The US command had been patient. Resisting demands to throw in reinforcements earlier, conscious that hundreds of soldiers on the ground were dying, they had kept their nerve. But now was the time to release their surprise. Four tactical fighter squadrons were launched: two from tactical fighter wings stationed in Great Britain, and two squadrons from West Germany. There was also the additional and unexpected support from a US navy carrier that was in the process of launching yet another strike.
The ground raced beneath Major Tuckey as he flew his aircraft, at times below 200 metres, at speed towards the enemy. Behind him, three others were strung out. He just caught a glimpse of US forces below, getting into position again after their withdrawal; digging in ready to hold the Soviet breakthrough. Behind them was a fresh, fully armed US armoured brigade, one of three forming up after arriving from the US, waiting their turn to hit the enemy, payback for all their buddies that had been lost since the start of the war.
“Two minutes,” came the warning over his headset. The American big guns, M107s, M110s, M109s, with their 175mm and 155mm shells pounded the Soviet force’s rear area, destroying some of the surface-to-air missile launchers. Other ground-attack aircraft had launched ARM missiles, the explosive packages seeking out the Soviet SAM missile radars. Fighter aircraft were providing a CAP overhead and a small mixed force, fighters and bombers, had secretly penetrated deep into the Soviet lines to pop up and provide the Soviet fighters with an alternative distraction.
“One minute,” Major Tuckey informed the flight he was leading.
He dropped his speed, the other three as practised doing the same. They then climbed up to 1,200 metres, enabling them to have a better view of the battlefield and the targets they sought. Their main armament was best suited to a slant range of 1,200 metres with the A-10 in a thirty-degree dive.
There, he said to himself as he spotted a line of tanks moving at speed west. But he had another target in his sights first. He saw the four barrels of the ZSU-23/4 swing towards him as he depressed the trigger. His A-10 shook as a 23mm round clipped his cockpit, but the titanium-armoured shell, the ‘Bathtub’, protected him and his aircraft.
The GAU-8/A Avenger Gatling-type cannon fixed beneath was at speed in less than a second and, within one second, it had fired fifty, 30mm depleted-uranium armour-piercing rounds, sixty per cent of them hitting the ZSU Shilka along with its comrade fifty metres behind. The furthest was immediately disabled; the second, the closest, was torn apart.
Tuckey banked right, jinking occasionally, then banked left as a line of three T-64s came into view, a trail of dust thrown up behind each one as they travelled at speed. Once in his sights, they received a long burst. A full second, now the gun was at full speed, resulted in seventy rounds targeting the three main battle tanks. Thirty-two of them struck home, the majority punching through the thinner top armour. Major Tuckey didn’t see the end result as he pulled into a steep climb, banking hard left, seeking out more tanks or tracked ground-to-air weapons systems. The three others were doing the same with only two minutes left on target. Suddenly, one of their party pulled out, limping back to base. A huge chunk of the left wing had disappeared, the fuel tank had been punctured, and the main body had been peppered with 23mm shells from a third Shilka. The self-sealing fuel tank, protected by fire-retardant foam, had done its job and, using one of the triple-redundancy flight systems, the pilot would get back in one piece. The remaining three picked their targets, each one knowing where the other was looking, and launched their second weapons system. Major Tuckey fired his first Maverick anti-tank missile. Two seconds later, it connected with a T-64 on the left top of its fighting compartment, a ring of flame and smoke ejecting from the turret ring as it lifted the turret two metres into the air, the crew dead, the tank finished as a weapon of war. This time, he banked right, pulling up and round, setting his position for one last attack. A huge flash pricked his eye as an SA-6 SAM missile, followed by an SA-9 missile, struck an A-10 so accurately and with such force that with all its armour and fail-safe systems it was literally destroyed in mid-air. He cursed under his breath, came in again at 1,200 metres, and let rip with the 30mm cannon, catching two BMP-1s swerving left and right, doing whatever they could to avoid the airborne tank busters above them. Further back, eight more of the tank busters were on the way, lined up for a further attack. And behind them, two more squadrons. Once the devastation of the tank regiment was complete, the Soviets would have to face a second major counter attack.
Chapter 38
Having lost five in the last thirteen hours, what were left of the tanks of Combat Team Bravo had dispersed along the edge of the wooded area east of Haste. It was late in the day, and they were low on fuel and ammunition. Fuel bowsers had been promised, but ground-attack aircraft had hit them as the Soviet air force sought revenge for the counter-attack that came out of the blue, catching the Soviet forces completely off guard. But, until they received a resupply, it would be madness to go any further forward. They had also been promised that the US 2nd Brigade and 7th Armoured Brigade were on their way to bolster the attack that would continue the next day.
“Sir, sir.”
“What? What?” answered Alex as he jolted his body upwards, having fallen asleep slumped over the turret hatch. “Corporal Patterson… what’s up?”
“Thought you might feel better for a tea, sir.”
Captain Alex Wesley-Jones rubbed his eyes, took the hot, sweet drink and felt its positive effect within a matter of moments. His body felt drained. If he didn’t know better, he would have considered himself to be suffering from a severe dose of flu.
“Thank you, Corporal.”
“You’re welcome, sir.”
“Where are Mackinson and Ellis?”
“Asleep, sir. I’ve just relieved Ellis on stag. Thought a brew would go down well. Didn’t mean to wake you.”
“That’s OK. You lads did well today.”
“Gave the Sovs a kicking, and that’s no mistake, sir.”
“We did, but it’s not over yet.”
“Do you think we might actually win, sir? I just want to go home.”