced from the shaped charges wrapped around the T-90 did little to lessen the impact of the shot. the dart punching right through the turret, creating a 3 inch hole right through the turret and the autoloader. Miraclusly for the crew, the shot failed to detonate any of the stored ammunition, the shockwave simply stunning the crew and deafening the gunner. While the crew survived, the damage to the autoloader was extensive, the cannon's breach refusing to seal, the tank was out of action.
"Direct hit! Switch to the second…" Shouted Kroker just as the second T-90's gun flashed.
The 125mm tugsten cored round slammed into the composite armour of the Challenger, peeling away the layers of ceramics and metals, passing to the left of the driver before boring into the challenger's engine. The twelve cylinder engine screamed its last as the Tugsten spent its kenetic energy into its solid steel. The radiator burst, covering his loader with scalding water, his screams sounding through the interior. The engine stalled.
Feeling engine die, Kroker yelled "bail out!!!"
Helping his gunner pull the helpless loader out of the hatch, preying that the T-90 would not fire a second time to confirm the kill.
The driver had already bailed out, pulling his L85A2 from the runined tank, his weapon useless against the tanks thick amour. The Crew dragged their screaming comrade behind the only cover on the barren dock, their own tank. They heard the distinctive rattle of the T-90's co-axel machine gun. This was it, so close yet so far…
The T-90 exploded, a half dozen 50mm shells exploding over its hull, one finding a flaw in its armour. The Frigate Thunderchild had moved closer to shore, covering the last transport barge before opening up on the advancing Eurisans. A pair of BMP's exploded, spilling burning infantry onto the concrete of the docks, the light armour no match for the automatic navel cannon.
The deafening roar of aircraft screamed overhead, a pair of Eurisan F-16s tore over on an attack run. The Frigate's Phalanx gun spat out 20mm depleated urainium shells, shredding the light underbelly of the first fighter before it could drop its payload. The jet splashed down less than 20 meters from the frigate's flank. The pilot of the second jet held his nerve, dropping his payload as he passed over, the two 3000ib bombs impacted into the Frigate's helicopter bay, penetrating through the deck before embedding themselves in steel armoured room that was the ships missle magazine. The F-16 pilot had no time to celebrate, a sea dart missle fired just after he had passed over the frigate, impacted against the fighter, desintergrating the tailplane and the engine outtake. The sudden loss of drag from the tail, pulled the jet's nose upwards, the pilot pulled the ejection lever as his plane begain to fall.
The time delay fuses on the 3000ib bombs detonated. The explosion exploded upwards through the decks, destroying the frigate's engine room, AA battery and helicopter hanger.
On the bridge of his mortally wounded vessel, the captain of the Thunderchild made his final orders.
"Run the ship aground, all personell not involed in manning the autocannon abandon ship"
As the bridge crew evacucated he stood at the window, watching his crew prepare to abandon the striken vessel…
On shore, Kroker and his crew watched with disbelief as the Thunderchild ran herself aground next to the docks, her gun firing non-stop even as artillery shells begain to splash around her. Her crew scrambling to the side, awaiting the hovercraft of the landing ships.
With the thunderchild's gun covering the dockyard, most of the crew could be rescued.
Two hours later, concentrated artillery fire from an Eursian MLRS battery finally set of the remaining ammunition stores, vaporizing most of the vessel and flattening everything within a mile of the docks.
For the evacuation taskforce, the thunderchild's passing was marked by a bright flash to the east. Her sacrifice had allowed the taskforce to leave the harbor behind, now they had to run the gauntlet of enemy air patrols before making it to open ocean.
From the flight deck of the Essex carrier Timberwolf Kroker watched the great flash of the Thunderchild's death as the battered covoy limped out to sea. Unkown to him, the convoy's postions were being tracked by the high power radomes more than 200 miles away.