The Black Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

“Corporal Jenkinson, leave two men and a Blowpipe here and the other four men, with you, in the village.”

  “What is the likely threat, sir?”

  “We could expect anything, but the Falklands War taught us that Blowpipe won’t be much good against fast jets. So only have a stab at those if they are coming towards us and are low and close. It’s likely that we’ll have helicopters about, probably Hip, Hooks and Hinds. Hips and Hooks, take them head-on. As for Hinds, I suggest you wait until they turn away, and hope you hit the engines. Firing at them head-on will get an immediate response. They might jink to avoid the missile, but you can bet your life one of their buddies will be homing in on you. So, don’t do anything rash. You’ll just get yourselves killed, and we will lose what little air defence we have. Any questions?”

  “Can we set up some pre-planned fire, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.

  “Yes, I plan on doing that now. You take the platoon forward and get them into position, and I’ll run through some scenarios with Corporal Burford.”

  “Come on, lads, let’s move,” Rose ordered. “I’ll leave the AD 432 with you then, sir.”

  “Good idea, Colour. Corporal Burford, let’s move to your APCs.”

  Lance Corporal Burford led the way as the other units gunned their engines and were soon on their way towards the village they were to defend.

  Private Taylor ran towards his NCO and platoon commander. “Sir! Sir, look!”

  The Lieutenant spun round. He didn’t need to ask for the reason for the shout; he could see it himself. Dark smudges whipped from a flight of troop carriers, wisps of white trailing behind, blossoming into full parachutes as the airborne soldiers swung from their harnesses out of control. More Soviet soldiers were landing three kilometres away, west of Benstort, to increase the number of troops that were slowly upping the pressure on the British soldiers attempting to defend themselves from a push on the other side of the river. Lieutenant Russell pulled a spare map from his pocket and pressed up against the side of a 432, and drew two lines across it with a pencil. The first one ran south-west to north-east, directly through the northern edge of Gut Voldagsen.

  “This line, Liverpool. Liverpool-north, hit the open ground north of the houses. Liverpool-south, the road and rail to the south. This one, Manchester, bisects the rail/road bridge. So, Manchester-north, then hit the open ground to the north-east, Manchester-south, then it’s the bridge itself. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Anything else and I will give you a grid. But have a fire-plan set up for Liverpool-north and south to start with.”

  With that, he ran to the 432 and joined the air defence group, and the carrier screamed off at high speed down Route 1, heading for Clapham.

  Lieutenant Russell caught up with the rest of his platoon just as British artillery started to pound the Soviet forces. He zoomed in with his binos; the view from Clapham was quite clear. Clouds of smoke and yellow flashes filled his lens as he watched the salvos land amongst the enemy. He couldn’t see any soldiers on the ground, but paratroopers were still falling out of the sky. During the occasional lull in the explosions, he could hear small-arms fire as elements of the Royal Green Jackets moved in from Salzhemmendorf in the south and Benstort in the north.

  Colour Sergeant Rose came alongside. “Corporal Reid has positioned his Gympy over there, bang on the rail/road junction and has assigned one of his men for each Milan.”

  “Voldagsen?”

  “They’ve taken over the second storey of a house. Gives them a pretty good view of the enemy if they try and flank us to the north. We just don’t have enough firepower, sir. We could do with holding that location. If the enemy occupy it, they could take potshots at us from good cover, or get into the high ground.”

  Alex looked back, identifying the two Milan positions, one either side of the railway line just before it crossed the road. The Gympy was set up on one side of the road where it crossed the rail line. He beckoned his signaler over and took the handset from him.

  “One-One-Foxtrot, One-One-Alpha. Radio check. Over.”

  “One-One-Foxtrot. Five, five. Plots in for Liverpool-north and Liverpool-south, over.”

  “Roger, out to you. Hello, One-One-Bravo-Alpha, any sightings? Over.”

  The unit in Voldagsen had the spare radio. “One-One-Bravo-Alpha. Negative, no movement. Arty fire still dropping on Grid Delta, seven, one, five, Echo, four, two, five. Over.”

  “Acknowledged. Out.”

  “I’m going to check the Milans. Then all we have to do is wait.”

  “I’ll be with the AD section, sir.”

  Russell moved back along the railway line for about fifty metres, coming across the two soldiers acting as sentries first. He talked through the fields of fire with the crews who had set up the FPs, one either side of the double railway line.

  “One-One-Alpha, this is One-One-Echo. I have an unidentified unit approaching my location. Over.”

  “Numbers and intention. Over.”

  “Two vehicles and a small tank...could be, wait...looks like one of those Jag Panzers. Probably twenty-plus troops in a couple of Unimogs. Over.”

  Kanonenjagdpanzer, thought Dean. It only had a 90mm gun, but could create havoc with any BMDs, and maybe even an ASU-85, if the Sovs had one.

  “500 metres out, slowing down.”

  “Roger. Hold your fire, but watch yourselves.”

  “Roger.”

  “Corporal Stubbings, have one of your Milans ready to swing round. Target the road as it leaves the village.”

  “On it, sir.”

  “One-One-Echo. They’ve stopped, 100 metres out. Someone walking towards us.”

  “Roger.”

  They all waited patiently. Dean was confident nothing was amiss. He didn’t anticipate it being a Soviet airborne unit behind them. They had seen no paratroopers that far back, or any heli flights in the last hour.

  “One-One-Alpha, One-One-Echo. Over.”

  “Go ahead.”

  “There’s a box-head officer wants to speak to you, sir.”

  Colour Sergeant Rose, who had just joined his platoon commander in the last few seconds, picked up the latter part of Lance Corporal Coles’s message and hissed. “I’ll speak to him, sir, when I see him.”

  “He says he’s Leutnant Burger, sir, come to support us. Over.”

  Dean thought for a moment. If they had wanted to, they could have sent some men forward covertly and taken out Coles’s small section.

  “Let them through.”

  “Wilco, sir.”

  “Standby, lads, just in case,” warned Rose.

  Within five minutes, the two Bundeswehr trucks and the twenty-seven ton tank-destroyer pulled up close to the railway crossing.

  The German officer dropped down from the cab of the Unimog and saluted Russell who returned the salute. The man, looking to be in his mid to late forties, then proffered his hand and shook Dean’s firmly.

  “Leutnant Burger, Herr Leutnant. I am with the Landwehr. Our mission is to hold Coppenbrugge, but I think with the unit you have we would be better placed with your men here, if you don’t object.”

  “More than glad to have you and your men alongside us, Leutnant Burger, but I would just like to check in with my HQ first.”

  “Naturally.”

  “Colour, would you do the honours please?”

  “Of course, sir.”

  With that, Rose took the signaler to a position about twenty-metres away so they could contact their Company HQ and confirm the identity of the intruders.

  “Once you get clearance, where would you like my men?”

  “How many do you have?”

  “Twenty-four, including myself. Oh, and I have that,” he said pointing to the tank-destroyer. “Ugly I know, but it packs a Wunderbar punch,” he said with a
huge grin.

  Dean couldn’t help but reciprocate, so unused to Germans with a sense of humour. He pulled out his map, knelt down, and flattened it out on the surface of the road.

  “Sir,” shouted Rose, and gave Dean the thumbs up.

  “Seems you are kosher.”

  “Kosher?”

  “Genuine.”

  “Gut, gut. Danke. Now, your map, eh?” He knelt down alongside Dean. “I want to get my men under cover, before they stop,” Burger said, pointing to the continuing barrage hitting the Soviet airborne forces to their south-west.

  “I’ve got three men in the village there,” Dean said, pointing towards Voldagsen. “It would be better if we could hold that.”

  The German officer studied the map. “I used to command a battalion in the Bundeswehr until I was invalided out. I have a bit of a limp,” he said, tapping his left leg. “Jumped out of a helicopter just as a gust of wind jolted the machine upwards about five-metres. My leg is now more steel than flesh.” He laughed. “Yes, we must hold that plot. I could put half my men there with Kanonen. The rest...where would you suggest?”

  “We have recce on top of the Hohenstein, but it would be good to have a small force lower down on the eastern edge. You can spot for any enemy approaching and pull back should you need to through the forest, covering my southern flank.”

  “Yes, I like it. We work well together already, Leutnant.”

  “Dean, my name’s Dean.”

  “Ah, Dean. Mine is Leon. So, you will pull your men back and reinforce here, yes?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good, I will get my men moving.”

  Dean watched as the Lieutenant organised his men. Many of them seemed older even than their leader, perhaps as old as sixty. They certainly weren’t going to let the Soviets take their country without a fight.

  Chapter 20

  0630 7 JULY 1984. THE BLACK HORSE REGIMENT, 11TH ARMOURED CAVALRY REGIMENT. SOUTH-WEST OF FULDA TOWN, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT −21.5 HOURS.

  The Snake hovered behind the trees. Its partner was 100 metres to the right. The rotor blade slicing through the air was keeping it at just the right height, the tail rotor keeping it facing east, towards where the enemy would appear.

  “Viper-One. Zulu-Three. Four Tango-Six-Fours, 2,000 metres my location.”

  “Roger, Zulu-Three.”

  “Zulu-Three. Moving past your location figures two. Standby.”

  “Roger, Zulu-Three. We’ll watch out for you, buddy.”

  The pilot tilted his head forward slightly as he spoke through the intercom to the gunner who was sitting in front of the tandem cockpit.

  “Our boys will be through in about two minutes. Four Tangos are right behind them.”

  “I’m ready.”

  “Viper-One, Viper-Two, this is Angel-One. I have visual. Behind Tangos are six Bravo-Mike-Papas.”

  Angel-One, a Hughes OH-6, was a kilometre further forward, spotting for the two AH-1, Cobra attack helicopters.

  “Roger that, Angel-One.”

  “Viper-Two, Viper-One. Four Tangos inbound, right behind Zulu-Three. Over.”

  “I’ll take number one. Over.”

  “Confirmed. Number two is mine. Out.”

  All the two AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters had to do was wait. Once Angel-One gave them the nod, they would pop up and unleash their TOW anti-tank missiles, hit their target, drop down, move back and go through the same sequence all over again.

  Ever since the Soviets had crossed the River Fulda in force, they had been steadily pushing the American force backwards.

  Private First-Class Larry Poole started the gas turbine, and Emery turned the turret and the 105mm gun barrel, checking everything was in order. SSGT Lewis was still standing with his body half out of the turret, scanning for any sign of the enemy. A-platoon, Anvil-platoon, were now down to two tanks. They had survived the last attack, but Lewis knew they wouldn’t hold out here for long. All they had to do, for one last time, was blunt the attack and race back as fast as they could. The Soviet army had pushed the 11th Armoured Cavalry Regiment, the Black Horse Regiment, back twenty-five kilometres and were now on the doorstep of the Fulda Gap with every intention of thrusting through the gap and speeding the 100 kilometres that would see them right in the centre of the German city of Frankfurt. His squadron wouldn’t have to remain here for long. They were just acting as a covering force while the rest of the regiment withdrew completely from the battle area. Not only were the men of the regiment desperate for a break, but so were the tanks. This would be just a short fight.

  Maybe even shorter than they planned, should they get hit, thought Lewis with a smile. Two rounds of sabot, fire the smoke grenades, and then hot food and a shower, he kept telling himself. The big battle was to come. The Soviet forces were getting stronger and stronger every day as more and more flooded across the river. But soon they would come up against the 3rd Armoured Division and the 8th Mechanised Division. Then you would see the battle of the giants. That he would like to see. No more running. Those two formations would have to hold their ground until reinforcements, flown in from the States, had drawn their equipment from the POMCUS sites and joined the fight. Bigger units would follow, crossing the Atlantic Ocean.

  Thank God AH-1 Cobras were in support, he thought to himself, but they had already lost two: one to the dreaded Shilkas and one to a Hind-D.

  “Any US unit, Kerzell area, this is Viper-One. You have at least one battalion, Tango-Six-Fours, heading your location. Going back to refuel and rearm. Good luck, buddy. Out.”

  “Standby,” yelled Lewis.

  He dropped into the turret and patted the armour of his beloved M1. “Looking to you to protect us today.”

  The tank crew would be depending on the M1’s Chobham armour.

  “See anything, Staff Sergeant?”

  “That’s a negative.”

  They heard a distant explosion as a Cobra took out its last Soviet tank before it too had to return to base to rearm.

  “Unidentified US tank unit, this is Viper-Two. I’m the last one out. They’re 1,000 metres out.”

  “I see one. A thousand, two Tangos.”

  “Sabot.”

  “Up.”

  “Fire.”

  The Soviet T-64 didn’t see it coming, but was lucky as the sloped armour caused the round to ricochet off.

  “Missed!”

  “Sabot.”

  “Up.”

  “Fire.”

  This time the long-rod penetrator hit one of the T-64’s ERA blocks, the subsequent explosion destroying the penetrator’s momentum, leaving it partially fragmented in the armour with the remaining piece dropping away.

  “Son of a bitch,” yelled Emery.

  The target had now fired, but fortunately not at them, but at an anti-tank missile post hoping to get its first hit of the day. The tank was now 800 metres away.

  “Sabot.”

  “Up.”

  “Fire.”

  This time the long slender dart did its job, penetrating the tank’s armour; then, driven by the sheer force of the kinetic energy, it drilled through the T-80’s turret, the residual energy blowing a spall of fragments of armour that peeled off the inside of the fighting compartment, killing its crew within a matter of seconds. The T-64 finally ground to a halt. More tanks appeared, and Lewis knew they would have to bug out soon. There were just too many of them and so few M1s. But he waited for the order. He knew his commander would make the right decision at the right time. Another shot went out as half a dozen T-64s, a line of BMP-1s behind them, appeared at less than 1,500 metres away. If they didn’t move soon, they would be over run.

  Suddenly, artillery rounds erupted around the enemy tanks, stripping off some of the protective blocks. A round sliced through a section of a
T-64, destroying the auto-loader and killing the gunner. The two crew left, the commander and driver, escaped the stricken tank, only to be cut down by a burst from an M1’s coaxial machine gun.

  “Anvil-One-Two, this is Anvil One-One. Make smoke and bug out. Out.”

  Lewis didn’t need to be told twice. He hit the button and popped smoke.

  “Get us out of here, Poole! Now!”

  Chapter 21

  1800 7JULY 1984. 8TH MOTOSCHUTZ DIVISION, 8TH ARMEE, NATIONALE VOLKSARMEE. EAST OF ECKLAK, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT −10 HOURS.

  The East German machine gunner dropped to the ground. His IMGK, a Soviet RPK machine gun, was instantly set up on its bipod and, within a matter of seconds, rounds were going out, keeping the heads down of the Bundeswehr soldiers defending the small village of Ecklak. The platoon commander called his radio operator forward and spoke to his company commander via the R-126 radio. His motorised rifle platoon, along with the rest of his Company, was tasked with keeping the heads of the defenders under fire, while the rest of the battalion went round the right flank. He bellowed to his men, and a steady stream of gunfire ripped into the buildings 300 metres away, the enemy returning sporadic fire. He didn’t envy his kameraden who were going to initiate the attack. Not only would they come under fire from the Bundeswehr and Landwehr soldiers in and around the village, but also from Bundeswehr tanks on the other side of the canal, 500 metres north of the village.

  The Nord-Ostee-Kanal, that ran across Schleswig-Holstein, fed from the Baltic Sea in the north-east and from the North Sea to the south-west, was NATO’s second stop line in this sector. Here, NATO hoped to stop the NVA and Soviet forces thrusting north to Flensburg and deep into Denmark. They had fought well, defending the eastern sector of Hamburg and Lubeck on the opposite coast, but the Warsaw Pact forces were just too powerful. Once the Soviet and East German forces had broken the line, the defenders just had to keep moving; otherwise the enemy would have just rolled up a flank and they would have been surrounded. Better to pull back where they could prepare better defences. This stretch was being defended by the remnants of 16th Panzer Brigade of the 6th Panzer Division. Germans were now fighting Germans.