The tank revetments were all at least forty feet apart. An internal explosion triggered by a direct hit, had flung the 24,000kg turret from the tank as it was destroyed. They were at least one down that he knew of and had yet to fire a single shot.
Major Darcy’s driver, Trooper Paul Stott, reversed the vehicle out of the revetment before heading toward their first firing position. Fallen branches and tree trunks at wild angles created an obstacle course for them. The Challenger II had only 0.5m of ground clearance on a solid level surface, and the Russian barrage had created a potential tank trap every few metres.
After 100m Paul judged they should have been approaching the trenches of the Guards in-depth positions but he was having trouble recognising familiar landmarks. The forward slopes were the main targets of the artillery, the area beyond that had been of secondary importance, targeted only to prevent reinforcement. The reverse slope had come off easiest, rocket and tube artillery could not touch it due to the relatively low arc the shells and rockets flew, but mortars toss their bombs high up, 10-25000 feet upwards, to fall almost vertically once they reach the apex of their flight. These munitions, fired from 120mm portable, 240mm towed M240 and 120mm self-propelled 2S9 Anonas had the task of making life awkward on the reverse slopes. The huge M240 bomb earned itself a fearsome reputation in Afghanistan and Chechnya with its alternative charges. Its conventional charges could loft the bomb to 10,000’ and engage targets 9,700m away but with its rocket-assisted munitions more than doubled its range to 20,000m, which meant that the massive 240mm bombs screamed down from 25,000’ to bury themselves 10 feet in the ground before detonating. The good thing, as far as the Guardsmen were concerned, was that they could only fire one round per minute, needed an eleven man crew and the enemy only had twenty deployed against them.
The troops had been briefed that there would be no counter-battery fire from their side until the enemy committed his tanks and APCs, so they huddled down and took it with varying degrees of success.
If Major Darcy was grumbling about losing a single tank, he should have been a rifleman in the in-depth positions where men had been buried alive by near misses or obliterated by direct hits on their holes. The forward platoons had 10 % casualties whereas the rear platoons and the depth company, No.4, had 25 %. These were just the physical casualties, the number of young men reduced to screaming wrecks was almost equal that although some would snap out of it once the shelling stopped.
Colonel Pol Eskiva, commanding the 22nd (Czech) Motor Rifle Regiment ordered his driver to edge forward toward the treeline where he could better see the ground before them through his night scope. He sat with his legs dangling into the turret of his T-90 main battle tank as he studied the map on his lap in the faint glow of a palm light. The locations of enemy positions and field defences were marked, courtesy of the divisional recce companies.
So far, all was going well, with the exception of the heliborne assault on the enemy headquarters that was thought to be somewhere in the area of the clearing, according to their intelligence. Six troop-carrying Mi-8s and three Ka-50 Hokum attack helicopter had mounted the assault and none had returned. 192 crack airborne troops provided by their Russian brothers, not to mention the air assets, had just gone. It called into doubt the intelligence they had as regards the quality of troops facing them. They were supposed to be part-time soldiers, failed applicants to the regular army and bored bank clerks. What was the term the intelligence officer had used, thought the colonel? Ah yes, ‘Weekend Cowboys’. He had observed two of their soft skin ‘jeeps’ destroy three tanks and two APCs before they were destroyed themselves and he had stopped for long enough to observe the field police interrogate a wounded young soldier. It had not been an interrogation as far as he could judge; rather the tormenting of a wounded animal, but the man had been defiant to the last, although his wounds were clearly not survivable. A field police Captain had seen him watching and ordered him to drive his tank over the prisoner, unaware of the colonel’s rank. Eskiva had waved back in apparent compliance, if he did not do it they would only order someone else. Once his tank had lined up on the wounded man, with the Captain a scant two feet from soldier, Eskiva had swung around the pintle mounted 7.62mm machine-gun. Directing a burst across the soldiers chest, from left to right and releasing the trigger just short of the Captains feet, causing the arrogant bastard to back-peddle, stumble and land on his arse in the dust.
Speaking an order into the interphone, he had kept the machine-gun pointing casually in the direction of the field policemen as the tank drew alongside them. “Congratulations Captain!” he had said to the furious man. “You have the honour of having been the first field policeman in the history of the Czech Army to have been close enough to hear the gunfire during a battle.” The colonel’s two escorting tanks and command post APCs had also moved forward, boxing in the men on the ground but none seemed to notice, all attention was on the colonel. There had been six field policemen, all armed with sub-machine pistols facing the colonel in the tank turret when the Captain screamed at them to arrest him. The cocking of the two other tanks machine guns caused them to freeze. Climbing from the turret, the colonel pulled a shovel from a tool bin on the side of the vehicle and thrown it to the Captain.
“Bury him,” he had instructed before addressing one of the other tank commanders.
“Remain here to see it is done. The battle has passed us by and there are no witnesses to see you kill them if they disobey, understood?”
His subordinate had nodded and the other tanks and APCs left.
That had been two hours’ before and as the colonel watched the British positions receive the bombardment, he put the finishing touches to his plan.
When his third tank had returned its commander had brought him the dead British soldiers effects. They did indeed confirm that the men had civilian occupations and yet had been well trained and courageous. The fact that they had eliminated the Russian Paratroopers and destroyed all the helicopters showed that they were well equipped also, contrary to the intelligence briefings. He discussed this with the lieutenant who had brought them to him but did not ask what had become of the police captain and his men, the fact that the loader was stripping and cleaning the machine-gun said it all. Despite his seniority, they would all have been arrested and shot, after the battle was won of course.
According to his watch he had twenty minutes to the start of the attack, the plough tanks would not lead the way though, he had to trust the recce troops information because the divisional commander was breathing down his neck. In their last conversation he had laid it on thick to the colonel, honour, duty and obedience before slapping him on the back in false bon homme,
“I will let you get back to your men now Colonel, you must be eager for the fight?” He had forced something close to a wolfish grin to his lips whilst thinking to himself what a total and utter arsehole his boss was.
“Nadrz^eny' sir!” eager for it, he said and saluted before leaving but muttering “Zmrd,” beneath his breath.
His first wave would be T-72 MBTs, BTR-80 and BMP APCs with his company of PT-76 amphibious tanks following three hundred metres behind to force the river. The barrage was heavy and continuous, which bothered him, it was as if the lack of counter-battery fire had persuaded the artillery batteries to forgo the standard operating practices, he was willing to bet money that they were not changing location regularly, more pressure from divisional HQ no doubt. The air force was meant to attack periodically during these relocations and although they moved fast they could at least see the enemy position and report back. The continuous shelling meant that would not happen of course, no one would send aircraft into the path of shells.