Further afield, Corporal Zawadzki, adjusting a cam-net at the time of the detonation, was not only blinded but his exposed skin experienced third-degree burns, and the flesh on his hands and face smouldered along with his uniform clothing. He felt no pain. There were no nerves alive within his flesh to send signals to his brain of the terrible damage that had been inflicted upon his body. His comrade, sitting next to his T-72 tank, screamed as he dropped the mug of hot soup onto his lap. The sensation of the burning liquid soon unfelt as the nerves of his seared hands and face overloaded his nervous system, blocking out all pain. Many of their fellow soldiers were not so lucky, and screamed in agony, some passing into unconsciousness, such was the level of torture they were experiencing. Even further away from the centre point of the detonation, the tank crews didn’t escape as they were bombarded by a lethal dose of neutrons and gamma rays.
The tank crews, fulfilling some of the maintenance requirements to keep their T-72Ms functional for the forthcoming battle they knew would be a tough one, saw and heard the blast of a nuclear warhead as it struck one of their battalions half kilometre away. Although shocked by the power of the blast and the intensity of the light generated, those in and around the tanks that had guessed what had occurred, felt lucky that they had survived.
Immediately beneath the Enhanced Radiation weapon, and out to a radius of 100 metres, houses, buildings, fencing, trees and people were first flattened then engulfed in a conflagration with an intensity that could not be envisaged, only experienced. As per its design, the casing of the neutron bomb was made of chromium and nickel rather than uranium and lead. With the addition of tritium adding to the cocktail, the neutron yield was ten times that of a conventional nuclear bomb. With a greater focus on the transmission of radiation rather than that of blast and thermal radiation, this ‘clean kill’ weapon increased the gamma and neutron intensity.
The crews congregated, seeking an explanation and orders from their officers and NCOs. They discussed the event they had just witnessed and listened to their fellow soldiers, those who recognised what had just occurred. There was a sense of relief in their survival, but a concern for those that may have not survived. The men within the tanks, or under cover, had felt the blast, but at a distance of half a kilometre, all they had experienced was a jarring of their vehicle or hide. However, unbeknown to them, their bodies had been bombarded with a lethal cocktail of strontium, neutron and gamma radiation. The neutron radiation transmuted the surrounding area rendering it radioactive, as it would remain so for many years to come. The armour of the crews’ combat vehicles, tanks, trenches with overhead cover, and box-body vehicles was no barrier to the high, acute radiation dose the hundreds of East German soldiers’ bodies were now absorbing. The ionising radiation went to work immediately, damaging bone marrow and the intestinal lining. Acute radiation sickness would soon follow. Those men that experienced the highest levels of absorbed doses would experience nausea, loss of appetite, vomiting and severe abdominal pain within a matter of hours. This would be indicative of a fatal dose that without major treatment such as a bone marrow transplant meant that death was inevitable.
Corporal Eberhardt, who had been sitting in the fighting compartment of his T-72 at the time of the detonation, had felt the ferocity of the blast, but felt protected, deep inside the thick armour of the main battle tank. But, unknowingly, he had received the full vehemence of the emitted radiation.
As he patted his Kameraden on the shoulder, although sad for the other Kameraden that would have no doubt been killed, he was overjoyed about his and his friend’s own survival. But, inside his head, he had already started to feel twinges of pain. In just over an hour, the pain became more severe. Along with other invisible damage, his bodily functions would shut down and he would be dead in less than two days.
Most of the crews of the tank battalion would be incapacitated within a matter of hours and dead within fourteen days. Ironically, the majority of the T-72 main battle tanks would still be serviceable.
As Lieutenant Colonel Belochkin staggered out of his command tent, his sickly-looking second-in-command handed him a radio handset.
“It’s divisional headquarters, sir.”
“This is Belochkin. Over.”
“Belochkin, we’ve lost contact with your regimental headquarters. What the hell is going on down there?”
Colonel Belochkin lowered the mouthpiece and retched, dropping to his knees, his legs shaky and his face as white as a sheet. He heaved; a gush of vomit spattered the ground beneath him. He recovered slightly, wiping the streaks of puke from his mouth and nose with his sleeve.
“We’re in a bad way, sir. Need help.”
“Who am I talking to?”
“Colonel Belochkin, sir. 2nd Battalion.”
“Get a grip, Colonel Belochkin. I need an update. We know you’ve been hit, but you need to get moving, now. Why can’t we raise your regiment? We even had trouble getting through to your battalion for that matter.”
The Colonel breathed deeply, still on his knees, bending at the waist as he thought he was going to be sick again. But this time it was at the other end as a foul smell reached his nostrils. Warm, sticky diarrhoea ran down his legs, his stomach groaning and his legs trembling uncontrollably.
“We are not… in a position to move… Comrade General. I don’t know… where my regimental commander is. One company alone has twenty men with serious injuries, and many are sick.
There was silence at the other end. Soviet high command had received the warning from NATO representatives. The warning came with a caveat: Continue to use chemical weapons, and NATO will escalate to a tactical nuclear conflict, the consequences of which will be unknown to all.
“You must get your battalion ready to fight Colonel. Do you hear me? Colonel?”
The handset fell from the Colonel’s hand and he slumped to the ground, pulling his legs up to his chin as the pain lanced through his innards.
Although Colonel Trusov’s tanks had been able to stand up to the significant amount of blast and heat from the nuclear explosion detonated close to his regiment, the lethal dose of radiation emitted by the ER weapon just passed through the armour, eroding the crews inside. Whereas a dose of six Gy would be considered lethal, killing half of those exposed to it, the symptoms taking some hours or days to appear, Trusov’s men had received between seventy and eighty Gy. A lethal dose had blanketed his men, out to a radius of half a kilometre.
Trusov clambered out of the turret of his T-80K, nausea causing him to feel faint and unsteady on his feet. He gagged and heaved, bringing up the food he had eaten earlier in the day. He saw other tank crews, wandering around in a state of shock. He went to call out to them, order them back to their vehicles, to be ready if called upon to do battle. All he succeeded in doing was to trigger a new bout of queasiness. His ashen-faced driver, Kokorev, and Barsukov, his gunner, joined him. Both collapsed to the floor.
“What’s happened, sir?” Kokorev appealed to him, followed with a bout of retching, finally vomiting the foul-smelling contents of his stomach onto the ground.