by Harvey Black
Captain Brian Haworth, the Adjutant, started the brief. “You all know that the big show is to kick off tomorrow, so this is the final briefing. Just to reiterate, I will go over the big picture, before the OC goes over your individual missions.”
He ran his pointer along the A2 that ran northwest from Rinteln to Bad Nenndorf, in between the 300-metre-high Buckeberge to the west, and the Suntel and the Deister to the east. “This is the route 33rd Armoured Brigade will take. Their primary objective is Bad Nenndorf. Along the route, Special Forces and volunteers from 24th Airborne Brigade, will carry out sabotage missions and act as blocking forces. We have a Bundeswehr territorial battalion, attached to the Division that will dig in around Hessisch Oldendorf to protect the Brigade’s right flank. For the left flank, the 4th Parachute Battalion has been attached to 4 Div and will secure Rinteln and Buchholz. The Brigade, once they make their way across the Weser, using two crossing points west and east of Rinteln, will charge up the A2 at speed. The Royal Highland Fusiliers will hold Apelern and Lauenau while the 1st Battalion Black Watch secure Bad Nenndorf. As for the Royal Scots, what they do will be very dependent on the enemy reaction and the success of the attack.”
“They will have the option of pushing through to Wunstorf, attacking the Soviet units withdrawing from the area of Petershagen, or even head for Hanover, coming up against 20th Guards Army forces,” added the OC.
The adjutant continued. “Now, closer to our sector of interest. 11th Brigade will cross here.” He pointed to two crossing points, one in between Hameln and Fischbeck, the second near Tundern. “Once across, 1st Battalion Royal Regiment Fusiliers (1RRF) will pass through Fischbeck, then swing east, skirting the high ground, passing through Hofingen and Potzen, travelling south-east until they reach the 217 before going north towards Bad Munder. The 3rd Royal Tank Regiment (3RTR) will head at all speed for Springe. Sir?” The Adjutant looked at the OC who took over the briefing.
“Our battalion’s role, although piecemeal, is critical to the success of the mission. B-Company will seize and hold Coppenbrugge, C-Company, with Support-Company and the Battalion HQ, will hold the crossroads at Hachmuhlen, while we have been given Bisperode. We can’t work on the assumption that the Soviets will just roll over and die,” he admitted with a smile. “We first have to push through; then be prepared for any counter-attack. Our Brigade has been reinforced by the 4th (V) Battalion, The Royal Irish Rangers. They will be our reserve. Depending on the success of the initial attacks, 20th Armoured Brigade will be committed along whichever axis is proving to be the most productive, the idea being to cut deep into the enemy forces and disrupt their formations. If we can confuse them enough, we may be able to build on that attack. Another Brigade is being formed as we speak, using Territorial units from the UK. The 8th Queen’s Fusiliers, 5th Battalion, The Royal Anglian Regiment, from 49th Brigade, who now have the 6th Battalion as a replacement. 4th Battalion, The Queen’s Lancashire Regiment and the 3rd (V) Battalion, The Royal Regiment of Wales.” He paused for a moment.
“A bit of a mouthful, I know,” he smiled. “They will help shore up 3 Div, which will allow them to release 4th Armoured Brigade should an opportunity to press further attacks arise. The 5th Airborne Brigade is also on standby. The situation is not as dire as it was yesterday.”
He moved aside slightly so he wasn’t obscuring the two photographs pinned on the board.
“I managed to acquire these from the PI boys, taken by a flight of our Harriers yesterday. You can spend some time familiarising yourself with them later, but for now come in as close as you can.”
The soldiers shuffled as close they could, some peering between the heads of others. Two large black and white aerial photographs showed the village of Bisperode and the surrounding area.
“Bisperode. Sounds like it’s right out of a spaghetti western.”
The assembled group laughed at the OC’s joke.
“There aren’t many of us,” he continued. “So how we allocate our forces is crucial to defending our sector. We’ll have the Hasselburg to our right. It’s—”
“Two hundred and ninety metres, sir.”
“Thank you, Brian. On our left, we have another piece of high ground, nearer 400 metres in some areas. Between the village and the high ground, on both sides, it’s open space, agricultural fields – a gap of about 1,500 metres to the west and 750 to the east. About two kilometres to the south, there’s a crossroads. The 425, west to east, crosses the two sections of high ground, and the 588 passes through Bisperode, south to Halle. I want eyes on that crossroads, not only to give us a warning if the enemy is on its way, but we can also warn the rest of the Division if the enemy moves south-west. Then there are tracks over the high ground each side of us.”
He turned and locked eyes with Sergeant Kirby. “I will use your three Scimitars for that. Any problems with that, Sarn’t Kirby?”
“None, sir, my boys are ready,” responded the tall SNCO, his hair giving the impression it had a life of its own.
“Don’t they have barbers in the recce platoon, Sergeant?” Asked the CSM, but he was smiling as he said it.
“The Russians kind of cancelled my appointment, sir.”
The group laughed.
“I’m sure we can find you a pair of scissors when this is over,” added the CSM.
“Sir.”
“I’ll leave the deployment of the units to you, but if the enemy head north or south, you need to cover our right and left flanks and cover the Milan units deployed there. I know you’re used to your vehicles working in pairs, but we’re all spread pretty thin. We may get two 438s in support. To be confirmed.”
“Understood, sir. What if we spot the enemy using the heights?”
“Good question Sarn’t Kirby. I will have a Two-Platoon dug in and One-Platoon acting as a QRF.”
“That will leave only one Scimitar to cover the Milan’s, sir.”
“Yes, I know. Well, that gives you a clue as to where I want one of your anti-tank sections, Captain Banks.”
The captain moved closer to the larger of the two photographs. “There’s a ditch here, sir, fed by water that flows off the Hasselburg. It runs right across the gap on our right flank. We’re not sure of its depth or width, but if it causes the enemy a delay, my mobile team can take advantage of that and pick off any armour.”
“Why the mobile section, Captain?”
“If they’re in danger of being overrun, they can at least reposition themselves quickly. Corporal Ward’s section, sir, I suggest, is deployed close to and around the village.”
“That makes sense,” responded the major. “Lieutenant Russell.”
“Sir.”
“You will be our Quick Reaction Force. In fact, I want one of your sections at the southern crossroads, with the other two in the village on five minutes notice to move.”
“They’ll be ready, sir.”
“The new men settling in OK?” asked the CSM.
“Yes, Sarn’t Major. I’ve put the new ones with Corporal Stubbings. He’s my most experienced section commander.”
The OC turned to Lieutenant Dunmore. “We’ll go through the deployments in detail when we’re in position, but I want one section at the southern edge of the village, one section covering the mobile Milan section, and a third along the strip of forest that links the east of the village with the forest. That will protect our left flank and cover any infiltration along the edge of the forest. We’re thin on the ground, but once Three-Section get here, we can double up on the defence of the village. In the meantime, we’ll have to make do. Questions?”
Dean was in first. “We’re not a big force if we have to fight our way there, sir.”
“We’re not. We are very much dependent on 1RRF and 3RTR to smash any enemy forces aside. That’s not to say our passage will be easy.”
“What is the Intel on the Soviet forces in the area, sir?” Captain Banks asked.
“Brian, you take this one.”
�
�Sir,” responded the adjutant. “The Soviet focus seems to be further north, around Minden, Petershagen, and even further north in 1 German Corps’ sector. In our sector, we have 47th Guards Tank Division that got badly beaten recently. We have Intel that says reinforcements are moving up, but 20th Guards Army have been sent further north. They were on the receiving end of one of our tactical nuclear strikes. The biggest worries are the Military District Forces moving up. We don’t know yet where they’ll end up. Which is why the counter-attack has to go ahead in the morning.”
“Have the nuke strikes had much of an impact?”
“Yes, they have.”
“But no response yet?”
“No, Captain,” the OC interrupted. “But that’s not to say there won’t be. So, make sure your soldiers have their NBC kit on and masks close throughout. They’ve been issued with fresh canisters. Make sure they have them and their respirators close at hand at all times. Right, we move out at 0200. The Adjutant will take us through the running order and timings. Brian?”
2000, 10 JULY 1984. 23RD AMPHIBIOUS SQUADRON, 28TH ARMOURED AMPHIBIOUS ENGINEER REGIMENT. WEST OF HAMELN, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT +2 HOURS
The Ferret Scout Car manoeuvred alongside the command vehicle. A sergeant climbed down and across the engine deck to be met by a major who appeared from the tent at the back of the Spartan.
“They’ve arrived, sir.”
“About bloody time. What are they like?”
“Shit state, but they’ll do.”
“Let’s go and take a look.”
About a hundred metres down a track, through the forest, three twenty-one and a half ton M2 Ferry Systems were lined up beneath a canopy of trees. Four Sappers were in the process of pulling camouflage netting over them.
“So long as they work, Sarn’t Draper, we’ll now have a full set.”
“I’ll get the lads checking them over straightaway, sir.”
“Yes, do. We expect to move out at 0200.”
“I’m on it, sir.”
“Good, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, let me know if there are any problems.”
“Sir.”
The squadron commander left and the Royal Engineers sergeant went over to the engineers working on the netting.
“Seen anything to worry about, Billy?”
“Looks OK to me, Sarge. The factory done all the repairs alright; just ain’t tarted them up.”
“Do a thorough check, eh?”
“Will do, Sarge.”
“We’ll need those buggers tomorrow. Let me know as soon as you’re done. The OC’s wanting an update.”
“On it.”
The sergeant took a step back. He had confidence in Billy, one of the rig drivers. He loved the old M2s, but they were a pig at times for breaking down. These three had been back at the factory where they were originally made, the only place that could fulfil the repairs that had been needed. They had been flown in; then transported here as a matter of urgency. It was all going to kick off tomorrow. The Squadron had two troops, with five sections in each, giving them fifteen M2s per troop. His troop would provide a crossing point around Hameln, while Second-Troop would be further east. The Bundeswehr were also providing engineer support. With two bridges in operation, they could get across over 100 vehicles an hour; meaning one of the weakened Brigades could cross in four. The 64th Amphibious Engineer Squadron was way up north, with 1st Armoured Division.
But that was their problem. He just had to worry about his troop.
Chapter 28
2010, 10 JULY 1984. MINISTERIUM FUR STAATSSICHERHEIT, MFS STATE PRISON, HOHENSCHONHAUSEN, EAST BERLIN.
THE BLUE EFFECT +2 HOURS
Drip…drip…drip.
Bradley’s head ached. He had no idea how long he had been in this position. But what he did know was the constant impact on his forehead from regularly descending drops of water. It felt like a hole was being slowly bored into his forehead.
Drip…drip…drip.
He wanted to scream but had bitten back the urge so far. Not that he could have had he tried. When attempting to utter a sound, in order to counter his isolation, his dry throat and puffed up tongue had only allowed a croak to emanate from his cracked lips.
Drip…drip…drip.
He looked up and back for the umpteenth time, his eyes trying to peer through his eyelids, but he was unable to see the drops of water as they poised to descend then drop down onto his now pressured, forehead.
Drip…drip…drip.
The darkness prevented him anyway, from seeing either the droplets of water, or the apparatus that they came from. Apart from the pressure from the droplets, the only other sense was that of the dark and damp, with a musty smell that invaded his nostrils.
Drip…drip…drip.
He had no idea of the time, or even if it was night or day. His mind was unfocussed and wandering. Even the most recent of focussed thoughts, of hunger and thirst, had subsided. The occasional droplet splashing on his bare forehead would send a minute cascade onto his upper lip, his tongue reaching out to moisten his dry lips.
Drip…drip…drip.
His first thoughts when he had first woken up were those of confusion. He remembered being in the interrogation room, questioned by the officer assigned to him. Then he took a drink of water. Was it water? Yes, it was water. But that was all he remembered. He didn’t remember slumping down in his chair or being dragged out by two MfS guards. After what seemed like only a few moments, coming round from his drugged state, he had established that he was lying down, at a slight angle, his bare feet lower than his head, but his body was tightly strapped to some form of bed or bench. He was unable to move his body or his arms. They, together with his legs, were secured rigidly, his arms strapped to his sides. A metal frame gripped his head, securing it slightly back, forcing his face to look upwards where the incessant drip of water was slowly driving him mad. At first, he had counted the drips, about one every second, using it as some form of clock. After five minutes, he had panicked, sensing a hole forming in the centre of his skull, trying to wrench his head from side to side to escape. All that achieved was to create even more panic, the relentless compressing force of the water seeming to increase tenfold.
Drip…drip…drip.
He groaned.
Drip…drip…drip.
His next strategy was to try and enjoy it, to take pleasure from, the refreshing splashes. But that had lasted a mere few minutes, the hole in his forehead seemingly getting bigger and bigger, deeper and deeper. It was incessant. Is that water I can feel on my head, or is it blood? He thought. It just got worse. His mind screaming, unable to focus on family, friends, his job or even the outside world.
Drip…drip…drip.
He went through another bout of panic, the blood vessels in his arms and face pronounced as he tried to wrench his body free.
Drip…drip…drip.
Then the tears came, causing him to blink rapidly, the salt stinging his eyes, his eye sockets filling up until they overflowed, trickling down the side of his face. He shivered. Still in his barrack-dress trousers and No. 2 shirt, although both were soiled and damp, the dark, dank cell was sucking away any warmth from his body, adding to his discomfort. Bradley groaned and closed his stinging eyes, hoping that sleep would provide some relief, but that just enhanced the drilling sensation, the hole getting bigger, deeper.
Drip…drip…drip…drip…drip…drip.
Chapter 29
2020, 10 JULY 1984. CORPS PATROL UNIT. NORTH OF GESTORF, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT +2.5 HOURS
Wilf fired off a burst from his M-16 and had the satisfaction of seeing one of the NKVD soldiers go down.
“Ready,” yelled Badger, ten metres behind him.
Tag, in a prone position on the edge of a dip alongside Wilf, heaved a grenade in the direction of the enemy troops. “Go!”
Tag and Wilf picked themselves up and sprinted towards where Badger and Hacker were waitin
g to provide cover. The grenade exploded, distracting the enemy for a moment as they sprinted past their friends. They ran a further ten metres and then threw themselves down behind another shallow dip in the ground, reloaded their weapons, and got ready.
“Go!” called out Wilf.
Their roles were now reversed as Tag and Wilf put down covering fire while Badger and Hacker dashed past them to go through the same process all over again.
