“Ammo?”
“Will get back to you on that, sir. Over.”
“Milan FP?”
“Secure, sir. Over.”
“Roger that. You and One-Section are secure. Three-Section down to four men, but holding. Soviets regrouping. Will likely attack from rear and front. Over.”
“Understood, sir. We getting help? Over.”
“Yes, Whiskey-Two-Two. Help on way. Just hold firm. Out.”
Crump… crump… crump.
Crump… crump… crump.
Barker saw the explosions 200 metres out to the front, then moving out to 800 metres, where it was hoped the salvos of mortar bombs would disrupt the enemy. The Soviet paratroopers would no doubt be preparing for a second assault.
He completed a quick check of his men and did an ammo count. They were low and would need a resupply pretty soon. Powell was out of the fight now. He must ask after him on his next comms call. His second-in-command, Lance Corporal ‘Woody’ Woods, and Jenkins were still in the fight, as was Barnes. Kennedy was dead, but Miller and ‘Ripper’ Reid were still fit and well. His radio operator, Blackie, a blacksmith in Civvy Street, a Geordie from the outskirts of Newcastle, was standing next to him. So, including himself, he had a section of seven men.
“Corp, look.” Blackie was pointing east in the direction of Hartum.
Barker swapped his SLR for binoculars and scanned the area out to his front. A shaky image flickered in his lens. Lodging his elbows on the edge of the sandbags, he focussed in on the moving target again. This time, an armoured vehicle shimmered into view.
“Stand to, stand to,” he warned his men. “Blackie, radio.”
He clicked the handset and transmitted. “Hello, Whiskey-Two, this is Whiskey-Two-Two. Movement 800 metres east of my location, enemy armour. Two, I repeat two Bravo Mike Deltas. Over.”
He turned to Reid. “Ripper, make sure the Milan team are ready.”
“Corporal.” With that, the soldier clambered out of the slit trench, bypassing the next two until he arrived at the Milan FP, passing on his section commander’s warning.
“Hello Whiskey-Two-Two, this is Whiskey-Two. Acknowledge your last. Keep me informed. With you in figures ten. Out.”
Barker checked the horizon again. Out to their front was nothing but a patchwork of fields. Flat, open ground. If only we had some bloody Chieftain tanks, he thought. He checked the activity out there again, but they had not made any progress. However, he could now see at least four BMDs lining up for an attack. Where will they strike? He wondered. Would they go for another part of the line? Barker’s company, Whiskey Company, recruited from the area of Alnwick and Berwick-upon-Tweed, was defending Sudhemmern, blocking the L766 that ran through the village, running parallel with the Mittellandkanal to the south. 2nd Platoon of Whiskey Company was dug in north of the Village of Sudhemmern. X-Ray Company, made up of mainly Geordies from Newcastle and recruits from Hexham, had the defence of Nordhemmern, a kilometre north. They blocked the K-14. Yankee-Company held the crossroads at Holzhauser Damm, with Zulu Company, HQ and Support-Company positioned around Hille to the west as the Battalion’s reserve. The bulk of 15th Infantry Brigade was defending the River Weser. 2nd Battalion, the Yorkshire Volunteers, had been given a three-kilometre stretch north of Minden. German home defence units would defend the town itself. The 4th Battalion (Volunteers), the Parachute Regiment, would defend up as far as Petershagen. The 1st Battalion, the Yorkshire Volunteers and the 7th Battalion, the Light Infantry were now the divisional reserve, resting in Lubecke and Rahden. The two battalions had taken a beating whilst defending the earlier stop-lines, quickly pushed back by a far more powerful force. They were functional, but badly mauled.
A sprinkling of stones and dirt clattered on the lengths of wood on the floor of the firing position, used to give the soldiers a solid footing while fighting. Lieutenant Cox’s boots weren’t far behind as he dropped alongside Corporal Barker, his platoon runner close behind him.
“Shit. You scared me then, sir.”
“Sorry, Corporal Barker, I was in a bit of a rush to get out of the open,” his platoon commander responded with a smile. “What’s happening out there?”
“I can see movement. At least half a dozen armoured vehicles, sir.”
“Radio.”
His runner passed over the handset.
“Whiskey-Two-Three, this is Whiskey-Two. Over.”
“This is Whiskey-Two-Three. Go ahead, sir. Over.”
“What can you see to your front? Over.”
“Same as Two-Two have been reporting, sir. BMDs. We think figures six. Over.”
“Roger that. Have your men stand to. They’ll be coming at us soon. Out to you. Hello Whiskey-Two-Alpha, this is Whiskey-Two. Over.”
“Whiskey-Two-Alpha. With Whiskey-Two-One sir. Over.” Sergeant Fox, the platoon sergeant responded.
“Stay with them. Elements of Whiskey-One at your location yet? Over.”
“Negative. But Three-Three-Alpha inform with us in three. Roger so far? Over.”
“Roger.”
“Resupply, your location figures five. Over.”
Cox turned to Corporal Barker. “The CSM will resupply us in five.” Then he spoke to Sergeant Fox again. “Acknowledged. Request a section from Whiskey-One on standby to reinforce us here. Over.”
“Wilco, sir.”
“Out to you. Hello Zero-Whiskey. This is Whiskey-Two, have sitrep. Over.” He turned towards his NCO. “Corporal Barker.”
“Sir?”
“Make sure your ammo is redistributed until resupply gets here.”
“Sir.”
“Oh, and make sure grenades are at hand. I think we’ll be needing them.”
“Sir.”
“Whiskey-Two. What have you got for me, Edward.”
“We have at least six Bravo Mike Deltas forming up to our front. Seven hundred metres out. Over.”
“You will have to hold, Edward. There has been a second airborne assault on Black-Diamond. They are prepping for a river crossing. Over.”
“Hell, sir, we have one Milan post. Isn’t there any more help?”
“No. I will use Whiskey-One to plug any gaps if they breach yours or Whiskey-Three’s locations. The battalion will deal with the airborne building up to our rear, but you have to hold the element to our front. Do you understand that, Edward? Over.”
Lieutenant Cox lowered his handset, watched as Corporal Barker weaved his way back, nodding his head to indicate that he had carried out his platoon commander’s orders.
“We’ll hold, sir.”
“I’ve just been informed that we have elements of the recce platoon. I’ll send you and Whiskey-Three one unit each and keep two in reserve. The mobile Milan section will also respond where needed, but they have a large area to cover.”
“Understood, sir. We’ll do it.”
“I know, Ed. Good luck. Out.”
“We getting help then, sir?” Asked Barker.
“No, Kevin, we’re not.”
Corporal Barker looked up at his platoon commander. He had a lot of respect for the man. A senior engineer with a medium-sized construction company, he had learnt the art of managing men of all types of character and differing levels of education. Unlike a regular army unit, the relationship between officer and the soldiers was on a different footing. They may have been under full military discipline whilst on drill weekends and training exercises, but once completed, the men or women would return to their day-to-day jobs. Kevin was a trainee engineer at a major hospital in Newcastle, so he and the lieutenant had often had debates about how the NHS could improve the mechanical side of their operation, particularly in the operation of coal and gas-fired boilers that provided the hospitals with heating, hot water and the sterilisation of surgical instruments.