The Red Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  Sergeant Ron Reid peered through his binos, covering the left arc, knowing his troop commander would be covering the right. His driver and gunner were below, asleep. There was no sleeping on the engine decks. This time it wasn’t an exercise: they were out on watch for real. But it didn’t seem real somehow, and he expected a call any minute now to tell him it was Endex and they could all go home. Saying that, back at the barracks there had been a sense of realism, although they still had a box of Herferder beer stowed onboard. There had been a greater focus on what they would really need: ammunition, rations and water. He pulled out a wax pencil to mark the plastic-coated map, identifying key points ahead, landmarks he could use when calling in fire for his gunner, or other units defending the line.

  “Shit.” The pencil slipped from his rubber glove covered fingers and clattered down into the fighting compartment, disappearing into the turret monster. “I won’t see that again till this is all over,” he muttered under his breath. He rubbed his back against the hatch rim, the itch slowly making its way lower and lower down his back, irritated by the T-shirt and woollen shirt, topped with his combat jacket. It was too hot to wear a jumper and the Noddy suit provided a fourth layer that created too much warmth. The olive-green nuclear, biological and chemical Mark III suit was worn to protect the soldiers from a potential chemical or nuclear barrage by the Warsaw Pact. The double-layer smock and trousers, with an inner layer of charcoal-impregnated cloth and an outer layer of modacrylic and nylon, would protect the wearer for up to twenty-four hours. On his hands, Reid wore a pair of black rubber gloves with white cotton inners and rubber overboots covering his combat-highs. He adjusted the focus of the binoculars, the rubber gloves making it difficult for him to twist the dial. Will they come today? he thought.

  Chapter 24

  SOUTH-EAST OF LUNEBURG, WEST GERMANY. 0700 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −21 HOURS.

  The fifty-five-ton Leopard 2’s liquid-cooled, 47.6 litre, V-12 engine purred as the driver, located at the front of the main battle tank offset to the right of its centreline, eased the tank forward into the berm recently dug out by an engineer party. Once the driver had brought the tank to a halt, the commander closed down in the turret, swinging it left and right, checking that the barrel of the 120mm, smooth-bore main gun was clear to move in a full arc. He also checked that, with the tank hull down, in a closed-down situation, he would be able to see through his six periscopes giving him all-round vision. As a third-batch, Leopard 2 A1, the commander’s primary panoramic sight had been raised by 50mm, giving him an alternative view when closed down. The engine continued to tick over as the tank commander rotated the turret one last time before stopping it so it pointed directly ahead. Satisfied that he had a clear view of the terrain ahead, he pushed the circular hatch up and back to the rear and climbed up until he was waist high above the turret, the loader’s hatch to his right with the MG-3 7.62mm air-defence machine gun. He looked around at the copse they were hiding in, the tank strewn with camouflage to help them blend in with their surroundings, the trees behind reducing any sky lining. They were positioned west of the Stecknitz Canal, south-east of the large town of Luneburg, a pair of Leopard tanks dug into a small copse close to the south-east edge of the village of Hagan. From here, they had a clear field of view of the canal and, more importantly, a clear field of fire. They were part of the 9th Panzer Brigade of the 1st Panzer Division, 1 German Corps’ covering force, fulfilling a similar role to that of the British 4th Armoured Division. Their respective aim was to hold back any Soviet advance: keep their massive tank armies at bay until the main battle area could be secured.

  Using his binoculars, the tank commander, and also the commander of the troop of Leopard 2s deployed close by, surveyed the ground ahead. To his front, about 1,200 metres ahead, over open farmland, zigzagged with a patchwork of cultivated fields, was the canal. To his immediate left, no more than 1,000 metres distant, the 216 ran from west to east, crossing the canal. To the west, it linked up with an autobahn behind him, which ran north to south. To his immediate right, south-east, 1,500 metres away, just out of sight of his position, lay a minor road that crossed the canal from west to east. This was being guarded by his other two Leopards, their task to watch and wait. Engineers were preparing the bridges for demolition. His task was to provide them with cover, ready to dash forward and deal with any enemy armour that tried to get across. Part of the 33rd Panzer Battalion of the 9th Panzer Brigade, he was far from alone.

  WEST OF RASDORF, NEAR THE FULDA GAP, WEST GERMANY. 0700 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −21 HOURS.

  The M1-Abrams advanced down the narrow forest track, trees lining both sides of the route, an M3 Bradley Cavalry Fighting Vehicle, leading the way. Behind, another twelve main battle tanks of the cavalry unit followed in line of march. From the 1st Squadron of the 11th Cavalry, the ‘Black Horse’ Regiment, they were deploying as a screen, a covering force, for the US V Corps, one of four corps-size formations that made up the Central Army Group. The Cavalry Regiment would conduct a similar role to that orchestrated by 4th Armoured Division for 1 BR Corps and the 1st Panzer Division for 1 German Corps, both in the Northern Army Group.

  As yet, NATO had no inkling where the Warsaw Pact main thrusts would be. But the menacing build-up of Soviet troops along the border was now becoming apparent, and the Soviet Politburo were still insisting that it was purely a defensive measure to counter the NATO Hawks accusation that the peaceful people of the Soviet Union wanted a war; that they were only deploying their forces post Exercise Hammer 84 rather than returning them to barracks as a consequence of the sabre-rattling of the American President and British Prime Minister. Baskov had demanded that NATO desist from calling up their National Guard and reserves and return their divisions to their barracks before they would stand down.

  One thing was certain: as far as the commander of CENTAG was concerned, the wasp-waist of Germany in the area of the Fulda Gap would be a tempting target. A powerful armoured thrust across 110 kilometres would find Warsaw Pact soldiers in the centre of the city of Frankfurt. A mere ninety kilometres further and the hammer and sickle flag would fly over the political capital of Bonn. Not only would they be close to the French border but also to the huge US Army supply depot at Kaiserslautern and numerous air bases close by. It would be disastrous for NATO, splitting the two army groups, NORTHAG and CENTAG, and effectively cutting West Germany in half.

  As CENTAG’s area had a largely mountainous and wooded border with the Inner German Border, the terrain was considered far more favourable to defend than the flatter, more open spaces of northern Germany. Although formidable terrain for a mass tank army to cross, the immediate area around Fulda was not as impassable as the NATO planners would wish for. The Fulda River, a mere twenty metres across and not much more than two metres deep, wouldn’t even be considered a barrier by the Soviet Army. Their vast array of river-crossing equipment, from the PMP pontoon bridge, with its thirty-two river pontoons that, when deployed, had a span of nearly 400 metres, to the TMM vehicle-launched bridge system. During, or before, the period a bridge was being erected, or floated, the Soviets could use their GSP heavy amphibious ferry. A left and right unit, linked together, could ferry up to fifty tons across a river. Providing the circumstances were right, a main battle tank could even fire its main gun as it was ferried across. With the knowledge that a forward defence stance would not be effective, as the Warsaw Pact armies could concentrate their forces and choose which point, or points to punch through the thinly spread NATO forces, CENTAG had no option but to opt for a defence-in-depth strategy. Using anti-tank weapons on the forward slopes, where vegetation permitted, with main battle tanks hitting the advancing forces on the flanks, they could blunt an attack but pull back before they were overwhelmed, and then carry out the same manoeuvre all over again.

  The Black Horse Regiment had been deployed to the Fulda Gap region of West Germany in May 1972. Its mission was twofold: conducting pa
trols of the Inner German Border, watching for any unwelcome Soviet or East German activity, and acting as the covering force for the US V Corps. Although the squadron manned an observation post in the area of Hunfeld, 1st Squadron had been ordered to move out and take up positions further east, as an attack by the Warsaw Pact was becoming more and more likely. Military commanders insisted that an attack was imminent, and likely to be within the next forty-eight hours. Although only a squadron, it punched well above its weight. It was a powerful force, with forty-one M1-Abrams, forty M3 Bradley CFVs, twelve M113 armoured personnel carriers, six M106 mortar carriers, four M577 command vehicles, and eight M109 self-propelled artillery.

  As a replacement for the ageing M60A1, which was only protected by homogenous, rolled armour, the M1-Abrams was of an innovative design. The traditionally used homogenous armour had been replaced by laminate armour designed by the British Vehicle Research and Development Establishment at Chobham. Hence the nickname of Chobham armour. Its protection, against the weapon of choice for many systems, the shaped charge, was significantly improved.

  Private First-Class Larry Poole gunned the multi-fuel gas turbine engine as they left a dip and started a gradual climb. Staff Sergeant Kyle Lewis, the tank commander and platoon sergeant, his head and shoulders above the turret hatch, rocked gently as he watched the Bradley ahead of them. The turret and its 105mm rifled tank gun were facing forwards, the track quite narrow. They were heading for their wartime deployment positions, crashed out as their senior officers were becoming more and more concerned by the hostility being shown by the Soviet Union. The commander of the Bradley bent his arm at the elbow, signalling to the right, the tank commander knowing it meant they were approaching the T-junction at the end of the track. He informed the driver and, within a couple of minutes, they had moved onto route 84, the sixty-seven ton tank swivelled around on its tracks, curving round to the right before continuing forward, sticking with the reconnaissance vehicle in front.

  Tall trees lined the road either side of them, climbing away up the slope to their left, until they levelled off at 550 metres at the top of the Stalberg bei Hunfeld. The driver ramped up the tank’s speed to a steady thirty-five kilometres an hour, leaving a trail of dust behind them. SSGT Lewis could hear his two other crew members laughing, knowing the lieutenant, their platoon commander, in the tank behind would be cursing PFC Poole. Kyle ordered him to take his foot off the gas and their speed dropped to fifteen. Four hundred metres further on, the density of the forest to their left thinned out slightly, the trees more scattered about a gentler slope. They had driven between two staggered knolls, the left called Marsberg, the unnamed one to the right they had nicknamed Clint, after the ‘man with no name’. The platoon left the two knolls behind, driving into more open land, apart from a slightly raised piece of ground to their left, an extension of the Marsberg. A network of cultured fields filled the gap between the forest area and the village of Rasdorf, which had a population of less than a thousand.

  The commander of the recce vehicle signalled again, this time with his left arm. Kyle gave the driver a warning that they would be turning left onto the low edge of the shallow reverse slope. The platoon of four M1-Abrams following behind would be tracking right. The Abrams roared as it swung left, churning up the ground as it made its way off the road and onto a track that ran along the lower slopes of the knoll extension. The engine whined as Poole pushed the armoured giant harder as they started to climb slightly, eventually stopping so the tank could be manoeuvred into a position where it could reverse up the gentle slope. From slightly higher up, but nowhere near the top, they could cover the open ground that was laid out in front of them. An enemy force, particularly a large armoured force, perhaps in battalion or regimental strength, would have to advance along route 84 if they wished to make any headway west. They would be forced to pass through the gap between the two knolls. It would make an ideal target for the eight Abrams, four each side, that could pick off the enemy armour as it approached across the fields or down route 84 itself. Three thousand metres to the rear, eight 155mm M-109 self-propelled artillery would be setting up to support the squadron, pounding the enemy whenever possible, adding to the devastation that would wreak havoc in the killing zone being created, making the Soviet advance west even more onerous.

  SSGT Lewis guided the driver as he eased the tank gently into position. Situated on a small piece of ground where the slope levelled off for a short distance, but the undulating surface provided natural berms to hide behind. One such mound was in front where they could pull forward and be in a hull-down position. Lewis and his men had investigated this area and many like it. In fact, they knew this entire area like the back of their hands and had every intention of making the Soviet Army pay the price for even thinking of attacking their zone of control. Once they had destroyed a number of enemy tanks, they could reverse further up the gentle slope, the scattering of trees providing them with much needed cover from the enemy, turn around, and make their way west to the next deployment area. Other elements of the squadron would be waiting for them to pass, and the enemy would drive into yet another ambush.

  Along the line of the forest edge, the four tanks, along with two M3 Bradleys, there to provide support in the likely event infantry would be used to winkle them out, adjusted their positions until the vehicle commanders were satisfied. Once happy, SSGT Lewis ordered the M1 to be pulled back, until it was in a turret-down position, then camouflaged. They would stay hidden until called forward to take on the enemy’s armour.

  The Bradleys would also keep watch, but slightly further up the slope. The M3 Bradley Cavalry Fighting Vehicle could certainly pack a punch. A heavyweight at twenty-five tons, with its Cummins VTA-903 engine, it could still travel at a top speed of sixty-kilometres an hour on roads. Its 25mm M242 chain gun would do serious damage to approaching mechanised infantry combat vehicles such as the BMP-1 and BMP-2. But with its dual TOW anti-tank launcher, it was equally as deadly for the Warsaw Pact’s main battle tanks.

  SSGT Lewis informed his crew that he was moving forward to complete a visual reconnaissance of the area out in front, instructing them to break out the cool box, packed with ice and bottles of Coke that were chilling inside. He climbed out of the turret, dropped down off the front glacis, and made his way to the natural berm ahead. Looking back, he shouted to the crew, reminding them to get the cam-net erected. Looking up, he could see the much higher hill behind him, covered in dense forest. Where they were now was decidedly sparser, but enough cover for them to hide in. His platoon commander would no doubt be along soon. He clambered up the shallow side and lay partly on top of the edge, his elbows supporting him as he moved his binoculars in a sweeping arc. Before he had chance to zoom in on some of the key areas, a body crashed down beside him.

  “Well, Troop, are the Reds on their way?” The Lieutenant laughed, panting, wiping sweat from his brow after tabbing hard and fast. Even though he was twenty-five years old, he still retained some of his puppy fat and had the sort of soft-skinned face that belied his age, often being mistaken for an overgrown teen. Lewis liked him, even though he felt he could be a liability at times. But that wasn’t a problem. Most of the time, the Lieutenant deferred to his Senior NCO, which suited Kyle Lewis who had been driving, commanding and competently firing a tank’s main armament since he had first trained in an M-60.

  “Hi, sir. We’ve got it pretty much covered here. With eight M1s and the Bradleys, we can certainly give them a bloody nose.”

  The officer punched his NCO’s arm. “So, is the bet on then, Staff?”

  Lewis laughed. “You know my tank’s got the best gunner in the squadron, sir. It would be like taking candy from an infant.”

  “We’ll see. So, what have we got?”

  “They’re going to send recce forward first, a mix of T-64s and BMPs probably. They can either use the L3170 and swing north-west, or take the 84 and head west. Either way they will have to go across our arc of fire, and we should
be able to hit them hard.”

  “It’ll look like a tank graveyard by the time we’re finished.”

  Lewis smiled, choosing to ignore his senior officer’s display of naivety. “The likelihood, sir, is that they will hit the edges of the forests with arty fire first, so it will only be our surviving tanks that get to hit back. Once we’ve picked off their recce, the chances are we’ll get hit again and again. Probably ground attack aircraft will have a poke at us.”

  “How long, then?”

  “We hit as many as we can, move further up the slope and have another go; then we’ll probably be pulled back.”

  “It’s seems a waste of a good firing position.”

  Lewis looked at his baby-faced commander. “They will throw everything they’ve got at us to dislodge us from here. We couldn’t hold back a tank regiment, or motor rifle regiment, if that’s what they send. Eventually they’ll push us off here, or outflank us...” He hesitated for a moment. “Or wipe us out.”

  Chapter 25

  WEST OF MAGDEBURG, EAST GERMANY. 12TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION/3 SHOCK ARMY. 1200, 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −16 HOURS.

  Tank after tank sped along the E8 dual carriageway, a road regularly used by West German civilians going east to visit their families and friends in the western sector of Berlin. The British, and their allies, also used this, one of three corridors to transit through East Germany and join the rest of the troops guarding Berlin and the sovereign territory of the four occupying powers: Britain, United States of America, France and the Soviet Union.