October 15, 1940, Afternoon - Chakhansun
"Here we go, Jakob. I hear the tanks now."
Corporal Jakob Reynek propped himself up on his elbows to peer through the hole he'd made in the roof of the building. Sergeant Miklos Aichel, his friend and sniper team leader, did the same. They'd spent three hours watching the Afghans and their Persian allies at work in the courtyard below, watching soldiers moving around, trying, by whatever means possible to shore up their defenses. Aichel and Reynek had stayed quiet as mice in their rooftop hide, whispering the layout of the defenses into their radio.
If the tanks are moving in, then they must have decided it's time to take this place, Reynek thought to himself.
The Chakhansun market was vaguely T-shaped, and from their position, Aichel and Reynek commanded most of it. The Persian and Afghan officers had their headquarters two floors down, but Reynek knew the lead Persian officer was standing near his AT guns, preparing to defend against the coming assault. The Afghan sheik Haji Munadi, or some stand-in of his, was rallying his troops in the defensive line- where he was plainly visible.
"Shall we start, sergeant?" Reynek asked.
"Yes. You take the Afghan and the AT gun at the far end."
Reynek nodded and raised his scoped Vz.24. It was two hundred meters to the Afghan sheik, who stood next to a machine gun and shouted exhortations to his men; or at least it appeared he was, as Reynek couldn't hear at such a range. Two hundred meters with a moderate wind; Reynek gauged the drift and drop, and placed the crosshairs between the sheik's shoulders. The match rifle was rated for two centimeters of accuracy at a hundred meters, and Reynek, through long hours of practice, did not shame his rifle.
Breathe.
Squeeze.
In mid-gesture, the Afghan sheik suddenly jerked and then flopped head over heels into the trench full of his men.
Reynek vaguely heard Sergeant Aichel's Mauser bark beside him, but he worked the bolt of his own and chambered another round. It was even farther - three hundred meters - to the AT gun at the far side of the marketplace. The AT gun crew were close to their piece, waiting for the first Czech tank to break into the square. They'd already done deadly work on two Lt.35s, which burned near the entrance; Reynek did not intend to let them have another comrade.
Breathe. Squeeze.
The AT gun commander fell over his artillery piece, thrashing; Reynek worked the bolt again and brought the scope back to his eye; one of the AT gunners was reaching for his fallen commander.
Too fast a setup for a shot, but I must suppress those gunners!
Breathe, squeeze.
The man fell across his commander; the rest of the AT gun crew dove into their foxholes.
At that moment, the mortar rounds started falling. They were precise, the work of the Dragoons' heavy mortar crews, who dropped two dozen rounds neat as anything into the defensive works in the center of the square. Several battalion mortars laid rounds down on the AT gun position Reynek had just cleared; another few rounds landed near one of the pits prepared for the AT riflemen.
They're using our spotting work to do that, Reynek thought with detached pride.
Their detail work done - Afghans and Persians alike had dove for their trenches and foxholes - the mortars shifted to a more general rolling bombardment. Heavy artillery screeched through the air and fell only a hundred yards away, shaking the building with the blasts. Reynek did not want to be that close - it was the sort of distance he'd have called 'final suppressing fire' on most occasions.
As the lightning artillery barrages rumbled, the first Lt.35s clanked methodically into the marketplace. A few of the Afghans - Reynek thought them madmen at first - climbed out of their trench and ran straight for the tanks; and only when it was too late did Reynek realize they carried gas bombs. The first threw his bottle to shatter against the lead tank.
Reynek sniped the second man just as he prepared to throw; the bottle dropped and exploded in the midst of the suicide squad. Two of the remainder pressed forward and threw their bombs, but the tankers cut them down with machine-gun fire as they did. The lead tank, burning forward where the gas ran off the front, continued clattering into the marketplace, gun tracking for enemies.
---------------------------------------------------------
Second Lieutenant Vaclav Mírohorský was glad his tank had been buttoned up, or he'd have gotten a face full of burning gasoline. He didn't think the gas bomb had got into the engine compartment - he hoped it hadn't - and for the moment he and his crew were safe inside the tank.
For the moment.
Mírohorský had difficulty seeing out of his small viewport, as the heat from the fire made the air dance in front of him. Small arms fire rattled against the armour, but it was too weak to penetrate or even threaten the tank.
Ah - AT gun, just like the briefing said!
"One o'clock, AT gun, range one hundred!" Mírohorský called. "Slew right, load!"
"Loaded!"
"Halt!"
WHAM! Something hit the tank hard, enough to daze and disorient Mírohorský for a moment. The gunner slapped his shoulder, and through the ringing in Mírohorský's ears he made out "On target!"
"Fire!"
The gun roared and recoiled.
"ADVANCE!" Mírohorský shouted.
---------------------------------------------------------
Reynek finished reloading his rifle and brought it back up to peer through the hole in the roof. The first squad of tanks finished coming into the marketplace, dismounted cavalry moving behind them in a low crouch, following the tanks for protection. Reynek saw movement in the corner of his eye and looked; another squad of infantry-supported amour was moving into the marketplace by a different entry point.
As the snipers continued to suppress the antitank gunners and riflemen they'd picked out over the last few hours, the fighting in the marketplace rose to its climax as the two tank pincers broke through the defenders. The first tank into the marketplace, still ablaze forward with the results of the gas bomb, climbed over the rough ground in front of the last redoubt and then crossed the trenches, infantry with submachine guns dashing into the trenches.
Though their last defensive line was broken, the defenders did not surrender. Where ever the madness of battle inspired them, they rose up out of their trenches and threw themselves towards the dismounted cavalry with fanatical, suicidal heroism, falling to bullets and bayonet. Others charged the tanks, and while one or two managed to gain a foothold on the vehicles, far more fell beneath the tracks, where Reynek shivered at their last screams.
The Czech troops, most of two battalions, stormed into the marketplace like the sea pouring through a breached dike; they moved behind the tanks, using them for cover. The Persian and Afghan resistance drowned beneath the weight of the attack, and though they never surrendered, they died and the fighting ended.
---------------------------------------------------------
"Sir." The messenger saluted. "Colonel Kotik wishes me to inform you, sir, that we have seized control of the marketplace, sir. The enemy forces there have been wiped out."
General Pika breathed in deeply. "Thank you, corporal. What are Colonel Kotik's losses?"
"I do not know, sir," the messenger said.
"Please give Kotik my best wishes," Pika said, "And ask him to report his casualties to me as soon as possible."
"Yes sir."
Pika turned and addressed his radioman. "Prepare to send a message to FIONN."
---------------------------------------------------------
"General, message from General Pika just came in."
The communications man handed MacDonald the folded sheet of paper and the general unfolded it, his stomach flip-flopping.
The last message sounded a bit grim - please tell me it's good news... "GRIP to FIONN," he read. "Have secured Objective BOXTY effective 1652 Hours [Stop]. Further information will follow [Stop]."
---------------------------------------------------------
Please make your out-of-character comments here regarding the story.