by FARMAN, ANDY
It took over a minute for the grenades smoke to clear, drifting eastwards with the breeze it thinned first to reveal the first two crews with all their equipment, still lying in the mud where they had last been seen. As the smoke cleared downwind it revealed a single motionless figure slumped across the banks lip. Bill lay there for several minutes in the aim, but none of the ammunition bearers appeared.
Pat was not witness to the demise of the Czech officer, the first enemy vehicles had reached 3 Company’s forward positions and were driving through 7 Platoon and 8 Platoon apparently unchallenged. The occupants of the trenches were out of sight, awaiting the enemy fighting vehicles presenting their most vulnerable side.
On the reverse slope a fire mission from 3 Companies CP was received by 2 Section, Mortar Platoon, and was quickly converted into a language the No. 1s understood.
“Charge three, elevation eleven zero zero, bearing seventeen thirty…two rounds smoke, normal fire!”
A T-90, Four BTR-60s, two BTR-70s and a pair of T-72 tanks penetrated the platoon positions, driving through toward the ground held by the in-depth platoon. From the firing ports along the sides of the BTRs the troops inside the vehicles kept up a sustained barrage of small arms fire, but there were no NATO troops visible.
Although Pat and the company commanders had covered this eventuality at the O Groups, he still felt uneasy watching enemy fighting vehicles traversing his lines uncontested.
The smoke began to land beyond the platoon positions; it was not a thick screen, not as thick as the screen used earlier to cause the pile-up at the sunken lane, but enough to provide some cover to 7 and 8 Platoons 94mm men.
Shrewd US Paratroopers and British Guardsmen threw smoke, adding a little more cover before they stood up in their firing bays, exposing their backs to the second line of Soviet vehicles.
Sixteen men stood and lifted the bulky weapons onto their shoulders, two were cut down almost immediately by automatic fire coming from firing ports in the BTRs rear troop doors, and one was decapitated by a 23mm cannon shell from the approaching second line.
It had proved difficult for the section and platoon commanders to coordinate and as such there was some duplication effort.
A single 94mm anti-tank round was quite able to destroy a BTR, as indeed the manufacturers claimed it was all that was required to kill any modern main battle tank, but experience had taught the men who used the weapons to fire in salvo’s of at least two rockets be sure of knocking out even a T-72.
Both T-72s were hit several times and left stopped and burning, as were five of the BTRs, but the T-90 was hit only once by a hastily aimed shot that hit a track and brought it to a jerky halt without killing it. The surviving BTR-70 was completely overlooked, which gave its commander an insight into their predicament. The infantry section de-bussed, coming out fighting and taking cover in shell craters, of which there was no shortage.
For a few minutes there was an island of resistance within the battalion lines, formed by the BTR, its infantry section, and the crippled tank. Like a proud old bull surrounded by a pride of lions the Czech’s kept the British and Americans at bay for a time, but it couldn’t last.
Milan rounds fired from 9 Platoon positions, 3 Company’s in-depth platoon, took out the both the BTR and the tank whilst 51mm light mortars and L79 grenade launchers pummelled the Czech infantrymen with HE. Shell craters do not offer the same protection as a well dug trench and when 9 Platoon men came forward they found no resistance, just three wounded men and seven very dead ones.
Mark Venables Challenger crested the hill in time to see the second line of Czech vehicles make the same error as the first line.
Keeping infantry inside vehicles only works if your enemy very obligingly present themselves to be shot at from the vehicles ports.
The 23rd MRRs commander watched his second line enter the NATO positions and then smoke obscured his view. On the radio he heard the same shouts of alarm as had come from his leading element, the hammer of automatic weapons drowning out the words and then they too went off the air.
They were under the guns of the NATO tanks now, the Chieftains and Challengers on the hillside above them no longer had any living targets to engage but his regiment now consisted of ten tanks, nineteen BTRs and a handful of AAA vehicles, and that included his own command group vehicles. Not enough to punch their way through the NATO troops holding the high ground between themselves and the autobahns but enough to perhaps establish a foothold, a crack in the NATO line that others could widen.
The NATO troops in the forward trenches were now firing directly at the approaching vehicles, the 94mm LAWs and Milan’s killing a T-80 and a further three BTRs.
Taking up his radio handset again he ordered his infantry to debus at 100m from the trenches and fight through the first positions on foot, the tanks and BTRs would provide the gunfire support.
His own tank was travelling behind a T-90 and he ordered them to speed up and close the gap with the last of his regiment, and the T-90 duly accelerated but then came to a crashing halt amid a welter of smoke and flame. The commander’s driver swerved to avoid it, and they themselves were hit on top of the engine deck by a TOW missile fired from a Lynx helicopter. The commander was thrown sideways, the force of the impact smashing his face into the RT set and he saw stars for a moment. His gunner brought him back to reality, shaking his shoulders and shouting that they had to get out. His face felt strange and he caught sight of his reflection in the glass covering the radios dials. His nose had a crooked look about it and the lower half of his face was scarlet and shiny with blood. He reached up and threw open the hatch, pulling himself half way out when they were hit again, this time on the turret. He screamed with the incredible pain as he was engulfed in a column of flame that propelled him out of the stricken tank and flinging him twelve feet from it, right in the path of his command groups fast moving ZSU-23-4.
Pat Reed watched the enemy vehicles brake to a halt and disgorge infantry, catching the defenders on the hop as they had again taken refuge in the shelter bays in the expectation of the next line of enemy following the same tactics as the previous ones. The Czech’s grenaded three of the trenches, all which were sited to dominate an area of dead ground before the guardsmen and paratroopers realised their error. The Czech’s thereby had a toehold to work from. By chance rather than by design the Czechs had their first success in 8 Platoons territory, which slightly overlooked the neighbouring positions in 7 Platoon.
Ownership of the dead ground allowed the Czechs to corral their remaining vehicles in relative safety, tucked out of sight away from 3 Company’s anti-tank assets.
The platoon commander of 8 Platoon led a hastily put together counter attack to regain the three trenches, less than five minutes later, and shot through both legs, his platoon sergeant dragged him back to his trench, unceremoniously towing him over the muddy ground by the yoke of his webbing as high velocity rounds cracked past them.
From his viewing point Pat watched the action, his stomach knotting at the sight of the bodies left in the open, which highlighted the attacks failure.
3 Company’s commander immediately ordered another counter attack, this time by 9 Platoon with 8 and 7 providing the fire support, but before it could get started the Czechs expanded on their success by attacking and taking a further four of the 8 Platoon fighting positions.
When the 3 Company counter attack did go in it got off to a bad start because the Czechs were now using the captured positions to fire down onto 7 Platoon, so in effect 9 Platoon had only a sections worth of fire support coming from what was left of 8 Platoon.
The Czechs brought forward two of their remaining tanks and a trio of BTRs firing at ranges of less than a hundred and fifty metres at the skirmishing 9 Platoon. The attack was defeated; worse, it had inflicted losses upon 3 Company that brought its ability to hold its remaining territory into serious doubt.
Sergeant Higgins crawled forward and tapped his commanding officer on th
e shoulder, pointing off to the left and right where the first of the Romanian regiments were now only 600m from the forward NATO positions on Vormundberg’s lower slopes and just encountering the largely intact minefields before the Light Infantry and the Highlanders positions. The exhaust trails of anti-tank missiles crisscrossed the battlefield and balls of flame marked their terminus. The Soviet tanks fired on the move and Pat could see the glaring differences between the T-80 and T-90 tanks as opposed to the T-72 when they fired. The self-stabilising guns of the newer tanks pointing unwaveringly at targets despite the rollercoaster drive, and the more numerous, elderly T-72s who’s fire had to be for effect only, anything to give the plough tanks a better chance at clearing paths through the minefields.
Lowering his binoculars he edged himself forward out of the shell crater and downhill a few yards in order to get a better look at the ground between 9 Platoon and the piece of hillside he was laying on. It was clear to him that any further attempt to retake the captured positions would be to reinforce defeat, the remnants of 8 Platoon had to pull back and merge with 9 Platoon, and with that done they must provide covering fire that 7 Platoon could withdraw under to then establish a fresh position just in front of 3 Company’s CP. He did not have to offer advice though; the company commander gave Major Popham a sitrep before requesting artillery pound on the lost positions as additional cover for 7 and 8 Platoon’s withdrawal. It took less than a minute for Zero to call up Three Nine with the result of his request; time of arrival of the first round would be eighteen seconds from the time of the present transmission.
When Pats ears picked up the drone of approaching shells he raised his binoculars, resting on his elbows and stared at the intended target area, but the drone changed to the nerve-jarring shriek that informed those that heard it that they were the target. The ground leapt beneath him, pummelling the air from his lungs again and again and he was aware that he was screaming out loud with fear. One shell, landing closer than the rest, lifted him and deposited in a heap further down the hillside. The world suddenly became silent and even the debris from the still falling shells was landing noiselessly all around him.
Strong hands grabbed him and pulled him under the cover of a slight overhang, Stef was looking into his face and he could see his mouth working but either no words were coming out or the shelling had deafened him. Eventually the ground stopped trembling and the silence was replaced by a high-pitched tone in his ears.
Pat pulled himself to his feet, his head still ringing, and with Bill and Stef assisting him he scrambled unsteadily up the slope to where he had been previously. He gaped at the damage and destruction that had been wrought in so short a time. Where 3 Company’s command post had been was now just a hole in the ground, the logs that had helped support its sandbag roof were now splinted and charred, scattered about the immediate area along with shredded sandbags and remains that no longer resembled anything human. Back along the track the Defence Platoons Warrior was lying on its side and burning furiously but there was no sign of the men who had travelled here with him. The two shell craters in which they had been taking cover were now joined together into one elongated hole. All that remained was a Kevlar helmet hanging by a strap from the only remaining limb attached to a still standing but mortally wounded pine tree, a cloth name tape neatly sown to the DPM cover identified the owner simply as ‘Higgins’.
The noise in his ears rose in pitch so as to be excruciatingly painful but then it faded, and he could hear the crackle of flames nearby and the crack of tank guns beyond. He flinched at the sound of shells passing overhead, and their detonations on the 8 Platoon positions, which were now in the hands of the enemy.
Turning to the two snipers he gestured at the tree-covered hillside.
“Perhaps we didn’t get all of those infiltrators of theirs, I want you two to get up there and track them down…” his voiced petered out because both the snipers were shaking their heads.
“That wasn’t Soviet artillery that did this sir, it was our own.”
Pat looked confused; not quite grasping what was being said.
“Someone fucked up sir…we got through to the battalion CP and got the guns to adjust their fire, but it was our one five fives that did this.”
There was nothing else really to say, except perhaps that sometimes shit happens in war, so the snipers left him then, finding a spot for themselves to the right of where the CP had been so that they could engage anyone attempting to hinder the 3 Company platoons withdrawal.
Pat looked over at the remains of the CP, thinking that whoever had been responsible had well and truly paid for that mistake, but he was now without a company commander or a headquarters staff for 3 Company. It was a cold and clinical way of regarding the death of six of his men in the CP and the ten from Defence Platoon, but grief was an indulgence that must wait.
4 Company were engaging the left flank of the Romanian 112th MRR, the enemy had approached boldly enough up to the point where the sunken lane cut across their axis of advance. The defile was now cluttered with the wreckage of Czech armoured vehicles, many still burning, and the Romanians found themselves in the same position as the 23rd MRR had been at that point. Only a handful of places allowed the vehicles to pass across to the fields on NATO’s side of the lane, and the smoke from the Czech vehicles were proving a double-edged sword. It shielded the vehicles on the eastern side from view, but command and control went out of the window. In dribs and drabs the fighting vehicles negotiated the gaps in the lane and attempted to reform in their original unit formations on the far side, where there was no cover that would allow that to happen.
The Hussar’s 1 Troop, the helicopter gunships and the Coldstreamers Milan crews selected, and then destroyed, targets with ease until the Romanians in desperation renewed their charge.
4 Company’s lines weren’t penetrated, the last vehicle of that particular wave was despatched at about the same time as half a dozen 152mm shells landed just west of the lane, delivering a smoke screen that was too thin and too late.
Jim Popham had control of the battalion well in hand and there were no problems on the left of the battalion, but command of 3 Company was another matter.
The young officers commanding the company’s three platoons were unsuitable candidates for command of a company, two were too inexperienced and the third was badly wounded. Pat called the battalion CP and ordered his Adjutant to grab a competent radio operator and come forward in a Warrior to take command of the company before changing to the 3 Company net. According to 9 Platoons commander his sergeant was calling in adjustments to the artillery fire and eleven survivors of 8 Platoon, four of them wounded, had made it out and into his location. The seven able bodied had been amalgamated into his call sign and the wounded were being evacuated uphill to where Pat now was. That at least was good news, and he went on to report that although 7 Platoon had been pinned in their trenches, the properly adjusted fires had allowed them time to booby-trap their trenches before withdrawing, and they were now moving to the rear of 9 Platoon in preparation to dig in.
Pat made his way forward and met 7 Platoon; toiling under the burden of not just their own personal kit but boxes of link and extra grenades, 51mm rounds, spare Milan rounds and 94mm LAWs. It was the platoons cache of spare ammunition and all too precious to be abandoned or destroyed in place. The quarried obstacle was drawing curses and the heavy stores had to be passed up, hand over hand, before they could negotiate it, but the men worked together well as a team and it was soon accomplished.
A couple of months before Pat could never have conceived of fully functioning platoons made up of his guardsmen and American paratroopers, the mind sets for one thing were almost alien to one another, and the basic tactics that were second nature to these men of different army’s had seemed at odds. Yet here he was looking at Yorkshiremen and Texans, Geordies and Californians who seemed joined at the hip.
Pat’s orders were simply for them to dig in, tie in again with the Argyll�
��s platoon on their right and have it all completed ten minutes ago, if not sooner. They got on with it, without undue questions and the very minimum of fuss, which allowed Pat to tag on behind the wounded as he made his way back up slope in the failing light to where Timothy had now arrived to assume command. Below him the artillery fires shifted from the overrun positions to further east, where the next formation of enemy vehicles had appeared. Pat paused for a moment, watching the enemy tanks spilling over the edge of the hill across the valley, driving hard for the valleys floor. There were just so damn many of them that it seemed for every Soviet vehicle they killed another ten appeared in its place. He thought briefly of the battalion his son was attached to, and thanked God that the Soviet’s had forced their crossing to the south of the Light Infantry positions. He had enough concerns without having to worry about his son’s safety too.
The ex-Adjutant, and now OC 3 Company, extended a hand and pulled Pat up the last couple of feet onto level ground.
“Thank you Timothy, and apology’s for dragging you out here but I needed someone with more seasoning than the company subalterns.”
Tim had taken stock of the situation and his radio operator was already ensconced in the remains of the CP.
“I’m using this sir.” Timothy told his CO.
“It may have no top cover but it is at least below ground level, and of course one dearly hopes that lightning will not strike twice.”
Pat nodded his acceptance.
“It’s your company now so you do what you must?” The more junior officer shrugged and then after a moment he spoke.
“You realise sir that this is now the weak link in the line, the Hussars can only support us for so long before Soviet infantry start taking them out. I don’t have the manpower left to defend them, and we cannot hope to hold out against anything larger than an APC company unsupported?”
“I know that Timothy, and I want you to consider pulling 9 Platoon back level with 7 when their position becomes untenable…it will mean abandoning everything except their personal weapons and fighting order, they couldn’t possible pull out in time and haul all that stuff up here.”