Chapter 3

Tilsley chanced a look at his wristwatch, scenery blurring by rapidly. Time was dragging on - and he was behind Soviet lines! Tilsley knew he had to bring the package to HQ if it killed him, and it had come far too close to doing so already.

The countryside around here was hilly - That was a godsend. All the better to be able to avoid being seen by the Soviets. Or so he thought...

The first he knew of the attack, a huge oak tree of to the left had been shredded to matchwood. Multiple puffs of dust and explosions rippled across the road, to the left and right of the bike - Concussions sent him wavering. When the Jet fighter roared so low overhead he could feel the heat from the roaring jet exhausts, he veered to the left of the road and hit a hillock.

Rider, bike and chunks of road went different directions, turning crazily in the air. Tilsley hit the ground hard, winded. His left leg burst into fiery pain as something clicked in the kneecap, but his riding leathers stopped him being cheese-gratered over the harsh, stubbly dry grass as he skidded under the cover of some trees.

As soon as the pain had gone down to the point where he didn’t have to grit his teeth anymore, Tilsley looked for his bike. But the jet was coming around again!

Seeing it properly now, he realized he should have been grateful for being spared again - But the all-encompassing, titanic roar of jets in his hears made him want to put his revolver against his head and yank the trigger, if only to stop the pain. He did pull out his revolver again - But he pointed it at the aircraft. He pulled the trigger.

Click!

‘Shit!’

He’d forgotten to reload after last time, but there was no need. For one, the aircraft was just flying past to be sure of its kill - An unnecessary measure for a JET Fighter strafing a bike. For another, the Jet was a USMC Harrier.

With the noisy aircraft turning its attention somewhere else, it was all Tilsley could do to shrug, see that his bike was okay and get moving again.


***


Tanks. Lots of tanks.

Tilsley wove between burnt out Rhinos like he had through the forest earlier. There were at least a dozen of them knocked out on the road, and pieces of them: Huge, burnt craters and dead men lay interspersed across the road too, but it was still easier to ride over than the rocky furrows by the sides of the road.

It looked like a Soviet Advance had been broken up by air power here. That didn’t make Tilsley happy at all, just let him know that his own bloody air forces could actually hurt the enemy, not just scare the wits out of him. No-one hid behind the tanks and took a shot at him either, so he had to assume that the Soviets were moving so fast they’d left the wrecks and the bodies for later. There were even weapons - Tilsley grabbed up an AK74SU from a Russian with no head or left arm courtesy of a 30mm cannon round, and slung it over his back.

Five minutes of redlining it up the road again, and Corporal Tilsley saw another cluster of burnt-out vehicles. There was still fighting going on - Two rhinos advancing, with troop-carrying halftracks behind.

Tilsley was a good distance behind the half-tracks, and let up on the throttle. With binoculars he could make out sandbagged gun positions letting rip against the Russians. A puff of smoke came from one of the sandbags. A second later a wire-guided missile turned a Rhino into a fireball - A burning figure crawled from the tank’s cupola, but was found by the machinegun fire.

Losing their bottle, the half-tracks and surviving tank mashed their gears into reverse and pulled off the road - Out of the fire, leaving the way open for Tilsley.

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