The Blue Effect (Cold War) (19 page)

“Calling Hawk-One, Hawk-Two, this is Hawk-Three. We have troops dismounting with shoulder-launched missiles. Over.”

“Hawk-One. Roger that. Hawk-Two is down. Out.”

0540, 10 JULY 1984. 47TH GUARDS TANK DIVISION, 3RD SHOCK ARMY. WEST OF BUCHHOLZ, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12.5 HOURS

“Zero-Alpha, this is Zero-Echo. Zero-Bravo is pushing hard and is right behind you. You have to make headway. Over.”

“Understood, sir. Helicopters have withdrawn. But One-Zero has taken casualties. Over.”

“Just keep moving, Nikolay. I have ordered more air defence assets forward.”

“Understood, sir.”

“No stopping. Out.”

General Arsenyev, commander of the 47th Guards Tank Division had made it clear: Colonel Nikolay Barbolin had to keep his tanks moving before his regiment caused a roadblock, with tanks backing up making a perfect target for enemy air assets and artillery.

The order was passed down the line, and Kovrov continued to move his 1st Battalion forward. The 2nd and 3rd battalions close behind. And behind them another tank regiment was powering west.

“One-One-Zero. This is One-Zero. Leave any crippled vehicles and keep moving. Acknowledge.”

“One-One-Zero. Understood. Units advancing.”

“One-Four-Zero, support One-One-Zero. Out.”

The commander of 1st Company, the right flanking company, with his remaining eight tanks, continued across the fields heading for a position north of Lohfeld, the motor rifle company moving to join them.

“One-Three-Zero, left flank, take up position south of Lohfeld.”

“Moving now.”

3rd Company picked up speed, bypassing their battalion commander.

“One-Two-Zero, hold position. Move in two minutes. Out.”

The units of Kovrov’s 1st Battalion picked up speed again, and he could see his 1st Company off to the far right. 3rd Company started to pass to his left, two platoons up front and the third at the rear. On his orders, the driver drove the T-80K forward and he closed his eyes and mouth for a moment as they drove through a cloud of choking black smoke, flames still licking at the turret of the T-80. No surviving crew could be seen. There were two more burning hulks that 2nd Company, when it moved, would leave behind. He twisted in the turret, clouds of dust in the pale light indicating that 2nd and 3rd Battalion were joining the attack, making space for the regiment not far behind them.

0545, 10 JULY 1984. 662 SQUADRON, 3RD REGIMENT ARMY AIR CORPS. WEST OF LOHFELD, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12.5 HOURS

“Hawk-One, this is Buzzard. Four Tango-Eight-Zeros and one Bravo-Mike-Papa-Two. Approaching your previous location. Moving your location now. Standby.”

“Roger that, Buzzard.”

“Hawk-One, this is Hawk-Three. Engaging.”

Another TOW anti-tank missile left its pod, streaking towards its target, this time a BMP-2, the gunner concerned that it could well be carrying Soviet troops from the anti-aircraft platoon and carrying shoulder-launched surface-to-air missiles. If they managed to get close enough, the three launchers carried could prove deadly. There was a satisfying blast as the mechanised infantry combat vehicle was literally engulfed in an inferno. The turret was torn asunder, thrown up and sideways, and the ammunition ignited ensuring that not a living soul left the confines of its now flaming hull. For a fraction of a second, both the gunner and pilot felt some empathy towards the men who were experiencing a horrific death, but quickly focussed their thoughts back on the mission.

Another TOW missile left the rail, striking a T-80, but failing to cripple it. Again, they flew to an alternative position to start all over again. This time, a main battle tank was destroyed. Then the call came through.

“All Hawk and Buzzard call signs, this is Hotel-Zero. Romeo, Tango, Bravo. Acknowledge. Over.”

“Hawk-One. Romeo-Bravo-Tango.”

There was no call for Hawk-Two, who would not be responding to the call to return to base. The aircraft and its crew were still burning in a rapidly diminishing pyre on the ground. Two further Lynx helicopters did not respond to the call, but they had given the Soviet tank unit something to reflect on: nine T-80s had been destroyed, along with four damaged, and four BMP-2s, along with the troops that rode in them, had also been taken out of the fight. The Helarm had done what was asked of it.

The Soviets were adjusting their line, ready to push west again. The second tank regiment, still unable to push south-west, was going to ground until the traffic jam up ahead had cleared. The Soviet troops were about to feel the wrath of the retreating British Army for the second time that morning.

0550, 10 JULY 1984. 27TH FIELD REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. SOUTHWEST OF MINDEN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12.5 HOURS

The three artillery batteries, now lined up in their appropriate formations, were taking up the positions allocated to them by their officers. They had plenty of room to manoeuvre. Pre-planned fire missions had been laid down, the location of the Soviet forces had been confirmed by the Midge drone and the Platypus’s SAR, updated by a recce flight earlier. The crews waited nervously, aware of the task they had been assigned, higher command wanting them to know how crucial their mission was if they were to give the retreating battalion a chance of survival and be available to continue the fight once they had rested and rearmed. On top of that, their mission was to cripple the advancing Soviet unit. Commands were given, and the first of the 155mm howitzers rocked back on their torsion-bar suspension.

0600, 10 JULY 1984. ROMEO-ONE-ONE, 1ST AVRO-VULCAN BOMBER FLIGHT. SOUTHWEST OF PORTA WESTFALICA, FORTY KILOMETRES FROM TARGET.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12 HOURS

The Vulcan pilots and their crews made their final checks. They were not afraid, but apprehensive, conscious that Soviet fighters could jump them at any minute.

Ten minutes out. Timing was crucial. They’d even been forced to do a circuit further back to ensure that they arrived exactly on the scheduled time. Too soon and they would have interfered with the Helarm and the artillery strike. Soon, they could deliver their bombs, and do their bit to contribute to the destruction of the enemy forces that seemed to have had it all their own way so far.

0605, 10 JULY 1984. 1ST BATTALION, 197TH GUARDS TANK REGIMENT. SOUTH OF PORTA WESTFALICA, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12 HOURS

Lieutenant-Colonel Kovrov was still smarting from the comms he had just received. Colonel Barbolin, his regimental commander, normally of a calm disposition had actually ranted over the radio. Clearly, he had been berated by General Arsenyev. Soviet high command was impatient. The battle along the entire Soviet front had gone well so far, advancing around 150 kilometres in only five days. Stavka sensed victory, smelt the British army’s defeat and drove their soldiers to thrust the knife deep in a killing blow. Kovrov looked across to his right: a platoon of three T-80s, and behind those a platoon of BMPs. On his left was the same. The scenery changed slightly as his command tank crashed through a wire fence, and the force he was in line with moved from one cultivated field to another. Looking back, he could just make out a company of tanks from the 2nd Battalion rushing forward to take advantage of the ground taken. 3rd Battalion was moving up on the left, eventually taking over, allowing his battered unit to rest.

His vision was suddenly interrupted as a myriad of explosions straddled the force of armour to the fore. Instinctively, he dropped down and closed the turret hatch as explosions buffeted his own tank. He peered through the vision blocks.

“Faster,” he ordered his driver.

The tank picked up speed, the driver pulling hard on the left stick as he veered around a crippled tank. Kovrov’s tank rocked again as another barrage of improvised munitions straddled the platoon he was with. The DPICM sub munitions that landed on top of the thinner armour of both the tanks and the mechanised infantry combat vehicles cut their way through. Some were deflected by the ERAs, but this defensive coating as a matter of course was slowly being stripped away. More bomblets battered the advancing lines of tanks as the British artillery threw down a carpet of destruction. Kovrov cracked his elbow as the tank rocked violently, the front slewing to the right as his driver lost control, the damaged track peeling off its bogie wheels. More explosions battered the advancing Soviet armour. Multiple explosions could be heard in all directions.

Clang
. A piece of shrapnel struck the turret, causing his Gunner to shrink down towards the floor of the fighting compartment. Kovrov had told the driver and gunner to remain inside but to keep their eyes peeled for any advancing British armour. They couldn’t move, but they could still fight. Leaving the protection of their armoured shell to check for damage at this moment in time would be suicidal as a torrent of anti-personnel munitions engulfed the ground around them. The bombardment continued, Kovrov unable to pierce the haze of dust and debris thrown up by the myriad of explosions. The chatter between regiment and battalion confirmed that all three of the regiment’s battalions had been hit.

“One-One-Zero. What is your situation?”

“One-Zero…brought to a halt…engineers.”

“Understood. Fixed mines?”

“Negative…sir…dropped…the last salvo.”

“Your location?”

“Lo…n…xzxy.”

“Hold position until mine clearance. Out. Zero-Alpha. One-Zero. Need urgent mine clearance. Location west Lohfeld.”

“Will send. What is your situation, Colonel? You need to move. Elements bogged down behind you.”

“Zero-Alpha. Wait. One-One-Zero, this is One-Zero. Where are you? Over.”

“One-Zero. This is One-One-two. Comrade Major Yagalin is dead. We have three units destroyed, two damaged and stranded on the minefield, and no contact with our infantry. Over.”

“Understood. Hold position. One-Three-Zero. Stop, stop, stop. Report.”

“We have hit the same minefield, Comrade Colonel. One-Three-Three is stuck, two tanks damaged. No contact with One-Three-One and Two.”

He was unable to make contact with his other company or any of his Infantry.

“All One-Zero call signs. Consolidate your positions and await orders. Out. Zero-Alpha. Waiting confirmation, but estimate minimum additional twelve units disabled. Over.”

There was a pause, and Kovrov could picture his regimental commander grinding his teeth, dreading passing the information back up the line to the divisional commander. His lead battalion was down to less than ten fighting units, the infantry had been scattered, and his remaining two battalions had also lost seven T-80s between them.

“One-Zero. Hold your current line. Two and Three-Zero will continue to flank you left and right. Zero-Bravo will move your location. Mine-clearing units on the way. Out.”

Kovrov slumped in his uncomfortable seat, no longer worrying about the tactical situation. That had been taken out of his hands. For the moment, his battalion had effectively been withdrawn from the fight. Despite the odds against him, his inability to make progress would be seen as a failure. His future now would be in the hands of his seniors. His only hope, if given a second chance, would be to commit his battalion to fight, as dictated by his leaders, and succeed at whatever the price. Thinking that, he doubted he could even pull together a company, let alone a battalion. Before his thoughts could return to his current predicament, sat in the middle of a battlefield, the ground shook, as if a seismic event had just been triggered.

0607, 10 JULY 1984. ROMEO-ONE-ONE, 1ST AVRO-VULCAN BOMBER FLIGHT, ON TARGET.

THE BLUE EFFECT -12 HOURS

Romeo-One-Two, on the far right of the flight of three bombers, moved slightly ahead of its two sister planes and was the first to fire its anti-radar missiles, the AGM-54A Shrike, from its twin-launcher. At first, the AEO of the aircraft was unable to pick up any enemy radar. One was switched on briefly, but turned off again just as quickly. Just as he was about to focus on their primary mission, two radars suddenly lit up, searching the skies for any NATO aircraft in the vicinity. This created an immediate threat to the Vulcan bombers. One Shrike was fired and, after a slight adjustment to the flight line, the second one followed. The crew had no idea if the missiles were successful, destroying the ground radar that would feed target information to the SAM missiles. But the radar signatures disappeared. Once the bombing started, and the enemy were fully aware of what was occurring, the follow-on flights would certainly have plenty of radar targets to go at.

Back in Romeo-One-One.

“Nav, Radar. We’re on track.”

“Roger.”

“Two minutes till release.”

“Acknowledged,” responded the pilot.

Fifteen kilometres from the target, another check was made on their position, and the bomb-bay doors were finally opened. The pilot and co-pilot looked at each other again, both thinking the same thing. Where was the enemy flak and missile fire? It seemed to be going well so far, perhaps too well. Both wished for their good fortune to continue. The AEO had picked up a couple of high-pitched shrieks from a Straight Flush, the fire-control radar for a Soviet SA-6 surface-to-air missile, on his warning receiver, but they disappeared. He placed a hand on his headphones pressing them close to his left ear. Nothing. Perhaps one of the Shrike anti-radar missiles had put it out of its misery.

Speed was now 300 knots and the computer responsible for the timing, signalled it was time for the bomb release. The first group of bombs left the bomb bay. Within seconds, a retardation chute opened at the end of each one, slowing the fall of the bomb, allowing the delivery aircraft time to leave the area before the bombs exploded, showering a rain of death over its target.

One second.

The speed of bombs fall dropped, slowed down as the drogues released from the tail end did their job.

Two seconds.