“I’ll see to it, sir.”
“Be quick, Mathew. That last radio message was telling us that the bridge at Rehren is about to be blown. 3rd Queen’s are on their way with Soviet airborne harassing them every step of the way.”
“They can’t be that far away from us then.”
“No, so make it quick. Two-Platoon will be on your left and Golf-Company will be on their left. I’ll use One-Platoon to cover when we have to withdraw. Make sure your Saxons are close. Once they get across, or as soon as we get the order to move, we’re out of here.”
“Consider it done, sir.”
“Good luck, Mathew.” With that, the OC jumped into the Land Rover and was driven off. He would need to organise the disposition of the rest of his company.
Reynolds ran along the edge of the canal to his right, a tree-lined embankment above him, reaching the Saxon belonging to Three-Section, parked next to the concrete structure that was the start of the ten-metre wide tunnel.
Sergeant Mason was waiting for him. “There’s a bloody great gap here, sir.”
Reynolds looked at where his platoon sergeant was pointing. There was indeed a gap. Next to the canal, a hard-packed track ran parallel to it, straight across the top of the Rodenberger. In between the mouth of the tunnel and the canal, a twenty-metre stretch would allow the enemy easy access across the Aue. There was only him and his men that could stop them.
“Have you checked the tunnel?”
“It’s blocked. They’ll not get through it.”
“What about the section?”
“Deployed, sir. I’ll show you.”
The sergeant moved off, his platoon commander, signaller and runner close behind. The first position they came across was the rifle-group. Four men, led by the section commander, were digging in on the left and right of the hard-packed track that crossed the gap between the tunnel head and the canal.
“Corporal.”
“Sir,” responded Corporal Brian Fletcher, the section commander. “I’ve got Roberts and Fraser digging in here. They can use this to protect their left flank,” he said pointing to the concrete wall that stood two-metres high to the side of them, the mouth of the tunnel on the other side. “George and Jenkins are on the right. Above them is the gun-group.”
Reynolds surveyed the positions, noting that the GPMG team of three men were at the top of the embankment, a spindly tree either side of their position. They were far enough back that they wouldn’t receive incoming fire from the side; the wall of the tunnel mouth protected them as well.
“My worry is an attack from the canal.” Reynolds frowned. “If the Soviets come at us from the direction canal and from the gap at the same time, the gun-group could find themselves in trouble.”
Just then, a second Saxon pulled up in the tree line, next to the open mouth of the tunnel.
“I’m going to put Two-Section, less two men, next to the entrance of the tunnel mouth, along the western embankment of the Aue.” Informed Sergeant Mason. “They’ll have a view right across the other side, out to a couple of hundred metres with an arc of at least 180. The other two men, I suggest, sir, could set up on the edge of the canal itself. They can warn us of any movement on the water, and with One-Section in reserve, we can counter any assault from there, or along any of our area of responsibility for that matter.”
“I like it, Sergeant Mason. When the Milan FP turns up, put it with Three-Section. If they send any armour to try and rout us out of our position, they’ll probably use the track running along the canal.”
“If they attempt a direct attack along that track, we’ll be hard-pushed to stop them, sir. Half a dozen BMPs or airborne APCs charging down there would take some stopping. One Milan isn’t going to make much difference.”
The officer reflected on what his platoon sergeant was saying. He trusted the man’s judgement. He was a good senior NCO and an excellent soldier. “I’ll get onto the OC immediately. This has got to be their first point of call.”
“Can we have the mortar platoon give our fire-missions priority, sir?”
“Good idea. I’ll try and get another Milan from the anti-tank platoon.”
“What about some mines?”
“Anything else on your wish list, Sergeant?” Reynolds laughed. “I’ll see what I can do.”
“Sir, sir, its Company HQ.”
Reynolds grabbed the handset off his signaller. “Zero-Delta, this is Delta-Three-Zero. Over.”
“Zero-Delta. Friendlies starting to feed through numerous points, south of your water feature. They need figures two to four hours to withdraw through. We hold for as long as we can. Enemy spotted by heli-reconnaissance. They’ll be on your doorstep in less than ten minutes. Over.”
“Roger that, sir. We have a big gap here to cover. A likely focal point. Need immediate planned fire-missions and additional Milan FP. Over.”
The Sergeant, having overheard the conversation, signalled that he would warn the rest of the platoon.
“On it already, Oliver. Send grids soonest.”
“Roger that, sir. They’ll be with you in one. Over.”
“I’ll join you shortly. Out.”
Reynolds ran towards the concrete wall of the tunnel entrance, looked over at the two soldiers dug-in in front of him, and slumped with his back to the wall, pulling his map from his combat jacket pocket. Placing his SLR on the ground, his signaller crouching next to him, he called in the coordinates. Three fire-missions should do it, he thought.
A Land Rover raced up the bank towards the gap and pulled alongside the lieutenant.
“Sir, where do you want the Milan?” asked the lance corporal who was sitting in the passenger seat.
“Set up on the track, then dump your transport back the way you came up. You have Three-Section’s gun-group on the high ground to your right, and you’ll be in between them and the rifle-group. Understand?”
“Sir.”
“Make it quick then. The enemy will be with us very shortly.”
The driver reversed the vehicle, changed gear, turned right and pulled up next to the embankment. The two men manhandled the Milan anti-tank missile launcher out of the vehicle in order to take it to their allocated firing position.
Once Lieutenant Reynolds had finished transmitting the coordinates, he headed up the embankment.
Crump, crump, crump… crump, crump, crump.
Reynolds threw himself down alongside the gun-group as three mortar rounds erupted just north of the tunnel entrance, on the eastern bank of the Rodenberger Aue. Three more mortar bombs exploded, this time bracketing the tunnel entrance itself, one landing in the water, a fountain of spray plastering the structure with water.
“All call signs. Mask up, mask up,” Reynolds ordered.
He knew there would be no chemical contaminants from the mortar shells, but he didn’t know what else was lined up to hit them. He pulled on his own suffocating mask, checking that his runner, signaller and the gun-group were doing the same. Lance Corporal Marsh, second-in-command of the section and commander of the gun-group, nodded as if to say he was ready. Although nerves were eating at his gut, that simple contact with his platoon commander steadied his uneasiness.
Three more explosions. This time, more accurate, punching small craters in the hard-packed track, showering the Milan and rifle team in debris.
Crump, crump, crump… crump, crump, crump.
This time, the bombs landed on the west bank of the Aue, along the line where the soldiers of Two-Section were partially dug in. Reynolds doubted they had had time to prepare more than just shell-scrapes. More bombs hit the track below him. There were two mortar sections targeting his men, he surmised.