KEI THOMPSON
Kei's platoon crossed the country as quickly as they could. The Sherman tanks rolled over bushes and hedgerows. The little scout tank had already surged far ahead and had escaped Kei's line of sight. Turrets pointed outward in every direction making the formation a little porcupine. All the commanders were out and scanning the area and skies. Fingers teased the machinegun triggers. Anxious eyes jumped on every little speck and shadow.
Kei had to get to the bridge first. The team that gets their first has the initiative. An ambush could be prepared or they could cross quickly to assault the objective. Saunders had a small plan. From what they remembered there was a small knoll, some rocks and outcrops, where they could take cover.
"Scout reporting."
"Go ahead," said Kei, "What's up?"
"We've reached the bridgehead, and well, they've done some landscaping."
"Landscaping?" Kei shook her head, "What kind of landscaping?"
"I don't know how they did it but there are bocage hedgerows everywhere," the scout reported, "There's about five sections on both sides of the river, in five metre be five metre squares. The terrain is still a little bumpy and there's an open space in front of the bocage to the bridge."
"How much open space?"
"One fifty, maybe two hundred metres of open area to the bridge."
Couldn't get that lucky, huh?
"Orders, ma'am?"
"See Pravda anywhere nearby? Planes? Tanks?"
"No ma'am. Haven't heard anything overhead. Can't see through the bushes, but I haven't been shot yet. So that's a good sign."
Kei nodded, "Go on and cross then. I want to know what's in their hedges."
"A you crazy?! If we try to cross they'll shoot at us! We can't stand up to firepower of their magnitude!"
"They're not going to waste an ambush on a scout tank."
Unless you find them, but I won't say that.
"No way. Sorry, but we're not crossing."
"Fine," Kei pouted, "Pull back to the bushes and watch the area. Report anything that moves. We'll have a debriefing after."
Kei waved to the rest of her platoon to follow and adopt a new formation. The tanks spread out a little further since enemy air was still unfound. The commander drew on her little map in pencil how she thought the area looked and the formation they should adopt.
A low buzz suddenly perked her ears.
"Eyes up! Eyes up!" called her comrades.
Kei turned around and looked into the sky. In the distance two black specks were zooming in from the west. They were high, from what the tankers could tell, but the shape was obscure and the emblems were hidden. Everyone cocked their machineguns and turned to face the airborne threat.
"How high are they? How high are they?"
"I don't know! Do I look like a forward observer?"
"You should know how to gauge distance!"
"Maybe they're friendly. Are they friendly?"
"I don't know. I can't see the emblems."
Kei looked through the iron sight and pointed it toward the lead plane. She was calm, cool, and collected as the bogey approached.
"Two clicks out, girls. Just out of range," said Kei calmly, "Get ready. Open fire when I order."
At the words of their commander the chatter stopped and all guns eagerly waited for the order. All the gunners turned their turrets toward the aircraft. They weren't allowed to shoot with the main cannon, but the co-axial guns could let a few rounds loose if the planes got low enough.
"Should we deploy the –"
"Not yet," said Kei, "Just stay frosty."
Closer and closer, lower and lower. The tank platoon kept moving forward, hoping that the bombs would miss. One and a half kilometers, the specks grew larger. The roar of the engine grew louder, screaming like falcons diving on rodents. One kilometer.
"Fire!" shouted Kei.
Six large machineguns opened fire with a cacophonous rattle and deep thud of the hammer. Red tracers spewed like fire out of the barrels. The storm of bullets streaked into the air and homed into the attacking planes. Red streaks went over and under the wings. A few sparks burst off the wing edges. The bombs under the wings were threatening to drop. The planes swooped in sped away. Kei's eyes widened and she shouted as loudly as she could, as her fellow commanders turned to keep attacking.
"Cease fire! Cease fire!"
"Friendly fire! Friendly fire! We're Eagles! We're Eagles!"
The fighters circled back lower and waved their wings. The bright white star in a blue circle, the Screaming Eagle on the fuselage. A pair of P-40s circled overhead, with a few scratches and bruises from the defensive fire.
"Dammit guys! You need to tell us when you're coming. We can't tell what's what from that far away," complained Kei, "What are you doing here anyway? Aren't you supposed to be escorting the bombers?"
"Captain Kei, this is Hatchling Five. Hatchling Leader, err, Hatchling One was nervous since we haven't found Sturmovich. He asked us to escort you."
"Hatchling Six to Captain Kei. Do you want us around?"
"Yeah, we could use you. How's the damage? We hit you too hard?"
"We're fine, just a little peppered. No major damage."
"Okay. I need you to fly on ahead to the bridge and river. Tell us what you see."
"Roger. And if we find tanks?"
"Use your discretion. Of course the more you knock out the better."
"Got it. We'll see you at the river."
The P-40s levelled out and flew ahead toward Kei's objective. The Sherman tanks returned to their position and marched forward. Kei issued an order to slow down, however. With the fighters ahead, they should clear out the enemy air before they arrive. If there's no air, they'll scare the tanks. She still wanted to get their first, but a little more caution was needed.
Kei's platoon arrived at the objective a few minutes behind schedule. The scout wasn't kidding. The entire area seemed to have been redone. Five bocage sections had been erected. Thick, bristle bushes accented with small colourful flowers and thick vines. Wooden fences were hidden in the shrubs and the ground was soft from the watering.
"We might bog down if we try to go through," said a tank commander.
"Scout reporting. There's are a couple gates you can get though. I'll show you."
A small Stuart hopped out of the woodwork nearly startling her allies. Cautiously the tanks entered the hedgerows and took a position overlooking the river. On the other side, the P-40s were circling overhead, trying to find any sign of the enemy.
"Alisa, Naomi, how are things?"
"We're in position," said Naomi, "About a kilometer from you and ready to reinforce at a moment's notice. We're also able to rush back to the objective if Pravda gets around us. Want the jumbos to cross the bridge?"
"No need yet," said Kei, "We still haven't encountered the enemy. How are you, Alisa?"
A cannon blast blew through the earphone. The heavy clunk of the loading followed. Shouting and orders echoed lightly and Kei could barely make out the words.
"I'm a little busy," said Alisa frantically, "Hey, focus the T-34s. The T-34s!"
NONNA CHAIKOVSKY
A volley of fire crashed from across the river. Five Sherman tanks fired recklessly against the formation of Russian armour. T-70 tanks ran at full speed away from the river, trying to disengage from battle. Their little cannons fired just to keep the Americans nervous. A pair of T-34 tanks turned to face the enemy but dared not to get any closer. Nonna's IS-2 took the lead and rolled forward to take the shots. From this range there was no danger, but the lighter tanks would be easy targets.
Nonna turned the turret to the right and raised the barrel ever so slightly. The crosshairs fixed squarely on the centre of the right most tank. A gentle squeeze and the cannon roared. Its large shell soared slowly through the air in a white hot streak. In a flash and puff of smoke the enemy tank was knocked out. One down, four to go.
"Light tank group, withdraw back to the deployment area. After three kilometers, proceed back to the rendezvous point," ordered Nonna, "Captain Katyusha, we've encountered the enemy. Tanks only, no fighters or bombers."
GONG!
A shell smacked against the IS-2 turret and rang out loudly. The T-34s shuffled back ever so slightly to avoid being struck.
"Hold your ground," said Nonna coolly, "It will be difficult to penetrate your armour at this range. Driver, advance."
"Understood."
This will be all too easy. Five Shermans over five hundred meters. No threat. I can handle them myself, but we must hold them here.
PLINK! PLINK!
What?
PLINK! PLINK!
Nonna rose into the cupola and scanned the area. A pair of light tanks had gotten across the river and were engaging from the right side. Small cannon, but damaging from the side. Without orders the T-34s turned to engage. The slow shells arced and was about to land squarely in the engine block. The speedy Stuarts revved the engine and sped off to the next position. Again, the T-34s turned to engage.
"No, don't turn!" shouted Nonna.
The Shermans let another volley loose. Two rounds fell short, throwing a splash of dust all over the optics. The third scored a hit on a T-34's suspension, smashing the tracks and transmission. Luckily the white flag didn't pop. The other wasn't as lucky. The fourth round landed square on the thin side armour below the turret. The white flag went up instantly. Around the back the Stuarts continued to fire their annoying little shots at the pair of tanks, before speeding off in the direction of the T-70s.
"Light tanks, a pair of Stuarts are headed your way," Nonna warned, "Driver, put us between the T-34 and the enemy. We will shield them."
As her tank moved, Nonna lined another shot and let it fly. A second Sherman was knocked out in vengeance. Saunders rolled back a little further, but wouldn't break completely.
Why won't they retreat? All the advantages are ours.
A streak of red showered the ground around the tanks. Sparks flew off the armour. The sound of the impact echoed loudly inside the tank. The screen of dust and smoke obscured her vision and Nonna's shot when long. As her comrade loaded, Nonna opened the top.
Her eyes widened as a pair of American P-40s circled overhead. Six bombs in total, capable of completely destroying herself and her comrade. And there was a chance they saw the second force. The force meant to be hidden until dusk.
"Sturmovich, Sturmovich, enemy fighters at my position," Nonna grabbed the map and quickly estimated her area, "Can you get here?"
No reply.
The P-40s began to dive. The large bombs snarled devilishly at the paralyzed Russian tanks. A crash of shells from across the river would not let Nonna move. Expose her side to the risk of being struck and knocked out. Stay still and hope the bombs miss. Nonna swallowed the situation and kept her cool. Unable to move, she lined up another shot. If she was going down, it wouldn't be without a fight.
Nonna pulled the trigger. The tank rocked and shook. A large could of smoke exploded around her. The sound of the blasts rang loudly in the turret. Her ears rang and for a moment she couldn't tell up from down. After the cloud came a rain on dirt and pebbles. Her shot fell short and flew off to the side.
The P-40s had dropped their bombs moments before Nonna lined up her shot. Four 250lb bombs crashed around the pair of tanks. Far enough not to do damage, but close enough to jar the vehicles left and right. The P-40s climbed again to try for another attack with the bigger 500lb bomb.
They won't miss again. One more, just one more before they return.
Nonna looked through the sight. Impossible, it was an impossible shot. While she was being assailed from above the Sherman tanks deployed a heavy smoke screen. From beyond the smoke the Americans laid down accurate fire.
"T-34, repair status."
"We managed to get the transmission running, but we need to be outside for the rest. Leave us here. Proceed to the rendezvous."
"T-70 troop, report."
"We engaged the Stuarts, but they ran off after the second round of attacks. Change of plans?"
"No keep going to the rendezvous. You'll be without heavier support. We've been entangled and engaged by enemy air."
"Understood… Thank you, Nonna. We will not fail you."
"Driver, try to get us away from here."
We won't outrun the planes, but we'll sure as hell try.
The IS-2 rolled off in the time between volleys and rolled off toward the rendezvous. As they fell back, the immobilized T-34 continued to return fire, keeping Saunders' attention on the same spot. Nonna stood out of the turret and watched the movements of the fighters.
"Brace yourselves," Nonna ordered, "The fighters are diving."
And exactly on que the P-40s began their steep descent. One came from the front the other from behind. In a desperate attack, Nonna fired the co-axial machine gun. The little rounds fell harmlessly onto the ground.
Nonna sighed, "Damn it all."
BZZT! BZZT! BZZT!
A stream of red tracers flew over the IS-2. The P-40s pulled off and dropped their payload in a panic. The bombs impacted far away from the tank, though the earth still shook and dirt still flew. Coming in from the heavens was a pair of Russian angels, La-5s.
"This is Artic Fox, this Artic Fox. Who is the tank below? I repeat, who is the tank below?"
"This Lt. Nonna Chaikovsky. Thank you for the assistance."
"Lt. Nonna Chaikovsky continue to withdraw then return to task. We'll deal with these. Over and out."
The four fighters turned and weaved and climbed in their dog fight. Streams of red and orange tracer went across the sky and rained on the ground.
"Driver, as fast as you can. T-70s, T-34 report."
"T-34, we were knocked out. We lost track of the Sherman platoon too. Sorry."
"Light tank detachment here. We haven't seen the Stuarts since they broke off. We're close to the objective area. Do you want us to change?"
"Nyet. We'll meet you there. Report all contacts and any changes. Over and out."
TED "TUSKEGEE" FRANKLIN
Ted's twelve plane formation had broken off from the bombers and rookies long ago. He led the wings high into the sky searching for planes to intercept or the call of the tanks to strike. But things were silent.
"Somethings not right, Tuskegee. It's too quiet," said Tomahawk, "We might be flying into a trap."
"Don't think so. My guess is that the tanks want to bleed the time until planes become useless," Ted banked his plane, "Still nothing around. Damn it."
"But this is strange isn't it? Sturmovich flies three layers of planes and always toward the objective from two sides. But we haven't seen shit since the start."
"Maybe we're just lucky," said Ted.
Just what are you planning, Vasily? What are you planning?
"Anybody got word from the tanks?"
"Not at all," reported all wing leaders.
"You do now," said Kei's voice, loud and clear, "I've got a Pravda company staring right at me. They might start crossing the river at any moment."
"You heard the word boys. Let's bring down the thunder! All wings follow me!" ordered Ted.
Twelve glorious eagles banked and steadily descended to the combat zone. When they arrived, Kei's small platoon was in trouble. From above they saw everything. The heavy tanks of Pravda steadily advancing toward the bridge, unafraid of the shells thrown at them. A group of T-34s hidden amid the opposing bocage covered the advance with steady and precise fire. And as Saunders was distracted with the front a pair of T-34s were crawling up the sides, preparing to ford the river.
"Sturmovich hasn't shown – hold it," Ted peered through his sight, "Six bogeys dead ahead, low. P-47s begin your attack, we'll handle the air."
"Mohawk, Mi'kmaq, this is Sioux. You two take out the flanking T-34s. The rest of us, we're hitting the centre formation. Go! Go! Go!"
"Mustangs, let's get some! Yahoo!" hollered Ted.
The fighters split off to their targets and soared across the sky as fast as their engines would allow. Ted flew at the head of his wing. Within moments they were staring straight at the enemy. Six IL-2s with the long and large cannons. Beneath the belly, a group of bombs. Ted leaned forward into the sight and watched the target move. His finger pressed against the trigger. A few more moments, a few more moments. It would take a few bursts to take out an IL-2, but a single hit from the cannon would take him out of the fight. Three hundred meters, two hundred, one fifty.
The wing of P-51s fired all at once. In an instant the sky was filled with a blanket of red tracers. The IL-2s returned sporadic and slow fire, picking their shots deliberately. The Mustangs shifted and banked to avoid the slow shells, but the IL-2s kept the course.
The flying tanks forced their way through the P-51s. Ted pulled hard on the stick and cut the engine. His P-51 flipped over and slipped behind the IL-2s. Tomahawk followed close behind, but the rest of the wing was slow and sloppy as they maneuvered to avoid each other. As they sped to catch the flying tanks a hail of machinegun fire pecked at their armour. Russian gunners fired in sweeping cones, hoping to score any hit they could. But Ted didn't flinch. A lighter aircraft may have moved to evade, but the P-51 was American aluminium and armoured just as much as the Russians. Ted forced the engine into maximum power and charged straight at the IL-2s.
Just like the stallion it was named after, Ted's Mustang raced toward the IL-2s. He opened fire at two hundred meters. The stream of red tracers drowned the small yellow bullets of the gunners. The tongues of fire licked the Russian's wide wings and cascaded in a shower of sparks. A large white smile spread across Ted's face as a stream of black smoke spilled from the enemy's tail.
"Yehaw!" cheered Tomahawk as he scored his own victory, "Y'all better catch up or there'll be none left."
"Mi'kmaq, you got one on your tail! Pull up!"
"There's one on me too! Argh! They got me!"
"Where did these guys come from?!"
Pouncing like wolves, four La-5s bit down on the fat P-47s. Two pairs attacked the flanking planes and picked them off with ease. Then they turned their attention to the centre herd. The Thunderbolts tried to respond by sending two of their kind to intercept. The large bombs were thrown away from the wings and crashed into the water. The explosion threw up a geyser and soaked the nearby tanks.
"Tomahawk, we got to get those fighters," ordered Ted, peeling off from the pursuit, "You guys behind, split in half. Two take the IL-2s, two help us with the fighters. Go! Go! Go!"
"Yes sir!"
Ted jumped over the IL-2s and ran to intercept the west wing. Tomahawk, the wingman, sped off to the east wing. Ted opened fire immediately when they came in range. The Russians responded in kind. Six machineguns screamed against the bellow of four cannons. The three fighters barrel rolled out of the streams and turned hard to come at each other again. Ted slipped between the Russians and got a good look at the personal insignia.
A great white wolf snarled at his Native hunter. It had a thick white mane and teeth like daggers and stained with blood. The eyes burned crimson like the Soviet flag, and the centre was golden as the hammer and sickle. Beneath the wolf was the pilot's name in Cyrillic letters.
"Tomahawk, look out! You've got the 'Bear' with you!" Ted panicked, "I'm coming to help."
"The 'Bear'? I thought he was on you? He's not these guys! Ahh!"
A La-5 managed to quickly turn and was right on Tomahawk's tail. A small burst glanced off the fuselage with a loud crack and bang. Tomahawk suddenly turned and weaved to avoid the shots.
"I got you buddy," said Tuskegee, banking to engage, "Just hold on. I'll be there in a – damn it!"
The Wolf pounced on Tuskegee and fired directly in front of him. Tuskegee had to bob and flip to avoid being hit. As he moved the Wolf got closer and closer. He could feel the predator's eyes fixing on his back.
"Tomahawk, can you get to me?" asked Ted, climbing then quickly diving.
"I can sure as hell try. Arg!" said Tomahawk, rolling his plane.
"We'll fly toward each other and aim for our tails. Let's go!"
Ted and his wingman charged toward each other as quickly as possible. Ted held his breath as the two fighters levelled out and moved straight toward each other. Closer and closer, they opened fire as soon as they could see each other's faces. Rivers of fire flew over them and the two planes pulled away together.
"Did we get them?"
A bolt of cannon dashed their hopes.
"Thatch weave," ordered Ted, "That'll buy us some time. Everyone else report."
"Thunderbolts here, they took another one of us out. We're getting out of here."
"We got another IL-2, but another pair of La-5s appeared. We're engaged with them now. Watch it! Sorry can't talk right now."
Ted took a look over the battlefield. The formation of IL-2s was still on course and ready to bomb Kei's position. The Sherman tanks opened fire with their AA machineguns, hoping against the odds to knock one of them out. In a desperate order Ted and Tomahawk abandoned their duel and charged straight of the IL-2s. The enemy gunners opened fire but the Americans would not be deterred. Screaming Eagles returned fire and the groups were bathed in lethal lead. Sparks flew from the wings and fuselage. The controls started to stiffen and the planes became less responsive, still the flying tanks wouldn't fall.
"Kei, you gotta move," said Ted, holding down the trigger, "Kei, do you read?"
"Ted pull up!" Kei shouted back.
"What? Whoa!"
Five large barrage balloons leaped out of Kei's trailers and quickly ascended. The large grey balloons were tethered by a thick cable, capable of cutting the wings of planes. The IL-2s swerved to avoid collision and exposed their large profile. In the rush the dropped their bombs. The infamous whistle of ordnance filled the air. Kei's tanks opened fire from below, landing many hits on the slow aircraft. Ted and Tomahawk pulled up to avoid the balloons, barely making it over. The soft surface of the grey material lightly brushed up against the belly of the P-51. Girlish screams filled the airwaves as trails of black smoke filled the sky.
"Who got hit?" asked Ted and Kei.
One by one the pilots and tankers called in. By some miracle, everyone was still in fighting order. The bombs landed just in front of the bocage, shredding the cover but not close enough to damage the tanks. Ted's Eagles escaped the La-5s and resorted to hit and run tactics, putting their advantage in speed and engine power to good use. The dove on the Russians from multiple angels, barely giving them time to breathe. Suddenly the Russians began to pull back.
"They're pulling back, captain. They're pulling back! Ha, ha! Let's get on after them boys!"
"Let them go," ordered Ted, fearing ambush from the Bear, "Reform and patrol the area. Kei, we'll redirect the bombers here."
"Thanks," Kei grunted, "Naomi, get over here. We're going to need you."
"Eagles, let's escort those bombers."
VASILY "BEAR" ROMANOV
The radios were a chaos of contact reports, shouts, and panicked orders. All from the girlish tankers. The stoic men of Sturmovich kept the upmost discipline, relaying only what was needed to be known. And with every report, Vasily reworked the details of his plan.
The wing of Po-2s were untouched since their departure, just as Vasily gambled. Ted and his Screaming Eagles would be looking for modern planes at altitude, not little wooden biplanes nearly touching the ground. The Bear allowed himself to crack a small smile at his little victory.
"Commander Bear, how far are we to the landing zone?"
Vasily checked his speed and map, "Ten minutes. Ten minutes to landing. And if radio traffic is correct, our defense will be lighter than planned."
"Contacts, ten o'clock on the ground. Contacts, ten o'clock on the ground."
A pair of Stuarts were charging, line abreast toward the group of low flying biplanes. Vasily casually looked at them, then pulled back on the stick. The Po-2 started a shallow climb and the rest of the group followed. At roughly one hundred meters they levelled out, confident they were out of the axis of fire from the co-axial machinegun.
"Split into pairs and separate for the time being," said Vasily calmly, "Make it look like you're on reconnaissance. After five minutes, head to the zone. We'll all meet there and –"
The mechanic gunners screamed and ducked into the plane. Red bullets flew across the bubble cockpits and threatened to punch holes in the wings. The Stuart commanders popped out of their turrets and opened fire with their AA guns, a development Vasily did not expect. Still, he remained calm and collected. He ordered the wing to climb to two hundred meters and begin the split as planned.
"Captain, the Stuarts will follow us and knock us out when we land."
"I'll deal with the Stuarts," said Vasily, "Wolverine, you're with me."
"Understood, sir."
No bombs, machine guns too weak, and too slow to really outrun them. A good challenge.
As the rest of the group climbed and peeled off, Vasily took his biplane and dove toward the attacking tanks.
"Wolverine, we don't have any way to knock these tanks out so we'll have to bog them down. Americans are over confident and over eager. We will continually buzz them until we reach the river. If we are lucky, they will drive into the deep section and drown the engine. If not we will lose them once we fly over. Do you understand the plan, comrade?"
"Yes, comrade captain."
"Gunners, keep your eyes open for any planes. You may fire at will."
"Y-y-yes sir."
The two biplanes took the Stuarts head on in a straight and deep dive. Vasily and Wolverine opened fire with their own little pop guns, aiming for the driver and gunner optics. The American commanders were either sloppy or shaking. Their rounds sprayed across the battlespace and in every direction.
Vasily charged through the storm of bullets and dared to get as close to the Stuarts as possible. The biplane's wheels nearly touched the top of the tank. For a brief moment Vasily met the green eyes of an American. He saw her black hair, cut in a boyish style, the Saunders crest on her uniform and the expression of surprise on her face.
The tanks ground to a halt and rushed to turn so they could give chase. The Wolverine and Bear continued their taunting passes and bug bite attacks, pulling the tanks closer and closer to the river. But with every pass, the returned fire got closer and closer. The mechanic gunners panted for air and fired aimlessly. Friendly rounds few all around and were as more a danger to the biplanes than the tanks.
"Stop shooting, comrade!" ordered Vasily, "You're going to hit, Wolverine."
"Captain, we can't keep this up," said Wolverine, barely dodging another burst, "We need to break off."
"We're too slow now," Vasily, rolled the biplane, "Just hold on. We're almost there."
Five more minutes, five more minutes.
The river came into view and a glimmer of hope sparked in their eyes. Vasily and Wolverine levelled out and made a straight line for the banks. Vasily pressed on the pedals, skidding the plane left and right. The Stuarts were still hot on their tail, firing madly as they went.
THUD! THUD! THUD!
Three rounds smacked into Vasily's fuselage. The Russian Bear grumbled at the injury to his pride. A stream of fire flew across his nose. Vasily rolled the plane and veered to the right, dodging the second burst.
"I'm hit!" reported Wolverine.
Vasily looked over his shoulder, searching for a streak of black or white smoke. There wasn't any smoke, but Wolverine's plane was struggling to maneuver.
"What's the matter?"
"Heavy hits on my left ailerons, and the rudder is sluggish. I can keep her up, but I can't take another hit. Sorry commander."
He can't break off either.
"We're almost there, just hold on."
Vasily and Wolverine made a hasty turn to dodge another barrage. As they came out of the turn and straightened out, the Stuarts managed to get directly under the Po-2s. The little guns lined up perfectly with the belly of the plane. A single burst and the dreaded black smoke would vomit out of the plane.
BOOM!
A blast forced the plane up. Vasily wrangled with the controls to keep from tumbling to the ground. His gunner yelled and stamped his feet. Vasily flipped the plane over to get a look. One of the Stuarts was knocked out, smoke rising out of the engine block, white flag waving in the hot wind. The second Stuart was beating a hasty retreat for the hills, firing all its guns at another target.
"This is Nonna Chaikovsky. The Stuart should cause you no more problems."
Vasily and Wolverine spotted the IS-2 and started circling.
"Nonna? What happened to the armour group you were escorting?"
"We encountered enemy forces and I sent them away while I and two others provided cover. Unfortunately, my comrades were knocked out. The main force should have reached the area by now. We'll meet you there."
"Understood. Good luck."
Vasily and Wolverine were the last of their wing to arrive. The area was a nice flat, dry field with a small wooded area. It was upstream, but too far from the river and objective to be considered reconnoitring. All of the T-70 tanks and their trailers were accounted for, and laying out in the field. The crews were seated on the hulls enjoying a snack or reviewing maps and plans.
Vasily landed the plane as carefully as he could. The wooden frame shook and trembled on the unpaved ground. It hopped and jumped with every bump. Vasily pumped the brake and forced the nose down. When it ground to a halt, Vasily jumped out of the cockpit with a furious glare.
"What are you doing?! Get those tanks out of the open!" he shouted, "Now! And you! Help me push this into the treeline."
Vasily and his mechanic ran behind the plane and pushed with all their might. The Po-2 rolled slowly at first, but as soon as it got rolling
"Why the panic?" asked a tanker, "We're not engaged in combat and there's no reason for planes to come out this far right?"
"They may if they are scouting. And a bunch of tanks sitting closely in the open is a wonderful target of opportunity. Now get in the woods!" Vasily shouted at the treeline, "And you pilots! Why didn't you tell them to move?"
"We tried, sir, but they're part of a separate command. We've emptied the trailers though and started work on the planes."
"Damn it. Well if you're just going to sit there, tanks, then get out of here. You're going to give us away."
"Belay that," said Nonna rolling across the field, "As he ordered move into the woods and set up a cordon. What are you waiting for? Move!"
Instantly, all the Pravda crew jumped into their tanks and moved into the trees. The light tanks zipped around the landed planes and placed themselves right along the edge. The barrels of the cannons were sticking out of brush and shrubs. Nonna's IS-2 was at the foremost position facing the river.
"Is this acceptable, Captain Vasily?" asked Nonna.
"Yes, I assume you will be remaining here to command these people?"
"Of course. You're security cannot be in better hands."
Vasily nodded then turned to his task. He flipped of the trailer top and examined the contents. There was his ration of food and drink for the night, but most importantly there were the pylons and bombs waiting to be attached to his plane. All around the planes were either fully equipped and ready to fly or finishing the installation.
Vasily looked out over the battlefield. The sun was setting and in a few minutes it would be dark.
"What's the word on the radio?" he asked.
"Pravda was just hit with a pretty substantial bombing run. They are assessing damage, but it looks like we were lucky," his subordinate reported, "Enemy planes are withdrawing and both tank teams seem to have dug in."
"Give me a casualty list."
"Just as planned," said Nonna, picking up her radio, "Pravda tanks, has there been any movement on the flanks?"
"Nonna, where have you been? You should have been back by now."
"You tasked me to defend the planes remember? They are ready to launch."
"Then get them in the air!" barked Katyusha, "I want to break through now!"
"May I?" asked Vasily, "Katyusha, this is Captain Vasily. I am not committing my pilots on a foolish mission just because you've gotten a few beatings. Without Artyom's fighter cover we will be slaughtered just like the IL-2s. We proceed as planned."
Vasily's voice darkened and a devious look crept across the face of all the pilots. The predator animals painted on the planes snarled and growled. The Siberian tiger, the wolverine, the linx, the falcon, the leopard, and the most fearsome bear lurked in the shadows, waiting for night to come.
"When night falls, the Russian Bear will strike down the Eagle."