History, Politics And Current Affairs

9th November 1989. ‘Democracy protest broken up by troops
Hundreds feared dead.’ – The Times.
According to reports coming out of West Germany, a pro-democracy demonstration on the East German side of the Berlin Wall was savagely broken up by East German, and Soviet troops, who had taken over when police, and border guards had failed to disperse the crowd.
From eyewitness reports from West German border guards, and personnel of the British, American, and French forces in West Berlin, the utmost violence was employed, including the use of firearms against unarmed demonstrators, hundreds of whom were said to have been killed.
The three Allied infantry brigades stationed in West Berlin have been put on full alert, all police leave in the western sector has been cancelled, and hospitals have been prepared to receive casualties.
So far there has been no comment from the East German, or Soviet Governments.

20th February 1991. ‘British Army returns from Gulf.’
-The Daily Telegraph.
After its triumphs in the Middle East the first units of the 1st (British) Armoured Division began to arrive back at its bases in West Germany yesterday.
Much praise has been heaped on British troops, for their bravery, and performance in battle.
Analysts have speculated that the Gulf War represents a watershed in world history, and that the effort to liberate Kuwait was only possible due to the thaw in relations between the Soviet Union, and the West.
If so, the future for mankind appears bright.

1st August 1991. BBC World Service News.
‘It’s 0100 hours GMT.
‘This is Newsdesk from the World Service of the BBC.
‘Our top story tonight the Soviet Premier, Mikhail Gorbachev is said to be seriously ill in hospital after contracting a mystery disease while on holiday in the Ukraine.
‘The Soviet government has so far not made any statement on the Premier’s condition…’

12th July 1995. ‘Eurofighter continues on course.’
-Aircraft Illustrated.
Despite some earlier setbacks to the programme, the first flight of Eurofighter prototype DA.7 has marked a continued run of success in development for the aircraft.
The Royal Air Force now expects to take delivery of its first aircraft in January 2001, achieving an interim operational capability in December of that year.

- In the USA the F22 Raptor project has also continued to run to schedule, although the advanced fighter project is said to be slightly over budget.

13th November 1996. ‘News arms treaties signed.’
– The Independent.
In a historic meeting in Helsinki the President of the United States and the Premier of the Soviet Union added their signatures to two new treaties on reduction of nuclear weapons.
The first, for strategic weapons, known as START III, pledges both sides to reduce its warhead, and delivery platforms by 50%.
The second, the Theatre Weapons Treaty, eliminates all remaining tactical and intermediate nuclear weapons, such as those that might be used in a war in Europe.

2nd December 1997. ‘Government announces major shake-up of the army.’ – The Scotsman.
As part of the long awaited Strategic Defence Review the government has announced that there will be the largest shake-up of the army since the late 1960s.
A Ministry of Defence spokesman said that since the implementation of START III, and TWT, that the defence on Western Europe now increasingly lies with conventional forces, such as the army.
To continue to meet Britain’s commitments the army will be expanded by two armoured divisions, and a second corps HQ, two thirds of which will be made up of Territorial Army units, converted from the National Defence role.
To fill the gap created by this conversion process, the TA will also be expanded, as will the Home Service Force, which for the first time will become open to direct recruitment, rather than just being open to former soldiers.
A few hours after this announcement was made, the MoD (Procurement Executive) announced that it was extending orders for army equipment in anticipation of having to equip the new units.

8th December 1997. ‘Major expansion planned for navy’.
-The Guardian.
As a comoanion to its army expansion programme, the government has announced an increase to the size of the escort force of the Royal Navy, and the Fleet Air Arm.
The MoD has pledged to confirm orders for the outstanding Type 23 class frigates, Type 45 class destroyers, and start construction of a new class of large destroyers, known as the Type 46, believed to be an enlarged Type 45.
In parallel to this, a third carrier air group of Sea Harriers, and Merlin helicopters will be formed, to allow all of the navy’s Invincible class carriers to serve at once, should that be required.

2nd January 1998. ‘RAF to build on reserve scheme.’
-Air Forces Monthly.
Building on its already successful reserve aircrew scheme, the Royal Air Force has announced that it is to re-form several flying squadrons of the Royal Auxiliary Air Force, which had been disbanded in 1957.
The first four squadrons, which have been identified as being 600, 602, 603, and 616, will be equipped with the Tornado F.3, and be assigned to 11 Group.
Should the scheme prove successful, and the RAF is confident that it will bear fruit, then further squadrons will be reformed.
An RAF spokesman told AFM that the RAF hoped to re-form all of the RAuxAF squadrons disbanded in 1957.

4th January 1998. ‘Eurofighter flies into a Storm’.
-The Times.
In a move that is surely to gladden the hearts of those that wished for a better name than Eurofighter 2000 for NATO’s latest fighter, and one that will no doubt please the RAF, it has been revealed that the aircraft will be named the Typhoon, although it is understood that Tempest is being held in reserve.

14th July 1999. ‘France back in from the cold.’
-The Financial Times.
After spending over thirty years as a semi-detached member of the Atlantic Alliance, France has rejoined the military side of NATO.
The move has been timed to coincide with the celebrations of the alliance’s fiftieth anniversary.
The French are expected to take command of a new army group, and a tactical air force in southern Germany.

8th November 2000. ‘Powell wins election’.
-The Independent.
In a historical event the former Chairman of the American Joint Chiefs of Staff, Colin Powell, has been elected President of the United States, the first African American to hold that position.
Powell won a landslide against his opponent, former Vice President Al Gore, despite some problems with voting in Florida.
Powell’s victory has been attributed to the reputation he gained during the Gulf War, and to the series of scandals, which dogged the Clinton White House, coupled with a rather lacklustre campaign run by the ‘colourless’ Al Gore.

16th February 2003. ‘Trouble brews in Poland.’
-The Herald.
From reports coming out from behind the Iron Curtain it appears that dissent is again rearing its head within Poland, the last time being during the Solidarity crisis of 1981, when the Soviet Union nearly invaded.
There have been growing numbers of strikes, go slows, and public demonstrations, and civil disobedience, which Polish police, and troops have been reportedly increasingly reluctant to put down.
Experts on the Warsaw Pact have said that this is sure to cause anxiety in the Kremlin, and that the Soviet government is unlikely to allow the current situation to continue much longer.
Poland, and other Eastern European countries in the Warsaw Pact have been allowed a greater deal of freedom since 1989, but it is believed that the Soviet Union will not allow any of them to collapse into chaos, which it may fear Poland is on the brink of doing.

1st March 2003. ‘Britain has found her place’.
Editorial from The Scotsman.
There is a new spirit abroad in Scotland, and in Britain as a whole. It is the spirit of duty, and defence of one’s country.
The cause of this change in the outlook of the majority of Britons, some would say a regression to older ways, has come from two sources.
The first is the Soviet Union. Despite attempts for over ten years to treat with the Soviet Union as an ordinary civilised country, nothing has changed behind the Iron Curtain, in fact the contrary has taken place, the situation post 1991 has gotten worse.
Despite numerous Western overtures, the Soviet Union refuses to reform, and imprisons those who call for it.
Many on the left of the political spectrum in the West have finally begun to realise what many others knew for half a century, that Communism held no future for the human race.
These people have begun to realise, that for all its faults, Western democracy holds the best prospect for the future, and must be protected at all costs.
The second source of this change in attitudes had been the government’s reforms of the armed services.
A military career has become far more attractive these days, as has service in the reserve forces.
A recent survey has revealed that the largest proportion of the population in Scotland since the 1950s are serving in the armed forces, or the reserves.
Both sources have fed off each other to some extent, but they have proven to be beneficial to the country as a whole.

2nd March 2003. ‘Has our military build-up been provocative?’
Editorial from The Herald.
The short answer to this question is, perhaps surprisingly to some, ‘no’.
The military build-up by Britain in particular, and by NATO in general, can in no way be seen as provocative to the Soviet Union, and Warsaw Pact.
The armed forces of the USSR, and her allies still vastly outnumber those of NATO, so there is no conceivable way they could be seen by a sane person as a threat.
The build up of our military has not been driven by a desire to wage war on the USSR, but as a consequence of the elimination of the last tactical nuclear weapons in Europe (a very good thing).
For over half a century the defence of Western Europe lay in the hands of nuclear weapons, which kept conventional militaries small.
Now that nuclear weapons have been removed from the equation (apart from the large strategic ones) more conventional forces are needed to provide a credible defence.
It is not just those from the political right that have seen this need, even such critics of the government, such as Tony Benn, have said that the increase in conventional forces is welcome, and that they support it, since it is clearly defensive in nature.
However, in something that will not please the Thatcherites in the Conservative Party, it has been demonstrated that since the build-up began in 1998, increased defence spending has stimulated all areas of the economy, driving down unemployment, to the benefit of all.
Perhaps Keyensian economics are back.

*

3rd April 2005. Secure Section, British Embassy, Moscow.
Night was just falling as the head of station of the SIS group based in Moscow held a meeting with his staff to review the intelligence gathered over the last few days.

“So,” He asked. “What is the latest information from our contact in the Defence Ministry?
“He better be living up to his promises.
“I don’t know quite how we’re going to explain what we’ve been giving him in the expenses.”

The contact in the Soviet Defence Ministry had a weakness for lurid pornography, of the sort that was not available anywhere within the Soviet Union, a taste acquired during a stint at the Soviet embassy in Stockholm.
SIS had been smuggling in the best pornography that it could get its rather embarrassed hands on from Britain, Sweden, and America.

“Quite good, Chief.
“We’ve got quite a lot of material that both we, and our colleagues in Defence Intelligence, and at Brussels, are going to be interested in.
“Our man seems to have delivered us all the latest versions of Soviet war plans.
“There is one worrying development he has informed us of, however. It seems that the Kremlin has finally lost patience with Poland. We should expect Soviet troops to take control of the country within a month.”
“That is serious.” The Station Chief agreed. “An invasion, or even a Soviet backed coup could have serious repercussions, and I don’t like the idea of even a small part of the Soviet Army being mobilised.
“We’ll have this material sent to London in the diplomatic bag, on the first available flight tomorrow morning.
“You’d better reward our chap well. We don’t want him going over to the Yanks.
“I hear the Company have a contract with Hustler.”

The men, and women sitting around the table, chucked at the thought that the CIA had hooked up with that porn giant.

“It’s just a pity we can’t hook him up with the internet, Chief.
“He’d love that.”
“We’ll give it to him if we have to exfill him.” The Station Chief said with a wry grin on his face.

5th April. Whitehall, London.
The Chairman of the Joint Intelligence Committee took his seat at the head of the long table, it was getting late, and he would have preferred to have been in bed, but the crisis demanded that the meeting begun that morning continue.

Around him he could see the other members of the committee; all looking tired themselves; drawn from all of Britain’s intelligence gathering services, SIS, the Security Service, Defence Intelligence, and GCHQ, as well as liaison officers from the CIA, and NATO.

“Well gentlemen.” The Chairman said. “What are we going to recommend to the Prime Minister?”
“I think we should recommend that the country begin preparations for mobilisation.” The member from Defence Intelligence stated, clearly speaking for the others. “We could, for example bring forward the big NATO exercise by several weeks.”
“I don’t think that we should do anything too rash.” Another member replied, clearly a Foreign Office man. “However, what my military colleague says does make some sense.
“We are planning a big exercise, so it should not look like mobilisation.”
“We could also add a Home Defence element to it.” The Home Office man suggested.
“Yes.” The Chairman pondered. “At least we won’t end up with another Hard Rock, what with the Civil Defence reforms.
“Well gentlemen, I think it is clear what we will recommend to the P.M.
“The Soviet mobilisation in preparation for a possible invasion of Poland is a serious potential threat to the security of this country, and to NATO, especially since it involves Soviet forces in East Germany, and Czechoslovakia.
“It would be all too easy for them to continue west, if they wanted to.
“But what do our esteemed guests think?”
“The CIA concurs with your assessment, Mr. Chairman.
“We will be recommending the same to the President.”
“NATO intelligence agrees, Sir.” The NATO liaison officer, a Canadian, agreed.

6th April. 10 Downing Street.
The Prime Minister looked over the report from the JIC for a second time.
It did not make for comforting reading.

If the intelligence assessment was correct, the Soviets were embarking on a major mobilisation, including Category B Divisions, which meant a call-up of reserves, in preparation to invade Poland.

There was little that Britain could do to aid Poland, and any diplomatic aid would be brushed off by the Polish communist government anyway, but the actions of the Soviets fed a sense of moral outrage in the Prime Minister.
How dare somebody treat the people of a country this way; they were only hoping for a better life after all.

He looked up, and fixed the Permanent Secretary to the Cabinet Office with a steely gaze.

“I shall want to speak to Geoff, and to the CDS immediately.
“And I want to hold an extra Cabinet meeting this afternoon, and no leaks.”
“Yes, Prime Minister.” The Permanent Secretary agreed. “This is a most sensitive matter; I shall remind the other Permanent Secretaries of this fact.”

The Prime Minister nodded, and smiled at the suggestion that the civil servants would keep ‘their’ ministers on a leash.
There was some truth in ‘Yes, Minister’, and ‘Yes, Prime Minister’ after all.

T.A Centre, Elgin Street, Dunfermline, Fife, Scotland.
“And that, boys, and girls, is how you disassemble, and re-assemble an SA-80 rifle.
“Now, let’s see if you can do it.” Sergeant William Bell, an NCO in the Home Service Force company based in Dunfermline, said.

Bell looked up at the young men, and women who made up the latest recruits to the company, sitting in front of him, each having a rifle in front of them.
He had been pleased to see that the new recruits were a bright bunch, eager to learn.
Bell and the company commander had already identified several as possible future NCOs.

To his satisfaction they were all disassembling the L85A2 rifles just as he had shown them, and were even taking the time to check that the parts were clean before putting the rifles back together.

As part of the expansion of the Territorial Army, and Home Service Force, the Elgin Street T.A centre, Bothwell House, which had been the home to 231 Squadron of 153 (Highland) Artillery Support Regiment, Royal Logistics Corps, and a squadron of the Royal Engineers, had been handed over in its entirety to the Home Service force.
D (Dunfermline) Company, 7th (Fife) Battalion, The Black Watch (Home Service Force) to give the company its full title, had taken over the centre to store all of its equipment, and had installed an indoor firing range to allow the soldiers to practise their small arm skills. [1]

The RLC, and RE personnel, and the Dunfermline based detachment, B Squadron, of the Fife and Forfar Yeomanry (an armoured regiment assigned to one of the new armoured divisions), had moved out to a new site on the edge of the city, which had been built as a factory for a Korean electronics company.

“Well done everybody.” Bell said, once the recruits had finished their task. “Now many of you will have heard stories about the SA-80, of its unreliability, and its propensity to fall to pieces.
“Now, without any BS, I want to assure you to have confidence in your rifle.
“The SA-80 is a good weapon, especially the A2 model.”
“But, Sarge.” One of the recruits said. “The old one did fall to bits.”
“I’ve used ‘em both, Lorraine.” Bell replied. “And, yes, sometimes the A1 would fall apart, but many of the stories are somewhat exaggerated.
“However, if the SA-80 was a car, it would be a Rover from the ‘80s – a good design, but somewhat poorly put together.”

The recruits chuckled at the comparison, although they were probably too young to really remember cars from the 1980s.

“Now, what can you tell me about the old Short, Magazine Lee-Enfield, Mark III?” Bell asked.
“The best bolt action rifle the army has ever used.” One recruit offered.
“One of the best weapons in its class.” Another added.
“Precisely.” Bell replied. “The L42 sniper rifles we have in this company are descendents of the SMLE.
“However, what is not often remembered is that the early SMLEs had a reputation of falling to bits, just like the SA-80, which is why I mention it.
“The best rifles do not often have the best of starts, the M16 was rather similar.
“The worst of the SA-80’s problems lay with the MoD’s failure to adequately fund a programme to iron out the problems.
“We could have had the A2 many years ago, had the will been there.”

As Bell would often reflect, the Home Service Force was lucky to have the latest L85A2s, and not have to get by with the older A1, or even the older L1A1 SLR (which Bell had used during his time in the regular army), as it was at the bottom of the priority list, after the regulars, TA units assigned to BAOR, and the TA units assigned to Home Defence.
The company was also equipped with the L86A2 LSW, and L7 GPMG, but rather than being equipped with the L118 ‘Minimi’ light machine-gun, the HSF relied on the older, but still effective L4A4 ‘Bren’ gun.
For its secondary public order role, the HSF was also equipped with L1A1 66mm CS gas launchers, L67 baton guns, and similar riot gear as the police.

This was not really a role that the soldiers relished.
Guarding so called ‘key points’ against sabotage, or terrorist attack was one thing, being called upon to break up a protest, or tackle a riot, was another matter entirely.

7th April. Supreme Headquarters, Allied Powers Europe, Mons, Belgium.
The apparent breaking crisis in Eastern Europe had brought General Paul Baker, SACEUR, and General Sir Thomas Alexander, deputy SACEUR, back early from leave.
A Dutch Colonel from NATO’s intelligence staff was briefing the two generals on the latest intelligence.

“What do we know about the latest situation in Poland?” Baker asked the briefer.
“Reports are sketchy, Sir.” The Colonel replied in accented English. “The last Western media organisations were expelled yesterday, so we’re pretty much replying on SIGNET intercepts.
“However, from what information we do have the wave of strikes, and protests seem to be spreading throughout the country.
“From what we’ve gathered, it seems to have been sparked by an attempt to form another independent trade union at the Gdansk shipyard, a sort of Solidarity mark two.”
“What are the Polish, and Soviet governments doing?” Baker asked.
“They seem to be in some chaos, Sir.” The Colonel stated. “The Polish government especially. They seem to be in almost a state of panic, since it appears that they cannot rely on the Police, or army to control the disturbances.
“The Soviet government is equally jumpy, and seems to be putting a great deal of pressure on the Poles to deal with the problem.
“In the meantime they are mobilising their Category A divisions in the Western USSR, and East Germany, and some of their Category B divisions.”

This news caught the attention of both generals.

“Bloody hell.” Alexander muttered.

A major Soviet, and Warsaw Pact mobilisation made him feel rather uncomfortable.

“What do you think is going to happen, Colonel?” Alexander asked.
“If the Poles can not solve the problems, the Soviets will move in, and deal with it themselves, with or without Polish governmental permission.
“If the later happens things could get rather interesting, to say the least.
“Unlike the Czech army in 1968, the Polish army is quite likely to resist any Soviet invasion.
“They would not stand much of a chance, but any resistance could destabilise the Warsaw Pact.
“What the Soviet Union really needs now is some sort of outside threat to unite the peoples of Eastern Europe.”
“That means us.” Alexander commented.
“I don’t like it, Tom. I think you’re right.” Baker agreed. “I’m damned glad that our exercise has been brought forward to the beginning of next month.
“As it is, the Soviets have a few weeks of mobilisation ahead of us.”
“I must say that any sort of Soviet mobilisation makes me rather uncomfortable.” Alexander replied. “It could be all too easy for them to keep rolling West, if they find a suitable pretext.”

***

[1] Other companies included G (Glenrothes) Company, K (Kirkcaldy), and C (Cupar) Company.

9th April. RAF Wildenrath, West Germany.
Wildenrath was home to RAF Germany’s two air defence units, 19, and 92 Squadrons, both of which had been operating in Germany in this role for a generation.
Having previously operated the Phantom FGR.2, and Lightning F.2A (at RAF Gutersloh) both squadrons now flew the Typhoon FGR.2.

As with their previous mounts, the squadrons, in rotation, provided two aircraft fully fuelled, and armed (known as the ‘Battle Flight) on Quick Reaction Alert twenty-four hours a day, seven days a week, ready to intercept any Warsaw Pact aircraft that intruded into West German airspace.

The Typhoon had brought a welcome return to single seat fighters, but had also brought a secondary strike role, given the multi-role capabilities of the aircraft.
Like the Wattisham wing back in Britain, however, the Wildenrath wing spent ninety percent of their training on air defence, while the Typhoon wing at Coltishall were split fifty-fifty (with 41(F) Squadron concentrating on tac recce), given that their task was to reinforce NATO’s flanks.

It was the early hours of the morning, and time for the ‘Battle Flight’ change over, as the Land Rover made its way from 19 Squadron’s protected crew facility to the QRA sheds, which sat at one end of the main runway.
Once the vehicle came to a halt Squadron Leader Paul Jackson, O.C B Flight, 19 Squadron, climbed out, carrying his ‘bone dome’ in his right hand, his other flight gear in his left.

“Come on, Bob.” He said to his wingman for the next few hours, Flight Lieutenant Robert Watt. “Can’t let these 92 Squadron blokes have all the fun.”
“Fun, Skipper?” Watt replied. “That’ll be a first, even for our esteemed colleagues.”

“Hold onto your wallets everybody, 19 Squadron is here!” Squadron Leader Harry Watson, O.C A Flight, 92 Squadron, said as Jackson and Watt entered the crew room.
“I doubt you’ve anything worth nicking, Harry, but it’s time some professional pilots took over.” Jackson replied.

The banter over, the two senior pilots got down to the serious task of handing over responsibility for the ‘Battle Flight.’

“Both of the jets are in tip top condition.” Watson told Jackson. “The engineers checked them out not…” He looked at his watch. “Not half an hour ago.”
“Normal weapons load?” Jackson asked.
“Yes, you’ve got the usual six Meteors, four ASRAAMs, and a full load for the gun.”

Both men smiled at that; neither ever expected to use the Typhoon’s 27mm Mauser cannon, but it was always nice to have it.

“Of course you’ve only got the one thousand litre centreline drop tank.” Watson continued. “You don’t really need the big ‘Hindenburger’ one, and a half thousand litre tanks this close to the IGB, and you get better performance without ‘em anyway.”
“Yeh, we’re not in 11 Group.
“If our Eastern neighbours ever decide to visit, we’ll need all the extra performance we can get.” Jackson replied.

Satisfied with the briefing, Jackson clicked on the requisite icon on the computer screen (all of the documentation relating to the Typhoon was ‘paperless’), officially taking over control of the ‘Battle Flight’.

“See you later, Harry.
“I hope you enjoy catching up on your beauty sleep, you need it.” Jackson said.
“Cheeky bugger.
“I’ll see you later, Paul, try not to break anything.”

10th April. Chequers Court, Buckinghamshire.
The Prime Minister’s official country residence, a Tudor mansion, lay at the foot of the rolling Chiltern Hills, a beautiful setting for any residence.
Different Prime Ministers used the place to a different extent, some treated it as if it was almost their own property, and spent as much time there as possible, others hardly used it.

The present holder of the post of First Lord of the Treasury fell more into the first category, though he had been careful not to appear to use it as if he owned the place, he had found it was a useful place to take his family, and as a place to have quiet meetings with other world leaders.

Today Chequers was holding a secret meeting between the PM, and the US President.
Despite being a secret meeting, security was heavy. The local police force, Thames Valley Police, had provided a number of armed officers to protect the mansion (which they did anyway, but had provided extra for the meeting), while the force’s helicopter, a Eurocopter Squirrel 2, was patrolling the area.
The force’s Chief Constable had already complained to the Home Office about the cost of all this, which his force was expected to bear.

In addition to the police, the SAS had a team from the Counter Revolutionary Wing at Hereford on stand-by, while there were a few SAS four-man teams in Observation Posts on the edge of the grounds.
Despite the heavy security, the American President had brought a sizeable Secret Service contingent with him.

Despite failing light, and against light, and against the advice of their security experts, the PM, and the President had decided to take a stroll in the mansion’s grounds.
A group of Special Branch, and Secret Service close protection officers were following at a discrete distance.
To provide heavier armed back up a number of police officers from Thames Valley’s tactical firearms unit, carrying Heckler und Koch G36 rifles, were posted around the gardens.

“As you know, Tony, this whole situation in Poland, and the fact that the Soviets appear to be mobilising their Category A Divisions, and sending warning orders to some Category B, and C Divisions as well, has us rather worried.” The President said.
“It has us rather worried too, Colin.” The PM replied. “On advice from the Chief of the Defence Staff, and from the JIC, we’re moving our reinforcement exercise, and the Home Defence Exercise forward.
“We’re recommending that the big NATO exercise, and REFORGER is also brought forward.”
“We’re doing that.” The President replied. “REFORGER will also be somewhat expanded this year, we’ll be shipping most of the army’s III Corps, and an extra couple of wings of the air force.
“The intelligence that you presented to our other allies has them convinced, so holding the exercise early should not be a problem.”
“Good, good.” The PM replied. “We have at least got to show the Soviets that we’re prepared, should they think of continuing west once their army is fully mobilised.”

The American President nodded in agreement.

“It must be a while since you’ve had a full Home Defence Exercise, Tony.” He observed.
“Yes, a good twenty-three years, I think.
“The fiasco Hard Rock was the last one I can remember.
“Thank God we passed a new Civil Protection Act, and swept away most of the stupid secrecy that the Home Office had insisted on since the end of the last war.
“Most of the local authorities should play along this time.
“Combined with the big air defence exercise due to start at the end of the week, it should be quite interesting.”

While both men were very concerned about NATO being prepared, and sending a message to Moscow, they had not really given much thought to what effect that the message would have in the Kremlin, the home of the professional paranoid, when it arrived.

12th April. Over the North Sea.
Wing Commander Ian Macalister, Commanding Officer of 54 Squadron, put his Typhoon into another lazy left hand turn.
Despite the apparent lack of urgency of Macalister, and his wingman, they were in fact tracking a flight of hostile aircraft crossing the North Sea at low level.
Flying radar silent (their highly capable CAPTOR radars were shut down), they were following the enemy via data passed by JTIDS from an 8 Squadron Sentry AEW.1.

It was rather unusual for 54 Squadron to be taking part in an air defence exercise, given that their wartime assignment was the reinforcement of NATO’s flanks (probably Norway).
However, somebody obviously thought that they needed to brush up on their interception skills; something they might be called on to perform on the flanks, as the Typhoon was a so-called ‘swing role’ aircraft.

Macalister did not mind the change in role. It was just as fun pretending to shoot other ‘planes down as it was to drop bombs on people.

Some miles to the west of the two Typhoons, just off the coast, were a pair of Tornado F.3s of 43 (Fighter) Squadron, and four Hawk T.2As of 79 (Reserve) Squadron, positioned to catch any aircraft that leaked past the Typhoons.

Macalister glanced at the MFD showing the radar data, the enemy were closing into engagement range, and still apparently unaware that there were any defending fighters in front of them. It was time.
Macalister signalled to his wingman, and contacted the controlling Sentry.

“Magic 99, Lion flight engaging. Over.” Was his simple and short message.
“Roger, Lion flight.” The Fighter Controller aboard the AWACS aircraft replied.

Macalister pushed the throttle forward to full military power, the pair of EJ200 engines rapidly accelerating the Typhoon to just over the speed of sound, allowing the aircraft to ‘supercruise’.

What Macalister did not know was that the Sentry was also in the process of passing a warning to the enemy aircraft.

“Roger, Magic 99. Thanks for the ‘heads up’. Over.” Lieutenant Colonel Colin Reynolds, C.O of the 492nd Fighter Squadron, 48th Fighter Wing, replied.

Reynolds was leading a group of six F-15E ‘Strike Eagles’ in towards the British coast, intent on simulating an attack on a nuclear power station.
The presence of defending fighters made things that bit more difficult, but Reynolds was confident that he could get enough aircraft through to attack the target effectively, besides, his group of aircraft was not the only one due to come through in this area.

Suddenly Reynolds’ RWR began to bleep urgently; they had been locked on to by a fighter radar.

Since the MFD now showed that they were well within Meteor range, Macalister had energised his CAPTOR radar. It had quickly picked up the six American aircraft, and the Typhoon’s computer had prioritised targets.

“Select Meteor.
“Select target one.” Macalister told the aircraft.
“Meteor selected.
“Target one selected.” The aircraft told him in a rather attractive female voice.

Macalister pushed the pickle button twice, simulating the launch of two Meteor missiles.

“Fox One!” He said over the radio.
“Fox One!” His wingman added, after simulating his own missile launch.

Both pilots ‘fired’ one more missile, before turning away, hoping to deny the Eagles a Doppler lock, and hence avoiding any return fire, though they were, for the moment, beyond the range of even the AIM-120C-5 missile, and shutting down their CAPTOR radars.

The tone in Lt. Colonel Reynolds’ headphone became continuous, warning him of a missile launch; obviously the Eagle’s ECM gear had failed to break the radar lock.
Given the high speed of the Meteor missile, about Mach 5, he had to act fast.

“Break! Break! Break!” He yelled over the radio.

The flight of six ‘Strike Eagles’ broke apart, each aircraft heading in a different direction.

“We’ve still got a missile coming after us, Skipper.” Reynolds’ Wizzo told him.

Reynolds put the F-15 into a spiralling dive, hoping to throw off the Meteor.
Had this been real this would probably not have worked, but for the purposes of further training, the RAIDS pods each aircraft carried, decided that two of the Meteors burned out before reaching their targets, allowing Reynolds, and one other Eagle to survive.

“Damn.” Wing Commander Macalister muttered as he watched two of the missile symbols disappeared before they could merge with the last two F-15s.

For some reason RAIDS consistently did this, not doubt to force some close in combat.
Well, the Typhoon was more than capable of that.

Macalister brought his aircraft round hard, as he spotted the two Eagles skimming in low of the North Sea.
Using his Helmet Mounted Sight, Macalister locked on to one of the F-15s, and fired a simulated ASRAAM.

“Fox Two!”

The two American aircraft broke formation, banking off to port, and starboard, as they realised that they were under attack.
Both aircraft tried to turn the tables, but the superior manoeuvrability of the Typhoons prevented this from doing this, Macalister even managed a simulated ‘Fox Three’ gun kill.

“Damn it, Skipper, that Limey is stuck to our tail like glue!” Lt. Colonel Reynolds’ Wizzo yelled, as he looked back over his shoulder at the Typhoon threatening their aircraft.

Before Reynolds could reply he heard the ‘Fox Three’ call by Wing Commander Macalister.

“Aw, hell.” He said, on realising that in all likelihood they had been ‘shot down’ several times.

While the two Typhoons were concentrating on the Eagles, they missed a group of six Jaguar GR.3As belonging to 614 (County of Glamorgan) Squadron, an auxiliary unit, who had been following the Eagles.

The Tornados, and Hawks circling just over the coast, however, had noticed the approaching Jaguars.

Wing Commander Jack Foster, C.O 43 (Fighter) Squadron, had been watching the approaching Jaguars on his little radar repeater CRT display.

“Light ‘em up.” He told his back seater.

Squadron Leader George Wilkinson did as he was told, energising the Tornado’s AI-24 ‘Foxhunter’ radar.
The radar locked onto the leading Jaguar, and a couple of seconds later, Foster pulled the trigger.

“Fox One!” He said, simulating an AMRAAM launch.
“Fox One!” Foster’s wingman added a moment later.

Foster had allocated the four Hawks to keep an eye out for any Jaguars that leaked past the Tornado’s AMRAAM shots; true to form RAIDS let a couple of Jaguars through.

The four Hawks converted onto the pair of Jaguars, turning hard, demonstrating the extra manoeuvrability that the ‘combat wing’, and more powerful Adour engine gave them over the old T.1A.

One Jaguar was ‘brought down’ by a snapshot ‘Fox Three’ kill from the 30mm Aden cannon of one Hawk.
The other attempted to escape by engaging its afterburners, only succeeding in attracting several simulated ASRAAM shots.

Foster called back the rather too over enthusiastic Tactical Weapon Unit instructors flying the little jets.
There were more targets out there somewhere, and still quite a few hours to go before the exercise ended for the day.

So far, 11 Group was winning it.

13th April. The Kremlin, Moscow, RSFSR.
For the first time in several hours the Defence Council of the Politburo had fallen silent.
They were all watching live television pictures of tanks, and other armoured vehicles on board transporters driving out of military bases, and being loaded onto ships.

‘…behind me you can see the Challenger 2 tanks, and the support vehicles of the 2nd County of London Yeomanry, a regiment more commonly known locally by its other name, the Westminster Dragoons, leaving their barracks for ports on the east coast, and onward shipment to West Germany.
‘All across Britain similar scenes are being enacted as the Territorial Army units of II Corps are mobilised to take part in the largest NATO exercise for a decade.
‘Coinciding with this major exercise on the Continent, the largest Home Defence exercise, and air defence exercise in almost twenty years is being held here in Britain.
‘The Ministry of Defence is reticent about why these series of exercises, originally to have taken place either separately, or later in the year, have been brought forward.
‘Defence analyst, Paul Badger, had this to say.’

The screen changed to an indoor scene of a man in a shirt and tie, sitting behind a desk.
‘Caption: Paul Badger, defence analyst.’

‘The timing of this series of exercises is very significant, coinciding, as it does, with a major mobilisation of Warsaw Pact forces, apparently against Poland, which is experiencing some internal problems at the moment.
‘The cynical might think that NATO is trying to send a message to the Soviet leadership that it is ready, and prepared for any eventuality.’

The screen cut back to the reporter, now standing outside a darkened army base in the rain.

‘The last vehicles of the Westminster Dragoons just left this base a few minutes ago, but I have seen members of what are believed to be the local Home Service Force entering the barracks, for what purpose, however, is unknown.
‘This is Brian Earl, BBC News at Ten, handing you back to Hugh in the studio…’

Somebody turned off the large screen television before the news could move onto trivial British domestic news.

“How dare they!” The General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union exploded with rage. “How dare the Imperialists try to dictate to us how to run our own affairs.
“We have not sought to tell the British how to run Northern Ireland, the Spanish the Basque country, or the French Algeria, when they had it.
“They should not tell us how to deal with Poland.”
“It’s a mobilisation, just as myself, and the Comrade Defence Minister suggested, Comrade General Secretary.” The Chairman of the KGB said calmly.
“And it is fairly certain that once the Imperialists have mobilised, that they will take action, after all, why mobilise if you do not intend to do something with one’s troops.” The Defence Minister said, adding weight to the statement of the Chairman of the KGB.

There was a derisive snort from the other end of the room.
The others looked, and saw that it came from the oldest member of the Defence Council, a retired general, who was old enough to have fought in the ‘Great Patriotic War’.

“Nonsense.
“The Westerners do not partake in pre-emptive warfare, even in the Gulf they were reacting to an invasion.
“Have you never thought to consider that they are merely reacting to the fact that we are mobilising all of our forces in Germany, our Category A Divisions, and some of our Category B Divisions in the Western Military Districts?
“We have them worried that we might invade them, that’s all.”

This statement brought a rebuke from the Defence Minister, a Marshal of the Soviet Union, who told the old general to not be so naïve about the West.

“We know.” He continued. “That the Imperialists have entered the final stage of Capitalism.
“During that stage they are very dangerous. They may strike out in a futile effort to save themselves.
“We must be prepared for that eventuality.”

While the Defence Minister was rebuking his older, and certainly wiser, colleague, the Chairman of the KGB leaned over to the General Secretary, and whispered conspiratorially in his ear.

“A foreign threat just may be what we need, Comrade.
“What better to pull the people together, and besides with the correlation of forces we will lose our chance fairly soon.
“I would suggest some sort of ultimatum to the West, one that they can not back down from without a great deal of loss of face.”

The General Secretary nodded in agreement.

“Comrade, Defence Minister, do you have an up to date plan for a pre-emptive strike on the Imperialists, should they force us to war?”
“Yes, Comrade, General Secretary.”
“Then I want you to begin to make preparations to implement it
“Comrade Foreign Minister, I want you to draw up a message to the NATO nations, calling on them to end their mobilisation.
“It must be bellicose, and contain demands that they can not accede to without loss of face.”
“Yes, Comrade, General Secretary.”

The old general murmured a few objections, but the younger men did not seem to want to listen, they were determined to have their war.

The Soviet leadership evidently seemed to have forgotten the heavy cost of victory in ‘The Great Patriotic War’, and of failure in Afghanistan.
They were about to plunge the world into another war.

A few hours later the British Secret Intelligence Service’s ‘contact’ in the Defence Ministry would know most of what was said in this meeting, and frantically pass it on to his handler.

Within twelve hours the leadership of NATO knew, and what started as an exercise turned into a frantic effort to mobilise their respective militaries.

***

14th April. Headquarters RAF Strike Command, RAF High Wycombe, Buckinghamshire.
Air Chief Marshal Sir Michael Johnson, RAF, Commander-in-Chief RAF Strike Command (despite mobilisation he had not yet taken up his NATO position as CINCUKAIR), took his seat as he waited for the briefing to begin.

Today’s briefing would be coming via video link from RAF Bentley Priory, Headquarters of 11 Group, the formation responsible for air defence of Great Britain, and the surrounding ocean area.

Johnson’s aide de camp, Flight Lieutenant Susan Jackson, a tall, slim, hippophile, Northern Irish brunette, who spent her spare time on the BRC eventing, and show jumping circuit, and representing the RAF in the service’s show jumping, and eventing scene, sat down next to him, a large file in her hands.

“The latest reports from the air defence exercise, Sir.” She told him. “The 11 Group mates are certainly cleaning up.
“And this is the latest regarding the continuing mobilisation of the auxiliaries, and the arrival of American units into our command area.”
“Thanks, Susan.” Johnson replied, taking the file. “I hear our team had another win at the weekend.”
“Yes, the army were gutted, them entering a team drawn from cavalry regiments too.” Jackson replied, smiling as she remembered the team’s triumph over their army rivals.

Johnson had a quick glance over the reports from the air defence exercise, which looked rather encouraging.
The fighter squadrons were racking up high scores, even with the artificial handicap of the rangeless instrumentation, which made things easier for the attackers.
What aircraft were getting past the Combat Air Patrols were being shot down by Hawk T.2s on ‘point defence’ defence duty, or by ‘Broadsword’, and ‘Rapier’ SAM units.

The report on mobilisation of the reserves was encouraging; some auxiliary units, mainly those in 11 Group, but also a few in 1 Group, had already been mobilised for the air defence exercise; most were now reporting as being operational, very importantly this included all of the RAuxAF Regiment Field Squadrons assigned to air field defence.

The report on USAAF units arriving in Britain was of more concern.
Oh, the American wings, and squadrons were arriving on time, and there was an abundance of pre-stocked supplies for them, but there was beginning to be something of a problem of overcrowding, both at existing USAF bases (including those kept as war reserve bases, such as Fairford, and Wethersfield), and other RAF air stations, such as RAF Finningly, which were assigned as wartime operating locations.

So far these bases had had to absorb the 1st, 4th, 23rd, 27th, and 49th Tactical Fighter Wings , and the 4th, and 380th Air Refuelling Wings. [1]
Combined with the existing USAFE Wings based in Britain, this made for an unholy mess.

“Damn.” Johnson muttered to himself. “We’re going to have Yank ‘planes coming out of our ears very soon.
“How many of the allocated civilian airports are we using at the moment, Susan?”
“Five, Sir, including the three in Scotland that are also the bases for auxiliary squadrons.” She replied.
“I think we need to impress on those in the ‘Box’ that we need to start using the remaining eighteen, if we are going to cope with the influx of American aircraft, and if the balloon goes up, aircraft retreating from the Central Region.
“How about our forward operating locations?”
“We’ve got most of them up, and running, Sir.”
“Good.
“We also need to impress on our Lords, and Masters that we’re going to need the civilian helicopter fleet very soon, if we’re going to keep all these dispersed airfields operating.” Johnson added.
“Yes, Sir.” Jackson agreed. “At the moment the pre-positioned stocks are lasting well, and anything over and above that can travel by road.
“However, it is anybodies guess how things could change if war breaks out, and we may need re-supply quicker than can be carried out by road.”

Johnson turned back to the big flat screen TV monitor, and noticed that the clock on it was counting down to the briefing time.

“Who is doing the briefing again today, Susan?” C-in-C Strike Command asked.
“Wing Commander Sarah Stapleton, Sir.”
“Ah, I know her, a very experienced officer. Commanded the F.3, and Typhoon OEUs, if I recall.
“She’s supposed to be the best fighter pilot in 11 Group.
“Isn’t she supposed to be engaged to whathisname, the CO of 43 Squadron?”
“Wing Commander Foster, Sir.” Jackson replied, again stunning Johnson with her encyclopaedic knowledge of every squadron commanding officer in Strike Command.

At the appointed time the image of Wing Commander Stapleton, an attractive young officer, with long, light brown hair, though like Jackson she wore her hair up so that she did not have to cut it, appeared on the screen.

“Good morning, Sir, Susan.” She said, her voice slightly tinny, the effect of the video link.

Despite being from York, Stapleton did not have a strong Yorkshire accent.

“Good morning, Sarah. How are you?” Johnson replied.
“Fine, thank you, Sir, though we’re all a bit busy.
“I hear you had another win, Susan.” She said to Jackson.
“Yes, thank you ma’m.
“We really could do with your talents, can’t I convince you to come to next year’s trials?”
“I’m too busy for that sort of thing, Susan, but I think you’re doing well enough without me.”

Johnson cleared his throat, trying to regain control of the conversation.

“I’ve had a look over the reports from the exercise, and I must say you seem to be doing very well.” He said.
“Thank you, Sir.
“It has been a very satisfying experience for us. It’s only the second time we’ve been able to fully exercise all of our auxiliary squadrons, and I think we’ve ironed out all the bugs that showed up last time.”

Stapleton paused for a moment before continuing.

“Sir, there is a rumour doing the rounds here that we’re moving from an exercise towards a real mobilisation.
“If its true, it will help us to plan better, and begin to disperse some of our assets.”

Air Chief Marshal Johnson did not say anything at once.

“Susan, this is supposed to be highly confidential, but you can tell Air Vice Marshal Hazel that this is the real thing.
“If he wants to start to disperse his assets, he may.”
“Thank you very much, Sir.” Stapleton replied. “I do hope that things calm down.
“We’re all pretty confident of our ability to stop attacks, but we’d rather not be tested for real.”
“I quite sympathise, Susan.
“None of us wants to be tested for real, not on the scale that this would be.”

Fife House, Glenrothes, Fife, Scotland.
Fife House was part of the complex of buildings that made up the administrative centre of Fife Council (the other main building, Rosthsey House, was the home of the Education Service).
The buildings dated back to the 1960s; reflecting the architecture of the period; when Glenrothes had been built as one of a series of ‘New Towns’.

The construction of Glenrothes had coincided with one of the periods of local council reorganisations, in which the old Fife County Council, which had been based in the old county town of Cupar, had been replaced by the two tiers of regional, and district councils, with Fife Regional Council being based in Glenrothes, with three district councils under it. [2]

Just over twenty-five years later everything had been overturned, again, the two-tier system giving way to single so called ‘unitary authorities’, such as Fife Council.

The Council’s Chief Executive; the head of the non-political side of the council; Tom Buchan, was in his office. It had been a busy couple of days for him, as the council rather reluctantly began its preparations to take part in the national Home Defence exercise, and now began to implement its emergency plans for real. [3]

Today he had spent most of the day on the phone.
He had been called by an official from the department of the Scottish Executive that dealt with Civil Defence, to inform him that the government was issuing ‘Emergency Phase One (Warning Stand-by)’, the first part of the new Civil Emergencies Act (Scotland) 1999, which had greatly simplified civil defence, sweeping away much of the secrecy, was being issued, and would go public within forty-eight hours.

The civil servant from the Scottish Executive had also informed him that they National Emergency Volunteers (a volunteer civil defence organisation, formed in 1996, who had specifically avoided calling themselves the Civil Defence Corps.) was mobilising its personnel, and that they would be sending teams to pick up equipment, and assist his people in the implementation of the council’s emergency plans.

Buchan had also received calls from the staff of the two government ministers who had their constituencies in Fife, urging him not to drag his feet over the implementation of emergency plans.

His last and potentially most worrying call had been from the Chief Constable, to inform him that even with military support, he would have trouble policing the demonstrations planned to be held simultaneously at the Maritime Headquarters at Pitreavie, and RAF Leuchars.

With what time he had not spent receiving calls, he had been briefing the council’s Convenor, the political head of the council, who chaired council meetings, about some of the measures that were being taken, and advising the Convenor to form a special ‘emergency committee’ formed of three to five councillors.

Finally getting a minute to himself, he pressed the intercom button to speak to his secretary.

“Phyllis, its Phase One.
“Could you call all the people on the list in the War Book, hen.
“And could you please call my wife, and tell her that I might be a bit late home tonight.”
“Yes, Mr. Buchan.”

Headquarters, Fife Constabulary, Glenrothes.
Chief Constable Alistair McIntosh replaced the phone handset after he had finished speaking to Tom Buchan.
McIntosh was indeed worried about the overstretch that his force faced.
Fife Constabulary was the smallest force in Scotland, yet it faced formidable problems, if war were to break out. [4]

Within the force’s policing area there were four major military facilities; RAF Leuchars, MHQ Pitreavie, the naval base, and dockyard at Rosyth, and the Royal Naval Armaments Depot at Crombie; and the Scotland North RGHQ bunker at Troy Wood, outside Anstruther, while the last was relatively secret, all of the others could become the focus of civil disturbance.

What he had not shared with Buchan were the reports that his Special Branch had been receiving, via the Security Service, that enemy agents, or sympathisers, might use these demonstrations to attack the facilities, or provoke riots.
They had also, through the Justice Ministry of the Scottish Executive, sent him the list of people who should be detained under the Emergency Powers Act, which would come into force when ‘Phase Two (Action)’ of the civil defence alert was issued; when war seem immanent; (the list included a councillor, why he had not told Buchan).

McIntosh had made it very clear to the head of Fife’s Special Branch that he was not to jump the gun, and start detaining people willy-nilly. Until the Westminster Parliament passed the Emergency Powers Act, normal rules still applied.

Under ‘Phase One’, McIntosh had to start implementing a number of measures laid down in the War Book.
One of these measures was that he would now have to assign a couple of senior officers, an Assistant Chief Constable, and a Superintendent, to act as Police Liaison officers at the council’s Emergency Planning Centre (a new protected facility built under the car park at Fife House), and its Standby (the old EPC under the town house in Kirkcaldy). [5]

Of the other measures, three would immediately grab the attention of the public.
Firstly, as the force mobilised for war, all such qualified officers were required to carry firearms during the execution of their duty (it was also the duty of the Chief Constable to qualify more officers).
Secondly, it was the responsibility of the Police to test the communications, and warning equipment belonging to the United Kingdom Warning and Monitoring Organisation; the public were certainly going to notice the testing of every air raid siren in Fife.
The third measure was one of the most onerous, and would effect the public the most. It was the setting up of the Essential Service Route system.
All major roads in Britain were classified as Essential Service Routes.
In the lead-up to, and during wartime, they would be closed to all ‘non-essential traffic’ – basically military traffic, and vehicles carrying food, and fuel supplies.
The system would be phased in slowly at first, with only temporary closures, at least until hostilities broke out.

McIntosh could just imagine the congestion that closing the two major roads that ran through Fife, the M90, and A92, was going to cause.
It was going to make his Traffic Department even less popular than normal; perhaps, then, it was a good thing that many of them would now be issued with firearms.

There as one more measure that McIntosh would have to implement, the force’s own emergency command centre, a duplicate of the aboveground CAD room, built under the HQ, would have to be brought into operation, even if it was on a skeleton staff, as would the standby facilities in the three Division Areas: Western (based in Dunfermline), Central (based in Kirkcaldy), and Eastern (based in Cupar).

All in all, it was going to be a busy few days for Fife Constabulary.

Manod Quarry, near Blaenau Ffestiniog, North Wales.
The single security guard waited by the main gate, rain dripping from his cap, and yellow fluorescent jacket, the ground below him a thin layer of mud over Welsh slate.
It was no exaggeration that he was utterly miserable, and could not care less about anybody getting into the quarry.

In the distance, down the winding, narrow road, just visible through the drizzle, he could see the reason he was standing outside, instead of sitting in his nice little warm office, listening to the radio.

A group of army four-tonners could be seen grinding their way up the hill towards the quarry, labouring under the loads that they were carrying.

“Taking their bloody time, and me standing outside in the rain, too.” The security guard muttered.

Presently the lorries arrived, the lead one halting at the gate.
A small number of soldiers, wearing the stone coloured berets of the Foot Guards (they were in fact men of the 1st Battalion, The Welsh Guards), jumped down from the vehicles, and secured the area.

A civilian, wearing a long green raincoat got out of the leading lorry, and approached the security guard.

“Is everything ready for the cargo?” He asked.
“Yes, Sir.
“Myself, and Daffyd, have checked over everything since you called. There’s not much else for us to do up here, you see.
“At least until now.”
“Excellent, let your colleague know we’re coming up.”

The raincoated civilian turned back to the soldiers.

“Right, you can take the vehicles up.
“Lieutenant, your men will be careful with the cargo, I hope.”
“Certainly, Sir.” The commander of the escort said. “Isn’t that right, lads?” He continued, before adding something in Welsh, which made the guardsmen chuckle.

This did not do anything to improve the confidence of the civilian, nor the members of his staff, waiting in the lorries.

TA Centre, Kirkcaldy, Fife.
As in Dunfermline the expansion of the Territorial Army had meant the construction of a new T.A Centre on the edge of town, in this case on a gap site between a supermarket, and a housing estate.
Unlike in Dunfermline, the old TA centre, in Hunter Street in the middle of Kirkcaldy, had not been retained, and the site sold off to defray some of the costs of the new centre.

The new TA centre had become the new home of the existing units that were based in town, some of which had been expanded, and of newly formed units, including C Squadron, The Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, an armoured regiment equipped with the Challenger 2, part of the still relatively new 7th Armoured Division, and K Company 7th Battalion The Black Watch (HSF).

Since the NATO exercise had been brought forward, and now since it had become mobilisation, the TA centre had become the scene of much frantic activity, as the units based there made preparations to leave for Germany.

The yeomanry did not keep their armoured vehicles on site, apart from a single Challenger, and a Sabre used for recruitment purposes, the centre being too small for that, but were due to pick up their tanks from pre-positioned equipment in Germany.
In peacetime the regiment would use vehicles held by the RAC centre when doing their training.

Captain David Napier, the squadron second in command had been a very busy man over the last few days, as he worked on the preparations to deploy.
The squadron was now ready to leave, and concentrate with the other squadrons at Edinburgh Airport.

He now had one last duty to perform, to say goodbye to his wife, an officer in the Home Service Force Company.

Saying goodbye was not going to be easy for either.

Armed Forces Emergency H.Q, Scotland, Craigiehall, Edinburgh.
Lieutenant General Sir Duncan Campbell, General Officer Commanding Scotland District, stepped into the ops room of his protected H.Q, a former Anti-Aircraft Operations Room.

The AAORs had been built in the 1950s for the army’s old Anti-Aircraft Command, to provide protected control centres for automated batteries of 5.25inch, and 3.7inch guns in a number of Gun Defended Areas (the Craigiehall AAOR controlled the guns in the Forth GDA).
A.A Command had been disbanded in 1955, as being obsolete in modern war, and the well built, and strong AAORs turned over to other uses.

The Craigiehall AAOR was one of two protected AFEHQ facilities in Scotland; the other was at Inverbervie in Aberdeenshire, a former Chain Early Warning, CEW, radar station, with a substantial underground control centre, built as part of the ROTOR radar network.
Inverbervie was intended to be the stand-by facility, should the Craigiehall bunker be destroyed.

With the proliferation of precision-guided munitions, Campbell knew that this was a very likely eventuality.
Moreover, if the Soviets did drop ‘The Bomb’ then Craigiehall was too close to a number of targets to survive, even if it was not directly targeted. [6]

“Well, ladies, and gentlemen.” Campbell said as he took his seat. “How is the mobilisation of the units based in my district coming along?”
“Almost complete, Sir.” His Chief of Staff replied. “The last few regular, and Territorial units assigned to BAOR are either on their way to airports for flights to Germany, or heading south to ports on the east coast.
“All of our National Defence Territorial units, and Home Service Force units have reported as being mobilised.
“All that remains, Sir, is to deploy them to their assigned locations.”
“We’re still quite limited as to what we can guard.
“Until a state of emergency is declared, we can only guard government property, but get the units moving to guard those that are on our patch.
“And I want our troops ready to go to the other locations as soon as we get the order.” Campbell replied.

15th April. NATO Situation Report.
‘FROM: SHAPE.
TO: All Major MNC, PNC.
SUBJECT: Mobilisation.
‘All in place forces in AFCENT are now operational, and in position.
‘Reinforcements are still arriving in the central region, HQ II (UK) Corps, and III (US) Corps now operational.
‘2nd(US) Armd, 1st (US) Inf (Mech), and 6th(UK) Armd Divs now operational, 7th (UK) Armd Div in process of becoming operational, expected to be ready 24 – 48 hours.
‘Advance units of US 3rd ACR, 1st Cav, 4th Inf (Mech), 5th Inf (Mech) Divs have arrived in region.

‘AFNORTH: UK/NL Amphibious Force, 5th (UK) Airborne Bde operational in Norway, elements 4th (US) MEB, 5th CAST Bde in place, will be operational next 48 – 72 hours.
‘UK Mobile Force is operational in BALTAP (Jutland).

‘AFSOUTH: All in place forces mobilised, and in position. Reinforcements on way…MFL.’

RAF North Coates, Lincolnshire.
Flight Lieutenant Bill Keegan, RAF Regiment, stopped the Land Rover as he drove round the air station perimeter.
The car was back again.

“See that blue Saab, Flight?” Keegan said to the Flight Sergeant sitting next to him.
“It’s that same one, Sir.” Flight Sergeant Richard Travis replied.

Keegan, and Travis were part of the RAF Regiment staff that provided security for RAF North Coates, and trained the non-regiment personnel in guard duties, and weapons handling.

The air station was a vital link in the United Kingdom’s air defences, being home to B Flight, 85 Squadron.
The other flights were based at a number of other RAF Stations; A, and C Flights were at RAF West Raynham, D Flight at RAF Barkston Heath, E at RAF Wyton, and F Flight at RAF Wattisham.

85 Squadron was equipped with the still relatively new MBDA (originally BAe Dynamics) ‘Broadsword’ long range SAM, the long awaited replacement for the old ‘Bloodhound’ Mk. II missile.
Although the system was fully road mobile, and would deploy off station in war, the flights operated from main bases in peacetime, for ease of operation, and maintenance, and for the air defence exercise had operated from them.

At the moment 85 Squadron was preparing to deploy to a pre-surveyed off station site, although the Transport Erector Launchers were still operational at their present site; each TEL contained four ‘Broadsword’ missiles, which was a two stage ramjet design, with a solid rocket boosted, capable of speeds up to Mach 5; which was why Keegan was concerned.
The last thing that B Flight needed was somebody revealing their off station location, or even that they were getting ready to move.

“Could be an enthusiast.” Travis offered.
“Three days in a row at a missile base?
“No, I think that any enthusiast would have moved onto Marham to see the Canberras, or Wattisham to see the Typhoons.
“It’s either a journalist reporting on the transition to war, or…” Keegan left the other possibility hanging for a moment.
“Somebody from the other side, Sir.” Travis said, completing the sentence.
“Exactly.” Keegan confirmed.

He picked up the radio handset in the Land Rover.

“This is Squadron Leader Keegan. Our friend is back in the same place.
“Request that you contact the local plods, and have them check out the car.
“Over.”

***

[1] The 27th Fighter Wing was equipped with 4 squadrons flying the upgraded F-111E/F ‘Aardvark’.
Two squadrons of the Air National Guard, equipped with F-111Gs, based at Plattsburgh AFB, were also assigned to the Wing.

[2] These were Dunfermline District Council, Kirkcaldy District Council, and Northeast Fife District Council, based in Cupar.

[3] See link for details of Fife Council, and the role of the Chief Executive.

4 For information about Fife Constabulary see link.

5 Fife does have an EPC, but to the best of the author’s knowledge it is not a protected facility, nor is it under the car park at Fife House. In ‘War Plan UK’ Duncan Campbell suggested that the FRC EPC was in Kirkcaldy, from which the current author bases his supposition for its location under the Town House.

6 These include the city of Edinburgh itself, Edinburgh airport, Rosyth, the Forth Bridges, and Pitreavie.

16th April. Lochgelly Fire Station, Lochgelly, Fife.
As the Police, and local Territorial military units mobilised for war, so did the Fife Fire and Rescue Service. [1]

At Lochgelly the fire fighters of Red Watch had just come on duty, relieving the men, and women of Blue Watch. [2]
Station Officer Peter Steel stood in front of the assembled watch.

“Well folks, we’ve received our orders from H.Q.
“There aren’t going to be any short working weeks anymore. It’s going to be forty-eight hours on, and twenty-four off.”

The watch murmured disapproval at this news; it was not the working pattern that the Fire Brigades Union had fought so hard for.

“I know it’s hard, but we’ll possibly be at war soon.
“Our watches will be reinforced by some retained officers, recent retirees, and those who are at the end of their training courses.
“Each station is also to be issued with at least one extra appliance from the central war reserve.
“Don’t worry, they’re not those old decrepit ‘Green Goddesses’, but proper red engines.
“We, along with all of the whole time stations, will get two, the retained stations one.
“Our pair should be arriving some time today.
“Right, that’s it.
“Sub, fall the watch out.”
“Red Watch!” The Sub-Officer called out. “Red Watch-sion!
“For your duties, fall out!”

RAF Marham, Norfolk, England.
Marham; one of four RAF airfields in East Anglia, the others being Coltishall, Honnington, and Wattisham; had become the Royal Air Force’s ‘Centre of Excellence’ for aerial reconnaissance.

During the mid 1990s there had been some reshuffling of squadrons to achieve this.
The Tornado GR.1 equipped 27, and 617 Squadrons had moved out, swapping around with 13 Squadron, which was equipped with the Tornado GR.1A, from RAF Honnington.
Also moving out was 55 Squadron, on retiring its last Victor K.2s, standing up with ‘new’ Tristar KC.2s at Brize Norton.

New arrivals from RAF Wyton, which needed space for its expanded fleet of Nimrod R.4s, the Sentinel R.1, and RAuxAF units, included No.39 (1 PRU) Squadron, and the Joint School of Photo Interpretation.
Marham also became the war base for the auxiliary squadron equipped with the Tornado GR.4A, 609 (West Riding of Yorkshire) Squadron.

The late nineties had proven to be something of a renaissance for the ageing, if not actually ancient Canberra PR.9.
Recognising that they had an aircraft that was unrivalled in the world; except maybe by the American U-2S, and the ‘Dragon Lady’ was more expensive to operate, limited to fewer airfields, and did not quite match the quality of photographs produced by the Canberra; the RAF had sought to make as much use of the airframe as possible.

There was not enough money in the right budget to procure a replacement aircraft, but there was enough to give the ‘Old Lady’ a serious upgrade.
To keep her in the air longer, two long-standing wishes had been met.
Firstly a fixed in flight refuelling probe, running back along the port side of the pilot’s cockpit to the main fuselage tanks, had been fitted.
Secondly the Canberra had been given the capability to carry the Tornado ‘Hindenburger’ drop tanks under the wings.

To boost numbers the RAF had taken five aircraft out of storage at RAF St. Athan, and had returned them to service.
Moreover the air force had searched high, and low for suitable PR.9 airframes that might be restored to flying condition, or act as a source of spares.
One aircraft, XH170, had been in store at RAF Wyton, while another XH171, came from the RAF Museum, Cosford.
Two more airframes, XH166, and XH173, demonstrated that the RAF really was going ‘the extra mile’, coming, as they did, from the Aeronautics Museum, Santiago, Chile.

To take over some of the load of the valuable PR.9, two older PR.7s that were used for conversion, and continuation training, were equipped with basic (at least in comparison with the System III PR.9s, anyway) photo reece equipment, to allow them to take over the more mundane mapping/surveying duties, thus reducing the fatigue load on the PR.9s.

Today the Station Commander had brought all of the three regular squadron commanders, and the C.O of 609 (West Riding of Yorkshire) Squadron, while was in the process of moving to Marham, together for a briefing.

“So, gentlemen, we all know that the political situation in Europe is deteriorating fast.
“We are moving to a war footing, and our reserve forces are almost fully mobilised.” The Air Commodore said.
“HQ Strike Command need to know how many aircraft I can offer them, which is why you four are here.
“How about you, Bob, how many Canberrras can you give me?”
“I have eight jets in every day use, plus another two in use reserves.” Wing Commander Bob Peck, C.O 39 (1 PRU) Squadron, replied. “I do have four more PR.9 airframes, but we use ‘em for spares, though I suppose we could restore them to operational service if we took the two PR.7s out of service, and robbed the gate guard at Wyton.
“As I mentioned I do also have two PR.7s, and a couple of T.4s.
“However I only have twelve crews, though six chaps from the auxiliaries are coming in, which will boost our numbers.”
“Good, because we already have taskings for you, Bob, lots of stuff along the IGB.” The Air Commodore replied.
“Oh, lovely.” Peck said, chuckling.
“Talking about auxiliaries, what can you bring to the party, Dave?” The Station Commander asked.
“Twelve aircraft, and eighteen crews, Sir.” Wing Commander David Harris, C.O 609 (West Riding of Yorkshire) Squadron, a bluff Yorkshireman, who was the oldest of the Tornado Squadron C.Os, said simply.
“He doesn’t muck about, does he?” Peck, the oldest of the group, as Canberra crews tended to be, observed, laughing.
“I’m not like them soft southerners, Bob, I don’t waste my time waffling.” Harris said to Peck, who was from Cumbria.
“Couple of comedians.” The Air Commodore observed. “How about you, Steve?”
“Thirteen aircraft at the moment, Sir, but I’m expecting a few more to arrive from St. Athan soon.” The C.O of II (AC) Squadron replied. “I’ve got twenty crews at the moment, and a couple of bods are due to arrive from the TWCU over the next couple of days.”
“It’s a pretty similar situation with us, Sir.” The C.O of No. 13 Squadron added. “Except that we’ve got one extra aircraft.
“Excellent, gentlemen, you should expect extra taskings over the next few days.
“Well, let’s all hope that the situation does not boil over.”

The A92 dual carriageway, near the Lochgelly junction.
P.C James Welsh hit the siren as his big BMW traffic car came up behind a red Ford Mondeo.
Welsh’s partner, Constable Caroline Prosser, reached down for the P.A handset.

“Please leave this road at the nearest exit.
“This road is now an Essential Service Route.” Her voice boomed out from the car’s loud speakers.

The Mondeo did as it was told, and left the A92 at the Lochgelly junction.
Welsh followed it up (much to the consternation of the driver), and parked at the top of the slip road.
Part of Fife Constabulary Traffic Department’s tasks since the transition to war had begun was to clear the Essential Service Routes that ran through the policing area, and seal them off for the duration that they were required by the military.

Welsh, and Bell got out of the car, and began to set out bright orange cones, and ‘ROAD CLOSED’ signs on the four slip roads; it would have been easier to have sealed off the road at the roundabout next to the Andrews factory, but the road that crossed the dual carriageway at this point led to a minor B road that was not classed as an ESR.
Both officers found the Glock 17 automatics, and body armour that they were now wearing something of a hindrance in this task.

As they were finishing up, their personal radios crackled.

“All units, this is Bravo Delta.
“Just to warn you, UKWMO will begin testing the siren system in one minute. The test will last for fifteen minutes.”

A minute later the faint, and mournful wail of the nearest air raid siren, which sat atop the Town House in Lochgelly, less than mile away ‘as the crow flies’, could be heard.

“I hope we don’t have to hear that for real, Caroline.” Welsh observed.
“Too right, Jim, too right.” Prosser agreed.

RAF Gatow, West Berlin.
The No. 216 Squadron Tristar C.2A rolled to a halt on the visiting aircraft pan, parking next to a number of other aircraft, which included a pair of VC 10s, three Hercules C.4s, a Globemaster C.1, and two civil Boeing 757s.

Long lines of civilian dependents, from both the RAF, and the army’s Berlin Brigade stretched back to the terminal building, as they waited to be evacuated to the UK.
Four special evacuees, the four horses that belonged to the BRIXMIS mission at Potsdam, which had been evacuated to the main mission H.Q in West Berlin the day before, had already been loaded into the Globemaster, their eventual destination being the Defence Animal Centre at Melton Mowbray.

Squadron Leader Richard Taggart, RAF Regiment, descended the airstair onto the concrete pan, carrying his Bergen over one shoulder, and his rifle in the opposite hand.
Taggart was leading a group of RAF Regiment troops, equivalent to two flights, who were specialists in airfield defence. Some were drawn from regular squadrons, while others came from the RAuxAF Regiment.

Neither they, or the small RAF Regiment detachment at Gatow, had any real hope of defending the air station against serious attack, instead their task was to train all RAF personnel based at Gatow in airfield defence, with the Regiment men serving as the core.

To facilitate them in this task, the group contained a large proportion of experienced instructors, plus a large number of extra weapons, which included Starstreak LMLs, LAW80s, L118 Minimis, GPMGs, a few L1A1 12.7mm Browning HMGs, 81mm, and 51mm mortars, and all the prerequisite ammunition.

The senior RAF Regiment officer at Gatow, Flight Lieutenant Andrew Carden, was waiting for Taggart on the concrete pan.

“Good morning, Sir, and welcome to RAF Gatow.
“Excuse me if I don’t salute, but in all likelihood we’re being watched, and I don’t want the opposition to know that you’re a senior officer.”
“Good morning, Andy.” Taggart replied. “How are things here?”
“I’ve got about one hundred men of the regiment to guard the field, we’ve been busy over the last couple of days providing refresher training for the other personnel, but we’ve been hamstrung for lack of equipment, but that should change now.
“In defence we’ll have the assistance of the ground personnel from 8 Flight Army Air Corps. They’re all weapons trained, and experienced soldiers.”
“Good.” Taggart replied. “Considering the limitations you’ve faced, I think that you’ve got things well in hand.”

East Fortune airfield, East Lothian, Scotland.
As well as being designated as an emergency Forward Operating Base by the RAF, and being the home of the Royal Museum of Flight, part of the National Museums of Scotland, the old airfield was also a satellite facility of the Scottish Executive Supply and Transport Store at Hayford Mill, Cambusbarron, near Stirling, and held part of the war reserve of fire service appliances. [3]

Some of these were the elderly ‘Green Goddess’ appliances originally procured for the Auxiliary Fire Service in the 1950s (made largely of that well known fire proof material, wood), but many others were newer appliances from the late ‘80s, and early ‘90s, which had been placed in store when they had been replaced by the current fleet.

Firefighter Paul Matheson looked over the red Dennis pump unit, which had originally been procured for Strathclyde Fire and Rescue Service (it still wore that service’s titles, and coat of arms) in the early 1990s, that he had been assigned to drive.
Considering that it had been sitting in storage for almost ten years, it was in very good condition.

Matheson was part of a group of firefighters from Fife Fire and Rescue Service that had been sent to East Fortune to pick up the reserve engines assigned to them.
The group was being led by Deputy Firemaster Richard Daniels, who was taking the opportunity to drive an appliance for the first time in years.

“Right, everybody ready?” Daniels asked.

He got an affirmative answer from the others.
The firefighters mounted up, and started up their appliances, somehow Daniels managed to select the full ‘Blues and Twos’ as he started up his engine, much to the amusement of the other firefighters, and to the irritation of the depot staff.

Lothian and Borders police had already closed off the side roads around the airfield, and an escort, a traffic car, was waiting down on the A1, which was already closed as an ESR. [4]

The Firefighters had the singular experience of following the police traffic car along an almost, save a few well-escorted military convoys, empty road.

The situation at the Forth Road Bridge was rather different.
Apart from a few high priority convoys, all vehicles were being stopped, and examined.
Standing behind the police officers carrying out the checks were heavily armed troops.

As the convoy of fire appliances, twenty vehicles in total, making quite an impressive sight, as they had their blue lights flashing, finally began to cross the bridge Matheson glanced down at Rosyth Dockyard.
The scene he saw reminded him of photos he had seen of the Forth in both world wars.

The river was full of warships, auxiliaries, and merchant ships of all descriptions, most of which were moving down stream rather faster than was normal.

Soon after the convoy crossed the bridge the convoy began to split, two vehicles destined for Rosyth Fire Station turning off at the junction just before the A90 became the M90.

The remainder continued up to the Hallbeath Interchange, where two appliances destined for Dunfermline turned off the motorway and headed west into the city, while the others turned off onto the A92, heading east towards where the majority of Fife’s fire stations were.

Smuts Barracks, West Berlin.
Major James Saunders, the O.C of D Squadron, 17th/21st Lancers, looked down from his office at the row of eighteen Challenger 2 tanks now being worked on by members of his squadron and REME personnel assigned to the barracks. From his vantage point he could see that the soldiers were bringing the tanks up to full Dorchester Level 2F (DL 2F), which added appliqué armour to the turret, hull and side skirts, as well as bar armour to the hull and turret rear and sides to protect the tanks from RPG and other infantry anti-tank weapons.
The addition of bar armour to the already formidable DL 2F was an innovation first introduced by the Berlin Armoured Squadron, like the strange disruptive urban camouflage which Chieftains and Challengers based in Berlin had worn, based on the idea that they were more likely to encounter infantry anti-tank weapons at close range, though, unlike the camouflage scheme, the rest of the army had also adopted the bar armour idea. [5]
Bringing the tanks up to their war fighting configuration; to save wear and tear on West Berlin’s road infrastructure the extra armour was normally left off; reflected the fact that as the British Berlin Infantry Brigade, and its American, and French counterparts, had been brought to a heightened state of alert, due to the current crisis.

Saunders could sense that his squadron was nervous. This far away from West Germany they were very isolated, and little in the way of reinforcements could be expected.
In fact the only reinforcements to arrive in West Berlin had been a group of RAF regiment personnel, who had arrived to reinforce the guard force at RAF Gatow.
If war did break out then they would totally and utterly isolated, a small island in a hostile country. They were also all very worried about their families, but fortunately plans were well advanced to evacuate them via RAF Gatow, but Saunders did worry about whether it would begin in time.

The British Berlin Infantry Brigade itself was a mainly mechanised infantry force, unique within the British Army in that its infantry battalions were still mainly equipped with the FV432 (including the unique thirteen FV432 Rardens)[6] , though two of the battalions had partially re-equipped with the wheeled Saxon APC, the decision being taken that no Warriors would be deployed to West Berlin.
The brigade was also unique in that all of the ‘B’ vehicles, the soft skin support such as lorries etc, were provided by the West German government, as part of the post-war occupation agreement.

All three Allied brigades were essentially light infantry, the Americans also had a token tank company of M1A1s, and a single battery of six M109A6s, and the French had an armoured reconnaissance regiment to support its infantry.
Clearly the weakness of the Western garrisons, which in total amounted to a total of about 10,000 men, meant that they could not take aggressive action of any kind, and were strictly limited to defence.

Ranged against this were 100,000 troops of the Nationale Volksarmee, the East German Army, who were assigned to carry out ‘Operation Centre’, the capture of West Berlin. With the weakness of the Allied garrison, the NVA commander in charge of this operation confidently predicted that the western half of the divided city could be captured within 48 hours.
Given the Allied position, he was probably right.

17th April. MHQ, Pitreavie Castle, Dunfermline.
Pitreavie Castle was the headquarters of the Flag Officer Scotland, and Northern Ireland, and of the RAF’s Aeronautical Rescue Co-ordination Centre.
In wartime it became the H.Q of NATO’s North Atlantic Area, making it a very important installation indeed.

For that very reason, the organisers of today’s ‘peace march’ had chosen it as the destination of the march.
For the more militant in the march, it was the opportunity to make a point by closing down the facility, and to show that they were angry that the implementation of the ESR system made the protest at RAF Leuchars impossible, and had prevented more people coming to the demonstration (police at the Forth Road, and Kincardine Bridges had stopped groups of protestors heading for the march, some of whom were anti-Soviet, intent on starting a fight with the ‘Reds’, though some had still managed to make the journey by train).

As an important H.Q, Pitreavie was guarded by Royal Marines from the Fleet Protection Group Royal Marines (FPGRM), along with some personnel from the MoD Police.
Neither was really trained or equipped for public order duties, their focus being on anti-terrorist, and anti-sabotage duties.

To protect the facility from the crowd, Fife Constabulary had provided a serial of twenty officers in full riot gear, all they could spare from other duties, plus about another twenty accompanying the march itself.
To provide them with assistance, should it be needed, a platoon from the Home Service Force, equipped like the police, with the addition of L1A1 66mm CS gas launchers, and L67 baton guns, were waiting within the grounds of Pitreavie.

Given the scale of the march Chief Constable McIntosh had requested assistance from both Lothian and Borders Police, and Strathclyde Police [7] in the provision of some mounted officers. [8]
Both forces had rejected the request, saying that they had public order issues of their own today; there was a march planned through the centre of Edinburgh, a rally in George Square in Glasgow, and a march to the Clyde Submarine Base, which would all tie up their mounted branch resources.
In any case Lothian and Borders only had eight horses available, and Strathclyde twenty-three, barely enough to cover their own needs, never mind provide assistance to another force. [9]

Fife Constabulary, however, had been quite lucky in that it now benefited from an army programme begun back in 1995.
In that year the army had intended to disband its last non-ceremonial horsed unit, the Royal Military Police Mounted Troop, which had been used for patrolling intractable areas of army land, such as ranges, and through the camp at Aldershot, but which now faced replacement by all-terrain motorbikes.

However somebody at the MoD realised that in the army’s wartime Home Defence tasks, it was missing one vital tool in its public order arsenal – an equivalent to the Police Mounted Branch.

The RMP Mounted Troop had been expanded to squadron size (though it retained its name), and formed the basis for an RMP Mounted Regiment, mainly made up of TA personnel.
The ‘Redcaps’ recruited to this regiment underwent the same rigorous training as their police counterparts (as did the equestrian recruits), and trained alongside the police mounted branches.

By 1999 a squadron from the regiment had been provided to each military district (one troop in each squadron was made up of regular personnel, the others of TA personnel).

A troop from the Scotland District squadron, based at Redford Barracks in Edinburgh, had been provided to assist the police in covering today’s march. [10]

Sergeant James Connor, RM, stood a few yards behind the line of police, and troops, but in front of the guard post.
His men were busily finishing off a temporary barrier across the access road, in case any protestors broke through the police line.

Connor was not a happy man. He felt that the marines were spread too thinly around the perimeter of the H.Q. If there was a major breakthrough in the police, and army line there was the potential for a disaster.

Sergeant Bell was also less than happy (it was his platoon that was providing assistance to the police). This was not why his troops, both ex-regular, and direct entry, had signed up for the Home Service Force.

“The boys, and girls aren’t too happy, Boss.” He said to the platoon’s O.C.
“I know, Bill.” Lieutenant James Grove, another ex-regular, who once upon a time had been an RSM in the Black Watch, replied. “I can’t say I’m too happy about it either.
“This is no job for soldiers.
“Have you kept the blokes with the baton guns out of sight?”
“Of course, Boss.
“I picked the four best shots in the platoon to carry them.” Bell told him.
“Good, I hope we don’t have to use them.
“If we’re really lucky the polis will be able to control the crowd without our help.
“I hope those redcaps.” Grove said, indicating towards the nearest detachment of the RMP Mounted Regiment. “Remember that they’re supposed to be mounted police, and not a cavalry regiment.”

East of Hamburg, Federal Republic of Germany.
Major Ian Anderson, the Second-in-Command of The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards (Carabiniers and Greys), was sitting atop the turret of his Challenger 2 MBT, eating a bacon, and egg ‘banjo’, the first relatively hot meal he had had in a couple of days, and drinking a cup of lukewarm tea out of a plastic mug.

“Excuse me, Sir.” A corporal from regimental H.Q said, interrupting his ‘meal’. “The Colonel wants to see you.”
“Right, I’m just coming.” Anderson replied.

Anderson drained the last of his tea in one go, deciding to eat the rest of his ‘banjo’ on the way to RHQ.

“Ah, Ian. Good to see you’ve got yourself something to eat.” Lieutenant Colonel Richard Stevenson said as Anderson arrived at RHQ, a collection of Sultan Armoured Command Vehicles, with tents draped over the space between them.

Stevenson’s own Challenger was parked a short distance away, its crew performing some routine maintenance.

“I’ve got a little job for you.” Stevenson continued.
“Why have I got the feeling I’m not going to like this, Sir?” Anderson replied.
“Don’t be such a pessimist, Ian.” Stevenson said, a wry smile on his face. “I haven’t told you what it is yet.
“Brigade has just informed me that a group of defence correspondents, who were originally here to cover the exercise, are on their way here.
“Apparently somebody at Army Group wants them to see a forward unit.
“We’ve to extend them the fullest co-operation.”
“You want me to look after them, don’t you, Sir?” Anderson said, rather convinced that his first reaction had been right.
“I’m afraid so.”
“Which of our squadron groups do you want me to inflict them on, Sir?” Anderson asked.
“Oh, I think they’d like to see our guests from the Black Watch, and Major Carter could do with some extra experience in dealing with the media.” Stevenson said, smiling.

As part of the formation of ‘Battlegroups’, the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards had swapped one of their armoured squadrons for A Company, 1st Battalion The Black Watch, commanded by Major Roger Carter.
Both regiments had been rather pleased that they both happened to be in 7th Armoured Brigade at the same time.
It was, after all, far easier working with a fellow Scottish Regiment.

Presently, the group of correspondents arrived in couple of lorries.
Although they were a disparate bunch, Anderson noted that they were all wearing sensible footwear, and carried the army’s standard NBC equipment, just in case, they were being led by a short, female captain.

“Captain Ailsa Currie, Sir, army public relations.” She introduced herself.

Anderson detected a Scottish accent in her voice, and guessed that she was possibly a mobilised TA officer.

“Major Anderson, pleased to meet you, Captain.
“What part of Scotland are you from?”
“Perth, Sir.” She informed him.
“If you don’t mind me saying, Captain, you don’t seem like a public relations type.” Anderson observed.
“That’s all right, Sir.
“I joined my university OTC, and ended up in my local yeomanry regiment, The Scottish Horse, after I graduated.
“Somebody at TA H.Q obviously decided that my skills lay more in this area.” Currie replied.
“I see.” Anderson said. “Always good to meet a fellow cavalryman.
“I think we have something good lined up for this lot.
“I’m going to take you forward to visit our infantry company from the Black Watch.”
“Sounds interesting, I’ll let them know what to expect.”

Major Roger Carter was sitting in the commander’s seat in the turret of his command Warrior, eating some curry out of a mess tin, still unaware that his day was about to be rudely interrupted.

As part of creating a ‘Company Group’ within the ‘Battlegroup’ Carter had given up two platoons of his company, and had gained two troops of Challengers in return.

“Looks like a bunch of defence correspondents coming up, Sir.” CSM David Bender, who was sitting in the rear of the Warrior, observed.
“What?” Carter exclaimed, turning round in the turret, spotting the group of correspondents approaching, being led by Major Anderson, and another officer, who he did not recognise, but who he assumed was a public relations officer.

“Bugger it.” He muttered.

***

[1] Information on Fife Fire and Rescue Service can be found here

[2] Info, and a photo of Lochgelly Fire Station can be found here, and at the official site, above.

[3] See here for details.

[4] Information on Lothian and Borders Police can be found here.

[5] The bar armour idea was actually introduced after operational experience in Operation Telic. See Dunstan, Simon, ‘Challenger 2 Main Battle Tank 1987 – 2006’, p.20.

[6] These 13 APCs were fitted with the same turret, and 30mm cannon as the Sabre, and the CVR (W) Fox.

[7] For information on Strathclyde Police see link.

[8] In Scotland only Lothian and Borders, and Strathclyde have mounted units. The author has had the pleasure of visiting the Strathclyde Mounted Branch, the bigger of the two.

[9] See link for details on Strathclyde’s mounted branch.

[10] Appropriately, Redford is a former cavalry barracks.

MHQ, Pitreavie Castle, Dunfermline.
The crowd of protestors were still not visible, but the police officers, and HSF troops could hear their chants, and the sounds of whistles, and horns, as the march approached from the north.

Sergeant Bell walked between the two lines of his platoon, inspecting each man, and woman as he went.
A few were visibly nervous, sweat pouring down their faces below their visored helmets, or breathing heavily.

“It’s Okay. Just relax.” Bell said to them as he passed, trying to keep them calm.

Bell guessed that the rest, even the ‘old sweats’ like himself, were feeling fear, everybody did. Anybody who said they were not scared before going into action was either a liar, or a psychopath.
Bell could feel his fear in the pit of his stomach. Like all experienced soldiers, he pushed his fear down, intending to use it, rather than let it control him.

First the large banners came into view, followed by the leading marchers, and escorting police officers.
The marchers were a disparate bunch; some carried banners declaring themselves to be members of the ‘Scottish Socialist Party’, or the ‘Stop the War Coalition’, both well known hard left groups, but others seemed to come from across the political spectrum, and were made up of people genuinely worried about the consequences of a war between NATO, and the Warsaw Pact.

“There are enough of them, Bill.” Corporal Jacobs observed.

Before Bell could reply, Lieutenant Grove appeared, his radioman, Lance-Corporal Small, in tow.

“We’ve got a problem, lads.
“There’s a group of anti-Soviet protestors coming over by train, rent-a-mob for the most part, by the looks of things.
“Apparently they were a bit miffed at having their coach stopped at the road bridge, so got on a train at Dalmeny, after doing over a bunch of British Transport Police who tried to stop them. [1]
“The polis missed them at North Queensferry, and they’ll be arriving at Rosyth Halt in about ten minutes, the train driver is going slowly.
“We’ve been asked to assist the police in detaining them.”

Sergeant Bell took a sharp intake of breath when he heard the news; Rosyth Halt was only a few hundred meters away, over the other side of a roundabout.
Allowing this rival group to get anywhere near the march could be disastrous.

“Sergeant, I want you to take ten men, and assist the polis down at the station.
“You’ll be joined by a few lads from 3 Platoon, who were down at the dockyard.” Grove said.
“Right, Sir.
“I’ll leave Corporal Jacobs here to act as platoon commander, and I’ll take Lance-Corporal Honeyman with me.” Bell replied.

Bell turned back to the platoon.

“Right, boys, and girls, I need ten volunteers for a special job.
“You, you, you…”

ITN Lunchtime News.
‘In an exclusive report ITN has received pictures from inside Poland, which show the true situation inside that troubled country.
“The pictures were gained at considerable personal risk by a Polish journalist, who smuggled the film out to Denmark.
“These scenes may cause some views distress.’

The film showed a number of scenes of peaceful protests being attacked by Polish police, with some violence. Others showed troops, apparently Soviet, firing at a group of Polish protestors destroying a Soviet cultural centre.
That shot had earlier shown Polish troops standing by, while the protestors wrecked the building.

‘In a related development the Foreign Office, in an unprecedented action, has released the full text of a diplomatic note sent to all NATO governments.
‘The note demanded that NATO cease its current exercise, which it called a ‘provocative mobilisation’, and demanded that NATO nations stay out of internal Soviet affairs, thought to be a reference to expected Soviet intervention in Poland.
‘In a statement to the House of Commons, the Prime Minister said that the NATO Council of Ministers had voted to reject the note, and that they called on the Soviet Union to end its mobilisation of reserves, and not to intervene in the internal affairs of another sovereign nation.
‘So far the Soviet reaction to this message is not known.
‘In home news the Home Office has issued the ‘Emergency Phase One (Warning Stand-by)’ civil defence alert, indicating perhaps how seriously the government takes the current crisis in Eastern Europe.
‘In other news today, David…’

HMS Minotaur, the Norwegian Sea.
Captain Richard Ford kept a close eye on the distance between his cruiser, and the RFA Wave Ruler, as the Minotaur took on fuel, and munitions.

HMS Minotaur was the fourth ship of the Tiger (Type 46) class of cruisers, an enlarged Type 45, the principle differences between the two classes being that the Type 46’s hull had been lengthened to allow an extra VLS aft, and the ship was equipped with superior command, and control facilities to allow it to co-ordinate the air defence of a group, or act as a flagship. [2]

Minotaur was the senior air defence escort of the NATO ASW Striking Force (a group mainly made up of Royal Navy warships), whose task it was to support the almost exclusively American Striking Fleet Atlantic.
At the centre of the group were the carriers HMS Ark Royal, the flagship, and HMS Invincible, both packed with Sea Harriers, Merlins, and Sea Kings.

Given that they were supposed to be sailing into the very back yard of the Soviet Union in their hunt for submarines, and would only have the most distant support from the big American carriers, or from land-based fighters in Norway, the force had a very dangerous job, which was why it was blessed with four Type 46s (Minotaur, Tiger, Centurion, and Royalist), and six Type 45s (Daring, Dauntless, Diamond, Dragon, Defender, and Duncan, almost half of the entire class).
As well as these modern ships, the group also enjoyed the protection of a few older Batch 2, and Batch 3 Type 42 destroyers.

However, the real strength of the escort force came from the Royal Navy Type 22, and 23 frigates, and the Canadian Halifax class frigates, and various French and Dutch warships that were dedicated to Anti-Submarine Warfare, which formed the backbone of the ASW Striking Force.
They, along with the Merlins from the two carriers, would, hopefully, be doing most of the work if shooting broke out.

Captain Ford briefly allowed himself to turn away from the current evolution, and look up.
Above the collection of warships, and auxiliaries, was a single Royal Air Force Nimrod MRA.4, circling the perimeter.
It would be with them for a few more hours before a P-3 Orion of the Royal Norwegian Air Force took over.

For now a succession of land-based ASW aircraft would support the group, but within a couple of days they would be operating under airspace too dangerous for such slow and lumbering aircraft to operate in.

Ford turned back to the refuelling evolution, knowing that it was nearly done.

“That’s us topped up, Sir.” The Officer Of the Watch reported.
“Very good.
“Standby to execute breakaway manoeuvre.” Ford ordered.
“Signal Wave Ruler regarding our intensions, and thank her for filling us up.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”

Minotaur released the hoses that stretched across the gap between her and the tanker, and began to slowly accelerate away.
Aft, the frigate HMS Richmond was waiting for her turn to take on fuel.

RFA Wave Ruler was set for a very busy day, refuelling two escorts at a time, as she was currently doing.
However, after the high speed run up from Rosyth, where most of the force had assembled, it was a very necessary task.

Near the Inner German Border.
Lieutenant John O’Donnell, O.C, 3 Platoon, A (Royal Inniskilling Fusiliers) Company, 4th (V) Battalion, The Royal Irish Rangers (North Irish Militia), crawled through the muddy German field, as he approached the forward position of his platoon.

The forward sections had taken up position in a drainage ditch, which although unfortunately meant that they were rather wet, it also made it less likely that the Soviets would locate their position.
Slightly to the rear of the section, was their reason for being there – three Javelin anti-tank missile posts (the two Royal Irish Rangers battalions had recently swapped their older Milan missiles for the newer American designed Javelin), part of a section of the battalion’s anti-tank platoon. [3]
3 Platoon was in place forward of the posts to protect them from infantry attack, allowing them to get on with their job – killing tanks.

The 4th Royal Irish Rangers, and several other battlegroups of mechanised infantry, and light armour, were part of the covering forces for I (UK) Corps, intended to absorb, and slow down any initial Soviet attacks.
Such forward positions had earned them various nicknames, such as ‘the VC club’, and ‘speed bumps’.

Lieutenant O’Donnell slid down into the drainage ditch (fortunately there had not been too much rain over the last month, so it was muddy, rather than full of water) just as one of the section commanders, Corporal Sean Patrick McCool, was finishing telling a joke.

“… ‘Now what was it you said you had become?’ The father says.
“ ‘The girl, crying, replied, “Sniff... A prostitute Dad! . Sniff, sniff …”’
“ ‘Oh! Be Jesus! - You scared me half to death, girl! I thought you said "a
Protestant”. Come here and give your old man a hug!’”

The section, who were almost all Protestants to a man, laughed heartily at the joke.

“Good one, Corp.” One of the Catholics said. “Have you got any more?”
“There’s too much morale here!” Lieutenant O’Donnell said after letting McCool finish the joke.

The section laughed again at O’Donnell’s standard joke when he found his men in good spirits.

“Have you seen much, Corporal?” O’Donnell asked, instantly switching to more serious matters.
“Not a great deal, Sir.
“Mainly East German border guards, and the like.” McCool replied.
“Tell him about the BDRMs, Corp.” One of the privates interrupted.
“I’m getting to that, Driscoll.” McCool said. “As Private Driscoll said, Sir, we spotted a platoon of them BDRM armoured car things half an hour ago.
“Looked like they were scouting out their side of the border.
“We’re in a good position to keep an eye on them here, Sir.” McCool continued. “A good field of fire for the Minimis, and for the Gimpy, Browning, and Javelin blokes from D Company.”

Lieutenant O’Donnell looked forward from the drainage ditch towards the ground between them and the border. Corporal McCool was right – in the right circumstances that ground would become a killing field.

“Certainly is, Corporal.” O’Donnell agreed.
“Now is everybody clear on the procedures to call down artillery, or air support, should it be needed?”

The section all nodded their heads in agreement.

“Good.
“One other bit of information that I want to pass onto you.
“We’ve got a squadron of light armour, Sabres, Strikers, and Spartans to be exact, providing us with support.
“I thought that you might like to know that the particular group of ‘Donkey Wallopers’ supporting us is The North Irish Horse. ” [4]

The infantry were usually dismissive of their colleagues from the Royal Armoured Corps, but this time seemed rather pleased that a squadron of yeomanry from the same part of the world was providing them with support.

Rosyth Halt, Rosyth.
Sergeant Bell could see the ScotRail Sprinter slowly approaching the rail halt, the driver deliberately going slowly to give the security services time to assemble.

The anti-Soviet protestors (really ‘rent-a-mob’) were going to get a nasty shock.
Lining the northbound platform were six extremely angry, and rather large British Transport Police officers, ready to get their own back for what had happened to their colleagues at Dalmeny, and eighteen HSF soldiers, in full riot gear.

The train ground to a halt, its breaks squealing, and its doors opened.
The crowd of thugs swarmed onto the platform (somehow they had missed the reception committee), clearly all hyped up for a clash with the ‘peace protestors’.
They suddenly stopped on seeing the troops, and police waiting for them.

Their first reaction was to try, and re-board the train, but the doors had closed behind them, and the train began to pull out of the halt.

“Right, gentlemen, you are all under arrest on suspicion of assaulting a police officer, and for breaking sundry railway related laws.
“You can come quietly, or you can speak to our colleagues from the army.” The senior BTP officer, a sergeant, informed them.

The HSF troops emphasised his words by tapping their long wooden batons against their legs.
Under the circumstances the thugs made the only real choice available to them, they gave in.

Each thug’s hands were secured with a plastic tie, and they were marched up the stairs to road level, where they were bundled, none too gently, into the back of a pair of waiting Fife Constabulary police vans.

“Sarge!” Bell’s radioman said. “We’re needed back up at the cordon. The crowd is getting ugly.”
“Right.” Bell replied. He turned to the corporal in charge of the eight men from 3 Platoon. “Can you handle this lot?”
“Sure.
“Give us a shout if you need a hand.” He replied.
“Thanks.
“Right come on lads!”

ITN News at Ten.
‘Protest rallies were held across the country today in the centre of most big cities, and at numerous military, and government facilities.
‘Most were good-natured, and few arrests were made; however at a few there were ugly scenes of violence that called for assistance from troops.
‘ At the NATO Maritime HQ at Pitreavie, in Scotland, troops, and police were forced to employ CS gas, and so called ‘bean bag’ rounds to prevent elements within the crowd from storming the facility.
‘The Chief Constable of Fife Police has condemned the violence, and praised the actions of his officers, and of the supporting Territorial Army troops, especially Lieutenant James Grove, who was able to calm the crowd, and prevent further violence.
‘Tonight’s other main story has been the signing of Queen’s Order Two, which is part of the mobilisation process.
‘For details on this development we now go over to out correspondent, James Marshall, who is outside the Ministry of Defence.
‘James.’

The view changed to a reporter standing outside the MoD Main building.

‘A statement issued by the MoD about half an hour ago stated, “In consultation with the Secretary of State, Her Majesty has signed Queen’s Order Two.”’
‘What does this development mean, James?’ The presenter in the studio asked.
‘Well, Trevor, issuing Queen’s Order Two formalises the call out order already sent out by the MoD, under the Reserve Forces Acts of 1996, and 1998, but allows the government to keep the reservists at their posts indefinitely.
‘It also calls out reserve personnel not covered by those acts, for example soldiers on the long term reserve, who presently have no training liability, service pensioners up to age 55, and service university units – the Officers Training Corps, University Air Squadrons, and University RN Units.
‘Even some cadet force personnel can be called out by this order.’
‘So, James, this basically means that Britain is mobilising her remaining reserves of military manpower.’
‘That’s exactly right, Trevor.
‘Most of these forces on their own do not have that much military power, but they can help with guard duties, and provide casualty replacements to forward units should war break out.’
‘Thank you very much, James.
‘In other news today an Emergency Powers Act began its accelerated passage through the House of Commons…’

19th April. HM Naval Base Portsmouth, Hampshire.
Captain William Yoxall, RNR, stepped down into the small launch that would take him out to his new ship.
It had been a while since Yoxall had held a sea command, having retired from the active list three years ago, to become the commanding officer of an RNR division. The only real sea time he had got in these years had been as a guest aboard some of the 10th MCM Flotilla’s River class minesweepers, and Sandown class minehunters.

“Good morning, Sir.” Commander David Carter, RN, the Senior Naval Officer, and now First Officer, of the ship he was to take command of, said as Yoxall stepped down into the launch.
“Good morning, David.” Yoxall replied. “How are the preparations for sailing coming along?”
“Very well, Sir.
“We received our last draft of sailors today, mainly reservists, like yourself, Sir, so our company is now up to strength.
“There’s still a few bits of the ship to clean up before we sail, but we should be ready on time.”

As the launch moved out across the harbour, threading its way through all the other ships, large and small, Captain Yoxall took the time to study his new command.

“She looks in good enough condition, anyway.” He observed. “That refit last year must have done her some good.”
“Yes, Sir.” Carter agreed. “We received the latest electronic gear, and some new radar then.”

As the launch got nearer to his ship, Yoxall could see her pennant number for the first time – D23 – and that she was still wearing the pennant of the Rear Admiral in command of the standby squadron (that would change soon, he would be switching his flag to the Sea Cadet Training Ship, the former HMS Kent, the last remaining ‘County’ class DDG left in Royal Navy service).

“I know what you’re thinking, Sir.” Commander Carter said. “Admiralty orders were for all pennant numbers to be painted out.
“I do apologise, Sir, we just haven’t had time to get round to it.”
“That’s all right. It not as if she isn’t distinctive.” Yoxall replied. “What I was actually thinking was that I’m going to miss the cab I had aboard Edinburgh, my last ship.
“What I want to know is how the naval architects back then were able to design a ship that is twenty two meters longer than a Type 42 Batch 3, but yet has no helicopter hanger.” He continued.
“I assume it was because the Ikara system, forward, meant that the Sea Dart launcher had to be aft.” Carter replied.
“That was a great success.” Yoxall commented sarcastically. “I’d rather have a Lynx, or even a Wasp, than that Ikara monstrosity. All it could carry was a torpedo.
“At least a cab can carry depth charges, or anti-ship missiles, like the Sea Skua.
“And I’d like to see somebody board a ship using an Ikara.
“All it has left us with a big space between the Mark Eight, and the superstructure.”

Finally, the launch came alongside the ship they had been discussing, the sole Type 82 class destroyer, HMS Bristol, and Captain William Yoxall, RNR, assumed his new role.

20th April. NATO Situation Report.
‘FROM: SHAPE.
TO: All Major MNC, PNC.
SUBJECT: Update to Sitrep 15/03/05.
‘7th (UK) Armd Div, now fully operational.
‘US 3rd ACR, 1st Cav, 4th Inf (Mech), 5th Inf (Mech) Divs now operational, III (US) Corps moving to assembly areas.
‘Advance units of III Corps independent bdes arriving in AFCENT AOR.
‘AFNORTH: 4th(US) MEB, and 5th CAST Bde now fully operational. Further Can and USMC bdes on way.
‘Advance units 9th (US) Mech Div arriving in BALTAP (Jutland) AOR.

‘AFSOUTH: AMF(L), and AMF(A) operational. Advance units 24th Mech Div arriving in Thrace. 194th Armd Bde (Sep), and 197th Inf Bde (Mech) (sep) have arrived Turkey. Will be operational in 48 hours aprox.
‘MFL…’

‘EMERGENCY URGENT: Intel suggests that WarPact forces may begin hostile operations in next 24 – 48 hours.
‘All units to go to full alert immediately.
‘SACEUR sends.’

0030 hours 22nd April. HQ NORTHAG, Reindahlen.
In peacetime the headquarters at Reindahlen was that of the British Army of the Rhine, and of RAF Germany. On mobilisation it became, until the HQs moved out to the field anyway, the headquarters of both the Northern Army Group, and the 2nd Allied Tactical Air Force.

The majority of the HQ personnel of both HQs had already moved out to locations in the field, leaving only a small party to finish up running down the site.

General Sir David Horne, Commander NORTHAG (and C-in-C BAOR), was still in his office, collecting a few more items before flying out to HQ NORTHAG (Forward).
His last meeting had been last night with his British commanders, Lieutenant General John O’Connor, GOC, I Corps, Lieutenant General Harry Allinson, GOC, II Corps, and Acting Lieutenant General David Richardson, GOC British Support Command (BRSC).

All three had been confident, and upbeat. They had all of their assigned forces in place, and had enough munitions, and supplies to conduct operations, at least initially.

Horne’s aide was standing by the window, watching a group of military policemen, from the mixed Provost unit that guarded the HQ.

“I wish those MPs were a bit more alert, Sir.” He observed.
“I shouldn’t worry about them two much, they’re quite good at their job.” Horne replied as he crossed to his desk, in an alcove in the L shaped office, to pick up a file.

The lights in the office flickered, and died.
Horne looked up in annoyance. That had been happening all week; no doubt German ‘peace protestors’ had set fire to another sub-station.
Reindahlen’s own emergency generators should switch on in a moment.

They did not.

The aide suddenly became aware of a figure standing in the doorway just over his shoulder.
He turned, and saw a figure in camouflage gear, armed with an AKS-74U.

“Russian!” The aide yelled, diving for his Browning Hi-Power pistol, which was lying on the table next to his S10 respirator. He never made it.

The room was filled with the deafening sound of gunfire, as the Soviet Spetsnaz commando fired a three round burst into the British officer.

General Horne immediately knew that he would not have enough time to draw his own sidearm, however there was an L85A2 rifle lying on the desk in front of him.
He snatched it up, flicking the selector to ‘A’, and fired off a long burst of about twenty rounds at the doorway.
The commando was hit by about six 5.56mm SS109 rounds, the remaining bullets splintering the wooden doorframe, and went down.

Horne moved forward, cautiously, to check his aide. The Lieutenant was alive, but badly wounded. The Soviet commando was dead.
Another Spetsnaz soldier came into view at the end of the corridor.
Horne fired a short one-second burst into him, sending the commando flying back against the wall in a spray of blood.

Horne retreated back into his office, pulling his aide into cover, and changing the magazine on his rifle.

Outside he could now hear the sound of gunfire, grenade explosions, and the sound of soldiers crying out in pain as they were shot.

General Horne decided that it was best to wait for relief to come to him, rather than venture out into the chaos outside, besides he had every confidence in Lieutenant Colonel Forester, RMP, the commander of the multi-national Provost unit, in defeating this attack.

What was clear was that the Third World War had begun.

***

[1] The BTP is Britain’s national police service for the railways. Information about the BTP can be found here.

[2] The Type 46 class consisted of: Tiger, Lion, Blake, Minotaur, Defence, Hawke, Centurion, Edgar, Mars, Bellerophon, Diadem, and Royalist.

[3] The other Royal Irish Rangers battalion was 5th (V) Btn. RIrish (27th (Ininiskilling) 83rd and 87th).
There was no regular Royal Irish Rangers btn. The 1st and 2nd Battalions had become the General Service battalions of the new Royal Irish Regiment, an amalgamation of the Royal Irish Rangers, and the Ulster Defence Regiment. Technically the TA btns were part of the new regiment, but retained their old cap badges.

[4] After the expansion of the army there were three independent squadrons of The North Irish Horse.
One, D Squadron, was equipped with CVR(T) based vehicles, and was assigned to BAOR in wartime.
The second was a ‘National Defence’ reconnaissance unit, equipped with Land Rover, assigned to Northern Ireland District.
The third was 69 (North Irish Horse) Squadron, 32 (Scottish) Signal Regiment (V), a unit assigned to ‘Home Defence’ duties.

0031 Hours, 22nd April. Off Ailsa Craig, the Firth of Clyde.
A major Royal Navy seabed recovery operation was underway.
Two days ago the Soviet carrier, Kiev, escorted by two Krivak class frigates, had passed through the North Channel, after a port visit to Cork, and Dublin.
Acoustic sensors had detected two submarines with the group.
They had apparently planted a number of sonar sensors in the Firth of Clyde, on the route that SSNs, and the Vanguard class SSBNs based at Faslane would have to take.

The minehunters Inverness, and Shoreham had examined them, and declared that they were not mines.
Therefore the Seabed Operations Vessel, HMS Challenger, had been brought in to recover them.

Escorting Challenger was the OPV HMS Forth, one of the Tyne class; these were powerful coastal combatants, intended in wartime to escort supply convoys across the North Sea to Europe, and to combat Soviet fast attack craft that might come out of the Baltic.
Equipped with powerful marine diesels, the six ships of the Tyne class were capable of speeds of 35 knots, and in wartime were armed with a 76mm (a 30mm in peacetime) cannon, eight Harpoons, and a pair of STWS-3 twin torpedo tubes for Stingray ASW torpedoes.
There was also space on the stern to allow a helicopter up to the size of a Merlin to land on, or for some sort of container with extra equipment to be loaded. [1]

A Soviet AGI trawler had turned up quite quickly, when the operation had begun two days ago, and was now being marked by the old ‘Island’ class OPV, HMS Orkney, who with two of her sisters, Shetland, and Anglesey, had been modified with new more powerful diesels, and classified electronic gear (the new engines were needed as much to provide power for the new monitoring gear, as much as to give the ships extra speed).
They had reappeared in the fleet sporting a few extra aerials, but retained their old 40mm Bofors gun, for self-defence.
With her sensitive gear, Orkney was there to monitor the transmissions from the AGI (in essence listening to them, listening to us).

Also keeping a close eye on the AGI was the former Oil Rig support vessel, HMS Sentinel, now used for ‘marking’ Soviet vessels off Northern Ireland (she, and the old River class MCMV Humber, had followed the Kiev group).
She was armed with a pair of 40mm guns, both of which were manned.

The senior RN officer present had decided to make life hard for the AGI.
Two Merlin HM.1s of 819 NAS, from HMS Gannet (RNAS Prestwick), were circling the Soviet ship at low altitude, keeping her illuminated by powerful NiteSun searchlights.
The captain of Forth had also taken his ship in rather close to the AGI, to show the Soviet crew that she was indeed in her full ‘war fit’.

The first examples of the Soviet sonar sensors had been placed aboard a Sea King HC.4, and flown ashore for detailed examination at the naval research establishment, the NCRE, at Pitreavie (just up the road from the MHQ). [2]
Shortly after it left, Challenger recovered the last sensor, and the ship began to finish up operations.

Suddenly the ship was shaken by a large explosion, which lit up the early morning darkness, and started a major fire.
It was later determined that the sensor was in fact a disguised command detonated mine.

HMS Orkney reported that she had detected the sort of radio signal consistent with a command detonation from the AGI.
She immediately trained her 40mm gun on the Soviet ship, and demanded that she heave to, and prepare to be boarded.
The AGI refused, and began to leave the scene.

The captains of Orkney, and Sentinel decided that their first duty was to assist the Challenger, and leave the AGI to the Forth; besides, the Soviet ship was faster than they were.

The incensed captain of HMS Forth ordered two shots to be fired across the bows of the AGI.
The Soviet vessel ignored both shots, and continued to try, and escape, increasing speed.

Forth’s captain was just in the process of debating whether to open fire on the AGI, when a signal from MHQ Pitreavie arrived.

‘COMMENCE HOSTILITIES AGAINST WARSAW PACT FORCES.’

“Stop that damned pirate!” Forth’s captain ordered.

The Forth’s 76mm cannon barked twice, but this time both shells slammed into the AGI’s hull, and exploded.
Rather unexpectedly, the AGI blew up violently a few seconds later.
It was later discovered that she had been carrying a number of small mines.

The fire aboard Challenger was eventually brought under control, but the ship was severely damaged.
The tugs Forceful, and Pointer came out to tow the stricken ship into Faslane.

By destroying the AGI, HMS Forth had earned herself a place in history as being the first Royal Navy ship to engage the enemy in the Third World War.

0040 hours. HQ NORTHAG.
“General, Sir, are you there?” A voice called out.

General Horne brought up his rifle, ever cautious.

“Whose there?
“Advance, and be recognised!”
“Military Police, General!” Came a female voice that Horne recognised as belonging to the second in command of the Provost Company.
“Come in, Major!” Horne shouted, getting to his feet, but still keeping his rifle trained on the door.

The RMP Major, followed by two more RMP lance corporals, with a Dutch, and Belgian MP covering the corridor, entered the office.
They all looked haggard, and were filthy.
The Major, who normally took a pride in her appearance, had her hair dangling down below her helmet, and looked exhausted.
The two lance corporals, well built, stocky men, looked worse, and appeared that they had just gone several rounds with a heavyweight boxer.

“What’s the situation?” Horne asked.
“Total chaos, Sir.
“We got hit by Spetsnaz paratroops, came in on the back of a major air raid.
“Luckily they’re well spread out, but they caught us by surprise, and we’ve lost about a quarter of our force.”
“Where’s Colonel Forrester?”
“Dead, Sir.
“They put an RPG into company HQ, took out a lot of people, the Colonel included.
“I’m in charge now.”

Horne saw a single tear run down the Major’s dirt encrusted left cheek.
He knew that both she, and Forrester had been friends. She had recently attended Forrester’s wedding.

“Okay, Major. I know you’ll do a good job.
“I trust you’ve asked for reinforcements?”
“Yes, Sir. We have troops from the Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders flying in right now.
“Those choppers will fly you, and the remaining members of staff from NORTHAG out to the forward HQ. [3]
“We can’t have you getting under our feet here.”
“What about my aide?” Horne asked.
“Medics will take care of him. They’re on their way up now.
“We have to go now, Sir.” She turned to the other MPs. “Right, let’s move.”

The scene outside was like something from Dante’s Inferno.
A number of buildings, including the base post office, directly opposite the main HQ building, were ablaze.
Horne could also see a large fire amongst the trees off in the distance.

“That’s the Yank PX, Sir.” One of the RMP lance corporals said, on seeing the General look in that direction.

Here, and there were dead bodies, lying where they had been shot.
Some wore the uniform of the Spetsnaz, but too many wore the various uniforms of NATO MPs, and other military personnel.

Off in the distance the sound of approaching helicopters could be heard.

“This way, Sir.
“Follow me!” The Major yelled, pausing to fire a few rounds from her rifle at some shadowy figures in the middle distance.

The Belgian MP dropped to his knees, and laid down covering fire from his FN2000 rifle as the other three MPs manoeuvred against the threat to the landing zone.

Suddenly four Lynx AH.9s landed on the playing field in front of them.
Heavily armed troops from 1st Battalion The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders pilled out, and charged towards the enemy, bayonets fixed, yelling like madmen.
Horne, and a few other staff officers were bundled aboard the Lynxes, which took off imediatley.

Once airborne, Horne could see that what he had seen on the ground looked even worse.
Much of the base, including the married quarters, and school (he thanked God that the civilian dependents had been evacuated) were burning out of control.

“We should be at your tac HQ in about ten minutes, Sir!” The sergeant flying the Lynx shouted back.
“Thank you, Sergeant.” Horne replied.

‘What a way to start a war.’ He thought.

Near the Inner German Border.
Lieutenant O’Donnell crouched down at the bottom of the foxhole that served as his platoon Command Post as Soviet shells fell like rain.
The S10 respirator, and NBC suit that he was wearing made him feel claustrophobic, and separated from the other man in the foxhole, his radioman.

‘WEE! WEE! WEE! WEE!’ A shrill alarm started to sound.

“Christ on a crutch!” The radioman exclaimed as he recognised the sound.

“GAS! GAS! GAS!” The shout went up throughout the platoon’s positions.

O’Donnell grabbed the Bowman radio’s handset.

“Hello, Sunray, this is Charlie One, One, Actual.
“We are under gas attack, repeat, we are under gas attack! Over!”

A few hundred meters to the rear Captain Antony Blake, of The North Irish Horse, watched the intense bombardment of the infantry from the relative safety of the turret of his Sabre light reconnaissance vehicle.
Blake was the second in command of D Squadron, The North Irish Horse, and had driven forward to the position held by the three Sabres of 10 Troop to see the situation for himself.

“They’re coming, Sir.” His gunner, who was scanning the ground in front of the light tank with his thermal sight, reported.

As part of the CVR (T) Life Extension Programme, all Sabres, and Scimitars had been fitted with a new thermal sight (using components of the TOGS system that had been salvaged from retired Chieftains), and, equally welcome, had received a laser range finder, and gun stabilisation system, also fitted to the Warrior MICV, they had also had their old Jaguar petrol engine replaced with the Cummins BTA 5.9 diesel engine. [4]

Blake turned his attention to where his gunner had indicated.
He could make out Soviet armoured vehicles moving towards them through the darkness, occasionally lit up by an explosion.
This would be the enemy’s reconnaissance screen.
Unfortunately for them they would soon be finding the minefield that the Royal Engineers had laid a couple of days ago, a mixture of anti-tank Bar Mines, and Canadian made Elsie anti-personnel mines, which were especially unpleasant, as their largely plastic construction made them undetectable to mine detectors.

A flash suddenly lighted up the night as one of the infantry Javelin teams engaged a Soviet BRM, the reece version of the BMP-3.
The BRM exploded in a mass of flames as the missile, which was intended to destroy much larger MBTs, struck it.

Blake overheard in his headphones the Squadron’s Guided Weapons Troop, which were equipped with Swingfire firing Strikers, ask permission to engage, and heard a voice that he recognised as being that of Major Pallister himself tell them to hold fire until they spotted tanks. [5]

More, and more explosions lit up the darkness, as Soviet vehicles, and soldiers found the minefield the hard way.
Those that were left bunched into the gaps, left purposely by the engineers, which made them perfect targets for anti-tank missiles.

The 4th Royal Irish Rangers’s Javelin platoon had a field day with this target rich environment.

“T-80 with mine plough!” Blake’s gunner suddenly yelled.

The Guided Weapons troop had obviously also spotted this tank, as one of the Strikers engaged the T-80 with a Swingfire missile.
Once upon a time the gunner would have had to steer the big missile with a fiddly little joystick, and there were almost as many misses as hits, even in peacetime conditions. However in the early 1990s Swingfire had been upgraded with a SACLOS system.
All the gunner had to do now was to keep the sight on target, and the missile would do the rest.

Which it did.

The big HEAT warhead on the Swingfire turned the mineplough equipped T-80 into a passable imitation of a volcano.

North of Rasdorf, West Germany.
‘BOOM!’

Lieutenant Colonel John Ward, C.O of 2nd ‘Eaglehorse’ Squadron, the 11th ‘Blackhorse’ Armored Cavalry Regiment, awoke with a start as the shell went off rather close to his M4 command vehicle.
His first thought was not about the fact that hostilities had obviously commenced, but that he had fallen asleep, and almost as bad, nobody had seen fit to wake him.

‘BOOM!’

‘Yes, that was artillery.’ Ward thought.

“What the hell’s going on?” He demanded to know. “And who the hell let me fall asleep?”
“Looks like World War Three has kicked off, Sir.” One of the other soldiers in the M4 reported.

Nobody was brave enough to answer the second question.

Lieutenant Colonel glanced up at the IVIS display in front of him, still irritated that he had fallen asleep.
The screen showed that the forward troops of his squadron had already sighted the enemy.
The IVIS system meant that there was no radio traffic to listen in to, which Ward rather missed, but conversely it gave nothing for the enemy to use to locate them.

Along the FEBA the M1A2 Abrams, and M3A3 Bradleys, assisted by the AH-64D Apaches of the 4th Squadron, had had begun to engage the advancing Soviet T-80s, and BMP-3s.
As NATO armour crewmen had long been trained, the cavalrymen were giving priority to targeting command tanks, anti-aircraft vehicles, and those equipped with mineploughs.

The 120mm, and 25mm shells, and TOW, and Hellfire missiles tore into the advancing Soviet vehicles, as they bunched up in the gaps in the minefields.

The Soviets halted, and attempted to return fire, but they were not yet within effective range, and they were outclassed in terms of fire control equipment, and just made themselves even more effective targets.
The Americans continued to exchange fire with the Soviets (rather a one way exchange) for a few more minutes before they began to displace rearwards to their secondary positions.

Several T-80s opened fire at the now exposed Abrams, and Bradleys, with AT-8 ‘Songster’ anti-tank missiles as they pulled back.
Two Abrams, and three Bradleys were hit; the Abrams continued to move, relatively unaffected, but one of the Bradleys burst into flames, the second was disabled, its crew were never seen again as the vehicle was overrun by the advancing Soviet units.
The third Bradley was lucky, its extra armour saved it from severe damage, and it kept moving, though its crew had one hell of a headache.

Once the American vehicles had reached their new positions, they again opened a murderous fire on the Soviet vehicles.

For the moment the 11th ‘Blackhorse’ Armored Cavalry Regiment was doing its job, delaying the invading Soviet army.
For every hour the Soviets were delayed was an hour bought for NATO’s armies, but as the crews of the two Bradleys had found out, it was being bought at a price.

The battle of West Germany had begun with the battle of a group of hills known as ‘The Three Sisters’.

0033 hours. HMS Ark Royal, the Norwegian Sea.
‘KABOOM!’

Captain Alistair Taggart, RN, the commanding officer of the carrier, was sitting in his chair on the bridge when the explosion lit up the night.
He looked round in surprise, and saw a sight that reminded him of the destruction of HMS Antelope in San Carlos Bay.

“My God!” Taggart murmured, as he watched the explosion begin to subside.

Whatever ship had been hit, it had been big.

“Who was that?” Taggart asked, as he recovered from his initial shock.
“Looks like the position is that of Fort William, Sir.” The Officer Of the Watch said, grimly.
“Christ, she was filled to the brim with missiles, and fuel.” Taggart replied.
“Action stations!” He yelled, realising that there was undoubtedly a Soviet submarine about somewhere.
“Get the alert Merlin Julliets airborne now!” Taggart ordered.

A deck below, Rear Admiral Stuart Thompson, the Commander ASW Striking Force, had also seen the explosion.
To lose one of the group’s Fort Victoria class AORs was a hard blow, especially as the massive explosion made it look as if none of the crew had survived.

“Captain Taggart has ordered the alert Merlins to be launched, Sir.” Thompson’s Chief of Staff reported.
“Good, signal Invincible, order her to launch her own alert Merlins, if she hasn’t done so already.
“I want someone to get that damned submarine.” Thompson ordered.

0034 hours. HMS Astute, the Barents Sea.
The SSN had been trailing a Soviet Oscar class SSGN for several hours now, but since hostilities had not yet broken out, as far as Astute was concerned anyway, she could not engage.
Nevertheless her captain, Commander Len Simpson had ordered that two Spearfish torpedoes should be loaded into the submarine’s tubes, and that a firing solution on the Oscar, which had, so far, not detected Astute, should be maintained.

“Control room, radio room.
“ELF message coming in.”
“I’m on my way.” Simpson replied.

Normally the Extremely Low Frequecy messages were used to instruct a submarine to come to periscope depth to receive more detailed orders than could be sent via the ELF system (though it would be used to send EAM messages to SSBNs, if that need ever arose).


Simpson made his way to the boat’s radio room, where the message had arrived.
It was brutally simple, and was exactly the same message that had been sent to all NATO warships, wherever they were.

‘COMMENCE HOSTILITIES AGAINST WARSAW PACT FORCES.’

Simpson picked up the handset in the radio room.

“Control room, this is the captain.
“Do we still have a solution on that Oscar?”
“Yes, Sir, an excellent one. Why do you…?” The Officer Of the Watch replied.
“Flood tubes one, and three and fire, now!” Simpson ordered, interrupting.

The control room crew might have been slightly surprised by this order, but they guessed what the ELF message must have contained, and rapidly moved to carry it out.

The big Soviet submarine had not yet heard the quiet British hunter-killer, that had been stalking her, but she did hear Astute flooding two of her torpedo tubes, and opening the outer doors.

The big Oscar class submarine began to take evasive action, diving rapidly, and turning away from the threat.
She also fired a single torpedo back down the bearing that she had heard the Spearfish being fired from.
However it was too late, far too late.

Once out of the tubes the pair of big Spearfish torpedoes rapidly accelerated up to 65 knots, covering the distance between the two submarines in less than a minute.

The Oscar might have survived one torpedo hit, but she had no hope against two.

The sonar operators in Astute heard the sound of the single Soviet torpedo coming towards them.

“Control room, Sonar!
“Torpedo in the water!”
“Launch decoys!” Simpson ordered. “Hard a starboard!”

Simpson was waiting to see if the Soviet torpedo was tracking before he ordered any further evasive action, as he did not want to cut the guidance wires on the Spearfish.

Unlike most other submarines, Astute (and all other Royal Navy submarines for that matter) could accelerate quickly to get out of danger without causing any cavitation, as they were fitted with a pump jet propulsor.

‘WHANG!’
‘WHANG!’

“Control room, sonar. That was our fish hitting the target.
“We’re picking up break-up noises. That Oscar is headed for the bottom.”
“And that torpedo?” Simpson asked.
“Enemy fish is going into search mode…it hasn’t detected us…fish is circling.
“The fish has run out of fuel, and is sinking…we’re safe.”

The tension in the control room evaporated, as everybody realised that they were safe, for now.

The Astute had just scored the first kill by a Royal Navy submarine since 1982, and the first kill against another submarine since the Second World War.

The first few minutes of the war had been marked by both triumph, and tragedy for the Royal Navy.
Which of the two would be the recurrent pattern was yet to be decided.

****

[1] The class is made up of Tyne, Severn, Mersey, Forth, Clyde, and Tay.

[2] The old NCRE is currently a block of ‘executive’ luxury flats.

[3] Part of 24th Airmobile Brigade.

[4] The petrol engine was detuned version of the XK engine found in the old XJ6 saloon.

[5] The Swingfire is a large wire-guided anti-tank missile, roughly the British equivalent of TOW.

0046 hours. 22nd April. BBC News 24.
News 24 was in the middle of one of its discussion programmes; predictably discussing the crisis in Eastern Europe, when the screen went black for a moment, and when it returned showed an image of the newsreader instead.

“We’re interrupting that particular edition of Hard Talk because we are receiving reports from Supreme Allied Headquarters in Belgium that NATO forces have been fired upon by those of the Warsaw Pact..."

The newsreader paused for a second, and touched his earpiece.

‘In fact we’ve just received a wire report from Supreme Allied Headquarters that Warsaw Pact forces have in fact invaded West Germany…I must stress that at this point these reports are unconfirmed.
‘However, we have just received a report via videophone from James Hayes, who is embedded with the headquarters of the British First Corps.
‘His report was made under army reporting restrictions.’

The screen switched to a slightly grainy, and jumpy view of a figure wearing an NBC suit, being illuminated by a single light from the camera.
A few other figures, in NBC gear, could be seen moving about in the background.

‘A few minutes ago reports from forward units, in place along the border with East Germany, started to flood in, indicating that they were under massive attack by Warsaw Pact forces.
‘At the same time it appears that a major air attack was launched against NATO facilities in West Germany, and above our heads it would appear that the NATO air forces are fighting a vicious battle with the Warsaw Pact for the control of the skies.
‘As you can see we are wearing chemical protection suits, partly as a precaution, and partly because at least one forward unit has reported that it has come under gas attack…at this stage, however, that remains unconfirmed.
‘Earlier in the day, I spoke to the commander of I (British) Corps, Lieutenant General John O’Connor, to ask him how ready his troops were.’

The screen again changed, this time to a daylight shot of the general in his main command tent.

‘Oh, I think we are about as ready as we can be.’ O’Connor said to the camera.
‘All of my assigned forces have taken up their positions, and I believe that we are well placed to resist any Warsaw Pact attack.’
‘Can you explain a bit more of your strategy, General?’
‘Well, for obvious operational reasons I can’t go into details, but my objective, as the Duke of Wellington might have put it, is to defeat the enemy.
‘However I’ll show you the basics on this map.’

Lt. General O’Connor got up, and crossed to a large-scale map of I Corps’ sector, pinned to a board. It was conspicuously devoid of unit markers.

‘All along the border we have lightly equipped troops, which we have as what we call a ‘Covering Force.’ He said indicating with the fingers of his right hand.
‘They have a hard job, as it is their task to absorb, and slow the initial Soviet attack, and to make them actually fight to enter West German territory.
‘Further back from the border are our main heavy armoured forces, who will form the main resistance to any attack.’
‘So you are suggesting that your ‘Covering Force’ will be abandoned if there is an attack?’
‘As I said, they have a very hard job, but no, we would not abandon them.
‘If we can get them get them out, we will do all we can to do so.’ Lieutenant General O’Connor replied.

The camera view switched back to the reporter in the NBC suit.

‘Since the Warsaw Pact has attacked, we can only now suppose that these ‘Covering Forces’ are now fighting for their lives against overwhelming odds, something that the British Army has a long, and proud tradition of.
‘Twice before in the last hundred years the British Army, always a relatively small force at the beginning of the war, has stood up to the forces of tyranny, and has come out successful.
‘It looks like it is time for the army to do so once again.
‘This is John Hayes reporting for the BBC, at I Corps Forward Headquarters.’

The view returned to the studio.

‘To recap, less than half an hour ago Warsaw Pact forces launched an attack against NATO forces in West Germany.
‘So far there has been no statement from any NATO, or the Soviet government…we are just getting a report from the United Kingdom Warning and Monitoring Organisation that a major air raid has been detected heading for the United Kingdom.
‘Members of the public are advised to stay indoors, and that sirens will be sounded in areas under threat.
‘It is emphasised that this is not a nuclear missile attack, but a conventional raid by bomber aircraft.’

U.K Region Air Defence Operations Centre, RAF High Wycombe.
Air Chief Marshal Johnson hurried down the stairs to his underground bunker.
News had just come in that a NATO ‘Sentry’ over northern Norway had picked up a large group of Soviet aircraft taking off from the Kola Peninsula.

“What’s the latest, Susan?” Johnson asked his aide.
“The Soviet strike is only a few minutes away from the Norwegian border, Sir.
“The Norwegians are moving in more fighters, they wanted to be the first to engage, but there are some of 1 Group’s Typhoons moving to assist.” Flight Lieutenant Jackson replied. “We’ve been in contact with Stanmore, Air Vice Marshal Hazel is concerned, so he’s brought his fighters to full alert.”
“Sounds serious, Susan, but I’m glad John has done the right thing.
“Any attack on the air defences of Northern Norway could be an attempt to clear a way through to the UKADR, as well as support for the ground invasion of Norway.
“I’d expect to see Backfires coming in behind this tactical strike.
“There’s bound to be a strike coming from the Baltic too, it’s what I’d do if I were trying to overcome the I-UKADGE.”

The two officers hurried into the operations room, just in time to hear a radio call from the AWACS over Northern Norway to the northern SOC in Norway.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday! This is Sentry two-five. We are under attack by enemy aircraft!”

“The Soviets blew through the Sentry’s escort, Sir.” The duty controller reported. “Hit them with overwhelming strength. It was an anti-AWACS strike, not a tactical strike as we thought.”
“Damn it.
“COMNORTH Norway should have had our Typhoons covering that AWACS, not Norwegian F-16s.
“The Meteor missiles might have made a difference, but there’s nothing we can do about it, it was COMAFNORTH’s call, not mine.” Johnson raged, annoyed that the assets that he had sent to AFNORTH, had apparently been misused.

“Mayday! Mayday! Mayday!” Sentry two-five called again. “We are under missile attack…”

The rest of the call was drowned out by the sound of alarmed shouts, and blaring alarms. Once voice could be heard yelling that that they could not break missile lock.
There was a muffled crunch, and the radio went silent.

The assembled RAF personnel looked grimly at each other, knowing what had happened.

A second later another call came in from an RAF Sentry AEW.1 over the North Sea.

“This is Magic 8-9.
“We’ve got hostile aircraft approaching from the Baltic.
“We’re directing the fighters already airborne to intercept.”

Johnson picked up the direct line to 11 Group Headquarters at Bentley Priory.

HQ 11 Group. RAF Bentley Priory, Stanmore, Middlesex. [1]
“Stanmore.” Wing Commander Sara Stapleton, the duty controller at the Standby Air Defence Operations Centre, said as she answered the phone.
“This is Air Chief Marshal Johnson, get me Air Vice Marshal Hazel.”
“Yes, Sir, right away.” Stapleton replied.

She signalled to Hazel, who was across the room to pick up the phone.

Air Vice Marshal John Hazel, Air Officer Commanding 11 Group, picked up the phone in front of him.

“Hazel.” He said simply.
“John, this is Air Chief Marshal Johnson.
“I need you to get your reserve fighters up now.
“The Russians are taking apart Norway, and there’s a major strike coming in from the Baltic.”
“I’ve been monitoring the situation, Sir, I’ve just sent the orders myself.
“The reserve fighters should be taking off about now, Sir, my SAM units are also on alert.”
“Thanks, John, you’ve anticipated me as always.” Johnson replied.

RAF Leuchars, Fife Scotland.
Wing Commander Jack Foster was sitting in the crew alert room, along with his navigator, Squadron Leader George Wilkinson, and three other Tornado crews from 43 (Fighter) Squadron.
He was just turning the page of his newspaper when the alert klaxon sounded.

Foster, and the other three aircrew jumped to their feet, gabbing their ‘bone domes’ and sprinting to the Hardened Aircraft Shelters containing their Tornado F-3s.

As Foster approached the HAS containing his aircraft, he heard the alarm that warned personnel that the doors were opening.
He rushed through the opening gap with Wilkinson close on his heels.

The ground crew had already prepared the aircraft, so Foster only needed to do a perfunctory walk around check.
While he carried this out, Wilkinson boarded the Tornado, and began to turn on the aircraft’s systems.

His checks done, Foster climbed up into the forward cockpit.
He strapped himself in with the assistance of an Aircraftsman from the ground crew.

“Good luck, Sir.” The Aircraftsman said before he withdrew.
“Thanks, I’ll try not to let you blokes down.” Foster replied.

The Wing Commander closed the canopy, and signalled to the ground crew that he was about to start the aircraft’s two RB.199 Mk.104 turbofans.
They retreated to a safe distance, and Foster started first the port engine, and then the starboard engine, before he released the brakes, and allowed the Tornado to begin to taxi out of the HAS.
Looking to his left he could see his wingman’s aircraft emerging from the neighbouring HAS.

Once Foster reached the end of the runway he pushed the throttle fully forward, and engaged reheat.
The Tornado accelerated slowly at first, but then began to race down the runway, followed by its wing ‘plane, and the two other Tornados.

The beginning of what would later be known as the Second Battle of Britain had started.

Near the Inner German Border.
The 4th (V) Royal Irish Rangers were still under fire from both artillery, and heavy mortars, both from 160mm, and 240mm mortars, firing VT shells.
The gas detector had stopped screaming, as it had been blasted to smithereens by a mortar bomb.

Lieutenant O’Donnell peered through the gap between overhead cover of his C.P, and the lip of the foxhole.

The Soviet armour, being led by infantrymen were getting closer, they were almost through the minefield, having taken severe losses to do so.
His platoon had begun to open fire on the advancing Soviet infantry, cutting down dozens with their Minimis, LSWs, and rifles.
The GPMGs of the battalion’s machine-gun platoon, and the heavy Brownings from the Manoeuvre Support Company were also carrying out a great execution.

However their ‘one in three’ tracer fire marked them out for the accompanying BMP-3s, which opened fire on what infantry positions they could see with their 30mm co-axial guns, destroying them one by one.

To the rear, Captain Blake could see that the infantry were in the process of being overrun.
He knew that if they were to extract themselves they would need all the support they could get.

“Gunner, engage those BMPs.” Blake ordered.

The gunner selected the nearest BMP, lased it, and opened fire with a short burst of three 30mm shells.

Lieutenant O’Donnell flinched as the burst of 30mm shells flashed over his position.
However, he knew that this meant that The North Irish Horse was supporting them.

“We might just make it.” He said to his radioman.

The private began to reply, but he was interrupted.

‘BLAM!’

A mortar shell had exploded less than a meter away from the C.P.
One of the logs forming part of the overhead cover snapped in half, crashing down into the foxhole below, crushing the Bowman radio, and the radioman.

‘BLAM!’

A second mortar bomb brought down the rest of the overhead cover down on O’Donnell.
Everything for him went black.

“All North Irish Horse units pull back.” A message crackled in Blake’s headphones. “Repeat pull back. Over.”
“But the infantry are being overrun. They need our support. Over.” Blake protested over the radio.
“Pull back now, Captain.” The voice of Major Pallister said.

Blake looked to either side of his Sabre, and could see that the three Sabres of 10 Troop were already pulling back.

“Sir?” The gunner asked.
“But, Sir, the infantry. Over.” Captain Blake protested again.
“Now, Captain Blake.
“The infantry have received orders to pull back if they can.”
“Roger that.
“I’m pulling back now. Over.”

Blake felt guilty about leaving the infantry apparently to their fate, but he had his orders, and besides he would not do much good getting himself, and his two crew killed.

Over Hanover.
Squadron Leader Paul Jackson, pulled his Typhoon round in a hard left hand turn, as he converted onto a flight of four (it had been eight) Su-27 ‘Flankers’ that were flying in support of a strike of Su-24 ‘Fencers’.

Jackson, and his wingman, Flight Lieutenant Watt, had shut down their CAPTOR radars, and were tracking the Soviet aircraft via data-linked information from a NATO E-3 over the Rhine.
Once they got in close they would track the ‘Flankers’ with their PIRATE combined Infra Red Search and Tracking, and FLIR system.

The PIRATE system was already tracking the four ‘Flankers’, and as Jackson closed, it switched to tracking one of the aircraft.

“Select ASRAAM.” He told the aircraft.

A moment later Jackson heard a continuous tone in his headphones, telling him that the missile had lock.

“Fox Two.” He said as he fired.

The ASRAAM streaked off the Typhoon’s pylon, heading for its target.
The ‘Flanker’ in question began to take evasive action, pumping out decoy flares.

However Jackson saw none of this, as he had already targeted, and fired on another ‘Flanker’ before he, and his wingman had turned away from what had been a moment before a formation of four Su-27s, and was now a collection of aluminium fragments heading for the ground.

Both Typhoons had more important things to do, like hunting the following strike of Su-24 ‘Fencers’.

SHAPE (Forward), south of Mons, Belgium.
“Well, tell me the worst.” General Paul Baker said, as he entered the trailer that served as his main command post.
“We’re facing an attack all along the IGB, Sir.” His Chief of Staff told him. “In massive strength; this is clearly the real deal.
“We’ve also received reports from HQ AFNORTH, and AFSOUTH that they are coming under attack from Warsaw Pact forces.”

The CoS turned to pick up another report.

“Military attaches in Vienna, and Belgrade have reported that Warsaw Pact forces have move into both Austria, and Yugoslavia.
“The Austrians had mobilised, as we have, and were not caught unawares.
“The Soviets won’t find them an easy prospect.
“The Yugoslavs are a different matter.
“The Federal Army was not mobilised, and it even looks like they are assisting the Soviets to pass through their territory.”
“Hm, not good.” Baker replied. “How about the situation in AFCENT?”
“Too early to tell, Sir.
“The initial clashes between the enemy, and our covering forces are still taking place, once those are over, we’ll know better, Sir.
“However there has been a report of at least one British unit coming under gas attack.”
“What?” General Sir Thomas Alexander, who was also present exclaimed.
“Can I ask which unit?”
“The 4th Royal Irish Rangers, Sir.
“The battlegroup HQ reported that one of its platoons was under gas attack.” The Chief of Staff replied.
“Have any other units, or facilities reported coming under gas attack?” Baker asked.

The Chief of Staff shook his head.

“No, Sir.
“No other units have reported that.
“However, we are having difficulty contacting some forward units.”
“Then it’s an unconfirmed report. It could easily be a faulty gas detector.
“Disregard it for now.” Baker told him.

Another staff officer stuck his head into the trailer.

“COMAAFCE on the secure line for you, Sir.”
“Thank you, Captain.” SACEUR replied.

General Baker picked up the handset in front of him.

“Hello, Rick, how are things your end?”
“Pretty busy, Sir.” The Commander Allied Air Forces Central Europe replied.
“We’re fighting the biggest air battles since the last war right now.
“As I’m sure you know, Sir, I’m having to defend against a major Warsaw Pact push against my air bases, and our ground facilities, while also getting aircraft airborne to support the army, and carry the battle to the enemy.”
“Can you launch ‘NIGHTHAWK’?” Baker asked.
“I’ve already got it underway, Sir.
“The first aircraft should be approaching their targets in about…twenty minutes.”
“Okay, Rick, thank you.
“I’ll let you get on.” Baker said before hanging up.

No sooner had he put the handset down, when it buzzed.

“Baker, here.”
“SACLANT for you, Sir.”
“Very, well, put him through.”
“Hello, Paul, how are you?” Admiral Donald Ramsey, USN, Supreme Allied Commander Atlantic, said brightly.
“Rushed, Don.
“What can I do for you?”
“I need to borrow some of your assets in Norway, and the UK for ‘HAMMER’.” The Admiral replied.
“You’ve got them, anything that will help my reinforcement convoys.
“Go direct to CINCUKAIR, or COMAFNORTH, if you need anything else.” Baker told Ramsey.
“Thank you, Paul, I appreciate it.
“My own assets are in place, all I needed was to borrow a few from you.
“If all goes well you should be seeing the results of ‘HAMMER’, pretty soon.”

RAF Lakenheath, Suffolk.
About an hour ago the F-117A ‘Nighthawks’ of the 49th Tactical Fighter Wing had taken off from the East Anglian base, heading for targets in East Germany.
Now the second phase of NATO’s airborne counter-attack was getting underway.

The F-15s of the 48th Tactical Fighter Wing, which was made up of three squadrons of F-15E ‘Strike Eagles’, and one of F-15Cs; a similar wing was based at RAF Upper Heyford, but it only had two F-15E squadrons, and a single F-15C squadron; were beginning to taxi towards the operational runway.

Lieutenant Colonel Colin Reynolds, Commanding Officer of the 492nd Tactical Fighter Squadron, and his WSO reviewed their weapons load.
While the F-117As had been carrying the latest JDAM bombs, the F-15Es were armed with the older but still effective GBU-27A ‘Paveway III’ Laser Guided Bomb, plus a pair of AMRAAMs, and AIM-9X ‘Sidewinders’ for self defence.

Satisfied that all was well, Reynolds began to taxi towards the runway, leading the aircraft of the 492nd TFS.

While the British based F-15Es, F-111s, and RAF Tornados were taking off an hour after the ‘Nighthawks’, the NATO strike aircraft based on the continent would be taking off even later.

Over the Inner German Border.
Lieutenant Colonel Douglas Cox, C.O of the 22nd Tactical Fighter Squadron, turned his F-22A ‘Raptor’ east.
He turned off the aircraft’s APG-77 radar, although it was a Low Probability of Intercept radar, Cox did not want his target to have any chance of detecting him, or his wingman.

The 22nd Tactical Fighter Squadron, and the rest of the 36th Tactical Fighter Wing had a special job tonight.
It was their job to destroy the Airborne Early Warning, and Control A-50 ‘Mainstay’s’ flying over East Germany.

While the ‘Nighthawks’, and ‘Raptors’ were invisible to the ‘Mainstays’, the Tornados, ‘Strike Eagles’, Mirages, and other NATO strike aircraft were not, and the ‘stealthy’ aircraft could not carry out this operation alone.

Lt. Colonel Cox continued to follow the course indicated by the information coming in via data-link from a NATO ‘Sentry’ over the Rhine.
Knowing that he was now in range, Cox illuminated his APG-77.
It picked up the ‘Mainstay’ at once, and locked on.

“Fox One.” Cox said, as he fired the first of two AMRAAMs at the A-50.

His wingman also fired a pair of missiles at the two Su-27s escorting the ‘Mainstay.’

The two AMRAAMs targeted on the A-50 made short work of the converted cargo aircraft.
The first missile blew the ‘Mainstay’s’ tail off, sending the ‘plane into an uncontrollable spin.
The second missile hit the aircraft just on the join between the port wing, and the fuselage, blowing it off.

The AEW aircraft fell to the ground with all of the grace of a dropped sheaf of paper, soon joined by the remains of its escorts.

HMS Bristol, the Solent.
It was a new experience being at action stations on the Solent, even for the experienced Captain Yoxall.
It was certainly not normal procedure to sail in these waters with two live Sea Dart Mod.3 missiles on the rails. [2]

Bristol had been assigned as the senior ship of a newly formed escort group, made up of her, the frigates HMS Boxer (newly out of a reconstruction that had brought her up to full Batch 3 standard), and HMS Andromeda (also newly out of reserve), the large corvette HMS Loch Lomond, and the two smaller corvettes HMS Alnwick Castle, and HMS Hurst Castle. [3]
The Canadian frigate HMCS Halifax had also been assigned to the group, but she was still in the Western Approaches, racing to effect a rendezvous with the rest of the group.

Captain Yoxall had also been informed that a number of other NATO ASW ships would be assigned to his group on a temporary basis, depending on the level of threat to the convoys he would be escorting.

Convoys…now that was the nub of the problem… at the moment there were no convoys at sea.
All that Captain Yoxall had been ordered to do was to take his group to sea (probably to avoid any possible air attack on Portsmouth).

Captain Yoxall looked at the plot in the in the Ops Room.

It was confused.
The Type 1022 air search radar was picking up dozens of targets, evidently aircraft carrying reinforcements to Europe.
The surface plot was not much better, the Channel was full of ships, RFAs, and requisitioned cross Channel ferries carrying equipment, and munitions, and others carrying British holiday makers back to the UK.

Yoxall was glad that they were not having to defend against Soviet attacks in such crowded, and confined waters.

***

[1] Bentley Priory was the H.Q of ACM Sir Hugh Dowding, CinC RAF Fighter Command during The Battle of Britain.

[2] HMS Bristol had gone through the same up-grade as the remaining Type 42 destroyers, which included the ability to carry Sea Dart Mod.3 missiles.

[3] The first of these vessels was a member of the Loch class corvettes (the RN version of the Lekiu class), the ‘high’ end ships. The second pair were members of the ‘Castle’ class, the ‘lower end’ corvettes based on the ‘Castle’ class OPVs, with more powerful machinery, and a towed sonar array.

Over East Germany.
Lieutenant Colonel Colin Reynolds armed his bombs as he neared his target, a bridge over the river Elbe, near Hohenroarthe.

The Eagle’s ECM gear wasn’t picking up any SAM radars.
That meant that the ‘Nighthawks’ has done their initial job.

“Target’s being lased, Skipper.” His WSO said over the intercom.
“Roger that.
“Certainly make our job easier.” Reynolds replied.

The aircraft’s weapons computer calculated that the Eagle had reached the optimum point for weapons release, and dropped the three GBU-27As.
Reynolds pushed the pickle button anyway to ensure a clean separation.

The three bombs struck the bridge within half a meter of each other, demolishing the northern span.
Seconds later three bombs from Reynolds’ wingman completed the destruction of the bridge.

The pilot of the orbiting ‘Nighthawk’, who had been lasing the bridge, switched his laser from the former site of the bridge to the bridging equipment stockpiled next to the bridge (rather foolishly he thought), to indicate it to the next two Eagles, which were carrying a full load of cluster bombs.

Over the Bay of Biscay.
“Coming up on IP, Skipper.”
“Roger that, Plot Nav.” Lieutenant Colonel Arthur Hoover, C.O of the 62nd Bombardment Squadron, 2nd Bombardment Wing, replied.

The B-52J bombers of the 2nd Bombardment Wing had an important part to play in ‘Operation NIGHTHAWK’. [1]
Their task was to launch AGM-86 Air Launched Cruise Missiles at a number of fixed, and semi-fixed targets, such as airfields, headquarters, and SAM sites (especially the more advanced SAMs, such as the S-300, and S-400).

The timing of launching their missiles was very critical, to avoid conflicting with NATO strike aircraft.
If all went well, they would arrive between waves of aircraft.

Hoover reached down to arm the twelve AGM-86s that his ‘Buff’ was carrying.

“Weapons away!”

Hoover watched as the first ALCM streaked away from the bomber.

The other ‘Stratofortresses’ had also begun to launch, firing over two hundred ALCMs at targets in Eastern Europe.

USS Miami, the Barents Sea.
The captain of USS Miami checked his watch; it was almost time.

“All stop, bring us up to periscope depth.” He ordered.

Once Miami had reached periscope depth, she raised a radio mast to get targeting information for her Tomahawk cruise missiles.
Having been up for less than half a minute, the mast was lowered to escape detection.

The captain looked at the digital clock, and then down at his watch again.
He waited until the clock read 00:00 before giving the order.

“Flood VLS tubes one through twelve, flood, and fire torpedo tubes one through three.
“Reload the torpedo tubes, and repeat.”

The boat rocked as twelve Tomahawks launched out of the Vertical Launch Tubes, then followed by three out of the torpedo tubes, followed by three more.

“Right, take us down two hundred meters.
“All ahead one third.
“Let’s get the hell out of here.”

The process that had just happened aboard Miami had also taken place aboard several other 688I, and Flight II Los Angeles class attack submarines positioned in the Barents Sea.

Hundreds of cruise missiles were now headed for the Soviet coast.
Once they crossed the coast, the split up into small groups, and began to head for their targets.

‘Operation HAMMER’ was underway.

Over West Germany, southeast of Hanover.
Flight Lieutenant Mark Robinson, a pilot in IX (Bomber) Squadron, was flying the number three Tornado GR.4, in a flight of four aircraft.

The RAF had decided to take a rather different approach to destroying the bridges over the river Elbe.
Rather than arming their aircraft with laser guided bombs, which would necessitate them getting close to any surviving SAM launchers, they had armed their aircraft with MBDA ‘Storm Shadow’ cruise missiles.

“Approaching launch co-ordinates, Mark.” His navigator said.
“Right.
“We’ll follow the lead of Jim, and Mike.” Robinson replied.

Robinson watched the lead aircraft, his finger resting on the pickle button.
As the leading Tornado launched its two missiles, Robinson fired.

The two ‘Storm Shadows’ dropped clear of the Tornado’s fuselage, and boosted away.

The eight ‘Storm Shadows’ dropped down to low level, and split up into two groups.

Since their targets were a pair of bridges, the missiles used the Elbe as a navigational marker.

Robinson turned his aircraft back towards RAF Bruggen.
As well as being a highly trained strike squadron, IX (B) Squadron was also one of the RAF’s SEAD trained units, and when their aircraft returned to Bruggen, they would be loaded up with a full load of four ALARM missiles, and would go out searching for SAM radars.

As the first group of four ‘Storm Shadows’ reached their target, they popped up, noting that the target loaded into their memories was visible on their Infrared seekers.
Seconds later they slammed into the bridge’s four supports.
Each missile penetrated for a few meters before their 2,000lb warheads detonated.

The bridge supports disintegrated under this kind of assault, and the bridge, and the T-80s, T-90s, and BMPs on it collapsed into the river.

By destroying, or damaging most of the bridges over the river Elbe, and much of the Warsaw Pact bridging equipment, NATO had ensured that the initial Soviet attack would be without its second echelon, and many of its specialist units.
The initial battle for West Germany would therefore be fought on almost equal terms.

USS Theodore Roosevelt, the G-I-UK Gap.
Vice Admiral Robert Clancy, Commander of the US 2nd Fleet, and now Commander NATO Strike Fleet Atlantic, was standing on the flag bridge of the nuclear powered carrier, watching the comings, and goings of the ship’s air wing.

As he watched a pair of A-6F Intruder IIs took off, climbing away from the flight deck, at full throttle.
Seconds after they cleared the deck, a pair of F/A-18E ‘Super Hornets’ landed on, while the next aircraft due to take off, a pair of F-14D Tomcats, were being prepared for take off.

Looking further away he could see the Roosevelt’s sister ship, the USS George Washington, about three miles away.
The Washington was the second carrier of the group, the third being the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower.

Two more carriers, the USS Harry S. Truman, and the USS Enterprise, were racing north to rendezvous with the main group before it sailed north into the Norwegian, and Barents Seas, to carry out its three main tasks.

The first of these was to attack Soviet military installations in the Kola Peninsula.
The second was to provide support to NATO forces in Norway.
The third was to assist NATO reinforcement convoys by providing an irresistible target to the Soviet navy (its Naval Aviation Backfires, surface attack groups, and submarines), thereby diverting assets that might otherwise be attacking these convoys.

Vice Admiral Clancy turned, as his Chief of Staff, Captain Mike Turner, joined him on the flag bridge.

“Sir, I thought you’d like to know that one of our Hawkeyes has just picked up the Truman/Enterprise group.
“They should be with us within a few hours.
“We’ve also copied some FLASH traffic.
“The ASW group got hit by a sub attack about twenty minutes ago, they lost a Fort Victoria class AOR with all hands.”
“Damn.” Clancy exclaimed.
“What’s the complement of one of those things?”
“About two hundred and eighty, depending on whether they are carrying helicopters, or not.”
“Dear God.
“Did they get the sub?”

Turner nodded.

“They sure did.
“They took it down with about five helicopters. That sub is fish food.
“We’ve also copied a signal from SACLANT that ‘Operation HAMMER’ is underway.
“What is that, if I may ask, Sir?”
“You may ask, Mike, and I guess since you aren’t going anywhere, I might as well tell you.
“HAMMER is an attack by sub, and air launched cruise missiles on the Soviet Backfire bases in the Kola Peninsula.
“Should make our job easier, and help out the convoys.”

Turner didn’t answer at once, as he contemplated the possible impact of this operation.

“Sounds quite ambitious, Sir.
“I hope it comes off.”

Over Northern Norway.
Wing Commander James Schofield, Commanding Officer 12 (Bomber) Squadron, made one last check of his aircraft’s systems as it approached the launch point for its four ‘Storm Shadow’ missiles.

Schofield was leading a group of elderly, but upgraded Blackburn Buccaneer S.2Bs, taking some time off from their normal task of maritime strike, to join Tornados from 27, 45, and 617 Squadrons, which were taking part in ‘Operation HAMMER’. [2]

“Just passing the IP, Skipper.” The navigator, Squadron Leader Stuart Maconie, said.
“Right.” Schofield replied.

He reached down, and armed the four missiles, before pushing the pickle button.

“Magnum!
“Magnum!” He announced over the radio. [3]

As Schofield turned his aircraft away, a chirping tone sounded in his earphones, warning him that a fighter radar was illuminating his aircraft.

He took the Buccaneer down to extreme low level, and pushed the throttle to full military power.
The Buccaneer might be one of the oldest strike aircraft in service with any NATO air force, but it was still among the fastest in the world at low level.
Any Soviet fighter would have to work hard to catch the group of 12 Squadron Buccaneers.

*
“This is Sentry two-two, we have some trade for you.” The voice in Wing Commander Macalister’s headphones said.
“I have them on my screen, thanks, two-two. Over.” Macalister replied.

He glanced down at the screen. Both targets were moving fast, apparently trying to intercept the now fleeing strike aircraft.
For some reason the Sentry’s AN/APY-2 radar, which was supplying the information via JTIDS, was having a little trouble maintaining track on these targets, which meant that they could be only one thing – the Mig.37s.

These aircraft were what Typhoon pilots had nightmares about. They were the most advanced aircraft that the other side had, supposedly as good as the Typhoons, and Rafales of NATO’s European air forces.
Thankfully, intelligence said that there were relatively few of these advanced fighters, mainly used on air defence duties (frontal aviation seemed to prefer the cheaper, but almost as advanced Su-27M/35).

“Okay, Lion flight.” Macalister told the other three Typhoons. “Looks like we have a flight of ‘Flatpacks’ on our hands..
“Go to combat spread, and full military thrust.
“If we’re lucky, they’ll be concentrating on our mud moving mates.”

0055 hours, 22nd April. Cheyenne Mountain AFB, Colorado.
Cheyenne Mountain Air Force base was the headquarters of the North American Aerospace Defence Command (NORAD), a joint US-Canadian organization; it was also the home of US Space Command (the tri-service organization that included components of AF Space Command, Navy Space Command, and Army Space Command)

General James Garner, USAF, CINCSPACE, CINCNORAD, and CINCAFSPACE, looked with some dissatisfaction, at the big board, displaying both NATO satellites (in blue), and Soviet satellites (in red).

A few new Soviet satellites had been launched a short time ago (just before the attack in Europe had been launched), and they appeared to be manoeuvring into orbits that coincided with some of his ‘Key Hole’ reconnaissance satellites.

“Yes, Sir.” Garner said into the phone he was holding, “They do appear to be Soviet ASATs.
“No, Sir, the annex to START III means that they have nothing to hit our highflying birds, like the MILSTARS, or GPS.
“They are a threat to our low flying birds, however.
“All means necessary, Sir, very good.”

Garner hung up. He turned to his Chief of Staff.

“We’ve been given the order to defend our space assets ‘by all means necessary’.
“Get the word out to our satellite drivers that they may manoeuvre their birds as necessary to protect them, and get the word out to McChord, and Langley.
“I want as many of those Soviet ASATs as they can manage, and all of their satellites that we can reach, gone.”

Garner looked up at the big screen again.
All the billions spent on SDI, and all he had to defend his assets were F-15 launched ASAT missiles, and a few land based missiles, still under test.

‘So much for ‘Star Wars’. He thought.

The ‘War in Space’ was going to be a much more primitive affair than most people had imagined.

Royal Scots Dragoon Guard battlegroup, northeast of Hanover.
Lieutenant Tom ‘Sherman’ Potter scanned the battlefield in front of his Challenger 2 through his independent sight.
So far he could not see anything.

Lieutenant Potter was the Officer Commanding 3 Troop, A Squadron, of The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards.
His troop, and 5 Troop from B Squadron, had been attached to A Company, 1st Battalion, The Black Watch.

A short time ago, overloaded FV432s, and Saxons, and Sabres, Strikers, and Spartans from the covering force, all showing signs of the heavy fighting they had experienced, had passed the positions of the company group that Potter’s troop was now part of.
Only the enemy was in front of them now.

Just then the first Soviet T-80s (with a few T-90s mixed in) accompanied by BMP-3s appeared in the distance, advancing remorselessly on the British positions.
A few Soviet vehicles lurched to a halt, as they ran afoul of a minefield of AT-2 mines, laid by a battery of MLRS, or were attacked by Army Air Corps Apache AH.1s.

The leading Soviet armoured vehicles were just getting into range of the Challenger’s L30 120mm guns.
Potter found the sort of target he was looking for – a T-90 with extra aerials.

“Gunner, target command tank.
“Load sabot!” He barked.
“Identified!” The gunner replied, indicating that he had seen the target.
“Loaded!” The loader yelled, telling the gunner that the 120mm APDSFS round, and the separate rigid propellant charge was loaded, and that he was clear of the breech.
“Lasing, now.” The gunner said.

There was a whine as the laser range finder warmed up, and illuminated the target.

“Fire!” Potter ordered.
“Firing now!”

‘BOOM’.

The 120mm gun thundered, spitting out a CHARM 3 DU sabot round at the unfortunate T-90.
The sabot hit the Soviet tank on the turret ring, and penetrated a microsecond later.
The ammunition on board the T-90 exploded a second later, hurling the turret high into the air.

Lieutenant Potter didn’t see this however; he was already searching for another target.

“Gunner, target T-80!
“Load sabot!”

*

Major Anderson watched the developing engagement from the turret of his own Challenger 2, with a growing sense of satisfaction.
The Scots DG’s fast firing Challengers were cutting the Soviet tanks to ribbons, without them even getting off a shot in return, while the Warrior, and infantry Javelin teams were blasting the BMPs to pieces.

“Excuse me, Boss.” Anderson’s gunner, Sergeant John Gibb, said. “Can we have a go at them?”
“Why not.
“If you see something interesting, Sergeant, you have my permission to shoot at it.” Anderson replied.

Gibb scanned the battlefield, until he saw ‘something interesting’, a Soviet SA-19 ‘Tunguska’ self propelled SAM, and AAA vehicle.

“Load HESH!” He told the loader.
“Loaded!”
“Lasing, now!
“Firing now!”

Anderson ducked back into the turret to avoid the blast of the gun, and all of dust it would kick up.

When he emerged again, the SA-19 was a burning wreck.

“Nice shot, Sergeant.
“I’m sure the Crabs will appreciate that.”

Over East Germany.
No doubt Squadron Leader Richard Jameson, the O.C of A Flight, IV (Army Co-operation) Squadron would have appreciate the elimination of the SA-19 had he and his wingman been flying CAS, but the two Harrier GR.9As were flying a Battlefield Air Interdiction sortie.
Their target was a large fuel depot that NATO reconnaissance aircraft had identified in the run up to hostilities.

Each aircraft was armed with six Brimstone missiles, on the two outboard pylons, so that they could engage the depot’s air defences, and five RBL-755 cluster bombs on the four remaining pylons, and centreline hardpoint, as well as a pair of ASRAAM missiles for self-defence, and a pair of 25mm Aden cannons.

With its FLIR system, and the pilot’s NVGs, the Harrier was very much at home in the dark, and was very suited to this operation.

Both Harriers’ Zeus ECM system had already picked up the radar emissions of the SAM, and gun defences of the fuel depot, and had loaded them into the aircraft’s weapons computer.

It was time to fire.

Jameson and his wingman fired off their Brimstones in quick succession, before altering course to arrive over the depot from a different direction from the missiles.

Presently the depot came into sight, handily marked by the burning air defence vehicles.

Jameson, and his wingman released the cluster bombs within seconds of each other, as they passed over the centre of the depot.

The night’s sky was light up, and the two Harriers buffeted, as the stored fuel exploded like a huge bomb.

Suddenly an alarm went off in Jameson’s headphones, a fighter radar had just illuminated them.

Because the Harrier’s wings were made of composite material, it was a difficult target to lock onto from above, as the two East German Mig-29s were now trying to do.
There task was made all the more difficult as the advanced Zeus system of the Harriers began to jam their radars with dozens of ‘spoof’ targets, also following their frequency changes as quickly as they made them.

The two Harriers made good their escape at low level, while the two ‘Fulcrum’ pilots, their radar screens reduced to an un-interpretable mess, decided to look for targets elsewhere.

The first few hours of World War Three had been hard for NATO, they had taken severe losses among the covering forces along the border, and they were fighting an intense battle in the air.

However ‘NIGHTHAWK’, and ‘HAMMER’ were in the process of demonstrating to the Soviets just what well directed air power could achieve, and the Soviet ground forces that had met the main NATO armoured forces were suffering severe losses.

NATO had won the initial battles of the war, but could they repeat the pattern in the longer term?

***

[1] The B-52J was an upgrade to all of the remaining B-52Gs, and B-52Hs, that saw them receive electronic upgrades, and had their eight J57 engines (in the case of the G), or TF-33s (in the case of the H) replaced with four Rolls Royce RB211 turbofans.

[2] The RAF had contributed six squadrons; 12, 208, 612 (Buccaneer S.2B), 27, 45, and 617 (Tornado GR.4), to ‘Operation HAMMER’, all armed with the Storm Shadow cruise missile.

[3] ‘Magnum’ was used by Buccaneers, and Tornado GR.1Bs to announce the launch of Sea Eagle missiles, but from seeing footage of OIF, it also now seems to be used to announce the launch of Storm Shadow missiles.

0648 hours. 22nd April. Near the Inner German Border.
Lieutenant O’Donnell began to become aware that he was lying on his back, staring strait up at the grey sky, slowly getting lighter as the sun came up.
He moved his limbs experimentally, and discovered that he was not injured.

“I see you’re back with us, Sir.” A familiar voice said.

O’Donnell looked up, and saw Corporal O’Connell standing over him.

“Apparently…so.” O’Donnell said, sitting up slowly.

He looked around, and saw half a dozen other men of his platoon sitting in various positions around him.
To the rear there was the remains of what looked like one of the Javelin posts, the missile launcher lying at a crazy angle.

“Is this it?” O’Donnell asked.
“I’m afraid so, Sir.” O’Connell replied. “They hit us pretty hard.
“I think some of the company made it out, but allot didn’t get the order to pull out.”

Something suddenly crossed O’Donnell’s mind.

“The gas, what about the gas…?”
“False alarm, Sir.
“I checked with detector paper, and a handheld detector as soon as I could.”
“What should we do, Sir?” One of the other members of the platoon asked.
“I don’t think we have much choice.
“We should head west.” O’Donnell said. “Collect everything you can from…the…the…well, you know.”
“I know, Sir.
“Right, lads, you heard the Lieutenant, collect what you can, only take what you can carry.” O’Connell told the other six men.

0730 hours. SHAPE (Forward), south of Mons, Belgium.
The war was barely seven hours old, and General Baker was in another situation meeting.
He was looking at an electronic map table in front of him, which showed the progress of the Soviet advance into West Germany, the areas that had been occupied by Warsaw Pact forces coloured red.

In some places, such as the sector held by I (British) Corps, his forces were holding their ground against the advancing Warsaw Pact forces, while in others where the ground was conducive to the advance, and/or NATO’s force densities were lower, the enemy had made good ground.

This was especially true in the northern part of NORTHAG, where Hamburg was already under threat, while Warsaw Pact forces were already racing northwest towards the Kiel Canal, and long neck of Jutland.

The penetration in CENTAG’s, and SOUTHAG’s sectors, where force densities were greater, and the terrain was less conducive to the advance, the penetration was shallower, but still worrying.

Baker was most concerned by the situation in NORTHAG.
No matter how well some of his troops in the area were holding, COMNORTHAG would soon have to order a general withdrawal to avoid units being outflanked.
Such action in the north might force COMAFCENT to have to pull back CENTAG forces, which would have a ripple effect all the way down the line.

At least ‘NIGHTHAWK’ had bought them some time, even if it had cost a quarter of the attacking force.
COMAAFCE had even said that three of the precious F-117A ‘Nighthawks’, and an F-22 ‘Raptor’ had been lost during the night, though the cause was not yet known.

It would take several more hours to know just how successful the attacks on the Warsaw Pact air defence systems, especially on the advanced SAM systems, and the long wave radars that could apparently detect stealth aircraft (the CIA was sceptical about this claim, though the DGSE was convinced of the fact, NATO’s military intelligence agencies sat on the fence, but had decided that the radars should be targeted if they could be located).

“It’s only going to get worse.” Baker commented.
“Probably, Sir.” His Chief of Staff replied. “Now that it’s light the majority of the Warsaw Pact’s aircraft can be brought into place.
“There’s also the fact that our forward troops will be feeling the superiority of the enemy’s artillery.”
“They do have more tubes, and MRLs than we do, Paul.” General Alexander observed.
“Then we’ll have to use what assets we have more smartly than they do, Tom.
“Our ground radar units should give us something of an advantage. Effective counter-battery work should help to reduce the enemy’s artillery superiority.
“Well, enough of the central region, what of my flanks?”

0731 hours. Outside Lakselv, northern Norway.
Major Robert Williams, the Officer Commanding X Company 45 Commando, 3 Commando Brigade, crouched at the bottom of his Command Post as a regiment of Soviet Multiple Rocket Launchers blasted the forward positions of the commando brigade.

Behind them Lakselv was being blasted to matchwood by Soviet heavy guns, in the belief that it probably contained the headquarters of 3 Commando Brigade, and logistics units (the Soviets were wrong, 3 Commando had sensibly located them elsewhere.

To the north of 3 Commando’s positions, Norwegian border, and territorial forces were doing their best to delay a powerful Soviet thrust.
However, at the same time, Soviet forces had crossed into northern Finland (apparently with the reluctant blessing of the Fins), heading for Lakselv, and the Norwegian coast, in an attempt to cut off the Norwegian forces, currently retreating through Rustefjelbma.

The main portion of the Norwegian army assigned to the defence of Northern Norway, 1st, and 6th Divisions, and Brigade 15 (which made up the Norske korps) and troops from the US 4th MEB, the British 5th Airborne Brigade, and Canadian 5th CAST Brigade were forming a new line in Troms, roughly on the line of Kvænangen/Lyngen and the Finnish border.
The job of the British, and Dutch marines was to hold the road open to allow the Norwegian troops to pull back, and to allow the Home Guard to complete their demolition tasks, whereupon the marines would be pulled out, probably by sea.

The Soviets were determined to cut the road, and had thrown three motor rifle divisions at the brigade, while hitting it with a massive artillery barrage at the same time.
The L777 155mm howitzers of 29 Commando Regiment, Royal Artillery, and the Dutch 120mm Thomson-Brandt mortars, assisted by the British MSTAR battlefield radars, were attempting to both provide fire support for the marines, while also conducting counter-battery fire, but there were just too many targets. [1]

Finally the rocket barrage lifted, as the Soviet MRL regiment had to reload.

Major Williams looked up, and saw the leading Soviet armoured vehicles approaching his company’s positions.
The commando’s 81mm mortars had already opened fire on them, employing BAe ‘Merlin’ anti-tank mortar rounds.
A few Soviet armoured vehicles exploded here, and there as ‘Merlin’ rounds found their targets.

As the Soviet armour closed in the commando’s twenty-four Javelin teams opened fire, destroying twenty Soviet T-80s.
The Soviet tanks returned fire, sending 125mm HEAT rounds into 45 Commando’s positions, fortunately not hitting anything.

Williams picked up the handset of his Bowman radio.

“Hello zero, this is papa zulu two one actual.
“We are under attack by Soviet Tango eight zeros, and Bravo Mike Papa twos in approximately battalion strength. Over.”

A company versus a battalion was not a great prospect.

Williams glanced up again, and saw that the infantry in the BMP-2s had dismounted, and had begun to advance towards the Commandoes.

“Give me the company net.” He told his radioman.
“All stations, this is papa zulu two one, hold your fire until they’re within one thousand meters. Over.”

The Browning gunners of Support Company had already opened fire, cutting down many of the Soviet motor riflemen as they jogged forward.
At the appointed moment the GPMG gunners attached to the rifle companies, and Support Company opened fire, as did the Minimi gunners.
Finally the commandoes armed with LSWs, and SA-80s opened fire with well-aimed single shots.

Almost unnoticed in the carnage of the automatic weapons were the single shots of the commando snipers, equipped with either the 0.338in Long Range Rifle, or the 7.62mm L96, cutting down officers, NCOs, and soldiers armed with heavy weapons.

The first Soviet attack faltered as the motor riflemen were cut to shreds.

They had clearly either expected not to meet much in the way of opposition, or that their artillery had destroyed the British, and Dutch forces opposing them (a similar mistake to that made by Fourth Army on 1st July 1916).
However, Major Williams knew that the next attack would be better planned, and would be made in greater strength.

0732 hours. Dysart, Fife, Scotland.
The sun was just beginning to come up on the little former fishing, and mining village (just along the coast from Kirkcaldy), the onetime home of author John Buchan.
Chief Constable Alistair McIntosh was just finishing his second slice of toast, and raspberry jam when the phone rang.

“McIntosh.”
“Good morning, Sir, I assume you’ve heard that hostilities have begun?” The voice of Assistant Chief Constable Elaine Cramond, who was currently in charge at the force’s H.Q said.
“Yes, it was just on the radio, Elaine, hell of a thing.” McIntosh said, his voice tailing off.
“It certainly is, Sir.
“Anyway, we’ve gotten the word to start ‘ROUND UP’, I thought I’d just give you a call to confirm it.”
“Thanks, Elaine, I appreciate you checking with me.
“You get started with ROUND UP. Have them transported to the divisional headquarters.
“We’re supposed to send them onto Turnhouse, where they become the military’s problem.
“I’ll be in, in about an hour, but don’t wait for me.”
“Right, Sir.
“I’ll let everybody know to get started.
“Sir, if I may say, I’m not entirely comfortable with this operation.” Cramond said, the discomfort clearly audible in her voice.
“I know, Elaine, but that’s what the Emergency Powers Act says, and It’s what the Justice Ministry, and the Home Office wants.
“Remember we did the same during the Second World War.” McIntosh replied, not entirely comfortable with what they were being asked to do either.
“Yes, and they had to let most of them go. The dragnet was also so wide they had out, and out Nazis interned with Jews that had escaped from Germany.” Cramond replied.
“Well, we’ll just have to hope that Five’s intelligence is better this time.”

Once Assistant Chief Constable Cramond had passed on McIntosh’s confirmation, Operation ‘ROUND UP’, which was a nationwide operation, began to swing into operation.
Throughout Fife Constabulary’s policing area police officers began to knock on doors.

“I’m sorry Sir/Madam.” Each officer said to the main occupant of the houses. “But under the Emergency Powers Act you’ll have to come with me.”

Some people came quietly, others protested vocally about the injustice of it all, some threatening to call lawyers, or saying that they ‘knew their rights’ (which didn’t exist anymore under the EPA), a few physically resisted, and had to be handcuffed, and dragged to police vehicles, being charged with assaulting a police officer for good measure.

The government had already placed a ‘DN’ Notice on the detentions, meaning that no TV, or radio stations, or newspapers carried the story that day.
A few Internet news sites carried the story before the government forced the Internet Service Providers to pull the plug on the sites, as did the US government for any ISPs based in America.

0733 hours. Glasgow.
“Graham Galway?” The Police sergeant said as the sleepy occupant of the house opened the door.
“Yes…what is it?” The onetime Member of Parliament for Glasgow, Carthcart, replied.
“I’m afraid you’ll have to come with me then, Sir.” The sergeant replied.
“What?” The former MP said, waking up fully. “What’s the charge?”
“No charge I’m afraid, Sir, but under the Emergency Powers Act I’m afraid you have to come with us.”
“You can’t detain me like this, this is against the law.
“This is an attempt to silence true opposition to the government in its aggressive, and illegal war against the Soviet Union.
“They can’t silence me like this!”

The police sergeant took the one time MP’s, a notorious left-wing firebrand, and opponent of the government’s defence policy, wrists, and placed a pair of handcuffs on them.

“I’m afraid they can, Sir.
“I hope you enjoy the Isle of Man.” The sergeant replied.

Assisted by two other police officers, the sergeant led Galway to a waiting police van, and bundled him into the back.

Northeast of Hanover.
Lieutenant Colonel Stevenson was not happy to be pulling back, after all his battle group had massacred the first Soviet armoured thrust that had come the way of the Royal Scots Dragoon Guards’ battlegroup.
However, although I (Br), and I (GE) Corps had held well, the Dutch corps to their north, and the Belgians to the south had been forced back, and COMNORTHAG, General Sir David Horne, had been forced to order a general withdrawal from the frontier to more defensible terrain.
Controlling his battle group from a moving Sultan ACV was no easy matter, but it was better than being cut off, or worse, dead.

“Any news from Lieutenant Potter’s troop?” Stevenson asked.

Stevenson had assigned Lieutenant Potter’s troop, and a couple of Warriors to act as rearguard, not a particularly safe job, and he was half expecting to hear that he had lost these five vehicles.

“He reports that he’s in a running fight with the reece screen of the enemy. He estimates them as regiment in strength.”
“Good.” Stevenson remarked. “I’m glad he’s still with us.”

Stevenson looked down at the map in front of them.

“We’ll make a stand here, I think.” He said pointing to the map. “Let’s hope our Dutch, and Belgian colleagues can hold better this time.”

RAF Gatow, West Berlin.
Squadron Leader Richard Taggart had been waiting to see the sight he was now confronted with.
It was the way he would have captured an enemy airfield, of course that knowledge meant that he had been able to plan how to defeat such an attempt, or at least slow it down.

The NVA Mi-8 ‘Hip’ troop carrying helicopters carrying the East German Air Assault regiment, and their escorting Mi-24 ‘Hind’ escorts were bearing down on the RAF air station.

Taggart had been very careful in the location that he had set up his Startreak Light Multiple Launchers, so that the enemy would not easily spot them. [2]
He knew that this was going to be a last stand, but whether it was going to be ‘The Alamo’, or ‘Rorke’s Drift’ was a different matter.

“All stations, all stations. Hold your fire until the enemy are well within range.
“Alpha units concentrate on the ‘Hinds.’ Over.”

As the leading East German helicopters came into range, the Startreak gunners opened fire.
Several ‘Hinds’ were swatted out of the sky by the three darts of the Mach 3 missiles within seconds.
The remainder took evasive action, releasing flares, not that this helped them, as the Starstreak was controlled by a SACLOS system, and could not be decoyed in this way.

At almost the same time several GPMGs, and three 12.7mm Brownings fitted on anti-aircraft mounts opened fire on the un-armoured ‘Hip’ troop carriers.
The 7.62mm, and 12.7mm bullets tore through the fuselages of the helicopters, killing, and wounding the occupants, and damaging the aircraft themselves.
Several ‘Hips’ began to belch black smoke, eventually plunging towards the ground, some crashing, others making a heavy landing.

The remaining RAF defenders opened fire on these helicopters, cutting down the survivors.
A few ‘Hips’ did make it through the barrage of small arms fire to land their loads, none of them made it off the ground again, as they took severe damage, and one was blown up by a LAW 80 rocket.

A surviving ‘Hind’ spotted one of the Startreak LMLs, and blanketed the area around the launcher with rocket fire.
Taggart head the screams of the crew, and the men in the nearest foxhole to the LML.

The ‘Hips’ of the second wave, rather sensibly dropped their loads on the edge of the air station, out of range of the Starstreaks, and machine-guns, while the remaining ‘Hinds’ stood off, engaging the RAF defenders with rockets, and ant-tank missiles.
This was what Squadron Leader Taggart had feared.
Once the enemy withdrew beyond the range of his relatively short ranged weapons, there was not much he could do.

The East German troops would be able to advance on his positions, one by one, under the cover of the ‘Hinds’, eliminating them as they went, and there was not a damned thing he could do about it.

*

Major Saunders was feeling something rather similar.

His own little squadron group, made up of a troop of three Challengers, plus his own, and a company of infantry, drawn from the 1st Battalion The Gloucestershire Regiment (specialists in ‘last stands’), had fought their way back from their initial positions in the Tiergarten to their current position in a square containing church that had been preserved as a ruined memorial to the Second World War, and was likely to gain a few more ruins for company in the next few minutes.

The square itself was littered with abandoned civilian vehicles, evidence of a panicked effort by the population of the Western half of the city to escape the fighting, not that they had anywhere to go, since the East Germans had the western sector sealed off.

Major Saunders had something of a sinking feeling as he spotted the leading NVA T-72s advancing down the two streets leading into the square from the east.
He knew that there was no way that he would be able to stop this thrust for any more than a few minutes before he was forced to pull back.

The same story throughout West Berlin, the 10,000 men of the Allied Berlin garrisons were just too outnumbered by the 100,000 men that the East Germans had assigned to carry out ‘Operation Centre’, the capture of West Berlin.

The senior brigade commander, Brigadier, now Acting Major General Mallinson, the commander of the British Brigade had ordered that the Allied garrisons should conduct a fighting withdrawal towards the old Olympic Stadium complex, where the three brigades would concentrate, and try to hold out.

Saunders knew of the plan, and to say that he did not have confidence in it was the understatement of the century, however it was just about all the garrisons could do, apart from surrender without a fight, which was not on the cards.

‘Hummer two-three’, over the Norwegian Sea.
The E-2C ‘Hawkeye’, from the USS Theodore Roosevelt was on patrol to the north of the Striking Fleet Atlantic, keeping an eye out for any hostile aircraft, or surface ships that might be attempting to attack the carrier group.

“Uh, oh.
“Looks like we got something.” One of the crew noted, spotting some fast moving contacts appearing at the top of the screen, moving towards the group.

He thought about it for a second. The appearance of what looked like ‘Backfires’ without any accompanying ‘Bears’, which were usually used to hunt the CVBGs, was rather odd.

“Must have pinpointed us with a RORSAT, or maybe a sub.” The fighter controller suggested, thinking the same thing.
“It doesn’t really matter I suppose, but we’ve got to get the CAP moving.”

USS Anzio.
The Ticonderoga class Aegis cruiser was the senior air defence ship of the Striking Fleet.
As such she was receiving data via the NTDS, and JTIDS systems from other air defence ships in the group, and the E-2 aircraft that were guarding the group.

Captain Jim Austin, USN, the cruiser’s commanding officer, looked at the big screen in the CIC showing the approaching contacts, with some concern.
He too was wondering how the Soviets could have apparently located them without using any Tu-95s; one did not send out several squadrons of Tu-22M ‘Backfires’ on the hope that they might run into a CVBG after all.

“We must have some kind of snooper around, as the RORSATs are not accurate enough to give a location for the ‘Backfires’.” Austin observed.
“Have any of the ASW ships spotted anything?”
“Nada, Skipper.
“Still, that doesn’t mean that there isn’t a sub out there. After all, the Brits got themselves ambushed by a sub a few hours ago, and they’re among the best anti-sub operators in the business.” The Air Warfare Officer observed.
“Makes me damned uncomfortable, though.” Austin replied.

‘Jolly-1’, over the Norwegian Sea.
“Roger that, Hummer two-three.” Commander Harris Baker, the CO of VF-84, the ‘Jolly Rodgers, replied. “All ‘Jolly’ aircraft form on me.

Baker was leading a flight of four F-14D ‘Tomcats’, which had been part of the Striking Fleet’s Combat Air Patrol. Each Tomcat was armed with four AIM-54D ‘Phoenix’ missiles, two AIM-120Cs, a pair of AIM-9X ‘Sidewinders’, and a full load of ammunition for their 20mm Vulcan cannons.

“Should be in range in a few minutes, Skipper.” Baker’s Radar Intercept Officer, or RIO, reported.
“Right.”

Baker moved the throttle forward on hearing this, pushing the pair of big F110 engines up to full military power on hearing this, intending to close the gap more quickly.

“All Jolly aircraft go to full combat power. Over.” He told the rest of the flight.

Commander Baker was very aware of the fact that the Combat Air Patrol was now in a race between themselves, and the Soviet ‘Backfires’ to see who got into missile range first.

USS Theodore Roosevelt.
Captain John Henderson, USN, paused on the bridge of his carrier for a moment to watch a pair of F/A-18E ‘Super Hornets’ of VFA-87, the ‘Golden Warriors’ launch from the forward catapults, before going below to the CIC, from where he would fight his ship.

The two fighters roared away from the carrier, on full afterburner, clawing for height.
The AMRAAM armed ‘Super Hornets’ would provide a backstop to the ‘Tomcats’, catching any ‘Backfire’s that leaked through, or if necessary, engaging their missiles, not an easy task, even with the advanced APG-73 radar/AIM-120 missile combination.

Henderson arrived in the CIC just in time to hear the first engagement calls of the ‘Tomcats’.

The Battle of Iceland, the first between aircraft carriers, and missile firing aircraft, was underway.
The next few minutes would show whether the United States Navy, or the Soviet Naval Air Force had been right about carrier combat.

***

[1] 29 Commando Regiment, RA, was formed of the following batteries: Gun batteries: 7 (Sphinx) Cdo Battery, 8 (Alma) Cdo Battery, 79 (Kirkee) Cdo Battery, and 289 Cdo Battery (V), each equipped with six 155mm Light Field Howitzers.
Other batteries: 23 (Gibraltar 1779-83) Cdo HQ Battery, 148 (Meiktila) Cdo Forward Observation Battery.

[2] The Light Multiple Launcher (a concept started with the Javelin missile) was a launcher unit on a tripod fitted with three Starstreak missiles.

0740 hours. 22nd April. Pembroke Dock, Dyfed, Wales.
Captain Bernard Robbins, RN, hurried down from his office, where he and his staff administered the 12th Mine Countermeasures Squadron (H) to where his MCM vessels were moored.
He could see six of his ships, HMSs Black Swan, Erne, Amethyst, Snipe, Sparrow, and Whimbrel, all tied up alongside each other.

The Black Swan class mine countermeasures vessels were unique in the world, only the American MH-53E ‘Sea Stallions’ were faster, and they were far less effective in their job than the vessels of the 12th MCM Squadron (H), and more expensive to operate.
The Black Swans, which were based on the British Hovercraft Corporation SRN-4, which had been used as a cross-Channel car ferry (which had since been replaced by high speed catamarans), the main difference being that the thirsty Proteus gas turbines, which were first generation turbo-props, had been replaced with more modern fuel efficient engines. [1].

The first hovercraft used by the 12th MCM Squadron had in fact been second-hand SRN-4s, purchased at a knockdown price from Hoverspeed, the cross-Channel operator that had used them.

The formation of the MCM (H) unit with these old craft in the mid 1990s had provoked some debate within the Royal Navy, revolving around the age old hovercraft question of whether they were high speed ships, or low flying aircraft.
If the later, they would merely be given aircraft type serials rather than names (not something too popular with the crews), if the former, then they would need some suitable warship names.

The clincher had come when the Air Branch had said that they were not willing to have such large craft classified as aircraft (which would have also meant that they would have been funded out of the Fleet Air Arm’s budget), and the navy had decided, quite sensibly, that since they were MCM craft, it was better to classify them as ships, albeit very fast ones (the SRN-4s had a transit speed of 60-70 knots depending on sea state).

The first four ex-Hoverspeed craft, which had been used to work out tactics, had been named Stork, Egret, Bittern, and Pelican, after World War Two sloops, a tradition that had been carried over to the purpose built craft. [2]

The hovercraft had proved highly adept at the MCM role, being capable of carrying all of the same equipment as the Hunt class, while having faster transit times, and being less vulnerable to blast, as trials in the ‘70s had shown (the old SRN-3 had withstood seven charges of 1100lb charges exploded closer, and closer, until the last had gone off just clear of the skirt, causing little damage).

In their operating mode the Black Swans could employ the same Type 193M sonar as the Hunts, but more normally used twin side scan sonars to locate mines.
The craft also used the twin side sonars in the so-called ‘route surveillance’ role, checking to see that unusual objects (i.e. mines) had not appeared in important shipping lanes.

The hovercraft of the 12th MCM Squadron had become quite a common sight in the Irish and North Seas, and in the Channel, often scanning the seabed to build up a picture of the bottom, so that it could be compared to later scans.

The older ex-Hoverspeed craft used for the trials, had been retained, but placed in reserve at Faslane (although at least one was always in use at the base as a general ‘run-around’ between the Clyde, and Northern Ireland).

Although the squadron was based at Pembroke Dock (possibly the remotest of the navy’s facilities, evidently there were those who did not appreciate the rather loud presence of the hovercraft), and could avail themselves of the maintenance facilities there, the hovercraft could operate from any convenient beach (as Hoverspeed had done with its service in the Channel), and detachments of the squadron were doing so in a number of different locations on both the east, and west coasts of Britain, using containerised maintenance facilities.

Moored alongside the fast Black Swan class vessels, were a few of the more pedestrian Sandown, and River class ships from the 10th, and 11th MCM Squadrons, RNR, who were tasked with keeping the ports of Milford Haven, Pembroke Dock, Fishguard, and Swansea open, and free of mines.

The reason that Captain Robbins was hurrying down to the dock from his H.Q was that a report had just come in that several ships, including an Irish patrol vessel, and the Fishguard to Rosslare ferry, had been sunk by mines off the coast of Ireland with heavy loss of life.
The Irish Naval Service had no mine countermeasures vessels, which meant that the Irish ports were closed for the moment (the majority of the Irish navy were also bottled up).

To say that the Irish government was less than pleased that the Soviet Union had apparently mined its territorial waters was something of an understatement.
A rather angry diplomatic note, suggesting that the Irish considered this to be an act of war, was currently winging its way from Dublin to Moscow.

The Irish had also sent a request for assistance to Britain, asking for help in clearing the ports.
The vessels that could respond the quickest were the hovercraft of the 12th MCM Squadron.

Waiting for Robbins on the dockside were the six captains of the hovercraft still in port.

“Good morning, ladies, and gentlemen.” Robbins said. “By now I’m sure you’ve heard the news from the other side of the Irish Sea.”

The captain’s nodded in agreement, as Robbins paused for a moment.

“I need you to fire up your craft, and get yourselves over to the other side of the Irish Sea as fast as you can.
“Here are your assignments.” Robbins continued, handing out folders to each captain.
“Are there any questions?”

The assembled officers shook their heads.

“Right, well get to it.
“This is our first real assignment, and I want you all to do the squadron proud.”

‘Jolly-1’, over the Norwegian Sea.
“Light ‘em up, Jollies.” Commander Baker ordered his flight.

Baker’s RIO energised the Tomcat’s APG-71 radar, using its Low Probability of Intercept mode first to get a lock on.
The radar scanned the available targets, prioritising them, and locking on to a particular ‘Backfire’.

There were now only a few minutes until the Tu-22Ms were within missile range of the carrier battlegroup.
It was now, or never.

“Fox Four.” Baker said, launching his first AIM-54.

The missile dropped away from the F-14D’s belly, and boosted away into the stratosphere on a pillar of white smoke, as it accelerated up to Mach 5.

“Fox Four.” Baker repeated, as he launched his second missile.

The other Tomcats of VF-84 also started to engage the incoming ‘Backfires’.
Several dozen ‘Phoenix’ missiles were now speeding towards the Soviet bomber formation.
Unfortunately the leading ‘Backfires’ had come into range of their AS-4 ‘Kitchen’ missiles, and began to fire.

The race between the Tomcats, and the ‘Backfires’ had proven to be a draw.

‘Hummer two-three’, over the Norwegian Sea.
“Damn it, they’ve launched!” The fighter controller said, in some frustration.
“This is Hummer two-three, Vampire, Vampire, Vampire!
“Missiles in the air.” The other crewman warned the group. “All Hotel aircraft engage Vampires.”

The crewman looked back to the radar display, and watched two sets of symbols, representing the ‘Phoenix’ missiles of the Tomcats, heading towards the ‘Backfires’, and the ‘Kitchen’ missiles of the Tu-22Ms heading towards the three American carriers, and their escorts.

USS Anzio.
“Vampire!
“Vampire!
“Vampire!”
The call echoed around the CIC.

Captain Austin watched as the angry red missile symbols began to appear on big screen.

“Signal ‘Weapons free’ to all air defence ships.” Austin ordered. “And set the system to auto.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.”

USS Winston S. Churchill.
The Flight III ‘Arleigh Burke’ class destroyers was one of the forward deployed air defence pickets for the carrier battlegroup.
As both the later stages of the Pacific Campaign, and the Falklands War had demonstrated, the job of the picket ship was a highly dangerous one, even for an advanced ‘Burke class destroyer equipped with Aegis.

“Signal from the Anzio, Sir.
“ ‘Weapons free.’”
“Right.
“Set the Aegis system to full auto.” Captain Duncan Stockwell, USN, the Churchill’s captain ordered.

The NTDS link allowed the Aegis, and NTU equipped ships to effectively act as one unit, allocating ships to particular targets.
Churchill’s computer sorted through the targets, communicating back and forth with the other ships, making the decision as to which targets to engage.

For the moment the Soviet missiles were beyond the range of the SM-2 equipped ships, and besides the F/A-18Es were manoeuvring to engage the incoming ASMs with their AMRAAMs, and it would not do to shoot them down by accident.
So the warships waited.

0744 hours. Lakselv, Norway.
“Keep moving, keep moving!
“You don’t want those Russkies to get you, do you?” The RSM of 45 Commando yelled to the heavily loaded marines, as they moved back through the matchwood remains of the town.

Around them men from the Norwegian Home Guard were setting fire to any buildings that were even half intact.
Major Williams watched with some dismay as one of them threw a white phosphorous grenade into the church, setting off diesel that had been poured over the floor.

The diesel went up with a loud ‘whumph’.

Williams shook his head, wearily. It seemed wrong to be destroying the very country that they were supposed to be defending.
Off in the distance thick black smoke could be seen rising from the town’s airport, as thousands of litres of aviation fuel were put to the torch.

“You don’t look too happy, Bob.” Lieutenant Colonel Edward Winchester, the CO of 45 Commando said.
“I can’t say I’m happy about destroying the country that we’re supposed to be defending, Sir.” Williams replied.
“I understand, Bob, but it’s their policy.” Winchester replied.
“Our job now is just to get the hell out of town, and get to the pick up point.
“What Norwegian troops made it back from the border have passed through our rear, so we haven’t got anything left to do.”

Both officers looked up as they heard the clatter of helicopter rotors, seeing Royal Navy Sea King HC.4s, and Lynx AH.7s, of 847 NAS, supported by a few RAF Chinook HC.2s, approaching from the coast.

“Right, let’s move.” Winchester said to his company commanders. “Those cabs won’t wait.”

The helicopters put down on the main road leading out of Lakselv, and began the process of lifting the lighter parts of 3rd Commando Brigade, while the heavier parts of the brigade, such as the artillery, the Logistics Regiment, and the attached squadron of Scimitar based vehicles of The Blues and Royals, continued onto the coast to be picked up by LCU, and LCVP to be ferried out to the waiting amphibious ships off the coast.

Off the coast the Royal Navy, and the Dutch had assembled the majority of their amphibious forces; the Royal Navy had contributed the LPHs, Ocean, and Glory, the LPDs Albion, and Bulwark, the LSD(A)s Largs Bay, Lyme Bay, Mounts Bay, and the LSLs Sir Galahad, Sir Bedivere, and Sir Tristram, while the Dutch had contributed their two Rotterdam class landing ships.

The three ‘Round Table’ class Landing Ship Logistics had moved close in shore so that they could load heavy equipment directly, a dangerous manoeuvre, but one that was felt to be necessary in the circumstances.
Protecting them were three Norwegian frigates, the Leif Larsen, Birger Erichsen, and the older Narvik. [3]

Protecting the main force was a strong group of British, Dutch, and Norwegian warships, which included three Type 45 class destroyers and a Type 46 class cruiser, HMS Royalist, and a couple of the new Dutch De Zeven Provincien class air defence destroyers.
The ASW striking force had also moved closer in shore, so that its Sea Harriers could assist the land based fighters in protecting the amphibious ships.

Major Williams threw his bergen into the cabin of one of the Sea Kings, and clambered aboard.
As the helicopter climbed away from Lakselv Williams spotted a road bridge in the distance being blown up.

The Norwegians were determined not to leave any structure, or piece of infrastructure intact for the Soviets to capture.
It was a pretty harsh tactic, but the Norwegians were playing to win.

Over the Norwegian Sea.
Commander Larry Chadwick, USN, the C.O of VFA-87, the ‘Golden Warriors’, hauled his F/A-18E ‘Super Hornet’ round in a tight turn, as he attempted to convert onto a flight of Soviet AS-4 ‘Kitchen’ missiles.

The ‘Kitchen’ was a big missile, but flew at high speed, making it a very difficult target to intercept.
Chadwick had his Hornet flying at full afterburner, just to be able to get into a good position to launch his AMRAAMs.

“Fox One.” Chadwick said, firing his first AIM-120C-5.

His first AMRAAM shot off the rail, seeking its target.
Chadwick knew he was facing a critical situation, and had no hesitation in firing off his remaining AIM-120s.
Out of weapons that could employ against the AS-4s; the AIM-9Xs were too slow to catch the ‘Kitchens’, while it was clearly impossible to use the 20mm Vulcan cannon, Chadwick turned his aircraft away to allow the other F/A-18Es to get a clear shot.

*

To the north the second squadron of ‘Backfires’ had also begun to launch their missiles, but these aircraft were carrying the more modern AS-16 ‘Kickback’ missiles, an even more dangerous, and even faster weapon, that could not be shot down by either AIM-54D, or AIM-120C-5.
Moreover more of these missiles could be carried by individual Tu-22Ms, on an internal rotary launcher.

The Carrier battlegroup got lucky this time, as the arrival of the Tomcat’s first salvo of Phoenix missiles cut off the launches of more of these weapons.

However, things were about to get much worse before they got better.

USS Anzio.
The angry red symbols were marching rapidly across the radar screens, advancing on the carrier group.
Suddenly, as Captain Austin watched, a fresh set of radar contacts appeared on the right flank of the CVBG, and began to move towards them.

“Hell, those look like ‘Shipwreck’ missiles from an ‘Oscar’ class, sub.” Austin observed. “That must have been what was guiding those bombers in.
“That’s all we need now.”

Austin did a quick count of the new contacts, now also shown as red missile symbols, and his blood ran cold, there were more than twenty four, the maximum number of missiles an ‘Oscar’ class SSGN carried.

“***, there’s more than one of them out there!”

USS Theodore Roosevelt.
Vice Admiral Clancy was thinking much the same thing, as he too watched the missile symbols rapidly approaching his ships.
What most vexed him was the fact that the Soviets had struck just a couple of hours before the Truman, and Enterprise were due to have rendezvoused with the main group, which would have greatly strengthened it.

“We’re going to have some trouble stopping those ‘Kickbacks’, Sir.” His Chief of Staff, Captain Turner, said.
“I know, Mike.
“Only the Aegis ships armed with SM-3s, and the latest model SM-2s have any real hope of shooting them down, and we don’t have as many SM-3 equipped ships as I’d like.
“The Truman/Enterprise group would have brought us some more such equipped ships.”
“Sir, we’ve got more missiles coming in from the eastern flank.
“Look like ‘Shipwrecks’.”

Clancy crossed to the radar repeater screen.

“Damn it!
“That’s the last thing we need right now, and it looks like there’s more than one of those damned ‘Oscars’ out there.
“Get the nearest ‘Hoovers’, and Seahawks over there in case there are any more, and watch the other flanks.” Clancy ordered.

0745 hours. Pembroke Dock, Wales.
The six Black Swan MCM (H) now had their gas turbines up, and running, making an almighty din that could be heard all the way to the south bank of the river Severn.

Leading her sisters out of Pembroke Dock, HMS Black Swan began to rapidly accelerate.
Captain Robbins proudly watched from the dockside as his ships began to move down the channel.

‘BOOM!’

Robbins ducked involuntarily at the enormous blast.
A huge column of water, and spray had blocked out the view of Black Swan, while the next hovercraft in line, Amethyst, was taking rapid evasive action to avoid the waterspout that appeared ahead of her.

“Christ!” Robbins exclaimed. “The Soviets must have managed to plant time delayed mines in the shipping channel.”

Reassuringly, Black Swan, who had set off an acoustic mine, emerged apparently unscathed (apart from the fact that her crew now had ringing ears, and probably needed a change of underwear) on the other side of the now receding column of water, still accelerating.
If anybody had need an operational demonstration of the hovercraft’s relative invulnerability to mines, Black Swan had just given them one.

The six MCM (H) of the 12th MCM Squadron had no time to deal with the apparent mine threat to Pembroke Dock, and Milford Haven, such was the urgency of the tasking on the other side of the Irish Sea, and besides there were plenty Sandown, and River class ships on hand which were very suited to this task.
Even as Robbins watched, the first of these vessels were moving to sweep the shipping channel.

Satisfied that his ships had gotten safely away, Captain Robbins turned away, and began to walk back to his office, a portacabin, intending to try and find out how the enemy could have planted mines off an MCM base.

Outside St. Michaels, Fife, Scotland.
Squadron Leader Neil Cox, RAF Regiment, the Officer Commanding B Flight, No.27 Squadron, RAF Regiment, wolfed down the last of his bacon, and egg ‘banjo’, and finished his morning cup of coffee equally quickly.
Fortified by his quickly snatched breakfast, he left the command trailer to begin his rounds.

27 Squadron was one of the RAF Regiment’s air defence squadrons, and was thus equipped with the latest Rapier Field Standard C, with Darkfire radars.
The squadron’s task was the Short Range Air Defence of RAF Leuchars, and to be more effective at this had moved off station a couple of days ago.

B Flight had set itself up in a couple of large fields by Craigie Farm, just outside the tine village of St. Michaels (little more than half a dozen houses, a pub, and a B & B), which offered good fields of fire, while the nearby Craigie Woods offered good concealment for support vehicles.
The good access road to the site, which helpfully ran by the back gate to RAF Leuchars, and the ready source of hot water from the farm, made this a very attractive site for the ‘Rock Apes.’
Even the equine residents of the livery yard at the farm seemed happy with the new arrivals, being the recipients of many a titbit from an RAF Regiment gunner (by the time B Flight left many of the owners discovered that their horses had put on weight).

Squadron Leader Cox inspected each of the four fire control units in turn, being satisfied with what he found.
All of the launchers were in working condition, as was the Darkfire radar set, which, for the moment was turned off (there was no need to give their location away to any Soviet electronic snoopers).

While Cox was satisfied with the readiness of his flight, he could sense that the men, and women under his command were getting rather bored, and restless.
They had been out here for a couple of days now, and even after the outbreak of hostilities, we seeing no action (so far all of the engagements by 11 Group had taken place out over the North Sea).
He was quite certain, however, that very soon this would all change.

Cox, and the RAF Regiment gunners would not have long to wait.

Somewhere west of the IGB, West Germany.
Lieutenant O’Donnell, and the survivors of his platoon were hiding in a hedge by the edge of a single lane road.
They had no real idea of where they were, but were following a compass bearing west, hoping to link up with other NATO forces.

As they lay in the hedge numerous Warsaw Pact support vehicles passed them, heading for the front.
To the satisfaction of the Irish Rangers, heading in the opposite direction were a number of what looked like overloaded ambulances.

“The rest of the boys must be giving them hell, by the looks of things.” One ranger whispered.
“Shh.” O’Donnell cautioned.

He was right to be cautious, they were quite near a road junction, where there were six traffic directors, all armed, and equipped with a radio.
If they heard the Irish infantrymen, they could have a platoon of soldiers here double quick.

A plan began to form in O’Donnell’s head.
He caught the attention of Corporal McCool; he nodded towards the traffic directors.
He patted his bayonet, and made a cutting motion across his throat.

‘As soon as it gets dark.’ He mouthed to the NCO.

McCool nodded in agreement.

Taking out the traffic directors would make it easier for them to get across the road, and it would be a blow against the Soviets, as without their presence to guide vehicles to their destinations, it was quite likely that convoys would get lost.
Such was the consequence of making military maps secret documents.

***

[1] Even with the relatively thirsty Proteus, an unmodified SRN-4 in the MCM role would have had an endurance of about 24 hours.
The RN version, with more modern engines, bigger propellers, overload fuel etc, would have had an endurance of at least 60 hours.
D.K Brown discusses the benefits of the MCM (H) at length in both ‘The Future British Surface Fleet’ (pp.153-157), and in ‘Rebuilding the Royal Navy’ (pp. 140-141).
Brown says that it is one of his major professional regrets that the RN does not have an MCM hovercraft unit (Brown, Rebuilding the Royal Navy, London 2003, p.141).

[2] Being based on an existing, proven, and reliable design, the Black Swans had been one of the most cost effective procurement exercises ever undertaken by the navy, although somebody in Whitehall had nearly ruined it all by attempting to adding lots of expensive ‘bells, and whistles’ to the design.
The same thing had happened with the basic Utility Mine Hunter design (another one created by D.K Brown). Whitehall had added so many extras to the basic ‘cheap’ design until it became the rather expensive Sandown class mine hunters.
Fortunately the navy had managed to prevent this from happening with the Black Swan class.

[3] The first two mentioned frigates are vessels of the new F85 class (with alternative names as suggested by Pengolodh), while the last is a member of the old Oslo class.
Without an end to the Cold War, these ships carry all the systems that in ‘The Real World’ they are only ‘fitted for’.

How about: "The long and short stories of 'The Last War' by Jan Niemczyk and others." Short, sweet and to the point.

Sounds good to me.

0745 hours 22nd Kirkenes, northern Norway.
General Ignatiev, the Commander of the Northwest Front, wandered through the wreckage of what had been Kirkenes.
Despite all of the artillery fire, and air attacks that had been directed against the Norwegian defenders, the level of destruction surprised him.

“There weren’t too many of them, Comrade General.” Lieutenant General Yuri Koniev, the commander of Sixth Army, told him. “But they fought well.
“They destroyed anything that survived the artillery, and air attacks themselves, something we’ve encountered throughout our advance.”
“That would explain things.” Ignatiev replied.

The two Soviet officers passed a group of dead bodies covered up by green tarpaulins.
Ignatiev paused, and lifted one of the tarpaulins.
Underneath he found the body of a Norwegian Border Ranger, who had been killed by artillery fragments. His C7 rifle, minus its magazine, lay on the groundsheet next to the body.

The Norwegian soldier might have been an enemy, but General Ignatiev felt some sympathy for him. Both he and the man lying in front of him were soldiers pitted against each other by politics, and politicians.
Ignatiev might have been a senior Soviet officer but he did not pretend to understand all of the complex issues that had sent NATO, and the Warsaw Pact to war with each other.
Still, he had a job to do, and standing about here was not going to get it done.

He replaced the tarpaulin, and walked on.

“How is our advance going?” He asked his Koniev.
“Quite well, Comrade General. We’re not facing much opposition from the Norwegians in Finmark. What forces we have encountered are retreating, however they are destroying every building, bridge, and every other piece of infrastructure behind them, which is slowing our advance somewhat.
“The advance out of Finish Lapland has not gone through well.
“Our forces there ran into what we believe to be the UK-Netherlands Amphibious Force outside Lakselv, and received a bloody nose.
“The commander in that sector is reorganising for another attack, but reconnaissance suggests that the British, and Dutch are being evacuated by their amphibious ships.”
“I take it our Comrades in Naval Aviation will attack this force of ships?”
“I believe their aircraft are rather busy with that American carrier battlegroup to the north of Iceland, Comrade General.
“Our Comrades in Frontal Aviation will attempt to destroy the Anglo-Dutch group with their Su-24s, and 34s.”

Ignatiev was not entirely convinced by this answer. He knew that the Su-24s, and Su-34s could carry the highly effective Kh-35 Anti-Ship Missile, but that the Frontal Aviation squadrons did not train as much as perhaps they should in the necessary operational profile.
On the other hand, he knew that NATO navies trained a great deal in how to defend themselves from such an attack.

“‘Attempt’ is the operative word I think, Yuri.
“No matter, destroying the British, and Dutch marines is not central to our strategy, and besides, while they are at sea they will not be available to my opponent, Commander, North Norway.
“By the time they have been redeployed south, we will be through the enemy’s defence line in Troms.” Ignatiev said confidently.

USS Wisconsin, 200 miles southwest of Iceland.
The sixty-one year old dreadnought sliced her way through the North Atlantic swell at 20 knots, heading for the G-I-UK gap, and the Norwegian coast.
Protecting her were the cruisers Bunker Hill, and Normandy, the destroyers Stout, Scott, and Fife, and the new frigate McCloy, the first of a new class of Aegis equipped frigates, similar to the F85, and F100 ships used by Spain, and Norway, and a few other NATO navies, intended to be a replacement for the ageing Oliver Hazard Perry class.
A Norwegian frigate, the Martin Linge, was due to meet them in the gap, and act as a guide to the coast.

Captain Craig Flack, USN, stood on the compass platform of his ship, scanning the horizon with a pair of binoculars.
Flack was immensely proud of his ship, old as she was (though she was the ‘baby’ of the Iowa family, and was referred to as such by the other three battleship’s companies), and had fiercely defended her against any accusations that she was obsolete, pointing out that the air force still used the B-52, a design not that much younger than the Iowas.

SAG 2.0’s tasking was to support NATO troops in Norway, and to act as defence against any Soviet surface force that might slip past the Strike Fleet Atlantic, and launch an amphibious attack on the Norwegian coast.

“A signal for the admiral has just come in, Sir.” Flack’s yeoman said.
“Let’s have a look.” Flack replied.

He took the message flimsy.
The bridge crew saw the growing look of concern as he read the message.

“Right, take it down to him.” Flack told the yeoman.

*

“Darn it.” Rear Admiral Sassaman said, after reading the signal.
“If only we’d left Norfolk a few hours earlier, we could have been in a position to support the carriers.
“Our Aegis equipped escorts could have made their task easier.
“Yeoman.”
“Sir?”
“I want to send a signal to Vice Admiral Clancy, offering him any support that this group can give him.” Sassaman told him.
“Aye, Sir.”
“Any news of the Martin Linge yet?” The admiral asked.
“She’s working a sub-surface contact with a Dutch Orion off the Icelandic coast at the moment, Sir.” His Chief of Staff reported.
“Well, once we’re in range, we can give her some assistance.” Sassaman replied. “And keep me posted on the situation with the Strike Fleet.”

‘Seafire One-One’, over the Norwegian Sea.
Lieutenant Commander James Short, RN, CO, 801 Naval Air Squadron, and his wingman, Lieutenant Ian Richardson, RN (Seafire Two-One), were one of three pairs of Sea Harrier F/A.2s providing low level CAP to the ships evacuating the UK-NL Amphibious Force (the other pairs were Vixen One-One, and Two-One, another pair of 801 NAS Sea Jets, and Satan One-One, and Two-One, a pair from 800 NAS). [1]

High-level CAP was being provided by two RAF Typhoons, and four RNorAF F-16s (rather to the chagrin of the navy pilots, who did not like to have to depend on ‘Crabs’ to help them defend their own ships).

“Tanker’s coming up, Boss.” Richardson reported.
“Roger, Two-One.
“I’ve got him in sight.” Short replied.

For many years the Royal Navy’s Air Branch had felt the want of not having its own tanker capability, which it had lost with the retirement of the Buccaneer, which could be equipped with a so called ‘buddy’ refuelling system.
Then somebody had come up with a possible solution, realising that the Harrier T.8s used for pilot conversions, and training, could carry a ‘buddy’ refuelling pod.

Fitting them with three 190-gallon drop-tanks, and the ‘buddy’ refuelling pod, the T.8s could function as a serviceable tanker, and at least two were assigned in wartime to each of the Invincible class carriers.
Sadly, the fact that they were too long to fit on the CVS’ lifts meant that they had to live on the flight deck, which could make maintenance difficult.
However, the Royal Navy was willing to put up with this inconvenience to gain the new capability.

Short pulled in behind the Harrier T.8, being flown by an instructor from 899 NAS, rather wishing that the trainer aircraft was not still pained in its gloss black colour scheme (including the ‘Winged Fist’ insignia of 899 NAS on the tail), linking up with the trailing refuelling drogue.
It didn’t take long for him to fill up his tanks, and he pulled back to allow Richardson to take his turn.

Using the tanker rather than relying on drop tanks allowed each Sea Harrier to carry a weapon load of four AMRAAMs, two ASRAAMs, and a pair of 30mm Aden cannons. [2]

No sooner had Richardson pulled away from the tanker when the NATO ‘Sentry’ flying over Narvik contacted all of the aircraft over the radio.

“All CAP, this is ‘Sentry Three-Three’.” The voice of the Fighter Controller said. “We have bandits approaching you from the northeast.”

All of the defending fighters were equipped with JTIDS, so all the pilots had to do was to look down at their own radar displays.
Short looked down at the CRT display that would normally show data from the aircraft’s Blue Vixen radar (which was shut down at the moment), and saw the bandits appearing at the top of the screen.

*

Wing Commander Macalister turned his Typhoon up threat, and energised the aircraft’s CAPTOR radar.
The Typhoon’s computer sorted through the contacts, and picked out those it believed to be a priority.
Macalister was happy with the computer’s choices (it was generally, but not always, right), and began to engage.

“Fox One!”

*

The Soviets had sent two groups of aircraft to attack the group of NATO warships.
One group, the larger one, armed with Kh-35 Anti-Ship Missiles, was targeted at the warships, and amphibious ships out to sea, the second was armed with Laser Guided Bombs, and was assigned to attack the five ships that had come inshore, and the troops, and equipment that were being loaded inshore.

The groups of aircraft diverged, as the one carrying the anti-ship missiles needed to be out over the Norwegian Sea, before they launched, as the Kh-35, like most anti-ship missiles did not like attacking targets that were against land clutter.

The second bomb armed group swept in low through the valleys hoping to avoid detection.
They almost made it through before two of the Norwegian F-16s fell on them, downing several of the group with ‘Slammers’, and Sidewinders before pulling away to allow Short, and Richardson’s Sea Harriers a chance to intercept.

*

“Fox One!” Short reported as he fired his first AMRAAM.
“Fox One!” Richardson said a moment later.

Both pilots had no hesitation in firing off their entire loads of four AMRAAMs, while closing in to launch their two ASRAAMs, there were, after all, fellow sailors depending on them.

RFA Sir Tristram, Porsangen.
Captain Sam Duncan, RFA, stood on the bridge of the LSL as he rather nervously waited to see whether any of the attacking Soviet aircraft would make it through to the fjord in which his ship was currently slowly manoeuvring.
When she had been brought out of reserve, Sir Tristram had been fitted with whatever defensive armament was available, in this case three 40mm Bofors guns. Duncan was actually pleased that his ship was armed with these rather larger weapons than the 20mm guns that had latterly been fitted to the Landing Ship Logistics fleet.

In addition to the 40mm guns there were some marines from the Air Defence Troop, armed with Starstreak missiles, positioned on the deck.
A few of their colleagues, with Light Multiple Launchers, were positioned on either side of the fjord.

Forward, on Sir Tristram’s deck were eight L777 howitzers from 29 Commando Regiment, RA.
Duncan also knew that his ship was carrying a fair quantity of 155mm ammunition, as well as some combat loaded Scimitars of The Blues and Royals, not a load one would want to get hit while carrying.

‘If the old girl could speak, no doubt she’d be saying “not again”’. Duncan thought.

“Hey, look at that!” One of the lookouts yelled.

The Norwegian frigates Leif Larsen, and Birger Erichsen had started firing ESSMs at some unseen targets, which meant that the enemy aircraft were close.

“Keep on your toes everybody, it shouldn’t be long now.” Duncan told the bridge crew.

*

Out to sea the attack on the amphibious ships was not going well.
The attentions of the Typhoons, Falcons, and Sea Harriers, had seriously disrupted, and depleted the formation.
In the end it was a rather ragged salvo of Kh-35s that was fired at the group.

HMS Royalist, the two Type 45s, and the two Dutch De Zeven Provincien class destroyers handled the threat fairly easily, shooting down all of the missiles with ‘Garfish’, and SM-2 missiles.

However the ships inshore still faced the threat from the approaching LGB armed aircraft.

USS Winston S. Churchill.
The threat to the Strike Fleet Atlantic was far greater than to the UK-NL Amphibious force.
Although the group had more air defence ships, they had to deal with far more, and faster.

There was at least one consolation for the ships, eight USAF F-15C Eagles of the 57th FIS from NAS Keflavik had joined the defence of the fleet, shooting down several ‘Backfires’, and bringing down some of the AS-4 ‘Kitchen’ missiles with their AMRAAM missiles.
Also assisting in the defence were three EA-6B Prowlers (one each from VAQ-141, VAQ-140, and VAQ-130), which were trying to jam the radars of the incoming missiles, though this was no easy task with all the targets they faced

However, despite the attentions of both the interceptors, and the jammers, there were still a great number of AS-16 ‘Kickback’ missiles speeding towards the carrier group.
The first missiles had just begun to come into range of Churchill’s SM-2s, and the Aegis system began to engage.

The destroyer rocked as the missiles erupted out of her Vertical Launch Systems on pillars of smoke, and flames.

Captain Stockwell watched anxiously as the engagement began, he could see it was going to be a close run thing, especially with the ‘Shipwreck’ missiles closing in from the right flank, at least those missiles were somewhat slower than the ‘Kickbacks’.

The last thing the group would need now would be any more missiles fired at it.

USS Seawolf.
Commander Paul Black, USN, was hunched over the plot as his submarine closed in on its target, another Soviet ‘Oscar’ class submarines.

Seawolf was one of five SSNs that were escorting the Strike Fleet, the others being Hampton, Toledo, Tucson, and Columbia.
Immediately after the engagement questions would be asked about how two ‘Oscars’ had been able to penetrate what should have been a formidable submarine screen, but no one could ever come up with a satisfactory answer, apart from suggesting that the two Soviet submarines had been lucky.

“Target’s coming up to launch depth.” Sonar reported.
“Do we have a good solution?” Black asked.
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good.
“Flood tubes one, and three, and fire.” He ordered.

Seawolf fired a pair of Mk.48 ADCAP torpedoes at the ‘Oscar’, which had no time to take any countermeasures, as it was preparing to launch its ‘Shipwreck’ missiles.’

‘WHANG!
‘WHANG!’

The two explosions of both torpedoes reverberated through the Seawolf’s hull, making it quite clear that they had hit their intended target.

“Con, sonar.
“We’re picking up hull break up noises.
“Scratch one ‘Oscar’.”

The crewmen in the control room looked rather pleased with this news, as it marked the submarine’s first ‘kill’ of the war.

“Sonar, con.
“Keep your ears open, there are probably other Soviet subs out there.” Black replied.
“Well done everybody.” He complemented the crew.
“We’re not finished yet, though.”

Over the North Sea.
Shortly after taking off from RAF Leuchars, Wing Commander Foster, and his wingman had been directed to intercept a flight of six Su-24 ‘Fencers’ racing across the North Sea at low level.

The Soviets were throwing both Tu-22M ‘Backfires’ armed with cruise missiles, from the Leningrad Military District, and Su-24 ‘Fencers’ armed with smaller stand-off missiles, forward based in East Germany, in the hope of overwhelming 11 Group.

Realising the threat that he was facing, Air Vice Marshal Hazel had launched more, and more of his fighters, calling in most of his reserves.

“Got them on the radar, Skipper.” Squadron Leader Wilkinson said from the rear cockpit.
“Good.
“It’ll not be long until they cross the coast, George.” Foster replied.

As the Tornados closed in Wilkinson energised the aircraft’s AI-24 ‘Foxhunter’ radar.
This set off a number of alarms in the Soviet aircraft.

“Damn it.” Wilkinson said a moment later. “They’ve split.”
“Tarragon Two, take the left hand pair, we’ll take the right hand one. Over.” Foster told his wingman.
“Roger, One. Over.”

The two F-3s split up to deal with the fleeing Soviet ‘Fencers’.
At low level the Tornado F-3 was probably the fastest aircraft in the world, and Foster’s aircraft rapidly came into ‘Slammer’ range.

“Fox One.
“Fox One.” Foster reported as he fired a pair of AMRAAMs at the pair of Su-24s ahead of his aircraft.

The two white painted missiles tracked the Soviet strike aircraft successfully, and proximity fused.

“That’s one…and a second kill.” Wilkinson reported.
“Right where’s the remaining pair?” Foster replied.
“Heck, they’re over the coast.
“Looks like their target is Rosyth, Skipper.” The navigator told him.
“Tarragon Two, as soon as you’ve finished with your pair, follow me in over the coast. Over.”
“Roger One.” The pilot of the second Tornado replied.

The two remaining ‘Fencers’ had crossed the Fife coast, and were hugging the ground, attempting to avoid interception.
A few civilians on the ground spotted the speeding aircraft, but not many recognised them as belonging to the enemy.

Even flying a few feet above the ground was no way to escape the ‘Foxhunter’ radar of Foster’s Tornado, which continued to track both targets with ease.

“Fox one!”

The AMRAAM struck one of the Su-24s, blasting it to pieces, the burning wreckage coming down in a field just outside Kirkcaldy.
The second aircraft continued on, trusting to luck that it would be able to get close enough to Rosyth Dockyard to launch its stand-off missiles.

It didn’t even get close; Wing Commander Foster launched his last AMRAAM as his aircraft approached Lochgelly.

The ‘Slammer’ boosted away from his Tornado, tracking its target.
The ‘Fencer’, well aware that it had been targeted, began to take evasive action, punching out chaff, and trying to jam the AMRAAM’s seeker.
It was partially successful, but the AIM-120 still got close enough to proximity fuse, flaying the Su-24 with tungsten fragments.

The ‘Fencer’ began to yaw into its damaged wing surfaces, fatally damaged, realising this the two crewmen ejected.
The stricken aircraft continued to roll over onto its back, spinning out of control until it crashed into the ground and exploded.

Foster circled above the crash site, as he watched the two parachutes descend to the ground.

“I think there will be hell to pay when the brass see where you’ve shot down that jet, Skipper.” Wilkinson observed.
“Hmm…” Foster replied as he watched the growing fire bellow him.

Lochgelly Fire Station.
‘KABOOM!’

“What the hell was that?” Station Officer Steel observed as he heard the colossal explosion to the north of the town.

The fire fighters of Red Watch began to race towards the appliances.

“Hold it.” Steel called out. “We don’t know where the call-out is yet.”

A moment later the alarm sounded, the signal from service H.Q also automatically opened the building’s door.
Steel tore off the piece of paper from the teleprinter that gave details, and location of the incident.

“It’s the Mossmorran chemical plant, aircraft crash.” Steel told the other fire fighters.
“Bloody hell, that place is full of natural gas!” One of them commented.
“All the more reason for us to get moving, and fast!” Steel replied climbing up into the passenger side of one of the pump appliances. [3]

The two pump appliances moved forward out of the station, followed by the two mobilisation appliances that the station had been assigned, and the heavy rescue unit, just in case anybody had to be cut from wreckage.

*

Constables Welsh, and Prosser’s traffic car had just been crossing the bridge over the A92 at Lochgelly when they had seen the ‘Fencer’ come down.
Welsh hit the ‘blues, and twos’ and turned down onto the dual carriageway, while Prosser contacted H.Q.

“Bravo Delta, this is Charlie two four.
“We’ve just observed an aircraft come down near the Mossmoran chemical plant.”
“I can see a couple of parachutes, Caroline.” Watts said, as he accelerated the BMW.
“Are they ours or theirs?” She asked.

***

[1] ‘Seafire’, and ‘Vixen’, are the call signs used by 801 NAS, ‘Satan’ is the one used by 800 NAS.
The call sign(s) of 809 NAS, the third frontline Sea Harrier squadron (currently aboard HMS Illustrious) in the TLW TL is unknown, though it may be ‘Phoenix’ (after the squadron’s insignia).

[2] An ASRAAM, and an AMRAAM on twin launchers on the outer wing pylon, and a single AMRAAM on the inner pylon.

[3] Details on the Mossmorran Chemical plant can be found here.

0745 hours 22nd April. Mossmorran petrochemical processing plant.
The first of Lochgelly’s fire appliances turned into the entrance of the chemical plant.
The fire from the burning aircraft on the far perimeter could already be seen. It had not yet spread to any part of the facility yet, but if unchecked it could prove catastrophic.

“Make pumps six.” Steel said into the radio. “This looks like it could develop into a major incident.
We’ll also need some army, or navy EOD personnel up here, as we don’t know if the aircraft was armed or not. Over.”
“Roger. We’ll have EOD personnel dispatched to you ASAP. Over.” The operator at force H.Q replied.

Steel clambered down from the appliance as it came to a halt. The sound of aircraft engines made him glance up, seeing a light grey aircraft circling above.
The Station Officer knew something about aircraft, and he recognised it as an RAF Tornado.

“I think there’s the bloke we have to thank for this.” He observed.
“Remind me to send the RAF a letter of thanks, Boss.” Firefighter Paul Matheson replied.

*

Constable James Welsh brought the BMW traffic car to a halt as both he, and Constable Caroline Prosser spotted where the two parachutes had landed.

“Bravo Delta, this is Charlie Two Four. We’ve spotted two parachutes containing what we think are Russian pilots. We are about to take them into custody. Over.” Prosser said into the radio.
“Roger, two four. Proceed with caution they may be armed. Over.”

The two constables got out of the car, drawing their Glock 17 automatic pistols, and set off across the field towards the two Soviet aircrew, who were still struggling out of their parachutes.
The Soviet pilot looked up, and saw the two police officers, pistols in hand approaching them from the road.
He did all he could do in that situation, put his hands up, telling his navigator to do the same.

0746 hours. USS Theodore Roosevelt.
Vice Admiral Clancy watched as the Soviet missiles continued to close on his carrier group.
The outer screen of Standard equipped ships had already begun to engage the missiles.
Blue American, and Red Soviet missile symbols were merging at a rapid rate, signifying successful interceptions.

“We’re going to get leakers through the outer screen, Sir.” Captain Turner observed.
“Which will make it difficult for the inner screen, Mike.” Clancy replied. “It’s those ‘Kickbacks’ that most worry me, they’re very difficult targets.
“At least the Prowlers seem to be having some success in jamming quite allot of them.”

The missiles that the EA-6B Prowlers had jammed could be seen flying off from the screen, their seekers convinced that the carrier group was elsewhere.

USS Anzio.
The cruiser had also begun to fire on the fast moving Soviet missiles.
At the moment she was firing SM-3 missiles at the high, fast flying AS-16 missiles.
The advanced missiles were managing to shoot most of the incoming Soviet missiles, but some would still get past the outer cordon.

Captain Flack chewed nervously at some gum as he watched the engagement developing. He could see that the Aegis, and NTU equipped ships were doing well, shooting down many of the ‘Kickbacks’, and ‘Kitchens’.

“There’s still going to be some that will leak through.” He observed. “Any coming at us?”
“Looks like we’re lucky, Sir.”
“Thank God.” Flack murmured. “Keep your eye on them, in case any come our way.”

*

After almost being overwhelmed at the beginning of the engagement, the carrier battlegroup’s defences were finally beginning to work.
The Tomcats, and Hornets had brought down many of the ‘Backfires’, and missiles, as had the air defence equipped warships.
The Prowlers, and the Electronic Warfare suites of the ships had also managed to seduce many of missiles.

As the missiles closed in, ships under threat began to launch chaff, decoying more of the missiles.
There were now only a few missiles left, unfortunately most of them were ‘Kickbacks’.
The close range weapons of the warships, Enhanced Sea Sparrow, and RAM, destroyed the last few ‘Kitchens’ while the last few ‘Kickbacks’ closed in on their targets.

One of these targets was the old cruiser Virginia, part of the inner screen.
The old CGN had been engaging the incoming missiles, including those that had been targeted on her.
Four ‘Kickbacks’ were now streaking towards the cruiser.

Her two Mark 26 twin-launchers were firing SM-2MR missiles as fast as they could, however the Soviet missiles were extremely difficult targets for the older standard of missiles that Virginia was equipped with.
She managed to shoot down two of the AS-16s before the last pair got within the minimum range of the SM-2MRs.
Virginia, in the last few seconds before impact, engaged the ‘Kickbacks’ with her two 5-inch guns, and finally her Phalanx CIWS. [1]

One of the ‘Kickbacks’ was hit by a tungsten cored 20mm shell from one of the CIWS mounts, detonating the warhead, unfortunately the body of the missile continued on towards the cruiser, flaying her with fragments, and burning fuel.
Both tore through the hull destroying equipment, starting fires, and most importantly killing sailors.
Only a few areas of the ship shielded by Kevlar armour were spared damage.

However, before the damage control personnel could begin to deal with the damage caused, the second missile struck the Virginia amidships, between the forward, and aft structures.
The large warhead, designed for causing damage to aircraft carriers, ships much larger than Virginia, exploded, blasting through the hull, ripping through bulkheads, and tearing through the Kevlar armour that had prevented the vital areas from being damaged, killing many of the damage control personnel, and command personnel in the CIC.

Fires spread rapidly through the ship, towards the missile, and shell magazines, and with no one to flood them the result was inevitable.

*

Vice Admiral Clancy felt the shockwave rattle the big carrier, even at the distance she was from the expanding ball of gas, and debris that had been the USS Virginia.
He could see the mushroom cloud shooting up towards the stratosphere from behind the USS Vicksburg.

“ I thought we had that one licked.” He observed, shaking his head. “Are there any more missiles on the screens?”
“No, Sir.” Captain Turner replied, his voice flat.
“Get some choppers over there to look for survivors.” Clancy ordered.
“I doubt there will be many, Sir, if any at all.” Turner replied.
“I know, but we have to try anyway.
“There were always a few survivors from the Limey battlecruisers that blew up in the last two world wars, there are bound to be a few from the poor Virginia.”

*

MH-60R ‘Seahawks’ from ships across the battle group scoured the wreckage of what had been a warship.
Like HMS Hood over sixty years ago, three men were picked up from the turbulent waters.
The helicopters, also picked up several mutilated, and badly burned bodies, carrying both them, and the survivors back to the three carriers.

*

“At least we’ve probably put a big dent in the Soviet ‘Backfire’ force, Sir.
“Allied to the cruise missile attack on their bases, we may not see them again for a little while.” Captain Turner opined. “The Enterprise and Truman will be within range in less than an hour.
“We should handle any further attack even better, Sir.”
“Doesn’t make me feel any better though, Mike.
“If we loose a ship per attack, we’re going to take pretty heavy losses.” Clancy replied.

0751 hours. RFA Sir Tristram, Porsangen.
The surviving Su-24s armed with Laser Guided Bombs were now closing on the six British, and Norwegian ships now moving down Porsangen, heading for open water.

Captain Duncan was anxiously scanning the sky, aft of his ship. He knew that what Soviet aircraft remained had made it past the fighter screen, and that the only defence remaining were the RAM missiles aboard the two more modern Norwegian frigates, the Starstreak missiles of the Royal Marines, and the light guns of the ships themselves.
Duncan was too young to have served in the Falklands War, but he imagined that being in San Carlos Waters must have been very like this.
A fast moving object caught Captain Duncan’s eye; it was the first of the ‘Fencers’.

The Norwegian frigates Leif Larsen, and Birger Erichsen opened fire on the Soviet aircraft with their 5-inch guns, bringing down a couple of ‘planes, and damaging another three.
The older Narvik joined in a moment later with her smaller twin 3-inch main gun.

Although a couple of aircraft had been brought down, and a few others damaged, the main effect of the gunfire was to disrupt the Soviet formation, and make it harder for them to aim their weapons.
The fjord was next filled with smoke trails as the warships fired their RAMs, and the Royal Marines with their Starstreaks.

The Soviet aircraft jinked to avoid the missiles, some successfully, many not.

“Smoke!” Duncan suddenly yelled, remembering something from past naval warfare. “Make smoke!”

Captain Duncan hoped that the thick black smoke that his ship was now producing would prevent any attacking aircraft from getting a laser lock on her.
It seemed to be working, as several bombs exploded nearby her, but not actually on the ship herself.

Suddenly the ship was rocked by a large explosion, the flash momentarily blinding the bridge watch.
Out to starboard a ship was burning, red, orange flames licking across its superstructure.
That ship was rocked again, as a second Soviet Laser Guided Bomb hit her.

“Dear God, that’s the Narvik.” The Officer Of the Watch commented.

It profoundly shocked the Royal Fleet Auxiliary crew to see a friendly warship burning out of control.
None of the crew had seen any kind of action before, and this was a particularly bloody baptism of fire.

‘THUMP, THUMP, THUMP!”

The Sir Tristram’s Bofors gunners had opened fire, as a pair of ‘Fencers’ passed close by on either side.
A 40mm shell clipped the tail of the aircraft passing to starboard, taking off the rudder.
The Su-24 plunged into the fjord, exploding in a mass of flames, spray, and foam.

“Damn, that was close.” Duncan observed.

The remaining Soviet aircraft withdrew, their ordnance expended.

Duncan looked at his watch. He was surprised to see that the attack had lasted less than two minutes.
In later years he would recall that it was the longest two minutes of his life.

At the cost of the frigate Narvik, and about half of her crew, and some minor damage to all three Landing Ship Logistics, the last of the heavy equipment belonging to the UK-NL Amphibious Force had been evacuated.

One last flight of helicopters from the big ships out to sea withdrew the rearguard, and the men of the Air Defence Troop who had been protecting the ships in the fjord, flying them out to Ocean and Glory.

The marines had done their job, holding the Soviet advance up for a critical few hours.
They would now be redeployed south by sea to reinforce the already strong defence in Troms.

Behind them the Norwegian Home Guards continued to demolish anything that could possibly be of value to the invader, before dispersing into the countryside, preparing to fight the enemy invasion in their own way.

0801 hours. Dysart, Fife, Scotland.
Having finished his breakfast, Chief Constable McIntosh had left the house, and gotten into his Rover car.
Turning over the ignition he caught part of the news.

‘…fighting has broken out all along he border between West Germany, East Germany, and Czechoslovakia.
‘NATO forces are currently conducting a fighting withdrawal from the…’

McIntosh knew that much from the previous news bulletin, but what caught his attention was that the GPS based in-car navigation system was telling him that he was at Greenwich.
He reset the system, and this time it told him he was at the North Pole.

“Bloody piece of…” He began to say when he heard something related on the radio.

‘Users of the Global Positioning System have today been facing difficulties with their receivers because the US military has initiated what it terms “limited availability”, meaning that only users with military receivers capable of picking up the now encrypted signal may use the system.
‘This is intended to prevent hostile forces from using the GPS system against NATO.’

“Ah…”

That would explain why his in-car navigation system was not working properly, not that it really mattered. An in car navigation system was not really necessary if one were driving from Dysart to Glenrothes, over roads that one knew well.
Maybe in the middle of the Sahara Desert, or in somewhere one did not know it might be of some use, but it was really a ‘toy’, or a gimmick to sell the car better.

1004 hours. Outside Augsburg, West Germany.
‘Being part of SOUTHAG’s reserve is not the most exciting of jobs, and it’s extremely frustrating given the severity of the fighting to the east.’ Major Robert McLain, second in command of the Royal Canadian Dragoons, thought as he clambered up onto the turret of his Leopard C.2 (the Canadian equivalent of the Leopard 2A6). [2]

The 4th Canadian Mechanised Brigade, of which the Royal Canadian Dragoons was part, had indeed been allocated as part of the Southern Army Group’s reserve, its relatively small size meant that it could not easily fit into the front line on its own.
Once the 1st Canadian Division, its parent formation, was completed by the addition of the 1st Canadian Mechanised Brigade, and the 38th Canadian Brigade Group (a militia formation), it would be better able to take its place in the front line.
Until then the brigade would remain in reserve, only to be committed under the command of another formation, such as one of the German divisions of 2 (GE) Corps, or the French divisions of 2 (Fr) Corps.

Being in reserve was not entirely safe occupation either, already Augsburg itself had been subject to both attack by Warsaw Pact aircraft, and battlefield missiles, which had caused casualties among 4th CMBG’s rear echelon forces.
It was about to be the turn of the ‘teeth arm’.

The scream of aircraft engines made Major McLain look up.

“Aircraft alarm!” He yelled, reaching for the machine gun in the commander’s cupola.

The group of Soviet Su-25T ‘Frogfoots’ swept in over the positions of the Royal Canadian Dragoon’s battlegroup, firing rockets, and dropping bombs.
The Leopards, and Warriors stood up to this assault best, being very robust vehicles, though several were disabled, the M113 based support vehicles fared rather worse, several of them being blown apart.

The Soviet attackers did not get off scot-free; three ‘Frogfoots’ were brought down by missiles fired by the ADATS equipped M113s that protected the battlegroup.
Two more were brought down by a barrage of shoulder launched Starstreak missiles fired from the accompanying infantry company from 2nd Battalion Princess Patricia’s Canadian Light Infantry (known as ‘Pats Pets’).

The surviving three aircraft disappeared off to the east, being pursued by a few more Starstreaks, and tracer fire from machine-guns.

Major McLain jumped down from his Leopard, intending to see what aid he could give to the wounded members of the battlegroup.

To his horror he soon saw a blazing M577 command vehicle.

Warrant Officer 1st Class Alan Cochrane, the dragoon’s Regimental Sergeant Major, was directing the rescue operations around the burning vehicles.
He had been close to the explosions, and his face was almost black with grime, and ran with blood from a minor head wound.
Still he stood like a rock amongst the chaos, and carnage.

Soldiers were still pulling burnt, and charred bodies, some alive, screaming in agony, some silent, out of the wrecked vehicles, while the medics attempted to save as many lives as they could.
The Royal Canadian Dragoons had probably just suffered their worst losses since World War Two.

“Christ!
“Is that what I think it is, Sarn’t Major?” McLain asked, knowing what the answer would be.
“It is Major.” Cochrane replied simply. “Colonel Borden was in the track at the time.
“Puts you in command, Sir.”

The news made Major McLain remember an old British Army toast referring to the two sure-fire ways to gain promotion.

‘Here’s to bloody wars and sickly seasons.’

Well a ‘bloody war’ had given Major Robert McLain command of the Royal Canadian Dragoons.

*

Off in the distance a couple of parachutes, carrying the ‘Frogfoot’ pilots who had survived being shot down, floated gently down to earth.
The reece squadron in their Coyotes had spotted the ‘chutes, and raced off to collect them.

*

McLain saw the reconnaissance squadron; who had witnessed the carnage at TAC H.Q; rush off, guessing what they were after.
He also heard the two shots from C7 rifles, and was not surprised to see that the squadron did not bring any prisoners back with them.

1010 hours. RAF Gatow, West Berlin.
Flight Lieutenant Carden fired three rounds from his L85A2 before ducking back into the hangar.
Return fire from the East German air assault troops thudded into the hangar wall.

The battle for RAF Gatow had broken down into a number of confused small-unit actions, as the RAF defenders fought the NVA troops amongst the air station’s buildings.
The East Germans had not been expecting such strong resistance, their intelligence had told them that there were only small numbers of RAF Regiment personnel on the station, which was true, but not that they were training the other RAF personnel to defend their station, and had brought enough weapons to allow them to do that effectively.

The resistance was such that the NVA had been forced to re-deploy troops that had been securing the airports at Tegel, and Tempelhof to RAF Gatow.
Most of the Starstreak LMLs had been destroyed, or overrun by now, but there were a few left to pick off a few of the ‘Hips’ that were bringing the reinforcements.
The NVA had also dispatched a ground force equipped with tanks, and BMPs to RAF Gatow, hoping that this would end any remaining RAF resistance if the air assault troops could not manage it.

Flight Lieutenant Carden was now leading a small group of RAF personnel, some of who were RAF Regiment gunners, but the majority of whom were RAF technical personnel.
He had not seen his commanding officer, Squadron Leader Taggart since the beginning of the battle, earlier that morning, and was beginning to think that he probably had not made it out of his Command Post.

The East German reaction to his three shots sounded like rain hitting the roof of the hangar, except that this ‘rain’ was bullets.

“Right, I think we’ve outstayed our welcome.” Carden said. “Let’s get moving.”
“The married quarters, Sir?” The senior RAF Regiment NCO, a sergeant suggested.
“Sound good, Sarge.
“But we also need to find somewhere that we can cover the runway from.
“If the enemy gets control of that they can fly in troops much more easily.”

*

Squadron Leader Taggart was not dead, as Flight Lieutenant Carden believed.
He had managed to make it out of his Command Post only moments before an AT-6 ‘Spiral’ missile fired by an East German ‘Hind’ had destroyed it.
He too had gathered a band of survivors, moving into the house that was, or rather had been, the official residence of the station commander.

He had tried to contact the headquarters of the British Berlin Brigade, to try and find out what was going on outside of the relatively small world of RAF Gatow, but had so far failed.

“Still no joy, Sir.” Taggart’s radioman said, replacing the handset of the Bowman radio.
“Damn.” Taggart muttered. “That either means that they’re not there, or they’re a bit busy to reply at the moment.
“I hope it’s the latter.”
“What shall we do now, Sir.” The senior NCO in Taggart’s group, a Sergeant from 8 Flight, Army Air Corps, asked.

Taggart looked at each of the men in the room in turn to try, and gauge their mood. They were dirty, tired, and most had minor wounds, covered by bandages.
However they did not look dispirited.

“We’ve nowhere to retreat to gentlemen, and our job is to defend this air station.
“We can either surrender, and turn over ourselves to the uncertain mercies of the East Germans.
“Or, we can fight to the last round, and then…” Taggart said.
“And then, Sir?” One of the other men asked.
“Improvise. You’ve all got bayonets, and the rifle butt has some merits as a weapon, and we can always take weapons from the enemy.
“Remember, every East German soldier we tie down here can’t be fighting our colleagues in BAOR.
“Well gents, shall we throw in the towel, or fight?”

The airmen looked at each other.

“I believe I speak for everybody when I say that we should fight, Sir.
“I think that the other choice is not an option.” The sergeant said.
“Well that’s settled then.” Taggart said. “Let’s make those East Germans feel sorry they ever had the temerity to arrive at our station uninvited.”

Mossmorran petrochemical processing plant.
The Royal Engineer Explosive Ordinance Disposal team had finally arrived at the scene.
The senior officer made his way to the command post that Station Officer Steel had set up among the six appliances, and the emergency tender.

“Hi Captain Wilde, Royal Engineers.
“I hear you need some assistance, Sir.”
“I’m glad to see you’re here, Captain.
“My blokes are keeping the fire back from the buildings, but if the weapons go up we could have a serious problem.”
“I understand, Sir.
“If you can keep the fire away from the weapons, I’ll send somebody in to take a look at them.” Wilde replied.

Suddenly there were a series of loud pops, and the crack of something passing just overhead.
The fire fighters, and Royal Engineers hit the deck, taking cover under their appliances.

“That’s ammunition from the ‘plane’s cannon cooking off.” Captain Wilde commented calmly.
“The cannon’s up the front end of the aircraft if I remember rightly.”
“I want water on the forward part of the wreckage, now!” Steel said into his personal radio.

The hose teams, still lying down, directed their hoses onto the forward half of the wreckage in the hope that they could prevent any more ammunition from cooking off.

Deciding that it was relatively safe, Wilde got up from under the fire engine that he had been sheltering under, and jogged back to the EOD vehicles.

“Right chaps, get the ‘Wheelbarrow’ out, and give me a hand putting on the gear.
“I’ll do this one myself.”

***

[1] The USS Virginia had been due to receive RAM, replacing Phalanx 1b, in FY06.

[2] In the real world the Leopard C.2 is an upgrade to the existing Leopard C.1s used by the Land Component of the CAF.

1128 hours. The E30 Autobahn, outside Bad Nenndorf, West Germany.
The convoy of Dodge busses, converted to their ambulance role, was making its way west along the autobahn, heading for the RAF airfield at Gutersloh, where the wounded would be evacuated to the United Kingdom.
The opposite carriageway was packed with vehicles heading east with supplies for the British units that were in action with the enemy.

One of the busses, still in its original configuration, contained the defence correspondents.
They had been caught up in the initial fighting while visiting A Company, 1st Black Watch, and many still looked shocked from the experience.

“Captain Currie, why are we being evacuated?” One of them finally asked, after several hours of silence.
“You’re being pulled out of the front line for your own safety, and to keep you from getting under the feet of the troops at the front.” Captain Ailsa Currie replied. “And you are not being evacuated, we’re taking you to the headquarters of I (British) Corps, to join the other journalists there.”
“Thank you.” The journalist replied.

Those journalists that had come out of their shock noted that the fields on either side of the autobahn were filled with camouflaged Challengers, Warriors, AS 90s, and other armoured vehicles.

“Captain Currie, what are those vehicles doing there?” One of them asked.
“They belong to the 3rd Armoured Division.” She told them. “This is their sector.
“If it looks like the enemy may break through either the 1st or 4th Armoured Divisions they will move forward to block it.”
“Can we use that?”
“Certainly.
“That information has been in the public domain for more than twenty years.
“You won’t be telling the enemy anything that he doesn’t know already.
“As I said a couple of days ago, write up your stories as you see fit, the army wants to be as open as possible. We will look over your reports before you file them just in case you have inadvertently given away anything of use to the enemy.
“Don’t let the issue worry you too much, I’m sure you’ll all use your common sense.”

The reporters thanked her again, and went back to looking out of the window, watching the supply vehicles going east, and the more knowledgeable playing spot the interesting armoured vehicle.

Suddenly there was an enormous explosion ahead of the bus, by the side of the road.
Several vehicles were blown over by the blast, while others were set on fire.
The bus skidded to a halt.

“Get out of the bus now!” Captain Currie yelled, turning from the genial tour guide that the reporters had gotten used to into a leader of soldiers.

The reporters escaped out of rear of the bus, through the emergency door, while Captain Currie, and the bus driver, snatched up their rifles, and exited out through the forward door.
The two of them sprinted to the side of the road, taking cover.

Captain Currie could hear the screams of those that were trapped in the burning vehicles, who were now roasting alive.
Troops from vehicles on the other side of the road had begun to sprint over to the burning vehicles, intending to rescue those who were trapped.

“Come on, let’s give them a hand.” Currie said to the driver, getting to her feet.

Suddenly there was a fusillade of automatic gunfire, which cut down several of the would-be rescuers, the others scattered, seeking cover.

“***!” Currie yelled, taking cover again.

Obviously one of the unseen gunmen had spotted her movement, and three shot cracked over the ditch that she, and the driver were sheltering in.
There was a wet ‘thwack’ after the third round, and the sound of something hitting the road.
Currie rolled onto her back to see what had happened.

The defence correspondent of ‘The Daily Telegraph’ was lying out in the road, blood pouring out of a single head wound.

“STAY DOWN!” Currie yelled at the cowering correspondents.

Another one of the converted busses went up in flames with a ‘whumph’ as burning diesel from the bus in front of it flowed across the road surface.
The RAMC Combat Medical Technicians, and the RLC drivers from that, and the busses behind began to evacuate the stretcher cases before the fire reached them.
However the movement attracted gunfire, and Currie saw a few RAMC, and RLC personnel go down.

“Christ!” The driver exclaimed. “We’ve got to do something, ma'm.”
“I know.” Currie replied.

She looked over to the soldiers sheltering in the central reservation.

“Are any of you armed?” She yelled across.

A few affirmative answers drifted back.

“Well we’re going to need covering fire!
“Pass the word on that we’re going to move forward to evacuate the wounded.”

Currie turned to the reporters.

“It’s time to make yourselves useful.
“Can any of you fire a gun?”
“I was in the OTC at university.” One answered.

Currie drew the Browning pistol that she was carrying, cocked it, and handed it, butt first, to the reporter.

“There’s a round in the breech.
“That’s the safety catch, pull it back when you want to shoot, and then just point, and fire.
“And for God’s sake, don’t shoot me in the back.
“Anybody else?”
“I know how to fire a shotgun.” Somebody else offered.
“Good, then I think I have the weapon for you.”

Currie sprinted back to the bus, and returned a moment later, clutching an L32A1 12 Bore automatic shotgun. [1]

“This is an automatic model, which gives you five rounds, so be careful.
“There’s the safety catch.” She said handing the weapon over.
“What do I do when I run out of rounds?” The reporter asked.
“It’s for your protection, not to allow you to go blazing away at targets, so I doubt you’ll fire off more than five, but just in case here are a few more cartridges.”

Satisfied that they were ready Currie got to her feet.

“Follow me.” She said moving off.

The soldiers in the central reservation with weapons opened fire on where they thought the enemy was, hopefully giving some sort of cover.

Currie, and her party made their way along the drainage ditch by the side of the autobahn, picking up a few more soldiers, who were taking cover, along the way.
On arriving at the burning bus, Currie began to direct operations to get the wounded out of the line of fire, dragging a wounded RAMC CMT into cover in the ditch herself.

The unarmed soldiers, and the reporters began to carry the stretcher cases along the ditch to the rear, while others helped the wounded CMTs, and RLC drivers to cover.

As Captain Currie prepared to pull back herself, a lance corporal came running across the road towards her.
He flopped down into the drainage ditch.

“Thank goodness.” He said on spotting Currie, and the small band of armed RLC soldiers. “There’s a group of us preparing to make a move against the enemy, ma’m, and we could do with some support.”
“Excellent news.” Currie replied. “Who’s in charge at your end?”
“Corporal Murphy, ma’m.”
“Okay, tell Corporal Murphy that we’ll make a move in ten minutes.” She told him.
“Right, ma’m.”

The junior NCO got to his feet, and dashed across the road again, jinking left, and right to avoid gunfire.

*

“A woman?” Corporal Richard Murphy, RLC, asked.
“Yes, Corp, a captain.”
“What cap badge did she have? I don’t want to be taking orders from somebody from the Intelligence or Dental Corps, for example.”
“The Scottish Horse, Corp. That’s a yeomanry regiment isn’t it?”
“Yes, a combat arm, thank God.” Murphy replied. “Right, you lot, spread out.
“We’ll move in five.”

1129 hours GMT. HMAS Coonawarra, Darwin, Australia.
It was a bright sunny, and hot day in the Northern Territories as Captain Shane Llewellyn Rogers, RAN, went about his business.
As Captain Rogers wandered about the base he took a few notes, which he intended to type up on his laptop computer.

A few of Coonawarra’s sailors who were not privy to Rogers’, who had come direct from the Defence Department in Canberra, task, watched the solitary officer from distance for a while, before losing interest.

Captain Rogers was in fact carrying out a survey of HMAS Coonawarra, and its facilities, as the Defence Department had decided that the base would become the new ‘Fleet Base North’.
This was part of an ambitious expansion, and re-equipment programme for the navy. Some of it, such as the new Type 45 Vampire class air defence destroyers (procured under the Sea 4000 requirement) was already in place, or was almost there. [2]

The more ambitious parts of the programme, such as the new multi-purpose aircraft carrier (CVM), LPDs (to replace the existing Kanimbla, and Tobruk classes), a new class of general purpose destroyers, [3] new OPVs (the Armidale class), and AORs, amongst other things, was at least a decade off.
As part of this programme HMAS Coonawarra would become the new home for the Australian amphibious fleet, and six of the new DDGs.

At the moment all that was based at Darwin were ten of the Fremantle class patrol boats Fremantle, Wollongong, Warrnambool, Geraldton, Bunbury Launceston, Cessnock, Gawler, Dubbo and Geelong, and the Landing Craft Heavy Balikpapan and Betano.
An expansion from twelve relatively small vessels to twenty-one ships, which would include the CVM, three LPDs, and an AOR, would require an expansion of Coonawarra’s repair, fuelling, and berthing facilities, hence the need for Captain Rogers’ survey.

“Excuse me, Sir.” A lieutenant said, interrupting Rogers’ work.
“Yes, Lieutenant, what can I do for you?”
“Rear Admiral Crutchley would like to see you, Sir. He say’s its urgent.”
“Oh he does, does he?
“Okay, lead on, Lieutenant.”

*

Rear Admiral Richard Crutchley, RAN, the senior Royal Australian Navy officer in northern Australia (although he flew his flag from Coonawarra, he also had responsibility for HMAS Cairns in Queensland), stood in his office looking out of the window at the harbour, his back to the door.
He could see HMAS Balikpapan, accompanied by HMAS Gawler, slowly making her way out of the harbour.
Three other Fremantle class ships, Launceston, Dubbo, and Geelong could be seen tied up; the other patrol boats were at sea.

Crutchley was trying to imagine what the scene might look like in ten to fifteen years time, the harbour packed with amphibious ships, and the six new General Purpose Destroyers.
It would certainly be impressive.

A knock at the door brought him back to the present, and made him turn away from the window.

“Come in.” Crutchley said.

Captain Rogers, the surveying officer entered the office, saluting, and removing his cap.

“You wanted to see me, Sir.”
“I certainly have, Captain.
“You’re wanted at Garden Island, as soon as possible.” The admiral replied. “There’s a cab on its way here to fly you direct to Tindal so you can catch a flight to Sydney, so grab your stuff, as you don’t have long.”
“Can I ask why, Sir?” Rogers said.
“They didn’t give much in the way of details, but apparently the captain of Voyager has come down with some bug, or other bloody thing, and they need an experienced captain to take her over.” Crutchley told him.
“Bloody hell, she’s just been commissioned!” Rogers commented. “This is a lot to spring on a bloke who’s last sea command was the old Hobart four years ago.”
“Well I hope your not too rusty, Captain, as we’re going to need experienced officers.
“We’re not directly in this war yet, but we can’t leave the Poms, and the Yanks hanging.
“They needed us last time round anyway, and I doubt it’ll be any different this time.” Crutchley said, grinning at his last comment.

*

Captain Rogers held onto his cap to try, and prevent it from blowing away as the ageing RAN Sea King Mk.50A came into land.
These elderly helicopters were on the verge of being withdrawn, as more, and more of their replacement, the EHI Merlin Mk.51 (which had been procured as part of the deal over the Type 45s), entered service.
However, there were still a number being used as ‘hacks’, undertaking transport jobs such as this one to free up more valuable modern helicopters for other tasks.

“Make sure that the rest of my stuff is forwarded onto Kuttabul!” Rogers yelled to the Lieutenant Commander standing next to him. “My survey notes are very important!”
“No worries, Sir!” The Commander replied as the Sea King touched down. “Good luck!”

Captain Rogers leapt aboard the Sea King, which took off almost immediately.

RAAF Tindal, Northern Territory.
Tindal was the Royal Australian Air Force’s only major airfield in the Northern Territory, it was also the only RAAF base to be equipped with NATO style Hardened Aircraft Shelters, reflecting the fact that it was theoretically within range of hostile aircraft.
Home to No.75 Squadron, equipped with the F/A-18A Hornet, and to the Northern Regional Operations Centre (NORTHROC), Tindal’s main job was air defence.

The Sea King carrying Captain Rogers touched down next to an RAAF C-130J Hercules, which already had its engines running.
The aircraft’s loadmaster was waiting at the bottom of the ramp, occasionally glancing at his watch.

“You Captain Rogers?”
“Yes, I am.” Rogers told the Flight Sergeant.
“Well you took your bloody time, we were about to leave without you.
“There’s an alert on.”
“What…?” Rogers started to ask.

However before he could say any more the loadmaster physically dragged him aboard.

“He’s aboard, go!” He shouted into his headset, while raising the ramp behind him.

The Hercules began to move forward, accelerating up to take off speed. The pilot intended to take off from the taxiway his aircraft was on, as the main runway was reserved for additional Hornets, taking off to reinforce those already on Combat Air Patrol out over the Timor Sea.

*

In the interior of the NORTHROC the centre’s staff were monitoring the situation that had lead to the alert being sounded at RAF Tindal.
About an hour ago ‘Wedgetail’ AEW aircraft, and the ‘Jindalee’ Over The Horizon radar had detected what were believed to be Indonesian Su-30 ‘Flankers’ (a two seat export version of the Su-27, optimised for the long range strike role) taking off from airfields in Indonesia.

Even since the Australians had provided the lead in the United Nations operation in East Timor, it was well known that the Indonesians had been hoping to get their own back.
The Indonesians were also known to be allies of the Soviet Union, and it was possible that Tu-22M ‘Backfires’ based in Vietnam might stage through Indonesian airfields to attack targets in Australia.

For these two slightly different, but related reasons, the RAAF were maintaining a strong Combat Air Patrol out of Tindal, while also moving aircraft up from RAAF Williamtown (‘Billville) to strengthen the fighter force at Tindal.

To the alarm of those on duty in the NORTHROC, the Indonesian aircraft were indeed turning south toward the Timor Sea, and Australia.

1142 hours. The E30 Autobahn, outside Bad Nenndorf.
Captain Currie looked at her watch. It was almost time.
She signalled to the disparate collection of RLC, and RMP personnel that she had assembled on her side of the road.

Right on time the group commanded by Corporal Murphy opened fire, and began to move forward.

“Let’s go!” Currie yelled, leaping to her feet, leaping over the crash barrier by the side of the road.

The mixed group of soldiers followed her forwards, firing as they went, those armed with LSWs, or Minimis trying to lay down suppressive fire for those with rifles.

Almost before she had realised it, Captain Currie had overrun the position that the gunfire had been coming from.
Two apparently dead bodies, still holding AK-74s were lying alongside each other, apparently some of the return fire had found its mark.
However there was plenty evidence, such as shell casings from 7.62mm bullets, suggesting that more men had been present in this position during the ambush, but had slipped away.

Not wanting to take any chances, Currie fired a short burst into each body.

“So these were the bastards that ambushed an ambulance convoy, then.” A Scottish accented voice behind her said in disgust.

Currie turned, seeing a Corporal about three years older than her.

“Corporal Murphy?”
“Guilty as charged, ma’m.”
“Thanks for your support, Corporal, it made all the difference.”
“Glad to help, ma’m.
“Makes quite a difference from cooking.”
“You’re a chef?” Currie asked.
“Yes, ma’m.
“An RLC chef attached to the 1st Black Watch.” Murphy replied. “At least you’re from a combat arm, ma’m.”
“Used to be, Corporal, I used to be.
“Now I’m an Army public relations officer.
“I was shepherding a group of reporters around until now.”

Corporal Murphy began to laugh at this news, as much a release of tension as result of finding something amusing.

“A chef, and a public relations officer versus Russian Special Forces, I can hardly believe it!” He said a moment later. “I think that we got off rather lightly, ma’m.”
“I think so.” Currie replied.

She turned back to the scene of chaos on the autobahn. Some West German fire engines had arrived; their crews were now attempting to put out the fires.
The screams of those who had been injured drifted across to their location.

“But try telling that to them.”

Because of the presence of the group of reporters the ‘Battle of Bad Nenndorf’, as it became known, gained a position of greater importance in the wider scheme of things than perhaps it should have.
Both Captain Currie, and Corporal Murphy would be awarded the MC for the short sharp action by the side of the autobahn.
Several RAMC, and RLC personnel were also awarded George Medals for rescuing wounded soldiers from burning busses under fire.

The news that the Soviets had attacked a convoy of ambulances permeated through the whole of the British Army Of the Rhine very quickly, and from then on Soviet troops captured by British soldiers could expect rather rough treatment.

1201 hours. Cowdenbeath Police Station, Cowdenbeath, Fife.
Lieutenant Grove, and Sergeant Bell got out of the Land Rover after it stopped outside the police station.
Both Grove, and Bell were now wearing Regimental Police insignia, indicating the task that they had been sent to carry out.

“The rest of you wait out here.” Grove told the occupants of the second Land Rover. “I doubt out friends in blue will appreciate half a dozen armed soldiers descending on their police station.”
“Very good, Sir.” Corporal Jacobs replied.

Grove, and Bell, armed only with Browning 9mm pistols (they felt that carrying their rifles would be overkill), entered the police station, Bell wincing as he caught the door from Grove as he was still nursing a minor injury gained during the protest at Pitreavie.

The two men walked up to the duty sergeant’s desk.

“Good afternoon, Sergeant. I’m Lieutenant Grove.
“I believe that you have a pair of prisoners waiting for me.”
“You’re not military police?” The sergeant behind the desk asked.

Grove touched the RP brassard on his arm.

“Regimental Police, we’re what’s available.”
“Okay.” The sergeant replied.

He picked up the phone on the desk, pressing one of the keys.

“Yes, this is Sergeant Brown.
“Bring the two Russian pilots to the front desk.”

A few minutes later a pair of Police Constables brought the ‘Fencer’ pilot, and navigator, both still handcuffed, to the front desk.

“Can you sign this please, Sir.” The sergeant said, turning the book containing the written portion of the custody record towards Grove. “To say you’ve officially taken custody of the prisoners.
“Of course.” Grove replied, adding his signature to the book.
“Do you have the keys for those handcuffs?”

One of the constables produced a set of keys.

“Take those cuff off them, Bill, we won’t be needing them, and besides it’s technically against the rules.”
“Right, Sir.” Bell replied, taking the keys, and releasing both Soviet airmen.

Grove turned to the two Soviet airmen.

“Right, gentlemen.” He said in Russian. “You’ll be coming with us now.
“There’s a vehicle waiting outside for you. I trust you’ll not give us any trouble.”

Both men looked rather surprised that Grove spoke Russian.

“You speak Russian?” The pilot asked.
“I learned it while I was serving in Germany, just in case it might come in useful.
“It obviously has.” Grove replied.
“I see.” The Soviet pilot replied. “And no, we will be no trouble.
“However I must remind you that once we reach a Prisoner of War camp, it will be our duty as prisoners to escape.”
“I am aware of that.
“However I’d advise you not to try to escape before that, the public are in a foul mood.”

Grove turned back to Bell.

“Right, Bill, let’s get these two out to the Land Rovers.”

Grove, and Bell lead the two men out to the pair of Land Rovers, splitting them up, putting the pilot in the forward Land Rover, and the navigator in the second vehicle.
Grove got into the passenger side of the leading vehicle.

“Let’s go.” He said simply.

1203 hours. Glasgow International Airport.
The convoy of Strathclyde Police vans drove through a side gate onto the airport.
They pulled up to an RAF Hercules C.4.
On either side of the aircraft was a line of armed RAF Regiment gunners, drawn from the security personnel from the RAF enclave at the airport, RAF Abbotsinch, the peacetime home of 602 (City of Glasgow) Squadron, facing outwards to defend against any threat.

The back door of the van that Graham Galway was travelling in opened up.

“Right you lot, out.” A constable told them.

Galway got out of the van, and was surprised to find that he was at the airport.
Normally Glasgow was a busy airport was a busy place, with flights jetting off to North America, and Europe at frequent intervals.
Now it was almost deserted, though there were a few requisitioned airliners taking on army reservists, destined for units in Germany.

On the other side of the airport four Tornados, and a couple of Hawk T.2s could just be made out.

Galway was also surprised to see a few other people from the political left, who he recognised.

“Tommy, Rosie!” Galway called out to two of them.
“You’ll have plenty of time for that later.” A PC said, pushing Galway forward.

At the base of the ramp of the Hercules were four RAF Policemen, one of who was carrying a clipboard, and was checking off names.
He looked Galway up and down, and wrote something down on his clipboard.

“Take a seat Mr. Galway. I’m afraid you won’t find the accommodation up to airline standard.”

Once the detainees were loaded, the police inspector who had been in charge of the convoy approached the senior RAF police officer.

“Can I get you to sign this, please?”
“Certainly.” The Flight Sergeant replied, signing the offered document.

*

The Hercules C.4 began to taxi towards the main runway, as it prepared to take off.
It, and many other military aircraft carrying detainees were taking off about now from a number of airports around the country, their destination the Isle of Man.

In the run up to war the old detention camp on the Isle of Man, which had been created during the Second World War for enemy aliens, and Fascist sympathisers, had been re-opened in secret in preparation to receive people believed to be Soviet sympathisers, or who were thought to be subversives.

Sometimes in order to defend democracy, the liberal democratic state has to adopt some characteristics of an authoritarian regime.
The British government had done it in 1915, and in 1939, and was doing the same in 2005.

***

[1] This weapon, the ‘Shotgun, Automatic, 12 Bore, L32A1’, to give it its full name, was standardised in 1965; before the adoption of this weapon shotguns were often ‘unofficially’ obtained from local sources by soldiers on active service.
The weapon, a Browning design produced by Fabriques Nationale in Belgium, has a magazine of five rounds.
At the same time as the army standardised the L32A1, it also obtained a small number of Remington Model 870 Wingmaster pump-action repeating shotguns.
Most of both weapons seem to have eventually ended up in store, occasionally being used for training, and ‘special missions’.
Given that the UGL fitted to the SA-80, and the M203 used with the M16 can fire shotgun type rounds, it is unlikely that the army will use shotguns in the near future.

[2] The Australian Type 45s differ from the British ships in that they are armed with American SM-2s, and SM-3s, and ESSM, rather than the British ‘Garfish’, and ‘Sea Wolf’. Though in theory, since both versions use the Mk.41 VLS, the British ships could conceivably employ American missiles, and the Australian ships British missiles.

[3] Probably either an Australian version of the Type 46 Tiger class, or the more general purpose, and as yet un-built Type 83.

I had totally forgotten about the feeling of dread that always comes with the epicness.

Glad it still stands up three years down the line.

Mossmorran petrochemical processing plant.
Captain Wilde had finally struggled into the bulky protective suit that EOD personnel wore while dealing with bombs.
Before he went in the bomb disposal robot, known as the ‘Wheelbarrow’ had gone in first to examine what he was up against, and to see if any of the Soviet ordinance could be safely disarmed by remote control.
The ‘Wheelbarrow’ had managed to break open the casing of two of the standoff missiles with its shotgun, and the operator had removed the fuses, rendering the missiles relatively harmless. If the fire reached them now they would just burn.

However the last two missiles were not accessible to the ‘Wheelbarrow’, due to debris, and collapsed pipe work, and besides the robot was beginning to suffer from the extreme heat of the avgas fire.
Only an EOD trained human being could deal with these weapons, and Captain David ‘Kim’ Wilde, RE, was going to be that human being.

“I wish you’d let me do this, Sir.” Wilde’s sergeant said.
“I won’t make my lads do anything I wouldn’t do, Sarn’t.
“Besides, I need somebody with your experience to take over if anything happens to me.” Wilde replied.
“I see I can’t talk you out of it then, Sir.” The sergeant said, resignation in his voice.
“Good luck then.”

*

Station Officer Steel watched as the EOD captain, dressed in his green protective suit, and carrying a tool bag began to walk forward.

“There goes a brave man.” He said to the Sub-Officer standing next to him.
“Brave indeed, Boss.”
“I want a curtain of water between our army friend, and the fire.” Steel said into his radio. “We need to protect him so he can get on with his job.”

*

Wilde was not used to working in extreme temperatures, nor getting wet while he approached his ‘job’, so he was rather fatigued by the time he reached the first missile.
He recognised the model, which was rather similar to the American SLAM-ER, noting that although the aft portion of the missile had split off, it was otherwise intact.

Clearing off some dirt from the nosecone, Wilde got down to work.
In many ways disarming a modern missile was easier than the old World War Two German bombs that Wilde had worked on in the past.
They tended to be more stable, and on the whole did not contain any anti-handling devices, as they were not intended to become UXBs, but go boom.

However Wilde knew enough to still be very careful as he removed the nosecone, there was always the chance that the Soviets had decided to start booby-trapping their missiles.
He carefully cut the wires between the firing circuit, and the detonator, before removing the later, and placing it in his pouch.
The first missile had been made safe.

“Number one’s gone.” Wilde said into his radio link. “Moving on.”
“Well done, Sir. Now be careful.” The sergeant back at the EOD vehicle replied.

Captain Wilde had to clamber over some more debris to reach the second missile, which tired him out even more.
The EOD suit was an excellent insulator, and he was now drenched in sweat.

To his dismay he saw that the second missile was badly damaged, and removing the nosecone would be difficult, if not impossible.
Still, he had to try.

Wilde knelt down, and began to try to undo the screws on the nosecone.
However the impact from the crash had fractured several of the screws, and he could not get them all out, leaving the nosecone stuck in place.

“Damn it.” Wilde said into the radio. “This one is going to be a problem.
“I’m going to have to cut it open, which may take a while.”

1204 hours. HQ Northern Fleet, Murmansk.
After visiting the headquarters of Sixth Army, to check on the progress of operations, General Ignatiev had flown by helicopter to the headquarters of the Northern Fleet.
As commander of the High Command of the Forces in the Northwest Strategic Direction (GKNWTVD), as well as being commander Northwest Front (NWFRONT), Ignatiev also had operational control over the Northern Fleet, and the air defence assets of the Archangelsk Air Defence Sector. [1]

*

Admiral Georgii Golikov, the commander of the ‘Red Banner’ Northern Fleet, watched with some trepidation as the Mi-8 ‘Hip’ carrying General Ignatiev landed at the helicopter pad outside his hardened headquarters.
Golikov could guess what Ignatiev wanted to talk to him about.

The majority of the surface ships of the Northern Fleet were still tied up alongside at Murmansk, and Archangelsk, and the general would want to know why.
Ignatiev was also known to be rather ignorant of naval affairs, and was unlikely to accept any explanation, which meant that this meeting was likely to be unpleasant, to say the least.

*

“So, Comrade Admiral, why is the majority of your fleet still in port?
“They should be out to sea, supporting the landings of Naval Infantry behind NATO lines in Norway.” Ignatiev thundered once he was safely inside HQ Northern Fleet.
“It takes time to get the fleet ready, Comrade General, ships must be loaded with weapons, and take on fuel. The Naval Infantry, and army personnel have not finished loading yet.
“Besides there is a powerful NATO naval force supported by a Royal Navy carrier group off the coast of Norway.
“We will launch our operation once they pull back, and before the American strike fleet moves into place.” Golikov replied, keeping his tone civil.

General Ignatiev was clearly not impressed with this answer.

“So the navy is afraid of a few British, Dutch, and Norwegian frigates, and destroyers, protected by a pair of pathetic carriers?
“The Soviet navy is supposed to be the second most powerful navy in the world, it should have no trouble with such third rate navies.” He said forcefully.
“May I remind the Comrade General of which navy is the third most powerful in the world?
“It is the Royal Navy; they have capabilities even we struggle to match.
“They and the Dutch also have a naval tradition we can not hope to match.” Golikov replied. “The Royal Navy has not lost a war against a major power since the American War of Independence, when was the last time our navy won a battle against a powerful naval enemy?
“These ‘pathetic carriers’ that you deride so much carry between them about twenty Sea Harriers. These aircraft are superior in almost all areas to our Yak-41s, and almost equal to the Su-27s, and Mig-29s on board the Tbilisi, moreover, this close to the coast they can rely on air cover from NATO fighters in Norway.
“Both groups are also protected by several of the new British Type 45 class destroyers, Type 46 cruisers, and Dutch Seven Provinces destroyers.
“These are all powerful air defence, and surface combatants.”

Admiral Golikov paused for a moment to let this sink in.

“Yes, we could force them away from the coast, and land the Naval Infantry, but we would suffer prohibitive losses doing it, and the operation would in most likelihood fail.
“NATO would also be sure to call in its maritime strike aircraft in Norway.”

General Ignatiev did not answer at once.

“Is the navy too frightened to fight?” He asked, the accusation of cowardice heavy in his voice.
“No, Comrade General, certainly not, but we must wait for a little while.
“You would not charge head first into a line of Challenger or Abrams tanks without adequate preparation, would you?”

Ignatiev thought for a moment, remembering the rather poor tactics at Lakselv, and the losses he had heard about in Germany.

“No, Comrade Admiral, I suppose I would not.
“But I want to see action as soon as possible. You have a powerful fleet, use it.
“And use your Tu-22Ms to attack this group.”
“Yes, Comrade General.”

Golikov thought it prudent not to mention that between ‘Operation HAMMER’, and the attack on the NATO Strike Fleet Atlantic about a third of his Tu-22M force had been destroyed.
Worse still, the NATO cruise missile attack on the bomber bases in the first few hours of the war had destroyed much of the infrastructure, spare parts, and re-load missiles.

The surviving bombers had been dispersed to other bases, but lack of maintenance facilities, and shortage of missiles meant that their operations over the next week, or so, would be severely curtailed.

There were always the strike aircraft of Frontal Aviation, but their attack on the NATO amphibious force off Lakselv, had shown that although they could carry the weapons, they were not trained for this mission, especially when pitted against sophisticated fighters, and warships.
One old Norwegian frigate was hardly much of an exchange for the loss of half of the attacking force.

Submarines would have to do instead.

1206 hours. Scotstoun, Glasgow.
Admiral Sir Alan West, KCB, DSC, ADC, First Sea Lord and Chief of the Naval Staff did not really want to be at the Scotstoun shipyard of Yarrow Shipbuilders. [2]
However, this was a long planned visit, and although he was the senior serving officer in the Royal Navy, there was not much for him to do in conducting the war.
That would be the job of his old friend Admiral James Fraser, RN, C-in-C Fleet, who on the outbreak of war took up his role as C-in-C Joint Allied Command Joint Allied Command Western Approaches (JACWA), and of course his American friend, Admiral Ramsey, SACLANT. [3]

Originally this visit would have taken all day, especially since the management of Yarrows had wanted to demonstrate the design of the proposed Type 83 ‘Intermediate Surface Combatant’, based on the Type 46 Tiger class, it was considered a possible replacement for the older Type 22 class frigates, nor would he have time to inspect the ‘Bay’ class LSD (A), RFA Largo Bay, currently nearing launch.
That would have to wait for another time, as Admiral West wanted to ‘drop in’ on MHQ Pitreavie, also H.Q of COMWA (N), on his way back to London.

All Admiral West would only now have time to be present at the acceptance of the Type 23 frigate HMS Rothesay and the Type 45 destroyer HMS Dido.

Reflecting the fact that the country was now at war, four Royal Marines, from HQ FPGRM at Faslane had been sent up to protect him, just in case some Soviet agent decided to take a shot at him.
They made both Admiral West, and the protection officers of the Duke of Rothesay, who was present to see the ship bearing the name of his dukedom being commissioned, rather nervous.

“I’m really sorry you can’t stay any longer, Admiral.
“We had wanted to a presentation about the Type 83 to you.” The yard manager said to West.
“I’m sorry, Mr. Nesbitt, but operational considerations mean I have to get back to the Ministry.
“Do you have a formal proposal, or brochure you could give me, as I’m sure we will need new warships once this war is over.” The Admiral replied.
“Yes, Sir, of course.
“I’ll get them to you before you leave.”

*

The Dido and Rothesay were tied up line astern on the dockside, their bows pointing down the Clyde, their companies drawn up on the dockside in front of the two warships.
Knowing that war was a likely prospect, the Royal Navy had accelerated the acceptance, and trials programme, and had drafted in more experienced personnel from other Type 23 and Type 45 class ships, so that they could enter service immediately after the commissioning service.
Admiral West had a feeling that they would be sorely needed.

*

The Duke of Rosthesay had just finished giving his speech to the assembled RN ships’ companies, and to the yard workers, praising their work in getting these ships ready in such a short time, and extolling the companies of both warships to uphold the traditions of the navy, and of the names of the warships, as Admiral West approached the podium.

“Do you think that was a good speech, Admiral?” The Duke asked as the two men passed.
“Certainly, Sir.
“Rather inspiring.” West replied, reassuringly. “My best regards to your wife, and children, Sir.”
“Thank you, Admiral, I’m sure they will appreciate that.”

Admiral West took his place at the podium, carefully arranging his notes.

“Good afternoon Your Royal Highness, ladies, and gentlemen.
“I had a speech prepared for this occasion, but changed circumstances mean that I’m going to keep this short, which I’m sure you’ll appreciate.”

West paused for a moment, and made a show of tearing his notes in half.

“Right now the Royal Navy is engaged in a battle of life, and death with the Soviet Navy, and it’s allies.
“Our, and indeed the survival of NATO depends on men, and women like you doing your job.
“Your ships are in great demand, and as soon as you’ve finished the last of your work up, and taken on weapons at Neptune, you will be sent to war.
“I know that many of you are inexperienced, and neither crew has worked together for long, but you have experienced sailors amongst you, look to them, and I am sure that you will not fail the test of battle, and live up to the illustrious tradition of the Royal Navy.
“That is all I have to say for now, man your ships, and bring them to life.”

As West stepped down, he was greeted by thunderous applause (probably because his speech was short, he thought).
He shook hands with the new captains of HMSs Dido and Rothesay.

“Don’t let us down gentlemen.
“The country is depending on you.” He told them.

HMS Bristol, the North Atlantic.
Captain Yoxall, RNR would right now have preferred to have been in a more modern ship, like a stretched Type 23, or a Type 45, or even his old ship, Edinburgh, as the lights went out in the AIO, again.

“What is it this time?” Yoxall asked, exasperated.
“The computer is down again, Sir.” A voice in the dark said.
“What, again?” Yoxall replied.

There was a loud ‘thump’ as somebody hit something with a rubber mallet, and the lights, and displays in the Ops Room flickered on again.

“Thank heavens.” Yoxall remarked.
“Don’t worry, Sir, the Old Girl is just getting back into her stride.
“She’ll be up and running properly in no time.”

The problems that he had experienced so far with Bristol were doing nothing to improve any confidence in his ship.
Still, it was not going to help matters by hating the ship, she might become offended.

At least now, his escort group, now officially designated as the Second Support Group (the First was what had been the Standing Naval Force Atlantic), was complete now that HMCS Halifax had joined up.
The Support group had also rendezvoused with its first convoy, a group of merchant ships heading for New York in ballast.

Given the problems he was suffering with Bristol, which were, or course affecting her communications suite, Captain Yoxall had designated Commander Dan Townsend, CF, captain of the Halifax as the second senior officer in the Support Group.

“Signal from the Commodore, Sir.
“He asks ‘are you working properly again?’”
“Tell him that we’ve got our problems sorted out.” Yoxall replied, far from convinced himself.

HMCS Halifax.
Commander Dan Townsend studied HMS Bristol through a pair of binoculars.
The lights had come back on in the interior, and the main radars had begun to revolve again.
He shook his head, feeling sorry for the captain of that old relic. Halifax might be a few years old now, she had been commissioned in 1992, but at least she was not as old as Bristol.

Townsend knew that until a few days ago Bristol had been in reserve, meaning that she had not been to sea in several years. He had no doubt that she would be suffering from such teething problems for the next few days.

“Bristol working again, Sir?” The OOW asked.
“Yes, Bob looks like it, thank God.
“I hope she doesn’t do this too often, as she’s supposed to be in charge of this group.
“Beats me why the Royal Navy haven’t disposed of her. They did have some pretty good Type 42s still in reserve.” Townsend replied.
“Have they brought them back into service, Sir?”
“Yes, they have, a couple of them are apparently on escort duty with the amphibious group off Norway, and another couple are on picket duty in the North Sea.
“I suppose that Bristol is the all that’s left.
“I hope she keeps working, as she’s the only ship in this group with an area air defence system.” The captain commented.

Herzberg, West Germany.
As the three armoured divisions of I (British) Corps pulled back to a new defensive line, the British sought to delay the Soviet advance long enough to allow their forces to get established in these new positions.
To attempt this they had deployed a number of infantry platoons, equipped with a pair of Javelin missile posts, and otherwise only armed to defend themselves into towns, and villages that the Soviet army would have to advance through.

Known as ‘sponge tactics’ (in the hope that they would ‘absorb’ the enemy advance), this was something that the British shared with the German units in NORTHAG.
The Germans employed mainly Territorial soldiers who had a great deal of local knowledge; I Corps, on the other hand, drew its platoons from 2nd Infantry Division.
A company from each battalion in the division was assigned on rotation to provide troops for this task.

The platoon in the last two houses in Herzberg was 5 Platoon, B Company, 1st Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, a regular battalion from the 24th Airmobile Brigade; men who were well trained in this sort of tactic, and had participated in enough exercises in Germany (or served there in the past) to have good knowledge of the terrain over which they were now fighting.

Major Craig Vian, Officer Commanding B Company, scanned the road in front of the platoon’s positions.
Vian knew that he should not have been there, he was very aware that the lieutenant who commanded the platoon was not happy about his presence, but he felt that he could not remain in the rear while any of his men were going into battle, and as he had put it ‘had come along for the ride’.

“Just act like I’m not here, Lieutenant.” He had reassured the subaltern. “This is your platoon, and your op.
“In fact, feel free to give me orders.”

Vian was not sure that this had reassured the young officer, but the die was cast now.

“See anything, Sir?” The platoon sergeant, a man with many years of experience, asked.
“Not yet, Sergeant, but they’ll be coming.” Vian replied.
“I’m not sure you should have come along on this op, Sir.
“It doesn’t do Mr. Morris’ confidence any good, and what about the company if you become a casualty?” The Sergeant commented.
“I couldn’t sit in the rear, Sergeant, but I know you’re right.
“It’s too late now. I’ve made my bed, and unfortunately the whole company may have to sleep in it.”

Vian felt the advancing Soviet armoured vehicles, before he heard them.

“They’re coming.” He commented.
“I’d better go, Sir.” The Sergeant said, moving off to make his way to the platoon C.P.

*

The sound of diesel, and gas turbine engines, and the clanking of tracks could soon be heard in the distance, as they enemy approached.
Two scouts who had been at the other end of Herzberg came jogging back to the platoon C.P.

“T-80s, and BMPs, boss.” One told the Lieutenant. “Battalion strength by the looks of them.”

The young officer went over the plan one last time over the radio net.

“Okay, lads, when the enemy comes into town we let the first four tanks pass us, then the Javelin posts take out the fifth, and sixth tanks, followed by any BMPs.
“Those of you with LAWs take out the nearest armoured vehicles, while those of you with just your personal weapons shoot any vehicle commanders, or dismounts you see.
“After that we’ll run like hell for the RV.”

*

“Do you no’ want a LAW, Major.” The corporal who commanded the squad that Vian had attached himself to asked.
“No thanks, Corporal.
“I’m a bit rusty with one of those. I’ll be just content to shoot the first bloody fool of a tanker who sticks his head out of his hatch.”

The corporal just shook his shoulders as if to say ‘suit yourself’, and made his own LAW 80 ready.
Major Vian took up his position, made his L85A2 rifle ready, and waited.

His patience was soon rewarded, as a pair of BDRM-2 reconnaissance vehicles drove though the town at high speed, without even slowing down to check, and see if it was occupied.

“Let them go.” The voice of the Lieutenant said on every soldier’s personal radio.

A few moments later the first T-80s appeared, rumbling towards the British positions; they were obviously not expecting trouble, as they were in road march formation, and the commanders were standing heads, and shoulders out of their turret hatches.
As they drove past, Vian selected the commander of the fourth T-80, and began to track him with his rifle.

Suddenly there was a flash off to his left, and the fifth, and sixth Soviet tanks went up in smoke, as Javelin missiles struck them.
Vian fired a moment later, hitting the Soviet tank commander, who slumped back down into his turret, dead.

One of the leading T-80s tried to maneover to deal with this unexpected threat, but was ‘brewed up’ by a pair of LAW 80 rockets, its burning hulk now blocking the road for the leading three tanks, meaning that they could not come to the assistance of the rest of the column.
Several other tanks had been hit by LAW 80s, and were also burning, the black, oily smoke rising as a beacon over Herzberg.
Meanwhile the second volley from the Javelin launchers had taken out the leading two BMP-3s, one of which was a command vehicle.

However, in the distance, Vian could see Soviet troops debussing from the remaining BMPs.
They were acting in a disciplined manner despite the chaos in front of them, and were clearly about to mount a clearance operation.

“Time we weren’t here.” Vian muttered.
“Go, go, go!” The message came over the radio net a moment later to his relief.

Under cover of the platoon’s Minimi, and LSW gunners, the Argylls pulled back to the gardens behind the houses, and began to jog back to the designated rally point.
Major Vian paused for a moment, setting up a grenade as a booby trap behind him.

As he leapt over a garden fence, he heard voices speaking Russian behind him.
They were moving towards the door, which he had left the grenade behind, much to his satisfaction.
He did not hang about to see the results of his handiwork, as he had a date with a couple of helicopters, which would pull the platoon out.

*

One platoon had just delayed an entire Soviet battalion by several critical hours, and had blocked their advance, albeit temporarily, and there was another similarly equipped platoon in the next village, and countless other towns, and villages.
All of this was before the Soviet advance had reached the British main line of resistance.

Over the G-I-UK Gap, west of the Faeros Islands.
The G-I-UK Gap was the choke point through which all Soviet submarines, and surface ships would have to pass if they were going to attack the NATO reinforcement convoys that would soon be crossing the Atlantic.
NATO knew this very well, and had long deployed a line of undersea sonar sensors, known as the SOSUS network, across the area.
In theory no submarine could cross them without being detected.
Supplementing the seabed placed sensors were a number of American T-AGOS ships, and Royal Navy SWATH sonar support vessels, towing very long and sensitive sonar arrays, which patrolled the area. [4]

Because this was a choke point, and because there was ready data available from the SOSUS sensors, and sonar ships, the ‘gap’ was the operational ‘beat’ of many NATO Maritime Patrol Aircraft.
One of these aircraft, an RAF Nimrod MRA.4 of No.206 Squadron, being flown by the squadron commander, Wing Commander Paul Jardine, had just arrived on station, relieving a Nimrod of No.120 Squadron, also being flown by the squadron commander.

“Hope you have better luck than us, Paul.
“It has been pretty quiet, so far. Over.” The pilot of the departing Nimrod said.
“I expect you’ve scared all the ‘fish’ away, Bill.” Jardine replied. “Anyway, see you back at the base. Over.”
“Good luck, and good hunting. Over.”
“Thanks, you too. Off.”

Jardine throttled back, and shut down the two outer Rolls Royce Germany BR.710 turbofans, in order to save fuel, and thus extend the endurance of the aircraft.
This was a practise long employed by the Nimrod force, and the MRA.4 was just as happy on two BR.710s, as the old MR.2 had been on a pair of Speys.

Deciding that it was going to be a long patrol, the co-pilot produced a thermos flask filled with hot tomato soup.

“Want some, Boss?” He asked.
“Sure, why not.” Jardine replied, turning the Nimrod over to the autopilot.

He had barely finished his cup, when there was a shout from the rear cabin.

“We’re being cued onto a target, Skipper.” One of the operators in the rear told him, passing on the heading.
“Roger that.” He replied. “Start one, and four.” Jardine told the co-pilot.

Jardine began to gently turn the Nimrod towards the target’s position, while the co-pilot re-started the two outer engines, and throttled them up.

“One, and four up, and running, Boss.”
“Roger.”

Jardine put the Nimrod into a gentle dive, intending to descend to operational height for a sub hunt.

“Better make sure everything back there is secure.” He told the operators in the cabin. “I’ve got a feeling we’re going to have to make some pretty radical manoeuvres to catch this bloke.”

***

[1] In a rather clumsy command arrangement, the commander of the Northern Fleet remained responsible for strictly naval operations in the Atlantic, and Arctic Ocean TVD, and reported directly to the naval staff of the Supreme High Command (VGK). He was also answerable to the Supreme High Command, Strategic Nuclear Forces (GKSNF) for operations to protect SSBNs.
Similarly the commander of the AADS was also answerable to the High Command of the Air Defence Forces (GKVPO) for air defence responsibilities in the area.
Both the commanders of the GKSNF, and the GKVPO outranked General Ignatiev, and disputes over operational control of naval, and air defence assets could only be settled by the VGK in Moscow, which could often lead to difficulties in carrying out operations.

[2] In the real world Yarrows went under during the early 1990s, probably because of the slump in warship orders; the yard was subsequently bought by Kaverner, becoming known as Kaverner Govan.
In the second change of ownership BAE Systems bought the yard, when Kaverner decided to pull out of Glasgow, becoming BAE Systems Scotstoun.
All Type 45 destroyers will be assembled at Scotstoun, though sub-assemblies will be built at other yards, such as the Vosper-Thornecroft yard in Portsmouth.
BAE Systems Scotstoun is now the last major warship-building shipyard on the Clyde.
In this timeline Yarrows would most likely have survived because of the extended Type 23 programme, the reconstruction of the Type 22 Batch 2 frigates, Brave, London, Sheffield and Coventry to Batch 3 standard, the earlier beginning of the Type 45 programme and the corvette programme.

[3] JACWA was a new Supreme Allied Command, interposed between SACLANT, and SACEUR, replacing the subordinate commands of EASTLANT, and CINCHAN.
JACWA was a joint air-sea command held by the British Naval, and Air C-in-C (a rotating task between C-in-C Fleet, and AOC-in-C Strike Command), with the British Flag Officer Submarines, and a US Flag Officer as deputies, with a third NATO admiral of a different nationality as Chief of Staff (at the moment a Dutchman).
JACWA had taken up residence at Northwood, in the facilities that had been used by the EASTLANT-Channel naval-air headquarters, alongside both the RN fleet H.Q, and the H.Q of the RAF’s 18 Group.
The proposal to form JACWA had been contained in General Sir John Hackett’s book ‘The Third World War’, and had been judged eminently sensible, so was adopted.

[4] SWATH = Small Waterplane Area, Twin Hull.
The shipbuilders Yarrow produced a SWATH sonar ship design for the MoD (see the picture of a model on p.144 of ‘The Future British Surface Fleet’, by D.K. Brown).
This scenario assumes that the RN has procured a few of these ships, as much to test the SWATH concept, in competition to the trimaran design of RV Triton, as anything else.

1301 hours. HMS Daring, off Porsangen, Norway.
As the amphibious force withdrew to the safety of the more southerly Norwegian fjords in the area of the Lofoten Islands, the Commodore Amphibious Warfare had left a small surface action unit, made up of Daring, Decoy, Montrose, Beaufort, Lenox, De Zeven Provincien and Van Galen, to cover his retreat against any possible attack by Soviet surface forces.
There was also a small group of Royal Norwegian Navy fast attack craft lurking nearby in fjords off Hammerfest.

HMS Daring, the oldest of the Royal Navy’s Type 45 destroyers, had raced north from the ASW Striking Force to reinforce the screen of the amphibious force.
She was now the senior ship in the covering force.

Though she was the oldest ship of her class, refits had brought her up to the latest standard, including the latest BAE Systems Mark IX 155mm/39 gun, replacement of her older Phalanx 1b with Sea RAM, and the extended 64 cell Mark 41 VLS.
She also now carried a Merlin HM.1 rather than the Lynx HMA.8 that she had started out with back in 1998.

*

Captain Paul Richards, RN, the captain of Daring, picked up the chipped ceramic mug of tea, which bore the crest of the destroyer, as he took a break from scanning the horizon.
Like most Royal Navy captains, he liked to use the old ‘Mark One’ eyeball to scan for the enemy, despite all the advanced active, and passive sensors available to any modern commander.
After all, the passive sensors were limited in range, and one could often not use active sensors.

Still, it was perhaps odd to be using almost the same method that Nelson’s navy had used to spot the enemy.
At least he now had the assistance of the Merlin, and Lynx helicopters carried by the British, and Dutch destroyers, and frigates, to help him hunt for any Soviet warships that might try their luck; a pair of Lynx, and a Merlin were currently airborne, searching through the fjords.

“Sandwich, Sir?” A rating who was bringing food round to the crew asked Richards.
“Don’t mind if I do.” Richards replied, taking a corned beef sandwich from the pile.

Richards felt that eating while at defence, or action stations, was a very important matter.
Hungry sailors lost their edge, and alertness, which put lives, and ships at risk.

Richards pulled down the mask of his anti-flash gear in order to eat the sandwich, rapidly replacing it as soon as he could.

“Thank Petty Officer Mitchell, and his lads, these sandwiches are very good.” Richards told the rating.
“I’ll pass your compliments on, Sir.” The rating replied, as he passed out the remainder of the sandwiches to the bridge crew.

*

While Captain Richards was enjoying his corned beef sandwich, to the northeast a group of six Nanuchka III and four Tarantul III missile corvettes were sneaking their way to the southwest through the Norwegian coastal waters, trying to avoid both NATO airborne surveillance, Norwegian coastal defences, and coastal craft.
Moving in, and out of fjords, and always hugging the coastline, the Soviet fast attack craft had managed to get within a relatively close range of the Anglo-Dutch surface group.

*

“What’s that?” The observer onboard HMS Montrose’s Lynx HMA.8, which was returning to the ship to refuel, said, as he spotted something moving close to the coast.”
“Let’s go take a look.” The pilot replied, putting the helicopter into a sharp left-hand bank.

The observer flipped on the aircraft’s Seaspray radar, allowing it to make a couple of sweeps, before shutting it down again.

“There’s quite a bit of clutter down there, Dave, but I can clearly see ten targets.
“I reckon they’re ships, small ones mind you.”
“Could be the Norwegian fast attack group.” The pilot suggested.
“Could be.
“There’s only one way to find out, get close enough to use the Passive Identification Device.”
“Okay, but it’s a bit risky if they’re Russkies.” The pilot replied.

Hardly had the Lynx gone any distance when the Radar Warning Receiver started giving the crew both a visual, and audio warning, telling them that a hostile air search radar was illuminating the helicopter.
A second later the tone of the warning became more urgent, as a fire control radar had now ‘locked on’.

“That settles it.” The pilot said, putting the Lynx through a smart 180’ turn, and diving towards the sea. “They’re hostile.
“Better let Mother know.”

*
“What!” Captain Richards exclaimed as he was informed of the presence of the Soviet surface group. “How in the name of…. did they get that close?
“Never mind, sound action stations.
“You have the bridge, Mr. Larson, I’ll be in the Ops room.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” The Officer Of the Watch replied to the retreating back of Richards.

Captain Richards hurried down to the AIO, passing several other sailors dashing to their action stations.
On reaching the AIO, he immediately took a look at the surface plot.
It showed the ten surface contacts, roughly where the Lynx had spotted them.

“Do we have an ID on the enemy yet?” He asked.
“Montrose’s Lynx picked up radar signals consistent with a Nanuchka III, Sir, but at least four of the targets look a bit too small to be them, meaning they may be Tarantul type ships.
“A Merlin from Lenox and a Lynx from Van Galen are on their way to the position given by Montrose’s cab, so we should know more in a few minutes.”
“Good.” Richards replied.
“I want all available helicopters armed with Sea Skuas, and ready to launch ASAP.
“Have we heard anything from the Norwegians?” The captain asked.
“The commander off the group off Hammerfest has been monitoring our transmissions, and he say’s he’ll be moving to intercept, Sir.”
“Right, that means they’ll be coming our way.
“Signal all ships to be on the lookout for the Norwegians, I don’t want any accidents.” Richards ordered.

*

As the signal from the senior Royal Norwegian Navy officer commanding the group of four Skjold class fast attack craft has suggested, the Norwegians had indeed been listening to the radio traffic between the British, and Dutch ships, and their helicopters to keep themselves apprised of the situation to the north.

The senior RNN officer thanked heaven that the new NSM missile, the replacement for the ageing Penguin, had come into service the year previously.
Otherwise the four fine vessels that he had under his command would have been little more than glorified gunboats, inferior to the older Penguin armed Hauk class.

*

On the flight deck of HMS Daring her Merlin HM.1 was being prepared for action.
The big helicopter was primarily an anti-submarine platform, its main armament being four Stingray torpedoes, or a pair of Mark 11 depth charges.
However, like its diminutive stable mate, the Lynx, the Merlin could carry four Sea Skua anti-ship missiles.

The destroyer’s Merlin was now being armed with these missiles in preparation for the attack on the group of Soviet Nanuchka, and Tarantul class ships.
As the Gulf War had proven, missile-armed helicopters were deadly to small missile armed craft without any effective air defence systems.
The Royal Navy had gained a great deal of experience in dealing with fast attack craft in that conflict, and was about to put that experience to good use in a new war.

1320 hours. HMS Bristol.
“Air alarm!” The shout from the other end of the Ops Room caught everybody’s attention.
“What direction?” Captain Yoxall asked calmly.
“From the south, Sir.
“I don’t understand, that shouldn’t be possible…”
“The Soviets have a turnaround facility at Conakry in Guinea.” Yoxall told the Ops Room crew.
“I believe they use it to refuel ‘Bears’, and the occasional ‘Backfire.’
“How many guests do we have?”
“Four, Sir.”
“I do wish the Crabs would deal with this turn around base, Sir.” The Anti Aircraft Warfare Co-ordinator remarked, dryly.

That did make Yoxall pause for thought, ‘Bears’ conducting a search, target hunting for ‘Backfires’, or submarine, usually operated on their own.
However, he also knew that ‘Bears’ could carry some of the same anti-ship missiles as the ‘Backfire’, much like the Nimrod, or Orion.

Against a well-defended force, like, say, a carrier battle group, they would be shot down like flies, but against this convoy…well, that did not bear thinking about.

“We’re going to need air cover.” Yoxall said simply. “Where’s the nearest MPA?”
“Not too far off, Sir.
“There’s a Nimrod from 42 Squadron about sixty miles away.”
“Good.” Yoxall remarked, relieved. “A Nimrod, just what we need.
“Can you contact it?”
“I’ll give it a shot, Sir.”

A few minutes later the operator indicated that he had succeeded.

“You can talk to him direct, Sir.
“His call sign is Juliet 2-7 Mike.”
“Thank you, Rawlings.” Yoxall replied.
“Juliet 2-7 Mike, this is the Captain of Bristol, we need your assistance. Over.”
“How can we help, Bristol? Over.” The tinny voice asked over the speakers.
“Our group is being approached by four hostile aircraft, are you carrying any air to air armament? Over.”
“Affirmative, Bristol.
“We can be at your location in a few minutes, hold on. Over.”
“Thank you, Juliet 2-7 Mike. Over.” Yoxall thanked the Nimrod pilot before replacing the radio handset.

The captain glanced across at the display of the Type 1022 radar.
The four aircraft symbols were marching relentlessly towards the convoy, they had certainly detected the NATO ships, either from their radar emissions, or directly from their own radars.
They would soon be within range of any missiles they might be carrying.

*

Aft on the destroyer’s stern the Sea Dart launcher elevated to allow a pair of Sea Dart Mod.3 missiles to be loaded.
Once the pair of missiles were loaded onto the rails, the launcher depressed back to just above the horizontal, and trained towards the threat.

Mossmorran petrochemical processing plant.
Captain Wilde paused for a moment from hacking through the body of the Soviet missile; he was exhausted, and sweat was pouring down his face, pooling, rather uncomfortably in his protective suit.
It was pretty clear that he would not be able to cut into the warhead section without the risk of it going off.
The only option now was to remove the warhead section from the missile, transport it to a safe location, and destroy it in a ‘controlled explosion’.

“I can’t defuse it here. Get the vehicles ready to move in a hurry.” Wilde said over his radio.
“Roger that, Sir.” His sergeant replied.

He returned to his task, hacking through the remainder of the missile body.
Moving the missile body was now the main problem, it was quite heavy, and he was in no condition now to move it himself.

“I’m going to need some help.” Wilde said, breathing heavily. “I don’t think that I can move this thing myself.”
“Don’t worry, Sir, help is on the way.”

*

The sergeant, and two more of the detachment had ‘suited up’, and covered by the hoses of the fire fighters, hurried forward as best they could in the restrictive suits.
The two other men picked up the warhead section, while the sergeant supported the now exhausted Wilde, helping the captain back to the vehicles.

The missile section was loaded into the rear of the Glover Webb Tactica EOD vehicle, which was a 4x4 APC; if the warhead went off now, the light armour of the Tactica would probably contain the blast.

*

Station Officer Steel watched as the three EOD specialists made their way back to their vehicles, the captain seemingly completely drained from his exertions.
He crossed to where the captain had sat down. Wilde had removed his helmet, and was drinking water out of a 2-litre bottle.

“Well done, Captain.” Steel congratulated Wilde. “Is it safe for my people to move in?”
“Yes…the other three missile warheads…they’re safe…the firing circuits have been removed…the warheads will just burn if the fire reaches them…nothing dangerous though…we’ll deal with this last warhead…” Wilde replied; it was quite clear that every word that he spoke was a great effort.
“Thanks, Captain.
“You get your breath back, and let us deal with the fire.
“It’s our business after all.”

USS Theodore Roosevelt.
Vice Admiral Clancy studied the chart spread out in the flag plot. It showed the coast of northern Norway, specifically the area around the Lofoten Islands.
The attack by the Soviet ‘Backfires’ a few hours ago, while not disastrous, could have been a great deal worse, especially if one of the supporting auxiliaries had been hit instead of the old Virginia.

The thought that the attack might have caused a great deal more damage had made the admiral reconsider his strategy.
He had originally intended to sail strait through the Norwegian Sea into the Barents Sea, again all comers, whereupon he would begin operations against Soviet bases on the Kola Peninsula.
It was not subtle, but promised to be effective if the Striking Fleet could carry it out.

Clancy was now considering ‘Plan B’.

For the last twenty years, NATO had been studying the possibility of operating its carriers, both the big American CVNs, and the smaller British CVS from the Norwegian fjords to the north, and south of the Lofoten Islands.
The had single entrances, and exits, making them easier to defend against attack by submarine, and the high walls complicated by enemy aircraft.

Moreover their defence could be co-ordinated with land-based aircraft, such as the RAF’s Typhoons, and Norwegian F-16s.

Vice Admiral Clancy now intended to take his carrier battle group, plus the British led ASW Striking Force, into these restricted waters, where his ships would hold most of the cards.
Attack by the Soviets would be all the harder, and he would still be able to attack Soviet bases, or any surface group with relative ease.

Vice Admiral Clancy was only sad that it had taken the deaths of all but three of Virginia’s crew to make him consider this strategy.
It should have been the strategy from the beginning, not that it would have been likely to have saved the old cruiser.

“Well, Mike.” He said to his Chief of Staff. “The Lofoten carrier bastion it is.
“So much for sailing up to the Russkie’s front door, and kicking it in.”
“A wise decision, I think, Sir.” Captain Turner replied. “We’ll be a great deal safer in there, and we’ll still be able to attack the bases in the Kola, while also supporting the troops ashore in Norway.”

Clancy did not reply immediately; Turner knew that taking the decision to go into the Lofoten bastion was not one that the admiral took lightly.
Clancy was known to be an aggressive officer, in the mould of Halsey, he did not like acting defensively, which this strategy seemed to be, perhaps something more in the vein of Spruance.

“An offensive defensive.” Clancy said finally. “Once we’re in position there we’ll still be the biggest game in town.
“The Russkies will still have to attack us, but we’ll be in a much better position.
“If necessary we can mine the sea approaches too.
“I’m going to need to speak to Rear Admiral Thompson, to let him know what we’re planning.”

HMS Ark Royal, the Norwegian Sea.
The ASW Striking Force had been operating at a high tempo for the last few hours as it covered the retreat of the Amphibious group, defending it against both air attack, though that threat was now diminishing, and against submarine attack (three Soviet submarines had been destroyed by the group’s helicopters).

“Sat phone for you, Sir.
“It’s Admiral Clancy.”
“Thank you, Flags.” Rear Admiral Stuart Thompson replied.

He crossed the flag bridge, and took the radio handset from the outstretched arm of his Flag Lieutenant.

“Good afternoon, Sir, Thompson here.
“What can I do for you?”
“Hello, Stuart.” The distant voice said. “We’re going with the Lofoten option.
“I need you to prepare the area for me.”
“Very good, Sir.
“We’re already heading in that direction, we’ll have the area thoroughly sanitised by the time you arrive.
“Just one other thing, Sir, one of my task units has reported that it is about to go into action against a group of Soviet Nanuchka and Tarantul class fast attack craft, in the region of Porsangen.”

There was a rustle of paper at the other end, which Thompson knew meant that Vice Admiral Clancy was consulting a chart to confirm the location. [1]

“I see that there is a Norwegian group of Skjold class craft just off Hammerfest that could be useful.
“I’ll leave it up to you, Stuart as you’re the senior man on the spot, any NATO ship up there is yours, let your guy up there know that he has the authority to issue orders to the Norwegian group.” Clancy told the British admiral.
“Very good, Sir.
“I have every faith in Captain Richards. He hasn’t requested support yet, Sir, but I’m sending a flight of four Sea Eagle armed Sea Harriers up there anyway.”
“Okay, Stuart, I’ll let you get on with it, we’ll join you as soon as we can.
“I’ll have to let Shawn Sassaman know where we’re going now. Good bye.”

The link went dead, and Thompson replaced the handset.

“We’re heading for the Lofotens, ladies, and gentlemen.
“Vice Admiral Clancy has made me the senior officer in this area for the moment.
“First of all we need to get onto the Norwegians, and our own MCMV chaps, and have them sweep the fjords in the area of the Lofoten Islands.
“The enemy has had every opportunity to mine these waters, and we don’t want any accidents, either to our own ships, or to the Strike Fleet.” He told his flag staff.

1321 hours. The Soviet Embassy, London.
The KGB Rezident stared out of a window on the first floor, looking down with some distaste on a group of people who had gathered on the other side of the street.
The small knot of people were not openly hostile, but neither did they seem to be hostile.

The police constable, from the Diplomatic Protection Group, pacing up and down the street outside the embassy did not seem to be concerned by their presence. [2]
The Rezident could see, even from this distance, that the officer was armed, as all DPG officers were when on duty, the holster, and the butt of his Glock 17 automatic being just visible over the bottom of his black jacket.

That he was still here, able to look down at the London street scene, amazed the KGB officer. He had fully expected to be either in a British prison cell, or winging his way back to Moscow in exchange for British diplomats.
He put it down to the fact that as yet, there had been no formal declaration of war between the United Kingdom, and the Union of Soviet, Socialist Republics.
Despite the fact that servicemen of both countries were now killing each other, the British would not violate the diplomatic sanctity of an embassy.

The Rezident became aware that somebody else was standing next to him.

“A gathering of fellow travellers?” The voice of the ambassador asked.
“I fear not, Comrade Ambassador.
“It seems to be a spontaneous gathering of people off the street.
“They do not seem hostile, however.”

The ambassador watched as the constable turned, and began to pace back towards them.

“How long do you think we have, Comrade Rezident?”
“A few hours, Comrade Ambassador.
“No doubt the Prime Minister is making his official statement regarding a declaration of war right now.
“The British will move in as soon as he’s made the announcement.”
“I see, we’d better start burning our papers then.
“What news are you getting from your sources?” The Ambassador asked, changing tack.
“My sources are all but drying up, Comrade Ambassador.
“The British are proving to be rather more effective than anticipated at rounding up our networks.”

Indeed they were. The Security Service, more commonly, and incorrectly known as MI5, had come on a long way since the days of Philby, Burgess, and MacLean. [3]
The days when British intelligence seemed to recruit nothing but communists homosexuals from Oxford, and Cambridge were well past.

Most of today’s recruits to both the Security Service, and its sister, the Secret Intelligence Service might still mainly be university graduates, but they were no longer exclusively drawn from Oxbridge.
Neither was coming from the ‘right’ background a reason to make someone above suspicion when checks were being made.

All that meant that the Security Service was being highly effective at ‘smashing’ (the technical term used by the service) both most of the KGB’s network in the UK, and the Communist Party of Great Britain, which might have offered some support (most of its higher ranking members were now on their way to their Isle of Man).

“What should we do when they arrive, Comrade Rezident?” The Ambassador asked.
“Nothing, Comrade Ambassador, absolutely nothing.
“Our diplomatic status is still respected in wartime.
“The British will play by the rules; we will be deported to the Rodina in exchange for the safe return of British diplomats in Moscow.
“By the time that they arrive all of our confidential papers will have been burnt, and the computer mainframe wiped; we should certainly not do anything to antagonise them.”

The ambassador seemed relieved by this answer, though he was sure to have known it for himself.
He was just about to speak again when there was the sound of glass breaking, and something thudded into the carpet a few meters away.
Both men turned, and saw that a rather large stone was now sitting on the carpet, amidst the wreckage of one of the windows.

Outside the police officer had crossed the road towards the small crowd in an attempt to make them move on.
The crowd now seemed rather truculent, and resisted the efforts of the officer to move them on.
Out of his direct line of sight, others had begun to pick up stones, or whatever came to hand, and began to hurl them at the embassy.

The ambassador, and the Rezident retreated from the window, as more panes of glass were shattered under this latest assault.

The DPG officer on the street, realising that he could not hope to contain this crowd on his own, had retreated to safety, urgently calling for assistance on his radio.
It was not long in arriving. Two serials from a Police Support Unit, equipped with riot gear, had been parked around the corner in their vans. [4]
These now came speeding along the street, disgorging police officers, who began to break up the assembly, arresting a few troublemakers, and moving the rest on.

The senior police officer of the two PSU serials had hoped to keep his officers out of sight, as it would probably be them that would be moving into the Soviet embassy in an hour or so, but the outbreak of a small riot had tipped his hand.

***

[1] Vice Admiral Clancy did know the Norwegian coast well enough to know where Porsangen was, but just wished to confirm that he was right, and confirm locations of NATO ship groups.

[2] This was the title of the organisation during World War Two.
For some reason (probably because the initials of the service are ones that can never be used again) despite the organisation officially being the Security Service, it is still referred to as MI5, even within government circles.
Within the service it is referred to as ‘Five’.

[3] See the website for details on the Diplomatic Protection Group (SO16 in 2005, now CO6).

[4] Police Support Unit (sometimes also referred to as the Territorial Support Group) officers are not based within a set police station, but provide extra manpower to police borough operational commands (the ‘local’ officers) to deal with public order issues, or provide support to raids.
They are also receive specialist training over, and above ordinary officers in ‘public order duties’.

1350 hours, 22nd April. Bodo Air Base, Norway.
Wing Commander James Schofield slowly taxied his Buccaneer S.2B to the dispersal site, before bringing the aircraft to a halt, and shutting down the two Rolls Royce Spey Mk.101 turbofans.
He pulled back the cockpit canopy, letting the cool Norwegian air into the cockpit.

Schofield clambered down from the front cockpit, and patted the Buccaneer on the nose, where its nose art, a reclining scantily clad woman wearing a Royal Navy officer’s jacket, stockings, and little else, along with the words ‘Hello Sailor’, was painted.

“Thanks, Geraldine.” He said to the aircraft.

The aircraft did not reply, this being real life, and not the online alternative history stories that Schofield’s navigator had liked to read. But still, it didn’t hurt to be nice to the Buccaneer.

Most of 12, and 208’s aircraft were similarly marked to ‘Geraldine’, part of a tradition that stretched back to the Gulf War.
On the starboard side of the nose were the nose art, a woman’s name, and the name of a whiskey (in the case of Schofield’s aircraft it was Famous Grouse).
On the port side was a ‘Jolly Roger’, painted just aft of the national markings, with the legend ‘Sky Pirates’ just below it.

“Few, that got a bit exciting towards the end there, Skipper.” His navigator remarked once both men had ‘dismounted’ from their aircraft, and were walking across the concrete pan.
“Did a bit, Mick.” Schofield replied. “I’m glad the Typhoon mates came to our aid when they did.

*

After taking part in Operation ‘HAMMER’ the Buccaneers of 12, 208, and A, and B Flights of 612 (County of Aberdeen) Squadron, had recovered to the Norwegian air base at Bodo, which put them closer to their Area Of Operations, should the Soviet Navy venture out.
C Flight of 612 had, by staging through Orland, recovered back to RAF Lossiemouth, joining that squadron’s H.Q Flight, and the aircraft of 237 Operational Conversion Unit (which would form a reserve of maritime attack aircraft for Norway, or other contingencies).

The Tornados of 27, and 617 Squadron, had, with the help of Air-to-Air Refuelling recovered to RAF Wick, and thence back to RAF Honnington; they were after all part of SACEUR’s reserve, and could not be left on the flanks.
45 (Reserve) Squadron’s Tornados, on the other hand, had landed at Andoya, where they joined the RAF Typhoon’s, and RNorAF F-16s already in place.

With all of the reinforcing RAF, USAF, USMC, etc aircraft arriving to reinforce the Royal Norwegian Air Force, NATO was beginning to feel the lack of airfields in northern Norway.
The abandonment of Banak, the most northerly, only made matters worse, and of the Soviet advance made any headway against the main NATO defence line, Bardufoss might also be threatened.
The only solution in that case would be to deploy some of the more long ranged aircraft back to bases in Southern Norway, or to those in northern Scotland like RAFs Lossiemouth, Kinloss, and Wick, or the forward base that the RAF had set up at Sumburgh airport in Shetland.

At least the RAF’s Harrier GR.9s, and Jaguar GR.3s, and the USMC’s AV-8Bs, and MV-22 Ospreys could operate from short stretches of road, should things get too bad, which they showed every sign of doing.
The Norwegian F-16s could also operate out of the many small provincial airfields, such as the three (well four, but one had been closed due to unsafe downdrafts from nearby mountains) airfields in the Lofotens, as could the RAF’s Typhoons, but that was out of the question for many of the bigger aircraft, such as Buccaneers, A-6s, or P-3s.

*

As Wing Commander Schofield, and his navigator made their way to where squadron H.Q had been set up, they passed a dispersal containing a pair of USAF F-16C Fighting Falcons, which were being readied for a sortie.
Schofield looked at his navigator, and winked.

The Wing Commander walked into the dispersal, and made a great show of walking around the Fighting Falcon, to the apparent satisfaction of the American ground crew making it ready.
Apparently finished inspecting the aircraft, he approached the fuselage, and pressed hard on the metal. Unsurprisingly it gave a little under the pressure.
Schofield walked away, shaking his head.

“It will never last.” He muttered just loud enough for the USAF maintainers, and the two approaching ‘Viper’ pilots, who had just witnessed the inspection. [1]

Schofield’s navigator was biting his lower lip in an effort not to laugh, as the Wing Commander returned (though he would make sure the story did the rounds that night), probably wisely, as the USAF personnel seemed none too pleased.

“Good one, Boss.” He said.
“Always like to keep up the tradition, Mick.” Schofield replied.

The sound of jet engines made both men turn to face the runway.
Two USMC A-6F Intruders were coming into land.

“Now there’s a proper ‘plane.” Schofield remarked.

The Intruder was about the only other aircraft (other than the Nimrod, which was their partner in maritime warfare) that Schofield, as a Buccaneer driver, had any time for.
Both it, and the Buccaneer shared a maritime heritage, could carry a larger payload than their more modern counterparts, had a longer range, and, oh yes, were extremely robust airframes.
Still, that said the Buccaneer was still superior in some areas to the Intruder (at least according to Buccaneer crews).

*

Major Mark Brown, X.O of VMA (AW)-533 ‘Hawks’ planted his A-6F Intruder down firmly on the runway, in the same manner that he would have done on a carrier deck.
The Intruder-II’s undercarriage easily absorbed the impact, which was rather gentle when compared to a landing at sea.

Brown, and his wingman were just returning from a rather hair raising mission to attack the Soviet rear echelon.
The mission had been successful, but they had only just made it out of there alive.
Both aircraft had been targeted by every SAM system in the enemy’s inventory, or so it seemed, and had only just avoided being intercepted by a pair of ‘Flankers’ on the way back.

Both aircraft taxied to their assigned dispersals, not too far away from the Buccaneers, folding their wings for ease of parking as they did so.
Neither Brown, nor his Bombardier/Navigator spoke at first as they climbed down from the Intruder, and made their way to debriefing, and to get some ‘chow’, as the mission had left them drained.

“I don’t think I want to go through something like that again.” The B/N said finally.
“Hm.” Brown replied, in a rather non-committal fashion. “The ground-pounders are going to need us though, and this is only day one of what I think is going to be a long war.
“We’d better get used to it, even if we don’t particularly like it.”
“Yeh, no kidding, Skipper.” The B/N agreed.

Over the G-I-UK Gap, west of the Faeros Islands.
Wing Commander Jardine put his Nimrod into a tight left-handed bank, as the operators in the rear cabin attempted to localise the sub-surface contact that they had been cued on to a short time before.

“Definitely something down there, Skipper.
“Sonobouys away!”
“Damn, she’s quiet.” One of the other operators remarked. “Must be an Akula, or a Sierra.
“Going active.”
“Got ‘er.”

Jardine levelled out, before turning the Nimrod onto the new course that the operators in the rear had given him.
He studied the grey waves in front, and below the aircraft, imagining that he could see the Soviet submarine that they were hunting.

“Weapons bay doors opening.
“Fish away.”

The single Stingray anti-submarine torpedo dropped clear of the Nimrod’s weapons bay, descending on a small parachute.
It hit the water, releasing its parachute, and began to start searching for a target.

The target, an Akula class submarine, was almost directly in front of the torpedo.
The weapon changed course slightly, and increased speed to pursue the now diving submarine, which was also pumping out decoys. The Soviet commander was obviously hoping to throw the torpedo off long enough for him to get below the temperature layer, which would also hopefully throw off the aircraft now hunting him.

However the Stingray Mod.1 torpedo was very good at its job, and was closing on the Akula much faster than its commander had anticipated.
The weapon’s simple computer brain had also examined the decoys, and had rapidly decided that they did not match with the signature of a submarine.

“God, look at that!” The co-pilot of the Nimrod said lowering the pair of binoculars he had been studying the surface of the water with.

The surface of the Atlantic quivered, and shook, throwing up a not inconsiderably large waterspout from the explosion of the Stingray’s warhead.

“I can think we can safely say that was a hit.” Jardine replied.

In the rear cabin one of the operators touched his left hand to his headset, as he waited for the deep rumble to subside.
Once it had done, he began to listen very carefully to all of the creaks, and groans that could be heard over the normal sea noise. Despite all of the advanced computer technology that had been applied to the problem, the human ear was still one of the most important tools in anti-submarine warfare.

“I can hear what sound’s like hull break up noises, she’s going I think.
“Go active again.” He told his colleague.

He looked up at the sonar display as the sonobouys ‘pinged’ away again.

“She’s going down pretty fast, we definitely must have hit her.”

Both operators could also see that the active scan showed that there was one big target, presumably the submarine, and a couple of smaller targets just aft of the big one. Indicating that the sub hull was breaking up.

“We’ve got ‘er, Skipper.”
“Excellent, good work, boys, and girls.” Jardine told his crew.

Jardine was rather glad that the sub hunt was over, as it was rather hard work flying a large aircraft like the Nimrod at low level, even if the MRA.4 had Airbus like ‘fly-by-wire’ style controls. Though it was definitely an improvement over the old mechanical controls of the MR.2, and the extra power from the BR.710 engines also made quite a difference.

Jardine took the opportunity to glance down at the fuel gauge while the Nimrod was climbing back to a more comfortable altitude.
The hard flying at low level tended to use a lot of fuel, not that it made all that much difference for an aircraft with the fuel capacity, and endurance of a Nimrod. Still, there was always the chance that their relief might go ‘tits up’, and that the patrol would be consequently extended.
Jardine believed in two sayings very strongly, one, ‘Never pass up an opportunity to go to the toilet’ and two (rather similar in fact), ‘never pass up an opportunity to top up from a tanker’. With both one might not get the chance to do so later on, or might have to do so at an inconvenient moment.

The controller at RAF Buchan would be able to direct them to the nearest tanker aircraft.

“Buchan, this is Octopus Two One. Requesting a vector to the nearest tanker aircraft. Over.”
“Roger Two One.” A calm voice replied. “We have a tanker available just west of Shetland.
“It has just come on station in fact.”

The controller passed on the position of the tanker aircraft, which Jardine’s co-pilot programmed into the Nimrod’s GPS system.

“Thank you, Buchan.
“We’ll request a further vector when we are closer. Over.”
“Roger, Two One. The tanker has been informed that you require his custom. Over.”

The Southern North Sea.
Captain First Rank Josef Kaminov checked his watch; it was almost time to receive the latest communication from Fleet H.Q.
Kaminov commanded the latest member of the Antyey Type 949B class of cruise missile submarines, SSGNs, (what was known to NATO as the ‘Modified Oscar II class). The ‘B’ in the type designation indicated that it was armed with cruise missiles modified for the land attack role.

Over the last two weeks his submarine had crept into the southern North Sea, avoiding patrolling NATO warships, and Maritime Patrol Aircraft.
During the last couple of days the submarine had sat just above the bottom, listening out for ELF signals, and NATO Maritime Patrol Aircraft that might pick her up with their MAD gear.
However, none of the Dutch P-3C Orions, or RAF Dominie T.2s that had flown over the area had detected the Oscar class submarine.

A signal from Fleet H.Q had arrived a few hours ago informing Kaminov that hostilities had broken out between NATO, and the Warsaw Pact. What Kaminov could not understand was that he had been ordered not to fire at any targets.
After taking all the time, and care to get into position it was inexplicable, especially since he was in a good position to hit many military, and industrial targets up, and down the coasts of Britain, the Netherlands, and Belgium.

“Comrade, Captain, an ELF message has just come in.”
“Let me see it.” Kaminov replied, taking the message flimsy.

The message ordered them to come up to periscope depth to receive a much more detailed message, which Kaminov believed would probably contain targeting information for his cruise missiles, and orders about when to fire.

“Bring us up to periscope depth, slowly mind, I don’t want every sonar in the North Sea hearing us.”

The submarine came up slowly, and once at periscope depth extended an aerial just long enough to pick up a burst transmission from a Soviet communications satellite.

Once the signal had been decoded, Captain Kaminov read it carefully, reading it over again just to make sure that he had understood it correctly, before showing it to the submarine’s first officer, and to the Political Officer.

“Rather interesting, don’t you think, Comrades?” Kaminov commented.

RAAF Richmond, New South Wales, Australia.
Captain Rogers, RAN, stepped off the rear ramp of the C-130J, and onto the concrete.

“Do you know if there is anyone here to meet me?” Rogers asked the loadmaster.

The loadmaster gave him a look that said ‘Do I look like I know?’

“I don’t have a clue, Captain.” The Flight Sergeant replied, rather grumpily.

Rogers made his way to base ‘ops’ to try, and find out more information. However he found the RAAF personnel inside apparently listening to the radio. It was a few minutes before anybody noticed him, the Flight Lieutenant who came to deal with him looked rather shocked, and drawn.

“The shooting has started up north.” He said simply, and then seemed to remember that he was speaking to a senior officer. “How can I help, Sir?”
“I’m Captain Rogers. I’m expected at Garden Island, I was wondering if there was any transport laid on for me?”

The RAAF officer thought for a moment, and consulted the duty log.

“Ah, yes, Sir. There’s a navy car waiting for you.”
“Thank you, Flight Lieutenant.
“How bad are things up north?” Rogers asked.
“Not good, Sir.
“We’ve been listening to radio traffic coming from the NORTHROC. The Indonesians have managed to hit Tindal, and Darwin, and they’re still coming.
“There was also something about a couple of navy ships being attacked.”

*

“You’ll have heard the news then, Sir.” The Leading Rate driver said after saluting Rogers.
“Some of it.” The Captain replied, returning the salute. “Which of our ships were attacked?”
“The Gawler and Balikpapan, Sir. The Gawler was sunk with most of her crew apparently.
“When the Indos hit Darwin, they sank the Launceston and Geelong at their moorings.”

Rogers shook his head at the news. What was clear was that the Royal Australian Navy had suffered its worst losses since World War Two, thankfully it seemed that none of the larger warships, or the submarine fleet, had been attacked.

Once they were in the car, and heading for Sydney, the Leading Rate made another comment, which surprised Rogers.

“I don’t suppose you’ll have heard what had happened to Captain Bishop, Sir?”
“What?” Rogers exclaimed, surprised at the question about his predecessor in command of HMAS Voyager, Captain Harold Bishop.
“I was told he was ill, or something similar.”

Rather puzzlingly the Leading Rate chuckled.

“Or something similar indeed, Sir.
“Seems he did a Harold Holt while he was on leave a few days back.
“Nobody’s seen him since.”
“Bloody hell.” Rogers remarked. “They kept that pretty quiet.”
“I guess the top brass find it a bit embarrassing, Sir.
“Won’t do the image of Her Majesties Royal Australian Navy any good to have a captain disappear while swimming in the sea, would it?”
“I can imagine that it wouldn’t.” Rogers agreed.

*

A relatively short time later the car came to a halt within the Garden Island Naval Base (HMAS Kuttabul), and Captain Rogers got the first look at his new ship.

“She’s a big bugger.” He muttered to himself.
“Certainly is, Sir.” The driver, who had overheard the comment, added. “Bigger than the old Perth class anyway. Still, I hear that Pom Navy’s Tiger class is even bigger.
“Did you have any bags with you, Sir?” The Leading Rate asked, changing tack.
“Just this one.” Rogers replied, as he got out of the car. “The rest of my stuff is still at Coonawarra…well…I hope it’s still there.”
“If the rest of your things arrive, Sir, I’ll try, and make sure they get sent to Voyager right away.
“Good luck, Sir.” The driver said, just before he drove away.
“Thanks.” Rogers said to the rapidly disappearing car.

Captain Shane Llewellyn Rogers, RAN, picked up his small overnight bag, and began to stride towards HMAS Voyager, ready to take up his new appointment.

HMS Daring, off Porsangen, Norway.
Half a world away from Garden Island two of HMAS Voyager’s older sisters were about to go into action, although they did not quite know how soon it would be yet.

“How long until the cabs are loaded up, and ready to go?” Captain Richards asked.
“Another ten minutes, Sir.”
“Very good.” Richards replied.
“Sir, message from Lenox’s chopper. The enemy have increased speed. ETA our location eight minutes.”
“Damn it.” Richards muttered. “Signal all ships to prepare for a surface action.
“Get the cabs airborne now, whether they’re armed or not, we can’t let them get caught on the flight decks.”
“The Norwegians won’t arrive at in time either, Sir.” The WEO observed quietly.
“I know, Claire.” Richards replied. “They can always pick up the pieces if we lose.” He added, a wry grin visible below his anti-flash hood.

*

Aft on the destroyer’s flight deck the Merlin HM.1, which had just finished being armed with four Sea Skua missiles took off, and circled the ship, while it waited for the other armed helicopters to get airborne.
In the end, instead of a powerful strike force, a rather less than co-ordinated force, not including Daring’s helicopter, of Decoy’s Merlin, armed with two Sea Skuas, a Lynx from Montrose armed with two Sea Skuas, and a 12.7mm machine-gun pod, and a fully armed Lynx from De Zeven Provincien got airborne.
Between them the force was armed with twelve Sea Skua missiles, enough to hit each Soviet ship with one missile, and still have two left over.
This might sound adequate, but it did not leave room for missile failure, the chance that several missiles might hit the same target, or simple error on the part of the helicopter crews.
The helicopter crews knew that they would have to get it right first time, as if they made a mistake, there would not be time to return to the ships to reload.

Montrose’s second Lynx, recently returned from its shadowing mission, and a Merlin from Beaufort, both armed with nothing more than a door mounted 7.62mm GPMG, also got airborne, and circled the task unit at a safe distance.

*

“It’s going to be a damn short range engagement when those Soviet ships appear, Sir.” The PWO commented. “Technically they’re in Harpoon range right now, but there’s the little problem of Norway being in the way.
“When they come into view they’ll be in gun range.”
“What do you recommend, Claire?” Richards asked.
“Have everybody open up immediately with their guns, Sir, before the enemy has a chance to get his missiles in the air.
“At the sort of range we’ll be fighting, we should have the advantage, as the Nanuchka III class ships do not have any gun armament forward, and the Tarantul III class only have a little 76mm, not really a match for what our ships can employ.”
“A good old fashioned gun action then.
“Quite appropriate, then, since we’re rather close to the North Cape.” Richards commented. “If we make it through this perhaps their Lordships might name this action ‘Second North Cape’.”

*

The hastily launched group of helicopters clattered their way towards the advancing Soviet missile corvettes, their crews keeping one eye on their ESM displays, ever aware that the airspace over Norway was not a safe place to be.
At least they had reliable data as to the location of the enemy, as a Lynx from Van Galen, and a Merlin from Lenox were still shadowing the enemy group, much to the annoyance of the senior Soviet officer, who knew that his ship’s SAM systems could not deal with these ‘snoopers’. [2]

Leading the group, Daring’s Merlin illuminated the Soviet group with her Blue Kestrel radar.
The helicopter’s Observer picked out one of the larger returns, and armed the aircraft’s Sea Skuas.

“Missiles away.” He announced over the radio a few seconds later.

The Second Battle of the North Cape was underway.

***

[1] This is the so-called ‘Baconfoil test’. RAF personnel were particularly proud of how robust the Buccaneer was, and apparently used to carry out this test on other aircraft quite frequently, many apparently failed.
There are also stories of RAF maintainers fixing bird strike damage to a wing of a Buccaneer with a hammer, much to the incredulity of a visiting NATO pilot.

[2] The Nanuchka III class is armed with an SA-N-4 ‘Geko’ twin launcher forward, why it does not carry any gun armament than can fire forward, while the Tarantul III is armed with a SA-N-5 ‘Grail’ quad launcher. Neither weapon would be all that effective in deterring a shadowing helicopter, nor defeating an attack by missile armed helicopters.