The Black Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  “There has been a setback,” the Bear continued. “Our forces have been unable to cross the River Leine as planned.”

  The skinny Political Officer, his ill-fitting uniform measured and cut to fit his gawky frame, looking so unlike an officer let alone a senior one, interrupted. “Their failure has not gone unnoticed by our superiors. Their efforts will be redoubled...” He left the end of the sentence hanging in the air.

  The look from the Bear would make any officer wilt. The Political Officer, although confident in the legality of the statement he had just made, confident in his authority and support from his political masters, still winced. On a one-to-one basis with the man, Yolkin’s confidence was even less. Many of his officers though reflected, knowing that a failure by this division would see them up in front of the dreaded MVD to explain that failure in full. If found guilty of failure, they knew they would likely face an execution squad.

  The Bear continued, nonplussed by the Political Officer’s statement. “There are currently two main axes for 3rd Shock Army. 7 Guards Tank Division is targeting a crossing at Gronau, and as we speak, an assault brigade is battling with British forces to secure the western bank of the river. The assault from the east will continue tomorrow. The Division is waiting for ammunition and supplies to be brought forward, and an artillery barrage will start early tomorrow. Opposite our location, at Rossing, our 10th Guards will be upping the tempo.”

  A cloud of foul-smelling fumes interrupted his speech as he puffed on his fortieth cigarette of the day.

  “There will be a full assault tomorrow. An air-assault battalion will be landing east of the river, south of Schulenburg. And, there will be a full airborne division assisting us. The 7th Guards Airborne Division will be assaulting to the west of Hanover, holding the ground for our passage through the gap between Hanover and the high ground of the Deinster. They will also disrupt reinforcements and supplies getting to the enemy. With the Air Assault Battalion directly behind the enemy and the 7th Guards Airborne Division attacking from behind and cutting the enemy’s supply route, this time we cannot fail.”

  “We will not be allowed to fail,” added Yolkin.

  The General’s broad shoulders shifted left slightly, ignoring his Political Officer’s outburst, and he pointed a finger at Colonel Yuri Kharzin, Commander of the 48th Guards Tank Regiment. “You will be first to move again, Yuri. When the 10th assault and force a river crossing, you need to be ready to roll. You are not to get involved in the fighting until you receive my orders. Understood?”

  “Yes, sir. But, if they get bogged down, wouldn’t it be best if we lend a hand?”

  “Quite possibly, Yuri, but I don’t want your men and equipment exhausted, out of ammunition as a result of doing their dirty work. I have it on good authority that the 10th will use every man and tank they have to force a crossing. I know Major-General Abramov well. He is a good soldier and a good leader. He will get us our crossing. We burn them out first. They will throw everything they have at the enemy wall until they batter it down. The more of the enemy forces they destroy, the easier will be our passage through. They will secure a crossing no matter what the cost. Our priority is to exploit that breakthrough. Anyway, with an Assault Battalion and Airborne Division kicking the Brits up the arse, the 10th will succeed. And if needed, they will switch units of the 47th Guards Tank Division from supporting the 7th, to supporting this crossing.”

  This brought a laugh from his officer corps, as he had expected it would.

  “Yes, Comrade General, my regiment will be ready,” responded Kharzin.

  The General turned to the Deputy Commander ‘Rear’, who was sitting to his right. “Have the special ammunition stocks been brought forward, Borislav?”

  “Yes, Comrade General. They have been kept well away from out troop lay-up points.”

  “We have one other asset in our armoury. The use of chemical weapons has been authorised, by the Stavka.”

  Almost as one, the group took a deep breath. They had trained for it and always knew it was an option. In fact, they used chemical weapons whenever they conducted a military exercise, and as a consequence considered it as conventional munitions and therefore could be used in a conventional war. NATO, on the other hand, and the senior officers present were aware of this, saw it as an escalation that warranted a severe response.

  “Comrade General, I have already ordered stocks to be distributed amongst the divisional artillery group,” the Chief of Rocket and Artillery Troops informed him.

  “Good,” responded General Turbin. “The brigade of BM-27s from the TVD will also be in support, along with FROG-7s and Scuds. Our own Divisional Artillery Group (DAG), along with the SS-21s, will participate in the barrage tomorrow.”

  He paused while he lit another cigarette from the one that was now nearly burning his yellowed fingers. “I know that some of our soldiers have slit the underarms of their rubber suits to help keep them cool when taking part in military exercises, so this needs to be addressed. Repairs made or replacements found. Take them from some of the rear units if necessary.”

  “Abusing military equipment that has been provided for their protection is a military offence that shouldn’t go unpunished, Comrade General.”

  “Yes, yes, I know, Colonel Yolkin. When we come back from this mission, we will take the names of those survivors who have damaged their personal equipment. OK?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “So, you need to check all your men. If any suit is too badly damaged then draw fresh from stores. We can worry about the accounting aspects when this is all over. I want our soldiers to be well protected. They are no good to me dead. I want them to fight.”

  “Will we be using persistent agents or non-persistent, sir?” asked Akim Yermakion, Commander of the 200th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment. It would be his troops that would be exposed the most, should they need to dismount from their BMP-2s.

  “All the crossing points will be hit with non-persistent, as will some areas further east. There are some maps available showing the areas that will be targeted. We will go through these later. One or two areas will be bombarded with persistent chemicals, where we want to permanently deny the enemy safe access. Those are yet to be determined, but will be where they have stocks of ammunition. We will also hit their airfields. The Army’s Spetsnaz will be feeding back information over the next twenty-four hours. At least twenty teams of up to ten men each have been dropped behind the British 1st Armoured Division.”

  He leant forward, adding emphasis to what he was about to say. “We are a unique unit. As the army’s Operational Manoeuvre Group it is our task and our honour to be the first unit that completes a full breakout.” He thumped the table and then spoke in a strong whisper, his officers leaning forward to catch his every word. “We will not get bogged down. If we come across any stiff enemy resistance and we can get around it, we will. We will wend our way through the weak points in their defences, pushing west.” He sat up. “Once in their rear areas, we can tear up their communications centres, supply lines, ammunition depots and artillery. The further we push back their artillery, the harder it will be for them to target our follow-on forces, and it will take away their opportunity to stop and target us. Targeting reserves, unprepared as they arrive in theatre, we will smash all opposition.” He stood up and stretched his legs, tipped the contents of the now full ashtray onto the floor and pointed in the direction of Colonel Yolkin.

  “Our Political Officer has something to say. Then I want to go through the plans that have been agreed. We will go over them until I am satisfied that you can repeat them in your sleep. Then regimental commanders can return to their units. I, along with my key staff, will change location soon. Those bloody British signallers will think it’s Christmas when we start transmitting. But until we get our movement orders, it’s radio silence. Understood?”

  His officers acknowledged, equally fearful of an air or artillery s
trike being brought down on top of them.

  “Over to you, Comrade Arkaldy.”

  Chapter 26

  2010 7 JULY 1984. CORPS PATROL UNIT. SOUTH-EAST OF LEHRTE, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT −8 HOURS.

  Wilf signalled for Tag to come forward, while Hacker and Badger watched their tail.

  “If we go west now, follow these hedge lines, it should take us to Erich Segen. According to the map, there are just a few buildings scattered about. There, we can cross the 443 and the railway line before we push north. I want to follow the railway line for a while, see what traffic is about. Make sense?”

  “Sounds good to me,” agreed Tag.

  “Fetch the other two.”

  Tag went back, briefed the other two, then brought them forward to Wilf’s position. Tag took point and, in the evening gloom, guided the patrol west, the patrol constantly on the alert for Soviet forces, Soviet rear security and even locals, particularly dogs that might give away their position. They had spent the entire night tabbing fifteen-kilometres to circuit the large town of Lehrte, which was now about three kilometres to their north-west. Travelling east, they kept well north of the outskirts. On their route, they crossed under the E8/A2 autobahn where they had reported back to HQ the heavy movement of troops; in particular, lots of heavy artillery. There, they found cover and waited out the daylight hours until it was safe to move again. In the meantime, they fed back their sightings to 1 BR Corps headquarters. Now they were on the move again. It was eight-ten pm, 7 July. The going was OK, so long as they stuck close to the hedges. Moving too far off brought them into rutted fields where the soil stuck to their boots making their tab difficult. There was just enough light to enable them to see where they were going, but not too bright that they stood out for all to see. Occasionally they would stop for ten minutes, and Wilf would scan the area with his image intensifier, enabling him, looking through a green haze, to spot any suspicious movement. The enemy would know they were there, or at least they would suspect that special forces would be snooping around and reporting back, but they hadn’t come across any excessive security or patrolling. The Soviets seemed to have one purpose in mind: to push west as quickly as possible. The CPU had to be careful at major crossroads or bridges, or at least the ones still standing, as these always appeared to be guarded well, often with a platoon, at least. Wilf suspected that there were other bridges, military ones, built by Soviet engineers to keep the flow of military traffic moving, particularly supplies needed by the army that must be using them up at a rapid rate. When Wilf stopped, he also checked his sat nav as well as the map. It was important they knew where they were at all times, particularly if a planned air or arty strike was in the offing. He shifted his equipment into a more comfortable position and signalled they move. Although they weren’t carrying their heavy forty-kilogram Bergens, they still had a lot of supplies of food, water, ammunition and explosives with them. Once this mission was over, they would return to the Mexe-hide, rest up, and restock before their next task. After about three-kilometres and two hours of tabbing, they could hear the rumble of traffic on the road that was about 300 metres ahead. Tag signaled, and the CPU formed a circle.

  Tag whispered to the three men. “The buildings are about 200 metres to our north and the road about 300 to our west. I reckon it’s too risky crossing here, so I suggest we move a kilometre south to the small copse that straddles the road. We can cross there.”

  “Makes sense, Tag. Badger, you take point, then me, Tag, and, Hacker, you’ve got tail-end-charlie. Let’s go.”

  Badger led them south, his C7 carbine, with its C79 optical sight, following the movement of his eyes, ready to react, knowing they were very close to the enemy at this moment in time. They were a close team and instinctively knew what to do, how to react. Badger would watch their front, to the south, but keeping an eye towards the road; Wilf would watch their left arc; Tag the right arc, where he could hear a steady drone of traffic; and Hacker, with his beloved M-16 A2 with an under slung M203 grenade launcher, would cover their backs. Wilf felt surprisingly secure, and judged that, should it come to a firefight, they would give their best.

  After thirty minutes, Badger brought them to a halt at the edge of a small copse, no more than 400 metres long and less than 150 metres across. He guided them inside, and it was quite eerie to suddenly be in an enclosed area, the light they had been moving by, now blocked out. The copse smelt musty, but with a lingering tang of diesel fumes that had drifted in from the road. Badger knew what he was doing and led them south for a further twenty-metres before moving west towards the road. They formed a circle again and Badger went forward to recce the road. They knew this was going to be a difficult task; the volume of traffic sounded quite heavy.

  Badger came back, collected the team and, with two facing away from the road, Wilf and Badger watched the traffic pass by. The rattle of caterpillar tracks got closer and closer, and were soon revealed to be SA-6 surface-to-air missile launchers, six at a time, with radar vehicles, box-body control vehicles, and the occasional MTLB interspersed between them. Just as Wilf was preparing the order to cross, the rattle of tracks grew louder again as a battery of 2S-5s passed them, heading south towards Sehnde. Convoy lights only, getting ready for a big push, thought Wilf. No point in radioing in just yet.

  1 BR Corps was expecting another attack in the morning. As a stay-behind force, it was their task to seek out the Divisional Headquarters and guide the bombers, or artillery, onto the target. As a Corps Patrol Unit, CPU, it was their mission to report directly to the Commander of 1 Br Corps. As members of the 21st Special Air Service Regiment, patrolling behind enemy lines, keeping the British army abreast of what was occurring to their front, was their primary task.

  The minute there was a break in the flow of traffic, which lasted for only forty-five seconds, they crossed. A short stretch found them on the western edge of the wooded area, and the unit quickly crossed over the railway line that ran south to north. They turned north, using dead ground to shield themselves from any prying eyes. Their objective was an opencast mining site which, during hours of darkness, should be unoccupied. The team would use it in the hope of avoiding contact with the Soviet military. Wilf felt sure that if they avoided the larger forests and farms, particularly those with large barn complexes, they should be OK. They arrived at the quarry and made their way to the northern edge, and Wilf and Badger scanned the route that lay in front of them; Wilf with his image intensifier, Badger with standard binos.

  “We haven’t got a fucking inch of cover out there, Wilf. A fucking ant couldn’t get across there without being spotted,” growled Badger.

  “You’re right, Badger, it’s not looking good. Let’s have a look at the map.”

  They both crouched down close to a pile of discarded rubble, probably from the quarry, and Badger surveyed the map with his red-filtered torch.

  “Let’s go east. There’s nothing on the map, but that track we crossed going north looked pretty well covered. Further up I reckon it will bear off to the left and feed the other quarry complex further north. There should be cover, trees and the like, along the track.”

  “I’m with you on that. I figure it’s our best option. I’ll fetch the boys.”

  Wilf checked his watch: eleven-thirty. They were OK for time.

  Once the team were together again, they headed east. At the far end of the mine buildings, they found the track less than fifty-metres away. They followed it north for 200 metres, where, as Badger predicted, it bore off to the left and proceeded to take them north-west towards the other quarry complex that was their main target. Based on the information they had received from 1 BR Corps, and intelligence from an Electronics Warfare unit, that was where the enemy divisional HQ was supposed to be.

  The track had plenty of cover so, against all normal standard operating procedures, they followed along the edge of it. After 700 metres,
they came to where the track split, one snaking west then north, leading to the western boundary of what they believed to be a processing plant for the quarry, the second heading off north-east, probably passing the plant to the east. But in the centre of the two tracks, for the next 300 metres, was a thick copse that widened the further north it went, its boundary touching the edge of the two tracks either side as they pulled further apart.

  The patrol now slowed right down, placing their steps carefully, taking their time, nearly an hour to move the next 300 metres. But it paid off. At the far end, at the southern edge of the plant, they could see, and hear, the generators that powered the electrics and the radios for a possible headquarters. Wilf spent an hour studying the complex, getting his bearings. The green mist of his image intensifier gave him a view of a guard patrolling along the outside of a large shed that was close to 100 metres long, a smaller one opposite. The large shed was close to the track to the west, no more than fifty metres away from it. Probably had an entrance to the plant at the northern end, guessed Wilf. The guard’s AK was slung over his shoulder, and he seemed completely relaxed. The building was certainly big enough to house the elements of a Soviet divisional headquarters, although there was a distinct lack of vehicles and security forces. He was surprised they had been able to get so close, so easily.

  They heard a cough off to their right, and Wilf despatched Tag and Hacker to check it out. They returned within ten minutes.

  Tag whispered in Wilf’s ear, “Two men, foxhole.”

  “How’s their security?”

  “Crap. Both are having a fag.”

  Wilf pulled the team together into a huddle. “We need to know what’s in that bloody shed.”

  “If we do a circuit, we’re likely to bump into another foxhole, or some other guards. They probably have the complex ringed by a defence company. Let’s go straight for it,” suggested Tag.