“It’s a hit, it’s a hit,” called out Roberts. The rest of the crew quickly picked up the excitement, fists thumped the air and grins spread across their faces.
“Silence!” Snapped the XO.
“Kirov?” asked the captain.
“Speed twenty-five knots, bearing 120. Time to target one minute.”
“We’re not going to get it, XO.”
“Contact. Bearing 085, Udaloy, thirty knots.”
“It’s that destroyer we passed earlier, sir,” suggested the XO.
“Damn. Time to dive and get out of here.”
“Sir, sir. Explosions in the water. It’s the Udaloy. It’s been hit.”
“It must be one of the others.”
“Well then, XO, time to get out of here. Standby to dive the submarine. XO, take us down. One hundred metres.”
“Sir.’
“We’ve got the Kiev. Let’s go and hunt the Kirov.”
Chapter 15
Wilf stirred the three sleeping soldiers and suggested they get some food down them, as they would be moving out in twenty minutes. While they were eating, Wilf did a quick scout of the area, circling their position out to fifty-metres, making sure there was nothing that would impact on their patrol once they left the hide. He sniffed the air which seemed quite fresh; just the occasional whiff of smoke coming from the many still burning hulks and buildings scattered around the countryside. He stopped for a moment, crouched down and listened. He could hear a steady drone of traffic moving along Route 3, a major road running south from Pattensen: reinforcements and supplies travelling south, with casualties and crippled vehicles heading in the opposite direction. Although, back in the UK the four men, as part of their remit, had studied the likely flow of Soviet logistical traffic and expected it to be heavy, even they had been astounded by the sheer volume. Apart from that, he could see or hear little else. He rose up from the ground, his thighs aching slightly, and continued his circuit. The previous day and night had been a heavy tab. After crossing the River Leine, Wilf’s CPU had been tasked with moving at all speed west, with a specific target in mind. The speed of the advancing Soviet forces had outpaced the movement of the stay-behind forces. One of their patrols, allocated the area south of Hanover, had been diverted from the task Wilf and his team would now pick up. NATO electronic warfare units had picked up what could only have been a Soviet Army Headquarters, and their sister CPU had been re-tasked and given the HQ as their target. Wilf and his team would now have to replace that unit and carry out the task they had initially been ordered to complete. Wilf and his team had travelled at speed throughout the previous night, including early evening and late into the morning of the second day, until they had eventually crossed the river south of Hanover and made their way to a forest south of Hupede where they were now laid up. Going to ground in the trees at the most northern tip, the four men had eaten some of their rations, cold, then grabbed at least eight hours of sleep, taking it in turns to go on stag and watch the backs of their sleeping comrades. Wilf had taken the last watch, needing to think through the final plans for tonight. Soviet troops were everywhere and, on more than one occasion, the patrol had had to detour round them. Once, they were nearly hit by friendly aircraft fire as low-flying bombers came out of nowhere and strafed a Soviet column. Whenever they were able, reports of troop movements were radioed back to 1 BR Corps headquarters, their primary role still being that of reconnaissance. Now, however, they had been given two additional tasks: locate and report back the centre of mass of a missile regiment, probably belonging to either 3rd Shock Army or 20 Guards Army, and, once done, sabotage it to the best of their ability.
Wilf smiled as he remembered Badger’s response to their orders. “Yeah, let’s take on half the Soviet army, why don’t we?”
Hacker and Tag had taken the mickey out of him for the rest of the day. But Badger would fight when called upon and not let any of them down, they knew that. And it could well become a major fight. They were glad they had all agreed to sacrifice some of their supplies so they could carry additional ammunition. Wilf completed his circuit and rejoined his team who were now ready. They knew the importance of speed, they still had a precarious route to travel, and they were in no doubt they were heading into a hornet’s nest. They completed one last check of their kit then moved off. Tag took point, followed by Wilf, Badger and Hacker as tail-end Charlie. They headed southwest first, through the wood, avoiding a small engineer unit encamped amongst the trees to their south, not more than 600 metres away. The men then turned west again and patrolled until they came to the edge of the wood. There was a gap of about 300 metres they would need to cross before they could enter the much larger forest opposite. Tag and Hacker crossed first while Wilf and Badger covered them. Once safely across, and with no sounds indicating the two men had been compromised, Wilf and Badger joined them. They moved southwest, deeper into the forest, slowly climbing a hillock about 200 metres in height, weaving through the trees before turning south. Wilf wanted to intersect with a track. He could then get his bearings then head west along it until they reached the western edge of the forest. Finally they would be in the area where the Soviet unit, as a consequence of its poor communications security, had been located by an EW unit. It was not their first choice to use such obvious routes, likely points for a potential ambush, but speed was important. Time was running out for NATO, and, apart from providing good intelligence, the team were impatient to hit back at the enemy themselves. Hacker, who was now the lead, signalled that they were approaching the track. A steep bank dropped down towards the hard-packed route that would lead them to the edge of the forest. Hacker caught a flicker of white light below him. He turned to warn his colleagues when the mildew-covered soil gave way beneath his boot, his leg flying upwards, the second one following close behind as he crashed to the ground, his large heavyweight pack thumping him in the back as he plummeted down the slope, steadily gathering speed as he frantically attempted to dig his boots into the earth in order to slow his progress down the slope. He couldn’t use his hands to try and get some purchase as they were gripping his weapon tightly, not wanting it lost or damaged. Wilf cottoned on to what had happened within a matter of seconds and pounded down the slope, bumping into trees to control his forward movement as he chased after Hacker. Hacker came to an abrupt halt at the bottom as his boots crashed into a Ural motorcycle, a dispatch rider’s motorbike, toppling it off its stand, the weighty vehicle crashing down, clipping his shoulder as he slid past it and ground to a halt.
The startled dispatch rider, who earlier had been shining a small torch over his map in the vain hope he could get his bearings, all the while cursing in Russian, scrambled to get his AK-74 that had been resting on the fuel tank. His first thoughts were of an animal, but he caught sight of a moving body that looked more human than animal just in front of his bike. Before the Soviet bike rider’s thoughts coalesced, Wilf shoulder-charged the man, knocking him sideways, but at the same time causing himself to lose balance, ending up sprawled on the floor. As the Soviet soldier pulled himself up onto one knee, then staggered to a half crouch, the butt of Badger’s C-7 carbine collided with the side of the unfortunate soldier’s head, a wet thud indicating a strike to the temple rather than the skull. The man dropped to his knees, poleaxed, as Badger struck him again in the same spot, knocking him to the ground. Tag, who had also arrived panting from his forced sprint down the slope, slipped the blade of his killing knife into the soft muscle of the dispatch rider’s neck, in between the head and shoulder. Gripping the man’s helmet, pulling it back hard so the strap, tight beneath his chin, forced the throat to arch, he cut deep into the oesophagus, sawing through the gristle before lowering the man to the ground.