The Rising North

Chapter 13.2: The Tommies (2)

Northern France, Le Havre, 1045 hours:

Smoke continued to rise from the city as a large formation of 15 Sherman Fireflies and 3 Black Prince Churchill's were moving towards the town in an arrow formation, with dark, thunderous clouds shadowing them from above. ARL's and SA50's were seen running away, some scattered on the fields and roads with white flags on their roofs.

A young man was standing on the cupola, watching from the Churchill in the middle of the formation towards the fleeing tanks through his binoculars. Wearing a thick wool tank suit with a Scottish flag patch on the right shoulder and the Black Watch team's symbol patch on the left shoulder. He's also wearing a balmoral bonnet with an ANGSCOT union pin attached to it, coupled with a headset placed on top of the hat, and a pair of black boots as his footwear.

That man is William McNab; he watched as the SA50's and ARL's ran away, some crashing into each other before being fired at by the Fireflies or the Black Princes. It was chaotic and unorganised.

"Jesus fucking christ, I bet first-year students crewed those tanks. I never saw them this disorganised before. Firing!" His gunner commented in a thick Scottish accent before he fired off a shell from the 17-pounder. The shell flew for a few moments before hitting the tracks on an ARL, causing the ARL to drive in circles before stopping. "Load me another."

The loader immediately went down and grabbed a fresh shell from the lower ammo rack before going back up to the gun chamber, shoved the shell inside, and sealed it close. "Up!"

"Firing!" The gunner pressed on the cannon's trigger, causing another shell to spew out from the barrel and hit the rear turret of the ARL, causing the immobile tank to flinch forward before a white flag popped out.

"Well, we're going to be aces before the end of the year." The gunner chuckled. "They're such easy targets; this is like... What do those yanks call again?"

"A turkey shoot." William looked back and forth from his binoculars before dropping them and then pulling the mic close to his mouth. "All units, listen up. We're about to enter the town of Le Havre. We've been here hundreds of times already, so you all know what to do. Form up on three files with the Churchill leading up front. We'll be fighting in close quarters, but you all already know that."

William's orders were disrupted when another voice in an English accent came in. "This is Stingray 1-9 to Cavalier Actual; do you copy?"

William halted, hearing a new voice in the background. He then responded back. "Cavalier Actual to Stingray 1–9, I can hear your voice crystal clear; go ahead."

"Stingray 1-9 to Cavalier Actual, I'm here with Stingray 1-10. We got lost during our airdrop, several kilometers away from the drop zone. Stingray Actual ordered us to regroup with your force. Permission to fall in?" He requested.

William heard the words coming in from Stingray 1–9, dropping off kilometers away. What are the odds? Though he read some reports of today's weather the day before, the wind would be quite strong. He then responded to his request. "Stingray 1–9, permission granted. What's your current location?"

"We just passed by a group of Bishop SPG's. I'm seeing a formation of what seems to be Churchill's and Sherman's." The young man described.

William looked back towards the rear of the formation after the mention of his force, where he saw two Tetrarch Mk. VII's passing by a column of Bishop's on the main road, speeding closer. He then leaned back to the mic. "Right, I'm seeing you two now.."

The Tetrarchs began approaching closer and closer to the formation, their dirty tracks sending chunks of wet earth flying to the road. One Tetrarch then got close to William's Churchill, and one young man popped out from the cupola. Wearing pretty much the same clothing as him, with the difference being the patches and the headwear, with him wearing a black berret instead. He then stood straight before saluting him.