In a depression adjacent to the farmhouse, a turret with R-115 number painted on the side of the "Celtic Warrior" is covered with a simple branch camouflage that looks like a large bush from a distance. Pen @ fun @ pavilion wWw. ｂｉｑUｇE。 InfoThe fat captain in a leather chariot hat was lying on his stomach in the turret hatch, holding a pair of small, shock-resistant armored binoculars and peering into the fields around him. When he saw an unusual movement in the northwest, he suppressed his voice and gave a combat order to his crew:

"Oh, the enemy cavalry is coming, in our direction of 11 o'clock. Simon, loaded with F-shells; Sean, bullet loaded; Stephen, don't start without my orders. ”

By the technical standards of the 20s, the "Celtic Warrior" was a very good main battle tank, with superior firepower, maneuverability, and protection, and a five-man crew with a clear division of labor, which significantly improved combat efficiency compared with the usual four-man crew. With the fat commander's command, the loader quickly slipped a flare into the chamber, and the Heavy controlled the 7 in the front right of the hull. The 92 mm machine gun, another machine gun equipped with this vehicle, can be used to measure and adjust the firing position of the main gun, as well as to kill and injure targets outside the vehicle.7 The 92mm Coaxial Machine Gun is directly controlled by the Commander via the turret rotation pedal and the Coaxial Machine Gun firing pedal.

"Michael, the enemy cavalry is five or six hundred meters away from us, let the flares go over their heads."

"No problem!"

In response, the gunner quickly turned the main gun pitch handle, and the turret also turned slightly under the drive of the motor, and all adjustments were made in three seconds. Immediately afterward, the sharp-eyed gunner simply pulled down the firing handle on the side of the main gun's pitch handle.

50-mm tank guns roared.

In the blink of an eye, a ball of light a hundred times brighter than the moon appeared. In the field, a cavalry force of about thirty men was approaching the defenders' positions under the cover of the sound of gunfire, and the light of the flares made their silhouettes clearly visible in the view of the Irish chariots.

Convinced that the cavalry were British, the fat commander gave the order in a sprint-like voice: "Machine gun fire!" Simon, H-bomb! ”

The machine gun on the front of the hull immediately roared openly.

The bullets without tracer bullets were not easy to detect, and before the British cavalry could make a dodge move, a series of bullets had knocked down five or six people. The vehicle's coaxial machine gun quickly adjusted into place, spewing out a series of tongues of fire, and tracer bullets used to mark the firing position were particularly eye-catching on this night.

With the crunch of the bolt closing, the loader shouted to the clock: "Reload complete!" ”

Tracer bullets plunged headlong into the cavalry ranks, so the gunners did not hesitate to fire the main guns. The H shell, or HE grenade, was as powerful as several offensive grenades, and it followed the trajectory of the coaxial machine gun bullet and hit the ground with a bang, instantly blasting three or four cavalrymen and their mounts away.

The fat commander lying in the turret hatch looked through the binoculars at the bloody and cruel but blood-boiling battle scene, and the fat on his face trembled with the opening and closing of his jaws: "Simon, one more shot!" ”

There were very few grenades left on the ammunition rack, but the loader did not hesitate to remove a single round and stuff it into the chamber as quickly as possible. After two successive shots, the choking smell of gunpowder began to fill the narrow space inside the tank, but fortunately, the British cavalry was far away from the tank, and the turret hatch and escape door of the Irish tank were open, and the crew members did not need to wear gas masks during the battle.

Two other Irish chariots lying in ambush near the farmhouse followed closely into battle, and in less than half a minute, the British cavalry in the field "disappeared" without a trace. On today's battlefield, a group of cavalry that has lost speed is not as good as a group of well-trained infantry, so the three chariots quickly stopped firing.

The whistling of the soldiers expressing their excitement was heard from the farmhouse, and the crew members also high-fived each other, but the fat commander, who was still lying in the turret hatch, not only regained his composure, but even had worry in his eyes. He held the binoculars, intently observing the situation on the other side of the line. Judging from the distribution of light and flames from gunfire and explosions, there are several fire support points in the coalition position, and many figures running and moving can be faintly seen in the trenches, and the northern position of this defensive line has been basically swallowed up by darkness.

After about five minutes, the sky suddenly sounded the shrill whistle of long-range artillery bombardment, and the heavy shells flying from the direction of the sea smashed far into the rear of the British army, and regardless of the effect of the shelling, the huge momentum of the rolling thunder alone was enough to greatly encourage the officers and men of the coalition army.

In the midst of heavy artillery bombardment, a position under the control of the coalition forces suddenly flashed with explosive flames, an unusual sight that meant that the defenders of the position were fiercely resisting the attackers. After a while, several dark shadows climbed up to the position, and after a burst of light and flames dissipated, the defenders' fire was suppressed.

If those were the Vickers light tanks of the British army, the "Celtic Warriors" could be killed two kilometers apart, but the silhouette and posture were clearly owned by the heavy tanks. The fat commander stared at these black shadows that had run over the trenches, in the previous battle, his tank consumed 49 armor-piercing shells, calculated with a conservative hit rate of forty percent, and there were also twenty rounds to hit the target, but not to mention the elimination of twenty British tanks, tonight's results may be less than five - some targets have been hit by two or three armor-piercing shells still do not lie down, and can basically confirm that the results of destruction are achieved at a distance of four or five hundred meters, which gives him a new understanding of the actual performance of British heavy tanks and the battlefield power of his own tank guns.

The rumbling of gunfire on the battlefield did not stop for a moment, and the area around the farmhouse, which was two or three kilometers away from the front line, was now a "pure land" in the middle of the noise, and the roar of a motorcycle approaching could also attract people's attention.

During this period, both the German and Irish armies used two-wheeled motorcycles as special tools for communications and scouts, so when motorcycles and motorcyclists appeared here, people naturally realized that it was related to the change in the situation on the battlefield.

The fat captain looked back curiously, and when he saw the motorcycle driving into the field hospital, he turned his gaze back to the Allied defense line that was being ravaged by British tanks, and at this time the soldiers could be seen fleeing their positions, and the British tanks that crossed the trenches were mercilessly slaughtered with artillery and machine guns, which had not happened before, because the field artillery and tank units of the coalition army were able to kill the British tanks that pierced the positions in a timely and effective manner, and there was no force to stop them from wreaking havoc at will.

Within two minutes of the motorcycle's appearance, the field hospital built around the farmhouse was in an uproar, and the crowd began to move slowly southward, mostly lightly wounded unarmed and able to move on their own, and many remained, with several officers walking back and forth, shouting reassuring the men, saying that a car would soon come to evacuate them.

The soldiers who had withdrawn from the defense line also arrived at the field hospital when they walked to the southwest, some of them came to seek medical treatment, and some of them buried their heads in following the people around them. Discovering that there were chariot troops here, the embarrassed coalition soldiers immediately found a little spiritual comfort. At the beckoning of a German officer, they did not continue their retreat over the farmhouse, but stopped and turned to the defense on the spot.

When the German cadet approached the Irish chariot numbered R-115, a communications officer on a motorcycle arrived. This man was about in his early twenties, with two thick eyebrows, and he was wearing a standard German-style infantry helmet, carrying a Mauser M1927 semi-automatic rifle, and he heard in a slightly hoarse voice: "Gentlemen, I have brought an order from the command of the 2nd Mixed Corps from Abersoch, the armored forces are about to counterattack, the units should hold on steadily under the conditions they can, and the artillery, wounded and baggage troops can be withdrawn to Abersoch for rest and recuperation." ”

"Armored troops? Is it our 3rd Tank Regiment of Greater Germany? The German military officer was covered in mud, but he still maintained a standing posture with his head held high, showing his tenacious military demeanor.

The German signal soldier replied respectfully: "As far as I know, yes, sir." When I came, I saw them massing west of Abersoch, at least a hundred tanks and a considerable number of armored vehicles. ”

The German cadet high-fived with a fist: "Great! If nothing else, we will soon be able to push the British back and regain the lost line. ”

The fat commander listened to the conversation between the two Germans without saying a word, he was not particularly proficient in German, but he could still understand the words of these two, especially the number of the 3rd Tank Regiment of Greater Germany, because of the brilliant achievements in suppressing the French revolutionary armed forces, it had long been like thunder.

The German cadet then turned his gaze to the fat commander: "Can this tank commander understand German?" ”

The fat captain replied in jerky German: "A little reluctantly." ”

"We're going to defend here." The German cadet spoke at a very slow pace, and then stated the key word "defense" in Irish.

"You speak very good Irish." The fat captain complimented in Irish.

The high-profile German cadet was a little displeased, but for the sake of the bigger picture, he turned to Irish to ask the fat captain and his colleagues to cooperate in the battle.

"In the absence of contact with our superiors and clear orders, we are to obey the command of the highest rank, whether he is an Irish or German officer." The Fat Captain quoted a phrase from the Irish Army's wartime regulations to make his position clear.

The rigid German was so pleased with this that he crossed his hands on his hips and said in a loud voice: "Very well, we will carry out field defense here, you will provide fire support, and take care of dealing with those British tanks." ”

"Yes." The fat commander replied without humility or arrogance, "But sir, I remind you that we have not much ammunition left, and we need to replenish 50 mm armor-piercing shells and 7-point 92 mm machine gun bullets in time." ”

The German military officer frowned: "I'm afraid I can't do anything about the shells, but it shouldn't be a problem to get some machine gun bullets." ”

With that, he waved his hand, summoned a German non-commissioned officer, curled his little tongue and gave him a few commands, and the non-commissioned officer led several soldiers to the farmhouse.

"I don't quite understand." The fat commander spoke a little clumsily to the signal soldier who was about to leave, "The 3rd Tank Regiment should have started landing before evening, why not support the line at the height of the fighting?" ”

"I'm sorry, sir, I'm only responsible for delivering the message." The Messenger grimaced at the fat captain, then started his motorcycle and drove away handsomely.

"Maybe it's not enough fuel, maybe the personnel aren't in place, or maybe the commander has something else in mind." The German cadet who turned around replied for the signal soldier, "I don't think it matters anymore, the honorable 3rd Tank Regiment of the Greater German will soon come and clear the British out of the game like ace boxers against amateurs." ”

(End of chapter)