During the night, 62nd Guards Tank Regiment had settled down to rest, rearm and refuel. With the adrenalin no longer coursing through their veins, weariness had started to make itself felt. The tank crews snatched as much sleep as they were able, some of them even too tired to eat. 10th Guards Tank Division, supported by 3rd Shock Army assets, and even assets from the Group of Soviet Forces Germany, were planning and preparing for an extensive artillery and air-to-ground strike on the NATO forces protecting the passageway between Braunschweig in the north and Wolfenbuttel in the south. Huge quantities of ammunition had been brought forward during the night, despite the enemy’s artillery and air force attempts at interdicting the movement of the much needed supplies. Stockpiles had been placed close to the self-propelled and wheeled artillery. All they waited for now was the order to commence firing.
10th Guards Tank Division, led by the 62nd GTR and 248th GMRR, had advanced rapidly during the last twenty-four hours, pushing twenty-five kilometres into West Germany, and was now ready to strike again. Trusov had positioned his battalion on the outskirts of Salzdahlum, about five kilometres from Braunschweig and three from Wolfenbuttel. The third-battalion had been deployed in Ahlum and first-battalion on the eastern outskirts of Salzdahlum as the reserve. The regimental recce company had been deployed in Obersickte. The regimental commander had in effect planned to use the three tank battalions as a single echelon, with the motor rifle battalion as a second echelon in reserve. Forcing a breach in the British covering force’s final defensive barrier and crossing the River Oker would see the regiment, and the division, up against the British main defensive positions along the River Leine. The next thirty kilometres would place them south of Hanover, deep inside West Germany. Here the division’s second echelon would take over: two fresh tank regiments, supported by two regiments from 7GTD to the south. At a meeting with the regimental commander, joined by Major-General Abramov, commander of the division, the message was clear: Attack, attack, attack. Again and again, until they reached Hanover. Then, with the rest of the division committed, supported by 7 Guards Tank Division to the south, they would cross the Leine, break through the main British lines, enabling 12th Guards Tank Division, the Operational Manoeuvre Group, to exploit the breakthrough, striking deep into the British rear area, threatening the flanks of Northern Army Group’s other Corps, the German to the north and the Belgian to the south. This time, the artillery and missile barrage would be for a full sixty minutes, the guns of the 700 tanks of the two divisions adding to the volume of high explosive raining down on the defenders.
Trusov jumped, his thoughts interrupted as the artillery barrage let rip, and a deluge of shells and missiles beat down on the defenders, killing both soldiers and civilians alike. Once more, army-level artillery assets had been allocated to this key sector of the front.
Crump, crump… crump.
He was joined by his gunner. “I don’t envy the British, sir.”
Trusov nodded slowly. “I’m with you on that, Barsukov. It must be bloody hell over there.”
“Do you think they’ll put up much of a fight, sir?”
Crump, crump, crump… crump… crump.
“They’ll fight, but only long enough to slow us down.”
“Why don’t they make a stand?”
Trusov smiled. “Because there’s no point. Their forces are too few to stop us. If they hold their ground, they will end up isolated and will either be defeated or be surrounded and have to surrender.”
“Surely, sir, they have to stop running at some point. We’ll be at their English Channel in about a week at this rate.”
This time Trusov laughed and Barsukov reddened. “Oh yes, they will stop and fight. What they’re doing now is just an attempt to hold us up, inflict casualties, force us to extend our logistical tail, burn up fuel and ammunition. They will stop and fight, Comrade Barsukov, and when they do, we’ll be the first to know about it.”
Schzoom, schzoom, schzoom… schzoom… schzoom… schzoom… schzoom, schzoom, schzoom.
They both ducked involuntarily as wave after wave of BM-21 launched, 122mm rockets streaked overheard. Fifty-four missile platforms sending over 2,000 deadly high explosive packages to swamp the two remaining combat teams of the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers Battlegroup, dug in south of Braunschweig and north of Wolfenbuttel.
“Shit. I’m glad I’m not amongst that lot.”
“It’s just about to get worse for them, Barsukov. We move out fast, as soon as it stops, using the air-to-ground attack as cover. Make sure Kokorev is ready.”
“Will do, sir.” With that, Barsukov dropped back down inside the tank and made his way to the front to chat to his fellow crewman.
Crump, crump… crump… crump… crump… crump.
The artillery assault was incessant, and Trusov actually felt sorry for the British soldiers. He knew that many of them were being killed at this exact moment in time. Every time a salvo of shells bracketed their positions, someone was in danger of injury or death.
Trusov stared at the constant flicker of lights dominating the horizon in front of him, mesmerised by the flashes as the high-explosive shells erupted all along the forward line of enemy troops. This would be the second major push they would make.
One Guards Tank Army would also be resuming its push west, threatening the southern flank of 1 British Corps and 2 Guards Tank Army menacing the northern flank; the British Army of the Rhine was under enormous pressure. The German Army was holding well in the north, defending their own area of responsibility and providing the covering force for the 1st Netherlands Corps as it moved rapidly east to occupy the positions allocated to them to defend. But, to the south, 1st Belgian Corps was struggling to get into position, due to delays in calling up reserve units and initiating full mobilisation, resulting in a weak point in Northern Army Group’s southern wing. Again, the German forces were obliged to temporarily fill the gap.
Round after round pummelled the soldiers of Combat Team Alpha, dug in amongst the southern fringes of Braunschweig, and Combat Team Bravo in Wolfenbuttel. A scattering of troops also defended the wooded area that lay in between the two conurbations. 62nd Guards Tank Regiment’s 2S1s fired shell after shell into the trees of the small wood that lay less than three kilometres in front of Trusov’s position. Trunks were splintered and branches were severed; the troops dug in along the edge were suffocated by the sheer ferocity of the torrent that beat down on them. A battalion of eighteen BM-21s had been allocated to fire a full load of 720 rockets at that particular target. Once fired, all 720 of the M-21OF three-metre long rockets would be launched striking their target mercilessly, swamping the entire area with high-explosive fragmentation within twenty seconds of the firing being initiated. When they eventually hit, the entire length of the forest, a kilometre long and to a depth of 200 metres, erupted into a maelstrom of flying splinters of wood and, from the rockets themselves, lethal slivers of metal tore into the ground, trees and flesh alike. Trusov, although safe, held his hand up in front of his face and felt sick at the thought of himself being on the receiving end of such death and destruction. For twenty seconds, the forest and troops dug in along its edge were laced with a lethal cocktail, the onslaught unforgiving. If that wasn’t enough, after two minutes of preparation, the BM-21s moved positions so they weren’t exposed to counter-battery fire, and prepared to fire again. Ten minutes to reload and, twenty minutes later, Trusov witnessed the utter devastation of the wooded area in front of him. Nothing, he thought, nothing could have possibly survived that. But some did survive. Troops still alive in their holes cowered deep into their trenches, struggling to draw breath, the sound ringing in their ears, the sucking noises as they gasped inside their rubber masks, more than one soldier panicking and ripping off his S6 respirator, cursed by their comrades and NCOs alike. Luckily, the attack was not chemical, but many were killed all the same. Not a single soldier who survived left that wood without feeling shaky and sick.