“Did they agree willingly to those orders?”
“They… ah… had some reservations, Comrade Aleksandrov, but… understood the necessity of their use.”
Baskov and Aleksandrov made eye contact, and no more needed to be said.
“Thank you, Marshall Obraztsov, General Zavarin. You are released to continue leading the war against our enemies.”
The two officers stood, placed their military caps on their heads, and saluted before heading towards the door.
Just as Zavarin was about to follow his commander out, Baskov called out to him. “General Zavarin.”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary?”
“If the crossing fails, I want the senior officers responsible for that failure shot. Do I make myself clear?”
“Yes, Comrade General Secretary. I will personally carry out the order.”
The two Politburo members were now on their own, and Baskov summoned his secretary to provide fresh drinks and some of his favourite biscuits.
“Well, Yuri? The Germans?”
“There have been grumblings, Comrade Secretary. The use of special weapons on German and NATO positions, where civilians may well be in close proximity, will be an issue. Some of them are bound to be affected, and this is causing them some concern.”
“It will save lives in the long run. The sooner we can beat NATO into submission, the sooner we can claim victory and end this war. You need to keep an eye on them, Yuri.”
“I have loyal insiders who are reporting back to me.”
“What about the Poles?”
“They don’t care. They are happy to see Germans killed whichever side they’re on. There is no love lost between those two nations. The last war saw to that.”
Baskov reflected on what he had just heard. “We need to have some of our forces on standby, just in case.”
“I anticipated your request, Comrade Secretary. I am meeting with MVD and NKVD commanders in the morning.”
“Good, good, Yuri. I knew I could depend on you. Why don’t we forget about this coffee. I have something much better in my cabinet.”
Chapter 23
“Two-Two-Alpha, this is Bravo-Zero. Over.”
“Two-Two-Alpha, go ahead. Over.”
“You have friendlies moving your location. Over.”
“Roger that, Bravo-Zero. Call signs and type. Over.”
“Alpha, Charlie, with Three-Three-Delta, and Delta troop moving to south-west of your location. Suggest you recall Two-Two-Charlie. Roger so far? Over.”
“Roger that.”
“One Jaeger platoon, call sign Foxtrot-One and one tank destroyer Foxtrot-Two. Roger so far? Over.”
“Roger.”
“Foxtrot-One will move north of your location. Foxtrot-Two, south.Two-Two-Echo are being withdrawn, but stay on your side. Alpha and Delta will cover your west exit. Golf-One and Golf-Two also in position. Over.”
“What about Two-Two-Delta? Over.”
“Medical support is following Three-Three-Delta in.”
“Roger that, sir.” Thank god there will be some relief for Two-two-Delta, he thought. What’s the situation to our west? Over.”
“All call signs under heavy pressure but holding. A Landwehr unit is being reinforced by Alpha, and Delta is holding. Charlie will be joining you to your south. But be ready to get out of there quickly, Alex. When we can see how it pans out, you may need to shift.”
“Roger that.”
“Bravo-Zero, out.”
Patsy came up alongside him. “Getting some help then, sir?”
Mackey and Ellis joined them by climbing up the glacis. They had been taking a break, stretching their legs, breathing in fresh air, although it always seemed tainted by the smell of something: burning buildings were still smoking in Gronau, explosives’ residue, and an almost permanent smell of diesel. The Chieftain’s engine was quiet for the moment and, apart the firefight still in progress on the other side of the river, the immediate area was almost peaceful, the quiet before the storm.
“Yes, listen.” Directly behind them, about one kilometre away, in between the sounds of gunfire and explosions, they could hear the distinctive sound of Chieftain engines as the drivers manoeuvred the three tanks of the third troop of Combat Team Bravo through the streets of Gronau, a Combat Engineer Tractor following to pull out any tanks that got bogged down in the rubble-strewn town, or threw a track. They tracked the moving vehicles by sound alone. The Chieftains, along with the mechanised infantry section, were moving south. The Infantry would take up positions close to Two-Two-Delta.
“Two-Two-Delta. Friendly Tangos moving your location. Some help on the way for the wounded. Over.”
“Two-Two-Delta. Good news, sir. Are we pulling out?”
“Not yet, but pull your unit back once relieved and hold in reserve. Over.”
“Will do, sir.”
“Out to you. Two-Two-Echo, Two-Two-Alpha. Over.”
“Two-Two-Echo, go ahead.”
“Friendlies moving to your location. Withdraw to the tree line when relieved.”
“Roger that. One unit abandoned, but crew will extract with us. Over.”
“Understood. Friendlies are not Brit. Over.”
“Box-heads?”
“Roger that. Two-Two-Charlie, location? Over.”
“Two-Two-Charlie, still same. Over.”
“Three-Three moving your location. You are to move north of my location. Check on Two-Two-Bravo.”
“Can hear them coming now. Estimate figures ten.”
Chapter 24
The sonar operator strained to pick out the particular characteristics that would aid him in identifying the submarine that had suddenly appeared in range of his sensors, picked up by the spherical sonar array positioned in the bow, along with the conformal array mounted around the bow. The unidentified submarine appeared to be changing depth. It was the move between the thermocline layers that had suddenly brought the enemy submarine to his attention. It had to be an enemy submarine. There were no Brits, French or other US subs in the immediate area, he thought. They were on their own. Well, not any more. A slight smile broke his concentration, but it soon returned to a frown. They were at war, and if this was an enemy submarine… USS Providence, SSN-719, a Los Angeles-class submarine, one of the United States’ latest, was patrolling fifty kilometres ahead of a convoy that was heading across the Atlantic from Texas to a port in Europe, where the forty merchant ships could disgorge the supplies it was carrying. It had armour and troops to support the forces already in battle with the Warsaw Pact, along with fuel, ammunition and rations.
Poulton had definitely heard something. Maybe it was an SSN. It certainly wasn’t a Boomer. It was the wrong position for it to be in to launch nuclear missiles against Britain or the United States. Poulton examined the Waterfall, one of two octagonal screens in front of him, the display green, showing white noise and snow, the solid line telling him he had something. He was one of four sonar operators manning the BSY-1 Console in the sonar room on the port side of the boat, next to the control room. Larry Poulton was sitting at the console on the far left, his favourite position.