Fight Through

CHAPTER 4

Colonel Leo Lužar’s 43^rd Motor Rifle Regiment led the way for the rest of the reconstituted Rzeszów Motor Rifle Division. It wound its way past wrecked and burnt out fighting vehicles of all types. The twisted, fire warped and shattered remains of aircraft, the fighters, fighter-bombers and helicopters from both sides were evident in the green hues of the colonel’s night viewing device. Multi-millions of the people’s roubles and dollars reduced to scrap value where they had fallen.

The Rzeszów Motor Rifle Division had been rebuilt from the remains of two other divisions following its abortive attack on the British 3^rd Mechanised Brigade.

Second Shock Army, to which they belonged, along with Tenth Tank Army had been worn down by constant attacks upon NATO since the start of the war. They had been reduced from seven divisions to just three, and were no longer capable of the shock they were supposed to deliver.

Lužar’s 43^rd MRR had done better than the rest of the division by actually getting across the river. Only the Mitterland Kanal had separated them from the flesh and blood defenders, the US paratroopers and British guardsmen.

For the lack of bridging sections the attack had failed, and that was the only reason he had not been taken into the woods and shot in the back of the neck with the other regimental commanders. His defence of the efforts by the engineers to complete their task had saved another life, that of their commander.

This time they were doing it differently, a battalion of infantry had preceded them under the cover of heavy artillery pounding the far bank with H.E and smoke. Both they and the light assault boats they had dragged forward were concealed amongst the detritus of war, the armoured vehicles and ruined bridging equipment from the past two attempts to cross at this spot.

This was familiar terrain for Lužar, his previous attack had taken place three miles south of this point, and his job tonight was similar, that of securing the far bank whilst the first ribbon bridge was put across. The perimeter would be extended until the entire division had crossed and the Polish 9^th Division had achieved a similar goal to the south of them. The Polish and the Hungarian Divisions were the door stoppers, they would re-orientate, facing along the NATO line to the north and south, keeping the breach open for Third and Sixth Shock Armies to pass through, followed by the rest of their own formations before rolling NATO up from the flank.

Lužar had deployed his regiment from road march five miles back, and it was now had the tactical spacing between his vehicles to minimise damage from all but an MLRS strike. He had been given assurances, once again, that NATO’s multi launch rocket systems had been neutralised. Half a mile from the river he gave the signal to the infantry who began their assault river crossing covered by a renewed artillery barrage.

It was too far away for him to see the men dragging the aluminium boats down the steeply sloping bank and seating the outboard motors. Feeling extremely exposed the infantrymen attempted to offer the smallest possible targets as they laboured, before entering the fragile craft and pushing off towards the opposite bank.

At the halfway point each and every man was wondering at point the defenders would unleash a withering storm of artillery followed by small arms.

Colonel Lužar briefly changed frequencies to the Poles command net. His Polish was limited, but good enough to note that there were no contact reports or calls for help being put out. Always assuming that they had jumped off on schedule, at the same time as the 43^rd Motor Rifle Regiment then the opposition they were encountering was apparently light.

He turned back to his own net and as the river came into sight he heard the infantry battalion’s commander reporting that they had reached the far bank without loss. The man sounded anxious, as if he feared they had stepped into a trap that was going to close at any moment.

“Where the hell has NATO gone?”

“Colonel?”

Lužar had spoken aloud without realising, and he looked down at his sergeant.

“Nothing, let us just keep alert, okay?”

Two fierce air battles broke out over the skies of Europe, one over NATO’s rear areas and the other over the Red Army’s.

The Red Air Force’s build up in the skies over the Czech/German border was watched by Lt Col Ann-Marie Chan and her controllers orbiting above the German countryside west of Bielefeld. Lt Col Chan and her squadron had arrived at Geilenkirchen AFB whilst the wreckage was still being cleared. The bodies had all been removed but there had still been blood stains on the concrete of the dispersal they had been allotted and the dispersal’s former occupant had lain where the bulldozers had left it, tens of millions of dollars’ worth of scrap with its tail number still visible despite the fire scarring.

Tonight she counted the regiments of strike aircraft and their escorts and advised the AC to begin extending their orbit to the northwest in preparation for repositioning.

The Soviet’s knew that 4^th Corps was on the move and their sorties today would be at the road network and not at the docks. There were more of them in the air this morning than had been over the past few days but she wasn’t fretting. Popping a mint into her mouth she then sat watching her screens and let her fingers softly drum on the surface of the workstation and murmured to herself.

“Come on boys, momma’s got a surprise for you.”

The moment that her screens indicated that the Soviet strikes were inbound she scrambled German Tornado’s, Dutch, American and Belgian F-16s to intercept, whilst at the same time starting several other balls rolling.

The Charles De Gaulle’s air wing had made a low level run from the North Cape several hours previously. Keeping the coast of Norway over the horizon and avoiding radar contact it had eventually turned to enter the Kattegat and passed the small island of Anholt before landing at the Swedish Air Force base of Angelholm-Barkakra, set beside the stormy waters of the bay known as the Skalderviken.

Refuelled and carrying a heavier weapons load than would have been possible to lift of the short deck of a carrier, they had sat on the runway waiting for the signal to launch.

At Satenas to the north of them and at Malmo to the south, the taxiways were lined with Swedish, Danish and Norwegian aircraft configured for Wild Weasel and air-to-air interception.

Satenas launched first and the aircraft skimmed above rooftops on the journey south, being joined enroute by the French at Angelholm-Barkakra and finally the wings from Malmo. The multi-national force, one hundred and seven airframes strong, crossed the coast and lost even more height as it headed for the shoreline across the Baltic. Along the way the massed formation slimmed down as groups broke off and headed for their own primary targets.

In the south of England an even more diverse force took to the air and set course. Greek paratroopers rode in Danish C-130s, the Turkish airborne brigade in its entirety were carried in French C-130s plus their own Turkish built CN-235s and their ex-Luftwaffe C-160D Transall’s. Spanish and Italian paratroopers were carried aloft in USAF C-141s whilst their own C-130s carried pallets packed with their heavier gear. For the British this was to be the first time since Suez that they would jump into action, although both 1 and 2 Para had been fighting in the line as infantry until a week before. The Territorial battalion, ‘4 Para’, had provided the replacements to bring both battalions up to strength; much to the disgust of 3 Para’s CO who had argued unsuccessfully for his own unit to be relieved in the line by the Territorials and so be able to take part also. The two British battalions were aboard RAF, USN and USAF C-130s which made the three battalions from the 82^nd and the Belgians the only countries who shared a common language with all their aircrafts crews. The British and Americans are united in their beliefs that other is speaking Martian.

RAF Tornado GR4s and Jaguar’s loaded for flak suppression preceded the transport stream with USAF F-15s providing cover. USN F/A-18s and F-14 Tomcats of the USS Gerald Ford’s air wing rode shotgun for the transport aircraft while their E-2C Hawkeyes provided the force with all seeing eyes and the ability to provide ECM when the time came.

Ann-Marie blessed SACEUR for whatever strategy he had used to pry loose the next group of assets. The attrition rate over the past weeks had been frightening, and today she would have been left with only helicopters and a newly arrived A-10 wing, operating with minimal fighter cover to try and stem the tide of enemy armour pouring through the breach in the NATO line.

The Indians were on the rampage and NATO ground forces were circling the wagons.

In southern Europe at the foot of the Italian Alps, the bulk of the cavalry were lifting off from Trento and Bergamo. The three F-16 wings from Italy, Greece and Turkey took to the air, followed by four squadrons of Turkish F-5As and venerable F-4E Phantoms. To the west of them Spain’s F/A-18 wing formed up and headed north also for the first of two rendezvous with tankers. None of the aircraft carried external fuel tanks; their hard points carried ordnance that would be expended before they touched down on the tarmac of designated airfields in France, Germany and the Low Countries.

Thick fog had settled upon the hill along with a fine drizzle, which soaked the hessian strips of the ghillie suits the snipers wore. Big Stef and Bill halted at a challenge from the battalion CP’s sentries, holding their arms and weapons well clear of their bodies as they complied with the requests made of them. Having answered the challenge correctly they squeezed through the sandbags and soggy blankets to enter a dug-out that smelt of damp earth, in the side of a steep sided gully that served as a shelter bay and briefing room. Removing their Bergens they sat upon them as they awaited Major Popham to brief them on their task of the day; however the next person to enter was not the 2 i/c but the battalion padre. He wore the same combat clothing as they did but no webbing and no camm cream on his skin either.

“Good morning boys, the 2 i/c sends his apologies and he will be a few minutes yet.”

Stef knew the man fairly well, muttering a

“G’mornin’ Padre,” as he lowered himself onto a bench made of empty ammunition boxes on the opposite side of the dugout to themselves, Bill on the other hand gave a half nod and stared unseeing at the earth wall opposite, lost in his own thoughts.

The padre had once been a colour sergeant in the Scots Guards before something had happened to change his outlook on life. He had come to the battalion as a captain in the Royal Army Chaplains department, and usually he was a fairly normal kind of guy, but now and again a kind of overbearing zeal seemed to come over him and he would seek out his spiritual charges whether they wanted his counsel or not. In barracks it was not unusual to see soldiers climbing out of windows to avoid him if he was seen entering their accommodation block.

Their current situation as a unit had not been kept a secret; the CO had not made light of it. They were within a whisker of losing the war in Europe, but the remnants of the Guards regiment that had held Hougoumont Farm, and the paratroopers who boasted Saint Mere l’Eglise amongst their units past achievements were not used to running. All the same, the recent loss of an entire platoon had hit both the Brits and Americans hard. Colin Probert and his men had been acknowledged as pretty damn good soldiers and although no one could have been expected to prevail against such odds as they had faced, there was a feeling that if Probert’s platoon could be overrun then what chance did the rest have. Since the over running of 1 Platoon the padre had been getting around the positions, doing his job as he saw it, offering the services of his office to bolster those that may need it.

Bill was vaguely aware of Stef and the padre conversing in low tones but it wasn’t until his partner gave him a dig in the ribs that he realised the priest had addressed him.

“I was saying that I haven’t seen you at my services, since you were attached to the battalion?”

Bill shook his head.

“I tend to catch up on sleep whenever we are back in the battalion lines Padre…it’s nothing personal.”

The padre studied him for a moment before replying.

“Are you an agnostic young man, surely you have heard the word of the Lord?”

Stef had got to know Bill quite well, and knowing him as he did he gave another nudge by way of a warning, but groaned inwardly when it was ignored.

“No Padre, not personally.”

The gauntlet, as far as the padre was concerned, had been flung down. Using what he considered to be reasoned examples, he sought to put doubt into the snipers mind but found instead that Bill had long ago formed his own views on the subject of the established churches of all faiths on the planet.

“Don’t get me wrong padre, I believe in a Supreme Being creating the universe and I believe in good and evil, I just don’t happen to believe, or trust, the interpretation that humankind gives it. In case you had not noticed, we seem to be a bit shy of miracles around here”

“God is all around us, Staff Sergeant. Haven’t you ever witnessed the miracle of birth?”

Bill smiled wryly. “I’ve had occasion to actually deliver a baby padre, so yes I have witnessed that. I often give to charities for famine relief…but I have never witnessed a starving bishop, or even a malnourished mullah for that matter, though.”

After another five minutes the padre accepted that Bill was not about to join the ranks of the born again, and having made his excuses he started to leave, but Bill sent him a parting shot.

“Let me know when they find the missing page to the original bible, padre.”

Pausing before the blackout the padre looked back at the sniper.

“Missing page?”

“Yes Padre, the page at the beginning where it says ‘Names, places, characters and incidents are a product of the authors imagination and any resemblance to any living person or real events is purely coincidental’.”

Bill had gone too far and he realised that fact as soon as he had spoken, so he muttered an apology.

The padre looked at him for a moment, ignoring the attempt to make amends.

“You may not believe but I’ll thank you not to mock those of us that do, Staff Sergeant.”

Stef saved his comments until the padre had disappeared.

“For a copper, your people skills suck at times.”

Bill and Stef had been inside the battalion lines since it had begun to dig in on the hill, but they were now to relieve a sniping pair forward of the battalion perimeter.

The American paratrooper from the 82^nd, Major Popham, came to give them their orders and although both Stef and Bill knew the location of the hide, Major Popham opened a map to show them where the 40 Commando positions were in relation to it.

“To your ten o’clock, about six hundred metres off, is a small copse with dead ground behind it. This is the marines gun line for a battery from 29 Commando Regiment’s 105mm guns, and fourteen hundred metres to your front you will see a small farm with a sunken lane just visible at its left hand edge. The farm is the most visible mark for the rear perimeter of 40 Commando’s real estate, and that sunken lane runs diagonally across your front.” He paused to point out the features on the map.

“Your marines will withdraw along that lane and I need you to report that movement, because if communications between us and them go to rat shit then we isn’t going to get much warning, is we?”

“If Ivan plays it smart, he’ll use that lane too.” Bill used the edge of his thumb to measure the distance on his own map from the foot of the hill to the point where the lane came closest; it was only eight hundred metres.

“When you get on the ground you will see the lane is lined with trees. The marines have prepared most to be dropped behind them as they go, so it will prevent vehicles using it and allow them some breathing space to pass through 1 Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders and set up shop again in pre-prepared positions a mile back. They have a troop of your Hussars with them which will break off and rejoin us once the pass through is complete.” The map showed the Royal Marines fall-back positions backed onto the autobahn that was the Soviet’s goal. There were no such positions beyond that for the men and women of 3 (UK) Mechanised Brigade, beyond the autobahn lay the gun lines, headquarters and support units.

“What’s the timescale sir, when are they expected to make contact?”

Jim knew the answer to that one.

“If they haven’t hit the anti-tank mine field in front by 10am, then they stopped for breakfast somewhere or the…what the hell is a Wimik?”

“It’s the Royal Marines trying to prove they can use words consisting of two syllables.” Stef told him, but seeing the American major was looking blank he quickly added.

“A Wimik is what the marines call a Landrover with ‘fifty cals’ and a Milan post bolted on.”

Jim shrugged and went on.

“Well, they have a screen of Wimik’s out forward a couple of miles beyond the mines to shoot and scoot

“Is there any chance that your 4^th Corps will beat them here, sir?”

Shaking his head Jim folded the map and put it away.

“I doubt it, we are in for a hard fight but if we can hold them long enough, well…”

He left the sentence unfinished and reached across to shake both soldiers by the hand.

“Good luck to you both.”

They pulled their bergens back on and checked for anything rattling before pushing their way back outside and heading for the 3 Company sentry position where they would take the winding route through the field defences to exit the location.

The sound of aircraft passing to the south of them came as they were at the trench that guarded the safe route. It was still foggy and far too dark for them to see the air armada, but the drone of the transports and the fighter escorts were apparently heading east, so it was a toss-up whether they were friendlies on the way to make mischief, or enemy aircraft returning from dropping yet more airborne troops behind them, this time to block 4^th Corps.

They arrived at the hide in plenty of time for the relieved pair to be back in the battalion location before first light, where they would get perhaps a couple of hours of sleep before the Soviet armies arrived.

The hamlet of Struhn, 25 miles east of Magdeburg, had never been much more than a cluster of buildings that other people passed through, even before the autobahn between Berlin and Magdeburg had bypassed it.

With the autobahn a kilometre south and a railway to the north the world passed Struhn by even faster than before. That had changed to an extent when NATO had avoided being outflanked by withdrawing from this part of Germany and a company of Czech mechanised infantry, assisted by an anti-aircraft unit, had arrived to guard the major rail junction three quarters of a kilometre to the north.

The only inhabitants who still remained were an elderly couple, the remainder of the hamlet’s residents having joined the tide of refugees following in NATO’s wake. Their tiny cottage had been looted as they huddled, terrified in one corner. They had little to start with, but the invaders had first emptied their larder and then returned later to steal the furniture to use as firewood when the snow came and the temperatures plummeted.

The couple had survived, sharing body warmth beneath piled blankets and on vegetables ignored by the thieves. The old man augmented this fare by defying the curfew to set snares in nearby woods and hedgerows, and again before the dawn to check them for catches. He dared not leave the snares in place during the day in case some enemy patrol happened across one and stole his catch.

A solitary, skinny, rabbit was the nights total haul and after bashing the creature on the head and dismantling the snare he was carefully making his way to the edge of wood, stopping often to listen for patrols, when something came crashing down through the branches behind him, striking the ground with a dull thud.

The old man turned in panic, clutching the scrawny animal to his chest, and then took a pace backwards as something else; something larger followed it even more noisily.

A dark shape came to an abrupt halt two feet above the ground, bounced and swayed and began to mutter expletives. It fumbled for a moment inside its smock before finding and switching on a pair of passive night goggles, which it held to its face for a look down at the ground. Satisfied that it wasn’t suspended above an abyss by its snagged parachute it used them to slowly pan around its surroundings, and froze when it reached the old man.

“‘Mornin’.” It said after a pause.

The old man didn’t speak English, and stammered back a query whilst still clutching the rabbit in both trembling hands.

“Bitte?”

“Yer not wrong there mate, it’s just this side of bleedin’ freezin’.”

The British paratrooper wriggled free of his harness and crouched for a few moments before standing with difficulty, hunched over under the weight of a bergen he had just struggled into.

“Nice meeting yer mate but I can’t be gossiping with you all night now can I? So, I’ve got to be off.”

After several moments the old man slowly followed in the direction the paratrooper had taken and stopped at the edge of the wood. He couldn’t make out the soldier anymore, the meadow beside the wood was dotted with abandoned green parachutes and their former owners were hurrying off into the darkness. The 1st and 2^nd battalions of the Parachute Regiment had arrived to put a clot in two of the Red Army’s main supply arteries.

Lt Col Reed and Arnie Moore left the battalion CP to visit each of the locations, starting with 4 Company on the left. He had held another O Group for all the company commanders just the last evening, but today was going to be a busy one and he wanted to get around and speak to as many of the men under his command as possible.

4 Company was one of the 82^nd’s and was tied in with their neighbour’s right flank, 2LI, 2^nd Battalion Light Infantry. To make things more complicated the Light Infantry’s shortages had been made good with a platoon on loan to each of its rifle companies from 2 Wessex.

A small stream with high banks provided a physical boundary between both units, and although it was too dark to see it, Pat could hear the rushing water faintly from the entrance to the company’s CP.

The first thing that caught his attention once inside the CP was an 82^nd signaller wearing a beret, not that there was anything wrong in that, they were under cover and not under fire, however, behind the paratroopers badge was sown a Guards flash, the blue, red, blue rectangle his own men wore behind their own regimental cap badge. Pat let it go without comment; this was after all a battlefield in Germany and not Horse Guards Parade in London.

The battalion was stood-to half an hour before first light whilst he and Arnie were at 4 Company, and they remained there until it was stood down without incident a half hour after dawn at which point they crossed the stream to say a quick hello to the neighbours, and of course to also run a professionally critical eye over who was essentially guarding their flank.

They were too far from the stream to easily get back into cover behind its bank when they were challenged and both Pat and Arnie stopped and held their rifles one handed and away from their bodies as they peered toward the sound of the voice.

Pat could not make out the position though until he was told to advance a few steps and halt again, close enough so that the sentry covering them did not have to shout out the number to which Pat responded correctly.

Lying behind the sentry’s trench Pat and Arnie were impressed to discover the soldiers were 2 Wessex territorials and not 2LI regulars and they couldn’t fault the position.

Passing back over the stream to 4 Company’s turf they went from trench to trench, knowing that this was to be a day of days for them all and an end of days for some.

The normal day in the field, once stand-to is over, starts with weapon cleaning and personal administration, but only one man at a time stripped and cleaned his weapon per trench, his mate’s was ready for use during this time. Pat and Arnie exchanged a few words with the men as they worked and found nothing to cause undue concern. For some of the men, those who had arrived in the past five days for the large part, it would be their baptism of fire when the Soviet’s arrived, but each of these men had been paired off with a seasoned soldier.

Leaving 4 Company they came through a jumble of boulders to 1 Company’s left hand platoon, and these trenches had been dug by CSM Probert’s platoon but were now occupied by a mixture of 82^nd men and Coldstreamers taken from the other three rifle companies. The majority of Headquarter Company were Guardsmen, as were Support Company, he had an additional Mortar Platoon there from the 82^nd, but Pat Reed only had one rifle company remaining that was made up entirely of Guardsmen, 2 Company. The brigade commander, true to his promise, had made enquiries as to the low numbers of replacements for the Guards battalion under his command, and had been informed that the regiments’ second battalion, 2CG, was being reformed and had priority call. As to the question of the lack of recognition for 1CG’s efforts, he was informed that the Defence Secretary herself had reviewed each of Pat Reed’s recommendations and found they lacked sufficient merit for gallantry awards.

The Americans viewed Lt Col Reed’s recommendations in a different light as regards their own soldiers and the previous evening he had been pleased to announce the names of men from the 82^nd who were receiving medals for gallantry. He couldn’t give the same news to his own regiments’ officers but he did announce promotions that included those on the casualty lists. He could create NCOs from buckshee guardsmen, give existing NCOs the next rank and make Warrant Officers out of senior NCOs, but it took higher authority to approve and confirm the raising of men to commissioned status, or giving an officer the next rank. However, pending confirmation by that higher authority, Captain Sinclair received his brevet majority, young Mr Taylor-Hall became a Lieutenant and a signal was sent to RHQ requesting that they inform CSM Probert of his brevet promotion to 2Lt, as soon as his surgery permitted of course.

Arriving ahead of the US 4^th Corps, a large amount of ammunition and stores had arrived the previous afternoon and a newly promoted Colour Sergeant Osgood was busy with a fatigue party distributing 1 Company’s share of it.

All about the battalion location their own defences had been thickened up with US made bar mines and Claymores. The division had replenished ammunition stocks and had more to spare, all they needed now was luck.

Whilst the Iron Curtain had stood, the Red Air Force occupied former WWII Luftwaffe bases in East Germany during its decade’s long face off with NATO. After the reunification, the modern Luftwaffe inherited a dozen airbases that had changed little since the 1940s and promptly closed the majority. Cottbus, to the south east of Berlin was retained and modernised, unfortunately the recent withdrawal from the region had been so rapid as to make the Soviet’s a gift of a fully functional airbase with modern facilities.

The former airbases of Sperenberg, Welzow, Falkenberg, Wittstock, Merseburg, Altenburg and Holzdorf were quickly reoccupied and the runways patched up. It was from these airbases that the close air support against NATO on the Elbe/Saale line had been provided, and would continue as the Red Army began its latest drive for the Channel ports.

Cottbus airbase was of particular interest to NATO due to its proximity to one of Europe’s main east/west trading routes and the roads and rail lines that followed it.

At 0433hrs the bulk of the Belgian Para Commando Brigade had landed at three drop zones around the Twelfth century town of Bad Rouen.

Belgium’s 1^st and 3^rd Parachute Battalions in company with 3^rd Lanciers-Parachutists Battalion and twelve of its jeeps on pallets, landed along with the 14^th Parachute Commando Engineer Company south of the town, on either side of the river Spee. Meanwhile 2^nd Commando Battalion and 35^th Parachute Commando Anti-Aircraft Artillery Battery dropped on Cottbus airbase itself, five miles beyond the town’s northern suburbs.

The fighting at the airbase was bloody, swift and still taking place as the C-130s of the Belgian Air Force’s 15^th Transportation Wing landed the GIAT 105mm guns and crews of the brigade field artillery battery.

To the south, the 1^st and 3^rd Parachute Battalions carried out a simultaneous assault of both ends of the A15 autobahn bridge where it crossed the Spee on the edge of the town.

Being over a hundred miles from the fighting, the reservists protecting the bridge had mounted only a small guard whilst the remainder slept. They were all men in their forties, recalled after twenty years of civilian life and given the minimum of refresher training. The Belgians took out the sentries without a sound before moving on the trenches and fighting vehicles occupied by sleeping reservists. It wasn’t a completely bloodless victory; apart from the sentries, three other members of the bridge guard fell to silenced rounds or cheese wire garrottes.

With the bridge secure the Belgian Paratroopers’ 3^rd Battalion, less its mortar platoon, remained on the eastern bank whilst the engineers prepared the bridge for demolition, and the 3^rd Lanciers special forces company, 1’ere Compagnie d’Equipes Specialisee de Reconnaissance mounted their jeeps and went north into the town.

Bad Roulen has two rail lines which enter it and join at a small marshalling yard on the western side of the river. The bridges that carry the railway lines lie at either end of the town park on the eastern bank.

The town fathers had been working hard over the past few years to undo the damage the communists had done by industrialising the city and ignoring environmental controls. The riverside park had been cleaned up, landscaped and beautified, but the heavily polluted river still had a long way to go. The park had become a tented city housing the lower ranks of the two companies garrisoning the town, and it was the job of the jeep company to prevent them from interfering by causing chaos and mayhem, whilst securing the railway bridges.

By the time the jeep company reached the first rail bridge the alarm had been raised by the airbase, not by radio but by landline as the Belgians carried portable jamming sets that flooded their known frequencies with silent noise, a means of cutting communications without alerting the victims.

The commander of the jeep company watched through a night scope as an officer emerged from a sandbagged CP and listened for the sound of gunfire before hurriedly pulling on his fighting order as he ran to rouse his men.

Before the running officer could reach the park a jeep had drawn level with him and a well-aimed blow across the back of his neck with an entrenching tool sent him tumbling. The jeeps raced for the bridge, cutting down the sentries at the western end and driving across, the vehicles bucking wildly on railway sleepers. The sentries on the eastern bank shared the same fate as their mates on the opposite side, and the bridge was in Belgian hands.

A jeep and its crew equipped with 40mm Mk-19 automatic grenade launchers were left to secure either end of the bridge, along with a Milan equipped vehicle. Two of the company’s snipers found themselves spots where they could best observe the tented area in the park whilst the drivers set up GPMGs. Once he was satisfied his men were in position the Belgian company commander established radio communications with the brigades mortar line, and then settled down to wait for the Engineers to blown the autobahn.

Dropping the solidly built bridge into the Spee wasn’t a particularly scientific event, but the engineers were not looking for marks for grace and artistic interpretation. Cratering charges had been laid on the on-ramps for good measure and when the spans were dropped the ramps were wrecked also.

The roar of the demolition charges reverberated upriver and on hearing it the seven remaining jeeps entered the park in column and accelerated down the main ‘street’ of the tented area, firing into the canvas structures as they went.

The sound of the autobahn bridge being destroyed had brought men stumbling from the tents into the darkness. They could hear the sound of speeding vehicles but the blackout was in force and they were unaware that NATO troops were amongst them until the jeeps opened fire.

As the jeeps cleared the tented area the commander called for mortar fire on the centre of the park, and the Belgian’s on the first railway bridge opened fire. Anyone the snipers saw who appeared to be attempting to establish command and control were singled out and despatched, whilst the grenadiers and ‘gimpy’ gunners began expending rounds as fast as they could fire.

Before the smoke had chance to settle the paratroops to the south were seeding the area with booby-traps and moving north to their next objective. It is far easier to take a bridge by assaulting both ends at once hence the 3^rd Battalion remained on the eastern bank. Apart from the two railway bridges there were four road bridges spanning the river within the town limits, hence the 3^rd Battalion had remained on the eastern bank.

On the northern edge of the town park the jeep company met its first real opposition. The company commander elected to take the second railway bridge in the same fashion as they had taken the first; using the speed of the vehicles and the firepower they carried to best advantage.

The previous rail bridge had been at street level with barriers to stop traffic whenever a train was due, however the second bridge was raised above street level, crossing 29° above the Spee and the streets running beside it. Access for maintenance vehicles to the top of the steep embankment at the eastern end was via a ramp behind a row of buildings, with a tight turn at the top before a narrow gateway.

The jamming that had blinded the air defences to the presence of troop carrying transports had dissipated with the departing E-2C Hawkeye that had accompanied them. It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for NATO deep strikes to venture out this far and the AAA detachment had learnt by experience that trying to burn through the interference only earned you an anti-radiation missile for your troubles. So the radars had been switched off until the crews were certain that neither they nor the town had been the NATO aircrafts’ target.

The sounds of the autobahn being dropped and the attack on the park alerted the detachment that a ground assault was in progress. They attempted to broadcast an alert by radio but when this failed the crews buttoned up their vehicles, and the ZSUs lowered their quad barrels to the anti-infantry position.

The ZSU, or ‘Zeus’, mounted as it was on a PT-76 amphibious tank chassis was as deadly to infantry and light armour as it was to rotary and fixed wing aircraft. Each of its four 23mm water-cooled cannons fired mixed belts of explosive, fragmentation and armour piercing tracer rounds at a rate of 1000 rounds a minute from a high speed, hydraulically stabilised armoured turret, making it very accurate and very hard to kill without anti-armour weapons.

Bad Roulen had two AAA detachments assigned to its sector, one at the airbase and one covering the rail junction and marshalling yards where the coverage there encompassed the autobahn bridge also. Both detachments were standard in size and equipment, four ZSU-23-4s and four mobile SA-9 Gaskin launchers in each to provide short and medium range cover.

As the first Belgian jeep appeared at the top of the embankment there was one seconds worth of ear splitting cacophony as it was engaged and reduced to jagged scrap by a ZSU that had driven out onto the tracks at the western end of the bridge. It was guarding against just such an eventuality using its night sight to watch for any enemy approach. The jeep had not quite cleared the gateway so it was now blocking the way for the remainder, and as it began to burn it illuminated the remaining jeeps which were nose to tail on a narrow ramp with no hope of getting past.

The sentries on the bridge were not equipped with night viewing devices and although they heard the Belgian vehicles rushing up the ramp, they leant across the stone parapet beyond the bridge and were able to identify them by the light from the burning jeep reflected off the buildings backing onto the embankment. The stalled line of vehicles in flickering light, were then taken under fire by the sentries. A second jeep was lost in the act of reversing back down the incline when its driver was hit and lost control. The vehicle veered off the narrow ramp and rolled down the side of the embankment, spilling out its occupants as it went.

The Belgians carried out a hasty retreat, withdrawing back the way they had come, and on finding cover in a side street they dismounted and called for mortar fire support.

Back in the park the neat rows of tents had been reduced to torn bundles of canvas, many of which were burning fiercely. A mortar man working in the dark had in error selected a WP, white phosphorus smoke round, which had burst in the centre of the camp, landing amongst the jerry cans of petrol and kerosene the cooks used to fuel the field ovens. Burning particles of white phosphorus and burning fuel had splashed outwards to set alight not only tentage, but also soldiers who had been using the tents as cover from view. The sight of human torches in their target area had made even the tough professionals of the Belgian airborne pause, easing their fingers off triggers for a moment, but then the snipers ceased looking for leaders and began shooting the burning men, and the remainder resumed the job they were paid for.

3^rd Lanciers normally provided the brigades dedicated anti-tank support, but today they had unshipped four of the Milan’s from their jeeps and left the remainder along with the jeeps, back in England. One pair of the Milan’s was sited to cover the autobahn approaches to the bridge, whilst the other two covered the flanks of the mortar line. Fighting as infantry the remainder of 3^rd Lanciers provided the protection for the combined mortar line from the 1^st and 3^rd Parachute Battalions and a tactical reserve for the brigade commander whilst the two parachute battalions advanced north into the town.

Blocked at the second railway bridge the jeep company commander watched with a sense of frustration as mortar rounds exploded on the railway embankment, on the street behind the bridge and on buildings next to it, in fact the rounds were landing everywhere but on the intended target, the western end of the bridge where the ZSU had been.

The Belgian’s, like all the other NATO airborne forces behind the lines this day had only the ammunition stocks they had jumped in with. They were wasting mortar rounds and the commander called an end to the fire mission and concentrated on finding another solution. The jeep company had started with four Milan equipped vehicles, of which one was at the first railway bridge and a second was lying on its back at the foot of the embankment. He had one of his remaining Milan vehicles on standby, and sent two more of his snipers to the three storied corner house at the end of the side street they had taken cover in. Forcing the street door open the pair made their way to the top floor but they were unable to find a window that allowed them to see the far side of the bridge. They were in the process of dragging a sideboard onto the landing below the attic hatch when the house’s lawful owner appeared at the top of the stairs. The sight of the elderly housefrau made the paratroopers pause in what they were doing.

Clad in a floor length nightgown and wearing a yellow builders hard hat for protection, she was carrying a tray upon which rested a silver coffee pot and her best china cups and saucers, with slices of cake on a matching plate.

“Kaffee, junges?”

Several minutes later the commander entered the attic where his men had removed roof tiles. A sniper had to swallow a mouthful of chocolate cake before reporting that they could now see the ZSU and it was still at the end of the bridge. Returning to the street he dispatched the waiting Milan equipped vehicle with another jeep for support. Driving out of the side street they turned into the road running parallel with the embankment and floored the accelerators. Bursts of small arms followed the vehicles, fired by the sentries on the bridge, but the ZSU was too far from the parapet to engage.

Three hundred yards along the street, the jeeps halted in front of a haberdashery store and dismounted the Milan launcher. Ignoring the solid looking shop door they followed a litterbin through the store window and made their way to the rear. No damage was required to exit through the rear; a key was sat in the back door lock and after drawing the door’s bolts they clambered over a wall at the back of the yard to find themselves on the embankment.

The snipers confirmed by radio that the ZSUs barrels were still pointing unerringly along the track and the Milan crew stayed out of sight below the stone parapet.

At a range of only 200m from the bridge the helmeted heads of the two sentries filled the snipers telescopic sights whenever they popped up for a peek over the parapet. Unwisely both enemy soldiers chose to take a look at the same time and both snipers fired as one before turning their attention to the tracked flak vehicle. Distracting the ZSUs crew proved to be a simple matter, though not without certain hazards. It took ten rounds fired at two second intervals to get the attention of the ZSUs commander. Irritated at the rounds ricocheting off the turret he looked through the viewing blocks until he saw the muzzle flash of the weapon which was no threat to his vehicle or its occupants, but the regularly spaced rounds smacking off the 3” thick armour would seriously get on their nerves if it continued.

The Belgians saw the turret begin to swivel in their direction and knew it was time to go. Unfortunately, having scrambled over the roof ties to the narrow attic hatch they found it was impossible to negotiate as quickly as might be desired. The leading man was still squeezing himself through when the first 23mm rounds struck the far edge of the roof, and then began to move towards them as the ZSU continued to traverse. Stranded until his mate could get clear, the second sniper took one look over his shoulder at the stream of cannon shells that were demolishing the roof and stepped off the joist he was balanced upon, crashing through the plaster ceiling into the room below.

Having effectively blown apart the roof the ZSUs gunner started on the top floor, lowering the barrels and reversing the turret’s traverse. Now clear of the attic the first sniper took the stairs five at a time whilst his mate, liberally covered in plaster dust and lagging behind on the landing, dived headfirst over the banister rail as the first baseball sized holes appeared in the walls.

With all their attention on the task in hand neither the vehicles commander nor the gunner saw the Belgian Milan crew rolling off the top of the parapet to land beside the track. The ZSUs driver on the other hand could see them clearly in his lo-lite screen and shouted a warning over the intercom as he put the vehicle into reverse.

It was a hundred metres to the railway station and a further hundred before the stations raised platforms gave way to the marshalling yards, and until it reached them the ZSU was hemmed in on both sides.

The jeep’s driver passed the launcher and three rounds across the parapet to its crew and then ducked when the ZSU opened fire. Seeing his first burst miss the gunner shouted at the driver to stop, his weapon was not self-stabilising and the uneven surface was throwing off his aim, but the driver could see the paratroopers attaching a round to the side of the launcher and was in a funk. They clearly weren’t going to make it and he forgot about what he should have been doing, focusing instead on the threat along the railway line. With a screech of tortured metal the ZSU veered off its straight line, hitting the edge of a concrete passenger platform and with a shudder its engine stalled. The driver threw open his hatch and was halfway out when the wire guided missile passed beside his head and struck the vehicle’s turret ring.

The leading company of the 3^rd Battalion met little resistance when it reached the park. They found thoroughly demoralised Soviet soldiers hiding behind trees and anything that could provide cover. Those that had weapons tossed them away and knelt with hands clasped behind their necks when called on to do so.

Dawn was beginning to break as the last man from 3^rd Battalion crossed the only remaining bridge across the Spee for twenty miles, but ten minutes later it too had been dropped into the polluted water.

The brigade commander used the light from the flames of the last of the Soviet anti-aircraft vehicles to be hunted down to study his map before ordering his force at the airbase to pull out and head for their next objective.

2^nd Commando Battalion had suffered far heavier than the rest of the brigade’s dozen dead and wounded, but they had been faced with regular troops in prepared positions that had to be attacked across open ground.

The commando battalion had captured the airbase motor pool intact and had sufficient transport to carry the troops, the wounded and pull the brigade’s 105mm guns. From where he was standing the brigade commander could see a glow across the rooftops to the north from the fires at the airbase tank farm. All that remained to be done at Cottbus was to destroy the stored munitions, much of which had been moved from the bomb dumps and placed in stacks on the runways where they would be detonated once the troops were clear.

An aide intercepted the town folk who were making a beeline for his commander, armed with a bottle of Schnapps and wanting to greet the town’s liberators. The commander felt a sickness settle in his stomach. His brigade was mounting captured and commandeered vehicles in preparation to pull out, and he wondered what revenge would be exacted on the town when the Red Army reoccupied it.

Two explosions to the south jolted him from his gloomy thoughts and he turned to his radio operator. The signaller finished acknowledging a message and reported that a pair of BMP-2 fighting vehicles had appeared on the eastern side of the autobahn. The Lanciers Milan’s had engaged both but only succeeded in destroying one of them.

It was time to go.