by Harvey Black
THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS
Major Lewis, commander of B-Squadron, 14/20th King’s Hussars, took the mug of hot, sweet tea passed to him by one of the troopers from Bravo-Troop. A second mug was handed to Lieutenant Alex Wesley-Jones, the troop commander.
“Thank you, Corporal Patterson.” Alex thanked his gunner.
“Sir.”
“How are your repairs going, Alex?” asked Major Lewis.
Alex looked out of the open flap of the penthouse tent attached to the back of the OC’s Land Rover. He could hear the revving engine of a FV434 as it manoeuvred closer to the rear of his own tank. Suspended from the crane boom of the 434 was a power pack, badly needed to replace the faulty one that was now on the ground alongside the tracks of the tank. Whilst the remnants of the 14/20th had been in their recovery area, the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers Light Aid Detachment, had been kept busy, repairing, and in some cases, replacing key elements of the Chieftain tank’s systems. This was the second power pack for Alex’s tank, the initial replacement having acquired a fault as they moved to this final locale. Although many of the reliability problems of the Chieftains had been resolved over the years, they still proved to be troublesome. Here, the regiment was conducting its final preparations so they would be ready to carry out the next stage of higher command’s plan to hold off the advancing enemy. The Battle Group had lain up in a small forest about four kilometres east of Espelkamp, roughly twenty kilometres northwest of Minden.
“Now I’ve got a new power pack, we should be pretty much there, sir. Two-Two-Charlie is fully functional. How are the rest of the squadron, and the regiment for that matter?”
“Well, Alex, A and C Squadron were down to nine tanks between them, and D squadron had six. But with replacements from the mainland, and consolidating units, all three squadrons now have three troops each.”
“And us, sir?”
“You’re the lucky one, along with Two-One. You both have a full troop, but Two-Three and Two-Four only have two tanks each. But we are the strongest squadron in the regiment, although we have lost the second-in-command’s tank. Which brings me on to another subject.” The major placed his now empty mug on a small table in the corner next to the rear tailgate of the vehicle. He turned in his collapsible seat and looked at Alex. The young officer from Cardiff raised his eyebrows slightly, curious as to the look of concentration on his Officer Commanding’s face.
“I am promoting you to Captain, Alex. It has been approved by Colonel Clark.”
“But, sir—”
“No buts. You are the most…I was about to say most experienced officer. That really applies to us all now,” he said with a laugh. “But you have been well and truly in the thick of it, and you and your men have performed extremely well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Although in rank, you will be my new second-in-command, I need you to remain with your troop. But, should anything happen to me…you will take command. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
The major picked up a wax pencil from the small table and pointed at the map suspended from the side of the tent. “We must be ready to move as soon as the Soviets cross the Weser. They will be allowed to advance at least eight to ten kilometres before the counter-attack commences.”
“Can’t we just hold them, sir, stop them from crossing? Our regiment is recovering, and so must some of the other units.”
“Yes, we could hold them for a little while longer, but there is another full Soviet army coming in behind Three-Shock.” The major sighed. “Not forgetting the Soviet 5th Guards Tank Army, one of many units under the command of the Belorussian Military District that has arrived in theatre. Do they continue towards CENTAG or turn towards us? We don’t yet know. And, to make matters worse, the Carpathian and Baltic Military Districts will also be lining up to hit the front line from Hamburg down to Austria. Once 20th Guards Army puts its full weight against our defences along the river, we’ll never hold them. So, we have to lull them into a false sense of security, get them to cross, isolate those forces, and cripple them as best we can, followed up by a counter-attack across the river. I know we have only Territorial troops reinforcing us, but their numbers are growing daily. We also have to strike while they’re still recovering from those tactical nuke strikes.”
“When do we pull the regiment together, sir? We’re pretty widely dispersed.”
“We have no choice, Alex. The risk of a counter-nuclear strike is still very real.”
They were interrupted by the sound of vehicular movement outside. A Foden, a low-mobility tanker, carrying in the region of 12,000 litres of fuel, made its way to a refuelling point where the tanks of the squadron could top-up. It was closely followed by a tarpaulin-covered, six-wheeled Stalwart, bringing in more supplies of ammunition, preparing the tank regiment to go back into battle. The war for 22nd Armoured Brigade and the rest of 1st Armoured Division was far from over.
They both faced the map again.
“Once the 12th Brigade come at the neck of the bulge from the north and the Americans from the south, our Battle Group, followed by the RGJ and 2RTR, will be the first to cross. Your troop will be the first over the river.”
“Can’t wait, sir.” The young, now captain laughed.
“Our squadron has the task of punching as far into the enemy’s rear area as possible. Get deep into their lines; disrupt any attempts at stopping the crossings. The rest of the Regiment will be close behind us, consolidating our position.”
“Is our crossing point still the same, sir?”
“Yes, here,” the major responded tapping the map. “Just south of the Heisterholz. But that depends on the ground we’ve secured and what’s available should the Soviets leave any of their crossing points intact. Our pre-emptive air and artillery strike will avoid those targets, other than troops on the eastern bank.”
“12th Armoured, sir?”
“Just south of Todtenhausen. But, like us, they will take any opportunity to use any abandoned Soviet bridging points.”
“It’s going to be a tough one, sir.”
“As if it hasn’t been tough already, Alex.” The OC started to rise up from his seat. Alex followed suit. “There will be a final briefing tomorrow. In the meantime, make sure your men are ready and your tanks are topped and rearmed. And for God’s sake, keep your troop well camouflaged. The forest provides us with some cover, but the Soviet air force and the military will be looking for us, and these forests will be likely hiding places.”
“Understood, sir.”
The OC shook his hand. “Congratulations, Alex.”
“Thank you, sir.”
They both left the tent and walked over to Alex’s tank. The engine had been lowered into its compartment, and REME were going over the final connections, linking the power pack to the components that would get the tank mobile again.
“Ah, Corporal Patterson.” Patsy drew himself up to attention, arms by his sides. “Thank you for the tea.”
“Sir.”
“Now, I think Captain Wesley-Jones would like a word with you all.”
He turned to Alex. “Let me know the minute you have any equipment failures. We need to know what we’ve got available at all times.”
“Understood, sir.”
With that, Major Lewis left.
“Did he say captain, sir?”
“Yes, he did, Corporal Patterson. Now, gather the troop together. I want to talk to them.”
With a grin across his face, Patsy sped off, calling for the tank crews to form up. The REME LAD had finished for now, so the troop assembled next to Two-Alpha. The tank although now fully functional, at least once they’d done a road test with the new power pack, was still wearing its battle scars. Two-Charlie was in a similar state. Two-Bravo, on the other hand, was practically brand new, straight out of a workshop back in the United Kingdom. The new tank’s crew, apart from Trooper Lowe who was still the driver, and Trooper Wilson, the load
er, were new, survivors from other elements of the regiment. Their tank had been destroyed, but they themselves had survived. Sergeant Andrews, platoon sergeant, with a head injury and a hand that had been badly crushed, was now back in the UK. Although still recovering from his injuries, he was still capable of training new replacements, allowing the healthy instructors to be assigned to units at the front. However, Lance Corporal Owen, the gunner, would not be fighting any more wars. He had been killed during the first artillery bombardment experienced by the Regiment in Gronau. The two new members of the troop had also lost their tank, loader and senior NCO, to a Soviet T-80.
The crews shuffled into position, finding somewhere to sit, either on the stump of a felled tree, a camping chair or pallet of supplies not yet broken down.
Alex looked at the expectant faces of his men. Some showed weariness and a little fear; some determination; others he couldn’t read. To a man, they were looking to him to lead them through the horrors that were going on around them, keep them safe and get them home to their families.
Alex’s crew were chatting, grins plastered across their faces, occasionally flicking their eyes in his direction. No doubt Corporal Patterson had filled the rest of the crew, Lance Corporal Mark Ellis, his loader, and the driver, Trooper ‘Mackey’ Mackinson, in on their troop commander’s promotion. He and his crew had bonded well during their recent battles, and the Chieftain Mark 5/3C had truly become their home.
Captain Wesley-Jones looked across at Acting-Sergeant Simpson. All were sipping mugs of tea that had miraculously arrived from somewhere. There was no doubt: the Boiling Vessel, BV, had a positive impact on the tank crews’ morale. This could possibly be their last hot drink for some time.
Alex shuffled his backside onto one of the track guard stowage bins, the foliage used for camouflage crackling beneath his weight, his booted feet dangling over the edge.
To his right was his crew. Sitting along the track guard of the tank opposite was Acting-Sergeant Simpson, tank commander of call sign Two-Bravo and the troop’s second-in-command; sitting alongside him his crew: Lance Corporal Wilson, newly promoted, his gunner, Trooper Wallis, new to the squadron, his loader, and Trooper Lowe, his driver. To his left was the newly promoted Corporal Moore, commander of call sign Two-Charlie, with his gunner Trooper Gregory, another replacement, loader Trooper Robinson and driver, Trooper Carter. These twelve men made up the crews for Bravo-Troop, B-Squadron of the 14th/20th King’s Hussars Regiment.
Before the captain could speak, Acting-Sergeant Simpson piped up. “On behalf of the troop, sir, we just want to congratulate you on your promotion.”
Alex blushed slightly, not yet used to his raised profile within the squadron. “And you, Sarn’t Simpson,” he responded. “We have finally received our orders, and our troop has a key role to play.”
He looked over their faces, not sure what he was seeing. Was it disappointment at having to fight again, or were they glad they would have an opportunity to hit back at the enemy?
He dropped down off the tank and unrolled a map that had been tucked under his arm. “Corporal Moore, grab that board we’ve been using as a table and bring it over.”
“Sir.”
“Wallis, Lowe, the small table next to the penthouse, bring it over,” ordered Moore.
The table was cleared, upended, and wedged up against the side of the Chieftain tank, resting at an angle where Alex could pin the map.
“Right, gather round before we lose the last of our light, and I’ll take you through what’s in store for us.”
The troop either dropped down from their tanks or shuffled in closer. It was very different from an exercise where there was feigned interest, just looking forward to ENDEX when they could get home for a shit, shave and shower, and sex if they were on talking terms with their wife or girlfriend, and then a drink with their buddies. But now, it was important that they listened and understood what was being asked of them. Otherwise, the consequences could be far-reaching.
“The time has come for us to hit back.”
“About time we give em some…make them pay for Owen,” came back some one of the comments.
The troop commander pinned up a BAOR road map, marked with sweeping red lines.
“We’re here, near Espelkamp, along with the rest of our Brigade. 12th Brigade is here to the north, west of Warmsen, and 7th Brigade here, Lubecke. Our American cousins have a brigade moving in southwest of Minden. On top of that, we have a Bundeswehr Brigade in reserve. The enemy, our friends from 3rd Shock Army, in particular 12th Guards Tank Division, are already at the River Weser, north of Minden. Intelligence tells us that the 12th Guards will try and force a crossing either between Minden and Petershagen or Petershagen and Stolzenau. Or both.”
“Aren’t 3-Shock feeling the pinch a bit now, sir?” asked Acting-Sergeant Simpson.
“They probably are, but the 12th and 47th Guards Tank Division will be using their second-echelon regiments, and they are pretty powerful. But, beyond them, there is a second army, 20th Guards, who haven’t been committed yet.”
“Are they close, sir?” Corporal Moore asked.
“Their headquarters have been plotted in the area of Bad Nenndorf, so I would imagine at least two of their divisions will be pushing forward. Our guess is that the 12th cross the river, push as deep as they can, and a division from the 20th exploit it.”
“Shit,” one of the troopers exclaimed.
“But this is where we come in, Gregory. We’re going to be the ones that stop them. You have all listened to rumour control and heard—”
“And felt, sir,” added Sergeant Simpson.
“…and felt the nuclear strikes. The Polish and East German armies have been hit in the north with 20th Guards in our sector. The Americans have also struck back at the Soviet reserves in their area.”
“Is that why we’re so widely dispersed?” asked Sergeant Simpson.
“Yes it is. But we did inform the Soviet Politburo of the strike and the reasons behind it, as I briefed you earlier. It is hoped that they will see sense. As to the bigger picture for us, 4th Armoured Division, now recovered, rearmed and reinforced, will hit the enemy from the south, pushing up through and around Rehren, striking for Bad Nenndorf.”
“That’ll give their HQ a headache, sir, no doubt about that,” someone piped up.
“Button it,” ordered Sergeant Simpson. “We’ll know sod all if you lot keep interrupting the captain.”
There was a red face in the group, but lots of smiles from the rest.
“Thank you, Sarn’t, you saved me the trouble. With 4-Div hitting them hard from the south, Special Forces sabotaging the enemy, and airborne troops acting as a blocking force from Bad Nenndorf to Wunstorf, here,” he pointed at the map. “The enemy will be unable for a short period of time to move either east or west easily.”
He tapped the map around Minden. “Now, to our role. We’re going to allow the enemy to cross the Weser.”
There were lots of passing looks amongst the men. A mixture of concern and puzzlement.
“It’s in our best interests. With some resistance, we allow the enemy to form a bridgehead, and knowing their desire to get as deep into our rear area as possible, let a bulge form, drawing their forces from the river. Then we strike. 12th Brigade will come in from the north and a US Brigade from the south.”
“Thank God for the Spams,” someone muttered.
“7th Armoured will blunt the attack from the west. Our Regiment will be the first to exploit any weakness and push through to the river. Our troop will be first across the bridge.”
“Christ, sir,” uttered Acting-Sergeant Simpson. “Into the mouth of the lion.”
Alex laughed. “A bit like that, Sarn’t Simpson. But, there will be some prepping before that. There will be arty strikes on the eastern bank, followed by air strikes. The west bank of the Weser will also receive some attention. Then arty will drop FASCAM mines behind the enemy, preventing them from pulling back to the ri
ver.”
“We’ll need to pass through those mines, sir,” added Corporal Patterson.
“They will be laid in such a way that there will be a passage for us to pass through. We’ll have some engineers leading the way.”
“It’s going to be mayhem out there, sir. So many units in such a small area. It’ll be Christmas for the Sov air force,” suggested Corporal Moore.
“It will, but most of NORTHAG’s air assets will be in support.”
“Grunts, sir?”
“Yes, Sarn’t. We’ll have infantry with us again.”
“Good, they put up quite a fight at Gronau.”
“They did that. They’ve received some replacements as well.”
“Kick-off time the same, sir?”
“Yes. So, I want everyone to go over his vehicle one more time. Mackinson, you need to test the new engine on Two-Alpha.”
“Sir.”
“I want tank commanders and Corporal Patterson to remain behind so we can go through the movements for tonight and tomorrow.”
This time when the captain examined their faces, he was sure he saw an element of excitement. His men were ready. He just hoped the rest were.
1930, 10 JULY 1984. RECCE TROOP. EAST OF ESPELKAMP, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT +1.5 HOURS
Lieutenant Baty was crouched on top of the front deck of his Scorpion; Sergeant Gough sat on the edge of the tank. They were going over the route the troop would need to take only hours from now. A sheet of canvas had been pinned down along the side of the small reconnaissance tank, then pegged to the ground below, acting as a tent to cover the two sleeping crewmen, Thomas, his driver, and Lance Corporal Alan Reid, his gunner. He’d managed to catch a couple of hours himself, but his two crewmen had been working like Trojans getting their vehicle fit for battle. Maintenance, refuelling, rearming – it was never-ending. Once finished, and only then, did they manage to get some food down them and a hot drink, but their eyes were closing even as the last dry Tac biscuit made its way down. They had even turned down the offer of some fruit cake, generously offered by a local who had stumbled into the British camp, past the sentries unseen, suddenly to appear alongside the lieutenant’s tank with his offering. After thanking him graciously and ordering Thomas to guide the civilian back out of the camp, Baty proceeded to track down the sentries on duty and gave them the bollocking of their lives.