The Blue Effect (Cold War)

by Harvey Black

  “It’s our bloody minefields that worry me, sir.” Gough pointed at the 1:50,000 map, barely legible under the pale glow of the last fading light. “They’ve marked where the two routes through the mines will be, but all it takes is a couple of those bloody sub munitions to go astray and we’re fucked. The planks can’t map read to save their lives.”

  “That’s why we’ve got some engineers with us. They will be call sign Two-One-Golf.”

  “Is that their Spartan at the entrance to the Laager?”

  “Yes, we’ll go and have a chat with them shortly.”

  “Scrounge a brew, eh, sir? My driver makes shit tea.”

  They both chuckled.

  “This is the route I think is best.” The lieutenant got back on track. “We’re forming up north of Mindenerwald. Then its east along the 770, turning north as we get to the outskirts of Petershagen. Then we go where we’re advised.”

  “I concur with that, sir. When will we know our final objective?”

  “Last minute, I would imagine. If air recce can give us a steer, that would be good. Otherwise, they will be depending on us to tell them if any of the Soviet bridges are still intact.”

  “So, we either find a ready-made crossing point, or move to where we will be preparing our own.”

  “That about sums it up.”

  “It could be a complete fuck-up, sir.”

  “Why so negative, Sergeant?”

  “Look, sir. Going up against the river, finding a ready-made bridge, calling the combat team forward to secure it. It is still Bravo with the grunts from RGJ, isn’t it?”

  “Yes.”

  “That’s all fine. But if that is a no-go and we head north or south to link up with our own engineers throwing a bridge across, we will probably be coming up against retreating Soviets and then into the guns of our own tanks. You know what trigger-happy bastards 12th Brigade are.”

  “It’s a dilemma, that’s for certain. They know they have to look out for us.”

  “That’s even worse, sir.” The sergeant laughed. “They’ll be gunning for us.”

  “We’ll be fine. Let’s go and scrounge a brew from our engineer friends.”

  1930, 10 JULY 1984. TWO-SECTION, THREE-COMPANY, 1ST BATTALION, ROYAL GREEN JACKETS. ESPELKAMP, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS

  “Aren’t those sausages ready yet, Finch?” complained Corporal Carter to Rifleman Michael Finch who was hovering over a hexe-burner, warming up a tin of compo sausages. Next to him, Conroy was warming soup over a home-made stove: two large stones with burning diesel mixed in with churned-up soil, and a waterproof propped up with a stick at an angle over the top to hide the flicker of the flames.

  “Two ticks, Corp, this bloody hexe’s gone out.”

  “Well, stick another one on then, you prat,” demanded Alan Berry.

  “You focus on the tea. Leave me to do my bit.”

  “Do you two buggers ever stop fighting?” Chided Lance Corporal William Graham, the section second-in-command.

  “Hey, Conroy, stick a bit of Marmite in that soup and tart it up, will you?”

  “Yes, Corporal,” replied one of the new recruits to the section.

  The section had three new faces in total. Conroy, Jesson and Kent had been flown over from the UK by Hercules along with other reinforcements, and then driven in convoy to the front. Up until two days ago, they were part of 5th Battalion (V) Royal Green Jackets, a battalion that had been assigned a Home Defence role. But, such was the need for reinforcements; some of the Home Defence battalions were being stripped of soldiers to reinforce the regular infantry units in 1 Br Corps. Conroy and Jesson had come from A-Company, whose recruitment patch was High Wycombe, whereas Kent was from E-Company based in Milton Keynes.

  The section had lost four men in total. The gun-group of three men had been wiped out entirely. The youngest member of the unit, Ashley, had his body peppered with shrapnel from one of the Soviet grenades launched from a Plamya, an AGS-17 grenade launcher, by Soviet motor rifle troops. Many others on the front line with Corporal Carter’s section had also died: the forward observers spotting for the mortar section and a Milan-FP team. A German unit sent to reinforce them had also suffered horrendous casualties, many of them as a consequence of a chemical strike. Carter didn’t think he would ever be able to shake off the look of the German officer’s face as the chemical agent did its stuff. The blisters forming on the man’s face, thrashing his body from side to side, arms flailing as he tried to breathe, but his lungs continued to fill up with his own fluids, eventually killing him. Now, he had three new soldiers to look after. He’d decided to put Finch and Berry on the GPMG, under the command of Graham, and he would have the three new ones, along with Price, as the rifle-group.

  “Sausages are ready.”

  “About bloody time,” moaned Finch.

  “Do you want yours, tosser?” responded Berry.

  “Pack it in, both of you,” ordered Carter. “Right, lads, gather round while we eat. Kent, get out of your maggot and get over here.”

  “Corporal.”

  Two-Section gathered around their section commander, and a mess tin of hot, sweet tea was passed around while Finch forked sausages out of the two tins, slapping one in each mess tin that was wavering in front of him. They were using their mugs for soup, which was doled out by Graham, the section second-in-command.

  After the tea did its first round, and the soup had been tasted, complained about and had burnt a few tongues, Graham talked to his men.

  “You new boys, when we go into action tomorrow, you need to keep it tight. Listen for orders and, for God’s sake, keep your safeties on until I give the word.”

  “Yeah, I don’t want a bullet up my arse,” moaned Finch through a mouthful of soup and sausage.

  “Take your lead from Price and, if need be, I might assign one of you to support the Gympy team. Got it?”

  They all responded positively, in awe of their section commander who was not only a regular but had seen some real action.

  “We’ll be with the armour again.”

  “At least we’ll have some muscle,” suggested Graham.

  “And it’s with Bravo-Troop.”

  “Good, that Lieutenant Wesley-Jones is alright for a Rupert,” added Finch.

  “He lost a tank though, didn’t he?” Elaborated Price.

  “If it had been one of the other Ruperts, he’d have probably lost all three,” grumbled Berry.

  “Will we definitely get some real fighting in then?” blurted Jesson.

  Finch and Berry looked at each other and smirked.

  “It’s likely, but we won’t know that until it all kicks off. But don’t go wishing for it,” advised Carter.

  “Final briefing, Corporal Carter?” interrupted Lieutenant Chandler, their platoon commander, who had appeared out of nowhere.

  The section scrambled to get up.

  “As you were,” ordered Chandler as he crouched down next to them. Platoon Sergeant Bob Thomas was next to him.

  “Brew, sir?” Asked Corporal Graham. “I’ve just warmed up another full mess tin.”

  “Why not.”

  “You too, Sarge?”

  “Sure.” The sergeant handed over his and the platoon commander’s mugs. Once filled they were handed back.

  “Your section up to speed then, Corporal Carter?”

  “Yes, sir. We’ve stowed the extra ammo and a couple of extra missiles for the Milan section.”

  “Rations?”

  “Yes, Sarge. The QM issued us with three days worth. Is that how long the op will last for, sir?”

  “If successful, it should be less than that.”

  “And if it goes to rat shit, sir?” Asked Graham.

  “Then I’ll hold you personally responsible,” growled Thomas.

  “The plan looks good. We’re rested and rearmed, our forces are in position, and the enemy have stretched their axis of attack. When they cross the Weser in the morn
ing, we’ll make them pay for that overconfidence.”

  “Sounds good to me, sir,” agreed Carter.

  The lieutenant and sergeant stood up.

  “We’ll have a five-minute briefing at 0200, just before we move off, so make sure your section is ready.”

  “Sir,” responded Carter.

  The sergeant looked at his watch. “You’ll need to provide two men on stag, between 2100 and 2200.”

  “Jesson and Conroy, Sarge.”

  The lieutenant and sergeant smiled at each other, both thinking the same: the new guys were at the bottom of the pecking order.

  “Make sure they’re not late and know the password.”

  “Sarge.”

  “Let’s go and check on One-Section then, sir.”

  1930, 10 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM DELTA, ROYAL HUSSARS, 7TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF LUBECKE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS

  The Scammell Commander tank transporters finally turned up, and not a moment too soon. The drivers manoeuvred the Scammells into position, and the crews of D-Squadron quickly got to work offloading the badly needed tanks. Out of a squadron of fourteen tanks, five from Delta-Squadron had survived the battles around the Rossing and later west of Pattensen: two from the squadron HQ, one damaged tank that had crossed the river early on in the battle, while three others had escaped, one being destroyed before the unit was able to make it to safety.

  These replacements were badly needed. The regiment as a whole had lost over forty per cent of its strength, far more than high command had hoped. Along with fresh crews, D-Squadron was to receive nine of the replacement sixty-ton main battle tanks. This would take their total squadron numbers up to thirteen, nearly at full strength. The rest of the regiment had received twelve tanks to allocate to the remaining three squadrons. A-Squadron and B-Squadron now had a force of ten each, three troops of three and one for the squadron HQ. C-Squadron also had thirteen and, like D-Squadron, would field four troops of three and one for HQ. Some of the tanks brought across had been from repair shops in the UK, training tanks from regimental depots, and some direct from the Royal Ordnance factories. But these were the last. If lost, it would be a long time before there were anymore more replacements.

  Once the Challengers were offloaded from the semi-trailers, the Scammells started on their 470-kilometre journey back to the coast. With two drivers, the vehicles would move almost non-stop, taking seriously damaged armoured vehicles to repair shops well to the rear. And, if any could be repaired, they could eventually find themselves back at the front. But then it would probably be too late. The new tanks were very much needed, as the Royal Hussars Battle Group was yet again to consist of all tanks, not being diluted with mechanised infantry. High manoeuvrability would be key if they were to hit an unsuspecting enemy hard.

  Once the offloading of the new tanks was complete, Lieutenant Barrett gathered his men around his troop tank. “Well, first of all, welcome to the new members of our troop. Have the crews been assigned, Sarn’t Glover?”

  The troop sergeant had been injured during their last fight at Ditterke, west of Pattensen, after they had escaped a trap forming in between the enemy crossing the Leine and airborne troops to their rear. Although his shoulder was still painful and there was a slight limp when he walked, he had insisted on remaining with the unit. They were so short of experienced tank crews, it was difficult for higher command not to approve it. “Yes, sir. Your crew will remain as is, with Corporal Farre as your gunner, Lance Corporal Coleman loader, and Trooper Field as your driver.”

  Barrett nodded, pleased that his crew had survived the battle with him.

  “I will keep Four-Bravo with Lance Corporal Tompkins and Trooper Woodford, but I’ve transferred Lance Corporal Frith to Four-Charlie and taken one of the new boys, Trooper Lockhart. Corporal Mason not only has a new tank but needs to replace Trooper Mann and Trooper Deacon, who has been promoted and transferred to C-Squadron.”

  “They’re welcome to him, Sarge,” broke in Corporal Mason, jokingly.

  “Deacon a Lance Corporal? God help us, Sarge,” added Lance Corporal Frith.

  “Belt up, you two, or I’ll have you both transferred to the cookhouse.”

  “Sarge.”

  “Sarn’t.”

  “Sorry about that, sir. We’re obviously not working them hard enough.”

  “We could always make good on that, Sergeant Glover,” responded Lieutenant Barrett, smiling.

  “If I can be allowed to finish. So, I’ve got Trooper Bellamy as my new loader.”

  “Thank you, Sarn’t Glover. Welcome to the troop, you two,” the lieutenant said, referring to Lockhart and Bellamy. “We know we’ve got a tough fight ahead. I won’t run through the plans again. We all know our jobs. I suggest you get as much rest a possible. Just make sure everything is up to scratch. You will need to have a thorough check of Four-Charlie, Corporal Mason.”

  “Looks fine, sir, but I’ll run through some checks.”

  “I’ll give him a hand,” volunteered Farre.

  “Cheers, mate.”

  “Questions?”

  “Trooper Mann, sir. Any news?” Woodford asked after their friend who was hit when the enemy near Ditterke bounced them, the same time as the sergeant received his injuries.

  “Nothing new, Woodford. But the OC has told me that he’s well on his way back to the coast. He’ll soon be on a boat for home, I’m sure.” He looked around at his men. They looked tired, but in good spirits. “Nothing? Right. We move out at 0200. Dismissed.”

  Chapter 27

  1930, 10 JULY 1984. 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF KALLETAL, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS

  The REME LAD section lowered the replacement power pack into the main battle tank’s engine compartment. A few hours’ work would see the engine connected and the tank belonging to the commander of C-Squadron, 3rd Royal Tank Regiment, 3RTR, ready for combat again. Although they had been badly mauled during their role as part of 1 British Corps’ covering force, delaying the Soviet advance until the 1st and 3rd Armoured Divisions were in position to take the brunt of the attack, the regiment, along with the rest of the 4th Armoured Division, were preparing to go into the fray yet again.

  The strongest of the brigades in the division, 33rd Armoured, with the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards Tank Regiment, the 1st Battalion Royal Highland Fusiliers and the 1st Battalion the Black Watch, were preparing for the planned counter attack. They had also been allocated a new battalion, the 1st Battalion, the 52nd Lowland Volunteers, a Territorial Army battalion fresh from Britain. The 11th and 20th Brigades had suffered the most in their role as a covering force, having to hold at bay two of the Group of Soviet Forces Germany, most powerful divisions: the 10th Guards Tank Division and the 7th.

  They too had been reinforced. 20th Brigade had been allocated the 5th Battalion, the Queen’s Regiment along with the 3rd Battalion, the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. The 1st Battalion, 51st Highland Volunteers, had reinforced 11th Armoured Brigade. The 11th Brigade, consisting of 3RTR, the 2nd Battalion RGJ and the 1st Battalion RRF, was also preparing to go into battle again. 1RRF, reinforced with troops from Britain, now stood at about seventy per cent strength; but still down to less than 400 men. 3RTR and 2RGJ were in a slightly better position. 3RTR had received nine replacement Chieftains. The regiment’s strength now consisting of four squadrons with A and B Squadrons fielding ten main battle tanks each, and C and D Squadrons with eleven each. Including all headquarters Chieftains that gave the unit forty-two tanks. 2RGJ, also reinforced, could now put 480 men into the fight. They had received their initial orders. 33rd Armoured Brigade would lead the attack in the south, followed closely by 11th Armoured, ready to exploit any breakthrough. The RRF and Highland Volunteers would follow on, ready to deploy and hold ground should the forward brigades be pushed back and have to withdraw. It was now a case of just standing by, waiting for the Soviet army to cross the Weser to the nort
h, and attempt to break through and race for the Rhine. Then, it would be time to counter-attack from the south.

  1930, 10 JULY 1984. 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL GREEN JACKETS, 11TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF ALMENA, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS

  Major Andy Phillips, the commander of A Company, the 2nd Battalion, the Royal Green Jackets, chatted to his Company Sergeant Major, CSM Tobi Saunders. The CSM wore a patch over his left eye, the consequence of hot splinters from a grenade burning the surrounding area of his eye socket. He was a lucky man: partially sheltered by a building, squinting to peer into the twilight, his eye had been missed. But now he had to protect the lacerations from infection, and it had earned him the nickname of Bluebeard, behind his back, naturally. Even the OC had found it difficult to stifle a smile when he overheard the soldiers, thinking no one was within earshot, refer to his new nickname.

  “Let’s get the show on the road, CSM.”

  Although a senior non-commissioned officer, a SNCO, the CSM carried a tremendous amount of authority within the organisation of the Company unit. To the soldiers within the unit, he was next to God, the OC being the top man. Even the young lieutenants deferred to him on a regular basis. Having served sixteen years with the Battalion, it was expected that he would assume the mantle of Regimental Sergeant Major, RSM, when the current incumbent retired in a year’s time. If the CSM was God, the RSM was a deity in his own right.

  “Let’s be having you,” the CSM bellowed, bringing the gathering to order.

  The three-metre by three-metre tent, erected alongside the OCs command 432, was tight for space, and warm. But the flaps had to remain secure for fear of light escaping and flagging to any Soviet recce planes overhead that 2RGJ were in the vicinity. The soldiers moved themselves until they formed a semi-circle around a board that had been hung from the frame of the tent. On it was a map of the area of Lauenau, east of the A2 Autobahn, and two photographs. In the semi-circle was Lieutenant Dean Russell, commander of One-Platoon. It was far from his original unit. With the death of both Lieutenant Ward and Sergeant Holland at the outset of the war, killed by the Soviet initial artillery and missile barrage, Three-Platoon had not only been left leaderless but had also suffered other casualties, as had One-Platoon. So the OC had amalgamated the two platoons into one, commanded by Dean. The young lieutenant, only fifteen months out of the RMA Sandhurst officer academy, had then found himself embroiled in a second battle around Coppenbrugge, where he and his men had excelled, earning themselves a reputation throughout the battalion. Standing next to him was Colour Sergeant Rose, his platoon sergeant and second-in-command. Also in the group was Lieutenant Dunmore, commander of Two-Platoon, and his platoon sergeant, Robert Macintyre. In addition, there was Captain Lucas Banks, responsible for the Battalion’s Anti-Tank Platoon, Corporal Bernard ‘Bernie’ Cooke, commander of the mobile anti-tank section, and Corporal Len Ward, commander of a second anti-tank section, this one not mobile. On the far left, seconded specifically for this operation, was Sergeant Dave Kirby who would command the three Scimitars from the Recce-Platoon, allocated to A-Company and, finally, Corporal Burford who would command the mobile mortar teams. It would have been a full house except they were missing a platoon. Three-Platoon was being reformed, with reserves brought in from the UK, using experienced soldiers to supplement the recruits. The OC, in agreement with the commanding officer, had decided to leave the platoon out of the initial phase of the forthcoming action. They would reinforce A-Company twenty-four hours after the main bulk of the unit were in position.