by FARMAN, ANDY
The regimental commander snapped a query at the artillery rep regarding the greatly reduced weight of fire landing on suspected NATO positions but the artilleryman was spared the need to reply because at that moment the tanks surged out of the lane, leading the way for the APC company.
The delay had proved a drain on the Czech mortars supply of smoke and the screen was growing patchy, which allowed those defenders without the benefit of infrared sights, to see the opposition with their Mk 1 eyeballs instead.
“Who are they, do you know?” The commander had lowered his glasses and turned his head toward his subordinates, directing the question at the Intelligence officer, who stammered a reply.
The regimental commander considered the answer for a moment before chuckling.
“So, the remnants of a regiment we beat in our first battle, and some American’s who’s own regiment didn’t want them…hah!” The laugh turned to a sneer.
“This will be over in no time at all comrades.”
Turning his attention back to his forces, he raised his binoculars once more to his eyes.
The charge of the Czech armour went unchallenged, the weapons in the NATO lines stayed silent as the tanks grew ever closer, passing through the wrecked and ruined gun line of 29 Commando Regiment and into the fields that ended where the slopes of Vormundberg began.
The CO of the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders called up Pat Reed, he had a troop of the Royal Scots supporting his own left flank company, and both their tanks and a section of the flank company’s Anti-Tank Platoon would be in position to assist 3 Company and the Hussar Troop. Pat thanked the Scots CO for the offer, but they had best stay masked until needed, as he was confident the attack could be beaten unaided.
Over a rise a mile to the right of the lead company from the 23rd’s First Battalion appeared, motoring downhill across fields toward the same sunken lane. It was an obstacle that would cause them to slow in order to negotiate it, but the enemy should be fully engaged in trying to deal with the first two companies and the regimental commander was confident the First battalion would arrive like a hammer blow, rolling up or rolling over the defenders. Satisfied that the fight was as good as won the regimental commander stood, as a sign of contempt for his enemy he dispensed with basic fieldcraft, and turning his back he began to walk back to his command tank.
Major Venables kept his eyes firmly pressed against the sight as he keyed the radios send switch. When different Arms speak on the same radio network the simple use of a prefix avoids, for example, the number two troop of B Squadron of an armoured regiment from being confused with 2 Platoon, 2 Company of an infantry battalion. ‘India’ denotes Infantry, ‘Tango’ denotes armour/tanks, ‘Golf’ denotes artillery/guns etc. As Major Venables was communicating directly with his own unit, on their own net he did not use the ‘Tango’ prefix.
“Hello One Three this is One, over?”
“One Three, send over.”
“One, as per my last briefing the signal to let rip will be me lighting up a command tank….” His gunner was already tracking the Czech tank company commander’s vehicle, a T-90 that was easily identified by its additional antennae.
“…but right now I’m seeing an SA-9 vehicle amongst the tanks, at least two Zeus mixed in with the APCs and there are at least two plough tanks with the lead element.” Venables did not have to elaborate for the troop commander covering 3 Company.
“One Three, roger out to you…hello One Three Bravo and One Three Charlie, over.”
“One Three Bravo, send over.”
“One Three Charlie, send over.”
Major Venables listened for just a moment longer to the AAA targets being divided up between that troop, before turning to the 3 Company net.
“Hello India Three, this is Tango One, ready when you are, over.”
“India Three roger, standby…standby…fire!”
The Challenger II rocked backwards on its sprockets with the recoil of its main gun and the tungsten sabot flew true, striking their target where turret met body.
Less than a heartbeat later three other tank guns fired and sent two HESH and a further sabot down range.
The sound of the onboard ammunition in Venables target exploding caused the 23rd MRRs commander to stop and look back towards his lead companies.
The Company commander’s tank had already blown up but the sound had taken a little time to reach the regimental commanders ears. He was in time to observe a four wheel SAM vehicle and a pair of ZSU-23-4s explode in unison, and moments later the first Milan missiles struck the charging line of tanks.
Aside from the visible proof that NATO ground forces could still fight, something caught his eye, something had briefly popped up from behind trees on the crest of Vormundberg but it had been so fleeting that he had only the barest impression, and then the frighteningly swift passage of a Hellfire missile ended with the death of another of his tanks.
“Kurva drat!”
Another object, though not in the same spot came into view and he saw a British Lynx helicopter half visible behind the trees, but unlike the Apache that had loosed off the Hellfire, the Lynx had to keep the target in view whilst attacking with the older, wire guided TOW missile, but older technology or not the T-72 it struck was reduced to burning scrap. .
Tank rounds, Milan, TOW and Hellfire missiles were coming thick and fast, although not all hit or killed their targets first time. Some crews were still blessing the luck that had given them a glancing blow only, when their attacker re-engaged and destroyed them.
He glared at his aide. “Get me close air support!”
“You were offered it earlier sir, but turned it down…it may take time to get it back?”
Unable to do anything to silence the enemy anti-tank weapons himself, the regimental commander took it out on the junior officer.
“Ty debile zasranej…so why are you wasting time making excuses?”
The business of controlling the tank fire was not, at this precise time, the responsibility of the squadron commander. The attack was being directed against 3 Company and therefore his troop commander controlled their aspect of the fight.
Major Venables and his crew were in a position to assist and so once he had initiated the fire, he allowed his crew to become subordinate to the troop commander, 3 Troop.
Venables Challenger arrived in its second fighting position having fired twice from the initial location. It had reversed out of that hole and motored to its present one where it had crept up a muddy ramp to present only the smallest target area possible to an enemy and still be able to engage. The gunner was looking through his sight at the dwindling number of tank targets below, traversing the main gun as he tried to decide which to engage when Major Venables took over, using the commander’s over-ride to halt the main guns wanderings and bring the elevation up a few degrees.
“Target BMP with antennae’s.”
The gunner took a half second to answer.
“Identified!” He thumbed the laser rangefinder and Venables released the over-ride, allowing the gunner sole control over the weapon once more. A sabot round was already loaded but there were more tanks out there then they had sabot rounds to kill them with, so each one counted.
“Load HESH.”
His loader opened the guns breach, removing one of the bag charges along with the sabot before replacing it with a HESH round, closing the breach once more and sliding the safety gate across.
“HESH loaded!”
“Firing!”
Overall command of the two companies had been borne by the commander of the infantry company since the loss of his opposite number in the first tank to be taken out, and he would probably have managed it quite ably had he been given a few more minutes to settle into the job. Having been struck by a round fired a greater height than the BMP-2 enjoyed, its angled frontal armour stood no chance of deflecting the round away. The HESH round struck the armour plate square on, its hollow nose cone flattening against the 9mm th
ick armour even as the projectiles rear mounted fuse fired. Roof hatches, gun ports and the rear troop door blew off, sent spinning away by the expansion of white-hot gasses from within the armoured vehicle. A second later the heat set off the 30mm cannon rounds stored within the vehicle and it blew up.
Venables did not dwell on the vehicles destruction; he was looking for more targets.
“Okay, let’s find anoth…” and then the suns reflecting off a smooth surface caught his eye, drawing it to the insect-like body and bug eyes of a machine hovering just above the ground a half kilometre beyond the APCs, but it took a moment for his brain to register the thing was pointing unerringly at them.
“…back us up NOW!”
Not needing to be told twice his driver gunned the engine and the Challenger jerked backwards down the ramp and not a moment too soon. A SPIRAL, anti-tank guided missile fired from the Mi-24V, Hind-D passed six inches above the turret of the retreating Challenger and exploded against a tree a dozen feet behind the position.
Having missed the shot the attack helicopters gunner cursed in frustration and loosed of a barrage of 23mm rounds from the twin, nose mounted cannons. He was hoping for either a lucky hit or to startle the tank into seeking fresh cover, but receiving only an angry rebuke from his squadron commander whom he had not realised was watching. It really wasn’t his day at all and if he hadn’t been busy wasting ammunition he would possibly have noticed a Stinger being fired from elsewhere in the enemy lines.
Veneer watched the helicopter stagger as the missile struck the side of its port engine and explode. It wasn’t a very big explosion, and although he knew the weapon had only a quite small warhead he was disappointed. He remembered once as a small boy in the run up to Bonfire night he had spent a week’s pocket money on a biggish rocket with an impressive sounding name, but he had felt cruelly cheated at the feeble bang and lacklustre sparkles when he had let it off on the night. The Stinger seemed to have the same lack of punch as the ‘Galactic Zammer’ because after the impact the pilot had steadied the aircraft and there it hovered, twelve feet above the ground and apparently undamaged.
The first derisive catcalls were sounding from the neighbours when a gout of black smoke issued from the port exhaust and the aircraft suddenly lost power. It dropped to the ground, bounced once and then toppled onto its side, its rotor blades shattering against the earth and the fragments flying off in every direction. The Hind-D didn’t blow up and it didn’t catch fire, but it definitely counted as a kill.
“Buggermesideways!” He allowed the launcher to be taken from him by Troper, muttering about sheer flukes and that it was his turn now.
“I thought that Stinger was a dud for a minute.”
“Don’t talk soft, do ya really think he would have carried on just sitting there if something hadn’t got broke?”
They noticed that the 82nd men had fallen silent, and both Guardsmen began a soccer chant, pointing their fingers at the paratroopers as they taunted them.
“Oh it’s all gone quiet, all gone quiet; it’s all gone quiet over there!”
Any listening music lovers were spared the horrors of a second chorus by a 57mm rocket striking the hillside twenty feet below, and sending everyone in the vicinity headlong back into the shelter bays, where they rolled themselves into protective balls as the victim’s squadron commander worked over the area of hillside that the Stinger had been fired from.
Once that Mi-24V had relocated, leaving in search of fresh targets for its remaining three pods and four SPIRALS’ it carried, the Guardsmen re-emerged. Thirty-two rockets had added to the damage already inflicted by the artillery, but that damage was limited to the trees, hillside and defence works, but the downing of the helicopter had not endeared them to their neighbours. A rocket had caused a cave-in at the position occupied by the trio from the far side of the pond, and when the two Coldstreamers eventually reappeared, they paused in their frantic spadework to glare in a most hostile fashion.
Unable to think of anything else to say, Troper called across. “Nice morning for it!” He gave a half-hearted wave that was as sheepish as the awkward smile on his face, and ducked back out of sight.
Venables driver eased the big machine into their third firing position and the squadron commander cracked the hatch. Standing half inside the turret he studied the panorama before him, and nodded to himself in satisfaction before reporting on the battalion net that a half dozen Czech AFVs were retreating back the way they had come. The remainder were burning fiercely in the fields below, and none had come closer than a quarter of a mile.
All of 3 Troops vehicles were intact and ammunition expenditure had been light, so it was a pretty good start to the fight.
He took in the heavier than normal scent of pine, courtesy of all the freshly splintered trees, and smiled wistfully because he had always liked the smell of pine. Pine scented disinfectants, air fresheners and those tablet things that they put in urinals didn’t count, they just weren’t the same thing at all. He enjoyed the moment, even if the flavour was tainted with the stink of spent explosives, and then raised his binoculars to look off to where about three times the number of the last attackers was approaching the sunken lane.
The advancing battalion was coming on with two companies abreast, and those lead companies were fast approaching the sunken lane which the Major could only make out at that distance by the avenue of trees marking its passage. He studied the distant shapes, trying to fathom what calibre of soldier was manning these personnel carriers and tanks, and grudgingly allowed that they were probably veterans, judging by the combat spacing between the vehicles and general good order of the formation.
By his reckoning the left wing of this new attack would overlap 4 Company to encompass 3 Company’s number 7 Platoon, and the right could well be driving on positions held by their neighbours 2LI, the 2nd Battalion Light Infantry.
Pat had visited the Wessex Regiment soldiers, those who were on loan to the Light Infantry, and he had no doubts about their courage and skill but the boundary between units was always the weak spot, the seam between two separate command and control organisations that could be widened and exploited by a determined enemy.
The Hussar’s C Squadron, commanded by Jimmy McAddam an old acquaintance, was attached to 2LI and he was tempted to call them up, but there was nothing he could tell him that he wouldn’t already be aware of and now was not really the time.
The sound of eight Fv-432s in low gear reverberated through the lines, working their way up the reverse slope to just shy of the crest, taking advantage of the tree clearance undertaken by the oppositions artillery which had given them another base plate position. On reaching the desired position the engine sounds quietened and the mortar crews ‘Number Two’s, with each weapons aiming post in hand, left the APCs as the two semi-circular hatches in the roofs of the vehicles were opened to reveal the medium mortars.
The business of laying-on, i.e., the placing of the individual aiming posts in such a fashion as to overlap exactly the vertical line on the mortars sight, was conducted between the Number One’s and Number Two’s. For a novice crew the laying-on could take minutes, but for the well-practiced it was but a matter of seconds.
“In Two!” had been shouted eight times in less than thirty seconds and the Number Two’s were back with the vehicles. The mortars were ready for business.
The Hussars commander heard the distinctive ‘ploop’ of 81mm mortar rounds leaving the barrels, and they were leaving very rapidly indeed. Eighty mortar rounds were in the air before the first one had landed, and the Number Two’s had retrieved the aiming posts at the run, clambering back into the vehicles, which were already moving off.
Peering through his binoculars at the oncoming Czech battalion, Major Venables was surprised to see not the geysers of earth and smoke that HE rounds would have caused, but thick white smoke. The ground immediately before the sunken lane took on the aspect of a dense fog bank, which drifted with the breeze towards the Czec
h formation, blotting out the lane and all visible clues as to its location. The drivers of the Czech armoured vehicles slowed down, not wanting to encounter the sunken lane whilst driving at full tilt. They knew that the obstacle was somewhere close by, but hitting it at forty miles per hour was courting serious if not fatal consequences.
The front rank slowed and almost instantly the combat spacing between vehicles was lost, the ranks of vehicles bunching up as result of the unannounced change of pace.
Venables looked up in response to a mournful droning overhead, and then having identified the sound he laughed aloud and thumped the rim of his hatch in appreciation of the cooperation between the mortars and the heavy artillery. “Beautiful, just beautiful.”
Looking back in the direction of the approaching armour he raised once again the binocular’s to his eyes, but could make out little.
Improved munitions were mixed in with the conventional shells, and these scattered Skeet above the clustered ranks of Czech armour. The thin top armour of fighting vehicles struck by the Skeet’s were pierced and whatever lay beneath suffered accordingly. For the lucky ones this was an engine getting trashed, but for the unlucky ones their last moments were a burning purgatory from which only the sympathetic detonation of onboard ammunition brought a welcome release.
The Czech battalion commander, from his position in the rearmost rank of the formation, had no option but to urge his men to press on. The NATO artillery quite obviously had their range so to loiter was to invite total disaster. The leading vehicles pressed on, driving faster than they would have chosen to if given the choice and this resulted in a number of motorway style pile-ups. Some vehicles encountered the lane unexpectedly, plunged down into the defile at 30mph or faster, and came to a crashing halt against the far side, snapping axles and shearing drive sprockets. For the occupants of such vehicles never fitted with such niceties as safety harnesses, the result was in many cases fractured skulls and broken bones. Vehicles following behind these found the way ahead blocked and were prevented from backing up and finding another way around by vehicles coming up behind.