The Blue Effect (Cold War) (27 page)

“They’re fucking behind us!” screamed a soldier off to the right. Coming from Three-Section.

Corporal Barker called out, “Ripper, Miller, watch our backs, watch our backs!”

Bullet strikes flicked up bits of debris and some of the sandbags shook as more and more rounds came their way. The Soviets were starting to regroup, a light machine gun, a PKM, was putting down fire. Bullets stitched a line along the top of the sandbags making it more difficult for the TA soldiers to respond.

Lieutenant Cox crashed down into the trench. “Corporal Barker, One-Section is about to be overrun. You and two men, with me. Let’s go.”

Without waiting for a response, the young lieutenant clambered out of the hole and ran towards One-Section’s position.

“Ripper, Miller, with me! Let’s go. Now!” yelled Barker as he too clambered out of the trench, his SLR held out in front of him. “Woody, enemy to our rear. We have it. Watch your front,” the section commander yelled to his second-in-command. He heard pounding boots behind him: Ripper and Miller were following.

He reached around behind him and pulled out his bayonet, fumbling slightly as he fixed it to his rifle. “Fix bayonets!”

Within another twenty strides, he was at the nearest edge of One-Section’s trench, partially obscured by smoke drifting across it from the bombs exploding to the rear, grenades thrown by the Soviets, and small arms fire.

A soldier, wearing a Soviet airborne smock, the blue and white striped T-shirt barely visible beneath, fired a burst of automatic fire into the trench, two rounds killing the lance corporal who was already wounded from grenade shrapnel.

Barker swung his SLR left and fired a round into the enemy. Struck in his right shoulder, the soldier was spun round, his AK flying from his hand. Before the paratrooper could recover, Barker had leapt across the width of the trench and thrust the steel bayonet into his guts with such force that the NCO almost lost his balance. Driven half mad by fear, anger and frustration, Barker was nearly pulled down on top of the Soviet as the man collapsed, but the Corporal quickly recovered. With a boot on the body, he withdrew the bayonet just as Ripper ran past firing round after round into three more airborne soldiers who had just appeared. To his left, he saw the Browning pistol jump in the lieutenant’s hand as he emptied a magazine into the advancing enemy soldiers. Suddenly, half a dozen soldiers came from the left: more reinforcements, led by Sergeant Fox, screaming, firing wildly into the paratroopers who fell back, many of them wounded or dying.

“Get the Gympy on line,” ordered Sergeant Fox.

He had brought the gun-group from One-Section, who was on the right flank of the platoon’s line, just in time. Within a matter of seconds, the Gympy was firing and, along with fire from SLRs, heavy fire was sent down range, decimating the dozen airborne soldiers that had been about to join their comrades in attacking the rear of One-Section, who were in turn responsible for protecting the platoon’s rear.

“Corporal Barker.”

“Sir.”

“Get your men back. We’ll hold here now.”

“Sir. Ripper, Miller. On me.”

The two men rejoined their section commander and sprinted back to their own trenches, and not a moment too soon. Fear crawled up Corporal Barker’s spine as the ominous silence of the Gympy boded ill. Kennedy lay dead in the bottom of the slit trench as Barnes, standing over him, threw a grenade into the midst of the Soviet airborne troops who were skirmishing towards them.

“Thank God, Corp, I thought we were fucked.”

“Go right,” Barker ordered Miller and Barnes as he made his way, with Ripper, along to the location of the gun-group.

“What the fuck, Woody?”

“Stoppage…” The working parts of Lance Corporal Wood’s SLR clattered in between each word as he maintained a steady rate of fire towards the enemy who seemed to be growing in strength as more and more paratroopers descended. “Jenks…”
clunk
“…is….”
clunk
“…sorting it…”
clunk
.

Corporal Barker also opened fire, as did the two soldiers manning the Milan firing post.

Brrrrrp…Brrrrrp…Br
. “Shit!” Jenkins cursed as the Gympy jammed for a second time.

“For fuck’s sake, get it sorted, Jenks. We’re dead men walking here.”

“Take it easy, Woody. Don’t panic him. He’ll sort it.”

Ripper, his lungs heaving, came alongside the two NCOs. “Look,” he said, pointing at another flight of aircraft flying low towards them. About 700 metres away, six large aircraft flew in formation, large packages being pulled out of the rear of the planes by a drogue chute. Once clear of the aircraft, the armoured vehicles, mounted on large wooden platforms, started to drop towards the ground, half a dozen smaller parachutes forming above them, in turn drawing out much larger parachutes, controlling the descent of the BMD MICVs as they were delivered to the troops waiting on the ground below.

“Oh Christ,” Barker groaned. “Your radio.”

Woody passed the handset across. “Hello, Whiskey-Two. This is Whiskey-Two-Two. Over.”

“Whiskey-Two…go ahead
.
”

“Whiskey-Two-Two. We have armour dropping to our front. Seven hundred metres approx. Over.”

There was a pause as Lieutenant Cox took in the information passed to him.
“Understood. We are secure here. Sitrep. Over
.”

“Whiskey-Two-Two. One dead and one wounded.”
Brrrrrp…. Brrrrrp.
“Problem with the Gympy, but up and running now.”

“Ammo?”

“Will get back to you on that, sir. Over.”

“Milan FP?”

“Secure, sir. Over.”

“Roger that. You and One-Section are secure. Three-Section down to four men, but holding. Soviets regrouping. Will likely attack from rear and front. Over
.”

“Understood, sir. We getting help? Over.”

“Yes, Whiskey-Two-Two. Help on way. Just hold firm. Out.”

Crump…crump…crump
.

Crump…crump…crump.

Barker saw the explosions 200 metres out to the front, then moving out to 800 metres, where it was hoped the salvos of mortar bombs would disrupt the enemy. The Soviet paratroopers would no doubt be preparing for a second assault.

He completed a quick check of his men and did an ammo count. They were low and would need a resupply pretty soon. Powell was out of the fight now. He must ask after him on his next comms call. His second-in-command, Lance Corporal ‘Woody’ Woods, and Jenkins were still in the fight, as was Barnes. Kennedy was dead, but Miller and ‘Ripper’ Reid were still fit and well. His radio operator, Blackie, a blacksmith in Civvy Street, a Geordie from the outskirts of Newcastle, was standing next to him. So, including himself, he had a section of seven men.

“Corp, look.” Blackie was pointing east in the direction of Hartum.

Barker swapped his SLR for binoculars and scanned the area out to his front. A shaky image flickered in his lens. Lodging his elbows on the edge of the sandbags, he focussed in on the moving target again. This time, an armoured vehicle shimmered into view.

“Stand to, stand to,” he warned his men. “Blackie, radio.”

He clicked the handset and transmitted. “Hello, Whiskey-Two, this is Whiskey-Two-Two. Movement 800 metres east of my location, enemy armour. Two, I repeat two Bravo Mike Deltas. Over.”

He turned to Reid. “Ripper, make sure the Milan team are ready.”

“Corporal.” With that, the soldier clambered out of the slit trench, bypassing the next two until he arrived at the Milan FP, passing on his section commander’s warning.

“Hello Whiskey-Two-Two, this is Whiskey-Two. Acknowledge your last. Keep me informed. With you in figures ten. Out
.”

Barker checked the horizon again. Out to their front was nothing but a patchwork of fields. Flat, open ground.
If only we had some bloody Chieftain tanks
, he thought. He checked the activity out there again, but they had not made any progress. However, he could now see at least four BMDs lining up for an attack.
Where will they strike?
He wondered.
Would they go for another part of the line?
Barker’s company, Whiskey Company, recruited from the area of Alnwick and Berwick-upon-Tweed, was defending Sudhemmern, blocking the L766 that ran through the village, running parallel with the Mittellandkanal to the south. 2nd Platoon of Whiskey Company was dug in north of the Village of Sudhemmern. X-Ray Company, made up of mainly Geordies from Newcastle and recruits from Hexham, had the defence of Nordhemmern, a kilometre north. They blocked the K-14. Yankee-Company held the crossroads at Holzhauser Damm, with Zulu Company, HQ and Support-Company positioned around Hille to the west as the Battalion’s reserve. The bulk of 15th Infantry Brigade was defending the River Weser. 2nd Battalion, the Yorkshire Volunteers, had been given a three-kilometre stretch north of Minden. German home defence units would defend the town itself. The 4th Battalion (Volunteers), the Parachute Regiment, would defend up as far as Petershagen. The 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Volunteers and the 7th Battalion, the Light Infantry were now the divisional reserve, resting in Lubecke and Rahden. The two battalions had taken a beating whilst defending the earlier stop-lines, quickly pushed back by a far more powerful force. They were functional, but badly mauled.

A sprinkling of stones and dirt clattered on the lengths of wood on the floor of the firing position, used to give the soldiers a solid footing while fighting. Lieutenant Cox’s boots weren’t far behind as he dropped alongside Corporal Barker, his platoon runner close behind him.

“Shit. You scared me then, sir.”

“Sorry, Corporal Barker, I was in a bit of a rush to get out of the open,” his platoon commander responded with a smile. “What’s happening out there?”

“I can see movement. At least half a dozen armoured vehicles, sir.”

“Radio.”

His runner passed over the handset.

“Whiskey-Two-Three, this is Whiskey-Two. Over.”

“This is Whiskey-Two-Three. Go ahead, sir. Over
.
”

“What can you see to your front? Over.”

“Same as Two-Two have been reporting, sir. BMDs. We think figures six. Over
.
”

“Roger that. Have your men stand to. They’ll be coming at us soon. Out to you. Hello Whiskey-Two-Alpha, this is Whiskey-Two. Over.”

“Whiskey-Two-Alpha. With Whiskey-Two-One sir. Over.” Sergeant Fox, the platoon sergeant responded.

“Stay with them. Elements of Whiskey-One at your location yet? Over.”

“Negative. But Three-Three-Alpha inform with us in three. Roger so far? Over.”

“Roger.”

“Resupply, your location figures five. Over.”

Cox turned to Corporal Barker. “The CSM will resupply us in five.” Then he spoke to Sergeant Fox again. “Acknowledged. Request a section from Whiskey-One on standby to reinforce us here. Over.”

“Wilco, sir.”

“Out to you. Hello Zero-Whiskey. This is Whiskey-Two, have sitrep. Over.” He turned towards his NCO. “Corporal Barker.”

“Sir?”

“Make sure your ammo is redistributed until resupply gets here.”

“Sir.”

“Oh, and make sure grenades are at hand. I think we’ll be needing them.”

“Sir.”

“Whiskey-Two. What have you got for me, Edward.”

“We have at least six Bravo Mike Deltas forming up to our front. Seven hundred metres out. Over.”

“You will have to hold, Edward. There has been a second airborne assault on Black-Diamond. They are prepping for a river crossing. Over.”

“Hell, sir, we have one Milan post. Isn’t there any more help?”

“No. I will use Whiskey-One to plug any gaps if they breach yours or Whiskey-Three’s locations. The battalion will deal with the airborne building up to our rear, but you have to hold the element to our front. Do you understand that, Edward? Over.”

Lieutenant Cox lowered his handset, watched as Corporal Barker weaved his way back, nodding his head to indicate that he had carried out his platoon commander’s orders.

“We’ll hold, sir.”

“I’ve just been informed that we have elements of the recce platoon. I’ll send you and Whiskey-Three one unit each and keep two in reserve. The mobile Milan section will also respond where needed, but they have a large area to cover.”

“Understood, sir. We’ll do it.”

“I know, Ed. Good luck. Out.”

“We getting help then, sir?” Asked Barker.

“No, Kevin, we’re not.”

Corporal Barker looked up at his platoon commander. He had a lot of respect for the man. A senior engineer with a medium-sized construction company, he had learnt the art of managing men of all types of character and differing levels of education. Unlike a regular army unit, the relationship between officer and the soldiers was on a different footing. They may have been under full military discipline whilst on drill weekends and training exercises, but once completed, the men or women would return to their day-to-day jobs. Kevin was a trainee engineer at a major hospital in Newcastle, so he and the lieutenant had often had debates about how the NHS could improve the mechanical side of their operation, particularly in the operation of coal and gas-fired boilers that provided the hospitals with heating, hot water and the sterilisation of surgical instruments.

“They’ll not get past us, sir.”

“We’ll see. We have a Fox armoured car joining us. When it turns up, guide them to the hedge line left of our position.”

“The intersection between us and Three-Platoon?”

“Yes, it’s our weakest point. Then get on to One-Section. I want yours and their Saxons brought up to the hedge line as well.”

“Use their Gympys?”

“And there’s extra ammo.”

“I’ll get onto it now then, sir.”

Cox turned to his runner. “Chase the CSM up on that resupply.”

“Sir.”

The lieutenant rested his elbows on the sandbags along the eastern edge of the firing position. It was quiet in the local area, although he was sure he could hear the occasional rumble of an engine as the Soviet BMDs got into position to make an assault on their location. He was sure there were more than the six that had been spotted. And now it seemed Soviet airborne were attacking the troops along the River Weser. That was no more than seven kilometres away. If the Soviets secured a bridgehead, and an armoured spearhead managed to cross the river, there wouldn’t be much of 2nd Division left in this area to stop them.