“Progressing well down there, Sarg?”
“Should be ready for nightfall. See anything?”
“Not a sausage. A few civvies have just left Goot Dotzy, or whatever it’s called.”
“Gut Dotzum. Your bloody German is lousy, Will.”
“Yeah, I know, Sarg. But I get my food from the canteen, anything else from the Naafi, and I know how to order a beer.”
Smiling at the L/CPL’s simple outlook on life, Sergeant Thomas went to the window where the glass had been knocked and took in the view. Two huge features immediately stood out. Dominating the skyline was Hildesheimer Wald, south-west of Hildesheim. Thirty kilometres long, a forest running north-west to south-east, its maximum height nearly 300 metres, with numerous ridges and winding tracks, a watercourse running along its length, it wouldn’t be an easy feature for the enemy to pass through. To the south-east was a second forest, Sieben Berge. The forest was even higher at over 400 metres and the ground undulated severely. What it did was to create a channel that led right up to Gronau. Although 4th Armoured Division would put up a simple defence using these barriers south of Hildesheim, it would be short-lived.
He had asked his company commander, Major Hunt, why they weren’t digging in, in force, further forward.
“It’s simple,” the major had replied. “The enemy could be on us so fast and with such force that we just won’t have time to consolidate our position. We need Four Div to slow them down, giving us a chance to identify their main axis of advance. We just don’t have enough troops to cover the entire front in depth. So, we identify their axis of advance and reposition our battle groups as necessary. Don’t forget, the Inner German Border reaches as far forward as Goslar to our south. That puts them past out front line.”
It was the correct answer, but it didn’t exactly fill the sergeant with confidence.
L/CPL Graham joined him at the window sill. “Kind of wish this was just an exercise, Sarg.”
“Me and you both. All the times we’ve moaned about being crashed out. We’ll be OK though; we’re far from being on our own. NATO’s a pretty big army and the Soviets will bite off more than they can chew. Keep your eyes peeled. We should get a warning from HQ when they’re on their way, but we don’t want to be bounced.”
“Sarg.”
Thomas left Graham to continue with his vigilant overwatch and headed downstairs to talk to the section, keep them motivated, make sure they dug deep, and were well protected.
Chapter 27
The FV432, a British armoured personnel carrier, swung right off Am Kievergarten into Barmiker Strasse. The soldier stood up through the hatch, hanging on to the pintle-mounted 7.62mm GPMG (General Purpose Machine Gun), secured on top for additional defence, as the battle taxi turned sharply on its tracks. The 432 was carrying Major Andy Phillips, the commander of A Company, the 2nd Battalion the Royal Green Jackets, now designated Combat Team Alpha, and Company Sergeant Major, CSM Tobi Saunders. After a hundred metres, the 432 turned down a track that led across the end of two long farm buildings before coming to a halt behind a thick hedgeline interspersed with a number of trees. The 432 engine continued to tick over as the OC of Combat Team Alpha would be continuing his tour of his command once this visit was complete. The OC slid along the bench seats in the back, pulled on the lever and pushed the armoured door back on its hinges. It swung back to the left, and he jumped out, clutching his SLR rifle. If he was going to be in combat then he didn’t want the small calibre SMG, or to rely on his 9mm Browning pistol, but something that packed a punch.
Apart from a few Scorpion and Scimitar reconnaissance vehicles out ahead somewhere, the defence line his combat team was on would be the first major contact any Soviet force would come up against in this sector. Any armoured or mechanised force coming from the direction of Helmstedt would likely split: one element going north using the A2 autobahn, passing north of the small Dorm Forest, another element approaching directly from the east. The high ground of der Elm Forest to the south-west of Supplingenburg and Supplingen would be a significant barrier, so any force coming from that direction would have the village of Supplingenburg to the north, Frellstedt to the south and Supplingen in the middle, directly in their path. Combat Team A had the task of covering Supplingenburg. The village, with a population of fewer than 500, had a minor road that ran through the centre, with another minor road that crossed the village to the east, running north to south. North, it joined up with the E8/A2; south it passed through Supplingen, two kilometres away. Some of the villagers had moved out during the last twenty-four hours, but many had stayed behind. Major Phillips was concerned for two reasons. If the Warsaw Pact attacked, and he was not yet sure that they would although the signs were slowly pointing in that direction, the civilians would come under fire from aircraft and artillery shelling as a minimum. The situation would get even worse when he and his men pulled out and the villagers were left to the mercy of Soviets who would move in. The German government hadn’t made any effort so far to evacuate civilians close to the border. But when, or if, they did, a steady trail of refugees and their vehicles would cause mayhem for the retreating troops.
Alongside the CSM, they both ran at a crouch towards the tree and hedgeline. Not that they needed to keep out of sight: there was no enemy this side of the Inner German Border yet. But, there was always a danger that they were being watched by GRU sleepers, or East German sympathisers, closet communists, but the deployment had to continue regardless. Phillips had warned his men to be on the alert for any strangers or anyone showing an unhealthy interest in their activities.
Behind him, the four 432s of the platoon he was checking were lined up, ten metres apart, along a second treeline, rear doors facing towards them so any troops pulling back could pile in quickly for a fast getaway. Cam-netting had been draped over all four, propped up with lengths of slim tree trunks that had been gathered for that purpose over the years.
Major Phillips threw himself down by the side of the lieutenant in command of the platoon, the lieutenant’s face blackened with cam-cream, foliage protruding from his helmet and strategically tied on to his webbing, helping him blend in with his surroundings.
“Sitrep, Dean?”
“We’re nearly done, sir.”
“Run it by me then.”
The young lieutenant had been commanding the platoon for less than a year, and had only been out of the officer academy, RMA Sandhurst, for fifteen months. But the OC had been pleased with his progress.
He pointed ahead and to the left. “Fifty metres east, left arc, sir, a group of four trees. I have two Milan firing posts covered by a half section.”
“They’re a bit exposed, aren’t they?”
“A bit, sir. But it’s in a slight dip and they have a full 180-degree target area. They can cover any armour coming up the road to pass through the centre of the village and the road that crosses our front. Also, there is a ditch that runs from the left of this treeline right up to their position. They can pull out under cover when necessary. Further out to their left are a couple of watercourses. Those will make it difficult for anyone coming at us from the north.”