by Harvey Black
The Chieftain turned on its tracks, and Alex pushed his way through the hatch, turning the cupola left as Patsy swung the turret right. He looked across as the rest of his troop caught up and drew alongside. Behind them, the four 432s of Two-Delta followed.
“Zero-Bravo, Two-Two-Alpha. In position. Over.”
“Charlie will be on your right, Delta your left and Alpha in reserve. Out.”
That’s a relief, he thought. Although the artillery attack had been devastating, there were always survivors. More and more of 1 Div troops would be crossing. 12th Brigade and the US Brigade would secure the area west of the river where a battle with the Soviet Division was still in progress. Battered by ceaseless artillery and air strikes, the Bear had pulled some of his forces back to attempt to form a line and get control of the situation, only to have his tanks run into the last of the British FASCAM reserves. Seven tanks had been crippled, along with five BMPs. His force was slowly being whittled down. A counter-attack would have been the right move. Split the two British Brigades to his front and left flank; let the 20th worry about the Americans. But one of his officers, in a panic, had sent his forward battalion, down to fourteen tanks, in the wrong direction, straight into 7th Armoured Brigade’s Challenger tanks. Fourteen quickly became seven. He would now have to hold, consolidate and wait.
Alex’s troop continued to advance, accelerating up the banks of the 482 Autobahn, through a thick layer of trees running along it, crashing through half a dozen soft-skinned resupply vehicles, Patsy spraying the panicking Soviet soldiers with the coaxial machine gun. They crossed the central reservation, brushing aside two more Zil trucks. Ellis loaded a HESH round, and Patsy put it to good use, as an ammunition carrier ripped itself apart.
“Two-Two-Alpha, Tango-One. Platoon, Tango-Eight-Zeros, 2,000 metres west of 482. Sitting ducks. Over.”
“Roger. Out to you. Two-Delta, watch our six. Over.”
“Two-Two-Delta. We have it. Over.”
“Out to you. Two-Bravo, Two-Charlie. Three targets, twelve o’clock, 2,000 metres. Forward slowly.”
“Roger.”
“Roger.”
“Watch the bank, Mackinson.”
“Got it, sir.”
Mackey manoeuvred the tank through the trees on the other side of the dual carriageway, stopping just before the bank dropped down on the other side.
The 432s of Two-Two-Delta climbed to the top of the bank, the drivers halting while still in the trees on the hard shoulder of the road. Infantry piled out of the back and ran forward while the two battle taxis with their peak engineering turrets opened fire on the milling Soviet drivers and soldiers that had been sent along with the convoy to defend it.
This is a turkey shoot, thought Corporal Graham as he threw himself down alongside his section.
Finch and Berry knew what they were doing and soon had rounds going out, punching through cab doors, piercing the canvas sides of the trucks and mowing down soldiers who were leaping down from trucks just arriving, or backing up in the melee.
After assessing the situation, Lieutenant Chandler knew what he needed to do: cover the back of Bravo-Troop and clear a safe passage for the rest of the squadron that would not be far behind. His turreted 432s and gun-groups received their orders, and he took the rest of his platoon, fourteen men, through the trees, just below the bank, until he was opposite the latest Soviet arrivals. The fire-support team let rip, spraying round after round into the still bewildered enemy who thought their Army was across the other side of the Weser and winning. The last thing they expected was to be facing NATO soldiers on this side of the river.
“Go! Go! Go!” Chandler bellowed.
The infantry soldiers rose up as one, skirmishing forwards. Their NBC roll packs, water bottles and kidney pouches bouncing on their hips, the 58-pattern ammunition pouches bulging with loaded spare magazines for their SLR rifles, they closed in on the enemy’s position. Three Gympys poured hundreds of rounds into the Soviet infantry right up until the last minute. A BMP suddenly appeared out of the smoke of the burning trucks, its 30mm gun blasting one of the gun-groups, killing all three men.
“Two-Alpha, Two-Delta. BMP right behind you!”
“Roger Two-Delta. Heads down.”
“Hit the deck!” Chandler yelled to his men as the BMP spun round to face him, disgorging soldiers from its troop compartment at the rear.
But that was all it did. It lifted off the ground and flipped onto its side as a HESH destroyed it and the troops with it. The fuel tanks in the rear doors fuelled the flames, and a black plume of smoke quickly formed as the BMP was engulfed in a conflagration, the popping of burning ammunition even putting New Year’s Eve fireworks to shame.
The lieutenant didn’t waste a moment and, leaving the burning BMP behind them, now of little use to the enemy, his platoon quickly routed the opponent in their immediate vicinity.
Alex and Patsy peered through their scopes: their view out of the front was clear. Open fields were laid out in front of them as far as the eye could see. The only object blocking their vision to the southeast was the heavily forested high ground north of the Mittellandkanal. But, directly in front, a trail of dust following behind, a second platoon of Soviet T-80s headed their way. Directly behind them were another two tanks. Off to the left, they could see two more, being reported by Lieutenant Baty’s troop, as a full tank company, no doubt stragglers from 12th Guards Tank Division rushing to the rescue of their parent unit.
Alex passed his orders to his troop; then to Corporal Patterson who was more than happy to oblige.
“T-80, 1,500 metres, sabot.”
“Up,” shouted Ellis.
“Fire,” Alex ordered.
Patsy pressed the firing button, and the deadly package left the barrel of the tank.
“T-80, one o’clock, 1,500 metres, sabot.”
The first round struck the far front right T-80, catching it on its front right guard, smashing through the front road wheel and dislodging the track, forcing it to slew to the left.
“Up.”
“Fire. First target. Damaged T-80, 1,500 metres, sabot.”
“Up.”
“Fire.”
“T-80, second line, twelve o’clock, 1,600 metres, sabot.”
“Up.”
“Fire.”
“Zero-Bravo, Tango-One. Tango-Eight-Zeros, company strength, 2,000 metres east my location. Over.”
“This is Zero-Bravo, acknowledged. Two-Three and Two-Four. Engage.”
The rest of the squadron was up on the road now and joined in the slaughter.
The turret of Two-Alpha filled with fumes, and sweat poured down the faces, necks and backs of the crew as they worked almost mechanically, intuitively, firing round after round into the enemy until the fields out to their front were strewn with burning hulks, pillars of black and white smoke like columns appearing to hold up the rapidly clearing sky. A covered position on high ground, an unsuspecting enemy, and the pinpoint accuracy thanks to the Chieftain’s fire control system and professional crews had just routed the best part of a weakened Soviet tank battalion. But, now, they needed to move before the deadly Hinds turned up, or artillery and Soviet aircraft zoned in on their position.
Alex took his tanks back on the road, went south for 200 metres, shooting up more soft-skinned vehicles, crushing men and machines that got in the way, before dropping down the eastern bank of the road, followed closely by a jubilant infantry platoon. He pushed east again, leading the rest of Bravo-Squadron to their objective.
0820, 11 JULY 1984. 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION, 1ST BRITISH CORPS. BETWEEN RINTELN AND HAMELN, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT +14 HOURS
The Soviet attack plan had been simple, on paper at least. 12th Guards Division had crossed the River Weser in 1st Armoured Division’s sector, and troops had poured across in their hundreds. The Soviet plan, dependent on the success after the crossing, was to either push north, hitting the flank of the Bundeswehr, getting in behind
them and cutting them off, or to skirt Minden and swing south, following along the fifty-kilometre stretch of the Wiehengebirg, a 300-metre high, heavily forested feature than ran from west of Porta Westfalica to just short of Osnabruck. The border with the Netherlands would be less than eighty kilometres west. Here, the Soviets would be well and truly behind the British lines. Using small detachments of Spetsnaz and heliborne motor rifle troops to act as the division’s southern flank screen, their orders were to move without stopping, bypassing strongholds where they were able, and split the two major NATO forces in Europe, NORTHAG and CENTAG, in two. Once able, they were to attack the rear of the Belgian forces and strike out for the Rhine. Advance divisions of 20th Guards Army would follow the OMG of 3rd Shock Army and exploit the weaknesses that the forward division would create. 20th Guards Army could then become an army level OMG in its own right. But, things weren’t going to plan.
For 4th Armoured Division, their first attempts had ended badly when their counter-attack had been pre-empted by an attack by the Soviet 47th Guards Tank Division, closely followed by forces from 7th Guards Tank Division who, like the 10th, had been badly mauled and had been pulled out of the line, exhausted but still available. The 47th were also recovering from a failed attempt to reach Porta Westfalica in strength and force a river crossing to push south, their objective, the gap between Herford and Bad Salzuflen with the final objective, Bielefeld. Although elements had reached west of Rinteln, they had been partially broken by a heavy bombardment from the air by a small Vulcan bomber force. Along with ground-attack aircraft, a concentrated artillery bombardment and meeting repeated defensive positions set up by a brave but now battered Territorial battalion, they had eventually run out of steam. 49th Infantry Brigade, 2nd Infantry Division, had put up a strong fight. All along the River Weser, down to the border with 1st Belgian Corps, 3rd Armoured Division on 2nd Infantry Division’s right flank were digging in, securing 1st and 4th Armoured Divisions’ right flank. The day for the 47th and 7th was about to get worse.
Two British brigades led the attack from the south. 11th Brigade was already crossing the Weser near Hameln, punching into the thinly spread Soviet forces. Major General Walsh, commander of 4th Armoured Division, knew that Soviet reserves were on their way. Although suffering from the consequences of two tactical nuclear strikes, the Soviets would soon recover, and push forces forward to attempt to blunt his counter-attack and continue their advance west. Therefore, speed was crucial. A two-pronged attack was initiated, one striking north-east between Bad Munder and Coppenbrugge, the target Springe, a second pushing along the A2, the target Bad Nenndorf and beyond. Elements of a battalion from 24th Brigade had already been flown in and positioned along the route of the A2 to act as a flank guard and conduct sabotage missions wherever possible. SAS forces had also been dropped behind enemy lines to disrupt the enemy’s flow of supplies and reinforcements. Paratroopers, guided in by Pathfinders taken behind enemy lines the previous night, were on their way to add to the Soviets’ rapidly growing misery. Two Brigades were not a large force but, well focussed, they could hurt the enemy badly.
But, then, the entire operation was a gamble. 1st Armoured Division had crossed their sector of the Weser with 22nd Armoured Brigade, restricting the enemy’s space to manoeuvre, retaking ground they had recently defended. Two brigades had closed in behind the tail end of 12GTD, blocking their retreat and interdicting their supplies of fuel and ammunition, and preventing 20th Guards Army coming to the rescue. Another gamble. Eventually an entire British division and a US Brigade would be advancing on Hanover. Another gamble.
0830, 11 JULY 1984. 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL GREEN JACKETS, 11TH ARMOURED BRIGADE, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. SOUTHEAST OF HAMELN, WEST GERMANY.
THE BLUE EFFECT +14.5 HOURS
Lieutenant Dean Russell’s platoon followed the troop of tanks across the bridge. Dean listened to the roar of jet aircraft above the sound of rattling tracks and the growl of engines. His temptation was to drop down inside the 432, seeking protection from within its armoured cocoon. As thin as it was, it was better than nothing. Combat Team Alpha had been rested and reinforced from soldiers sent across the English Channel from mainland Britain, and were on their way to do battle with the enemy yet again. A Fulcrum flew low over the man-made bridge as Russell’s platoon rattled across.
The commander of the tank in front swung the cupola round, firing a burst of 7.62mm rounds from the turret-mounted Gympy. The Corporal knew it was fruitless, but it made him feel better.
Dean ducked his head as two plumes of water shot up either side, soaking him and the surface of the flat-topped 432 as gravity brought the water back down to river level. Streaks of tracer filled the skies as two Bundeswehr Gepard anti-aircraft guns created an umbrella of lethal 35mm AA rounds. They had been brought in with the German Jaeger unit that would protect the crossing point on the southern side of the Weser should the Soviet forces find themselves able to throw the British back and counter-attack themselves. Rapier missiles raced high in the sky, chasing the Soviet aircraft as they desperately tried to plug the gaps that were forming along their entire front. Radio chatter on the Soviet military network had intensified. Orders and counter-orders, demands for reinforcements, air and artillery support were constant. One Soviet air-to-ground attack squadron had been ordered to hit this particular crossing point; then had it countermanded to target the 24th Brigade’s airmobile units behind their lines. On receiving a third set of orders, the sixteen aircraft had returned to their base as their fuel tanks began to run dry, only to find a British Corps Patrol Unit (CPU) had sabotaged their localised fuel dump and armaments.
The 1 BR Corps’ commander had taken another gamble. Using the 16th Air Defence Regiment to defend his artillery brigade and the 105th (Volunteers) Air Defence Regiment, Royal Artillery, shipped over from Edinburgh, to support 2nd Infantry Division, he had released as many of his Rapier air-defence units as possible. Moving them into positions where they could defend the crossing points, the Soviet air force suddenly found themselves confronted by the latest in the British army’s air-defence armoury. Fresh stocks of artillery shells from the UK, hoarded by the British gunners, were now being used freely, with the Soviet troops along the entire northern bank of the Weser between Rinteln and Hameln feeling the effects. It wasn’t without consequences, with Soviet long-range counter-battery fire hitting the British artillery units at every possible opportunity, forcing commanders to frequently switch position of their self-propelled guns. Soviet bombers did their best to hunt them down. As large as the Soviet air force was, it was being stretched. Harrier GR3s, protected by Phantoms, flew mission after mission until exhausted and running low on ammunition and fuel, laying waste to the defending motor rifle and tank troops.
Recognising how critical this counter-attack was to the entire defence of not only NORTHAG but also the entire Allied Forces Central, AFCENT, front line, two squadrons of A-10 Warthogs had been assigned. Although both squadrons were down from eighteen to fewer than eleven aircraft each, using a stretch of the Autobahn east of Bielefeld as their runway, they inflicted devastation on any enemy armour that dared to show its face. To prevent retaliation by Soviet fighters, US fighters had been sent to provide combat air patrols. Deep strikes were also sanctioned. Two squadrons of Tornado GR1s, sixteen aircraft in total, struck at the 20th Guards Army positions, adding to the disruption caused by the recent tactical nuclear strikes. They paid a heavy price though: four were lost through the ever-increasing umbrella of surface-to-air missiles being thrown forward by the Soviet Stavka. But more attacks followed, maintaining the pressure on the Soviet ground forces.
The 432 jolted and shook as it clattered down the slope of the bridge on the northern bank of the Weser, the engine labouring as the driver changed down to climb the steep bank once the armoured personnel carrier left the bridge. Dean was glad that his driver had survived, not just because he was one of his soldiers, but because he had been with the lieutenant during the battles
around Coppenbrugge, so had been blooded like him. One of his sections had a new driver fresh out of training, replacing Rifleman Daly, killed during a chemical attack. In fact, the soldier’s training had been cut short, and he had only driven the battle taxi for a matter of a few hours. Prior to that, as a reservist with a home defence battalion, he had not even driven a Saxon, but was moved around in four-ton lorries. He would learn, and learn quickly.
Dean looked back; checking the rest of his platoon was sticking with him. The new driver, with Two-Section, was the third vehicle back, penned in the middle so, if he had problems, he wouldn’t be the last in the file and potentially get detached from the unit. Also, the front two sections would be required to react quickly should they come under fire. Dean cracked his side against the hatch opening as the 432 slewed to the left as it dipped into a shell crater. One of ours or one of theirs, thought Dean. It didn’t matter: both sides had been pounding each other for the last twenty-four hours.
Coming up out of the hole, the driver pulled on the left stick, applied some power, and caught up with the Chieftain forging ahead in front. Combat Team Alpha although reinforced were still below full strength. In fact, they were down to only eighty per cent of their original strength. The 2RGJ Battle Group had one key mission assigned to it: to protect the right flank of the line of attack as the 3rd Royal Tank Regiment Battle Group battled its way north-east. The crash of tank guns could be heard occasionally as 3RTR Chieftains came up against the T-80s of the 47th Guards Tank Division. The enemy had been caught completely on the hop.
Hercules aircraft flew overhead, flying as low as possible until the last minute, protected by a force of British and German Phantoms and British Hawk fighters. Once over their target, they would climb to the right altitude and release their cargo, 600 men of the British 1st Parachute Battalion, the reserve force of 24th Airmobile Brigade. Up until now, it had been the goal of the Soviet army to keep NATO forces on the hop, dropping multiple airborne units on and behind the lines, using Spetsnaz forces to create mayhem and disruption behind the NATO lines. Now it was the British army’s turn to give them a taste of their own medicine. The men of the parachute battalion would be dropped east of Wichtringhausen. Here, they could threaten the crossroads where the A2 crossed the 65; more disruption of Soviet reinforcements moving west, and a thorn in the side of 20th Guards Army.