“Medic, medic,” the lieutenant shouted at the top of his voice, the sound hollow inside his head. He heard other calls as Combat Team Alpha slowly came to life. He turned as something thumped on his shoulder, his signaller punching his arm to get his attention, pointing at the radio set. He grabbed the headset, putting one of the earphones against the side of his face and heard the call.
“Alpha-one, this is Alpha-zero. Sitrep. Alpha-one, sitrep, over.”
He stuttered a reply, his body physically shaking as he tried to control it and form some words with his dry mouth. “Alpha-zero, Alpha-one. Going to check now, over.”
“Fucking get on with it, Dean. I need to know your strength and casualties, soonest. They’ll be on top of us any minute. We are already getting reports of Soviet recce. Over.”
“Roger, sir, with you in figures two.”
“One minute. Out.”
Shit, the old man was in a foul mood.
“All Alpha-one call signs. Sitrep, over.”
“One-one-bravo. Two minor injuries, patching them up. Equipment operable, over.”
“Roger that.” The two Milan firing posts had survived.
“One-two, two minor injuries, one killed. Equipment A-OK, over.”
“Roger that.”
“One-three, one killed, one seriously wounded, 432 KO’ed, over.”
“Roger that. All call signs, enemy lookout. They are on way. Alpha-one, out.”
The half-section with the Milan out in front of the forward line of the platoon had answered, but not One-one-alpha. Russell finally climbed out and ran across the edge of the trenches at a crouch, suspecting what he would find. One-Section’s commander was dead, as were two soldiers with him; one of them had been flung into the platoon commander’s trench. The 432 ambulance reversed at speed up to the trench, the two medics piling out to deal with any wounded, the CSM with them driving one of the surviving Land Rovers to take any of the lightly wounded to the collection point at the far end of the village.
“What’s your status, sir?”
The CSM was covered in blood, not from any injuries, but from the men he had been helping to the company aid station.
“Three KIA, one serious, some minor wounds, and we’ve lost a 432, Sarn’t Major. How have the other platoons come through it?”
“Three-Platoon have been hit hard, at least half a dozen killed, including Lieutenant Ward.”
They didn’t have time to finish their conversation as the signaller bellowed across, “One-one-bravo, sir. They have movement.”
The CSM touched the young officer’s shoulder. “I’ll report to the OC. You see to your men. They’re going to need you.”
Russell nodded and ran to the radio set. “Alpha-one.”
“Tanks, sir, bloody hundreds of them.”
“Calm down, Corporal Reid, radio procedure. What can you see?”
“Tanks, sir, sorry. One-one-bravo. Tanks, left, right and centre.”
“Alpha-one, with you shortly.” Russell turned to the signaller and his runner, instructing both to follow him. They headed east, at a run, their 58-pattern webbing pouches bouncing as they ran. Keeping low, running along the bottom of the ditch, the shrubbery either side giving them cover, they quickly arrived at the position of the Milan firing point.
“Corporal Reid, I’m sorry, but Corporal Wood has been killed. I want you to go back and take command of the section.”
“Martin…dead?”
“Yes. There’s no time to talk about it now, Corporal. I need you to get back now and organise the section.”
Lance-Corporal Reid nodded, looked at the two men of his half-section then headed back towards the village.
Lieutenant Russell threw himself down beside the corporal in command of the two Milans. “What can you see?”
The corporal was looking through the Milan optical sight. He answered without taking his eye off the targets. “There’s a lot, sir. There’s a company-size group coming left and maybe two or three approaching in between the two villages.”
“Your target?”
“I can take out two, sir. One with each firing point; then we’ll need to move. And bloody sharpish.”
“Take them out. The minute you come under fire, or once you’ve fired your two shots, pull back. Understood?”
“Yes. sir,” the junior NCO responded, relief in his voice.
“Straight to the 432. We’ll probably be pulling out of here. This place is lost.”
“We didn’t hold it for very long, sir.”
“No, we didn’t. But the aim is to delay, and we did that. You two,” he pointed to the two with minor injuries, “make your way back to the 432’s. I’ll leave my runner here. I need to check on the rest of the platoon.”
“Got you, sir.”
The lieutenant left and the corporal again focused on his target. The Milan wire-guided missile he controlled could travel over a kilometre and a half in twelve and a half seconds. He centred on the tank in his sights, the other post doing the same with another, and they launched their rockets. The cover on the missile housing popped off, and the missile flew from the tube mounted on the launcher system, a plume of orange and yellow flame shooting out of the back. The concept of Semi-Automatic Command-To-Line-Of-Sight (SACLOS) meant the operator had only to keep the target in his sights at all times. The missile, trailing a thin wire behind it that was linked to the launcher, homed in on the target, guided by the operator. The concentration was immense as the corporal focused on the centre circle on the moving tank. The missiles struck. There was an explosion, but the tank kept on moving.
His assistant took off the now empty tub and was ready to attach a second when the sound of helicopter rotor blades could be heard growing louder and louder as the Hind-D Gunship roared towards them, stopping suddenly at a height of 200 metres, its cockpit rearing up before returning to a level plane as the USPU-24 under-nose turret with its 12.7mm YakB 12.7 machine gun opened up. Firing at a rate of 4,000 rounds per minute, a short burst killed both Milan commanders and the other soldiers, their bodies ripped apart, the Milan posts smashed to pieces, They didn’t see that their deaths would be avenged as a quick-thinking soldier fired a shoulder-launched blowpipe missile, which swept round as the operator, using the small thumb joystick, held it on target. The proximity fuse, sensing the double-stepped tandem cab of the Mi-24 Hind-D, exploded, shattering the cockpit and killing the pilot and weapons operator instantly. The out-of-control heli plummeted to the ground.
Lieutenant Russell, about to reposition the reserve section, bringing them forward for additional support for the Milan team, was handed the microphone and earphones of the radio by his signaller.
“Alpha-one, this is alpha-zero.”
“Alpha-zero, alpha one.” He shouted his response, his hearing still impaired. “We’re pulling out. Get your men in the 432s and head west. Don’t use the roads; head north for cover. There are half a dozen Hinds buzzing around. Acknowledge, over.”
“Alpha-zero, alpha one. Wilco, out.”
He handed the phones back to his signaller. “We’re pulling back. Call all sections and get them back here.”
Chapter 35