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

by Andy Farman

  “Elephant Walk in ten, Commander.” She was hailed by a ground marshal.

  “What’s an Elephant Walk, Ma’am?” queried her new RIO.

  Nikki couldn’t help it, and smiled as she spoke, despite thinking sadly of the last person to ask that of her.

  “About fifty miles a day, lieutenant.”

  Rangi Hoana was the first to notice.

  Sat on a thunder box he saw that there was no-one in the nearest watchtower. The dim electric lighting was still present along the fence top but the sentries were absent. Weak from dysentery, as was everyone in the camp, he finished his business and hobbled to the end of the line of portaloos to look along the fence and then he hurried, as best he could to the Russians container waking Karl Putchev with the news that the gates were still firmly barred but that the guards had disappeared.

  “Do you think they shipped out?” Reg Hollis asked.

  “Hardly likely, everything is pretty well blockaded, from what we’ve heard…” the sound of the opening barrage began as a distant rumble, like thunder in the mountains.

  “No, I think they have gone off to fight.” Karl Putchev stated. “A maximum effort.”

  “Where are the work party from yesterday, did they come back last night? Perhaps they heard something?”

  Two hundred prisoners had been loaded up and taken away the day before and a check revealed they had not returned. It wasn’t unusual for them to use the prisoners for work details, even in sensitive areas where the men had returned with titbits’ of information Karl Putchev somehow seemed to be able to pass on.

  They waited for an hour, to be completely certain that the guards were not coming back from some urgent task, before forcing the gate to the women’s compound and checking they were still safe and well. Finally they forced open the main gate, and took tentative steps beyond it, wary of a trap. It would be a shame to get shot when liberation was just a few miles distant.

  The barracks and administration blocks were empty, as was the food store of course.

  “I think we should make a run for it.” Someone said.

  “Run where, and why?”

  They stayed put, within the confines of their stockade, voluntarily this time, and waited.

  The engine start up went without a hitch and they sat there for several minutes waiting for the marshals to light their wands and guide them forwards.

  Nikki applied the right brake when the marshal pointed to their starboard gear, turning onto the taxiway.

  Her RIO was twisting about in his seat, no doubt gawping at the sudden appearance of so many aircraft in close proximity to one another and all plodding along. Not quite nose to tail, but pretty close. Two replacements, both F-14As, were assigned to ‘Smackdown’ flight and they followed the leader.

  Royal Air Force Jaguars of No. 54 Squadron took off first, followed by the flight of three Tornado GR4s from 31 Squadron who were carrying out the runway attack. That was all the Tornados that were left, aside from two damaged aircraft being cannibalised for parts to keep the trio flying. The RAAF F/A-18s followed them, and finally The Orphans.

  Climbing to 12,000ft they tanked over the sea with warships of the allied sat below on its mirror-like calm, waiting to be called upon to lend gunfire support also. It was crystal clear with visibility good enough to watch the specks engaged over the airfield. The Jaguars attacked and the first Tornado went in but sheared off without releasing the ordnance.

  “Abort, abort…friendlies….” A bright flash cut off the rest of the transmission as the aircraft was brought down by ground fire.

  A Jaguar finished the transmission. The two runways, north/south and east/west, had POWs penned near to the runways in concertina wire enclosures. The 30 detonating submunitions would undoubtedly cause fatalities among the prisoners and the British pilot did not find that acceptable.

  Illawarra was still operational and the Sukhois were now coming up to meet them.

  Baz Cotter and 12 Platoon walked slowly north as the darkness gave way to the first rays of daylight, and as that light increased he beheld with some awe the colossal allied effort, with men and machines moving at a walking pace, as far as the eye could see.

  8 Infantry Brigade were in reserve, dogging the steps of the ANZACS. It was never going to end any other way, the Australians were going to be the ones to end the invaders. Everyone else was welcome to come along and watch, but this, today, was their fight, it was personal.

  Ahead, the artillery landing on the first positions lifted, shifting to the rear and the men from the ‘Shires waited for the sound of small arms, and tank guns, but there was nothing. They did not stop, they carried on advancing until they reached the positions and found them abandoned.

  Where the hell was the Chinese 3rd Army?

  Pat Reed and Major General Norris Monroe, commanding the ANZACs, were parroting the words of many, “Where had the enemy gone?” The outer defence line had been abandoned.

  “I am guessing that if the Chinks still have a nuke we will find out about it the hard way.” Norris said.

  “Is there another explanation?” an aide queried. The shortage of fuel and food caused by the blockade could be a factor, but it wasn’t like the Chinese to dodge a fight. They were the enemy, but they had guts.

  The Highland Brigade to the west and the US troops to the north were not advancing, they were to ensure the Chinese went into the sea or into the nuclear wasteland of their own making, but their O.Ps and patrols reported the same thing, the Chinese had apparently withdrawn back into Woolongong or Port Kembla, but no one was certain of that.

  Only at the airfield at Illawarra did everything seem to be business-as-usual. A raid had failed and the enemy had scrambled, going for the heavily burdened fighter bombers, but F-15s and 16s blocked the way and an air battle was being fought.

  The advance continued unopposed.

  1 Company, 2CG, had driven onto their first objective and debussed, looking for a fight and finding none.

  As per the battalions plan, 3 Company passed through 1 Company and continued the advance to the next known positions with 1 Company remaining on foot, shaking out into arrowhead with the Warriors and 432s following.

  For whatever reason, and probably overconfidence was probably in there somewhere, 3 Company drew further ahead than the tactical bound which had been decreed.

  The Life Guards were ordered ahead and they reported abandoned positions right up until the airfield where they found the enemy were alert, and far from pulling out. The sound of small arms, Rarden cannons and mortars carried back to the advancing infantry. The Scimitars pulled back, breaking contact and finding an over watch position.

  2CG was the right flank of the Guards Divisions advance; to their right, was the Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment, the ANZACs left flank. To the ANZACs right was the ocean, and to the front, in the path of this critical boundary, was a wooded feature called with some grandeur, Pudding Mountain. Pudding was a hill, a medium sized and tree covered hill. In front of its base were the next known defensive positions, with another a little way up, and both appeared as abandoned as the first.

  3 Company’s OC ordered 9 Platoon to dismount and go up the Pudding through the woods on foot, while the remainder slowly motored along the hills western side.

  Oz had heard the Jocks bagpipes played when they took a hill near Shellhaven, so when he heard a bugle he assumed that it was 9 Platoon doing likewise, playing copycat, but more bugles sounded, tuneless, just a lot of noise to induce confusion and panic.

  “Three this Three Two…Contact! Contact!...!”

  Oz worked it out.

  “One Company, standstills…FIX BAYONETS, and take cover!” CSM Osgood’s voice carried over to the New Zealanders who looked amused rather than alarmed.

  Major Llewellyn, the 1 Company OC, had also worked it out and he was calling the CO and informing him that they were under heavy infantry attack and asking for the rest of the battalion to come up on the hurry-up. Lt Col Innes-Wys
e looked through his binoculars and could see nothing of the sort though. The remainder of 2CG continued at a walking pace.

  As clearly and calmly as if he was running a range day back at the School of Infantry, Brecon, Oz shouted commands to the 1 Company men.

  “Three hundred… targets to your front…Watch and shoot!…Watch and shoot!”

  The platoon commanders sent men to collect Claymores from the vehicles stores but they had time to place only three of the directional mines and return, unfurling the firing cables as they went.

  There was some ragged small arms from up in the woods, audibly recognised as the SA80, and a whole lot of AK fire followed by grenades.

  No further transmissions were received from 9 Platoon and the bugles got closer.

  Captain Regitt, the 1 Company 2 i/c, sent a fire mission request for the wood line at the base of the hill, but it was dismissed out of hand owing to the last known location of 9 Platoon and the proximity of the remainder of 3 Company, albeit they were outside the danger area.

  Accurate salvoes of RPG-26 from the west side of the hill now began impacting the Warriors of 3 Company from the flank.

  The CO now realised that there was something extraordinary happening and ordered 4 Company and 5 Company, the last being the battalions wartime establishment of a fourth rifle company, to move forward to where they could engage whatever was being hidden by the trees as it came down the hill.

  The Rarden cannons of 1 Company’s Warriors, their GPMGs and those of the rifles sections opened fire first, and finally the riflemen.

  Four thousand men of the People’s Liberation 3rd Army’s 2nd Infantry Brigade had lain packed together on the Pudding all night, silently waiting for the Allies. The tactic they used was one that had been tried and tested, it had almost bought victory in Korea when unleashed on 25th October 1950. From Jamberoo, four and a half miles inland and picturesque Kiama Heights on the sea shore, the Chinese, also in brigade strength, attacked the left flank of the Guards, with the Irish Guards as their target, and the ANZACS 1st Battalion, Royal Australian Regiment, astride the coastal Princess Highway.

  B Company, 1st Battalion, Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment and 3 Company, 2nd Battalion Coldstream Guards were completely overwhelmed by human waves.

  To the north, the 5th US Mechanised Brigade’s ‘Duke’ Thackery was one of the few who had faced such attacks before, as a fresh faced young lieutenant in the Ia Drang Valley.

  Northwest of Woolongong the US Corps was already dug in, which was not the case for the ANZACs and the British of course.

  “Smackdown Zero One this is Red Plume One One, check in?” The 2CG FAC was a Geordie sergeant and although he was filtering out the regional inflections, his voice was raised to the level of shouting in order to be heard over the close quarters combat. Someone was sure as hell in trouble, she thought.

  “Zero One, Smackdown is a flight of three times Foxtrot One Fours with fourteen hundred pounds of fuel internal, max of forty five minutes availability, loadout is CBU, Mk-77, 250 pound retarded and a K of twenty mike mike…wotcha got for us Plume?”

  “Red Plume One One, IP is at junction of head of Crooked River and railway line…track from IP to target is Two One degrees… distance Four decimal Three miles… elevation Two One Two feet…large number of infantry in the open at 34°42'9.84"S… 150°48'54.30"E…friendlies are danger-close, I say again danger close, at Two One decimal Three degrees, also Four decimal Three miles from IP, and will use smoke to mark friendly, I say again friendly position…drop NORTH of the smoke…egress to the south east…as quick as you can please.”

  “Zero One roger, three minutes with Mk 77s…you sound close-in Plume?”

  “Red Plume One One, many thanks…close enough for a high five on the pass.”

  “Zero One roger, hang in there…Smackdown flight echelon left…now!”

  They let down to two thousand feet and on crossing the IP stayed left of track in order to attack west to east. They could see black smoke from mortar and artillery rounds that was drifting away, the shellfire and mortar fire pausing to allow the US Navy aircraft to carry out their ordnance runs.

  “Zero One, Plume, pop that smoke…..I see yellow.”

  “Plume confirms yellow!”

  Nikki felt a jaw dropping moment as they now approached close enough to make out more detail. Looking half right out of the canopy and noting that the typical British knack of understatement was alive and well and embodied in the Coldstream Guards FAC. It was almost medieval, the ‘large numbers’ were a sea of humanity breaking upon an area marked with yellow signal smoke. The Chinese numbered in the thousands and the friendlies were a hundred, if that, and the FAC was down there where the fighting was hand to hand.

  Banking hard right the F-14s came down to just a hundred feet above the ground.

  Zero Two and Zero Three released the moment that they saw her Mk 77s drop away. There were enemy still pouring down the hillside beyond the embattled Geordies and after egressing to the west the F-14s circled to come back around. There were far more targets than the flights ordnance load though.

  The air had suddenly a very busy place with the Pearce Wing aircraft and the A-10s active in the five mile stretch from the shore to the township of Jamberoo. Fifteen thousand Chinese infantry in a colossal human wave launched against nine thousand Australian, New Zealand and British in tactical formation, advancing in the open.

  ‘Zulu’ is a prefix at the beginning of a callsign to denote an empty vehicle. Zulu One One Alpha was only technically empty, 1 Section of 1 Platoon were busily engaged twenty five metres from the vehicle but had sent Guardsman Blackley back to fetch more ammunition, as much as he could carry. The driver and gunner were in the Warrior, the vehicles GPMG and 30mm Rarden firing into the approaching masses when it was hit, and hit again repeatedly by RPG-26 projectiles. The vehicle, its additional firepower, ammunition reserves for the section, and the three men were lost. The remaining IFV’s gunners prayed that the temperamental 30mm cannons would stay stoppage free and that the stored HE cannon rounds would miraculously multiply in number.

  4 and 5 Company stopped before reaching the besieged 1 Company, debussing a hundred metres short as the Chinese had already closed with the Vormundberg veterans. Their fire was preventing 1 Company from being enveloped though as the enemy infantry began to lap around the flanks.

  Captain Regitt concentrated on the mortar and artillery fire missions while Sgt Chamberlain, the 1 Company FAC, got some ‘air on the go’ and threw a marker smoke grenade.

  From left the right the three F-14s screamed over the enemy’s heads in a staggered line, but in contrast to the fast moving aircraft the ordnance they released seemingly fell in slow motion.

  The three Claymores had already been expended before the air strike arrived. The frighteningly determined enemy mass absorbed the first mines blast, and the second, and then the third with barely a pause. Firing on the move, but with only the lead troops able to put rounds down on the British, the inaccurate fire was offset by the sheer weight of the charge.

  Six Mk 77 canisters struck the ground and burst open, the white phosphorous igniter lighting off the 75 gallons of kerosene and benzene each one contained. It differed from Napalm B as the Polystyrene had been removed and kerosene replaced the petrol filler. Less hazardous to store, the immediate effects were identical.

  Lying prone and working methodically, Bill Gaddom was working the bolt, aiming, firing and working the bolt again. More used to engaging single targets at ten times the current range, he was fast running out of ammunition. Sgt Stephanski was on Bill’s right, already ‘out’ and the slide locked to the rear of his Glock 17. Big Stef’s face was pale with shock; his last round had taken an attacker in the face but not before a bayonet had been driven home. The sniper section sergeant was attempting to stem the arterial bleeding from the neck wound.

  Oz felt the heat on his face and then the fierce gust of wind on his neck, the result of the vacuum created
by four hundred and fifty gallons of fuel igniting explosively. The flames created a wall between them and the hill, but those enemies to their immediate front came on regardless. CSM Osgood rose up and in one flowing motion, parried aside a bayonet tipped AK and butt stroked the wielder, driving the toe of the SLR’s butt into his temple, returning at once to the en garde before thrusting his bayonet into a throat, twisting and recovering once more, parrying, thrusting, and defiant, like a bear cornered by dogs.

  “Get forward, The Wessex!”

  Baz looked at the lone Australian in the turret of the IFV who had just shouted, leaning over the side of a Light Horse armoured reconnaissance ASLAV as it sped past, with two M113s following as best they could.

  “That geezer, the vehicle commander, had white hair,” someone observed.

  “Well they haven’t had a proper barney with anyone since Vietnam, so promotion must be dead men’s shoes or summat?” another said.

  General Norris Monroe, commanding the ANZACs, was the man in question. He had ordered the vehicle’s driver to move as far forward as the battalion headquarters of the 1st Battalion Royal New Zealand Infantry. As the dust cloud that the vehicles had raised hid their departure into dead ground, the Wessex CO was ordered to get forward to the top of that same slope and dig in, fast. If anyone had claymores they needed to be sited immediately upon arrival. The Kiwis would fall back to them and together they were to prepare to defend against a massed infantry assault. The battalion, spread out as per normal for an advance to contact on foot, behind the ANZACs, was loaded down with full bergens, but it did its best, doubling the five hundred metres, breathing heavily on arrival but got busy straight away.

  To the left of the Wessex, the Grenadiers were also hurriedly digging in, and to their right the Royal Green Jackets, and beyond them the LI. To the LI’s right was the sea.

  The New Zealand infantry battalion never did appear out of the dust, but the Chinese 54th Infantry Brigade did. The Kiwis last stand had been heroic, defiant to the very end, and General Norris Monroe had been the most senior allied soldier to fall that day.