Wilf felt his way back to the main section, the heat from the gas stove taking some of the chill off the man-made underground chamber. He pulled together everything he needed to set the radio up: their only contact with 1 British Corps, or even the outside world. Once surrounded by enemy forces, it would be the only lifeline with the rest of NATO who would more than likely be pulling slowly back against the sheer might of the Soviet armies up against them.
Wilf’s team was what was known as a CPU (Corps Patrol Unit), reporting directly to the Commander of 1 Br Corps, one of the Corps of Northern Army Group that would defend the northern part of Germany. In addition, NORTHAG had a German, Dutch and Belgium Corps, along with an American Corps in reserve, once it arrived in theatre.
The four men of the patrol were from the 21st Special Air Service Regiment, based in England. The hadquarters of the Territorial Army SAS unit was in Regent’s Park, London. C-Squadron, to which Wilf and his men belonged, was quartered in Southampton. Wilf had spent eight years with the Regular SAS at Hereford before moving to 21 SAS as a permanent staff instructor, where so far he had served for three years. Badger, Tag and Hacker were volunteers, with twenty years of service between them. They trained for one primary role: as stay-behind forces. They would hide until the main Soviet forces bypassed them; then they would come out and start feeding intelligence back to their headquarters: plotting the location of Soviet Divisional and Army Headquarters; movement of Soviet and Warsaw Pact formations; and, of particular interest, any nuclear capable artillery and missile launchers.
Once the radio was set up, the aerial pushed up alongside the periscope, Wilf called in. This was no ordinary radio. The PRC-319 was a fifty-watt microprocessor-based radio transceiver that could transmit in both the VHF and HF bands. He turned on his red torch, clipped it to his combat smock, sat down and pulled the electronic message unit onto his knees. The small alpha-numeric keyboard would allow him to type a message for his commander. As it was a burst transmitter, he could send the message data at high speed giving them significant security over standard Clansman radios. With the short aerial, the radio had a range of about twenty kilometres; with the whip antenna they had brought with them, this could be increased to hundreds of kilometres, allowing them to stay in contact even though they may find themselves dropping further and further behind enemy lines.
Task complete, now he had informed HQ they were in situ, he moved to the periscope, a narrow green tube just over a metre long. As soon as he looked through the scope, he laughed.
“What is it, Wilf?”
“Bloody scope’s filthy; forgot to clean it before we came down. Not that I’d be able to see much anyway at this time of night. I’ll go and do it now before daylight.”
“Brew’s done, so don’t be too long. Keep an eye out for the lads. The Hacker’s out there and he’ll shoot at anything.”
Wilf made his way to the entrance, picking up his rifle on the way, shuffling down the T-bar, not much wider than his shoulders. He stopped by the entrance and looked back towards where Tag was also mixing some grub for them. Living here for how long, he thought. A few days if the politicians sorted it out? A week? Or, if it all went to rat shit, weeks.
Chapter 21
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
William sat up slowly, grabbed his watch from the bedside table, and peered at the luminous figures and hands that told him it was one in the morning. He had been asleep for less than two hours. He felt movement alongside him as his wife also sat up, punching her pillows up so she was comfortable, and shuffled up close to her husband. Although William had slept fitfully for a couple of hours, his wife had lain awake thinking and worrying. Despite the fact that the soldiers’ families had been excluded from the detail regarding the military’s plans for evacuating the dependants living in West Germany, some information had filtered down. She was now starting to feel scared. Her husband would be leaving to deploy as ordered, and she had received instructions to be prepared should she and their daughter be required to move to the airport and be flown back to England.
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
“How long will you be gone?”
He put his arm around her shoulders and pulled her in close. “Just for a few days, sweetheart. We’ll dig in somewhere, the politicians will do some more posturing, agree a compromise where they can all save face; then it will peter out and we can pack up and come back home.”
“Just a few days then?”
“Yes, no more.”
“Will me and Victoria have to leave tomorrow, do you think?”
“I don’t know, I really don’t know. They won’t want to do anything too soon. It will cost a fortune flying everyone back. If they do, you can use it as a holiday and go and see your mum.” He laughed. “Just be ready for when they call you, OK?”
“I will. We’ll miss you.”
He squeezed her tightly and kissed the top of her head. “I’ll miss you both too. Give her a hug and a kiss for me tomorrow, right?”
“This is an alert, this is an alert. This is an Active Edge alert. All military personnel report to their units immediately. This is not an exercise. I repeat, this is not an exercise. All military personnel report to their units immediately.”
As he removed his arm from around her shoulders, she wrapped her arms around his waist and clung to him. “Don’t go, William. Please stay with me and Vicky.”
He felt her tears on his chest and he pulled away from her gently. “I have to, sweetheart. I have to go now.” Throwing his legs over the edge of the bed, he stood up and made his way around the end of the bed. He left the bedroom without looking back, knowing that, if he did, he would see his wife sobbing. Seeing her shaking shoulders would make it so much harder for him to leave, and he knew he had to make the break now. He closed the bedroom door behind him and was about to turn left towards the spare room when he stopped. Decision made, he turned around and headed towards his daughter’s bedroom. Easing the door open gently, he peered inside, his night vision still OK. He could make out his daughter’s form under the Bambi cover, the steady rise and fall of her chest, the mop of thick black hair clearly inherited from her mother. Her face was just above the edge of her covers and he crept over, kneeling down by the side of the bed. He stroked her hair gently. She didn’t stir; just the occasional twitch of her nose as she dreamt about her dolls or teddy, or the pet she kept asking for.
“You sleep well, angel. Daddy will be back to see you soon.”
He heard Sam’s nightdress rustle as she came through the doorway and he felt his wife’s presence as she knelt down, sidling up beside him. Nothing was said; they spent a few quiet moments together as a family, both praying that it would not be their last. William had reassured his wife that the Warsaw Pact and NATO were just flexing their muscles and that his regiment, along with many others, would be out there to bare their teeth. But that was all.
His wife was not entirely convinced though. She could sense his unease and, in spite of the news on BFBS (British Forces Broadcasting Services) playing the situation down, there were constant announcements concerning civilians working abroad, and that soldiers’ wives and families needed to fulfil their role in the evacuation programme for dependants that was being planned.