Grand Alliance (Kirov Series) (7 page)

 “General,
thank you for giving me that small benefit of the doubt and having that look at
Sultan Apache, and welcome to this nice private little fight here. I’ll do
anything I can to help you. You have my word on this. Understand I’ve been
through all this with my own crew.”

“I
appreciate that,” said Kinlan, and they shook hands warmly.

 Then to
Popski, Fedorov said: “Can you go inform General O’Connor that we would like
him to tour the brigade?”

“Well
enough,” said Popski, hoping he could come along too.

“And
tell him not to worry about Siwa,” said Kinlan. “I’ll handle the matter, then together
we’ll see about this General Rommel.”

“He’ll
be happy to hear that, sir.” Popski was glad to hear it as well, but he was no
fool. He had been listening very carefully to everything that was being said,
involved in all the discourse between Kinlan and this Russian Captain. He had
seen things on that ship, and on the ground here that he knew were quite
extraordinary, fantastic, as Fedorov had put it to him earlier. Slowly, like a
hunch that was gathering strength by degrees, he was starting to feel something
was not quite what it seemed to be here, and that all these men, the Russians,
Kinlan, and his soldiers in those odd new uniforms and equipment, were a bit of
a mystery that he set his mind to solve.

How was
it that these two men could share a common understanding on all that gibberish they
were talking over? They just mentioned that Indian Sultan again, and what was
all that talk about ICBMs and nuclear bombs? And these damn tanks… That was
sixty tons I saw there last night if it was an ounce. Where in bloody hell did
the British Army get that monster I saw? Was it true that this was all new
equipment? If so, Rommel is going to get the surprise of his life.

The
General is right cozy with the Russian Captain now, but things didn’t start
that way. These men assumed we were hostile right from the get go. The one
thing I don’t understand yet is why this Russian seemed to have to convince
General Kinlan that they were on the same side. It was as if the General had
been sleeping under a tree somewhere and knew nothing of what was going on, yet
he had to have been briefed if he was sent here with this new unit. And why did
he presume to think I was an enemy combatant at first encounter, or the
Russians, for that matter? In fact, that cheeky Lieutenant who first found us
went so far as to state we were to be his prisoners! Kinlan said the same. Was the
man blind or merely stupid? He did not seem that way.

It just
didn’t make any sense, and it fed that growing feeling of uncertainty in his
gut. Something wasn’t quite on the up and up here. These men are not what they
seem, he said to himself. They seem like fish out of water here. Maybe it was
the harsh environment of the desert, but he had the feeling it was something
more. I’ll play along, even play dumb if I have to, but I’m going to find out
what’s up, one way or another.

Chapter 6

Kinlan
thought long and hard about everything Fedorov had told
him. Yes, the Germans had another 200 divisions out there if they needed them.
Yes, he had every confidence he could make a difference here, but for how long?
His tanks had ready ammo of 50 rounds, and he had another 100 rounds per tank
stored with the supply train. The Warriors had 180 rounds with twice that in
reserve, and the Scimitars 160 with two reload ammo sets in train. The missile
inventories were lighter. They would have to make every round count, so the
first thing he did was brief his senior officers and tell them to pass the
word. There was trouble up north, and the brigade may soon be going into action.
There was no telling if they would ever see friendly ammo stocks again, so he
put out a standing order to make every round count and be stubborn about it.

O’Connor
was the next problem, arriving in twenty minutes for his tour. Kinlan had one
last moment with the Russian Captain, about how the command structure would be
worked out here.

“I know
you will think to be independent,” said Fedorov in English when Popski left
them, “but in the end we must realize we are here to advise and support British
war efforts.” He left out some articles, but he got his message across. “Their
senior officers are well known… much respected. We cannot replace them.”

“Yet we
know every twist and turn this war will take,” said Kinlan slowly, realizing
tanks and ammunition were not the only assets he had in hand.

 “We
know what happens once,” said Fedorov, knowing he got the verb tense wrong.
“Yet things are different. Things have changed this time, and we will cause
even more to change. Yet we will not plan everything—control this whole war.
They must do that. We can only help them.”

“I
understand,” said Kinlan. “I will do my best to support these men here, and
their officers. I swore to serve the British Army, the men under me, and the
crown and government that put them here. I guess that still holds true, no
matter where I find myself. Now, I’ll want to make a brief announcement on the
brigade comm-system.”

He put
out an all units message to expect a tour from a Lieutenant General. “And in
case any of you limeys haven’t heard,” he finished, “a Lieutenant General ranks
a Brigadier, so stand smart and step lively! Kinlan out.”

* * *

“Good
of you to show me the brigade,” said O’Connor. “I like to
get acquainted with the men I send into this desert. The job’s not easy but
they do their best. You say you’re 7th Armored? I drove that division fairly
hard a while back, but with good results. We kicked the Italians right out of
Egypt when they had the cheek to cross the border, and then chased them half
way across Libya for good measure. The only problem is it seems we’ve hit
another rough patch with the Germans showing up uninvited like this. I’m afraid
I’ve taken a bit of an early bath.”

“We’ll
see what we can do about that, sir,” said Kinlan, a head taller than O’Connor,
and dark haired in contrast to the other man’s grey-white hair.”

“All
the men are dressed out in this new kit. It looks to be very efficient. When
was it issued?”

“Just
before we deployed, sir. Yes… It’s new, as are many other things in the
brigade. We’ve new equipment and vehicles to show you today.”

“Then
Tiger Convoy made it through?”

Kinlan
did not know what O’Connor was referring to, but Fedorov did. He was walking
just behind the two generals, with Popski, who was quietly translating what was
said at Fedorov’s request. It was the Winston Special convoy Churchill had
insisted on to reinforce Wavell with new tanks, but it was not supposed to
happen until May of that year. It would transport Matildas and the A15 Crusader
tanks to Egypt, taking the short but dangerous route through the Mediterranean,
but that would not be possible now that the Germans controlled Gibraltar. For
O’Connor to mention it meant the British must be planning to sent the convoy
early, as it would have to travel all the way around the Cape of Good Hope.

“I’m
sorry, but I haven’t heard anything about that,” said Kinlan.

“Not in
the loop yet,” said O’Connor. “Don’t worry, Mister Kinlan, you’ll wish you were
out of it once they do drag you in. Tiger Convoy was supposed to be delivering
fresh tanks so we can get 7th Armored back on its feet. Yet here you are, as
far from the main front as one is likely to get out here. Why were you sent
here, General? We hardly need a brigade of armor here for Siwa. And you certainly
weren’t sent here to look for me.”

“No
sir, I only learned of your disappearance when Captain Fedorov informed me of
his mission. It seems I’ve a good deal to learn here, but I just follow orders.
In fact, I had orders to move to Mersa Matruh.”

“Better
there than here. You say you have armor with you? Well I’d give my right arm
for a good tank battalion or two these days.”

“Well
sir… I think I can fill the bill for you. The unit is just ahead; just over
that rise.”

He
gestured as they began to climb the low hill that screened the terrain ahead
and, as they crested the rise, he stood in silence, one eye on O’Connor, the
other on the Royal Scotts Dragoons. There sat four Sabres of heavy Challenger
II tanks, sixty in all, in a square of steel dressed out in khaki on the desert
below. O’Connor stared at them, his face registering complete surprise.

“My
god,” he said quietly, the sheer quantity and mass of the formation striking
him. Then he leaned forward, taking a closer look. “What in the world? Those
aren’t Matildas, nor any cruiser tank I’ve ever seen. Why… they’re enormous!”

“A new
design, sir,” said Kinlan. “Our very latest model. 7th Brigade received them
for this mission to Libya. Shall we have a closer look.”

O’Connor
had already started down the hill, as if drawn by some powerful magnetism, and
Kinlan looked over his shoulder at Fedorov, giving him a wink as they followed.
The General walked right up to the nearest tank, his eyes wide with amazement
as the scale of the beast became more evident as he approached. The crew there
were standing to attention, saluting crisply as he came up, which he returned,
his eyes transfixed by the awesome machine in front of him.

“God in
his heaven,” he whispered. “That’s twice the size of a Matilda, and that gun
would make a 25 pounder blush. What is it?”

“Lieutenant?”
Kinlan looked at the commander of his First Sabre, Lieutenant Matt Gibson.

“Sir!
This is the new smoothbore BAE-120 conversion, based on the Rheinmetall 120mm
L55. First Sabre was the leading unit selected for this upgrade.”

The gun
weighed over 7000 pounds and exceeded 17 feet in length, enough to drop the jaw
of any old tank warrior of the 1940s. Popski was now seeing the tank up close
for the first time as well, and he was just shaking his head in complete awe.

“Did
you say 120 millimeters?” O’Connor gave the man a look. The Matilda only
mounted a 40mm gun.

“Yes
sir.”

“Artillery?
Mounted on a tank hull? My god, the damn thing is enormous! Then this is a
mobile artillery gun?”

“Not
quite,” said Kinlan. “It’s primary ordinance is anti-tank and AP rounds. Tell
the General what we have in the cupboard, Lieutenant. What are our performance
metrics?” Kinlan prompted his Sabre commander again.

“Yes
sir. This gun will fire armor piercing fin stabilized discarding sabot rounds,
HESH-2 high explosive rounds, and the new CHARM-4 depleted uranium rounds
developed specifically for the smoothbore. CHARM-3 was the rifled barrel
variant for the old L30 gun system. Effective firing range is 4000 meters, but
one of our boys hit a T-60 a good while back, and knocked it out at 5200
meters.”

O’Connor
heard the range, unbelieving. “Did you mean 520 meters?”

“No
sir, 5200. And the new smoothbore also allows us to deploy the new LAHAT
system. That would be the
La
ser
H
oming
A
nti-
T
ank
missile, effective out to 8000 meters.”

“Missile?
It fires a rocket?”

“Yes
sir, and it’s quite effective—a semi-active laser guided tandem HEAT round, rated
to penetrate 800mm of standard steel or reactive armor.”

O’Connor
heard the words, but not their meaning. The man had just told him this rocket
projectile could penetrate 800 millimeters! “Why, that would go in one side of
a Matilda, and clean out the other,” he said, “and blow through four in a row!
This can’t be so.”

“Our
Lieutenant Gibson here is very well informed, General,” said Kinlan. “I’ll
vouch for his claim, as I’ve seen these tanks in action. They’ll do everything
he says, and more. This big fellow is also fairly agile for its size. You
wouldn’t think that to look at the beast, but what is a fair battle speed,
Lieutenant?”

“40KPH
off road on decent ground, sir. Just under 60KPH on a good road.”

“And we
can fire at that speed if we choose to do so,” Kinlan was enjoying this very
much.

“Unbelievable…”
There was no other work for what O’Connor was now seeing and hearing.

“Shall
we have a look inside?” Kinlan smiled.

“By all
means!” O’Connor was up onto the tank and, when his hand touched the heavy
turret armor, he was stunned by its sheer mass. “Heavy as a block house!” he
exclaimed.

“Third
Generation Dorchester Chobham Armor, sir. The best protected tank in the
world.” The Lieutenant was not making an idle boast.

O’Connor
had put his hand firmly on the elephant’s mighty flanks, and seen its awesome
trunk, yet when he finally lowered himself through the entry hatch his amazement
was complete. He was shown the commander’s position, the periscope view and
thermal imaging system, and then, to his utter astonishment, the digital
electronics, and all within a cool, air conditioned and relatively spacious
compartment. Tankers in the desert might endure temperatures north of 130
degrees in the hot sun, but not the men in these tanks, and this simple
physical comfort improved their efficiency by 100%. They could think faster,
react quicker, and fight longer in the controlled interior environment of the
tank.