The Blue Effect (Cold War)

by Harvey Black

  He dropped down from turret, onto the engine deck, and descended onto the remnants of a cornfield that bordered the hedge line.

  The gunner moved the turret left and right, checking that the barrel of the 120mm smoothbore main gun was clear to move in a full arc. One final sweep and he was happy that nothing would get in the way should they need to fire.

  A DKW Munga F 91/8 Jeep pulled up alongside, and a Bundeswehr officer stepped out, calling Hauptmann Faeber over. The driver of the Jeep also got out and crossed over to the tank to talk with the crew and perhaps acquire a cigarette, his having been lost during the last retreat.

  “Herr Major.”

  “Klaus, I have an update for you.” The Bundeswehr major placed a map on the bonnet of the Jeep. “The large manoeuvres planned by NORTHAG are in progress.”

  Hauptmann Faeber leant over and followed his senior officer’s pointing finger.

  “There’s a major artillery strike on the enemy here,” he held his finger over a length of the River Weser from Porta Westfalica to Petershagen, “along with two major air-to-ground strikes. They are in support of a major counter-attack, consisting of a British Division and a US Brigade.”

  “Not using our reserve Brigade, then?”

  “No, not now the Americans have got here.”

  “Any more intelligence on the tactical nuke strikes, Herr Major?”

  “They have done their job, Klaus, but we’re waiting for the Soviets to retaliate. If they are going to then it will definitely be during the counter-attack. We’ve been ordered keep our forces well dispersed. You are to take your platoon to this location.”

  Hauptmann Faeber looked at the major quizzically. “What if they use their strikes as an opportunity to launch an attack against us?”

  “If we get hit by tactical nuclear missiles, and we’re not in some decent cover and widely dispersed, we won’t have a battalion left.”

  While they had been talking, an eight-wheeled Luchs, an armoured reconnaissance vehicle with a 20mm gun mounted in its turret, sped past. Following behind were four Marder armoured infantry fighting vehicles (AIFVs), mounted with their deadly remote-controlled machine gun along with the Milan anti-tank guided missile system. They drove quickly, not wanting to draw fire from any Soviet unit on the opposite bank. The growl of engines slowly diminished as they left the Leopard tank and the two officers behind. One swung right, heading for the hedge line overlooking the road, the other continued on. The mechanised infantry platoon would reinforce the tanks already here; providing the tanks with cover should they experience an assault by enemy infantry.

  “The Infantry will be pulled back as well at the appointed time,” the Major informed Faeber.

  “Are we leaving anybody to watch the river?”

  “Of course, Klaus. If they want to cross here, they can soon land an airborne assault. If they hold it long enough, they could very quickly ferry more troops across and then they have the beginnings of a bridgehead. We’ll leave some reconnaissance troops all along the riverbank and, should they make that attempt, you will be ordered forward.”

  Klaus looked at the map. “From these deep protection positions, we could be back here within fifteen minutes.”

  “We have a quick reaction force from the rest of the battalion, who could be here in ten. There’s also a company of Fallschirmjager, within a ten-minute helicopter flight, on standby.”

  “Swapping parachutes for helicopters.” Klaus smiled.

  “It doesn’t make them any less crazy,” laughed the major.

  “Are we expecting them to attack along this stretch, sir?”

  “Again, I am only surmising. The British are already advancing from their staging areas around the west of Minden and Petershagen.” He spun the map around so Klaus could see where he was pointing. “The Soviets are already across the Weser. It’s possible they may also attack furhter north.”

  “Hit the Dutch.”

  “Maybe. With the Soviet army crossing between Minden and Petershagen, they’ll want to put some pressure elsewhere along the front. There is as good a place as any.”

  “Then why don’t we do the same?”

  “Do what?”

  “Counter-attack. Take the bloody fight to them.”

  The major clapped him on the back. “Hauptmann Klaus,” he laughed. “We’ll make a battalion commander of you yet.”

  “We’ve been either digging in or running. It’s about time we did what we’ve been trained to do: fire and manoeuvre.”

  0535, 11 JULY 1984. 45TH PAANTSERINFANTERIE BATTALION, 42ND PANTSERINFANTRIEBRIGADE, 4E DIVISIE, 1 NETHERLANDS CORP. OUTSKIRTS OF BREMEN, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +11.5 HOURS

  Lieutenant Dahlman ordered the soldier to open fire, and the 25mm cannon blasted the upper windows of the building opposite. After about twenty rounds, the YPR-765 armoured infantry fighting vehicle quickly reversed back down the street, just as a rocket-propelled grenade (RPG) struck the building they were next to, sending a deluge of bricks and mortar crashing down onto the street. The battalion, responsible for this section of the River Weser, had been playing cat and mouse with the troops opposite for the last couple of days. The Soviets had been probing, looking for opportunities to get soldiers across to the other side of the river that transited through this major West German city. It was proving wearing for both sides and the 42nd Pantserinfantriebrigade had been sent in to replace the Canadian Brigade that had initially been responsible for the city’s defence. The 1st Netherlands Corps was recovering from the brunt of the attack by the 1st Polish Army, and expected a renewed attack by either the Polish or elements of the Soviet Guards Army at any moment. The Polish army had been very quiet, parts of it still recovering from the tactical nuclear strike. They were aware of the nuclear strikes, and that the Dutch Government had agreed to them as their own troops had suffered badly as a consequence of the chemical attacks.

  All they could do now was wait: wait for the outcome of NORTHAG’s counter-attack; wait for the Warsaw Pact’s response.

  Chapter 35

  0535, 11 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM DELTA, ROYAL HUSSARS, 7TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. NORTHEAST OF LUBBECKE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +11.5 HOURS

  Corporal Farre, the gunner for Four-Alpha, was sitting right of the breech of the Challenger’s 120mm gun; behind him, the legs of his platoon commander, Lieutenant Barrett. Farre looked through his periscope tank laser sight, the distance displayed for both the gunner and commander showing 2,100 metres as the first of the Soviet T-80s appeared between the villages of Diekerort and Isenstedt to the south. Two troops of Challengers were just inside the trees of the wooded area south of Espelkamp. The Regiment’s Scorpions had probed the area ahead of the slowly advancing forces and had managed to escape unseen. They were able to report the enemy movement.

  Barrett did a quick 180-degree search, looking for any sign of the Soviet’s dreaded Hinds. That was the one weapon he feared, having seen the destruction they were capable of delivering whilst his unit defended the River Leine. There was a Tracked Rapier unit somewhere behind and, closer, two or three units with Blowpipe, the shoulder-launched surface-to-air missile. But he knew that the attack-helicopters would be hard to hit and, more importantly, hard to bring down. What he wasn’t to know was that the Soviet battalion commander, lashed by his divisional and regimental commanders in turn, had urged his men forward, but had lost his bearings. As a consequence, he was sending a company of tanks forward south of where four Hind-Ds were heading for; to provide the much-needed support for the Soviet troops that were in danger of being encircled.

  “Four-Four call signs. Hold until they’re all out in the open.”

  “Two thousand metres. They’re picking up speed,” informed Farre.

  “Roger.”

  Farre watched his target move, it had already been agreed which one they would target first, along with the second and third if they got the chance. The computerised sighting sys
tem assimilated the information from the laser rangefinder with that of the moving target, calculating and setting the lay of the main gun.

  “Get ready,” advised the commander.

  “One thousand, nine hundred metres.” Farre made a final quick adjustment. “On.”

  “All Four-Four call signs. Engage!”

  “Firing.”

  After Farre pressed the firing switch, the tank rocked as the sabot round left the barrel.

  “Hit!” Barrett called. “Target left, 1800.”

  “On.”

  “Fire.”

  “Firing.”

  A second round left the Challenger. This time, the penetrator failed, deflected by one of the ERA blocks. But the Soviet tank wasn’t to escape the onslaught as a second sabot round, fired by Four-Bravo, collided with it, stopping it dead in its tracks. Seven Soviet main battle tanks were left immobilised on the battlefield as the survivors fired off their smoke grenades, placing a carpet of smoke in front of them, the drivers hitting full power as they reversed back away from the killing field.

  Two things happened then. Firstly, a switched-on forward observer brought down a barrage of artillery fire on top of the Soviet positions, timing it well, immersing the retreating unit in a salvo of high explosives. Secondly, using the Soviets’ own smokescreen as cover, Delta-Squadron advanced, intent on keeping up the pressure on the Soviet forces that, all across the NATO northern front, were finding the tables turning.

  0715, 11 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM BRAVO, 14/20TH KING’S HUSSARS, 22ND ARMOURED BRIGADE, 1ST ARMOURED DIVISION. SOUTH OF PETERSHAGEN, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLUE EFFECT +13 HOURS

  The embankment of the River Weser came alive as tanks of C-Squadron moved up to provide cover. In the meantime, the US low-profile M88 amphibious bridging vehicles lumbered out of hiding from the Heisterholz Forest, making their way down to the riverbank and into the water. A cloud of smoke, mixed in with high explosives, erupted on the opposite side, blinding the few enemy units in place. Close behind the barrage, ninety men from 24th Brigade were helicoptered in to secure the area. US M163 Vulcan air-defence systems searched the skies, looking for any Soviet ground-attack aircraft bent on interfering with the activities in progress. Once in the water, the amphibious bridging vehicles, MFAB/Fs, pushed out towards the centre of the river, their bridging sections pivoting until they were at right angles to the length of the transporter. One vehicle, nearest to the edge of the river, unfolded its ramp, lowering it onto the western riverbank, providing a route onto the bridge for the vehicles waiting to cross. Its sister vehicle manoeuvred alongside it, and the two sections connected. More of the vehicles linked up until at least a dozen provided a crossing for the forces waiting. Once the last amphibious vehicle had lowered its ramp on the opposite bank, a British Scorpion, commanded by Lieutenant Baty, crossed quickly. Once it was confirmed that the bridge was working effectively, two more Scorpions followed, fanning out to link up with the soldiers from 24th Brigade and secure the other side of the river.

  It had gone exceptionally well. The initial plan to drive through the centre of the combat area had been cancelled. Aerial reconnaissance had shown that the Soviets had dismantled the bridges north and south, and held two centre ones with a strong force, a battalion for each at least. The Soviets had pushed so far west, and stretched their forces so thin along a ten-kilometre-wide corridor as far as Frotheim in the south and Diepenau in the north, pushing to split the NATO forces in the region, that the US Brigade attacking from the south and 12th Armoured Brigade from the north had very few forces to prevent them. 7th Armoured, acting as a blocking force, prevented the Soviet forces moving further west, while 22nd Armoured, using the 239, headed north, then east, passing through elements of the 12th that had secured the western bank of the River Weser. Further north, Chieftain AVLBs had laid single-piece No 9 bridging units, along with the No 8 scissors bridge, to ensure fast movement by the advancing British Brigades. Barbarians, specialist Chieftain AVREs carrying Maxi Pipe Fascines, dropped their cargoes into tank ditches, dug as part of the defence against the Soviet attack. Now the British needed to cross them to press home their counter-attack.

  The tracks of Alex’s Chieftain rattled across the floating bridge. Behind him, his troop, a platoon of infantry in their 432s and, behind them, would come the rest of B-Squadron, followed by the rest of the regiment.

  “Left stick,” he ordered his driver Mackey. “Left, left…forward.” He heard the rattle of gunfire through the swirl of smoke as the reconnaissance unit and the airborne infantry got to grips with the enemy.

  Corporal Patterson kept the turret and main gun facing in the direction of travel, while Sergeant Simpson’s Two-Two-Bravo covered right. Behind him, Two-Two-Charlie, commanded by Corporal Moore, covered their rear quarter.

  “Scorpion up ahead, sir,” called Patsy.

  “I see it. Stick with him, Mackinson.”

  “Sir.”

  The Scorpion roared off, and Alex knew he was to follow. Ahead, there would be two other Scorpions recceing their route ahead. After 500 metres, the Scorpion spun right, and Alex instructed Mackinson, his driver, to follow. They passed between the village of Weiterscheim and Auf dem Sande, keeping the road, the 482, on their left.

  “Two-Two call signs, stop, stop, stop,” ordered Lieutenant Baty in the lead Scorpion.

  “Stop, stop, stop,” ordered Alex. Patsy turned the turret, covering a ninety-degree arc to their front.

  The infantry call sign pulled over and dismounted from their 432s.

  “Two-Two call signs, this is Tango-One. Standby. Friendly outgoing south your location. Out.”

  The lead Scorpion had just informed them of friendly fire. All they could do now was wait. Alex felt uncomfortable: they were sitting ducks here. He hoped the other two recce vehicles were close by, keeping watch.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, this is Zero Bravo. Over.”

  “Go ahead. Over.”

  “We’re forming up behind you. As soon as strike over move in.”

  “Roger, sir. Out.”

  Ahead of Bravo-Troop, a Soviet motor rifle company, supported by a platoon of three tanks, was preparing to respond to reports of an assault river crossing by the enemy further north. They had received a call for help from one of their units attacked by soldiers from the 24th Brigade, and were preparing to mount their vehicles when the DPICMs struck. The dual-purpose improved conventional munitions, filled with small grenades, detonated in the air, a rain of lethal shrapnel spraying over the crouching soldiers below. Looking at it from afar, the ground became submerged in a grey cloud of dust, debris and shrapnel, and the air above it was like a concentrated fireworks display, blue-white sparks of light filling the air as far as the eye could see. The soldiers dived for cover, pressing their hands to their ears, some praying for this hell to end before it drove them mad. During a period of time, that lasted less than a minute, but for the soldiers exposed to it seeming like an hour, the effects were crippling as shrapnel tore into their fragile bodies, destroying their weapons and equipment. Tracks were torn from their armoured vehicles, armour was pierced and red-hot flames consumed the ammunition. The larger main battle tanks suffered extensive damage; aerials ripped off and the sighting systems shattered. The explosions stopped abruptly.

  “Two-Two call signs, Two-two-Alpha. Advance in line of attack, right flanking. Two-Two-Delta, follow on.”

  The rest of Alex’s troop acknowledged and Two-Two-Bravo and Charlie moved up on his right, the infantry platoon lining up behind as Alex ordered his small force forward. The Scorpion veered off to the left, ready to cover their flanks as the Chieftain tanks powered forward. The tanks advanced in line, the pointing 120mm barrels staggered left and right, covering all arcs of a potential attack.

  “Target,” yelled Patsy.

  A yellow flash erupted from the end of Two-Two-Alpha’s barrel as the tank gun fired, followed by a pale grey plume of smoke. A controlled explosion accelerated the round, a short
flight at 1,000 metres per second, and it rocketed the projectile towards its victim, a surviving Soviet MICV. The BMP-2 lurched on its tracks as a yellow cloud encased the armoured troop carrier. The wading plate, attached to the front for use during a river crossing, shot forward as the yellow blast turned to orange. On hitting the front of the vehicle it was immediately ricocheted back, slamming against the engine cover before repeating the cycle all over again. Black and orange plumes swamped the stricken vehicle. The infantry carrier had been torn apart, along with the troops within.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, Zero Bravo. Go left, go left. Tango-One will lead. Over.”

  “Roger that. All Two-Two call signs. Left, left, left. Form up left flanking. Over.”

  “Two-Bravo. Roger.”

  “Two-Charlie, on your left.”

  “Left stick,” he called to Mackey down in the fridge, although his Noddy suit and the fear of battle were keeping him well and truly warm.