The Black Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  “Christ, we’ll be all over the place. Sorry, sir,” apologised Rose.

  “I wish I could disagree with you, Sarn’t Rose, but you’re right. But, we have to contain them. If this is a full brigade assault, then we’ll have over 2,000 heavily armed troops right in our backyard. We have to contain them.”

  They looked up and to the south as the drone of low-flying aircraft broke into their briefing, all suddenly aware of the chatter of small-arms fire in the distance. Before anyone could comment, the sound of the aircraft, no doubt bringing in more Soviet paratroopers, was blocked out by the roar of 432 engines as the remnants of three-platoon ground their way along the forest track just north-west of Osterwald.

  “Your reinforcements, Dean. Both Lieutenant Ward and Sergeant Holland have been killed, so you two are the senior. Congratulations on your promotion, Colour Sergeant Rose.”

  “Th-thank you, sir,” responded a flustered Colour Sergeant Rose. “Although, I wish the circumstances were different.”

  “Yes, Colour, don’t we all. Right, I’ll leave you to it.” With that, the OC climbed back into the Ferret scout car, and it roared off to take him back to the Company HQ, which was co-located with the Royal Green Jackets Battalion and Battlegroup headquarters.

  The three 432s of three-platoon rocked to a halt after they pulled over onto the side of the track, getting as far beneath the trees as possible. Some soldiers immediately started to drag camouflage netting over the roof, to hide the vehicles from above.

  “Leave that,” shouted Lieutenant Russell.

  The soldiers looked across, bewildered. Their Corporal confirmed the order to them.

  “Corporal, here,” called Colour Sergeant Rose.

  The Corporal trotted over. “Sarge?”

  “Corporal Jenkinson, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Sarge.”

  “Tell your boys to be ready to move out in five; then get back here.”

  “What’s happening?”

  “Just do it, and quick.”

  The Corporal sped off to instruct his men, and Rose joined his platoon commander by the rear of the platoon commander’s 432.

  “Congratulations Colour Sergeant Rose.”

  “Thank you sir, come as a bit of a surprise.”

  “Not to me. Well deserved. But I think we are both going to have a lot on our plate these coming days. I’m glad I’ve got you backing me up.”

  Before they could continue, the NCOs of the platoon congregated around the rear of the 432. The Lieutenant took a deep breath as he looked over the command element of his platoon: his platoon sergeant, now Colour Sergeant Rose; Lance Corporal Burford in command of the mortar team; Lance Corporal Reid had two-section, now with only two men to command; and Corporal Stubbings with five soldiers and the two Milan firing posts. But now he had two additional sections: one of six men commanded by Corporal Jenkinson, and a second one of five men, commanded by Lance Corporal Coles.

  “Right, listen in. First, command. We will have five sections in the platoon. One-section will consist of Lance Corporal Reid’s and Corporal Stubbings’ men under the command of now Acting Corporal Reid. Call sign One-One-Bravo. It will also be the Platoon HQ. I will be One-One-Alpha. Corporal Stubbings, I want you to take command of the two Milan firing posts. They are all the anti-tank weapons we have, so they need to be positioned appropriately and well protected. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir,” responded the young but most experienced Junior NCO in his platoon.

  “You’ll be One-One-Charlie. Corporal Jenkinson.”

  “Sir.”

  “Welcome to the platoon. Your section is to take control of our three Blowpipe SAMs. One-One-Delta. Got that?”

  “Sir.”

  “You will be our air defence. I doubt we’ll have much more help in that quarter.”

  “Lance Corporal Coles, welcome to you too.”

  “Sir.”

  “Yours and Corporal Reid’s sections will be our main fire teams. You are One-One-Echo. But, you won’t be on your own. We have two mobile mortar teams under the command of Lance Corporal Burford. One-One-Foxtrot. Our air defence and mortar teams will come under overall command of the platoon 2iC, Colour Sergeant Rose, One-one-Golf.”

  He looked at each of the section commanders. The NCOs from his original platoon seemed relatively calm, considering what they had been through during the last twenty-four hours. The new men, on the other hand, seemed less relaxed and slightly nervous. The loss of their platoon commander and platoon sergeant had hit them hard.

  “Situation.” He pointed to the map pinned up on the inside of the wide-open 432 door. “We appear to have two heliborne assaults north and south of Gronau, on this side of the river. There have also been two para landings. One here, west of Benstort, north and south of the road...” He peered at the map. “The road that links Benstort to Hemmendorf. The second one east of Benstort, north and south of Esbeck.”

  He looked at his men again, checking their level of attention. He was pleased with what he saw: even the new members of the platoon started to appear more alert and less tense. Maybe they finally had something to occupy their minds with, something to do. Perhaps even the thought of hitting back.

  “Mission: move directly to the village of Marienau, here, just south-east of Coppenbrugge. We are to hold and prevent the enemy from moving to Coppenbrugge. Questions?”

  Corporal Jenkinson piped up, “What is the air threat, sir?”

  “In regard to the Soviet air force and their bombers, I’m not sure. But we know they have Hip and Hind attack helicopters. No doubt they will be sniffing out the route.”

  “Try and get them as they pass you,” advised Colour Sergeant Rose. “Their cockpits are protected by titanium. Even the bloody blades are made of titanium. But if you fire at them from behind, you stand a better chance of hitting the tail boom or the engines.”

  The Corporal nodded his understanding.

  “Do they have tanks then, sir?” asked Corporal Stubbings.

  “Not main battle tanks, but they will probably have ASU-85s, with an 85mm gun that could do us some damage. Then they will have their BMDs, the airborne equivalent of the BMP.”

  “I’ve got photos and silhouette pictures of both. Once we’re in position, we can go through them to refresh all our memories,” Colour Sergeant Rose informed them.

  “Any more?” asked the Lieutenant. “No? Good. How many mortar bombs do you have, Corporal Burford?”

  “Forty in each 432, sir, plus six each of smoke.”

  “Excellent. We move out in two. I’ll lead with One-One-Bravo, through to One-One-Foxtrot. Let’s go.”

  Russell looked back, hanging onto the GPMG pintle. The next 432 in his platoon was following behind, the third further back again. He would be happier once they were dug in. He wasn’t comfortable driving out in the open like this, particularly in broad daylight, but speed was critical if they were get to their new location in a timely manner.

  Chapter 18

  0600 7 JULY 1984. BRAVO-TROOP (+). GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT −22 HOURS.

  “Two-Two-Alpha, this is Bravo-Zero.”

  “Bravo-Zero, go ahead. Over.”

  “Keep your heads down. You have help on the way.”

  “Roger that, Bravo-Zero. We’ve heard heavy heli activity to our south. Over.”

  “We have numerous air assaults in progress our side of the river. A call sign is coming to bolster your position. Hold tight.”

  “Roger, Bravo-Zero. Out.”

  “Two-Two-Delta, this is Two-Two-Alpha. Sitrep. Over.”

  Before the infantry unit to their south could answer, Alex heard another flight of the shells go overhead, again going west to east. At last, our artillery is finally giving the Sovs some of their own medicine, he thought.

  “T
wo-Two-Alpha, this is Two-Two-Delta. We’re still holding. Heavy casualties. Need urgent medical evacuation.”

  Alex could hear the thumps of explosions coming from the direction of the enemy troops.

  “Two-Two-Delta, wait. Bravo-Zero. Heavy arty fire all along the line. They’re pounding the Sov positions. Over.”

  “Understood. Out.”

  “Two-Two-Delta. Help is on the way. Will keep you posted. Do the best you can. Out.”

  He looked down into the turret and spoke into the intercom. “Take us forward, slowly.”

  The Chieftain lurched forward.

  “Left.” Alex searched through the vision blocks, finding a gap in the trees. “Right, right, right, forward. About 200 metres.”

  He searched the skyline, seeking out any Hind-Ds that might be hovering, waiting for his and any other Chieftain tank to appear.

  They crept forward, the sound of the artillery barrage getting louder and louder, plumes of smoke scarring the horizon.

  “Fifty metres.”

  He needed to get them into their alternate berm where they would have a 180-degree view of the ground in front. It was risky going close to an old position, but he needed to see what was happening.

  “Stop, stop.” The tank ground to a halt. “Keep your eyes peeled, Corporal Patterson.”

  “Roger that, sir.”

  Ahead the ground erupted with explosions as round after round fell amongst the Soviet armour. A battery of Abbots had joined in along with M109s, the heavier M110s and the long range M107s. At last, thought Alex, they were getting some support and the enemy was getting a taste of its own medicine. The bombardment stopped, and the battlefield from Betheln to Eitzum was strewn with the wreckage of armoured vehicles. One of the 438s was still operating; a Swingfire missile flew towards a retreating BMP-2. Another brewed up as it was hit by Two-Two-Charlie. Two-Two-Charlie targeted a second tank.

  Alex pushed up the hatch cover, ducking as two aircraft, one after the other, flew low overhead. The twin-engined Tornados powered past, splitting up, banking left and right, pulling Gs as the pilots pulled back on the stick, radioing their sighting to their two fellow pilots three kilometres back. The rearmost aircraft each released a Maverick air-to-ground tactical missile. Both, travelling at over 1,000 kilometres an hour, hit home. Guided by an imaging infrared system, the fifty-seven kilogram shaped charges slammed into a T-80 and an SA-9. No sooner had they destroyed their targets when all four Tornados released another round of missiles.

  Alex’s spirits rose, until he saw one of the aircraft going down after being hit by an SA-6 missile. No sooner had the Tornados delivered their lethal load than a flight of Harriers attacked the Soviet armour north of Heinum. They too lost one of their number. A flight of six SEPECAT Jaguars from the Royal Air Force’s No 31 Squadron picked up where they left off. Originally from RAF Bruggen, they had been moved further west due to the rapid Soviet advance and further attacks by Spetsnaz forces. Only now were they able to get back into the fight. More Soviet armour suffered from the onslaught. But the ground-attack aircraft had to disperse after two were shot down by Soviet fighters. The Soviet air force was also taking casualties as two Rapier missiles eventually hit home, once the technicians had fixed the glitches as a consequence of the rough journey the tracked Rapier units had getting into position.

  Silence. It was six twenty-five. They had been fighting for less than two hours, but were exhausted. They were in need of fuel and ammunition, and Alex wanted to go in search of Two-Two-Bravo, check on the infantry unit, and get an update regarding their relief. The Soviets had taken a beating, but Alex knew they would be back, with a vengeance. 7th Guards Tank Division, of 3rd Shock Army, had lost twenty-four T-80s and eighteen BMP-2s. For the moment, the Soviet airborne troops were on their own.

  Chapter 19

  0630 7 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM ALPHA/ROYAL GREEN JACKETS BATTLEGROUP. WEST OF OSTERWALD, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT −21.5 HOURS.

  Russell’s 432s, fifty metres apart, raced north-west along the forest track to get to their positions. They skirted the edge of the forest, just inside the tree line, the track zigzagging through the trees, a trail of dust steadily building. Above, the tree-covered high ground towered over them, climbing to a height of nearly 600 metres. After two kilometres, his convoy came out of the forest, the drivers tugging hard on the left stick as they careered left onto a minor road, maintaining their speed, the tracks sliding across the loose stones as they swung round and headed south through a small conurbation, Dorpe, arriving at Coppenbrugge a kilometre later.

  “One-One-Alpha, this is Zero-Alpha.”

  “One-One-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”

  “You have small packets, high ground, south-west your final location. Over.”

  “Roger. Call signs? Over.”

  “Echo-One and Echo-Two. Out.”

  That came as a relief to the Lieutenant. The OC had informed him that two reconnaissance vehicles, probably Scimitars, would be watching the high ground to their right.

  He slowed the convoy down and drove at twenty kilometres an hour through the town, the 432s at the front, each with pintle-mounted GPMG. The gunners covered the houses lining the road each side: one gun forward, the next watching left, and the third one right. The village appeared deserted, the rattle of the tracked vehicles echoing through the empty streets. One pair of eyes looked fearfully out of an upper window. The soldier on the 432 elevating the barrel of the Gympy felt Russell’s hand on his shoulder.

  “Well spotted. They’re just civilians. Keep your eyes peeled though.”

  The military convoy turned left at the T-junction, and shortly they left the village, Marienau, a kilometre ahead. After a few hundred metres, Russell ordered the driver to pull over to the left, beneath a line of trees with large canopies, giving them some cover from the air. He signalled a halt and the soldiers de-bussed, forming a defensive stance around their small convoy.

  Russell jumped down, running back to the next APC, and was soon joined by Colour Sergeant Rose. On orders, the NCOs quickly gathered round. They followed him to the lead 432 where he climbed on top and proceeded to scan the area with his binoculars.

  Lieutenant Russell had made a quick appraisal of the map earlier and knew where he wanted to deploy his reinforced platoon. He lay down on the top of the vehicle, suspending a map from the top so that it lay flat against the slab sides of the APC. His NCOs gathered around and he pointed at the map that was upside down to him but the right way up to his men.

  “This is our area of responsibility. From the base of the Hohenstein to our right, our south-western boundary, where we have recce Scimitars watching over us, to the Nesselberg-Osterwald to our left, our north-western boundary.”

  “Whew, that’s a large area to cover for a company, sir, let alone a platoon.”

  “I concur with that, Colour, but we are all there is for the moment. Enemy armour can flank us either side, come straight along the main road through the village, or over the top of the high ground.”

  “What about Osterwald, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.

  “The OC will take care of that with the rest of the company. We also have a Royal Green Jackets’ combat team near Benstort.” He shifted his position to get more comfortable. “I want your two Milan FPs collocated, Corporal Stubbings. At least then you can provide each other with mutual support, particularly if you have airborne infantry trying to root you out. I suggest you dig in at the junction of the road and the railway line here,” he said, tapping a point at the most south-eastern tip of the village. “You should be able to get a good field of fire from there, at least a 180-degree sweep. This is ‘Clapham’. How many tubes do you have?”

  “Six for each firing post, sir.”

  “Make sure you change positions the minute you fire. Don’t try for a second shot from the same place. If they ho
me in on you and bring down mortar fire, you’ll be stuffed.”

  “Understood, sir.”

  “Corporal Reid.”

  “Sir.”

  “I want you to split your section. I want your gun group and two men with the Milans at Clapham, to give them cover, and three men and the 432 positioning themselves in Gut Voldagsen, ‘Little-town’. It looks as if it’s made up of half a dozen houses. Warn me of any sightings and only open fire if necessary. If Soviet airborne are going for it, disrupt their advance as best you can, but don’t take chances. Get back to Clapham.”

  “Gotcha, sir.”

  “Corporal Coles.”

  “Sir.”

  “I want your men dug in by the bridge over the water feature. I doubt they’ll have any bridging equipment, though they probably won’t need it as the water runs straight down the centre of the valley. But if they want to use the road then they will attempt to cross the bridge.”

  “My full section, sir?”

  “Yes. We will fall back through you. ‘London bridge’, ok. Once we have to give up Little-town and Clapham, we’ll fall back to the north-west of the village, where the Milans can cover both flanks. Especially if they try to use the rail bridge. Ah...”

  “Little London, sir?” Colour Sergeant Rose laughed.

  “Little London it is. Once you have to pull back, Corporal Reid, you will head straight for Coppenbrugge, and we will be right behind you. By then, we may have received some new orders.” He heard a cough. “I’ve not forgotten about the rest of you. Corporal Burford, I want your mortars here. There’s what? A 300 metre square plot, with some good tree screening. Better than being in the village having to move all the time.”

  “Roger that, sir.”