The Blue Effect (Cold War) (9 page)

The entire German frontline in the north was on the move as the Soviets slowly inched their way west. The Bundeswehr would only fall back as far as the Weser where they too had been ordered to dig in, along with 1 Netherlands Corps. Nienbrugge would be the northern anchor point. The rest of the battalion would be stationed along the road that ran south to Stadthagen. The KOBR Battalion was also preparing to move out. It was responsible for defending the southern side of Stadthagen down to the Forst Brandshof, north of the high ground of the Buckeberge.

0935, 9 JULY 1984. 662 SQUADRON, 3RD REGIMENT ARMY AIR CORPS. AREA OF STADTHAGEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

The Gazelle reared up as the pilot brought the nose of the helicopter higher to ensure they cleared the tall, densely populated hedge line. The Gazelle dropped back down on the other side with a lurch, hugging the ground, the pilot banking it left and right to avoid obstacles. The engine strained as the pilot again jockeyed between the collective and cyclic, the craft shuddering as it whipped past a tree, the branches barely a metre below. The pilot dropped his craft again.

“Standby,” he informed his passenger, an Intelligence Corps Sergeant who was conducting a reconnaissance of the area.

“Ready.” Sergeant Tait clicked the toggle and responded, lifting his gyro-stabilised binoculars ready to do a complete scan of the area they had been tasked to recce. His stomach heaved slightly, and he very much wished he’d not eaten the egg-banjo thirty minutes before the flight. Had he known he was going on this flight, he would have been a little more selective about his choice of breakfast. The Gazelle, a five-seat helicopter and a scout from one of the aviation regiments from 24th Airmobile Brigade, vibrated heavily as the Army Air Corps pilot brought his craft into the hover, just behind what appeared to be a row of trees that crossed their front, lining each side of a minor road.

“Here we go.” The pilot, Lieutenant Sheppard, manipulated the cyclic and the helicopter rose slowly up from behind the cover that was masking their presence. He took a quick sweep of the terrain ahead, searching the skies for any signs of enemy air activity, the glazed cockpit giving him a clear 180-degree field of view.

Tait placed the vibrating binoculars to his eyes, the gyro-stabiliser ensuring a clear and steady picture. He did a sweep left to right of the foreground before repeating the sweep further out. It appeared clear. He zoomed in to a couple of likely places where the enemy might be hiding, conducting a reconnaissance of their own, searching out the territory and route the advancing Soviet division would need to cross. Nothing. Not a sign of the Soviet airborne regiment they knew was on the ground not far from here, anything between three to five kilometres east. The road in front of them that ran from the canal in the north to the town of Stadthagen in the south was to be defended by the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers. Stop-line Black Raven had finally been decided upon as the only option if they were to hold the Soviet 12th Guards Division back long enough for 2nd Infantry Division to continue improving its defences along the River Weser. Black Raven continued to the south of Stadthagen, following a staggered line down to Hessich Oldendorf situated on the northern bank of the River Weser where a long stretch of the river ran from west to east.

Tait scrutinised the open ground where the Guards Division tanks would have to cross.
A good killing ground for the Milan teams
, he thought.
Where the hell is the Soviet airborne though?
That was the biggest worry. Well over 1,000 elite soldiers were out here somewhere, no doubt getting ready to cause havoc. The retreating British forces would have to fight their way through them if they were to get back to a safe area. But, first, they would be expected to hold the first stop-line, Red-Rook, that ran from the Mittellandkanal in the north, south to Barsinghausen, then further south again, spiking east to Springe, before turning back to Bad Munder and south to Hameln. The retreating regiments would need to try and consolidate along Red-Rook before they pulled further back. It was hoped that this could be achieved in good order, or the retreat could quickly turn into a rout. If that wasn’t already the case.

Tait turned to the pilot and nodded, the action unsettling his stomach again. He had seen enough. Sheppard nodded back, smiling, recognising the sergeant’s pale face and the reason for it. The Gazelle dropped back down, the pilot manoeuvring backwards before turning on the spot, heading north, steadily picking up speed before the hedge-hopping started all over again. They were to recce the locations where the 2nd Battalion, the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers, would be inserted. A second Gazelle was south of Stadthagen where two companies of the 1st Battalion of the King’s Own Royal Border Regiment would be defending. A third Gazelle was conducting a recce of Haste, where a Territorial Army company would conduct a fighting withdrawal once the 3rd Battalion, the Queen’s Regiment, had passed through.

Higher command had made a decision. The ground east of the River Weser had been lost, and they had no intention of frittering away the lives of British soldiers to defend a forlorn hope. Just hold the enemy back long enough to enable 1 British Corps to dig in.

1030, 9 JULY 1984. AVIATION COMPANY, 2ND BATTALION, ROYAL REGIMENT OF FUSILIERS, 24TH AIRMOBILE BRIGADE. NORTHEAST STADTHAGEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

A TOW-armed Mark 7 Lynx, along with its partner, hovered in the gap between Lindhorst in the south and the forest to the north. The Gazelle further east had reported the contact around Rehren where a Territorial battalion was providing a forward screen. South of Lindhorst, a second trio of helicopters were providing cover. West of Ludersfeld, four Lynx Mark 9s swooped down, each disgorging a section of infantry from A-Company, the Aviation Company, 2nd Battalion, RRF. Once their passengers had been offloaded, the Lynx helicopters surged forward and gained height as four more helicopters tilted their noses into the air, tail rotor dropping as the pilots brought their aircraft to a halt, depositing a second platoon. The first platoon was already running forward, skirmishing, until they found themselves up against the metalled road that ran north to south across their front. The road to the north connected with a crossing point for the Mittellandkanal and, to the south, swept southwest into Lindhorst.

The platoon commander, Lieutenant Oliver Thorpe, indicated where he wanted his sections deployed. He made his way through the line of trees, across the road and in between two houses. The entire road was an avenue of trees, scattered with houses of all shapes and sizes, wildly dispersed along its complete length. A-Company had to defend the line from Ludersfeld to the canal in the north. First-platoon were deploying close to the canal, by Niedernholz, a machine-gun section with them to help secure the northernmost anchor. Third-platoon would have Ludersfeld itself, plus out to 300 metres to the north. Second-platoon, Thorpe’s platoon, would defend the centre. His platoon explored their positions whilst First-platoon pushed north to their area of responsibility.

Sergeant Cohen dropped down beside him. “The sections are in place, sir, but I’ve told them no digging in just yet.”

“Agreed, Sarn’t. We’ll wait until the OC confirms this is our position. Just in case we have to change location. Make sure they keep their eyes peeled though.”

“Sir.” With that, Sergeant Cohen pushed himself up and went to check on each section, confirm their arcs of fire, and ensure they had found some decent cover. He was sure the lads wouldn’t need reminding. They had witnessed some of the troops returning to the rear, loaded onto one-ton Land Rover ambulances and Samaritans, the ambulance version of the armoured CVRT, along with the wounded loaded onto supply trucks returning from the front. The wounded were swathed in bloodied and dirty bandages, some with horrific facial injuries and third-degree burns from blazing armoured vehicles. Limbs were missing as a consequence of artillery salvos or from heavy-calibre bullets fired by attack-helicopters or armoured infantry combat vehicles. They didn’t need to be reminded of the necessity for good cover. But, he would remind them just the same. That was his job.

Lieutenant Thorpe eased himself forward, his SLR resting in the crook of his arm as he did a rough leopard-crawl until he was beyond the boundary of the house wall on his left and alongside the bole of a fairly old but thin trunk of a tree. He heard his runner and radio operator shuffle forward, so one was either side of him. Placing his SLR rifle on the ground in front of him, but within easy reach, he removed the binoculars from their case. “We’re a bit out in the open here.”

“Sorry, sir?” asked his signaller.

“Just muttering to myself, Pritchard.”

They’ll need to dig in to protect themselves from artillery and ground-to-air strikes,
he thought,
but it’s a good position from which to hit the enemy
. He scanned the area out to his front: wide open fields, out to two kilometres. Once his Milan firing post was set up, along with two additional Milan’s provided by a detachment from the mobile anti-tank platoon, they could hit any armour that attempted to cross the open ground. A killing ground. The L445 road, 500 metres away, running to the northeast, had a water feature, the Ziegenbach, 200 metres this side of it – only a few metres across, so not a real obstacle for the enemy. But any crossing operation would have to occur under the guns of the lieutenant’s platoon. He wasn’t high enough to see the Mittellandkanal, but that was only 1500 metres to their north.

He picked up his SLR, slithered backwards and, once hidden from view, jumped up. “Pritchard, Barnes, with me. We’ll have a better view from a two-storey house.”

The trio moved along the outer wall of the house towards the front where it faced the road. The door was locked, but a quick boot by Pritchard and they gained entry.

“Barnes, you stay here and let Sergeant Cohen know where we are.”

“Sir.”

Lieutenant Thorpe made his way into the corridor, the stairs leading up to the second floor directly in front of him. The inside of the house was dark, the owner having closed all the wooden shutters. Many houses and flats in West Germany had a shutter system where they could enclose the windows in either wooden or metal shutters, providing additional insulation against the harsh German winters and also providing added security.

Thorpe took a left at the top, the clumping sound behind indicating that his radio operator was close behind. Once through the door on the left at the top of the stairs, he headed for the large window, a small crack of light showing him the way. He eased the shutter slightly, not wanting to expose himself behind the only unshuttered window in the house.

“Pritchard, open all the window shutters facing east, upstairs and down below, then back up here.”

“Sir.” With that, Pritchard went away to carry out his task.

Thorpe gave him a couple of minutes then pulled back both shutters, giving him a great view of the landscape out to his front. Hearing a clattering of boots on the stairs, he was soon joined by Sergeant Cohen.

“Good open country for the Milan’s, sir.”

“Yes, we can deploy them along this road. We need to keep a close eye on that road crossing our front. At least one firing point needs to be assigned to cover that. I’m sure they’ll cross over it, but if they’re stupid enough to travel down it, they will make a good target.” Thorpe moved the binoculars to the left, the canal now visible. Two kilometres to the east was the forest north of Lindhorst. “At least the Army Air Corps are keeping a lookout for us,” he said as he watched the hovering Lynx through his wavering binos. He passed the binos to his platoon sergeant.

“I want the sections dug in forward of the treeline. Let’s have the houses and trees at our back. The Soviets will soon target the buildings, but they’ll find it harder to spot us to the front, dug in. The houses can give us some cover when we need to pull back.”

Cohen agreed, handing the binoculars back to his platoon commander.

“What about the spare Gympy?”

“Put it with Two-Section, and the mortar directly behind them. That way, they can both cover the entire platoon front.”

“How long do you reckon we’ll have to hold this place for, sir?”

“Anybody’s guess, Sarn’t Cohen. Our job is to hold for as long as possible, or at least until the last units have withdrawn to the river. Keep the Soviets away from 2-Div as long as possible. Give them every opportunity to establish well dug-in defences. Then we can pull back.”

“Or get cut off.”

“Exactly.”

“We’ll hold the river though, won’t we?”

“We have to. We’re running out of places to run.”

The lieutenant twisted his shoulders to the right, zooming in to the village of Lindhorst.
A staging post for an attack
, he thought.
If only we had more men, it would be a good defensive position
. He saw movement on the road that ran west to east, from Ludersfeld to Lindhorst. It was a Fox, probably from the TA recce squadron that was providing a screen.
At least they will have some warning of the enemy’s arrival.
“We have recce from the TA out to our front. Let the sections know,” he said to his signaller who then moved away from the window, crouching down next to one of the internal walls, and contacted the sections of the platoon. “And remind them that there’s a TA company out front and they, along with elements of 3 Queen’s could come tearing through here at any time.”

“Sir.”

Oliver leant his elbows on the windowsill and tracked the open-topped Land Rover as it drove around the western outskirts of Lindhorst. “The Weser is pretty wide, and we’re building up a good defence.”

“I know, but their bridging kit is pretty impressive. How about our reinforcements, sir?”

“We have an American Corps coming in to support NORTHAG, but it’s not all arrived from the States yet. There’s a division on the way though.”

“That’ll help, surely.”

The officer turned to look at his platoon sergeant. “That depends on who gets first call. The Germans, Dutch, Belgians or us. Right, we need to get to work.”