' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song)

by Andy Farman

  Brigadier General Patrick Reed, 1st Guards Infantry Brigade, shook hands with Humphrey McGregor, commanding The Highland Brigade, and relinquished the Guards positions. Humphrey, his staff and the COs of the Cameron Highlanders, Argylls, London Scottish and Royal Scots Greys had arrived three days before to see the ground, touch base with the other elements and thereby ensure a smooth transition.

  The Guardsmen, the Blackhorse and the small Queen Elizabeth’s Combat Team moved back to just east of Bowral, to a location at the foot of Mt Gibraltar, a large rock which may possibly bear a resemblance to ‘The Rock’ ten thousand miles away but no one knows for sure, owing to the many thousands of trees that bedeck it, unlike its namesake of course. On arrival, a parting of the ways took place with the M1A1’s of the Blackhorse Cavalry, RTR and RGJ returning to their parent units.

  Further south, 8th Infantry Brigade moved to a staging area near the town of Nelligan beside the Clyde where the CO of the Wessex summoned Sgt Baz Cotter and a number of other men to the cluster of 9x9s that made up battalion headquarters. The CO pinned an MM on his Baz’s chest, awarded for his part commanding the defence of the autobahn junction at Brunswick, and hand him the symbols of his new status, second lieutenants pips.

  “Oddly enough.” the CO stated conversationally. “The convoys sailed with everything to fight a war but nothing to denote rank so I hope you don’t mind these being second-hand.”

  Baz accepted the low profile fabric tab.

  “Could I ask whose they were before, sir?”

  “Your predecessor.” the CO said. “But don’t worry; they seem to have washed out well.”

  Open-Season on second lieutenants only ended when they became first lieutenants.

  The CO was still smiling evilly at the expression on the face of the newest member of the officer’s mess as he moved on to the next soldier receiving an award.

  The centre of Bowral had an old world feel about it, in Australian terms. Most of the shop facades seemed to visitors to be suffering a crisis of identity as some buildings seemed typically English, whilst the remainder would not have gone amiss in some Wild West boom town, with the exception that they were built of brick, and the bricklaying had a distinctly English style. Modern Australia is unique unto itself, but the Empire Theatre in Bong Bong Street was of the same design and appearance of many 1920’s or 30’s built cinemas in rural English towns. The café next door was pure Dodge City however.

  With the Australian 1st MP Battalion providing the security around the theatre the army borrowed it for the day, but despite the posters and advertising hoardings it was Pat Reed who was appearing in Cinema 1, not ‘Finding Nemo’.

  “ROOM!”

  Being ‘The Guards,’ rank was no barrier to being called to their feet or to sit to attention just as they had done as Sandhurst cadets on Day 1, or as a common ‘Crow’ at the Guards Depot, Pirbright, as was the case with the Welsh Guards CO who had played a bugle and side drum, with less than average skill, in the 1WG Corps of Drums before realising that obtaining a Queens Commission beat working for a living.

  Pat Reed strode to the front of the theatre and nodded to the Brigade Major.

  “Carry on, please.”

  “SIT…easy!”

  All the battalions COs and there Ops Officers were present, likewise the Life Guards, Hussars, Royal Signals, RA, REME, RE, RAF rep, AAC, Royal Loggies and the liaison officers from their hosts and from the 5th US Mechanised Division. The RTR Troop and Lt McMarn’s platoon of Royal Green Jackets had rejoined their regimental formations, which were attached to the Australian Army along with the rest of the UK’s 8th Infantry Brigade.

  “Gents, with the arrival of our vehicles we are now once more 1st Guards Mechanised Brigade of 1st Guards Mechanised Division. 2nd Guards Mechanised, the Scots with the Grenadiers 1st and 2nd battalions in their FV-432 upgrades, are across the way at Burradoo. As the Guardsmen here are all aware, it has been a very long time since so many units of the Household Division have fought together.” He smiled at his audience. “A word of warning though for any that do not know me well, do not get too comfy with the ‘mechanised’ title, you are likely to have more blisters on your feet than your arse.”

  The tankers of the Kings Royal Hussars and the Life Guards looked quite smug at their infantry cousins discomfort.

  “And now as time is short, I will not hang about.” Pat addressed the assembly with those preparatory words.

  “Pens at the ready, fingers on buzzers…here we go”

  Upon the cinema screen was projected a map of the PTO, pacific theatre of operations.

  “As of 0900hrs this morning the Philippine islands of Cebu and Mactan were officially liberated following the surrender of the Chinese 86th Mechanised and its attached odds and sods. So it is exceedingly difficult for the PRC to reinforce their 1st Army Corps here by air or sea. I have seen the necessary tanker plan that would be required to bring a single enemy fighter to Australia, and it is reassuring, to us, that it is unlikely to happen. The air assets they have here will not be reinforced” He looked at all the faces and saw at least one furrowed brow.

  “Any questions before I move on to the meat and veg of the orders?”

  “Why are we moving into the assault now? Why not spare the guys and gals any more casualties and starve them out?” The RAF representative had a valid point. The war had inflicted heavy losses on all the armed services.

  “A good point and a reasonable one. The answer is that civilians in the occupied areas, and our own comrades in barbed wire stockades, are facing the prospect of starvation, and as the purpose of an army in a democracy is to protect the people, that is what we are doing.”

  There were no more questions.

  “Ground.” The map that now appeared had the Fleet Air Arm Base, HMAS Albatross, at the lower left corner and the coastal town of Gerringong at the top right. Since its capture by the Chinese the airfield had been a major thorn in the side of the NATO forces in the mountains, forests and hills.

  Pat described the area the brigade would be operating in, in generalised form, and the objective in greater detail.

  “Any questions so far?”

  There were none.

  “Situation; enemy forces…since the enemy first landed their 9th Tank Regiment and 14th Infantry have been digging in and firming up around the town of Nowra, which the gentlemen from the Irish Guards will be well familiar with as I having been tasking them with recceing the approaches for the last fortnight.”

  An overlay showed the results of the reconnaissance patrols with enemy positions, strengths, weapons and field defences such as minefields and wire. The fighting patrols that had also been recently sent to snatch prisoners had added to their knowledge of what they were facing.

  “This is everything, is it Liam?”

  “Yes sir, down to the last tin can strung on their wire…as of 0500hrs yesterday.” The Irish Guards CO stated with absolute certainty.

  “Sure about that?”

  “Yes sir.” Lt Col Faloon nodded emphatically.

  “Good, because in thirty six hours’ time when the brigade attacks, it will be one up, two back, and the Irish Guards are the ‘up’.”

  “I am overwhelmed at your generosity, and I am certain that your name will on the very lips of my men as they cross the FEBA, although not necessarily in flattering terms, sir.”

  Pat let the laughter fade.

  “The good news is that there are no chemical or biological weapons available to the Chinese 3rd Army and this has been confirmed by two sources, the prisoners of war providing the enemy with their forced labour, and SASR CTRs. The only reason the magazines weren’t blown by the SASR operatives was the proximity of POWs and civilians.” Pat looked them all in the eye. “We thought the same was true of the Red Army at the Vormundberg though, and look how that turned out. So the boys and girls continue to carry the necessary at all times, regardless of the intelligence to the contrary.” Pointing to the sea Pat Reed added
a rider. “The navy claims that there are no, repeat no, operational submarines still operating in these waters. It is too far from home and the support vessels are allegedly on the bottom, so they say there is no chance of further missile attacks.”

  They were all watching him and waiting for the ‘But’.

  “Better safe than sorry, so pass the word that section commanders are to inspect their men and enforce the carrying of full NBC…okay? Any questions?”

  He moved on to the next item.

  “Situation; friendly forces, the 2nd Guards Mech’ will be on our tail until we have taken our objective, and will pass through with a change of axis to the east, collecting half the Life Guards armoured reconnaissance squadrons and Dougal Willis’s Hussars, and they will advance to contact the eight miles to Shoalhaven on the coast, with the river on their right.” Pat tapped the airfield to the south of the town. “The Aussie and Kiwi SAS squadrons have been working out of the forests of the Yawal valley to the west, and in best Long Range Desert Group fashion they will raid the airfield and attempt to destroy all the aircraft there before withdrawing back into the forest.” Pat waved for the next screen which had the town of Gloucester to the north and the Bega Valley to the south. Virtually all of the occupied coastal plain that was currently in Chinese hands.

  “While we are engaged with our own bit of business the ANZACs will be showing us whinging Poms how it is done when they take Bega, the southern extent of Chinese occupation, and begin to drive north, with the help of other whinging Poms of 8th(UK) Infantry Brigade and the Royal Tank Regiment of course.” He next pointed to the top of the map.

  “Meanwhile, the US 5th Corps consisting the 5th Mechanised Division, 10th Mountain Division and the ladies and gentlemen of the 2nd Marine Expeditionary Force, will attack south east out of the Hunter Valley and take the city of Newcastle before turning south.”

  Pat returned to their own area of responsibility.

  “We are cutting the Chinese 1st Corps up into edible pieces, and we, the Guards, will dig in and act as the anvil to the ANZACs hammer before we drive north, collecting the Highland Division on the way, but the ultimate goal is to squeeze the Chinese 3rd Army until the only place they have left to go to is Sydney, or surrender.”

  It took a further hour to provide the COs’ with the details they required for their own units before Pat closed the proceedings.

  “Gentlemen, we went to war with just the bare essentials and we carry the scars to prove it. It has been a long road but the end is in sight, and as we now have the kit to finish the job and go home, let us do just that, and let us do it well.”

  Wessex Regiment: Bega Valley, NSW. Monday 17th October, 0400hrs.

  The long and seemingly never ending journey in pitch darkness, the bumpy road and the tedious, constant stopping and starting, all without any explanation as to the cause, was now over. The Unimogs pulled into trees beside the colourfully name Jews Creek and the troops dismounted quietly. The infantry barely had time to stretch out the knots and massage away buttocks numbed by purely functional seating before they were hustled away to the start line by guides equipped with PNGs.

  Inevitably Baz had men who had managed to get lost in the relatively short distance from the vehicles to the invisible line the guides indicated was the FEBA, the forward edge of the battle area. No one was ready as the time of departure approached and from the CO on downwards the good leaders exuded calm as they sorted things out, whilst the bad ones assumed that the harder they kicked something the quicker it would fix itself.

  They were on radio silence, the sets switched on but they kept a listening watch only, unless in contact of course. The order to move was conveyed by runner and it got a little lost. D Company’s OC realised A Company were no long in front of them, so it was a little like starting a twenty year old Ford Escort on a cold morning, they got moving but not without pushing, shoving and a few muffled curses. Bergans made all the more heavy with the addition of 81mm mortar rounds and a thousand rounds of mixed link brought groans as the men used their personal weapons as props to assist themselves off their knees and into the advance to contact with China’s best.

  A Company of The Wessex Regiment was the spearhead with B and C to the left and right, the tip of an infantry arrow advancing with the Princes Highway as the axis of advance. D Company was in reserve, to the rear but following A Company so that the view of the four rifle companies from above was one of a diamond shape. Behind D came battalion headquarters and Support Company, its machine gun and mortar platoons in two halves that leapfrogged one another, setting up gimpy and mortar lines to provide supporting fire if called upon to do so, before packing up and hurrying forwards to deploy once again. 3RGJ was to the left rear of the Wessex and the Light Infantry to its right. Behind 8 (UK) Infantry Brigade came the ANZACs of the RAR, Royal New South Wales Regiment and the Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment. The infantry moved in almost complete silence but on the flanks were the Leopard 1s and newer M1A1 replacements of the Australian 1st Armoured Regiment, and the UK’s Challenger 2s of the Royal Tank Regiment. To the front of this slowly perambulating triangle ranged the ASLAVs of the Light Horse, and a flight of Apaches from 3 Regiment, Army Air Corps.

  The sun had risen and the straps of 2Lt Cotters Bergan were digging into his shoulders when contact was first made. Men gripped their weapons a little more firmly at the sound of combat to their front.

  “Baz…er sorry… Mr Cotter sir?” a voice called in a failed stage whisper. “What’s going on?”

  “Price, do I look like the fucking oracle? Well do I?” Baz fixed the rifleman with a look. “Rumour has it, it’s the Third World War, or hadn’t you noticed?” Baz then shook his head wearily “Now shut up and watch your front.”

  The firing tailed off and twenty minutes later they drew level with one of the Australian ASLAVs sat at a drunken angle, half in and half out of a ditch beside the road. It was still burning and its crew were a little distance away, covered by their ground sheets and awaiting collection by the graves registration detachment. Four hundred yards further on another vehicle, a Type 98 tank, was also consuming itself with the resulting thick black smoke marring an otherwise blue sky. Several Chinese infantrymen lay equally dead, killed by the same Apache gunship that had avenged the Aussie armoured recce troops of the Light Horse.

  A mile from Bega the sound of modern warfare returned, initially just with an exchange of small arms fire between the point section and the occupants of a trench, but it grew and grew in intensity until the mortars and the GPMG SFs of the machine gun platoon were in constant action, soon to be joined by 105mm and 155mm artillery rounds.

  B and C Companies moved up beside A Company but D halted and began to dig shell scrapes. Behind them to the left and right the Green Jackets and Light infantry were doing the same. 1RAR and the New Zealand infantry, however, could be seen hurrying forward on either flank and Baz could no longer see the tanks comforting presence.

  Baz had just finished his shell scrape and got himself comfortably ensconced, with his bergan below ground too, when the order was passed back verbally to move forward, as is ever the way.

  The Chinese knew they were there now so there was no mileage in maintaining radio silence for all but those who were up to their waists in muck and bullets, although it did seem to have taken two contacts for that to have occurred to the senior management.

  “Hello all stations Four, this Four Nine, nobody told you to move!”

  To Baz’s left Dopey Hemp’s camouflaged face turned towards him.

  “Send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance!”

  The dedicated smokers’ relit cigarettes stubbed out moments before and Baz removed the heavy bergan and settled himself back into the shell scrape.

  There was a loud whistle from forward and Baz saw CSM French pointing at him and miming the winding motion of turning a car engine with a starter handle.

  Out-bloody-standing!

  “Twelve Platoon, pr
epare to move!”

  The CSM did have some good hand signals for them though, pointing at the mortar line and GPMG SFs. Baz knelt so that a No.3 on the guns could open his bergan’s top flap and remove the single, long, thousand round belt, and a hundred yards later he was relieved of his two 81mm mortar rounds also.

  Ah joy!

  Feeling almost bionic 12 Platoon now hustled forwards with Baz receiving a quick set of radio orders. Removing his bayonet he banged the blade loudly against his own helmet to get everyone’s attention and held it aloft for all to see before attaching it. They all followed suit, snapping the steel into place and giving the bayonets a twist to ensure the retaining lug had been locked.

  They were striding out now, butts of weapons firmly in the shoulder.

  Passing through a gap in a hedge he encountered the first Wessex dead, lying unmoving under the bluest sky Baz could ever remember, and he took a moment to look at it in case he too would never see another of its like ever again.

  1 Section was ‘up’ with 2 on the left and 3 on the right. They crossed between enemy fighting positions, trenches and more dead, their own and the Chinese.

  The end of the captured position was marked by A Company who were occupying the rear trenches and now facing towards Bega.

  Words of encouragement, warnings, and gallows humour were shouted their way from A Company.

  “Good luck boys.”

  “Watch yer selves, they’re hard fuckers.”

  “Don’t get shot Steve…you still owe me a tenner!”