Dean watched as the Lieutenant organised his men. Many of them seemed older even than their leader, perhaps as old as sixty. They certainly weren’t going to let the Soviets take their country without a fight.
Chapter 20
The Snake hovered behind the trees. Its partner was 100 metres to the right. The rotor blade slicing through the air was keeping it at just the right height, the tail rotor keeping it facing east, towards where the enemy would appear.
“Viper-One. Zulu-Three. Four Tango-Six-Fours, 2,000 metres my location.”
“Roger, Zulu-Three.”
“Zulu-Three. Moving past your location figures two. Standby.”
“Roger, Zulu-Three. We’ll watch out for you, buddy.”
The pilot tilted his head forward slightly as he spoke through the intercom to the gunner who was sitting in front of the tandem cockpit.
“Our boys will be through in about two minutes. Four Tangos are right behind them.”
“I’m ready.”
“Viper-One, Viper-Two, this is Angel-One. I have visual. Behind Tangos are six Bravo-Mike-Papas.”
Angel-One, a Hughes OH-6, was a kilometre further forward, spotting for the two AH-1, Cobra attack helicopters.
“Roger that, Angel-One.”
“Viper-Two, Viper-One. Four Tangos inbound, right behind Zulu-Three. Over.”
“I’ll take number one. Over.”
“Confirmed. Number two is mine. Out.”
All the two AH-1 Cobra attack helicopters had to do was wait. Once Angel-One gave them the nod, they would pop up and unleash their TOW anti-tank missiles, hit their target, drop down, move back and go through the same sequence all over again.
Ever since the Soviets had crossed the River Fulda in force, they had been steadily pushing the American force backwards.
Private First-Class Larry Poole started the gas turbine, and Emery turned the turret and the 105mm gun barrel, checking everything was in order. SSGT Lewis was still standing with his body half out of the turret, scanning for any sign of the enemy. A-platoon, Anvil-platoon, were now down to two tanks. They had survived the last attack, but Lewis knew they wouldn’t hold out here for long. All they had to do, for one last time, was blunt the attack and race back as fast as they could. The Soviet army had pushed the 11th Armoured Cavalry Regiment, the Black Horse Regiment, back twenty-five kilometres and were now on the doorstep of the Fulda Gap with every intention of thrusting through the gap and speeding the 100 kilometres that would see them right in the centre of the German city of Frankfurt. His squadron wouldn’t have to remain here for long. They were just acting as a covering force while the rest of the regiment withdrew completely from the battle area. Not only were the men of the regiment desperate for a break, but so were the tanks. This would be just a short fight.
Maybe even shorter than they planned, should they get hit, thought Lewis with a smile. Two rounds of sabot, fire the smoke grenades, and then hot food and a shower, he kept telling himself. The big battle was to come. The Soviet forces were getting stronger and stronger every day as more and more flooded across the river. But soon they would come up against the 3rd Armoured Division and the 8th Mechanised Division. Then you would see the battle of the giants. That he would like to see. No more running. Those two formations would have to hold their ground until reinforcements, flown in from the States, had drawn their equipment from the POMCUS sites and joined the fight. Bigger units would follow, crossing the Atlantic Ocean.
Thank God AH-1 Cobras were in support, he thought to himself, but they had already lost two: one to the dreaded Shilkas and one to a Hind-D.
“Any US unit, Kerzell area, this is Viper-One. You have at least one battalion, Tango-Six-Fours, heading your location. Going back to refuel and rearm. Good luck, buddy. Out.”
“Standby,” yelled Lewis.
He dropped into the turret and patted the armour of his beloved M1. “Looking to you to protect us today.”
The tank crew would be depending on the M1’s Chobham armour.
“See anything, Staff Sergeant?”
“That’s a negative.”
They heard a distant explosion as a Cobra took out its last Soviet tank before it too had to return to base to rearm.
“Unidentified US tank unit, this is Viper-Two. I’m the last one out. They’re 1,000 metres out.”
“I see one. A thousand, two Tangos.”
“Sabot.”
“Up.”
“Fire.”
The Soviet T-64 didn’t see it coming, but was lucky as the sloped armour caused the round to ricochet off.
“Missed!”
“Sabot.”
“Up.”
“Fire.”
This time the long-rod penetrator hit one of the T-64’s ERA blocks, the subsequent explosion destroying the penetrator’s momentum, leaving it partially fragmented in the armour with the remaining piece dropping away.
“Son of a bitch,” yelled Emery.
The target had now fired, but fortunately not at them, but at an anti-tank missile post hoping to get its first hit of the day. The tank was now 800 metres away.
“Sabot.”
“Up.”
“Fire.”
This time the long slender dart did its job, penetrating the tank’s armour; then, driven by the sheer force of the kinetic energy, it drilled through the T-64’s turret, the residual energy blowing a spall of fragments of armour that peeled off the inside of the fighting compartment, killing its crew within a matter of seconds. The T-64 finally ground to a halt. More tanks appeared, and Lewis knew they would have to bug out soon. There were just too many of them and so few M1s. But he waited for the order. He knew his commander would make the right decision at the right time. Another shot went out as half a dozen T-64s, a line of BMP-1s behind them, appeared at less than 1,500 metres away. If they didn’t move soon, they would be over run.
Suddenly, artillery rounds erupted around the enemy tanks, stripping off some of the protective blocks. A round sliced through a section of a T-64, destroying the auto-loader and killing the gunner. The two crew left, the commander and driver, escaped the stricken tank, only to be cut down by a burst from an M1’s coaxial machine gun.
“Anvil-One-Two, this is Anvil One-One. Make smoke and bug out. Out.”
Lewis didn’t need to be told twice. He hit the button and popped smoke.
“Get us out of here, Poole! Now!”
Chapter 21
The East German machine gunner dropped to the ground. His IMGK, a Soviet RPK machine gun, was instantly set up on its bipod and, within a matter of seconds, rounds were going out, keeping the heads down of the Bundeswehr soldiers defending the small village of Ecklak. The platoon commander called his radio operator forward and spoke to his company commander via the R-126 radio. His motorised rifle platoon, along with the rest of his Company, was tasked with keeping the heads of the defenders under fire, while the rest of the battalion went round the right flank. He bellowed to his men, and a steady stream of gunfire ripped into the buildings 300 metres away, the enemy returning sporadic fire. He didn’t envy his kameraden who were going to initiate the attack. Not only would they come under fire from the Bundeswehr and Landwehr soldiers in and around the village, but also from Bundeswehr tanks on the other side of the canal, 500 metres north of the village.