The Black Effect (Cold War) (14 page)

Alex saw the offending tank and took control of the turret, swinging it round to the right, on target in less than a second. “Sabot!”

Ellis went through his loading procedure, now completely in the swing of it. Round, bag charge, breech, firing charge, shield. “Up.”

“I’ve got this,” informed Alex. Head up against the tank laser sight, satisfied he was on target, he pushed the red firing button. The tank rocked and, in less than a second, the round struck, careering down the right side of the T-80’s turret as the driver had veered right at the last minute. Thinking he was safe, the driver maintained his direction of travel, the gunner ready to hit Two-Two-Alpha again, only to be hit on the flanks by a Milan missile. Still not halted, it took Patsy’s shot to finish the beast off, grinding to a halt less than 700 metres away. The breeze gathered strength, disrupting the smokescreen completely, allowing the Chieftains on the west bank of the river to join in. Although at an extreme range of 3,000 metres, the additional support was welcome, putting further pressure on the Soviet tank crews.

“Well done, Corporal Patterson.”

“Leave the firing to me, sir.” Patsy laughed almost maniacally as he depressed the firing button again, tearing a BMP-2 apart.

It’s going well
, thought Alex, although he knew they had been lucky. Their luck would run out if they didn’t move to their alternate position soon. It was tempting to stay in this location, picking off the advancing enemy one at a time. The Soviets would not be so accommodating for long. Already BMP-2s were being ordered to unleash the AT-5 Spandrel anti-tank missiles, suppressing the enemy, allowing the armour up front to get close, then through the British line.

Some artillery erupted around the tanks, stripping off some of the protective blocks. A long-rod penetrator sliced through the upper section of a glacis, disabling the tank’s firing systems and killing the gunner. The commander and driver desperately tried to get out of the stricken tank, only to be cut down by a British Gympy, waiting for this very moment to kill off the tank crew that had been trying to destroy them.

0500 7 JULY 1984. BRAVO-TROOP (+), CALL SIGN TWO-TWO-DELTA. GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −1 DAY.

Alan Berry settled into position behind the Milan firing post, his eye up against the sight as he tracked the target through the Milan’s optical sight. He steadied his breathing and pulled the trigger. The missile burst from the launcher, ejecting the missile container tube from the launcher as it left, a white flare of its solid-fuel rocket clear to see as it headed for its target at 200 metres per second. Berry focused, all his thoughts on keeping a steady control of the launcher, keeping the crosshairs dead centre of the BMP-2 as it rumbled towards them, its 30mm cannon firing wildly as the driver jerked the vehicle left and right to make them a harder target. But, within four seconds, the stand-off probe of the shaped-charged warhead struck, huge clouds of smoke and fume blocking any further view of the vehicle as the Milan missile obliterated the BMP. Finch, on the other side of the Milan, immediately placed a fresh tube, with a new Milan-2 missile inside, on the side of the firing post ready to fire again. After this, they would change location. The other firing point should have already moved.

A platoon of three BMP-2s came to a halt 300 metres out, firing round after round of 30mm high-explosive shells at over 200 rounds per minute into the defending infantry. The Milan firing post further to the south, their position broken up by artillery shells and the crew in the process of picking up the launcher, took half a dozen hits, smashing the launcher and killing its crew. More BMP-2s pulled to a stop in a line facing the British defenders and the Soviet soldiers, sitting back to back on padded bench seats inside, pushed the two heavy rear doors open and started to climb out ready for action. Even after losing at least eleven BMPs and four T-80s to the British anti-tank fire, the two first echelon motor rifle battalions and the two supporting tank companies of the attacking motor rifle regiment, still had forty-nine BMPs and sixteen tanks to do battle with the small force they were up against. The six soldiers from each one came around the side of their infantry combat vehicles, AK-74s blazing. Behind them, spread along in a line, two platoons of three BMP-2s came to a halt, 200 metres further back, each disgorging two-AGS-17 teams. Within less than a minute, the twelve AGS-17s were set up on their tripods and, on the command, opened fire.

The onslaught was shattering. The British sustained-fire GPMG, supported by a sturdy tripod, sprayed the advancing Soviet soldiers with over 600 rounds a minute, the belt of 7.62mm rounds sliding quickly through the assistant gunner’s fingers. The gunner attempted to create a ‘beaten zone’, the firer wishing he was part of a larger force with additional Gympys’ in support. Then they could really give the Soviet infantry something to think about. His thoughts weren’t to worry him for long.

The 30mm grenades from the AGS-17s started to land amongst the defending soldiers. The thirty-round boxes, one for each of the heavy infantry support weapons, fed the launchers and, within six seconds, nearly 400 grenades exploded amongst the defenders. The SF-Gympy was straddled by half a dozen, plus two arching directly into their fortified position. Both soldiers were killed instantly and the heavy machine gun destroyed.

Corporal Graham, situated in the rear line of foxholes, tried to maintain contact with his small force, but quickly realised he had lost a Milan-FP and the SF-GPMG, and another foxhole had gone quiet. He heard the whine of shells passing overhead towards the troops on the west bank of the Leine, the enemy swamping them with smoke to reduce their effectiveness in supporting the soldiers on the east bank. The 30mm rounds tore up the ground in front of him, high-explosive shells bracketing the village buildings behind as the T-80s joined in to support at least two Soviet infantry companies that had been ordered forward to take the village and secure the eastern end of the bridge that crossed the river at that point. Graham urgently needed some help.

He called forward the 432 from the outskirts of the village, rounds from the 7.62mm gun in the peak-engineering turret forcing the Soviet infantry to drop down and take cover.

“Alpha-One, Alpha-One, this is Two-Two-Delta. Where the fuck’s our mortar fire? Over.” He had to shout above the noise of another batch of 30mm grenades exploding off to his left.

All he got back was a hiss of static.

“
Two-Two-Delta, Alpha-One-One. We can’t make contact with the MFC either. Give us a grid and range. Over
.”

“Wait, out.”

A sudden explosion erupted behind him and off to the right as a succession of 30mm rounds from a BMP-2 annihilated the 432 he had brought forward for support.

With his finger on the map, he keyed his radio. “Alpha-One-One. Grid, Charlie-One-Seven, Mike-Two-Five. Fire for effect.”

“
Roger.
”

He hoped to God the mortar rounds came soon while he still had some men left. He could hear the standard Gympy firing off to the left and the crack of SLRs. Peering through his binos, he a saw a Soviet soldier go down and suspected it had been a bullet from Jones’s SLR. Only he could hope to hit someone at over 200 metres while under fire. He pulled his head down as a strip of ground twenty metres in front erupted, a piece of metal casing zinging off his helmet.

The crews of the two FV432s, manning effectively a self-propelled mortar carrier, adjusted the 81mm mortars, ready to support their beleaguered colleagues. The armoured vehicles, the rearmost part facing the enemy, the barrel of the mortars jutting out of the circular hole in the centre of the vehicles’ fighting compartment, were ready. On orders from the corporal in command, two 81mm bombs were dropped into the tubes, the loaders ducking as the first of three rounds per vehicle were fired. The loaders bent down, picking up another bomb and, almost in unison, dropping two more rounds.

Graham watched as two mortar bombs landed just in front of the BMP-2s, the explosions causing no damage but disrupting the BMP-2 gunner’s aim. A stream of smoke from each explosion drifted north, blinding both the BMP-2 gunners and the Soviet infantry. Four more rounds landed in front of the enemy line. He needed a direct hit. He knew it was only a matter of time before more BMP-2s arrived and, under cover of 30mm rounds and 30mm grenades, the Soviet motor rifle troops would assault his position. He doubted they would be able to hold them. They would be quickly over run.

“Alpha-One-One. Up fifty, five rounds, fire for effect. And make it fucking quick.”

“
On way
,” responded the mortar team commander.

Within fifteen seconds, two rounds exploded on top of the BMP-2 line, quickly followed by two every three seconds.

That’ll fucking sort you lot
, thought Graham. Now was the time to pull his men back to his line of foxholes, and he contacted them by radio and screamed down the line, the volume of fire from the enemy dropping off as mor
e rounds exploded amongst them.

“Alpha-One-One. Fucking great. One tube, left fifty metres three rounds, then right fifty metres three rounds. Second tube up 200 then spread left and right. Got that?”

“
Roger, Two-Two-Delta
.”

If they could keep the pressure on the BMP-2s, give the AGS-17 teams something to think about, and get his men twenty-five metres further back, they had a slim chance. Graham heard the screams for a medic as his men pulled back to consolidate further to the rear. He leapt out of the foxhole, running low, guiding and helping his men back to relative safety. One badly wounded soldier struggling to keep up was quickly thrown over Graham’s shoulder in a fireman’s lift, finding the strength to run back and place the wounded man in a hole.

0510 7 JULY 1984. BRAVO TROOP (+). GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −1 DAY.

Alex called to his driver. “Mackinson, we move in thirty seconds.”

“Roger, sir.”

He peered through the forward vision blocks as another Swingfire missile streaked across their front, the missile striking the T-80 perfectly, but the explosive reactive armour defeating the missile’s attempt to penetrate the tank’s protection.

One more
, he thought, knowing he was taking a big risk,
then we must move.
Although he was loath to stop firing. The poor bloody infantry were getting a pounding and needed his firepower. He adjusted his hydraulically operated seat slightly, then held the commander’s grip switch, pushing it in giving him complete control, overriding the gunner. He pushed the button selector switch ensuring it was set for sabot and gave his orders.

“Sabot. I’ve got this one, Corporal. Standby to move, Mackinson.”

Ellis did his job efficiently. “Up.”

Alex hit the firing button and, within seconds, the T-80 that had been moving to outflank the 438s on the higher ground shuddered as the penetrator cut straight through the tank’s thinner side armour, wreaking havoc inside, stopping the main battle tank in its stride.

Suddenly a Hind-D, one of a flight of four, appeared out of nowhere, a flying tank. It hovered about 2,000 metres out, its characteristic tandem cockpit with double-bubble canopy pointing directly at Two-Two-Alpha. Beneath one of its stub wings, an AT-2C, a Swatter anti-tank missile dropped, rocket motor firing and, at 150 metres per second, it came straight towards the now vulnerable tank. Alex knew that firing at it with the GPMG would be pointless: the titanium-protected cockpit could shield the pilot and weapons officer from up to .5o calibre weapons. The 7.62mm Gympy just wouldn’t be enough.

“Hind! Back, back!” he screamed into the intercom. Mackey didn’t need to be asked again, hearing the urgency in his commander’s voice. Then he hit the single set of smoke dischargers, laying a blanket of smoke on the right front of the tank. Mackey floored the accelerator, the gearbox already in reverse, rapidly gaining speed, dipping into the crater behind them, the engine wailing as it fought to pull the back end up, the tracks attempting to grip as the heavy beast slid sideways.

“Right stick!” Yelled Alex.

Mackey pulled back hard on the right stick, forcing the back end of the tank to swivel left, now tackling the crater full on.

“You’ve got it. Go for it!”

Mackey powered the engine, and the Chieftain clawed its way back. Twisting to the left, then back on track, where he knew the gap he needed to pass through would be. Faster and faster.

“Bloody move, Mackinson! Left slightly.”

Mackey flicked the right stick just enough to get back on track, then pushed the tank and its engine as hard as he could. It screamed in defiance as the anti-tank missile flew overhead. With a range of up to 4,000 metres, the Hind-Ds were not after Alex’s troop yet, but were hitting out at the British armour on the western bank who were starting to have an impact on the advancing Soviet forces. The rear of the tank smashed into a young sapling, tearing it down, the right track shredding it as the fifty tons passed over it. Fifty metres into the trees and a Swatter missile, fired by a second Hind-D, having seen Two-Two-Alpha on the move, struck the foliage of another tree, exploding uselessly. They were safe for now. But Alex knew the Hinds would come hunting for them. He had Mackey move them deeper into the trees. Not too far though, as there was a clearing just before you entered the town of Gronau. The birds of prey would be watching that gap.

“Two-Two-Charlie, location? Over.”

“
Two-Two-Charlie, outskirts of town, Dotzummer Strasse. Fucking Hinds. Over
.”

“Roger, Two-Two-Charlie. Hold position as best you can.”

There was a sudden explosion out front.

“
Two-Two-Alpha. Rapier has just taken out a Hind. Blown the shit out of it
.”

“Calm down. Hold position if able.”

“
Roger
.”

Alex tried to contact the infantry and 438s. From the Strikers he got nothing, but the infantry corporal was able to respond.