' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song) (57 page)

“Yes sir.” Lt Col Faloon nodded emphatically.

“Good
, because in thirty six hours’ time when the brigade attacks, it will be one up, two back, and the Irish Guards are the ‘up’.”

“I am overwhelmed at your generosity,
and I am certain that your name will on the very lips of my men as they cross the FEBA, although not necessarily in flattering terms, sir.”

Pat let the laughter fade
.

“The good news is that there are no chemical or biological weapons available to the Chinese 3
rd
Army and this has been confirmed by two sources, the prisoners of war providing the enemy with their forced labour, and SASR CTRs. The only reason the magazines weren’t blown by the SASR operatives was the proximity of POWs and civilians.” Pat looked them all in the eye. “We thought the same was true of the Red Army at the Vormundberg though, and look how that turned out. So the boys and girls continue to carry the necessary at all times, regardless of the intelligence to the contrary.” Pointing to the sea Pat Reed added a rider. “The navy claims that there are no, repeat no, operational submarines still operating in these waters. It is too far from home and the support vessels are allegedly on the bottom, so they say there is no chance of further missile attacks.”

They were all watching him and waiting for the ‘But’.

“Better safe than sorry, so pass the word that section commanders are to inspect their men and enforce the carrying of full NBC…okay? Any questions?”

He moved on to the next item.  

“Situation; friendly forces, the 2
nd
Guards Mech’ will be on our tail until we have taken our objective, and will pass through with a change of axis to the east, collecting half the Life Guards armoured reconnaissance squadrons and Dougal Willis’s Hussars, and they will advance to contact the eight miles to Shoalhaven on the coast, with the river on their right.” Pat tapped the airfield to the south of the town. “The Aussie and Kiwi SAS squadrons have been working out of the forests of the Yawal valley to the west, and in best Long Range Desert Group fashion they will raid the airfield and attempt to destroy all the aircraft there before withdrawing back into the forest.” Pat waved for the next screen which had the town of Gloucester to the north and the Bega Valley to the south. Virtually all of the occupied coastal plain that was currently in Chinese hands.

“While we are engaged with our own bit of business the ANZACs will be showing us whinging Poms how it is done when they take Bega, the southern extent of Chinese occupation, and begin to drive north, with the help of other whinging Poms of  8
th
(UK) Infantry Brigade and the Royal Tank Regiment of course.” He next pointed to the top of the map.

“Meanwhile, the US 5
th
Corps consisting the 5
th
Mechanised Division, 10
th
Mountain Division and the ladies and gentlemen of the 2
nd
Marine Expeditionary Force, will attack south east out of the Hunter Valley and take the city of Newcastle before turning south.” 

Pat returned to their own area of responsibility.

“We are cutting the Chinese 1
st
Corps up into edible pieces, and we, the Guards, will dig in and act as the anvil to the ANZACs hammer before we drive north, collecting the Highland Division on the way, but the ultimate goal is to squeeze the Chinese 3
rd
Army until the only place they have left to go to is Sydney, or surrender.”

It took a further hour to provide the COs’ with the details they required for their own units before Pat closed the proceedings.

“Gentlemen, we went to war with just the bare essentials and we carry the scars to prove it. It has been a long road but the end is in sight, and as we now have the kit to finish the job and go home, let us do just that, and let us do it well.”

Wessex Regiment: Bega Valley, NSW. Monday 17
th
October, 0400hrs.

The long and seemingly never ending journey in pitch darkness, the bumpy road and the tedious, constant stopping and starting, all without any explanation as to the cause, was now over. The Unimogs pulled into trees beside the colourfully name Jews Creek and the troops dismounted quietly. The infantry barely had time to stretch out the knots and massage away buttocks numbed by purely functional seating before they were hustled away to the start line by guides equipped with PNGs.

Inevitably Baz had men who had managed to get lost in the relatively short distance from the vehicles to the invisible line the guides indicated was the FEBA, the forward edge of the battle area. No one was ready as the time of departure approached and from the CO on downwards the good leaders exuded calm as they sorted things out, whilst the bad ones assumed that the harder they kicked something the quicker it would fix itself.

They were on radio silence, the sets switched on but they kept a listening watch only, unless in contact of course. The order to move was conveyed by runner and it got a little lost. D Company’s OC realised A Company were no long in front of them, so it was a little like starting a twenty year old Ford Escort on a cold morning, they got moving but not without pushing, shoving and a few muffled curses. Bergans made all the more heavy with the addition of 81mm mortar rounds and a thousand rounds of mixed link brought groans as the men used their personal weapons as props to assist themselves off their knees and into the advance to contact with China’s best.

A Company of The Wessex Regiment was the spearhead with B and C to the left and right, the tip of an infantry arrow advancing with the Princes Highway as the axis of advance. D Company was in reserve, to the rear but following A Company so that the view of the four rifle companies from above was one of a diamond shape. Behind D came battalion headquarters and Support Company, its machine gun and mortar platoons in two halves that leapfrogged one another, setting up gimpy and mortar lines to provide supporting fire if called upon to do so, before packing up and hurrying forwards to deploy once again.  3RGJ was to the left rear of the Wessex and the Light Infantry to its right. Behind 8 (UK) Infantry Brigade came the ANZACs of the RAR, Royal New South Wales Regiment and the Royal New Zealand Infantry Regiment. The infantry moved in almost complete silence but on the flanks were the Leopard 1s and newer M1A1 replacements of the Australian 1
st
Armoured Regiment, and the UK’s Challenger 2s of the Royal Tank Regiment. To the front of this slowly perambulating triangle ranged the ASLAVs of the Light Horse, and a flight of Apaches from 3 Regiment, Army Air Corps.

The sun had risen and the straps of 2Lt Cotters Bergan were digging into his shoulders when contact was first made. Men gripped their weapons a little more firmly at the sound of combat to their front.

“Baz…er sorry… Mr Cotter sir?” a voice called in a failed stage whisper. “What’s going on?”

“Price, do I look like the fucking oracle? Well do I?” Baz fixed the rifleman with a look. “Rumour has it, it’s the Third World War, or hadn’t you noticed?” Baz then shook his head wearily “Now shut up and watch your front.”

The firing tailed off and twenty minutes later they drew level with one of the Australian ASLAVs sat at a drunken angle, half in and half out of a ditch beside the road. It was still burning and its crew were a little distance away, covered by their ground sheets and awaiting collection by the graves
registration detachment. Four hundred yards further on another vehicle, a Type 98 tank, was also consuming itself with the resulting thick black smoke marring an otherwise blue sky. Several Chinese infantrymen lay equally dead, killed by the same Apache gunship that had avenged the Aussie armoured recce troops of the Light Horse.

A mile from Bega the sound of modern warfare returned, initially just with an exchange of small arms fire between the point section and the occupants of a trench, but it grew and grew in intensity until the mortars and the GPMG SFs of the machine gun platoon were in constant action, soon to be joined by 105mm and 155mm artillery rounds.

B and C Companies moved up beside A Company but D halted and began to dig shell scrapes. Behind them to the left and right the Green Jackets and Light infantry were doing the same. 1RAR and the New Zealand infantry, however, could be seen hurrying forward on either flank and Baz could no longer see the tanks comforting presence.

Baz had just finished his shell scrape and got himself comfortably ensconced, with his bergan below ground too, when the order was passed back verbally to move forward, as is ever the way.

The Chinese knew they were there now so there was no mileage in maintaining radio silence for all but those who were up to their waists in muck and bullets, although it did seem to have taken two contacts for that to have occurred to the senior management.

“Hello all stations Four, this Four Nine, nobody told you to move!”

To Baz’s left Dopey Hemp’s camouflaged face turned towards him.

“Send three and four pence, we’re going to a dance!”

The dedicated smokers’ relit cigarettes stubbed out moments before and Baz removed the heavy bergan and settled himself back into the shell scrape.

There was a loud whistle from forward and Baz saw CSM French pointing at him and miming the winding motion of turning a car engine with a starter handle.

Out-
bloody
-standing!

“Twelve Platoon, prepare to move!”

The CSM did have some good hand signals for them though, pointing at the mortar line and GPMG SFs. Baz knelt so that a No.3 on the guns could open his bergan’s top flap and remove the single, long, thousand round belt, and a hundred yards later he was relieved of his two 81mm mortar rounds also.

Ah joy!

Feeling almost bionic 12 Platoon now hustled forwards with Baz receiving a quick set of radio orders. Removing his bayonet he banged the blade loudly against his own helmet to get everyone’s attention and held it aloft for all to see before attaching it. They all followed suit, snapping the steel into place and giving the bayonets a twist to ensure the retaining lug had been locked.

They were striding out now, butts of weapons firmly in the shoulder.

Passing through a gap in a hedge he encountered the first Wessex dead, lying unmoving under the bluest sky Baz could ever remember, and he took a moment to look at it in case he too would never see another of its like ever again.

1 Section was ‘up’ with 2 on the left and 3 on the right. They crossed between enemy fighting positions, trenches and more dead, their own and the Chinese.

The end of the captured position was marked by A Company who were occupying the rear trenches and now facing towards Bega.

Words of encouragement, warnings, and gallows humour were shouted their way from A Company.

“Good luck boys.”

“W
atch yer selves, they’re hard fuckers.”

“Don’t get shot Steve…you
still owe me a tenner!”

“Pete…if you get topped can I shag yer wife?”

“You may as well, I already shagged yours!”

The smell of cordite, gun smoke, and the burnt almonds scent of high explosive was tinged with that particular smell that results in a dying man releasing his bowels.

To the left and right the Aussies and Kiwis, as well as the Wessex B and C Companies, all remained down in the prone position. They had taken an infantry battalion’s position after a hard and vicious fight but now the advance to contact was resumed.

12 Platoon
were now the point section, stepping short as the ground began to slope away before them. The quiet was restored with only the sound of their boots moved through foot high grass for ten minutes. The green grass and fragrant wild flowers, a pastoral setting Baz Cotter would have liked to have enjoyed over a picnic. A perfect vista, a perfect warm summer’s day to enjoy with the family. Only a skylark’s song was absent.

Private McKenzie and L/Cpl Silva, the 1 Section gun group
, abruptly dropped down among the wild flowers. The crack of high velocity rounds only registering on his consciousness like an afterthought.

“COVER!”

Dash, down, roll, sights, observe…

…nothing.

A butterfly landed upon Shaun Silva’s neck, its gossamer touch should have tickled and elicited a reaction but Shaun was beyond ever doing that again.

“Anybody see anything?”

“Hello Four One this is Four Nine, do you have a sitrep for me, over?”

“Four One, Four One Alpha has two down, no shooter seen…wait out.”

They could not stay here all day waiting for the enemy to get bored and go home, although on a purely personal level that thought had merit.

“Dopey…send someone on a dummy run.”

Cpl Hemp picked Spider as he was closest to another piece of cover. Webber rolled onto his side, keeping out of sight as he undid his bergan’s straps, and after a moment to prepare he launched himself off the ground and towards a fold eight feet away. Turf ripped up about him and Spider went down screaming.

“
Section…three hundred…eleven o’clock…water trough in field…two o’clock from trough…two clicks…enemy gun group!” Dopey Hemp had seen the muzzle flash and 2 Section engaged it while Baz sent the OC his sitrep and requested a mortar fire mission, which was refused as they weren’t going to expend hard to replace mortar rounds on a single gun trench.