by FARMAN, ANDY
He had lost the best part of a company of infantry in the sunken lane through NATO artillery, but they had been dismounted and vulnerable to such fire, away from the protective armour plate of their vehicles. So hyped up was he with success, he did not think to ask if the Spetznaz major was still sending fire missions to the gun line, he merely assumed that the division commander would inform him if all contact had been lost. On the other end of the secure communications link the Romanian General was a little relieved that he had not been asked that question because lying was a necessary, yet tedious art in this business of man management.
The distribution of fresh ammunition and the shifting around of personnel to even up the losses went swiftly, largely due to the lack of incoming rounds from NATO guns.
At Lt Col Reed’s insistence the guns available to the battalion were being preserved until the Soviet’s put in their attack, and the Royal Artillery had a Phoenix UAV aloft now, watching for that very move. He knew that there was a distinct possibility that the enemy would use the sunken lane to get an armoured force closer to his forward companies’ unseen, and whilst that attack was being addressed a far larger force could use the distraction to close with the Anglo American unit.
Pat believed that the brunt of the attack from the lane would in all probability be borne by 3 Company, but he was confident that with the assistance of the section from the anti-tank platoon and a troop of Challengers who were attached, they would cope. He could not predict where the main attack would be focussed; it could drive on 3 Company as a second wave to the first attack, or come at 4 Company and thereby divide the fire of his artillery assets.
Pat Reed intended on giving 3 Company exclusive call on the battalions 81mm mortars, initially at least, whilst using the artillery to carry out counter-battery shoots and then switch fires to pound on the larger force once it was halfway to the battalions position. This final NATO line did have close air support on call, but even with the extra help it was limited.
SACEUR knew that the French 8th Armoured and Canadian 2nd Mechanised Brigades’ would need all the help they could get once they put in their counter-attacks against the Soviet bridgeheads, so he was preserving ground attack capable airframes for that moment, which left mainly tank hunting Lynx and Apache helicopters, with just a few flights of fixed wing ground attack aircraft, available to the blocking force.
The Royal Artillery rep called 1CG’s CO over and showed him the current download from the Phoenix, showing tanks and APCs beyond the rise in the newly conquered ground, filing into the sunken lane and heading towards Vormundberg. Pat estimated their strength to be between two and three companies worth.
The UAV operator steered the machine north, where at first the only vehicles to be seen were the burning hulks of the 40 Commando soft skinned Wimik’s and the Blue’s & Royals Scimitars, before passing over massed armour that was already formed up and ready to go. His FAC, Forward Air Controller, was also watching the downloaded images, and sipping at a mug of beef beverage with an air of apparent calm about him, however Pat could see in the man’s eyes that he was really loitering with intent, staving off impatience as he waited for the CO to call on the services of himself and his troops. A signaller passed Pat a slip of paper and waited silently as he read the content; 2 REP was now under attack from a force of tanks with BMPs in support, but Pat had expected as much.
The attack on the French paratroopers was merely a supporting attack, one designed to prevent them using their Milan’s to fire into the flank of the Soviet attack at extreme range, effectively denying 1CG any help from that quarter. It was solid military tactics and Pat knew that it was only a matter of time before his neighbours, the Argyll’s and the Light Infantrymen, received similar attention, isolating his unit from help as the main attack clashed with his forward companies and tried to drive over them.
The air battle above the Soviet armoured vanguard had proved debilitating to both sides and the sky was, for the moment, relatively clear as both sides refuelled and rearmed. Pat ordered the artillery to begin counter-battery fire so that his own men could emerge from their shelter bays and prepare to receive the enemy. His FAC dropped all pretence of nonchalance and hurried back to his proper place within the CP once Pat had told him what he wanted the available ‘air’ to do.
In fields and woodland clearings to the rear of the fighting a host of British Army Air Corps Lynx and Apache helicopters had been waiting with rotors already turning, and they now lifted off and headed toward the fighting.
The barrage impacting on 3 and 4 Companies slackened once the British 155mm rounds began finding the Soviet gun lines. It gave the men a breather and allowed them to collect their wits and their weapons, and then to leave the shelter bays of their trenches.
Although artillery was still impacting on the forward positions it was at a greatly reduced volume. Artillery rounds criss-crossed the air above the trenches as the gunners of both sides sought to make the other duck. It was a duel that the NATO artillery could never win decisively due to the Soviet’s numerical superiority, but it served the purpose that Pat desired.
L/Cpl Veneer and Guardsmen Troper had put a lot of effort into the construction of their position, sandbags lined the firing bay as insurance against cave-ins caused by the Stingers back blast, but many of these were now leeching earth from rents where they had been peppered with slivers of shrapnel by Soviet artillery rounds bursting overhead.
Troper had neglected to put everything under cover once rounds had begun incoming, so consequently his tin mug and brew making kit had vanished, scattered into the undergrowth by one or more near miss.
“Bluddy ‘ell…them fucker’s ‘ave ram-raided us!”
No sympathetic words were forthcoming from his partner, who was listening to his PRC 349 and had a hand held up for silence.
Troper had a hangdog expression, but a thought occurred to him and he instantly brightened up.
“I suppose it could be worse, we’ve still got your brew kit, haven’t we!”
“No, I still have my brew kit…if you want some you can buy a mug’s worth off me for two fags.”
An indignant Troper levelled an accusing, and somewhat grubby, finger at his oppo.
“You jack bastard, you don’t even bleedin’ well smoke!”
“’Course I don’t, filthy sodding habit.” Veneer paused to listen again at the earpiece but no one was yet speaking to them.
“When was the last time we had a NAAFI run, eh? The smokers are gasping and will pay a quid for a coffin nail, so every fag you give me I’m selling on.”
He stuck a finger in his free ear to drown out the expletives aimed at him, and acknowledged in turn the radio message aimed specifically at the battalions air defence contingent.
“Stop whinging, you wanker…our choppers are coming forward, but we’ve to hold fire on all fixed wing stuff until informed.” He pulled a launcher and a pair of reloads from the storage bay and then noticed a trio of green painted faces topped by US pattern Kevlar helmets peering at them over the lip of a fighting position to the left and slightly downhill. He stopped what he was doing and stared back at them, but no one said anything so after a few moments he involuntarily looked over his shoulder to see if they were looking at someone else before looking back.
“What?”
The painted faces looked at one another as if telepathically electing a spokesperson; the one on the right lost.
“Erm…yuze guys ain’t thinkin’ of lightin’ one of them things off, is ya?”
“What?”
The spokesman from the former colonies and his mates waited for a more substantial reply.
In exasperation the young lance corporal responded.
“We’re the air defence detachment for this company, wot the fuck do yer think we’re goin’ to do?”
“We expect ya to walk three hundred paces in any direction but this one, before you let one off.” It was a different spokesman, but the message was the same, not welcom
e.
“If ya fire that thing, every motherfucker with a gun will be shootin’ it in this direction, they hate triple A.”
L/Cpl Veneer gave brief consideration to reasoned argument, but logical debate had never been a strong point of his and so he settled for giving the neighbours two raised fingers instead. The rigid digits seemed to tempt fate because suddenly there were aircraft a hundred feet above them and everyone dived for cover before noting they were outbound rather than incoming.
The trio of RAF Tornado’s passing overhead belonged to 617 Squadron, one of the most famous units of the old Bomber Command, which despite its maritime strike role had left its home base at RAF Lossiemouth two days before hostilities had commenced, flying to Gutersloh with fifteen Tornado GR4s and had been in the thick of it ever since. Three of its five remaining airframes passed a hundred feet above the heads of the dug in Guardsmen and Paratroopers, loosing off high-speed anti-radiation missiles before breaking hard to the north. They lacked the numbers to either intimidate in a major way or eliminate the AAA, and a mixture of quad 23mm and SA-9s rose from the massed armour and followed earnestly in the wake of the departing aircraft. The squadrons remaining pair of aircraft arrived on scene at that juncture, coming in fast from the southwest and adding eight more HARM’s to the twelve already in flight.
It was a textbook perfect attack and the first HARM’s began exploding AAA vehicles even as they began to pivot to face the new threat. The effect was the one hoped for, no one ‘predicted’ results or actions anymore, the pre-war doctrines and assumptions had been found naïve and wanting. As had been hoped though, the majority of the anti-aircraft artillery assets radars were silent five seconds later as two pairs of Jaguars popped up over a rise to the north west and over-flew the waiting armour of 23rd Czech MRR, releasing cluster bomb units as they did so. Seven seconds later a further four Jaguars came in from west, but they were less fortunate, the enemy were now reacting to the presence of aircraft overhead and one Jaguar fell to a sustained burst of 23mm fire whilst an SA-9 found the number four aircraft before it could release its load, exploding it in a fireball from which flaming debris fell to litter the German countryside. The remaining pair ejected chaff and flares as they egressed to the south but a refuelled, rearmed, and angry Mig-31 CAP arrived hurriedly back on station and pounced, taking out both RAF aircraft with missile shots before NATO’s own combat air patrol could intervene.
23rd MRRs commander stood in the turret of his T-80 and stared off in the direction of his units FUP. There were trees between the forming up point and his present position but he had no trouble knowing where to look, the black oily smoke rising above the treetops indicated where fourteen of his armoured fighting vehicles were stopped and burning.
He felt a tap on the leg and looked down into the vehicle, into the upturned face of his radio operator.
“Yes?”
“The division commander is offering fixed wing cover for the attack, sir.”
He gave it some consideration before dismissing the idea. It would mean severely restricting his anti-aircraft assets rules of engagement, and from past experience he believed that they would see nothing of this alleged air cover until after NATO air strikes had come and gone, unchallenged by their own air force and by the his own AAA that had been ordered to hold fire. The idea of using air power for precision strikes against hardpoint’s was extremely attractive – on paper – but this was the real thing, not a classroom exercise.
“My thanks, but no thanks.” Instead of disappearing, the radio operators face remained looking up at him.
“Is there something else?”
“Yes sir, First battalion’s commander is asking for a delay, to deal with the wounded and he is also asking for a company to be attached from Third battalion to make up for what First just lost?”
From beyond the trees the sound of ammunition cooking off could be heard and reinforced the urgency of the moment, the attack could bog down before it even began. He shook his head emphatically.
“No, he goes right now, right this instant, and with what he has…tell the companies in the lane to begin their attack, and tell the mortars to start laying smoke.”
The face disappeared and he heard his orders being relayed before the face reappeared and he received a thumbs up, confirming acknowledgement by the sub units.
He checked the switch on his own communications panel was set to intercom before depressing the microphones pressel switch.
“Driver…take us forward, just short of where that farm was.”
The sound of the T-80s engine raised by several octaves and then it lurched forward, picking up speed as it headed over the battered countryside in the direction indicated. The regimental commander’s entourage, a trio of BTR-80 APCs, a ZSU-23-4 and another two T-80 battle tanks accompanied it, the vehicle commanders keeping a weather eye on the skies for NATO strike aircraft.
Back at the 1CG CP the artillery rep had ordered the Phoenix away prior to the Tornado’s ‘Wild Weasel’ sorties and the Jaguar strikes, but now it was arriving back above the armour of 23rd MRRs first battalion. Pat Reed saw that the lead companies were now on the move, and then a signaller informed him that 3 Company were reporting smoke was being dropped to their front.
Major Venables and his mixed squadron of Challenger II’s and elderly Chieftain’s had endured the Soviet bombardment without loss, but not without mishap. On the reverse slopes the tanks sat in holes dug against the side of the hill and therefore safe from artillery pieces firing at maximum elevation, but as ever the Soviet mortars concentrated on the areas the guns could not hit. One of his Challenger’s had been buried by a landslide caused by the massive 240mm mortar rounds and smaller, yet more numerous 120mm fired from the 2S9 Anona self-propelled heavy mortar, and RE Sapper’s were working frantically alongside REME recovery troops to dig out the tank and its crew.
All but two of his squadron’s crewmen had seen action, even though the last time any of his call sign’s had fired a main tank gun in anger had been at Magdeburg. Between repulsing the assault river crossing there and digging in here on Vormundberg it had been an infantry show, but Venables had ensured that his crews carried out dry training at every opportunity, to the disgust of those Hussars who had been on the Wesernitz and therefore thought of themselves as ‘old sweats’ and above such mundane activities. Despite such elitist attitudes he was quietly rather proud of his small command and the way they were meshed together as a team. He was confident they would do the business today, and if the Soviet’s achieved a breakthrough it would not be due to any shortcomings from his men. He did have concerns regarding equipment, particularly with the Chieftains and especially with Tango One Two Charlie, a Mk 10 with an unreliable engine pack and a gearbox that would have been changed had a spare been found in time. His thoughts were interrupted by a voice on the battalion net.
“Hello all stations address group Kilo, this is India Zero, Cryptic Tuesday, over.”
The Hussar squadron was half way down the list in order of priority and so Venables employed the time on the squadron net.
“Hello all stations this is One Nine, move now, I say again, move now, over.”
All three troop commanders answered and Venables own Challenger got underway, heading for its own forward fighting position as he acknowledged the CP on the battalion net. “Tango One Nine, Cryptic Tuesday, over.”
The word was passed down the line, the enemy is coming and anything to your front is now ‘in play’.
The American Paratroopers and British Guardsmen waited for the enemy armour with a feeling in their stomachs that their forefathers had probably felt too, when the order in those bygone days had been, ‘Prepare to receive cavalry!’
The small group of armoured vehicles stopped short of the skyline and the 23rd MRRs regimental commander climbed from the turret to the engine deck of his T-80, before making his way forward and then with a hand on the main gun for balance he lowered himself carefully down the front g
lacis plate to the ground, not wishing to turn an ankle on the shattered stone and brickwork that lay underfoot. Two of the BTRs carried his small battle staff but the third carried infantry, and these had debussed before their commander had left the turret of his tank, his aide, a signaller, the intelligence, air and artillery reps hurrying to join him whilst the infantrymen had deployed in all round defence, providing local security.
The last few feet to the crest were accomplished on hands and knees to avoid being silhouetted on the skyline, and the officers took up position to the left of their commander, lying in a line of diminishing rank or seniority with binoculars being trained on the sunken lane.
Several minutes had passed since the regimental commander had ordered the two companies in the lane, one tank and one APC, to begin their attack and yet despite a thick smokescreen having been laid there was as yet no movement from that quarter. An angry demand for compliance was snapped at the signaller, burdened down with a heavy manpack radio but whom conveyed the order and then likewise conveyed the senior company commanders apology, a mortar round had scored a direct hit on the thin top armour of an elderly BTR-60PB, the blazing vehicle was clearly visible to the staff officers, it had been blocking the narrow roadway to the vehicles following behind, however the combined efforts of two T-90s had muscled it over onto its side and allowed vehicles to brave the exploding ammunition for its heavy, 14.5mm turret mounted machine gun as they squeezed past. The 81mm rounds being dropped by the Guards and 82nd mortar lines were harassing the armour in the lane rather than doing any real damage, they were area, rather than precision, weapons and the knocked out eight-wheeler had been a fluke.
