Pushkin clambered onto the glacis of the command tank, and a head immediately popped out of the tank commander’s hatch to greet him.
“Sir. For what reason are we owed this honour of a visit?” asked Lieutenant Colonel Trusov.
“Making sure your bloody tankers have camouflaged their vehicles properly, Pavel.”
“I suspected you’d be doing your rounds, sir, so I’ve already been around kicking arses.” He laughed.
Pushkin clambered up the frontal armour, right of the barrel, and squatted down by the turret, in front of the smoke dischargers. “I knew you’d be on the ball.”
“So, what the fuck’s going on then, sir? The entire bloody division is crammed into this area. Why have we been pulled out of Exercise молот 84?”
During the last forty-eight hours, 10 Guards Tank Division (Uralsko-Lvovskaya Division), had moved in its entirety into the area of Lindenwald, East Germany, and were now spread out over an area of fifteen square kilometres. 62nd GTR was in the centre of the forest, 61st GTR to the north, and 63rd GTR somewhere to the north-west. Over 300 main battle tanks and their supporting units were cammed up waiting for further orders. The area occupied by the full division was situated thirty-kilometres north-west of the city of Magdeburg. Sometimes the crews could smell the smog on the breeze, coming from the direction of the industrialised city. With winter fires, the city was often covered in a blanket of thick, foul-smelling smog. To their south-east was Colbitz and Lindhurst, south-west Haldensleben, north-west Letjungen and, to the north-east, Ludentz. Directly north of them, south of Uchtspringe, a huge military training ground existed, the criss-cross tracks of heavy tank usage clearly visible from the air. A battered piece of ground, ten-kilometres long by five-kilometres wide, the division’s units had often trained on there, the crews practising their skills at tank handling and the officers getting used to large-scale tank manoeuvres.
Pushkin held his hand up. “Hold up, hold up. The divisional commander will be briefing us later today or tomorrow. Perhaps we’ll get more detail then. But in the meantime, for God’s sake, be patient, Pavel.”
“Poland?”
“I hope not. Unlikely.” Pushkin shifted until he was more comfortable, sitting on the edge of the cold armour of the turret. “They would have chosen at least a motor rifle division for that. Our 248th MRR wouldn’t be enough on its own.”
“These monsters would soon put a stop to any of their tricks.” Pavel laughed as he patted the solid steel of the turret.
“There wouldn’t be any buildings left if these were let loose on the streets,” responded Pushkin with a chuckle.
“Makes sense, I suppose. Infantry units would do better on the streets; the BMPs will give them plenty of support. Perhaps they just want our infantry to back up whoever gets the job.”
“Maybe.”
“Why have we got so much live ammo, though?” Pavel pointed through the turret hatch to the ammo bins below. “Christ, these bloody missiles cost a fortune.”
“Reel it in, Pavel. You say too much sometimes. All will be revealed soon enough.”
“I’ve only ever fired one of these missiles in the last twelve months.”
“What’s the status on your battalion?”
“Pretty good, sir. Thirty fully operational, one in maintenance.”
“That’s good.”
“Most of the travel has been by road transport or rail. Plus, we’ve been taken out of the exercise early, so not surprising breakdowns are low.” Trusov pulled a small flask from his pocket, unscrewed the top and offered it to his regimental commander. “It’s good stuff, not that crap we’re getting from supply.”
“Don’t let our beloved political officer hear you say that, Pavel.” Pushkin lowered his voice to a whisper.
“I know, I know, sir.”
“Your mouth is going to be the death of you if you’re not careful. And I mean that literally.”
“I’ll tone it down. Now, can I have my flask back, sir, before you drink it all?”
Pushkin took one last swig then passed it back. “You’re right, it’s pretty good stuff,” he said, smacking his lips. “Talking of our beloved deputy divisional commander, I need to go and find him. He wants to go through the new announcements he’s prepared for the troops.”
“To our beloved Mother Russia,” said Trusov, raising his flask.
“Make sure your men are up to speed, Pavel,” Pushkin said sternly and slid down off the turret, bumped his way over the ERA (Explosive Reactive Armour) blocks and jumped off the front of the tank. He needed to seek out the deputy commander, the political officer, the deputy commander’s responsible for ‘technical’ and ‘rear’, to get a quick update, and a fuller update from his divisional commander, Major General Abramov. Maybe they were finally going to find out what was in store for them.
Fifty-kilometres away, another division belonging to 3 Shock Army, a key striking force of GSFG (the Group of Soviet Forces Germany), was settling down in an assembly area, their T64A tanks also cammed up amongst the forests chosen to hide them away from prying eyes. The forests were north-west of Gommern, about twenty-two kilometres east of the River Elbe. A group of Soviet officers were sitting around a mixture of temporary tables inside a large tent erected by the signals battalion headquarters. It had now been hijacked by the divisional commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division; a covered space where he could converse with his most senior combat officers. It was a select few. The commanders of his three tank regiments, the solitary motor rifle regiment and the 18th Independent Guards Reconnaissance Battalion. The other units had been excluded, along with the chief of staff, the political officer, who was also the deputy divisional commander, the other rear area commanders and the support arms. It wasn’t a formal briefing; he just wanted to get some real feedback from his key unit commanders.
“I know you have lots of questions,” stated the giant of a man who sat on a chair in front of them; a chair that creaked as a consequence of his weight every time he moved. The commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division, Major General Oleg Turbin, the ‘Bear’, was not overweight; far from it. He was just stocky, with a heavy, muscled, large frame. Many of his subordinates had felt the power of this man when they had failed to meet one of the tasks set by him. They did everything within their control to ensure there wasn’t a second foul-up. “The truth is I don’t know what’s happening. For the moment, anyway. I have been ordered to secrete the division in the Lodderitzer Forest and await further orders. In the meantime, the division is to be made ready for full combat.”