The Black Effect (Cold War) (13 page)

“Zulu, this is Romeo, fire mission.”

“
Zulu. Send, over
.”

“Sierra, Zero, Three, Two. Bearing Two-Six-Five, angle of sight one-oh-five. At my command, elevation Three-Eight-Nine mill, three rounds, fire for effect.”

There was a pause while the gun battery finalised their own procedures.

“
Roger
.”

“Fire.”

The entire battery of eight M109s opened fire, the chassis’ rocked violently on their tracks and suspension as the barrels jumped upwards, the barrel and breech forced backwards as the shell exited the barrel, a blast of hot gases bursting out from the muzzle brake. The barrels lowered and, inside the turret, the breech was raised, presenting itself to the crew for reloading. One of the crew pushed the shell into the breech; another gunner pushed a red bag charge after it. The breech was secured, the gunner yanked on the lanyard, and the breech rocked back a second time.

0430 7 JULY 1984. RECCE-TROOP (-). BARFELDE, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −1 DAY.

Two-One and Two-One-Charlie watched the first salvo land directly on top of the rapidly growing force of armoured vehicles advancing towards their respective positions. One Royal Artillery battery was targeting the area directly where elements of a Soviet tank battalion, at least company strength so far, was advancing on a broad front towards Barfelde. A second battery targeted the road between Barfelde and Eitzum, and a third battery pounded the road that led from Eberholzen to Heinum, about two to three kilometres south of Barfelde. Lieutenant Baty watched incredulously as the first rounds struck the advancing T-80s and BMP-2s. Above the targets, the eight dual-purpose, Improved Conventional Munitions descended on their unsuspecting victims. A fraction of a second before they hit the ground, the thin-walled cargo rounds disgorged their sub munitions; the small burster charge ejecting them, scattering the lethal charges over a wide area. A small ribbon unfurled behind each grenade, stabilising their flight as over 700 plummeted towards their targets. Baty watched as some of the grenades struck the tops of the BMPs, the one-kilogram shaped charges detonating, penetrating the thinner top armour.

At least two of the mechanised infantry combat vehicles ground to a halt as a lethal charge punched through the thin upper layer, causing devastation inside. One went up on its back end as it ground to a halt violently, the driver’s body torn apart by molten metal and shrapnel. Further back, one tank was hit three times; initially protected by its reactive armour, but only to be struck again and again as the next salvo of over 700 grenades arrived, two punching through the areas recently stripped of the reactive armour blocks. Fifteen seconds later, a third swarm of munitions blanketed the battlefield in a lethal rain of death. Soviet soldiers, fleeing their stricken armoured vehicles, ran into a rain of metal shards as those grenades that struck the ground detonated in a lethal shower of hot fragments. The Soviet advance was stopped dead in its tracks. But they would be back. Baty knew it was time to move out. They would travel, at speed, back to Gronau and the relatively safe western bank of the River-Leine. But the Soviet armour would be hot on their tail.

0450 7 JULY 1984. BRAVO-TROOP (+). GRONAU, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLACK EFFECT −1 DAY.

“Is everyone OK?” called Lieutenant Wesley-Jones, his voice muffled by the black respirator.

“Ellis and me are OK, sir,” Patsy responded.

“Trooper Mackinson?”

“Apart from a ringing in my ears, sir, I’m still alive.”

“Good, good. Standby. They’re bound to be close behind their artillery.” Wesley-Jones released the hatch cover, pushing it up and out of the way as he gingerly climbed up, taking a tentative look over the edge of the hatch. The immediate surrounding area was completely churned up, and he was amazed they had come through relatively unscathed. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the whites of splintered trees and branches, shredded by the myriad of explosions that had gutted the area. The berm, a key part of their defensive location providing them with a defilade position, had, in the main, survived, although to the rear of the tank there were two craters they would have to negotiate when they pulled out. The Chieftain hadn’t come through it completely unscathed though. Numerous scorch marks and gouges covered the glacis, and the left-hand set of smoke dischargers had completely vanished. Further out, the view of the horizon was blocked by a swirling fog of smoke, dust and fume, the air still full of dust and debris as it slowly settled back down to the ground. The turret jerked slightly and the barrel moved a fraction as Patsy checked that the tools of his trade were in working order. Alex checked the detector paper on his Noddy suit. It was clear; no evidence that there were chemical substances in the air. He took a chance, pulled up the front of his respirator and did a quick sniff test before pulling it back down. If his memory served him right, some smelled of garden plants whereas some smelled of almonds. But, he knew that the highly toxic Sarin and VX nerve agents had no smell. The wind was easterly, so any residue would be blowing to the west. But, to be safe, he would keep his gloves on just in case there was a residue on the surface of the tank. He tugged at the NBC hood and pulled his sweat-soaked respirator up over his face and off, taking shallow breaths to start with.

Crump, crump, crump...crump...crump, crump...crump, crump...crump.

The barrage continued behind him, not letting up on its pounding of the British defenders. He grabbed his bone-dome from inside the turret and settled it on his head, blocking out the sound of the explosions.

“All Two-Two call signs, radio check. All Two-Two call signs, this is Two-Two-Alpha. Over.”

“Two-Two-Alpha, this is Two-Two-Charlie. Crew OK, engine deck partially buried, but should be clear to move. Recce element through our location. Over.”

“Roger. Two-Two-Charlie, out to you. Two-Two-Bravo, this is Two-Two-Alpha, acknowledge. Over.”

Apart from a slight trace of white noise, the network was silent.

“
Two-Two-Alpha, shall I check them out? Over
.”

“Negative. Watch your front.”

“
Two-Two-Alpha, this Two-Two-Delta
.”

“Send. Over.”

“
Two-Two-Delta. Have casualties, but still operational. Over
.”

“Roger that.”

Alex was about to contact the Striker teams when...
crump, crump, crump. Crump, crump, crump.
Small mushroom-shaped clouds erupted along the entire front that was under the protection of the Bravo team, the rapidly expanding clouds of smoke taking the place of the dust, continuing to block out any visibility of what was beyond. Alex’s ears pricked up as he heard the distinctive sound of helicopters, not just to his front but off to the right. An explosion occurred somewhere amongst the smoky barrier, followed by a second somewhere down the road between Barfelde and Gronau.

The roadside mines have gone off
, Alex thought to himself. A vehicle had been coming straight down the road; the other explosion either an armoured vehicle had run into the minefield placed there the previous day or...

“Stand by, stand by,” he yelled into the intercom. “They’re breaching the minefield! All Two-Two call signs, they’re on their way.”

“
Roger
,” responded Two-Two-Charlie.

Still nothing from Two-Two-Bravo. Alex feared the worst.

“
Two-Two-Alpha, Two-Two-Echo. We don’t have a visual, but both units intact
.”

“Roger that. Watch your front. There’s movement in the minefield. Out.”

Thank God, he thought, the 438s had come through it. They would need them before the day was out.

Another explosion. He could now see shapes and shadows through the murk that had been created by the Soviet smokescreen. The wind was not blowing in the Red Army’s favour. Although it wasn’t strong, the draughts, influenced by the high ground of the Hildesheimer Forest, running south-east to south-west, twisted the currents of air, now blowing in a northerly direction, pulling the smokescreen apart.

Alex’s binoculars flicked from left to right and back again as he desperately searched for a sign of the enemy.
Boom
. Another explosion. They had to be using mine roller attachments, specially fitted to the front of certain tanks, the heavy steel rollers setting off the mines, leaving a clear path for the tanks following on behind. Or maybe it was a mine plough. They were coming through. He estimated where the sound had come from: maybe south of the road, ten degrees left. The road was probably temporarily blocked. Whatever was moving along it would need to be shoved off the road. If they went off the road to bypass it, they would stumble into the minefield either side. He dropped down inside and turned the commander’s cupola ten degrees to the left.

“Possible target, eleven o’clock.” He rested his head on the brow pad and peered through the binocular sight, ready to get the range of the enemy armour, or engage the enemy should Patsy have a problem. He pushed the rocker switch up, selecting the laser option ready to use the laser rangefinder, the input going directly to the ballistic computer. The turret whined and traversed as Patsy followed his orders, aiming the main gun in the direction given by his commander.

“Load sabot,” Alex ordered.

Ellis grabbed a sabot projectile, slammed it into the breech, quickly followed by an explosive bag charge from one of the bag-charge containers. He pushed in the small charge, closed the breech and slid the safety shield, the loader’s firing guard, across to protect him from the recoil of the huge 120mm gun’s breech.

“Up,” Ellis shouted. The main gun was now armed.

Patsy checked the ammunition selector was set for sabot, the red light showing the gun was ready to fire. He traversed the turret a bit further via the control handle and elevated the gun slightly. Once fired, the armour-piercing round would leave the barrel at over one and a half kilometres per second.

“Here they come.” Lieutenant Wesley-Jones turned the cupola, enabling him to track the BMP that had just appeared out of the smoke. “Contact, 1,000 metres.”

Alex pulled the hatch down above him, immediately looking through the frontal vision blocks. “Two-Two-Charlie, watch your arc.”

“
Roger
.”

“On,” called Patsy, his head up against the binoculars, his finger lingering over the red fire button.

“Fire!” Ordered Alex.

The Chieftain jolted, and the breech shot back violently to the rear of the fighting compartment as the armour-piercing, fin-stabilised discarding sabot round left the barrel, a puff of smoke following close behind it. Travelling at just under two kilometres a second, the penetrator slammed into the mechanised infantry combat vehicle, practically lifting it off its tracks, stopping it dead, smoke pouring from the back as the two surviving soldiers clambered out, collapsing to the ground, disorientated and choking on fumes. Alex didn’t hesitate, pressing the selector button to switch from the main armament to the coaxial machine gun. Pressing on the elevation hand wheel for the commander’s GPMG, he hit the red Bakelite firing switch, two short bursts killing the two soldiers.

A second round hit another tank, the extremely dense, long, slender dart, a long-rod penetrator driven by a high level of kinetic energy, drilled through the T-80’s armour. Even the ceramic properties of the armour were unable to prevent a full penetration.

“Contact, 1,000, sabot.” Alex spun the cupola to the left, tracking the next target, the turret going with him as he targeted the T-80 suddenly appearing out of the smoke. Then he started his search for the next mark, leaving Patsy to finish his task as the gunner.

“Up,” yelled Ellis.

Patsy depressed the button, and another round headed for its target, this time something bigger. It struck the tank just to the right of the mantle, the force of the blow making the armoured giant shudder, but the exploding reactive armour blocks, initially designed for defeating shaped-charged weapons, still did a good job. Apart from some damage to the smoke dischargers, the tank kept rolling.

“Sabot,” ordered Alex, his voice almost shrill as the pace of the battle picked up. Recognising this, he forced himself to calm down, setting the appropriate example to his men.

“Up.”

Patsy fired again, the penetrator striking the Soviet tank in less than half a second from firing. This time, the strike was right in between the turret mantle and the main body of the tank, the hardened tungsten-carbide penetrator punching through the thick armour, smashing the auto-loader apart; then breaking up into fragments that ploughed into armour and flesh alike. Moments later, heat turned into fire, fire turned into an explosion as it ignited the ammunition, literally ripping the tank apart.

“A hit!” yelled Patsy.

“Steady, Patsy,” coaxed the commander as he turned the cupola left, taking the turret with him. “Target, BMP, 700 metres. HESH.”

Patsy again focused on his gunnery, his mind logging that the lieutenant had referred to him by his nickname. Ellis loaded a High Explosive Squash Head (HESH) round. “Up.”

Patsy fired. The BMP, that had suddenly swung right as it zig-zagged towards them, was struck full on the side, engulfed in a cloud of smoke and flame as it was literally pulverised. To the right, a second T-80 lurched into view, immediately taken out by Two-Two-Charlie. To the left, two striker missiles flared into view, launched at a ninety-degree angle, the gunners tweaking the controllers, keeping the 555-kilogram missile on track as the two rockets levelled out heading towards the two selected targets. All the controllers had to do was keep the target in the crosshairs, and the SACLOS would do the rest. The first went wildly off course, suddenly lurching upwards and flying vertically, no longer interested in its target. The second one, capable of penetrating up to 800 millimetres of armour, ploughed into a BMP, bringing it to a halt.

Another T-80 appeared out of the gloom, its barrel swinging towards Two-Two-Alpha’s location. A bank of earth and debris splattered the glacis and turret as a Soviet armour-piercing round came in low, displacing part of the berm before ricocheting off the side of the Chieftain. Its force was badly depleted, but the crew knew that it had been a close one.