'Advance to Contact' (Armageddon's Song)

by Andy Farman

  On 7th April at 2315hrs, 19 year old Lance Corporal Simon Green was in his fifth straight hour on point duty. A trainee salesperson for a large chain of stores selling electrical goods in his civvy job, he had been in the Territorial Arm for eight months. Glancing at his watch he was gratified to see that he had only a mere forty-five minutes to go until he was relieved. His back ached from wearing his webbing, helmet and the SA-80 across his chest without a rest since 1800hrs. His feet hurt from standing on the hard surface of the autobahn, bearing the weight of all his kit, and his throat hurt from shouting instructions to drivers of stationary vehicles who leant out through their windows, smirking and cupping a hand behind one ear and shouting back

  “What…what…can’t hear you mate?” whilst revving their engines. It hadn’t been funny the first time, and by the hundredth he just wanted to shoot the bastards in the face at the first utterance of “What?”

  It was cold on the side of the autobahn, and a chilly breeze blew along the road unhindered by buildings or natural undergrowth. Hitler had emulated his ancient Roman heroes when he had ordered them built, they were primarily meant for use by his military to get from A to B as fast as possible, there were therefore few bends to act as windbreaks.

  Traffic was fitful; nothing had come past for almost half an hour, which was a sure measure of how low supplies were getting for the NATO forces. The tall posts that carried lighting for the autobahn marched into the distance along the central reservation; it had been ten days since they had last been illuminated.

  The location’s CP was a green canvas tent, known to squaddies as a “Nine bee nine” because of its 9’ x 9’ dimensions, sat nearer the junction with a long wheel base Landrover backed up to one open side of it. Grey, thermal masking hessian sheet covered the vehicle and attached ‘nine bee nine’, over the top of which was a large camouflage net pegged out and propped up by poles in such a way as to break up its outline; nature hates a straight line. The whole caboodle occupied a gap in the hawthorn hedgerow that lined the autobahn, and at a glance it appeared as if the hedge was unbroken along its length. The camouflage was for the benefit of enemy aircraft rather than its ground forces, because the effect was spoilt somewhat by the countdown signs beside the autobahn that declared ‘TP 300’, then ‘TP 200’ and ‘TP 100’ until finally a larger sign stated ‘RMP TP’ along with a big arrow that pointed out the section of ‘hedge’ that was liable for income tax payments.

  The section’s other two Landrovers were parked hard against the hedgerow, merging with it and similarly ‘cammed up’, as were the section's three trailers and motorbike.

  The main reason for going to all the trouble of camming-up the TP’s on the MSR is mainly that it is good practice.

  Via their surveillance satellites in low orbit, the enemy will not be craning their necks to see what is written on the signs placed by the signing parties; they can see that it is an MSR just by the weight of military traffic using it. No photo interpreter is going to spend hours looking for the well-camouflaged TP at the intersection either, because the 2000lb warhead on the medium range, vehicle launched missile that they may plan to drop on the intersection will take it out at the same time anyway.

  Sgt Dick Bolding, the section commander of 2 Section was in the CP, using the military telephone network, with its cables laid below ground in the 1960s that followed the military route network throughout the country.

  A large map against the inside wall of the CP had a fair amount of information over-written on its clear plastic cover, showing unit locations, routes and the like. A blanket was rolled up above it; ready to be dropped down should they have visitors who were not of the ‘need-to-know’ category. A second board followed the progress up and down ‘NUT’ of the ‘packets’ of vehicles in the convoys; this also had a blanket in place over it.

  Once Dick had finished scribbling down details of the next expected convoy packets he replaced the telephone, donned helmet and webbing before picking up his weapon.

  “I’m off to wake the next lot,” he informed his radio op and ducked through the two flaps that ensured the light from the Tilly lamp within did not show outside. On radio ‘stag’ in the CP was a twenty-one year old lance corporal whose civvy job was working in the control room of the London Ambulance Service at Waterloo. She was decoding a message that had been received from the company CP when the field telephone beside her rang.

  “Yes Simon, they’re being woken now…no, no, yes…no I’m not sharing your sleeping bag…no, yes, no…and no I won’t go out with you when we get back to London either.”

  At the other end of the phone Simon Green replaced the handset on the field telephone sat on the grass verge.

  “Well what did she say then?” An equally young soldier of 352 Provost Coy, performing the role of roving sentry asked him.

  “Yeah…she’s gagging for it!”

  The distinctive humming sound of cross-country tyres on a road surface reached them and the sentry stepped back into cover whilst Simon stepped a few feet out onto the autobahn, switching on a hand-held lamp and displaying a red light for the oncoming vehicle.

  Simon heard the vehicle engine sounds alter, there was more than one vehicle approaching them and they had seen his signal to stop.

  The dark outlines of two Landrovers came to a stop beside the autobahn's grass verge, Simon saw both had posts attached to the sides with the old style hessian wrapped around the tops, concealing the blue rotating lamps that sat there.

  He had forgotten to inform his CP by field telephone that vehicles were approaching, but he was tired and he was looking forward to climbing into his ‘maggot’ for a few hours. The occupants of the ‘rovers were obviously RMP too, and if it was officers coming to check up on them then Sgt Bolding would be grabbing him by the throat the moment they departed.

  The occupants of the vehicles climbed stiffly from them, as if they had driven a long way, so Simon hoped they were nothing to do with them, just another unit passing through but then their drivers switched the engines off.

  “Er…seven!” he stammered at the passenger of the lead vehicle, as that person opened the door and stepped out.

  “Eight,” replied a female voice. Two hours before she had been laid down just at the other side of the hedge in the potato field beyond, listening to the loudly shouted challenge, and the reply from vehicle drivers, revving their engines to wind up the young military policeman. She had observed the pantomime performed twice, just to be sure that the pass-number of the day was ‘Fifteen’.

  Dick stopped before he reached the other ‘rovers and their sleeping occupants when he heard the two new vehicles draw up and switch off their engines.

  Dick’s ‘real job’ was that of a specialist firearms officer in the Met, and he was one of a fair number of serving policemen in his unit. He began to walk back to the CP and heard the dull double ‘phutt’ from within as his young radio operator was dispatched with two rounds in the side of her head. It was the tinkle of the spent cases bouncing off items inside the CP that alerted him to the fact that they were under attack.

  Keeping low, and as quietly as possible Dick went back the way he had come and arriving at the first ‘rover he ducked under the camouflage netting and lifted the rear flap, reaching in to put his hand over the mouth of the first sleeping soldier, so as to awaken him quietly. A sixth sense told him that someone was behind him, and he began to turn when a hand clamped across his face, pulling his head back for the blade that drove into his throat and upwards into his brain stem.

  For three hours Team Five and other groups took over the TP and three others like it, changing signs and diverting traffic along roads that went nowhere. At opportune moments they slapped delay charges under some vehicles on the convoys. It was an hour before dawn before NATO got wise, but by that time the Spetznaz teams had vanished

  Nevada Desert: 0030hrs, 8th April.

  General Shaw accompanied Scott Tafler along the tunnel from the helipad where Mar
ines challenged them five times before they gained entry to the President’s inner sanctum. It was the Chairman of the Joint Chief’s first journey out of his own hardened shelter since the day before the DC bomb

  Sitting in the nearest thing to a comfortable armchair that the facility had, the President waved a hand at them without turning from the screen before him

  Seeing that he was talking with the First Lady, Henry Shaw led Scott to another room where members of the secret service detail were watching a video. Sat with them was the President’s chief scientific advisor, who came over to join them as they helped themselves to coffee.

  General Shaw shook his hand warmly.

  “Hello Joe, have you met Scott Tafler?”

  “Ah, the author of operation Guillotine, has Henry here relayed my worries about it?” the CSA asked him.

  Scott nodded.

  “I knew nothing about Grease Spot, scary as hell…the General only mentioned that the after effects of that, combined with this new operation…and what the reds have been doing, is going to stay with us for a while.”

  “I…knew nothing about Grease Spot either, until after the convoys were at sea. Using nuclear weapons in our environment is insanity, using them in the Atlantic…in the Gulf Stream at that…we may be left with a world where our grandchildren will believe that it was better had we surrendered.” The CSA was shaking his head from side to side as he spoke, it was clear to Scott that he was deeply perturbed.

  Scott wanted to know more.

  “Could it have a lasting impact, do you think?”

  “There is no could about it young man, the next winter will arrive early and overstay its welcome. Take a look at a satellite photo of the Atlantic since the weapons detonated that is if the cloud cover clears…which may not be for weeks or months. There will probably be no summer worth speaking of this year. Millions of gallons of water were evaporated and flung into the stratosphere; millions of tons of silt were churned up. If you saw the Atlantic, it would be more brown than blue from space. I have no idea what that will do to the Gulf Stream…if, God forbidden, it has stopped its flow, then we will see a return of the glaciers, a new ice age.” He poured a coffee for himself before continuing. “Harvests all over the world are going to be affected by all these bombs going off, the dust is going to block sunlight and lower temperatures. It could be good news for the disappearing ice caps, but that is all!”

  It was very overcast outside, as it had been in Scotland the day after Grease Spot. And as Scott thought about it, he got a sick feeling in his stomach because he was about to add to whatever lasting damage had been done.

  His plan to take out the Russian leader had been put on hold until a workable plan came along to either eliminate the Chinese politburo, and their ICBMs.

  The door opened and a secret service agent called them through, but the President was no longer in the war room. General Shaw and Scott followed the agent down another corridor and into what had probably once been a dining room for senior air force officers. It was large enough for a dozen people to sit in more comfort than any of the other rooms, and was now occupied by the President and six men with darkly handsome Asian looks; two were obviously from Southeast Asia.

  All were in civilian clothes but two had military bearing and the President stood to make the introductions, but he introduced Scott as being an ‘aide’. Henry Shaw had met both of the soldiers at some time in the past, Lt Gen Rajendra Singh of the Indian Army and Lt Gen Jehangir Khan of the Pakistan Army. Henry knew also which branches of the military they represented, rocket artillery, but what surprised him was that they were both in the same room together, both countries were quite bitter enemies.

  Neither he nor Scott had met either of the other men from the Indian sub-continent, whom the President introduced merely as “and these gentlemen are from India’s Research and Analysis Wing, and Pakistan's Inter-Services Intelligence.”

  Between the long-time enemies, acting as diplomatic buffers, were two government ministers, George Ramirez, the Philippines Defence minister and his opposite number from Indonesia, Abdurrahman Suharko.

  Hands were shaken and seats taken, but Scott was wondering what the hell was going on, two spooks and two soldiers from normally opposing sides, even if they were separated from direct contact with one another?

  “Henry, Scott…allow me to bring you up to speed…as you can imagine, mainland China’s neighbours are somewhat concerned that their own national integrity, not to mention security are under threat from communist China. These gentlemen have come here today to assure me that they have not been sat on their hands over the last couple of weeks…the Philippines most certainly haven’t, as you know. With the definite exception of North Korea, all countries in Asia are solidly opposed to both the PRC and the new Soviet Union’s aims in this conflict…and they have formed an alliance, putting aside territorial and religious differences for the time being.

  Not all the countries could be here…the PRC intelligence is very active and the sudden disappearance from each country of credible representatives would not have gone unnoticed.” The President gestured at a pile of official letters in front of him.

  “These men speak for the countries of the region that are absent…Malaysia, Cambodia, Vietnam, Laos, Thailand, Bangladesh, and Brunei.”

  Henry and Scott nodded in acknowledgement to the government men, but both wondered what was coming.

  It was almost 4am before the meeting ended; the representatives of the different governments went straight to the helipad, taking advantage of the lack of surveillance satellites overhead at that moment.

  Scott was feeling a little frazzled, and more than a little puzzled as to why he had been present.

  The President was watching him quietly, letting all that had transpired to settle before enquiring.

  “Mr Tafler, what did you make of all of that?”

  “Well sir, I rather got the impression that they had already settled on a plan, no matter what we said here.”

  Pointing at the letters that still lay on the table, the President nodded his agreement.

  “I knew that the moment they produced the letters, no national leader worth his salt is going to let a third party…a foreign third party at that, plan their war for them. I was getting rather worried that the PRC had succeeded in having them looking at one another with distrust. The Chinese are probably one of the most arrogant and xenophobic races on the planet…ever, they would never share power with another rim nation, they are after an empire. I am just relieved that they all knew that.”

  “But they will sit on their hands…” said General Shaw, “…with the exception of the Philippines, until the nukes are taken out. We cannot fight a war in two theatres Mr President, we have to fight a holding action on one front and decisively win on the other, in order to free up those forces to go on the offensive on the other side of the world.”

  “That, as they say…is the rub, but at least we have India and Pakistan to act as a back-stop if our operation in China goes wrong, we also have full cooperation from their intelligence services. Plus of course there is the added distraction they are staging, it could wrong foot the little bastards for once, have them looking the wrong way.”

  “Sir, with regard to the ICBMs, we believe we will have a workable plan for you by tonight.” Henry Shaw informed him.

  The President raised an eye.

  “Run it by me now General.”

  All the rooms, which the President visited, were wired for sound by the Secret Service, in this way they could monitor their principal’s security without being present, at times when visitors as they had just had, were in conference with him. It is only human nature to be guarded or less than candid in sensitive matters if there is someone hovering about whom the subject matter does not directly concern. So it wasn’t a coincidence that Mike entered as soon as the President asked the chairman of the joint chiefs to go over the plan.

  The President sighed as Mike’s large frame fil
led the doorway.

  “I guess its past my bedtime, so it will have to wait until later Henry. Are you guys staying here awhile, it is just like the Ritz…the bits that the paying guests never see!”

  “Yes sir, we will be here until we get the green light on a plan.”

  “Okay, see you later.”

  Henry and Scott made their way to the sleeping quarters, where they found that they were bunking in the same tiny room.

  “Why do they always make such a big thing, about who gets the top bunk in the movies?” Scott asked.

  “Usually they’ve got it wrong,” Henry Shaw answered. “On the bottom bunk you don’t get the light shining in your eyes, and it is easier to make up in the morning so you get to the mess hall quicker…what rank were you in the National Guard, Scott?”

  Scott laughed.

  “PFC, eventually.”

  The General’s eyes twinkled. “I’ll tell the cooks to keep your eggs warm then,” and claimed the bottom bunk.

  North of Magdeburg, Germany: 0430hrs, same day.

  Lt Col Reed instinctively ducked lower into his ‘maggot’ when the torch was shone onto his face.

  “It’s zero four thirty sir…I got you some tea.” Sgt Major Moore drawled.

  Phil Reed bowed to the inevitable and unzipped the bag from the inside, letting in the cold damp night air.

  The American warrant officer moved back, allowing the British CO to roll out of the warm comfort of the sleeping bag.

  “I’m told this is ‘NATO style’,” he said, handing over the mug.

  The CO grunted as he took a sip. “Ah…hot, strong, a ton of sugar and evaporated milk instead of that dreadful powder, thank you Sarn’t Major.”

  1CG and the 82nd Airborne troops had arrived at their present position a little over a day and a half ago, digging in astride Autobahn 2 where it crossed the Elbe.

  The river curved to the southeast before running south again, on their right flank, and on their left they had the Mitterland Kanal where it joined the river opposite the town of Hohenwarthe, on the east bank.