Winds of Change (Empires Lost Book 2)

by Charles S. Jackson

  “Friendly lot,” Thorne quipped with a vaguely evil smile, not even sure himself what was going to happen next but willing to keep up appearances all the same.

  “We’ve a chance yet, sir,” the NCO observed with some honest optimism. “As long as those tanks stay in action, we’ve still got the right bower up our sleeve.”

  “Harbinger to Beatrice… Harbinger to Beatrice… Assistance inbound – please mark position... over...” The unexpected and incredibly welcome sound of Alec Trumbull’s voice was music to Thorne’s ears as it burst from the speaker/mike a second or two later.

  “Right bower…?” He burst out, continuing the euchre card-game reference as a joyful grin of recognition flooding across his face. “Arthur, Old Son, we just pulled a joker right out of our arses!”

  “Beatrice reading you loud and clear, Harbinger... marking forward position now... over...”

  Donelson was no less pleased to hear of the new arrival and was quick to respond. There was a moment – a very short moment during the battle ahead – where impossible as it might seem, Thorne could swear he heard the crump of a flare gun firing. The unmistakable whistling of a shimmering red, incandescent ball streaking skyward above the dusty haze ahead was clearly audible however, and they all spotted it as it reached its zenith and began a slow, wobbly fall back down to earth ahead of a wayward trail of grey smoke.

  “Flare sighted, Beatrice – I have a red flare...”

  “The colour is red, Harbinger,” Donelson confirmed quickly. “Anything west of that position is a legitimate target.”

  “Not bloody everything, thank you!” Thorne chimed in quickly with a wry smile, having no desire to experience the effects of ‘friendly-fire’ from above. “Just settle down, you two... you have Allied units to the south west also – please identify positively before engagement.”

  “Harbinger reading you loud and clear, Max,” the almost laughing response came back immediately. “I have you all now on my EOTS clear as day, so don’t worry yourself too much. Overflying your position now...”

  At that moment, the sky was rent by the ear-splitting shriek of a jet aircraft passing overhead; one that was hidden from view by the swirling dust clouds but nevertheless sounded far larger and far more powerful than the enemy aircraft that had attacked and decimated their armoured column earlier.

  “Harbinger to Beatrice... targets identified... Fox-Two...! Fox-Two…!”

  “Y’ know,” Max Thorne observed, his smug grin growing even wider as he recalled a moment two years before when he’d last heard Alec Trumbull utter those words, “I never get tired of hearing that!”

  A few thousand feet above, F-35E Harbinger speared in toward the ground in a shallow dive, the aircraft’s Electro-Optical Targeting Systems (EOTS) cutting through the sand and dust below with is thermal imaging cameras, although admittedly at a greatly-reduced range due to the heat of the surrounding morning. The report of mortar attack had come as a surprise, but it immediately became clear to Alec that the source of the artillery fire was a cluster of four armoured vehicles situated well behind the main line of enemy advance at the Genaiva Road.

  Each of the two internal weapons bay fitted to the edges of the F-35’s lower fuselage were normally fitted (ground-attack mission mode) with mountings for one air-to-air missile (AAM) and one larger air-to-surface weapon. For the relayed flight from Tocumwal, Trumbull had instead opted for a dedicated air-to-air loadout with a twin-mount for AAMs in place of the larger weapon station, allowing for a total of six Sidewinder AAMs internally.

  As Trumbull had discovered over the fields of Kent two years before, the AIM-9X variant of the infra-red homing weapons he currently carried also possessed some air-to-ground capability, although their relatively small warhead did somewhat limit the types of target that could be engaged. The surrounding heat of the desert surface below was also an issue of some significance, and it was therefore only at extremely short range that he was finally able to obtain an infra-red lock on two of the Odin gun-mortar vehicles below.

  In the space of just a second or two, hydraulically-powered doors on either side of the aircraft’s fuselage folded back as each weapons bay disgorged a single Sidewinder into the jet-stream below its belly, the missiles’ powerful rocket motors kicking in instantly and sending them streaking away ahead and downward at two and a half times the speed of sound. Little more than a tiny, white needle at the head of a long, streaming trail of grey smoke, they were to all intents and purposes invisible to those on the ground below as they arced in unerringly on target.

  First one, then two of the P-21G/U6 Odin mortar carriers suddenly and rather impressively exploded as the thin steel over each vehicle’s engine bay was penetrated by a nine kilogram warhead that subsequently detonated, setting off far more violent secondary blasts as fuel and ammunition added to the expanding balls of fire and black smoke.

  Had they been given time to think about what had happened, the remaining artillery vehicles might have decided to relocate to safety as was standard practice. No such opportunity was provided however as the F-35E howled down out of the sky just seconds later, fire streaming from the stealthy cannon pod mounted beneath its belly. A combination of 25mm armour-piercing and high-explosive shells churned up the earth around the two surviving units, easily perforating their thin top armour and tearing them to pieces.

  Trumbull bottomed out of his dive at less than two thousand feet, noting a slight loss of power and sluggish response to the engine as it struggled to deal with the ingestion of air filled with dust and sand at lower altitudes. The Lightning’s aerodynamics in general also suffered somewhat, although the computer-aided fly-by-wire controls absorbed enough of the increased effort required as to make the added feedback he felt through the stick negligible.

  He noticed that too, all the same, and was more than happy to push the aircraft back up to past ten thousand feet once more where the air was far clearer and less of a stress to the airframe. Banking tightly around, he carried out a quick scan of the surrounding airspace to determine that there were no aerial threats in his immediate vicinity – there weren’t – before switching his attention back to his EOTS and selecting two more ground targets for his Sidewinder missiles.

  Alec was tired after a long flight from Ceylon, and what concentration he still possessed was firmly fixed on protecting Eileen’s position against further attack. As a result, he completely failed to pick up the separate enemy force that had broken away from the main group at Genaiva Road and had headed south-west, now placing it on a collision course with Thorne’s line of approach.

  The engagement had already been going badly. The two enemy tanks to the east had devastated at least an entire third of his force so far and showed no signs of stopping. Several Thors had landed solid hits on both vehicles’ frontal armour with their recoilless rifles, only to watch their rounds detonate harmlessly with neither target seemingly the worse for wear. Both advancing tanks – tanks that were far larger than anything any of them had ever before seen – had appeared to simply shrug each impact off and roll on regardless, their huge main guns turning this way and that, leaving mayhem and destruction in their wake. Witzig was no fool – not by any standard – and it was immediately clear with the appearance of this new, unidentified and clearly quite deadly aircraft that a battle that had already turned against them was now completely lost.

  After quickly making a very short and to-the-point report back to his command, he ordered the rest of his force to disengage and make a full retreat westward… back toward the main Wehrmacht assault that was grinding its way toward them with all the relentless, unstoppable force of an advancing glacier. All the surviving units of his HQ group and Troop-Two immediately ‘popped smoke’ from the defensive triple-mount grenade launchers mounted on each side of their turrets and began to withdraw into the safety of the hissing grey clouds left behind.

  Arno Schreiner had also heard the order to withdraw but ignored it completely, secure as he was
in his own superiority and invincibility. He’d taken the remaining units of his troop – three Thors, two Valkyries and one ‘Loki’ mobile flak – around to the south-east, intending to encircle the two huge tanks and attack to their more vulnerable flanks and rear. In Schreiner’s opinion, Witzig was a fine tactician but lacked the necessary aggression and outright ‘flair’ to be a truly outstanding combat commander; something he himself of course possessed in copious amounts (by his own reckoning).

  Trumbull gave a sigh of relief as he levelled out once more on a westerly heading, his thermal systems clearly picking up the withdrawal below of 1FSK’s remaining units at the Genaiva Road line. He could easily have destroyed more enemy vehicles at that point, either with missiles or cannon, but thought it better to husband his remaining weapons and ammunition for the time being. In any case, killing men and vehicles in retreat was to Alec’s mind the equivalent of shooting someone in the back, and even the thought of it conflicted heavily with his ingrown senses of justice and ‘fair play’.

  “Harbinger to all parties… Harbinger to all parties… enemy force in retreat… I say again: enemy force is in retreat. Feel free to…”

  He was caught in mid-sentence, the rising elation and relief in his words extinguished immediately as his EOTS cameras suddenly locked onto a new set of targets to the south; targets that were still moving east and definitely weren’t in withdrawal. As he opened out the zoom on his cockpit’s central CRT screen, he could also clearly see that the force was headed directly for Thorne and his approaching group.

  “Oh, bloody hell…!” He breathed softly, allowing himself a quite uncharacteristic moment of expletive as he hauled back on the stick, dragging the F-35E into a stomach-churning bank to port. “Harbinger to Phoenix… Harbinger to Phoenix!” He shouted urgently, keying his transmit button once more. “Enemy force approaching your position from the north-east, range a thousand yards or less… contact imminent…!”

  Using his joystick-mounted controls he desperately tried to cycle through the targets below as he sought to allocate his missiles to the advancing troop’s lead units. The lock he was able to obtain was nominal at best but there he had no more time to spare. More out of desperation than any sense of optimism – knowing it was already too late – he loosed all four of his remaining Sidewinders and switched back to guns.

  Neither group were expecting to come across the other, but 1e Truppe of 1FSK had been looking for some kind of fight and were already ‘locked and loaded’. As Thorne’s small convoy of armoured vehicles appeared out of the dusty haze at a range of no more than seven or eight hundred metres, the turrets of the Sherman and Firefly were already turning toward the new threat because of Alec’s warning but it would prove too late for some.

  Contact front… contact front…!” Schreiner howled into his intercom as his goggled eyes registered the new threat ahead. “Weapons free! Fire… fire…!” He was riding half out of the top hatch as usual and was quick to react as the enemy force appeared out of the gloom.

  His gunner, as well-trained as the rest of 1FSK’s men, was fast to react and quickly brought his sights around onto the nearest target – one of the heavily-loaded M3 half-tracks. A cloud of flame and smoke burst from the rear of the recoilless rifle mounted to the left side of the Thor’s turret. Firing on the move made for a lesser degree of accuracy, but his aim was good enough all the same.

  The shell streaked across the intervening distance in less than a second, the HESH round catching the half-track on its very nose and exploding in a flash of crimson flame and black smoke. The engine bay was vaporised instantly, while blast and shrapnel tore through the cab and cargo area behind killing most of those aboard. The burning hulk rolled onto its side and slid to an immediate halt as a few injured survivors struggled to drag themselves out of the wreck through the open top.

  Schreiner’s gunner immediately sought a new target as the weapon’s six-round magazine rotated another 88mm shell into line with the breech. Behind them, one of the Valkyrie APCs came to a momentary halt, waiting just long enough to unload six heavily armed grenadiers before powering away again.

  The two tanks in Thorne’s convoy had slid to a halt the moment the new threat had been detected, deciding that an improvement in aim for their gunners was more important than the added protection of being a moving target. Both fired almost in unison, the Firefly missing with its first shot while the Sherman struck home against one of the Valkyrie APCs, the 76mm HEAT round blowing it to pieces and killing every man inside.

  It was destroyed in return a moment later as an 88mm squash-head round from another of the Thors caught it on the turret ring below the mantlet, the resulting blast sending the entire turret spiralling into the sky atop a pillar of fire in what was known colloquially – with very dark humour – as a ‘jack-in-the-box’. It would land heavily several metres away as the remaining fuel and ammunition went up, the shattered hull continuing to burn like a roman candle from every opening.

  The Firefly meanwhile found better aim, seeking out the Loki flak vehicle and despatching it with a single round from its powerful 17-pounder gun and then turning its attention to the Thor that had destroyed the nearby Sherman. It too disintegrated in a cloud of smoke and flame with little more than the wheels and shattered lower chassis left intact, burning pieces of vehicle and its human crew sent whirling into the air across a wide area. Again, the Allied tank was subsequently destroyed within seconds as it was targeted by both remaining Thor’s simultaneously and basically torn apart by the resulting twin explosions.

  Still standing in the top hatch despite the battle raging all about, Schreiner was forced to duck sharply, throwing his chest painfully against the top of the turret as Arthur Morris threw a stream of .50-calibre slugs in his direction, the tracer sizzling past far too close to where his head had been for his liking. Hammering on the roof of the turret, he angrily pointed out the GMC truck to the left of the burning Allied tanks that was the source of the fire. His gunner turned the Thor’s 23mm automatic cannon toward the last, remaining enemy vehicle and opened fire, shells tearing into the engine and crew cab as the truck turned in toward them, the machine gun above its roof still firing. As they watched as the vehicle catch fire and overturn, none of them noticed the four white streaks that hurtled down out of the sky toward them trailing long ribbons of grey smoke.

  Schreiner’s habit of remaining exposed during the heat of battle would generally have been considered a suicidal act under most circumstances. In this case however, standing half out of the commander’s hatch, it may have been the only thing that saved his life as the Sidewinder speared downward like a lance, homing in on the main heat source of the Thor’s rear-mounted engine. Its terminal aim faltered somewhat, it’s seeker-head perhaps momentarily fooled by the heat rising from the ground around the vehicle, and as such it slammed into ground directly behind the vehicle.

  The resulting detonation of just under ten kilograms of high explosive wasn’t large in relative terms but the belly of the P-21G was its weakest point and the blast was nevertheless sufficient to shred its drive train and undercarriage and tear through the thin steel armour beneath its engine compartment. Ammunition stored in the rear hull also ignited at that point, exploding downward through the Thor’s already-weakened belly and lifting it violently off the ground. The force wasn’t enough to flip the vehicle completely and it instead crashed onto its side as ammo and flammables within the shattered hull continued to burn, pouring flame and thick, black smoke from every opening.

  Schreiner, the only survivor, was thrown clear of the turret as the stricken vehicle reached the apex of its rise, spiralling through the air to land hard against the rocky earth some distance away. He rolled with a cry of pain and surprise and came up onto one knee almost immediately, a wide gash along one cheek and jaw from a grazing contact with the ground during the fall.

  Blood was now oozing freely from it and a number of other cuts and abrasions on his face and hands, and pain fla
red in his left ankle as he attempted to rise. It was mildly sprained and was barely able to hold his own weight as he desperately turned his head this way and that, taking stock of his surroundings. Staggering slightly, he shook his head to clear his thoughts and reached for his sidearm, only to discover that it had been thrown from its holster during his fall and was now nowhere to be seen. The experience of having been left completely unarmed as a result was one that provided him no great pleasure whatsoever.

  “Over here, Mein Herr!” The very welcome German call came from somewhere to his rear right, and as he turned he was presented with the approach of one of his grenadier squads moving toward him at a good pace. All of them, Schreiner included, hit the deck once more a moment later as fire from a squad automatic weapon (SAW) sizzled past close by to their right.

  The squad leader – a short, stocky Wehrmacht sergeant by the name of Drescher – crawled the rest of the way on his belly, accompanied by a huge bear of a corporal, Gottleib, who was the unit’s machine gunner.

  “We thought you were done for, Mein Herr!” Drescher observed with a thin smile, the entire squad having witnessed the simultaneous destruction of all their remaining vehicles with more than a little incredulity.

  “Still breathing, feldwebel, and still able to fight on...” he noted in that moment that the gunner, Gottleib, was carrying his MG5A light machine gun in both hands, belts of extra 5.56mm ammunition criss-crossing his chest, and wore a holstered sidearm at his waist.

  “Hand me that pistole if you would, gefreiter, and I’ll be happy to prove that to what’s left of these English schwein...”

  “We need to withdraw, sir...” Drescher suggested hesitantly as the private slipped the P-38 from his holster and passed it across along with a pair of spare magazines “…Herr Major has ordered it...”