The Blue Effect (Cold War) (2 page)

It was falling apart.

With the enemy across the River Leine to the north, 22nd Armoured Brigade, positioned further south, had been hit on their left flank. After the remnants of the 62nd Guards Tank Regiment and the Independent Tank Regiment, had crossed the River Leine south of Hanover, they had smashed into the flanks of the Royal Green Jackets. Taking advantage, two of the Soviet airborne battalions fighting around Gronau had pressed the three 14/20th King’s Hussars’ combat teams west of the River Leine. One airborne battalion had attacked from the south, moving deep into Gronau, nearly cutting off Bravo Troop and the supporting units who were still on the eastern bank. A second airborne battalion thrust south, to help close the trap. The British units had raced across the first of the Gronau bridges, the engineers destroying it as the tracks of Lieutenant Alex Wesley-Jones’s Chieftain, the last British unit to cross, had barely touched the opposite bank. A small engineer unit, supported by a mixed force consisting of drivers from the Royal Corps of Transport, signallers and a small detachment of Royal Military Police, held the second bridge as Alex and his small force raced to get off the small island that sat between the two bridges.

The final bridge was blown five minutes before the southernmost airborne battalion closed the trap. All British units were ordered to withdraw, at speed, towards Coppenbrugge. 14/20th King’s Hussars were to defend the Coppenbrugge gap, along with Combat Team Alpha of the 2RGJ. The rest of the 2RGJ Battle Group, held back from the 4th Armoured Division, had been ordered to defend the high ground to the north and south.

Further south, the 2nd Royal Tank Regiment had been badly mauled by a massed attack from the air. Thirty sorties by ground-attack aircraft struck hard. Before the dust had even settled, elements of the 3rd Shock Helicopter Attack Regiment, twenty Hind-D helicopters, hit them before they could recover. They finally managed to extract themselves from the carnage with thirty-two Chieftains surviving to fight another day.

The dilemma for the commander of 22nd Armoured Brigade was whether to counter-attack and risk losing his remaining tanks in the mess that was once a frontline around Gronau or to pull them back to new defensive positions to plug the gaps that were forming as the 1st and 2nd Battalions, the Royal Green Jackets and the 14/20th King’s Hussars battled for survival. He chose the latter, keeping his only relatively intact armoured regiment to reform further to the rear. 2RTR raced west, heading for a position west of Hameln.

For half an hour, all three Battle Groups, in particular the RGJ and 14/20th, had got to grips with the remaining 800 men of the Soviet air-assault battalions from the 34th Airborne Assault Brigade around Benstorf. Two battalions had been parachuted into the area east of Coppenbrugge to cut off any British withdrawal and secure a passage for the following armour between the two sections of high ground. Two-Two-Alpha and Two-Two-Charlie had crashed straight through the Soviet airborne brigade’s D-30 artillery positions, Two-Two-Charlie nearly losing a track as it crushed the trails of one of the 122mm artillery guns.

22nd Armoured Brigade’s extraction from the battle was chaotic. At one point, the entire 1st Division’s area of responsibility from south of Hanover to the north of Alfeld was a mass of intermingled Soviet and British forces. At least one flight of Sepecat Jaguar ground-attack aircraft had returned to base with their full weapons’ load, unable to distinguish the boundaries between friend and foe. The Soviet 7th and 12th Guards Tank Divisions, from the 3rd Shock Army, took full advantage of the chaos. Within an hour of their advance forces crossing the River Leine, using GSP, PTS and K-61s, the first PMP pontoon bridging section was being dropped. As more and more of their forces crossed to the western bank, expanding the bridgehead and threatening to trap the retreating Western forces between themselves and the airborne forces behind, they broke out from the bridgehead.

Having battled their way out of the clutches of the Soviet airborne battalions, and now joined by a few elements of the 1st Battalion, the Royal Green Jackets, also retreating, the 14/20th collided with the Soviet airborne battalion assaulting Coppenbrugge. The 14/20th ploughed through the Soviet airborne elite, rounds from BMDs ricocheting off the Chieftain’s armour, an ASU-85 taking out a Chieftain from A-Squadron, a BRDM-Sagger damaging another from C-Squadron. Covered by the now consolidated elements of A-Company, 2RGJ, Alex and his regiment believed they were on the home run – at least, until the dreaded Hind tank hunters were unleashed, destroying two more Chieftains before they were all able to join the thin British line and turn to defend their corner.

1930, 8 JULY 1984. RECCE TROOP AND COMBAT TEAM BRAVO/2ND BATTALION ROYAL GREEN JACKETS, 4TH ARMOURED DIVISION. HOHENSTEIN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT +15.5 HOURS

The Scorpion tank rocked as the 76mm gun fired one of its two canister rounds that were stored on board the light reconnaissance tank. Nearly 800 pellets tore into the Soviet airborne forces attempting to outflank Combat Team Bravo, the Royal Green Jackets.

“Back, back,” ordered Lieutenant Baty.

Thomas, the tank’s driver, powered the Jaguar engine and the Scorpion, a Combat Vehicle Reconnaissance (Tracked), a CVR(T), moved back fifty metres.

“Stop, stop, stop. Infantry, 200 metres, MG,” ordered Baty.

The turret vibrated as the coaxial 7.62mm machine gun sent round after deadly round down range, ripping into trees and bodies alike. After one long burst, Lance Corporal Alan Reid then fired short five to ten-round bursts. Ammunition was low: perhaps only 250 rounds left. They had been conducting a fighting withdrawal for over four hours after escaping from the confines of Gronau. Gronau was now in the clutches of the Soviet airborne. A pincer movement by the airborne force had nearly trapped them, slowly squeezing them and the British Mechanised Infantry section, along with a scattered German Jaeger unit, into a smaller and tighter space.

Once the second bridge was blown, they were released by high command, along with their sister unit, from the defence of Gronau, to bug out and race west to safety. Baty pitied the German reservists who provided cover while they fled. The Jaeger unit were having to drag their wounded and dying, some suffering horrific injuries from bombs, bullets and the dreaded chemical blister agent, to safety, yet still fight a rearguard action. Baty had seen one soldier in his early forties, his face and hands a mass of septic-looking blisters. Some of those that had burst were either red-raw or congealed. Reluctantly, he had ordered his small troop to run, seeing the staring eyes of a Jaeger captain, watching them go as he bravely rallied his men to defend themselves, care for their wounded
kameraden
, and attempt to escape the slowly closing claws of the enemy.

Baty watched through a vision block as a gun-group flung themselves down behind one of the tall trees of the Hohenstein Forest. Within seconds, the butt of the general-purpose machine gun was up and into the infantryman’s shoulder, the ammunition belt flying through his oppo’s fingers as he ensured a smooth feed.

He turned to face the front again, looking for the enemy ahead as another burst of fire from Reid kept the enemy’s heads down. The tang of cordite soured his tongue, and acrid fumes irritated his nostrils. The metal shot had devastated a Soviet section, killing two and wounding two as the deadly bullets tore into the airborne ranks.

“As soon as the infantry relocate, we move again. Fifty metres, got that, Thomas?”

“Sir,” responded the driver, a slight tremor in his voice.

The Scorpion rocked as half a dozen 30mm rounds from an AGS-17 exploded on and around Baty’s vehicle.

He heard the
thump…thump…thump
as Two-One-Alpha, Sergeant Gough, his second-in-command, the second surviving tank of his troop, fired three rounds in the direction of the enemy firing position.

“Two-One-Alpha, Two-One, moving back now.”

“Roger.”

“Fifty metres, Thomas.”

“Sir.”

The Jaguar engine purred as power was initiated and Thomas took them back a further fifty metres.

“Watch for the infantry. They’ll be pulling back now.”

The turret turned slightly as Reid adjusted his sights so he was aiming directly at a point between two large trees, a route the Soviets would come through to follow the retreating British troops.

“Two-One, Two-One-Alpha. Covering now.”

“Roger,” responded Baty.

The gun-group was up and running as Sergeant Gough’s Scorpion fired short bursts of 7.62.

“There,” yelled Reid as he fired a 76mm round into a Soviet half-section coming through the gap as he had suspected they would. The soldiers withdrew, dragging one of their wounded with them. The infantry unit, B-Company, Royal Green Jackets, used the opportunity to pull back even further. Space was running out though. Now on the Fahnenstein, the ground dropped away behind them. Half a kilometre further and the ground would drop from 300 metres down to 200 metres, and the enemy would then be above them. Not only that but they would be clear of the forest, in open ground, exposed. Their only option then would be to run northwest towards Bad Munder, or southwest towards Hameln. To their north was Coppenbrugge where Combat Teams Alpha, 2RGJ, and Bravo, 14/20th, were also being relentlessly pushed back. If they didn’t coordinate their withdrawal, one unit giving ground too quickly, eventually an unlucky unit would find itself trapped, surrounded and destroyed.

“Two-One, this is Two. Orders. Over.”

“Two-One, over.”

“Five minutes, figures five. Then get the hell out of there. Head for Grid November, Charlie, three, three, zero, seven, three, four. Your other friendlies have the same orders. Understood? Over.”

“Roger that, Two. Over.”

“Don’t hang about. It’s a bloody mess back here. Once you get into position, cover and report. Two, out.”

“All Two-One call signs. Figures five and we’re out of here. Acknowledge. Over.”

C
hapter 2

2
000, 8 JULY 1984. 1ST BATTALION, 108TH GUARDS COSSACKS AIR ASSAULT ‘KUBAN’ REGIMENT, 7TH GUARDS AIRBORNE DIVISION. WEST OF PATTENSEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -3 DAYS

Two Phantom jets roared overhead. The shells from their six-barrelled guns gouged deep ruts in the ground as short bursts of 20mm rounds, at one hundred rounds per second, ploughed a furrow of destruction through the airborne company crouching behind their BMD MICVs. The fighters, an older aircraft in the NATO armoury nicknamed the ‘Wood Burner’, were from 19 Squadron RAF based at RAF Wildenrath near Geilenkirchen, West Germany. They were both Supersonic Interceptors, not close-support aircraft; such was the desperation being felt back at the headquarters of the British Army of the Rhine (BAOR) and the Northern Army Group (NORTHAG). Two surface-to-air missiles fired from shoulder-launched SA-14 Gremlins trailed the tail end aircraft, both failing to hit their target. An SA-9 Gaskin, positioned alongside its burning companion hit earlier by a West German Tornado sortie, fired its last missile from the quadruple mounted launcher, set on top of a BRDM2 chassis. At Mach 1.5, one and a half times the speed of sound, it streaked after the Phantom. The missile wavered, matching the Phantom’s speed, hunting it down, toying with it. The pilot flipped his craft left and right in an attempt to shake it off; then the afterburners kicked in pushing the aircraft towards its top speed of Mach 1.9, the pilot pulling back on the stick to take it into a steep climb. The missile flicked right, exploding close to the tail, smoke and flame engulfing the back end of the now crippled aircraft, and two blurred shapes launched from the cockpit as the pilot and navigator escaped death.

Lieutenant Colonel Stanislav Yezhov, Commander of the 1st Battalion, 108th Air Assault Regiment, crouching behind his command BMD, pulled one of his company commanders in close as the Phantom exploded in mid-air almost above their position. “Baryshev, I want your company to push for Gehrden and secure the eastern outskirts of the town. We have to create a passage for 12th Guards. How many casualties?”

“Seven killed, eight wounded so far, Comrade Colonel. Three vehicles lost. Are they heading for route 65?” Major Nestor Baryshev, Commander of the 1st Company, shouted above the sound of explosions, as an artillery salvo landed not more than 200 metres away.

“Yes, I have already sent Gorshkov to secure Ronnenberg, so watch where you shoot. They’ll be practically opposite your location.”

“Any other support, sir?”

“I’m giving you two of the ASU-85s and two BRDM2 Sagger’s from Regiment. I’ve sent the AGS-17 platoon; air-defence platoon and mortar battery with Gorshkov and the anti-tank platoon is with Volkov. Make good use of your RPGs. How many warheads do you have?”

“Should have at least six left. Have we any idea where the enemy are, sir?”

“None, Nestor. They’re all over the place. Three-Company is fighting with a troop of tanks as we speak. The British are trying to break off contact with 12th Guards so they can establish a line further west. We have to clear a passage for the 12th. That’s the priority, that’s our job, nothing else matters. Once you and Gorshkov have secured your sectors, Volkov’s company will leapfrog you and secure access to the road. Once he can extract, that is. Then they are on their own.”

“Where are the rest of the regiment then, sir?”

“I’ve no idea where Two-Battalion is. They were sent towards the River Leine, to come at the British from behind. Three-Battalion were providing all-round protection, but are now consolidating. General Boykov will direct them towards the canal, and create as much mayhem as possible.”

“Are we done then, sir?”

“Yes, Nestor, go. Good luck.”

They both pulled themselves tighter against the side of the BMD as bullets ricocheted off the other side of the armoured vehicle. Fleeing British units were still fighting a running battle.

*

With the River Leine breached, the Soviet air-to-ground strikes increased in intensity, and armour and infantry flooded across. Elements of the battered 10th Guards Tank Division had created a bridgehead before releasing elements to strike south increasing the pressure on the British 22nd Armoured Brigade who were desperately attempting to hold back the deluge that was building up to their front. In the meantime, the three battalions of the 108th Air Assault Regiment continued to expand their own bridgehead, creating space and a passage through which 12th Guards Tank Division of 3 Shock Army could transit, quickly overpowering the NATO defence, getting behind them, and cutting them off from their higher command. Once complete, they would push west, at speed, giving the British 1st Armoured Division little time to reform their defence lines. The intermediate objective of the 12th was to link up with 247th Caucasian Cossacks Air Assault Regiment near the Mittellandkanal. The 247th was commanded by Colonel Vydina who had conducted a descent, a parachute assault, further west, securing the western end of the gap. Together, the 12th and the 247th would ensure a crossing of the River Weser before 1st British Corps could complete their defensive preparations.

2000, 8 JULY 1984. COMBAT TEAM DELTA, ROYAL HUSSARS. DITTERKE, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -3 DAYS

Corporal Mason helped drag Trooper Mann from the damaged Challenger tank. The crewman had a minor wound to his head from a ricochet, and a more serious wound: a smashed shoulder. The other two men were safe, ensconced with an infantry section. A mere 500 metres away, the BMD, responsible for the tank’s demise after hitting it with a Sagger missile, was still smouldering, an airborne soldier broken and battered lay close to the rear hatch, the rest of the soldiers blackened and unrecognisable in the troop compartment to the rear. After a HESH round had demolished the airborne infantry vehicle, the crew, those who had been able to escape the inferno inside, had been immediately cut down by a pintle-mounted Gympy on top of a British 432. The infantry were from the 3rd Battalion, the Queen’s Regiment, having got separated from their parent unit, and seeking support and protection from their much larger cousins. A second BMD was burning furiously a further 100 metres east. Clouds of thick, black, oily smoke funnelled upwards, an advert to anyone watching that there had been a clash between opposing forces.

The 1st Royal Tank Regiment, Royal Hussars, and 3rd Battalion, the Queen’s Regiment, had been fighting a running battle with the Soviet army between Hanover in the north and Bennigsen in the south. Not only had they been trying to prevent a crossing of the River Leine, but also to hold off repeated attacks from behind them as two battalions of Soviet airborne forces that had landed in the vicinity of Pattensen continuously harassed the British defenders.

“Lay him down here.” Lieutenant Barrett looked at Corporal Mason. “You’ve got less than a minute to get him patched up. Then we need to get out of here.”

“I’ll do my best, sir.”

The wind shifted slightly and the acrid smoke from the burning BMD drifted across, causing Barrett to gag. A rasping cough was needed to clear his lungs. The wind shifted again, and he looked out across the ground in front, an array of arable fields, some needing attention from the farmers who owned them. They had been pulling back between Wettbergen and Ronnenberg, making it as far as Ditterke, when they had been bounced by an airborne platoon. Two BMDs had been destroyed, but not before crippling Delta-Four-Charlie. One BMD escaped, no doubt informing their masters of the location of the British units. The unit had been pulling into a farmyard east of a small village, seeking cover from Hind-D attack-helicopters they had seen in the distance, when they were hit.

They couldn’t stay here for long. Lieutenant Barrett climbed up onto the glacis of his troop command tank, surveying the open fields to his front. To the northeast, the high ground of Benther Berg, and to the southeast, the much larger village of Gehrden. If he had a squadron of tanks here, he could see and hit any Soviet armour as soon as they were in range, such was the levelled ground.

Sergeant Glover came over from Delta-Four-Bravo. “We’ve patched up Mann as best we can, sir. He’ll be OK for a while. His shoulder’s a bloody mess though. The shrapnel that hit him almost took his arm off.”

Barrett dropped down from the Challenger and beckoned Sergeant Glover over, spreading out a map in front of him.

“Still no contact with the Squadron or Regiment as yet, sir?”

“Once they’ve sorted themselves out, I’m sure they’ll give us a rendezvous. But we need to get out of here, and soon.”

“I’m with you on that, sir.” Glover placed his personal machine gun, an SMG, on the glacis and pointed to the Mittellandkanal on the map. “We know they’ll initiate a stop-line along here somewhere. But where? It’s a bloody pig’s ear at the moment.”

“Definitely the canal. It’s a natural barrier before the Weser, but it won’t be the first one. They’ll want to slow the advance down before the Soviets reach it.”

“Should we head for Route 65 and run like hell until we meet up with the rest of our Squadron?”

“That would make sense, Sergeant, but the Soviets will be wanting to use that route to move their armour west as fast as possible. Get behind us for one thing, and keep One-Div moving back. They’ll be provided with air support to facilitate that.”

“Particularly those blasted Hinds. They’re bloody everywhere. We don’t seem to have anything to stop them.”

“So, we need to get back to our own area of operations. We’re currently in 1RTR’s area. We keep away from the 65; go west to Grossgoltern, then south to Barsinghausen. It’s a choke point, the town to the south and the high ground of Stemmer Berg to the north. We may find the rest of our unit regrouping.”

The corner of one of the farm’s outbuildings, the one Barrett’s Challenger tank was sheltering next to, exploded into a hundred fragments as the Spandrel anti-tank missile detonated, having missed its target by less than a metre. Sergeant Glover yelped as a large chunk of masonry struck him in the back, a second smaller piece smashing into the side of his knee. He dropped to the ground, his injured leg giving way.

Boompf.

Delta-Four-Bravo, on seeing the BMP-2 that had fired, despatched the enemy MICV almost immediately after the gunner who was keeping watch spotted the dust trail kicked up by the rapidly retreating vehicle attempting to make its escape and seeking out new cover to target the British tanks again. It failed, the sabot round crippling it, but four Soviet infantry escaped.

“Mount up! Mount up!” screamed Barrett as he dropped to the floor, grabbing Sergeant Glover’s webbing and pulling him onto his feet. “Can you walk?”

“Just about.”

“We need to mount up quick and get the hell out of here.”

“Move back,” yelled Lieutenant Barrett to his driver, the man’s head popping out above the driver’s hatch.

The engine, which had been ticking over, picked up revs as Tyler reversed the Challenger until it was completely hidden from view. Barrett helped Sergeant Glover to his vehicle and, with the help of the gunner and loader, secreted him into the turret where the tank would support his crippled back and weak knee.

“Sergeant Glover, give us two minutes then follow. I’ll inform you of our location on the move. Make it quick when you do move. We need to get away from this area.”

“That was a BMP-2, sir,” called Lance Corporal Frith.

“Fuck,” responded Glover. “That means they have advance elements of the new Soviet division making progress.”

“It does. Here.” Barrett handed Sergeant Glover’s SMG to the driver. “See you in two minutes.” Then he called over to the infantry section to mount up and follow him in their 432, keeping to his left flank at all times.

With that, he ran towards his own tank and clambered on board. On the orders from his commander, the driver reversed around the end of the building, stopped, turned right, then rattled in between the farm and an outbuilding, picking up speed as they crossed an open field. Barrett frantically scanned for some cover so they could protect Delta-Four-Bravo when it was their turn to pull back. He glimpsed something, a small copse a thousand metres away just southwest of the village. That would do the trick.

“A copse. There’s a minor road coming up. Take it, left. Three hundred metres south, then right on the next track. You should see the copse by then. Go for it.”

“Got it,” responded the driver.

Barrett spun the cupola round, watching the 120mm gun moving up and down above the engine deck as it maintained its level on whatever point Corporal Farre, his gunner, was tracking.

“See anything?”

“Sod all, sir.”

“Keep your eyes peeled.”

“No worries about that, sir.”

Lieutenant Barrett pulled down the hatch as the sixty-ton giant made its way south, Tyler steering left as he came across the track. Within 700 metres, they reached the copse and the Challenger crashed through the foliage, brushing aside that which the driver couldn’t avoid. Spinning it round on its tracks, he brought them back to the eastern edge of the copse. The 432 had gone straight through. The infantrymen and the three surviving tank crew dismounted, setting up a position along the outer edge. The gun-group, with barely 600 rounds of belted ammunition, set up and watched for any sign of the enemy in pursuit. The 432 then spun round, the pintle-mounted machine gun adding to the section’s firepower. The tankies lay alongside their comrades, their SMGs of no real use at long range, but up to fifty metres they would provide a significant boost to any close-quarter fighting.

The corporal issued arcs of fire to his section, now down to five men. He had lost his second-in-command and three men on the outskirts of Hanover: two as a consequence of the chemical strike, the other two from an attack by Spetsnaz forces. He spoke calmly to his soldiers, but inside he was still shaking. He and his men had been bombed, shelled, strafed, ambushed and poisoned. When ordered to pull back, fighting for every metre of ground as they did, he still looked at his small section with incredulity, astonished that they had escaped at all, let alone survived. The platoon, separated from its Company, had tried to push further west, but came across Soviet airborne troops and were deflected south. They were later ambushed and the section became separated from their platoon. It was then that they met up with the retreating units of the Royal Hussars Battle Group. That was a great relief for the young twenty-four year-old corporal.