World War 3.1: A novel of The Axis of Time by Birmingham John

Author:Birmingham, John
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Gigantic Bombs Corporation
Published: 2023-09-18T00:00:00+00:00

24

The village seemed drained of colour and life. Ossendrecht, a small market town between a patchwork of tilled fields and the wilds of a nature reserve spilling across the Belgian-Dutch border, also played host to a small depot of the Royal Netherlands Army. Geert Veenstra knew the town well from training weekends and was surprised at how quickly the war, or just the threat of war, had turned it from a bustling agricultural hub into something like a movie set. The watery grey light of dawn threw a flat, lifeless pall over the scenery, flattening depth and emphasising the contingent nature of everything now. It felt as though Ossendrecht was waiting to be destroyed.

The garage sliding door rumbled up as Geert and his squad mates jumped down from the truck that had driven them the last two miles to the depot. His butt was already numb from bouncing around on the hardwood bench in the back of the big American truck, and he almost lost his footing and tumbled over as he dropped down from the tray.

“Great work, Geert,” he muttered as he staggered awkwardly. “Way to inspire confidence in your fellows and fear in Joe Stalin.”

“There’s our girl,” Heero Bloemsma called out. Geert’s eyes followed where the young carpenter pointed.

And there she was: all fifty tons of her.

Officially she was designated as an M-99 self-propelled howitzer, but almost everyone in NATO called her the “the mutt”. This particular 99 was lovingly known to Geert and his comrades as “Bernadette”. A one-five-five calibre gun on a reworked M-60 tank chassis, her standardised parts had come from all over the Alliance. The hull was built in the US with her driver station switched to the left and the engine (made in Britain by Leyland) at the right in the front of the vehicle. The turret was Swiss, and the gun was forged by Bofors in Sweden with a French autoloader. Assembly had also been completed in Sweden by Landsverk, with a German-made gearbox and optics, Dutch radio equipment and wiring and Portuguese seats.

She was indeed a mutt, but she had a hell of a bite.

“Okay then, dump your stuff and let’s wake her up,” Geert said. “Bernie’s had enough beauty sleep.”

“Didn’t help much,” his deputy, Ter Velde, deadpanned.

It took all four men to get the covers off. The waxed canvas tarps were dusty, but she was just as they had left her after their last weekend together three months ago.

Corporal Heero Bloemsma, their driver, dug out the inventory folder. It was not unknown for other units to ‘borrow’ an item or two from the depot.

Wachtmeester ter Velde, gunner and deputy commander, stood out on the slightly damp concrete tarmac, rolling a cigarette.

“Well, Opper, at least item one is here.”

Item one was the vehicle itself.

“Small mercies, Peet,” Geert nodded. “Let’s mount up and run a check.”

He climbed aboard carefully. The pins and needles he’d suffered after the truck ride had nearly gone, but he wasn’t a young boy anymore and climbing on board the armoured behemoth was not a jaunt to be lightly undertaken.

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