History, Politics And Current Affairs

1514 hours GMT. South of Ar Rawdatayn, northern Kuwait.
“They’re brave buggers, I’ll give them that.” Major Jones’ gunner remarked. “They’ve been comprehensively malleted by fast jets, attack helicopters and artillery, and now we’re giving them a right shoeing from a range at which they can’t even see us, let along shoot back, yet they still come on.”
“I guess they’re more scared of Saddam than us.” The loader added. “At least we only kill ‘em, Saddam and his lads will cut them up into little pieces and do the same to their wives and kids.”
“That’s the Arabs for you, when they’re not killing each other it’s all this Allah’s will bollocks. They figure that if they’re going to die its Allah’s choice, so why should they try to do anything about it; tossers.” The driver commented.
“Talking of Arabs, I wonder how the Kuwaitis are getting on.” Major Jones wondered, training his commander’s independent sight to the right.

He could just make out a couple of M1A2 Abrams of the Kuwaiti 6th Armoured Cavalry Brigade in hull-down positions behind the next ridge to the right of his position. They too were engaging the Iraqi armour, good, that meant that the Iraqi regiment advancing towards them would not be able to out-flank the battle group and take the British in the rear, not that Jones thought that they were that imaginative.

*

“Can’t you persuade the Kuwaitis to move forward, Echo Six Two? Over.” Lt Colonel Collins said into the radio.
“That’s a negative Shamrock One, One, the commander of the 6th Cav is not confident about moving his troops forward from their current position. He doesn’t think it is safe to expose his vehicles. Over.” The American staff officer at H.Q X Corps replied.
“Echo Six Two, can’t someone persuade him to change his mind? We’ve got a perfect opportunity to inflict serious losses on the enemy, over.” Collins said more forcefully.
“Not a chance Shamrock One, One; the man’s not for moving. Do the best you can, over.”

Collins replaced the radio handset in disgust. The was only so much that his battle group could do on its own; if on the other hand it was joined by the Kuwaiti cavalry brigade on its right flank it could probably rout the Iraqi division facing them. However the Kuwaitis would not budge from their static positions, the way they were fighting their tanks and armoured vehicles might have well have been forts. As far as Collins was concerned that made them little better than his Iraqi opponents.

“Bloody gutless wonders.” He muttered, stubbing out the remains of his cigar.

1531 hours. Belcoo, County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland.
Inspector Richard Doherty, a veteran police officer of the Police Service of Northern Ireland (incorporating the Royal Ulster Constabulary, George Cross) to give the force its full name, could still remember the day he had decided to become a police officer. It was the day that he and his father had buried his mother; it had been a cold, wet day, he still remembered the mourners standing huddled under their umbrellas, his father’s and uncle’s dark green Royal Ulster Constabulary uniforms standing out amongst the gathered Catholic congregation.
His mother had been driving the family car, perhaps a rare occurrence for the times, when an IRA gunman had opened fire on it with an American Thompson sub-machine gun, killing her instantly. Perhaps as the wife and sister of a police officer Moira Doherty was what the Republicans considered a ‘legitimate target’, or maybe they had been after his father, Sergeant Thomas Doherty, a respected local policeman. Whatever the reason the young Richard Doherty and his sister Seonaid had been deprived of their mother.
As soon as he was old enough Doherty had applied to join the RUC, while his younger sister had eventually become a ‘Greenfinch’ in the then Ulster Defence Regiment. [1] Like her brother she too wanted to stop another child from losing her mother to the paramilitaries.

Life as a Catholic in the RUC had not been an easy one, while there were those who greatly respected him, as they had done his father and uncle, there were also those who would not have spat on him if he was on fire and worse those who would have happily shot him in the back. Indeed that had happened to one of his friends while he was administering First Aid to a woman injured in a road accident, which had made him even more bitter about the Republicans, not that he was a great fan of the Loyalists either, he had seen too many colleagues badly injured, or even murdered by so-called ‘Loyalists’ to have anything other than contempt for them. [2] The final targets for his contempt and loathing were those who supplied the paramilitaries on both sides with weapons. For example he did not have an especially high opinion of those Americans who called themselves ‘Irish’, despite never having set foot in Ireland in their lives, badly misunderstood the political situation and felt the best thing they could do to remedy it was to raise money for terrorist causes, or directly supply arms and explosives.
However, apart from the risk of sudden violent death, or dismemberment, a career in the RUC was not all bad, like many of his co-religionists he represented the fact that Catholics had been promoted well out of proportion to the percentage of the force that they made up, giving the lie to the accusation that the RUC had been sectarian.
Life for a PSNI officer was now far easier than it had been for the RUC, though it was still hard enough, but at least a large proportion of the population did not want to kill you, or help those who might.

The transition to and the outbreak of war had resulted in the police in Northern Ireland beginning to resemble the bad old days of ‘The Troubles’. Body armour and small-arms had come out of store and armoured Land Rover Tangis had reappeared on the streets. Troops had also reappeared in places, guarding Key Points and mounting patrols in rural areas.

*

Inspector Doherty stepped out of the passenger side of the Tangi once it had stopped by the border post on the Northern Irish end of the bridge linking Belcoo to the Irish village of Blacklion. The post was being guarded by members of the PSNI, a few of whom were armed with MP5 carbines (heavier HK33 rifles were kept in lock boxes in the Tangis) backed up by soldiers of 1st Battalion, The King’s Regiment and 4th (County Fermanagh and County Tyrone), Battalion The Royal Irish Regiment. [3]

“Hello stranger.” A familiar voice said.
“Ah, Captain Doherty, I suppose I should have expected you would be here.” He said, smiling, as he recognised his little sister.

Captain Seonaid Doherty was the Operations Officer of the Enniskillen based company of 4 Royal Irish. This reflected the greater role that ‘Greenfinches’ in the Royal Irish were now able to play; if women could serve a full role in Home Defence on the Mainland, then there was no reason why they should not in Northern Ireland. By chance Captain Doherty was currently the senior army officer present in Belcoo.

“You coming to meet the neighbours then, or are you going to hang about here gossiping like most squaddies while us peelers do all the work?” Doherty asked, teasing his sister.
“You’re just jealous because my gun is bigger than yours.” She came back with.

The two of them, police officer and soldier, brother and sister, set off across the bridge to meet their Irish counterparts, who were waiting at the half-way point. Doherty’s Garda counterpart was leaning on the guardrail of the bridge with a broad grin on his face.

“Just like a northerner to be late.” Inspector Christopher Ryder of the An Garda Síochána remarked as he saw the Doherty siblings approach.
“Some of us have proper work to do, Chris, rather than just dealing with illicit Poteen stills.”

Inspector Ryder picked up a thermos flask resting on the pavement.

“Talking of Poteen, can I offer both of you some refreshment?
“By the way, this young lad is Captain Mike Collins of the army.”
“Nice to meet you, Captain.” Ryder said, extending his right hand.
“Likewise, Inspector.” Collins replied, taking it and shaking the hand warmly. He turned to Captain Doherty. “Now I didn’t know that captains in the British Army were so attractive.” He said with a smile.

Captain Doherty reddened slightly at the flirtatious compliment and chuckled. However Inspector Doherty cleared his throat in a sign of disapproval.

“And this is Captain Seonaid Doherty, the Inspector’s younger sister.” Ryder told his military colleague, who turned a bright shade of red and spluttered some apologies, much to Captain Doherty’s amusement.

Ryder opened the flask, poured out some of the liquid into a cup and handed it over to Inspector Doherty.

“Some nice hot coffee for you, Richard, hopefully it will wake you up a bit.”

Doherty took a sip of the hot liquid and felt a strong bite behind the coffee.

“This is Irish coffee, Chris. I’ll be for the high jump if I drink more of this!” He said laughing.
“No such silly restriction in the army.” His sister interjected. “I’m more than happy to accept Irish hospitality.” She said taking the cup offered to her.
“So what’s new, Chris?” Inspector Doherty asked, continuing to drink his Irish coffee, despite his earlier protestations.
“We’ve got a couple of terrorist cells running around down south; we think they’re a mix of KGB and some dissident Republicans. Mount Gabriel was down to them and we’ve had a run in with some of them not too far away from the border; buggers managed to get away unfortunately.
“We believe they might be thinking of launching attacks against you lads from our side of the border. Maybe may you think that the Provos are up to their old tricks again.”

Doherty nodded; he had heard intelligence whispers to that effect from PSNI’s Special Branch.

“I’d heard as much. Evidently somebody is not respecting your neutrality, Chris.” Doherty observed. “We’ll keep an eye out for them if they turn up around here.
“You know, we’re a pretty pair, Chris. Who would have thought that a Northern Irish policeman would be a Tim, while his pal from the South would be a Prod. Bit ironic really.”

Ryder laughed and began to reply.

“Rather the reverse of what you might…”

‘CRACK! THUMP!’

Doherty ducked reflexively and reached for his Glock 17, as he recognised the sound. It was one he had heard often enough since becoming a policeman, it was the sound of a high velocity rifle bullet breaking the sound barrier as it passed before hitting its target.

“Get down!” He yelled.
“Ahhhh! Oh Jesus it hurts!” A voice that the Inspector realised to his horror was that of his sister, yelled.

He crawled across to her and began to check her for injuries, ignoring the babble of questions coming from his radio.

“Where are you hit, Seonaid, where are you hit?” He asked urgently as he patted her down.
“Ahh…***…in the chest…Christ that hurts..!”

Doherty concentrated on her upper body until he found a hole in the DPM cover of her Enhanced Body Armour. He stuck his finger into the hole, but instead of finding any blood he found the end of the bullet, sticking out of the ceramic plate that protected the chest. [4]

“It’s okay, Seonaid, it hit your ceramic plate, you’ll be okay.” He reassured her.
“Anybody see where that came from? Over.” Ryder asked urgently over his radio, while Captain Collins frantically scanned both banks of the river through the sight of his Steyr AUG rifle.

‘CRACK! THUMP!’

The Irish Army captain, who had been down on one knee, slowly toppled backwards, blood fountaining into the air from his head. His rifle clattered to the ground.

“*** hell!” Doherty exclaimed. “Get a couple of Tangis down here now!” He yelled into his radio.

1538 hours GMT. Charlottenberg, West Berlin.
It had fallen strangely quiet across the city. The artillery had fallen silent and there had not been any air attacks for over an hour, the only sign that Berlin was a city at war was the occasional rifle shot, but that was it.

Lance-Corporal John ‘Stevie’ Nicks scanned the ground in front of the sniper nest through his sniper scope. He was looking for anything of intelligence interest that could be passed back to H.Q, or for any worthwhile targets for his partner, Sergeant Mills.

“Not a thing moving out there.” He whispered. “Do you think they’ve all gone home?”

Sergeant Dan Mills, who had been speaking on the satellite radio they had been issued with, crawled across to the window.

“I’m not surprised, Stevie, there’s a cease-fire on.” Mills said quietly.
“I guess that’s it then.” Nicks said despondently. “I though we were doing pretty well.”
“It’s not over for us.” Mills told Nicks. “The Old Man told me that we are now no longer under his command, but under the direct command of SHAPE. We’ve to lie low for a while, then come out in a few days and pass intelligence back to them.”
“Okay then, that sounds a bit more like it.”
“We’d better get a move on, Stevie if we’re to reach our hide.”

Both men made their way down to street level, keeping a close eye out for Soviet, or East German patrols. Mills put his L85A2 and the case containing his L115A1 down and began to open a man hole cover in the road.

“Oh you have got to be kidding!” Nicks said. “You mean we’ve got to spend several days in the sewers?”
“There’s an arms and equipment cache down there, Stevie. Now get your arse down there and stop moaning.”

Once Nicks had reached the bottom Mills handed down his sniper rifle and began to climb down himself, closing the man hole cover as soon as he could. He wrinkled his nose at the appalling smell, it was going to be a long few days.

*

Major General Mallinson had chosen to drive himself to the rendezvous with the Soviet commander, Colonel General Yazov, in one of the last remaining British Land Rovers that was not full of holes from bullets, or shell fragments, or was a burned out shell. He knew that his troops were probably right now in the process of setting fire to any other Land Rovers that still worked.

The prospect of surrender left a nasty taste in Mallinson’s mouth, but with the situation as it was the Berlin garrisons did not have much choice. They were running short of all calibres of ammunition and fuel was almost gone, but most critical of all was the shortage of medical supplies. The American and French garrison commanders had agreed with Mallinson that they could not allow their wounded to suffer when the ability to save them existed.
At least the Western Garrisons had held out against the odds for far longer than any of the pre-war studies had predicted. Moreover every day the troops in West Berlin had fought on had kept Soviet and East German troops away from the front in West Germany.

*

Major James Saunders lay on his back in the hospital bed in the field hospital set up by personnel of the 84th Berlin British Military Hospital staring at the ceiling. Despite the severe gun-shot wounds he has sustained while he and his crew had abandoned his disabled Challenger 2 he no longer felt any pain.
One of the tired and overworked nurses paused in her rounds to quickly check on Major Saunders. She took a pulse, being slightly concerned about how he looked.

“This one’s gone.” She said simply before pulling the sheet over his head and going on her way.

Two orderlies removed Major Saunders from the bed, which was needed for another soldier coming out of surgery, and placed him on a stretcher. Once he had been taken outside Saunders was placed in a black body-bag and placed next to a row of similar bags awaiting burial.
Near-by the sappers of the 38th Field Squadron Royal Engineers were using the last of their operational plant equipment to dig a trench for a mass grave. Major Saunders was placed next to a French NCO and an American private before the engineers filled in that section of the trench.

*

“It’s too quiet, I don’t like it.” Lance-Corporal Hargreaves observed.
“Maybe the rumour mill is true and there is a cease-fire, Lucy.” Mike replied.
“I hope not, I’m not done killing Russians.” Hargreaves said somewhat bloodthirstily. She turned her head as a figure entered their fox-hole.
“Good afternoon, you two.” Sergeant Major Collins said. “I’m afraid I’ve got some bad use for you, there is currently a cease-fire in place while surrender is negotiated.”
“***, I’ve still got lots of rounds left!” Hargreaves swore angrily. “Are you sure, Sir?”
“I’m quite sure, Lucy, so no more shooting Russians, or East Germans.
“We have also been honoured in that the general is going to be meeting his Soviet counterpart here.”
“Oh terrific.” Hargreaves muttered.

1540 hours. Belcoo, County Fermanagh, Northern Ireland.
Within seconds of Inspector Doherty summoning them a pair of Tangis, followed by an army Snatch 2 came roaring down the bridge. The two police vehicles manoeuvred so as to offer cover to the pinned down survivors, while two soldiers leapt out of the Snatch and helped Doherty and Ryder to load the injured Captain Doherty into the rear of the vehicle.

“Can I offer you a lift, Chris?” Doherty asked as he was about to step into the Snatch.
“That’s awfully nice of you, Richard, but here I am out without me passport.” Ryder replied. “Anyways, here comes me taxi.”

An Irish Army Piranha IIIH APC rumbled onto the bridge and parked next to the PSNI Tangis. Irish soldiers got out and carefully recovered the body of Captain Collins.

“I think the sniper is on your side of the river, Chris.” Doherty observed.
“Don’t worry, Richard, we’ll find him, and I hope Seonaid is going to be okay.”
“Thanks, Chris, but she’s a tough girl, she’ll be okay.
“Good luck.”
“And to you, Richard.”

Both men shook hands again before the parted. Doherty slammed the door of the Snatch behind him as the vehicle moved off.

“How’s she doing?” He asked the RAMC medic who was treating his sister.
“Very well, thanks to her body armour. I can’t say for sure at this stage, but the worst she may be looking at is severe bruising, or maybe a cracked rib, or two.”
Thank God.” Doherty replied.
“Thank the makers of the body armour, Inspector.” The medic suggested.

1542 hours. RAF Wattisham, Suffolk, England.
Flight Lieutenant David Todd examined the Typhoon that he had been allocated for CAP duty later that afternoon with some suspicion. It had been flown in early that morning with four other aircraft directly from BAE Warton to replace aircraft that had been lost, or damaged.
It looked pretty much like every other FGR.2 on the station, but there was something he did not quite like about it; he couldn’t put his finger on it though. [5] Then it dawned on him, the camouflage pattern was subtly different from Typhoons that had been delivered pre-war. He racked his brain, trying to remember where he had seen this particular pattern before.

“This is a Saudi Tiffie, Chief.” He said to the Flight Sergeant in charge of ground crew who maintained this particular jet.
“That it is, Sir.” The Senior NCO replied patiently. “From what I hear it was one of about ten jets that were sitting around at Warton awaiting delivery to Saudi. I hear we nabbed some Tonkas and Hawks at the same time.”
“It’s not going to speak to me in Arabic, or something is it?” Todd asked.
“Don’t worry, Sir, she’s the same as any other FGR.2 under the skin; besides all them Saudi pilots speak English when they’re in the air. It’ll be the same old Betty speaking to you.”
“Well that’s a relief.” Todd replied.

The sound of aircraft engines drew him outside. He was just in time to see the second pair of two Typhoons wearing the markings of the Fast Jet and Weapons Operational Evaluation Unit, part of the Air Warfare Centre.

“I wonder what they are doing here?” He wondered idly out loud.
“Those are FGR.4s, Sweeney.” Squadron Leader Rebecca ‘Becca’ Tait, the OC of A Flight, 74 (Tiger) Squadron, and thus Todd’s boss, said, emerging from the neighbouring HAS. “They’ve got the new CAESAR radar, more powerful engines, which means they can supercruise faster than we can and various other new gizmos that even I am not privy to.
“As to your question I believe that the OEU blokes want to fly them on a few sorties to see how they compare to our FGR.2s.”
“Caesar?” Todd wondered, puzzled as to what Roman emperors had to do with the RAF’s latest fighter aircraft.
“You really don’t keep up with developments do you, Sweeney.” Tait said rhetorically. “CAESAR is the electronically scanned version of the CAPTOR, used to be called CAPTOR-E in fact.
“While the CAPTOR is an excellent radar I’ve been told that CEASAR is pretty cosmic.”
“If they want to test them, why not send them to Germany, Boss?” Todd wondered.
“What, and risk the only four FGR.4s in existence? I can’t see the Brass Hats agreeing to…”

‘RED, RED, RED, AIR ATTACK RED!’ Suddenly came blaring over the tannoy system.

“Well they’ve certainly timed that well.” Tait observed before hurrying to take shelter in the HAS containing her jet.

***

[1] Greenfinches was the collective name given to female members of the UDR and later the Royal Irish Regiment; they were the first women to be fully integrated into an army regiment. See link.

[2] The first RUC officer to be killed during ‘The Troubles’, 29 year old Constable Victor Arbuckle, was murdered by a UVF gunman during riots in Belfast on 11th October, 1969. See Doherty, Richard, ‘The Thin Green Line – The History of the Royal Ulster Constabulary GC’, (Barnsley 2004), p.90, and link. The last RUC officer to be murdered, Constable Frank O’Reilly, was also killed by ‘Loyalists’, see link.

[3] The Royal Irish Regiment (27th (Inniskilling) 83rd and 87th and Ulster Defence Regiment) was once the largest infantry regiment in the British Army, with eleven battalions (a title now held by the Rifles). It was made up of:

Regular Army – General Service.
1st Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
2nd Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.

Territorial Army.
4th (Volunteer) Battalion, Royal Irish Rangers (North Irish Militia).
5th (Volunteer) Battalion, Royal Irish Rangers (27th (Inniskilling) 83rd and 87th).

Regular Army - Northern Ireland Resident Battalions (or “Home Service”).
3rd (County Down) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
4th (County Fermanagh and County Tyrone) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
5th (County Londonderry) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
6th (County Armagh) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
7th (City of Belfast) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
8th (County Tyrone) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.
9th (County Antrim) Battalion, Royal Irish Regiment.

[4] The body armour worn by British troops has a proven record of stopping bullets as large as 7.62mm in calibre. See the news item here.

[5] In the TLWverse the Typhoon FGR.2 is the equivalent of the FGR.4 of @ and has full integration of both A2A and A2G weapons.
For those interested the peacetime deployment of the RAF’s Typhoon fleet is as follows:

Strike Command – UK based.
RAF Wattisham.
No. 56 (Fighter) Squadron.
No. 74 (Tiger) Squadron.
No. 228 Operational Conversion Unit (64 (Reserve) Squadron).

RAF Coltishall.
No. 6 (Fighter) Squadron.
No. 41 (Fighter) Squadron.
No. 54 (Fighter) Squadron.

RAF Germany.
RAF Wildenrath.
No. XIX (Fighter) Squadron.
No. 92 (East India) Squadron.

Challenger 2s of the 17th/21st Lancers continue to engage Iraqi armour.


Kuwaiti M1A2 Abrams of the 6th Armored Cavalry Brigade fires on Iraqi T-72s.


Desert Warrior of the Kuwaiti 6th Armored Cavalry Brigade engages Iraqi armour with a TOW missile (ignore the foliage ).


PSNI Land Rover Tangi.


L115A1 rifle.



Northern Ireland variant of the Land Rover 'Snatch'.


Irish Army Piranha IIIH APC.


RAF Wattisham.


RAF and Saudi Typhoons for comparison.

Good chapter Jan.

I'd hate to spend a few days in a sewer.

Keep up the good work.

Thanks, James.
I found out a while back when reading General Sir Mike Jackson's autobiography that the British garrison had studied the use of the West Berlin sewer system. Jackson was also responsible for getting the various plans of the three garrisons integrated. Previously the three contingents would have fought their own private wars.

Nicely done again as usual, Jan.

The Kuwaiti 6th Cav hasn't gone to NTC, unlike their colleagues in the 35th Armored Brigade (serving alongside the 40th ID). One thing the Kuwaitis did after the 35th did its NTC visit was chop out the deadwood. If the 6th Cav had gotten to NTC prewar, their posture would be more aggressive. The Hammurabi RGFC Division has already gotten its orders from I Guards Corps (and Saddam) to strike back for the Baghdad raid. And they're getting smacked. Lt. Col. Martha McSally's A-10s and Apaches from 1-211 AVN (ATK) did the air side of things.

I'll echo James: I sure wouldn't want to spend a few days in the sewer. I'd do my best to find some other hidey-hole. Too bad those two in that foxhole have comm and a superior: that female grunt sounds like one who'd prefer to take her chances hiding out.

The Saudis doubtless understand why their Typhoons got requesitioned by the RAF. If any of theirs are lost-remember that they're already paid for. So postwar, any replacements come out of the RAF's budget!

The U.S. no doubt has placed a similar embargo on FMS deliveries of war materiel. Any undelivered UAE F-16E/Fs no doubt have had a new coat of paint slapped on, USAF markings applied, and presto! A new USAF squadron joins the OB, just to give one example. The same goes for other F-16C/Ds (Chile, Oman, Morocco), and maybe the Singapore F-15SGs. The ROKAF would probably still get their F-15Ks-they'll need 'em.

Keep it up, get a day's rest, and get cracking on 112!

Couple of comments:
1) A junior rank would refer to a Sergeant-Major as "Sir", or possibly by name as "Sergeant Major X" if there is more than one present. Officers would refer to one as "Sergeant Major".
2) The body armour story you link to refers to Osprey, the current standard which has full-torso plates. That is unlikely to have been developed in this story, so we would have been stuck with the old-style ECBA we had when we first went to Iraq in 2003. That's really just a flak jacket with ceramic plates the size of a paperback book front and rear over your heart. The story still sort of works, but not quite as well when you know that - it would take a pretty lucky shot to hit those plates.

So, Berlin's gone... That was to be expected, but still stings a little. More importantly I've found the actor who positively has to play Yazov in the film version of TLW. Whenever I watch that movie I mean to post to that effect.

Well, having exhausted the superlatives in my vocabulary, I will just say BZ.

I also have to say you have an incredible eye for detail and as usual, I will be waiting for the next install with great anticipation.

regards,
Gator

Dang it, bbgator!! I wanted to use BZ!!! Anyway, another great chapter as usual Jan, like how we get around as little bit.

Matt,
The 6th Cav is showing some of the limitations that seem to be endemic to Arab armies. They are often very good in static defence, but they're not too flexible, or as good in mounting counter-attacks. AFAIK the Kuwaitis are amongst the best Arab armies and don't show as many of these traits.
A sewer isn't perhaps the best place to hide, but I can't imagine that the Soviets would be too keen to search them.
The UK does occasionally have the habit of lending money to countries like Saudi to allow them to buy British equipment. I don't know if that is the case with the Typhoons, but it is possible that until they were delivered that the aircraft were still MoD property.

pdf27,
I've fixed that first issue, thanks for the catch.
You're quite right, the story of L/Sgt Collins is not a perfect illustration of the point, but I did decide to make it a chest shot because that is where the ceramic plate is, though it is quite small, plus I didn't want to kill Captain Doherty off (unlike Captain Collins).
I can't remember where it was but I've read that the Osprey body armour is not universally popular. Some troops have said they would rather take their chances with lighter body armour that would give them better mobility.

trekchu,
It was inevitable, sadly, though they've done very well to hold out for 7 days. Studies pre-war by both the NVA and NATO presumed that Berlin would last around 24-48 hours in the event of war.
For me General Yazov would be more like General Gogol, played by Walter Gotell, rather than Steven Berkoff's General Orlov. It's a shame that Gotell is dead, however.

bbgator,
Thank you very much. I'm very flattered by your comments.

shermpotter,
Thanks, much appreciated. I had a few loose ends to tie up, but I was most pleased with the Northern Irish based scenes.

Good chapter Jan.

It is nice to see the Irish getting along. Having said that, it is not an easy subject to write about.

Arab armies do have an endemic problem. With the Kuwaitis 6th AC, given good equipment and good training, though not good leadership, they would be best for static defence or being the "anvil" in a "hammer and anvil" operation. Still, this action may initiate some weeding out notwithstanding that the Iraqis militarily are not fit to clean the toilets of the NTC OpFor.

I haven't heard about Simon and I for a while. As long as we are keeping Dublin's skies safe and publicans prosperous then that's fine by me!

Jonathan

JBG,
The story of an RUC officer being murdered while giving First Aid to an injured motorist is sadly a true one. Indeed most RUC officers who were killed were carrying out the sort of duties that any police officer would routinely carry out. The PIRA and the other Republican terrorists exploited the fact that RUC officers had to carry out routine day to day duties. The worst one was the exploitation of the fact that the RUC passed on news of deaths in the Republic to relatives in Northern Ireland, which was used as a 'come on' on a couple of occasions.
The Garda and the RUC/PSNI did generally have good relations. The Garda also suffered officers murdered by the IRA.

Some of the Arab armies problems seem to come from poor tactical leadership and poor technical training. The Saudis suffer especially from the later. The Kuwaitis do seem to take training that bit more seriously than most others, except perhaps the Jordanians.

I'll see if I can work you and Simon back into the story soon.

Thanks again.

I have heard of that incident. Pure barbarity.

Jonathan

I'm pretty sure that until the Saudis sign for the aircraft, they'd still be RAF property. An example from the past would be this: when F-14s went to the IIAF beginning in 1976-77, the planes were delivered in U.S. insignia, and only on arrival in Iran were the planes formally signed over to the IIAF. FMS deliveries of aircraft, I believe, are still handled that way. Until the end user signs for the aircraft, it's still USAF (or USN) property.

The Jordanians and Egyptians are considered the best of the Arab armies. Before 1991, the Iraqi 10th "Saladin" Armored Division was considered the best non-Israeli armored division in the whole Middle East (this was Regular Army, not RGFC)-until their destruction in Feb 1991.

From how I read him Yazov is a slightly more realistic and not greedy version of Orlov instead of the somewhat Grandfatherly Gogol. Mind you, my perception of Gotell might be clouded by the fact that he played a SPECTRE goon in "From Russia with love" and an crewmember of Bismarck in "Sink the Bismarck".


Anyway, this time the loss of Berlin isn't the end of everything, but how do you think the fall of Berlin would be portrayed in the western media, especially in the UK and the US?

That depends on the network, so you'll have everything from "western forces repeat the Alamo in West Berlin" to "political target but not strategic defeat" to "a sign of things to come". It all depends on the person doing the reporting plus whatever spin the network decides on.

The Soviet supporters in the West will hail this as "the first step in the inevitable defeat of the capitalist pigs and their imperialistic ways" while everybody else will report it as it should be, a defeat but nothing more than that. I suspect the British forces will be put side by side with the Red Devils in Market Garden: "cut off and surrounded the boys gave Ivan a bloody good trashing".

All they have to do is point out what forces were sent against then and what damage they did to those forces.

If I remember right before WW1, any warship built by the British for foreign navies had the various signs made of brass. One side had the instructions written in the appropriate language, the other side had English translations. If the ship was taken for use by the Royal Navy, all they had to was unbolt it and turn it around.

I know the at least on delivery, the Saudi F-S (both fighter and Strike Eagle version) were downgraded in comparison to the US version.
The current UAE F-S maybe better than their US counterparts.

Given the differences between the US and foreign counterparts how logistics and maintenance issues would their be in putting them in US service?

From what I understand, the Air Force is the FMS manager, and the UAE's training is all done here (AZ ANG at Tuscon IAP), so there are qualified U.S. pilots rated on the E/F, so there shouldn't be too much trouble to get a dozen IPs and the ANG maintainers designated as a combat squadron and ready to deploy. The F-16Cs waiting to go to Chile and Morocco? Same thing: they get U.S. markings instead of the customers', some pilots from Luke AFB (Active-duty F-16 training) get put in the cockpit, and off they go.


What Soviet supporters in the West? A lot of 'em are in the slammer, or are under careful surveillance by various police agencies. One wrong move, or one word they shouldn't have said, and they join the rest of the fellow travelers and useful idiots behind bars.

JBG,
I chose that one because I thought it was pretty venal, but sadly I had a lot to chose from. Murdering a police sergeant while he was driving a bus full of school children was particularly appealing I thought.
It's not worth dwelling on too much, or one could get very bitter.

Matt,
The Saudi Typhoons in @ came from RAF stocks, so they are definitely our property, though that is not the case in TLW. However I have a feeling that they have been sold under the Export Credit Guarantee Scheme, which I think means they remain British property until delivered. The best thing about the ECGS is that if the country we're selling to can't in the end pay the British taxpayer will pick up the tab.

trekchu,
I've always thought of Orlov as being ruthless and somewhat unpleasant. Yazov, OTOH, is, to me anyway, a decent and worthy opponent. For example he would never think of exploding a smuggled atomic bomb at RAF Heyford...sorry a USAF West German air base.
I think that the fall of Berlin would be presented on the lines of 'Tributes were paid today to the Berlin Garrison, which today surrendered after holding off vastly superior Soviet and East German forces...' etc.

Bronquites,



From their internment camps on the Isle of Man, or prison cells presumably.
As Matt points outs the Soviet supporters in the West who are not under lock and key are keeping a very low profile. The various emergency laws in most NATO countries means the government can lock you up for spreading 'despondency and defeatism' and similar.

StevoJH,
Absolutely true. The Western Garrison was made up of around 10,000 troops, while Operation ZENTRUM was to have used 100,000 troops. To hold out for a full week against such odds is pretty impressive.

jemhouston,
You know I didn't know that, but I supposed I shouldn't be too surprised.
AFAIK the Saudi Typhoon FGR.4s are exactly the same as the RAF ones, apart from the slightly different camouflage scheme.