The Black Effect (Cold War) (17 page)

“Yes, Colour, don’t we all. Right, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, the OC climbed back into the Ferret scout car, and it roared off to take him back to the Company HQ, which was co-located with the Royal Green Jackets Battalion and Battlegroup headquarters.

The three 432s of three-platoon rocked to a halt after they pulled over onto the side of the track, getting as far beneath the trees as possible. Some soldiers immediately started to drag camouflage netting over the roof, to hide the vehicles from above.

“Leave that,” shouted Lieutenant Russell.

The soldiers looked across, bewildered. Their Corporal confirmed the order to them.

“Corporal, here,” called Colour Sergeant Rose.

The Corporal trotted over. “Sarge?”

“Corporal Jenkinson, isn’t it?”

“Yes, Sarge.”

“Tell your boys to be ready to move out in five; then get back here.”

“What’s happening?”

“Just do it, and quick.”

The Corporal sped off to instruct his men, and Rose joined his platoon commander by the rear of the platoon commander’s 432.

“Congratulations Colour Sergeant Rose.”

“Thank you sir, come as a bit of a surprise.”

“Not to me. Well deserved. But I think we are both going to have a lot on our plate these coming days. I’m glad I’ve got you backing me up.”

Before they could continue, the NCOs of the platoon congregated around the rear of the 432. The Lieutenant took a deep breath as he looked over the command element of his platoon: his platoon sergeant, now Colour Sergeant Rose; Lance Corporal Burford in command of the mortar team; Lance Corporal Reid had two-section, now with only two men to command; and Corporal Stubbings with five soldiers and the two Milan firing posts. But now he had two additional sections: one of six men commanded by Corporal Jenkinson, and a second one of five men, commanded by Lance Corporal Coles.

“Right, listen in. First, command. We will have five sections in the platoon. One-section will consist of Lance Corporal Reid’s and Corporal Stubbings’ men under the command of now Acting Corporal Reid. Call sign One-One-Bravo. It will also be the Platoon HQ. I will be One-One-Alpha. Corporal Stubbings, I want you to take command of the two Milan firing posts. They are all the anti-tank weapons we have, so they need to be positioned appropriately and well protected. Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” responded the young but most experienced Junior NCO in his platoon.

“You’ll be One-One-Charlie. Corporal Jenkinson.”

“Sir.”

“Welcome to the platoon. Your section is to take control of our three Blowpipe SAMs. One-One-Delta. Got that?”

“Sir.”

“You will be our air defence. I doubt we’ll have much more help in that quarter.”

“Lance Corporal Coles, welcome to you too.”

“Sir.”

“Yours and Corporal Reid’s sections will be our main fire teams. You are One-One-Echo. But, you won’t be on your own. We have two mobile mortar teams under the command of Lance Corporal Burford. One-One-Foxtrot. Our air defence and mortar teams will come under overall command of the platoon 2iC, Colour Sergeant Rose, One-one-Golf.”

He looked at each of the section commanders. The NCOs from his original platoon seemed relatively calm, considering what they had been through during the last twenty-four hours. The new men, on the other hand, seemed less relaxed and slightly nervous. The loss of their platoon commander and platoon sergeant had hit them hard.

“Situation.” He pointed to the map pinned up on the inside of the wide-open 432 door. “We appear to have two heliborne assaults north and south of Gronau, on this side of the river. There have also been two para landings. One here, west of Benstort, north and south of the road...” He peered at the map. “The road that links Benstort to Hemmendorf. The second one east of Benstort, north and south of Esbeck.”

He looked at his men again, checking their level of attention. He was pleased with what he saw: even the new members of the platoon started to appear more alert and less tense. Maybe they finally had something to occupy their minds with, something to do. Perhaps even the thought of hitting back.

“Mission: move directly to the village of Marienau, here, just south-east of Coppenbrugge. We are to hold and prevent the enemy from moving to Coppenbrugge. Questions?”

Corporal Jenkinson piped up, “What is the air threat, sir?”

“In regard to the Soviet air force and their bombers, I’m not sure. But we know they have Hip and Hind attack helicopters. No doubt they will be sniffing out the route.”

“Try and get them as they pass you,” advised Colour Sergeant Rose. “Their cockpits are protected by titanium. Even the bloody blades are made of titanium. But if you fire at them from behind, you stand a better chance of hitting the tail boom or the engines.”

The Corporal nodded his understanding.

“Do they have tanks then, sir?” asked Corporal Stubbings.

“Not main battle tanks, but they will probably have ASU-85s, with an 85mm gun that could do us some damage. Then they will have their BMDs, the airborne equivalent of the BMP.”

“I’ve got photos and silhouette pictures of both. Once we’re in position, we can go through them to refresh all our memories,” Colour Sergeant Rose informed them.

“Any more?” asked the Lieutenant. “No? Good. How many mortar bombs do you have, Corporal Burford?”

“Forty in each 432, sir, plus six each of smoke.”

“Excellent. We move out in two. I’ll lead with One-One-Bravo, through to One-One-Foxtrot. Let’s go.”

Russell looked back, hanging onto the GPMG pintle. The next 432 in his platoon was following behind, the third further back again. He would be happier once they were dug in. He wasn’t comfortable driving out in the open like this, particularly in broad daylight, but speed was critical if they were get to their new location in a timely manner.

Chapter 18

0
600 7 JULY 1984. BRAVO-TROOP (+). GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −22 HOURS.

“
Two-Two-Alpha, this is Bravo-Zero
.”

“Bravo-Zero, go ahead. Over.”

“
Keep your heads down. You have help on the way
.”

“Roger that, Bravo-Zero. We’ve heard heavy heli activity to our south. Over.”

“
We have numerous air assaults in progress our side of the river. A call sign is coming to bolster your position. Hold tight
.”

“Roger, Bravo-Zero. Out.”

“Two-Two-Delta, this is Two-Two-Alpha. Sitrep. Over.”

Before the infantry unit to their south could answer, Alex heard another flight of the shells go overhead, again going west to east.
At last, our artillery is finally giving the Sovs some of their own medicine
, he thought.

“Two-Two-Alpha, this is Two-Two-Delta. We’re still holding. Heavy casualties. Need urgent medical evacuation.”

Alex could hear the thumps of explosions coming from the direction of the enemy troops.

“Two-Two-Delta, wait. Bravo-Zero. Heavy arty fire all along the line. They’re pounding the Sov positions. Over.”

“
Understood. Out
.”

“Two-Two-Delta. Help is on the way. Will keep you posted. Do the best you can. Out.”

He looked down into the turret and spoke into the intercom. “Take us forward, slowly.”

The Chieftain lurched forward.

“Left.” Alex searched through the vision blocks, finding a gap in the trees. “Right, right, right, forward. About 200 metres.”

He searched the skyline, seeking out any Hind-Ds that might be hovering, waiting for his and any other Chieftain tank to appear.

They crept forward, the sound of the artillery barrage getting louder and louder, plumes of smoke scarring the horizon.

“Fifty metres.”

He needed to get them into their alternate berm where they would have a 180-degree view of the ground in front. It was risky going close to an old position, but he needed to see what was happening.

“Stop, stop.” The tank ground to a halt. “Keep your eyes peeled, Corporal Patterson.”

“Roger that, sir.”

Ahead the ground erupted with explosions as round after round fell amongst the Soviet armour. A battery of Abbots had joined in along with M109s, the heavier M110s and the long range M107s. At last, thought Alex, they were getting some support and the enemy was getting a taste of its own medicine. The bombardment stopped, and the battlefield from Betheln to Eitzum was strewn with the wreckage of armoured vehicles. One of the 438s was still operating; a Swingfire missile flew towards a retreating BMP-2. Another brewed up as it was hit by Two-Two-Charlie. Two-Two-Charlie targeted a second tank.

Alex pushed up the hatch cover, ducking as two aircraft, one after the other, flew low overhead. The twin-engined Tornados powered past, splitting up, banking left and right, pulling Gs as the pilots pulled back on the stick, radioing their sighting to their two fellow pilots three kilometres back. The rearmost aircraft each released a Maverick air-to-ground tactical missile. Both, travelling at over 1,000 kilometres an hour, hit home. Guided by an imaging infrared system, the fifty-seven kilogram shaped charges slammed into a T-80 and an SA-9. No sooner had they destroyed their targets when all four Tornados released another round of missiles.

Alex’s spirits rose, until he saw one of the aircraft going down after being hit by an SA-6 missile. No sooner had the Tornados delivered their lethal load than a flight of Harriers attacked the Soviet armour north of Heinum. They too lost one of their number. A flight of six SEPECAT Jaguars from the Royal Air Force’s No 31 Squadron picked up where they left off. Originally from RAF Bruggen, they had been moved further west due to the rapid Soviet advance and further attacks by Spetsnaz forces. Only now were they able to get back into the fight. More Soviet armour suffered from the onslaught. But the ground-attack aircraft had to disperse after two were shot down by Soviet fighters. The Soviet air force was also taking casualties as two Rapier missiles eventually hit home, once the technicians had fixed the glitches as a consequence of the rough journey the tracked Rapier units had getting into position.

Silence. It was six twenty-five. They had been fighting for less than two hours, but were exhausted. They were in need of fuel and ammunition, and Alex wanted to go in search of Two-Two-Bravo, check on the infantry unit, and get an update regarding their relief. The Soviets had taken a beating, but Alex knew they would be back, with a vengeance. 7th Guards Tank Division, of 3rd Shock Army, had lost twenty-four T-80s and eighteen BMP-2s. For the moment, the Soviet airborne troops were on their own.

Chapter 19

0630 7 J
ULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM ALPHA/ROYAL GREEN JACKETS BATTLEGROUP. WEST OF OSTERWALD, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −21.5 HOURS.

Russell’s 432s, fifty metres apart, raced north-west along the forest track to get to their positions. They skirted the edge of the forest, just inside the tree line, the track zigzagging through the trees, a trail of dust steadily building. Above, the tree-covered high ground towered over them, climbing to a height of nearly 600 metres. After two kilometres, his convoy came out of the forest, the drivers tugging hard on the left stick as they careered left onto a minor road, maintaining their speed, the tracks sliding across the loose stones as they swung round and headed south through a small conurbation, Dorpe, arriving at Coppenbrugge a kilometre later.

“
One-One-Alpha, this is Zero-Alpha
.”

“One-One-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”

“
You have small packets, high ground, south-west your final location. Over
.”

“Roger. Call signs? Over.”

“
Echo-One and Echo-Two. Out
.”

That came as a relief to the Lieutenant. The OC had informed him that two reconnaissance vehicles, probably Scimitars, would be watching the high ground to their right.

He slowed the convoy down and drove at twenty kilometres an hour through the town, the 432s at the front, each with pintle-mounted GPMG. The gunners covered the houses lining the road each side: one gun forward, the next watching left, and the third one right. The village appeared deserted, the rattle of the tracked vehicles echoing through the empty streets. One pair of eyes looked fearfully out of an upper window. The soldier on the 432 elevating the barrel of the Gympy felt Russell’s hand on his shoulder.

“Well spotted. They’re just civilians. Keep your eyes peeled though.”

The military convoy turned left at the T-junction, and shortly they left the village, Marienau, a kilometre ahead. After a few hundred metres, Russell ordered the driver to pull over to the left, beneath a line of trees with large canopies, giving them some cover from the air. He signalled a halt and the soldiers de-bussed, forming a defensive stance around their small convoy.

Russell jumped down, running back to the next APC, and was soon joined by Colour Sergeant Rose. On orders, the NCOs quickly gathered round. They followed him to the lead 432 where he climbed on top and proceeded to scan the area with his binoculars.

Lieutenant Russell had made a quick appraisal of the map earlier and knew where he wanted to deploy his reinforced platoon. He lay down on the top of the vehicle, suspending a map from the top so that it lay flat against the slab sides of the APC. His NCOs gathered around and he pointed at the map that was upside down to him but the right way up to his men.

“This is our area of responsibility. From the base of the Hohenstein to our right, our south-western boundary, where we have recce Scimitars watching over us, to the Nesselberg-Osterwald to our left, our north-western boundary.”

“Whew, that’s a large area to cover for a company, sir, let alone a platoon.”

“I concur with that, Colour, but we are all there is for the moment. Enemy armour can flank us either side, come straight along the main road through the village, or over the top of the high ground.”

“What about Osterwald, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.

“The OC will take care of that with the rest of the company. We also have a Royal Green Jackets’ combat team near Benstort.” He shifted his position to get more comfortable. “I want your two Milan FPs collocated, Corporal Stubbings. At least then you can provide each other with mutual support, particularly if you have airborne infantry trying to root you out. I suggest you dig in at the junction of the road and the railway line here,” he said, tapping a point at the most south-eastern tip of the village. “You should be able to get a good field of fire from there, at least a 180-degree sweep. This is ‘Clapham’. How many tubes do you have?”

“Six for each firing post, sir.”

“Make sure you change positions the minute you fire. Don’t try for a second shot from the same place. If they home in on you and bring down mortar fire, you’ll be stuffed.”

“Understood, sir.”

“Corporal Reid.”

“Sir.”

“I want you to split your section. I want your gun group and two men with the Milans at Clapham, to give them cover, and three men and the 432 positioning themselves in Gut Voldagsen, ‘Little-town’. It looks as if it’s made up of half a dozen houses. Warn me of any sightings and only open fire if necessary. If Soviet airborne are going for it, disrupt their advance as best you can, but don’t take chances. Get back to Clapham.”

“Gotcha, sir.”

“Corporal Coles.”

“Sir.”

“I want your men dug in by the bridge over the water feature. I doubt they’ll have any bridging equipment, though they probably won’t need it as the water runs straight down the centre of the valley. But if they want to use the road then they will attempt to cross the bridge.”

“My full section, sir?”

“Yes. We will fall back through you. ‘London bridge’, ok. Once we have to give up Little-town and Clapham, we’ll fall back to the north-west of the village, where the Milans can cover both flanks. Especially if they try to use the rail bridge. Ah...”

“Little London, sir?” Colour Sergeant Rose laughed.

“Little London it is. Once you have to pull back, Corporal Reid, you will head straight for Coppenbrugge, and we will be right behind you. By then, we may have received some new orders.” He heard a cough. “I’ve not forgotten about the rest of you. Corporal Burford, I want your mortars here. There’s what? A 300 metre square plot, with some good tree screening. Better than being in the village having to move all the time.”

“Roger that, sir.”

“Corporal Jenkinson, leave two men and a Blowpipe here and the other four men, with you, in the village.”

“What is the likely threat, sir?”

“We could expect anything, but the Falklands War taught us that Blowpipe won’t be much good against fast jets. So only have a stab at those if they are coming towards us and are low and close. It’s likely that we’ll have helicopters about, probably Hip, Hooks and Hinds. Hips and Hooks, take them head-on. As for Hinds, I suggest you wait until they turn away, and hope you hit the engines. Firing at them head-on will get an immediate response. They might jink to avoid the missile, but you can bet your life one of their buddies will be homing in on you. So, don’t do anything rash. You’ll just get yourselves killed, and we will lose what little air defence we have. Any questions?”

“Can we set up some pre-planned fire, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.

“Yes, I plan on doing that now. You take the platoon forward and get them into position, and I’ll run through some scenarios with Corporal Burford.”

“Come on, lads, let’s move,” Rose ordered. “I’ll leave the AD 432 with you then, sir.”

“Good idea, Colour. Corporal Burford, let’s move to your APCs.”

Lance Corporal Burford led the way as the other units gunned their engines and were soon on their way towards the village they were to defend.

Private Taylor ran towards his NCO and platoon commander. “Sir! Sir, look!”

The Lieutenant spun round. He didn’t need to ask for the reason for the shout; he could see it himself. Dark smudges whipped from a flight of troop carriers, wisps of white trailing behind, blossoming into full parachutes as the airborne soldiers swung from their harnesses out of control. More Soviet soldiers were landing three kilometres away, west of Benstort, to increase the number of troops that were slowly upping the pressure on the British soldiers attempting to defend themselves from a push on the other side of the river. Lieutenant Russell pulled a spare map from his pocket and pressed up against the side of a 432, and drew two lines across it with a pencil. The first one ran south-west to north-east, directly through the northern edge of Gut Voldagsen.

“This line, Liverpool. Liverpool-north, hit the open ground north of the houses. Liverpool-south, the road and rail to the south. This one, Manchester, bisects the rail/road bridge. So, Manchester-north, then hit the open ground to the north-east, Manchester-south, then it’s the bridge itself. Got that?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Anything else and I will give you a grid. But have a fire-plan set up for Liverpool-north and south to start with.”

With that, he ran to the 432 and joined the air defence group, and the carrier screamed off at high speed down Route 1, heading for Clapham.

Lieutenant Russell caught up with the rest of his platoon just as British artillery started to pound the Soviet forces. He zoomed in with his binos; the view from Clapham was quite clear. Clouds of smoke and yellow flashes filled his lens as he watched the salvos land amongst the enemy. He couldn’t see any soldiers on the ground, but paratroopers were still falling out of the sky. During the occasional lull in the explosions, he could hear small-arms fire as elements of the Royal Green Jackets moved in from Salzhemmendorf in the south and Benstort in the north.

Colour Sergeant Rose came alongside. “Corporal Reid has positioned his Gympy over there, bang on the rail/road junction and has assigned one of his men for each Milan.”

“Voldagsen?”

“They’ve taken over the second storey of a house. Gives them a pretty good view of the enemy if they try and flank us to the north. We just don’t have enough firepower, sir. We could do with holding that location. If the enemy occupy it, they could take potshots at us from good cover, or get into the high ground.”

Alex looked back, identifying the two Milan positions, one either side of the railway line just before it crossed the road. The Gympy was set up on one side of the road where it crossed the rail line. He beckoned his signaler over and took the handset from him.

“One-One-Foxtrot, One-One-Alpha. Radio check. Over.”

“
One-One-Foxtrot. Five, five. Plots in for Liverpool-north and Liverpool-south, over
.”

“Roger, out to you. Hello, One-One-Bravo-Alpha, any sightings? Over.”

The unit in Voldagsen had the spare radio. “
One-One-Bravo-Alpha. Negative, no movement. Arty fire still dropping on Grid Delta, seven, one, five, Echo, four, two, five. Over
.”

“Acknowledged. Out.”

“I’m going to check the Milans. Then all we have to do is wait.”

“I’ll be with the AD section, sir.”

Russell moved back along the railway line for about fifty metres, coming across the two soldiers acting as sentries first. He talked through the fields of fire with the crews who had set up the FPs, one either side of the double railway line.

“
One-One-Alpha, this is One-One-Echo. I have an unidentified unit approaching my location. Over
.”

“Numbers and intention. Over.”

“
Two vehicles and a small tank...could be, wait...looks like one of those Jag Panzers. Probably twenty-plus troops in a couple of Unimogs. Over
.”

Kanonenjagdpanzer
, thought Dean. It only had a 90mm gun, but could create havoc with any BMDs, and maybe even an ASU-85, if the Sovs had one.

“
500 metres out, slowing down
.”

“Roger. Hold your fire, but watch yourselves.”

“
Roger
.”

“Corporal Stubbings, have one of your Milans ready to swing round. Target the road as it leaves the village.”

“On it, sir.”

“
One-One-Echo. They’ve stopped, 100 metres out. Someone walking towards us
.”

“Roger.”

They all waited patiently. Dean was confident nothing was amiss. He didn’t anticipate it being a Soviet airborne unit behind them. They had seen no paratroopers that far back, or any heli flights in the last hour.

“
One-One-Alpha, One-One-Echo. Over
.”

“Go ahead.”

“
There’s a box-head officer wants to speak to you, sir
.”

Colour Sergeant Rose, who had just joined his platoon commander in the last few seconds, picked up the latter part of Lance Corporal Coles’s message and hissed. “I’ll speak to him, sir, when I see him.”

“
He says he’s Leutnant Burger, sir, come to support us. Over
.”

Dean thought for a moment. If they had wanted to, they could have sent some men forward covertly and taken out Coles’s small section.

“Let them through.”

“
Wilco, sir
.”

“Standby, lads, just in case,” warned Rose.

Within five minutes, the two Bundeswehr trucks and the twenty-seven ton tank-destroyer pulled up close to the railway crossing.

The German officer dropped down from the cab of the Unimog and saluted Russell who returned the salute. The man, looking to be in his mid to late forties, then proffered his hand and shook Dean’s firmly.

“Leutnant Burger, Herr Leutnant. I am with the Landwehr. Our mission is to hold Coppenbrugge, but I think with the unit you have we would be better placed with your men here, if you don’t object.”

“More than glad to have you and your men alongside us, Leutnant Burger, but I would just like to check in with my HQ first.”

“Naturally.”

“Colour, would you do the honours please?”

“Of course, sir.”

With that, Rose took the signaler to a position about twenty-metres away so they could contact their Company HQ and confirm the identity of the intruders.

“Once you get clearance, where would you like my men?”

“How many do you have?”

“Twenty-four, including myself. Oh, and I have that,” he said pointing to the tank-destroyer. “Ugly I know, but it packs a
Wunderbar
punch,” he said with a huge grin.

Dean couldn’t help but reciprocate, so unused to Germans with a sense of humour. He pulled out his map, knelt down, and flattened it out on the surface of the road.

“Sir,” shouted Rose, and gave Dean the thumbs up.

“Seems you are kosher.”

“Kosher?”

“Genuine.”

“
Gut, gut. Danke.
Now, your map, eh?” He knelt down alongside Dean. “I want to get my men under cover, before they stop,” Burger said, pointing to the continuing barrage hitting the Soviet airborne forces to their south-west.