“The West has detonated a nuclear bomb. You had better prepare for the worst.”
Barsukov moved closer to his regimental commander as the officer dry-heaved but brought up nothing.
“Do you think we’ve had a bad dose, Comrade Colonel?”
“The worst kind. Make yourselves as comfortable as you can. We’re going nowhere. I need to contact HQ.”
He climbed back onto his T-80K command tank, not realising that the armour would be exposing him to radiation for at least another forty-eight hours. After another short bout of retching, bringing up only bile, he dropped into the turret and picked up the handset of the radio. Before he could transmit, still holding the mouthpiece, he pressed both hands to his temples as a sudden thumping migraine racked his skull. He released his head and stared at the handset. He could see clumps of his hair clutched there as well.
Trusov dropped the handset, slumped in his seat and ran his fingers through his hair only to find more tufts sticking to his sweaty hands. He rested his still pounding head against the contaminated armour, closed his eyes and wept.
Chapter 26
Major Lewis, commander of B-Squadron, 14/20th King’s Hussars, took the mug of hot, sweet tea passed to him by one of the troopers from Bravo-Troop. A second mug was handed to Lieutenant Alex Wesley-Jones, the troop commander.
“Thank you, Corporal Patterson.” Alex thanked his gunner.
“Sir.”
“How are your repairs going, Alex?” asked Major Lewis.
Alex looked out of the open flap of the penthouse tent attached to the back of the OC’s Land Rover. He could hear the revving engine of a FV434 as it manoeuvred closer to the rear of his own tank. Suspended from the crane boom of the 434 was a power pack, badly needed to replace the faulty one that was now on the ground alongside the tracks of the tank. Whilst the remnants of the 14/20th had been in their recovery area, the Royal Electrical and Mechanical Engineers Light Aid Detachment, had been kept busy, repairing, and in some cases, replacing key elements of the Chieftain tank’s systems. This was the second power pack for Alex’s tank, the initial replacement having acquired a fault as they moved to this final locale. Although many of the reliability problems of the Chieftains had been resolved over the years, they still proved to be troublesome. Here, the regiment was conducting its final preparations so they would be ready to carry out the next stage of higher command’s plan to hold off the advancing enemy. The Battle Group had lain up in a small forest about four kilometres east of Espelkamp, roughly twenty kilometres northwest of Minden.
“Now I’ve got a new power pack, we should be pretty much there, sir. Two-Two-Charlie is fully functional. How are the rest of the squadron, and the regiment for that matter?”
“Well, Alex, A and C Squadron were down to nine tanks between them, and D squadron had six. But with replacements from the mainland, and consolidating units, all three squadrons now have three troops each.”
“And us, sir?”
“You’re the lucky one, along with Two-One. You both have a full troop, but Two-Three and Two-Four only have two tanks each. But we are the strongest squadron in the regiment, although we have lost the second-in-command’s tank. Which brings me on to another subject.” The major placed his now empty mug on a small table in the corner next to the rear tailgate of the vehicle. He turned in his collapsible seat and looked at Alex. The young officer from Cardiff raised his eyebrows slightly, curious as to the look of concentration on his Officer Commanding’s face.
“I am promoting you to Captain, Alex. It has been approved by Colonel Clark.”
“But, sir—”
“No buts. You are the most… I was about to say most experienced officer. That really applies to us all now,” he said with a laugh. “But you have been well and truly in the thick of it, and you and your men have performed extremely well.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“Although in rank, you will be my new second-in-command, I need you to remain with your troop. But, should anything happen to me… you will take command. Understood?”
“Understood, sir.”
The major picked up a wax pencil from the small table and pointed at the map suspended from the side of the tent. “We must be ready to move as soon as the Soviets cross the Weser. They will be allowed to advance at least eight to ten kilometres before the counter-attack commences.”
“Can’t we just hold them, sir, stop them from crossing? Our regiment is recovering, and so must some of the other units.”
“Yes, we could hold them for a little while longer, but there is another full Soviet army coming in behind Three-Shock.” The major sighed. “Not forgetting the Soviet 5th Guards Tank Army, one of many units under the command of the Belorussian Military District that has arrived in theatre. Do they continue towards CENTAG or turn towards us? We don’t yet know. And, to make matters worse, the Carpathian and Baltic Military Districts will also be lining up to hit the front line from Hamburg down to Austria. Once 20th Guards Army puts its full weight against our defences along the river, we’ll never hold them. So, we have to lull them into a false sense of security, get them to cross, isolate those forces, and cripple them as best we can, followed up by a counter-attack across the river. I know we have only Territorial troops reinforcing us, but their numbers are growing daily. We also have to strike while they’re still recovering from those tactical nuke strikes.”
“When do we pull the regiment together, sir? We’re pretty widely dispersed.”
“We have no choice, Alex. The risk of a counter-nuclear strike is still very real.”
They were interrupted by the sound of vehicular movement outside. A Foden, a low-mobility tanker, carrying in the region of 12,000 litres of fuel, made its way to a refuelling point where the tanks of the squadron could top-up. It was closely followed by a tarpaulin-covered, six-wheeled Stalwart, bringing in more supplies of ammunition, preparing the tank regiment to go back into battle. The war for 22nd Armoured Brigade and the rest of 1st Armoured Division was far from over.
They both faced the map again.
“Once the 12th Brigade come at the neck of the bulge from the north and the Americans from the south, our Battle Group, followed by the RGJ and 2RTR, will be the first to cross. Your troop will be the first over the river.”
“Can’t wait, sir.” The young, now captain laughed.
“Our squadron has the task of punching as far into the enemy’s rear area as possible. Get deep into their lines; disrupt any attempts at stopping the crossings. The rest of the Regiment will be close behind us, consolidating our position.”
“Is our crossing point still the same, sir?”
“Yes, here,” the major responded tapping the map. “Just south of the Heisterholz. But that depends on the ground we’ve secured and what’s available should the Soviets leave any of their crossing points intact. Our pre-emptive air and artillery strike will avoid those targets, other than troops on the eastern bank.”
“12th Armoured, sir?”
“Just south of Todtenhausen. But, like us, they will take any opportunity to use any abandoned Soviet bridging points.”
“It’s going to be a tough one, sir.”
“As if it hasn’t been tough already, Alex.” The OC started to rise up from his seat. Alex followed suit. “There will be a final briefing tomorrow. In the meantime, make sure your men are ready and your tanks are topped and rearmed. And for God’s sake, keep your troop well camouflaged. The forest provides us with some cover, but the Soviet air force and the military will be looking for us, and these forests will be likely hiding places.”