The Blue Effect (Cold War) (21 page)

C
hapter 24

1
730, 10 JULY 1984. 15TH MISSILE BATTERY, 50TH MISSILE REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. AREA OF WAGENFELD, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -33 MINUTES

The tracks of the erector launcher were locked and the straps securing the missile removed. The rear platform was lowered, and two soldiers, dressed in their NBC suits, ran forward and proceeded to attach the four fins. Gunner Boyes cranked the launcher, raising it enough to allow Bombardier Jones access to the panel. The NCO loosened two screws before removing a small oval panel, tucking it beneath his armpit. He armed the nuclear-tipped missile; then replaced the cover. Joining Boyes, he helped the soldier lift off the protective cover from the MGM-52 lance missile. Sergeant Lawson, in the meantime, sighted the missile before entering the parameters for the warhead. Once the men had completed their respective tasks, the six-metre missile was slowly raised until it was in the correct azimuth with the nuclear warhead pointing east in the direction of a part of West Germany that would be the target of its deadly load. It was not the standard nuclear warhead that could be carried by this messenger of death. The standard would be between a ten-kiloton and 100-kiloton nuclear warhead. This one was special, a W70-3. This was seen as more of an anti-personnel weapon rather than an anti-infrastructure destroyer and killer of civilians. The W70-3 was a neutron warhead, with an enhanced radiation capability. Once the missile was ready to launch, two of the gunners sprinted back to the firing point where the weapon launch would be controlled. The remaining two soldiers carried the remote launching unit, unwinding the firing cable behind them as they went.

The officer in command got the nod from the two men that their task was complete. “Standby then. Ensure safe.”

“Ready here, sir,” confirmed the corporal at the control box. “On safe.”

“Minus one minute,” added the sergeant next to him.

The officer crouched down next to them. “Arm.”

“Minus three-zero,” the sergeant, listening to the comms, informed him. He then flipped the cover that allowed him to arm the weapon.

“Minus thirty,” confirmed the captain in command. “Standby, standby.”

The sergeant flipped the red cover up, exposing the firing switch.

“Minus two-zero.”

“Minus twenty,” added the captain.

The sergeant’s gloved finger hovered over the switch as he counted down. “Ten, nine, eight, seven, six, five, four, three, two, one, zero.”

“Fire!” ordered the captain, and the switch was depressed.

One hundred metres away, two jets of black gas shot out from vents halfway up the missile, quickly followed by the white-hot flame discharged from the rocket motor, engulfing the launch platform in a thick black cloud, punctuated by the hot white and yellow flame as the burning liquid propellant thrust downwards, forcing the projectile to leave the launcher. In less than a second, the missile left the rail and climbed at a sixty-degree angle higher and higher, leaving a black trail behind it, marking its progress as it flew towards its prey. The sound of the launch was like the din of a heavy airliner blasting off from a runway, slowly diminishing until it merely sounded like an aircraft flying overhead at high altitude. Eventually, there was just a faint glow from its tail as it rapidly disappeared from view; ultimately only the swirl of a contrail evidence of its journey. A further 700 metres to their north, a second lance missile streaked across the sky as it too flew towards a very different target. Elsewhere, an American unit fired two lance missiles carrying the same deadly warhead. The last pair to blast off were launched by a West German missile unit.

Ch
apter 25

18
03, 10 july 1984. 12th mechanised division, 1st polish army. east of bremen, west germany.

the blue effect

Colonel Bajeck’s view of the landscape in front of him suddenly disappeared, replaced by a blinding white light. He, along with twenty or more tank crews of the Polish tank battalion, was about to experience the effects of flash-blindness. They had just witnessed the detonation of a West German neutron warhead exploding 200 metres in the air above one of their sister tank units, T-72s moving into position ready for an attack the following day.

“I can’t see! I can’t see!” Shrieked a sergeant close by. Shouts could be heard from other soldiers of Colonel Bajeck’s tank battalion. Flash-blindness, an effect of the initial brilliant flash of light produced by the nuclear detonation, is harmful to the human eye. The retina, unable to tolerate the high levels of light focussed by its lens, caused the visual pigments to bleach. Unknown to the panicking tank crewmen, some injuring themselves as they blundered around their environment, the effects would only be temporary, perhaps gaining some level of returning vision within the hour. For some of their comrades, directly beneath the detonation, the suffering was far worse.

Lieutenant Sawicki, sitting cross-legged on the glacis of his T-72 tank directly beneath the blast wave, was flung against the armour of the adjacent tank. His body was incinerated a second later. Any tank crews sat, stood or sleeping outside of their vehicles, suffered a similar fate.

Further afield, Corporal Zawadzki, adjusting a cam-net at the time of the detonation, was not only blinded but his exposed skin experienced third-degree burns, and the flesh on his hands and face smouldered along with his uniform clothing. He felt no pain. There were no nerves alive within his flesh to send signals to his brain of the terrible damage that had been inflicted upon his body. His comrade, sitting next to his T-72 tank, screamed as he dropped the mug of hot soup onto his lap. The sensation of the burning liquid soon unfelt as the nerves of his seared hands and face overloaded his nervous system, blocking out all pain. Many of their fellow soldiers were not so lucky, and screamed in agony, some passing into unconsciousness, such was the level of torture they were experiencing. Even further away from the centre point of the detonation, the tank crews didn’t escape as they were bombarded by a lethal dose of neutrons and gamma rays.

1803, 10 JULY 1984. MOTOR-SCHUTZ REGIMENT, 8TH MOTOR-SCHUTZ DIVISION, 5TH GERMAN ARMY. AREA OF TELLINGSTEDT, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT

The tank crews, fulfilling some of the maintenance requirements to keep their T-72Ms functional for the forthcoming battle they knew would be a tough one, saw and heard the blast of a nuclear warhead as it struck one of their battalions half kilometre away. Although shocked by the power of the blast and the intensity of the light generated, those in and around the tanks that had guessed what had occurred, felt lucky that they had survived.

Immediately beneath the Enhanced Radiation weapon, and out to a radius of 100 metres, houses, buildings, fencing, trees and people were first flattened then engulfed in a conflagration with an intensity that could not be envisaged, only experienced. As per its design, the casing of the neutron bomb was made of chromium and nickel rather than uranium and lead. With the addition of tritium adding to the cocktail, the neutron yield was ten times that of a conventional nuclear bomb. With a greater focus on the transmission of radiation rather than that of blast and thermal radiation, this ‘clean kill’ weapon increased the gamma and neutron intensity.

The crews congregated, seeking an explanation and orders from their officers and NCOs. They discussed the event they had just witnessed and listened to their fellow soldiers, those who recognised what had just occurred. There was a sense of relief in their survival, but a concern for those that may have not survived. The men within the tanks, or under cover, had felt the blast, but at a distance of half a kilometre, all they had experienced was a jarring of their vehicle or hide. However, unbeknown to them, their bodies had been bombarded with a lethal cocktail of strontium, neutron and gamma radiation. The neutron radiation transmuted the surrounding area rendering it radioactive, as it would remain so for many years to come. The armour of the crews’ combat vehicles, tanks, trenches with overhead cover, and box-body vehicles was no barrier to the high, acute radiation dose the hundreds of East German soldiers’ bodies were now absorbing. The ionising radiation went to work immediately, damaging bone marrow and the intestinal lining. Acute radiation sickness would soon follow. Those men that experienced the highest levels of absorbed doses would experience nausea, loss of appetite, vomiting and severe abdominal pain within a matter of hours. This would be indicative of a fatal dose that without major treatment such as a bone marrow transplant meant that death was inevitable.

Corporal Eberhardt, who had been sitting in the fighting compartment of his T-72 at the time of the detonation, had felt the ferocity of the blast, but felt protected, deep inside the thick armour of the main battle tank. But, unknowingly, he had received the full vehemence of the emitted radiation.

As he patted his
Kameraden
on the shoulder, although sad for the other
Kameraden
that would have no doubt been killed, he was overjoyed about his and his friend’s own survival. But, inside his head, he had already started to feel twinges of pain. In just over an hour, the pain became more severe. Along with other invisible damage, his bodily functions would shut down and he would be dead in less than two days.

Most of the crews of the tank battalion would be incapacitated within a matter of hours and dead within fourteen days. Ironically, the majority of the T-72 main battle tanks would still be serviceable.

1803, 10 JULY 1984. 25TH TANK DIVISION, 20TH GUARDS ARMY. BAD NENNDORF, EAST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT

As Lieutenant Colonel Belochkin staggered out of his command tent, his sickly-looking second-in-command handed him a radio handset.

“It’s divisional headquarters, sir.”

“This is Belochkin. Over.”

“Belochkin, we’ve lost contact with your regimental headquarters. What the hell is going on down there?”

Colonel Belochkin lowered the mouthpiece and retched, dropping to his knees, his legs shaky and his face as white as a sheet. He heaved; a gush of vomit spattered the ground beneath him. He recovered slightly, wiping the streaks of puke from his mouth and nose with his sleeve.

“We’re in a bad way, sir. Need help.”

“Who am I talking to?”

“Colonel Belochkin, sir. 2nd Battalion.”

“Get a grip, Colonel Belochkin. I need an update. We know you’ve been hit, but you need to get moving, now. Why can’t we raise your regiment? We even had trouble getting through to your battalion for that matter.”

The Colonel breathed deeply, still on his knees, bending at the waist as he thought he was going to be sick again. But this time it was at the other end as a foul smell reached his nostrils. Warm, sticky diarrhoea ran down his legs, his stomach groaning and his legs trembling uncontrollably.

“We are not…in a position to move…Comrade General. I don’t know…where my regimental commander is. One company alone has twenty men with serious injuries, and many are sick.

There was silence at the other end. Soviet high command had received the warning from NATO representatives. The warning came with a caveat:
Continue to use chemical weapons, and NATO will escalate to a tactical nuclear conflict, the consequences of which will be unknown to all.

“You must get your battalion ready to fight Colonel. Do you hear me? Colonel?”

The handset fell from the Colonel’s hand and he slumped to the ground, pulling his legs up to his chin as the pain lanced through his innards.

1803, 10 JULY 1984. 62ND GUARDS TANK REGIMENT AND ELEMENTS OF 20TH GUARDS ARMY. NORTHEAST OF BAD NENNDORF, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT

Although Colonel Trusov’s tanks had been able to stand up to the significant amount of blast and heat from the nuclear explosion detonated close to his regiment, the lethal dose of radiation emitted by the ER weapon just passed through the armour, eroding the crews inside. Whereas a dose of six Gy would be considered lethal, killing half of those exposed to it, the symptoms taking some hours or days to appear, Trusov’s men had received between seventy and eighty Gy. A lethal dose had blanketed his men, out to a radius of half a kilometre.

Trusov clambered out of the turret of his T-80K, nausea causing him to feel faint and unsteady on his feet. He gagged and heaved, bringing up the food he had eaten earlier in the day. He saw other tank crews, wandering around in a state of shock. He went to call out to them, order them back to their vehicles, to be ready if called upon to do battle. All he succeeded in doing was to trigger a new bout of queasiness. His ashen-faced driver, Kokorev, and Barsukov, his gunner, joined him. Both collapsed to the floor.

“What’s happened, sir?” Kokorev appealed to him, followed with a bout of retching, finally vomiting the foul-smelling contents of his stomach onto the ground.

“The West has detonated a nuclear bomb. You had better prepare for the worst.”

Barsukov moved closer to his regimental commander as the officer dry-heaved but brought up nothing.

“Do you think we’ve had a bad dose, Comrade Colonel?”

“The worst kind. Make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We’re going nowhere. I need to contact HQ.”

He climbed back onto his T-80K command tank, not realising that the armour would be exposing him to radiation for at least another forty-eight hours. After another short bout of retching, bringing up only bile, he dropped into the turret and picked up the handset of the radio. Before he could transmit, still holding the mouthpiece, he pressed both hands to his temples as a sudden thumping migraine racked his skull. He released his head and stared at the handset. He could see clumps of his hair clutched there as well.

Trusov dropped the handset, slumped in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair only to find more tufts sticking to his sweaty hands. He rested his still pounding head against the contaminated armour, closed his eyes and wept.

Cha
pter 26

193
0, 10 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM BRAVO, 14/20TH KING’S HUSSARS, 22ND ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. EAST OF ESPELKAMP, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS

Major Lewis, commander of B-Squadron, 14/20th King’s Hussars, took the mug of hot, sweet tea passed to him by one of the troopers from Bravo-Troop. A second mug was handed to Lieutenant Alex Wesley-Jones, the troop commander.

“Thank you, Corporal Patterson.” Alex thanked his gunner.

“Sir.”

“How are your repairs going, Alex?” asked Major Lewis.

Alex looked out of the open flap of the penthouse tent attached to the back of the OC’s Land Rover. He could hear the revving engine of a FV434 as it manoeuvred closer to the rear of his own tank. Suspended from the crane boom of the 434 was a power pack, badly needed to replace the faulty one that was now on the ground alongside the tracks of the tank. Whilst the remnants of the 14/20th had been in their recovery area, the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers Light Aid Detachment, had been kept busy, repairing, and in some cases, replacing key elements of the Chieftain tank’s systems. This was the second power pack for Alex’s tank, the initial replacement having acquired a fault as they moved to this final locale. Although many of the reliability problems of the Chieftains had been resolved over the years, they still proved to be troublesome. Here, the regiment was conducting its final preparations so they would be ready to carry out the next stage of higher command’s plan to hold off the advancing enemy. The Battle Group had lain up in a small forest about four kilometres east of Espelkamp, roughly twenty kilometres northwest of Minden.

“Now I’ve got a new power pack, we should be pretty much there, sir. Two-Two-Charlie is fully functional. How are the rest of the squadron, and the regiment for that matter?”

“Well, Alex, A and C Squadron were down to nine tanks between them, and D squadron had six. But with replacements from the mainland, and consolidating units, all three squadrons now have three troops each.”

“And us, sir?”

“You’re the lucky one, along with Two-One. You both have a full troop, but Two-Three and Two-Four only have two tanks each. But we are the strongest squadron in the regiment, although we have lost the second-in-command’s tank. Which brings me on to another subject.” The major placed his now empty mug on a small table in the corner next to the rear tailgate of the vehicle. He turned in his collapsible seat and looked at Alex. The young officer from Cardiff raised his eyebrows slightly, curious as to the look of concentration on his Officer Commanding’s face.

“I am promoting you to Captain, Alex. It has been approved by Colonel Clark.”

“But, sir—”

“No buts. You are the most…I was about to say most experienced officer. That really applies to us all now,” he said with a laugh. “But you have been well and truly in the thick of it, and you and your men have performed extremely well.”

“Thank you, sir.”

“Although in rank, you will be my new second-in-command, I need you to remain with your troop. But, should anything happen to me…you will take command. Understood?”

“Understood, sir.”

The major picked up a wax pencil from the small table and pointed at the map suspended from the side of the tent. “We must be ready to move as soon as the Soviets cross the Weser. They will be allowed to advance at least eight to ten kilometres before the counter-attack commences.”

“Can’t we just hold them, sir, stop them from crossing? Our regiment is recovering, and so must some of the other units.”

“Yes, we could hold them for a little while longer, but there is another full Soviet army coming in behind Three-Shock.” The major sighed. “Not forgetting the Soviet 5th Guards Tank Army, one of many units under the command of the Belorussian Military District that has arrived in theatre. Do they continue towards CENTAG or turn towards us? We don’t yet know. And, to make matters worse, the Carpathian and Baltic Military Districts will also be lining up to hit the front line from Hamburg down to Austria. Once 20th Guards Army puts its full weight against our defences along the river, we’ll never hold them. So, we have to lull them into a false sense of security, get them to cross, isolate those forces, and cripple them as best we can, followed up by a counter-attack across the river. I know we have only Territorial troops reinforcing us, but their numbers are growing daily. We also have to strike while they’re still recovering from those tactical nuke strikes.”

“When do we pull the regiment together, sir? We’re pretty widely dispersed.”

“We have no choice, Alex. The risk of a counter-nuclear strike is still very real.”

They were interrupted by the sound of vehicular movement outside. A Foden, a low-mobility tanker, carrying in the region of 12,000 litres of fuel, made its way to a refuelling point where the tanks of the squadron could top-up. It was closely followed by a tarpaulin-covered, six-wheeled Stalwart, bringing in more supplies of ammunition, preparing the tank regiment to go back into battle. The war for 22nd Armoured Brigade and the rest of 1st Armoured Division was far from over.

They both faced the map again.

“Once the 12th Brigade come at the neck of the bulge from the north and the Americans from the south, our Battle Group, followed by the RGJ and 2RTR, will be the first to cross. Your troop will be the first over the river.”

“Can’t wait, sir.” The young, now captain laughed.

“Our squadron has the task of punching as far into the enemy’s rear area as possible. Get deep into their lines; disrupt any attempts at stopping the crossings. The rest of the Regiment will be close behind us, consolidating our position.”

“Is our crossing point still the same, sir?”

“Yes, here,” the major responded tapping the map. “Just south of the Heisterholz. But that depends on the ground we’ve secured and what’s available should the Soviets leave any of their crossing points intact. Our pre-emptive air and artillery strike will avoid those targets, other than troops on the eastern bank.”

“12th Armoured, sir?”

“Just south of Todtenhausen. But, like us, they will take any opportunity to use any abandoned Soviet bridging points.”

“It’s going to be a tough one, sir.”

“As if it hasn’t been tough already, Alex.” The OC started to rise up from his seat. Alex followed suit. “There will be a final briefing tomorrow. In the meantime, make sure your men are ready and your tanks are topped and rearmed. And for God’s sake, keep your troop well camouflaged. The forest provides us with some cover, but the Soviet air force and the military will be looking for us, and these forests will be likely hiding places.”

“Understood, sir.”

The OC shook his hand. “Congratulations, Alex.”

“Thank you, sir.”

They both left the tent and walked over to Alex’s tank. The engine had been lowered into its compartment, and REME were going over the final connections, linking the power pack to the components that would get the tank mobile again.

“Ah, Corporal Patterson.” Patsy drew himself up to attention, arms by his sides. “Thank you for the tea.”

“Sir.”

“Now, I think Captain Wesley-Jones would like a word with you all.”

He turned to Alex. “Let me know the minute you have any equipment failures. We need to know what we’ve got available at all times.”

“Understood, sir.”

With that, Major Lewis left.

“Did he say captain, sir?”

“Yes, he did, Corporal Patterson. Now, gather the troop together. I want to talk to them.”

With a grin across his face, Patsy sped off, calling for the tank crews to form up. The REME LAD had finished for now, so the troop assembled next to Two-Alpha. The tank although now fully functional, at least once they’d done a road test with the new power pack, was still wearing its battle scars. Two-Charlie was in a similar state. Two-Bravo, on the other hand, was practically brand new, straight out of a workshop back in the United Kingdom. The new tank’s crew, apart from Trooper Lowe who was still the driver, and Trooper Wilson, the loader, were new, survivors from other elements of the regiment. Their tank had been destroyed, but they themselves had survived. Sergeant Andrews, platoon sergeant, with a head injury and a hand that had been badly crushed, was now back in the UK. Although still recovering from his injuries, he was still capable of training new replacements, allowing the healthy instructors to be assigned to units at the front. However, Lance Corporal Owen, the gunner, would not be fighting any more wars. He had been killed during the first artillery bombardment experienced by the Regiment in Gronau. The two new members of the troop had also lost their tank, loader and senior NCO, to a Soviet T-80.

The crews shuffled into position, finding somewhere to sit, either on the stump of a felled tree, a camping chair or pallet of supplies not yet broken down.

Alex looked at the expectant faces of his men. Some showed weariness and a little fear; some determination; others he couldn’t read. To a man, they were looking to him to lead them through the horrors that were going on around them, keep them safe and get them home to their families.

Alex’s crew were chatting, grins plastered across their faces, occasionally flicking their eyes in his direction. No doubt Corporal Patterson had filled the rest of the crew, Lance Corporal Mark Ellis, his loader, and the driver, Trooper ‘Mackey’ Mackinson, in on their troop commander’s promotion. He and his crew had bonded well during their recent battles, and the Chieftain Mark 5/3C had truly become their home.

Captain Wesley-Jones looked across at Acting-Sergeant Simpson. All were sipping mugs of tea that had miraculously arrived from somewhere. There was no doubt: the Boiling Vessel, BV, had a positive impact on the tank crews’ morale. This could possibly be their last hot drink for some time.

Alex shuffled his backside onto one of the track guard stowage bins, the foliage used for camouflage crackling beneath his weight, his booted feet dangling over the edge.

To his right was his crew. Sitting along the track guard of the tank opposite was Acting-Sergeant Simpson, tank commander of call sign Two-Bravo and the troop’s second-in-command; sitting alongside him his crew: Lance Corporal Wilson, newly promoted, his gunner, Trooper Wallis, new to the squadron, his loader, and Trooper Lowe, his driver. To his left was the newly promoted Corporal Moore, commander of call sign Two-Charlie, with his gunner Trooper Gregory, another replacement, loader Trooper Robinson and driver, Trooper Carter. These twelve men made up the crews for Bravo-Troop, B-Squadron of the 14th/20th King’s Hussars Regiment.

Before the captain could speak, Acting-Sergeant Simpson piped up. “On behalf of the troop, sir, we just want to congratulate you on your promotion.”

Alex blushed slightly, not yet used to his raised profile within the squadron. “And you, Sarn’t Simpson,” he responded. “We have finally received our orders, and our troop has a key role to play.”

He looked over their faces, not sure what he was seeing. Was it disappointment at having to fight again, or were they glad they would have an opportunity to hit back at the enemy?

He dropped down off the tank and unrolled a map that had been tucked under his arm. “Corporal Moore, grab that board we’ve been using as a table and bring it over.”

“Sir.”

“Wallis, Lowe, the small table next to the penthouse, bring it over,” ordered Moore.

The table was cleared, upended, and wedged up against the side of the Chieftain tank, resting at an angle where Alex could pin the map.

“Right, gather round before we lose the last of our light, and I’ll take you through what’s in store for us.”

The troop either dropped down from their tanks or shuffled in closer. It was very different from an exercise where there was feigned interest, just looking forward to ENDEX when they could get home for a shit, shave and shower, and sex if they were on talking terms with their wife or girlfriend, and then a drink with their buddies. But now, it was important that they listened and understood what was being asked of them. Otherwise, the consequences could be far-reaching.

“The time has come for us to hit back.”

“About time we give em some…make them pay for Owen,” came back some one of the comments.

The troop commander pinned up a BAOR road map, marked with sweeping red lines.

“We’re here, near Espelkamp, along with the rest of our Brigade. 12th Brigade is here to the north, west of Warmsen, and 7th Brigade here, Lubecke. Our American cousins have a brigade moving in southwest of Minden. On top of that, we have a Bundeswehr Brigade in reserve. The enemy, our friends from 3rd Shock Army, in particular 12th Guards Tank Division, are already at the River Weser, north of Minden. Intelligence tells us that the 12th Guards will try and force a crossing either between Minden and Petershagen or Petershagen and Stolzenau. Or both.”

“Aren’t 3-Shock feeling the pinch a bit now, sir?” asked Acting-Sergeant Simpson.

“They probably are, but the 12th and 47th Guards Tank Division will be using their second-echelon regiments, and they are pretty powerful. But, beyond them, there is a second army, 20th Guards, who haven’t been committed yet.”

“Are they close, sir?” Corporal Moore asked.

“Their headquarters have been plotted in the area of Bad Nenndorf, so I would imagine at least two of their divisions will be pushing forward. Our guess is that the 12th cross the river, push as deep as they can, and a division from the 20th exploit it.”

“Shit,” one of the troopers exclaimed.

“But this is where we come in, Gregory. We’re going to be the ones that stop them. You have all listened to rumour control and heard—”

“And felt, sir,” added Sergeant Simpson.

“…and felt the nuclear strikes. The Polish and East German armies have been hit in the north with 20th Guards in our sector. The Americans have also struck back at the Soviet reserves in their area.”

“Is that why we’re so widely dispersed?” asked Sergeant Simpson.

“Yes it is. But we did inform the Soviet Politburo of the strike and the reasons behind it, as I briefed you earlier. It is hoped that they will see sense. As to the bigger picture for us, 4th Armoured Division, now recovered, rearmed and reinforced, will hit the enemy from the south, pushing up through and around Rehren, striking for Bad Nenndorf.”