Schiffer challenged the Grenzer, ordering them to halt. His pistol was drawn, held in both hands, pointing towards the uniformed men who were now no more than fifteen metres away. His knees slightly bent, arms held out in front of him, steadying his breathing, locking his body into position, he was ready to fire. Sensing his partner Mauer to his left, he challenged them again. He could see the escapees out of the corner of his right eye, lit up by the DDR Jeep. He challenged them yet again.
Crack, crack…Crack, crack.
Schiffer looked in the direction of the young couple, and saw the taller of the two slump forward.
Crack...crack.
The one being supported jerked twice then fell forward. Two further shots and it was all over.
Schiffer screamed at them; fired two shots over the guards’ heads. When he saw Mauer start to move forward shouting obscenities, waving his pistol about in front of him, he quickly moved in his direction to restrain him as the GDR Jeep pulled forward to recover the bodies.
He grabbed his partner, holding him back, knowing it was all too late for the young couple. “Bastards, bastards, bastards,” screamed Mauer.
Chapter 14
There is an alarming curtain of silence from the Western European and American press as the biggest Soviet military exercise since World War Two is conducted close to the Inner German Border. Even the Federal Republic of Germany seems silent as these threatening Soviet military manoeuvres are carried out right on their doorstep. Exercise Hammer 84, a practice assault on NATO and the West, an attack that is considered as a defensive measure against a potential threat from the so-called belligerent West Germany.
Business as usual claim the Bonn defence ministry who clearly have no concerns over twenty Soviet divisions playing war games on their doorstep, stating that they are merely staff-based war games. Even senior NATO commanders are playing it down, see no Russians, hear no Russians. Just look at recent history. Fall Gelb, the Blitzkrieg attack on France and the low-countries by over a million Wehrmacht troops in 1940, followed by Operation Barbarossa, the massive assault on the Soviet Union that took the entire world by surprise. Should we be worried?
Die Wahrheit, 25 June 1984
10TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION, LINDENWALD, EAST GERMANY. 26 JUNE 1984.
THE RED EFFECT −9 DAYS.
Pushkin lifted the camouflage netting that had been spread over and around the T80BK, the command tank of the 2nd Battalion of the 62nd Guards Tank Regiment. Slender logs, usually carried on the back of the tank, had been used as props to keep the netting off the bulk of the tank, ensuring the crew had the freedom to move around and also disguising its shape. They were part of a much bigger force: 10 Guards Tank Division of 3 Shock Army. The regiment had moved into position the previous night and, after a few minor reshuffles to accommodate the full regiment of over ninety tanks, all they could do now was wait for further orders from regimental or divisional command. The unit had completed some minor manoeuvres as part of Exercise Hammer 84, but had now been designated as an army reserve and were to refit, refuel and arm; then await further orders. What surprised Colonel Oleg Pushkin, commander of the 62nd GTR, the most was the fact they were being fully armed and to a war-level status. He had received stocks of APFSDS (Armour-Piercing Fin-Stabilised Discarding Sabot), HE (High Explosive) fragmentation, HEAT (High-Explosive Anti-Tank), and even two of the new Kobra 9M112M tank-launched missiles for each of his T80s. With thirty-eight main gun rounds, 300 rounds for the 12.7mm NSVT, anti-aircraft gun, and 1,250 rounds for the 7.62mm co-axial machine gun, they were in effect ready to go to battle. The dilemma that crossed Pushkin’s mind was: with whom? There had been some unrest in Poland: labour strikes and union demonstrations. He hoped his unit wasn’t going to be used to suppress the inhabitants of what was supposed to be an ally of the Soviet Union and a key member of the Warsaw Pact. More and more supplies had arrived for the regiment and the division under the cover of darkness. With plenty of fuel, ammunition and food for the men, they were capable of sustaining a number of days in battle, if required.
Pushkin clambered onto the glacis of the command tank, and a head immediately popped out of the tank commander’s hatch to greet him.
“Sir. For what reason are we owed this honour of a visit?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Trusov.
“Making sure your bloody tankers have camouflaged their vehicles properly, Pavel.”
“I suspected you’d be doing your rounds, sir, so I’ve already been around kicking arses.” He laughed.
Pushkin clambered up the frontal armour, right of the barrel, and squatted down by the turret, in front of the smoke dischargers. “I knew you’d be on the ball.”
“So, what the fuck’s going on then, sir? The entire bloody division is crammed into this area. Why have we been pulled out of Exercise молот 84?”
During the last forty-eight hours, 10 Guards Tank Division (Uralsko-Lvovskaya Division), had moved in its entirety into the area of Lindenwald, East Germany, and were now spread out over an area of fifteen square kilometres. 62nd GTR was in the centre of the forest, 61st GTR to the north, and 63rd GTR somewhere to the north-west. Over 300 main battle tanks and their supporting units were cammed up waiting for further orders. The area occupied by the full division was situated thirty-kilometres north-west of the city of Magdeburg. Sometimes the crews could smell the smog on the breeze, coming from the direction of the industrialised city. With winter fires, the city was often covered in a blanket of thick, foul-smelling smog. To their south-east was Colbitz and Lindhurst, south-west Haldensleben, north-west Letjungen and, to the north-east, Ludentz. Directly north of them, south of Uchtspringe, a huge military training ground existed, the criss-cross tracks of heavy tank usage clearly visible from the air. A battered piece of ground, ten-kilometres long by five-kilometres wide, the division’s units had often trained on there, the crews practising their skills at tank handling and the officers getting used to large-scale tank manoeuvres.
Pushkin held his hand up. “Hold up, hold up. The divisional commander will be briefing us later today or tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll get more detail then. But in the meantime, for God’s sake, be patient, Pavel.”
“Poland?”
“I hope not. Unlikely.” Pushkin shifted until he was more comfortable, sitting on the edge of the cold armour of the turret. “They would have chosen at least a motor rifle division for that. Our 248th MRR wouldn’t be enough on its own.”
“These monsters would soon put a stop to any of their tricks.” Pavel laughed as he patted the solid steel of the turret.
“There wouldn’t be any buildings left if these were let loose on the streets,” responded Pushkin with a chuckle.
“Makes sense, I suppose. Infantry units would do better on the streets; the BMPs will give them plenty of support. Perhaps they just want our infantry to back up whoever gets the job.”
“Maybe.”
“Why have we got so much live ammo, though?” Pavel pointed through the turret hatch to the ammo bins below. “Christ, these bloody missiles cost a fortune.”
“Reel it in, Pavel. You say too much sometimes. All will be revealed soon enough.”
“I’ve only ever fired one of these missiles in the last twelve months.”
“What’s the status on your battalion?”
“Pretty good, sir. Thirty fully operational, one in maintenance.”
“That’s good.”
“Most of the travel has been by road transport or rail. Plus, we’ve been taken out of the exercise early, so not surprising breakdowns are low.” Trusov pulled a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed the top and offered it to his regimental commander. “It’s good stuff, not that crap we’re getting from supply.”
“Don’t let our beloved political officer hear you say that, Pavel.” Pushkin lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I know, I know, sir.”
“Your mouth is going to be the death of you if you’re not careful. And I mean that literally.”
> “I’ll tone it down. Now, can I have my flask back, sir, before you drink it all?”
Pushkin took one last swig then passed it back. “You’re right, it’s pretty good stuff,” he said, smacking his lips. “Talking of our beloved deputy divisional commander, I need to go and find him. He wants to go through the new announcements he’s prepared for the troops.”
“To our beloved Mother Russia,” said Trusov, raising his flask.
“Make sure your men are up to speed, Pavel,” Pushkin said sternly and slid down off the turret, bumped his way over the ERA (Explosive Reactive Armour) blocks and jumped off the front of the tank. He needed to seek out the deputy commander, the political officer, the deputy commander’s responsible for ‘technical’ and ‘rear’, to get a quick update, and a fuller update from his divisional commander, Major General Abramov. Maybe they were finally going to find out what was in store for them.
12TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION, NORTH-WEST OF GOMMERN, EAST GERMANY. 25 JUNE 1984.
THE RED EFFECT −9 DAYS.
Fifty-kilometres away, another division belonging to 3 Shock Army, a key striking force of GSFG (the Group of Soviet Forces Germany), was settling down in an assembly area, their T64A tanks also cammed up amongst the forests chosen to hide them away from prying eyes. The forests were north-west of Gommern, about twenty-two kilometres east of the River Elbe. A group of Soviet officers were sitting around a mixture of temporary tables inside a large tent erected by the signals battalion headquarters. It had now been hijacked by the divisional commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division; a covered space where he could converse with his most senior combat officers. It was a select few. The commanders of his three tank regiments, the solitary motor rifle regiment and the 18th Independent Guards Reconnaissance Battalion. The other units had been excluded, along with the chief of staff, the political officer, who was also the deputy divisional commander, the other rear area commanders and the support arms. It wasn’t a formal briefing; he just wanted to get some real feedback from his key unit commanders.
“I know you have lots of questions,” stated the giant of a man who sat on a chair in front of them; a chair that creaked as a consequence of his weight every time he moved. The commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division, Major General Oleg Turbin, the ‘Bear’, was not overweight; far from it. He was just stocky, with a heavy, muscled, large frame. Many of his subordinates had felt the power of this man when they had failed to meet one of the tasks set by him. They did everything within their control to ensure there wasn’t a second foul-up. “The truth is I don’t know what’s happening. For the moment, anyway. I have been ordered to secrete the division in the Lodderitzer Forest and await further orders. In the meantime, the division is to be made ready for full combat.”
He lit another cigarette from the glowing stub in his hand before crushing the stub out on the table. Although not a chain-smoker, it was often difficult to identify a gap between each Belomorkanal brand, one of the strongest cigarettes in the eastern block, if not the world.
“Yuri, Rusian, Timur, have you started receiving fresh stocks of ammunition yet?”
Colonel Yuri Kharzin, Commander of the 48th Guards Tank Regiment, responded first. “Yes, Comrade General, we have a full load of main gun ammunition, along with rounds for the machine guns and our own personal sidearms.”
“Fuel?”
“All tanked up, sir. I see there are POL bowsers in the vicinity as well, all with full loads.”
“Yes, yes. Rusian, Timur, you as well?”
“Yes, Comrade General,” they responded in unison; Commanders of the 332nd and 353rd Guards Tank Regiments respectively.
“Good, good. Akim, your foot sloggers ready?”
Akim Yermakion, Commander of the 200th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment laughed. As the only infantry unit alongside the three tank regiments, he was often at the butt end of their jokes; always being ribbed about his men being trench-diggers when in fact they had BMP2s, more than capable of keeping up with the tanks and could pack a punch themselves if needed. “Yes, Comrade General, but we are still short of spares for the BMPs.”
“How many are operational?”
The young colonel, in his early thirties, referred to his notes. “All tanks are serviceable and eighty-nine BMP are fully operational. Four BMP are operational, but in need minor repairs if we are to participate fully in whatever is expected of us, Comrade General. I can cannibalise a few to bring the rest up to scratch?”
“Definitely not!” Turbin thumped the table. “I want all vehicles in full-battle readiness, no exceptions. Make the lists available, and I will add my weight to your requests. We have orders from on high...”
“Absolutely, Comrade General.”
A skinny figure in an ill-fitting officer’s uniform, clearly tailored to fit his scrawny frame but failing badly, entered the tent. One of the junior officers gave up his seat for who was probably, next to their divisional commander, the most feared man in the unit: the Deputy Commander and Political Officer, Colonel Yolkin.
“Glad you could join us, Comrade Colonel. I was just getting an update from some of my officers.”
“But is it not a full briefing, Comrade General? I was not informed.”
“It is just an informal meeting, not a full briefing. Otherwise, the full divisional command would be here,” Turbin responded gruffly. Although he had to step carefully with the political officer, he was far from afraid of him. His skills as a divisional commander were widely respected, and many of the tactics used in Soviet Army tank units had been devised by him. He was destined for command of an army in the not too distant future.
“It’s good that you keep your men informed, Comrade General. I heard you tell them that all their equipment needs to be fully functional for whatever task our masters have for us. Good, we must be ready.”
None of them would challenge the political officer; make him aware that the lack of spares was a constant headache for the unit’s officers.
“Have I missed anything?”
“No, Colonel Yolkin. There will be a full brief by the army commander tomorrow, I believe.”
Yolkin wafted the smoke from in front of his face, a constant stream from the cigarette dangling in between Major General Turbin’s nichotine stained fingers drifting towards him. “That is my belief also.”
“Right, dismissed,” Turbin ordered. “I will be checking on your preparations every hour of the day. God help any of you that fail to meet my exacting standards.” He stood up. “Get on with it then!”
Seats shot back as the assembled officers jumped up from their seats, saluted and quickly filed out through the tent flap, leaving the division’s commander and deputy commander alone.
“Comrade General, you know that I should be in attendance for all briefings. It would be looked upon quite badly by higher command should they get to hear about it.”
Major General Turbin took a deep drag of his half smoked cigarette, expelling a stream of smoke high in the air before leaning forward until his face was less than a forearm’s distance from Yolkin’s.
“I am fully aware of my duties, Colonel Yolkin. If there is ever a command briefing, I will ensure that you are one of the first to be informed.”
“But—”
“If you want to be in attendance every time I talk to or check on my men then you had better stick to me like glue. You can start by joining me at 0400 tomorrow morning when I start a complete tour of the division. We might have time for breakfast, but I doubt it. And if we do, it certainly won’t be a leisurely one. I suggest we join the engineers and eat with them. Get some sleep, Arkaldy,” he said, smiling. “It will be a long day.”
The Bear stood up, stubbed out his cigarette on a plate he had been using as an ashtray, and walked towards the exit.
Yolkin jumped up, saluted and, in a shaky voice, said, “It is not my intention to doubt you, Comrade General, or interfere with the running of the division. As deputy commander, my role is to assist you.
I would like to join you tomorrow, but I already have tasks assigned. I must prepare my next political briefing for our loyal soldiers.”
The Bear pulled the tent flap back and stormed outside, leaving the political officer to slump back into his chair, feeling slightly battered by the berating he had just received. Although he hated to admit it, even to himself, Turbin scared him.
7TH GUARDS AIRBORNE DIVISION, KAUNAS AIRFIELD, LITHUANIA. 25 JUNE 1984.
THE RED EFFECT −9 DAYS.
“So, Stani, your boys ready?”
“Ready as they’ll ever be, sir. Just don’t know for what. They’re pretty pissed off though. Geared up for a major drop during молот 84; then it’s all called off!”
“Something’s in the wind, Stani, I can feel it.”
“Well, sir, we have the aircraft, we have the kit, and we now even have live ammunition. Supplies have been pouring in.”
A loud reverberation emanated from behind them: the sound of aero engines growing steadily louder, joined by a steady whop-whop of rotor blades as a Hind D attack helicopter roared in behind them. The racket grew louder as it came in close, preventing all further conversation as it swooped in low over the airport, heading for the apron at the other end of the runway. The two airborne-officers quickly placed a hand on top of their pale blue headgear as the downdraft from the five rotor-blades made repeated attempts to blast them from their heads. Silence slowly returned as the helicopter did a circuit of the end of the runway before finally settling down. The two officers were dressed in camouflaged, one-piece coveralls, a blue and white horizontally striped shirt beneath. Although worn by airborne troops, the VDV (Vozdushno -Desantyne Voyska), the blue and white striped shirt was traditionally worn by the Soviet naval elite units. When Major General Mergelov, ex-naval infantry in World War Two, assumed command of the VDV in the 1950s, he adopted it for them, indicating that the airborne were an elite unit.
The Red Effect (Cold War) Page 14
