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GWOT VI - Killdozer
May. 4th, 2020 08:36 pmGWOT VI - The Killdozer
"The battlefield was no haven, but it was safer than the armored coffin that would now begin to blaze, its metal components to melt. This was not simply 'boiling up.' The tank would also torch the atmosphere around it. By then, there could be no hope for the men inside. Not unusually, their bodies were so badly burned that the remains were inseparable. 'Have you burned yet?' was a question tank men often asked each other when they met for the first time. A dark joke from this stage in the war has a politruk informing a young man that almost every tank man in his group has died that day. 'I’m sorry,' the young man replies. 'I’ll make sure that I burn tomorrow.'"
― Catherine Merridale, _Ivan's War: Life and Death in the Red Army, 1939-1945_
It sounded like a tractor.
Except for the pings of bullets bouncing off of it. And the lugging of the engine, strained beyond measure by hauling around so much more metal than it was ever designed for.
Its advance was death.
The killdozer itself was unarmed. But the men advancing in a wedge behind it were. Heavily.
The California technical kept having to back up. It couldn't get a good shot at the men, and bullets used on the killdozer were wasted.
The killdozer was slow.
But the refugees were slower.
And the result was inevitable. Death for them all, once the men caught up with their rifles and shotguns and bayonets and machetes.
Unless something could be done about the killdozer. Either a hard kill or a mobility kill.
A hard kill would destroy it. That would be best.
A mobility kill would keep it from moving. That would be good enough. It would be repairable but the refugees would have escaped.
But the California force had nothing - nothing - that would kill it.
Someone climbed down from the technical, doing something as refugees rushed past.
They turned and ran as well. In better shape, and carrying almost nothing, they struggled to catch up to the technical as it slowly reversed.
A bad ride is better than a good walk.
The killdozer advanced.
Caught up to a straggling band of refugees, who fell as if harvested by a scythe.
Then there was a sharp BANG and a puff of dirty black smoke, and it twisted aside briefly.
A metal snake accumulated behind one side - a detached tread.
A real tank and a real tank crew would fix that problem in minutes to hours, depending on why the track fell off and what tools they had.
But a killdozer was a crude construction of welded armor over a tractor. It had no real crew, only a driver and sometimes an engineer. No weapons, no guns - its ability to kill was its ability to lead armed men behind it.
The engine started smoking.
The refugees kept running.
The California technical stopped and the squad dismounted, scraping out shallow holes and setting up rifles and tripods.
Wisps of flame started licking at the sides of the killdozer.
Screams and shots were a constant of the battlefield.
Add the weeping and crying of women and children, so typical of genocide in progress.
But a new sound arose - the full throated screams of men burning alive in the death machine they had made.
And the California technical crew opened fire. Not at the killdozer crew - who were now trapped by their armor as well as protected, however involuntarily, from gunfire from outside.
If the US Navy knew it, here was the real reason all California Naval Militia sailors carried pistols while submerged in a LIDES.
In case it caught on fire. As a final escape.
The killdozer crew hadn't thought of that. Their screams became shrieks.
Goaded beyond measure, some of the genocidaires desperately tried to rescue their comrades, banging on steel armor with hand tools and the butts of rifles, to no effect.
Others fired at the Californians without bothering with cover, aiming, windage or other marksmanship skills.
The California soldiers shot both indiscriminately and without compunction.
Rescuing burning tank crew is a combatant act.
As is laying an anti-armor mine for them to drive over.
The trail of brightly colored clothing - each a body - from the killdozer's approach to where it now burned fiercely, a black column of smoke rising into the sky - was more than sufficient reason.
"The battlefield was no haven, but it was safer than the armored coffin that would now begin to blaze, its metal components to melt. This was not simply 'boiling up.' The tank would also torch the atmosphere around it. By then, there could be no hope for the men inside. Not unusually, their bodies were so badly burned that the remains were inseparable. 'Have you burned yet?' was a question tank men often asked each other when they met for the first time. A dark joke from this stage in the war has a politruk informing a young man that almost every tank man in his group has died that day. 'I’m sorry,' the young man replies. 'I’ll make sure that I burn tomorrow.'"
― Catherine Merridale, _Ivan's War: Life and Death in the Red Army, 1939-1945_
It sounded like a tractor.
Except for the pings of bullets bouncing off of it. And the lugging of the engine, strained beyond measure by hauling around so much more metal than it was ever designed for.
Its advance was death.
The killdozer itself was unarmed. But the men advancing in a wedge behind it were. Heavily.
The California technical kept having to back up. It couldn't get a good shot at the men, and bullets used on the killdozer were wasted.
The killdozer was slow.
But the refugees were slower.
And the result was inevitable. Death for them all, once the men caught up with their rifles and shotguns and bayonets and machetes.
Unless something could be done about the killdozer. Either a hard kill or a mobility kill.
A hard kill would destroy it. That would be best.
A mobility kill would keep it from moving. That would be good enough. It would be repairable but the refugees would have escaped.
But the California force had nothing - nothing - that would kill it.
Someone climbed down from the technical, doing something as refugees rushed past.
They turned and ran as well. In better shape, and carrying almost nothing, they struggled to catch up to the technical as it slowly reversed.
A bad ride is better than a good walk.
The killdozer advanced.
Caught up to a straggling band of refugees, who fell as if harvested by a scythe.
Then there was a sharp BANG and a puff of dirty black smoke, and it twisted aside briefly.
A metal snake accumulated behind one side - a detached tread.
A real tank and a real tank crew would fix that problem in minutes to hours, depending on why the track fell off and what tools they had.
But a killdozer was a crude construction of welded armor over a tractor. It had no real crew, only a driver and sometimes an engineer. No weapons, no guns - its ability to kill was its ability to lead armed men behind it.
The engine started smoking.
The refugees kept running.
The California technical stopped and the squad dismounted, scraping out shallow holes and setting up rifles and tripods.
Wisps of flame started licking at the sides of the killdozer.
Screams and shots were a constant of the battlefield.
Add the weeping and crying of women and children, so typical of genocide in progress.
But a new sound arose - the full throated screams of men burning alive in the death machine they had made.
And the California technical crew opened fire. Not at the killdozer crew - who were now trapped by their armor as well as protected, however involuntarily, from gunfire from outside.
If the US Navy knew it, here was the real reason all California Naval Militia sailors carried pistols while submerged in a LIDES.
In case it caught on fire. As a final escape.
The killdozer crew hadn't thought of that. Their screams became shrieks.
Goaded beyond measure, some of the genocidaires desperately tried to rescue their comrades, banging on steel armor with hand tools and the butts of rifles, to no effect.
Others fired at the Californians without bothering with cover, aiming, windage or other marksmanship skills.
The California soldiers shot both indiscriminately and without compunction.
Rescuing burning tank crew is a combatant act.
As is laying an anti-armor mine for them to drive over.
The trail of brightly colored clothing - each a body - from the killdozer's approach to where it now burned fiercely, a black column of smoke rising into the sky - was more than sufficient reason.
