by James Rosone
The turret on the Warrior opened fire on the cluster of trees, raking it with its 30mm Rarden cannon, shredding the trees and the enemy missile crews hidden within it. As he continued to take in the scene around him, Watkins grabbed the radio. “Keep going!” he shouted. “We need to catch that artillery unit!”
The remains of his armored vehicles surged forward into the snow-covered village, racing toward the remnants of the smoke contrails from the rocket artillery that been fired just prior to the shooting match they now found themselves in. Bullets were pinging off their armored skin as the vehicle commander swiveled his crew-served weapon, letting loose several bursts from the machine gun at the attackers.
“Sir, you should duck back down and let us return fire at the enemy!” shouted Sergeant Jones from the troop hatch next to the colonel.
Watkins nodded, knowing the sergeant was right. The last thing they needed to have happen was for him as the battalion commander to be shot. He ducked back into the vehicle, allowing one of the young Marines to take his place and fire back at the enemy. Their vehicle continued to race through the village, and the volume of enemy fire dissipated to the point that their vehicle was no longer being shot at. Minutes later, they rounded a corner and found themselves facing a BMP-3 that was in the process of setting up a roadblock on the highway.
The vehicle gunner immediately let loose several bursts from their 30mm cannon as the driver veered hard to the right, barely missing a string of cannon rounds that was fired at them by the BMP. The Warrior’s 30mm rounds tore into the BMP, causing a small explosion when one of the rounds hit the fuel tank. Seconds later, the vehicle blew up, engulfing it and anyone inside it in flames. With the immediate threat neutralized, the driver gunned it as they zoomed past the burning wreck in hot pursuit of the enemy rocket trucks.
Once they rounded a slight bend in the road, the gunner shouted, “I found the first BM-27 rocket launcher!” He depressed the fire button, sending a three-second burst of cannon fire into the rear of the vehicle. The rocket artillery truck blew up and the flaming vehicle careened off the road into a tree. With the first vehicle destroyed, the gunner had an excellent view at the subsequent vehicle and let loose another short burst of 30mm cannon fire. That vehicle also burst into flames as it came to a halt in the center of the road, obscuring their view of the rest of the vehicles.
The Marine continued to gun the engine of their vehicle as he swerved around the burning wreck, revving the engine as they tried to chase down the remaining rocket trucks. The BM-27s were particularly nasty rocket artillery trucks; the 8x8 wheeled vehicles carried a rotating rack of sixteen rocket tubes that fired the 220mm rockets. The rockets could fire either high-explosive rounds or disperse antitank or antipersonnel mines up to thirty-five kilometers away.
“We have to catch those BM-27s!” shouted Lieutenant Colonel Watkins.
As the driver continued to gun the engine, the vehicle slid a bit as the tracks fought to grab traction on the snow-packed road. When the Warrior passed the second burning wreck, they caught sight of the third vehicle, roughly a kilometer in front of them. The gunner fired off another burst from their main gun, sending another barrage of cannon fire slamming into the rear of the vehicle. It, too, burst into flames.
“Keep going! We need to chase down that last vehicle!” yelled the vehicle commander to the driver.
While they continued their hot pursuit, Watkins received a radio update from the other members of their convoy. Behind them, the remaining Ajax scout vehicle, the lone Viking troop carrier and the Challenger tank were still engaging the remnants of the Russian soldiers left in the village. The Marines had disembarked from their armored chariots and were fighting in the streets. Bullets flew back and forth between the two factions of soldiers, riddling many of the houses with ammunition.
Moments later, as the Warrior zoomed past the third burning wreck, giving them a clear shot at the remaining BM-27, they hit a patch of black ice on the road that caused their vehicle to spin out of control and slam into a snowbank. It took a moment for the driver and the vehicle’s occupants to collect themselves and recover from the near-death experience. In the meantime, the final vehicle they’d been chasing had gotten away. With no chance of catching up to it at this point, Lieutenant Colonel Watkins announced, “Good shooting, lads. Now let’s head back to the village and support the rest of our mates in finishing these guys off.”
Shortly after they made it back to the village of Vologda, the remaining Russian soldiers were in the process of surrendering, waving white handkerchiefs in their gloved hands and probably hoping they wouldn’t be shot out of spite. When Watkins’s vehicle pulled up to the largest concentration of enemy soldiers, they dropped the rear hatch of the vehicle to let the five Royal Marines exit and help secure the prisoners.
Surveying the scene around them, Watkins saw several burning vehicles, and half a dozen homes in the small village that were currently on fire. Now that the shooting had stopped, a lot of civilians began to exit their homes, many of them crying in agony at the sight of what had just happened to their tightknit community. A couple of fathers and mothers who were cradling young children in their arms rushed toward the British soldiers, pleading with them for medical help for their little ones who had been injured in the fighting.
This was the part of war Watkins hated the most—the innocent civilians who had no say in the fighting and became ensnared when the bullets start to fly between the two warring factions. A shoot-out in or near a city often resulted in innocent civilians being caught in the crossfire. He wiped a tear from his eye before anyone could see it.
The Marines motioned for the injured children and other civilians to gather near the back of one of the vehicles, while the only two medics in the group did their best to work on them. Fortunately, one of the Russian prisoners was also a medic and offered his services to help the injured civilians.
Sergeant Jones looked at Watkins, pleading with his eyes but not saying a word. Watkins nodded his approval, and Jones walked over to the Russians, pulling his knife from its cover and cutting the zip tie restraints on the man’s hands. Then Jones guided him toward one of the injured kids. The Russian soldier spoke softly and soothingly to the child as he did his best to bandage his wound until he could receive proper medical care.
Looking at the damage, Watkins couldn’t help but think to himself, “This all could’ve been prevented.” If they had had air support or helicopters to rely upon, none of these civilians would have been harmed. “We need to slow down this offensive until we can get proper support,” he reflected.
Once the Allies had secured the Russian port of Severodvinsk and captured Archangelsk, the British commander in charge of the Allied force had insisted upon a rapid advance of their expeditionary force toward Moscow, only 1,200 kilometers away. In nonhostile conditions and with fair weather, one could travel the M-8 from Severodvinsk to Moscow in roughly eighteen hours, so clearly the thought of rapidly capturing Moscow had been an alluring proposition that would have been hard to resist.
The challenge the Allies now faced was one of logistics. As winter continued to settle in, the waters of the White Sea would completely freeze over, preventing them from bringing in more supplies from Britain or America. This part of Russia also suffered from a serious lack of infrastructure. There were no major supply hubs or petrol dumps the Allies could capture, and little in the way of airfields they could take over to establish their own proper airfields. The airport they had successfully seized, Talagi Airport outside of Archangelsk, was in a terrible state of disrepair, and now it was several hundred kilometers away from the rapidly changing front lines.
The next airport they hoped to seize would be in Vologda. Once they captured the city and airport there, the British anticipated creating a forward base, moving in a couple of squadrons of F-35s and F/A-18s from the carriers that were still operating in the Barents Sea, at least until additional aircraft could be flown in from Iceland and Norway.
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Until then, the Royal Marines leading the Allied advance would have to make do with what they had, which unfortunately was not very much.
Second Battle of Kursk
Kharkiv, Ukraine
The weather had finally turned brutally cold. Along with the lower temperatures came a stormfront that threatened to bring a few dozen centimeters of snow with it. Lieutenant Colonel Grant Johnson pulled his parka a bit tighter as he fought against a slight shiver. Lately, the temperatures during the day hovered just below freezing and dropped to -30 degrees Fahrenheit at night. “To think the Germans thought they could brave this weather with little to no cold weather gear…” he marveled, wondering what madness had possessed the Nazis during World War II. At least the 1/8 Cav “Mustangs” weren’t that crazy.
Johnson walked back into his operations tent and saw his captains were assembled and ready. He’d wanted to hold one final meeting with his own commanders and leave them with some words of inspiration—this would be the last time he held a command briefing until after the battle was over. The company commanders were eager to get this next battle started; everyone could see the end of the war was within sight, and they just wanted to get it over with.
Lieutenant Colonel Johnson walked to the front of the tent and stood next to the map board hanging from some five-fifty cord. He cleared his throat to get their attention. “Listen up, everyone. Tomorrow morning, at approximately 0600 hours, we launch Operation Grim Reaper. This may in fact be the largest armored warfare battle of our generation. I’m sure the historians or higher echelons will tell us in time how many tanks and soldiers were involved, but what I can tell you is this—this is the battle to end the war.”
He paused for dramatic effect. “Right now, I want you to ponder on this—seventy-five years ago, the Nazis launched Operation Citadel on this very spot. The Germans attacked the Soviet Army at Kursk with 780,000 soldiers and 2,900 tanks. The Soviets had 1.9 million soldiers and 5,100 tanks. These two armies fought for control of the same ground we are going to be fighting on tomorrow. We, however, are not going to meet the same fate as the Germans.”
Seeing that he had their full attention, he continued, “We are facing the remains of the Russian 4th Guard’s Tank Army, the 8th and 20th Guard’s Army, and the Indian 2nd and 9th Corps. Intelligence says this combined force is roughly 1,260,000 soldiers when the Russian reserve forces are added in. We have the entirety of the US Seventh Army, which consists of 510,000 soldiers, and roughly 320,000 German, French, British and other Allied soldiers. I’m telling you all this because I want you to know that when we go into battle tomorrow, we are going into battle with the largest, best-equipped army ever to invade Russia. Our orders are simple: we are going to move to contact, find and fix the enemy, and destroy them.”
Several of the men smiled and nodded, but he also saw a look of concern in their eyes. This was going to be a tough battle, one that would most likely result in a lot of casualties. A lot of their men were going to be killed, and they too might not survive the battle.
Johnson motioned toward Captain Jason Diss as he pointed at a spot on the map. “Captain Diss’s Mustangs are going to lead the battalion. They’ll advance to Waypoint Alpha at Oktyabr'ski, just across the Ukrainian-Russian border. They’ll skirt to the east of Belgorod into the open fields there and advance to contact until they reach Waypoint Bravo at Mazikino. This will place our battalion roughly 140 kilometers southeast of Kursk. We’ll hold up at Mazikino for the evening to refuel, rearm, and prepare for the next assault 130 kilometers northeast to Gorshechnoye, which will be Waypoint Charlie. Depending on how much resistance we encounter, we may continue on to our primary objective, the city of Voronezh 90 kilometers away.”
He shifted as he pointed to a new area on the map. “A large part of the Allied forces is going to converge on the city of Kursk itself. Our focus will be on expanding the front and punching further holes in it as we line up for the thunder run to Moscow.”
He paused for a second to look at his notepad. “We’ll have the 3rd Battalion, 16th Field Artillery Regiment, providing us with constant 155mm artillery support, should we need it. They also have one battery of HIMARS if we encounter any large enemy formations. In addition to the artillery support, we’re also going to have the 1st Battalion, 227th Aviation Regiment’s Apache helicopters, so let’s make sure we leave them something to destroy,” he said, which elicited a few chuckles from the tankers.
“I also want you guys to keep an eye out for enemy artillery fire,” he continued. “This isn’t like invading Iraq; the Russians and Indians have a crap ton of artillery, as we’ve already learned, and they like to use it in spades. There’ll be a lot of counter-battery fire happening, but don’t let that detract from calling for artillery support. Our gun bunnies are good, and they can handle it.” A few more men laughed.
Johnson saw the eager looks on the faces of the men before him. They were ready. Seeing that he had no further information or words of wisdom to pass down, he dismissed the group.
That evening, Captain Jason Diss briefed his platoon leaders and first sergeant on the battle plan for the coming days. They went over the map and the detailed plans for how each platoon would move and what they would do as they met resistance. Seeing that their company would be maneuvering through some tight areas, they settled on a diamond formation, with their FIST element situated in the center. That would give them the best possible position from which to spot and provide artillery and mortar fire. With the battle looming just ten hours away, the men tried to catch some rest in their vehicles with the heaters on as Mother Nature persisted in providing them with a fresh coat of snow.
*******
At 0530, Captain Diss ordered the company vehicles started. With synchronized precision, they started the vehicles at nearly the same time to help distort the sound so that any potential enemy scouts nearby would have a hard time determining how many engines they had heard start up.
“You ready to get moving, Captain?” inquired his gunner, Staff Sergeant Ryan Cox. He was obviously eager to get started.
“Hell yeah,” Diss answered, speaking over the internal crew network. “Get the systems up and running while I run through the company checks, OK?” He then switched to the company net, calling out to his platoons.
A few minutes went by as the individual crewmen ran through their various checks to make sure the targeting computers were up and running, the radios were set on the right frequencies for the day, and they had entered in the various navigational waypoints they’d be working off for the next couple of days. Having completed their checks, all three crewmen reported ready. It was time to get moving.
Depressing the talk button on his CVC, Captain Diss exclaimed, “This is Black Six to all Mustang elements. We’re moving out in five mikes. I want a diamond formation with Blue Platoon in the bottom. Acknowledge and send Redcon status.”
“This is White One. Roger, Second Platoon is Redcon One,” Second Lieutenant Henry Thomas said excitedly. Now that the company had a few battles under their belt, everyone felt a bit more confident than they had a few months ago, when they’d engaged an Indian tank unit for the first time.
“This is Blue One. Acknowledged, and we are at Redcon One,” said Second Lieutenant Tony Martin, the Third Platoon commander. He also oversaw the attached infantry platoon in the Bradleys. The Third Platoon also had the company artillery LNO, riding in his own fire support team vehicle, a Bradley FIST, which was why Captain Diss wanted them placed in the bottom of their formation.
“This is Red One. Redcon One and ready to kill ‘em all,” came back his young and overly zealous second lieutenant, Doug Welsh. Even after a couple of battles, this guy was still full of piss and vinegar and not scared in the least. Despite his young age and newness to the company, his platoon had the most tank kills.
“Excellent. Everyone’s ready to go,” Captain Diss thought. He signaled his driver to begin moving forward.
“Roger, Mustangs,
begin your movement," ordered Captain Diss. As the Abrams battle tanks moved across the open ground, he could feel the tracks crushing through the ice and snow beneath them.
“Make sure you keep the heater going,” Diss shouted down to his driver, who gave him a short grunt for a reply.
Within ten minutes, his company’s platoons had fallen into the diamond formation he’d briefed them on, and they continued their march toward the Russian border. When they got within five kilometers of the border, Captain Diss spotted a series of defensive positions the infantry soldiers had been manning. Many of the soldiers gave them a short wave or other gesture of support as they passed through their lines. The First Cavalry division was the lead element for the US Seventh Army, and if anyone was going to see a lot of action this first day of the offensive, it was going to be them.
From his perch in the commander’s seat, Captain Diss did his best to scan the horizon for the enemy. There was still a light dusting of snow falling, although it was nothing so heavy as to obscure his view. When they reached the official demarcation line that separated Ukraine from Russia and crossed it, Diss felt a sense of relief and joy—relief that they had not been attacked yet, and joy that they had officially invaded the Motherland. They were one step closer to victory.
In short order, they came across their first natural barrier and the first waypoint, the Siverskyi Donets River. With their attack helicopters zooming ahead of them to scout the area, they continued to move southeast of Belgorod into the open farmland that lay beyond the city.
As Captain Diss looked off in the distance, a thunderous roar of antiaircraft fire erupted from within the city. The heavy-caliber cannons spewed hundreds of high-velocity rounds in the direction of the Apache helicopters that were screening for his tanks.
Following a string of cannon shells and tracer rounds, Captain Diss saw the Apaches break hard to avoid the fusillade being fired at them. “I wish we could go in there and take those enemy guns out,” he thought. He crossed his fingers, hoping that the Stryker battalion that was slated to assault the city would be able to silence them soon enough.
