by Harvey Black
“Let’s get on with it then, Wilfy,” hissed Badger. “If they suddenly get a call to prep, we’ll be stuffed.”
The two TELs they were going for were spaced about 150 metres apart. Wilf peered into the darkness: only enough moonlight to pick out the lofty shapes of the bulky missile carriers. The nearest one, now within fifty-metres of their position, was heavily tarped, and camouflage netting had been stretched across it and tied to two trees on the one side making a canopy. The missile unit had chosen an area that was surrounded by trees, but the centre was open enough for the vehicles to move around freely and fire their rockets when required. This enabled the crews to hide their vehicles, but they had the ability to quickly prepare for a launch if called upon.
Wilf scanned the area with his binoculars, the batteries for the image intensifier having well and truly died. Handing them to Badger, he pointed to the bundles that lay beneath the man-made canopy, next to the nearest TEL. Badger handed the binoculars back and Wilf secreted them in his small pack, the larger pack hidden next to a tree trunk to be collected when they had completed their mission. If they were unable to pick it up as a consequence of being discovered, their supplies of food, water and ammunition would be severely limited.
Wilf indicated they move, and the two men, like ghosts, flitted from tree to tree, constantly on the lookout for a sentry on guard duty. As they found themselves in the vicinity of the tail end of the TEL, Badger grabbed Wilf’s arm and pointed towards the boat-shaped front end of the amphibious Transporter Erector Launcher. Wilf stared but saw nothing. He was about to shrug his shoulders and ask Badger what he was on about when he saw the windows of the missile carrier’s cab light up. Ten seconds later, it occurred again.
“Got him,” Wilf whispered in Badger’s ear.
They moved off again until they were directly opposite the tail end of the vehicle and then made a beeline for the TEL, stopping as they came up against the back end. Although similar in some respects to the SCUD-B, this was a very much later model. It still had four pairs of wheels, two at each end, but the missile was hidden inside the TEL; not exposed like that of the Scud-B.
Badger peered around the one side, checking on the sleeping bundles next to the centre of the TEL, while Wilf looked along the opposite side, which also looked clear. They immediately got to work. Badger prepared some Plastic Explosive to attach close to the launching mechanism of the TEL while Wilf walked at a crouch beneath the much lower canopy of netting, stretched out from the vehicle and pinned to the ground. He arrived at the point where he was close to the cab, the three side windows just above him. He needed to place the PE as close to the warhead as possible, which would be difficult as the missile was shielded. A sudden glow indicated that the occupant, probably the sentry, was still partaking in a smoke. At any moment, the guard could exit the cab and discover the intruders, so Wilf got on with his mission. His task was to place a charge that would destroy the warhead, making it and the rocket section unusable. Once he crimped the detonator, they would have three hours to get out of the area. It wasn’t just the likelihood of discovery, or even the potential explosion if the missile was ignited along with the fuel, that worried him. He, along with the rest of his team, suspected that these could be tactical nuclear warheads, probably 100 kiloton in size. Although the explosion of the PE would not cause a nuclear detonation, it could certainly create a ‘dirty bomb’. To a man, they feared the effects of nuclear radiation.
His dilemma was how to get up there. The top of the vehicle was three metres high. He couldn’t use the step next to the cab for fear of alerting the occupant. He placed his boot carefully and quietly on the wheel nuts and levered himself up so he was able to stand on the metre-tall tyre. He moulded the PE onto the missile cover, crimped the detonator, and lowered himself down. Wilf headed back to Badger who was peering at him around the corner. They conferred and then moved further into the centre of the ‘U’ shaped clearing to where they found a second TEL. Two more PE packages were deposited.
Wilf checked his watch and whispered to Badger, “We’ll have time to do the resupply vehicles.”
Badger agreed, and they crept back into the forest and transited across the base of the ‘U’ where they had spotted two resupply vehicles, each one carrying a reload for the SS-23s. Next to them was a transporter loader, also carrying a spare missile. They had to be quick. Time was running out.
As they drifted back into the trees, crossing a track that ran along the edge of the treeline, the silence was shattered by the sound of a vehicle engine tearing along the track. They saw a flicker of lights to the east and threw themselves to the ground, closing their eyes to protect their night vision as it raced past. It didn’t stop, and once they were sure it was long gone, they moved to the RV with fifty minutes to spare. Tag and Hacker were already there, having only had two TELS to target.
“We need to split, Wilfy. We have about fifty minutes.”
“Agreed. Soon as we can, I need to radio in and confirm this location. HQ will want to organise a much heavier strike from the air. Hacker, you lead, Tag you’re the last man.”
They recovered their Bergen’s and moved northwest, sticking with the treeline until they reached the point where the forest butted up against the road. A steady stream of logistics vehicles, with only convoy lights showing, drove past in both directions.
Thirty minutes.
As soon as there was a break in the traffic, the four men scooted across, and Hacker led them at an angle, across an open field for about 300 metres until they were safe amongst the trees again.
Twenty minutes.
The troopers crossed open ground to a smaller copse; then headed west to a minor road, crossing the Roter Bach, an irrigation ditch, turning north using the trees next to the road that ran alongside for cover.
Fifteen minutes.
A fast march had turned into a double march, as they were desperate to get away from the exposed road. The CPU came across a small copse with a pool of water at its centre. Wilf knew where he wanted to get to and urged his men on.
Ten minutes.
The patrol crossed a further road, which ran west from Hupede, until they approached the ditch on the opposite side, the place Wilf had been heading for. Two hundred metres to their right was the L422, traffic still moving along it and, just under a kilometre to their north, the L402 where they could also hear the steady drone of traffic, that likewise ran west from the village. The Soviet’s logistic force was ever on the move, feeding and resupplying their front line troops.
Five minutes.
They tabbed along the edge of the ditch, often slipping into its cold waters, trees and foliage lining each side giving them some cover. They moved quickly, much faster than they would have wished, but they knew that, once the explosives were detonated, the Soviets would be out for revenge. There was also an element of mild panic. Yes, they were Special Forces, trained for this type of operation. But, up until now, none of them had done it for real.
Thump…thump…thump.
They threw themselves to the bank, seeing white flashes lighting up the dark skies.
Thump…thump. The explosive charges ripped into the SS-23s, wrenching apart the launch mechanisms of the TELs and destroying the missiles. Neither the TELs nor the missiles, or even the resupply and loading vehicles, would be used in anger in this war. Two more explosions shattered the silence of the night as more TELs or resupply vehicles were destroyed.
Whoompf…whoompf. The fuel from the TELs and possibly the rocket propellant was adding to the destruction. Many of the Soviet rocket troops would be killed, and Wilf and his team knew that the Soviets would be baying for blood.
Thump…thump.
Fourteen major explosions were counted, plus numerous secondary explosions, meaning that every PE package that had been placed had done its job. The four men took a few minutes to congratulate each other before Wilf quickly drove them on, and they continued slopping along the edge of the ditch, Wilf wanting t
o get them to the Deister, the forested high ground, where they could rest up and hide. If they could make it that far without getting caught, they had a chance of survival. He also knew that it was a hollow victory. If it were indeed one of the two missile brigades of GSFG, there would still be over thirty of these tactical ballistic missiles left to rain nuclear warheads down on NATO troops. He picked up speed, urging his men to do likewise. Time was against them. They needed to skirt the village of Bennigsen to the south, using the ditch as cover.
After two hours, Wilf called a halt on a piece of high ground next to a road. Now they were closer to their own lines, he hoped they could make contact with 1 BR Corps.
“Have you managed to get through?” asked Tag impatiently.
“Eventually,” responded Wilf. “We can still get a good signal from them, but our transmission to them is shite.”
“Fuckers keep pulling back,” growled Badger.
“Stop whinging. What did they say?”
“A code word: Yellow Jack.”
“Any numbers?” asked Tag.
“Yes,” responded Wilf as he pulled out a map and spread in on the ground in front of them.
“Yellow Jack is the word for a tactical nuclear strike. The numbers are telling us six locations. That means we’ve got fourteen hours to get out of range.”
“What do you suggest?”
“Yellow Jack is targeted here, here and here. Bad Nenndorf is the closest. So if we stay on the southern edge of the Deister, we should be safe.” He looked up at Tag who was scratching the dark stubble on his chin.
Before Tag could respond, Hacker interjected. “I can hear something.”
“What?” Challenged Wilf.
“I don’t know…it’s a chopper, a bloody chopper.”
“There’s more than one,” added Badger. “Look, there are four of them.”
“They’re looking for us,” suggested Tag. “We need to take cover, or run.”
Chapter 16
2000, 9 JULY 1984. 2ND US DIVISION, US III CORPS. WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT -22 HOURS
The General climbed up onto the glacis of an M1 main battle tank and surveyed the officers gathered around below his position. “At last, we’ve got our orders from on high, men. Central Army Command have stopped dithering and 7th US Army have finally made a decision.”
The assembled officers smiled, used to the general bitching about higher command. The man’s uniform was immaculate, his boots a deep gloss shine, his uniform almost more starch than material. God help any officer he came across who didn’t meet his exacting standards. At only five foot five, with a crew cut that nearly went to the bone, and a bristled moustache, his head gave the impression of being too big for his body. But he was a good soldier, highly respected by his men.
“As you all know, III Corps’ task is to reinforce the Northern Army Group of Forces. Well, they can’t expect to fight the war without us now, can they?”
Another chuckle from the assembled officers.
“Well, can they?!”
“No, sir!” responded the jubilant soldiers, the odd whoop in the background.
“Now that we have finally got our equipment issued and sorted, we can fulfil that mission. But, we’ve had a further delay. Who do we support? Where do they need some real muscle to help knock those red bastards right back to where they belong in Moscow?”
This time, the grins were broader and supported by more laughter and whooping from the group.
“It has been decided, against my better judgement I might add…” More laughter. He held his hand up for silence. “It has been decided that the Corps is going to be split. The 1st Cavalry Division, along with the 5th Infantry Division, are going north, to support the Dutch and Germans. The Germans are doing OK, but the Dutch are in a bit of a mess. They were late getting to the party, and the Soviets took advantage of that landing an air assault brigade behind them and kicking ass. There’s also a Polish army pushing hard up against them. Higher command believe that the Warsaw Pact are ready for a big push, so we have to get these two formations ready to blunt that attack. Otherwise, the northern flank will collapse, and we’ll have reds running all over us.”
“What about us then, sir?” called one of the Brigade commanders.
“Patience has never been one of your strengths, has it, Brigadier Daniels? Your Fort Benning report said you were too smart for your own good.”
Laughter ensued, and some of his fellow commanders backslapped the Brigadier.
“Just want to get into the fight, now we’re ready, sir.”
The US III Corps had flown all the way from the United States. The 1st US Cavalry Division headquarters was based in Fort Hood, Texas, and the 5th US Infantry Division in Fort Polk with the 2nd US Division, consisting of three brigades, an aviation brigade and an artillery regiment, also from Fort Hood in Texas. The 2nd US Division had been in country for twenty-four hours. The soldiers, flown in by civilian airliners, had gone straight to their respective POMCUS sites in Monchengladbach and Straelen, West Germany, to be reunited with their equipment, stored in Germany for this very event. The 1st Cavalry and the 5th had also collected their heavy equipment, M1s, M2s, etc to be ready for battle. Their respective POMCUS sites were based in Belgium and the Netherlands.
“A fight I can promise you, Teddy. Your Brigade has the honour of leading the way.”
“Hey, now you’ve done it, Teddy. Do you want to borrow my map?” Heckled one of the officers in attendance.
The General calmed his officers down again. He encouraged their high spirits, not always welcomed by the senior officers of the Corps. But it was him and his men that would have to fight. They might as well do it with some style.
He lowered his voice. “We have two missions. The first is to get as close to the Weser as possible. We have been tasked with supporting the Brits.”
He saw their heads nodding. They had done field exercises with British units during various Reforger exercises, and although they thought the British food was lousy and they never seemed to have enough equipment, they held their fighting capabilities in high regard. The one message he did give to his men in regard to the Brits was: don’t get into a drinking competition with them. You will lose.
“Once there, especially for you, Teddy, 2nd Brigade will take part in a multi-force counter-attack.” There was a broad grin across Brigadier Daniels’ mouth, but a groan from the other senior officers.
“Now, now, boys, you know I wouldn’t leave the rest of you out. Once the 2nd Brigade, along with a Brit Division and a possible Bundeswehr Brigade, have punched a hole in the Soviet front line, 1st and 3rd Brigades can help push them all the way back to the Inner German Border. To start with, anyway. Eventually, we’ll have a drink together in the Kremlin.”
More cheers from the assembled officers.
“Teddy, I want you boys on the move within the hour. The remaining two Brigades will follow later tonight, early tomorrow. Let’s go and give those red sons of bitches a boot up the ass.”
Chapter 17
0100, 10 JULY 1984. 25TH TANK DIVISION, 20TH GUARDS ARMY. STAGING AREAS, WUNSTORF, GARBSEN AND KOLENFELD, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT -17 HOURS
The commander of the 25th Tank Division was far from happy. His division had been allocated a staging area that was less than satisfactory. There just wasn’t enough room to deploy his force. 32nd Guards Tank Division was on his left flank, and the 90th Guards Tank Division and the 35th Motor Rifle Division were behind him. Ahead, he had the 12th Guards Tank Division, from 3rd Shock Army, which was in the process of preparing for an assault river crossing. He was expected to exploit the breakthrough. On top of that, the remnants of 10th GTD were camping on his doorstep. One of his tank regiments was attempting to use south of Haste as a staging area, using the forested area south of the Mittellandkanal, but elements of the 12th were still moving out. A second regiment was dispersed through the town of Wunstorf. His motor rifle regiment
had been allocated south-east of Dedensen with the third tank regiment amongst the battered buildings of Garbsen, while his senior officers competed for space to accommodate his artillery, engineers and resupply. 20th Guards Army high command was in complete chaos. A recent attack by British bombers on the forward headquarters had seriously impacted on the command and control of this huge army, with in excess of 900 tanks at its disposal. Although still some thirty kilometres away from the Forward Line of Enemy Troops to the west and twenty to thirty kilometres to the south-west, the risk of NATO air strikes had significantly increased. His Soviet commanders from on high continued to push them to move ever faster, which conflicted with the General’s desire to move more slowly, leapfrogging, keeping his air defence assets available and in a position to defend the units from fast-moving ground attack aircraft.
The division, split into three independent columns, had marched along three separate, parallel routes in the region of six to eight kilometres apart, eventually reaching Salzgitter. They were allowed very little time for rest before being ordered to move yet further west. The width of the march-sector the division required was in the region of thirty-five kilometres. Such was the mass of Soviet forces in such a small area, their march-sector had been reduced to as little as twenty kilometres wide and they often found themselves up against the flanking divisions fighting for space. This mass concentration of men and armour only encouraged the West to initiate further attacks, and the Soviet air force was hard-pressed to defend the forces under their protection. NATO had initiated deep strikes in order to disrupt the Soviet flow of reinforcements, and both the division and 20th Guards Army as a whole had suffered losses. More and more US aircraft were joining in the fray and, with France joining in the fight, a greater number of West German and US aircraft had been released from a defence posture, to one further forward, interdicting the Soviet air-to-ground attack missions.
As for the British, although they had been kicked out of many of the bases in West Germany, they could still operate from the United Kingdom. General Yashkin, even before arriving at his staging areas, had been forced to put one of his tank regiments in reserve until they were able to consolidate after being hit by US B-52 bombers. Nine aircraft, flying from RAF Fairford in the United Kingdom, had dropped close to 500 bombs over an area of two square kilometres. Seventeen tanks and other armoured vehicles had been destroyed or damaged; not forgetting the devastation caused to the communication routes. Also, a complete tank battalion, late getting to its assembly area, such was the mayhem on the congested roads, moving in a column formation, had been caught out in the open. It had paid a heavy price. The exposed target, the location and details radioed in by a stay-behind force, was hit by a joint British and American strike. Thirty aircraft, a mixture of Tornadoes, Jaguars and US F111s, protected by US F-15 Eagles, destroyed eleven T-64s and damaged eight before they had been driven off by the SAMs and the Soviet air force. Although the local air defence forces had destroyed one of the planes and Soviet fighters another two before the force escaped back across their own lines, it had the effect of making the commanders of the advancing units extremely nervous.