The Blue Effect (Cold War) (12 page)

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pter 12

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0, 9 JULY 1984. 12TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION, 3RD SHOCK ARMY. EAST OF KIRCHHORSTEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

The Divisional Commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division threw the mug he had been holding across the other side of the farm building he was in. He lit one of his foul-smelling cigarettes directly from the one he had just smoked down to his fingertips. Frustration and anger were etched on his face. Even senior generals were suffering from the increasingly erratic logistical supplies getting through to the Soviet divisions on the front line. The Soviet air force was still holding its own, but that was all. As more and more American fighters arrived in theatre and with the floating airfield, the United Kingdom, far from subjugated, they were not getting it all their own way. But the Bear, Major-General Turbin, Commander of 12th Guards Tank Division, wasn’t just dissatisfied with the Soviet resupply battalions: he was also extremely dissatisfied with his troops. What made it worse was that his deputy commander and political officer, Colonel Yolkin, had been bleating most of the morning: reminding him of his duty to his senior commanders and the Motherland. Their first attempts to shatter the forces defending a line between the Mittellandkanal and Stadthagen, and fulfil his division’s role as an Operational Manoeuvre Group pushing deep into the enemy lines, had failed.

Turbin blew out a plume of smoke from the Belomorkanal cigarette, and it swirled around the officer standing before him. “Akim, Colonel Kharzin’s 48th Tank Regiment crossed the Leine and pushed through the enemy force almost without a pause. To give him and his tank crews a well-deserved rest, all I asked you to do was cross a thinly held line and continue the fight and get us to the big prize: the River Weser.”

The commander of the 200th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment had flinched when the cup flew past him, but still stood stiffly to attention. “We need more artillery support, Comrade General.”

“The first unit was made up of British reservists and you were supported by our airborne prima donnas!”

“Their Milan anti-tank missiles and helicopters have caused havoc with our armour, Comrade General.”

“That’s why we chose your infantry for the task, Colonel Yermakov,” the chief of staff, Colonel Pyotr Usatov, added.

“I will not fail again, Comrade General, Comrade Colonel.”

“I suggest you do not, Colonel. The consequences of failure will be far from pleasant,” eluded the Deputy Commander of the division, Colonel Yolkin.

The Bear looked across at his skinny political officer, a uniform that wore him rather than the other way round. The meaning in the divisional commander’s eyes was undisguised:
I will berate my officers, not you.

“The Uman Division does not and will not fail. You will attempt a second breakthrough within the hour. I have secured two Hinds and ten Hips to support you. Allocate some men, find a place to set them down, and punch your way through their lines. Once you have broken them, release your tank battalion immediately to get as deep you can. Understood?”

“Yes, Comrade General, I will not fail you.”

The Bear took a long draw on his cigarette, the red glow eating deep into the tobacco. He blew a steady stream in the air and moved closer to his junior, leaning in close, the scent of smoke and vodka almost choking the officer.

“The 12th Guards Tank Division, my division, is one of the best in the Soviet army. We were chosen especially for this mission to lead our armies to victory. We will not fail our Motherland, Comrade Colonel. You will get your artillery support and transport to fly in an assault-company. Use them and don’t fail. Dismissed.”

The colonel stiffened his body. “Sir.” He saluted and left.

“You were too soft with him, Comrade General,” alleged Colonel Yolkin.

The general shrugged his thickset shoulders and pointed a finger in the political officer’s direction. “I have a suggestion, Comrade Colonel. Why don’t you lead the airborne element behind the enemy’s defences? You can lead the way and show us soldiers how it should really be done.”

Colonel Usatov turned away so he could hide the smile that was breaking out.

“That will be all, Comrade Colonel.”

The political officer shuffled out of the room, seething with anger inside, but not strong enough to challenge the Bear. Not yet, anyway.

“You need to step carefully with him, Comrade General.”

The Bear waved a hand dismissively. “It will take someone bigger than him to frighten me.”

“They say he has friends on high.”

“Let’s just focus on the war, shall we, Pyotr?”

“I see it has been agreed to bring elements of the 10th Division forward.”

“Yes, I know Major-General Abramov well. He has volunteered his men to continue fighting.”

“But once we’re across the Weser and push the enemy either north or south, 20th Guards Army will do the rest.”

The Bear pulled up a chair, sat down, pulled out a flask of vodka, and held it up. “Join me?”

“Of course,” Pyotr responded, smiling. “Rather use your supplies than mine.” The colonel picked up two shot glasses from one of the tables and brought them over. The Bear filled them up and they both drank the first one in silence.

“The 20th have been getting a hammering from the air. The bloody Americans have been getting in some deep strikes. The British Tornados are no better.”

“Agreed, Comrade General, but they’re easily at eighty per cent strength, if not more.”

“I think our political masters are a little worried, my friend,” the Bear whispered. “We have the East German and Polish armies playing a big role. Should they falter…having the 10th close by is just a little bit of insurance, I suspect.”

The general refilled their glasses.

“They’re also going to compete for our supplies. We’ve already had to give the Motor Rifle Regiment ammunition from the other regiments in the division.”

“If Akim had broken through their lines by now, he wouldn’t need any more!” Growled the Bear.

“Still, resupply is slowing down. The supply trucks are starting to break down in ever-greater numbers, and the spares for them just aren’t available. Bring what’s left of the 10th forward? Not only is there not enough room, making some great targets for the NATO bombers and artillery, but also they will need feeding. The distance from the Motherland gets ever longer.”

“Now it is you that needs to tread carefully, my friend. Don’t speak so openly when the rat is around. Eh?”

“Yes, yes, I know. Now, fill that up again if you please, Comrade General.”

1500, 9 JULY 1984. AVIATION-COMPANY, 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL REGIMENT OF FUSILIERS, 24TH AIRMOBILE BRIGADE. WEST OF LINDHORST, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

A freshly armed Mark-7 Lynx, hovering just behind the line of troops below, dropped down, moved left for 200 metres, and then popped back up again. The pilot had been back to the FARB to rearm and refuel and was now ready to give his support during the next attack. A Gazelle was conducting a reconnaissance further forward, trying to suss out the enemy’s next intentions. As soon as the Gazelle pilot reported, he would take his Lynx further back and wait until needed.

Lieutenant Oliver Thorpe went from position to position, checking on his men. A-Company had to defend the line from Ludersfeld to the Mittellandkanal in the north. His platoon, Second-Platoon, would defend the centre of the Company’s position. The entire road they were on was an avenue of trees, scattered with houses, some of which they occupied, not as defensive positions, but for observation purposes only. He had however moved one of the GPMGs onto the second floor of one of the houses, and was glad that he did. Once the Soviet troops had dismounted from their BMP-2s, the machine gun had caused havoc. Sergeant Cohen’s suggestion that the gun-group change positions frequently, leaving stocks of ammunition in two other buildings, had also paid off. The men had been out of one particular house for only a couple of seconds when a Hind-D helicopter literally tore it apart with four of its S-5 rockets. They had held off the Soviet attack, but at a cost of one man dead and three wounded. When the Soviets attacked again, and he had been assured that they would, he was not sure they could keep the enemy at bay.

First-Platoon, deployed close to the canal by Niedernholz had been hit particularly hard. The Soviet troops had attacked in force, hoping to pry the canal away from the defending soldiers, allowing them to push their BMPs through and roll up the flank of the company. It was only because of the machine-gun section that had been deployed with them that they had been able to hold their position. The enemy paid a heavy price: three extra general-purpose machine guns, in the sustained-fire role, had been able to put down an overwhelming wall of fire. Soviet airborne troops, pushed into the attack by the 12th Guards Tank Division’s commander, had lost over thirty men, killed or injured. Third-Platoon, defending Ludersfeld itself had got off lightly with two wounded men. One-Platoon, though, was down to seventy-five per cent of its strength, losing six men. The MG section was filling the gaps.

With his radio operator, Pritchard, and his runner, Barnes, behind him, Oliver made his way to the position, which held one of his three Milan anti-tank posts. Slinging his SLR over his shoulder, he dropped down into the firing position.

“Sir.”

“See any movement?”

“No, sir,” responded Corporal Gleeson. “We gave em a bit of a hiding, didn’t we, sir?”

“We did that, Corporal. But they’ll be back, so keep your men keen.”

“The lads from Three-Queen’s were in shit state, sir, and the TA lads didn’t look any better.”

“They’ve been fighting for a couple of days, Corporal. Most of 1st Armoured have been on the run since yesterday, in a fighting retreat. So, it’s our turn now.”

“Sir.”

“Let’s go.”

All three clambered out of the position and moved back then north along the trees that lined the road, before going forward again to find the next firing position. The commander of Two-Section, Corporal Prentice, manned this.

“Any news, sir?”

“Nothing yet. But they’re going to hit us hard. I want you to take your half-section to our fallback position, but leave your gun-group here.”

“Still taking both Milan posts?”

The lieutenant thought for a moment before answering. “Yes, I think it will be the Gympy’s that will be needed.”

“When shall I move, sir?”

“Five minutes, make it five minutes. I’ll be sending Sarn’t Cohen back with you. We’ll need you to cover us when we pull back, or they’ll be all over us.”

“Sir, incoming message,” informed Partridge.

“Alpha-Two, this is Zero-Alpha. There is movement to your front. Watch out for returning air asset. Over.”

“Roger that, sir. Moving elements of Alpha-Two-Two to Black-Jack-Two now. Over.”

“Good move, Alpha-Two. They’re going to hit us hard again. On the order ‘Black-Jack fold’, move the rest of your unit. Over.”

“Wilco, sir.”

“Good luck, Oliver. Out.”

Oliver, along with his two shadows, moved further along the line, joining the second-in-command of Two-Section.

Lance Corporal Jeffries greeted his platoon commander. “Just heard from Two-Two, sir. They’re in the Land Rover and on the way.”

“Good. Is Sarn’t Cohen with them?”

“Yes, sir. He said he’d radio in once in position.”

“Right, you’re down to just the gun-group, Corporal Jeffries, and one Milan, so watch yourselves.”

“We likely to fall back pretty soon then, sir?”

“Wait one. Barnes.”

“Sir.”

“Get two men from Three-Section. I want them here.”

“Will do, sir.” Lieutenant Thorpe’s runner left the firing-position and ran, at a crouch, back into the treeline before heading to find Three-Section.

“We’ll wait for the order before we do, but I would expect it to be soon after the next attack.”

“The OC, sir,” informed Pritchard passing him the handset.

“Alpha-Two, go ahead. Over.”

“Air-recce reporting movement, Oliver, so make sure your men are ready.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Zero-Alpha, out.”

Two soldiers crashed down next to their platoon commander. “Where do you want us, sir?”

“Right of the Gympy, Two-Two-Alpha’s old position. You join them, Barnes.”

The three soldiers moved along the line and jumped into the vacated firing position previously occupied by the other half of Two-Section.

“Sir, radio.”

Oliver took the handset from Pritchard again.

“Alpha-Two, this is Two-One-Alpha. Over.”

“Alpha-Two. Go ahead.”

The Observation Post, two men from One-Section he had earlier ordered to set up in the second storey of a house, reported in.
“We have movement, sir. Not sure, but it looks like an armoured unit, bit like one of our AVLBs. Over.”

“What’s their location? Over.”

“Two hundred metres west of the 445. Over.”

“Roger that. As soon as it kicks off, you two get out of there. Out to you. Hello Zero-Alpha, this is Alpha-Two. Over.”

“Go ahead.”

“Definite movement Grid One-Seven-Eight-Zero-Three-Zero, probable MT-55.”

A Gazelle helicopter sped overhead, drowning out the response from the Company OC.

“Zero-Alpha, say again. Over.”

“Airborne recce has reported half a dozen TMMs. They’ll be crossing the Ziegenbach at multiple locations. Over.”

“Understood. Out.”

Thud, thud, thud…thud, thud, thud.

“Smoke,” yelled Jeffries.

All along the western bank of the Ziegenbach, clouds of smoke mushroomed, concealing the area from the British troops.

“Stand to! Stand to! Gas! Gas! Gas!” bellowed Lieutenant Thorpe, peeling his helmet off and exchanging it for his respirator. Hood of his NBC smock pulled over, helmet back on, he pressed down into the trench. He compressed his body as close to the floor of the trench as he was able, clutching his SLR to his chest. He knew what was coming next. And it arrived five seconds later.