Chapter 19
Russell’s 432s, fifty metres apart, raced north-west along the forest track to get to their positions. They skirted the edge of the forest, just inside the tree line, the track zigzagging through the trees, a trail of dust steadily building. Above, the tree-covered high ground towered over them, climbing to a height of nearly 600 metres. After two kilometres, his convoy came out of the forest, the drivers tugging hard on the left stick as they careered left onto a minor road, maintaining their speed, the tracks sliding across the loose stones as they swung round and headed south through a small conurbation, Dorpe, arriving at Coppenbrugge a kilometre later.
“One-One-Alpha, this is Zero-Alpha.”
“One-One-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”
“You have small packets, high ground, south-west your final location. Over.”
“Roger. Call signs? Over.”
“Echo-One and Echo-Two. Out.”
That came as a relief to the Lieutenant. The OC had informed him that two reconnaissance vehicles, probably Scimitars, would be watching the high ground to their right.
He slowed the convoy down and drove at twenty kilometres an hour through the town, the 432s at the front, each with pintle-mounted GPMG. The gunners covered the houses lining the road each side: one gun forward, the next watching left, and the third one right. The village appeared deserted, the rattle of the tracked vehicles echoing through the empty streets. One pair of eyes looked fearfully out of an upper window. The soldier on the 432 elevating the barrel of the Gympy felt Russell’s hand on his shoulder.
“Well spotted. They’re just civilians. Keep your eyes peeled though.”
The military convoy turned left at the T-junction, and shortly they left the village, Marienau, a kilometre ahead. After a few hundred metres, Russell ordered the driver to pull over to the left, beneath a line of trees with large canopies, giving them some cover from the air. He signalled a halt and the soldiers de-bussed, forming a defensive stance around their small convoy.
Russell jumped down, running back to the next APC, and was soon joined by Colour Sergeant Rose. On orders, the NCOs quickly gathered round. They followed him to the lead 432 where he climbed on top and proceeded to scan the area with his binoculars.
Lieutenant Russell had made a quick appraisal of the map earlier and knew where he wanted to deploy his reinforced platoon. He lay down on the top of the vehicle, suspending a map from the top so that it lay flat against the slab sides of the APC. His NCOs gathered around and he pointed at the map that was upside down to him but the right way up to his men.
“This is our area of responsibility. From the base of the Hohenstein to our right, our south-western boundary, where we have recce Scimitars watching over us, to the Nesselberg-Osterwald to our left, our north-western boundary.”
“Whew, that’s a large area to cover for a company, sir, let alone a platoon.”
“I concur with that, Colour, but we are all there is for the moment. Enemy armour can flank us either side, come straight along the main road through the village, or over the top of the high ground.”
“What about Osterwald, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.
“The OC will take care of that with the rest of the company. We also have a Royal Green Jackets’ combat team near Benstort.” He shifted his position to get more comfortable. “I want your two Milan FPs collocated, Corporal Stubbings. At least then you can provide each other with mutual support, particularly if you have airborne infantry trying to root you out. I suggest you dig in at the junction of the road and the railway line here,” he said, tapping a point at the most south-eastern tip of the village. “You should be able to get a good field of fire from there, at least a 180-degree sweep. This is ‘Clapham’. How many tubes do you have?”
“Six for each firing post, sir.”
“Make sure you change positions the minute you fire. Don’t try for a second shot from the same place. If they home in on you and bring down mortar fire, you’ll be stuffed.”
“Understood, sir.”
“Corporal Reid.”
“Sir.”
“I want you to split your section. I want your gun group and two men with the Milans at Clapham, to give them cover, and three men and the 432 positioning themselves in Gut Voldagsen, ‘Little-town’. It looks as if it’s made up of half a dozen houses. Warn me of any sightings and only open fire if necessary. If Soviet airborne are going for it, disrupt their advance as best you can, but don’t take chances. Get back to Clapham.”
“Gotcha, sir.”
“Corporal Coles.”
“Sir.”
“I want your men dug in by the bridge over the water feature. I doubt they’ll have any bridging equipment, though they probably won’t need it as the water runs straight down the centre of the valley. But if they want to use the road then they will attempt to cross the bridge.”
“My full section, sir?”
“Yes. We will fall back through you. ‘London bridge’, ok. Once we have to give up Little-town and Clapham, we’ll fall back to the north-west of the village, where the Milans can cover both flanks. Especially if they try to use the rail bridge. Ah… ”
“Little London, sir?” Colour Sergeant Rose laughed.
“Little London it is. Once you have to pull back, Corporal Reid, you will head straight for Coppenbrugge, and we will be right behind you. By then, we may have received some new orders.” He heard a cough. “I’ve not forgotten about the rest of you. Corporal Burford, I want your mortars here. There’s what? A 300 metre square plot, with some good tree screening. Better than being in the village having to move all the time.”
“Roger that, sir.”
“Corporal Jenkinson, leave two men and a Blowpipe here and the other four men, with you, in the village.”
“What is the likely threat, sir?”
“We could expect anything, but the Falklands War taught us that Blowpipe won’t be much good against fast jets. So only have a stab at those if they are coming towards us and are low and close. It’s likely that we’ll have helicopters about, probably Hip, Hooks and Hinds. Hips and Hooks, take them head-on. As for Hinds, I suggest you wait until they turn away, and hope you hit the engines. Firing at them head-on will get an immediate response. They might jink to avoid the missile, but you can bet your life one of their buddies will be homing in on you. So, don’t do anything rash. You’ll just get yourselves killed, and we will lose what little air defence we have. Any questions?”
“Can we set up some pre-planned fire, sir?” asked Colour Sergeant Rose.
“Yes, I plan on doing that now. You take the platoon forward and get them into position, and I’ll run through some scenarios with Corporal Burford.”
“Come on, lads, let’s move,” Rose ordered. “I’ll leave the AD 432 with you then, sir.”
“Good idea, Colour. Corporal Burford, let’s move to your APCs.”
Lance Corporal Burford led the way as the other units gunned their engines and were soon on their way towards the village they were to defend.
Private Taylor ran towards his NCO and platoon commander. “Sir! Sir, look!”
The Lieutenant spun round. He didn’t need to ask for the reason for the shout; he could see it himself. Dark smudges whipped from a flight of troop carriers, wisps of white trailing behind, blossoming into full parachutes as the airborne soldiers swung from their harnesses out of control. More Soviet soldiers were landing three kilometres away, west of Benstort, to increase the number of troops that were slowly upping the pressure on the British soldiers attempting to defend themselves from a push on the other side of the river. Lieutenant Russell pulled a spare map from his pocket and pressed up against the side of a 432, and drew two lines across it with a pencil. The first one ran south-west to north-east, directly through the northern edge of Gut Voldagsen.