The OC turned to Lieutenant Dunmore. “We’ll go through the deployments in detail when we’re in position, but I want one section at the southern edge of the village, one section covering the mobile Milan section, and a third along the strip of forest that links the east of the village with the forest. That will protect our left flank and cover any infiltration along the edge of the forest. We’re thin on the ground, but once Three-Section get here, we can double up on the defence of the village. In the meantime, we’ll have to make do. Questions?”
Dean was in first. “We’re not a big force if we have to fight our way there, sir.”
“We’re not. We are very much dependent on 1RRF and 3RTR to smash any enemy forces aside. That’s not to say our passage will be easy.”
“What is the Intel on the Soviet forces in the area, sir?” Captain Banks asked.
“Brian, you take this one.”
“Sir,” responded the adjutant. “The Soviet focus seems to be further north, around Minden, Petershagen, and even further north in 1 German Corps’ sector. In our sector, we have 47th Guards Tank Division that got badly beaten recently. We have Intel that says reinforcements are moving up, but 20th Guards Army have been sent further north. They were on the receiving end of one of our tactical nuclear strikes. The biggest worries are the Military District Forces moving up. We don’t know yet where they’ll end up. Which is why the counter-attack has to go ahead in the morning.”
“Have the nuke strikes had much of an impact?”
“Yes, they have.”
“But no response yet?”
“No, Captain,” the OC interrupted. “But that’s not to say there won’t be. So, make sure your soldiers have their NBC kit on and masks close throughout. They’ve been issued with fresh canisters. Make sure they have them and their respirators close at hand at all times. Right, we move out at 0200. The Adjutant will take us through the running order and timings. Brian?”
The Ferret Scout Car manoeuvred alongside the command vehicle. A sergeant climbed down and across the engine deck to be met by a major who appeared from the tent at the back of the Spartan.
“They’ve arrived, sir.”
“About bloody time. What are they like?”
“Shit state, but they’ll do.”
“Let’s go and take a look.”
About a hundred metres down a track, through the forest, three twenty-one and a half ton M2 Ferry Systems were lined up beneath a canopy of trees. Four Sappers were in the process of pulling camouflage netting over them.
“So long as they work, Sarn’t Draper, we’ll now have a full set.”
“I’ll get the lads checking them over straightaway, sir.”
“Yes, do. We expect to move out at 0200.”
“I’m on it, sir.”
“Good, I’ll leave you to it. Oh, let me know if there are any problems.”
“Sir.”
The squadron commander left and the Royal Engineers sergeant went over to the engineers working on the netting.
“Seen anything to worry about, Billy?”
“Looks OK to me, Sarge. The factory done all the repairs alright; just ain’t tarted them up.”
“Do a thorough check, eh?”
“Will do, Sarge.”
“We’ll need those buggers tomorrow. Let me know as soon as you’re done. The OC’s wanting an update.”
“On it.”
The sergeant took a step back. He had confidence in Billy, one of the rig drivers. He loved the old M2s, but they were a pig at times for breaking down. These three had been back at the factory where they were originally made, the only place that could fulfil the repairs that had been needed. They had been flown in; then transported here as a matter of urgency. It was all going to kick off tomorrow. The Squadron had two troops, with five sections in each, giving them fifteen M2s per troop. His troop would provide a crossing point around Hameln, while Second-Troop would be further east. The Bundeswehr were also providing engineer support. With two bridges in operation, they could get across over 100 vehicles an hour; meaning one of the weakened Brigades could cross in four. The 64th Amphibious Engineer Squadron was way up north, with 1st Armoured Division.
But that was their problem. He just had to worry about his troop.
Chapter 28
Drip… drip… drip.
Bradley’s head ached. He had no idea how long he had been in this position. But what he did know was the constant impact on his forehead from regularly descending drops of water. It felt like a hole was being slowly bored into his forehead.
Drip… drip… drip.
He wanted to scream but had bitten back the urge so far. Not that he could have had he tried. When attempting to utter a sound, in order to counter his isolation, his dry throat and puffed up tongue had only allowed a croak to emanate from his cracked lips.
Drip… drip… drip.
He looked up and back for the umpteenth time, his eyes trying to peer through his eyelids, but he was unable to see the drops of water as they poised to descend then drop down onto his now pressured, forehead.
Drip… drip… drip.
The darkness prevented him anyway, from seeing either the droplets of water, or the apparatus that they came from. Apart from the pressure from the droplets, the only other sense was that of the dark and damp, with a musty smell that invaded his nostrils.
Drip… drip… drip.
He had no idea of the time, or even if it was night or day. His mind was unfocussed and wandering. Even the most recent of focussed thoughts, of hunger and thirst, had subsided. The occasional droplet splashing on his bare forehead would send a minute cascade onto his upper lip, his tongue reaching out to moisten his dry lips.
Drip… drip… drip.
His first thoughts when he had first woken up were those of confusion. He remembered being in the interrogation room, questioned by the officer assigned to him. Then he took a drink of water. Was it water? Yes, it was water. But that was all he remembered. He didn’t remember slumping down in his chair or being dragged out by two MfS guards. After what seemed like only a few moments, coming round from his drugged state, he had established that he was lying down, at a slight angle, his bare feet lower than his head, but his body was tightly strapped to some form of bed or bench. He was unable to move his body or his arms. They, together with his legs, were secured rigidly, his arms strapped to his sides. A metal frame gripped his head, securing it slightly back, forcing his face to look upwards where the incessant drip of water was slowly driving him mad. At first, he had counted the drips, about one every second, using it as some form of clock. After five minutes, he had panicked, sensing a hole forming in the centre of his skull, trying to wrench his head from side to side to escape. All that achieved was to create even more panic, the relentless compressing force of the water seeming to increase tenfold.
Drip… drip… drip.
He groaned.
Drip… drip… drip.
His next strategy was to try and enjoy it, to take pleasure from, the refreshing splashes. But that had lasted a mere few minutes, the hole in his forehead seemingly getting bigger and bigger, deeper and deeper. It was incessant. Is that water I can feel on my head, or is it blood? He thought. It just got worse. His mind screaming, unable to focus on family, friends, his job or even the outside world.