The Blue Effect (Cold War) Page 14

  Colonel Yermakov was determined not to fail. Even if his divisional commander didn’t take action as a consequence of further failure, he knew that bastard of a political officer would see him relieved of his command and shot for cowardice. His plan was simple: committing a fresh battalion, one motor rifle company would attack left and one would attack right. They still had nearly sixteen BMPs between them. The weaker company, with only six of their armoured vehicles left, was already pouring through the two central gaps created in the British minefield. They were the bait. They would draw the sting from the British Milan’s while, behind them, two companies from his tank battalion, now down to fourteen T-80s, would plough straight through the British lines then head southwest. The chemical attack on the troops to the rear had used a ‘persistent nerve agent’, making the British left-flank next to the canal difficult to defend. Once south of Lauenhagen, Yermakov’s tanks would turn west where, joined by the remaining tank company, they were ordered not to stop until they reached north of Stadthagen. His third tank company, the strongest with eight tanks, would, once past Stadthagen, head north and cut off any British troops late in pulling back. His second motor rifle battalion had already received its orders to form up and follow immediately behind the advance force. He was confident they would swamp the British defences. He gave the final order and the Air Assault Company was on its way.

  Clouds of smoke billowed up along the front of the British positions, hiding the Soviet armour as it crossed through the minefields. The menacing shapes suddenly appeared through the swirling smoke, and two of the Company’s Milan teams were quick to respond, hitting both of the lead BMPs, those following having to veer round their stricken comrades.

  “Tanks, tanks, sir!” yelled Pritchard.

  Coming out of the smoke, two T-80s followed the last of the BMP-2s. There were now two Soviet motor rifle companies flanking left and right and main battle tanks followed BMP-2s coming straight towards Oliver’s position, less than 200 metres away.

  They heard the helicopters to the north, but couldn’t see them. Oliver was sure they didn’t belong to the Army Air Corps.

  “Alpha-One and Alpha-Three, this is Zero-Alpha. Pull back, pull back. All your call signs pull back. Out to you. Hello Alpha-Two. Over.”

  The tank was 100 metres from Oliver’s position and panic was welling up inside. What the hell are the Milan’s doing? He screamed inside. Out of the five Milan FPs left with the company, two had been destroyed, one had run out of ammunition, one was on the move, and the fifth one was facing two BMP-2s heading straight for it.

  The T-80, less than fifty metres away and spraying the trench with machine-gun fire, suddenly erupted into an inferno as the TOW missile, fired by one of the four Lynx helicopters sent in to cover the withdrawal, slammed into it. Not even its ERA blocks could save it from total destruction. Its sister tank, twenty metres north, met with the same fate as two TOW missiles delivered their justice. The first one, deflected by an ERA block doing its job, only managed to damage some of the optics; the second TOW missile ploughed into the front right track, derailing it, forcing the tank to a halt.

  “Hello, Alpha-Two. What is your status? Over.”

  “Alpha-Two. Under heavy attack. BMPs and tanks are on our line. Over.”

  “Understood. You have a heli-assault to your north. You must hold for five, Oliver. Over.”

  “I doubt I have ten men left, sir!”

  “Alpha One and Three are pulling back behind you. Give them a chance to set up midway and you can pull back through them.”

  “Wilco. Alpha-Two out.”

  “Are we pulling back, sir?”

  “Not yet, Corporal. Pritchard, I want an update from the sections and tell them to prepare to move in four.”

  “Our fallback positions will stop them, sir?”

  “Let’s hope so. Well?” He acknowledged his signaller who was trying to gain his attention.

  “One-Section down to five, sir, and Three-Section is not responding.”

  Oliver turned to Lance Corporal Jeffries as another Soviet tank poked its nose close to their position, another two TOW missiles saving the day. However, this was at a price as a Soviet SA-13 surface-to-air missile blasted one of the Lynx helicopters out of the air as it was shifting position.

  “Two minutes and you pull back.”

  Brrrrrp, brrrrp, brrrrp. The Gympy kept on firing as Soviet troops, leaving their damaged vehicles, attempted to get closer to the British lines.

  “You know the route. Meet up with One-Section, and I’ll bring Three-Section with me. Got it?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Minute and a half. Partridge, Barnes, with me.”

  He clambered out of the partly filled trench, his rubber gloves making it difficult to grip onto anything. With his SLR gripped by the carrying handle, he sprinted into the trees, moved south and past a pile of rubble that had once been a house.

  They came across the first firing position belonging to Three-Section. It couldn’t really be classed as a firing position. It was more like a conglomeration of craters. Continuing south, twenty metres away, what was once the gun-group was now a churned up mess of body parts and bits of wood and metal from the soldiers’ GPMG and personal weapons. They eventually found the remnants of the section behind the rubble of a house next door. Two soldiers, one of them the section commander, were firing in the direction of the enemy. A third soldier was patching up a badly wounded colleague, the man’s uniform covered in dark patches where blood had run freely from multiple wounds.

  “Corporal Fletcher, I’ve been trying to contact you.”

  “Radio’s knackered, sir,” came the muffled response.

  Oliver checked his watch. “We’re pulling out. You and I will cover. Higgs and Franklin can carry Cliff. Pritchard, Barnes, take point. Let’s go.”

  They were finally abandoning the line. What was left of his platoon would have to move quickly on foot with whatever equipment they could carry to the second defensive line. As they moved off, the mortar units supporting the battalion launched their last salvo, mixing the bombs with smoke and high explosive. The three Lynx helicopters were hovering just above tree height, conscious that ZSU-23/4s would soon be brought forward to swat them out of the sky. To a man, the Lynx pilots and crew feared the Shilka the most.

  Lieutenant Thorpe took his men southwest, following a farmer’s track that led through the fields. They were moving at a slow run, the injured man sitting on an SLR held between two of his fellow soldiers while he draped his arms around their necks. Progress was slow. The lieutenant was going to lead them southwest, take them through Lauenhagen; then across the Hulse. Once across this water feature, the covering force would give them some breathing space, but first he wanted to find the rest of his men. He looked to his left as he saw a BMP-2 come flying through the trees, taken out instantly by one of the Lynx aircraft covering them. But ammunition and fuel wouldn’t last forever; the helicopters would need to pull back soon. Not too soon, he hoped.

  He looked over his shoulder as he heard the growl of engines approaching from behind them, and stopped, ordering the section to continue moving. Two Land Rovers, plus trailers, pulled up alongside. The cabs, back and trailers were packed with pieces of the 81mm mortars, along with their crews.

  “We can take your wounded man, sir,” suggested the sergeant in command. “Possibly a couple more.”

  “Corporal Jeffries,” Thorpe shouted loudly. “Get Cliff onto the vehicle now.”

  “Sir.”

  “Thank you, Sergeant, the rest of us will stick together.”

  “As you wish, sir.”

  They hauled the wounded man up into the back of the lead Land Rover. Then the mortar section left, on their way to set up again somewhere behind Lauenhagen.

  Thorpe rallied his men, and after 400 metres they arrived at the track that would take them to the village of Lauenhagen.

  One and Three-Platoon were defending a short stretch of ground, and the
OC was there to meet him.

  “Thank God, Oliver, we thought we’d lost you.”

  “Where’s the rest of my platoon, sir?”

  “I’ve sent them on ahead. Take one of those Land Rovers. The driver is waiting. Send him back when you cross the Hulse.”

  “They’re right behind us, sir.”

  “I know, Oliver. Now, get going. We’ll hold for another five minutes then we’ll join you. We have help on the way. Get your respirators back on, it’s heavily contaminated back there.”

  The lieutenant looked about him as he pulled on his respirator, and could pick out at least two Milan FPs. At least they had something to hit back with.

  “Get going, Oliver.”

  “Sir.”

  He called to his men and they ran for the waiting vehicle. The last thing he saw as they pulled away was the positions they had just left enveloped by a storm of destruction as two Harriers, flying north to south, dropped eight bombs between them, each bomb containing over 100 sub munitions. Oliver knew, from his time at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, that a single cluster bomb would discharge more than 200,000 fragments. He and his men were leaving a cauldron behind them.

  The driver took them beyond the Hulse, turning right to head north, then northeast along an avenue of trees where they would conduct the next phase of the battle. From here, they hoped to hit the enemy again. The OC had confirmed that their final defensive position would be behind the Holpe, another minor run of water that would act as a slight barrier to the enemy. He wouldn’t be sorry to get there, allowing the helicopters of the 24th Airmobile Brigade to pick them up and transport them to the rear where they could rest, regroup and rearm. A Lynx Mk 7 from the Aviation Regiment flew east, no doubt to cover the rest of the Aviation Company. The Land Rover ground to a halt and deposited its passengers before the driver returned to pick up more of the soldiers who were fighting a rearguard action. Now the lieutenant could be reunited with the rest of his platoon, the half section he had sent to prepare their defences for the next line of defence.

  A Captain from the Support-Company called him over. “Oliver, you look like shit.”

  His face stretched into a smile behind his respirator. “I feel like it, sir. Do you know where Two-Two-Alpha are?”

  “I’m sorry, Oliver,” the Captain said, clasping the young officer’s arm. “They didn’t make it. We’ve had a pretty heavy artillery bombardment and some missile strikes. The area is heavily contaminated. We’re pulling out. A flight of helicopters will be here in the next ten minutes. Make sure you and your men are on it. The rest of your platoon is over there.” He pointed to the open ground. “Waiting for a lift. And I’m sorry about your men.”

  The Captain left, leaving the young platoon commander with his thoughts. He would find out how many men he had left, soon. He doubted it was a number he would be comfortable with. He had just experienced his first blooding, and he was not sure he had learnt any lessons from it. He called his men over and they headed off to find the rest of the platoon.

  Chapter 13

  1500, 9 JULY 1984. 73RD LOCATING BATTERY, 94TH LOCATING REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. AREA OF RINTELN, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

  A technician, a Lance Bombardier serving with 73rd Locating Battery, 94th Locating Regiment, Royal Artillery, part of the British Army of the Rhine’s Artillery Division, checked the launch mechanism of the Midge-Drone mounted on the Bedford three-ton truck.

  Bombardier Armstrong stood below at the side of the truck and looked across at the hydrogen generator where Met-Troop had just launched a meteorological balloon. “Are we done?”

  “Just,” responded the technician who then climbed down off the platform of the Bedford truck.

  “About bloody time.” The bombardier smiled.

  They both headed over to where the troop commander was waiting in a trench close by.

  “All set, Bombardier?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Met-Troop have just confirmed no change, sir,” added the troop sergeant. “Div have also been on.”

  “Chasing again?”

  “Yes, sir. Seems this is a pretty important flight.”

  “Let’s get on with it then.”

  Under the control of the Royal Artillery, the Midge-Drone was operated by a troop of the divisional locating battery. The drone carried a single camera, loaded with black and white film. Set on a pre-programmed flight, it would conduct aerial photographic reconnaissance of a particular area of interest to 1 British Corps. This troop had two launchers, along with the necessary facilities to process and analyse the imagery on the drone’s return. The artillery intelligence cell at Divisional HQ of 1st Armoured Division had tasked the troop. The primary use of this asset was to confirm suspected enemy locations, particularly enemy artillery. On this occasion, they had been given a task of extreme importance. The final preparations were made, and the group of four pulled their ear defenders down just before the booster rocket launched the drone. The turbojet then took over, and the reconnaissance drone started on its mission. Its target: the ground amid the gap between the town of Buckeberg and the high ground to the southeast. The two and a half metre rocket flew its course, a difficult target for the Soviets to see. Flying high, at subsonic speed and following its pre-programmed course, the camera switched on as it passed overhead a tank battalion, a line of T-80s camouflaged against the edge of a wooded area. Elsewhere, tanks and BMP-2s were secreted inside barns or spread through the outskirts of villages. Before the tank crews and motor rifle infantrymen had noticed the sound of the passing object, it had already done its job, photographing the positions of the enemy. It banked right, flew for a further three kilometres, banked right again, then flew towards its landing point. On reaching the recovery area, the drone’s engine cut out, the parachute was deployed, and it swung as it was gently lowered to the ground, large inflatable landing bags cushioning it from any impact. The crew, followed by a Land Rover, ran out to it to recover the camera. Once acquired, the vehicle would race with the film to the Photographic Interpretation tent where the film would be developed.

  1555, 9 JULY 1984. PHOTOGRAPHIC INTERPRETATION SECTION, 94TH LOCATING REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. WEST OF RINTELN, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

  The Intelligence Corps Sergeant switched the light table on while the Corporal placed the recently developed roll of film on the glass surface. The lights flickered on, and the sergeant unravelled the first section, comparing each of the first few frames with the map until he got his bearings, matching up the black and white negative he was looking at with a map of the target area. He pulled the film across, frame by frame, until he found a good starting point. Then the analysis began. Using a loupe, he zoomed in to particular areas of interest.

  “Got it. Alan, take a look at this.”

  The corporal took the loupe out of the sergeant’s hand and stooped over the light table, studying the area pointed out. “I can’t see anything.”

  “Look at those farm buildings, by the barn doors.”

  “Tracks, tank tracks!”

  “Now, look at the woods behind it.”

  “I can see tracks, but they could be anything. Ah, I can see where the ground has been churned up. The tanks have spun round and reversed into the treeline.”

  “Let’s try looking at it in stereo. I think we’ve found what HQ have been griping about.”

  “The Soviet advance regiment?”

  “Exactly.”

  Chapter 14

  1900, 9 JULY 1984. HMS TURBULENT, SSN TASK FORCE. BARENTS SEA.

  THE BLUE EFFECT −2 DAYS

  Commander Walcott shifted in his seat, casting his eye over the repeater for the sonar systems before glancing towards the plotting table. Behind him were the two periscopes and mast of the nuclear-powered submarine, a Trafalgar Class SSN. It moved quietly as they barely made way. The submarine was coaxed along the bottom that was barely ten metres beneath the hull. T
he captain of the British SSN, HMS Turbulent, a nuclear-attack submarine that cost the taxpayer a quarter of a billion pounds, would rather have had a minimum of twenty metres beneath his submarine but, with potentially a Soviet fleet overhead, and only seventy metres above the sail, it was critical that they got close to their target without discovery.

  The SSN held its depth as it crept forward at five knots across the Stor Bank. The deeper point, an average two kilometres deep under the Norwegian Sea, had been left far behind them, the shelf shallowing as it got closer to the shelf edge of the Barents Sea. Once it had left the safety of the deep, the submarine had tracked the Barents Trough, covering 400 kilometres before moving north across Stor Bank. Their target, a Soviet fleet, had left the vicinity of Murmansk where it had formed up ready for what NATO expected would be an assault on northern Norway. Commander Walcott and his accompanying submarines, a second Trafalgar class, HMS Trafalgar, and two older SSNs from the Swiftsure class, HMS Spartan and HMS Sovereign, intended to ensure the Soviet fleet didn’t make it.

  It had taken the submarine pack over three days to transit to their current position. They had left the North Sea, passing through the Greenland-Iceland United Kingdom Gap, known as the GIUK Gap, and into the Norwegian Sea, keeping Bear Island to their north. Now, they were in the Barents Sea, Svalbard to their northwest and the eastern tip of Norway to the south. Murmansk was less than 1,000 kilometres south southeast. British or US submarines tended not to work in packs, generally working in isolation. But, with a major Soviet Fleet on the move to launch an attack somewhere along the Norwegian or Swedish coast, perhaps in support of a second assault against Northern Germany or Denmark, a larger force was needed. Five hundred kilometres south, a second US submarine pack was making its way stealthily towards the approaching Soviet fleet. Behind them, protecting the GIUK Gap, a US Carrier Group, supported by a British anti-submarine fleet consisting of destroyers and frigates, was already doing battle against the enemy. Soviet SSNs were hunting the hunters, and both sides had lost ships and submarines. Two major assaults by the Soviet air force had sunk two US destroyers and crippled the British Aircraft Carrier HMS Invincible. The second of the British Invincible-class light aircraft carriers in the fleet, HMS Ark Royal, had its final stage of fitting-out accelerated and was rushed into service when the war against the Warsaw Pact seemed inevitable. It had assumed responsibility as the flagship for the British flotilla. Their sister ship, HMS Invincible, was helping defend the resupply route between the British Isles and the European Continent.