“Clear, sir.”
“You’d better get moving.”
“Sir.”
Within fifteen minutes, One-Section, under the command of Corporal Reid, his rank now substantive, were heading back the way they had come, before turning south, weaving along the centre track on the high ground, following behind the Scimitar leading. Colour Sergeant Rose was with him. Corporal Stubbings, his most experienced Junior NCO, with Two-Section, headed north along the 588. The NCO sighed with relief when he met up with the second Scimitar, Sergeant Kirby in command, who led them east to climb the Krullbrink.
Dean’s command 432, along with Three-Section, commanded by Acting-Corporal Cole, set off for the crossroads. Dean’s vehicle led, and they were soon travelling in excess of forty kilometres per hour. It was a good metalled road; potted with trees either side, but not too many that would obscure their view. The road weaved gently; then angled left and right. He sniffed the air: it felt fresh. To his right, yellow fields that had once perhaps been wheat or cornfields; on his left, green root vegetables, maybe cabbages or potatoes. They were approaching a large farm on the right, and Dean ordered his driver to slow down. He was looking at the tracks that had torn up the ground north of the farm. Used as a lager for armoured vehicles at some point, he thought. It was his last thought as the high explosive anti-tank warhead of the 9M124 Kobra missile struck his 432. At hypersonic speed, twenty-five times the speed of sound, the jet of molten metal penetrated the front of Dean’s vehicle, the spall stripping the flesh from his legs, his driver dead as the battle taxi swerved off the road, only to be hit a second time by a kinetic penetrator shot from a second T-80, fired from off the road. This struck the 432 on its slabbed side, knocking it over, the pressure wave and deadly particle spray inside killing the men within and blowing the rear door open. The same fate met Three-Section.
Some elements of 20th Guards Army were very much functional and ready for a fight.
Chapter 36
The Bear, Major General Turbin, commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division, leant on the collapsible wooden table in front of him, his head hanging between his shoulders. He lifted his head as an explosion shook the foundations of the house he had occupied as his temporary headquarters. In anticipation of a quick push west, his main headquarters had been set-up on the west bank of the river, and he had just been informed that it had been hit hard, and the majority of his senior staff had been either killed or captured. Why didn’t I foresee this?
He swept the maps off the table in rage, his anger building up. Why had higher command authorised this when the British still had a powerful force available, and 20th Guards Army were still whining over a glass of vodka?
The door to the room put aside for him creaked as it was opened.
“Get out!”
The deputy commander and political officer, Colonel Yolkin, continued on into the room. “Headquarters are wanting an update, Comrade General. They are insisting that we counter the British attack and push west. We have special forces creating opportunities for us.”
“There will be no counter-attack, Comrade Colonel.”
“You have your orders, Comrade General.”
“The last set of orders were pointless. We launched our attack too soon. So why should these later ones be any better?”
“Then I will… have to relieve you of command, Comrade General,” the political officer blurted out, his voice shaky.
The general lifted his hands off the table and raised his body to its full height, still facing away from the colonel. “And you will lead my men to victory? What will you use? Political speeches?”
“I’m sorry, Comrade General, but I must ask you to step down. I shall report your behaviour to my superiors.”
Yolkin turned and headed for the door at the same time the Bear turned to face him. “Colonel Yolkin.”
The man turned back round to face his commander and felt his body jerk at the same time the Makarov pistol, held out in front of the Bear, barked twice.
“You’ll be reporting to no one.”
Chapter 37
With only three tanks left in his platoon, leaving two behind on Stop-Line Dallas, Lieutenant Dardenne waited for the enemy to appear for a second time that day. He knew that, if they could blunt the next attack, a counter-attack would be launched, and he and his men would get some desperately needed respite.
“Tango-One-One. Standby for outgoing. Out.”
Artillery at last. Artillery, he knew, with its immense destructive power, was one of the key assets in the forthcoming battle. His history studies had informed him that, during World War 2, artillery fire was responsible for nearly seventy per cent of casualties. He prayed that, in this more modern war, they would inflict a similar level of casualties on the Soviet forces. The gunners would not be able see their target. They would have to rely on mathematical calculations, using computers, to hit enemy targets many kilometres away. The forward observer team to his left was under his protection. As an armoured company, his unit had one M981. Its crew consisted of a lieutenant, a non-commissioned officer, and two soldiers. They would be advising the company commander on fire support issues.
The fire direction centre command post, the M577 FDC, located nearby, was a hive of activity. Numerous platoons of US M109s, in staggered lines, waited for orders from the brains of the artillery. To ensure they didn’t become an easy target themselves, the howitzers were scattered over a wide area. Weather and meteorological data was fed into the complex systems of the FDC. SP4 Gorman tapped the keys of the consul as he stared at the red numerals lighting up as he fed in the required information.
The ground out to 2,000 metres in front of Dardenne’s platoon seemed to boil; a cauldron of hot explosives and splinters engulfed the Soviet advanced unit. But there was more to come.
The pilot, after receiving his orders via radio, banked left; coming out of the circuit he and his wingman had just flown. The two aircraft had been loitering for ten minutes, waiting for confirmation from base via the ground forces below that their targets were approaching the killing ground. North of the two aircraft, another pair of tank busters also manoeuvred, ready to follow in behind their fellow pilots. On receiving instructions from the lead plane, the four Warthog A-10As flew east, keeping no more than 300 metres above the ground. Flying at a steady speed of 480 kilometres per hour, they would be on target in less than four minutes. The four aircraft had left their base twenty minutes earlier; a base that consisted of a dozen soft-skinned vehicles and part of a German Autobahn as a runway. Their original airfield at Spangdahlem was undergoing repairs after yet another attack by Soviet bombers, missiles from Soviet SCUD-B launchers, and an attack by Spetsnaz sleepers. The SCUD missile had been the most disruptive, one landing directly on the airbase, dispersing a lethal nerve agent. The chemical agent used was a persistent agent, and the base required extensive decontamination before it would be fully functional again. Other aircraft, flown over from RAF Bentwaters and RAF Alconbury in Great Britain, were also getting in position to attack. Despite the tactical nuclear strike, one on the 8th Guards Army and one on the 3rd German Army, NVA, the Soviets were determined to strike for the heart of Frankfurt: disrupt the US army’s supply lines, destroy its stockpiles of ammunition, and overrun bases and airfields. The commander of US V Corps was about to hit back. After being hit hard by artillery bombardments and air strikes, forces on the ground had pulled back a further five kilometres, Colorado their latest defence line. The Soviet commanders, sensing victory, had lunged at the retreating enemy. Pushing forward a full tank regiment of over eighty T-64 tanks. Although finding the terrain difficult to negotiate, the damage caused by the numerous nuclear ADMS, used to break up the ground they would have to cross, they had succeeded in pulling together a spearhead that drove right through the centre of the defending forces around Schluchtern.