by Harvey Black
“That would make sense, Sergeant, but the Soviets will be wanting to use that route to move their armour west as fast as possible. Get behind us for one thing, and keep One-Div moving back. They’ll be provided with air support to facilitate that.”
“Particularly those blasted Hinds. They’re bloody everywhere. We don’t seem to have anything to stop them.”
“So, we need to get back to our own area of operations. We’re currently in 1RTR’s area. We keep away from the 65; go west to Grossgoltern, then south to Barsinghausen. It’s a choke point, the town to the south and the high ground of Stemmer Berg to the north. We may find the rest of our unit regrouping.”
The corner of one of the farm’s outbuildings, the one Barrett’s Challenger tank was sheltering next to, exploded into a hundred fragments as the Spandrel anti-tank missile detonated, having missed its target by less than a metre. Sergeant Glover yelped as a large chunk of masonry struck him in the back, a second smaller piece smashing into the side of his knee. He dropped to the ground, his injured leg giving way.
Boompf.
Delta-Four-Bravo, on seeing the BMP-2 that had fired, despatched the enemy MICV almost immediately after the gunner who was keeping watch spotted the dust trail kicked up by the rapidly retreating vehicle attempting to make its escape and seeking out new cover to target the British tanks again. It failed, the sabot round crippling it, but four Soviet infantry escaped.
“Mount up! Mount up!” screamed Barrett as he dropped to the floor, grabbing Sergeant Glover’s webbing and pulling him onto his feet. “Can you walk?”
“Just about.”
“We need to mount up quick and get the hell out of here.”
“Move back,” yelled Lieutenant Barrett to his driver, the man’s head popping out above the driver’s hatch.
The engine, which had been ticking over, picked up revs as Tyler reversed the Challenger until it was completely hidden from view. Barrett helped Sergeant Glover to his vehicle and, with the help of the gunner and loader, secreted him into the turret where the tank would support his crippled back and weak knee.
“Sergeant Glover, give us two minutes then follow. I’ll inform you of our location on the move. Make it quick when you do move. We need to get away from this area.”
“That was a BMP-2, sir,” called Lance Corporal Frith.
“Fuck,” responded Glover. “That means they have advance elements of the new Soviet division making progress.”
“It does. Here.” Barrett handed Sergeant Glover’s SMG to the driver. “See you in two minutes.” Then he called over to the infantry section to mount up and follow him in their 432, keeping to his left flank at all times.
With that, he ran towards his own tank and clambered on board. On the orders from his commander, the driver reversed around the end of the building, stopped, turned right, then rattled in between the farm and an outbuilding, picking up speed as they crossed an open field. Barrett frantically scanned for some cover so they could protect Delta-Four-Bravo when it was their turn to pull back. He glimpsed something, a small copse a thousand metres away just southwest of the village. That would do the trick.
“A copse. There’s a minor road coming up. Take it, left. Three hundred metres south, then right on the next track. You should see the copse by then. Go for it.”
“Got it,” responded the driver.
Barrett spun the cupola round, watching the 120mm gun moving up and down above the engine deck as it maintained its level on whatever point Corporal Farre, his gunner, was tracking.
“See anything?”
“Sod all, sir.”
“Keep your eyes peeled.”
“No worries about that, sir.”
Lieutenant Barrett pulled down the hatch as the sixty-ton giant made its way south, Tyler steering left as he came across the track. Within 700 metres, they reached the copse and the Challenger crashed through the foliage, brushing aside that which the driver couldn’t avoid. Spinning it round on its tracks, he brought them back to the eastern edge of the copse. The 432 had gone straight through. The infantrymen and the three surviving tank crew dismounted, setting up a position along the outer edge. The gun-group, with barely 600 rounds of belted ammunition, set up and watched for any sign of the enemy in pursuit. The 432 then spun round, the pintle-mounted machine gun adding to the section’s firepower. The tankies lay alongside their comrades, their SMGs of no real use at long range, but up to fifty metres they would provide a significant boost to any close-quarter fighting.
The corporal issued arcs of fire to his section, now down to five men. He had lost his second-in-command and three men on the outskirts of Hanover: two as a consequence of the chemical strike, the other two from an attack by Spetsnaz forces. He spoke calmly to his soldiers, but inside he was still shaking. He and his men had been bombed, shelled, strafed, ambushed and poisoned. When ordered to pull back, fighting for every metre of ground as they did, he still looked at his small section with incredulity, astonished that they had escaped at all, let alone survived. The platoon, separated from its Company, had tried to push further west, but came across Soviet airborne troops and were deflected south. They were later ambushed and the section became separated from their platoon. It was then that they met up with the retreating units of the Royal Hussars Battle Group. That was a great relief for the young twenty-four year-old corporal.
“Delta-Four-Bravo, this is Delta-Four-Alpha. In position. Copse 1000 metres west your location. I’ll talk you in. Over.”
“Understood. Moving now. Out.”
2000, 8 JULY 1984. 48TH GUARDS TANK REGIMENT, 12TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION, 3RD SHOCK ARMY. WEST OF PATTENSEN, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT -3 DAYS
Colonel Kharzin pressed his regiment hard. The Bear had left him in no doubt of the consequences of failure. Artillery shells airburst above his head, and he dropped into the turret, the turret cover quickly pulled down to secure the tank. Moments later, his regiment felt the effects of the 155mm rounds as they discharged sub munitions above their heads, showering the racing T-80s with a rain of small, almost insignificant-looking, armoured-piercing projectiles. His regiment, spread out across the open fields, charged west to maintain the Operational Manoeuvre Group’s momentum. Elements of his forward units were brought to a halt as four salvos, of nearly 3,000 sub munitions, fired by the Royal Artillery, struck. The sub munitions, small shaped-charge warheads, smashed into the top cover of the speeding tanks. The ERA blocks secured across the armour deflected many. Although limited in capability, penetrating only tens of millimetres of armour some got through causing devastation. One managed to penetrate a tank’s ammunition carousel. The explosion was catastrophic. For some of the T-80s, the thinner armour on top of the turret succumbed, crewmen inside injured, but several drivers were able to keep their tanks on the move. One ground to a halt, the thin engine deck failing to resist the hot molten metal as it bit into the gas-turbine motor, rupturing the engine, engulfing the armoured vehicle in a steadily growing ball of flame. Black, oily smoke identified those tanks most badly hit.
Kharzin ordered his spearhead company to halt as the last salvo of Improved Conventional Munitions struck. A company of BMP-2s had been ordered forward to provide right-flanking protection from the British Mechanised Infantry Battalion that he knew to be out there somewhere to the north. In fact, the two antagonists had been in parallel, racing west: the British to escape and reform further back, the Soviets to link up with the airborne carpet that had been laid out in front of their axis of attack.
The smaller armoured vehicles fared worse, the company of ten mechanised infantry combat vehicles, MICVs, each carrying a Soviet motor-rifle section, losing half of their force. A concentrated salvo had straddled the small group on three separate occasions in less than a minute. Soldiers had huddled in their dark, cramped troop compartments, some feeling sick after being thrown from side to side inside the claustrophobic space as the BMP-2s raced across the undulating ground as if the devil himself was after th
em. In some respects, he was, in the form of their divisional commander, the Bear. Then they were met by a searing heat as jets of molten metal penetrated the thin armour, splaying out inside in a plume of destructive energy that ate into the flesh and bone of the cowering human beings who had nowhere to go but die a horrible, painful death as their vehicles continued on. The driver, in his own world of fear, carried on, deaf to the screams of his comrades dying less than a metre behind him.
A second vehicle erupted in a violent ball of flame. First, it was struck by a single charge which tore off a track rendering the BMP motionless; then by two more of the small but deadly charges, one piercing the troop compartment killing four men as they scrambled to escape the stricken vehicle, the second penetrating the turret, setting off the anti-tank missiles and the large calibre ammunition from the 30mm gun.
The platoon commanders, those that had survived, were terrified by the cacophony of sound battering what they’d hoped was their safe haven. They had to use every ounce of persuasiveness to keep their soldiers from panicking. One infantryman opened the rear door as the BMP was on the move. The sound from without horrified his comrades even more as they heaved the door shut, one soldier striking his comrade with the butt of the gun he had retrieved from the clip at his side. The lieutenants and sergeants either used threats or attempted to cajole their men to keep order. One sergeant, cramped in the back of a troop compartment with his subordinates, even begged the soldiers to keep their alarm in check, promising them they would survive. They just needed to remain calm and trust in the protection of their armour. His cries fell on deaf ears as two charges struck the top armour, punching through, savagely tearing into the helpless men inside, mutilating their bodies. Prisoners, trapped inside their own steel coffin.
The BMP Company was brought to a halt; the commander dead, killed in the first salvo, the rest of the unit either crippled, dying or leaderless and floundering. Kharzin radioed his force, establishing the state of his leading unit, and ordering the following units to make best speed and catch up. He was immediately in contact with the 1st Battalion Commander having him order his second and third company to bypass the crippled lead company and continue to push ahead.
Kharzin’s tank approached his lead company and received reports from the battered unit. He then waited for the second and third company to pass through. Out of the ten T-80s and ten BMP-2s he had pushed forward, three of the main battle tanks were ablaze, their engines afire, fuel and exploding ordnance feeding it, forcing back any rescuers attempting to recover the crews. One had a track split in two places: recoverable, but out of commission for at least half a day. The fifth had survived, mainly intact, but the turret was frozen in place, the repair time unknown. As for the rest of the company, plus his own T-80K, they were fully operational, but many had lost explosive reactive blocks from the surface of their armour, the blocks fulfilling their role in protecting the tanks.
For the infantry company, it was a similar story: three completely destroyed, a fourth with both tracks lost, and a fifth with minor damage to the turret but capable of continuing with the battle if called upon. Twenty-six infantrymen had been either killed or severely wounded. Some of those that had survived were in a serious state of shock and temporarily deaf. But they would be expected by their leaders to remain with the unit and fight when called upon. Ten tank crewmen had been killed. Kharzin had also lost a ZSU 23/4 and an SA-9. The British have drawn real blood for the first time in regard to the 12th Guards Tank Division, he thought.
“Four-Eight-Zero, this is Four-Eight-One. Passing your location. Orders. Over.”
“Push for Ronnenberg. Link up with the airborne. I’m right behind you.” He ordered 1st Battalion forward.
With that, he gave the order to move to his driver, who was still slightly shaken after experiencing his first taste of being under artillery fire. He pressed the pedal and the armoured giant surged forward. Not far away was a T-80K, followed by two MTLB command vehicles belonging to the 1st Battalion HQ, as the commander came forward with his third tank company. Soon, Kharzin would have a full battalion, minus the casualties, starting to make progress.
“Four-Eight-Zero, this is Zero-One-Two. What is your situation? Over?”
“Artillery strike. Temporary halt. First-battalion pressing forward,” replied Kharzin.
“Keep up the pressure, Yury. There’s to be no stopping,” responded the Bear.
“Understood. The British artillery will strike again once they relocate.”
“We will deal with them. Forward, Yury, you must move forward. Out.”
“Four-Eight-Four, this is Four-Eight-Zero. Report. Over.”
“We have sight of Four-Eight-One. Situation Report. Over,” responded Captain Kalyagin, the commander of the regimental recce company, from his BMP command vehicle.
“Go ahead.”
“Contact with airborne. Two elements have secured Ronnenberg and Wettbergen. You have free passage. Over.”
“Understood. Make your way to Ditterke and report. You must secure the gap.”
“Understood. Will contact you when we have a visual. Out.”
Chapter 3
2030, 8 JULY 1984. 1ST BATTALION, 36TH MECHANISED INFANTRY REGIMENT, 3RD BRIGADE, 3RD ARMOURED DIVISION, US V CORPS. STOP-LINE DALLAS, NORTHEAST OF SCHLUCHTERN, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT -3 DAYS
The Soviet planners of the invasion of West Germany had a number of routes, options, available to them. Two consisted of a strike into Western Europe from the area of the River Danube in the south, or across the flat, open plains of Germany in the north. Crossing the River Danube would allow the Warsaw Pact to attack through Austria and into the soft underbelly of West Germany, in between Nuremberg and Stuttgart, supporting any attack from Czechoslovakia. In the north, the flat open plains straddling Minden, north and south, would allow the fast movement of massed tank armies, although the growth of the West German population and subsequent expansion of the towns and villages would in effect provide small defendable fortresses. A third and fourth option was to cut through the two corridors of the Fulda-Gap: an area that stretched between East Germany and Frankfurt am Main where two low-lying corridors linked Bad Hersfield in the north and Fulda in the south with the River Main. Situated close to the banks of this major German river sits Frankfurt. Napoleon’s armies used these very routes after they were defeated at Leipzig. Over 100 years later, during WW2, it was the route taken by the US XII Corps as they advanced on the Germans in 1945. The northernmost corridor passes south of Knullgebirge and continues around the northern slopes of the Vogelsberg Mountains, a volcanic massif reaching a height of 773 metres. The southern corridor stretches from the town of Fulda to Frankfurt via the Flieden and Kinzig valleys, straddled by the Vogelsberg Mountains to the north with the Rhon and Spessart Mountains to the south.
Emerging from the western exit of these two routes, the Soviet army would encounter less undulating terrain, speeding up their advance after the slow, restricted corridors they would have initially navigated. From there, they could strike out for the River Rhine and attack deep into the heart of the US military, centred on Frankfurt am Main. The Rhein-Main Air Base, designated to receive a huge bulk of the US reinforcements, had to be defended at all costs.
Beyond Frankfurt, the US army garrison of Wiesbaden was a mere thirty kilometres away. The defence of this gap was in the hands of the US V Corps. With the 11th Cavalry Regiment, the ‘Black Horse’ Regiment, completing its role as a covering force after being pushed back by the advancing forces of the Soviet 8th Guards Army. General Stilwell, commander of US V Corps, had now committed the rest of his forces to the defence of this critical sector. His toughest unit was that of the 3rd US Armoured Division, and it was this unit that would take the brunt of the next phase of the Soviet attack.
The most famous soldier in the 3rd Armoured Division during the 1950s was Elvis Presley, assigned to Company A, 1st Battalion, 32nd Armoured Regiment, Combat Command C, at R
ay Barracks in Friedberg. After his time in service, Elvis made the famous movie G.I. Blues in which he portrays a 3rd Armoured Division tank crewman with a singing career. Former Secretary of State, General Colin Powell, also served in the 3rd Armoured Division and went on to command V Corps in Germany. However, the Spearhead Division was about to face its toughest task yet.
The M113 Armoured Personnel Carrier, the first armoured vehicle of its kind to have an aluminium hull, slewed left, coming to a halt, depositing the HQ element of the platoon it carried. The soldiers dismounted as a second APC pulled up alongside them. The platoon leader beckoned for his men to deploy along the edge of the wood on the lower part of the slope, northwest of Schluchtern, they were assigned to defend. A third and fourth M113 manoeuvred further into the trees where their squads would also dig in overlooking the L3292, a minor road that ran west from the Autobahn that snaked southwest through the 3rd Brigade’s position.
The platoon leader, Lieutenant Garcia, and his four squads had the task of protecting two units from the anti-tank platoon sent from the support company. They were expected within the next ten minutes.
Garcia made his way into the trees and met up with his platoon sergeant, Sergeant First Class Ricardo Park.
“LT, I’ve put first and second squad on the far left, weapons squad in the middle with third squad on the right.”
“What are the foxholes like?”
“Good, sir, a decent size. The engineers have done a half decent job. The squads just need to sort out some top-cover.”
“Let’s go take a look then, Platoon Sergeant. We need to get the APCs moved pretty soon.”
Before they could take a step towards the lower slope, the sound of the ITVs could be heard making their way through the trees. Although the forested area was very large, the trees themselves were fairly widely spaced, allowing smaller armoured vehicles to weave their way through slowly, providing someone guided them on foot. They turned around and headed back towards where the M113s were parked up and were met by an infantryman on foot guiding one of the M109 ITVs through the trees. Behind the lead ITV, they could see a second one following. The gunner who was the guide raised his hand and called a halt, and Garcia and Sergeant Park made their way over to the vehicle. The driver’s helmeted head, goggles pushed up and back, could be seen peering out of the driver’s hatch.
