PART 2

 

James judged the angles and did calculations in his head. They were hunkered down behind a large fallen tree and not far from a small stream. Over the other side a light flashed code which he read. He lifted his own small signalling mirror and replied to the other party of soldiers; they had split that morning. James felt a thrill of excitement as he heard the sound of the tank’s engine.

 

“We have them,” muttered Peter nearby.

 

“Yup.”

 

“Private, get the bazooka over near that rock and get your sighting. The tank can come no other way.”

 

“Sir, yes sir.”

 

James knew that, as per his instructions, the other unit would be doing the same.

 

“Also, we have only two shells left so don’t miss.”

 

“Sir, yes sir.”

 

--

 

It was Claire who saw them first, but it was already too late. Through the slit window she saw the soldier holding a bazooka on his shoulder. The next second a tongue of flame leapt from the tube and the tank exploded around her. Briefly her world went black but soon she came round. Her ears were ringing and it was hot. Smoke filled the cabin. She groped for an oxygen mask, got it, pulled it over and clamped it on her face. Now she was able to breathe she looked around, but could see very little through the smoke.

 

Climbing down from the commander’s position she explored the dark tank: trying to find the others. Once down the smoke was thinner. Straight away she saw that the side of the tank was missing and with it had gone the driver’s position. Anna had been blown to bits, so much so that there was nothing left to find of her. Alison was slumped over her shells, dead. Claire then looked for Sally and made her way to the gun aimer’s turret. Once there she found her also dead and assumed the smoke had got her.

 

“Now it’s just me then,” she thought and turned her attention to the outside.

 

She knew the tank was finished and would no longer go anywhere. One track was completely missing and one side of the engine. Her hope was that the turret would still work. After pulling Sally aside she tested the turret controls to quickly find it was dead. Then she looked though the glass slit window. Through the grey light she could see some soldiers coming carefully down the sides of the gulley.

 

A thrill of hate swept through her as she thought of her comrades and the now broken tank, her home, her way of life. She scrambled up to her commander’s position. The smoke had cleared and she tore off the mask. The soldiers were more confident now and the group spread out as they approached.

 

“They must think they have finished us,” she grated to herself.

 

She grabbed the big machine gun, fixed into the side of the turret, but took care not to move it yet. Gradually the soldiers closed in and she sighted them all through the one way glass. She had used the gun many times and knew she could pick off all she sighted. They closed in, unprofessional to come together, but she suspected their lack of care was due to finally killing the tank. Well now she would finish them.

 

Finally she judged all were sighted and she pulled the trigger, and it was the last time she would use it. Deadly lead spewed from the twin muzzles and sprayed this way and that as she poured death upon the soldiers. They had no time to fire back, she was a deadly shot. Quickly all the bodies were laying on the floor and still she held the trigger. The dead twitched as more lead came, her muzzles were overheating, but the end came quickly as her ammunition ended.

 

Finally, after a few minutes, she let go of the silent gun and dropped her head to the metal handles. Tears came hard and she sobbed like never before.

 

--

 

Snow started to fall as James looked at the grey sky. Cold flakes settled up his face. He was laying on his back and his legs felt numb; there was also a dreadful pain in his head. He was unsure how long he had been unconscious. The snow became thicker and he turned his head to the tank. It had been foolish to approach it directly but for once the soldiers had all wanted to see the tank they had been chasing for so long. His fault, he should have given orders, he thought, but he had been as keen as the others to see the tank spew its innards.

 

As he looked at the dead machine he saw the lid forced open on top. It squealed back on unused rusty hinges. He tried to rise, but could not, as a lithe figure slowly climbed from the lid. It was like nothing he had seen before, slim, cat like. It moved carefully, checking the area around. In one hand was a gun. Despite himself he could not stop looking at this creature; he found it captivating, enchanting, and beautiful.

 

It looked around from the tank and surveyed the dead bodies, the eyes failing to stop on him. It came a little closer and he could see it was human, like him, only so different. He felt an overwhelming desire for it, but thrust away these thoughts remembering that it came from the tank and must be an enemy. He wondered if he could lift his gun and shoot; he tried but still found no power in his body. Then the human took flight, following the steam, and he lost sight of it.

 

He turned his thoughts to his own plight. Quickly he realised the weight on his legs was Peter, dead. Gradually he found some strength and was able, little by little, to start his body working again. Once he got the heavy Peter off his legs things became easier. He sat up and prized off his helmet. He found out why he had a headache. There was a shell flattened, and fairly embedded, on the side of it. It had caved in someway while attempting to save his life.

 

He threw it aside and took the helmet from Peter’s head: placing it on his own. After a few minutes he was able to stand. He checked if there were any of his platoon still living, they were all dead. He then made his way to the tank. Quickly inspecting it, he found the other humans. They were much more captivating close up and he almost felt regret for having killed them. Again he thrust away the thoughts, too many years he had waited for this, he would not go soft now. His mission was clear: he needed to hunt and destroy the lithe survivor. It was the one remaining link to the tank and his mission.

 

--

 

When Claire had finished sobbing she wiped her face and then opened the hatch above her head. It complained on rarely used hinges. She took her gun and climbed out. Snow was falling more regularly now and the flakes were getting bigger. She could see the soldiers and checked there were none moving before climbing down to the ground. She was still very afraid of them and after walking a little closer, she had to turn away. Her heart was beating hard and her fear outweighed her desire to check they were all dead.

 

She took flight along the stream, and then headed up an easier slope of the gulley, always wondering if there were more soldiers around. The snow became thicker as she headed into deeper trees. She felt bitterly cold and moved fast not only to escape but to keep warm. Once she thought there was a sound behind and further down. Fear filled her, without the tank she felt naked, infinitely vulnerable.

 

Her course was ever upward towards the bare land above the gullies. She hoped that the soldiers would not follow, as she knew their fear of the wide grey landscapes. The only problem being was that she no longer had the Geiger counter and the protection of the tank. Perhaps now she was as vulnerable as them, she thought.

 

After a time of moving she stopped and sunk down near a large tree: hiding herself in the foliage. The snow was thinning and visibility was improving; now she could see further back into the gulley. She saw no soldiers. Glad of the rest, she wanted to stay there, but soon the cold was biting again. The gun was annoying her as she had no pockets or holster but the hard powerful handle was a sort of comfort.

 

She kept a sharp lookout and listened for sounds of pursuit. Then she saw him, a single soldier. She could tell he was tracking her by his attitude. Low and alert, checking the ground before him and then up ahead. He was big and strong looking, holding a large machine gun. His backpack was bulky and he also wore a belt holding boxes. Around his shoulder and across the chest was a spare ammunition belt. On his head he wore a metal helmet which was held tight down by the strap under his chin. She was scared of him and wanted to run but knew this would alert him. He was clever: taking a high path to cut her off from the land above. She could tell that he guessed it would be her strategy. Quietly she slipped away, back down into the gulley in order to fool him.