“I know that Timothy, and I want you to consider pulling 9 Platoon back level with 7 when their position becomes untenable…it will mean abandoning everything except their personal weapons and fighting order, they couldn’t possible pull out in time and haul all that stuff up here.”
Timothy nodded his agreement and Pat indicated the little spur of ridge they were on.
“Whatever happens, you have to hold here…no more withdrawal beyond here or they will roll up 4 Company from the flank. I am going to pull a couple of men from each section in 1 and 2 Company and form a quick reaction force in Warriors. Jim Popham will command it and I will have him work his way into the trees next to the perimeter with the Argyll’s, so shout when you are being most closely pressed and he will hit them in their flank, hopefully breaking their attack.” The location in question was on the same contour as the CP and the flattish ground that connected the two places should make for a quick passage along the side of the hill by the vehicles.
There was just enough light for Pat to see his former adjutant grin.
“Don’t worry sir, we’ll play the anvil to Jim’s hammer and kick the bastards back down the hill.” With that he hurried down the slope to speak with his platoon commanders before the next enemy formation arrived, pausing only to give a cheerful wave before disappearing into the shadows.
Pat did not know it, but it was the last time he would ever see Timothy alive.
To the rear of Vormundberg, the 8 and 16 tonne Bedford’s of the Hussar’s logistical support packed up and left the copse, moving forward to the reverse slopes on the orders of Major Venables. In the past two hours the Hussar’s squadron had lost a third of their number which made the time spent reloading, and therefore out of action, a critical factor in the defence.
Mark did not know what had happened to the Soviet artillery, he was just glad that it had, because he could now risk moving the pallet loads of main gun rounds into what had previously been one of the enemy gunners main target areas.
On arriving back on the forward slopes he had immediately amalgamated the remnants of No.2 and 3 Troop before sending One Three Bravo to reload.
There was no shortage of prepared firing positions but he preferred to stay as close as possible to the battalions centre, and so chose to sit behind cover and wait for the Romanian 93rd Tank Regiment to come within range. He sat on top of the turret where he could look across the valley, and he tried to ignore the stink of burnt rubber from the charred hulk of One Two Charlie, which sat off to his right with flames still feeding upon it.
Colonel Lužar had received radio orders to disengage all but two companies from the intermittent, yet ordnance-consuming contacts that had begun in the late afternoon. He was to turn around the greater part of his command, prepare to advance to contact back towards the bridgehead, and he had to have it done within an hour. It seemed unreal at first and he had felt the need to ask for clarification not once, but twice.
He had naturally requested an RV with his First Battalion in order to reunite his regiment, along with yet another request for fuel. The first request was rejected out of hand but the second was granted, so he asked for an ammunition replen too, and that was also granted.
He worried for the men he had to leave behind but as night had fallen and the regiment moved out he was consoled with the thought that he had done what he could. He had deliberately selected one of the best company’s in the regiment for the least defensible area of the perimeter and had replaced the commander of the second company with his steadiest company commander. It was rough on the replaced man but Lužar wasn’t running for the title of ‘Most Popular’.
The location given for their rendezvous with the fuel and ammunition trucks was a firebreak in a forestry block, which happened to be half a kilometre from the regiment’s current gun line. The commander of the regiment’s battery of Akatsia 152mm howitzers was there to meet the regimental commanders’ call sign when it arrived. Lužar clambered down to greet the officer but it had quickly become clear that it was not a social call. They strolled to a place out of earshot of the rest of the troops and his officer then gave the real reason for his presence.
“Colonel, my guns are down to their last forty rounds per barrel and the fuel situation has become worrisome. I wouldn’t mind if I could get a straight answer from the logisticians as to what the problem is, but I either get bullshit or told it is none of my concern.” It was too dark to see his officer’s face but from his tone Colonel Lužar assumed that he had been having a frustrating time of it.
“How the hell can they say it is none of my concern? I’m telling you sir if I had the rounds to spare I’d lob a few in their direction!”
The shortage of both fuel and ammunition for the battery was a serious issue, as they were the primary source of artillery fire support for not just the battalion and a half that he had now, but also for the two companies attempting to cover a regimental sized frontage back on the perimeter.
Something serious had gone awry, he was certain of that now, but what he could not do was confide his opinions to his officers and men.
The colonel was able only to promise that he would speak with the commander of the supply unit that was serving them, and try to extract a few gallons for the battery’s self-propelled guns and he took his leaving of the artilleryman. It occurred to him that these supply troops may well have information for him too, that they could indeed know the whereabouts of First Battalion. They may be on detached duty but they were still his men and he could at least find where they were operating, and perhaps even the radio frequencies they were using in order to listen into their fortunes.
At the supply unit commander’s vehicle he found the officer constrained by the presence of a colonel of field police who was there to thwart the unauthorised issue of fuel, ammunition or the answers Lužar wanted, but his driver had been more forthcoming. They had fuelled First Battalion after its detachment from the rest of the regiment and the battalion was supposed to have RV’d with them again two hours before, but had never shown up.
The driver confirmed that they had tried and failed to make radio contact and he supplied the frequencies to Colonel Lužar who’d uttered his thanks and left.
His own driver and his gunner were sat on top of the turret looking grim, and as he climbed up to join them he found out why.
“You two look like you are about to open a vein each…what is it now?”
The enlisted men exchanged glances and then his driver spoke
“Fuel sir…”
“Ammunition sir.” his gunner interrupted, pausing only to shrug an apology to his crewmate.
“We haven’t used that much in the way of main gun rounds but others have, and they didn’t get full racks from the replen sir, just four rounds each.”
Keeping his features neutral Lužar gestured to his driver to speak, although he knew he wouldn’t like what he was about to be told.
“The fuel trucks aren’t topping anyone’s tanks off sir, they didn’t fill us up they’re just ensuring we have three quarters of a tank each. It’s like the bastards are paying for the stuff out of their own pockets.”
It was worse than he’d thought if they hadn’t the wherewithal to fully replenish the force they were counting on to put right the wrongs. It had to be the logistics, he reasoned, somehow NATO had compromised the supply lines.
It took time for the ammunition and fuel trucks to visit every remaining vehicle in the regiment. In daylight it was a time consuming business, but at night under tactical conditions of absolutely no naked light to assist the process it was a drawn out process. Eventually of course the replenishment was completed and they moved out of the woods and into open countryside.