“I wouldn’t like to be on the receiving end of that lot, sir.” Trusov pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his tunic. It was light enough now that they could smoke, not that they had anticipated any NATO overflights. That would have been an act of war, and the Western governments hadn’t got the guts to start anything, according to their divisional commander, General Kasapev. “Sir?”
Pushkin took a cigarette from the proffered pack of plain cigarettes. “Still smoking these foul things, Pavel?”
“You complain about them, but I’ve never see you refuse one,” Trusov shouted back above the noise of the engines as one of the BM-27 drivers put on the power to negotiate a particularly deep rut.
“It’s not often you give anything away.”
The last of the self-propelled multiple-rocket launcher systems, mounted on a chassis similar to that used to carry the FROG-7 missile, drove by. With two engines, one driving the right-hand set of wheels and one the left, they could power the vehicle to an impressive speed of sixty-kilometres per hour.
“Now, now, sir.”
“But you’re right.”
“About what?”
“About being on the receiving end of that lot. It would certainly ruin your day.”
“A step up from the BM-21s.”
“Significantly.” Pushkin held up his hand and ticked off his fingers. “Sixteen 220mm rocket launchers on each platform. What’s that? Eighteen vehicles making it 288 rockets?”
“Sounds about right, Comrade Colonel. So they’ll be bombarding the NATO covering force ahead of us, or beyond?”
“Ahead of us. That’s what has been agreed. We will have some major support.”
Trusov pulled out a map and indicated that they should cross the track to where a small bivouac had been assembled and a table and a couple of chairs placed inside, for the use of the battalion commander.
“Can I go over a couple of things with you, sir?”
“Something bothering you, Pavel?”
“Just want to make sure my battalion doesn’t let the regiment and division down.”
“Head like a sieve, Pavel.” The colonel laughed. “Come on then.”
They made their way across the now deeply rutted track that ran through the trees and headed for 2nd Battalion’s temporary HQ. Trusov held the camouflage netting up to allow his commander to duck underneath and enter the small two-by-two metre covered space. It was open at two sides, allowing enough light to enter and enabling them to see the detail on the map Trusov had laid out on the table. He withdrew his pistol and a spare magazine, using them as paperweights to keep the map flat.
Trusov leant over the table. “Right sir, Helmstedt. The division has a sector twenty kilometres wide. With Helmstedt north of the centre, that means a front from south of Grasleben in the north to south of Schoningen. We don’t normally have such a narrow front.”
Pushkin tapped the map. “As a result of us being able to bring our second strategic echelon up to strength, we are in a position to reduce our divisional fronts for the offensive. But our breakthrough sector has to be less than five if we are to concentrate our forces and punch through.” He looked up at his battalion commander. “3rd Shock Army is the first and second echelon of the first strategic echelon. It is 3 Shock that is going punch through their lines. Our Northern Army boundary ties in with 2 Guards Tank Army and our southern boundary with 1 Guards Tank Army. The objective is to push two divisions of the first operational echelon forward, ours and the 7th. Our first echelon regiments, us and the 248th GMRR, will be the first to attack the NATO covering force.” He pointed to the villages of Supplingenburg and Supplingen. “We have to try and bypass these, push north-west and strike north of Konigslutter. I intend to deploy the 1st Battalion from line of march and cover the flanks while you, Pavel,” he patted his junior’s shoulder, “have to punch right through the middle of the two villages. Don’t stop. You have to smash through and secure the point north of Konigslutter. Keep going if you can but, if you get bogged down, I will release Aleksey’s Motor Rifle Battalion. I shall keep the 3rd Tank Battalion in reserve.”
“You make it sound easy, Comrade Colonel.”
Pushkin slumped down in the canvas backed chair, and pulled off his black beret and placed it on the collapsible square table. “Are you scared, Pavel?”
Trusov looked at his commander, black chest hair just poking above the front of his collar and tie, the same colour as his one piece tank coverall. He responded. “I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t.”
“Good.” Pushkin pulled out a flask containing some vodka from his own personal stocks, took a pull on the drink and then passed it to his junior. “Not as good as yours, but it still has bite.”
Trusov took the proffered container and pulled a face as he too partook of a drink. “So too has antifreeze.”
“We shouldn’t necessarily be scared, Pavel, but we should be very wary. We are up against the British, and they don’t give in easily.” The colonel swallowed another tipple and offered it to Trusov again who declined. “Ten years ago, or even five, I wouldn’t have felt confident about going up against NATO.” He leant forward. “But now, Pavel, we have the equipment that can finally match theirs, and in much bigger quantities. You saw those BM-27s. There’s a lot more where they came from. They’re going to be well and truly pounded before we even start to attack.”
Trusov sat down on the seat opposite and swept his hand over the map. “With the 2nd Guards Army using the A2 autobahn as their southern boundary, and 1st Guards to our south, the enemy won’t know which way to turn.”
“Exactly. You concentrate on Konigslutter, leave the forest of Der Elm and north of Schoningen to the 248th. 7GTD will be pushing from Schoningen up through Schoppenstedt to come in from behind.”
“My battalion will do their bit, Comrade Colonel.”
“I know, Pavel, that’s why I’ve chosen you for the toughest job. Right, we move out in sixteen hours, so I want to do some last-minute checks with your fellow officers. Then I will get our final briefing from the general. Let them know that I will be holding a final briefing at 1800 before we move out.”
“Understood, Comrade Colonel.”
Pushkin stood up, as did Trusov, replaced his beret, returned his junior officer’s salute and left the tent.
The Divisional Commander of the 12th Guards Tank Division hit the wooden table three times with a half empty vodka bottle.
“We go to war soon,” bellowed ‘The Bear’. “To be selected as the army’s operacyjna grupa manewrowa is a great honour placed on us by our commander and our motherland.”
He looked around at his full headquarters: over twenty officers crammed into the smoke-filled marquee erected by his signals battalion headquarters. The fug increased as he lit up yet another of his foul-smelling Belomorkanal cigarettes. The full complement of the division’s officers present were sitting around a mixture of temporary tables, communications equipment lined up on the one side, maps of the West pinned to some of the other sides. The commanders of the main teeth arms were present: the 48th, 332nd and 353rd Guards Tank Regiments, 200th Guards Motor Rifle Regiment, and the 18th Independent Guards Reconnaissance Battalion. There were also men from the signals battalion, self-propelled artillery regiment, surface-to-air missile battalion, guards engineer battalion, supply, repair, medical and the chemical defence company. The senior officers were also in attendance: the Chief of Staff, Pyotr Usatov, the two Deputy Commanders responsible for ‘Technical’ and the ‘Rear’, the Political Officer and Deputy Commander of the Division, Colonel Arkaldy Yolkin, and the Chief of Rocket Troops. The Commander of the Tank Division, Major General Oleg Turbin was a hard taskmaster, and he pushed his officers and men relentlessly to make his division one of the best in the Soviet Army.