Oz attached his bayonet to his own rifle before pulling the CSMs bayonet from its scabbard and doing likewise to his rifle, once that was done he resumed spotting for the gimpy.
The paratroopers had guts, braced with a little desperation and did not falter in their skirmishing advance. Despite their casualties and at a whistle blast they rose up and rushed the tree line that the Coldstreamers defended. A good half dozen made for the trench with bayonets fixed.
Colin was aware of an object flying toward them; it hit the piled earth of the bullet catchment area in front of the parapet and bounced over the trench, landing behind them. He released the GPMG and pulled Oz down with him below the level of the parapet. The detonation of the grenade shook the walls of the trench, black smoke and earth swirled as the bayonet and the muzzle of an assault rifle appeared over the lip of the parapet. Colin jumped high, pushing the barrel up as he did so and pulled. He could feel the heat of the barrel through the rubber of the gloves, it was hot but he ignored the pain and pulled hard, causing the owner to stumble forward. Oz raised his rifle for an over the shoulder thrust with the attached bayonet but the paratrooper was quick and kicked out hard, catching the Brit on the side of his helmet and knocking him backwards. It left the Russian off balance and Colin braced a knee against the trenches lip and leant back, pulling the man down in a cloud of dust where Colin ripped off the Russian’s protective respirator. The Russian took a lung full of poisoned air and Colin wrestled the weapon from the now dying paratrooper and thrust it upwards into the groin of another para, who dropped his own weapon to grasp at the sharp blade. Colin tried wrenching it free but the blades wire cutting notch had caught on the pubic bone and Colin squeezed the trigger, blowing the Russian off the weapon and freeing the bayonet once more. Colin could feel the blood pounding in his ears and smell his own fear as he saw another three closing in. Running hard as they fired wildly, two stocky Russian’s vaulted the body as it toppled back. Both thrust down at the Guards CSM.
Oz had recovered enough to get to his knees, aiming from the hip he fired upwards into the nearest soldiers rubber clad face, the man’s head snapped backwards and he toppled into the firing bay on top of him. Colin parried the lunge, batted aside the others bayonet. A large chunk of the trench wall gave way and the Russian landed in the bay next to Colin. Neither man had room to use his weapon and Colin jerked his right knee up toward the others groin but the Russian reacted fast, twisting slightly and taking the blow on the thigh. Colin could hear his own breath magnified within the protective hood that covered his head and ears. Fear and adrenaline coursed through him as he now wrestled with his opponent. He could see nothing of the man except his eyes through the eyepieces of the respirator he wore and he wondered if his own eyes looked as terrified as the others did. The Russian tried to head-butt, seeking to smash the eyepieces of Colin’s respirator with the edge of his helmet. Colin bent slightly, nodded forwards and caught the blow on his own helmet whilst snatching his K-Bar from its inverted sheath on the webbings yoke and stabbed forwards. The blades tip hit the Russians sternum, halting its penetration and both of the Russians rubber-clad hands locked on his wrist, trying to force it away. The dead Coldstreamers body at the bottom end of the firing bay prevented the Russian stepping backwards and Colin threw his own body weight forwards. The Paratrooper was off balance; his feet were wedged against the dead Guardsman and both his knees bent, bending him backwards. Colin now had gravity and momentum on his side and he used his free left hand as a hammer, punching the heel of his palm against the hilt. After a further moment of resistance, the sternum fractured and the blade severed the Russians aorta. Colin watched the eyes widen in horror and he felt bile rise in his own throat. You should never look at the eyes he reminded himself and closed his own as he worked the handle of the knife like a lever, two hands winding it in a circle, maximising the damage.
He was gasping for breath as he straightened, grabbing the last Russians AK-74M and looking about for the next threat. The blow hit him at kidney level, knocking him to his knees as pain shot through his left side. A pair of boots between the shoulder blades knocked him face down. Jumping into the trench on the British soldiers back, the Russian swore, putting his whole weight on the rifle, but the bayonet could not penetrate the steel mug on Colin’s webbing above his left kidney. Oz disentangled himself from the dead Russian who had toppled on top of him and lunged at Colin’s attacker, bayoneting him three times through the back. Oz wondered who was screaming in a mixture of anger and terror, with a start he realised that it was himself. The barrel of the SA-80 rifle he’d wielded was bent, so he tossed it aside, as disgusted with his own emotions as he was with the weapons inadequacy to do its job.
The Guardsmen from the far end of the position had cut down the last of the charging Russians, but there were no wounded amongst the fallen, the concentration of chemical warfare agents still present, had made sure of that.
The treeline on two sides of the clearing now contained British troops. The battalion Quick Reaction Force was dug in on the north side and the battalions defence platoon was starting to appear on the east, despatched from their positions around the battalion CP.
With the helicopters gone, the Russian paratroops furthest from the southern and western edges of the clearing were on a hiding to nowhere. They had been assured the landing zone was undefended. Their mates, about forty in all, had got into the trees where the two surviving officers sought to rally them. Just fifty-four Russian paratroopers remained from the one hundred and twenty eight strong company after only eight minutes of combat.
One of Colin’s Lance Sergeants landed next to the trench in a cloud of dust.
“Air strike sir, get the fuck out!”
They grabbed weapons and scrambled out, leaving the dead and ran to trenches further from the clearing. Seeing them go, the Russians in the clearing saw their chance to escape into cover and join up with the remainder of their force.
Although the infantry do have some regard for their brothers in blue, they were after all, ‘only the RAF’ and therefore lesser beings. It stood to reason that all other services were inferior to the infantry, because if they were any good then they would be there on the ground with rifles in their hands, not mincing about in aeroplanes or boats. Lesser beings have an appalling sense of aim of course, and so the troops on the ground sought to put distance between the intended targets and themselves.
None of the Guardsmen had reached cover when the RAF Tornados screamed overhead. The regimental sergeant major of 1CG was with the defence platoon and had called in the airstrike, describing the target area to the approaching aircraft. Colin and his men dived to the ground as the aircraft passed over them, feeling the thump of exploding munitions transferred through the earth.
Somewhere along the way, Colin’s PRC-351 radio had taken a knock and was now ‘U.S’, unserviceable. The same L/Sgt, who was now lying next to him, shook his shoulder; his radio was still functioning.
“The Razman say’s the RAF dropped CBUs… none of the bombs are on a delay and he wants any survivors mopped up!”
A CBU can have its bomblets armed to go off all at once or delayed, hindering an enemy further with intermittent explosions throwing shrapnel about the area over a period of time. The RSM, who is sometimes called ‘The Razman’, providing he is not within earshot at the time, had received this assurance from the RAF. The enemy had to be cleared out from behind the FLOT and from its proximity to battalion headquarters.
Colin left one man in each trench and designated the Warrior nearest the clearing, plus the trench he had left as points of fire for the gimpy’s and took the remainder west through the forest. Oz was not with them, he had been left to command the remainder and when Colin turned his half to face north, the senior of the section commanders was automatically the 2 i/c of this coming little action. Keeping command and control is a skill an infantry commander has to master, the noise and confusion of battle can lead to the unit failing to be just that, a unit, it can become ‘X’ number of individuals and groups fighting toward separate aims. In open country, on a sunny day, it can become difficult to keep control when only blank ammunition is in use. In a forest, where everyone’s senses are degraded by NBC clothing, live ammunition is in use rather than blank and some of the soldiers had seen their first ever dead bodies, it got harder. The British Army had asked until it was blue in the face, for individual radios for every man. They did not need to be long range; in fact short range was preferable, more secure. The US Army had the IC-F3S; it would have been ideal. Unfortunately, new ‘toys’ for the soldiers, didn’t rate very highly next to schemes designed to make the government more popular with cash rich, potential donors.