The Red Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  He had asked his company commander, Major Hunt, why they weren’t digging in, in force, further forward.

  “It’s simple,” the major had replied. “The enemy could be on us so fast and with such force that we just won’t have time to consolidate our position. We need Four Div to slow them down, giving us a chance to identify their main axis of advance. We just don’t have enough troops to cover the entire front in depth. So, we identify their axis of advance and reposition our battle groups as necessary. Don’t forget, the Inner German Border reaches as far forward as Goslar to our south. That puts them past out front line.”

  It was the correct answer, but it didn’t exactly fill the sergeant with confidence.

  L/CPL Graham joined him at the window sill. “Kind of wish this was just an exercise, Sarg.”

  “Me and you both. All the times we’ve moaned about being crashed out. We’ll be OK though; we’re far from being on our own. NATO’s a pretty big army and the Soviets will bite off more than they can chew. Keep your eyes peeled. We should get a warning from HQ when they’re on their way, but we don’t want to be bounced.”

  “Sarg.”

  Thomas left Graham to continue with his vigilant overwatch and headed downstairs to talk to the section, keep them motivated, make sure they dug deep, and were well protected.

  Chapter 27

  COMBAT TEAM ALPHA, SUPPLINGENBURG, WEST GERMANY. 1600, 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −12 HOURS.

  The FV432, a British armoured personnel carrier, swung right off Am Kievergarten into Barmiker Strasse. The soldier stood up through the hatch, hanging on to the pintle-mounted 7.62mm GPMG (General Purpose Machine Gun), secured on top for additional defence, as the battle taxi turned sharply on its tracks. The 432 was carrying Major Andy Phillips, the commander of A Company, the 2nd Battalion the Royal Green Jackets, now designated Combat Team Alpha, and Company Sergeant Major, CSM Tobi Saunders. After a hundred metres, the 432 turned down a track that led across the end of two long farm buildings before coming to a halt behind a thick hedgeline interspersed with a number of trees. The 432 engine continued to tick over as the OC of Combat Team Alpha would be continuing his tour of his command once this visit was complete. The OC slid along the bench seats in the back, pulled on the lever and pushed the armoured door back on its hinges. It swung back to the left, and he jumped out, clutching his SLR rifle. If he was going to be in combat then he didn’t want the small calibre SMG, or to rely on his 9mm Browning pistol, but something that packed a punch.

  Apart from a few Scorpion and Scimitar reconnaissance vehicles out ahead somewhere, the defence line his combat team was on would be the first major contact any Soviet force would come up against in this sector. Any armoured or mechanised force coming from the direction of Helmstedt would likely split: one element going north using the A2 autobahn, passing north of the small Dorm Forest, another element approaching directly from the east. The high ground of der Elm Forest to the south-west of Supplingenburg and Supplingen would be a significant barrier, so any force coming from that direction would have the village of Supplingenburg to the north, Frellstedt to the south and Supplingen in the middle, directly in their path. Combat Team A had the task of covering Supplingenburg. The village, with a population of fewer than 500, had a minor road that ran through the centre, with another minor road that crossed the village to the east, running north to south. North, it joined up with the E8/A2; south it passed through Supplingen, two kilometres away. Some of the villagers had moved out during the last twenty-four hours, but many had stayed behind. Major Phillips was concerned for two reasons. If the Warsaw Pact attacked, and he was not yet sure that they would although the signs were slowly pointing in that direction, the civilians would come under fire from aircraft and artillery shelling as a minimum. The situation would get even worse when he and his men pulled out and the villagers were left to the mercy of Soviets who would move in. The German government hadn’t made any effort so far to evacuate civilians close to the border. But when, or if, they did, a steady trail of refugees and their vehicles would cause mayhem for the retreating troops.

  Alongside the CSM, they both ran at a crouch towards the tree and hedgeline. Not that they needed to keep out of sight: there was no enemy this side of the Inner German Border yet. But, there was always a danger that they were being watched by GRU sleepers, or East German sympathisers, closet communists, but the deployment had to continue regardless. Phillips had warned his men to be on the alert for any strangers or anyone showing an unhealthy interest in their activities.

  Behind him, the four 432s of the platoon he was checking were lined up, ten metres apart, along a second treeline, rear doors facing towards them so any troops pulling back could pile in quickly for a fast getaway. Cam-netting had been draped over all four, propped up with lengths of slim tree trunks that had been gathered for that purpose over the years.

  Major Phillips threw himself down by the side of the lieutenant in command of the platoon, the lieutenant’s face blackened with cam-cream, foliage protruding from his helmet and strategically tied on to his webbing, helping him blend in with his surroundings.

  “Sitrep, Dean?”

  “We’re nearly done, sir.”

  “Run it by me then.”

  The young lieutenant had been commanding the platoon for less than a year, and had only been out of the officer academy, RMA Sandhurst, for fifteen months. But the OC had been pleased with his progress.

  He pointed ahead and to the left. “Fifty metres east, left arc, sir, a group of four trees. I have two Milan firing posts covered by a half section.”

  “They’re a bit exposed, aren’t they?”

  “A bit, sir. But it’s in a slight dip and they have a full 180-degree target area. They can cover any armour coming up the road to pass through the centre of the village and the road that crosses our front. Also, there is a ditch that runs from the left of this treeline right up to their position. They can pull out under cover when necessary. Further out to their left are a couple of watercourses. Those will make it difficult for anyone coming at us from the north.”

  “Excellent. The rest?”

  “The hedgeline to our north is covered by Two Section and two firing posts. Any armour that tries to flank us will get a nasty surprise. The rest of One Section is here with me. Three Section is covering the 51mm to the rear.”

  “Have you plenty of smoke rounds for the mortar?”

  “Half a dozen, sir. That will give us enough cover if we need to bug out quickly.”

  “Sergeant Rose?”

  “He’s with the mortar team and Three Section. I’m keeping them in reserve until we know the enemy’s line of attack.”

  “Make sure they’re well dug in,” advised the CSM. “We haven’t got the luxury of the engineers this time. When the shit starts to hit, you’ll need a decent hole to hide in.”

  “I tried to get a bucket loader,” the OC informed him. “But the priority is to get the troops further back dug in.”

  A soldier ran behind them, running at a crouch, carrying more ammunition for the section’s Gympy. The gas-operated, open-bolt machine gun had a rate of fire of up to 1,000 rounds a minute, although a rate of 700 was more likely. Belt-fed from the left, it gave an infantry section significant firepower, enabling them to put down heavy suppressive fire while the rest of the section or platoon carried out an assault, or it could cover a withdrawal.

  The OC studied the lay of the land with the aid of binoculars, while the CSM chatted to the rest of the unit close by. The field of fire ahead was perfect. If the enemy came straight down the metalled road, they would be hit by Two-Platoon in the centre and this platoon and Three-Platoon from the flanks. If they chose to skirt the village, either side, they would expose their flanks to the British troops. The OC could then shift his combat team reserve where needed. The sun felt warm on his helmet, and the smell of grass and earth assailed his nostrils. If it wasn’t for the circumstances they were in, it could ev
en be considered a nice day.

  The OC turned to Saunders who had just returned. “You ready, CSM?”

  “Yes, sir. Two-Platoon next?”

  “Yes. Dean, make sure your platoon put their Noddy suits on. If we get an arty-strike or air-attack, there’s no telling whether or not they’re going to kick off with chemical weapons.”

  “I’ll get on it now, sir.”

  “Good. We stand-to at 1830.”

  “Sir.”

  With that, the OC and CSM jumped up and ran back to the 432 which had turned around ready to take them to their next port of call: checking on the dispositions of the rest of Combat Team Alpha.

  Chapter 28

  ERXLEBENER FORST, EAST OF HELMSTEDT, EAST GERMANY. 62ND GUARDS TANK REGIMENT/10 GUARDS TANK DIVISION/3 SHOCK ARMY. 1800, 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −10 HOURS.

  The forty-two-ton T-80 tanks tore up the ground as they weaved in and out amongst the trees of the Erxlebener Forest. They had travelled all the previous night, stopping further east during late morning and early afternoon, making the last dash to their final assembly area as dusk was setting in. The forest resounded with the whine of gas-turbine engines as the tanks jockeyed for position, ready to settle down for a few hours before they launched their attack on the West.

  Lieutenant Colonel Pavel Trusov had left his crew to camouflage his battalion command tank so he could attend the divisional commander’s final briefing. That was the last briefing they would get. Now it was just a waiting game. As ordered, he joined his regimental commander, Colonel Pushkin, for an informal chat – if there was such a thing with a superior officer.

  A tent had been erected for the regimental commander and, when Trusov entered, the colonel’s clerk who was fussing about with maps and papers was dismissed.

  “Pavel, park yourself down and try this.”

  The colonel handed him a flask and Trusov took a drink, smacking his lips. “This isn’t your usual rubbish, sir?”

  “Your insubordination will get you into trouble one day, Pavel,” Pushkin said, but with no seriousness in his tone of voice. “I take it your men are ready?”

  “Of course, sir. Any changes?”

  “None. Aleksey is moving his battalion right up to the border tonight, acting as security for you as you pass through the Lapp Wald Forest.”

  “Is it still going ahead?”

  The colonel sighed. “Yes, Pavel.” He leant forward conspiratorially. “I hope to God we haven’t bitten off more than we can chew. The British aren’t going to just sit on their arses, and the Germans are going to fight like demons.”

  “Are you against this, sir?”

  “No!” Pushkin snapped. “Sorry, Pavel. Of course it’s the right thing to do. Just don’t underestimate our enemy – any of them. The British like a good fight, the Germans are fighting for their country, their soil, and the Americans have equipment and resources coming out of their ears. We can get to grips with that; it’s the bloody air force that worries me. They have some exceptional aircraft and those A-10s scare the shit out of me. Move fast, Pavel, and keep moving. We have to break up their covering force. If we stall and get bogged down, we’ll have the second echelon regiments up our arse.”

  “We’ll not let you down, sir.”

  “You need to get some sleep if you can. The arty bombardment will be your alarm call.”

  Trusov got up out of his seat. “And you, sir?”

  “I shall head back to RHQ. Division will no doubt be plaguing us for updates as soon as it starts. In the meantime, it’s radio silence, thank God.”

  Trusov saluted and made his way out of the tent and headed into the darkness towards his command tank. He wanted a last-minute talk with his company commanders. He doubted any of them would get any sleep tonight. His stomach knotted; less than ten hours before they were committed. Committed to what? he thought. Hell and damnation?

  TEN TO FIFTY KILOMETRES EAST OF HELMSTEDT, EAST GERMANY. FRONT, ARMY AND DIVISIONAL ARTILLERY. 1800 4 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −10 HOURS.

  The major stormed from one BM-27 vehicle to the next, cursing his men to get their vehicles camouflaged as quickly as possible. He didn’t expect NATO to do any overflights, but he was aware of their capabilities with respect to satellites and the latest side-looking radar. A battery of six were lined up abreast. The 220mm high-explosive missiles had just been slotted into the sixteen tubes, and a resupply was ready and waiting to rearm them the moment their bombardment was complete and they had finished relocating. They would need to get out of the area quickly, to avoid a counter-strike by the enemy, and to move forward maintaining an appropriate distance between them and their advancing armies.

  The launchers were in the upraised position, a forty-five-degree angle pointing over the cabs of the Zil-135 chassis. The major was eventually satisfied that the crews were finally draping their vehicles with camouflage netting, dragging it over the cab and launcher tubes. Dusk would do the rest.

  Just west of Brandenburg, but east of the town of Genthin, on a flat piece of ground that up until now had been used for planting crops. 3rd Shock Army’s twelve Scud-Bs, carried by the heavyweight MAZ-543 TELs and totalling over thirty tons, had destroyed any cultured crops that had been planted there. Dispersed in groups of four, then paired off, they had been aligned forty-five degrees to their direction of fire, the guidance system taking its cue from the number one fin. The launcher vehicles were currently at Readiness Level 2. The launch section commander, a lieutenant, was sitting in the combat cabin in the centre of the vehicle, in between the two large centre wheels. He was checking the weather data from brigade command. His Scud-B TEL was on one side of the battery command vehicle, and the second one, fifty metres the other side. The battery command vehicle was linked to the brigade’s 9S436, another Zil-131 box body, by their R-142 radio. Closer to the time of the launch, they would receive additional information while they carried out the task of raising the missile ready to fire. For now, all he and his crew could do was wait.

  The division’s fifty-four 2S-3s, twenty-eight ton, armoured 152mm self-propelled artillery moved into position closer to the Inner German Border so that their eighteen-kilometre range could provide the necessary support for 10 GTD’s assault in the morning. The crew of four had settled down for the night in the fighting compartment, within its rotary turret, hoping to catch a couple of hours’ sleep before they started their preparations at two in the morning. Once the firing started, two additional gunners would join them, feeding rounds through the two hatches at the rear. 744th Guards Artillery Regiment was split up into three battalions of eighteen each: one north of Beendorf, one south of Waldeck, and the third had moved to the west of Marienborn. There was no British military train at Marienborn today, swapping an East German locomotive for a West German one, or vice versa, after their trip between West Berlin and Braunschweig. The trains had been suspended the day before, further increasing the tension between the Warsaw Pact and the West. The regiment’s BM-21s were also deploying ready for the early start the next day. 12th Guards Tank Division, one of 3rd Shock Army’s four divisions, had also sent their fifty-four 2S3s forward, ready to support the attack, along with eighteen BM-21 missile launchers, capable of firing a barrage of 720 122mm missiles, swamping its target over an area of one square kilometre.

  Along with a battalion of 160mm mortars from the artillery reserve of the Western TVD, a fighter-bomber division and a ground-attack fighter division, it didn’t bode well for the British 4th Armoured Division.

  Chapter 29

  EAST OF BRANDENBURG, EAST GERMANY. 3RD SHOCK ARMY’S SCUD-B BRIGADE. 0300, 5 JULY 1984.

  THE RED EFFECT −1 HOUR.

  The RKZ-1 radiosonde, attached to a balloon, was released by the Scud Brigade’s meteorological section, an operator tracking its progress with the RPS-1 Bread Bin radar. The operator was sitting in the back of a 9S436 Zil-131 box-body truck, confirming the information was being transmitted. The system
also carried out the requisite computations that would be necessary to programme the missiles with the appropriate guidance corrections. Wind could have a serious, detrimental effect on the missiles’ trajectory. The operator was satisfied with the feed; the data would soon be ready to be transmitted to the SCUD TELs.

  There was now a buzz of activity around the SCUD launchers as the missile erection process began. It was less than an hour before the missiles would be launched onto their targets in the West. But there were still checks that needed to be completed before they were ready to be fired off. The crew, now dressed in their NBC suits, looked like ghouls in the barely perceivable light of the early morning. The Soviet Army’s nuclear, biological and chemical suit was a heavy, rubberised one-size-fits-all with elasticated sleeves and hood. It was hot, heavy and uncomfortable. The GP-5 mask, like a large swimming cap that extended over the face, with small, round glass eyepieces and a large canister-shaped filter at the end by the mouthpiece, was also worn. It wasn’t because they suspected a chemical attack by NATO missiles or aircraft, or even because the warhead could have contained a chemical or biological compound, but because of the toxicity of the fuel used with the SCUD’s R-17 missile.

  The missile of Launcher-one slowly rose, lifted up on its cradle, projecting a look and feel of menace around it. It took three minutes before it was fully vertical, in its final launch configuration. There was a slight clunk as the missile cradle returned to its horizontal position, the tip connecting with the roof of the cab. The crew lowered the rear stabiliser jacks, large circular pads at the base ensuring the stability of the vehicle’s launch platform. Other crew members, led by one of the two Praporshchik, a warrant officer rank, looked over the missiles’ batteries and electrics, and pumped starter fuel to the engine turbo-prop. The Praporshchik, responsible for aiming the missile, adjusted the artillery panoramic sight fitted close to the access port, ensuring the missile was properly aligned. For the projectile to accurately hit its intended target, a precise survey and aiming was essential. Once the warrant officer was satisfied that his task was finished, he informed his commander, who in turn informed brigade command that all the checks were complete and they were ready for the final launch preparations.