'Advance to Contact' (Armageddon's Song)

by Andy Farman

  “Well, I don’t…whoever invented that filthy stuff was never in the infantry.” He held up the bayonet until he heard the sound of others being drawn from their scabbards, and then fitted it to his SLR, giving it a test tug to ensure the retaining lug had taken.

  From behind came the sound of the battalions 81mm mortars firing off the first mission, and Colin stood up and scrambled up the side of the ditch to kneel on top. The men of No.1 and No. 2 Company, 1CG left the ditch and paused on one knee, bayonets fixed and awaiting the command to advance through the wood.

  Nikoli removed his hands from over his ears and realised he was still screaming in mortal terror, and he wasn’t the only one either. The air was full of the scent of spent explosives, petrol vapour, wood sap and something else…the iron tinted scent of fresh blood. He raised his head out of the shell scrape and looked furtively about, the air was hazy with smoke and the trees were no longer heavy with snow resting on their branches. Something had taken numerous bites out of every tree in sight; wounded limbs hung down from freshly torn trunks, and amputated branches lay everywhere.

  Nikoli had attended lectures and seen footage of the effects MLRS and its M77 submunitions; he now knew that it was possible to stay alive in its killing zone, only if below ground level. Five thousand, one hundred and fifty two of its grenade-like submunitions had landed on the large wooded area, thank Christ they have no airburst capability, were his thoughts.

  Crawling from position to position he took stock, one bomblet had landed on a man as he lay in his hole, another paratroopers head had been poking up at the wrong moment, and was pulverised. Two men were concussed, and five more had minor wounds from wood splinters and sundry flying muck, all were badly shaken up.

  The night was on the retreat, yet the glow from the area where they had cammed up their transport, a quarter of a mile away, was visible due to the napalm dropped on the already burning vehicles. There was another glow northeast of them, and although they did not know it, an assortment of stolen NATO vehicles was also burning fiercely.

  To the northeast of Nikoli’s paratroopers was another soviet unit, manned by unconventional troops more used to being delivered to, and extracted from lightly defended rear areas than stand-up fights.

  The special-forces unit commander had performed ambushes, assassinations, kidnappings, poisoned water holes and delivered booby-trapped kids toys to the outskirts of villages in Afghanistan and Chechnya during his service. However, his only experience of conventional tactics had been during his basic training, and his style of leadership did not include the rigid discipline one might expect of a military unit. At CQB, close-quarters battle, he and his men were deadly, but in conventional warfare they were found wanting. His men were living in the vehicles and two bunkers that housed the equipment and munitions caches, there were no trenches dug, as they did not expect to be in the combat zone for a protracted period, or have to defend the site. Sentries had been in the open, squatting under groundsheets out of the worst of the elements, where they could provide early warning, and contain intruders who may stumble upon them, but little else.

  Major Kolsov awoke to the sound of the world ending, even though the heavy door to the bunker was closed against the elements. Scrambling for his weapon he headed for the ladder to the bunkers door, pausing only to stamp hard on the trapdoor to the bunkers lower level, to silence the sound of female screams coming from below. At the top of the ladder he flicked a switch, extinguishing the single electric light bulb, and pushed up the door until it locked open. Peering out cautiously he saw his second in command doing the same from the other bunker twenty feet away.

  “Captain…report?”

  The other man had been looking in another direction and jumped, obviously shaken by what had taken place. “Er…cluster bomb attack, I think…”

  He glanced down as something was shouted to him from within that bunker, and then looked back.

  “No one is answering their radios…I will send two men to check.”

  Their own vehicles, a half dozen APCs from various NATO armies, a Landrover, a Humvee and a German civilian police car were only three hundred metres away, in the centre of an area aflame with napalm. Everywhere that Kolsov looked showed the effects of anti-personnel weapons, so he shook his head.

  “Don’t bother, they are beyond help…we stay in these uniforms and move out…fast, in five minutes.”

  His Captain started to descend from sight and then stopped. “What about the prisoners…can they run, do we take them?”

  Kolsov gave a harsh laugh.

  “The way we’ve been using them, I doubt they can walk.” Sliding down the ladder he pulled on Wermacht equipment and stuffed extra ammunition inside the pockets of the camouflage jacket. There was little else of immediate use to him in this bunker, older uniforms from the clothing cache in the lower level had served as his bed, 1950’s khaki battle dress jackets bearing the shoulder flashes of Divisions long since disbanded. This level was a store for petrol, grenades, small arms and ammunition; the neighbouring bunker held explosives, medical supplies and rations. Once he was certain he had everything he needed he strode over to the trapdoor, lifting it open. Two faces peered up at him, squinting against the light entering from above. The German policewoman had been the driver of the police car they had seized; her partner had been tossed down an embankment after his throat had been cut. She had been spared for the same reason as the other occupant; both she and the USAF radar operator captured at Geilenkirchen AFB were young and pretty. Their faces had a haggard look about them now, bruised from repeated rapes by Kolsov and his men. Kolsov smiled coldly at them before closing it once more and securing the bolt that held it closed. Carrying over a jerrycan of petrol he carefully removed the pin from a hand grenade and lay the petrol can on its side atop the trapdoor, wedging the grenade beneath where the cans weight would hold the spring-arm in place until the can was moved. He had little doubt that the two females would call out once they heard friendly voices overhead, and some gallant young NATO soldier would try to release them. A second jerrycan was emptied onto the floor, and he grinned maliciously when the flammable liquid found its way down to the lower level through the gaps between the trapdoor and its frame. The prisoners terrified screams would serve to attract attention, providing of course that they had not shouted themselves hoarse by then.

  About 300lbs of plastic explosive remained in the bunker, but without detonators inserted it would just burn fiercely, however the boxes of grenades, claymore mines and assorted munitions, would cook off nicely in the flames fed by the remaining twenty jerrycans. Emerging into the open he dropped the light bulb he had removed, and crushed it under foot before gesturing to the captain and the eight remaining men to follow him. Helmstedt held the nearest soviet forces and he headed southwest at a run, looking to put as much distance as possible between the evidence of recent habitation and themselves.

  The mortars had dropped smoke to cover the pair of rifle companies in their advance on the woods, but on reaching the trees that cover stopped. The sweep through was only accomplished after much shouting and cursing, frequent stops in order to straighten the line and regain the intervals between each man. At 8am the Coldstreamers came up to the wrecks of a pair of Marder infantry fighting vehicles, a Bradley and a trio of M113s, a smell of something very similar to roast pork hung heavily in the air. The section that made the discovery also reported the presence of children’s corpses, but CSM Probert put the finders straight. He was pleased that the section was in cover when he arrived at the edge of a burnt area, all of 400m long and half again as wide. Blackened tree trunks, their branches burnt down to mere stumps, stuck up like ebony stalagmites from the roasted earth, giving the scene the look of an alien landscape. He followed the sections young commander to the first corpse, the soldier was keeping his features steadfastly neutral as he pointed it out, and Colin knew the young man was disturbed by this apparent discovery.

  “The thing about napalm Cor
poral Tolley is the high temperature it produces. Body fluids boil away, and as they do the rest, including the bones, contracts…this isn’t a child’s body, I’d say he was about medium height when he was alive, the heat just shrank him by six inches or so.” The section commander looked down at the body, and then at Colin, visibly relieved that they hadn’t been involved in the accidental death of some kids playing Robin Hood amongst the trees.

  They counted thirty-six bodies amongst the vehicles, and a further ten spread about nearby in pairs, easily identifiable as the sentries, but had found no living enemy troops. The first indication that there were survivors from the attack came a short time later when they came up to the bunkers, and Colin having rejoined his place at the centre of the platoon, hurried back.

  He crawled the last twenty feet to where L/Cpl Tolley was lying beside Major Thompson.

  “Sir, Armitage came across those two open trapdoors, there’s a fair bit of foot traffic around them in the snow, but he had a listen and says he can hear someone shouting from the far one..…that was before he called me. I’ve had a shufti, and it sounds like women.”

  Colin could see the openings, about 25m away.

  “What can you tell me, are they tunnels or what?”

  “Sir, I can’t see the point of having two entrances next door to each other if they are tunnels. The trapdoors are metal, look fairly old like, and there are ladders that go down ten feet or so…the walls, what I could see of them, are brick, it’s pretty dark in there…maybe they are some sort of hides, sir.”

  He nudged Tolley.

  “Okay corporal, cut along back to your section, get them to toss across all their toggle ropes.” Colin had decided that an entry had to be effected so he was working on the assumption that there may be booby traps, the ladders were therefore suspect.

  Colin used hand signals to tell 2 Section to provide cover if required and once the signal had been passed to everyone in that section, Colin crawled forward on his stomach, following Tolley’s footprints in the snow.

  Haddon’s Rock: 0900hrs, same day.

  Crisis management is all about priorities, what needs to be done first and what can wait. A policeman at a traffic accident will deal with any casualties first, then the cars and lastly the witnesses, but if there are enough blue uniforms on scene they can do all three at once. The problem the President of the United States had was that there was just one of him and too many crises vying for the top slot. Some items he could farm out but others were his alone to deal with. A crisis not of the national security variety, but much closer to home, had been trying for twelve hours to reach him. A personal secretary at the family home in Wisconsin had notified the First Lady of a very official communication from the Defence Department, addressed to the Presidents first born. She had thought that they had an understanding, that their son would not be required to serve, and furthermore their friends had received the same call-up papers and some though not all felt betrayed. There were other people seeking his attention for the same reason, including some major contributors to the party war chest who did not appreciate their sons and daughters call to arms. It would be some time a lot later that day that the President would receive the first angry caller.

  The President broke the connection with the new British PM, and shook his head in dismay. He had meant only to send commiseration’s followed by congratulations to his new office, but the damned man had stated he wanted some ‘input’ into how the war was being fought. He had obviously read a book once on cold war military strategy, and after a few words of very feigned regret at the death of his predecessor, stated he wanted the RAF to commence deep strike operations against railheads etc, in Poland and the Czech Republic. Didn’t the fool realise that his air force, in fact both their air forces, had been four times larger when Deep Strike had been an option, and now they just did not have the aircraft for such missions.

  He wasn’t vastly impressed with the cabinet re-shuffle that was proposed either; the ex-servicemen his predecessor had brought in had been ousted by academics. That last thought brought a wry smile to the Presidents face, he was an academic himself and his own opinions of the military had undergone a sea change in the past weeks. However, the President had objected to the new PMs choice for one critical position as he failed to see what a 30-year-old with a degree in Sociology could bring with her by way of experience to the key Defence Ministers post. He was put on hold for half a minute but he knew full well that the ‘urgent matter that would take a few seconds’ was merely a ploy to continue the call on another phone. The CIA and diplomatic sources kept him abreast of the peccadillos in both friendly and unfriendly governments.

  Political horse-trading had commenced with the resumption of the call, and ended with a former Shadow Cabinet member getting the job.

  He replaced the receiver and chuckled because he didn’t know what amused him more, the fact that the guy wouldn’t be getting anymore extra-marital workouts in that bed, or the Sociologist who’d just been screwed twice, in very different ways.

  The Chief Executive signalled for more coffee and turned to the stack of files marked ‘Most Secret’ sent over by Admiral Gee for his signature. After first checking that Henry Shaw had already signed off on them he scribbled his signature and reached for the next in the pile. He didn’t read the content, a glance at the name of the operation was all they got, such odd names designed to disinform an enemy of their purpose. Pork Crackling, Alabama Sunset, Armageddon’s Song, Cosmic Wanderer, and what the hell was a Turkey Snack supposed to do? Henry Shaw certainly wasn’t one for macho sounding names of the Approaching Fury, or Imminent Lightning strain.

  The aide who delivered his coffee reminded him that he was due to call the new German Chancellor in five minutes, and then he had to sleep as the Far Eastern and Anzac representatives were arriving in the late hours. The summit would be delayed twenty-four hours in order for the Europeans to send replacements for those killed in Galway Bay. He rushed through the pile and was putting his pen away when the aide re-entered and gave him the nod. He allowed himself a moment to prepare and then picked up the receiver.

  “Mr Chancellor, please allow me to express my deepest regret…”

  West of Wuitterlingen, Germany: 0920hrs, same day.

  The broken glass from a light bulb was the first confirmation Colin had that a ‘nasty’ had been left behind by the enemy. He’d lain beside the entrance looking at the shards of glass in the snow before crawling back, only to return with a rather bloodied shirt, taken from a corpse, and a pair of PNGs, passive night goggles.

  The bulb had been broken either to hinder anyone entering, or to force them to use light, either of which could prove fatal depending on the type of device in use. He didn’t have ‘Polestar’ to help him out with its remotely activated flashbulbs and light emissions of differing frequencies, so ultimately he would have to go down himself. The hide appeared to be of fairly professional construction, so an automated self-destruct system was a possibility, something like a movement sensor on a timer giving just enough time for an authorised person to disarm it. With that in mind he’d tied the shirt to the rope and laid it across the entrance, retiring to a safe distance before pulling the rope and allowing the shirt end to fall within the dark confines. After five minutes of jerking the rope up and down to spoof any motion sensor, he had tied his end to a tree and climbed down it, avoiding the ladder. Finding the booby-trap was almost an anti-climax, in fact it was such an obvious ploy that it raised goosebumps because he’d thought he might have missed something.

  Petrol fumes had rendered one of the prisoners unconscious, and the other had to be carried out too due to its effects. Both were sent to the rear under escort to where an armoured ambulance would meet them at the forests edge.

  By 1400hrs the two rifle companies had emerged out of the far side of the wood without sighting a single live enemy. Lt Col Reed gave the men a half hour to brew up and have some food before swinging back onto their original axis
and continuing the advance, leaving Major Thompson and his troops to complete a head count of the corpses. An hour later and the wood had been abandoned by NATO, but the scars of their visit would remain for decades.

  In the north western region of the woods, an area of the snow covered woodland floor moved. Like a large green earthworm coming up for air a quilted tip poked up from the snow, and there remained motionless for five minutes as it listened. Apparently satisfied that there was nothing hostile nearby, it wriggled itself clear of the snow and parted down the centre.

  Nikoli unzipped the sleeping bag and rolled out of it into a firing position. His assault rifle shook in his hands and he handled it clumsily, the cold that had slowly sucked the heat from his limbs had robbed them of their dexterity.

  Over the next few minutes all but two of his men heaved off the snow that had concealed them within their shell scrapes, several were unable to hold their weapons as the cold had made numb hands and fingers into unresponsive claws.

  The amount of debris that had fallen onto the snowy surface of the wood during the attack had lessened the chances of discovery by the enemy. They had covered each other over with snow and the hidden men used twigs to keep small air holes open. The British troops had moved through this section of wood carefully but they were more focused on defensive positions and men above ground, so the paratroopers went undiscovered.

  The two who had not appeared were wounded men, and in their shocked state had lapsed into hypothermia and died. They were left where they lay and the snow shovelled back over them.

  Nikoli kept his men busy, packing away ground sheets and sleeping bags before allowing them to eat cold rations and await the coming of dark. As NATO had apparently blown up a whole wood in order to take them out, he decided that they would rejoin the main force without further diversions. A recce confirmed that the wood and its surrounds were now clear of NATO combat troops, so with the fall of night he led his men west.