by FARMAN, ANDY
A BTR-70s driver saw the hedgerow that bordered the lane at the last moment, and managed to brake to a halt, but before he could proceed to negotiate the steep bank at an appropriate speed his vehicle was rammed from behind by a T-72. Shunted forward with such momentum the APC pitched down the bank where it struck the unyielding tarmac, stood on its nose briefly before flopping onto its back. Only cutting torches could have opened the thoroughly mangled rear troop door, and the roof hatches were useless as a means of escape, so it was a blessing that all the occupants had been rendered unconscious.
A flight of German Alpha Jets took advantage of the confusion to stage a hit and run attack, dropping canisters of napalm along that section of the lane, which further blocked the lane and immolated those trapped within wrecked vehicles.
It was a moment that should have been capitalised on by either launching a counter attack, or by piling on the artillery fire, but they lacked the strength to capitalize on such a thrust, and only a second salvo arrived from the guns.
As the smoke screen began to dissipate Venables cursed the lack of available artillery but he knew that the Royal Artillery AS-90s were relocating because the Red Army’s battlefield radar now knew within ten feet where those guns were.
In the fields beyond the avenue of trees he could see burning vehicles and other perfectly serviceable tanks and APCs milling about as a safe passage across the lane was sought. He could only guess at what was taking place in the lane and how many vehicles had come to grief there from the smoke and flames that were climbing skyward.
Calling up the CP he found himself talking to Pat Reed in person, and explained exactly how vulnerable the enemy force now was, but the CO had a bird’s eye view thanks to Phoenix and was as equally as frustrated as the Hussar.
“Hello Tango One Nine, this is India Nine, we are trying for more air assets but we only got those Alpha’s because I promised them full and unbridled use of Mrs India Nine whenever they were next in town…over.”
The levity of the CO’s words could not disguise the underlying frustration he could hear in the voice, and he looked again at the armour stranded beyond the lane before replying resignedly.
“Tango One Nine roger, out.”
He glowered into the binoculars as he saw the tracks and underside of a tank seemingly grow out of the lane as it climbed the steep bank, then the machine tipped over, crushing the hedgerow beneath it and accelerating into the field on this side of the obstacle, the T-90s long barrel traversing from side to side as it sought targets. The enemy had found one gap in the fire and wreckage and where there was one there was sure to be more.
His view was again obscured by smoke but this time the rounds were coming from the enemy, providing cover whilst they organised themselves.
In the absence of artillery, air strikes, or an armoured force of sufficient strength to sally forth and hit the enemy whilst it was off balance, another troop of tanks to support 4 Company was what was required. He had just the three troops worth of tanks and his own vehicle, there were no reserves and 2 Troops position was between 1 and 2 Company in accordance with Pat Reeds desire to have a strong second line, should the forward companies be rapidly overwhelmed. 3 Troop could not be moved left as they were crucial to the flank of the battalion’s defence, which really said it all in regard to their circumstances. No matter how well they did now, they did not have the numbers to win.
Major Venables spat over the side of his turret as if to be rid of the taste of lost opportunities before ordering the driver to back them up and find an empty position nearer to 4 Company where they could lend a helping hand.
Whereas Pat Reed and Mark Venables were feeling merely frustrated, the commander of the 23rd was positively apoplexic with rage. His superior, the division’s Romanian commander had treated him to an ear-blistering rebuke over the radio for his lack of foresight and planning, even before his first battalions attack had arrived. The divisional commander obviously expected it to fail so he had ordered the 23rd MRRs commander to prepare and launch a further attack using the rest of his regiment, or answer for the consequences.
First battalion was using smoke to cover its crossing of the sunken lane and shake out into formation once more, but despite already losing a quarter of its strength there was no reason its attack should not succeed.
However, Third battalion was forming up a klick to the rear of the farm and Second battalion, which had borne the brunt of the losses against the British marines and from whom had come the initial two-company attack from the lane, were now attached to the Third battalion.
The vehicle commanders of the two tanks and four APCs that had survived his regiment’s first attack had been arrested and marched off into some trees nearby, their departure being witnessed by the battalion staff’s from Third Battalion and their own.
The regimental commander had remained at the farm to observe, and from here he gave his orders to the staffs by radio, for an attack to be launched with the farm and sunken lane being to the right of the start line. The attack was to bear straight ahead until it reached the point where the lane curved away to run down the valley, and then the force would swing half right and drive for the NATO positions that had defeated the first assault.
As he handed the radio handset back to a signaller he chanced to see on the hills behind them the Romanian regiment that had trailed them was deploying in readiness for an assault. No doubt the remainder of the division was also deploying and he suddenly realised that the divisional commander thought he would fail.
A flurry of shots sounded from the trees where the vehicle commanders had been taken, the sound causing ominous echoes that lingered in his ears, and for the first time he felt the cold finger of fear.
Under the circumstances the First Battalion’s commander did a good job of job of reorganisation on the hoof, but the formation was rather ragged and still trying to sort itself out when he gave the order to continue the advance. Under pressure himself to make progress he had pushed his subordinates to get across the obstacle and lost another two in the process, two precious plough tanks that ventured too far to the right in search of a safe crossing. Despite the suppressing fire being directed on their positions the French Foreign Legion paratroopers could not look such a pair of gift horse’s in the mouth, they engaged both vehicles and destroyed them.
The 4 Company men had watched 3 Company’s action and had been heartened by the result, but now as they watched the Czech’s emerge from the ragged smoke screen, driving straight at them, it caused a few men to swallow hard.
The Soviet artillery which had slackened during the artillery duel now picked up once more, but it was concentrated on the fields and slopes before them, attempting weaken the mine fields which had to be there somewhere. There was heavier fire falling behind and to the sides of the Czechs intended victims, and they knew it was to isolate them, to divide and conquer. The Milan crews picked their targets and awaited the order to open fire, and the men in the fighting holes checked their spare magazines and grenades for the umpteenth time.
Major Venables and his crew were finding the going less than straightforward in their journey along the slope to support 4 Company. Vehicular movement between the two forward companies had been carried out by using an existing track half way up the hill, following the contours through the trees. By accident or by design this track had suffered particularly badly in the Soviet’s preparatory bombardment. Fallen trees and shell craters had provided obstacles the tank could only seek to bypass, but having found their way around one obstacle and returned to the track they encountered further blockages within yards.
The radio transmission that warned of the renewed advance was not best received by the crew of a Challenger that had found itself in a cul-de-sac formed by fallen trunks.
“Arghfukit!”
Had the shelling not picked up then a crewman could have gone out on foot and found them a way through by now. The only area Mark Venables was sure had been spared this level o
f shelling was the reverse slope.
“Driver, we need to back up about thirty feet and then head straight uphill.” There was no immediate response on the intercom and he was about to call again when the voice of Trooper Abbot, the driver, sounded in his earpiece.
“Er, no offence boss, but what makes you think we can find a route that way?”
“I don’t know that we will, but I know we’ve tried every other direction except up.” Shrapnel struck the turret, and the sound made them all feel strangely more vulnerable rather than snug behind armour plate. Mark Venables was trying not to let the feeling of exasperation get the better of him because they needed to be in a firing position already, not stuck in this maze.
“Just get this thing moving Abbot, there’s a good chap.”
He used the vision blocks to assist the driver as he first backed up and then pivoted the big machine. Major Venables brought the barrel of the 120mm gun to full elevation to prevent its digging into the hillside, and once that was accomplished he turned one of the radios to 1 Troop’s net to inform them that the going was slow but they would assist just as soon as they could.
No matter how much money had gone into the research and development of the perfect seat, they hadn’t cracked the problem yet. That was the considered opinion of Ann-Marie Chan as she tried to regain some feeling in her posterior. Her operators were used to these long hours, which was just as well because although they had been on-station for over fourteen hours, their day wasn’t over yet.
On the ground the troops of both sides may be criticising their respective air forces for not being more visibly active on their behalf this day, but her screens gave a different story.
There was a lot of air activity behind the lines, with NATO interdicting strikes bound for the front or for autobahns carrying the US 4 Corps to the fight. She had four stacks of aircraft configured for air intercept that were employed in defending 4 Corps, and three wings of strike aircraft on the ground that she could not use because they were earmarked for close air support for 4 Corps when they eventually reached the front. It left her with an available, though somewhat ragtag force that had been attempting to thin out the Red armour before it got to Vormundberg. They were all desperately tired and in need of a rest that she was not empowered to allow.
The airborne operation had unquestionably dealt the enemy a severe blow, the Red Air Force was having to employ fields further from the fighting, and due to the losses in the tanker fleet most of the sorties coming from those bases had been unable to take off with full ordnance loads. She knew that would not continue, and indeed the Soviet’s had been moving aircraft, including tankers, from other areas all morning, and sending them to the available fields. The Red AWAC fleet was another matter though, they had reactivated old Il-76s, the first type to properly fulfil that role, but they were being kept too far from the front to be effective. Ann-Marie could just about detect the weak pulse of one that had to be back over Berlin way, so unless that changed then her and her controllers were the kings.
Lt Col Chan could see there were signs of stacks building by the Soviet’s, the stacking up of aircraft that experience told her had to be strike aircraft. A regiments worth of what she suspected were Sukhoi SU-25 variants had lifted off from Plzen-Line airbase and had tanked, the first time that had been seen to happen that day, before flying to Germany to RV with a trio of tankers and four flights of SU-27 Flankers. The second tanking had also been a first for strike aircraft that day, providing heavily laden aircraft with ample fuel reserves.
Lt Col Chan called up the AWAC’s partner in crime, the JSTARS mirroring their racetrack circuit at 45,000 feet.
“Sabre Dance, Sabre Dance, this is Crystal Palace Zero Eight, over.”
“Go, Crystal.”
“It looks like the other guys are getting their act together, we have a regiment holding east of Dessau, loaded for bear and with nearby tanker support. What’s happening on the ground right now?”
“First line at Vormundberg was breached and the first attacks against the second line are underway, but its localised at the moment…we are seeing divisions deploying in the rear though, and we are predicting that if no breakthrough is achieved within the next couple of hours the Reds will launch a general assault along the entire line.”
Ann-Marie thought about that for a moment. It would take a couple of hours to get all the elements set for the divisional attacks and those regiments weren’t going to carry on burning fuel for that length of time.
“Is there anything else you need or has that answered whatever question you had?”
“Just one more thing…how come you get to have the cooler callsign?”
Her opposite number laughed and then they both returned to the business at hand. She knew where the SU-25s were going to be used, and it wasn’t against 4 Corps and it would be in the next few minutes, not two hours down the line.
She brought up a menu onscreen and cast her eye down the list of available units for those that had completed rearming and refuelling. There were three, one Greek, one French and one USAF, and she tagged two flights from each squadron for immediate take off, noting as she did that two regiments worth of fresh contacts were climbing toward tankers south of Plzen-Line, quite possibly prior to heading for 4 Corps, but it was the dozen radar contacts that were leaving the Dessau stack and making a beeline for Vormundberg which were of more immediate concern.
Abbot grunted in satisfaction as the Challenger crested the brow of the hill and halted.
“Please note boss, that I am not one to say ‘I told you so’.”
The hilltop had received serious attention, as logically it was a place dug in troops would be. It was pitted with shell craters and in places these overlapped, there was not a tree that still stood unharmed either.
No artillery was presently landing and Major Venables opened his hatch with caution, listening for the sound of incoming before heaving himself up and out, to stand atop the turret.
From the viewing blocks it had looked to be as much of a maze as the one they had recently given up on, and things didn’t look that much more hopeful when viewed from outside at first, but then he saw it.
Jumping down off the Challenger he ran to a nearby pine tree that had been stripped of almost all its limbs so that it stood like a feature in a kids jungle gym, slashed and hacked at by shrapnel but nonetheless easy to climb thanks to the stumps of branches. He clambered up until he could see clear across the hilltop, and although it would be a something of a roller-coaster ride, climbing in and out of deep craters, it was do-able.
Mark Venables took the time to memorise the twists and turns they would need to take, and then he heard the crack of a main tank gun firing from the direction of 4 Company.
A signaller turned in his seat and raised an arm to catch Pat Reed’s eye, the commanding officer of 1CG raised a questioning eyebrow.
“From Four Nine, ‘Contact, Wait out…’ that’s all sir.”
Lt Col Reed nodded his acknowledgement to that signaller and took a message form from another. It was from brigade and the text of the message was unwelcome news.
JSTARS REPORTS FURTHER ASSAULT IMMINENT. ONE ARMOURED COLUMN, SIX COMPANYS DEEP, ALIGNED WITH YOUR RIGHT FLANK POSITIONS.
He wasn’t sure that his two forward companies could deal with the simultaneous onslaught of over two battalions worth of armour without considerable help.
Pat crossed to the Royal Artillery reps position and noticing an unfamiliar face stood next to the RA lieutenant responsible for artillery support for the unit, and rightly assumed it was the heli-borne spotter who had been forced down. Being rather busy he gave a nod of welcome in passing and gripped his rep by the shoulder.
“Derek, I want MLRS, just a couple of rockets worth would be invaluable.” He handed over the message form before returning to his former place.
“What’s his name then, Derek?” asked the newcomer.
“Patrick Reed.”
The newcomer’
s hissed response caused the rep to pause what he was doing.
“That’s Reed?”
“Yes, why?”
“His son is with my unit.”
“So how’s he doing?” Derek enquired. “If he is anything like his Father then you’ve got a good one.”
There was a long pause.
“He’s dead Derek, killed this morning at Magdeburg.”
“Oh shit…poor bastard.” Derek thought for a second, and there was nothing in the Guards officers’ manner than indicated he knew of the death of his son. Handing the appeal for MLRS support to the bearer of those sad tidings he then vacated his place.
“Can you take over with this request; I need to speak to the Adjutant.”
The current combat air patrol covering Vormundberg was being found by two flights of three F/A-18 Falcons of the Spanish Air Force. Their own radars were on standby as they followed the steers from Lt Col Chan’s controllers, guiding them on to the approaching targets and launched at long range all the AMRAAMs on their rails when instructed, but their targets did not contest the issue, rolling inverted and diving for the ground on burners the second the missiles were detected.
The AWAC had those twelve identified as SU-27s, not the type of aircraft a weenie straps to his back, and the controller providing the steers raised his eyebrows when they kept heading northeast, leaving the strike aircraft near Dessau with no cover.
The senior of the Spanish pilots could see on his datalink the aircraft abandoned by the interceptors, the SU-25s and tankers, and asked permission to engage with his own flight, the Caballero’s, and the second flight, the Cuchillo’s, which was granted by their controller who did not believe in looking gift horses in the mouth.