The Blue Effect (Cold War) Read online

  The Blue Effect

  Copyright Notice

  Published in 2014 by SilverWood Books

  SilverWood Books

  30 Queen Charlotte Street, Bristol, BS1 4HJ

  www.silverwoodbooks.co.uk

  Copyright © Harvey Black 2014

  The right of Harvey Black to be identified as the author of this work has been asserted by him in accordance with the Copyright,Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced,stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means,electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior permission of the copyright holder.

  This novel is a work of fiction. Names and characters are the product of the author’s imagination and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  ISBN 978-1-78132-221-5 (paperback)

  ISBN 978-1-78132-223-9 (ebook)

  Dedication

  Dedicated to my four children Elaine, Lee, Darren and Annabelle

  Gomfritz

  3rd Brigade/3rd US Armoured Division

  Schleswig Holstein

  Landjut Forces

  Stadthagen

  24th Brigade, 1 British Corps

  River Weser

  1 British Corps Counterattack

  The ‘Layer Cake’

  Deployment of NORTHAG and CENTAG forces

  Preface

  I hope you have enjoyed the first two novels in my Cold War series. As you are about to read The Blue Effect, I just wanted to take this opportunity to thank you for your support to date.

  It is never easy to write about an alternative history. People quite naturally have their own opinion of how events might pan out, and they may well be right. But, this is just my opinion of what may have happened. Also, reference material is not always available, or is contradictory. I have attempted to be as accurate as possible, but in order to focus on writing and not getting bogged down in endless research, I have occasionally used my prerogative, as an author, to determine the direction of the story.

  I have set out with the intention of entertaining my readers with a fast flowing, exciting read and I believe I have achieved that. I have added extra maps to support The Blue Effect, but should you like to have access to further maps, then please drop me a line at [email protected] and I will endeavour to include them on my site at harveyblackauthor.org.

  Chapter 1

  1900, 8 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM ALPHA/2ND BATTALION ROYAL GREEN JACKETS BATTLE GROUP, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF COPPENBRUGGE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT +15 HOURS

  Lieutenant Dean Russell ducked, tucking his head down deep inside the foxhole as another explosion boomed nearby, causing the ground to quake and showering him with clods of earth. He peered again over the top, seeing a Chieftain tank explode, an anti-tank missile rupturing the engine deck and sheering off the rear drive-sprocket. Another anti-tank missile, fired by a second Hind-D, struck the opposite rear side, propelling the armoured giant’s back end sideways, until it eventually came to a stop. The commander’s hatch flew open, smoke pouring from the turret and fighting compartment of the stricken tank, and the commander clambered out, his lower uniform tattered and smouldering. Sparks festooned the turret, and the tank commander flopped forward, his body jerking as if on puppet strings as round after round, fired by a deadly attack-helicopter, pierced his body.

  The driver was next to attempt to escape the inferno boiling up inside. Initially, he had been relatively safe due to his position furthest away from the two deadly strikes, but it was a race against time before the Chieftain brewed up. He lifted himself up with his arms, threw his legs over onto the glacis and slid down, his headphones ripped off his head, taking his beret with it, the cable still connected inside. Dean watched as the driver dropped down from the tank and started to run towards the British lines, the run turning into a sprint, throwing his legs forward, pushing himself, arms pumping, fear and panic driving him faster and faster. Three hundred metres was a long way to run at that speed, and the soldier quickly tired.

  Dean started to chant inside his head, the chant slowly becoming audible: “Run…run…run.”

  The soldier started to stagger. Looking back over his shoulder, his eyes went wide with fear as flames shot up from what was once his home from home. A BMP-2 caught up with him, gunfire from the coaxial machine gun bracketing the fleeing driver with a swathe of fire. He flung his arms upwards, high into the air, bullets piercing his fragile body as the force of the blows hurled him forward, he was dead before he hit the ground. The BMP-2 heaved as a HESH round forced a scab of skin to break off inside the troop compartment, hot fragments puncturing the soft flesh of the Soviet infantrymen inside. A second strike, this time a sabot round, struck the now angled mechanised infantry combat vehicle with such force that it flipped it over onto its turret top. None of the crew would leave the now blazing vehicle.

  One of the Hind-Ds was also ripped apart as a missile, fired from a Tracked Rapier brought to Coppenbrugge to support the fleeing NATO forces, scored a direct hit. The assault helicopter plummeted to the ground, crashing in front of a T-80, causing the tank to swerve sideways, a 14/20th King’s Hussars’ Chieftain taking advantage of the now exposed vulnerable side of the tank, and a sabot round punching a hole right through it.

  The left side of Dean’s face suddenly felt hot as a Chieftain tank from Alpha Troop, 14/20th King’s Hussars, brewed up, hit simultaneously by two AT-5 Spandrel missiles fired from Soviet BMP-2s. He quickly put his hand up to his cheek, his neoprene NBC gloves partially protecting him from the fierce heat as the main battle tank was engulfed in flames. One of the crew could be heard screaming above the noise of the battle as he unsuccessfully attempted to escape the inferno inside.

  Dean dropped to the floor of his hole again as the tank, the ammunition inside ignited by the heat, rocked again and again as a tumult of explosions took it through its final death throes. Between the cracks and thuds of exploding ordnance, firecracker-like sounds could be heard as the 7.62mm ammunition for the coaxial machine gun also succumbed.

  Back up again, Dean held his SLR at the ready, two sharp cracks of gunfire in his right ear indicating that Colour Sergeant Rose was firing his SLR, hitting back. He too pulled his rifle into his shoulder and fired two shots at a Soviet airborne soldier advancing at less than 200 metres away. Both shots missed.

  1900, 8 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM BRAVO 14/20TH KING’S HUSSARS BATTLE GROUP, 22ND ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF COPPENBRUGGE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT +15 HOURS

  The Soviet soldier retained his life for a mere three seconds longer before a British Chieftain tank ran him down. This one was powering back in reverse, the commander choosing the superior protection of the front glacis and turret rather than exposing the rear of his tank to the enemy, just to gain greater speed. The tank crashed through a shallow berm that had once been protecting an infantry position. Its tracks tore up the ground, collapsing what had once been a rapidly dug foxhole, the dead soldier still within not caring. Once inside the British forward line that stretched from the high ground of Nesselberg in the north to Hohenstein in the south, with Coppenbrugge in the centre, the driver of Two-Two-Alpha, Bravo Troop, 14/20th King’s Hussars, spun the Chieftain slightly on the spot, ensuring they were lined up with the enemy. The barrel jerked as a sabot round left it, its deadly charge striking a BMD, the penetrator rod perforating the vehicle’s turret and knocking it out instantly.

  Maverick anti-tank missiles struck two T-80s. A glowing orange mass, intermingled with white-hot gases and black fumes, engulfed the two machines, destr
oying them both, killing all inside. Then the pair of Harrier Jump Jets banked left, then right, to fly out of the danger area, swing round and come back in for a second attack.

  “Zero-Bravo, Two-Two-Alpha. In position. Over.”

  “Roger that. One-One and Three-Three moving now,” answered the Squadron Commander.

  Alex peered through the vision blocks, turning the cupola, trying to make some sense of the chaos out there. Three-Three-Bravo and Three-Three-Charlie shot past. Charlie Troop would get into a position where they could cover Alpha and Bravo Troop for when it was their turn to pull back – if you could call the single tank, One-One-Alpha, a troop. One-One-Bravo had just been destroyed and One-One-Charlie moments earlier.

  Alex observed a platoon of three BMP-2s. Their senior commanders, noticing a potential opening, had ordered them forward to break the British line, at whatever cost.

  “BMP-2, 500 metres, left, sabot,” Alex screamed.

  Ellis, his arms aching, his head banging, went through the motions, robot-like: sabot, bag-charge, breech, small charge, gate. “Up!”

  Patsy fired, stopping the BMP-2 dead. A second MICV flared up violently as a Milan missile blew the turret completely off the main body. Two more Maverick missiles hit home, but one failed to kill its target. Only one of the Harriers banked left this time to return to its base to refuel and rearm, the second aircraft in the flight having flown directly into a hail of fire from two ZSU 23-4s.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Mechanised infantry units withdrawing. Cover for figures five. No longer. Figures five. Understood?”

  “Roger that. Who do I have for company? Over.”

  “One-One-Alpha and Two-Two-Charlie. Pass through Three-Three. Out.”

  Three tanks. That’s all he had: three tanks to hold back an entire Soviet tank regiment and an airborne force bent on revenge. But, he knew they would have to commit to staying the full five minutes if the infantry were to get out of this maelstrom alive. The breech of the 120mm main gun slammed back again, Patsy identifying his own targets. Alex checked through the rear vision blocks. He could see the two tanks of Charlie Troop, about 200 metres further back, getting into position. He also spotted a dip in the ground.

  “Two-Two-Charlie. We’re moving back fifty. We hold for figures five. Over.” He ordered the second tank in his troop.

  “Roger, we’ll over-watch.”

  “Mackinson. Take us back fifty metres. There’s a dip in the ground. It will give us some cover.”

  “Sir.”

  The engine groaned slightly before increasing power, and the driver reversed the vehicle, guided by his troop commander, until they dropped slightly, now with a shallow ridge across their front providing some additional cover.

  “Two-Two-Charlie. We’re in a good defilade position. Move now.”

  “Roger.”

  “Get ready to bug out quickly, Mackinson. What can you see, Patsy?”

  “Just fucking dust, sir. Bastards will sneak up on us.” Responded Corporal Patterson.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. You have company. Alpha Squadron to your left and Charlie Squadron to your right. Standby to move while they cover.”

  “Roger.”

  Thank god, thought Alex. The remnants of Alpha and Charlie Squadrons, with only fourteen tanks between them, had managed to extract themselves from the melee and pull back. A forward line was slowly forming. If they could get into some decent cover, they could hit back; perhaps hold the Soviets off until darkness covered the area and restricted their massed tank attacks.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Pull back, pull back. Alpha and Charlie covering.”

  “Location? Over.”

  “November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four.”

  “Roger. Who’s with me? Over.”

  “You plus Three-Three. Over.”

  “Roger that. Moving now.”

  “We’ll meet you there. We will cover you until then. Then we can get the hell out of here. Zero-Bravo out.”

  “Two-Two-Charlie, Two-Two-Alpha.”

  “Go ahead. Over.”

  “Go to grid, November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four. I repeat, November Charlie three, two, five, eight, one, four. Pull back beyond Alpha and Charlie, then flat out and we’ll see you there.”

  “What about you? Over.”

  “We’ll cover for figures one. Then we’ll be right behind you. Out.”

  Alex grabbed the map and did a quick calculation of the approximate area east of Bad Munder. He warned Mackinson to be prepared to move; then he turned the cupola, sussing out the activity to his front. The tank rocked as Patsy fired another sabot round, a BMP-2 suffering the same fate as the last. Alex’s head shot back, his bone dome striking the rear of the cupola as he recoiled back from a now chipped and clouded vision block. Round after round pummelled the Chieftain as a Hind-D fired short bursts of 12.7mm rounds at its target.

  Thump, thump, thump. Clang…clang. The turret and fighting compartment resonated as round after round battered the Chieftain’s armour. The attack-helicopter had used up its stock of anti-tank missiles, but the pilot was determined to keep the pressure on, pushing the enemy back.

  “Back! Back!” yelled Alex.

  The tank jolted, the roar of the engine mingling with the heavy-calibre bullet strikes. A tremor racked the tank as Mackey depressed the accelerator and the battle tank surged rearwards, clawing its way back, the tracks gripping the earth and laying a metal carpet for the giant to escape over. Alex peered through one of the clear vision blocks, observing plumes of smoke and dust as their own artillery had finally managed to relocate and put down a short bombardment before they too were forced to move again, escaping any Soviet counter-battery fire. The fighting compartment juddered and the tracks ceased moving, the diesel engine coughing into silence.

  “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” hollered Mackinson as he desperately tried to restart the engine that had now left them stranded and vulnerable. The Hind had left but, once the British artillery barrage petered out, the enemy would push west even harder, leaving Two-Two-Alpha high and dry. The engine spluttered, hesitated, and then burst into life only to cut out again.

  “For fuck’s sake, Mackey, get it sorted. We’re in the shit here,” screamed Ellis, the Loader.

  The engine caught again as the driver played with the starting motor and accelerator pedal. A sudden roar was followed by an unwelcome squeal from the L-60 diesel engine, and the Chieftain jolted backwards, steadily gaining momentum but achieving little more than ten kilometres an hour.

  “Well done, Mackinson. Is that all we have?”

  “Yes, sir. If I change gear again, I’m worried she’ll give up the ghost.”

  Alex squinted through the rear vision blocks. “OK. Just keep it moving. Corporal Patterson, how are we for ammo?”

  “OK with HESH, sir, but seven sabot.”

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Bravo. Pull back, pull back, now. Acknowledge. Over.”

  “Two-Two-Alpha. Received. Engine playing up. Over.”

  “Roger that. We’ll direct you to a safe location. Just get out of there. We’ll cover.”

  “Roger. Out.” Alex keyed the internal comms. “Mackinson, will we be able to spin and go forward?”

  “Tricky, sir, but I can try.”

  Alex did a quick scan of the area: no immediate threats were spotted. British gunners were putting down more artillery fire, making it difficult for the Soviets to go in pursuit of the two battered Battle Groups.

  1910, 8 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM ALPHA/2ND BATTALION ROYAL GREEN JACKETS BATTLE GROUP, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. AREA OF COPPENBRUGGE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT +15 HOURS

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero-Alpha. Start pulling back to the high ground now; then head west to Behrensen. Acknowledge. Over,” radioed the Company Commander.

  Dean had to shout into the mouthpiece, such was the noise erupting all around him. “Two-Two-Alpha. Received and understood. Over.”

  “Ar
moured units will cover your withdrawal. Make it quick, Dean. Alpha will consolidate there. Out.”

  Dean held up two digits to Colour Sergeant Rose who nodded his understanding. He knew the order to pull back was due. They couldn’t hold out here for much longer. Casualties were stacking up, and the losses of Chieftains had been steadily climbing.

  Dean keyed his handset and notified all his units that they would be withdrawing in two minutes. The mortar section was still going strong. It had miraculously survived a counter-battery strike, having moved location two minutes prior to the salvo of 122mm shells landing on their old firing base. Dean ordered them to fire a salvo of 82mm bombs for the full two minutes before they too would race to their next location northwest of Coppenbrugge. He knew it wouldn’t be long before they were outflanked. The Soviet airborne, tasked with pushing the British units back, had headed for the high ground on both sides of Coppenbrugge so they could make headway and come in behind the Royal Green Jackets (RGJ) and 14/20th King’s Hussars situated in the valley.

  It was falling apart.

  With the enemy across the River Leine to the north, 22nd Armoured Brigade, positioned further south, had been hit on their left flank. After the remnants of the 62nd Guards Tank Regiment and the Independent Tank Regiment, had crossed the River Leine south of Hanover, they had smashed into the flanks of the Royal Green Jackets. Taking advantage, two of the Soviet airborne battalions fighting around Gronau had pressed the three 14/20th King’s Hussars’ combat teams west of the River Leine. One airborne battalion had attacked from the south, moving deep into Gronau, nearly cutting off Bravo Troop and the supporting units who were still on the eastern bank. A second airborne battalion thrust south, to help close the trap. The British units had raced across the first of the Gronau bridges, the engineers destroying it as the tracks of Lieutenant Alex Wesley-Jones’s Chieftain, the last British unit to cross, had barely touched the opposite bank. A small engineer unit, supported by a mixed force consisting of drivers from the Royal Corps of Transport, signallers and a small detachment of Royal Military Police, held the second bridge as Alex and his small force raced to get off the small island that sat between the two bridges.