by FARMAN, ANDY
The flow took him under several bridges which bore vehicles, their movement stalled by events and the reaction of the drivers and crews were mixed. Some officers were trying to get their packets of vehicles backed up, in the hope of regaining the eastern bank and saving the vehicles and the precious stores they carried, whilst in other places the BTR, BMP and BDRMs that had been the escorts were trying to make a fight of it. As more and more enemy armour began to appear, spreading out along the western bank, an air of panic began to settle on the bridgehead. Men were ignoring their officers and abandoning the vehicles, seeking the safety of the east bank. Willingly or unwillingly more men were finding themselves in the water, as a last resort in the quest for safety or as a matter of necessity, their retreat along the bridges being cut off by enemy fire. Many disappeared below the surface never to reappear; only the steadier men and the stronger swimmers prevailed where they had still been wearing all their equipment on entering the river. Those men were able to keep their heads as the weight of ironmongery dragged them below the surface, preventing panic turning fingers into uncoordinated rubber digits as they undid buckles and freed themselves from the ballast.
Obstructions in the water became more numerous, shattered sections of bridge drifting with the current, jagged edged and some slowly sinking were also amidst the floundering soldiers. Behind the major at the Bulgarians bridges the river was on fire, burning fuel had covered half the rivers width and was spreading downriver engulfing all before it. A drifting section of pontoon bridge carrying an ammunition truck was overtaken by the flames and minutes later the truck and bridge section disintegrated.
The river carried the major around a bend, and there in front of him was the last crossing of the Red Armies bridgehead across the Elbe. There were troops and vehicles on the bridge, all moving east and quite obviously the enemy.
Some hundred or so men were in the water along with the major, and he was still over a hundred metres from the shore. Eyeing the NATO troops worriedly he redoubled his efforts to reach the bank but that clearly was not about to happen before the current had carried him to the bridge. He wasn’t alone in his fears and the tension was palpable as the first swimmer reached it. There was no gunfire from either the fighting vehicles or the men walking beside them, and the only action they took was with those men in the river who were clearly tiring and clung to the bridge when they reached it. Canadian infantrymen pulled those men from the water and left them sodden and gasping on the pontoons.
Several hundred yards further downriver the major pulled himself onto the riverbank and lay on the wet earth panting for breath. The crack of tank guns close-by announced that the Canadians had found what they had been seeking, the first of several depots of stockpiled bridging equipment that together would have kept the bridgehead in business even had twice the number of bridges been totally destroyed. Along two and a half miles of the river camouflaged dumps of bridging sections and pontoons had been established. The battalion of tanks and infantry crossed over to the eastern bank, and swung south with the intention of destroying as much of the Soviet’s equipment as possible before recrossing at the Magdeburg autobahn bridge.
Looking back along the river smoke was darkening the sky prematurely, and floating wreckage, including bodies, was thick upon the water. He tried to remember if any bridging units had accompanied the divisions driving west, it was logical that there would be which was just as well, because he was pretty certain that there hadn’t been time to move any of the spare bridging equipment to the western side of the Elbe.
The major couldn’t believe that after all the blood and sweat that had been expended just getting a foothold across this damned river, NATO could take it back with so little effort.
Fighting off despair, the engineer officer stood on legs shaky with fatigue and went in search of his men.
Events on the ground were not only being followed with the greatest interest aboard Sabre Dance Two Four, the X-Band radar returns were being beamed via satellite to SACEUR’s current locale and from there to over a dozen national headquarters. It was electronic, if not visual, confirmation of what the commanders of the various units on the ground were telling them, that the Red Army logistics train, already greatly hampered by the airborne drops, was at least for the time being severed.
For all the courage, skill at arms and élan displayed by the NATO troops, the contest of arms was not yet settled though. They had prevented the immediate reinforcement and resupply of the Soviet divisions in contact west of the Elbe, but to describe those fifteen divisions as being ‘trapped’ would be somewhat premature. Considerable fighting power existed, enough for the Soviet’s to be able to continue the advance and still turn around enough units to clear a path back to the Elbe, thereby re-establishing the supply route once new bridging equipment could be brought forward.
Before midnight the operators aboard the E-8 would see the three divisions further east detach regiments from the hunt for the NATO airborne, and send them west with all three divisions bridging units.
To the west of the Elbe it was not Regimental sized formations that were ordered to turn about though. The Russian 77th Guards Tank Division began the business of changing its axis of advance by 180°, lumbering awkwardly around. Only by first allowing the support units to pass through the Tank and Motor Rifle Regiments on the narrow roads could the men and armoured fighting vehicles retrace their steps to the river and deal with the pitifully inadequate NATO units that had the audacity to try and trap a giant.
It was going to take time for that manoeuvre to happen, and in order to prevent the French and Canadians from preparing adequate defences, battalion sized units were receiving orders to leave positions guarding the flanks and attack the pair of NATO brigades on the Elbe.
There was nothing on the operators screens to suggest that the advance on the autobahns was hesitating, units identified by radio intercepts as being Romanian had come up on the flanks of the Czechs and were about to fall on the British and American trenches at Vormundberg. Behind those troops were two Russian divisions in the last throes of deploying and would soon be following on. They would overlap the Czech’s and Romanians, encompassing the combined frontage of the British, Dutch and US brigades. The French legionnaires of 2Rep and the Royal Marines of 44 Commando were already in receipt of artillery fire, and they were responding as the overrun 40 Commando had done, by sending out tank killing patrols rather than just hiding in their shelter bays and waiting.
Vormundberg: Same time.
Mark Venables Challenger left the small copse that hid the ammunition resupply point for his squadron, and motored back toward the ominous shape of Vormundberg. He had been listening with increasing anxiety to events on both the battalion and squadron nets, and even though it was only a five minute journey back to the reverse slopes he would have coaxed the machine into powered flight if he had been able.
His driver showed why he had been chosen to sit in the front seat of the squadron commander’s callsigns, working the six forward gears to achieve 40kpm across open ground to the single, narrow metalled road that led back to the hill, and once upon that hard surface he got the sixty-two and a half tonne vehicle up to 55kph.
The trees cast long shadows, which closed over the MBT as it entered the pines that covered the feature, its passage shook the trees lining the road and continued to do so until the road sloped upwards and forced the driver to change down.
Mark Venables gripped the edge of the hatch and ducked to avoid a branch, but he did not order the speed slackened off.
The tarmac gave way to gravel and then the Challenger slowed, turning off onto the track that would lead it to the route over the top of Vormundberg.
Pat Reed had found himself in a purely spectator position, up upon the hillside and watching the Czech 23rd MRR coming on in contrast to the Romanians who were fast moving up on either flank. Although the 3 Company CP was close by he had not entered, it had not seemed appropriate to burden that company’s
commander with his presence, so he and his party stayed outside and observed.
Without the minefield the Czech vehicles advanced confidently, the direct fire support from their fellows in lieu of a standard heavy artillery barrage.
The tank fire from the hillside slackened as the troop attached to the Argyll’s withdrew, repositioning themselves to best deal with the Romanians closing on the Scottish regiments positions. As the Czechs closed, the Hussars could no longer engage those in the fore, their barrels were at maximum depression. Those fighting vehicles their guns could still reach were engaged in the same way, a carefully aimed shot followed by a rapid relocation to another firing position. For every round fired by the Chieftains and Challengers they drew the fire of at least three enemy tanks and/or anti-tank launchers.
Tango One Two Charlie, 2 Troops problem child had started off by doing pretty well, its driver treated it with kid gloves and its kill rate had equalled that of the other Chieftain in the troop. When the troop commanders Chieftain was taken out it increased the pressure on the remaining pair of tanks in coping with the mass of targets within the troops arc of responsibility. Soon after that occurred the temperamental gearbox in One Two Charlie started again with the driver experiencing difficulty in changing from forward gears to reverse, and it was also inclined to jump out of gear at high revs.
The inevitable happened after they had destroyed yet another of the elderly T-72s, the rear gears refused to engage, leaving the vehicle exposed to retaliatory fire. The driver had done the only thing possible in the circumstances, with one track locked and the other churning forward he had the tank crabbing around through 180°, cursing the machine loudly for effect as he did so. A sabot round striking the side of the turret and careening away caused the Chieftains young loader to lose control of his bowels. The manoeuvre was nearing completion when they were hit again, this time in the engine compartment where the sabot defeated the armoured covering. The twelve-cylinder Rolls Royce engine absorbed the sabot round’s remaining energy and the crew compartment was not breached, but the tank itself was dead, with diesel from severed lines gushing over metal turned white by the sabots impact. Flames were lapping around the turret, and its crew had bailed out, making good use of the smokes cover to gain the safety of the trees. They made their way to 3 Company’s CP, on arrival they were unceremoniously bundled into the COs Warrior and sent back to the REME workshop to collect one of the replacement vehicles.
Heavy and medium shell and rocket artillery had been landing on the forward slopes for several minutes but it was not in the proportions that it had been when the battalion had been dug in at Magdeburg.
Pat Reed hated the banshee wail of the rockets; he could quite understand how grown men, trained and experienced soldiers at that, could soil themselves at the sound of one approaching.
He studied the approaching enemy, noting that despite the number of vehicles that were being destroyed there were still more than enough to go around.
Pat started at the sound of a single rifle shot close by and craned his neck to see who was wasting ammunition on armour, but what he saw was Bill and Big Stef lying within a bramble patch just downhill of his own position. The Coldstreamer was peering along the Swiftscope and spotting for the Staff Sergeant who was controlling his breathing as he took aim at his next victim. Pat unzipped his smock and fished out his self-focussing binoculars, which he raised to his eyes, looking in the direction the sniper appeared to be aiming. Several vehicles flitted across his view, all had their hatches firmly shut but then he saw a T-80 with additional antennae marking it as a command tank, and it had an open lid. The top of a head was just visible and he couldn’t figure how Bill could consider such an impossible shot to be viable, but then the tank slowed slightly and the front end dipped down into a wide crater, exposing more of the cranium to view. The crack of the shot made him start again but his eyes were on the top of the Soviet tankers head when the 7.62 round entered it, splashing the inside of the hatch cover with gore.
Pat took his eyes from the binoculars to look down at the snipers in amazement, such an incredible shot deserved some words at the very least, but Stef had already spotted another target and Bill, the last victim forgotten already, was moving his body around slightly, re-setting the placement of elbows and the line of his torso so that the weapon would point naturally at the fresh target.
Pat hunted for the snipers prey, but it was not a company or battalion commander this time.
Peering over the cover of a low bank, a young Czech infantry lieutenant looked for a firing position closer to NATO lines than the one they currently occupied. The BTR-60 he had been riding in had been knocked out but he had been lucky enough to escape along with three of his riflemen. A conscientious officer, he had gathered up other stray troops hiding in ditches amongst whom were numbered two AT-3 Sagger crews, and he had physically dragged these men from hiding places and put them to doing what they had been intended to, attacking the NATO armour. Crewmen and infantrymen who had escaped unscathed, or just a little bit singed in one or two cases from knocked out tanks and fighting vehicles, now became either the security for the Sagger crews, or the mules that carried the reloads. Neither of the anti-tank crews had scored hits yet, but they were contributing considerably to the British Hussars discomfort.
The lieutenant saw a likely spot but before he could indicate it to his men he was forced to roll to one side to avoid being crushed.
Through his sight Bill observed a BMP-3 almost run over the form he had already tagged as being a leader, if not an officer. He let the vehicle pass and lay quite relaxed, as the leader of the group Stef had directed him to send a rifle squad out of cover and across open ground. These men were not yet of any great importance to him and he let them go on unhindered, and it was only after they had dropped into fresh cover that he pulled the rifle butt into his shoulder just that little bit more firmly. The Sagger crews came next, although not both at once and he allowed the first trio to leave cover, burdened down with sights, launcher and a pair of missiles they moved much more slowly than the infantry squad had. Once they were twenty feet from the bank the second crew hauled themselves into view. The second crew was twelve feet from the bank before Bill fired; he worked the bolt, aimed, fired again and again worked the bolt. Six shots rang out with barely over two seconds between each as he first killed the rearmost man before working forwards. The first Sagger crew had still been on their feet, oblivious to the danger they were in and unaware that the second crew were lying sprawled in the mud behind them when Bill shot their gunner. A cry of alarm alerted the leading man who had looked back to see one of his mates face down and the other with a look of surprise on his face. That surprise was turned briefly to shock when Bill’s fifth round made a small hole in his helmet, just level with his forehead. The leading man did not have time to begin the dive for the ground that his brain had told him was vital for survival, Bill’s last round punched through his sternum and carried on through his chest to exit out the small of his back.
It was with horrified awe that 1CG’s commanding officer regarded the sniper, but the staff sergeant was oblivious of the attention, focused as he was on his next target.
Aghast at the way his anti-tank crews had been killed to a man it took the lieutenant a moment to collect his thoughts and decide on his next course of action. His most effective weapons were lying in the mud between himself and the next position he had chosen, and clearly those weapons must be recovered. Acutely aware of the attention of an enemy sniper on this piece of the battlefield he raised his head above the level of the bank for one brief look. No shot rang out and he was able to judge that the wind had been in his face, so although he could not throw a smoke grenade as far as the first crews launcher, someone in the infantry squad across the way, could.
Spread out along the bank, lying on their stomachs, were the men he had designated the role of ammunition carriers, but even though the nearest was only four feet behind him, when he looked back
at them he had to shout, loudly, to attract their attention as they seemed reluctant to make eye contact with him.
“Men, make sure you’ve a hand free because we are going to work in pairs.”
Glances were exchanged amongst the men but the young officer continued unabated.
“We are going to have the cover of smoke, and as soon as it has reached this bank you all follow me. When we get to the first sight unit or launcher, the nearest two men grab it and carry on running. We will do the same for all the sights and launchers, ok?”
After a moment’s hesitation one of the men spoke what was on all of their minds.
“Well actually sir, that sniper is a bit bloody deadly…is this really a good idea?”
The officer huffed in exasperation.
“I just said that we would have smoke cover, didn’t I? He can’t shoot what he can’t see, so get set now because we go when the smoke arrives.”
He gave quick instructions to the NCO in charge of the rifle squad by radio and then readied himself, his fingers dug into the soft earth for leverage and one knee drawn up as he stared fixedly up at the lip of the bank.
Bill had lain for long moments with his sights on the exact spot that he had last seen the leader/officer, his breathing was controlled as Stef told him a smoke grenade had gone off upwind of his aiming point. When the smoke appeared at the edge of his sight picture he took up the first pressure on the trigger and allowed his last breath to slowly escape. He was at the bottom of the breathing cycle as the man-made fog flowed across the bank, and he gentle squeezed, firing without seeing a target and absorbing the kick of the butt into his shoulder. Ejecting the spent case and jacking a fresh round into the chamber he then remained perfectly still, allowing the sights to settle back onto the same spot and waited.
