1650 hours, 28th April. ‘BBC News 24’. “…And it is believed that thick fog played a part in yesterday’s multiple-pile up on the M6 motorway involving a munitions convoy and a group of petrol tankers. The motorway was closed for four hours while fire-fighters dealt with the blaze and army bomb disposal experts made various munitions safe.
‘We now go over live to NATO Headquarters in Brussels for a press briefing by NATO spokesman James Sheridan.’ The view changed from the BBC studio to a podium behind which was the NATO flag, flanked by the various flags of the member nations. A bespectacled, grey haired man in a dark-grey suit approached the podium, put down his notes, straightened his glasses and looked up at the expectant group of reporters sat before him.
“Good afternoon ladies and gentlemen, I have a prepared statement to make then I’ll take a few questions.” He shuffled his notes and cleared his throat. “Approximately one hour ago the acting commander of the West Berlin garrison met with his Soviet counterpart to discuss surrender terms. The garrison has been fighting for seven days, totally surrounded, against odds of ten to one and the decision to surrender, in full consultation with all Allied commanders in the city and with SHAPE, has been taken to stop further Allied casualties now that there is no longer any effective means to resist and minimise suffering to those who have already been wounded.
“The acting garrison commander has sent one final signal to SHAPE and this will in due course be released to the media. SACEUR will also release a further statement to the media regarding West Berlin by the end of the day, but he has already praised the conduct of all Allied personnel in West Berlin in resisting such large odds for so long, thereby diverting Soviet and East German troops who could have been fighting elsewhere.
“I will now take a few questions.”
The reporters who had until now been silent turned into a shouting rabble until Sheridan picked one.
“Mr Sheridan, BBC News 24. Do we have any news on the prisoners yet, or how the Russians will treat them?”
“We have had assurances from the Soviets via the Red Cross that all Allied prisoners will be treated in accordance with the Geneva Convention. The ICRC will, of course, continue to monitor the situation.
“We have also received an assurance that all wounded personnel will receive full and prompt treatment of their wounds.”
“Mr Sheridan, Fox News. Isn’t it true that a number of options were studied on how to supply the Berlin Brigade and that they were rejected; effectively the troops there were abandoned?”
“I can’t of course discuss specific military details but, yes, a number of options were studied on how we might supply the garrison. Most were either impractical, dangerous, or would have resulted in little gain at great risk to the forces involved.
“However at no time were Allied troops in West Berlin abandoned. NATO has done all it can to help and support those fighting in that city.”
“Mr Sheridan, CNN. What effect will the loss of West Berlin have on future military operations; will there be a future intention to re-capture it?”
“I’m afraid I can’t comment on future military operations. I’m afraid that’s all the questions I can take at this moment; the next scheduled briefing will be at 2030 hours GMT. Thank you.”
The NATO press spokesman gathered up his notes and left the podium followed by a series of shouted questions. The view returned to the BBC News 24 studio.
“You have just been watching a press briefing given by NATO Press Spokesman James Sheridan.
“To recap the Allied Garrison in West Berlin has been forced to surrender after fighting invading Soviet and East German forces for seven days. Mr Sheridan drew attention to the fact that Allied troops in West Berlin have drawn off large numbers of Soviet and East German troops who could otherwise have been taking part in the fighting in West Germany.
“NATO Headquarters has promised that the final signal from the acting garrison commander for West Berlin as well as a statement from the Supreme Allied Commander Europe will be released later today. We will of course bring you that as soon as we get it.”1720 hours. Over the North Sea. “Looks like we’ve got more trade coming our way, Boss.” Squadron Leader George Wilkinson commented as he looked at the CRT screen showing JTIDS information. “Looks like only one bogie though, which is odd.”
“One?” Wing Commander Jack Foster replied. “That’s a bit weird; still it won’t be a problem shooting it down.” He added arming the Tornado’s weapon system. “Light it up when I give the word.”
“Quebec One, Three, Delta, this is Magic One, Four. Do not engage the target currently approaching you, repeat do not engage this target. Escort it and allow it to land at RAF Leuchars.
“Urgent you acknowledge this message, over.” Foster was puzzled for a moment, but replied after a second.
“Ah, Magic One, Four, this is Quebec One, Three, Delta, roger your last.” He replied at last. “We will escort the target to RAF Leuchars and allow it to land, over.”
“This is a bit of a weird one, Boss.” Wilkinson remarked as he continued to track the single radar contact approaching the two Tornadoes.
“You won’t get an argument from me on that.” Foster replied.
The two Tornado F.3s continued to fly in a racetrack pattern until the lone Su-24 ‘Fencer’ came into sight. The pair split and took up position to port and starboard of the ‘Fencer’, which waggled its wings, the pilot also waved cheerfully to Foster. He thought for a second before waving back.
The rather strange trio continued on its way inland as it approached RAF Leuchars. The Soviet crew evidently knew their way there.
“Make sure that the IFF is squawking correctly, George.” Foster said as the air station slowly came into sight. “I don’t want the Rapier gunners to see one ‘Fencer’ and assume we’re all hostile.”
*
“Come take a look at this, Boss!” The Flight 2.i.c shouted.
Squadron Leader Neil Cox took a look at the image on the optical tracker. What he saw made him almost fall over with surprise.
“Well *** me sideways, that’s a Fencer with those two Tonkas.” He exclaimed.
“I don’t think I’d have quite put it like that, Boss.” His second in command replied. “But it certainly is.”
“I wonder what the story behind that is?” Cox wondered. “I doubt the likes of us will ever find out any time soon.”
*
Foster had lowered the flaps, undercarriage and motored the wings fully forward as he maintained his position off the port wing of the ‘Fencer’. The Soviet aircraft and its two British escorts passed over the airfield boundary, and as the Su-24 touched down very precisely on the piano keys at the end of the runway.
Satisfied that the ‘Fencer’ was safely down Foster raised the undercarriage and flaps and pushed the throttle forward and engaged full reheat. The Tornado climbed away and circled around so that he could see what was going on below him.
The Soviet bomber had been directed to the visiting aircraft pan and was now surrounded by vehicles carrying RAF Police and Regiment personnel. He watched as the two crewmen were escorted from the ‘Fencer’ and led away.
Foster shook his head and wondered what it was all about.
[1]1735 hours. Roskilde Airport, Zealand. ‘BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!’
The six remaining M777 howitzers of ‘E’ Battery, 2nd Royal Canadian Horse Artillery Regiment were firing at distant targets as they sought to fire off as much of their remaining 155mm shells before the gunners were forced to destroy the shells. The battery commander, Major Munro, still hoped that he might be able to save some of his howitzers, but did not hold out too much hope.
“How long until they arrive? Over!” Colonel James Currie yelled into the radio handset, trying to be heard over the hiss of Soviet jamming.
“…You in ten minutes…one zero…one time only deal…be ready to…” The radio replied before fizzling out.
“Please repeat your message, over.”
“…FIZZ…one zero minutes…POP…be ready…FIZZ…” “Damn it!” Currie exclaimed, putting the handset down rather harder than normal. “Okay, gentlemen, the best I can make out from that message is that the aircraft will start to arrive in ten minutes. My first priority is going to be to get the men out first before we start to think about any equipment.”
Currie noticed Major Munro nodding sadly when he mentioned the equipment. The Colonel knew that the artilleryman still harboured hopes of saving his beloved howitzers; it would be a matter of honour to the RCHA to prevent its guns from falling into the hands of the enemy.
“I fear we may not be able to get even half of the regiment away before the enemy start hitting this airport, which you can be sure they will once they realise what is happening.
“Okay, get the first group of men ready to go, I don’t want any delays.”
*
Captain Fulton checked the airfield chart for Roskilde Airport (or Copenhagen Airport, Roskilde to give it its official name). It had opened in 1973 as the first of three relief airports planned around Copenhagen, though the scheme had been abandoned before the remaining two had even made it past the planning stage. What concerned Rebecca Fulton the most, though, was that it was not built for large aircraft, however if a CC-130 could make it then so could her CC-177 and the other Globemasters could make it, even if some of the taxiways and parking aprons might be a tight squeeze.
“The runways look long enough anyway, Paul, so putting down shouldn’t be a problem. Getting back out again…well that’s a different matter.”
“I think we can manage it, Becca; we’ve got to, those paras on the ground are depending on us.”
Fulton nodded as she turned the Globemaster into its final approach.
*
Currie and several other members of the headquarters platoon stepped out of the Command Post as they heard the approach of a turboprop powered aircraft. Currie raised his right hand to shield his eyes against the low evening sun and sure enough he could see several Hercules aircraft approaching at low level. The first CC-130 landed hard and fast the second and third aircraft following close behind.
The aircraft taxied to the parking apron where the first group of paratroops were waiting. They had barely halted when the first paras began to board them; they were filled very rapidly and began to taxi back to the runway, pausing for a moment to allow more Hercules to land, before taking off.
*
As Fulton turned her aircraft for final approach she could see black smoke rising from several sources above the city of Copenhagen. Whatever was burning was creating quite a haze.
“Wonder what that lot is?” She wondered.
“Last minute burning of secret documents I suppose.” Her co-pilot replied.
In fact the last few government documents had already been shredded and burned several hours ago. The smoke was actually coming from the large stocks of Copenhagen’s ‘adult’ establishment; their proprietors had decided to destroy their various stocks rather than have them fall into the hands of Soviet soldiery. However the Danish government had requisitioned some of the stocks and had left them along the routes of advance that the Soviet Army would take, along with as much alcohol as they could lay their hands on in a last-ditch attempt to stop the advance.
Fulton throttled back, while her co-pilot lowered the flaps and undercarriage. She decided on a tactical approach, diving steeply until the CC-177 almost nose-dived into the runway, pulling up hard, the Globemaster touched down, hard.
1740 hours. Hildesheim, FRG. “Corps have given us another nice little job, Tony.” Major George Pallister had said to Captain Antony Blake. “The brass feels that the Parachute Regiment Group needs the support of a squadron of light armour.”
[2] “Working with the Paras, eh, Sir.” Blake had replied. “That should be fun.” He added, deadpan.
*
Captain Blake’s Sabre was now driving through the western outskirts of Hildesheim. Blake and his gunner was standing ‘heads-out’ of the turret taking in the sights around them; the town was still a good few miles behind the front line, which was held by units of 12th Armoured Brigade, so had not suffered a great deal of damage, though it had come under occasional artillery fire and air attack.
As far as Captain Blake could see the Toms of the Parachute Regiment Group had done more damage as they prepared Hildesheim for the arrival of the Soviet Army. Some roads had been barricaded or cratered, trees had been cut down and some buildings had been demolished to improve the field of fire from those that had been fortified.
Blake looked back to his front as the lead vehicle was signalled to halt by a group of Redcaps manning the road junction ahead.
“Where do you think you’re going?” Blake heard the senior Redcap say to the commander of the leading vehicle.
“H.Q Para Regiment Group, Mate.” The commander had replied.
“Wot and have all those armoured vehicles attract Ruskie artillery fire? Not bloody likely!”
Blake climbed down from the turret of his Sabre and strode forward intending to sort the problem out.
“What seems to be the trouble, Sergeant?” He asked.
The RMP sergeant took in this intruder into the conversation. He was wearing a standard armoured crewman’s coveralls and helmet, and was grimy from a long road journey. He could not see any rank tab on the coveralls, but from the way he spoke the sergeant decided that he must be an officer and answered accordingly.
“I’m sorry, Sir, but I can’t allow this column to congregate around regimental H.Q. It would attract the wrong sort of attention, if you see what I mean.”
“Do you have an alternative destination for us then, Sergeant?” Blake asked sternly, keenly aware that the half of the squadron he led was clearly visible to any passing Warsaw Pact aircraft, or helicopter.
“If you’ll give me a minute, Sir, I’ll radio H.Q and check.”
The RMP NCO walked across to his Land Rover, reached in through the side window, picked up the radio handset and started to speak into it. While the Sergeant was talking to H.Q Blake paced up and down impatiently, expecting to see the other half of the squadron turn up at any moment, creating an even larger traffic jam/sitting target.
The sergeant finally returned from his radio conversation, this time clutching a map.
“H.Q wants you to go here, Sir.” He said, pointing to a point just outside Hildesheim, to the east. “They want you to camouflage your vehicles and await orders.
“I’ll direct the rest of the squadron there once they arrive, Sir.” He added helpfully.
“Very well, Sergeant, thank you for your help and I’ll get on my way lest we bring down an air strike.” Blake replied, letting a bit of sarcasm creep into his voice, before returning to his vehicle.
*
A short time later the squadron was parked in a camouflaged laager, just to the east of Hildesheim. Captain Blake was pouring himself a cup of coffee out of his Sabre’s BV when he spotted Major Pallister returning from a meeting at H.Q PRG.
“It’s rather what we thought Tony.” He said as Blake handed him a cup of steaming coffee. “We’re supposed to act as the recce screen for the Paras.”
“No surprise there, I suppose, Sir.” Blake replied.
“Oh I met the O.C of the HAC’s Gun Troop. Apparently they’ve been brought in to provide the Paras with their own artillery support.”
“I thought that they were just a ceremonial unit with 25-pounders. Don’t tell me that we’re that desperate, Sir?” Blake asked.
“They’ve got Light Guns these days, Tony, and as their man explained to me they regularly train on Salisbury Plain in addition to their ceremonial role in London.”
“I suppose I should be pleased then, Sir.” Blake said with a grin that said almost the opposite.
1750 hours. Roskilde Airport, Zealand. “If my loadmaster says we’re full then we’re full!” Captain Fulton snapped at the artillery officer.
“Captain, my Boss merely asked me to find out if he might fit one of his guns aboard this aircraft. Its gunners are already aboard so we can’t use it; we’ll have to destroy it otherwise.
“It’s a matter of honour for us, Captain; we want to either save our guns, or destroy them rather than let them fall into the enemy’s hands. Our guns are like an infantry regiment’s colour.”
Fulton opened her mouth to tell the artillery captain once again that there was no way that she could fit an artillery piece on board, but paused and turned to the loadmaster.
“How about it, George? We’re not maxed out for weight, are we?” She asked.
The loadmaster sucked his breath in through his teeth as he considered his answer. He looked back into the belly of the CC-177.
“I reckon we might just do it, Boss.” He said finally.
‘CRUMP!’
“What the hell was that?” Fulton exclaimed rather nervously.
“Soviet 122mm shell by the sound of it.” The artillery captain replied, far too relaxed in Fulton’s opinion.
“Well we’d better get the hell out of here!” She suggested rather urgently.
“Relax, Captain, it’s just speculative fire. They’re not shooting at anything in particular.
“Well, we’d better get this gun of mine aboard your plane so you can get out of here.”
*
Colonel Currie watched as the last NATO marked C-17A taxied towards the runway, carrying the final load of evacuees and one M777 howitzer; only one howitzer was left on the airport, the remaining gunners had fired off the last few shells and were now attaching demolition chargers to the weapon.
‘CRUMP! CRUMP!’
Currie winced as two fountains of earth appeared on either side of the Globemaster, bracketing it, but to his relief it reappeared from behind the clouds of earth and dust, apparently undamaged. Having finished watching the aircraft take off he turned back to the officer he had been talking to.
“I hate to leave you here, Major.” He said to the commander of 2nd Airborne Commando, who had been chosen to command the final rearguard.
“Don’t worry about me, Sir, you get out of here and get the regiment reformed.
“I’ll make sure my lads get clear in time, in fact I’ll send you a post card from Sweden.”
Currie solemnly shook the major’s hand and turned to jog to one of the waiting RDAF Merlin Mark 512 helicopters, which would fly the regiment’s H.Q staff to Copenhagen International Airport, where a final evacuation was taking place.
1801 hours. HMS Eyemouth, off the Isle of Sheppey. Lieutenant Jennifer McNair, RNR, the captain of the
Sandown class minehunter
Eyemouth, was intently studying a prominent wreck buoy off the Nore sandbank through a pair of binoculars as her ship went about its important task of checking that no new mines had appeared in the main shipping lane. While the Port of London had declined a great deal since its heyday, it was still a very busy and important series of ports, though its centre of gravity was now in the Thames Estuary, rather than in the old Docklands.
Container ships, tankers, barges and small coastal merchant ships were all making their way up and down, and across the busy estuary, and it was the Royal Navy’s duty, since time immemorial, to keep those waters safe. Of course the navy also had to keep every port and naval base in the United Kingdom open and free from mines and despite the defence build-up of the last decade they did not really have enough resources to do the job as effectively as they would like. The Soviets had been able to lay some mines in the Thames, some by aircraft and others evidently by submarine. They had claimed a couple of container ships before the rest had been neutralised and the navy was determined not to let it happen again.
McNair lowered her binoculars, having satisfied herself that all was well around the wreck, something she did not want to get anywhere near. A few coastguard craft were visible at the edge of the exclusion zone around the wreck, as could HMS
Puncher, the patrol boat assigned to the University of London RN Unit. Now that there was a war on the Maritime and Coastguard Agency, RN and the RNXS were all making sure that nobody got close to the wreck.
Eyemouth’s captain fervently hoped that her ship would never have to deal with a mine too close to that particular wreck.
“Make a bit of a mess if that lot were to go up, Ma’m.” The coxswain remarked.
“Well let’s hope that never happens, Cox’n.” McNair replied.
1830 hours. Temporary KGB H.Q, Moscow, RSFSR. The Acting Chairman of the KGB leaned back in the plush chair in the office that had once belonged to the head of the Moscow section of the KGB, the man who had been his main rival for the Chairmanship. He marvelled just how realistic one could make photographs look using a powerful computer; a few more photographs like those ones and he would soon be able to drop the ‘acting’ part of his title. He leaned forward again.
“So, Comrade, why am I looking at a pair of sonar images of a sunken freighter?” He asked, slightly impatiently. “There are a lot of calls on my time and I really don’t have time to indulge in entering the salvage business.”
“No, Comrade Chairman, you misunderstand, I do not intend to salvage this vessel, or its cargo, I want to blow it up; if you read the summary of my report you’ll understand why.”
The Acting Chairman picked up the single page summary, glancing between it and the map showing the location of the wreck.
“So you would like the air force to bomb it? If we do that we will face retaliation again, no doubt worse than the last time given the effects of the explosion you describe; a 1.5kT explosion is quite a bang.”
“Oh no, Comrade Chairman, I do not want the wreck bombed. We must blow it up using clandestine methods, that way the enemy would not know for sure whether the wreck had exploded of its own accord, or whether we were responsible, especially if we were to settle for slightly reduced damage and blew it up at low tide, or when the tide was turning, rather than at high tide.”
The Chairman glanced back at the summary, reading the predicted damage that would be caused by the wreck if it were to explode.
“If your predictions are correct then this explosion would not only be the largest non-nuclear explosion in history, but it would also cause more damage to the target than the Fascists managed during the entirety of the Last War.”
“The blast effects are from a report that the enemy produced in 1970; it is amazing what sensitive information the West will post on the Internet.”
The Acting Chairman nodded in agreement.
“Yes, given that they publish highly detailed maps for all to see, then that report you have seen will have been pretty accurate.
“I will submit the full proposal to the Defence Council, I will support it, but I can not guarantee that it will meet with the council’s approval. But don’t worry I will see that you get the recognition that you deserve.”
***
[1] The arrival of a Soviet Su-24 ‘Fencer’ on the evening of 28th April is still shrouded in mystery. Some claim the crew defected, while others state that it was being flown by Western intelligence agents. The aircraft was evaluated at MoD Boscombe Down, being repainted in the famous ‘Raspberry Ripple’ colours, and at the Air Force Flight Test Centre at Edwards Air Force Base, where it was again repainted. The aircraft currently resides at the RAF Museum at RAF Cosford, where it has been restored to its Soviet markings.
[2] The Parachute Regiment Group, formed of 4,10 and 15 PARA, was formed in late 1989 and was attached to 1st Armoured Division. It was tasked with the defence of Hildesheim. See
this discussion on Tank Net for more details.
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