Oz climbed up the side of his Warrior and lowered himself down into the commanders spot. Putting on the vehicle headset he checked the mike was on ‘intercom’ before keying the pressel switch.
“Driver, start up.”
Pat Reed accepted a mug of tea from a signaller, blowing on the surface before taking a sip. The radio he was listening to was tuned to the 1 Pl net but he did not do anything other than listen in, monitoring the fight. When another signaller told him that Major Popham’s callsign was now on the move he glanced at his watch and dearly hoped that the intervals of mortar fire 1 Platoon were receiving were nothing more serious than harassing fire whilst their attackers withdrew from the vicinity. The warrant officers periodic sitrep’s took a change for the worse with the report of a mortar round killing five of the wounded and adding to the injuries of three others, but Pat still had his fingers crossed for his men until twenty minutes later.
“Hello One this is One One, contact at our six… wait out.”
Seconds later he heard Colin come on again.
“Hello One this is One One, several machine guns in forestry block to our left… shoot dee eff One One India and suppress, over!”
1 Company acknowledged and passed on the message to the mortar line by landline before confirming the rounds were on the way.
“One, roger dee eff One One India, wait… shot one three four, over.”
No acknowledgement was forthcoming from 1 Platoon though, and the signaller in the CP waited several seconds before trying again.
“Hello One One this is One, acknowledge my last, over?”
Pat knew now that the soviet airborne troops had merely been putting together a proper plan of attack. When next Colin came on the air he was shouting in order to be heard over the sound of gunfire.
“One One, roger shot… One One Charlie has been overrun… wait out to you… all stations One One send even numbered foxhounds to the centre… send even numbers to the centre!”
When next they heard from 1 Platoon it was not Colin’s voice but that of a young Guardsman fighting to keep the panic out of his voice.
“One One Foxtrot this is One One Bravo… Delta and Echo are gone… we need help here!” The fierce fighting was abundantly apparent in the background with the screams of hate and pain underscored by automatic weapons fire, the distinctive SLR and the explosions of grenades. The other callsign failed to respond though.
“Foxtrot this is Bravo… Foxtrot this is… … … ”
Pat heard a burst of fire; loud in its proximity to the radio that was transmitting, and it was neither an SLR nor a gimpy that was doing the shooting. The send switch was still depressed at the other end but there was no more firing to be heard, just the sound of Russian voices in the background.
Roaring out of the Argyll & Sutherland Highlanders lines in single file the Warriors then split into two columns, each heading for its fire break. It caused not a little consternation amongst the soviet troops who had made it as far as the forests edge. They had no anti-armour weapons left and no option but to get out of the way and hope the AFVs kept on going.
There were no officers left above the rank of captain amongst the soviet paratroopers and no formation larger than a platoon remaining, but the four hundred or so fought on anyway because they still had ammunition. The attack on the Scots was not a group decision, but rather one of instinct by some of the remnants of the three battalions to attack the nearest enemy position. Other groups had chosen to wait on the NATO forces to come to them, and were making hurried preparations inside the forest.
Major Popham’s Warriors had travelled no more than a quarter of a mile before encountering any resistance besides small arms fire and hand grenades.
Combat Engineers had been placing explosive in a hole dug into a wheel rut on the fire break when they heard the sound of vehicles coming their way, and had hurriedly finished up before scrambled into the trees, uncoiling cable as they went. They let the first two vehicles pass and detonated the charge under the third.
Ray Tessler’s Warrior was flipped over onto its side where it partially blocked the passage of any other vehicles. The gunner suffered a fractured pelvis, whilst Ray dislocated his left arm, broke three fingers and four ribs aside from his being knocked unconscious. Only the driver escaped the crash without injury, but caught shrapnel from a grenade as he was freeing himself from the wreck.
Grenades and small arms fire caused the vehicle commanders to drop back inside the Warriors and button up but had little effect otherwise, however, in order to proceed the wrecked APC would have to be moved, and that could not be done until the ambushers had been sorted out.
Colin faded in and out of consciousness, aware only of the pain and cold that gripped him. He was sat with his back to the tree surrounded by the dead, one of whom still grasped the AKM with its bayonet, washed almost clean of his blood by the rain. The same could not be said of Colin himself; blood had soaked him from the waist down. His field dressing, taped to his left webbing strap was so placed for ease of access, but his feeble attempts to free it had failed. His only method of preventing more from leaking out was a tampon carried in his own first aid kit, in a map pocket. The female sanitary product was ideally shaped for plugging bullet holes; hence its presence in his kit, but the bayonet wound was not circular and could not be completely filled. He was unable to reach the exit wound but in the entry wound it swelled up and helped go some way into sealing the hole.
The simple task left him exhausted, and as he leant against the trunk he found himself looking at the man who had inflicted the injury.
There was something familiar about the Russian he had fought but he lay on his side with his face turned away, and Colin wasn’t up to doing much of anything, let alone turning him over for a better look. There were no badges of rank displayed, and for a man of that age it was odd he would be a private soldier still.
Something was digging into Colin’s right buttock, and he moved forward slightly. The effort brought flashing lights before his eyes and then his vision dimmed as he slumped back against the tree, back into unconsciousness.
When he came to again he found an unrolled sleeping bag draped across him and a field dressing in place over the wound.
“I have to say that you are looking a little partied out, Sergeant Major.”
Nikoli was lying a short distance away; his uniform caked in mud and with a bloody dressing tied to a thigh. He had lost weight since Colin had been captured at Leipzig airport and sunken cheeks were highlighted by dirt and camouflage cream.
“You aren’t the fanny magnet you once were either sir, but with some decent sleep, a few squares, and of course if you tried putting a blade in your razor next time you shaved, it couldn’t hurt.”
The young Russian chuckled.
“I quite missed your parade ground sarcasm Colin.” He looked concerned as pain wracked the features of the British warrant officer.
“Do you have any morphine, only there are a dozen wounded… both yours and ours scattered about and I used all of mine putting them out. There isn’t much more I can do for them right now?”