The Blue Effect (Cold War) Read online

  “You were too soft with him, Comrade General,” alleged Colonel Yolkin.

  The general shrugged his thickset shoulders and pointed a finger in the political officer’s direction. “I have a suggestion, Comrade Colonel. Why don’t you lead the airborne element behind the enemy’s defences? You can lead the way and show us soldiers how it should really be done.”

  Colonel Usatov turned away so he could hide the smile that was breaking out.

  “That will be all, Comrade Colonel.”

  The political officer shuffled out of the room, seething with anger inside, but not strong enough to challenge the Bear. Not yet, anyway.

  “You need to step carefully with him, Comrade General.”

  The Bear waved a hand dismissively. “It will take someone bigger than him to frighten me.”

  “They say he has friends on high.”

  “Let’s just focus on the war, shall we, Pyotr?”

  “I see it has been agreed to bring elements of the 10th Division forward.”

  “Yes, I know Major-General Abramov well. He has volunteered his men to continue fighting.”

  “But once we’re across the Weser and push the enemy either north or south, 20th Guards Army will do the rest.”

  The Bear pulled up a chair, sat down, pulled out a flask of vodka, and held it up. “Join me?”

  “Of course,” Pyotr responded, smiling. “Rather use your supplies than mine.” The colonel picked up two shot glasses from one of the tables and brought them over. The Bear filled them up and they both drank the first one in silence.

  “The 20th have been getting a hammering from the air. The bloody Americans have been getting in some deep strikes. The British Tornados are no better.”

  “Agreed, Comrade General, but they’re easily at eighty per cent strength, if not more.”

  “I think our political masters are a little worried, my friend,” the Bear whispered. “We have the East German and Polish armies playing a big role. Should they falter…having the 10th close by is just a little bit of insurance, I suspect.”

  The general refilled their glasses.

  “They’re also going to compete for our supplies. We’ve already had to give the Motor Rifle Regiment ammunition from the other regiments in the division.”

  “If Akim had broken through their lines by now, he wouldn’t need any more!” Growled the Bear.

  “Still, resupply is slowing down. The supply trucks are starting to break down in ever-greater numbers, and the spares for them just aren’t available. Bring what’s left of the 10th forward? Not only is there not enough room, making some great targets for the NATO bombers and artillery, but also they will need feeding. The distance from the Motherland gets ever longer.”

  “Now it is you that needs to tread carefully, my friend. Don’t speak so openly when the rat is around. Eh?”

  “Yes, yes, I know. Now, fill that up again if you please, Comrade General.”

  1500, 9 JULY 1984. AVIATION-COMPANY, 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL REGIMENT OF FUSILIERS, 24TH AIRMOBILE BRIGADE. WEST OF LINDHORST, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

  A freshly armed Mark-7 Lynx, hovering just behind the line of troops below, dropped down, moved left for 200 metres, and then popped back up again. The pilot had been back to the FARB to rearm and refuel and was now ready to give his support during the next attack. A Gazelle was conducting a reconnaissance further forward, trying to suss out the enemy’s next intentions. As soon as the Gazelle pilot reported, he would take his Lynx further back and wait until needed.

  Lieutenant Oliver Thorpe went from position to position, checking on his men. A-Company had to defend the line from Ludersfeld to the Mittellandkanal in the north. His platoon, Second-Platoon, would defend the centre of the Company’s position. The entire road they were on was an avenue of trees, scattered with houses, some of which they occupied, not as defensive positions, but for observation purposes only. He had however moved one of the GPMGs onto the second floor of one of the houses, and was glad that he did. Once the Soviet troops had dismounted from their BMP-2s, the machine gun had caused havoc. Sergeant Cohen’s suggestion that the gun-group change positions frequently, leaving stocks of ammunition in two other buildings, had also paid off. The men had been out of one particular house for only a couple of seconds when a Hind-D helicopter literally tore it apart with four of its S-5 rockets. They had held off the Soviet attack, but at a cost of one man dead and three wounded. When the Soviets attacked again, and he had been assured that they would, he was not sure they could keep the enemy at bay.

  First-Platoon, deployed close to the canal by Niedernholz had been hit particularly hard. The Soviet troops had attacked in force, hoping to pry the canal away from the defending soldiers, allowing them to push their BMPs through and roll up the flank of the company. It was only because of the machine-gun section that had been deployed with them that they had been able to hold their position. The enemy paid a heavy price: three extra general-purpose machine guns, in the sustained-fire role, had been able to put down an overwhelming wall of fire. Soviet airborne troops, pushed into the attack by the 12th Guards Tank Division’s commander, had lost over thirty men, killed or injured. Third-Platoon, defending Ludersfeld itself had got off lightly with two wounded men. One-Platoon, though, was down to seventy-five per cent of its strength, losing six men. The MG section was filling the gaps.

  With his radio operator, Pritchard, and his runner, Barnes, behind him, Oliver made his way to the position, which held one of his three Milan anti-tank posts. Slinging his SLR over his shoulder, he dropped down into the firing position.

  “Sir.”

  “See any movement?”

  “No, sir,” responded Corporal Gleeson. “We gave em a bit of a hiding, didn’t we, sir?”

  “We did that, Corporal. But they’ll be back, so keep your men keen.”

  “The lads from Three-Queen’s were in shit state, sir, and the TA lads didn’t look any better.”

  “They’ve been fighting for a couple of days, Corporal. Most of 1st Armoured have been on the run since yesterday, in a fighting retreat. So, it’s our turn now.”

  “Sir.”

  “Let’s go.”

  All three clambered out of the position and moved back then north along the trees that lined the road, before going forward again to find the next firing position. The commander of Two-Section, Corporal Prentice, manned this.

  “Any news, sir?”

  “Nothing yet. But they’re going to hit us hard. I want you to take your half-section to our fallback position, but leave your gun-group here.”

  “Still taking both Milan posts?”

  The lieutenant thought for a moment before answering. “Yes, I think it will be the Gympy’s that will be needed.”

  “When shall I move, sir?”

  “Five minutes, make it five minutes. I’ll be sending Sarn’t Cohen back with you. We’ll need you to cover us when we pull back, or they’ll be all over us.”

  “Sir, incoming message,” informed Partridge.

  “Alpha-Two, this is Zero-Alpha. There is movement to your front. Watch out for returning air asset. Over.”

  “Roger that, sir. Moving elements of Alpha-Two-Two to Black-Jack-Two now. Over.”

  “Good move, Alpha-Two. They’re going to hit us hard again. On the order ‘Black-Jack fold’, move the rest of your unit. Over.”

  “Wilco, sir.”

  “Good luck, Oliver. Out.”

  Oliver, along with his two shadows, moved further along the line, joining the second-in-command of Two-Section.

  Lance Corporal Jeffries greeted his platoon commander. “Just heard from Two-Two, sir. They’re in the Land Rover and on the way.”

  “Good. Is Sarn’t Cohen with them?”

  “Yes, sir. He said he’d radio in once in position.”

  “Right, you’re down to just the gun-group, Corporal Jeffries, and one Milan, so watch yourselves.”

  “We likely to fall bac
k pretty soon then, sir?”

  “Wait one. Barnes.”

  “Sir.”

  “Get two men from Three-Section. I want them here.”

  “Will do, sir.” Lieutenant Thorpe’s runner left the firing-position and ran, at a crouch, back into the treeline before heading to find Three-Section.

  “We’ll wait for the order before we do, but I would expect it to be soon after the next attack.”

  “The OC, sir,” informed Pritchard passing him the handset.

  “Alpha-Two, go ahead. Over.”

  “Air-recce reporting movement, Oliver, so make sure your men are ready.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Zero-Alpha, out.”

  Two soldiers crashed down next to their platoon commander. “Where do you want us, sir?”

  “Right of the Gympy, Two-Two-Alpha’s old position. You join them, Barnes.”

  The three soldiers moved along the line and jumped into the vacated firing position previously occupied by the other half of Two-Section.

  “Sir, radio.”

  Oliver took the handset from Pritchard again.

  “Alpha-Two, this is Two-One-Alpha. Over.”

  “Alpha-Two. Go ahead.”

  The Observation Post, two men from One-Section he had earlier ordered to set up in the second storey of a house, reported in. “We have movement, sir. Not sure, but it looks like an armoured unit, bit like one of our AVLBs. Over.”

  “What’s their location? Over.”

  “Two hundred metres west of the 445. Over.”

  “Roger that. As soon as it kicks off, you two get out of there. Out to you. Hello Zero-Alpha, this is Alpha-Two. Over.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “Definite movement Grid One-Seven-Eight-Zero-Three-Zero, probable MT-55.”

  A Gazelle helicopter sped overhead, drowning out the response from the Company OC.

  “Zero-Alpha, say again. Over.”

  “Airborne recce has reported half a dozen TMMs. They’ll be crossing the Ziegenbach at multiple locations. Over.”

  “Understood. Out.”

  Thud, thud, thud…thud, thud, thud.

  “Smoke,” yelled Jeffries.

  All along the western bank of the Ziegenbach, clouds of smoke mushroomed, concealing the area from the British troops.

  “Stand to! Stand to! Gas! Gas! Gas!” bellowed Lieutenant Thorpe, peeling his helmet off and exchanging it for his respirator. Hood of his NBC smock pulled over, helmet back on, he pressed down into the trench. He compressed his body as close to the floor of the trench as he was able, clutching his SLR to his chest. He knew what was coming next. And it arrived five seconds later.

  The Bear had kept his promise. Over 1,000, 122mm rockets from 3rd Shock Army’s BM-21 Brigade pounded the British lines from the canal north of Niedernholz to south of Ludersfeld. Lieutenant Thorpe felt thick clumps of earth hammering down onto his head and shoulders, and he had to clear it away from his face if he was to continuing breathing through his claustrophobic mask. The noise was incessant, thump after thump, the ground shaking with the violence of the bombardment.

  To the rear of the main force of the RRF troops, four Elbrus surface-to-surface missiles (SSMs), from 12th Guards Tank Division’s SCUD-B missile battalion, struck with deadly force. Preceded by a number of salvos from the divisional artillery group, the thickened VX nerve agent, odourless and tasteless, dispersed by the SSMs, carried out its deadly undertaking. Sergeant Cohen, and the section sent to act as a covering force for the rest of the platoon when it withdrew, were caught unawares prioritising the search for cover rather than NBC protection, paid the price in full. Sergeant Cohen was already slipping into a coma while other members of the section were in various stages, some with chests tightening and losing muscle control, others vomiting and defecating uncontrollably as they edged closer to death. Corporal Prentice, disorientated, his body suffering from myoclonic jerks, had crawled out of his trench only to be killed by a further salvo of 122mm shells.

  Lieutenant Thorpe, forcing his body even lower as the Soviet Divisional Artillery Group switched its attention to the forward line of troops, wasn’t to know that more of his men were dying behind him. Masonry clanged off his helmet as the last of the standing houses was demolished, and he prayed that the OP had made it to cover in time. He desperately needed to know the status of his small force, but the din was deafening and his head was pounded constantly by shock wave after shock wave as the Soviets maintained the pressure. Inside, he was worried. Worried for his men, but also worried how close the enemy were. He could hear the occasional whine of shells passing overhead, fired by his own supporting artillery, making life difficult for the motor rifle troops crossing the water to his east. As for his men, the one Milan FP left with them, had been completely destroyed. The OP team had made it back to their positions but their foxhole, with them in it, had been wiped out by a direct hit from a 152mm shell. Three-Section had been all but decimated. Of the gun-group, the gunner and assistant gunner were dead, and the rifle-group had one dead and two wounded, one of which was the young second-in-command, promoted to second-in-command only four weeks before the start of the war.

  The firing stopped. Thorpe’s ears hummed, and it took him a few moments to gather his thoughts.

  “Stand to! Stand to!” he shouted as he lifted his head above the parapet, the sound muffled through his respirator. He rubbed off the coating of earth and dust and checked the detector-paper patches on his NBC suit: they were clear. He removed his mask.

  “Sir! HQ,” called his signaller.

  He held the handset close to his mouth and ear. “Alpha-Two. Go ahead. Over.”

  “Zero-Alpha. Chemical attack to rear positions. Maintain NBC state. Out.”

  Oliver checked the patches again, they were clear. Either the droplets had missed him or they had escaped a chemical attack.

  Brrrrp…Brrrrp…Brrrrp.

  The Gympy was firing. He quickly got his bearings, glad that at least some of his platoon was on the ball.

  “Target!” he yelled across to the next trench.

  Lance Corporal Jeffries, standing to his right, opened up with his SLR. “Enemy on foot, west of the 445 road, 300 metres, junction water feature.”

  Oliver quickly focussed in on the area, trying to make out the enemy through the spewing debris and soil as the last of the British artillery salvo fell on his adversary. He heard the Gympy gunner bellow at the top of his voice, making himself heard through his rubber mask: “Armour, BMP, 11 o’clock, 300 metres.”

  He switched his view, hoping to God a Milan post had survived somewhere and the crew were switched-on.

  He saw the streak as the Milan missile sped towards the BMP-2, now weaving from side to side after it had crossed one of the TMM bridges. But it was to no avail as the high-explosive anti-tank (HEAT) round met the armoured vehicle head-on, lifting the turret from the body of the BMP, then toppling sideways as the vehicle careered to a halt. At least two Soviet soldiers made it out of the back, but they were soon gunned down as the rate of fire from the recovering British soldiers increased.

  But it wasn’t his Milan that fired.

  Between the front line and the second line that were still recovering from the devastating chemical attack, the fifteen men of the mortar-section from the battalion’s Fire-Support Company quickly got into action. One of three mortar sections from the mortar platoon, they went into their well-rehearsed steps, firing rounds directed by the forward observers and the Mortar Fire Controller. It wasn’t much in the scheme of things, but it was their own organic artillery support over which the Battalion and, in this case, the Aviation Company had direct control. Bombs left the three tubes one every four seconds, members of the team acquiring more bombs from the ‘Greenies’, twin plastic containers holding additional rounds. After ten rounds, they switched targets and fired ten more, but then it was time to move. The Soviets also had mortar-locating radar and would soon home in on the small unit.

&nbs
p; While they loaded the base plates, tubes and sights onto two Land Rovers and trailers enabling them to move and set up elsewhere on the battlefield, another section would take up the fight, providing a continuous, devastating bombardment on top of the enemy. The Company’s own mortar section was also pounding the enemy in front of A-Company’s lines with high-explosive bombs.

  Lieutenant Thorpe checked in with his platoon by radio, ordering fire-missions as he thought fit and at times leaving the decision to his NCOs who were performing well. He scanned the area out to his front, the wide-open fields now being torn apart by mortar bombs. The Milan firing posts, along the entire Company front, were hitting the enemy armour as it attempted to cross the open ground. A killing ground. The water feature to their front, no more than 300 metres away, was a mere couple of metres across and was proving to be no obstacle to the enemy. He looked on, frightened as an ever bigger force made its way onto the other side of the water, and BMP-2 mechanised infantry combat vehicles, carrying Soviet infantry inside, got ever closer. A Milan missile destroyed another BMP, lifting it off the ground, immobilising it. The Milan team shifted position before the Soviet mortars could home in on them.

  Oliver ducked his head down as his position was showered with debris, a salvo of 120mm mortar bombs fired by a Soviet Company’s mortar platoon, straddled the line. Artillery was deadly but, unless there was a direct hit, well dug-in soldiers could survive. Mortar bombs, lobbed from the enemy side of the battlefield, could drop straight onto a position and could prove crippling for the defending troops even if they were dug in.

  More BMPs headed towards Thorpe and his men. One was stopped in its tracks by one of the surviving L9 bar-mines, the two lines of anti-tank mines laid earlier, lethal for the enemy armour. A burning T-80, with a mine plough attachment, was testament to Soviets last failed attempt to breach the minefield. Although some of the mines had been detonated by a carpet of artillery rockets and shells targeting them, some had still survived.

  But the Soviets were better prepared this time. Two UR-77s had been quickly brought to the eastern bank of the water feature, emitting clouds of white smoke as a rocket was blasted from each of the twin launch ramps. The two rockets rose at an angle into the air, a twin high-explosive hose trailing behind it before slowly descending, the rocket bouncing along the ground towards Lieutenant Thorpe’s position before coming to a halt no more than 150 metres away. The second one landed off to the left. The hoses detonated, erupting along a ninety-metre length, a cloud of dust obscuring parts of the battlefield as it cleared a path six metres wide through the minefield. Another rocket was launched from each UR-77 and the process was repeated. The Soviet motor rifle regiment to their front now had four clear paths directly towards the defending British soldiers. They took advantage of it quickly before the British came to terms with it.