The Mailed Fist [Modern Day/Near Future Armoured Combat]

[SilverwindBlade]

"If no one else wants to step forward, then I'll do it," said Jenny, blurting out the words before she could stop herself. why'd you do that, she instantly scolded herself mentally. You don't have the experience! Her expression remained firm, though, as she stared down into the MRE pouch she held.
"We'll take the fuel, thanks Sergeant Hawkins. Then I think our best bet is to make for where our Russian friends indicated - that's the nearest known position for any friendly forces. And if the Captain and his crew wouldn't object to scouting ahead to check the situation, then we can proceed with some kind of plan. And," she continued, gesturing with her MRE spoon in the direction of Zoey and her crew, "if we can find more fuel for Zoey's CV90, they can also cover us with their mortar if there is any hostile presence." she chewed a spoonful thoughtfully, and looked over the arrayed faces, waiting for answers or objections, or any other comments.

[DMZ]

"Agreed," Yura finished eating a pickle and closed the lid on the jar. "So, we move now? If so, we need some means of communication between us. Different countries mean different radio channels, right?" He motioned to Sergei and Masha, who reluctantly stood up, packing in what was left of the food and alcohol. Both approached the T-92 and jumped inside, staying on the superheated armour as short as possible. Moments later the engine shortly revved, a test to ensure it was still working. Masha popped het head out and gave a thumbs up, followed by two fingers.
"So, channel 2 for all of us? Nobody uses it if my crew is right." Yura looked around.

[InkedWolf]

Zoey nodded as she switched her radio channel to 2. "We'll limp behind, find somewhere high we can pitch some mortars."

She looked towards Valentine, "How much farther can we roll?" Valentine sighed as he rubbed his temples.

"I won't be placin' any bets on how far I can drive. Mercury's got a knack for making things explode at a good distance."

Turning towards the others, Zoey nodded. "We're at your command. Just make sure we scrounge up a little more fuel before we run dry, or you'll be towing us."

[Roran Hawkins]

Roran nodded in silence while mounting the Leclerc. After having switched to channel 2 the diesel engine of the Leclerc started roaring again, while Roran and Adele were packing stuff again and removed the camonet, afetr which they stored it on the turret. They removed the fuel cans from the back of the tank and gave them to the Australian tankers. They still had at least half of their current fuel tank left. "Okay, we're ready to roll out. Any guesses where we're going?"

[SilverwindBlade]

Jenny was surprised there had been no further reaction to her declaration of leadership. However, not wanting to appear off-balance, she quickly spoke up again, nodding as everyone set about matching radio frequencies. The tank commander cast a look to Felix, who climbed up into the Abrams turret, and aftera few moments, popped his head up again, giving a thumbs-up.
"We're on channel two as as well," she said, nodding to the others. "And like Zoey, we need a little fuel too. We can probably go a little further than they can, so Sergeant Hawkins, if you top them up first, then we'll take the scraps before we roll. She looked to the apparent commander of the Russians and nodded. "Maybe you can give us some idea of how this camp is laid out, and what direction we should advance from" She beckoned Roran and Zoey closer as well, before speaking up again "Captain," she added, louder, to the Thai Scorpion commander. "Perhaps you should join us. Our crews can work with one another to get things ready to move, and we'll formulate our strategy.
She waited until they were all seated close by and then unfolded a map from a pocket in her vest, and laid it over the top of a once-indoor table.
"So," she said, raising her eyes to the Russian. "I still haven't got your name, by the way," she mentioned, before tapping a none-too-clean fingernail on the map. "Where's this rendezvous of yours?"

[DMZ]

Yura burst out laughing.
"Camp? What camp? You think we dig ourselves down into every piece of dirt we find out here like the Americans? Our tanks are the camp! Orders were to dig in, sit and take out any enemy we see. No pulling back, no surrender!" he pointed to a hill not too far from their current position, a small height that was about fifty meters higher than their current level. "That's where our people are. We should approach directly from where we are now, it won't matter anyway. If there is even a single T-92 left there, I bet my life that not a single enemy has passed that point yet! The more we hurry, the better! We should not worry about meeting resistance, I am sure we can deal with any small groups we come across. I think the last thing I heard was that the main enemy force was heading away from us, to the other front. So we should be fine!" he spoke with pride and dignity, but not too fond of the higher command. Then he reached out with his hand:
"I am Yurii, but since we friends, call me Yura. Don't get too attached now, we may not be alive for much longer! I hate long and tear-jerking goodbyes, haha!" Shaking Jennifer's hand, he saluted her and hopped onto the T-92:
"Ai, hot, hot hot!" burning a good portion of his fingers and melting some shoe he vanished inside the tank, closing the hatch. Screeching tracks and a cloud of hot dust moved the tank behind the Abrams and somewhere in the middle of the group of vehicles.
"Channel 2 testing, Kam 6 reporting. Please respond, over." sounded the message inside the other tank's cabins. Sergei tuned and listened for a response.

[Roran Hawkins]

Roran listened to Yura's explanation and laughed silently while noticing the determination his unit was supposed to have. He saw everyone mount their tank and decided to do the same, smiling when he heard the Russian tanker cursed when he burned his fingers. The sturdy fingerless gloves he was wearing offered a safe platform to use to mount the tank. Once inside he replied to the com check. "Roran, hearing you loud and clear! Kam 6? Your callname?" Roran chuckled, before being serious again. "Over." He said, while relaxing inside the cool tank, enjoying the freshness inside compared to the extreme heat outside. Of everyone would have a callname things might be easier he thought. He tested all combat modules and was glad to see everything in perfect order. He selected HEAT shells to be loaded, which also have a somewhat effectiveness against various other targets than tanks. They didn't know what they would encounter, so best to be loaded for anything. He could always skip shells with the autoloader untill the right shell type showed up if required.

[SilverwindBlade]

Jenny grinned at Yuras' reference to Americans' habits in warfare. They did seem to take every home comfort with them everywhere they went.
"Hey, we're Australians, not Americans!" she said with a laugh of her own as she shook his hand. "We like it rough and ready too! And you can call me Dancer, since we're using friendly names."
As the Russian and Hawkins both made for their tanks, she did the same. Reaching the Abrams, she took note Yuras' reaction to the hot metal, and kept a quiet smile to herself, and pulled on her gloves, quickly scrambling up the turret. The others followed close behind, and she gave orders to start engines, before getting on the radio.
"Okay - first thing we need to do: let's get the fuel transferred to Zoey's CV90. Captain Jatarun, would you care to perform a short recon sortie for us - just in case anything has gone wrong? We'll move out, straightforward as Yura says, but hold at the halfway point while the Captain performs the recon. Should anyone who's not supposed to be there be in place, he can direct a bombardment, while the rest of us close in and make a mess. If your buddies are there, then Yura, you go in first with us behind, and make sure we don't get opened up by mistake!"

[Legion X51]

Northern Ethiopia, 22nd July 2015

Local Time 13:45 (BST+3)

"Luce, you got any ideas about the fuel consumption of this thing?" Captain Lord's voice crackled over the Challenger 2's intercom system. At least it was cool inside the tank - having been adapted for desert combat and also to maintain some crew comfort, the Challenger 2 had been equipped with an air-con system. Just like home... Civvie life's never felt so good as when you're at war... Lord's mind wandered somewhat, and so he didn't really listen to Sgt. Broadhurst's response. "Repeat that, Luce?"

"I said, we've got another 150 miles or so, Captain!" The annoyance in Lucy's voice was palpable.

"150 miles... that'll be from here to the Russian tank brigade tasked with keeping Hashem Pass open easily... Luce, step on it, we need to get there, double time!"

Sgt. Broadhurst increased the speed of the Challenger to 35 KPH - over rough ground, it was near the maximum the Challenger could make, which was 40. Lucy swore as she narrowly avoided hitting her head on the roof of the hull in her driver's position. The L7 HMG in the hull mount was beside her just in case some Caliphate infantry had a go at taking out Lord's tank - she doubted anyone would be stupid enough to try and take out a tank like Lord's on foot...

"Lordy! Two T-80 tanks, about 1000m to our front, side on!" Corporal Kingston, on the lookout for enemy tanks, alerted Lord to the position of the T-80 tanks that had been straggling behind the main attack into Hashem Pass. Lord ordered a full stop - it seemed that the T-80s hadn't detected the Challenger... Lord ordered Kingston to load CHARM 3 rounds into the 120mm L30 gun. Kingston was quick at his job - his fastest rate of fire was around 16-17 rounds per minute, and he was able to achieve this over long periods of time, thanks to his strength and endurance - Lord certainly appreciated a good loader. But what he appreciated even more was his gunner - Sergeant Thompson had the T-80s in his sights.

"What's the chances, Fenton?"

Sgt. Thompson thought for a second. "I can 'ave 'em, Lordy. You just gimme the signal, and they're two dead T-80s, so long as Mister Kingston back there can load fast enough."

"Don' worry 'bout me, Fenty-boy. You jus' keep 'em in yer sights, and I'll worry 'bout loadin' this motherf*cker, got it?" Kingston rammed home the three-part shell for the CHARM 3 round, and gave the clear signal to Sgt. Thompson, who zeroed in on the lead T-80... "Firing!" The L30 of the Challenger 2 barked, the CHARM 3 shell racing towards the unaware T-80. The shell impacted the T-80 in the engine block, wrecking the engine completely and setting the fuel on fire. "Gotcha, you little bugger! Kingo, get that next shell up and running!" Thompson zeroed in on the other T-80, which had now sighted the Challenger over the 1000m distance between the two tanks. Kingston, once again, rammed home the shell, and gave the clear signal. This time, with Thompson already zeroed in, there was no delay between the loader and the gunner - the second Kingston gave the clear signal, Thompson shouted, "Firing!", and the L30 fired again, the CHARM 3 round impacting in the turret of the T-80, destroying the gun breech and killing the gunner and commander. The CHARM 3 shell also ignited the ammunition of the T-80, sending sheets of flame high into the air. Kingston clapped Thompson on the back.

"Good job, boyo. Now let's focus on getting to the Russians alive, can we? Instead of shooting random tanks?"

"Unusual for you to say that, Luce."

"It's the heat, Captain - We Welsh aren't used to the sun."

"Yeah... Do you Welsh even know what the sun is?"

Sgt. Broadhurst laughed. "Nope, Captain - it's why Welshmen aren't suited for deserts."

Lord chuckled. "You seem to be handling yourself just fine, Luce. Kingo, send out a message on channel 2 requesting support from any other armour in the region... Friendly, preferably."

Kingston nodded. "Aye sir." Kingston switched on the wireless set and sent out a message on Channel 2. "This is the Challenger 2 tank Harbinger of the Apocalypse, requesting acknowledgement of any friendly forces within the area - we are headed to the Hashem Pass, we require assistance. Repeat, this is Harbinger requesting assistance to Hashem Pass."

[DMZ]

"Hey sir, we have a message from some english tank here!" shouted a gunner in Russian out of the hatch of the T-92. A man looked up, sitting next to a burning wreck of a tank that looked much similar, but was somewhat different in appearance. "They say they need assistance to get through this pass!" A simple hand gesture from the man shut the gunner up, who went inside the tank, listening to the broadcast.
"Orders are to hold this hill and not move. That's what we did and that's what we will do until we die," the driver of the prototype looked out the commander hatch down onto the pass, trying to spot any enemies amongst the smoke and fire.
The man sitting next to the burning wreck was Maxim Komarov. He was the commander of the T-92 that stood in front of him. He couldn't speak. No, it wasn't because he was afraid of death. Neither was he too tired. He simply couldn't speak since that shell fragment ripped his vocal cords a few hours ago. The scarf bound around his neck was once grey, now being of a pure dark red shade. Breathing was difficult, every inhale accompanied by pain and blood rushing down his throat. But the orders were clear. Hold Point 47 until death or reinforcements. And by the looks of it, the former would come first.

Maxim rose to his feet, supporting himself on the burned metal hull of the tank. He strutted over to his crew and looked at the driver with a questioning gaze.
"Nothing on the road, sir." Maxim tapped twice on the hull of the tank. The gunner popped out, looking at the commander. Following Maxim's hand to the gun, the gunner, Alexei Semenitsch, briefly disappeared, checking the ammunition reserves.
"Six rounds sir, armour piercing," he said a moment later from inside the tank. Maxim tapped on the hull and slowly turned around, strutting back to the burning wreck. He slid down along the tracks, sitting down at the exact same position that he was just in. His eyes went to the machine, looking at the reflecting plating.

The tank that Maxim commanded was another prototype of the T-92 series, one of seven different models, each with their own modifications. This tank had a different, stronger engine on board, accommodating the extra weight that the armour brought on. You see, the T-92, named "Bars", had more than double the thickness of the armour plating of any regular T series tank, adding a huge amount of extra weight. Even though the engine compensated for much of it, Bars lost a good ten percent of its speed due to the extra weight. It could realistically handle an impact from an anti-tank shell from most modern tanks, leaving as much as a deep dent in the plating. Even without ERA, it could safely protect the crew against the impact of an RPG from the side. The strength of the tank was visible at its current state: eight dents on its frontal plating marked the machine. One round hit the side at an angle and got stuck, blowing a hole when it exploded.

Bars was standing to the north of all the other T-92's on the hill, facing downhill. Seventeen burning wrecks down in the pass. Most of them tanks, sometimes IFV's, APC's...
Of the six T series that arrived that morning, only Bars remained, watching over the pass as its last Guardian.
"Sir, contact in the pass! Two enemy MBTs heading for us!" Maxim got his tired body up and on the tank, taking the binoculars and looking to where the driver pointed. The black, grooved muzzle turned towards the threat just as a shell loaded.