The Black Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  Dean unfolded his map, spread it on the rear slope of the berm and beckoned for the handset. “One-One-Foxtrot, One-One-Alpha. Target. Over.”

  “One-One-Alpha. Send. Over.”

  “Grid. Three, nine, nine, seven, two, zero. Four rounds, fire for effect. Grid. Four, zero, zero, seven, two, five. Four rounds, fire for effect. Grid. Four, one, zero, seven, three, zero. Four rounds, fire for effect. Out.”

  He’d had to shout through his mask to ensure they could hear and that they understood. A mistake and they could be on the receiving end of the mortar rounds that would soon be on their way. But, the Corporal in command would have all friendly forces marked on his map and would quickly know if there was a error in his officer’s orders.

  Colour Sergeant Rose dropped down next to him and he returned the handset to his signaler.

  “Sir. The Sovs aren’t wearing NBC kit!”

  Dean thought back to the soldier he had shot, and Rose was right. They had no protective equipment on. It had been a non-persistent chemical strike. If they could get a breather, they could decontaminate, change their kit and remain in the village. Dean nodded.

  They fought for another thirty minutes before the Soviet airborne troops withdrew, the mortar rounds bracketing their positions proving to be lethal and effective. The company sent forward to probe the defences had suffered badly. They had lost four of their precious BMDs, with twelve men dead and over twenty wounded; the mortar bombs breaking up the attack just as they were about to make a big push.

  Dean didn’t know how much time they had before the next attack, but he had no doubt it would be the full battalion, and they would try to flank him and his men. It was time to check on his men, then decontaminate and move back to their second line of positions. Looking at the dead soldier across from his trench, he wondered how many more of his men had succumbed to the deadly chemical attack.

  Chapter 29

  0400 8 JULY 1984. 62 GUARDS TANK REGIMENT. SOUTH-WEST OF ROSSING, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT.

  Colonel Trusov was jolted suddenly as Kokorev pulled heavily on the left stick, the T-80K swerving around a burning hulk of a T-80 from the 63rd Guards Tank Regiment. Twice, the tanks of 10th Guards Tank Division had been thrown at the NATO front lines east of the River Leine, but the Challengers of Combat Team Delta, even after being battered by a thirty-minute artillery barrage, struck back. Many of the T-80s encountered the scattered minefields, salvos from 1st Armoured Division’s artillery, and a steady assault from tank-busting aircraft. Even with ERA armour, the hardened penetrators fired from the superb British 120mm main gun knocked out tank after tank. As the Soviet armour got closer to the river, the Challengers, dug in on the western bank, added their weight to the wall of steel that was meeting the Soviet tanks as they clawed their way west. It was only when the divisional commander released the Hind-D tank killers that they were they able to make progress and force the now battered combat team back across the river. A few Landwehr units had not retreated, preferring to fight to the last man, protecting their homes and the families that had remained behind.

  Combat Team Delta was effectively finished as a fighting force. Out of its original fourteen Challenger tanks, the pride of the British Royal Armoured Corps, only three had made it back across. Now part of the Battlegroup reserve, they had been withdrawn to safety, where they could recover from the horrors of the battle they had just fought. Feeling secure as they initially crossed the river, their opinion changed as they passed a regimental aid post. The horror of the sights they saw sickened them. Lines of soldiers mixed in with civilians were laid on the ground outside a large house that was now a makeshift first-aid point. A member of the, Women’s Royal Army Corps (WRAC), was helping to triage some of the recent arrivals. One line of soldiers and civilians were covered in blankets and sheets, many killed by toxic gas; either failing to pull on their respirators in time, or shrapnel opening a rent in the NBC kit and combats exposing them to the deadly nerve agents. The civilians, some of them with skinny legs and small feet sticking out indicating they were children, just hadn’t stood a chance.

  Trusov had been disappointed that his regiment, 62nd Guards Tank Regiment, 10th Guards Tank Division, had been put in reserve and excluded from the main thrust the previous day. Now, he perhaps regretted that eagerness after hearing tank after tank being knocked out, the screams of dying men over the airwaves, the cries for help and, even worse, the burnt and torn bodies, the lucky ones being brought back in the hope that the medical team could keep them alive. Although, seeing some, death would probably be their preferred option once they realised the extent of their injuries.

  Major-General Abramov, the Commander of the 10th, the Ural-Lvov Division, had pulled his senior officers together for an urgent briefing, and the look he gave Trusov said it all. Pushkin, the new Chief of Staff and his ex-Regimental Commander, nodded his head once, and Trusov knew immediately that tomorrow was not going to be a good day for him and his men. The division had to succeed. The Operational Manoeuvre Group was waiting to complete its mission. But, to do that, they needed to get across the river.

  The briefing had been short and sharp. The General knew exactly what needed to be done and who was going to do it.

  “Not only have I had our own army commander sticking his fist down my throat, but General Zavarin has ordered me personally to cross that river.” He had said the next bit more quietly. “There is no alternative. I cross it or go down in it.” A weak smile broke through, but nobody laughed. They all knew that the General was not joking; the consequences of failure were known to all of them. As senior officers, they would not escape the retribution of the MVD or KGB. “We have four assets to support us in our venture tomorrow. The Independent Tank Regiment has been released and will be under my direct control.” He looked across at Trusov. “Colonel Trusov, you and your men will have the honour of making the crossing.”

  Trusov came to attention. “My officers and men will do their duty, Comrade General.” Inside, though, he felt vomit rising to his throat. Swallowing, he contained the bitter stomach acids, feeling true fear for the first time in his life.

  “I know, Colonel. That is why I have chosen you.” Abramov beckoned the officers forward to look at the map spread out on a large farm table, nearly three metres long, purloined from one of the local houses, no doubt.

  “We cross here.” He made the mark of a cross on the River Leine, between Schulenburg and, at the high ground, Marienburg.

  “Sir—”

  “One moment, Pavel, let the General finish,” advised Pushkin.

  “I know you have lots of queries, Comrade Colonel, but at least allow an old General to anticipate some of your questions.” Abramov smiled. “Our motor rifle regiment has one operational battalion, perhaps sixty to seventy per cent strength at the most, and one that is a battalion in name only, which can barely pull together a company. But, they have one last task to complete: they are to occupy Rossing. They shouldn’t get much opposition. There are only a few old men there left to fight.”

  He turned to Colonel Maxim. “Charkov, you have to secure Rossing and bring as much fire as you can to bear on Schulenburg.”

  “Yes, Comrade General.”

  “With the death of Colonel Yegor, what is left of the 63rd Tank Regiment I will put under your command, Colonel Trusov. So, with your current strength and what is left of the 63rd, it should give you over sixty operational tanks. The infantry have less than a company, so I shall use them here at Barnten, to the north of Rossing.”

  His finger moved down the map and he pointed to Nordstemmen. “Although I shall be keeping what’s left of the 61st in reserve, I shall need the remnants of your infantry battalion,” he said, turning to Colonel Konstantin, “in Nordstemmen. I need our flanks covered. You are to bring your regiment forward to Emmerke to act as the division’s reserves.”

  “Sir.”
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  “Back to you, Pavel. I will call the engineers in shortly, but I wanted to cover your task first. What is the state of your infantry?”

  “I’ve amalgamated the three companies to make two, sir. Pretty much at full strength, but they’ve not had much time to work together as a consolidated unit.”

  “They’ll have to learn on the job, Pavel. They will be crossing with you. You will also have an independent battalion from 3 Shock Army under your command. The commander is being flown in by heli and will be here in the next thirty minutes.” He held his hand up as Trusov went to speak. “I know this is all happening very quickly, and you are getting very little time to plan. But speed is our best ally. NATO will already be figuring out where we are going to strike next and will be marshaling reinforcements to come to their aid. Their division that has come across from the mainland to slot in behind the British Corps’ rear is starting to get organised, and some units are already starting to dig in. Get across this river now, and we can smash right into their rear area. As you predicted Colonel, the first bridge, north-east of Schulenburg, has been blown, along with the second next to the high ground further south. You have to get your tanks across and secure a bridgehead. It doesn’t matter how small, so long as it’s there.”

  “GSPs?”

  “Yes,” answered the General. “Six from the division and another six have been brought forward from 12th Division. You will have two K-61 platoons and PTSs to get your infantry across. Once you have secured the other bank, two pontoon bridges will be laid, one kilometre apart.”

  “What’s the ground like here, sir?” Trusov asked, pointing at the eastern bank of the river.

  “Recce and our engineers have checked it out. Although marshy in winter and spring, it is reasonably dry, and capable of taking a pontoon bridge and supporting units.”

  “Will we be making the initial assault to secure the eastern bank, sir?”

  “No, the independent tank regiment has that task. They will secure the bank along a two-kilometre stretch and provide covering fire while you cross. You will naturally have artillery and ground attack aircraft in support. The anti-tank battalion will dig in as well and you will get the majority of the Air Defence Regiment.”

  “We’ll be watching your back, Pavel,” added Pushkin. “General Zavarin has personally spoken to the air boys. You should have a constant flight of ground-attack aircraft hitting the west bank almost without a stop. But we can only maintain this level of support for a few hours. You have to press hard.”

  “You must be at the river’s edge by six,” continued the General. “The Air Assault Battalion will land on and around the Marienburg at six. 7th Airborne Division will be dropped in two waves. One regiment will complete a heliborne assault west of Pattensen with the second airborne regiment conducting a descent, a parachute assault further west, securing the western end of the gap near the Mittleland Kanal, acting as a blocking force. Stavka have also authorised the release of special weapons, so you will need to ensure your tanks’ chemical defences are operational and that your men have full NBC suits available.”

  “Surely we’ll be using non-persistent, sir?”

  “Of course, Colonel Trusov, but it may not have all cleared by the time you get across.”

  “I see, sir. Are there any other actions to keep the British occupied?”

  “There will be another push at Gronau,” answered Pushkin.

  “Has the Air Assault Brigade closed in on the Gronau bridge yet, sir?” asked Colonel Konstantin.

  The General frowned. “No, they haven’t. It’s been twelve hours and they’ve moved about 500 metres. It seems there were two British armoured units close by, and German reserve units are putting up a stiff resistance at Gronau. The paratroopers have moved west though and should be at Coppenbrugge by early hours tomorrow.”

  “All in all,” added Pushkin, “the British forces are in for a hard time.”

  The General interrupted before the conversation could continue. “Comrade Colonel, I will leave you to take Comrade Trusov and his comrades through the finer details. I need to speak to the Chief of Rocket Troops.”

  The group braced and saluted, the General leaving them to reflect on the mission that had just been handed to them.

  Trusov instructed Kokorev to position the command tank on the southern outskirts of the small battered village of Rossing, and when he heaved his shoulders through the tank hatch, he could hear the occasional crack of small-arms fire from the centre. The remnants of the divisional motor rifle regiment were clearing up the last bit of resistance before lining their BMP-2s on the western edge where they could launch anti-tank missiles at any enemy tanks they could see across the river.

  He called down to his gunner that he was moving to the MTLB-RkhM-K command vehicle that had pulled up behind his T-80. He disconnected the cables from his padded helmet, climbed out of the turret, then down, dropping onto the ground, gripping his AK-74 in his right hand, and ran over to the command vehicle where he was met by Major Chadov.

  “They’re moving forward now, sir.”

  They both climbed into the back of the MTLB, and Trusov immediately tuned in to the sounds being emitted from the speaker above his head.

  The speaker crackled. “Six-Two, One-Zero. Salvo on way.”

  Trusov nodded to the Major and he replied. “One-Zero, Six-Two. Received.”

  Trusov nodded again.

  “All Six-Two call signs. Artillery on the way.”

  The units all acknowledged.

  Another radio crackled and a Lieutenant passed Chadov a set of earphones. He listened intently before acknowledging the message. “It has been confirmed, sir. Colonel Kharzin and the 48th Guards Tank Regiment have moved into position.”

  Trusov looked at the map board, secured against the side of the MTLB’s slab side. With the two rear doors shut, the space was cramped and the light poor. He pulled out a torch and shone it on the map to get a clearer view,. The leading tank regiment from 12th Guards Tank Division would be dispersed around Sorsum and Escherde, ready to use the main road to speed towards the river crossing, once Trusov and his men had achieved it, that is. Cross over and start to punch through the British lines. Trusov’s 62nd Guards Tank Regiment and the independent tank regiment would be thrown at the British lines. A sacrifice to batter the armour and soldiers defending the western bank; their aim to weaken or smash the defenders, using Kharzin’s 100 tanks to exploit any gaps and break through. The rest of 12th Guards Tank Division would then cross. The OMG would subsequently do its bit, meeting up with the Soviet airborne forces, racing through the enemy’s rear, causing mayhem and destruction, preventing the NATO forces from securing a new defensive line.

  Trusov pushed the doors open and stared out over the banks of the River Leine. A pall of smoke steadily expanded along the eastern riverbank between Schulenburg and Marienburg, and BM-21 rocket launchers started to pound the enemy on the opposite bank. A smoke screen was lying along a 500 metre stretch, completely blocking the British view of what was transpiring. Along the section, six Ural-375s positioned themselves about 100 metres apart, hidden from view of the opposite bank. The Ural-375s, were designated TMS-65, as they each mounted a model VK-1F, a modified gas-turbine aircraft engine, mounted on a turntable and swivel. The crew, all wearing their full NBC protective equipment, left their cabs, the engines still running. One operator ran to the trailer that was being towed behind, unhooking it. An SA-9, a BRDM-2 with surface-to-air missiles mounted on top, pulled alongside to protect these vulnerable vehicles. ZSU-23/4s rolled behind them; more air-defence protection. The second crewman pulled the canvas cover off the jet engine, then returned to the cab to turn the vehicle around so the engine nozzle was facing west, towards the river and the opposite bank.

  Then the second crewman, after connecting a pipe from the 4,000-litre capacity trailer to the 1,500-litre tank near the cab of th
e 375, jumped into a cab alongside the turbo-jet outlet. They often used Mig-21 aircraft engines and even sometimes one from a Mig-23. The TMS-65 had been designed as a rapid decontamination vehicle, and two were held with each tank or motor rifle division; spewing out a gas-steam mixture that could be played over armoured vehicles, destroying any toxic agents on the vehicle. These, though, were far more ominous: specially modified, and held in a separate reserve pool for just an occasion like this, the two tanks contained a chemical mixture, the deadly nerve agent Sarin.

  At a designated time, the operator powered up the jet engine, turning and raising the nozzle to the required direction and angle. The adaptor on the end of the nozzle, purposely designed so the liquid agent could be forced out as a high-pressure aerosol yet not be affected by the heat, would ensure a steady stream of Sarin nerve-agent gas would be distributed high into the air, the easterly wind ensuring the aerosol would be dispersed along the enemy’s line of troops and tanks. At exactly four-thirty in the morning, on 8 July, the six TMS-65s increased the output from the jet engines, and a steady stream of toxic nerve agent flowed up into the prevailing wind and slowly covered the unsuspecting British troops with its deadly poison.