The Black Effect (Cold War)

by Black, Harvey

  Outside of the artillery barrage area, and outside of the dense air-combat zone, missile smoke trails, from both sides, flew upwards at speed seeking out each other’s aircraft, as fighters and attack-aircraft flew into and out of the combat area. The number being launched by the Soviet forces was significantly higher, with SA-9s, SA-8s, SA-13s, SA-6s and SA-4s all joining in to provide a protective cap for the forces in the process of crossing the River Leine. Sometimes aircraft were shot down by their own side’s missiles, such was the density of the aircraft in the air and the number of missiles being launched. The Soviet air force was flying too high and too fast for the ineffectual British Blowpipe, and Rapier had so many targets that it couldn’t maintain a high enough rate of fire to do significant damage to the attacking aircraft.

  Much higher up, Soviet and British, American and German fighters locked horns, both trying to get mastery of the skies, the sound of the aircraft’s afterburners often heard above the sound of the explosions below, such was the volume of aircraft being sucked into the battle along a fourteen-kilometre stretch of the River Leine. Losses were high on both sides, but at the moment it was stalemate. Good for the invading Soviet Army; bad for the defending NATO forces.

  Dissatisfied with remaining in the back of an MTLB and trying to run the battle far back from where the action was, Trusov had returned to his trusted T-80K. Major Chadov and the other officers of his command group following close behind in two MTLBs and some box-bodied Zil-131s. Tucked in behind the forested high ground that was topped by Callenburg Castle, now occupied by a reconnaissance platoon of the division’s reconnaissance battalion, Trusov kept a tight control over his forces.

  Major Chadov was sitting on the edge of the turret, communication lines linked to the MTLB alongside.

  “Six-Two-Six, this is Six-Two-Zero. Commence. Over.” He waited for the acknowledgement.

  “Wave one, two and three are crossing now, sir.”

  Trusov nodded. Well, the engineers are on their way. It’s started now, he thought.

  Under heavy cover of smoke and an almost constant bombardment to keep the British Brigade’s soldiers’ heads down, he had given the go-ahead for the first three waves. Although the depth of the river was acceptable, the flow speed wasn’t perfect at just under four metres per second. But they would have to deal with it. He had split his 500 metre section of the River Leine into three. From Sector one in the north and Sector three in the south, he was sending over PTSs, tracked amphibious vehicles, capable of carrying a BMP along with motor rifle troops. In addition, K-61s would carry troops across. Hip helicopters had already landed a small force, accompanied by engineers to check for minefields. Hind-Ds, like demons from hell, ranged up and down the river, firing at anything that moved. Bullets ricocheted off their protective titanium shells, making them feel invulnerable. Their confidence was dented slightly when a lucky shot from a Blowpipe missile took off the tail of one of the hovering demons. The aircraft pilots were a little more cautious, but still made it difficult for the British tanks and Milan FPs to respond.

  Sixteen Hinds were supporting the crossing. British forces, reeling from a forty-minute bombardment and coming to terms with the numerous military casualties as a consequence of the chemical strike from the TMS-65s, reinforced by the use of chemical artillery shells, had spotted them through the smokescreen that was slowly diminishing. They soon had the engineers pinned down, but with the arrival of the PTSs carrying BMP-2s, and the constant fire from attack-helicopters they were the ones ending up being pinned down. A British tank troop sent to reinforce, was ambushed by the Air Assault Battalion that was now on their flank, and slowly moving behind the NATO forces to link up with the bridgehead. To make matters worse, the first wave of the 108th Guards Air Assault Regiment had also landed, diverting British troops from the defence of the river and threatening to cut them off. The opposite bank was lined with fifty tanks from the independent tank regiment, T-12 anti-tank guns, and troops with AGS-17s. The minute the British troops raised their heads and were seen through the smokescreen, the tanks were able to bring direct fire against them. The barrels of the tanks became hot as they poured round after round into the opposite bank, being careful to aim high so as not to hit their own men.

  In Sector two, the middle point, the river crossing consisted of GSPs, two tracked amphibious units amalgamated as one, to form a ferry capable of carrying a main battle tank. Two mine-clearing tanks, mounted with KMT-5 mine-clearing devices, along with four of Trusov’s T-80s, were on their way across.

  Trusov knew he was taking a chance sending across heavy armour so soon, but felt it was best to hit hard and quickly. The clock was ticking and he was becoming impatient just sitting there, knowing that the General would be watching his actions closely. Trusov knew the smokescreen would disappear very soon, blowing back across the British units and exposing his own men. Then NATO air and artillery strikes would come again.

  “Second wave is moving, sir,” Chadov informed him.

  Thank God, he thought. More troops to cross, including BRDM-2 Sagger missile carriers and BMPs. Another area of Sector two would also start rolling. Tanks would be wading across, using the BROD-M snorkeling system, allowing them to ford depths of up to twelve metres. BMP-2s, although they had an amphibious capability, would have to cross on the GSPs. The water speed was too fast and there wasn’t the time to bring in engineer support.

  The Major handed the headset and mike to his Commander.

  “Six-Two-Zero, Six-Two-Zero. Artillery fire in sectors one and two. One K-61 and one PTS destroyed. One BMP destroyed on the bank and one T-80 hit and stranded. Over.”

  “Identify yourself!”

  “Sorry, sir. Six-Two-One.” Lieutenant-Colonel Antakov, the Commander of the 1st Battalion, 62nd Guards Tank Regiment, sounded flustered.

  “Has the smoke cleared? Can you see a bridgehead?”

  “Smoke has cleared. Small bridgehead, maybe 300 metres, out to 200.”

  “Get your men ready. Six-Two-Zero. Out.”

  “We’re across then, sir?” asked the Major.

  “We are for the moment. Get back to your coffin, Major. We’re going forward. I want those Hinds covering, understood?”

  “Yes, sir.” The Major swallowed, then dropped down to join the crew of the MTLB and follow his lunatic commander closer to where the fighting was.

  “Kokorev, take us to the river. We’re heading for Sector one. Barsukov, you direct him.” Both acknowledged and the T-80K made its way down to the water’s edge, half a kilometre away.

  “Six-Two-Two, Six-Two-Four, this is Six-Two-Zero. Situation report. Over.”

  “Six-Two...Zero...Six-Two-Four...I have a full company across...heavy...casualties...five BMPs, two PTS and three K-61s destroyed. Two...BRDM-Saggers operational...holding. Over.” The sound of gunfire and explosions were audible in the background.

  “Hold your ground, Pyotr. Tanks are on their way to you.”

  “We’re not...going anywhere...sir.”

  “Six-Two-Zero, Six-Two-Two. One mine-clearing tank destroyed, two T-80s, one lost in the river. Sector two and Sector three secure. Four T-80s just landed, will link up with Six-Two-Four. Over.”

  “Excellent, Kirill. I shall be coming to you. Just hang in there.”

  “Sir,” called Barsukov. “We’re approaching Sector one. It’s under fire.”

  “Keep going.”

  “Six-Two-Six, Six-Two-Zero. Pontoon ferries ready? Over.”

  “Three. Over.”

  “Are they in the water?”

  “All three are ready.”

  The T-80K came to a halt and Trusov pushed the hatch open above his head as he heard a metallic rap on the top, and was met by Major Chadov.

  “Division have been on, sir, screaming for an update. I told them we were across and that you would update them soon. They...ah...weren’t too pleased that yo
u were so far forward, sir.”

  “Never mind that. I want the NBC recce platoon across next. This sector. There should be enough PTSs left. I need to know how much contamination is left. It must be murder for them fighting in NBC kit. You stay here. I’m crossing at Sector two.”

  “But, sir—”

  “Just do it. Make sure the BRDM-2 RKhs get across. Start moving elements of the anti-tank battalion across as well, in case they counter-attack. That will release our tanks to move forward. We need to expand the bridgehead. Oh, and get some SA-9s across. Let’s beef up their air defence.”

  “Sir.”

  With that, Trusov pulled the hatch back down as a bullet whined as it spun off the top of the turret. A second ping could be heard hitting elsewhere.

  “Left stick. Along the river. Sector two. And quickly.”

  Kokorev spun the tank on its tracks and they were soon speeding south, Sector two only 200 metres away. Barsukov turned the turret so that the main gun was pointing west, across the river, just in case a juicy target came into his sights.

  “Stop, stop.” Trusov was up and out in a matter of moments, running across to where he could see the command tank of Lieutenant-Colonel Oleg Danshov, Commander of the 3rd Tank Battalion. The thump of tank rounds being fired across the water could be heard all along the entire east bank of the river as the independent tank regiment gave the crossing fire support. Once Trusov was satisfied the other bank was secure, he would unleash them on the British forces. At whatever cost, he would make sure that these additional tanks would make progress west. There was also the sharper crack as the T-12s fired blindly across the water, firing sometimes too close to their own men. But the risk was worth it.

  Oleg was beside his tank, doling out orders to the unit commanders around him.

  “Sir, am I glad to see you.” The response was genuine. Trusov, in his eyes, was now very much the Commander of the 62nd Guards Tank Regiment.

  “The pontoons are on their way, sir. That will give us nearly a company across in one swoop.”

  “The GSP?”

  “We’ve lost three here, but still have three operating.”

  “Well done, Oleg. You should have your entire battalion across by ten.”

  Before the Commander of the 3rd Battalion could respond, their voices were drowned out by the rush of air and clatter of rotor blades as two Hind-D attack helicopters positioned themselves either side of the two command tanks. Six other Hinds hovered over the river itself, picking off any targets of opportunity that presented themselves.

  “Guardian angels, ay, sir?”

  “Angels of death, more like,” responded Trusov. “But welcome all the same.”

  “Down, sir!” screamed Oleg has he threw himself at his Commander, dragging him to the ground between the two tanks.

  Barsukov whipped the 12.7mm turret-mounted machine gun round, spinning it to follow the low-flying Harriers as they came down the line of the river from the north. Two of them swooped low, rockets firing at the tracked ferry vehicles crossing the river, laden down with BRDM-Saggers, SA-9s and T-12s. One GSP was hit immediately, sinking, taking its cargo down with it. The crew, still in their vehicle, were mainly drowned, only one lucky soldier escaped.

  The first of the Harriers was torn apart as two ZSU-23/4s fired round after round into the aeroplane, its fuselage literally disintegrating as the 23mm shells tore into it. The wingman escaped, pulling up out of the devastating fire, ready to come around for a second time to use the two 30mm cannons. A second pair of Harriers targeted the armour on the riverbank, destroying a T-80 and a BMP as they passed. They also didn’t escape scot-free, as two SA-9s launched their missiles at the same time as an SA-13. The rearmost aircraft had its tail blown off, and the Harrier plummeted to the ground, the pilot ejecting safely. After another two passes, strafing the Soviet forces with their cannons, the remaining two Jump-Jets left the area, amazed that they had survived, their thoughts already switching to the two men they had just lost.

  Trusov got back up. “God we’ve been lucky so far.”

  “They can’t hurt us now, sir.”

  The officer would have bitten his tongue off had he known what was coming next. Northern Army Group (NORTHAG), desperate to hold back the mass of Soviet tanks that were pushing their armies back all along the line, had chosen to use all the forces at their disposal. Sixteen Hawk aircraft, in four flights of four, each aircraft carrying three 200 kilogram bombs, swooped down on the Soviet bridgehead and the tanks preparing to cross. Of the company of nine tanks that had just landed on the west bank, three were destroyed. Two T-80s snorkeling across were also hit, as were four of the tanks belonging to the independent tank regiment. They then returned and strafed the ground with their 30mm Aden cannons, destroying more equipment and men, tearing apart one of the PMP pontoon ferries as it crossed the river with three tanks on board. The ferries were punctured in many places and the tanks ended up, along with their crews, on the river bed.

  Out of the sixteen brave pilots, seven were shot down. Of those pilots, only four managed to eject in time, the rest hitting the ground with their crippled aircraft.

  “Oh God,” groaned Oleg. “We’re finished.”

  “Get a grip, Danshov,” snapped Trusov. “This is good news.”

  “Good news?” asked the stunned officer.

  “They have just thrown the last of their air force at us. If they have had to use their converted training aircraft, it means they have done it out of desperation. Keep those pontoons working. We must have nearly a company of tanks across by now.”

  He climbed the tank and met with Barsukov reloading the red-hot machine gun.

  “Well done, Barsukov, you will be rewarded for that.”

  “I don’t think I hit anything, sir.”

  “But you tried.” Trusov grabbed the radio transmitter. “Two-Two-Zero-Alpha, Two-Two-Zero. Over.”

  “Are you OK, sir? That last attack was right over the top of you,” blurted Major Chadov.

  “Yes, yes. Now listen, damn you. Get both the PMP units up here now. One to go to Sector one, the other to Sector three. They need to hurry. We have a breathing space, but it’s short.”

  “Understood, sir. Over.”

  “Also, I want the rest of my regiment across now. All of them. All GSPs and PMP pontoons are to be allocated to my tanks. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Right, see to it. Out.”

  “One-Zero, this is Six-Two-Zero. Over.”

  “Go ahead, Pavel, we’ve been waiting for your call. What’s the situation? Over.”

  Pushkin. He recognised the voice of his old commander, now the Chief of Staff. “We have secured a bridgehead. Am sending the last of my tanks over now. The PMPs are being brought forward. Once my tanks are across, I will send the independent regiment either by ferry or the bridge if complete. Now is the time to commit. Over.”

  “How deep is the bridgehead?”

  “I don’t know.”

  “You don’t know? We can’t commit without a secure bridgehead.”

  “Now is the time, sir. It’s now or never.”

  There was a delay before he got a response.

  “Colonel Trusov, you think we should commit all now?”

  “Yes, sir. They have thrown the last of their air force at us. It will be at least an hour before they can turn around and hit us again. The troops on the ground are still reeling. With my regiment across, the independent tank regiment following and two bridges laid, our committed unit will succeed. Over.”

  Trusov took a deep breath. Once the PMP battalion arrived, he knew that he could get a PMP-bridge, capable of carrying tanks across, up and ready in less than an hour. If he and the other tank regiment could continue to push the enemy back, 12th Guards Tank Division, the OMG, fresh, fully fuelled and armed, with masses of support behind them, c
ould break through.

  “Pavel.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “They have been released. Make sure you have a route across. Do you understand?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Out.”

  Trusov put the handset down. He’d done it now. If he didn’t hold the bridgehead, or the bridges weren’t laid, he would end up with the elements of a division stranded on the east bank, and elements of a division on the western bank with nowhere to go. Easy pickings for the next airstrike.

  Chapter 33

  1200 8 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM BRAVO (+). GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

  THE BLACK EFFECT +8 HOURS.

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

  “Two-Two-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”

  “They have broken through to your north. Elements pushing south to cut you off. Pull back now, I repeat, pull back now! Acknowledge! Over.”

  “Roger that. All call signs, I repeat, all call signs?”

  “Yes, all Two-Two call signs. Make it fast, Alex. They want to blow the bridge, and it’s only your forces preventing them. Make it a quick dash. Out.”

  “Corporal Patterson, we’re getting out of here. Tell Mackinson that, when we move, it’s quick and there is no stopping. Nothing gets in our way. Got that?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “All Two-Two call signs, this is Two-Two-Alpha. Withdraw immediately, I repeat, withdraw immediately. Acknowledge. Over.”

  Each call sign responded in turn; the sound of battle could be heard in the background.

  “Roger, all Two-Two call signs. Make it fast. No stopping. Two-Two-Alpha signing off. Out.”

  “Target,” yelled Patsy. “Tango-Eight-Zero, 2,000 metres. Sabot.”

  “Up,” confirmed Ellis once he had loaded the sabot round.

  “On. Fire.”

  The breech shot back.