The speaker crackled. “Six-Two, One-Zero. Salvo on way.”
Trusov nodded to the Major and he replied. “One-Zero, Six-Two. Received.”
Trusov nodded again.
“All Six-Two call signs. Artillery on the way.”
The units all acknowledged.
Another radio crackled and a Lieutenant passed Chadov a set of earphones. He listened intently before acknowledging the message. “It has been confirmed, sir. Colonel Kharzin and the 48th Guards Tank Regiment have moved into position.”
Trusov looked at the map board, secured against the side of the MTLB’s slab side. With the two rear doors shut, the space was cramped and the light poor. He pulled out a torch and shone it on the map to get a clearer view, The leading tank regiment from 12th Guards Tank Division would be dispersed around Sorsum and Escherde, ready to use the main road to speed towards the river crossing, once Trusov and his men had achieved it, that is. Cross over and start to punch through the British lines. Trusov’s 62nd Guards Tank Regiment and the independent tank regiment would be thrown at the British lines. A sacrifice to batter the armour and soldiers defending the western bank; their aim to weaken or smash the defenders, using Kharzin’s 100 tanks to exploit any gaps and break through. The rest of 12th Guards Tank Division would then cross. The OMG would subsequently do its bit, meeting up with the Soviet airborne forces, racing through the enemy’s rear, causing mayhem and destruction, preventing the NATO forces from securing a new defensive line.
Trusov pushed the doors open and stared out over the banks of the River Leine. A pall of smoke steadily expanded along the eastern riverbank between Schulenburg and Marienburg, and BM-21 rocket launchers started to pound the enemy on the opposite bank. A smoke screen was lying along a 500 metre stretch, completely blocking the British view of what was transpiring. Along the section, six Ural-375s positioned themselves about 100 metres apart, hidden from view of the opposite bank. The Ural-375s, were designated TMS-65, as they each mounted a model VK-1F, a modified gas-turbine aircraft engine, mounted on a turntable and swivel. The crew, all wearing their full NBC protective equipment, left their cabs, the engines still running. One operator ran to the trailer that was being towed behind, unhooking it. An SA-9, a BRDM-2 with surface-to-air missiles mounted on top, pulled alongside to protect these vulnerable vehicles. ZSU-23/4s rolled behind them; more air-defence protection. The second crewman pulled the canvas cover off the jet engine, then returned to the cab to turn the vehicle around so the engine nozzle was facing west, towards the river and the opposite bank.
Then the second crewman, after connecting a pipe from the 4,000-litre capacity trailer to the 1,500-litre tank near the cab of the 375, jumped into a cab alongside the turbo-jet outlet. They often used Mig-21 aircraft engines and even sometimes one from a Mig-23. The TMS-65 had been designed as a rapid decontamination vehicle, and two were held with each tank or motor rifle division; spewing out a gas-steam mixture that could be played over armoured vehicles, destroying any toxic agents on the vehicle. These, though, were far more ominous: specially modified, and held in a separate reserve pool for just an occasion like this, the two tanks contained a chemical mixture, the deadly nerve agent Sarin.
At a designated time, the operator powered up the jet engine, turning and raising the nozzle to the required direction and angle. The adaptor on the end of the nozzle, purposely designed so the liquid agent could be forced out as a high-pressure aerosol yet not be affected by the heat, would ensure a steady stream of Sarin nerve-agent gas would be distributed high into the air, the easterly wind ensuring the aerosol would be dispersed along the enemy’s line of troops and tanks. At exactly four-thirty in the morning, on 8 July, the six TMS-65s increased the output from the jet engines, and a steady stream of toxic nerve agent flowed up into the prevailing wind and slowly covered the unsuspecting British troops with its deadly poison.
Chapter 30
Dressed in their distinctive camouflaged one-piece coveralls, a blue and white horizontally striped shirt beneath distinguishing them as an elite unit, the paratroopers of the 7th Guards Airborne Division were lined up behind the IIyushin II-76s, designated Candid by NATO. These four-engined strategic airlifts would take these highly trained soldiers to their dropping point in West Germany. On arrival overhead of their target, they would tumble out of the sky and descend on the British army defenders in force.
The aircraft were in a line, nose to tail, with their rear doors open ready to receive their passengers for the one-way trip. Behind each one, a company of paratroopers waited for their orders to board. A few of the aircraft had Aeroflot markings, commandeered for use by the military, but piloted by Soviet air force pilots, much to the relief of the airborne troops. By utilising Aeroflot’s fleet of 200 IL-76s, the Soviet air force effectively doubled this size of transport available to them. On a separate concrete apron, additional Candids had been loaded with their cargos. This time it wasn’t men, but equipment. A Candid transport aircraft could carry three BMDs, the paratroopers’ mechanised infantry combat vehicle, or three BRDMs, or three D-30 artillery guns, or even three Gaz-66 utility vehicles. Even further away, on a third apron, AN-22s were loading up with more paratroopers, and tucked behind them, the smaller Cubs. Carrying sixty paratroopers, the Cubs had a special task. They would be the first to drop their passengers, an advanced element that would secure the ground ready for the main drop. There were even a couple of AN-124 Condors, in service with the Soviet air force for less than three months. They were capable of carrying over 100 tons of cargo, but could not be used to carry paratroopers due to pressurisation issues. But, they could carry the military vehicles the paratroopers would need to be an effective force, on the ground, behind enemy lines.
General Zimyatov, Commander of 7th Guards Airborne Division, had been given his mission by the Stavka, the Soviet high command, who were controlling how the battle for the conquest of West Germany would be fought. He had formulated his plan, run it by his senior officers and, after a few tweaks, it had been finalised and approved by the high command. Just as the British army thought they could stop the Soviet army crossing the Leine, his men would change their perspective completely.
On yet another aircraft apron, although really a concrete strip close to an industrialised area, an array of helicopters were being loaded with troops and equipment. The temporary airport, identified years ago by Spetsnaz sleepers, was quickly pulled together for the Soviet airborne regiment’s use, one of the many temporary forward bases being utilised for the continued attack on the West.
Colonel Viktor Boykov watched as the last of his men boarded the Mi-6 Hook helicopters. The 108th Guards Cossacks Air Assault, Kuban Regiment, probably had the toughest task of all. His men would be landing the closest to the enemy front line. Theirs was a heliborne assault, their mission to secure two key points: the entrance to the gap between the high ground of the Deinster and Hanover, and an area west of Pattensen where they could move to close the gap and launch strikes against 7th Armoured Brigade’s rear. Their sister regiment, the 247th Caucasian Cossacks Air Assault Regiment, commanded by Colonel Vydina, would conduct a descent, a parachute assault further west, securing the western end of the gap, near the Mittleland Kanal.