It was now three thirty on the morning of 5 July. Trusov’s battalion had been ordered to push forward to their start line, as far forward as was safe before the barrage started, the barrage that would signal the beginning of the war. He was sitting in the turret, his shoulders above the turret-hatch as he peered into the gloom ahead. His unit was making good progress. The East German Border guards had cleared the border obstacles during the night, taking down the fences, removing any mines, moving any crocodile teeth aside that had been loosened days previous, giving the tank battalion a clear passage through.
He had ordered one of the soldiers from the recce unit scouting ahead to walk in front of them with a red-filtered torch to guide the armoured column along the track and through the thinly scattered trees. He could picture Kokorev, his driver, scrutinising the route, keeping one eye on the soldier upfront and another on the darker shadows of the trees that seemed so incredibly close. Not that a tree would bother the forty-five-ton giant, but the embarrassment of slowing the column by crashing the battalion commander’s tank and throwing a track would be too much for Kokorev. Trusov trusted his driver to not make a mistake. They had been together as a crew for nineteen months and, during that time, he had proven his worth. Although he had anticipated being out of the army in five months, his two years’ conscription over, his driver found himself driving the commander’s tank into battle.
The soldier walking in front waved his torch frantically, glad when the crawling T-80 came to a halt; a slight panic that he would be the first casualty of war, trapped between a tank and the BMP-1 parked up ahead. A second soldier appeared out of the gloom, a major, his black, padded, ribbed tank-crew helmet causing his white face to stand out even more. The major climbed up onto the front of the battalion commander’s tank, holding onto the barrel of the tank’s main gun as he made his way to the turret and saluted his senior officer.
“Something ahead?” asked Trusov.
“No, sir. We’re close to the edge of the forest. The motorway is about 200 metres away. There’s not much traffic at this time of the morning.”
“Are there clear sections to cross?”
“Yes, sir, there are sections that have no barriers or central reservation and can be crossed. Scouts have been forward, and I have allocated three BRDMs to position themselves at the three crossing points once we have your order to move.”
“Have you recced the town?”
“A couple of scouts have been to the edge on foot, and there doesn’t appear to be any military activity, but there is a heavy police presence.”
Trusov thought for a moment. Checking his watch, he could see they had made better time than expected. It suited him, giving him plenty of time to deploy his battalion.
“Excellent. I will deploy the battalion in three company columns. I need you to allocate some of your men to guide them in. I will be the centre column; then one either side out to 100 metres. Got that?”
“Yes, sir, 100 metres either side your column.”
The major clambered down and went to issue his orders to his recce company. Trusov looked right as an MTLB-RkhM-K pulled up alongside just the other side of a tree, the additional aerials that adorned it swaying as it came to a halt. The figure of his regimental commander bounded over to his T-80 and stepped up onto the front of the glacis, stepping over the ERA blocks until he was able to crouch down in front of the turret, his right hand, clutching an AK-74 he lay on the tank’s gun-barrel.
“You didn’t get lost then, Pavel.”
“No, sir, I didn’t.” Trusov smiled at his commander’s poor sense of humour.
“Battalion ready?”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel. Two and Three Company are deploying to my left and right and First Company is behind me.”
“Good, once the shit hits the fan, you need to get out of here in a flash. Don’t give them time to react.” Colonel Pushkin leant in closer, tapping the edge of the turret with his fist to drive home what he was saying. “Don’t worry about minor resistance, Pavel. Just punch through it. Division have agreed to releasing a company from the 248th, so they can watch your back. And if you get into real trouble, 1st Battalion is on your left and right flank. I’ve told Aleksey to hold a company back in reserve, so that’s available to you should you need it. You’ve also got one of the AGS-17 BMPs along with a BMP from the AA platoon, and, supporting them, two ZSU-23/4s and one of the SA-9s. And, because Division think you are so special, they’ve assigned four SA-4s.”
“That’s good to know. Their aircraft could cause havoc.”
“Watch out for our aircraft as well. You’ll have two Hind-Ds from Division and eight from Army.”
“More the better. What about Helmstedt? Who’s taking care of that?”
“Don’t worry about that. We have a battalion of border guards to secure the town. Let them earn their pay being real soldiers for a change.”
Trusov looked at his watch. “Not long now.”
“Just push, push, push. We’ll be right behind you all the way.”
“If I get stuck, you’ll just overtake me, sir. No bloody chance of that.”
“You’ll do what you have to. They are expecting us, but deep down the soldiers on the ground don’t think we’ll come. They don’t believe that this is going to happen.”
“Do we know if NATO has been able to deploy and mobilise their reinforcements yet?”
Pushkin thought for a moment. “Command knows they have deployed, but they have left it late to dig in and prepare their defences in full. As for reserves, the Americans have got a lot of men to fly across the Atlantic. That’s some distance. Then they have to get their equipment out of storage. As for the British, they have at least one of their forward divisions based in England. It will take them a few days to get here.”
“That’s going to cost them.”
“It will.”
“And the Dutch and the Belgians have been dragging their feet.” Trusov laughed.
“They’ve come round, eventually. But that says it all, Paveclass="underline" they don’t believe it’s going to happen, they don’t want to upset us, and they don’t want to fight.”
“1st Guards will have it easy in the north, then.”
“Not with a German division acting as a covering force. You know those bastards like a good fight.” Pushkin checked his watch. “Ten minutes, Pavel. I need to get back to HQ. I’d love to stay and join you in the fight, but Division will be screaming for me as soon as it all kicks off. Anyway, someone’s got to win the war and watch your back for you.” He patted the younger officer on the shoulder. “Don’t stop, Pavel, don’t stop. Cleave a way through their covering force so the regiment’s second echelon can get to grips with their main force. 3rd Battalion and the foot sloggers will be right up your arse. I’m depending on you.”
They both laughed, and Pushkin slipped down from the tank and ran across to the MTLB regimental command vehicle that would put him in touch with his three tank battalions, motor rifle battalion, artillery battalion, and the rest of his tank regiment assets.
Trusov dropped down inside his tank, into the cramped innards of the turret. Barsukov had his face up against the gunner’s night-sight, checking his arc out front, making sure all the equipment was working correctly. Once they were in a fight, they would need everything to function if they were to make a good account of themselves, or just to survive. He pulled his face away from the scope and turned when he heard the boots of his commander clatter down behind him. Senior Sergeant (ста́рший сержа́нт) Barsukov was an extremely competent gunner, and Trusov had complete trust in him.
“Just over five minutes, Sergeant. Everything OK?”