The Third World War

The publication of this book so soon after the cessation of hostilities between major participants in the Third World War will mean that much of what it contains will be incomplete and, even more, conjectural. In the chaotic conditions prevailing towards the end, in some key centres of power, vast quantities of records disappeared. Some have since come to light. Others probably never will.

It has nevertheless seemed important to the writers, all of whom played a part in the events of 1985 and their aftermath, whether in uniform or out of it, to put on the record as soon as possible some account, however imperfect, of what took place in a time of such transcendental importance to mankind.

We write as Britons, profoundly conscious of our debt to’others. The outcome could have been vastly different and very nearly was. The world has stood on the edge of an abyss. Under providence, through a gradual but significant shift of public attitudes and the work of growing numbers of men of foresight and good sense in the last few years before the outbreak—work often done in the face of vociferous and passionate opposition—it has been held back, but only just, from destruction-The margin, everybody now knows, was a narrow one.

Much will be said and written about these events in years to come, as further sources come to light and further thought is given to this momentous passage in the history of our world. The narrative now set out is only the broadest outline and, of our deliberate choice, in popular form, will be greatly amplified and here and there, no doubt, corrected. It seemed to us sensible, however, before these events move too far into the background of our lives, to seek answers to some important questions, in the hope that this might lessen the probability of another catastrophe from which,, this time, we would not so readily escape.

The questions are simple. What happened, and why did it happen? What might have happened, and why did it not?

London, Easter, 1987

The First Blows

‘“Black Horse One Zero, Black Horse One Zero, this is Shovel Six, Confirming Charlie One’s sighting as follows:

large armored formation passed through inter-German border Zero Three Zero Five Zulu approximate brigade in size. Composed of Papa Tango 76s, Bravo Tango Romeo 62s, and Tango 72s. Inform Black Horse Six that Shovel is engaging. Out.”

Captain Jack Langtry, Troop Commander, Troop L, 3 Squadron in 11 Armored Cavalry Regiment was speaking into his microphone early on the morning of 4 August 1985 as he stood on hill 402 at W ildech, looking across the border zone over the hills rolling toward East German Eisenach. In the dawn light he saw scores of armored vehicles moving rapidly towards him on both sides of the autobahn. Langtry knew what this was: the advanced guard of an attacking Soviet formation. It could not be anything else.

The 11 th Cavalry formed the main strength of the V US Corps covering force, whose job was to give the Corps maximum time in a delaying action. To the north was Kas.sel, out of the Corps area. To the south the Fulda Gap opened up, dangerously close to the border only 15 kilometers away.

Langtry’s fifteen Shillelagh-ftrmg Sheridan light tanks were in hull defilade along the high ground overlooking the autobahn that ran from the border to Bad Hersfeld, directly behind him. His three platoons had practised engaging an enemy on this same route many times. Today it was for real. He gripped his microphone and heard his voice give the command, “Shovel, this is Six. Engage at will. Out.” Almost before his hand relaxed on the mike switch he heard the roar of Shillelagh missiles leaving fifteen tubes, guided on their way to targets silhouetted in the sad gray August morning. ,

The Black Horse Regiment were once again carrying the cudgel for their country as they had in the Philippines, Mexico, Europe and Vietnam.

Beside Langtry, Trooper Earl Waite suddenly ex-claimed, “Man! Look at that!” Nine of the fifteen missiles had found their targets in sudden shattering fountains of red fireballs and flames.

The Sheridans were already moving to their alternate firing positions when hill 402 seemed to crumble with the impact of Soviet artillery fire. Waite was killed instantly and two other members of the
TAC
CP were wounded. Langtry, unhurt, quickly moved the command party to an observation post 500 meters further west near Spitzhutte.

The Soviet armored formation, after pausing for a moment, was now oriented in his general direction and a unit could be seen breaking off in an attempt to outflank L Troop. Langtry knew that this would run into the seventeen XM-ls of the Squadron Tank Company. That was their misfortune. He saw one of 2 Platoon’s Sheridans fly apart when hit by a Soviet anti-tank missile and said aloud, “Why the hell did he have to silhouette himself on the skyline? Haven’t I been harping about tactical driving for eighteen months now?” He then heard the telltale wop, wop, wop of helicopters over the din of battle as the twenty-one
TOW
carrying
ATGW
Cobras of the Black Horse Regiment began a hide-and-seek battle with the T-72s swinging off the autobahn in the direction of Heiringen.

Somehow, Langtry felt completely detached from the surrounding battle. He gave his orders as though this was only another field training exercise. His little tactical Command Post functioned exactly as it had so many times before when practising for the battle they all hoped would never come.

“Shovel, this is Six. Execute Alpha 3.” This was the command to fall back to the next delaying position, the high ground overlooking Lauterbach.

==The first platoon was soon on the move and already halfway to their next position as the second began to disengage. Langtry waved his arm and the three M-l 13s of the
TAC
CP started to move. As the first vehicle crossed the bridge over the Lauter, there was a tremendous flash. The bridge disappeared. Langtry felt himself thrown into the air, -hitting the ground with a searing pain in his left shoulder. Two of his three command vehicles were on fire and the third rushing down the track on the other side of the stream in search of cover. Langtry sat up and muttered audibly. “Oh God. I hope the XO takes command in a hurry or the troop will be
SOL
.” He felt himself passing out. It was 0447Z, 4 August 1985.5 – 1986.

Taken from Black Horse and Red Star: American Cavalry at War by John S. Cleghom, Coi. US Army (retd), Houghlon Mifflin, Boston

It was not yet three a.m. on Sunday 4 August and still dark when the commander of C Squadron of 8 Royal Tank Regiment in 1 Br Corps covering force in the Central Region received over his radio the order to stand-to. The daily routine time for stand-to was just before first light. This was clearly something special.

The line of the low crest 1,000 metres away to the east was dimly visible against a sky beginning to grow paler. He stood in the turret of his tank glued to the radio, heedless of the ordered bustle about him as the fourteen other tanks of the Squadron, with their supporting vehicles, started up to move out into daylight dispersion,

He took the mug of coffee handed up to him but did not want to eat. It was impossible in this time of waiting not to speculate on what might lie ahead. He did manage to remember, however, his promise to make sure that the TV newsmen were alerted if anything special turned up.

The voice from Headquarters came in again. “Enemy reported on the move,” it said. “Stand by at three zero minutes’ notice for Bravo,”

All his tanks and other radio outstations would have heard that transmission; there was nothing for him to add.

“Bravo” was the move to the Regiment’s emergency deployment position, 1,000 metres over the crest, almost on the Demarcation Line. Most of them knew it already from cautious reconnaissance on foot, with the tanks left back out of sight to avoid the frontier incident Division was so frightened of.

In less than ten minutes the voice came up again.

“Move out now,” it said. There was a note of urgency in it. The light was growing as he promptly gave the word to move, on the internal radio channel, with the order to load, prepare for action and be on the alert. The tanks lurched once again into life. His own was approaching the crest, bumping over stumpy ground, once forest, now felled to open a field of fire, as his Commander’s voice came up on the radio again.

“Enemy closer than we thought,” it said. “Expect early contact. Report first sighting immediately.”

His tank topped the crest on the last words, and there opened up before him the most frightening sight he had ever seen. The open ground below, stretching to a faintly seen line of trees about 2 kilometres away, was swarming with menacing black shapes coming fast towards him. They were tanks, moving in rough line-abreast about 200 metres apart, less than 1,000 metres off and closing the range quickly. Another line was following behind and a third just coming out of the trees. The world seemed full of Soviet tanks.

“You might have told me,” he said into the microphone: “Am engaging now. Out!”

He gave quick orders to the Squadron and to his own gunner, but already a sudden huge flash seen through his periscope head, followed at once by a great black cloud of smoke with a heart of flame, like a volcano in eruption, showed where a forward anti-tank missile launcher from somewhere behind him to the left had found its first target.

In the same moment he was stunned and deafened by a thunderous blow, as from some titanic hammer, outside the tank low down to the right, and was thrown hard against the side of the cupola as the tank slewed round and shuddered to a violent halt. At the same time a gigantic clang, which seemed to rend his skull, told of a solid shot skidding off the sloping front plate without penetrating. The tank’s main armament, its gun, was useless now.

The thing to do was to get the crew out, all three of them miraculously still alive, before the next projectile brewed them up.

In a daze, trembling like a leaf, he found himself on the ground, not quite knowing how he had got there, crouching for shelter in a shallow ditch. Roaring aircraft filled the sky low overhead, hurtling by at lightning speed with rockets crashing as they passed. Tanks he knew as Soviet T-72s came charging by in what seemed endless streams, the ground shaking under them and the air throbbing with the shrill clamour of their tracks. Squat
BMP
armoured infantry-carriers followed, guns blazing to their flanks. Flames were soaring into the sky with rich black clouds of smoke from burning tanks with their ammunition exploding in them. He could see no sign of any of his Squadron. His own tank crew had vanished. This was the war they had expected, not knowing really what to expect. For him, unhurt but alone, helpless and desolate, it already seemed as good as over.’

The following impression of operations of the German and US Air Forces with Tornado and F-15 aircraft, on the first day of the invasion, is taken from Parameters,

journal of the US Army War College, Fort Carlisle, Fall

1986.

( The first wave of German Tornados was back at base at Norvenich; only one was missing. It was 0930 on 4 August. The second wave from the same wing of the
GAF
should now be well over East Germany, attacking three Warsaw Pact airfields, while the first wave prepared for a further counter-air mission.

Oberleutnant Kar! von Marschall was both exhilarated and relieved that their first mission of the war had gone so well. He was taking a breather at the entrance to the hardened aircrew bunker while his Tornado was being rearmed and refuelled. He had led eight of them in attacks at first light, his target the East German airfield of Zerbst. He could not say for sure how effective it had been because it was done before full light at 60 metres with the target shrouded in dawn mist. But his navigator, who played a key part in the run-up to the target and co-ordinated release of fire-suppression and denial weapons, had caught a glimpse of the airfield through the mist and was bubbling with confidence about the accuracy of the attack. They had gone at high subsonic speed hugging the ground at 60 metres over the Harz mountains.

‘Taken from an article ‘Sketches of the Eighth al War’ in The Royal Armoured Corps Journal, Autumn 1986.

Von Marschall felt that perhaps it was as well that the outward part of this first mission had been flown blind and automated, as they had so often practised under simulated conditions. The second mission flying the same sort of profile in clear conditions and full daylight might be finding it a bit hair-raising as they rushed very low over trees and houses they could actually see. He felt that having done it once blind, and with all the stimulus and excitement that battle brought, he could now face it in clear conditions with confidence, and he was eager to get off the ground and lead another attack. On the way home they had seen plenty of MiGs above them as they skimmed the trees but none of the Soviet fighters had been able to bring their guns or missiles to bear on the fast flying Tornados skimming the ground below. On this first evidence it certainly looked as if the ultra-low-level mode of operation was going to pay off in the penetration of heavy air defences. No doubt things would get tougher as the enemy got the measure of them— but so far very good.