The Yorkshire Yeomanry and Recce Platoon, 1CG, were falling back before the advance of what they now knew to be, forward elements of the 2nd Shock Army.
In front of 3 (UK) Mechanised Brigade were two motor rifle and one armoured division, man for man the Brits were outnumbered 12-1, the story was the same for the French on their right and the Americans on their left. Behind them sat a line of German brigades whom they would pass through to dig in and prepare another line of defence, when the time came. The strategy was to delay the enemy until the heavy convoys arrived with reinforcements from across the Atlantic. Falling back whilst bleeding the invaders as they did so. Colin Probert was just concerned that they were possibly going to be defending Calais by the time the cavalry arrived. He had got about two hours’ sleep following stand-to, after which the Royal Engineers had arrived and dug hull-down positions for the QRFs Warrior APCs.
During the early hours’, at the same time as Colin’s patrol had got noisy on the east side of the river, the Czechs had tried something similar on the forward slopes of 1 Company’s position, but at night they were just ambush bait.
The Czechs had tried to recce the location and had been chopped up, some had got away with enough of an idea of where the Forward Line of Troops was and as such the FLOT was likely to come in for some attention very soon.
All the enemy recce units that had been located over the previous two days had left been more or less unmolested, that changed with the news that the main force had crossed the border and the mortar platoons had performed shoot and scoot’s. It was inevitable that the enemy would have learnt something of genuine use to them, but a fair deception plan had been in force. The British had deliberately skirted some areas, hinting at minefields and driven along narrow unmarked lanes in real ones. Dummy positions had been in use, false radio traffic from dummy headquarters, in fact anything to throw the enemy off, even slightly. The Red Army recce troops had noted all of this, but with the coming of the assault their recce troops unwitting usefulness was at an end, and the mortars stonked their positions.
Colin was doing the rounds, ensuring that everyone was set and nothing had been left above ground. Everyone was wearing their NBC suits, but no masks yet. NBC clothing hampers and reduces a man’s effectiveness but without it he is as good as dead if chemical weapons are used. Just because they had not been employed in Belorussia did not mean they would be lucky here. Black rubber gloves, reaching halfway to the elbows were adorned with the soldiers watches, so time could be told without their breaking the integrity of their suits. Clumsy looking over-boots protected their feet, plastic soles and rubberised material formed a barrier to chemicals. Colin often wondered why they were called ‘NBC suits’, nuclear, biological and chemical protective, because the ‘Noddy suit’ gave the very minimum of protection from radiation and germ warfare agents.
There was sporadic firing from the east and Colin let his boys know what he did, that the Yeomanry, Recce Platoon and the attached anti-tank section was sniping at the lead formation. The helicopter battle had already started and NATO had been in for a nasty shock. Unlike their attack on Belorussia, the Czech and Russian forces they faced here had more up to date rotary kit, Kamov KA-52 ‘Alligators’, KA-50 ‘Hocum’s’ and Mi-28 ‘Havocs’ that had swept ahead of the ground forces. These one and two seat machines were nothing short of rotary wing fighter aircraft. Their primary target had been the NATO helicopter gunships. The Kamov’s were impervious to most ground fire, titanium armour protected the vitals. The MI-28 Havocs were not quite so well protected, having steel armour plate instead of titanium but you did not want to mess with them either.
CSM Probert was lying at the rear of one of the trenches, talking with its young occupants. He had been asked to adjudicate in a debate, of obvious importance to two soldiers about to see combat for the first time. If you only had an hour to live, which female singer would it be with?
“Okay,” said Colin. “At what level are we talking, holding hands and watching the sunset?”
“Be real sir!” Guardsman Robertson explained.
“One hour left to live out a fantasy… it would have to be in a hot tub,” he decided.
Next to him Guardsman Aldridge was nodding in agreement and added.
“And loads of bottles of crazy juice?” Robertson obviously thought this was an excellent idea too.
Colin smiled.
“All right, you have a hot tub, as much Newcastle Brown Ale as you can drink. Who’s at the head of the running order?
“Katy Perry or Selena Gomez.” Robertson said, looking at his oppo for confirmation and Aldridge nodded rapidly in agreement.
“And you think you are going to get them in the mood with Newcastle Brown?” queried Colin.
“Yeah… why not?” The dashing young romantics from Tyne and Weir answered in unison.
“Come on boys, two fit gorgeous creatures who are used to living in style… ..really?”
They both went into a huddle for a brief discussion before Robertson announced.
“A bottle of sweet white for the winner, then.”
Colin slowly smiled.
“Why not both, why not a threesome… after all, it is your last thirty-six hundred seconds of life?”
“Yeah, wicked!” declared Aldridge.
Both young men were happy now.
“The problem is though… ,” said Colin slowly.
“How are you going to leave a lasting impression in only an hour… I mean, you want to leave them with a good impression, don’t you?”
Satisfied that he had managed to sow confusion in their young minds, he moved on to the next position. He was half way there when he heard the moan of approaching artillery shells.
“Incoming!”
He sprinted the last ten feet and landed amongst the occupants of that trench in a heap.
All shell bursts, bomb bursts, smoke or strange mist are treated the same way. Biological and chemical weapons can be delivered in many ways and artillery is a favourite of the Red Army.
“Gas! Gas! Gas!”
Although the drills state you have to be properly masked up within nine seconds, which was a rather optimistic figure. During the Soviet occupation of Afghanistan, British Special Forces came across a Mujahedin ambush in the mountains. Along a ridge was a line of tribesmen, all well camouflaged and already in the aim so as not to alert the enemy by unnecessary movement when they eventually turned up. It was a good site that they had picked, not too obvious, with little cover from fire or from view in the kill zone. It also had a good choice of egress routes for the ambushers. The only trouble was the ambushers were already dead when the enemy came and went unmolested. There were no bulging eyes, no terrible rictus of death with hooked fingers frozen in the act of clawing at throats in an effort to gain one last breath. They had just died, with no warning whatsoever, from a nerve agent sprayed by aircraft upwind of them.
Everywhere, the drill was carried out hurriedly, helmet off, mask on, hood up, buddy-buddy check the seals, helmet back on again. On the outside of their NBC suits, each soldier places sticky-back patches of litmus detector paper, if a chemical comes into contact with it, it will change colour. The section commanders and above had different detector paper, if their paper turns dark green, a nerve agent in vapour form is present. Yellow indicates a nerve agent gas and red is for a blister agent. At least that was what the manual claimed; Colin had personal experience in the Gulf War of the paper turning dark brown and even gold. The simple rule was, if it changes colour… worry!