History, Politics And Current Affairs

0811 hours. Longannet Generating Station, Kincardine, Fife.
Divisional Officer Mike Grey took the offered mug of tea from the mobile WRVS canteen. He was exhausted, the fire in the coal stock yard had been one of the worst he had ever faced, yet it was almost out at last.
The bulldozers, manned by men of the National Emergency Volunteers, had succeeded in moving all of the remaining coal away from the fire, which was beginning to die down. The fire had virtually burned itself out, to such a degree that the fire service had begun to withdraw equipment; for example the service’s two High Volume Pumps had been loaded back on to their vehicles and were in the process of being returned to store, as were the other two HVPs which had come from the central civil defence store near Stirling.
They had been loaded back onto the train that had brought them to the site and were heading towards Stirling.
The HVPs had been replaced by four ancient Bedford RLHZ Self Propelled Pumps, better known as the ‘Green Goddess’, acting in their intended roles as mobile pumps. A few other fire appliances were also still on site, just in case. [1]

There was one thing that had amazed Grey, Network Rail and EWS had cleared the wreckage of the coal train and had repaired the track in record time, declaring that it was now clear for through traffic. The railway engineers could certainly work fast enough when they needed to, pity they didn’t work as fast in peacetime, Grey thought.

“I just want to thank you, Mr Grey.” The manager of the power station said. “We’ll be up and running again in a couple of ours; you and your people certainly saved our bacon.”
“Just doing our job, Sir.
“We appreciate the cooperation your people gave us.”
“Not a problem.” The manager said, before turning to walk away.

Grey turned back to the mobile canteen and was handed the bacon roll that he had been waiting for.

“You want to head back to H.Q, Mike, I’ve got this covered?” The Station Officer from Dunfermline, who had come to the mobile canteen to also get something to eat.
“Thanks, Paul. I could do with a bit of a rest.
“Do you need anything?”
“We’re fine with what’s already here. Another few hours and I reckon the incident will be over and we can hand back to the power station fire section.”

As grey was walking back to his car, his helmet in his left hand and his heavy boots under his arm, his mobile phone went off. He had to put his boots down before he could answer.

“D.O Grey.”
“Mike, this is Richard Daniels.” The voice of the Deputy Fire Master said. “There is a major incident in Levenmouth; the power station got hit, and there are several fires throughout Methil and Leven.
“I need you to get over there as Silver Commander. I’ve already got extra equipment and personnel over there.”
“Can’t, Dave Hicks handle this, Sir; I’ve just finished at Longannet?” An exhausted Grey asked.
“He’s Gold Commander, Mike, and the incident is in your area. I need you up there ASAP.”
“Okay, Sir.” Grey replied reluctantly. “I’ll head up there now.
“Who’s the on scene commander at the moment?”
“Bill Michaels, from Red Watch at Methil; he’ll be your Bronze Commander once you’re on site.”
“Bill’s a good man; he’ll probably have things under control by the time I get there. I’ll report to Dave Hicks once I’m on scene.”

0812 hours. Over Western Iraq.
“Coming up on I.P, Ops.” Lieutenant Porter reported.
“Rog, arming weapons, Madge.” Lieutenant Commander Wiser replied.

The Intruder’s weapons computer now began to count down to the moment when the aircraft performed its bomb toss manoeuvre and the two BLU-80/B Bigeye bombs it was carrying would be released.

“Still no ground radars.” Porter said. “Looks like the Queers have jammed that AWACS bird.”
“Any sign of those Migs?” Wiser asked.
“Nope, the Toms have either shot them down, or they’ve run away.” She replied.

The three groups of Intruders had now changed formation into the one that they would use for their attack run. The intention was that the Bigeyes would be delivered on target within a few seconds of each other, saturating the target with VX nerve gas.
The Hornet providing close escort and SEAD support took up position on both sides of the groups, waiting to pounce on any potential threat to the bombers.

*

The Iraqi air force sergeant scanned the sky though an old pair of binoculars. He had another enlisted man had been given a pair of binoculars, an Igla-1E, known as the SA-16 ‘Gimlet’ launcher and several missiles, and had been sent to stand on a piece of high ground near H-2.

This relatively unsophisticated form of air defence had succeeded where the sophisticated SAMs guarding the air base had failed; the sergeant and his number two had already shot down an aircraft, one of the Saudi Tornado IDS had over-flown the hill after firing its Storm Shadow missiles. Or at least it appeared that the Tornado had been shot down; the last they had seen of the aircraft had been it disappearing over the horizon trailing smoke.
The sergeant had already decided to claim this as a kill, whether the Tornado had crashed or, not. Their Commanding Officer had offered a month’s pay to the first team to shoot down an enemy aircraft, and he wanted that money.

As he scanned the horizon for what seemed to be the hundredth time his attention was grabbed by a few faint specks. He focussed on them, adjusting the binoculars slightly; yes, they were definitely aircraft rather than cruise missiles. Looked like quite a few of them in fact.

“Look alive there!” He shouted to the junior airman. “More aircraft approaching from the southeast.”

The other man lifted the launcher up onto his shoulder, took aim and waited.

*

“Starting the attack run now.” Porter said, pressing the last few switches.
“Rog.”
“Can see some flack up ahead, Ops.”
“Yeh, I see it, Madge.” Wiser confirmed.

Tracer fire from 23 and 57mm AA guns positioned around the airfield were firing blindly up into the air. Some of the escorting Hornets took the opportunity to fire off JSOWs at the gun sites, even though they did not pose that much of a threat.

“Stand-by, stand-by.” Porter said as she began the count-down to weapons release. “Five…four…three…two…one…NOW!”

Wiser pulled back hard on the control column and pushed the throttles to the stops. The Intruder’s nose came up rapidly as it started a zoom-climb in preparation for a toss-bomb manoeuvre.
At the top of the curve, just before the A-6F nosed over, the weapons computer released the two ‘Bigeye’ bombs; Wiser pushed the pickle button anyway, just to make sure.
The two bombs went on their merry way, heading for H-2, while the Intruder nosed down inverted, Wiser and Porter finding themselves looking down at the Iraqi desert.
Wiser rolled the aircraft over and continued the rapid dive to get back down to a safer altitude. The navy aircraft were now flying for themselves, their only goal to get back to the Kitty Hawk in one piece.

*

The Iraqi gunner tracked the American aircraft; he recognised it as a navy Intruder, as it pulled out of its dive near to his hill. He heard a continuous tone in his ears, indicating that the ‘Gimlet’ had locked on, and fired.
The missile shot out of its tube, accelerating to Mach.2 as it target, which was, as yet, unaware that it was under attack. The ‘Gimlet’ tracked successfully, detonating against the rear fuselage of the Intruder.

*

“***!” Porter exclaimed.
“What the *** was that?” Wiser added.

*

The Iraqi sergeant and the gunner watched with satisfaction as the Intruder spiralled towards the ground, wreathed in smoke and flames. They would definitely get that extra month’s pay now.
However they did not have long to celebrate their success, as the VX nerve agent released by the ‘Bigeyes’ had reached their position. The sergeant, who was slightly closer to the base, felt the effects of the agent first, his muscles contracted uncontrollably.
The gunner just had enough time to register the sergeant drop to the ground, convulsing before he too was affected. Both men were dead within a minute from asphyxiation caused by sustained contraction of the diaphragm; just two more casualties of the attack on H-2.

0830 hours. Biggs Army Airfield, El Paso Texas.
The eight USAF C-5M Galaxy transport aircraft; drawn from the 433rd Air Wing, Air Force Reserve, based at Kelly Air Force Base; had arrived earlier that morning to pick up their cargo. [2]

*
Over the last few years the army had been testing a new air defence vehicle, the M1/Air-Ground Air Defence System, now standardised as the M105. The M1/AGDS was intended to supplement the short ranged M6 Linebacker, and fill the gap created by the cut-back of the MIM-146 ADATS, which was only available in small numbers. [3]

Fort Bliss, as home of the U.S Army Air Defence Artillery School, had been host to the testing and evaluation of the M105, and was also the home of the first two active duty battalions equipped with the vehicle, which had been assigned to the corps artillery of III Corps. The M105 itself was based largely on off-the-shelf components, the largest being an M1 Abrams hull, something the army had in abundance, fitted with a new turret, which although similar in appearance and ballistic protection, was of a new design.
The primary armament of the M1/AGDS was twelve ADATS missiles, taking advantage of the development costs already sunk in the project, giving it both an anti-aircraft and anti-tank capability. The vehicle’s secondary armament was a pair of two Bushmaster III 35mm cannons, capable of destroying both air and light armoured ground targets.
Like all modern military vehicles the M1/AGDS could act as part of a network, allowing priority ground and air targets to be assigned to the appropriate vehicle, or platform, from Patriot down to shoulder launched Stinger. [4]

*

No M1/ADGS had yet reached Europe, although the two Fort Bliss based battalions were moving their equipment to the Gulf coast ports for despatch to West Germany. To speed up the process somewhat, and to gather the sort of data that can only be gathered in combat, a small number of M105s were being flown directly to the battlefront.
The eight vehicles assigned to go in this first shuttle flight had been driven from their motor pool at Fort Bliss to the air field, where they were now being loaded onto the Galaxies. A small advance party had already boarded a 767 of Delta Air Lines, called up as part of the Civil Reserve Air Fleet, and were now on their way to West Germany.

The loading process finished the Galaxies began to taxi to the main runway, and one by one take to the air.

0850 hours. Olympic Stadium complex, Charlottenburg, Berlin.
Major General Allan Mallinson, General Officer Commanding British Forces Berlin, and now also commander of the Allied Garrison, looked up at two maps that were pinned up in his Command Post.
One map was a situation map showing both the current positions of the garrison’s units and how far the East German and Soviet units had advanced. The second map was based on what the Allies knew of the NVA’s plans for an invasion of West Berlin; this was quite a lot as disaffected East Germans had been passing along information on ‘Operation Centre’, or ZENTRUM in German, since it had been codenamed ‘Thrust’ (STOSS in German).
From reading the plans Mallinson knew that the NVA expected to capture West Berlin within three days; well they were already one day behind schedule, and comparing the situation map to that of the planned invasion it was clear that baring any sudden collapse on the part of the Western Garrison, or a breakthrough, that they were not going to take the western half of the city any time soon. [5]

The performance of the enemy units had also been rather mixed. On the whole the NVA and Soviet motor rifle units, except where they contained large numbers of reservists, had performed well, as had the members of the 40th Air Assault Regiment. The troops drawn from the Border Police Command, the GKM, had also generally proven to be difficult enemies.
The contingents of the People’s Police Alert Unit (V.P) and the four battalions of the ‘Combat Groups of the Working Class’ had proven to be singularly useless. The V.P had shown no particular desire to get to grips with professional soldiers, and tended to retreat when faced with any significant opposition. One company had been put to flight by a few lightly armed members of the West Berlin police.
The ‘Combat Groups of the Working Class’ had limited themselves to looting rather than fighting, apparently satisfied that this fulfilled their mission.

Mallinson turned away from the map to face his chief of staff.

“Do we have a handle on what gas was used against our troops?”
“It was hydrogen cyanide, Sir, both fast acting and fast dispersing.
“The attack caught us rather by surprise, the units hit took rather heavy casualties. No news of civilian casualties has come in yet.”
“Well at least it wasn’t a persistent agent.” Mallinson replied. “Did anybody get out of Tempelhof?”

Tempelhof Airport had been guarded by a mixture of West German police officers and the USAF 7350th Security Forces Squadron. They had been attacked by the 1st Battalion, 40th Air Assault Regiment in the opening hours of hostilities; radio contact had been lost the next morning.

“It doesn’t look like it, Sir. I’m afraid we’ll have to write off the troops at Tempelhof, just as we had to write off Tegel.
“On the bright side the defenders of RAF Gatow are still holding out. We’ve been in contact with the senior surviving officer there, a Flight Lieutenant Carden. He is of the opinion that his men can hold out for another couple of days, at maximum.”
“No chance we can send someone to relieve them I suppose?”

Mallinson’s Chief of Staff shook his head.

“I thought not. Order Flight Lieutenant Carden to continue resisting for as long as it serves a useful purpose, he is free to surrender at his discretion.”
“Very good, Sir.”
“Have we confirmed the location of the NVA command H.Q?” The General wondered.
“Yes, Sir, they are in a field H.Q near their peacetime location in Potsdam rather than in the bunker at Blankenfelde. They are beyond artillery range, but it would seem a suitable mission for the three Lynxes that 7 Flight have left.” [6]
“If they think it is feasible I want that H.Q taken out. Eliminating the enemy’s high command might well buy us a few more days.
“Who knows, that might take us to the end of the war.”

The Chief of Staff nodded. He turned and picked up three leaflets that had been sitting on a desk behind him.

“Have you seen these, Sir?”

Mallinson looked at the offered leaflets. They were propaganda aimed at the three Western garrisons, those intended for the British and French troops questioned why they should be sacrificing themselves in a ‘hopeless struggle’ for American war goals, while the one aimed at the Americans claimed that the US Army had never defeated a ‘socialist army’.

“They have been dropped by aircraft and delivered in mortar rounds.”

Mallinson handed the propaganda leaflets back, not looking all that impressed.

“Well, at least we’ll not run short of toilet paper.” He said.

*

“Right, you lot it’s my job to turn you REMFs into a close approximation of infantrymen.” The Warrant Officer Class II, a member of the 3rd Royal Green Jackets, who had been on a tour with BRIXMIS when war had broken out, was saying to the motley group of soldiers in front of him.

Luckily for him he had been at BRIXMIS H.Q when the war had started, rather than at the mission house in Potsdam. It had been assumed that many of the teams there had gotten away and had gone to ground, though it was inevitable that many had been killed, or taken prisoner.

“God knows how I’m going to do it though.” He added.

He walked along the front row of soldiers, looking each in the eye. He might make something out of the military policemen, at least they were combat soldiers, some of the loggies from the RLC looked like they might also make good infantrymen, but the administrators, staff, educators, army lawyers and the assorted ‘bottle-washers’, cooks, clerks etc of the Adjutant Generals Corps and Royal Logistic Corps were another matter. Some looked rather uncomfortable holding a rifle, while others looked like they would answer in the affirmative to the age old football chant of ‘who ate all the pies?’
What really concerned the sergeant-major, traditionalist that he was, that nearly half of this group were, to use his phrase, ‘split arses’. He had no great faith in the ability of women in combat, but it was not as if the Berlin Brigade had much of a choice.

“Well I’m glad to see that we all passed our WHT, so at least you won’t be a danger to the men around you at least. Now I’m sure you’ve heard that the East Germans have started to use chemical weapons against us, so before you head up to the front-line we’re going to go through NBC drills.
“I see you’re all wearing your ‘Noddy suits’, so that’s a good start, so we’ll see how you do putting on your respirators…GAS! GAS! GAS!”

The assembled soldiers pulled off their Kevlar helmets and struggled into their S10 respirators. Once they were on each soldier checked the person next to him, or her, making sure that all of the straps were done up properly, before putting their helmets back on.
To the CSM’s satisfaction they had all carried out the exercise within the allotted time, evidently the very real threat of chemical warfare had concentrated minds. He walked along the line, looking for any respirators that were not on properly. He stopped in front of one soldier, female from her body shape, though once an S10 was on it was rather hard to tell.

“Name, soldier?” He asked.
“Hargreaves, Lucy, Private, sarn’t major!” She shouted, her voice muffled by the mask.
“What’s your job, Private Hargreaves?”
“I’m a clerk in the AGC, sarn’t major!”
“So you type, file stuff and make the tea then?”
“Yes, sarn’t major.”
“You had much practise with your weapon, Private?”
“Yes, sarn’t major, I’m a member of the AGC shooting team.”

The answer took the WO2 slightly by surprise; he knew of the team, despite being exclusively made up of REMFs they were very good. Good enough to embarrass a team from one of the infantry battalions.

“Well good for you, Private. You happy enough under there?”
“As happy as can be expected, sarn’t major.” She replied.
“Good.
“Anybody else feeling claustrophobic?”

There were several muffled replies in the negative.

“Okay, take your respirators off and go and draw as much ammo as you can. The wagons will be here in ten minutes, don’t be late.”

When the lorries arrived they presented a rather shocking sight. The canvas covers had been shredded and none of them had any glass left. The CSM noticed some suspicious looking dark brown stains in the rear of one lorry.

“Sarn’t Major Collins?” A female voice asked.
“Yes, ma’m.”
“I’m Captain Shaw, is my company ready?”

WO2 Collins recognised the officer as the formidable Captain Elizabeth Shaw, the commander of the REME Light Aid Detachment attached to the 1st Gloucestershire Regiment. She was known as the ‘Princess Royal’ because she was always immaculately turned out and spoke impeccably. She also never seemed to sweat, or show any stress whatever the situation.

“What are they like, sarn’t major?” Shaw asked.
“Not bad, ma’m, for a group of Monkees, loggies and assorted members of the All Girls Corps.”
“So something of a half baked abortion, then Mr. Collins?”
“That’s about the size of it, ma’m.”

The provisional company assembled a minute later, some of the soldiers carrying various weapons, such as a few extra GPMGs, Minimis, LAW rockets, the parts of an 81mm mortar and mortar bombs, and even a pair of Javelin anti-tank missiles that they had acquired from the armoury.

“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen. I am Captain Shaw, your new company commander. I can see from that collection of extra kit that you are a resourceful bunch, so I am sure that we are going to get along fine.
“Now I’m not going to give you any soft soap, we’re about to head off into a pretty tough battle. It has been difficult enough even for trained infantrymen, so it is going to be pretty hard for us. I don’t know if any of us are going to make it out of this alive, but we are going to hold our ground for as long as we can.
“West Berlin is not going to be another Singapore, but maybe a Rorke’s Drift.
“One last thing, at the moment we’re just a provisional company. We need a proper name before we go into action. Does anyone have any suggestions?”
“R Company, ma’m.” A voice from the second row suggested.
“As in REMF?” Shaw wondered. “Well, that’s good enough for me.”

0910 hours. Near Ar Rawdatayn, northern Kuwait.
The sun was not yet fully up yet it was almost unbearable to be out in the open. Sergeant Rees cursed the fact that not only did he have to be under the heat of the sun, but also had to wear a full NBC suit. With both the Iraqis and Coalition forces using large quantities of chemical weapons wearing protective gear was a necessity.
He could feel the sweat running down his back, and pooling under his armpits and the extremities of the NBC suit. Worse still his mouth felt like sandpaper.

The Special Forces patrol that Rees had been attached to had been lucky. After the patrol had lost its vehicle it had been lucky to have been picked up by an MH-53M and flown back to Camp Doha, where it had been issued with a new Ground Mobility Vehicle and replacements for lost equipment, and sent off to work with the Kuwaiti 26th Cavalry Brigade.

“See anything yet, Jimmy?” Master Sergeant Edwards asked.
“Nothing yet, Tom, but there’s a hell of a lot of dust up there, so I expect the Iraqis will be along in a minute.
“What have we got on call at the moment?”
“Couple of Tornados armed with Brimstones. You’d better be the one to speak to them when the time comes.” Edwards replied with a grin.
“What, you expect them to understand my accent over yours?” Rees said, laughing.

*

After the initial shock of the Iraqi chemical attacks and invasion, the Coalition forces, still mainly Kuwaiti, had recovered and were now fighting well against superior enemy forces. If Iraq had expected a walk over after the chemical attack, they had made one hell of a mistake, if anything after they had recovered the Kuwaiti troops had fought even harder than they would have, even in defence of their homeland.
The Iraqis were also now learning that it was not good to use chemical weapons against someone with a powerful WMD capability of their own. In fact the Iraqis were lucky that the Americans had maintained stocks of chemical weapons, otherwise they would have been in receipt of some ‘Instant Sunshine’.

Up here in the north the line was being held by the 26th Cavalry Brigade, organised like an American Armored Cavalry Regiment, and equipped similarly, though it had Desert Warriors rather than Bradleys, the 55th Reserved Mechanised Brigade, equipped with old M-84 tanks and BMP-2s, and the British contingent, the 1st Battalion, The Royal Irish Regiment Battle Group.
To the west the main Iraqi thrust had come up against the remaining Kuwaiti regular brigades, the 6th Mechanised Brigade, the 15th and 35th Armored Brigades, and the 3rd Brigade, 40th Infantry Division (Mechanised), the main American ground force in Kuwait.
The Royal Guard Brigade, equipped with Abrams, Bradleys and Paladins, was being kept in reserve, along with the 45th Reserve Armored Brigade, to cover any other possible contingencies, such as an amphibious or airborne attack.

Priorities for the defenders at the moment were keeping the Iraqis away from the main Kuwaiti oil fields, though the Kuwaitis were prepared to destroy those that might be overrun, preventing the Iraqis from taking Kuwait city, and keeping the airfield through which American reinforcements would arrive.
Hopefully the rest of the 40th Infantry Division (Mechanised), currently boarding aircraft in California, Nevada and other western US states, would be on the ground in another day, or so, and operational within another one, or two days after that.

*

“Here the come.” Edwards commented as the Iraqi armoured vehicles of the reconnaissance screen appeared out of the dust cloud. “Time to go to work.
“Jimmy?”
“Yeh, okay, Tom.” Rees replied, taking the offered radio handset. “What’s their radio call sign?”
“Lynx One and Two.”
“Lynx Flight this is Delta Charlie six-three. I have multiple targets five kilometres of my grid reference.” Rees said into the radio, adding his position. “Targets are tanks and other armoured vehicles.
“I can provide BDA, over.”
“Delta Charlie six-three, this is Lynx One. Confirm target location, am launching weapons.
“Nice to hear a British accent, over.”
“Happy to oblige, Lynx One, over.”

A few seconds later the members of the patrol heard the roar of the first Brimstone missiles passing over their position, before impacting on the leading Iraqi armoured vehicles. As far as Rees and Edwards could see all of the missiles had hit their targets.

“Good shooting, Lynx Flight. Looks like you hit the targets, over.”
“Thanks, Delta Charlie six-three. We are RTB for more weapons. Maybe we’ll
See you later, over.”

Rees brought his binoculars up to his eyes and scanned the Iraqi Republican Guard formation ahead of him. The air attack had caused some disruption, and the Iraqis had halted to sort themselves out before pushing on again.

“Some arty, or Apaches would be nice right about now.” Rees commented.
“Well, let’s see what I can do.” Edwards replied.

0920 hours. Pope Air Force Base, North Carolina.
The big air base was bustling with activity as men and equipment from the 2nd Brigade, 82nd Airborne Division, and the 1st Squadron, 10th Armored Cavalry Regiment (Light) were loaded into C-5M Galaxies and C-17A Globemaster IIIs.
The Americans had finally managed to get agreement from the Panamanians to fly in troops to protect the canal, and they were not going to lose a minute in getting there, lest the Venezuelans attack before they could set up an effective defence. Aircraft carrying troops from the 1st and 3rd Battalions, 75th Ranger Regiment and assorted members of various Special Forces Groups, were already in the air, on their way to secure the planned Drop Zones.

However, the Venezuelans, who did not need to ask permission, were also making the final preparations to their own plan. The air force’s Su-30s were being loaded up with weapons, while soldiers were boarding both military and requisitioned civilian transport aircraft.
Since Panama lacked armed forces, just having a police force, the Venezuelans planned to land their troops at the countries airports. The troops would stay in country long enough to do as much damage to canal facilities as they could before being withdrawn.

Though neither side knew it, they were now in a race against each other to see who reached Panama first. As the first Galaxies and Globemasters got airborne with their cargos of paratroopers and equipment they were only a couple of hours ahead of the Venezuelans.
Only time would tell whether the Panama Canal would be saved from attack, or badly damaged.

***

[1] Anyone with a few thousand pounds to spare can now buy a fully equipped ‘Green Goddess’ in very good condition or a slightly more expensive ‘Yellow Goddess. See here and here for details.
Certainly cheaper than the average classic car!

[2] Biggs AAF can handle aircraft as large as a B-52 and C-5, so would be an ideal location to move equipment from Fort Bliss. See here for details.
Both Biggs AAF and Fort Bliss can be found using Google Earth. The resolution is very good and a great deal of detail can be made out.

[3] Because the system was only procured in limited numbers, the MIM-146 was used rather like the British Rapier, providing mobile point defence for headquarters, vital points etc, which meant that its secondary anti-tank capability was largely unused.

[4] Details on the M1/AGDS can be found here.

[5] An article on the NVA plans for the invasion of West Berlin can be found here.

[6] During the last few years of its existence at RAF Gatow, 7 Flight AAC was equipped with six Gazelle AH.1s and four Lynx AH.7s. The later were equipped to fire TOW missiles. See link.
After four days of hostilities four Gazelles and three Lynxes remained. One Gazelle was caught on the ground at RAF Gatow, as it had been under repair; the other was shot down by an NVA ‘Hind’, while the Lynx was brought down by a hand-held SAM, probably an SA-16, or SA-18.

Nothing surprises me about storesmen.
I based those comments on something a friend told me about an RAF storesman who would not issue him with a woolly-pulley in his size because it was the last one and he 'might need to issue it'. The 'stores' rather than 'issues' comes from ARRSE.



When I originally wrote that section that is exactly what I believed. However a short time later I was browsing the ARRSE fora and a user (or two) suggested it was possible to fit a UGL and bayonet to an SA80, not having tried it myself I took the poster's word for it.
That is a cautionary tale for all writers, check, check and check again before making a decision.

Source for that is an Infantry WO2 who was instructing me at the time, and whose son was a Minimi gunner in Iraq with 2 Royal Anglian at the time. I've never managed to get my paws on an UGL, but if you look at photos of it the foregrip covers the barrel up to the start of the flash hider. The current bayonet handle locks around the barrel, and is about four times the length of the flash hider.

Extract from 11 Group, RAF, war diary for 25th April.
‘Attacks by Soviet strategic bomber aircraft (‘Backfires’ and possibly cruise missiles armed ‘Bears’) and tactical aircraft (‘Fencers’ and ‘Fullbacks’) continue. Some ‘Flankers’ escorting strike aircraft are encountered by interceptors, three Tornado F.3s, two Hawk T.2s and a Typhoon FGR.2 have been lost in air-to-air combat.
‘Attacks continue against our air stations and air defence infrastructure, and other targets, though the target plot seems to be somewhat bowdlerised – the enemy seems to be trying to attack a wide range of targets at once, overstretching their available bomber force.

‘Air stations attacked include RAF Leuchars (damage light), RAF Leeming (damage moderate, but not enough to put the station out of action), RAF Binbrook (runway put out of action, operational 0941 hours GMT), RAF Turnhouse (damage heavy, station out of action until 0905 hours GMT, FOL 1 at East Fortune opened up while repairs carried out), RAF Conningsby (damage moderate, station operational), RAF Wattisham (damage light).
‘Radar stations attacked include RAF Buchan (damage to surface buildings heavy, but R.3A bunker and remote heads undamaged, station operational), RAF Boulmer (damage ditto Buchan), RAF Neatishead (damage light).

‘RAF High Wycombe ADOC fully operational 0852 hours. RAF Bentley Priory SADOC handed over control at 0856 hours.

‘Liaison officer 38 Group reports attacks on RAF Brize Norton and some civilian dispersal fields used by its tankers, including Newcastle airport. One Tristar KC.2 destroyed, two VC.10s damaged but repairable, Victor K.2s from V-bomber display flight will replace them until they are repaired.

‘Other military targets struck include the naval bases and dockyards at Rosyth, Portsmouth and Devonport, though damage is reported as light. H.Q Land Command, Wilton (light damage), Northwood (light damage, none to bunker) also attacked.

‘A number of civilian infrastructure targets have also been attacked. Power stations hit include Methil (completely destroyed), Inverkip, Drax, Ferrybridge and Didcot A (all damaged). No attacks on nuclear power stations yet reported.
‘The last two mentioned power stations are currently out of action and under repair. Drax currently operating at half capacity, and Inverkip was not generating, but was part of Scottish Power’s strategic reserve. Loss of generating capacity is having an effect on electrical supply, but liaison officer from National Grid confirms that military are priority for available supply.
‘Hertfordshire Oil Storage Terminal (Buncefield Depot) hit by cruise missile attack, severe damage caused both to terminal and surrounding area. Large quantities of refined fuel products, including aviation fuel lost; may cause temporary shortages for aircraft using Heathrow and Gatwick. Large smoke plume from the fire causing hazard for aircraft over southern England/southern North Sea.
‘East Coast Main railway Line cut by bomb hit on York station, 0751 hours, line clear for diesel hauled traffic 1154 hours, overhead wires still under repair, West Coast Main railway Line cut by missile damage at Weaver Junction, 0658 hours, open for diesel hauled traffic 0955 hours, overhead wires still under repair. RAF fuel trains being sent via recognised diversion routes.
‘Several motorway junctions have been damaged by bombs and cruise missiles; however Essential Service Routes and Military Road Route System are still operational.

‘War stocks have not yet been significantly depleted. All units have enough supplies of POL to continue operations at current rate. Moreover weapons stocks will last for six to eight weeks at present rate of expenditure.
‘However stocks of Meteor missiles will begin to run low after three and a half weeks if supplies are not replenished. Should supply of Meteors run low, priority for stocks of remaining AMRAAM missiles will go to squadrons operating the Typhoon, if necessary Tornado F.3s will be armed with Skyflash missiles drawn from reserve stocks.
‘Aircrew fatigue is an ongoing problem, though it is not yet a major concern. It is believed that aircrew will not begin to experience significant effects of fatigue for another ten to fourteen days, though individuals will vary.’

0930 hours. Arbroath, Scotland.
The marines of 41 Commando, RMR, were still debussing from the 4-tonne lorries that had brought them down to the station from RM Condor while Lieutenant Colonel Thompson spoke to the RLC movements officer. While the men were arriving at Arbroath, the commando’s heavy equipment and vehicles were being taken up the coast to Montrose, where there were freight siding where they could be loaded onto flatbed trucks. [1]

“Rail travel is the best option for you, Sir.” The RLC Captain said. “If you were being flown out of Edinburgh then road would probably be the best option, but since you’re going over to Glasgow, this is the quickest way to do it.”
“Well it’s a bit unorthodox, we’ve never deployed by train.” Thompson replied. “I do hope we’ll not all have to buy a ticket.”

The RLC Captain laughed politely at the rather weak joke before continuing.

“We’ve worked with the railway people to get trains ready, but it’s all a bit ad hoc. The railways have put together three trains to carry your men; the first one should be here in about…” He checked his watch. “Oh, five minutes.”
“Which way are we getting there?” Thompson asked, out of interest.
“Down through Fife, across the Forth Bridge then down onto the main Edinburgh to Glasgow line; once in Glasgow it’s a road trip to the airport I’m afraid. On the bright side the bus companies have put their vehicles at our disposal.
“The heavy equipment is going via Perth and Stirling.”

*

It had only been a few hours ago that Lt. Colonel Thompson had been able to reveal their destination to his officers and senior NCOs.

“So where are we going, Boss?” Major Morrison, the second in command, had asked.
“Italy.” Thompson had replied decisively. “As you are no doubt aware SFOR in Bosnia is currently right in the path of the Soviet juggernaut. What you may not know is that they are going to be evacuated by sea; AFSOUTH has a US Marine Brigade and the Italian San Marco Battalion immediately available, but they need one more battalion sized group, and that is where we come in.
“The Commando is going to be flown out to Italy and from there we’ll board either Septic, or Eyetie amphibs to be put ashore wherever we’re needed.”
“Sounds very interesting, Boss.” One of the company commanders remarked. “I’ve been wanting to work on my tan.”
“What do we know about the strength of the forces the Soviets have moved into Yugoslavia and how close are they to SFOR?” A CSM asked.
“They have moved two Combined Arms Armies into the country, and we believe that they may be as little as a few hours away from Sarajevo. The Federal Yugoslav Army is offering almost no resistance, so it’s really just a case of them driving to Bosnia.” Thompson told him.

*

“That sounds like the first train arriving now.” The RLC captain remarked, looking towards the sound of approaching diesel engines.
“I’d better go and see that my men get aboard properly.” Thompson said, setting off across the car park.

He pushed his way past the queue of fully equipped Royal Marine Commandos, making the station look like some sort of highly militarised rush hour. A few marines were clustered around the kiosk, waiting to buy a newspaper, magazine, something to eat, or a drink.
Thompson also noticed that there was a queue of ‘Booties’ outside both the gents and ladies. He doubted there would be anybody who would object to them using the later.

On the platform the RLC movements staff had formed the marines into a number of groups, and had positioned them so that they would be standing as close to where the doors of the train would be when it stopped.
Thompson walked to the edge of the platform and looked up the line. He could make out the Class 67 locomotive pulling the train off in the distance.

As the train slowed to a halt Thompson could see that the first seven carriages were formed from a formation of the Caledonian Sleeper, minus the lounge coach. Three standard carriages in InterCity livery had been coupled onto them, finally brining up the rear of formation was a Class 37 locomotive. [2]

“Ad hoc indeed.” Thompson muttered.

The ten coach formation only just fit into Arbroath station; in fact the first door of the leading carriage and the last door of the rear carriage were hanging over the slopping end of the platform.

“Do you want to go with the first load, Bill or the last one?” Thompson asked his Second in Command.
“Why don’t we toss a coin for it, Sir?” Morrison suggested.

Thompson reached into the left pocket of his DPM jacket and pulled out a 10p piece.

“Heads or, tails?” Thompson asked.
“Tails never fails.” Morrison replied with confidence.

Thompson tossed the coin up into the air, caught it and slapped his palm onto the back of his other hand. He pulled back his hand to reveal an image of the right profile of HM Queen Elisabeth II.

“Bah, fix.” Morrison said with mock annoyance. “I’ll bet that’s a double headed coin.
“Anyway, enjoy the trip, Sir.”
“See you in Glasgow, Bill.” Thompson said with a grin.

Thompson boarded the train and managed to find himself one of the single berth first class cabins before another ‘Bootie’ could lay claim to it. Not having been on the sleeper before he was favourably impressed with what he found, yes the cabin was small, but it had a proper bed, a wash basin and shaver point. Rather thoughtfully the usual hand towel, bottled water, and mini wash kit had also been left for the marines to use.

The Colonel dropped his bergen down on the floor, sat down on the bed, removed his boots and green beret and lay down on the bed. He had not had a chance to get much rest over the last few days and he was fast asleep within a few seconds.
He did not notice the train pulling out of the station and would not wake up again until it reached Glasgow.

0945 hours. North of Sarajevo, Bosnia.
“Any sign of them yet, O’Hanlon?” Lt. Colonel Morgan asked.
“Nothing yet, Sir.” The commander of the recce platoon of 4th Infantry Battalion replied. “But I have my lads out there keeping an eye on the road just in case.
“The Russians will not get past us.”
“Good man.” Morgan said, clapping the Captain on the shoulder.

The Captain looked away for a moment, towards the horizon.

“Sir, why are we still here? This is not our war, and fighting the Soviets is certainly not our war.” He said, the doubt clearly audible in his voice.
“Ardal, we’re here because we’re here. We were sent to keep the peace, and we can’t exactly leave now; besides there’s no way for us to leave on our own anyway.
“As for fighting the Soviets, well, these are the people who have taken it on themselves to mine our territorial waters, sinking one of the naval service’s ships. It’s also pretty certain that they were responsible for blowing up the radar station at Mount Gabriel.
“Whatever the lads in Leinster House think, we’re effectively at war. The Soviets need to be shown that they can’t get away with pushing small neutral nations around, and we’re going to be the ones to do it.”

The scream of jet engines made both officers look up in surprise. Two aircraft that they recognised as Su-39 ‘Frogfoots’ passed over their position at about only fifty meters, pretty dangerous flying in the mountainous terrain around Sarajevo.

“Feck!” The Captain exclaimed as he watched the two Soviet aircraft disappear in the direction of the city.
“Feck indeed!” Morgan agreed. “Look, Ardal, I’d better get back to H.Q, it looks like the whole thing is kicking off.
“Good luck.”

Morgan sprinted to where his G-wagon was parked. As he jumped in he heard the far off boom of exploding bombs, evidently the ‘Frogfoots’ had found a target worthy of their attention.
With hostile aircraft around he was not going to hang around, and drove back to battle group H.Q as fast as was prudent on the difficult roads.

“Do we know who got hit?” Morgan asked as he entered the command tent.
“Seems it was the Nordic Battle Group, Sir.” His second in command replied. “The Danish company took the majority of the casualties.
“They got one of the ‘Frogfoots’ though.”
“Good for them.” Morgan said emphatically. “However it looks like the Russians really are coming. I want our lads to practise their drills for an air raid and refresh themselves on aircraft recognition; I don’t want someone firing off an RBS 70 at an F-16 for example.”
“I’ll pass that around, Sir.
“Are the Rules of Engagement still the same?”
“Yes, if it’s Russian, coming towards us and posing a threat we can kill it.” Morgan confirmed.

0950 hours. Southeast of Hanover, FRG.
The eight man patrol of British infantrymen was cautiously approaching the German village. One fire team was providing cover while the other jogged forward towards the nearest building.
Private Wilson dropped to one knee as he reached the burnt out shell of the first house, scanning the street ahead and the other buildings through his rifle’s SUSAT sight, searching for any threats. Seeing nothing he signalled to his ‘oppo’, Private Robertson, who ran forward to join him.

“Looks quiet up ahead, Robbie.” Wilson whispered to him.
“Right, nae probs, Deeky.
“Ahm gonae head for that hoose over there, cover me.” Robertson replied.
“Okay, Robbie, you just make sure nae bugger slots you.”

Robertson sprinted across the road, zigzagging to avoid any gun fire, before taking cover in the doorway of the house, Northern Ireland style.

*

The infantrymen would have preferred to have patrolled in the dark, which obviously made them less visible to the enemy. However there was a need to dominate the ground around the area which the British had occupied during ‘Operation TELIC’, a need to keep the Soviets off-balance.
The various battle groups of the 4th and 7th Armoured Brigades had sent out a number of small eight man infantry patrols. Their job was to seek out where the enemy, if they were present only in small numbers then the patrols could engage them, if the enemy was strong, the patrols would report their position and withdraw.

*

Corporal Lonnie watched as the other fire team of his section made their way forward along the main street of the village, ducking in and out of doorways as they went. Finally they went to ground, only the tops of the helmets being visible.

“We’re in position, Drew.” The voice of Lance Corporal McConachie said over Lonnie’s PRR.
“Right, we’re coming to you, Paul. Keep your eyes peeled.” Lonnie replied. “Let’s move.” He said to the other three men.

The four men hurried down into the village, taking full advantage of all of the available cover. On reaching his objective Lonnie dropped down, slightly out of breath.

“You all right, Corp?” Private Stein asked.
“Yeh, I’m fine.” Lonnie replied, still breathing heavily.
“Too much time spent sitting in the turret of a Warrior, ah think.” Lance Corporal McConachie suggested.
“Ach, get it up you.” Lonnie retorted.
“I can hear something, Corporal!” Private Wilson shouted from up the street. “Sounds like a vehicle!”

*

Lieutenant Colonel Stevenson was sitting in the back of one of the battle group’s Sultan ACVs monitoring the radio traffic from his infantry patrols. Most were short routine messages, though one patrol had called down an artillery barrage on a group of Soviet armour they had spotted. However there was no sign, yet, of any great movement of Soviet forces towards them.

“You’re wanted on the sat phone, Sir.” The Adjutant said, sticking his head into the Sultan.
“Must be pretty important if the Brigadier wants to speak to me via satellite.” Stevenson observed.
“It’s not Brigadier Harris, Sir, it’s Major General Corcorran.”
“Division? Bloody hell, I must really be in the *** if he’s calling.”

Stevenson stepped out of the Sultan and followed the Adjutant to where the satellite phone was. He took a deep breath before taking the offered hand set.

“Colonel Stevenson here, Sir.”
“Ah, good morning, Colonel Stevenson, I have something of a bone to pick with you this morning.
“It may interest you to know that the CGS, now the proud owner of a scalded leg and ruined pair of trousers, has been bending ear of General Horne about you. He in turn has been bending the ear of General O’Conner, and he has been doing the same to me.
“Now I decided to give Brigadier Harris a break and drop the *** straight onto you.
“Through the wonders of television it has come to the attention of General Jackson that you have a tank commander who is not of the male gender. I’m sure I don’t need to remind you of what Queen’s Regulations say regarding females and combat units not on Home Defence duties.
“The CGS himself has asked that this officer be relieved of her command and sent to the rear.”
“Has that request only come from the CGS, or from COMNORTHAG as well, Sir?” Stevenson asked.
“It’s specifically from the CGS. COMNORTHAG has not apparently expressed an opinion either way.”
“In that case, Sir, with respect the CGS’s message is pure bullshit. He is not in the NATO command structure last time I checked, so unless I get an order from you, General O’Conner, General Horne, or SACEUR then I am not giving up the officer you are referring to.
“Do you happen to have a spare major, or captain who can take over B Squadron, Sir? Otherwise it will end up under the command of the senior subaltern. She’s handled the squadron very well since Major Morrison was injured.”
“I wasn’t aware that she was leading the squadron, Colonel, and I doubt the CGS is aware of it either. It does put a whole new complexion on the matter, and to answer your question, no I don’t have anybody immediately spare to relieve her, though I can probably get you someone within a couple of days.
“I will pass on the new information to the CGS, though I don’t think I’ll tell him his concerns were ‘bullshit’. Sorry to have bothered you, Colonel.”
“That’s quite all right, Sir…” Stevenson began to reply, but Corcorran had already severed the link.

*

The sound of vehicles was getting louder and louder. Corporal Lonnie pushed himself even tighter into the doorway he was sheltering in.
The vehicles revealed themselves as a pair of BDRM-2 scout cars, not exactly a main battle tank, but for a squad of eight infantrymen, its 14.5 mm machine gun could be fatal. The good news was that it was poorly armoured and powered by a petrol engine, which made it very vulnerable.
The 40mm grenades fired by the UGL could probably penetrate the rear armour of the BDRM-2, and if not the patrol did have a pair of LAW-80 rockets.

“Stand-by, stand-by.” Lonnie said into his PRR. “Get ready to throw those smoke grenades, grenadiers wait until the vehicles have passed. The rest of you aim for the tyres.”

The BDRM-2s lumbered into the village, apparently unaware of the presence of the British patrol. They were travelling close enough to provide mutual support, but far enough apart to minimise the chance that they would both be caught in any kind of ambush.
The first BDRM-2 passed Lonnie, the corporal desperately hoping that he would not be spotted.

“Now!” He shouted into his PRR.

He pulled a smoke grenade out of his load bearing equipment, pulled the pin and threw it in front of the second BDRM. He flipped the selector on his rifle from S to A, and fired a couple of short bursts at the forward tires.

‘BOOM!’
‘BOOM!’

The two 40mm grenades made a pretty loud explosion as they went off. The leading BDRM burst into flames, the grenade having set its engine on fire, however the second vehicle was not so badly damaged and it began to reverse out of the ambush, firing its main machine-gun.
Its shredded tyres meant that it could only move relatively slowly, leaving a shower of sparks and deep grooves in the surface of the road.

“Stop the bloody thing!” Lonnie yelled to the rest of the patrol.

Every weapon in the patrol was now turned on the retreating BDRM-2, several grenades exploded around the stricken vehicle, and 40mm grenades began to explode on it, but nothing seemed to be able to stop it.

“Sod this for a game of sojers.” Private Wilson commented.

He lowered his rifle and un-slung the LAW-80 he had been carrying over his shoulder and took careful aim. He squeezed the trigger, and closed his eyes.
The warhead on the LAW-80 was designed to penetrate 700mm of armour, so it made short work of the 14mm that the BDRM-2 had as its frontal armour.

“Let’s get the *** out of here. He’ll have had enough time to warn his mates about us.” Lonnie told the patrol. “Move out by sections.”

1010 hours. ‘Soviet troops move into Finland’ – Reuters.
‘Helsinki, Finland. It has been reported that Soviet troops and armoured vehicles have crossed into northern Finland, apparently heading towards Norway.
‘Earlier this week the Finnish government issued a demand that all Soviet troops in their country should immediately leave Finnish territory, and warned that any further incursions would be met by force.
‘Unconfirmed reports of clashes between Finnish and Soviet troops have reached the capital, but the Finnish government has so far refused to comment. There has also not been any confirmation from the Kremlin.
‘The Soviet government has made it very clear in public pronouncements that should Finland resist the transit of its troops to the Norwegian Front it would regard such actions as an Act of War, and respond accordingly. News has come from the southern Finnish/Soviet border of a large build-up of Soviet mechanised troops, whether this is in preparation for an invasion, or intended to put pressure on the Finnish government is unclear.’

1035 hours. Translated text of Soviet decrypt.
‘The following was intercepted by the GCHQ/NSA listening station at RAF Menworth Hill. It was decoded and translated by GCHQ cryptanalysts.’

‘From: H.Q Leningrad Military District.
To: Commanding Officer Vyborg Corps.

‘Our troops transiting northern Finland have been fired on by what are believed to be Finnish Border Guards and members of the Jaeger Brigade. In accordance with existing plans you are to begin operations against Finland at the earliest possible juncture.
‘Your primary objectives are to rapidly advance on Helsinki and bring the city under artillery fire. You should also seek to destroy Finnish ground forces, so to prevent further resistance to our forces transiting through Finland.
‘Your corps will be provided with extensive air support, and the Baltic Fleet will cover your seaward flank.
‘Inform higher H.Q when ready to advance.’

‘Suggest immediate warning of Soviet attack be transmitted to Finnish government, along with offer of support.’

1045 hours. Defence Intelligence and Security Centre, RAF Chicksands, Bedfordshire.
Colonel Egleton had only just returned to his office, having spent the night and much of the morning in Fritham, Hampshire dealing with the aftermath of the accidental discovery of a covert cache of weapons intended to be used if Britain were to be occupied by Soviet troops. Local security forces had initially believed it to have been a Soviet weapons cache.
As was normal procedure news of the discovery had been passed on to the DISC, and as Colonel Egleton’s department had responsibility for the security of the caches he had gone to the location himself.

Eventually after some discussion a double cover story had been decided on, the story released to the locals was that the manhole cover was in fact over a septic tank, the standard cover story whenever a weapons cache was spotted. However another ‘unofficial’ story had been told to a select ‘trusted’ few that it was in fact a Soviet weapons cache, and that the army had removed its contents.
Hopefully this later cover story would be spread further, protecting the location of the weapons cache, and the KGB would presume it was a GRU cache and vice versa.

*

“Good morning, Colonel Egleton.” The Colonel’s secretary said as he entered the outer office. “A package has arrived for you from the MoD, Sir; it’s in your office.”
“Good morning, Alice.” Egleton replied. “Any idea what it is?”
“‘fraid not, Sir. Whatever it is, it’s above my security rating.
“All the currier would allow me to do was to sign for it. The sender wants you to phone Defence Intelligence as soon as you’ve seen it.”
“I’m sure its some boring intelligence assessment they want me to read.” The Colonel said brightly. “Any chance of a cuppa?” He added said as he stepped into his office.
“Give me five minutes, Colonel.”

Egleton saw that the sealed metal document container was sitting on the middle of his desk. Before opening it he first took his Browning Hi-Power out of its holster, removed the magazine and locked both of them in a metal box in his desk. He next took off his pistol belt and DPM jacket and hung them up.
He crossed to his safe, opened it and removed the key used to unlock document containers.

The container had two locks, one was opened by Colonel Egleton’s key, the second was a combination lock, the number of which was changed every forty-eight hours. Once the container was open Egleton found two documents inside, the one on top was an English translation of a Soviet document which he found underneath, both were weighty tomes.

‘Operation ZHUKOV’ Egleton saw the English document was titled, noting that the Russian language document had the same title; as part of his job Egleton spoke and read Russian fluently.
At the very bottom of the box was a short note from his counterpart at Defence Intelligence.

‘We received this package via our people in Stockholm early this morning. It is believed that it has been supplied via dissidents in the Polish Defence Ministry; however there is also a chance that it is disinformation from the Soviets themselves.
‘We have not had much time to translate the document, so the English version that you have been sent may be a little rough, so I have also sent you a copy of the original version in Russian. We would very much appreciate your comments and opinion on the veracity of the document, as we only have a few hours in which to warn SACEUR of the possibility of ZHUKOV being launched.’

“Bloody hell.” Egleton muttered. He pressed the intercom button on his desk. “Alice, never mind that cuppa, round up the team. I’ve got a job for them.”
“Right away, Colonel.”

1051 hours. Tromso airfield, Norway.
Squadron Leader Martin Bowman walked around the Jaguar GR.3A that he had been assigned for this particular sortie. He noted the standard pair of ASRAAM missiles on the two over wing panels, and the Digital Joint Reconnaissance Pod under the aircraft’s belly. [3]
On the port outer wing pylon was an ECM pod, while on the corresponding pylon under the starboard wing was a chaff pod. As this sortie would be relatively short ranged the aircraft was carrying a CRV-7 rocket pod on each inner pylon. The sortie planned for Bowman and his wingman was armed reconnaissance, so the rocket pods might come in handy if they spotted any worthwhile targets in between their recce objectives.

*

Squadron Leader Bowman was the Operations Officer for 614 (County of Glamorgan) Squadron, having been a member of the squadron since 2001. Back then he had been a regular pilot in 41 (Fighter) Squadron, flying Jaguars, as he did today.
That year Bowman had reached what was known as the ‘38/16 point’, more properly known as the ‘option point’, when aircrew could decide to leave, the colloquial name referring to reaching the age of 38, or 16 years of service, the point at which they would qualify for their pension and gratuity. It was also the year that the Jaguar would be phased out of front-line service and replaced by the Typhoon.

Like many aircrew reaching this point Bowman had decided to leave the service and seek employment in the lucrative airline industry. The younger pilots were all enthusiastic about converting to the Typhoon, but Bowman and many of his older peers could not work up much enthusiasm about the new aircraft.
However, at this juncture the MoD decided that the Jaguar fleet would be handed over to three new squadrons of the RAuxAF, which were due to eventually receive Typhoons, but not for some years yet. Recruits to form the core of these new squadrons had been sought amongst the aircrew who had reached their ‘option point’, or had applied for Premature Voluntary Release.

Bowman, and many others, had found the idea of continuing to fly an aircraft they were very fond of without much of the usual BS that went with regular service very attractive. As he was planning to move to south Wales as part of a job with British Airways, Bowman had chosen 614 as his preferred unit.

*

Satisfied that all was well Bowman checked the Jaguar’s flying surfaces, making sure they operated properly and that there was nothing blocking them.

“You ready to go, Andy?” Bowman asked his wingman, checking out his own Jaguar.
“Any time you are, boyo.” Flight Lieutenant Andy Evans replied.

*

Although the Jaguars of 614 Squadron were currently based at a proper airfield, which they were sharing with a detachment of Norwegian F-16s, Canadian CF-118s and USMC AV-8Bs, like the Harrier the Jaguar had an excellent rough field and STOL performance. If the northern Norwegian airfields became unusable, or were overrun, then the Jaguars and Harriers would take to short strips of road, and carry on the fight from there.

In the 1970s British Jaguars had practised operating from an unfinished motorway near Blackpool and stretches of West German autobahn between Bremen and Bremerhaven to prove that it could be done.
However, as with all fixed wing aircraft, the Jaguar performed best when operated from a proper air field.

*

Bowman climbed up into his Jaguar’s cockpit and after being strapped into the Martin Baker Mk.9 ejection seat he began to switching on the various systems before starting the two RR Adour Mk.106 engines. He released the brakes and the Jaguar began to move forward.

The two Jaguars taxied towards the threshold of the runway, pausing only to make one last check of their electronics and to allow their navigation systems to align properly. Finally the two aircraft lined up at the end of the runway and began their take off run, getting airborne pretty rapidly.

Bowman cleaned his Jaguar up, quickly checked that Evans was where he was supposed to be and began the first turn on their planned route. Bowman and Evans had done their best to plan a route that would avoid the worst of the Soviet air defences, but it was inevitable that they would encounter some.

***

[1] Arbroath does have a goods yard; however it is long out of use. Montrose, on the other hand, is still in use and has been used to load military vehicles on to trains.
See here and here.

[2] The Caledonian Sleeper is one of the two remaining sleeper services still running in the UK (the other being the Night Riviera, which also pulled the last Motorail service). The Caledonian Sleeper runs from London Euston to Glasgow Central and Edinburgh (the Lowland Sleeper) and Aberdeen, Inverness and Fort William (the Highland Sleeper). See here for details; this site also has some good interior photos of the sleeper here.

[3] The Digital Joint Reconnaissance Pod, originally the Jaguar Replacement Reconnaissance Pod, could be carried by the Harrier GR.9 and Tornado GR.4 as well as the Jaguar GR.3A. However the Harrier and Tornado could only use it in the manual mode, rather than the fully-automated mode which the Jaguar was capable of, reducing its flexibility and without the same degree of integration and user-friendly simplicity.
See link for details.

I'm sure that's the case having had a look at a photo of the L85 with UGL. I'll update the chapter.

1101 hours, 25th April. Over Troms, Norway.
Squadron Leader Bowman took a second to glance down at the Norwegian countryside as his Jaguar flashed over it. Catching sight of the roads down there he wondered who the ‘bloody fool’ was who had suggested that the squadron could take to the Norwegian roads if the airfields became unusable.
From what he could see the roads had a tendency to go up, down, left, or right at inconvenient intervals and they had a habit to have steep inclines on one side. One would have to go further south to find any roads suitable for use as an extempore airfield. [1]

Both Jaguars were flying at medium altitude as they passed over the area occupied by NATO ground forces. It was not particularly safe to transit this piece of terrain at low level, as NATO soldiers had developed the habit of shooting at just about anything with wings. Bowman and Evans had no wish to be shot down by their own side, as far too many NATO aircraft had been.
Every so often the RWR would bleep, indicating that they had been illuminated by either a ground, or airborne radar, hardly surprising given the number of SAM systems below them and friendly aircraft on Combat Air Patrol. However it also meant that it was rather difficult to pick out any hostile radar.

Bowman spotted a few self-propelled artillery vehicles, probably Norwegian M109Gs, or US Marine M109A6 ‘Paladins’. If he could see them, then so could a Soviet pilot; it was something he would mention when he got back, if the artillery unit had not relocated then they would need to improve their camouflage.

*

Major Robert Williams looked skywards as he heard the sound of jet engines, a reflex born of several Soviet air attacks. To his relief he recognised the shapes of two Sepecat Jaguars, heading north.

“Good luck, lads.” Williams muttered, making the assumption, correct in this case, that the pilots were male.

Major Williams was still recovering from the injuries he had sustained during the mission to rescue the personnel of a Norwegian coastal fort. While he had been fortunate not to have broken any bones, he had suffered severe bruising and was still in a degree of pain.
Today he had been sent up to the front line to see how their counterparts in 5th Airborne Brigade were getting on. 3 Commando Brigade was currently part of Commander, Northern Norway’s reserves, but there was a good chance that it would be put into the line when the main Soviet force reached ‘Fortress Norway’. [2]

Williams had taken part in many exercises, but he never failed to be impressed by the fortifications that the Norwegians had built in this part of the country. They had been fortifying it for more than half a century, adding bunkers, pillboxes, and troops shelters every year until there were so many no potential enemy could tell which were in use, and which were not, and which were dummies.
The most powerful of these bunkers were the ones that allowed self-propelled guns to operate from within them, and bunkers that were installed with the turrets of NM-116 light tanks, armed with a 90mm gun. [3]
With ever more Leopard 2A6NO tanks entering service it was likely that turrets from M48A5s and Leopard 1A5NO2s would have started replacing those from the obsolete NM-116, but war had overtaken this possibility.

Williams had parked his Land Rover some distance back and had walked the rest of the way to the battalion Command Post of 2 Para; the rules were very strict about not leaving vehicles in a place where they might identify the C.P.
The Major waited for a column of Norwegian tanks, a mix of Home Guard manned NM-116s and Leopard 1A5NO2s from an army reserve unit, to pass before crossing the road and entering the Command Post.

The entrance to the C.P was down a communications trench, which was provided with overhead cover so that it did not telegraph the location of the camouflaged bunker to any airborne observer. The bunker itself looked like the rest of the terrain around it, and an uncovered entrance would rather spoil this.

“Look out, the Craphats are here!” A voice called out as Williams ducked into the C.P.
“That’s enough of that!” Lieutenant Colonel Daniel Morris, C.O of 2 Para, snapped. “Good morning Major Williams, welcome to the front line.”
“Thank you, Sir.” Williams replied. “I don’t think I’ve been inside one of these bunkers before.”
“Impressive, aren’t they?” Morris said rhetorically. “The Norwegians kept them pretty secret; beats setting up in a tent, or someone’s house.”
“Any sign of the enemy, yet, Sir?”
“We’ve seen plenty of their aircraft; it’s been quite interesting watch them encounter our SAM defences, the Toms have started a sweepstake on how many aircraft the Rapier and Starstreak gunners will get whenever the enemy passes overhead.
“The Soviet ground forces are still a ways off yet; I’m sure you’re as well informed as I am regarding the current position of their leading troops.”
“Last report has their leading units advancing along the E6 near Talvik, about one and a half days march away, that is if all the bridges and ferries were intact and our special forces and the Norwegian Home Guard weren’t being a pain in their arses.” Williams said, a slight smile appearing on his face as his finished his answer. “I’d figure maybe three days minimum, Sir.”

1110 hours, GMT. H.Q SAC, Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska.
General Mike Kozlowski, USAF, Commander-in-Chief Strategic Air Command, descended to the hardened command centre a couple of hundred feet below the surface and protected by several feet of steel and concrete.
While there had not yet been a nuclear exchange, SAC was already in the thick of the action. The bombers of the ‘Conventional Strike Force’ were already in action in Europe, Southwest Asia and in the Far East, and its tanker force was in great demand by TAC.

General Kozlowski had come under pressure from some in the Defence Department to put a proportion of his SIOP dedicated bomber force on airborne alert. [4] Part of him, the pure military commander portion of his personality, wanted to do it to safeguard part of his bomber force, another part of his personality saw this as a dangerously provocative move that might send the wrong signals to the Soviets, and would increase the chances of a ‘BROKEN ARROW’ occurring.
Instead he would be content with dispersing his bomber force to a number of military airfields, and if necessary some civilian airports.
His missile force however, was, apart from some of the MGM-134 ‘Minuteman IV’ missiles, was completely immobile, and depended on the dispersion of the silos and sheer number of targets for protection. There was little Kozlowski could do to make the missiles any safer than they were already. [5]

While General Kozlowski was on duty in SAC H.Q his deputy, or a designated senior officer, was airborne aboard an EC-135C airborne command post, codenamed ‘Looking Glass’, ready to take over if Offutt disappeared in a blinding flash. There were also two spare EC-135Cs on ground alert at Offutt, ready to get airborne were there to be a nuclear alert.
Kozlowski also occasionally took his turn aboard ‘Looking Glass’, leaving the ground based administrative work to his deputy.

*

“Good morning, General.” Kozlowski’s Chief of Staff, Brigadier General Mark Sheppard, USAF, said as CINCSAC entered the command centre. “We’ve just received the latest overheads of Pryluki and Engels; I thought you’d want to see them.” Sheppard continued handing over the satellite views.
“Thanks, Shep.” Kozlowski said. “I see the Soviets are playing by the rules by the looks of these. By my count there are the same number of ‘Blackjacks’ and ‘Bears’ in place since the last pass.”
“That’s what the guys at NPIC think, General.
“Their Long Range Aviation has dispersed its nuclear armed bombers, as we have, but they’re not making any attempt to hide aircraft.”
“Shep, I’d be worried if they were playing a shell game with their nuke armed assets. At the moment they’re mirroring our stance, which means I can sleep at night.
“Anyway, what’s first on the agenda today?”
“Conference call to CINCNORAD, General.”

*

“Good morning, Jimmy, how are things at the Mountain?” General Kozlowski said to the image of General Garner, CINCNORAD.
“Busy as always, Ski.” Garner replied.

Kozlowski and Garner were old friends, having been at the air force academy together. While Kozlowski had gone into the bomber community, Garner had chosen fighters.

“We’ve got a situation developing in Alaska that might affect you, Ski. The Soviets have been probing our defences out there, and I’m convinced that they’re going to go after some of our facilities and maybe the oil pipeline pretty soon.
“They’d have to do something about the radar sites first, so that could affect warning times for incoming missiles.”
“Any indication that they might launch conventional attacks against CONUS, Jimmy?”
“They’d have to go over the pole to do that, and you know what that would look like to us.”Garner replied.
“It would look very much like a nuclear attack, especially if they used ‘Blackjacks’ and ‘Bears’. That’s why we’ve not attacked them with our conventionally armed BUFFs, and besides they’d have to fight their way through Canada before they could hit any targets here.”
“Long range cruise missiles both from subs, like a couple of days ago, and from bombers are really the only threat to CONUS that I can foresee, but we’ll keep our eyes open.
“I’d feel happier if we had SAM defences like the Brits, but most of our Patriots and Hawks have been sent abroad. If anything does get past the fighters then there would be precious little to stop them.
“Ski, I don’t mind telling you I’ve been under pressure to protect all manner of sites with SAMs. Some people seem to forget that I don’t own them, the army does.
“Once upon a time we had a decent ground based air defence network, but we junked it because someone believed that the threat mainly came from missiles. That’s one thing we missed bringing back during the last build up.”
“I know what you mean, Jimmy. If the Soviets did decide to come after us in a big way, we could be in some trouble.
“I guess we’re lucky the Soviet conventional bomber force is concentrating on targets elsewhere.”

1115 hours. Defence Intelligence and Security Centre, RAF Chicksands.
“Okay, boys and girls, we’re all agreed that this document is genuine.” Colonel Egleton said to his staff.

They had already thrashed out the issue of the authenticity of the document. One officer had acted as a Devil’s Advocate, raising objections, which were in turn answered by the rest of the staff.
Nobody raised any more objections.

“Right, Bob, you send a FLASH message to ‘The Box’ and SHAPE. I’ll phone SHAPE intelligence myself.
“Thank you everybody.”

Once his staff had left Egleton’s office he picked up his phone on his desk and dialled a few buttons.

“Put me through to Brigadier Arthurs at SHAPE, priority one.”

The phone line buzzed for a few seconds while the satellite connection to SHAPE (Forward) was made. Egleton drummed the fingers of his free hand on the desk top impatiently while he waited.

“Arthurs here.” A voice finally said.
“Good morning, Sir, this is Colonel Egleton at Chicksands. We received a document via defence intelligence a couple of hours ago that purports to be a Soviet plan for a major offensive operation, called ‘ZHUKOV’, to be launched early this evening.
“We’re sending a copy of the original Russian document and the translation across to you.”
“Are you convinced it’s genuine, Clive? The Soviets love their Maskirovka.”
“My team have been over it with a fine tooth comb, Sir. We think it’s the Real McCoy, as do Defence Intelligence and the lads at Vauxhall Cross.”
“Clive, if the Soviets are planning to hit us with something big in the next few hours we need that document here now. Get yourself and a copy of the plan, preferably the Russian original, over here ASAP.
“That’s not going to be a problem is it?”
“Ah, no, Sir.”
“Good man. I expect to see you within a couple of hours. I take it you’ve sent us a FLASH warning?”
“Yes, Sir, it should have the bare minimum information you need to prepare.”

Once Brigadier Arthurs had hung up at his end Egleton dialled another number, this one at the MoD in London.

“This is Colonel Egleton at Chicksands; I need the fastest possible transport to SHAPE (Forward). Yes, it is a priority one request from SHAPE.
“I need to be there yesterday.”

Finished with the phone Egleton got up from his desk and placed a copy of the Soviet document into a secure carrying case, locking it. There were a set of hand-cuffs that he would attach to his wrist once he was on his way, but not yet.

1130 hours. Methil, Fife, Scotland.
As Divisional Officer Mike Grey pulled into the forecourt of Methil Fire Station, he could see by the huge column of smoke coming from the direction of the power station, and several other columns of smoke, that the situation was as bad as he feared.
Grey had decided to set up the Joint Emergency Services Control Centre in the fire station because it had good communications links, and it would allow the Bronze Commander, Station Officer Bill Michaels, to use the mobile control unit closer to the incident itself. Inside the fire station staff assigned to Silver Command were still setting up the communications network, but Grey noticed that just about everybody was already in situ, including the police, ambulance service and NEV liaison officers. [7]

Grey already knew the liaison officers, having worked with them during peacetime emergencies and civil protection exercises, so was able to avoid wasting time with introductions and could get straight down to business.
On the wall of the office serving as the hub of the JESCC someone had pinned a large scale map of the area, with the various fires marked in red. Other magnetic symbols recorded the deployment of emergency services vehicles and the location of Bronze Command.
The fire at the remains of the power station dominated the map, though the main secondary blaze was located near-by at the petrol station and bus station. A few other red dots marked minor fires started by falling debris, and were scattered over a wide area.

“Looks pretty bad.” Grey remarked. “What do we have on scene at the moment?”
“As well as the appliances from here, those from Glenrothes and Kirkcaldy are on scene. That’s a total of twelve water tenders, one hydraulic ladder and a foam carrier.
“Eight water tenders, the hydraulic ladder and the foam carrier are deployed to deal with the main blaze at the power station. Three water tenders are dealing with the blaze at the bus station and the supermarket; we could really deal with another couple of tenders there.
“Our major problem is with all of these minor fires. There is only one spare water tender to deal with them all. By the time it has dealt with one, the next one is more serious. If a couple of these fires join up we could have a serious problem.”
“I’ll speak to Gold Command and see if we can get a few more appliances.
“George, what do you guys have on the ground?” Grey asked the senior NEV supervisor.
“The Methil and Glenrothes SAR Units are already deployed. There are a few collapsed buildings, and we’re helping out with first aid. The local wardens are keeping an eye on the various minor fires, are carrying out first aid where necessary, and have identified places where you lads and the ambulance service can park vehicles.
“If you need them I have a Heavy Rescue Section at Glenrothes and a Mixed Rescue Section at Lochgelly on stand-by.”

Grey nodded, taking in the information.

“Thanks, George, I’ll let you know. It’s up to Gold Command as to what extra resources we get, but it would help us if they were to already be on their way when we request them.” Grey said with a grin.
“Coms are up and running, Sir!”
“Right, let Gold and Bronze know that we’re operational, and I want to speak to Bronze as soon as he’s free.” [8]

*

Station Officer Bill Michaels, the senior fire fighter of Methil’s Red Watch, wiped his forehead. The heat coming from the intense blaze that was consuming the remains of the power station was incredible, even at the distance Michaels was standing.
Although the Station Officers of Glenrothes’ and Kirkcaldy’s Red Watches were also present, Michaels was the local man, so he had been assigned the position of Bronze Commander.

From what he could see of the situation at the power station, eight water tenders, the foam carrier and the aerial ladder unit were barely adequate. He could do with another two, or three water tenders at least.

“Sir, Silver Command is on the radio for you.”
“Right, I’m just coming.” Michaels replied.

He stepped back into the Command Unit and picked up the appropriate radio handset.

“Bronze One here. Over.”
“This is Silver One, how do things look down there, Bill? Over.”
“Pretty bad, Silver One, I’ve barely got enough appliances for either the fire at the power station, or the bus station. Over.”
“I understand, Bronze One. Gold Command has promised us another two appliances from Lochgelly and one each from Auchtermuchty and St. Monans, but he doesn’t want to deploy any more assets while air attacks are still underway.
“Could you use one of the HVPs? Over.”
“Yes, I certainly could. Over.”
“Right, then I’ll ask Gold Command to send us one, ASAP. I’ll also request that the NEV HR Section from Glenrothes is sent to us because they’ve got an HVP too.
“Keep me apprised, Silver One out.”

Michaels replaced the handset, slightly annoyed that all headquarters were willing to send were four more fire engines, one of which would probably be assigned to dealing with the remaining minor fires. He had a major incident here and now, didn’t they realise that?

1156 hours. Scotstoun, Glasgow.
The commissioning ceremony for Her Majesty’s Ships Dundee, Leith and Aberdeen had been, by necessity, short. The YSL company pennant had been lowered, the White Ensign raised and the ships blessed by a navy padre before the respective ship’s companies took possession of them.
It was time for the three corvettes, as the Royal Navy now officially designated them, to leave the Clyde for Rosyth, where they would relieve three ‘Loch’ class corvettes, releasing the latter for service in the North Atlantic.

Captain Alan White had positioned himself on the bridge of Dundee, but was content to leave the departure procedures to the ships captain, a Commander Peter Salt, the senior of the three officers appointed to command the ex-Brunei Offshore Patrol Vessels.

“Ready to cast off, Sir.”
“Very well, proceed.” Commander Salt replied. “Are we ready to depart, Sir?”
“Certainly, as far as I am concerned.” Captain White replied. “Do you have your upper deck sentries posted?”
“Yes, Sir, but do we really need them?” Salt asked.
“We’re going to be fairly close to the shore before we reach Faslane, one man and a missile could do a lot of damage; best to be safe rather than sorry.”
“It’s a shame that all we have, then, are small arms and some practise ammunition for the two 30 mils.” Salt observed.

White shot the corvette’s captain a sharp look.

“Evidently you’ve never been hit by a 30mm practise round.” He commented in a voice that suggested he had indeed experienced such an event, earning him a quizzical look from Salt.

*

The yard managed, Mr. Nesbitt, a few other members of the management and many yard workers watched with great pride as they watched the three ships sail away down the Clyde. They had expended a great deal of time and effort on these vessels, only to see them rejected by their intended customers, to them an insult to their skill at designing and constructing warships.
For a while it had looked that the three ships might end up permanently laid up on the Clyde, something of an embarrassment to both YSL and BAE Marine, but now they were off to fulfil their intended purpose.

1201 hours GMT. ‘Diplomatic note issued by the government of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam.’
‘The people’s government of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam notes with alarm and disquiet the threatening note delivered to it by the governments of the United States of America, the Commonwealth of Australia, New Zealand, Malaysia, Republic of Singapore, Kingdom of Thailand and the Republic of the Philippines. The people of the Socialist Republic of Vietnam will not be intimidated into abandoning their socialist friends by the threats of imperialists and their running dogs.
“The Socialist Republic of Vietnam will uphold its treaty obligations and its obligations under international law and will defend itself against an attack from any quarter.’

1211 hours. RAF Wittering, Cambridgeshire.
The Squirrel H.T.1 helicopter touched down as close to the flight line of 233 Operational Conversion Unit as it could. Colonel Egleton, already wearing a green flight suit, jumped down, he crouched down as the helicopter took off.

“Colonel Egleton, Sir?” A Flight Lieutenant in a flight suit, holding two helmets asked.
“Yes.”
“Flight Lieutenant Mathews, Sir. I’ve got a helmet for you, and there’s a g-suit for you in the building over there.
“Would you like me to put your case in the baggage pod?”
“No thanks, Flight Lieutenant, this bag stays with me.” Egleton replied.
“As you wish, Sir.”

As Egleton followed Mathews he noticed, to his alarm, that the pilot walked with a distinctive limp and that his left wrist was bandaged. The RAF officer noticed his worried look.

“Oh, I hurt myself in a climbing accident last month, Sir. Nothing too serious, but technically I’m off flying duties.
“It’s why I’m here with the few remaining sprogs, and not off in Norway or Germany with the rest.”
“Ah, are you up to this, Mathews?” Egleton asked, somewhat concerned.
“I’m the best you’re going to get, I’m afraid, Sir, but yes, I’m up to this, don’t worry.” The pilot assured him.

Ten minutes later Egleton was suited up and sitting in the rear cockpit of a Harrier T.12, an aircraftswoman helping him to strap into the Martin Baker ejection seat.

“Are you sure you want to carry that case on your lap, Sir?” She asked.
“Quite sure, thank you.” He replied, holding up the wrist it was handcuffed to.

Once the canopy had been closed the pilot started up the Pegasus engine, and went through his last minute checks before beginning the taxi towards the end of the runway.
Egleton had not travelled in the back of a fighter jet before, and he found the rear cockpit rather uncomfortable and confining. He wondered how pilots sat in here for several hours at a time.

1245 hours. SHAPE (Forward), near Mons, Belgium.
Brigadier Arthurs paced back and forwards impatiently as he waited for the arrival of the aircraft carrying Colonel Egleton and the copy of the Soviet plan. The Colonel had made it very clear that time was of the essence, so Arthurs really wanted to get his hands on this document, and make his own assessment of it.
He turned around and looked up as he heard the sound of a jet aircraft approaching.

A two seat Harrier popped up from behind a line of trees, still moving pretty fast. The pilot executed an impressive braking stop, lowered the undercarriage and dropped down onto the landing pad, shutting down the engine.

Colonel Egleton climbed down from the rear cockpit, looking a little shaky and approached Arthurs, carrying the metal case in his left hand.

“Hello, Clive.” Arthurs said. “Have a nice trip?”
“Oh, fantastic, Sir.” Egleton, who was still a little green about the gills, replied. “The pilot flew the whole way from Wittering at low level; I think I left my stomach somewhere over the North Sea.”

*

“So this is the famous document.” General Baker said leafing through the copy of the Soviet document.

He read enough Russian to understand the gist of the document.

“I’m glad we got hold of this.
“One day, when this war is over I’d like to buy a drink for whoever sent this to us.” Baker paused to glance at this watch. “We’ve got less that six hours now, but there’s still enough time to do something.
“Stephen, get this across to our own Russian speakers.”
“Yes, Sir.”
“And I need to speak to CINCENT personally about this. He’ll want to move reserves to the area.”

Arthurs and Egleton stepped out of the command trailer, leaving SACEUR and DSACEUR alone together.

“Well, they’ve certainly chosen the last place I’d have expected, Paul.” General Alexander commented. “It’s hardly the best tank country.”
“But its NORTHAG’s weakest formation; an attack of this scale would crush that corps like an egg, even if the Soviets don’t make much progress. Besides, you saw the plan, the objective is to bleed us and use up reinforcements before the main attack due in about ten days time.”
“Might be best to shorten our line while we can, Paul; I’d certainly cancel TELIC and pull the forces involved as soon as possible.”
“Yeh, they could end up being flanked and the Soviets would do to us what we’ve just done to them.
“I don’t like abandoning success, but we need to free up as many reserves as we can.”

1310 hours. H.Q 3rd Shock Army, Helmstedt, FGR.
Colonel General Yazov stood outside his headquarters watching the approach of the car carrying his relief, Colonel General Pavek Vlaslov. He had been expecting to be relieved for some time now; his army had not advanced anywhere near as fast as it had supposed to have done, and now it had been chopped up into several pieces and badly knocked about by the British counter-attack.
The best Yazov could now expect would be a long flight to Siberia, or maybe a bullet in the back of the head ‘pour encourage les autres’. At least he would be handing over his command to a good man, though he wondered how long Vlaslov would last in this post.

The staff car halted by Colonel General Yazov and his replacement stepped out. The two generals exchanged salutes.

“Colonel General Yazov, I am Colonel General Vlaslov. I am here to relieve you of command of 3rd Shock Army.
“This car will take you to the nearest airport where a plane is waiting to fly you to your new post.”
“Then I stand relieved, Comrade.” Yazov replied. “I have ordered our encircled units to try to break out, on foot if necessary, though of course you may change these orders.”

Yazov stepped into the rear of the staff car so recently vacated by Vlaslov. Just before the door was closed he looked his replacement in the eyes.

“Good luck, Comrade Vlaslov, you’ll need it.”

Vlaslov watched the staff car and its escort drive off, felling that he had just been handed a poisoned chalice. Indeed General Yazov had actually looked relieved to be leaving, even if it was to a rather uncertain future.

“Excuse me, Comrade General.” The Chief of Staff said. “Here is a list of the formations that are currently rated as being combat effective.”

Vlaslov saw that it was a very short list.

“This is it? One division and a tank regiment?” He asked astonished.
“I am afraid so, Comrade General. We also have a number of provisional infantry companies formed from rear area units, but that is all.”

Vlaslov shook his head in despair; what on earth did CINCWEST think that he could do to fix this disaster? No wonder Yazov had looked happy to be leaving, even six months serving in Siberia, or along the Chinese border would be preferable to this.

“What of our divisions that are cut off?”
“They have very little fuel, or ammunition left, Comrade General, and we have no way of re-supplying them. They are under near constant air and artillery attack.
“It is only a matter of time before entire sub-units begin to surrender.”
“Then get them out of there now. General Yazov ordered them to break-out if possible, on foot if necessary.
“We can replace the vehicles easily enough, but experienced soldiers are another matter. The honour of this army is at stake; when I left Berlin CINCWEST was considering stripping us of our Shock status, and taking away the Guards status from our divisions.
“I, for one, am not going down in history as the general who lost the 3rd Shock Army its honorific titles.”

1330 hours. Southeast of Hanover, FRG.
“Say that again, Sir, the line is not very clear.” Lt. Colonel Stevenson said into the radio handset.
“I said get your arse back to the start line, Richard. The entire brigade has been ordered to pull back.” The voice of Brigadier John Harris said.
“What the hell is going on, Sir? We’re giving up the best gains we’ve made in this war, and we’ll let the Soviets out of the bag.”
“Damned if I know, Richard, but as I understand it from division, everybody is pulling back. There seems to be some panic at corps and army group.
“Rumour is that there may be some big Soviet attack in the offing, and we’d be left exposed if we don’t retreat, so don’t hang about. Out.”

Stevenson replaced the handset, almost in a state of shock. That ‘TELIC’ could be cancelled at such short notice and when it was doing so well was a bolt from the blue.

“Right everybody, we’re pulling out and heading home.” He said to the assembled H.Q staff. “I want an ‘O’ group for squadron commanders in ten minutes.
“Get everything packed up and ready to go.”

*

Captain Currie sat down in one of the chairs that had been provided for the visiting squadron commanders, wondering what the urgency was all about.

“Any idea what this is about?” She asked the officer sitting next to her.
“Not a clue I’m afraid.” Major Carter replied. “Looks serious though.”

Lt. Colonel Stevenson, Major Anderson and the regimental adjutant stepped out of one of the H.Q’s Sultans, all looking very grave.

“Okay, lady and gentlemen, you are probably all wondering what is going on. The short answer is that we’ve been ordered to pull back to the start line ASAP.
“I don’t have time to answer your questions as to why, so I’m going to crack on to the order in which we’ll move.
“Half of the recce troop, A and D Squadron will lead our move, the RHQ will be in the centre, protected by the Guided Weapons Section. The Black Watch, B Squadron and the rest of the recce troop will cover our retreat.
“We need to be on the road within the next half an hour, so get off back to your units and get prepared, because we will be leaving on time and I don’t want to have to leave anything, or anyone behind, but I will if I have to.
“Now would be a good time to get any broken vehicles fixed, but if they can’t be sorted within thirty minutes destroy ‘em, it’s that simple.”

The ‘O’ Group broke up with the attendees feeling rather like they had just had the rug pulled from under them.

“Christ.” Major Carter muttered. “There must have been a major breakthrough somewhere else in the line.”
“Or they’re expecting a big attack.” Captain Currie added.

***

[1] During Exercise ‘Teamwork 88’, AV-8B Harriers of VMA-542 used a Forward Operating site next to the E19 road, which was used as a runway, just west of Bjerkvik. See Grove, Eric, ‘Battle for the Fiords – NATO’s Forward Maritime Strategy in Action’ (London 1991), p.113.

[2] Forces currently in the front line comprise the 1st and 6th Norwegian Divisions, under the command of the Norske Corps, Brigade 15 (corps reserve), 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade, USMC and 5th (UK) Airborne Brigade. The Canadian 5th CAST Brigade and 3 Commando Brigade form Commander, North Norway’s reserve.
The 2nd MEB, H.Q II MEF and the 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry) are in the process of deploying to Norway. They should be on the ground within ten days. A further Canadian brigade should be in place within fourteen days.

[3] As well as NM-116 turrets, the Norwegians have also used turrets from M8 Greyhound armoured cars, and ex-German Panzer IIIs (designated KW-III in Norwegian service) in fortifications and to guard airports. See Short, Neil, ‘Tank Turret Fortifications’ (Ramsbury 2006), p.191.

[4] The entire B-2A ‘Spirit’ fleet, and a portion of the B-52J fleet are dedicated to SIOP duties. The remaining BUFFs and B-1B ‘Lancers’ are assigned conventional duties; their crews are not certified for SIOP duties.

[5] While most of the new MGM-134 ‘Minuteman IV’ (popularly known as the ‘Midgetman’) are housed in ex-‘Minuteman III’ silos, some are road mobile.

[6] The EC-135C aircraft assigned to the ‘Looking Glass’ mission have been upgraded with new electronics and CFM-56 engines, like the KC-135R/T.

[7] In a major incident it is normal for the police to have primacy, except in the case of a major fire, or rescue operation, when primacy within the cordon will lie with the fire service.

[8] An explanation of the Gold, Silver, Bronze command structure can be found here.

1331 hours, 25th April. ‘FLASH message from COMNORTHAG’.
‘From: COMNORTHAG.
To: All Northern Army Group sub-units.

‘Major Soviet attack expected in sector of I (Belgian) Corps in the next six hours.
7th (UK) Armoured Division and 3rd Brigade, 2nd (US) Armored Division have been alerted and are moving to support; 24th Airmobile Brigade and 27th Luftlande Brigade on stand-by to deploy to counter any breakthrough.
‘Enemy forces assessed as including 1st and 3rd Guards Tank Army, with 4th Guards Tank Army in reserve. Full details to follow.’

1401 hours. Vemmetofte Strand, Jutland, Denmark.
The Danish Sergeant scanned the sea beyond his position, which was quite close to the coast, through a pair of binoculars. He had been told to expect the arrival of the main Soviet invasion force any time now; they were not able to use the original beaches because the waters off them had been mined by USAF B-1B bombers.

*

The Sergeant, the unit he commanded and the two supporting infantry platoons had been lying low since the Soviet paratroopers had arrived, under orders not to disclose their positions under any circumstances. They had managed to keep themselves concealed very effectively, no one would be able to tell that two reinforced platoons of Danish infantry and the sergeant’s command were hidden in such a place as they could command the beach.
Rather than being Home Guards, the Sergeant and his men were regular soldiers, while the supporting infantry, who were equipped with a greater proportion of support weapons of the sort that might normally be found at company level, were a mixture of regulars and mobilised reservists. They had all trained for several years to man this position and defend it come what may.
They were also supposed to be a missile armed mobile coastal defence battery supporting them, but unfortunately it had been overrun and destroyed by Soviet paratroops before it could deploy to its planned position.

*

The Sergeant scanned the horizon one more time. No, there was nothing to be seen, maybe the navy had destroyed the convoy after all, or maybe the Soviets had turned back...wait…there was something, it looked like the top of a mast. Yes, there were several more masts, just coming into view.
Within a few more seconds the Sergeant could make out upper superstructures, though at this range he could not yet make out what types they were.

“Enemy landing force approaching.” He said into his helmet microphone. “Stand-by everybody.”

The shapes slowly transformed themselves into recognisable warship classes; the Sergeant was able to pick out Ropucha, Alligator and Polnochny class Landing Ship Tanks, Udaloy and Sovremenny class destroyers, and Gepard, Neustrashimy and Krivak class frigates.
There were a lot of them out there, but not quite as many as might have been expected for a force transporting two motor rifle divisions. Evidently the air force and navy had achieved something after all.

The Soviet and East German ships casually sailed towards the Danish coast, almost as if they were conducting a peacetime exercise, not a landing on a hostile shore.

“Damn it.” The Sergeant muttered. “We could have done with that missile battery right about now.”

Just as the Sergeant finished muttering two missiles passed overhead, coming from inland, and quickly followed by several more. While the majority of the coastal defence missile battery had been destroyed, two of the Volvo trucks and their cargo of Swedish built RBS-15 anti-shipping missiles had escaped and hidden themselves, only making a brief report via satellite link. [1]
The two vehicles were now firing their missiles at the Soviet amphibious vessels, a total surprise to those closer to the beach. A full battery would have proven devastating to the Soviet ships, but even just two vehicles was bad enough.
The Sergeant and the other Danes were treated to a spectacular missile engagement, as the RBS-15s attacked the Soviet ships and the latter attempted to defend themselves from their tormentors.

Many of the missiles were decoyed or destroyed, but enough got through to their targets to cause chaos and destruction amongst the landing force. However the two missile trucks had now shot their bolt, and were being hunted by Soviet attack helicopters; neither survived.

“Here they come lads, remember to concentrate on the landing ships. Leave the warships alone if you can.”

The Sergeant dropped down and slammed the hatch behind him, sealing him and the other three men of his crew inside. Not a moment too soon as the Soviet destroyers and frigates began to shell the beach and the terrain behind it, none exploded close enough to worry the Sergeant and his men, but a few shell fragments passed through the wooden hut which concealed their position.

“Target that Ropucha. Load HESH.”
“Identified!” The gunner replied, traversing the turret that had once sat atop a Centurion Mk.5 DK towards the approaching LST. [2]
“Loaded!” The primary loader reported.
“Fire!

The 105mm HESH shell struck the LST on the port side of the hull, just above the waterline. The shell performed as designed, blowing a hole in the hull, and sending scabs of metal from the inner side of the hull, flying all around the tank deck.

The Sergeant’s turret opening fire was the signal for the other three turrets, who had been tracking targets of their own, to open fire. Within several seconds several Soviet landing ships had been hit and were on fire.
In such a target rich environment, and even firing at the maximum rate of fire of the ROF 105mm guns, ten rounds per minute, there was no way that four Centurion turrets could put more than a minor dent in the Soviet landing force.

Now alive to the danger the escorting destroyers and frigates began plastering the shoreline with shells. However the four turrets were small, relatively inconspicuous targets, and were well protected against all but a direct hit from a large calibre shell. The barrage of high explosive did begin to strip the cover hiding the turrets, though, making it increasingly likely that the Soviet ships would spot them.

As the landing ships closed with the beach they came under fire from the infantry, who were equipped with several TOW anti-tank missile launchers, and a number of mortars. The sea was soon filled with burning and sinking tanks and other armoured vehicles, which had tried to wade ashore.
But like King Canute neither the Centurion turrets, nor the Danish infantry could stop the tide of Soviet troops now washing up the beach.

1410 hours. HMS Bristol, the North Atlantic.
Captain Yoxall had been called down to engineering, the Chief Engineer having expressed a few worries about the ship’s propulsion systems.

“Hi, Chief, do we have a problem?” Yoxall asked on arrival.
“We could do, Sir.” Lieutenant Commander Kenneth Stott, the ship’s Marine Engineer Officer, replied. “I’m a wee bit worried about the steam turbine plant. We didn’t have as much time as I would have liked to have overhauled the boilers, and to be honest, Sir, I’ve never liked the COSAG arrangement.
“There was a major fire in the steam when she was new, so God knows what could happen if they’re flogged hard for any length of time. I’d prefer it if we could run on the Olympuses until we get to Pompey.” [3]
“Okay, Chief. I can’t say I’m happy with the idea of sitting on a potential sea going Roman candle, but I don’t suppose there is much we can do about it.
“Keep me posted, Chief.”
“No problem, Sir. If we go up down here you’ll be the first to know.” Stott said with a smile.

Yoxall patted Stott on the left shoulder.

“I’m sure you’ll keep on top of things down here, Chief. I’ll let you get on.”

Once the Captain had gone, Stott assembled his senior men.

“Since we’re going to be running purely on the GTs for the next couple of days I want the steam turbines and the boilers checked over fully. Open the boilers up and take the turbines apart.
“I don’t fancy having to swim home.”

*

“Are we looking at trouble with the steam turbines, Sir?” Commander Carter asked in the relative privacy of the Captain’s cabin.
“The Chief certainly thinks so, David.” Yoxall replied. “We’ll be running on GTs until we reach Pompey. It’s damn inconvenient, but I trust the Chief’s instincts, the last thing I want is a repeat of the ’73 fire way out here.”
“I doubt the Newport fire brigade will respond as fast as it did then, Sir.” Carter commented.
“Quite.” Yoxall agreed. He leaned back in his chair. “Oh the joys of a thirty-two year old ship, I’d say give me a Type 42 any day if there wasn’t a chance it would upset the Old Girl.
“Anyway, how long now until we RV with the Fifth Support Group?”
“Should be with us within about an hour, Sir.”
“Good, means we should be able to head straight for port, get this problem looked at. I’ll certainly sleep easier knowing that we can depend on the steam turbines.
“At least we’re close enough to the coast to have continuous air cover; seeing those maritime patrol aircraft is a very reassuring sight.”

Now that the convoy was within a day’s sailing of the French Atlantic ports there was at least one, or more usually two maritime patrol aircraft, whether they be Nimrods, Orions, or Atlantiques, providing extra ASW support. With them in attendance no more Soviet subs had made it through the escort screen.
Though the sub threat was past, there was still a significant threat from mines laid in the approaches to the French ports. Mine countermeasures forces were working overtime to clear lanes, but it was going to be tight, and it might be necessary to divert part of the convoy.

1421 hours. Near Clauen, FRG.
Squadron Leader Jameson had managed to build himself a very serviceable ‘basha’ and had climbed inside, intending to stay hidden until it was dark. He had heard Soviet troops passing, evidently searching for him, but had not spotted him.
That survival training course in Canada that all aircrew were supposed to go on at least once a year was paying dividends. At least here he wasn’t being eaten alive by flies only slightly smaller than a Harrier.

However Jameson was tired, sore from his ejection and finding it increasingly hard to stay awake. He did not want to risk falling asleep in case he needed to escape from potential hunters.
Jameson had just nodded off for what must have been the fiftieth time when he heard voices very close by. He sat bolt upright, they were practically on top of him.
The Squadron Leader fingered the butt of his Browning nervously. He might be able to drop an unguided 1,000lb bomb into the proverbial pickle barrel, but he was not all that confident about hitting a man sized target with a pistol.

As the men approached to his surprise Jameson realised that they were whispering in English rather than Russian, or German. He cautiously stepped out of his ‘basha’, the Browning in his left hand.

“HOLD IT RIGHT THERE!” A voice shouted. “PUT THE GUN DOWN!
“HANDS ON YOUR HEAD!”

Jameson did as he was told. To his relief he saw that the six men in front of him appeared to be British, four of them were armed with L85A2s, one had a GPMG, and the sixth a Minimi LMG.

“Looks like he’s one of ours, Sergeant.” One of the other soldiers commented.
“No ***, Collins. If he was a Russkie I’d have slotted him by now.” The Sergeant replied.
“Who are you guys? SAS?” Jameson asked.

The Sergeant laughed.

“Nothing so exotic, Sir; no we’re an STA patrol from the Honourable Artillery Company. I’m Sergeant Peters, Rhine Troop, 3rd Squadron.
“We were on our way to be picked up by a cab, I wonder if we could offer you a lift?”
“Thank you, Sergeant that would be great.” Jameson said with relief. “I’m Squadron Leader Jameson, IV Squadron, by the way.”
“Harrier pilot, eh?” Peters commented. “Been hearing lot’s of good things about you guys.
“What got you?”
“Triple A, from a ‘Tunguska’ I think.”
“Nasty. Anyway, let’s get moving; we’ve got a way to go yet.
“Better pick up that pistol, Sir, you might need it.”

Jameson did not exactly feel reassured by this last comment as he bent down to pick up the Browning Hi-Power. He put it back in his shoulder holster, hoping that he would not need to draw it in action.

1456 hours. Southeast of Wallmoden, FRG.
The armoured vehicles of the 62nd Guards Tank Regiment cautiously advanced towards the small town of Wallmoden, where it was believed that a British armoured battle group was located. Supporting artillery and heavy mortars from 47th Guards Tank Division had already pounded the town to rubble as part of the process of softening up the British.
Despite the extensive artillery preparation the 62nd Guard’s had not been ordered to eject the British from Wallmoden, merely advance to contact and report on their strength.

Lieutenant Colonel Tersov watched from the turret of his T-72BK as the leading BRMs and T-72s of the advanced guard approached the edge of the town. To his intense puzzlement they had not yet come under fire; it was not like the British to let them get that close unmolested.

“Vorona One, Vorona One, this is Sokol Four.” The voice of the commander of the reconnaissance company said in Tersov’s headset. “The enemy have gone, repeat the enemy have gone. There is no sign of the British Battle Group. Over.”
“Sokol Four, Sokol Four, this is Vorona One, please confirm that enemy have withdrawn. Over.” Tersov said into his throat mike, hardly believing what he was hearing.
“Vorona One, this is Sokol Four. Confirm that enemy have withdrawn. Permission to enter town and investigate further. Over.”
“Sokol Four, Vorona One, negative, I say again negative. Wait until the engineers have cleared any mines, or booby-traps the enemy have left behind. Over.”

*

Ten minutes later Tersov had reached the position of the reconnaissance company, and dismounted from his tank to talk to the company commander. Tersov had been right to be cautious, the departing British had liberally sprinkled their former position with anti-tank Barmines, anti-personnel Elsie and Claymore mines, and a variety of other equally unpleasant booby-traps. [4]
One member of the advanced guard had already discovered to his cost that what appeared to be an abandoned four day ration pack had in fact been an IED with a Claymore mine inside. The unfortunate soldier’s torso had been torn to shreds, and two more men standing next to him had been badly injured.
The word had quickly gotten around that every object was to be treated with suspicion and left for the engineers to deal with.

“This is as far as we can get, Comrade Colonel.” The Junior Lieutenant now commanding the company told Tersov.
“It looks as if the road ahead has been mined.”
“The British may well have just dug up the road to make it look like it was mined, Comrade Junior Lieutenant. However we can not take the chance, we’ll wait until the engineers arrive.
“Make sure your men do not touch anything, I don’t want us to suffer any more unnecessary casualties.”
“Yes, Comrade Colonel.”

Tersov hurried back to his command tank and climbed aboard. He plugged his headset back in.

“Grad One, Grad One, this is Vorona One. I have reached objective Sevastopol. The enemy have vacated this location, I am waiting for engineers to clear enemy mines and booby-traps. Over.”
“Vorona One, Vorona One, Grad One. Understand your position, push on and make contact with enemy forces ASAP. It is vital that location of British forces is located and the reason for their withdrawal discerned. Over.”
“Understood, Grad One. Vorona One out.”

Tersov leant against the machine-gun mount in front of his hatch, pondering his situation. Why would the British retreat from such a strong position, especially when they had bottled up so much of the 3rd Shock Army?
As a regimental commander Tersov had no knowledge of the forthcoming ‘Operation ZHUKOV’, which might have better informed his thinking. Only CINCWEST and the commanders of the armies involved in the operation knew about it to preserve operational security.

“Engineers have arrived, Comrade Colonel.”
“Good, we should be able to push on, fairly soon then. Make sure everybody keeps their eyes open for enemy aircraft, we’re pretty vulnerable here.”

1531 hours. Inverkething, Fife.
Sergeant Bell lent back in passenger seat of the Land Rover reading the novel he carried in his bergen to help pass the time when he was not on stag, or inspecting VCPs. It was an old spy novel set in the local area, called ‘The Dunfermline Affair’ by Angus Ross, he had hardly had time to read in the last few days and had only really gotten as far as the discovery that there might be a mole in the MHQ at Pitreavie.

He looked up as a 4-tonne lorry drove into the yard where the platoon H.Q was located. Bell was not expecting any visitors, so this piqued his interest. He put the book back in his bergen and stepped out of the Land Rover.
The lorry halted a few meters away and a corporal wearing a beret bearing the cap badge of the RLC got out of the passenger side of the cab.

“Hello, Sergeant, I’m looking for your O.C.”
“He’s off inspecting V.C.Ps at the moment.” Bell replied. “Is it something I can deal with?”
“I hope so, Sergeant. I’ve got a delivery for you, a lot of new baton guns. I’m supposed to pick up your old baton guns and ammo, so I’ll need to see your senior baton gunner as well.”
“Right, I’ll let him know you’re here. Do you need a hand to off load them?”
“That would be appreciated, Sarge.”

*

“So, what exactly have you got for me?” The Corporal commanding the LMG section, who was also the platoon’s senior baton gunner, asked.
“Some nice shiny new L110A4 baton guns and L21A1 rounds to go with them, I’ll need to take away your old L67s though, I’m afraid. Are your blokes current on the one ten?”
“Listen, pal, we’ve been expecting the one ten since last year. The MoD Plods at HMS Cochrane have let us use their one tens to qualify, of course the guns themselves have never turned up until now. The HSF are at the bottom of the queue as normal.
“I’ll get somebody to collect the old sixty sevens, and give you a hand to unload this lot.”

The Corporal turned to the section Lance-Corporal standing next to him.

“Kim, go ask Craig and his lot from the ATC to collect the old baton guns and bring them here, and then unload the new guns and ammo from the lorry. It’ll give them something useful to do.”
“Sure, Stan.” She replied. “I’ll see you back by the Landy, I think Seonaid has a brew going.”
“Would you two care to join us? The Space Cadets will be a while yet.”
“Sounds good to me.” The RLC Corporal replied.

A couple of minutes later the two NCOs were leaning against the rear of the Land Rover drinking the freshly made tea, while the RLC driver chatted up the soldier who had made it, though without much success.

“Hey, what’s that in the back there?” The RLC Corporal asked, noticing something unusual in the back of the Land Rover.
“Oh that? It’s an FN 303 launcher. It’s a nice piece of kit, though I think I prefer the old baton gun, even if it is a single shot weapon. No chance of running out of compressed air with a sixty seven, or a one ten at some crucial moment.”
“How did you guys get hold of one? The Box only bought a hundred or so for evaluation, and only the regulars are supposed to have them.”
“As me no questions and I’ll tell you no lies.”

The two corporals chuckled.

“Bloody magpies.” The RLC Corporal said. “Can’t leave any bit of shiny new kit lying about unattended with you around.”
“Well it will teach them to guard it properly next time. Better us than the Soviets.”

*

The three NCOs and the RLC driver returned to the lorry a quarter of an hour later to find Adult Sergeant Archibald and his ATC detachment just finishing up loading the old L67 baton guns and their associated rounds into the rear.

“You’re doing a grand job their, Craig.” Corporal Stan said, a wide grin on his face.
“Piss off; I didn’t join up to be your slave you know.” The red faced Adult Sergeant replied.
“Oooh! Someone’s a bit touchy.” The Lance-Corporal commented.
“This is an important job, Craig. We can’t spare anybody from VCP duty, and Sergeant Bell does not want to use the QRF for a job like this.
“Besides you get to see one of our nice new baton guns.”
“Woofuckingpee.” The sceptical Archibald replied.

The Corporal unpacked one of the new baton guns and a round of ammunition from the boxes in front of him. He held them both up to his audience of ATC personnel and HSF baton gunners.

“This, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, for those who have not seen one is an L110A4 baton gun and the L22A1 round that goes with it. Note that the gun has an optical sight and is rifled for increased accuracy. Other than that it is not too different from the old L67.
“Now the L22A1 round is slightly different from the one we’re used to. It’s acrylic, which is supposed to help make it more accurate, but it also make it somewhat more lethal if you don’t use it properly. So for God’s sake don’t go shooting at peoples’ heads with it.
“Okay, I’m going to pass them both around now, so you can get a good look at them. Whatever you do don’t load it.”

Once both gun and projectile had been handed off to the nearest HSF baton gunner the Corporal turned away to chat to his RLC counterpart.

“You can fire CS rounds out of these too can’t you?” He asked.
“Yup, they make good extra hard…”

‘THUNK!’

“AH! ***, CHRIST, ***!” The voice of Adult Sergeant Archibald suddenly shouted.
“What the fu…?” The Corporal exclaimed, spinning round.

He saw that his friend was lying on the ground, curled up clutching his groin.

“Medic!” The Corporal yelled.

He looked at the group of men and women in front of him, seeking out the individual responsible for the Negligent Discharge of the baton gun. He was not surprised to see that the ATC Pilot Officer who had caused him trouble in the past was holding the baton gun, a look of shock and horror on her face.

“Jesus Christ! What did I just say?”
“I…I just wanted to see how to load it…” She stammered.
“For God’s sake I said not to load it. Did you think that did not mean you? Have you passed a WHT for this weapon perchance?” He asked, snatching the baton gun from her.
“Um…well…no…” She said quietly.
“Then what the hell did you think you were doing? Those rounds can be lethal at close range, or if they strike the head, or chest.
“Sergeant Archibald is lucky you shot him in the balls, though I doubt he sees it that way at the moment.”

He turned to the Lance-Corporal.

“I’m going to see if I can find Bill, or the Boss. Don’t let her go anywhere, and make sure Craig is okay.”
“With pleasure, Stan.” She replied drawing her ‘hickory stick’ baton and tapping the end against the open palm of her free hand. “This’ll make, what, two arrests in four days for her?”
“Strewth, yeh, a new platoon record if I’m not mistaken. Well it should give Provost Weston something to do.”

The mention of the Provost Sergeant sent a shiver down the spine of everybody present, even those who had been lucky enough to have never been at his mercy. Most would prefer to take on a battalion of Spetsnaz single handed than face Provost Weston.

1535. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
Rear Admiral Roger Freeman stood on the wings of the flag bridge nervously smoking a cigarette as he waited for the return of the strike package that had hit H-2. They had been in the air for over fourteen hours now and had crossed through some of the most heavily defended airspace in the world, so the Admiral was expecting to have lost a fair chunk of the strike.

Wait, there was something. He could just make out a few aircraft way off in the distance. He raised his binoculars up to his eyes and identified them as F/A-18E Super Hornets; as the shortest ranged aircraft in the strike group they would be coming in first.
Freeman stepped back into the flag bridge.

“Any news from CAG yet?” He asked.
“Yes, Sir, he reported in a minute ago. His ‘cat should be on the deck in about ten minutes.”
“Good. I don’t suppose we’ve had any news on BDA yet?”
“I’m afraid not, Sir. A Keyhole bird is due to make a pass in about forty minutes, and I believe that an air force ‘Dark Star’ is on its way up there.”
“Well keep me informed.” Freeman replied before stepping back out to the bridge wing.

*

“I don’t know if I’ll be able to stand up when we land, Ops.” Lieutenant Porter commented from the right hand seat of the Intruder.
“Yeh, Madge, I know what you men. I’m as stiff as a board.” Lt. Commander Wiser replied.

Wiser’s B/N erupted into a fit of giggling, releasing the tension of the long flight.

“Will you stop with your sexual innuendo, Ops. This is hardly the time, or the place, and besides what would Lisa think?”
“What did I say?” Wiser asked in mock indignation. “Anyway, I hope she’s okay, her squadron was going after the Nasiriya East Bridge as I remember.”
“I’m sure she’s fine, Matt.” Porter reassured him, using his first name to show she was serious.
“Thanks, Lucy.
“Time to call home I suppose.”
“Tarheel, Tarheel, this is Outlaw 505, requesting permission to join the circuit. Over.
“Damn shame about the X.O.” He commented as he waited for a reply. “I didn’t see any ‘chutes, did you?”
“Outlaw 505, Outlaw 505, Tarheel. You have permission to join the circuit. Contact approach at ten miles. Over.”
“Roger that, Tarheel. Outlaw 505 out.”
“No, I’m afraid I didn’t.” Porter said, answering the question. “I hope Commander Gilfry and Stacy made it out.”
“The C-SAR guys will get them.” Wiser said, reassuring Porter than her friend and cabin mate would be all right.

Wiser continued his approach, lowering the Intruder’s flaps, undercarriage and arrestor hook. He kept his hand firmly on the throttle, ready to push it to the stops if the aircraft missed all of the arrestor wires.
The Intruder drifted over the fantail of the Kitty Hawk before slamming down on the deck. The arrestor hook caught the number three wire, the one that all naval aviators aimed for.
Wiser and Porter were thrown against their restraints as the aircraft was brought to a halt in a few meters. Wiser closed the throttle, retracted the hook and began to taxi forward to their parking spot, folding the Intruder’s wings as he went.

Once the aircraft had been parked and tied down, Wiser shut down both engines and opened the canopy. He released his restraints and tried to stand up, finding it extremely hard after so long a flight and tried to climb down the ladder to the deck. Unfortunately for him he was so stiff he could hardly move and only made it half way down the ladder before falling the last couple of meters to the deck, the hard landing taking his breath away.
Meanwhile Porter found that she could not stand up at all, and had to be lifted out of the cockpit.

Up and down the carrier’s flight deck a similar story of aviators either lying on their backs like upturned turtles, or having to be lifted out of their cockpits was playing itself out.

*

Rear Admiral Freeman watched from his elevated position as the remaining aircraft from the H-2 strike landed. He was extremely pleased to see that far fewer ‘planes had been lost than he had expected.
He smiled with amusement as most of the naval aviators had to be assisted to their feet, or lifted out of their cockpits by the flight deck crew.

“Have CAG report to me as soon as he’s gotten himself straightened out.” Freeman ordered.
“Aye, aye, Sir.
“Those Keyhole overheads have just come in.”
“Excellent, lets have a look at them.”

***

[1] It is assumed that Denmark, like Sweden, Norway and Finland is operating land-based anti-shipping missiles, in this case the same weapon system as used by Sweden and Finland. See here and here for details of the RBS-15 missile system.

[2] Denmark used 126 Centurion turrets in fixed defences. Short, Neil, ‘Tank Turret Fortifications’ (Ramsbury 2006), p.176.

[3] HMS Bristol suffered a major fire in the steam turbine room in autumn 1973. The fire burned for some time and had she not been alongside at Newport, she would have been abandoned. Bristol completed her sea trials on gas turbines alone. Brown, D.K, Moore, George, ‘Rebuilding the Royal Navy’ (London 2003), p.90.

[4] The Ottawa Treaty, or the Convention on the Prohibition of the Use, Stockpiling, Production and Transfer of Anti-Personnel Mines and on their Destruction to give it its full name, does not exist in the TLWverse. This means that the British Army and Canadian Forces Land Force Command still have extensive stocks of the C3A1 and C3A2 Elsie anti-personnel mine.

1602 hours, 25th April. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
Rear Admiral Freeman looked at the Keyhole overheads with some satisfaction. Several fires started by the Saudi Storm Shadows and the SEAD equipped Hornets were burning with no apparent effort by the Iraqis to put them out. There were also a number of vehicles scattered rather haphazardly across the base, as if their drivers had suddenly dropped dead.
More conclusively in the close up shots he could make out a rather macabre sight, dead bodies strewn about almost every open space. It looked like the personnel of H-2 had been caught completely by surprise by the chemical attack.

“Well it looks like H-2 has been well and truly slimed.” Freeman commented as he put the final overhead down. “I guess those who made it to shelter will begin to emerge in an hour or two and try and begin decontamination. At that point we’ll find out just how effective VX really is.”
“It’s pretty nasty stuff, Sir.” His Chief of Staff replied. “The Brits discovered it back in the Fifties, gave it to us in return for nuke technology. [1]
“It’s damn persistent stuff; it’s really difficult to get rid of. H-2 is going to be out of action for quite a while.”
“The question now is what the crazy son of a bitch in Baghdad is going to do now. I sure hope he doesn’t have anything more lethal than he’s already used.” Freeman said a little worried.

*

Lieutenant Commander Wiser staggered into the crew room of VA-115, utterly exhausted, but determined to give his report to the squadron intelligence officer. He was heartened to see the C.O, Commander John Compton, but was somewhat surprised to see the C.O of VA-185, the other Intruder squadron based on the carrier, Commander Amanda Lowry, who was somewhat out of her territory.

“Good to see you made it back, Ops, though from now on it’s goanna be X.O.” Compton said in greeting, somewhat sombrely. “It looks like Don, didn’t make it after all. However the Sandys have picked up Stacy’s transponder and they’ll pick her up.
“I’ve got another bit of bad news for you, Matt, and it’s why Mandy is here. I’m afraid Lisa didn’t make it back. She and Susie got hit as they were turning away from the bridge.”
“Her Intruder took some flack from a battery of S-60s as she turned away from the South East Nasiriya Bridge, damn near took the port wing off. One of the Hornets on SEAD duty put a couple of Rockeyes onto the battery site.
“Don’t worry though, Matt.” Commander Lowry soothed. “I saw them punch out myself. C-SAR are on their way to pick ‘em up. We’ll get them back within a couple of hours.” She added with confidence.

Wiser nodded in reply, partly in shock at the news. Lt. Commander Lisa Eichhorn was more than just his counterpart at VA-185, she was his girlfriend and soon to be fiancé. This was the sort of news that he had been dreading, but half expecting.

“You goanna be okay, X.O? With Don gone I’m really going to need you firing on all cylinders.” Compton asked, referring to him as the Executive Officer for the first time.
“Ah, sure Boss. As long as Lisa is alive that’s all that matters; I’ll be fine.” He replied, his voice flat. “Do the C-SAR guys need any extra cover?”
“The air force has got that covered.” Compton told him. “They’ve gotta be useful for something, eh?”

1745 hours. Outside Halle, FRG.
The Fife and Forfar Yeomanry Battle Group, which now included G Company, 7th Battalion, The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders and the usual attached engineers and other support units, were approaching the outskirts of Halle, as it made its way south. The Fifes were the leading battle group of the 9th (Scottish) Armoured Brigade, which in turn was the leading brigade of the 7th Armoured Division.
As they were crossing through I (Br) Corps’ area north to south they had been stopped several times by Royal Military Police on traffic control duty to allow supply convoys travelling west to east. It had all driven Lt. Colonel Thompson to distraction.

*

“I’m sorry, Sir.” A ‘Redcap’ sergeant had said apologetically. “But you don’t have priority. I can’t stop a convoy of munitions to let you through.”
“I have orders from COMNORTHAG, Sergeant. We should have priority.” Thompson told him, more politely than he felt.

Behind them the engines of Challengers, Scimitars and Warriors were revving impatiently and the troops were getting hot and impatient, wanting to get on their way again.

“My orders are very clear, Sir. The convoys are supplying battle groups in action with the enemy; I can’t cut that supply off even for an hour or so.
“I’m sorry but you’ll have to wait.”

Realising that he was not going to get the ‘Redcap’ to change his mind, Thompson had stalked off back to his command tank.

*

At least now the Battle Group was on its way, moving at speed down the autobahn. Thompson was standing heads out of his Challenger 2, checking land marks to make sure that the navigation of the recce troop was accurate.
Up ahead he spotted that the recce troop and the leading squadron group of Challys and Warriors had halted, quite a traffic jam was building up in fact.

“What the hell is it now?” He muttered. “Two, two Alpha, this is One, one Hotel Actual. What’s the hold up now? Over?”
“Autobahn bridge up ahead is out, One, one Hotel. The Engineers have built a replacement but it can’t take quite the same volume of traffic.
“The engineers assure me they should have all of us across within 30 minutes. Over.” The voice of the recce troop commander replied.
“Understood, Two, two Alpha. I’m coming up to have a look for myself. Over.” Thompson replied. “See if you can get us round this lot, Pete.” He said to his driver.
“Nae problems, Sir.”

The driver edged the sixty five ton tank carefully past all of the parked armoured fighting vehicles, while Thompson and his loader peered out over the side of the turret making sure that they were not going to hit anything, or bog down in soft ground. Finally they made it to the front of the queue where Thompson could see RE vehicles, a mixture of Spartans, Warriors and Combat Engineer Tractors, parked by the side of the autobahn. He could also see the new bridge, a Logistic Support Bridge, which had been constructed using the surviving span of the autobahn bridge. [2]

Thompson found Major Duncan, O.C C Squadron and the recce troop commander talking to a major of the Royal Engineers.

“What’s the situation, Bill?” He asked Duncan.
“The bridge got blown last night, Sir. Major Bridges here knows more than I do.” Duncan replied.
“Good morning, Sir, Major Donald Bridges, 61 Field Support Squadron, 23 Engineer regiment.” Major Donald ‘Bailey’ Bridges replied.

Lt. Colonel Thompson had to suppress a smile; it was not every day that one met an engineering officer whose name described what he did.

“The clever buggers used the demolition chambers to bring down the main span. Got to give them credit for that.” Bridges continued.
“Weren’t the Krauts supposed to be guarding this bridge?” The colonel wondered.
“They were, Sir.” The engineer confirmed. “A half platoon of territorials was assigned to this bridge; half a dozen of them are in that field over there. They were killed with knives by the looks of things; we haven’t found the rest yet. Been a bit too busy building a bridge, you see.”

Lt. Colonel Thompson checked his watch, and shook his head with dismay. His Battle Group was supposed to be at least twenty miles down the road by now, at this rate the Soviets would be in Paris before they reached their destination.

“So can I get my vehicles across, Major?” Thompson asked.
“Of course, Sir, it will need to be single file and no faster than thirty miles an hour though.”

1909 hours. Outside Slimminge, Zealand, Denmark.
The Soviet paratroops had not attacked for several hours now, and Colonel Currie had been able to release the engineers and support personnel attached to his regiment from acting as infantry so that they could carry out their proper tasks instead. The engineers, for example, were busy repairing and improving the paratrooper’s defences.
Colonel Currie had been able to pull back 3 Airborne Commando, the unit made up of men from the Royal Canadian Regiment, replacing them in the line with the composite commando made up of the militia regiments that were attached to the CAR, to allow the RCR men to rest. [3]

Many years ago at the prompting of Mrs Currie the Colonel had given up smoking, however after the events of the last twenty four hours he had decided that he deserved a cigarette, and had scrounged one from his radioman. He reflected that if the Soviets did not kill him then his wife certainly would if she found out.

“Sir?” The adjutant said. “We’ve just received a message from COMLANDZEALAND. The enemy have put a mechanised force at Vemmetofte Strand, assessed as being at reinforced division strength.
“The reinforcements have been sent to oppose its link up with the Soviet paras, so the Danes want to shorten their lines. We’ve been ordered to pull back to the outskirts of Ringstead.”

Colonel Currie could hardly believe his ears, and shook his head in disbelief. After all the regiment and its Danish attachments were in a very strong position, one they had defended with sweat and blood. It seemed wrong to just abandon it.

“I assume that he does not expect us to walk, Captain?” Currie asked.
“No, Sir. The Danes are sending transport to move us; the Danish tank company will cover our retreat.”

Currie got up from the sandbag that he had been perching on, threw down his cigarette and ground it out with his left boot.

“Well, let’s get started then. Better tell the engineers to finish what they are doing and pack their gear up.” He ordered.

*

Some distance to the east the newly promoted Lieutenant General Sokolovskiy waited at the edge of a tree line. CINCWEST had decided that until the headquarters of the 14th Combined Arms Army was established on Zealand that a senior officer already on the ground should be in charge, Sokolovskiy was the obvious choice.
He had handed over command of the 103 Guards Airborne Division to his deputy and established a small headquarters. His new command would include his old division, the composite motor rifle division made up of the remains of the 26th Guards Motorised Rifle Division and the 88th Motorised Rifle Division; the operation to deliver them had gone somewhat awry, much of the divisions, including the headquarters of the 88th MRD, had been lost at sea; the Naval Infantry Brigade and the troops that he was expecting this evening.

His main problem at the moment was that the lodgements held by the airborne troops and naval infantry and the motor rifle troops were separated. There were still quite a number of NATO troops between the two forces, and they might defeat the two groups in detail.

“Here they come, Comrade General.”

Sokolovskiy looked up and saw the parachutes of the leading units of the 7th Guards Airborne Division blossoming above him. The pathfinders of the 103 Guards Airborne Division had already laid out marker beacons, making matters far simpler for the new arrivals.
The leading paratroopers had barely hit the ground when the air was rent by the sound of heavy artillery. Two 150mm shells slammed into the middle of the open ground the paras were landing in and exploded killing and wounding several of them.

Sokolovskiy and his small staff threw themselves into a series of fox holes and slit trenches dug along the edge of the tree line.

“Damn that *** fort, the air force was supposed to have knocked it out by now!” The general cursed as another pair of heavy shells exploded. “Find whoever is spotting for them and kill them, and get me the commander of the 26th Guards. His men are closest to the fort; they ought to be able to do something about it!”

Ever since the paratroops and naval infantry had landed on Zealand the Danish coastal battery, Stevensfort, had been bringing them under harassing fire. The two twin 150mm guns, which, along with their armoured turrets, had once formed part of the secondary armament of KM Gneisenau, were supposed to have been destroyed or neutralised before the ground forces had landed. However the air force had found that it was a very well defended target, NATO mounted a CAP to defend it from the air, and the site was also home to an RDAF I-HAWK SAM squadron; no Soviet aircraft had yet made it through the defences to attack the fort. [4]
The Soviet Navy had attempted to take it out from the sea, but had re-learned the age old lesson that when warships were pitted against a well sited and well fought coastal battery, the coastal guns tended to come off better.

The Soviets had managed to seriously damage the surface barracks, dig several craters in the ground, but had not impaired the combat efficiency of Stevensfort. In return the Danes had managed to sink a Soviet destroyer, and seriously damage several other warships.
The Soviet Navy had now withdrawn to lick its wounds and think again.

The Soviet Army had now decided that since the air force and the navy had so far been unable to deal with the irksome artillery fort then it would have to deal with it with a ground assault, heavily supported by their own artillery and attack helicopters. However that would take time to organise, and in the meantime they would find themselves regularly coming under accurate shell fire from the fort.

Sokolovskiy rightly believed that Danish Special Forces were serving as Forward Observers for the guns and he was determined to root them out. Once that was done accuracy of the fort’s fire would fall off, and it would not be able to fire at new targets.

1925 hours. ‘Female aircrew make ace’ – Reuters.
The Pentagon has announced that two female fliers serving aboard the carrier USS Kitty Hawk have been awarded ace status, the first of their gender to achieve this.
Few details have emerged but it is believed that the two women concerned, Lieutenant Jacqui Patterson an F-14 Tomcat pilot, and Lieutenant Debbie Bradley, a Radar Intercept Officer, both of VF-154, known as the ‘Black Knights’, were responsible for the shoot down of at least five Iraqi aircraft over the last four days.
Lieutenants Patterson and Bradley are the first official female American aces, though it is believed that at least one female USAF pilot in Europe may have qualified for this much coveted status. However the air force has refused to confirm this, stating that due to the nature of the air campaign in Europe it has not yet been able to make official confirmation of any pilot’s claims.

1945 hours. Outside Katlenburg, FRG.
The Sous-Lieutenant of the 4th Chassuers à Cheval scanned the ground ahead of his Scorpion through the reconnaissance vehicle’s thermal sights. The news that their corps was about to be hit by a major Soviet offensive had quickly filtered down to the lowest sub-unit of 1st Belgian Corps and every soldier was now on his guard for any form of attack.
The Corps commander had decided to shorten his line somewhat to generate some more reserves, taking one battle group from each brigade along with the independent tank regiment, 2nd Jaagers te Paard, to form a corps counter-attack force under his direct command.
The two Light Cavalry Squadrons, the 1st Jaagers te Paard and the 4th Chassuers à Cheval were now screening the corps, their job to give early warning of any Soviet attack and impose whatever delay they could.

*

The Belgian corps had always been the smallest and weakest of the corps assigned to AFCENT, the only smaller force being the Canadian contingent. Only having two divisions, the 1st Infantry Division (Mech) and the 16th Infantry Division (Mech), made it somewhat difficult to hold a two-division frontage, as there would not be a division in reserve, as their was in I (Br) Corps.
Fortunately the area of high ground that the Belgians were assigned to defend was considered to be poor tank country. However it now seemed that the Soviets did not share this opinion, or were willing to take the chance of being bogged down.

Apart from being a rather small force, the other major handicap the Belgian Army faced was that defence was not given the same high level of priority for finance that it had been given in other NATO countries. For example the tank fleet was still made up exclusively of Leopard 1s, and there were still many infantry units equipped with either the AIFV-B, or M113. On the bright side all of the Leopard 1 fleet had been upgraded to A5 standard and half of them had been re-armed with the L44 120mm Rheinmetall gun, the same weapon as fitted to the earlier version of the Leopard 2, moreover the regular infantry and some of the reserve infantry units had been re-equipped with the CV9035 infantry fighting vehicle, while the artillery battalions were re-equipping with the British AS90 SPH.

The Belgians had been lucky so far, they had not come under major attack and had been able to use the terrain to their advantage, holding the Soviet and East German units that had attacked them. For now they were still holding the ground to the east of the Leine River, though most of the corps’ support units had now withdrawn behind the river and the bridges prepared for demolition.
Though his force was relatively weak by the standards of the other NATO corps, the Belgian commander was fairly confident that he could hold his line until the British, American and German reinforcements arrived.

*

The Sous-Lieutenant scanned the area ahead of his Scorpion again, and saw…nothing, apart from a few nocturnal creatures emerging as it began to get dark. There was a fox, a badger, what looked like some kind of deer and a Soviet BRM reconnaissance vehicle.
A BRM reconnaissance vehicle!

The Belgian officer quickly sent off a contact report to squadron H.Q and ordered his gunner to target the vehicle. If it, and the other Soviet vehicles following it came close to his troop’s positions then he would engage the Soviet recce force, otherwise he would attempt to remain hidden so that he could continue to report on the enemy advance.
As he continued to watch the sky to the east light up as hundreds of guns, howitzers, multiple rocket launchers and heavy mortars opened fire, bringing a crushing weight of fire down upon the Belgian forward and supporting positions.
Meanwhile behind the FEBA Spetsnaz units were preparing to seize the bridges over the Leine River in anticipation of air assault units being flown in, while others would seek to destroy the bridges over the Weser and sabotage the routes that NATO reinforcements would use.

1955 hours. RAF Elvington, Yorkshire.
Wing Commander Slade eased Teasin’ Tina down onto the 10,152 feet runway, one of the longest in the UK, followed by Maid Marion. Once they had slowed the two Victor K.2 tankers turned off the runway and parked on the 49.347 acres of concrete apron. [5]
Slade recalled that although it had been used as a Relief Landing Ground for RAF Church Fenton, being host to nothing larger than a Jet Provost, or Tucano, RAF Elvington had been reconstructed in the 1950s by the Americans so that it could be used by SAC bombers, which explained the huge runway and massive parking apron. In the event SAC never used the facilities and the USAF moved out in 1958, returning the air station to the RAF.

Today the air station was being used as a dispersal airfield. Six Tornado F.3s of 616 (South Yorkshire) Squadron, eight Hawk T.2s of 1 TWU, and ironically four SAC B-1B Lancers of the 37th Bomb Squadron were also parked at various points around the airfield, the larger aircraft on the concrete apron.
Even with these six large aircraft parked on it, the apron’s size rather dwarfed them.

*

The two Victors had been redeployed from RAF Aldergrove to RAF Elvington to cover for the loss of a Tristar KC.2 and damage to two VC.10s in Soviet air attacks. The third Victor K.2 owned by the V-bomber display flight, Lucky Lou, was hurriedly being fitted with the equipment she was missing to make her operational. However there were only three crews in the flight, which would rather limit their operational capability, unless some Tristar or VC.10 crews were rapidly converted to the Victor. [6]

*

Wing Commander Slade shut down the four Rolls-Royce Conway RCo.11 engines and began to turn off the aircraft’s various systems. [7] He replaced the pins in his Martin-Baker ejection seat, making it safe and un-strapped.
While the Victor’s cockpit was roomier than its stable-mate the Vulcan, which had been designed for a single pilot, it was still something of a trial to get from the left hand ejection seat to the exit hatch.

When Slade finally made it down to the concrete pan and emerged from under the converted bomber he noticed that a crowd of curious RAF and USAF personnel had gathered, some of whom were taking photographs. After all it was not every day that one saw two Victors.

The sound of another aircraft making its approach made Slade look up. He saw an aircraft that he recognised as an Airbus A330 crossing the threshold, though rather oddly it wore the same sort of light and dark grey camouflage as the Tristar and VC.10 fleet, rather than the colourful markings of a civil airliner.

“What’s that, Flight?” He asked the senior member of the ground crew servicing his aircraft.
“That’s the prototype of the new tanker, Sir.” The Flight Sergeant replied. “She’s come up from Toulouse apparently.”

He watched as the large converted airliner taxied towards the apron, it had a certain grace for a people hauler, however…

“It’s not a patch on you, Tina.” Slade said to his Victor K.2.

As he turned to walk away and report to ‘ops’ he could swear that the Victor answered ‘of course not’. He shook his head; it must have been his imagination, aircraft only spoke in novels, not in real life.

2010 hours. Outside Schwabach, FRG.
Lt. Colonel Robert McLain reflected that it was nice not be shot at, or shelled by artillery, at least not as regularly as when the Royal Canadian Dragoons battle group was at the front. He was walking the short distance to the headquarters of 4th Canadian Mechanised Brigade, having parked his G-Wagen a short distance away.
After its encounter the brigade was back in SOUTHAG reserve, allowing it to absorb replacements, and allow the Canadians to properly organise 1st Canadian Division.

*

The full complement of 1st Canadian Division’s headquarters had been on the ground for the last week. [8] Rather inconveniently COMSOUTHAG had taken away half of its combat power, 4 CMB, to act as a fire brigade unit, leaving it with only 1 CMB.
After the reforms of the mid Nineties that had seen the resurrection of the Norway dedicated CAST Brigade, 1st Canadian Brigade Group had taken the place of 5e Groupe-Brigade Mécanisé du Canada in 1st Canadian Division. Some reorganisation of 1 CBG had taken place, making it similar in composition and strength to 4 CMB, which resulted in a slight change of name – 1st Canadian Mechanised Brigade. Now the division would have two regiments of armour equipped with the Leopard C.2 rather than one, four regiments of mechanised infantry equipped with the Canadian variant of the Warrior rather than two, and two artillery regiments equipped with the AS90 SPH.
The division would be completed with the addition of an Allied brigade, though the militia 31st, 32nd and 33rd Canadian Brigade Groups were designated to be sent to the Central Region, and indeed advanced parties of the 31st had begun to arrive.

Like her NATO allies military recruiting in Canada had been very healthy recently, for the first time in many years her regular brigades were at near full strength, needing only a very small augmentation from the militia to bring them up to full strength. Similarly, as in Britain, the reserve forces were at the strongest they had ever been. For the first time in their history most of the militia brigades were actually brigades in strength rather than only in name.
In less populated areas, such as Land Forces Atlantic Area, where the two brigades, 36 and 37 CBG, were at half strength, when mobilisation came the two units would be effectively amalgamated to produce one up to strength brigade. The junior brigade H.Q and cadres would stay at home to handle territorial defence, would be responsible for replacements for the brigade in the field and would attempt to recruit more manpower.

*

“Glad to see that you are all here.” Brigadier-General Sean Maloney, the commander of 4th Canadian Mechanised Brigade, said to his assembled sub-unit commanders. “I’m afraid our time in reserve has once again come to an end, so no more relaxing for you guys.” He added with a grin. “As I’m sure you know the capture of Regensburg has perturbed COMSOUTHAG, as the bulge the enemy has created in our lines threatens Nurnberg and Munich. Our old friends, II (German) Korps, and II (French) Corps have been tasked to reduce the bulge, and recapture Regensburg if possible.
“Now rather sadly 1st Canadian Division has not been assigned a direct part in this enterprise. Instead we are being deployed up to our old stamping ground of TAA Setter, where we will relieve the 10th Panzer Division, and take over covering Nurnberg, means we’ll be working with the Yanks again, too and enjoying all the fun of not only being on a corps boundary, but also an army group one.”
“Is it just going to be us and the 1st Brigade, Sir?” McLain asked.
“Fortunately no, Bob. The division will be completed by the 56th Heimatschutz Brigade. We’ve worked with them before, and they’re good guys.”
“They’ve got Leo2 and Marder 2s, haven’t they, Sir?” The CO of the 2nd PPCLI asked.
“Indeed they do, Shaun.” Maloney replied.
“Sir, this is a bit off topic, but what’s the news from up north?” The C.O of the 1e Battalion, Royal 22e Regiment asked.
“I’m afraid I don’t know too much, Albert. The rumour mill says that the Belgians got hit by two Soviet armies and a bunch of Spetsnaz and airmobile troops.”

Maloney paused for a second.

“The Belgians are good soldiers, even if they do have slightly older equipment; I mean we know all about being under-funded and having to use obsolescent equipment; they’ll fight well. The sector they hold is also one of the best bits of defensive terrain in NORTHAG; I don’t think we should worry too much about them.”

Brigadier-General Maloney could see that his officers were not exactly convinced by his reassurances regarding the Belgian Corps. They had always been regarded as the weak link in NORTHAG, not only were they equipped with older equipment (though they were modernising) but most of the corps were based in Belgium, a long distance from their deployment areas.
The British, Dutch, German and American troops who served in NORTHAG considered it nothing short of a miracle that the Belgians had actually managed to reach their positions before the balloon had gone up. For the British, whose southern flank depended on the Belgians being in place, it had been a great relief and meant that II (Br) Corps could take its place as NORTHAG’s counter-penetration force, rather than having to stand-in for the absent Belgians.

As he had said to his men, Maloney was sure the Belgians would fight very hard. However he was also convinced that Belgian soldiers were about to pay in blood for pre-war parsimony of their government. At least his soldiers would not be reaping such a bitter harvest.

***

[1] VX was apparently swapped for information on thermonuclear weapons. See McCamley, N.J, ‘Secret History of Chemical Warfare’ (Barnsley 2006), p.135.

[2] The Logistic Support Bridge (LSB) is a military version of the Mabey Compact 200 panel bridge system, a direct descendent of the Bailey Bridge system of the Second World War. See Joiner, J.H, ‘One More River to Cross – The Story of British Military Bridging’ (Barnsley 2001), p.393 and here for details.

[3] The attached militia regiments were Le Regiment du Saguenay, the Loyal Edmonton Regiment, the Queen’s Own Rifles of Canada, and The Royal Westminster Regiment. They provided a fourth platoon for each of the three regular airborne commandoes, and a fourth composite commando. See Horn, Bernd and Wycznski, Michel, ‘Canadian Airborne Forces since 1942’ (Oxford 2006), p.43.

[4] I’ve reposted the link to the PDF in Danish about Stevensfort, thanks again to Pengolodh for the information. Link.

[5] A short history and map of RAF Elvington can be found here.

[6] The V-bomber (formerly Vulcan) Display Flight comprises three Victor K.2s (XH672 ‘Maid Marion’, XM715 ‘Teasin’ Tina’ and XM717 ‘Lucky Lou’) and one Vulcan B.2 (XH588). Of the Victors XM715 is the display aircraft for 2005, XH672 is the in use spare, available to take over should XM715 go U/S and will be the display aircraft in 2007. XM717 will be the display aircraft in 2006 and was undergoing deep maintenance in late 2004, early 2005, but was made airworthy so it could be relocated to the relative safety of RAF Aldergrove. The crew of XH558 are also qualified to fly the Victor.
The party piece of the flight is a hook-up between XH558 and one of the Victors.

[7] XM715 may have been fitted with the slightly more powerful RCo.17; however no documentary source, either on the web or in print confirms it either way. I have assumed that for reasons of economy the Victor tanker fleet would have used the less powerful RCo.11.

[8] 1st Canadian Division was officially reformed on 30th November 1989. It had its H.Q in Kingston, Ontario, with a forward H.Q at Lahr, FRG, co-located with H.Q 4 CMB. See Maloney, Sean M. ‘War without Battles – Canada’s Brigade in Germany 1951-1993’ (Whitby, ON), ps.440, 442.

2030 hours. Diego Garcia, BIOT.
“Good evening ladies and gentlemen.” Brigadier General Jack Hayden, USAF, the Commanding officer of the 5th Bomb Wing (Provisional) said to his assembled air crews. “Now I know you’d all rather be catching some sack time, or getting some chow after the missions we’ve been flying over the last couple of days but we’ve been given an important new mission, a request from the high and mighty navy to us lowly SAC weenies.”

The mention of the US Navy provoked jeers and hoots of derision from the assembled air crew. Evidently they did not have too high an opinion of a service that was giving them another mission on top of their existing ones.

*

The 5th Bombardment Wing had earned its ‘Provisional’ moniker when on deployment to Diego Garcia it had taken a detachment of B-1B ‘Lancers’ from the 77th Bombardment Squadron and a detachment of KC-135R ‘Stratotankers’ from the 93rd Air Refuelling Squadron. Six F-15C Eagles of the 199th Tactical Fighter Squadron, Hawaii Air National Guard, deployed to the atoll to provide air defence also came under command of the 5th BW (P).
The navy P-3C ‘Orions’, however, that had also taken up residence on the airfield were not. They reported to a different chain of command.

*

“Well I’m sure you don’t want to listen to my voice for any longer than you have to.” Hayden continued. “So I’ll now turn the briefing over to Colonel Rodriguez. Once he’s done our naval liaison officer, Commander McGarrett, will be on hand to answer and specific naval related questions that you may have.
“Now I know she wears a dark blue suit, but be nice to the gal.
“Ops, you ready?”
“Sure, Sir.” Colonel Tony ‘Dr. Nick’ Rodriguez replied, stepping forward to the podium. “Hi, everybody.” He said as he set up his notes, before pulling down the large map behind him.
“Hi, Dr. Nick.” The fliers chorused in reply.

There was a pause for a moment as Rodriguez collected himself. Although this was probably the hundredth time it had happened he still found it funny.

“Well, folks what I can promise you today is something of a change from firing ALCMs at some distant target. Tonight we’re going into the maritime attack business.
“As you will no doubt have noticed the ships carrying equipment for the marines have already left, now what you may not know is that they are heading for Cape Town in South Africa rather than the Gulf.
“The reason for this is that the Soviet Indian Ocean Squadron is currently blocking access into the Gulf of Oman and the navy does not have a spare CVBG close enough to deal with them at the moment.
“The army would very much like to despatch the ships holding its equipment here to Kuwait ASAP, and our TAC brethren really need all the spare parts and munitions kept here. This is where we come in.”

Rodriguez turned to the map and indicated an area south of the Gulf of Oman with the laser pointer he was carrying.

“This is the area where the Soviet ships have been operating. The Frenchies have a Surface Action Group trailing them, about here, but they can’t take them on directly until something is done about their carrier, the Leningrad.
“Though she’s not a ship in the league of one of our carriers, she is a pretty powerful vessel. As well as the twelve ‘Freestyle’ fighters and the helicopters she operates, she is also armed with twelve ‘Sandbox’ anti-ship missiles.
“Our job is going to be to kill, or disable her. Starting with you folks gathered here we will be making regular attacks on the group, six BUFFs at a time. Because of the threat from fighters we’ll be taking along two of the Eagles with us.
“All the details of the rest of the Soviet group are in your briefing notes. Now are there any questions?”
“Yes, Sir, I’d like to know where the navy is, and what support can we expect from them?” A BUFF pilot asked.
“Do you mind if I answer that?” Commander Amanda ‘Steve’ McGarrett, the wing’s navy liaison officer asked.

Rodriguez nodded.

“I’m afraid we don’t have too much in the Indian Ocean at the moment.” She told the assembled BUFF and Stratotanker crews. “The Nimitz was in Singapore undergoing some minor maintenance, but she’s on her way now. Unfortunately she’s still about four days away from being in range.
“We do have three attack submarines in range of the group, the Gato, Springfield and Boise. The Brits have one sub, the Sceptre and the French also have one boat, the Casabianca. The subs are moving into position so that they can assist in the attack. If you guys cripple a Soviet vessel the subs will finish ‘em off.
“Our Orions have been shadowing the group, not exactly an easy job when the Leningrad’s fighters have been trying to shoot them down; we lost one yesterday by the way. We should have at least one Orion shadowing the group at all times, it will provide you with details of the SURPIC and guide you in.
“It’s not often you’ll hear the navy say this, but we’re depending on the air force to help us get the convoys through to Kuwait.”

2101 hours. HMS Unicorn, off the Norwegian coast.
Sergeant Duncan Falconer, RM, a Troop Sergeant in C Squadron of the Special Boat Service, made a few last minute checks to his equipment. Making sure that his re-breather was functional and that there were no problems with his C8 carbine.

*

The diesel-electric submarine was away from her usual haunt of the G-I-UK Gap, where her other sisters of the Upholder and Victoria classes usually operated. [1] Today she was conducting the insertion of a number of SBS four man reconnaissance teams, whose job it was to monitor the continuing Soviet advance and in conjunction with Norwegian Special Forces and Home Guard conduct sabotage so that it would be further delayed.
Both the submariners and the SBS had been training for precisely this task for several decades now and were by now experts at operating in the Norwegian fjords undetected.

*

Satisfied that all was well, Falconer stowed his gear and checked on the other three men of the patrol. Like him they too had been making sure that all their equipment was ready and in working order.

“Everything ready?” He asked.
“No problems, Sarge.” The second senior man in the patrol replied.
“Good, well move your stuff up to the escape hatch.” Falconer paused to look at his watch. “We must be nearly there by now.”

Almost as soon as he had finished telling the other marines that, one of the boat’s petty officers stuck his head into the torpedo room, where the marines had been living for the last few days.

“Sergeant Falconer, the captain thought you’d want to know that we’re about five minutes away from the launch position, and do you need any help with moving your equipment?”
“Thanks, and yes, a few extra bodies to move some of our stuff to the hatch would come in handy.” Falconer replied.

*

Half an hour later Falconer’s patrol were stealthily paddling ashore in a pair of Klepper Canoes, a piece of equipment that had not changed a great deal since they were first used during ‘Operation Frankton’ in 1942. [2] While the canoes might be an old piece of kit they were still a very useful way of inserting men undetected.
On reaching the shore the four men folded their canoes, took off their wetsuits and re-breathers and buried them. Falconer checked his GPS unit; they were not too far away from both their planned O.P and from a weapons and equipment cache.

“Okay, let’s get moving.” Falconer ordered.

The patrol moved out, carefully making their way towards their objective. About half way there they passed a village, Falconer decided to skirt round the edge of it in case there were any Soviet troops in residence, however once they got close he very much doubted that anyone was now living in the village.
The mainly wooden buildings had all been burned to the ground, and were now just a collection of charred timbers. Even the village church had been destroyed, only the spire was intact.

“***’ ‘ell.” One of the members of the patrol muttered under his breath. “They’ve certainly gone to town here.”

2130 hours. Outside Göttingen, FRG.
The Soviet advance had pushed the Belgian screening forces aside and was now pushing forwards against the main line. The Belgian battle group holding the line in this sector was drawn from the 10th Mechanised Infantry Brigade, the reserve portion of the 16th Infantry Division (Mechanised).
Unfortunately this meant that the Leopard 1A5 tanks, drawn from the 8th Lancers, were still armed with the L7A3 105mm gun. While the APFSDS round the gun fired would still penetrate the frontal armour of T-80s and T-90s, it would only do so at a range where the Soviet 125mm would gain an accurate first round hit, and more importantly would penetrate the Leopard 1’s frontal armour.
The infantry, a company each from the 2nd Carabineers and the 4th Line Battalion were equipped with a mixture of CV9035s and AIFV-Bs, so at least there were some modern fighting vehicles in the battle group.

The ground the battle group was holding was very conducive to defence and the Belgian commander has sited his armoured vehicles where they would make the best of their capabilities and minimise their weaknesses. A screen of ATGW armed infantry had been pushed out ahead of the main line, intended to slow down the Soviet advance, make them deploy their infantry and suffer attrition.
The Leopard 1s had been deployed into hull-down position where they would hopefully be able to get flank shots at the Soviet tanks, rather than go toe to toe with them, as British Challengers 2s and German Leopard 2s could do.

*

Senior Lieutenant Pavel Krylov, a platoon commander in the 244th Guards Motorised Rifle Regiment, crept closer to the Belgian Scorpion. For some reason it appeared to be derelict, though it showed no battle damage and its hatches were firmly shut. A short distance away was the burned out carcass of a BRM reconnaissance vehicle which had taken a 76mm HESH round.
The HESH round fired by the L23A1 gun was pretty powerful, certainly enough to worry a Soviet main battle tank at close range, so it had made mincemeat of the lightly armoured BRM.

Neither the reconnaissance company, nor the vanguard of the 27th Guards Motorised Rifle Division had the time to check out the apparent derelict after it had ambushed the BRM, and were not all that concerned anyway as it had shown no sign of life since that one shot, so it had been left to the follow up troops if the 244th Guards to check on it.

While Krylov and his men crept slowly towards the Belgian reconnaissance vehicle on foot, the platoon sergeant, left in command of the platoon’s BTR-90s, provided protective cover, just in case the Scorpion decided to show any life. If the Scorpion showed any sign of life the BTR-90s would fill it full of 30mm cannon shells.
Krylov and one other motor rifleman climbed up onto the turret of the Scorpion, expecting it to move at any moment. The Lieutenant managed to prise open one of the turret hatches and was about to drop a grenade in when he noticed that the Belgian crewman was slumped motionless against the side of the turret, apparently dead. Curious he reached down and felt for a pulse; the man was quite dead.

“What on earth..?” He muttered. “Open the other hatch.” Krylov ordered the other soldier.
“He’s dead as well, Comrade Lieutenant.” The private reported a moment later.

Senior Lieutenant Krylov wondered what was going on. Here was a perfectly serviceable and undamaged armoured vehicle, yet its crew were dead, though they showed no sign of injury. Well, he did not have time to consider what had happened; he had a war to fight. [3]

“Back to the vehicles.” He ordered, jumping down from the turret from the Scorpion.

As he was about to climb aboard his BTR-90, he took one last look at the derelict Scorpion. Perhaps after the war he might find out what had happened.

*

Up ahead the Soviet advance had run into the ATGW armed infantry teams, who had managed to knock-out a few Soviet armoured vehicles before withdrawing to new positions. The Spike-MR (also known as the Gil) missiles that the Belgian infantry were using were proving to be highly effective against the Soviet vehicles. [4]
The spearhead forces did not have enough infantry to counter this threat effectively, and the nature of the terrain forced armoured vehicles like T-90s and BMP-3s to try to advance down narrow routes, where they soon became bunched up and vulnerable. Only good forward SAM defences and adequate air cover prevented serious casualties from NATO air attack, though they could not, of course prevent shelling from artillery, or further attacks from infantry wielding portable ATGW.

2145 hours. North of Beverungen, FRG.
The Fife and Forfar Yeomanry battle group had after various travails finally reached the boundary between I (Br) Corps and I (BE) Corps, which was marked by a Vehicle Check Point jointly manned by British ‘Redcaps’ and Belgian Military Police. An M113A1-B carrying a Belgian liaison officer was waiting for them just over their side of the corps boundary.
Lt. Colonel Thompson ordered his driver to halt by the ageing APC. The Belgian liaison officer, a captain, was standing in the commander’s hatch. He saluted as the Challenger 2 came level with the M113.

“Good evening, Sir, I am afraid we have a bit of a problem in Beverungen.” The Belgian said in flawless English. “Two companies of Spetsnaz have seized the bridge between it and Lauenförde; they have not blown it up yet, but we believe they will do so in the next couple of hours.”
“What forces do you have immediately available, Captain?” Thompson asked.
“Two infantry companies mounted in APCs and some engineers and military police. No heavy armour, though.”
“Well, looks like we need a plan to retake the town then.
“I noticed from the map that there is a railway bridge a few miles north of the town. Is it still in one piece?”
“Very much so, Sir.” The Belgian replied.
“In that case we should be able to use it to cross the river.” Thompson observed. “If I leave one of my squadrons here to support the two infantry companies and take the rest of the battle group over the rail bridge then we can mount an attack on the bridge from both ends.”

The Belgian nodded his assent at the plan.

“I will pass your plan onto the Major.” He said.

*

Ten minutes later Thompson had his senior officers gathered for an ‘O’ Group meeting by the rear of one of the battle group’s Sultan Armoured Command Vehicles.

“Okay, gentlemen, we have something of a knotty problem to solve. Our Belgian liaison officer has told me that two companies of Spetsnaz have taken the bridge in Beverungen, and although they have not destroyed it yet it is pretty safe to assume that they are probably wiring it with explosive right now.
“The Belgians have a couple of companies of infantry mounted in APCs and some engineers and military police, but none of the sort of heavy armour we can bring to the party. I propose that we send one squadron to support the Belgian attack from this side of the river and take the rest of the battle group over the river and simultaneously attack from that side.
“Apparently there is an intact rail bridge a few miles north of town which I intend to use to cross the river, so I’d like the recce troop to check it out, find out if it is indeed in one piece and if it can take the weight of our Challys and Warriors. If not we’ll use AVLBs to get across.
“That reminds me where are the nearest AVLBs?”
“There are two of them about ten minutes up the road, Sir.” The Adjutant reported. “You know what the old Chieftains are like.”

Thompson nodded; indeed the old Chieftain Armoured Vehicle Launched Bridges did find it hard to keep up with the more modern Challenger 2s, Warriors and AS90s. The Challenger 2 based Titan AVLB was supposed to solve this problem, but there were not many of them around, and certainly none in Territorial regiments.

“Well they should be here by the time the recce troop let’s us know what’s doing at the bridge.” He replied.
“What if there’s a train coming the other way, Sir?” Captain Ian Stewart, O.C, The Lovat Scouts Troop, the Fife’s recce troop, whose different cap badge made him stand out among the other officers, asked with a grin.
“Keep out of its way of course, Ian. I want you to get on your way as soon as we’re finished up here.
“Right, anyone have any suggestions, or questions?”
“I’ve two, Sir.” The commander of C Squadron, Major Duncan, said. “Who is going into town with the Belgians, and have you asked for air support?”
“You’re going into town, Bill; sorry I should have mentioned that before. To answer your second question we’ll have the support of a pair of Apaches, which will be here in around twenty five minutes.
“Right, let’s get going.”

2201 hours, RAF Turnhouse, outside Edinburgh.
Squadron Leader Walker planted his Tornado F.3, named ‘Auld Reekie’, firmly down on the piano keys at the end of the main runway. [5] The thrust reverse buckets deployed as soon as the main wheels made contact with the bitumen covered surface, slowing the interceptor considerably.
Soon after the nose gear touched down there was a bump and the aircraft bounced as it passed over a repaired section of the runway. As it was getting dark it was difficult for Walker or Baker to see the full extent of the damage done during the Soviet air raid, but the patch on the runway suggested that all was not as it should be.

Walker taxied off the runway heading for the squadron dispersal site, passing a couple of VC.10 tankers and a single Sentry AEW.1, one of the two that wore the markings of 615 (County of Surrey ‘Churchill’s Own) Squadron, which served as the crew augmentation unit for the Sentries.

“Looks like the tower is gone.” Baker remarked.
“What?” Walker replied, quickly glancing over his shoulder and seeing a stump where the tall control tower should be. “Bloody hell, that’s nasty.”

A Land Rover with a ‘Follow Me’ sign led them to one of the steel shelters that the squadron used to house its aircraft. They provided protection from the elements, but only limited protection from enemy action; two of them had taken direct hits and two more riddled with bomb fragments.
Walker stopped his aircraft outside one of the shelters and shut down the right-hand RB.199s. A member of the ground crew attached a cable to the Tornado, which allowed it to be winched back into the shelter. He shut down the remaining engine and opened the canopy.

“Good sortie was it, Sir?” A Flight Sergeant asked once Walker was down on the ground.
“Not bad, Flight.” He replied. “I think we got a ‘Backfire’, do you agree, Ron?”
“I’d say so, Skipper. I saw the missile hit the target, no way is he going to have made it home.” Baker replied.

Walker stepped out of the shelter and realised the extent of the damage to the air station for the first time. He could see that the main hangar was badly damaged from the direct hit it had taken; its doors were bent and twisted out of shape from both the explosion and the heat of the fire. Several other buildings also showed severe damage.

“What’s left, Flight?” Flight Lieutenant Baker asked.
“The H.Q and the ROC bunker, Sir.”
“Jesus.” Squadron Leader Walker breathed. “It was pretty bad then?”
“It was, Sir. The bombers hit pretty much everything the missiles missed.
“There are a lot of our blokes in the hospital, a lot more are dead.” The Flight Sergeant said sadly. “We’ve got some tented accommodation set up for you, Sir. It’s not great, but the best we can do in the circumstances I’m afraid.”
“Flight, I’ve just spent the last six hours sitting on a Martin Baker ejection seat, anything will be more comfortable than that.” Walker replied. “So I’m not going to complain.”

*

Before they could get their heads down Walker, Baker and the crew of their wingman’s aircraft had to report to the squadron intelligence officer. He was a slight, bespectacled man, a lawyer in civilian life.

“So ladies and gentlemen what little stories have you got for me tonight?” He asked.
“We definitely got a ‘Backfire’, Richard.” Walker said confidently.
“Do you have some evidence for me, laddie?”
“Ron saw the missile hit on radar.”
“But you didn’t see it go down?” The intelligence officer wondered.
“Well, no. It was fifty miles away in the dark, but that missile definitely hit its target.” Walker replied defensively.
“Right, no visual confirmation and we’ve not gotten confirmation from ground radar, or a Sentry, so that’ll have to be a ‘probable’, I’m afraid.”
“What! But that missile hit, Richard.” Walker argued.
“Those are the rules I’m afraid, Paul.” The I.O replied. “My hands are tied.”

*

“You know, Ron.” Walker said as they were making their way to their tented accommodation a few minutes later. “I’m beginning to think that Shakespeare had a very good idea about lawyers.”

Baker nodded sagely, after all a navigator always shared in the kill of a pilot. He too was looking to make ace.

2216 hours. North of Clauen, FRG.
Squadron Leader Jameson felt that he had been walking for days, he had always considered himself to be fit but he was couch potato compared to these part-time soldiers. They had been marching quickly since the patrol from the HAC had picked him up, stopping every so often to avoid Soviet or East German patrols.

“You’ll be gad to know that we’re heading for our extraction.” Sergeant Peters had told him a couple of hours ago.

For Jameson it could not come quick enough, his back was really starting hurt, as were his feet. Flying boots were not really designed for long marches.
Finally the patrol halted by a clearing.

“Right, we’re here.” Sergeant Peters announced. “Spread out and keep an eye open for the Russkies.
“You stay here with me, Sir.” He looked at his watch. “Shouldn’t be long now.”

A few minutes later Jameson heard the sound of a helicopter approaching. It was flying so low that he did not see it until the Merlin HC.3 popped up over the opposite line of trees and dropped down into the middle of the clearing.
Half a dozen gunners of the RAF Regiment ran down the rear ramp and spread out, providing cover to the aircraft.

“Let’s go!” Peters shouted.

The six territorials and Jameson sprinted towards the helicopter, keeping their heads down to avoid the rotors. Once they were aboard the gunners too withdrew to their helicopter and it took off, keeping low as it headed towards friendly lines.

“Where we headed for?” Jameson asked.
“Gütersloh.” A voice Jameson recognised. “Be like going home for you, Dick.”
“Mark, is that you?” Jameson said leaning across the fuselage.
“Yup, it’s me.” Squadron Leader Mark Jones, the Commanding Officer of 15 Squadron, RAF Regiment, replied. “When I heard that you were in the pick-up I had to come along to see you were okay.”
“I appreciate that, Mark.” Jameson replied. “You leave your Sabre behind did you?”
“Well, it wouldn’t fit in the back of one of these things.” Jones replied, chuckling. “You’ll be glad to get back to your flight though, I’ll bet.”
“You’re right there, Mark. I’ve just had some experience of that infantry crap, and it is not an experience I want to repeat.” Jameson said. “Any idea who has been in charge during my little trip?”
“Flight Lieutenant Thompson as far as I know.”
“Good God!” Jameson exclaimed, in mock surprise and shock. “I’d better get back ASAP then.”

*

Thankfully the flight back to RAF Gütersloh was uneventful, the helicopter touching down in dispersal site that had been used by No. 3 Squadron, now taken over by the Tornado GR.4s of No. 604 (County of Middlesex) Squadron.
Jameson stepped carefully down from the Merlin, wincing as his back protested.

“You okay, Dick?” Jones asked.
“I think I might have a slipped disc in my back, or something. Happened during the ejection, pretty common from what I’ve heard, not that I’ve had to eject before you understand.”

As both men walked towards a waiting Land Rover the station’s sirens sounded, warning of an approaching air attack.

“***, run!” Jones shouted, sprinting for the Landie.

Jameson followed as best he could, his back screaming in pain. Behind them the Merlin took off and cleared the air station as fast as it could.

“Get in, quick” The LAC driving the Land Rover yelled, waving his right arm urgently.

The two squadron leaders leapt into the back of the vehicle which shot off at high speed, heading for the nearest Hardened Aircraft Shelter. Its main doors were already closing, though one of the personnel entrances was still open, an airman gesturing wildly.
The Land Rover skidded to a halt outside the HAS and its occupants spilled out and ran for their lives towards safety. No sooner had the door been close behind them there was a loud ‘CRUMP’ and the heavily protected building shook.

“That was lucky.” Jones remarked, breathing a sigh of relief.

In some pain Jameson made his way towards the nearest chair. He sat down and tried to get himself comfortable.

“Has anybody got an aspirin or maybe a bit something stronger? I feel like I’ve just gone several rounds with Mike Tyson.”
“I’ll see what I can find, Dick.” Jones said, disappearing into the crew room.

He reappeared a few minutes later carrying a white tub.

“Here you go, mate, some coproxamol, it’s quite a bit stronger than aspirin.” Jones said with a smirk. “As soon as the raid is over we’ll get the docs to have a look at you.”
“Cheers, mate.” Jameson replied, taking two tablets out of the tub. “I really hope it’s just a slipped disk.”

He leaned back in the chair, waiting for the pain killers to take their effect. Despite his discomfort he was glad to be back in relative safety.

***

[1] The Upholder class consists of eight vessels in Royal Navy service - HMS Upholder, HMS Unseen, HMS Ursula, HMS Unicorn, HMS Una, HMS Undaunted, HMS Unbending and HMS Unbroken, with four under construction and four half-sisters in Canadian Forces Maritime Command service - HMCS Victoria, HMCS Windsor, HMCS Corner Brook and HMCS Chicoutimi, plus two under construction. The CF boats are stretched and have a greater displacement to allow them to reach the Arctic.

[2] See here and here for details of ‘Operation Frankton’. The operation was not carried out by the SBS, but by one of its antecedents, the RM Boom Patrol Detachment; it was immortalised in the book ‘Cockleshell Heroes’ and a film of the same name.

[3] The L23A1 gun which armed the Scorpion was not fitted with a fume extractor; therefore there was a danger that the crew might be suffocated if it was fired while the Scorpion was fully closed up, as in this case. This was apparently one of the reasons that the Scorpion was withdrawn from British Army service. See here for details.

[4] I have assumed that the Belgian Army has replaced its Milan missiles with the Spike-MR, as the Dutch have done.

[5] ‘Auld Reekie’ is a traditional nickname for Edinburgh, originating at a time when the city had a far smokier atmosphere. One of 603 Squadron’s Spitfire Mk.1s carried the name during 1940

2301 hours. Diego Garcia, BIOT.
Brigadier-General Hayden finished off his walk around of his B-52J ‘Wing King’; all seemed to be well and he climbed up into the cockpit to join the rest of the crew to begin the pre-flight checks.
Hayden had decided to lead the first cell of BUFFs against the Soviet group on the principle that he would do anything that he asked his ‘boys and girls’ to do. He was going to share in the risk if they were.
Like the other five B-52s taking part in the attack, Brigadier-General Hayden’s aircraft was carrying eight AGM-84D Harpoons. In theory each aircraft could carry twelve missiles, but it had become practise since the days of the B-52G to only carry eight. [1] The aircraft was also carrying a load of ADM-141C ITALD decoys, which Hayden had to borrow from the navy, since there were none of the new ADM-160B MALD decoys on the base.
Just before firing their Harpoons the B-52s would launch their decoys, thus saturating the Soviet group’s radars with dozens of false targets.

In a last minute addition to the plan Hayden had assigned three of the 77th Bombardment Squadron’s B-1B ‘Lancers’ to the mission. They could not carry Harpoons, though in theory there was no reason why they could not be modified to do so, but they could carry a large number of air launched decoys.
The Bones would run in at low level at high speed, before popping up and releasing their load of decoys. The decoys were programmed to initially act like B-52s before apparently turning away, turning off their blip enhancers before turning back towards the Soviet group, mimicking Harpoon missiles.

*

Hayden took his place in the left hand ejection seat, put on his helmet and strapped in. Once he was secure he and the crew began to go through their pre-flight checks.

“Right, that’s the checklist done, time to start the engines.
“Start number one.”
“Starting number one, Pilot.” Hayden’s co-pilot Major John Lacey replied.

The big port outer RB211 came to life, slowly at first, but was soon producing a load roar as it spooled up to its initial start up power then dropped slightly to idle speed. Hayden let it run for a moment before repeating the process with the remaining three engines.

“Tower this is ‘Wing King’, ready to taxi, over.” Hayden requested.
“Roger that, ‘Wing King’, you are clear to taxi. Hold at the threshold, over.”
“Roger, taxiing now, over.”

Hayden released the aircraft’s breaks and the BUFF began to move forward slowly. The Brigadier-General took responsibility for steering the big aircraft while Lacey kept an eye on the throttles.
Hayden brought to a halt at the threshold of the runway.

“Last chance to report any faults, guys and gals.
“Co-pilot?”
“Good to go, Pilot.” Lacey replied.
“Radar?”
“Good to go, Pilot.” The Radar Navigator replied.
“Nav?”
“A-okay, Pilot.” The Navigator said confidently.
“E-DUB?”
“Everything’s cool down here, Pilot.” The Electronic Warfare Officer replied.
“Guns?”
“All ready back here, Pilot.”

Satisfied that the aircraft was ready to take off Hayden contacted the control tower again.

“Tower, this is ‘Wing King’, requesting permission to take off, over.”
“Wing King you are clear to depart, there is no traffic in the immediate area and you are clear to climb to operational altitude.
“Good luck, Sir, over.”
“Thank you, over.”

With the message of goodwill from the controller in the tower ringing in Hayden’s ears ‘Wing King’ began her take off run. Once airborne she began to climb into the night’s sky and was soon lost from the view of ground observers.
The second B-52 in Hayden’s cell was already making its take off run, while the third was taxiing towards the threshold, the leading BUFF of the second cell not far behind.

2330 hours. Craigrothie, Fife.
‘…Damage to generating capability and the distribution network resulted in a number of power blackouts across Britain. The situation was not helped by the diversion of the remaining capacity of power stations and the National Grid to defence and official purposes.
‘Once darkness fell there were limited outbreaks of civil disturbance and looting in the cities and towns effected by the power outages. Police resources, already stretched by various wartime tasks, proved inadequate to deal with the situation in many cases and troops had to be called in.
‘Such was the level of violence that police and troops were forced to use plastic bullets and CS gas to restore order. In some cities the security forces came under small arms fire and were forced to respond in kind.
‘By the time morning came and order was restored four members of the security forces had been killed and countless others injured badly enough to require treatment in hospital. On the other side six rioters were shot to death, at least another two were killed when they were struck on the head by plastic bullets at close range and hundreds were injured, though as many chose not to present themselves to hospital casualty units, no doubt fearing arrest, the exact figure is unknown.
‘What is known, however, is that over three hundred arrests were made for numerous crimes, including rioting, looting and assault against the police.
‘Looting was considered the most serious, and under the Emergency Powers it could attract a death penalty, though none of those convicted of crimes on the 25th of April were executed. It is believed, however, that at least one, or two of those shot to death during the riots had been engaged in looting, and troops had been ordered to fire on any they encountered.’

Extract from ‘The Defence of the United Kingdom’ (Whitehall Histories: Government Official History Series, Routledge, London 2016) by Basil Collier and Derek Dempster.

‘The night of 25th April/26th April was marked by the worst violence seen since the anti-war protests of 17th April. These protests were by and large not politically motivated, but a result of people taking the advantage of power blackouts to indulge in looting and vandalism.
‘Where the electricity stayed on things stayed relatively normal, but in Dundee, parts of Glasgow, Manchester, Bradford and parts of London where there were power cuts there was widespread violence and looting.
‘In Bradford the rioting was to an extent motivated by the fact that four Afro-Caribbean youths had been killed the night before when they failed to stop at a joint army/police Vehicle Check Point. One of the soldiers had shouted that he had seen a gun and the guards had opened fire; as it happened several handguns were found in the vehicle.
‘As might be expected there were accusations that the youths had been killed because they were Black, though accusations of racism were rather disingenuous when directed against the Home Service Force soldiers manning the VCP. As was usual with HSF units the one recruited in Bradford reflected the local ethnic mix (about a third of its personnel were Afro-Caribbean or Asian) and it turned out that the soldier who had shouted the warning was himself Black.
‘Gangs of thugs used the deaths as an excuse to go on a rampage, and Bradford was one of the places where Security Forces came under gunfire. They responded in kind, killing two rioters.
‘In Dundee RMP Mounted units were deployed to support Tayside Police. As with all soldiers they tended to be somewhat more ‘robust’ than the police when dealing with rioters and looters. In Dundee two rioters were ridden down by RMP horses and badly injured, one suffering a fractured skull.
‘One of the injured rioters later died in hospital three days later, though his death was not recorded amongst the official statistics of those killed during the riots.”

Extract from ‘Riot! Civil Insurrection from Peterloo to the Present Day’ (London 2006) by Hernon, Ian, p.256.

*

“Major Armstrong.” A voice said as someone shook the RMP officer awake.

After the raid on the farm outside Craigrothie Armstrong had stayed on to supervise the investigation of the remains of the Soviet safe house, the destruction of the weapons cache had pretty much destroyed it, while Captain Farnon had moved onto other intelligence matters.

“What is it?” He said sleepily.
“We’ve got orders to mount up and get ready to deploy.” Sergeant Paul Kelly said. “In public order gear, we don’t know where yet.
“Mr Cameron thought you ought to know.”

Armstrong threw the blanket off the camp bed, sat up and swung his feet onto the floor.

“Thank you Sergeant, I’ll be along in a minute.”

He put on his boots and grabbed his DPM jacket and red beret before leaving the office he had been sleeping in. He saw that some of the Troop’s soldiers were loading their public order gear, helmets and other protective equipment into vehicles, while others were loading the horses into the horse boxes.
The RMP Mounted Regiment was slightly luckier than the rest of the army in that the protective equipment it was issued was similar to the police, rather than an adaptation of existing army gear. For example the used the police style riot helmet rather than a Kevlar helmet fitted with a visor.

“Oh, hello, Sir.” Lieutenant Cameron, who was carrying his riot helmet under his left arm and his leg protectors in his right hand, said. “We got a warning order about ten minutes ago; all it said was that we were to prepare for public order duties.
“I thought you might to ride along with us.”
“I appreciate that, Lieutenant, though I doubt I’d be much use to you. I must be one of the worst horsemen in the army.”
“That’s all right, Sir. I expect that there might be quite a few chiefs wherever we’re going and I’d hoped that you might represent us; the brass tends to ignore humble subalterns like me.” Cameron replied.
“Sir.” Sergeant Kelly said as he emerged from the office. “We’ve just received an update. Orders are to deploy to the Tay Road Bridge car park and await further orders.
“Right, Sergeant, have the troop mounted up and ready to go in five.” Cameron ordered.

*

It took twenty minutes for the convoy of horse boxes and Land Rovers to drive from Craigrothie to the car park on the Fife side of the Tay Road Bridge. On arrival they found a pair of Fife Constabulary vans, each carrying six officers in riot gear were already there.

“Any idea what’s going on?” Cameron asked the inspector who had been put in charge of the two serials.
“Take a look over there son.” He replied gruffly, nodding across to the other side of the Tay.

For the first time Cameron’s eyes registered that something in Dundee was badly wrong. At this time of night the city should be brightly lit up, but apart from a few lights where the city council offices were and the airport (both evidently had their own generators) Dundee was in pitch blackness, though he could see that there were lights on in Broughty Ferry on the eastern suburbs and on towards Monifieth and Carnoustie, so it was a local problem.
In the inky blackness covering Dundee Cameron could see the flashing blue lights of emergency vehicles, and perhaps more worryingly what looked like fires.

“Jesus.” The Redcap muttered under his breath.
“Aye, that’s the truth.” The police inspector agreed. “There’s been a riot brewing across there ever since the electricity went off a couple of hours ago. We got a call to be on stand-by in case the Tayside lads needed any help from us.”

2335 hours. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
Lt. Commander Matt Wiser lay on his bunk; despite being exhausted he had only managed a couple of hours sleep so preoccupied was his mind with one matter – the shoot down and capture of his girlfriend, Lt. Commander Lisa Eichhorn, and her B/N Lieutenant Susie Porter-Flinn.
Despite all of the assurances from Commanders Compton and Lowry that C-SAR would pick the two women up the Iraqis had reached the aviators just a few minutes before the C-SAR package. The last message received by ‘King 65’, the HC-130 co-ordinating the rescue, had come from Lt. Commander Eichhorn; she had informed ‘King 65’ that they were about to be captured and that the CSAR package should abort, signing off with the words “tell them on the carrier we’ll see ‘em after the war.”

*

A couple of hours ago the aviators of VA-115 had been relaxing in their ready room taking advantage of the fact that the carrier could pick up satellite TV broadcasts to watch an NBA game on ESPN. At least they had been watching it until the squadron intelligence officer, Lieutenant (j.g) Dean Cramer had entered and switched the set to CNN, the intelligence staff’s preferred method of hearing about world events. [2]
This had provoked howls and catcalls of protest from those watching the game, especially since Cramer had changed channels during a crucial moment. An angry silence had descended on the ready room when footage supplied by Iraqi TV of Allied POWs appeared on the screen and watched in silence as the mixture of aircrew and members of a US Army Maintenance Company that had been overrun, some of whom had cuts and bruises on their faces give short statements to the camera, generally just name, rank, service number and branch of service.
Wiser had entered the room just in time to see Lieutenant Porter-Flinn appear on the screen, followed by Lt. Commander Eichhorn.

The red mist had descended and Wiser had charged the TV set, intent on kicking it to bits. Commander Compton and several other aviators had been forced to restrain the X.O, less he demolish a valuable piece of electronic equipment.

“Get him out of here!” Compton had shouted to those struggling to hold the X.O back.

*

Wiser finally decided that there was no way that he was going to get back to sleep and got out of his bunk. He made his way to VA-115’s ready room, intending to do a bit of reading before catching up on the increased paperwork load which went with his combined job of X.O and Ops officer.
To his surprise he found Commander Compton talking to an unfamiliar officer in a Royal Navy flight suit.

“Hi, Guru.” Compton said in greeting, using Wiser’s old call-sign. “This is Commander John Lacey, the captain of HMS Despatch.
“John, this is Lieutenant Commander Matt Wiser, my X.O and Ops officer.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Commander.” The Englishman said shaking Wiser’s hand. “You have my sympathy for your losses.”
“Thank you, Sir, I appreciate that.” Wiser replied. “What brings you to Miss Kitty?”
“Oh, I’m an old friend of John here.” Lacey replied.
“Yeh, Guru, Maverick here used to be a Sea Harrier pilot. I remember meeting him on the Connie when he was doing an exchange posting on SLUFs more years ago than I care to remember.” [3]
“Those were the days, eh?” Lacey said, a wide grin on his face. “Anyway, I thought that you guys might appreciate some proper, ah, how shall I put it…refreshment.
“Finding a good reason to bring the cab over was the difficult part.
“Your mates in the Wyverns should be keeping my pilot entertained, especially since I gave him a bottle of gin.”
“Maverick has been kind enough to bring us a couple of bottles of Scotch, single malt too. Would you like some, Guru; I certainly think you could do with a proper drink?”

Wiser nodded.

“Well I wouldn’t say no, Boss.”

Compton poured a couple of fingers of Scotch into a mug bearing the crest of VA-115 and handed it to Wiser. [4]

“Boss, I’ve been thinking about a plan that might just help those POWs.” He said after taking a sip.
“I’m listening, Guru.” Compton said with interest.

2345 hours. Leningrad, the Indian Ocean.
Rear Admiral Felix Malinsky was in a rather pensive mood as he considered the position of the Soviet Navy Indian Ocean Squadron. He felt rather exposed this far away from any other Soviet forces, surrounded by potential enemies.
Right now he knew that there was at least one American P-3C Orion shadowing the group; his fighters did their best to shoot them down, and although they had managed one kill the American aircraft were maddeningly capable of evading the Yak-141s.
The fighter pilot’s zeal had almost caused an international incident the day before. Two Yak-141s had intercepted what they believed to be an Orion and just as they were about to shoot it down they saw to their horror that it was in fact an Indian Navy Il-38, which looked similar to the American aircraft. The admiral dreaded to think what might have happened if his pilots had shot it down.
As it was the Indian aircraft had angrily broadcast the location of the Soviet squadron in clear language over the GUARD channel. The Indian Navy was also now permanently maintaining a tail on the Soviet group; they periodically sent back their position to Indian Navy H.Q, no doubt using a code that could be read by the Americans.

According to intelligence passed to him in the last forty-eight hours he also faced at least five enemy fast attack submarines. If even one of them penetrated his defensive ASW screen it could inflict a great deal of damage.
There was also the threat of a large number of American B-52 bombers based on the island of Diego Garcia, each of which could carry eight Harpoon missiles. They might not be able to destroy his group in one attack, but they could mount multiple shuttle attacks and he did not really have enough fighters to stop a determined attack.
There were a couple of Yak-141s on CAP duty above the squadron plus a Ka-29RLD AEW helicopter, so at least they would get some warning of an air attack when it came.

The sound of the ship’s action stations alarm roused Rear Admiral Malinsky from his thoughts. He quickly donned his anti-flash gear and made his way to the flag bridge.

“What’s happening?” He asked on arrival.
“The AEW helicopter has detected a number of contacts approaching at high speed from the southeast, Comrade Admiral.”

*

To the southeast the three B-1B ‘Lancers’ of the 77th Bomb Squadron were approaching the launch point for their decoys. They were aware that they had been ‘painted’ by an airborne radar and wanted to get the task over and done with as soon as possible.
The three bombers climbed rapidly, opened their bomb bay doors and began launching ADM-141C ITALD decoys. The small missiles deployed their folded wings and fired up their small turbojet engines, though a few missiles failed and plummeted into the ocean.
Once they had stabilised and climbed to their pre-programmed cruise altitude the decoys activated their radar blip enhancers and began their pre-programmed deception plan.
Meanwhile the three ‘Bones’ turned away and dove back towards the surface of the ocean, heading back towards Diego Garcia.

2355 hours. Outside Newport-on-Tay, Fife.
Lieutenant Cameron was snoozing in the front passenger seat of his Land Rover; as with most military operations is was a case of ‘hurry up and wait’, so he had decided to take forty winks while he waited. He was suddenly woken from his slumber by the sound of police sirens blaring away a few meters from his vehicle.
He looked up just in time to see the two police vans tear out of the car park and head across the Tay Road Bridge towards Dundee.

“Delta Zulu Two One, you are to deploy to car park at Earl Grey Place immediately. Once deployed you are to assist police in dispersing looters at superstore on Riverside Drive and provide any other assistance that may be required in Dundee, over.” The Land Rover’s radio crackled.
“Roger that, deploying now, over.” Cameron replied into the radio handset.

He leaned across the vehicle and sounded the horn three times, the pre-arranged sound for the troop to get ready to move. His driver, who had been off ‘spending a penny’, came sprinting back and jumped into the Land Rover.

“Where to, Sir?” The Lance-Corporal asked.
“Do you know that big car park just over the other side of the bridge, the one at Earl Grey Place?” Cameron asked.
“Yes, Sir, I’ve parked there often enough.”
“Well that’s where we’re going.” The Lieutenant told him.

*

Tayside police had set up a mobile command post in the largest of the three car parks that were clustered around the leisure complex that sat on the Dundee side of the Tay, just by the bridge approach. Police, fire service, ambulance service, NEV and now army vehicles and personnel had gathered around the C.P as a strategy to deal with the civil disturbance in the immediate area, while the overall strategy would be coordinated from the police Central Division H.Q in West Bell Street. [5]
The convoy carrying the men, women, horses and equipment of 4th (Fife) Troop, Highland Squadron, The RMP Mounted Regiment drove into this cluster of car parks, found itself a location big enough to park and began to unload the horses and riot gear.

“Sergeant Kelly, get everybody kitted up and ready to go. I’m going to go and report to whoever is in charge of this mess.” Cameron said.
“Right oh, Sir.” The NCO replied.
“Mind if I tag along, Lieutenant?” Major Anderson asked, though it was really a rhetorical question.
“Not at all, Sir, in fact I’d appreciate the support of a senior officer.”

The two RMP officers strode across to the mobile police office being used as a mobile command post. The officers inside looked up as the two ‘Redcaps’ entered.

“And who might you two be?” The Chief Inspector in charge asked gruffly.
“I’m Major Armstrong and this is Lieutenant Cameron, Royal Military Police. Lieutenant Cameron commands the mounted troop you’ve requested.”
“I’m glad to see you gentlemen. I’m Chief Inspector Derek Conway, Tayside Police.
“There is another mounted troop coming in from Monifieth, but they won’t be here for another half an hour and we need help to disperse the mob at the supermarket now. What can you offer me?”
“Thirty-two horses and men, including myself, ready to go within five minutes notice, Sir.” Lieutenant Cameron told the senior police officer.

The police officers seemed momentarily stunned by the strength of the RMP mounted troop at their disposal. After all it was bigger than both Strathclyde and Lothian and Borders police mounted branches combined. [6]

“Well, I’d prefer to keep some of your troop in reserve just now until the troop from Monifieth arrives, but I need you to move half of it to support the police and troops on the ground at the supermarket immediately.”
“Right away, Sir.” Cameron replied.

*

“Okay folks, that’s the situation.” Cameron said to the assembled men and women of his troop a couple of minutes later. “I’m going to lead half of the troop to the supermarket while Sergeant Kelly will stay here with the other half, ready to either reinforce us, or to meet any other contingencies.
“Right, mount up, and watch your step out there.”

Cameron took off his red RMP beret, exchanging it for his protective riot helmet, and buckled the chin strap, making sure it was secure, before placing his left leg into the stirrup and swinging himself onto the back of his horse, Monty. He reflected that it was always harder to mount up when wearing full riot gear, for one thing the leg protectors rather restricted his movements and the body armour made him feel like the Michelin Man.

As a Thoroughbred ex-racehorse, Monty was perhaps not the classic choice of horse for public order duties; Irish draught and stock horses tended to be preferred, though the police would buy any horse over 16 hands with a suitable build and temperament. Monty fitted the later requirements; he was built like a tank and was not spooked particularly often.
Cameron put this down to laziness rather than bravery, believing that Monty thought that running away from something would mean an unnecessary expenditure of energy.
Like Cameron, Monty too was now wearing protective gear – a visor over his eyes, protection over the bridge of his nose and Kevlar leg protectors. Rioters often attacked the horse as they could not effectively reach the person on its back, so it was very important to protect their vulnerable areas.

“Right, let’s move!” Cameron called out as he squeezed with his legs.

Monty let out a great sigh before moving forward, as if to indicate that on the whole he’d rather be in bed.
The half-troop advanced down Riverside Drive at a trot, ahead of them they could just make out the disturbance; there was a line of riot gear equipped police officers and soldiers across the road and into the supermarket car park. A few injured members of the Security Forces were being pulled to safety, while some arrested rioters were lying face down on the ground under guard as they awaited transport.

The supermarket, which was now on fire, had been designated a Key Point and had been guarded by a section of infantrymen and a lone police officer, but there had been little they could do to hold back a mob over one hundred strong. They had used CS gas, plastic bullets and finally live rounds fired over the mob’s head to hold them off while the supermarket staff escaped out of the rear, before beating a hasty retreat themselves.
Police and army reinforcements had not arrived in time to prevent much of the store’s contents from being ransacked, but they were now beginning the process of restoring order.

The police commander on the ground had been briefed to expect the arrival of the army mounted troop, and was keen to use them to disperse the mob still besieging the store. As the mounted men approached he ordered a gap to be opened to allow the horses through.
The half-troop trotted through the gap in the shield wall, using the power of their horses to push the looters in front of them. The police and soldiers on foot moved forward, retaking the ground given up by the rioters.

Cameron spotted a man carrying off a large TV set, clearly stolen from the store’s electrical department.

“We can’t be having that.” He muttered to himself. “Put that down!” He bellowed to the looter, who took one look at the soldier on horseback and tried to run.

Running away from a man on a horse while carrying a heavy television set was an exercise in futility and it only took a second for Cameron and Monty to close the distance between them. Cameron swung his wooden baton at the looter, catching him in the middle of his back, knocking him and the TV to the ground, the expensive piece of televisual equipment landing with a crash.

While Cameron was concentrating on the looter another member of the mob, wielding a baseball bat, had rushed at him intending to knock him to the ground. While the Lieutenant had not yet spotted the threat fortunately Monty had seen him and swung his hindquarters round, catching Cameron unawares and almost unseating him, but dealing the attacker quite a hefty blow.
Once he had secured himself in the saddle again Cameron looked over his left shoulder to see what had caused his horse to spin round. He saw the rioter lying out cold on the road.

“Good boy, Monty. You saved my bacon there.” He said gratefully, patting the horse on his neck.

The horse snorted in reply, stamped his right front foot and made as if to charge at the nearest rioter. Cameron reined him in. [7]

“Not yet, Monty, and besides we can’t go haring off on our own.” He admonished.

Cameron signalled for the half-troop to withdraw behind the advancing shield wall to regroup and let their horses rest, and besides the riotous mob was now on the run, its members dispersing into the housing nearby the supermarket.
Cameron took a deep breath, and fished out a water canteen from one of the pockets of his coverall, suddenly realising that his throat felt like sandpaper. He took as long draw of the water and watched as the fire service, which could now get access to the site, began to tackle the fire, though their efforts were largely in vain as the building was pretty much burned out.
Cameron motioned for the half-troop to follow the men on foot. The night was not yet over, and no doubt they would be needed again.

***

[1] The aft missiles were subject to interference with the G model’s J-57 turbojets, which meant that the full load of Harpoons could not be carried. This was not a problem with the TF-33 engined H model, or the RB211 engined J model, though it remained practise to only carry eight missiles.

[2] News usually came through quicker via CNN and other news channels than through official channels.

[3] SLUF: nickname for the A-7 Corsair II. It stood for Short Little Ugly Fellow (at least in polite company!).

[4] Composition of CVW-5 (tailcode NF):
VF-154: "Black Knights" NF 100 12 F-14D (TARPS)
VF-21: "Freelancers" NF 200 12 F-14D
VFA-192: "World Famous Golden Dragons" NF 300 12 F/A-18E
VFA-195: "Dambusters" NF 400 12 F/A-18E
VA-115: "Eagles" NF 500 12 A-6F
VA-185: "Knighthawks" NF 12 530 A-6F
VAW-115: "Sentinels" NF 600 5 E-2C
VAQ-136: "Gauntlets" NF 620 5 EA-6B
VS-21: "Fighting Redtails" NF 700 8 S-3B
HS-12: "Wyverns" NF 710 6/2 SH-60R/HH-60H
VQ-5 det 1: "Black Ravens" NF 720 2 ES-3A
VRC-50 det 1: "Foo Dogs" NF 730 2 C-2A

All are home based at NAS Atsugi, Japan, except for VQ-5 and VRC-50, home station for both is NAS Agana, Guam.

[5] Link to Tayside Police website here.

[6] Strathclyde Police has 25 horses, while Lothian and Borders has 6.

[7] It has been known for horses to experience blood lust in battle, going as far as biting and kicking the enemy. Whether police horses experience similar desires during riots is unrecorded.

D+5.

0005 hours 26th April. SHAPE (Forward), south of Mons, Belgium.
Generals Baker and Alexander were monitoring the progress of the Soviet attack on I (BE) Corps. Both men were feeling rather frustrated as there was little they could do, this battle was in the hands of COMNORTHAG and CINCCENT, their interference could only make matters worse.
Several UAVs were flying over the battlefield, relaying pictures to higher headquarters, and SHAPE was receiving radar information from an RAF Sentinel R.1, a USAF E-8C JSTARS and a NATO A321. The progress of the advancing Soviet troops and the NATO reinforcements could be clearly tracked on the screen showing the data coming in from the airborne radars.

The Belgians were holding the attack better than Baker had expected; he and half of the staff at SHAPE had believed that the Belgians might break like a dry twig; however the Soviet forces were like a tsunami, they just kept coming and coming, wearing down anything in front of them. However planners at SHAPE had estimated that there would be a breakthrough sometime in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours.
It was critical, then, that reinforcements arrived in a timely fashion. The problem was it looked like both the British armoured division and the American armored brigade were stuck in monumental traffic jams, or had been caught up in efforts to clear Soviet Special Forces from the Belgian rear.
With the danger of a serious breakthrough SACEUR had released the French 10th Armoured Division from theatre reserves to CINCCENT, and it was moving north. If push came to shove the British 24th Airmobile Brigade and the German 27th Luftlande Brigade would be deployed by helicopter to counter any break-through, holding the Soviets up long enough for heavier units to arrive.

“We could find ourselves in serious trouble over the next couple of days, Tom.” SACEUR observed to DSACEUR. “We’ve got a massive traffic jam developing to the north and some of those reinforcements have been caught up in operations to clear out enemy Special Forces.
“By the time they get to where they are supposed to be going those areas will have been overrun by the enemy.”
“Paul, we have to let General Garrison and General Horne do their jobs.” DSACEUR replied. “However that’s not to say that you can’t give them a suggestion, or two.”

Baker took a sip of his coffee, and reflected that he was probably drinking too much of the stuff, but it was the only thing keeping him going.

“You’re right, Tom. Too many military campaigns have gone awry because commanders have interfered too much, equally things have gone too wrong when commanders have not shown enough grip of their subordinates.
“I think that this may be one of the times I need to push the guys under me.” Baker said after a moment.

SACEUR turned to his Chief of Staff.

“Get me a secure line to General Garrison ASAP.”

0010 hours. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
“Sit down you two.” Captain Seavey said to Commanders Compton and Lowry once they had entered his cabin. “I believe that you have a mission proposal for me?”
“Well I can’t take credit for it, CAG.” Compton replied. “It was ‘Guru’ Wiser that brought it to me; he thought it would be a way of raising the morale of the POWs, letting them know that they’ve not been abandoned.”
“Are you sure that Guru’s judgement is not clouded by the fact that ‘Mona’ is one of those prisoners?” Seavey asked.
“I asked him about that, CAG, and he’s adamant that this strike is not all about ‘Mona’.” Compton assured Seavey.
“I agree, CAG.” Commander Lowry added. “Guru was on the level when he ran it past me.”
“Okay let’s see it then.”

Compton handed across the folder containing Lt. Commander Wiser’s strike proposal. Seavey opened it and began to read.

‘From: Executive Officer, ATKRON 115

To: Commanding Officer, ATKRON 115

Information to: Commander, Carrier Air Wing 5; Commanding Officer, ATKRON 185

Subject: Mission proposal-Baghdad Area.

Sir:

With the H-2 mission now completed, and additional missions now being tasked in Southern Iraq and Kuwait in support of Allied ground forces, to include interdiction of road and rail traffic, attacks on bridges over rivers and canals, and strikes on supply dumps, the Iraqi regime has not seen a single Allied aircraft in the Baghdad urban area since hostilities began. The Iraqis have made note of this in their propaganda, calling the Allied air forces cowards for not testing the capital's air defences. While this is an exaggeration, since CENTAF has sent F-15Es into targets in the Baghdad area since Day one, no missions have been flown to my knowledge against targets in the city proper. While cruise missiles have hit a number of targets in the city, the three main airfields in the Baghdad area have not been struck. These are Saddam International Airport, Al-Rashid AB in the SE part of the city, and Al-Muthena AB in the NW part of the city. The latter two are key targets in of themselves, as the former is a major maintenance and training facility, in addition to having MiG and transport squadrons based there, and the latter base is the operational headquarters for the Iraqi Air Force, as well as being home to a MiG-29 squadron.

Furthermore, Al-Rashid AB is home to a major Iraqi military intelligence facility, and in the NW area of the base, the Al-Rashid Military Prison is located. This was a POW detention facility in the Iran-Iraq War, and in DESERT STORM, with a number of US and Coalition POWs being held there. I would assume that the POWs Iraq has captured in recent days are now being held at this facility. A strike against the air base, with a 1,000 yard “No Bomb Zone” around the prison, along with the nearby Military Medical Centre, would send a message to the POWs, that we have not forgotten them, that we know they're there, and will get them out, one way or another. In addition, strikes against this target, and the other two airfields, would send a further message to the Iraqi regime, that Allied Air Forces can fly anywhere in Iraq at any time and destroy whatever target that is chosen. It would embarrass the regime leadership, especially Saddam himself, and cause him to exact punishments upon air force and air defence officers he deems guilty, whether or not they are at fault. The regime has resorted to capital punishment of such officers in the past, as in an Iranian strike on H-3 in 1981, which resulted in 23 officers, including the CO of the air defence sector, being found guilty of negligence and executed, and in 1991, when both the Commanding Officers of the Iraqi AF and the Iraqi Air Defence Command were executed for failure to challenge Coalition Air Superiority.

I recommend that mission planning begin ASAP after approval by both the Air Wing and by CENTAF. While these targets are covered in our target folders that were planned for execution in the mission that was scrubbed and the H-2 strike substituted, additional intelligence on Iraqi mobile SAM sites, such as SA-6, SA-8, SA-10, SA-11, and SA-12, in the Baghdad area is needed, as well as what additional intelligence is available on the POW detention site. I recommend that aircraft egressing the target fly over the POW facility, so that our POWs not only hear our planes, but see them as well. POWs in both Vietnam and in 1991 reported after their release that hearing and seeing friendly aircraft overhead was a healthy boost to their morale, given the circumstances of surviving a harsh captivity. While we may not be able to get the POWs out right away, this will give them a feeling that they have not been abandoned, that their fellow warriors care, and that they will be recovered, one way or another.



Sincerely,


Mathew Wiser,
LCDR USN.


Recommended Mission Package:

MIGSWEEP/TARCAP:

8x F-14D/4x F-14D: each with 2xAIM-54D, 3x AIM-120, 2x AIM-9X

IRON HAND:

6x F/A-18E: each with 2x AGM-88C, 2x AGM-154A, 2x AIM-9X, 4x AIM-120

Decoy Launcher/BARCAP:

4x F/A-18E: each with 12x TIALD Decoys, 2x AIM-9X, 4x AIM-120

Strike Escort:

8x F/A-18E: each with 2x AGM-65, 8x Mk-20, 2x AIM-9X, 3x AIM-120

Strike:

Al-Rashid AB: 8x A-6F (VA-115): each with 2x GBU-24, 2x AGM-88C, 1x AIM-9R, 1x AIM-120

Al-Muthena AB: 8x A-6F (VA-185): each with 2x GBU-24, 2x AGM-88C, 1x AIM-9R, 1x AIM-120

Electronic Attack: 3x EA-6B: each with 2x ALQ-99 ECM pods, 1x AGM-88C, 2x fuel tanks.’ [1]

“I like it, from first reading it looks a very sound plan. However I’m going to let my staff and intel weanies kick it about, so I hope that ‘Guru’ does not mind someone picking his plan to bits in order to improve on it, though I doubt they’ll be able to improve on it much.
“Once we’re done with it I’ll kick it up to the Admiral and CENTAF. There are air force prisoners in Iraq and they might want to contribute something to this little party.”
“I doubt he’ll mind too much, CAG, but I’ll put in the picture in case your guys want to ask him about anything.”

*

“How did it go, Skipper?” Wiser asked when Compton returned to VA-115’s ready room.
“Pretty good, ‘Guru’, CAG liked the plan. He’s going to let his ‘Brains Trust’ kick it around to see if they can come up with any improvements and find out any extra info needed to make the plan a reality.
“I want you to make yourself available for any questions they may have.”

Wiser pursed his lips on mention of the ‘Brains Trust’.

“If CAG let’s his ‘Brains Trust’ get their hands on it, the plan will never see the light of day in this war.” He said half jokingly, worried that the planners would spend to much time ‘polishing the cannon ball’, to use a phrase favoured by submariners. “But I’ll do my best to help them if they need any.”

0020 hours Beverungen, FRG.
Private ‘King’ Robert Bruce squinted through the eyepiece of the Common Weapon Sight image intensifier fitted to his L85A2 rifle as 8 Platoon, G Company, 7 Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, the platoon attached to C Squadron, The Fife and Forfar Yeomanry, move forward to the final position occupied by the Spetsnaz. The British and Belgian infantry had spent the last few hours clearing Soviet Special Forces out of positions around the bridge over the Weser River.
Fortunately the Soviet troops had not blown the bridge, either NATO artillery fire had cut any electrical wires, or the enemy had not had enough time to wire it for demolition.

Bruce ducked into a doorway as a Hellfire missile fired by one of the Apache AH.1s supporting the ground forces slammed into a building only a hundred meters or so up the street. Fragments of masonry landed perilously close to his position and the acrid stench of smoke filled his nostrils and clawed at the back of his throat.

“Fakin’ ‘ell, that was close.” One of the other members of Bruce’s squad complained.
“Aye, that’s right.” Bruce agreed. “Anybody wid think that they wiz shootin’ at us.” He added with a chuckle.
“Come on you couple of sweetie wifies, quit your gabbin’ and get your arses doon that street!” The section Corporal shouted at the two privates.

The two men and the rest of their four man fire-team hurried down the road, bent over, dodging and weaving to make themselves as small a target as possible, occasionally ducking into a doorway, or taking cover behind an abandoned vehicle.
Finally they stopped by a burned out Belgian M113-B from where they provided covering fire for the advance of the other half of the section. The Belgian APC had taken part in a failed mounted assault by a Belgian platoon, the leading vehicle had been hit by an RPG-27, killing the occupants; the body of the vehicle’s commander, burned to a crisp, lolled in the roof hatch, one arm hanging down; burning the APC out and blocking the road. The remaining Belgian vehicles had pulled back, pursued by heavy RPG and small arms fire.
The Scots troops with their heavier fire-power and protection had been called in to take over this attack.

Private Bruce gagged as he smelt the stench of barbecued human flesh. He had heard that the smell stayed with you for ages afterwards.

“Poor bastards, fakin’ death trap those ‘113s.” He observed while he kept an eye out for any enemy movement.
“Silly sods shouldn’t have been mounted. Everybody knows that you should fight dismounted in a built up area unless you’re in something like a Warrior.
“Bloody stupid conscripts in my opinion.” One of the other members of the section opined just before he fired four shots in rapid succession.

Suddenly a fiery rocket shot out from the rubble of one of the buildings ahead of them.

“Incoming!” Someone shouted and the section dived into whatever cover they could find.

The RShG-1, a version of the RPG-27 fitted with a thermobaric warhead intended for anti-personnel use in urban warfare, struck the side of the derelict M113 and exploded. Private Bruce, crouching in the nearest doorway felt a wave of heat roll over him and a few metal fragments thud against his Enhanced Body Armour.

“AH, ***, FACK, I’M HIT!” Bruce heard the LSW gunner in his fire-team scream once the noise of the detonation had passed.

He glanced over his shoulder and saw the soldier lying in the street, illuminated by the M113, which was on fire once again. He was clutching at his left leg, which had been badly cut up by metal fragments.

“COVER FIRE!” The section Corporal yelled.

The rest of the section opened up with rapid fire, Bruce, who was the section UGL gunner, fired a 40mm grenade at the enemy. Another member of the section fired a LAW 80 at the building which the RShG-1 had come from.
Meanwhile the Corporal grabbed the LSW gunner by his webbing, pulled him into cover and began administering first aid.

The rumble and squeak of tracks made Bruce look over his shoulder again. He saw a Challenger 2 fitted with a dozer blade advancing towards him, behind it he could make out another Chally and a Warrior.

“About bloody time.” He complained.

‘BOOM!’

“Jeez, I’m deef!” Bruce complained just after the Chally had fired. “Bloody Donkey Wallopers, hiv they nae consideration for us PBI?”

Showing no remorse for the infantrymen on the ground that it had deafened by firing a 120mm HESH shell while only a few meters away from them the Chally moved forward, its dozer blade raised until it reached the M113, which had by now stopped burning as everything combustible within had been consumed. Using the dozer blade to push, the tank simply shoved the light APC out of its way and through the frontage of a shop, clearing the street.
The second Challenger 2 moved forward until it was almost abreast of the leading tank, while the Warrior, the third Challenger of the troop and a second Warrior closed up behind.

“Get your arses moving!” The platoon sergeant yelled from the other side of the street.

Bruce and his ‘oppo’ jogged forward behind the armoured vehicle, keeping an eye on the upper floors of the buildings that they passed. Bruce spotted some movement in the flat above a burned out shop.

“Movement to the left, upper window.” He called out before opening fire with six rapid shots.

While his ‘oppo’ fired a few more rounds into the upper windows, Bruce finished the job by firing a 40mm grenade through one of them. The windows briefly lit up just before the sound of the grenade reached him.

‘THUMP! THUMP! THUMP!’

Ahead one of the Warriors was pumping 30mm HEI-T rounds into a building to its left. The building was soon set on fire by the exploding shells, and before moving on the Warrior finished off the job with a few bursts of 7.62mm bullets from its chain gun.

*

Captain Stewart could hear the sound of the intense battle over the other side of the Weser rising to a crescendo as his troop of eight Sabres cautiously approached the outskirts of Lauenförde. There were not many Belgian troops in the town, only a few military policemen who had been controlling the traffic. The survivors of the initial Spetsnaz attack had pulled back, forming a screen to prevent the enemy from advancing any further from the area around the road bridge.

Unknown to either the British, or Belgians, most of the Soviet troops had been drawn to the western side of the river to defend against the attack over there. Relatively few were left on the eastern side and most of them were frantically wiring the bridge for demolition.
The Lovat Scouts Troop was able to advance quite a distance into Lauenförde before it came under fire. The Sabres ‘popped smoke’ and pulled back, firing their 30mm RARDEN cannons and co-axial chain-guns, until they were safely out of range. [2]
Stewart sent off a quick contact report to Battle Group H.Q, letting them know that enemy resistance on this side of the river was light and that it might not be too difficult to push their way through to the bridge.

*

Lt. Colonel Thompson read the message from the recce troop with interest. The news was certainly welcome, and he decided to take a gamble, he would use his heavy armour to bull his way through to the bridge, hopefully recapturing it before the enemy had a chance to detonate their demolition charges.

“Right everybody, mount up, we’ve got a bridge to capture.” He ordered.

Someone began to whistle the tune from ‘A Bridge too Far’.

0031 hours. Near Baghdad, Iraq.
Lieutenant Commander Lisa Eichhorn felt sore all over, the ejection from her A-6F and the reception she had Lieutenant Susie Porter-Flinn had received on the ground had been a bit rough. After being shot down over An Nasiriya and briefly held and filmed in the Taykar Military Hospital, Eichhorn and Porter-Flinn, along with some other Allied Prisoners of War, were now being transported by truck to Baghdad.
While most of the prisoners were taking the chance to sleep Eichhorn noticed that another prisoner in a dirty and torn green flight suit, with a Union Flag on one shoulder, almost opposite her was also awake. He noticed her looking in his direction and smiled.

“Peter Johns, Royal Air Force.” He said extending his right arm.
“Lisa Eichhorn, US Navy.” She replied taking his hand. “What happened to you?”
“Some lucky Iraqi squaddie with a hand-held SAM, I think. It can’t have been anything else as we didn’t pick up anything on the warning receiver.
“How about you?”
“Triple A, 57mm by the feel of it.”
“I see you met the same Iraqi welcoming committee that we did.” Johns said, indicating Eichhorn’s black eye.

Eichhorn touched her left eye before answering, yes, it still hurt.

“Yeh, they kicked the living crap out of me and my B/N until they found out that we were female.
“I can see you were a bit less lucky.”
“Too bloody right, Lisa. Me and my nav landed among some Bedouin tribesman, we showed them our ‘Goolie Chit’ and gave them a few gold sovereigns.
“The bastards took us straight to the nearest troops, who took the rest of the sovereigns and gave us a good hiding to boot.” [3]
“Nice bunch of guys, the Iraqis.” Eichhorn replied. “They took all our gear and valuables too.
“I don’t know how I’m going to tell my boyfriend that the watch he gave me for my birthday was stolen by some Iraqi conscript.”

Johns reached across and patter Eichhorn on the shoulder.

“Don’t worry about it, Lisa, he’ll understand. I know how you feel; the bastards took my wedding ring.”

He held up his left hand, there was a pale stripe across the base of his ring finger where it had shielded his skin from the Kuwaiti sun. Eichhorn felt rather guilt complaining about her watch, which was, after all, replaceable, while this man had lost his connection with a wife he might never see again.

0035 hours. Charlottenburg, Berlin.
Night had come to Berlin. The power had long ago failed so the darkness was only lit up by a few burning vehicles and buildings.
Private Hargreaves stared down the barrel of her rifle, as it was one of the non-infantry versions fitted with iron sights rather than a SUSAT, or night sight she could not see much. Only a few members of R Company had either the SUSAT, or CWS fitted to their rifles, though at least the enemy was as poorly off for night vision devices as they were, if not worse.

The provisional company had been attached to the Gloucestershire Regiment battle group and had a platoon from that regiment attached to it to make sure that they had at least a few properly trained infantrymen. They also had the support of a troop of Challenger 2s, and a couple of Scimitars from the Gloster’s recce platoon.

Hargreaves and the rest of her platoon were all feeling rather hot and uncomfortable as they were wearing their NBC suits, though their S10 respirators were still stowed away, just in case the NVA decided to use chemical weapons again. Well at least they would not be feeling the cold.

“There’s movement up ahead.” Hargreaves’ Personal Role Radio crackled in her left ear. “Mask up everybody.”

She took her respirator out of its haversack, removed her helmet, put on the S10, making sure it was air tight, before pulling up the hood of the NBC suit and putting her helmet back on. While the Allied garrisons in West Berlin had no lethal war gasses, well at least nobody had found any in the various armouries yet, they did have extensive stocks of CS gas, as did the West Berlin Police.
It was hardly much in the way of retaliation for the NVA’s use of hydrogen cyanide, but it was the best they could do, and the first group of NVA troops who approached the garrison’s line of defence would get a full dose of gas.

Lucy Hargreaves hated wearing a respirator; it made her feel claustrophobic and all she could hear was her own breathing. Visibility became even worse, and it was difficult to hear the PRR properly.
She heard the distant ‘thunk’ of the CS gas grenades being fired from their launchers, followed by a series of distant clatters and the hiss of CS escaping from the grenades.
As the gas dispersed Hargreaves could just hear the sound of men coughing and choking violently. Evidently the East Germans had not expected to come under gas attack.

A parachute flare suddenly burst above the middle of the street illuminating a scene of NVA infantrymen struggling to put on respirators while their eyes streamed and their throats burned. It also illuminated several T-72Gs and BMP-2s, which, unaffected by the gas continued to advance.
Well, the Challys and Scimitars would deal with them.

‘BOOM!’

As if to illustrate this point one of the Challenger 2s opened fire, blasting open a T-72G with a HESH shell at virtually point-blank range, sending its turret flying up into the air. This was the signal for the infantry to open fire.
Hargreaves chose her target, selecting an NVA soldier still struggling with his gas mask, breathed out and fired twice. The East German soldier dropped his mask and slumped to the ground.
Rounds were now cracking over her head as the NVA began to return fire but Hargreaves did not fire another shot. It was one thing to shot holes in a wooden target, but quite another thing to kill a fellow human being.

“KEEP SHOOTING YOU SILLY BITCH!” A voice distorted by the wearer’s respirator suddenly shouted in her ear. “UNLESS YOU WANT TO BE SOME NVA SOLDIER’S GIRLFRIEND!”

Hargreaves looked over her right shoulder and recognised the figure verbally abusing her as Sergeant Major Collins. At least that was who the rank tab suggested it was.
Collins had a rifle fitted with a CWS, and he stopped yelling abuse at the private for a few moments to fire half a dozen shots at targets he could see through the Image Intensifier.

“SHOOT FOR *** SAKE, OR I’LL SLOT YOU MYSELF!” He screamed.

Hargreaves was shaken from her stupor and turned back to face the enemy. She could do this, she decided, she was on the range and those figures out there in the semi-darkness were just targets.
She began firing rapid shots at the enemy, hitting three soldiers, one of whose head exploded in a mist of red, which didn’t bother her a jot.

“GOOD GIRL, KEEP IT UP!” Collins yelled, before moving off to check on another part of the company.

A soldier a few meters away from her had unfolded a LAW 80 and was carefully taking aim at one of the NVA BMPs. Evidently the IFV saw him because a few moments later he was struck in the chest by a 30mm shell which blew him in half.
Hargreaves had never met the man, a military policeman, before yesterday, but the sight of one of her platoon mates being killed made her incredibly angry. She leapt up from her position and sprinted to where the LAW had fallen.
As a member of the AGC she had never fired one, but she knew the basics, and the weapon was ready to fire. At this range she would not even need to use the 9mm spotting rifle.
Hargreaves lined the weapon up on target, oblivious to the bullets cracking around her, closed her eyes to protect her night-vision and fired.

Less than a second later a tremendous pressure wave struck her, knocking the private to the ground, the sound of the blast nearly deafening her. She could just hear the sound of tracks squeaking in the distance, were the enemy about to overrun them?
As her hearing returned she realised that someone was trying to speak to her over the PRR.

“…That was awesome, Lucy, but get yourself back into cover pronto.”
“They’re running, they’re running!” A second voice said excitedly.

Hargreaves sat up and saw that it was true. The surviving NVA AFVs and troops were retreating, the perimeter had held.

“Well done everybody.” The voice of Captain Shaw said over the radio net. “Not bad work for a bunch of REMFs.”

***

[1] My thanks to Matt Wiser for writing the mission proposal section of this chapter.

[2] History of The Lovat Scouts.

[3] A ‘goolie chit’, or ‘blood chit’ are notes issued to aircrew asking civilians to help them if shot down. The RAF first issued them to aircrew flying over Mesopotamia (Iraq) and the Norwest Frontier of India; the note saying that the aircrew had to be returned unharmed and entire for the civilians to receive any reward. Tribesmen in both of these areas were known to hand captives over to their wives who castrated them and used the captives as slaves, hence ‘goolie chit’, goolies being older slang in the UK for testicles.
It is also now common practise to carry a belt of gold sovereigns.
See here for more details.

0036 hours, 26th April. Over the North Sea.
Wing Commander Paul Jardine looked down at the blazing pyre that had once been an oil rig as his Nimrod circled above. The rig had been struck by stand-off missiles fired by a pair of Su-34s, flying in low over the North Sea.
Jardine’s Nimrod had just gotten airborne when news of the attack on Foxtrot Bravo, as the rig was known, had come through and it had been diverted from its planned ASW patrol to instead help co-ordinate the Search and Rescue efforts around the platform. If needed the Nimrod would also use its Lindholme gear to help rescue any survivors in the water. [1]
Looking at the orange flames, which illuminated some of the twisted wreckage of the oil rig, Jardine was not very confident that there would be anyone to drop anything to.

*

When the government had decided to take over the helicopter fleet that supplied the rigs, the oil companies had decided to evacuate most of the workers, only leaving a small caretaker crew of around ten people on each rig.
Both government and industry had long expected attacks on the rigs and pipelines, and had been rather surprised that there had been no attempt at sabotage, or direct attack until now. Just in case in the last few days before the outbreak of hostilities the RAF and RN had mounted ‘Operation Scarecrow’; aircraft and ships had patrolled the areas of the pipelines most vulnerable to attack by mini-submarine and the platforms themselves, occasionally dropping ‘frightener charges’ and sonobouys.

Perhaps the intensive patrolling had deterred the Soviets from mounting any operations against the pipelines. Even without any attacks on the pipelines, the withdrawal of the majority of the workforce meant that the supply of North Sea oil and gas to the UK had effectively been cut off.

Jardine looked back into the cockpit, studying the imagery from the Nimrod’s FLIR turret, which showed an even worse sight than he could see visually.

“Looks pretty bad, Boss.” The Co-pilot observed.
“Yeh, I don’t think that anyone can have survived that.” Jardine replied, as he put the aircraft into another lazy left hand bank above the burning oil rig. “It reminds me of Piper Alpha. I was a pretty junior trog back then, just out of the OCU.
“That rig burned for days after the explosion, took them ages to put it out. Not that many blokes made it off that rig either.”
“Hey, look.” The Co-pilot said, pointing to the FLIR screen. “Looks like there might be a few survivors in the water.”
“There are possible survivors in the water.” Jardine told the crew. “Open the bay doors and stand-by to drop the Lindholme gear.
“What’s the nearest ship at the moment?”
“HMS Dundee, Sir, she’s about thirty minutes away. There are also a couple of cabs about ten minutes out.”
“Right, it’s up to us for now.” Jardine replied.

0037 hours. H.Q Western TVD, Legnica, Poland.
Colonel General Yazov was rather puzzled, instead of being flown straight to Moscow and then onto Siberia, as might be expected for a ‘failed’ Soviet general, he had instead been taken to Marshal Ivanovsky’s headquarters. Were the GRU going to execute him here?
Rather than being led in front of a GRU firing squad, Yazov was instead taken to the Marshal’s office, where he found CINCWEST in relaxed form, his jacket unbuttoned and smoking his pipe.

“Ah, Yazov, what are we to do with you, eh?” He said in greeting. “STAVKA would like to send you to the Far Eastern Military District, while the Defence Council wants your head on a pole. After all you are the first general to lose most of a Soviet Army since the Great Patriotic War.”
“What can I say, Comrade Marshal, I was outgeneraled by the British. I have no excuse.” Yazov replied.
“I know, my boy, I know.” Ivanovsky said, puffing on his pipe. “That counter-attack caught us all by surprise. We were so busy organising ZHUKOV, that we ignored the signs that NORTAG was preparing an offensive.
“If anybody is to blame it’s me for giving you poor intelligence.
“Anyway, I have a nice little job for a general of your abilities. Get me West Berlin, the NVA has comprehensively *** it up, and is fighting the battle with one hand tied behind its back. They’ve decided that they want West Berlin as intact as possible so they have prohibited air strikes or the use of anything heavier than a mortar; they then have the gall to be surprised when the Western Garrisons kick seven bells of *** out of them!”
“I take I’ll have no such restrictions put on me, Comrade Marshal?” Yazov asked.
“Certainly not; I don’t care if you flatten both halves of the city, just eliminate the Western Garrisons. Just don’t use chemical weapons, those damned Germans used hydrogen cyanide without my permission, bugger all good it did them, though.
“But it might give NATO an excuse to use chemical weapons against us.”
“What sort of forces can you offer me, Comrade Marshal?”
“At the moment I can give you two semi-ready motor rifle divisions that have freshly arrived and another in four days time. [2] I’d use them to replace those ‘Combat Groups of the Working Class’; *** fiasco they are. I’m having them reassigned to rear-area security and the GRU are going to shoot a few of their commanders.
“That reminds me, when you get to Berlin, relieve the NVA commander on the spot and hand him over to the GRU. They have a bullet with his name on it.”
“Won’t that cause a problem with the German government, Comrade Marshal?” Yazov wondered, somewhat concerned.
“We’ll liquidate them too, if they cause any problems. STAVKA want whoever I send to Berlin to have total control, so I am giving you virtual carte blanche to get the job done.
“Give the Westerners one chance to surrender, and then flatten them if they refuse. It’s a British general in charge at the moment, so you’ll probably be told to ‘piss off’, rather than be told ‘nuts’, or ‘mérde’.” Ivanovsky told Yazov, using the English and French idioms.

0040 hours. Over Potsdam, DDR.
Sergeant William Donnelly, a Lynx AH.7 pilot in 7 Flight, Army Air Corps, flew his aircraft as low as he dared as he followed the Gazelle AH.1 through the NVGs he was wearing. He briefly reflected on the fact that in some ways it was ‘lucky’ that the war had broken out this year, as in 2006 7 Flight was due to re-equip with the Bell 212, as the detached flights in Belize and Brunei had done, which would have left the British Berlin Brigade with no offensive helicopter capability.
There would certainly have been no way to carry out tonight’s mission.

Ahead the Gazelle bobbed to port and came to a halt behind a tree line. Donnelly brought the larger Lynx into a hover alongside the diminutive reconnaissance helicopter. Evidently they had reached their target.
Donnelly checked the time, the other two teams of Gazelles and Lynxes would be in place in a few minutes.

“Get ready to do your stuff, Dave.” He said to the helicopter’s Co-pilot.
“No problem, Bill.” Corporal David Willets, who was responsible for guiding the eight TOW missiles the Lynx carried, replied. “Just hold her steady when the time comes.”

Donnelly checked the chronometer again, it was time. He pulled up just above the tree line, giving Willets an excellent view of the target area through the roof mounted sight.
The Corporal selected one of a group of MTLBs parked back-to-back, with a tent erected over the space between them.

“Firing now!”

Donnelly and Willets briefly closed their eyes to preserve their night vision as the first TOW missile shot out of its tube on the port side of the Lynx and blasted off into the night. The Sergeant descended until the majority of the helicopter was hidden, though the roof mounted TOW sight could still see the target.
A few seconds later there was a bright flash, followed by a deep boom.

“That’s a good solid hit!” Willets said exultantly, seeing what a TOW missile could see in action for the first time. “Find me another target, Bill.”

Donnelly banked hard to starboard, seeking a new firing position. If the East Germans did react they would be shooting at the previous firing position. As he was repositioning there were two more explosions as they two other Lynxes took out a pair of SAM launchers.
As the Lynx positioned for a second attack the East Germans seemed to have finally woken up, as tracer fire sought out the attacking helicopters. Fortunately it was wildly inaccurate and the SAM defences had just been destroyed.
Donnelly popped up again, allowing Willets to engage a new target.

The Gazelles, which had been fitted with a pair of 7.62mm machine-gun pods on the skids, took advantage of the chaos of exploding TOW missiles to launch a number of strafing attacks. This was a rather dangerous manoeuvre and two of the Gazelles were damaged by small arms fire, forcing them to withdraw.

Donnelly was just a second late in dropping into cover this time and a stream of 14.5mm bullets from a heavy machine-gun came zipping towards them like angry bees.
Donnelly rapidly descended and banked to port, but did not get out of the line of fire before three, or four rounds passed through the cabin aft of them, each making a loud ‘WHANG’ as it passed through the aluminium skin.

“*** hell!” Donnelly exclaimed. “That was bloody close!”

He glanced down at the instrument panel and noticed that the temperature gauge on one of the engines was beginning to rise rather rapidly.

“Oh, ***, we’ve got a problem.
“This is Charley Two, Three. We are aborting with battle damage to one engine.” Donnelly reported over the radio. “Better start praying that we make it back to the stadium, Dave.
“Dave?”

Donnelly glanced to his left and saw that Willets was slumped forward in his seat, his head resting against the cockpit side window. He had been hit in the back by a fragment of metal when the machine-gun bullets had passed through the fuselage.

“Bill…oh, man…I think I’m well and truly screwed.” He said painfully. “Something….ah…something hit me in the back.”

Donnelly used his left arm to pull Willets back upright, though there was not much more he could do for him while trying to fly a damaged helicopter.

“Just hold on, mate, we’ll be home in a few minutes.” He said. “Jesus, man, I’m sorry, I should have ducked down faster.”
“Not…not your fault…Bill…my luck just ran out…that’s all.” Willets replied quietly, his head lolling forward again.

0050 hours. Over the Indian Ocean.
“I.P coming up in ten, minutes, Pilot.”
“Roger that, Nav.” Brigadier-General Hayden replied. “Okay, gentlemen get everything secured that needs to be and get ready to do your stuff.
“Right now those Russkies down there are going to be trying to figure out which set of blips is the real attack force, and which ones are the decoys. We need to be ready to react in case they get it right.
“E-DUB, Guns, I’m going to rely on you to keep the rest of us, safe.”
“I’ll do my best, Pilot.” The Electronic Warfare Officer replied.
“You can count on me, Pilot.” The Gunner said confidently.

*

As Hayden had suggested Rear Admiral Malinsky and his staff aboard the Leningrad was desperately trying to decide which set of blips approaching the group were the real American bombers and which ones were decoys.

“These blips appeared first so that makes them the decoys.”
“That’s what the Americans want us to think, these contacts are clearly the decoys and these are the bombers.”
“Comrades.” Malinsky said gravely, knowing that the argument was just going in circles again. “We need to take a decision now, even if it is the wrong one, or this argument will become somewhat academic.
“Does anyone have a coin?”
“Comrade, Admiral?” The carrier’s captain asked, puzzled.
“A coin quickly.” The Admiral said adamantly. “We need to make a decision now and the toss of a coin is the only way I can think to resolve it before we’re all swimming.”

Someone quickly handed Malinsky a coin. He tossed it into the air and slapped it down on the back of his left hand.

“Heads or tails?” He asked.

*

“Coming up on launch point, Pilot.” The Radar Navigator, who was also the bombardier, reported. “Bomb bay opening.
“Decoys away.”

The first ADM-141C ITALD decoy dropped out of the B-52’s bomb bay, deployed its folded wings and started its small turbojet engine. The decoys that the BUFFs were carrying had been programmed to mimic the AGM-84D Harpoon, so that the Soviet ships would be presented with many more targets that they would have to treat as missiles.

“Pilot, we’re being painted by a fighter radar. It’s in search mode at the moment, I’m jamming it.”
“Roger that, E-DUB. How long until we launch the ‘poons, Radar?”
“Thirty seconds, Pilot.”
“Big Bird One, this is Little Friend One. We are engaging hostile fighters, out.” The voice of the senior F-15C pilot said in Hayden’s earphones.

At this range from Diego-Garcia the Eagles did not have the fuel for extended air combat, so they were carrying six AMRAAMs and only a pair of Sidewinders for self-defence. The pair of American fighters engaged the Soviet ‘Freestyles’ as soon as they were within the ‘no-escape zone’ of their AIM-120C-7 missiles.
Of the twelve ‘Slammers’ ten found targets, leaving just a pair of Yak-141s.

The remaining two Soviet fighters were armed with a mixture of R-27AE and R-73 missiles. [3] They did not have enough missiles to stop the attack, but they had to try, or they would have nowhere to land. They first engaged the two Eagles with all of the R-27s they were carrying, forcing the big American fighters to take evasive action, and leaving the bombers unprotected.

“Missiles away.” The Radar Navigator reported as the first AGM-84D dropped away from the port external pylon.
“Pilot, we’re being scanned by a hostile fighter radar in fire control mode…He’s locked us up, recommend evasive manoeuvres.”
“Roger that, E-DUB, I’m commencing evasive manoeuvres, keep him off our back.” Hayden replied.
“Negative on the manoeuvring, Pilot!” The Radar Navigator said urgently. “I need you flying straight and level for another twenty seconds at least.”
“Sheeeeit!” Hayden swore with feeling. “Okay, Radar, I’m going to keep her straight and level for another twenty seconds, but that’s all.
“E-DUB, do your best to keep us alive.”
“Judas Priest, General, I can see ‘em!” Major Lacey suddenly blurted out.

Hayden followed the Co-pilot’s outstretched gloved left hand. He spotted two specks off in the distance climbing towards the cell of B-52s. As he watched there was a flash from one of the specks.
A loud insistent alarm sounded in his ears, the missile was targeted on his aircraft.

“Clear to manoeuvre, Pilot, all missiles gone!”
“Hold on everybody; give me full power, John.” Hayden said.

Hayden put the big bomber into a tight left hand turn, pushing the BUFF to its very limit. The airframe creaked and groaned in protest and the four RB211s howled like Banshees.

“Missile is still tracking, Pilot!” The E-DUB warned.

The General threw the Stratofortress into a tight right hand turn, throwing the crew against the opposite side of their ejection seats, and climbed. He heard something smash in the lower cabin, and the sound of someone retching behind him.
Suddenly there was a dull boom, off in the distance and the aircraft was buffeted by a shockwave. The R-27 had decided that one of the decoy flares that the BUFF had been pumping out was more attractive than the bomber itself and had attacked the flare.

“Christ that was close.” Lacey commented as he pulled the throttles back to full military power, while Hayden levelled out.
“We’re hit…Oh my God...we’re…going do…” A panicked voice suddenly said over the radio.

Hayden spotted a flash off to his left hand side. He looked across just in time to spot pieces of what had been a B-52 being scattered to the winds by the aftermath of an explosion.

“Looks like they got Miss Behavin’.” The General said sadly. “Are they still back there?”
“They’re gone, Pilot.” The Electronic Warfare Officer said relief evident in his voice.
“Damn, I was hopin’ to get a shot at those guys.” The Gunner complained.

Brigadier-General Hayden thought about the crew of Miss Behavin’, they had either all been killed when the bomber had exploded, or would soon be dead anyway. There was no chance of them being picked up by Allied ships, or aircraft and he doubted that the Soviets would have the time to pick up a bomber crew, what with the number of anti-ship missiles they now faced.

“I hope to Christ it was worth it.” He muttered under his breath.

0055 hours. Cheyenne Mountain AFB, Colorado.
General Garner had been catching a few hours sleep on a cot in his office. To the relief of both himself and the personnel of the three commands that he was Commander in Chief of the Secretary of Defence had not decided to press for his relief.
What Garner did not know was that the President had expressed confidence in him and called the SECDEF ‘a fool’ for even suggesting that CINCNORAD should be relieved because a few of the Soviet cruise missiles had made it to their targets. After all it was not as if Britain, France and West Germany had relieved their equivalents of CINCNORAD because some Soviet attacks had gotten through to their targets.

Garner was stirred into wakefulness by the insistent ringing of the phone on the table by his cot. He sat up and reached for the handset.

“Garner.”
“Sir, this is the Duty Commander, could you come to Operations. We have something of a situation developing.” A Canadian accented voice said.

CINCNORAD remembered that at this time of night the Duty Commander was a Canadian Forces Colonel. An ex-CF-18 pilot, if he remembered correctly.

“I’ll be there in five, Colonel.”

*

“What have we got, Colonel?” General Garner asked five minutes later.
“It looks like there is a serious build-up of Soviet bomber activity in the Far East Military district, Sir.” Colonel Andrew Clayton, Canadian Forces, replied. “Cobra Dane and AWACS have picked up what looks like ‘Backfires’ heading for Alaska.
“The alert fighters have been launched to intercept, and I’ve ordered that more be brought to ready status.”
“Do you think it’s another probe, Colonel?” CINCNORAD wondered.
“No, Sir. We’ve already had plenty of those. The boys in Alaska have even shot down a couple of ‘Backfires’ testing the defences.
“My gut tells me this is the real thing. The Soviets are starting a major campaign against our campaign in Alaska. Once they have suppressed the defences I believe they would start hitting the oil infrastructure and other military bases up there.” Clayton stated. “They’ll try the same thing that they are attempting to do over the UK.”
“Put me through to Elmendorf.” Garner ordered.

CINCNORAD sat down and put on a headset.

“ICECUBE this is CRYSTAL PALACE, stand-by for BRASS HAT.” The communications officer said.
“ICECUBE this is BRASS HAT, how do things look up there, George?” Garner asked.
“BRASS HAT this is ICECUBE. We are facing a major attack up here.” The commander of the Alaskan NORAD Region replied, his voice sounding tinny over the link. “We have our fighters airborne and army SAM batteries are in place to protect critical facilities. There isn’t much more that we can do at the moment, BRASS HAT.”
“Okay, ICECUBE. I’ll let you get on, but keep me appraised of the situation. BRASS HAT out.”

Garner had just barely taken off the headset when an alarm sounded on the other side of the Command Centre. To his alarm the General recognised it as the warning that the DSP satellites had detected possible ballistic missile launches somewhere in the world.

“We have multiple possible ballistic missile launches in central Iraq. We should have radar confirmation in thirty seconds.”

General Garner got up and crossed to the other side of the Command Centre. He paused for a second to look at one of the big screens, which was now showing the Middle East.

“This is all we need in the middle of an air attack.” He muttered. “Send a FLASH warning to CENTCOM (Forward) now!” He ordered.
“We have radar confirmation of ballistic missile launches. Computing probable target areas now.”

The same alarm sounded again, warning of further DSP detection of ballistic missile launches.

“Possible missile launches in…in southern Syria.”

General Garner looked around in alarm. This was a new and worrying development, until now Syria had been neutral.

“Where are they heading for?” CINCNORAD asked.
“Looks like Israel, Sir.”
“Get me the SECDEF now!”

0101 hours. North of Musina, South Africa.
Lieutenant Colonel James Forbes stood by the South African border post on the southern end of the Beit Bridge, scanning the Zimbabwean side of the Limpopo River through a thermal night sight. A few lights were on in the Zimbabwean border town of Beitbridge, but not much was moving, certainly nothing military. [4]

“You see much over there, James, man?” Kommandant Magnus Coetzee asked.
“Not a great deal, Magnus.” The British officer replied. “A couple of dogs moving about, but certainly no sign of the Zimbo army.”
“Oh, they’re there, James, and their Soviet friends too.” Coetzee said confidently.

*

Over the last couple of days in response to a build-up by the Zimbabwean and Mozambican armies along their border with South Africa the 1st Special Service Battalion and the other units of the 7th Division had been deployed along the Zimbabwean border, while the 8th Division had taken up position to the south of the border with Mozambique. [5]
To meet these two commitments it had been necessary to mobilise the army regular reserve, what had used to be known as the Citizen Force, and the army territorial reserve, the traditional ‘commandoes’. [6]

Along with its normal allocation of thirty eight Olifant 1B Main Battle Tanks and eight Rooikat reconnaissance vehicles, the 1st SSB had also brought along the twelve leased Challenger 2s. They hoped that the British built tanks, the most advanced in Southern Africa, would be spotted by their potential opponents and a powerful message sent out – don’t attack South Africa.
A company from the 1st South African Infantry Battalion, equipped with the new Finnish built Patria AMV, known as the Badger in South African service, had been attached to the battalion, turning it into a battle group.
Unfortunately only a few members of the battalion had been trained to operate the new tank. To overcome this problem Coetzee has requested that Forbes’ training team provide some of the crews. The British Lieutenant Colonel had been a little dubious about this, wondering if the South African Army would really want help from the British Army.

“James, man, my battalion needs your boys to many those Challys for us. I’m sure the ministry boys will clear with London.” Coetzee had told him.
“Okay, Magnus, we’ll be happy to help.” Forbes had replied.

*

“So, Martin, what do you make of the rumours that the Soviets have shipped T-72s into Zimbo and Mozambique, man?” Kommandant Coetzee asked the battalion 2.ic.
“I won’t believe it until I see one, Sir.” Major Martin Armstrong replied, with a smile. “I’m just as sceptical about the supposed thousands of Soviet, Cuban and Eastern European ‘advisors’ that are supposed to be in Zimbabwe, Mozambique and Angola at the moment.”
“I would not be too sure, Sir.” The battalion adjutant, Captain Solly Shoke, argued. “The intelligence boys are pretty sure that at least some T-72s have arrived in Mozambique. I think that they are maybe exaggerating the number of foreign advisors, though.
“What do you think, Colonel?” The adjutant asked Lt. Colonel Forbes.

Forbes felt a little uncomfortable being asked to possibly contradict the battalion’s second in command.

“Ah, I’d say that it would best to hope for the best and prepare for the worst, to use a cliché. If there is even a small chance that the other side has some T-72s then we have to be prepared for that possibility, and I guess we also have to be prepared for the fact that those ‘advisors’ might actually be combat troops.”

Coetzee nodded.

“That’s pretty good advice, James.” The Kommandant replied. “If it does turn out that all the other side has are T-55s and T-62, then no harm will have been done.”

*

The Soviet and their surrogates, the Cubans and Libyans had been spending a lot of money and resources building up and reequipping the armed forces of Mozambique, Zimbabwe, Zambia and Angola to create a potential threat to South Africa. Tanks, other armoured vehicles, artillery pieces and other vehicles being replaced in Soviet, or Warsaw Pact service had been shipped to these countries, along with hundreds of ‘advisors’ to provide training, and if necessary support.
For example there was the equivalent of a Soviet motor rifle regiment in both Zimbabwe and Mozambique.

South African intelligence knew of the ‘advisors’, but was not quite sure how many there were, or whether quite what their combat capability was.

*

The ‘O’ Group had broken up, and Coetzee and Forbes had stepped out of the Ratel Command Vehicle.

“Hey, Magnus, I hear that the Septic Marines arrived at Cape Town this morning. Things must be getting pretty bad for you Boers if you’re asking for help from the Americans.”
“Ah, piss off you blery roineck.” Coetzee said with a laugh, slapping the British officer on the back. “We accepted help from you British, didn’t we, what’s the difference?”

***

[1] Originally developed at RAF Lindholme, the eponymous gear consists of air dropped inflatable life rafts and survival gear. It has been carried in various forms by Liberators, Shackletons and Nimrods.

[2] What the Soviets call a Category B division.

[3] NATO designation AA-10 Alamo-E and AA-11 Archer respectively.

[4] There are two bridges over the Limpopo River, the original Alfred Beit Bridge, built in 1929, and a new bridge built in 1995. More information on Beitbridge here.

[5] The 9th South African Division is being held in reserve centrally to meet any threat to South Africa’s allies Namibia and Botswana.

[6] The units of the army territorial reserve (commandos) are in the process of disbandment in real life and will all be gone by 2009.

0130 hours. ‘Extract from the President’s Daily Brief’.
“In the last twelve hours the situation in the Middle East has worsened considerably.
“Iraq has in the last few hours launched a renewed series of attacks using SCUD type missiles against a number of targets in Kuwait, Saudi Arabia, Bahrain and Qatar, and has launched a renewed offensive on the ground. Full details have yet to arrive from CENTCOM (Forward) with regards to details of targets and damage, but initial indications are that the Iraqi missiles did not contain chemical or biological warheads, but ordinary high explosive, Fuel Air Explosive and sub-munitions warheads.
“It is believed that the Soviet ambassador to Iraq may have delivered a warning to the Iraqi regime that should they use chemical weapons against any further targets that America would retaliate with nuclear weapons and that the Soviet Union would not oppose this.
“For the moment CENTCOM forces on the ground are continuing to hold the renewed Iraqi offensive; however CINC-CENTCOM has emphasised that it is vital that he receives reinforcements in the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours if he is to maintain his current front line in Kuwait. The 2nd Brigade of the 40th ID(M) should become operational within this timeframe and it is possible that the Kuwaitis will agree to the release of one of the remaining two brigades they are holding in strategic reserve. Australian and New Zealand Forces will arrive in theatre within ten days.
“At the moment it is not considered likely that the Saudi Armed Forces will do much more than they are currently doing. It is considered unlikely that their land forces will intervene in the defence of Kuwait any time soon.
“Iranian forces are also continuing to build up along their respective border with Iraq, but it is believed that this is not part of preparations to invade Iraq.

“More seriously Syria, technically neutral until now (though it has continued to provide bases for the Soviet Mediterranean Squadron), has launched a massive missile attack against Israel, using SCUD type weapons. The full list of targets and damage is not yet known, though it is believed that the Israeli ABM system has successfully destroyed most of the attacking weapons.
“It is known that Syria possesses more advanced Chinese M-9 and M-11 (DF-11 and DF-15) ballistic missiles, but it is believed that these are armed with WMD warheads, probably chemical and possibly biological and nuclear.
“Israeli retaliation is currently underway, the army is undertaking large scale artillery bombardments of Syrian positions in the Golan, while the air force is in the process of launching a large scale air campaign against Syrian air defences.
“Why Syria has chosen this moment to attack Israel is unknown. The IDF had been mobilised on the outbreak of hostilities between NATO and the Warsaw Pact, but no reinforcements had been sent to Northern Command (which covers the Golan Front) other than the reserve formations assigned to it, and there were no indications that Israel was planning a pre-emptive strike against Syria.
“However the CIA station in Damascus and the military attaché have picked up rumours that the Syrian regime had convinced itself that Israel was about to mount an attack. What intelligence they based this assessment on is currently unknown.

“NATO military intelligence is now convinced that the French aircraft carrier Joffre was sunk by a Libyan Tango class submarine rather than a Soviet submarine. A NATO carrier task force built around the USS John F. Kennedy, MN Charles de Gaulle, MM Cavour and SPS Príncipe de Asturias is preparing to mount retaliatory operations.
“Egypt is continuing to build-up military forces along their border with Libya. It is now believed that all of the Egyptian First and Second Armies and significant portions of the Third Army are within striking distance of the Libyan border.
“Private contacts with the Egyptian government have revealed that they are willing to act against the Gaddafi regime so long as they can be assured of American support, military and economic.”

0135 hours. The White House Situation Room, Washington D.C.
President Powell put down the last page of the PDB. It had made for rather grim reading; NATO might not be losing, but it was not winning by any measure and now it looked that the war was about to spread even further. The revised estimate of military losses was especially worrying, if the war lasted any longer than three weeks they would start to become crippling, even with full mobilisation of all military reserves and cannibalisation of the training machine.
It was beginning to look like activating the Selective Service system was going to be the only option to keep America’s military functioning, much as Powell hated to bring back the draft. He remembered what had happened to the country the last time the draft was in use.

“Well, ladies and gentlemen.” He said sombrely, placing the last page of the PDB down on the table. “It seems that we have little choice but to activate the draft if we are to avoid a manpower crisis. How soon can you make the announcement?”
“We’ll send it out this afternoon, Mr President.” The SECDEF replied. “The initial lottery will be held for twenty to twenty-five year olds. The Selective Service System calculates that there would be more than enough manpower within this group and the legislation covering it would need to be altered if we wished to draft nineteen year olds, or anyone over twenty-five.
“There is one other thing, Mr. President, Congress is really supposed to authorise the draft…”
“What Congress.” The Chairman of the Joint Chiefs muttered.
“At the moment Congress is still being reconstituted.” The President pointed out. “Getting the Senate back together was not too difficult, but the House of Representative is going to take a little while yet. The Federal government can not let itself be paralysed because the legislative branch was attacked by the enemy. Besides, one of the last things Congress did before the attack was to give us a deceleration of war against the USSR and its allies.
“As the United States is at war, Mr. Secretary, I believe I have the power to authorise the draft without Congressional approval. They can always impeach me after the war.
“I have one other question with regards to the draft. Do we have enough weapons and equipment for the first batch of draftees?”
“That shouldn’t pose a problem, Mr. President.” The SECDEF replied. “We have extensive stocks of weapons, uniforms and other equipment in storage. Some of the stockpile has been issued to reservists and as replacements to units in action, but the remainder is more than adequate to cope with a reintroduction of the draft, at least in the short term.”
“Very good; right let’s move onto the issue of what support we can give to Egypt if they move against Libya.”
“The most immediate support we can give them, Mr. President would be from the NATO carrier group, though we would need to clear that with our allies.” The CJCS replied. “There is also an amphibious group carrying an MEU in the Western Med that might be of some use. The 82nd Airborne Division and two battalions of the 75th Ranger Regiment are currently assigned to securing the Panama Canal, but once they are relieved they could be sent to support the Libyans.
“For now I’d recommend despatching the uncommitted Ranger battalion, a brigade of the 101st Airborne and a squadron of the 10th Cav. It would be a fairly small force, but it would show our commitment.”
“That sounds like a suitable commitment, General Myres.” The President replied. “I take it providing air cover for any force we deploy to Egypt would not be a problem?”
“No, Sir.” The CJCS replied. “We still have some units in TAC that are not committed to any theatre, and I assume that the navy could provide cover from the JFK.” He said looking across at the Chief of Naval Operations.

The Admiral nodded, indicating that it would be perfectly possible.

“Good, then as soon as transport is available get those units moving to Egypt. I presume they Egyptians are prepared to receive them?”
“Yes, Mr. President.”
“Well that’s something.
“Now what support can we give to the Israelis?”
“The most obvious support we can give them, Mr. President is from the Ronald Reagan, once her battle group has finished dealing with the Soviet ships in Syrian ports.” The CNO suggested. “Basing her off the Israeli coast would afford her some extra protection until either the Kennedy, or Saratoga joins her.”

0140 hours. Albrook Airport, Panama.
Sergeant Paul ‘Hugo’ Chavez, a platoon sergeant in Bravo Company, 1st Battalion, 75th Ranger Regiment, fired a three-round burst from his M-4A1 at a distant target, before signalling his platoon to advance towards the group of hangars and buildings a few meters away.

“Move, move, move!” He yelled at them as part of the Ranger platoon sprinted across the open ground.

*

The 1st and 3rd Battalions of the 75th Ranger Regiment had been assigned the task of securing the old Albrook and Howard Air Force Bases for use by the air-landed portion of the army forces assigned to the mission of securing the canal and for possible use by the air force. A battalion of the 82nd Airborne Division had the task of securing Tocumen International Airport outside Panama City.
The landings had been expected to be unopposed administrative occupations of their targets, though the troops were being parachuted in for swiftness. However even before they had hit the ground the Rangers at Albrook and Howard had come under fire, though from who was as yet unknown, though they were certainly not Panamanian. Panama, after all, did not have armed forces, merely a police force, and anyway, the Panamanians were expecting them and had given their permission.

An awful lot of Rangers were now lying dead and wounded across the cracked concrete of the two old US Air Bases.

*

Within a few seconds of struggling out of his parachute, Sergeant Chavez had found himself in charge of his platoon. Lieutenant Willows had been hit while still in the air, his lifeless body had hit the ground like a sack of potatoes, to be dragged across the concrete by his parachute.
Quite a number of junior officers and senior NCOs had been killed early on in the operation to secure Albrook, but subordinates, such as Chavez had stepped up to take over. The airport had to be secured after all no matter who was killed.

Under covering fire from the half of the platoon that had taken cover among the hangars and buildings, Sergeant Chavez and the rest of the platoon jogged across the open ground, jinking left and right, to join them.

“Hey, sarge, we’ve got one of your old buddies here.” Corporal Kowalski said with a grin, pointing to a body lying in front of their position.

To Chavez’s surprise the body wore the uniform of the Venezuelan airborne and ranger forces. An FN FNC rifle lay discarded by the body.

“Jesus, the goddamn Venezuelans.” Chavez replied. “Trust them to stick their noses in where they’re not wanted.”

Venezuelan paratroops and rangers had been inserted into Panama for essentially the same reason as their American counterparts, though on a more limited scale. They had been ordered to secure a few air ports, including the two where the American Rangers had dropped, but not the international airport in Panama City. If necessary more Venezuelan troops would be flown into the country to carry out the destruction of canal facilities.

*

Above the American ground operation the F-15 Eagles that had been assigned to provide air cover for the Rangers and paratroopers were turning to intercept unidentified targets approaching Panamanian air space at high speed. Although the Americans did not know it yet these were Venezuelan Air Force Su-30MKV aircraft assigned to attack various canal installations, hopefully closing it for some time.

0145 hours. The Leningrad, the Indian Ocean.
The Soviet carrier group’s engagement with the attacking American bombers was entering its second phase. The surviving B-52Js had turned away having launched their Harpoons and decoys and the Soviet ships now faced the task of trying to distinguish which of the targets on its radar screens were missiles and which were decoys.
The Soviet Indian Ocean Squadron unfortunately had no ship quite the equivalent of an American Aegis equipped combatant, or a British Type 45/46 to take command of area air defence against missile attack. The closest equivalent was the Slava class cruiser Chervona Ukraina, which was equipped with the SA-N-6 SAM system, though no sophisticated command system like Aegis, or CMS-1. [1]
The Soviets were suffering from the fact that a great many of their major warship classes had been designed to operate in the ASW role off the Soviet coast, rather than have to defend themselves in world wide deployments.

Rear Admiral Malinsky, who had lit a cigarette in violation of regulations, was rather wishing that he had a Kirov class cruiser with him. However all of those powerful surface combatants, the surviving ones anyway, were being held back to protect the Motherland from American carrier strikes.
Malinsky did not think that the Americans would be stupid enough to let one of their CVBGs to come close enough to a Soviet SAG to give a Kirov class a chance to use its missiles. No, they would hang back and use their aircraft; but he was a mere Rear Admiral, so nobody in the high command ever listened to him.
Moreover it was not healthy to be too outspoken in the Soviet Navy.

He crossed the Flag Bridge to take another look at the radar repeater screen. There were too many traces to count them all, however he could see there were far more than the sixty-four S-300F long-ranged SAMs carried by the Chervona Ukraina.
Assuming that the cruiser would be about sixty percent successful in hitting targets; though many of those would undoubtedly be decoys, a lot of missiles were going to leak through to the inner zone. Defence of his group was largely going to depend on jamming, chaff and the point defence systems of the individual warships.

Malinsky looked up as the Chervona Ukraina opened fire. The cruiser was rapidly hidden behind exhaust smoke as she rapidly launched S-300Fs. The admiral was able to track the big missiles in the initial part of their flight before they accelerated out of view.
He sat down and lit another cigarette. There was not much he could do now that the battle between robots had begun.

*

One of the AGM-84D Harpoons launched by ‘Wing King’ was now skimming about one meter above the Indian Ocean heading towards the Soviet Indian Ocean Squadron. The missile was unaware that American ITALD decoys were attempting to protect it, while Soviet S-300F SAMs were trying to kill it and its brethren, all it cared about was finding a large radar return that fit the parameters programmed into the computer chip that served as its ‘brain’.
Its radar detected a series of large targets moving across the horizon and it altered course slightly. Suddenly a series of new targets appeared in its view, causing some confusion until the missile’s ECCM sorted through which targets were real and which were false.
The Harpoon finally settled on a large target now in the centre of its view and dropped down to almost wave height as it began the final phase of its flight. As it closed in, flying at just below the speed of sound, the missile jinked to port and starboard to try and make the job of any point-defence missiles, or CIWS that bit harder. Two fellow Harpoons that had also chosen this target were killed by the ship’s point-defence systems, but not this missile, it survived to complete its mission.

*

Rear Admiral Malinsky saw a flash aboard the Chervona Ukraina, at first he thought it was another SAM launch, but less than a second later a red-orange fireball blossomed amidships of the cruiser. A deep boom reached the carrier a second later, the shockwave rattling the glass in the Flag Bridge.

“So it has started.” He muttered.

Another deep boom off in the distance announced that another ship, the Udaloy class destroyer, Admiral Panteleyev had been hit by a missile, closely followed by a second hit to the Chervona Ukraina. Unfortunately for her the Slava class design was, in the words of one report said to be marred by “large quantities of flammable material and poor damage-control capabilities”. [2] This meant that although she had only been hit twice the fires started by the Harpoons were soon spreading and out of control, putting her out of action at a crucial moment in the engagement.

Rear Admiral Malinsky felt more than heard a deep rumble as the Leningrad began to fire its 3K95 “Kinzhal” missiles a sure sign that the ship was under direct attack herself. [3] As was the firing of two of the AK-630 30 mm CIWS mounts a few seconds later.
A loud explosion a moment later violently shook the ship and there was the sound of metal fragments pinging against the hull and superstructure. For a moment Malinsky thought that the carrier had been hit, but it became clear that one of the CIWS mounts had just destroyed an American missile seconds before it had reached its target.

*

“Down scope!” Commander Deans, RN ordered.

It had taken HMS Sceptre several hours to catch up with the Soviet Indian Ocean Squadron, but now she was in a position to penetrate the ASW screen and attempt an attack on the Leningrad. The fact that the surface ships were now more concerned with defending themselves against a missile attack to worry too much about the possibility that a submarine had penetrated the group helped a great deal.

Commander Deans had spotted a gap in the ASW screen, where the destroyer Admiral Panteleyev had been damaged, causing her to move out of position. If he got a decent shot at the carrier he would certainly show those lads who commanded the newer ‘T’ and ‘A’ boats that the ‘S’ class boats still had some life in them.

“Firing solution plotted, Sir.”
“Very well, flood tubes one and three and fire when ready.”

*

When the hit came it was violent enough to throw Rear Admiral Malinsky and his staff from their feet and onto the deck. A Harpoon missile had struck the carrier’s island a few decks below and aft of the Flag Bridge, starting a major fire.
Before Malinsky could finish getting to his feet a second Harpoon hit Leningrad amidships, the missile penetrating to the hangar deck before exploding. The admiral finally got back to his feet, checking that none of the aches and pains he now felt were not serious.
He could see that several ships of his group, including the carrier herself, were burning. He scanned the horizon looking for any undamaged vessel, but could not spot any.
On Leningrad herself he could make out flames leaping out of a big hole on the island and smoke pouring out of one of the lifts. At least the carrier’s machinery seemed intact and she was still making twenty-five knots.

Malinsky sat down to reflect on the situation and for reports to come in. At least it looked like the attack was over.

‘WHAM!’

The carrier whipped violently as it was hit by an underwater explosion. Rear Admiral Malinsky was thrown forward out of his chair, hit something solid and blacked out.

0201 hours. Southwest of Hanover, FRG.
The Royal Scots Dragoon Guards battle group had been briefly pulled out of the line to refuel and rearm. At the same time the cavalrymen and infantry would take the chance to grab a quick hot meal, their first in a couple of days.
While the armoured vehicles were being repositioned with ammunition and fuel, a couple of men in each troop, or platoon were nominated to go and collect the hot meal for everybody else.

Somewhat to her chagrin the rest of B Squadron had decided that humping 120mm shells, 7.62mm bullets and straightening tracks was no job for a diminutive young lady, so instead Captain Currie and the youngest member of her squadron had been sent off to collect the hot meals for everybody else. Carrying food containers, known as ‘Norgies’, was not exactly what she had become a TA officer to do; it was certainly never mentioned in the syllabus.

“Hello, ma’m.” A vaguely familiar voice said once she was in the queue. “Nice to see you’re okay.”

Currie realised that the cook standing behind the trestle table was Corporal Murphy, the RLC NCO she had encountered after that Spetsnaz ambush on the first day of the war.

“Thanks, Corporal; nice to see you’re okay too.
“What’s for tea?”
“Curry; not too brilliant I’m afraid. It certainly won’t earn us any Michelin stars, didn’t have the time, we just had to bung what we had into the mix.”
“STICK HIM IN THE CURRY!” Someone behind Murphy said in a mock Dalek/Pakistani voice, provoking much laughter. Evidently it had been a long running joke.
“Pack it in, you lot.” He called back to them. “How many was it for, ma’m?”

Currie told him, and she and the trooper laid down the ‘Norgies’, so that they could be filled with curry. Murphy added several slices of thick bread on top.
The Captain and the trooper lifted the containers up the best they could and started to set off back to B Squadron.

“Just a minute, ma’m, I’ve got something else for you, courtesy of Barrs.”

Murphy bent down below the table and lifted up a couple of twenty-four packs of Irn Bru, the manufacturers of which had sent out the equivalent of a week’s production to every Scottish regiment in West Germany.

“God, I’ve been dieing for an Irn Bru.” The trooper remarked, going to pick up one of the packs.

*

Lt. Colonel Stevenson dipped his slice of bread into the mess tin, hoping to soak up the last dregs of the curry. It was not the best he had ever tasted, but after days of eating nothing by cold field rations is was almost like heaven, as despite each vehicle being equipped with a Boiling Vessel there had been precious little time than to do more than have an occasional ‘brew’.

“These certainly make a change from NATO tea, Colonel.” Major Anderson said, holding up his can of Irn Bru. “Now if we could only get Scottish and Newcastle, or maybe Bells to do the same thing.”
“I wish you hadn’t said that, Ian.” Stevenson replied. “I’ve just realised that I could really do with a pint right now.” He looked around at the other members of the H.Q squadron sitting eating their meals. “If we get out of this alive, gentlemen, the first pint in all the messes are on me.”
“How long do you think we’ve got before they put us back in the line, Sir?” Somebody asked.
“Probably as soon as we’ve fed and watered the vehicles, so enjoy this while it lasts.” The Colonel replied.

Stevenson looked out to the east. Because it was dark he could see the flashes of gunfire and exploding shells; while he was sitting here enjoying a hot meal and a soft drink out there men were still dieing.

0230 hours. AFB Ysterplaat, near Cape Town, South Africa.
It was also still dark in South Africa as Lieutenant Colonel Brad Smith III, USMCR, watched the South African Airways A380 make its final approach to the SAAF air base. At least with the threat of war being far away both the aircraft and base could still be brightly lit up. As the Americans marines were coming to their country the South Africans had put their civil air liner fleet at the USMC’s disposal, knowing that the Civil Reserve Air Fleet was being stretched to the limit elsewhere.
Lieutenant Colonel Smith and part of his H.Q staff had flown out as part of the advance party of the 23rd Marine Expeditionary Brigade, and was now awaiting the arrival of the balance of his battalion, the 1st Battalion, 23rd Marine Regiment.

*

As the regular Marine Corps units were on the whole already assigned missions, the reserve 4th Marine Division had been given the task of providing a brigade sized Marine Air-Ground Task Force (MAGTF) for the defence of the Cape. The 23rd Marine Regiment had been chosen to form the core of the MEB, while for the moment air support would be coming from Marine Air Group 49, also a USMCR unit.
With the arrival of the 1st/23rd Marines the brigade would be complete; however the ships of MPSRON-2 carrying its heavy equipment would not dock at Cape Town until later in the afternoon. At least the aircraft of MAG-49 would be capable of carrying out operations if needed.

*

The Super-Jumbo taxied towards where Lt. Colonel Smith was standing and halted a short distance away. There was a short wait while SAAF ground personnel brought air stairs to the aircraft, but within a few minutes of the aircraft’s engines being shut down marines were disembarking.

“Welcome to South Africa, Marines!” He shouted to the assembled battalion half an hour later. “I don’t know if I can promise you an exciting time, but there is going to be a lot of work to be done. We’re relieving the South African Army so that it can go and defend its borders against Soviet backed Commies to the north, though we’re also here to protect the assembly point for convoys carrying war material to home and Europe.
“I doubt we’ll garner much publicity down here with what is going on up North and in the Gulf, but we do have a unique opportunity to cement our country’s friendship with South Africa, so I want to treat your hosts with respect.
“Now I know we don’t usually go out of our way to be buddies with the army, air force, or the swabbies, but remember this the South Africans have the best military in Africa and they have more institutional experience of war than we do, you may even meet a few war veterans in their reserve units. Do not belittle them, or tell them how much better the Corp is than their unit.
“That’s all, Marines, Semper Fi!”
“SEMPER FI!” The battalion shouted back in response.

As the marines did not have much in the way of vehicles for the moment, the South Africans had provided transport to the army barracks where the marines were to be accommodated, a mixture of military trucks and busses impressed from civilian service.

“A very impressive pep talk, Colonel.” Smith’s SANDF liaison officer said once they were on their way to the barracks. “We appreciate that you think of us so highly.”
“No problem, Mike.” Smith replied. “I’ve followed what your reservists have done in wars over the last thirty years or so, and whatever I’ve thought about your government’s politics, I’ve always admired your military. You’ve always fought well against pretty big odds at time, and you’ve made the best of what equipment you had.
“Having you guys back in the Free World is a definite plus in my humble opinion.”
“Thank you, Colonel; I just hope we can find you something useful to do.” The liaison officer replied with a smile.

0241 hours. The Leningrad, the Indian Ocean.
Rear Admiral Malinsky came to on the deck of the Flag Bridge with a couple of medical orderlies bending over him. He felt like he had just been run over by a truck but still tried to get to his feet.

“Lie still please, Comrade Admiral.” One of the orderlies said. “We think you have broken some ribs and may have a concussion; the doctor would like you to go down to the sick bay.”
“Nonsense, just help me up to my chair. I can’t afford to take any time off right now.
“What’s the condition of the ship?”
“We took two missile hits, Comrade Admiral. The fires from them are now under control. We also took a torpedo hit aft; we are still making ten knots.”
“I see, what is the status of the group?” Malinsky asked.
“We’ve lost the Chervona Ukraina, the Admiral Panteleyev and the Boris Butoma. The Bespokoiny, Tuman, Sagaidachny…”

Rear Admiral Malinsky tuned out for a moment as his Chief of Staff finished listing the ships that had been damaged.

“…And of course this ship too.”
“Have any vessels escaped damage?” He asked, already knowing the answer.
“None, Comrade Admiral; we have also lost most of this ship’s air group.”

The admiral thought for a moment. He had an important decision to take.

“This group is now non-operational, signal all ships, set course for Aden. We don’t have a choice, though I know the Zampolit won’t like it.
“Where is our favourite party member, by the way?”
“Dead I’m afraid, Comrade Admiral. The hit on the island got him.”
“Well I suppose that is one less thing to worry about.
“Is the AEW helicopter still airborne?”
“Yes, Comrade Admiral, but it’s now the only one left.”
“We’re going to need it.” Malinsky replied. “I doubt that the Americans are going to let us get back to Aden unmolested. We also need to re-establish the ASW screen as best we can; I’d rather not be hit by another torpedo.”

***

[1] Known as the S -300F in Soviet service, see link.

[2] See here and here for details.

[3] Known by NATO as the SA-N-9, see link for details.

0301 hours. Lajes Air Base, the Azores.
“Good morning, ladies and gentlemen.” Brigadier-General James Henderson, USAF, the Commanding Officer of the 2nd Bomb Wing (Provisional); it had taken on that title when it had taken on the 93rd Bomb Squadron from the Air Force Reserve’s 917th Wing; said to the assembled B-52 crews. “We have been given a new tasking; this one is important, it comes straight from the President and CINCSAC.
“As most of you will by now know a few hours ago Venezuela launched an attack on the Panama Canal. Its air attack was defeated and the army is in the process of eliminating the Venezuelan troops who were inserted in to Panama before the airborne boys arrived. In response to this unprovoked attack against the interests of the United States and her allies, this wing in conjunction with SAC units based in Florida will undertake retaliatory operations against military and infrastructure targets in Venezuela to prevent them from launching any further aggression against their neighbours, or the interests of the United States.
“I will now turn you over to the Operations Officer for a more detailed briefing.”

Lt. Colonel Arthur Hoover, who had been listening carefully to the general’s introduction, leaned over to his counterpart from the 596th Bomb Squadron.

“This sounds pretty serious, Virginia.” He muttered.
“It’ll make a change from patrolling the North Atlantic and firing the odd cruise missile into Eastern Europe, Art.” Lt. Colonel Virginia Lake whispered in reply.

“Good morning, everyone.” The blonde haired figure of Colonel Edward ‘Ed’ Straker, the Operations Officer said as he took his place at the podium. “As the General has mentioned in a few hours we will begin retaliatory operations against Venezuela; this wing, giving its existing commitments will be assigning only twenty aircraft to the initial wave.
“These aircraft will be armed with ALCMs targeted on bases and infrastructure of the Venezuelan Air Force to reduce its ability to project power beyond its borders and defend against further attacks that we may need to launch against the country. Joining us in the operation will be 42nd Bomb Wing, which will be staging out of Florida, and the 319th Bomb wing.
“Like us, the 42nd will be armed with ALCMs, while the Bones of the 319th will be armed with a mixture of JASSM missiles and mines which they will drop in Venezuelan harbours. The blocking of the harbours is at least as important as the attacks on the air force, as it is believed that the Venezuelans may mount some form of amphibious operation against the Netherlands Antilles some time in the near future.”

Straker paused for a moment to drink from a glass of water and to bring up a map of Venezuela, showing all of the countries air bases on it, on the plasma screen behind him. [1]

“Behind me you can see our targets. The priorities are the bases that house the ‘Flanker’, ‘Viper’, ‘Mirage’ and ‘Freedom Fighter’ fleets; Barquisimeto, Barcelona and Maracay - Palo Negro. If those bases and their associated support infrastructure are significantly damaged then the Venezuelan air force will lose much of its ability to operate beyond its borders, and it will also send a powerful message to their government that the United States will not tolerate attacks on its interests.”

0330 hours. Potsdam, DDR.
The Soviet Mi-8MT ‘Hip’ helicopter flared before landing at the headquarters of ‘Operation Centre’. Colonel General Yazov and his new Chief of Staff stepped out once the main rotor had wound down and surveyed the scene before them.
The aftermath of the attack by the British helicopters was still plainly evident; numerous burned out vehicles were still smoking and there were rows of bodies covered with ground sheets.

An honour guard, significantly made up of Soviet GRU troops, was waiting to greet the general. The commander of the group saluted as Yazov approached.

“Capatin Ilin, GRU Field Security, Comrade General. We were sent ahead to prepare for your arrival.”

Before Yazov could reply there was a fusillade of shots. The general reflexively reached for his sidearm, before the logical part of his brain identified the sound of the shots as being from AK-74s.

“What was that, Comrade Captain?” Yazov asked.
“Some members of the NVA staff have been found guilty of gross misconduct and incompetence, and are being executed by firing squad. General Whitman, his Chief of Staff and several other members of his staff were killed by the British air attack.
“Lucky for them, Comrade General, otherwise they would have faced the same fate. The GRU will also be executing a number of other NVA personnel who have been found guilty of a number of crimes.” Ilin replied.

The enthusiasm with which the GRU Captain spoke of the executions sent a shiver down Yazov’s spine. He felt that had CINC-WEST not chosen this task for him, he may have found himself in front of a GRU firing squad.

“Tell me, Comrade Captain, before you were given this assignment, what were you doing?”
“I was involved in the hunt for partisans in the former Western half of Germany. My men dealt with quite a few and their supporters. I believe that we seriously hampered any attempts at civilian resistance and support for enemy special forces.”

So Ilin had spent his war shooting civilians who had the misfortune to be left behind when NATO had retreated. That answer hardly made Yazov feel any more comfortable. He would need to watch his step with this one.

“I see.
“Well Comrade Colonel Penkovsky.” He said to his Chief of Staff. “Your first task will be to convey my personal message to the commander of the Western Garrison requesting his immediate surrender, or see the city destroyed by artillery and air attack.”
“Very good, Comrade General, I shall leave as soon as I can get appropriate transport.” The Chief of Staff replied.

*

Major General Mallinson looked at the letter from the Soviet general who had taken over command of the other side. He was rather surprised, given the political capital that the East Germans had sunk into capturing West Berlin, though evidently the Soviets had lost patience with the slowness of NVA operations.

Mallinson had called in the senior American and French commanders to discuss the Soviet message before coming to a decision. He was very aware of only being the acting garrison commander, had the war broken out a month earlier, or a few months later than either one of the two other officers in his office would have been in charge.

“Well, gentlemen, what do we think of this demand?” He asked the two generals.
“I’d tell them to shove it, Allan.” His American counterpart replied. “If the Russkies want West Berlin then they should have to fight for it.”
“I agree with Mike, Allan.” The French commander said. “Our forces are in a strong position and we can hold out for quite some time yet.”
“Those were my thoughts exactly.” Mallinson confirmed. “We now have to frame a suitable answer, though when I first read the note I was tempted to tell this Colonel General Yazov to stick it up his arse.”
“I like your first thoughts, Allan, the same sort of thing worked for McAuliffe at Bastogne. What do you think, André?”
“It is very British, Mike and quite suitable. I would have said merdé in Allan’s place.”
“Okay, we’re agreed, ‘stick it up your arse’ is to be out official response. Time to ask this Soviet Colonel to come back in.”

*

Colonel Penkovsky had been waiting outside the office for an hour now while the Soviet surrender demand had been discussed by the respective Western garrison commanders. While he had been waiting a British corporal had brought him a cup of tea and a plate of biscuits; he was surprised that such luxuries were still available in the besieged West Berlin.
Penkovsky also reflected that it was very quiet outside, General Yazov having called a cease-fire while the offer of surrender was being discussed.

“Colonel Yazov?” Major General Mallinson’s Chief of Staff said. “The general will see you now.”

Penkovsky was shown into the British general’s office, where he found him perched on the edge of his desk and the American and French garrison commanders standing in opposite corners of the room. All were in full combat dress and wore side arms.

“Thank you for waiting, Colonel Penkovsky, I am sure that you are anxious to return to your own headquarters.” Mallinson said conversationally. “We have been discussing your offer and now have an answer for General Yazov.”

Penkovsky waited for the next part of Mallinson’s answer with baited breath. Were the Western garrisons about to surrender? Penkovsky had every expectation that the soft Western soldiers would not have the stamina to stand much more of this siege and would welcome a chance to surrender honourably before things got worse.

“With the greatest respect to the General we have decided to tell him to stick his demand that we surrender up his arse.” Mallinson continued making the reply sound like it was a perfectly normal part of conversation.

Penkovsky was dumbfounded; he prided himself on his fluency in English, yet he was unsure of the colloquial usage here. He did, however, have a sneaking suspicion that the answer was a strong negative.

“Major General Mallinson and his fellow garrison commanders have invited Colonel General Yazov to insert his surrender demand into his rectum, Colonel.” The British Chief of Staff, who spoke excellent Russian, helpfully translated, somehow managing to keep a straight face.

“Ah, er…I see.” Penkovsky replied, rather flummoxed. “Since you have chosen to refuse General Yazov’s very reasonable demand then any further damage and civilian that are caused to West Berlin will be your responsibility. However, General Yazov does wish to sincerely apologise for the NVA’s use of poison gas. They did not consult with us before using the gas.
“The Soviet Army would never use such a weapon in an environment where there are civilians potentially present.”

0335 hours. Over Norland, Norway.
A rather unusual two-ship formation of a Buccaneer S.2B and a Hunter T.7A were making their way up the Norwegian coast towards Bodo Air Base, where the Buccaneers of 12, 208 and 612 Squadrons were based. Both aircraft, which belonged to 237 Operational Conversion Unit, were taking part in the strictly unofficial ‘beer barrel run’ (it was surprising just how many could be fitted into the Buccaneer’s rotating bomb-bay), which since the USMC Intruder air crew based at Bodø were also taking advantage of the RAF’s hospitality was becoming a more frequent operation.
To keep things official the aircraft would also bring in a few urgently needed spare parts, or intelligence material that was too sensitive to transmit.

While the Buccaneers were being used to transport bulky items like beer kegs, the Hunters carried more delicate items such as spirits. The local distilleries around Lossiemouth were being very generous in their donations; especially since many of the squadron Buccaneers carried the names of their products.
Such fine drinks as a bottle of twenty year old single malt whiskey could not be trusted to the baggage pod, where it might be shaken around, or chilled, and besides the baggage pod was full of bottles of gin anyway, no the box containing several bottle of single malt were firmly strapped into the right hand Martin-Baker ejection seat.

*

Group Captain Charles Winchester, RAF, risked a quick glance across at his silent companion in the right hand ejection seat, making sure it was still securely strapped in. As Station Commander of RAF Lossiemouth he probably should have been doing all he could to curtail such unofficial use of his aircraft, but he sympathised with his pilots, after all he had been in their shoes once upon a time, and if the local breweries and distilleries chose to donate their products to Lossiemouth and Kinloss, then it was his job to make sure his men and women deployed to Bodø

Winchester, tired of being chained to a desk, had taken the opportunity to fly on the latest run to Bodø himself. He wanted to check up on his deployed personnel, and if possible see if he could meet up with his brother, Edward, a Lieutenant Colonel in the Royal Marines.

*

As this was essentially a simple ferry run neither aircraft were carrying any offensive weapons. However the Buccaneer was carrying a pair of ASRAAMs on the outer two pylons for self defence, and a pair of slipper tanks on the inner hard-points to extend its range. The Hunter was virtually unarmed, all four of its under wing pylons were taken up with drop tanks, and besides there was little else left in the RAF’s arsenal that the Hunter could carry anyway. It was, however, carrying a full load of cannon shells for its single 30mm ADEN cannon, though nobody seriously expected that any pilot would need to use the weapon in anger.

*

“Hops Flight, this is Guardian Two-Four.” Winchester heard the voice of the controller aboard the NATO E-3A Sentry say in his earphones. “We have a possible hostile threat just to the north of you. Two ‘Floggers’ have just attacked a bridge and their flight path may come close to yours. We will keep you advised, and please be reassured that friendly fighters are being vectored to intercept the bogies. Over.”
“Roger that, Guardian, we’ll keep our eyes peeled; over.” The voice of the Buccaneer pilot, Squadron Leader Ian Hernon, replied.

Winchester was a little worried by this message; Air Combat Manoeuvring had not been in the script when this flight had been planned, and here he was flying a nearly fifty year old jet with almost no armament. His only real advantage would be that the Hunter, like all RAF training aircraft, was painted black, so that it could be seen easily in daylight, though it would help to hide him at night. [2]
He quickly checked the location of the arming switch for the ADEN cannon, as it was not in the same place in every aircraft. The fact that none of the Hunters based at RAF Lossiemouth had a cockpit configured quite like any other nearly drove those who maintained and flew them to distraction.
It would not do tonight if Group Captain Winchester was to reach for the arming switch and discover that it was not where he expected it to be.

*

Meanwhile the two Mig-27D ‘Floggers’ were heading north after carrying out their attack on the road bridge, having badly damaged it. They were very aware that the ‘Sentry’ was tracking them, as their Radar Warning Receivers were constantly ‘bleeping’, however attempts to jam the big radar of the AWACS with ECM had proven futile as it was both able to rapidly jump frequencies and was also powerful enough to burn through the level of jamming that the ‘Floggers’ were able to generate.
However the Soviet attack aircraft were, as yet, unaware of the two British aircraft undertaking a very different mission only a few miles away from their aircraft.

“See anything, Jimmy?” Squadron Leader Hernon asked his navigator.
“No, Ian, not a sausage.” Squadron Leader James Miller replied.

Miller was wearing a pair of Night Vision Goggles, which meant he had a good view of what was outside. Hernon did have the goggles available to him, but like most Buccaneer and Tornado F.3 pilots, felt that they restricted his vision too much and left his navigator to wear them, just as the F.3 pilots tended to do.
Hernon instead preferred to use the FLIR system that had been installed in the Buccaneer’s nose during the last upgrade. It too was a relatively narrow view, but at least it was not like looking at the world through a pair of toilet roll tubes.

“Well, nothing apart from the Stash. He’s still holding formation out there like he’s glued onto our wing.” Miller continued. [3]
“I wouldn’t expect anything else, Jimmy. The Groupie was a good pilot back in the day.”
“Hold on, there’s something moving out there to starboard, about three o’clock…looks like the Floggers. ***, I think they’ve seen us!”
“Hops Flight, this is Guardian Two-Four, turn left NOW! Bogies are just ten miles from your location; over!”
“Sod that!” Hernon exclaimed. “Negats, Guardian, the bogies have seen us, turning to engage.
“Hops Two, drop in behind us and get ready to run if necessary; over.”

Hernon was on his second tour as a Buccaneer pilot; he was now a Qualified Weapons Instructor with 237 OCU; and if there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fight the Buccaneer against fighter opposition. The old strike aircraft was surprisingly agile, certainly enough to embarrass Phantoms and Tornados, and probably enough to seriously worry a pair of ‘Floggers’.
Hernon was also supremely confident in the ASRAAM missile. It was so good that it had caused problems at Armament Practise Camps by shooting down all the target drones before the camp was over. [4]

Hernon banked the Buccaneer hard to starboard, pointing the nose directly at the approaching ‘Floggers’, and pushed the throttle forward to full military thrust, the two Spey engines accelerating the Buccaneer to nearly full speed, leaving the little Hunter behind.
The ASRAAM seriously outranged the R-60 missiles that the Mig-27s carried for self defence and Hernon got a ‘tone’ well before both Soviet pilots did. He squeezed the trigger.

“Fox Two!” He announced over the radio as the missile sped off towards its target.

He rapidly reversed course to avoid any return fire, releasing a few decoy flares as he did so. His eyes registered the flash of an explosion as his missile struck its target, but where was the other ‘Flogger’?

“***, Ian, he’s gone after the Stash!” Miller exclaimed.
“Damn, there’s goes our whisky.” Hernon muttered as he converted onto the remaining Soviet aircraft.

*

Group Captain Winchester had descended to the lowest altitude he could safely manage and had pushed the throttle to the stops; the aircraft’s Avon engine was giving him every bit of thrust his had available; and he was jinking like mad. Like Hernon he was a QWI but was also a very experienced Qualified Flying Instructor, and was also very aware of the Hunter’s strengths and weaknesses.
The ageing aircraft did not have nearly as much thrust as the ‘Flogger’, but it was more agile at low altitude. If he could stay alive for the next minute or so, then either the ‘Flogger’ would have to disengage, or Hernon’s Buccaneer would come to his rescue.

*

The surviving ‘Flogger’ pilot was getting rather frustrated as he tried to engage this illusive black painted target that seemed to be like the willow the wisp. It would appear in his sights, only to jink away before he could fire one of his R-60 missiles. He was also very aware that there was another British aircraft out there that had just destroyed his wingman, he would have just one more chance to try a strafing run on his target with his GSh-6-300 cannon; this weapon had been designed to destroy main battle tanks and would shred any aircraft.

*

Winchester spotted the ‘Flogger’ as it climbed to make its guns run. He held the Hunter straight and level for a few seconds, pretending that he had not seen his foe until he saw the Soviet aircraft begin its run; as soon as he guessed that the ‘Flogger’ was almost in range he chopped the throttle and popped the airbrakes.
The Hunter almost stopped in mid-air and the Mig-27 overshot, climbing as the pilot sought to disengage. Winchester saw his chance; he closed the airbrakes, pushed the throttle forward again and pulled the nose up, tracking the fleeing Soviet aircraft.

He fired as the ‘Flogger’ passed into his sights, firing a long four second burst at Soviet aircraft. The first few 30mm ADEN shells passed in front of the Mig’s nose, but the majority of the shells slammed into the forward fuselage, shattering the cockpit and smashing their way along the aircraft’s spine.
The ‘Flogger’ exploded and broke up into a thousand fragments.

*

“Bloody *** hell!” Hernon exclaimed as he saw the bright orange flash in front and below his Buccaneer.

He had just been lining up a perfect ASRAAM shot on the climbing ‘Flogger’ when he had seen the flash of tracer rounds shooting out from the rough location of the Stash’s Hunter.

“Are you okay, Hops Two? Over.” Hernon asked urgently.
“I’m still in one piece, Hops One, unlike that ‘Flogger’; over.”
“Nice shooting Hops Two; over.”

0351 hours. Bodø Air Base.
The news that the ‘beer barrel flight’ had come under attack had quickly spread amongst the Buccaneer air and ground crew. Someone had managed to find the frequency that the ‘Sentry’ was using and quite a crowd had formed around the radio.
The news had also spread to the marines that their beer and spirits might be under threat and it was all the Norwegians could do to prevent some of them launching their Hornets and Intruders to go to the assistance of the British aircraft.
To everybody’s relief and elation the British aircraft had won the flight and were now on final approach to the air base. The flight line was now crowded with men and women waiting to see the victorious pair arrive.

The Hunter appeared first, as it had a shorter range it needed to land first. It touched down and taxied towards the visiting aircraft’s section on the concrete apron. As soon as the engine was shut down and the canopy opened the T.7A was mobbed by an enthusiastic crowd. While the whiskey and gin were unloaded Group Captain Winchester was carried off on the shoulders of the crowd, much to his surprise.

The Buccaneer arrived next; although it was being flown by a 237 OCU crew it wore the markings of 612 (County of Aberdeen) Squadron; taxiing until it was parked next to the Hunter. Ground crewmen enthusiastically unloaded the spare parts and beer kegs from the weapons bay.

“Nice one, Ian.” Wing Commander Schofield, the senior Buccaneer pilot at Bodø said, slapping Hernon on the back. “Not only did you keep our booze safe, but you’ve also scored the first Buccaneer air to air kill. Oh the Typhoon mates are going to be eating their hearts out over this one.”
“They’ll be even sicker when they found out the Stash shot down a ‘Flogger’ down in a Hunter.”

0430 hours. The Indian Ocean.
Rear Admiral Malinsky thought that the Indian Ocean was supposed to be warm as he bobbed around in his life raft. He had not expected to find himself floating around in the water when he left Vladivostok all those weeks ago.
Taking a biscuit out of the survival rations the admiral reflected on the events of last couple of hours that had resulted in his current predicament.

*

Rear Admiral Malinsky looked out at the crippled remnants of his squadron from the flag bridge of the Leningrad. The number of ships left after the B-52 attack had shrunk again as a destroyer had succumbed to the damage it had received.
Picking up survivors from the water was keeping the squadron’s remaining helicopters very busy and away from their ASW duties. The admiral could not help thinking that the sailors being plucked from the water were going from the frying pan into the fire.

Malinsky did not hold out much hope for the survival of his squadron. He had no air cover left, his main air defence vessel had been sunk, no ship was undamaged and the American bombers would undoubtedly return to finish the job in a few hours.
He also had strong intelligence that there were at least four enemy submarines in the area other than the one that had managed to torpedo the carrier. The best he could do for his men was to get them all into immersion suits and make preparations to abandon ship.

On the other hand if they were really lucky they might make it to within range of the air force Mig-29s based on the Yemeni island of Socotra. Malinksy cursed whoever had decided to base relatively short-ranged fighters on the island, rather than longer ranger aircraft like the Su-27, or Mig-31, which might have actually been of some help to him now.

“Anything new?” He asked his Chief of Staff.
“The French group seems to be moving off, Comrade Admiral. There is also an Indian Navy battle group, which includes the carrier Viraat closing in on us from the east.
“It looks like they intend to trail us until we reach Aden, or…”
“We’re sunk.” Malinsky completed the sentence. “Well we needn’t worry about neutrals, and the French seem to be getting out of our way…”
“Excuse me, Comrade Admiral, but we have detected two fast moving targets approaching from the east. They seem to have come from the Indian carrier group.”
“Order all ships ‘Weapons Tight’; I don’t want a repeat of the Il-38 incident.”

Malinsky got up and crossed to the starboard bridge wing. He did not have long to wait, as less that a minute later two aircraft that he recognised as Indian Navy Sea Harrier FRS.51s streaked over the squadron at medium altitude. He lifted a pair of binoculars and studied the fighters as they circled his ships.
The two Sea Harriers were carrying the standard load of two air-to-air missiles, two drop tanks and twin ADEN cannon pods, though Malinsky could also see a pod nestling between the cannons, which he took to be a camera pod. The Indians were evidently professionally interested in the results of the American bomber attack on his carrier group.
Well they would certainly be getting some interesting pictures.

‘WHANG!
‘WHANG!’

Malinsky only stopped himself from being flung to the deck, again, by grabbing hold of the edge of the flag bridge wing. He steadied himself and realised that the carrier was already beginning to list to port.
He stormed back onto the flag bridge.

“What in the hell has happened?” He demanded to know.
“We’ve been torpedoed again, comrade Admiral. The sonar is non-functional, which is why there was no warning.”

‘CRUMP!’

The Flag Staff looked up and saw that the Admiral Panteleyev had been hit amidships by a torpedo, which had broken her back. She was to starboard of the carrier, which meant only one thing…

“There is more than one submarine out there!” Malinsky said urgently. “Have whatever ASW helicopters we have left find and sink them, we don’t have much time.”

As if to emphasis this the Leningrad continued to list, anything not secured, including pencils, charts and coffee mugs slid down to the port side of the Flag Bridge.

“Ask the Captain if he thinks he can save the ship, or whether we should prepare to abandon her.”
“Right away, Comrade Admiral!”
“Comrade Admiral, we have tuned in to the frequency that the Indian pilots are using. They are speaking in plain language.”
“Well, let’s hear it. Translate for those who do not speak English.”

“Another ship has just been torpedoed, looks like a Sovremenny, her back has been broken.” An Indian accented voice said. “I don’t hold out too much hope for the carrier either, she’s been torpedoed twice in addition to the last fish she took and those two missile hits.
“To be honest, I’m surprised she’s still afloat. In any case we should have some nice pics for you, and I’d also recommend putting SAR on stand-by, there are going to be a lot of wet Bears shortly.”

“I’ve heard enough, turn it off.” Malinsky said, wearily.
“Comrade Admiral, message from the Captain. He says that the flooding below is getting progressively worse. He believes that the ship has no more than about an hour to live.”
“I see. Right, collect all of the confidential papers and put them in weighted bags. Once you have done that get yourself to your emergency stations.
“I’ll join you in a few minutes, and one more thing.”

The Flag staff paused for a moment.

“Good luck to you all.”

*

Rear Admiral Malinsky heard the clatter of approaching helicopter rotors, which meant he and the other survivors were safe. But who was rescuing them, the Americans, the French, or the Indians?
He pulled open the flap of the raft and peered outside. He spotted a pair of Merlin helicopters approaching; well it looked like the Royal Navy had found them and that they would become Prisoners of War rather than internees.

One of the Merlins banked as it approached the life raft that Malinsky was in and he saw its markings for the first time, they were not British, but Indian. The helicopter was a Merlin HMA.51 from the Viraat; they would soon be enjoying Indian hospitality.

***

[1] A full Order of Battle of the Fuerza Aéera Venezolana and a map of the air bases can be found here.

[2] The black colour scheme worn by the RAF Lossiemouth wing Hunter trainers also commemorates the famous Hunter display team maintained by 111 (F) Squadron in the 1950s, the ‘Black Arrows’.

[3] ‘Stash’, RAF slang for a Station Commander, pronounced ‘Stay-shh’.

[4] It had been discovered that the ASRAAM was too ‘smart’ to be fooled by the flares towed by the Jindivik target drones, and had attacked the drones instead.

0459 hours, 26th April, MHQ Pitreavie, Fife, Scotland.
Warrant Officer Morgan Davis put down his mug of tea and checked his watch. It was time again.

“Okay, DeeJay, start her up.” He called down to the driver of the Chieftain Mk.13.

After a couple of tries the L60 diesel engine roared into action, sending clouds of white smoke into the air. The watching Royal Marines shook their heads with amused disbelief; the Chieftain had many qualities, but being ‘Green’ was not one of them.

“Do a quick scan of that waste ground over there, Inkster. It looks like a good place to hide.” Davis ordered the gunner.
“Right oh, Chief.”

The gunner slowly traversed the turret from right to left and back again, using the tank’s TOGS to search for any potential threat. He saw a number of heat sources in front of the tank, but none of them looked suspicious.
Davis continued to drink his tea as the tank’s engine continued to run, being thankful that while the Chieftain lacked a heater for the crew, it did still have a Boiling Vessel.
He watched with suspicion as a car drove slowly past the end of the entrance to the Pitreavie site before turning onto the motorway link road and accelerating away. However there was a joint army/police Vehicle Check Point on the main road, so presumably it would have been checked before being allowed to pass.

Davis supposed that the driver was curious about his Chieftain; after all it was not every day that one saw a Main Battle Tank on the streets of Mainland Britain. Still, there was something that nagged at the back of his mind.

*

Major Suvorov risked a quick glance at the digital camera. To his relief it seemed as if it had recorded properly. He had wanted to find out the layout of security at the Pitreavie Castle site [1], and this had been the only way to do it as security was too tight to establish a covert Observation Post.
Hopefully his hidden digital camera would have recorded all of the pertinent details so that he and his men could study it at leisure when he returned to the new operating location.
The arrival of the two Chieftains, which were acting as mobile bunkers, was something of a worry. They had enough firepower to literally cut his team to shreds should they launch some form of attack on Pitreavie, and their thermal sights would easily spot anyone hiding anywhere near them. He would need to think of how to mount some kind of stand-off attack.

Mounting an attack on Pitreavie Castle was not Suvorov’s first choice for an operation. He would be happier to carry out attacks on lightly protected sites and infrastructure that could not be easily defended, however he was coming under pressure from his superiors in Moscow to launch some kind of ‘spectacular’. Destroying, or at least disrupting the site for a short while was something the navy was apparently quite keen on.

He had decided to mount his reconnaissance mission at this early hour because it was the one time that he would not be affected by the Essential Service Route closures. His new cover as a Health Department doctor meant that he had a good excuse to be out and about at this time of the morning. If possible he would have liked to also have had an ESR pass, which would mean that he would not have to restrict the time at which he went out, but a decent counterfeit pass had not yet been produced.
Until one was produced he would have to do his best with what the KGB could provide him and his men.

0710 hours. Dundee, Scotland.
As it had begun to get light the rioting in the city had finally begun to die down. Those rioters who had not been hospitalised, or arrested had slunk away to their homes as they lost the cover of darkness. The city was already beginning to count the cost of the night’s violence; every shop window in the city centre had been broken, many shops had been looted and burned out, and there was hardly a vehicle left intact.
The human cost was thankfully not as high as it could have been; only one man had died, shot in the head at close range with a plastic bullet. The ‘non-lethal’ round had crushed his skull like an eggshell, as he was trying to beat a policewoman to death with an iron bar at the time meant that he had rather brought it on himself. Two other men were on the critical list in Ninewells Hospital, having rather foolishly not gotten out of the way of charging mounted ‘Redcaps’.
The city’s police cells were full to overflowing and the overspill had been transported straight to the nearest prisons. Under the Emergency Powers their trials would be fairly swift and the punishments could be draconian.

To prevent any re-ignition of the violence and looting the Security Forces were maintaining a highly visible and strong presence on the city streets. It would be a very foolish criminal who would try something today.

*

Sergeant Paul Kelly was leading a patrol made up of half of 4th (Fife) Troop down the Nethergate towards the pedestrianised city centre of Dundee. The site of sixteen big horses carrying armed soldiers in full riot gear was judged to be intimidating enough to prevent any more serious violence. The other half of the Troop, under Lieutenant Cameron was making its presence felt up Perth Road among the housing, while the other mounted troop from Monifieth, 6th (Angus) Troop, was also mounting a pair of half-troop patrols.
The majority of patrols, however, were being carried out by soldiers and police officers in vehicles and on foot.

Kelly’s troop walked past a pair of burned out busses as they crossed to the pedestrian area. The road here was wet from the fire service’s efforts to put out the blaze.

“Aw, will you just look at that.” Kelly said sadly, pulling his horse up and pushing his visor up a bit further. “Now what was the point of that?”

A few other troopers followed his gaze. Dundee’s famous Caird Hall, venue for musical events and where graduation ceremonies from the City’s universities were held, showed signs of fire damage. Four fire appliances were still parked in front of the hall, their hoses snaking in through the front and side doors. [2]

“There was nothing in there worth stealing.” He said, disappointed with humanity in general.
“I never had you pegged down as a lover of the theatre, Sarge.” The Corporal next to him observed.
“I’m not, but I’ve taken the wife and kids to the Last Night of the Proms there on quite a few occasions, and my eldest had his graduation ceremony in there last year. Besides it just doesn’t seem right to see part of the City’s cultural heritage destroyed.
“If they’ve burned the Caird Halls, the mob will have burned the McManus Galleries and the museum too; bloody barbarians.
“Well come on, boys and girls, time to go and see if they’ve left much of the Wellgate Shopping Centre, they pretty much done for the Overgate down here.”
“You’ll have to find somewhere else to buy your paper from then, Sarge.” A lance-corporal suggested cheekily.

*

“Well thank God that seems to be over.” Chief Inspector Conway commented to the assembled police officers, soldiers, fire fighters and other emergency service personnel. “Thanks for all of your help last night. Major Armstrong I’d like to especially thank you for arriving with mounted police just when we needed them.”

Major Armstrong felt rather embarrassed. After all he had only come along with the RMP Mounted Troop as an observer.

“I’m not sure I can take the credit, Chief Inspector, but I’ll pass on your thanks to Lieutenant Cameron.”

0831 hours. The Home Office, Westminster, London.
The staff of the Home Office were still settling in to their state-of-the-art new headquarters at 2 Marsham Street, having only moved over from 50 Queen Anne’s Gate in March, where the department had been since 1978. The new headquarters, which consisted of three buildings named Seacole, Peel and Fry linked by a bridge that ran between the first and fourth floors, had been built on the site of Marsham Towers, which had served as the headquarters for the old Department of the Environment and the Department of Transport. [3]

One feature that had preceded the construction of Marsham Towers, which had survived their demolition and had to be incorporated into the design of the new offices, was a government citadel known unofficially as the ‘Rotundas’, also known by its codename ‘ANSON’. It had been constructed in the 1940s on the site of two demolished gas holders as a back-up for the Cabinet War Rooms when it had been discovered that the previous back-up at Dollis Hill (PADDOCK) was unsuitable for its intended role.
Post-war the South Rotunda had continued to act as a government citadel, briefly serving as the Central Government War Headquarters until Corsham was ready, while the North Rotunda had been used to house the ‘FEDERAL’ Telephone exchange, part of the Government Telephone Network. They had also served a number of other administrative roles, housing an ROC training school in the 1960s, and a Civil Service Sports Club until more recently. [4]
The site had last been used as a naval communications and operations centre during the Falklands and Gulf Wars, and as a control centre for any emergency that arose in government offices in Westminster.

Today the Citadel acted as a reserve government protected operations centre allocated to the Home Office as its headquarters sat above the site. Staff were more than happy to shelter in the Citadel when danger had threatened, after all its concrete protection had a proven record, having taken a direct hit during the Last War without any serious damage.

The new Home Secretary was not a great fan of the old site, but had made sure that he had a suite of offices ready to use within the complex in case Soviet attacks on the Capital became a regular occurrence. The current incumbent had only been in his job a few days, having taken up his post during the reshuffle which had accompanied the formation of the Coalition Government.
He had been hoping to take over as Minister of Defence, having had previous experience in the ministry as a junior minister, but had been given the Home Office when his predecessor had suffered a nervous collapse brought on by the pressures of the pre-war crisis and the war itself. Having served as Secretary of State for Northern Ireland at some of the most difficult times of the Peace Process the current incumbent was well known for his robust mental and physical health. If anyone could put up with the pressures of the job, he could.

One thing he did not appreciate, though, was having to be in his office by half past eight because the Mayor of London wanted to meet him. The Mayor was deeply concerned by Soviet attacks on military and governmental sites in London, and the ongoing threat of sabotage by enemy agents and Special Forces. As the Home Office was his usual first point of contact with Central Government it was the Home Secretary he had wanted to speak to.

*

“Has that information come through from the MoD yet? I want to make sure I’m prepared for the Mayor’s arrival.” The Home Secretary asked his Principal Private Secretary.
“Yes, Minister. It’s on your desk.” The PPS replied, as his boss hustled into his office.
“Good, and ask Sir John to make sure he’s here when the time comes.”
“I’ll give him a call, Minister.”
“And one more thing, see if you can get me a cup of coffee, I’m gasping for a caffeine hit.”
“I’ll see what I can do, Minister.”

The Home Secretary was still reading the last of his briefing papers when the Mayor arrived. He put the folder down and stood up shaking the man’s hand. The two men were both members of the Labour Party, though from different wings, though the Home Secretary had been a communist in his youth (‘I used to believe in Marxism, I used to believe in Santa Claus’ as he put it), while the Mayor was still on the ideological left of the party. When the leader of the old Greater London Council he had been something of a thorn in the side of the Thatcher government, so much of one, in fact, that she had the GLC abolished.
However no one could ever accuse the Mayor of being a communist, or even a fellow-traveller. While the old GLC might have been a Nuclear Free Zone it was also probably the only council in the UK to draw up a serious study into the effects of a nuclear attack on London; the famous Greater London Area War Risk Study; [5] which had recommended that civil defence plans be weighted to dealing with conventional and limited nuclear attacks as a large scale attack would destroy the city.
In his new role as Mayor he had proven to be a strong supporter of the police when they had come under fire and had made sure that London Fire and Emergency Planning Authority, which came under the control of the Greater London Authority, kept its emergency and war plans well up to date.

The Mayor was actually very proud of London’s civil protection measures. He liked to consider them the best in the UK and probably the best of any Western European capital city, and proudly showed them off to visiting dignitaries. The Mayor had put great pressure on borough councils who had been reluctant to comply with civil protection regulations. Under the devolution settlement that had created the GLA and the London Mayor, he had also taken over the position of Regional Commissioner for London, should that be necessary.

“Good morning, Ken, I presume you’re hear to bend my ears?”
“I am afraid I am, John.” The Mayor replied. “I am under a great deal of pressure from the members of the Greater London Assembly to get London better protection from air attack and from sabotage.”
“I see.” The Home Secretary replied. “I had the smart lads at the MoD send me over some information on the attacks. Apart from the missile that hit the BBC Television Centre all of the missiles from both attacks have been directed against military targets, and of those, only one, the MoD Main Building, was within Central London. Total civilian casualties have been less than two hundred.”
“That’s two hundred casualties that might not have happened if London had stronger air defences. Eight fighter aircraft and no missile defences are hardly much of a defence.” The Mayor pointed out.

The Home Secretary crossed his fingers and leaned back in his chair.

“Ken, I’m going to be blunt here, London has got the strongest air defences that it is going to get. The majority of important strategic targets in Britain are outside the Greater London Area, and besides to get to launch attacks on London Soviet bombers have to pass through our air defences, at some cost to themselves I might add.
“The intelligence people at the MoD are of the belief that the two attacks on London were as much about making us divert air defence assets from elsewhere as about destroying the targets. The Prime Minister has decided that we are not going to dance to the enemy’s tune.”
“And what do you expect me to tell the assembly members, or ordinary Londoners? That the government can not protect them?”
“I’d think you’d want to tell them the truth, Ken, that the government and the RAF are doing all they can to protect them from Soviet air attack, but that we can’t stop every one.”
“Well, John at least you’re being honest with me.” The Mayor replied. “If the government and the military can not do more to protect London from air raids, then can you give us more assistance in guarding Key Points on the ground? Some of those blackouts were caused by sub-stations being blown up.”
“Quite frankly, Ken, I’d love to give you more troops, and in this case London has more Key Points than almost anywhere else in the country. However we’re spread thin enough as it is, and London already has more than its fair share of regular troops. It’s not every region that has two guards battalions, a squadron of the Household Cavalry and the Kings Troop, RHA in addition to the Home Defence units of the Territorial Army assigned to the Capital. London also has the biggest and best resourced police service in the country and a population used to keeping an eye out for suspicious activity.
“I’ll pass on your request for further military assistance to the Chief of the General Staff himself, but I can’t make you any promises I can’t guarantee to keep.”

The Mayor didn’t look exactly happy at the Home Secretary’s answer, but at least he was satisfied that his concerns had been taken on board.

“Let General Jackson know that I’d be happy to accept as little as a platoon if he can spare one. If there is one thing I want to prevent is the murder of Londoners at the hands of Soviet agents. If the government had not ordered the police to storm the Soviet Embassy I would have ordered it myself.
“There are many things wrong with Western society, John, but if a life spent in politics has taught me one thing it is that we live in what is the least worst political system in existence, and until someone comes up with a better one we need to preserve this one from murderers and cowards who would seek to destroy it.”
“So you don’t think that the Soviets have invented a workers’ paradise, then?” The Home Secretary asked, a wry grin on his face.

“Workers’ paradise, my arse.” He replied.

0901 hours. USS Wasp, the Adriatic.
The ten MV-22B Ospreys of VMM-263 touched down on the flight deck of the assault ship after picking up their cargo from an airfield in Italy. Lieutenant Colonel Thompson hurried down the ramp of the leading Osprey and jogged across the deck towards the island, where a small knot of navy and USMC officers were waiting.

“Good morning, Colonel Thompson, I’m Colonel Dalton, C.O of the 26th Marine Expeditionary Unit. Welcome aboard the Wasp!” The American marine shouted above the sound of aircraft engines and turning rotors.
“Thank you, Sir, a pleasure to be here. I’m just glad you’ve found us something useful to do!” Thompson shouted back.
“I’m Captain Gunderson, commander of PHIBRON 4. [6] I suggest, gentlemen that we go somewhere a bit quieter to talk!”

*

“So you are pretty clear on the plan, Colonel Thompson?” Colonel Dalton asked a few minutes later in the relative comfort of the Landing Force Operations Centre.
“Yes, Sir, I am. You want to use my unit to secure Dubrovnik airport and cover your right flank.”
“That’s right. We need the airport to fly in personnel from the 6th MEB, waiting in Italy. We’ll secure the port of Dubrovnik for MPSRON-1, while the Italian San Marco and Lagunari Regiments cover our left flank.
“Once the brigade is on the ground we’ll be able to set up a secure perimeter for the SFOR forces to retreat behind. We’ll use the ‘phibs and the ships of MPSRON-1 to load the SFOR guys ferry them across to Italy, and then come back for us marines.
“If the *** hits the fan in a big way we’ll need the airport to fly personnel out and leave the heavy stuff behind.”
“If I may, Sir, can I ask what air support we can expect?” Thompson asked.
“We’ll have direct support from the six Harriers and eight Super Cobras aboard this ship, the Garibaldi has eight Harriers aboard her, and we can count on support from the aircraft attached to the 6th MEB. That’s about thirty-six Hornets, twenty Harriers, twelve Intruders, five Prowlers and eighteen Super Cobras.
“We’ve already got eyes on the ground, from our embarked SEAL team and recon platoon. They’ve made tentative contact with the Croatian militia; they won’t be getting in our way.”

Thompson nodded, satisfied with the answer.

“I’m afraid it’s going to be pretty crowded onboard for the next couple of days.” Captain Gunderson observed. “I hope you don’t mind us farming out a couple of your rifle companies to the Shreveport and New Orleans.”
“Not a problem, Sir. My lads have bunked down in tighter spaces.
“I’m sure you’ll look after us properly.”

0931 hours. Lauenförde, FRG.
Major Donald Bridges, Royal Engineers watched with some satisfaction as the armoured vehicles of the Fife and Forfar Yeomanry battle group continued to cross the river bridge from Beverungen. The Spetsnaz had been able to set off a few demolition charges, enough to cause damage to the bridge, but not enough to bring the span down.
Major Bridges’ field squadron had spent a couple of hours repairing the bridge to allow it to carry armoured vehicles. In the meantime they had also constructed a Logistic Support Bridge to replace and eventually supplement the damaged bridge.

Now that the bridge was fully repaired the Fife’s vehicles could cross with no restrictions and were moving forward to support the Belgian forces trying to hold the line to the east. Hopefully the delay encountered in Beverungen would not be critical.

“Well, Major, I think you’ve done an excellent job here.” Lt. Colonel John Thompson said to Bridges. “Thank you for your support.”
“Just doing our job, Sir.” The engineer replied to the Yeomanry officer, the pride evident in his job. “We in the Royal Engineers do aim to please. You blokes certainly helped by capturing this bridge before the enemy could succeed in his attempts to blow more than a few charges.”
“As I said, Major, I appreciate all that your men did. Anyway, I’d better be on my way…” Thompson replied as he went to mount his Challenger 2 command tank.

‘WHAM!’

The ground shook as there was an immense explosion less than a hundred meters away. Before he was thrown onto his back by the shockwave Bridges saw a few buildings along the river bank burst open like the petals of a flower in an orange, red explosion, hurling pieces of masonry and other debris into the air.

Major Bridges awoke a few seconds later lying flat on his back, staring into space. It took him a moment to realise what had happened, and he struggled to his feet.
The gunner from Lt. Colonel Thompson’s tank was helping him to his feet, while the loader and driver were assisting a few other soldiers who had been injured by the explosion.
He saw that the colonel was bleeding from his nose and ears, a side effect of the pressure wave, and touching his own nose revealed that he too was bleeding.

“WHAT THE HELL WAS THAT!” He asked Thompson.

The colonel mouthed something in reply, but he could not hear what. It was like there was still air rushing in his ears.

“WHAT?” He yelled in reply.
“Probably a ‘Scarab, Sir!” He heard the gunner shout as his hearing began to return to relative normality.
“The Soviets have evidently guessed that we’ve retaken the bridge!” Thompson yelled as he wiped the blood from his nose and ears. “We were bloody lucky that the ‘Scarab’ is nowhere near as accurate as its American counterpart!” [7]

Fortunately for the British troops in the area the Short Range Ballistic Missile had landed somewhat off-course, or the casualties could have been far worse than a few cuts and bruises, and perforated eardrums. However it was a reminder that even this far behind the front line they could still be attacked by the Soviet Army.
It was certainly a sobering thought.

1001 hours. Potsdam, DDR.
“He said what?” Colonel Yazov asked, not quite believing what Colonel Penkovsky had told him.
“He said, with the greatest of respect, Comrade General, that you should insert the surrender document into your rectum.” Penkovsky replied rather nervously.”
“I believe the correct English colloquial usage would be ‘stick it up your arse’, Comrade Colonel.” Yazov said, speaking the said phrase in English. “I met quite a few British officers who served as part of their liaison mission to us, so I’m somewhat familiar with their strange idioms.”

Inexplicably, to his Chief of Staff anyway, Yazov began to laugh, a deep hearty chortle that came from his belly.

“Marshal Ivanovsky did warn me to expect something like this, though he did think it would be ‘piss off’, rather than an invitation to use the surrender demand as a suppository.” He paused for a second as he dissolved into uncontrollable laughter again. “I like this Mallinson fellow; he has balls considering the situation he is in.
“If possible I’d prefer not to have to kill them, so I do hope he sees sense before things get too bad.”
“I’m not sure that can be guaranteed, Comrade General.”
“Then damn well make sure that everybody is clear about taking prisoners. This is not the Nazis we are fighting here, the Americans, British and French may have done things against the Motherland, but they have not raped our women and burned our villages.
“If I hear that any of our troops are not treating prisoners properly, or worse, has murdered them, then they will be severely punished, and I mean severely!”

Colonel Penkovsky was somewhat caught off guard by this sudden mood swing. Yazov had gone from a hearty host enjoying a good joke to a determined and angry individual.

“I can assure you, Comrade General, that everybody under your command will be reminded strongly of their obligations under the Geneva Convention. Any Allied soldier or West Berlin police officer who surrenders to us will be properly treated.”
“Good, good, now what is the latest news from RAF Gatow? I really can’t understand how the NVA managed to so completely screw up capturing a simple airfield.”
“Well, it seems that the British defenders were waiting for them and shot most of the leading wave of helicopters out of the sky. At the moment the defenders have been reduced to two small pockets.
“In line with your orders, Comrade General, offensive operations against Gatow have been suspended until the deadline for the surrender of the Western Garrison has passed.”
“Very good, because I want that airfield captured and available for our use within the next two days.” Yazov replied sternly.

1101 hours. Dublin, Republic of Ireland.
’26 April, 2005 was one of the turning points in Irish history. Most historians see it as the date when Ireland finally abandoned the neutrality policy first adopted in the 1920s. Many now believe that Ireland was wrong to stay neutral during the Second World War; she certainly could have joined the Allies after 1942 with great benefits and at little costs to her self; and to their credit most Irish politicians were not about to make the same mistake twice.
‘However it would be wrong to think that 26th April marked the beginning of Irish belligerency, and certainly in her speech to the nation that morning the President had been at pains to point out that the Republic of Ireland was not going to war with anybody. What the country was doing was in response to Soviet attacks on Ireland (mining her waters, and a number of terrorist type attacks) that Ireland would extend all assistance to NATO short of war.
‘While NATO aircraft were already allowed to land at Shannon airport to refuel and were also allowed to pass through a clearly defined air corridor, and NATO ships were allowed to refuel in Bantry Bay, they would now be able to use any civil, or military airport, or port while in transit to NATO territory. The President also said that no restrictions would be placed on those who wished to follow their conscience and defend freedom and democracy, clearly a reference to members of the Defence Forces who had been allowed to take a leave of absence to join the British Armed Forces.
‘The President, rather than the Taoiseach, had been chosen to make this potentially controversial address to the nation in an attempt to make it seem non-party political. In the main it worked, though the announcement did lead to the Green Party withdrawing from the Fianna Fáil lead government in protest, though the government continued to enjoy the support of its remaining partners, and the main opposition parties, Fine Gael and the Labour Party. Sinn Féin took a rather strange position, while in Northern Ireland it did not oppose British war efforts, indeed its members of the Northern Irish devolved administration actively assisted the war effort, in the Republic it took on the whole a hostile attitude to the idea of Irish belligerency, though its leadership had stated that if Ireland was attacked directly, by either side, then she should respond.
‘What Irish politicians, whatever their party affiliation, or views on the issue of belligerency, could have guessed was the gross overreaction to the broadcast in the Kremlin. It seems the geriatric, paranoid Communists running the Soviet Union misread the subtle nuances in the President’s broadcast and seem to have regarded it as a declaration of war, which it patently was not. In any case somebody took the decision that Ireland was to be punished for having the temerity to stand up for her rights.” Girvan, Brian, ‘Shamrock against Red Star – Ireland and the Third World War’ (London 2010), p.62.

*

The British, American and French ambassadors were beginning to fidget as they waited to see the Taoiseach. Their respective military attachés, on the other hand, were busily discussing the military implications of the President’s speech. If all Irish ports and airports were now to be made available then that would certainly ease their logistical burden.
The diplomats and the military officers all looked up in surprise as the Soviet Ambassador came storming out of the Taoiseach’s office looking like he had just been slapped in the face. He walked straight out of the room, not acknowledging the presence of the other diplomats.

“Hm, that was rather rude of Dimitri. I wonder what’s gotten into him?” The British ambassador commented.
“He certainly left like a scalded cat, as you would say.” The French ambassador said.
“I guess the Taoiseach told him something he didn’t want to hear.” The American ambassador opined.

“The Taoiseach will see you now, gentlemen.”

*

“I’m sorry you had to see the Soviet ambassador’s little staged tantrum.” The Taoiseach said to the ambassadors and attachés, once they had entered his office. “His government sent him to demand that we repudiate the President’s speech and close our ports and airports to NATO. When I told him our government would stand-by the speech he demanded his passports and told me that the Soviet government was cutting off all diplomatic ties with Ireland, and that should we continue to act against the interests of the Soviet Union there would be ‘consequences’.”

The NATO ambassadors were momentarily speechless. The British ambassador spoke first.

“I can assure you, Taoiseach, that Her Majesties Government will provide all support necessary to your country should it come under attack. May I also pass on our appreciation of the efforts that Ireland is undertaking to assist us.”
“The American government concurs.”
“As does the Republic of France.”
“Thank you, gentlemen. I fear we may be needing your assistance in defending our country in not too long. The Soviets have already tried to intimidate us in the recent past by staging sabotage attacks and now that they have withdrawn their diplomats I think that they will escalate their efforts.
“Finland tried to uphold their rights and stand-up to the Soviet Union and look what happened to them.”
“Excuse me, gentlemen, if I can interject.” The British military attaché said. “I can transmit a message to RAF Strike Command requesting them to adjust their Combat Air Patrols so that Ireland is better covered.”
“Thank you, Air Commodore, that is much appreciated. I do hope, however, that it is unnecessary.”

***

[1] The military history of the Pitreavie Castle site can be found here.

[2] The author’s graduation ceremonies were held in the Caird Hall. For more information see this and this link.

[3] After Mary Jane Seacole, Robert Peel and Elizabeth Fry respectively; all three having made significant impacts in the area of responsibility of the Home Office.

[4] A history of the ‘Rotundas’ site can be found here. Because of the secrecy of the Corsham site the ‘Rotundas’ continued to play the part of the CGWHQ in a number of exercises, including Fallex 62, which was uncovered by the notorious ‘Spies for Peace’.

[5] See ‘London Under Attack – The Report of the Greater London Area War Risk Study’ (Oxford 1986).

[6] PHIBRON 4 consists of USS Wasp, USS Whidbey Island, USS Shreveport and USS New Orleans, plus escorts.

[7] The American equivalents to the Tochka and Tochka-U (SS-21A and B) are the MGM-140, 164 and 168 ATACMS.

1145 hours. HM Prison Perth, Perth, Scotland.
David Stevens drummed his fingers on the table, only pausing to bite the nails on his right hand as he waited for his lawyer. He hoped that the lawyer would get him out quickly enough that he could get his next ‘fix’ before he began to get withdrawal symptoms. Lifting that telly and punching that polis were not looking like such good ideas now.
He touched the top of his head remembering the whack that squaddie on the horse had given him as he tried to run away carrying the telly in his arms. When he got out of here he’d see about suing whoever that guy was and hopefully get himself set up financially.
Stevens was what was popularly known in Scotland as a ‘Ned’, or Non Educated Delinquent. He had an encyclopaedic knowledge of his ‘rights’ and what benefits he was entitled to, but no idea that he should contribute to wider society, or had any responsibilities to match the rights.

*

In line with the policy of releasing most prisoners, apart from the worst Category ‘A’ offenders, who had been transferred to HMP Peterhead, most of HMP Perth’s inmates had been released on license. Perhaps unsurprisingly some of the rioters who had been brought to the prison were recent former inmates. [1]
As part of dealing with those arrested during the Dundee riot a special court had been convened in the prison to save transporting inmates long distances; if found guilty they would just be returned to their cells for execution of sentence.

*

“Good morning, Mr…Stevens. I’m your lawyer, Victor Hamilton. I’m here to make sure everything is all right and to prepare you for your court appearance.
“I believe you are charged with…let’s see…looting, riot and assaulting a police officer.”
“Aw, that was pure rubbish, Mr. Hamilton and what about that sojer hitting me on the head without any provocation? I mean that was pure out of order, I mean I pure want him charged with assault, like.”
“I’m not sure you understand, Mr. Stevens, you are charged with three very serious crimes, two of which under the Emergency Powers are Capital Crimes. [2]
“If found guilty of looting and rioting you could be executed. Since the last hangman died some years ago and the facilities no longer exist I presume the Crown will use a military firing squad in lieu.
“Is there anything you would like your advocate to say in mitigation during the hearing? Perhaps you were in the wrong place at the wrong time? Did you get caught up in the riot, and maybe that police officer struck you first? Perhaps you would like to throw yourself on the mercy of the court, Mr Stevens?”

Stevens was left speechless by the word ‘executed’, which was something that happened to Americans on TV shows, not here in Scotland. Even people found guilty of murder were not executed here.

“Aw, naw they cany dae that!” He exclaimed. “That’s no’ right, like. Ah, like, know ma rights. They cany just shoot somebody just like that.
“You’ve got to get me oot o’ here, Mr. Hamilton. Ah mean, like how long can they keep me locked up for before they have to try me?”
“As long as they like, Mr. Stevens; the Crown could even send you to the internment camps on the Isle of Man if it so chooses.
“The fact is that you will go before the court this morning. The prosecution will lay out its case and state that several witnesses have made statements saying that they saw you carry out the crimes that you are charged with; the senior Judge will already have read these statements and will rule on whether he thinks they are admissible. Your advocate will then make the case for the defence, based on what you instruct me here, and the court will make its decision as to your guilt, or innocence and pronounce sentence if necessary. It should take, oh, about an hour.”
“Whit aboot a jury? Hiv they not got tae mak’ a decision, like?” [3]
“Oh there won’t be a jury, Mr Stevens, just a panel of three judges. Like in the Lockerbie case.”
“The whit? I mean tell them, like, I’m really sorry. I got caught up in it like, I wiz on the bevy, ye ken. Didn’t know whit I wiz doin’.
“Somebody telt me to lift that telly and ah just did it, ye ken. Then that polis tries to stop me an’ before ah ken whit I’ve done I just belted him wan and legged it.
“Then this sojer on a dirty big cuddy comes efter me and belts me on the heid, like, and some other sojers lifted me and slung me in a lorry.
“That’s, like, the honest truth, man. I’m really, really sorry about what happened.”

Stevens, who normally like to think of himself as a bit of a hard man, was almost in tears now. A crime seemed that bit more serious when the Crown might take one’s life.

“Very well, Mr. Stevens, I’ll make sure your advocate tells the court that you deeply regret and apologise for what happened. I think if we let them know that what you did was due to the influence of alcohol and being in the wrong place at the wrong time, I think we can avoid the maximum sentence.
“I have to be honest with you though, Mr. Stevens. I believe that you are looking at perhaps a couple of years in prison, minimum.”
“Ah dinny care aboot that, Mr. Hamilton. I’ll day whatever time they give me, just make sure they dinny shoot me, like.”

1151 hours. USS Enterprise, northeast of Iceland.
Captain Jonathan ‘Jim’ Kirk, USN (yes he had heard all of the jokes) scanned the horizon with a pair of binoculars. He could just make out the distant shapes of the USS Kearsage and USS Bataan coming over the horizon, the other amphibious ships and their escorts also slowly began to reveal themselves.

The damage inflicted on the USS Enterprise by the recent Soviet attack had been far less serious than Soviet satellite reconnaissance might have led STAVKA to believe; most of the damage had been made good though her number four catapult would be out of action for some time yet.
Vice Admiral Clancy had decided that he needed to detach one of his CVNs to meet and escort the amphibious group carrying much of the balance of the II Marine Expeditionary Force; minus the 6th MEB, which was in the Mediterranean and the 4th MEB, which was already in Norway. To convince the Soviets that the ‘Big E’ had been damaged worse than she had the admiral had chosen her for the task of escorting the ‘phibs, and had ordered her to proceed to the rendezvous at reduced speed.

While many of the marines would be flown to Norway, their heavy equipment needed to go by sea. To do this the US Navy had assembled every available amphibious ship on the East Coast of the United States; including some of the old Newport class LSTs and the LKA USS Charleston. At the centre of the group, however, were the four assault ships the USS Nassau, USS Kearsage, USS Bataan and the USS Iwo Jima.
Even with the largest assembly of amphibious ships since 1951, the navy had needed to use three of the Bob Hope class RO-RO ships to transport much of the heavy equipment and munitions.

This collection of vulnerable amphibious and transport ships was surrounded by an escort screen only slightly less strong than that protecting the carrier strike force, and included some ships which had been recently mobilised from the Naval Reserve Force. The marine Harriers had been providing air defence until this point, but now the Tomcats and Hornets aboard Enterprise would take over most of that task.

“Quite a sight, Sir.” The Officer of the Deck commented.
“Sure is, Lieutenant, sure is. Last time we assembled an amphibious group this big was probably Inchon; take a good look boys and girls, you won’t see the like of this again.” Captain Kirk replied. “Another couple of days and those ships will be unloading in Norway.”
“Aren’t the Russians due to hit the Main Line of Resistance about that time, Sir?” The OOW wondered.
“Yes, Lieutenant, that’s correct.” Kirk said, a trace of irritation creeping into his voice. “Though I’m sure the troops on the ground at the moment are strong enough to hold the initial attack.”

*

Lieutenant Cartwright flinched slightly as a pair of marine Harriers buzzed her Viking rather closer than was comfortable.

“Damn Jarheads.” She muttered. “Big E this is Scouts two four. Can you tell those marines to go play somewhere else unless they want a fish in their nice shiny assault ship, over.” She said testily into the radio.
“Roger that, two four, we’ll see they take their fun elsewhere, over.”
“I’ve got something!” The acoustics operator called out. “A brief tickle on the MAD; can you bring us around again, Bart as I’d like to lay a string of ‘buoys across the contact.”
“Okay, Phones hold on.”

Cartwright banked the S-3B quite sharply, reversing course and descending to an altitude from where it would be able to lay a pattern of sonobuoys. The buoys dropped away from the aircraft and descended towards the water on small parachutes.
Once the pattern had been dropped Cartwright climbed and circled while the acoustics operator listened.

“I’ve got something, Bart. It’s a quiet son of a bitch, but it’s definitely a sub, a Sierra, or an Akula maybe.”
“Okay, Phones don’t lose it. TACCO get the fish warmed up, I’m just going to check and see if it’s not one of ours.
“Big E this is Scouts two four. Have sub-surface contact my location; please confirm that it is not friendly, over.”
“Two four there are no friendly subs in your area. All friendly subs are ahead, or to the rear of the group. Good hunting, over.”
“Roger that Big E thanks, out.
“You heard the man, TACCO, go get me a submarine.”
“Okay, Bart, hold her steady…bay doors opening…weapon away…and tracking…sounds like a good hit!”
“Good work, TACCO. Can you hear break up noises yet, Phones?”
“Not yet, Bart, too much disturbance from the explosion.
“Wait, it’s beginning to clear now…son of a bitch! That goddamn submarine is still moving!” The acoustics operator exclaimed.
“Right, Phones, second fish away…and tracking.” The Tactical Co-ordinator said.
“That’s a good hit!”
“She’s going down this time for sure, TACCO…yup, I can hear break up noises.
“Must have been a Sierra class to survive a hit from an Mk.50 like that.”
“Well done, guys, that was nice work.” Cartwright told the rear seat crewmen. “Now keep ‘em peeled for any more subs that might be out there.”

1201 hours. Camden Town, London.
“So that’s two ham, three ham and cheese, three ploughman’s, two BLTs, a ham baguette, a ham and English mustard roll and a bacon and egg roll, and eight teas, all with milk and two sugars, two cokes, one diet coke, a Pepsi and one coffee with milk and two sugars.” The assistant in the sandwich bar said before handing over the paper bag, just to make sure everything was correct. [4]
“That’s right, miss.” Corporal of Horse Sid Lowe, a troop sergeant in The Blues and Royals (Royal Horse Guards and 1st Royal Dragoons), replied with a smile. “This should cover it.” He said handing over some notes.
“Thanks, always happy to help the army.” The assistant said, flirting with Lowe.

The Corporal of Horse, the idiosyncratic equivalent of Sergeant in the Household Cavalry, smiled politely and reflected that Julie, his wife, a Corporal in The King’s Troop, RHA, was a million times better looking than this example of womanhood. Besides she would cut off his balls with a bayonet if he so much as looked at another woman.

“Okay, Louie, you grab this lot, which is for everybody in your Landy.” He said to the Lance-Corporal of Horse who served as second in command of the patrol once they were out of the shop.
“Right oh. I take it that coffee is for the copper?” Lance-Corporal of Horse Louie Peel asked.
“Yup, it’s for Constable Fletcher. Must think he’s a Spam, or something; good bloke though.”

*

The patrol that Corporal of Horse Lowe was leading was made up of men who were part of the Household Cavalry Mounted Regiment, a ceremonial mounted regiment made up of a squadron each from The Life Guards and The Blues and Royals. In peacetime they were to be found performing a variety of mounted and dismounted ceremonial tasks mainly in London, though occasionally outside. In wartime they became the reconnaissance squadron of London District, equipped with a variety of Land Rovers and 4-tonne lorries.
Their horses had been sent away to the Defence Animal Centre at Melton Mowbray, and their accommodation taken over by two troops of the RMP Mounted Regiment.

As they were already trained in the reconnaissance role the HCMR had taken on responsibility for the majority of the mobile patrols that the army was mounting in Greater London. Apart from guarding Key Points, and of course assisting in the riots, the army was trying to keep a low profile in big cities in London, hence they patrolled in either armoured ‘Snatch’, or un-armoured ordinary Wolf Defenders, rather than, say the opened topped WMIK version armed with GPMGs and 12.7mm Browning HMGs, although they were to the regiment and the Yeomanry regiments assigned to Home Defence. [5]
To ensure ‘police primacy at all times’ and to give them access to the police radio system at least one police officer accompanied every army patrol while they were on the streets. The patrol itself was made up of six men each from both regiments and was travelling in a pair of ‘Snatch’ armoured Land Rovers. [6]

*

“Right you lot, here’s your lunch.” Lowe said banging on the rear hatch of the Land Rover. “Eat it up quick as we’ve got work to do.”

Lowe took his place in the forward passenger seat and handed the driver his cup of ‘NATO Standard’ tea.

“There you go, Fred. Don’t spill it like last time.”
“Don’t worry, Corporal of Horse, I scalded my legs last time I did that.” The trooper replied. “And I had to sit in a wet seat for hours.”

*

About half a mile away from the location of the patrol a Jeep Grand Cherokee pulled up outside a bank. The Jeep had been stolen the day before for this particular task, and because of their wartime workload the police had not even began to search for it.
Five men, all armed with either sawn-off pump action shotguns, or automatic rifles and all also carrying handguns, got out. The sixth man, the getaway driver remained in the vehicle keeping the engine running.
The six men were part of a gang of professional bank robbers; they had planned this particular ‘bank job’ down to the last detail, having performed reconnaissance of the area several weeks in advance and finding out when the branch would have the most money. They had also decided that the war would make things easier for them as most of the police force was caught up in other tasks and thus too busy to keep tabs on possible bank robberies.
One small detail they had overlooked in the planning was the possibility that a patrol of twelve heavily armed soldiers might be in the vicinity.

The robbery itself took less than ten minutes to complete, so well versed in their art was this gang. However one teller had managed to press the button that set off the silent alarm, but the gang were already heading out of the door with their ‘loot’.
At this point the two HCMR Land Rovers turned into the street, about one hundred meters away from the bank.

*

Corporal of Horse Lowe spotted the Jeep parked outside the bank, noticing the driver still in the vehicle but took no further notice of it. At least not until he heard his police liaison officer’s Personal Radio give out a warning that there was a suspected armed robbery in progress.

“Bloody hell, that’s the branch over there!” Lowe exclaimed. “Stop, Fred, block the road!”
“Right oh.” The driver replied, swinging the Land Rover hard over to the right, blocking the path of the Jeep.

The occupants of the second Land Rover did not quite know what was going on, but Lance-Corporal of Horse Peel assumed that it must be something important and instructed his driver to block the remaining part of the road.

The bank robbers were faced with something completely outside of their experience. However they fell back on their usual way of dealing with someone trying to block their escape route, they tried to use their weapons to intimidate whoever it was from not following them.
One of them fired his shotgun at Lowe’s Land Rover, trying to disable it, while another opened fire with an AKM at Peel’s. While the ‘Snatch’ was notorious for its armour being inadequate to protect it from some Improvised Explosive Devices its composite armour was more than capable of protecting it from shotgun pellets and 7.62x39mm bullets.
The two bank robbers did not have time to realise the futility of their actions as they were cut to shreds by 5.56mm rounds as the top cover sentries on both Land Rovers returned fire.

“Out, out, out!” Lowe yelled to the occupants of his Land Rover, and over his PRR.

He clambered out of the right hand door, having had the unnerving experience of hearing and seeing shotgun pellets strike the window by his head. He ducked down, using the bonnet as cover, before peering round the end. The surviving robbers had taken shelter behind the jeep, clearly shocked at the level of firepower deployed by as few as four soldiers.
Lowe saw that the driver was about to reverse; he was looking backwards over his shoulder; and that the gang might escape yet. Intending to prevent this he fired four shots through the windscreen of the jeep and had the satisfaction of seeing the driver slump down out of sight.
One of the patrol’s LMG gunners fired a quick burst into the engine block, turning the V8 into a useless lump of metal, and thus preventing any other member of the gang from trying to use the Jeep to escape.

Off in the distance Lowe could hear police sirens, so at least reinforcements were on their way, but now was the time to push forward and prevent the three remaining gang members from attempting to flee on foot.
He signalled to the other troopers, using hand signals to let them know what he wanted them to do.

“Move, move, move, NOW!” He said into his PRR, before jogging forward to the nearest cover, a shop doorway.

From his new vantage point he could just make out the left heel of one of the gang members, sticking out from behind the now bullet ridden Jeep. It was just too much of a temptation to a good soldier like him.
He took careful aim and fired a single round through the man’s heel.
The robber screamed in agony and rolled out from behind the Jeep clutching at his bloodied heel.

“Throw your guns out and come out with your hands up!” Lowe shouted, deciding to give the others a chance to surrender.

There was no response.

“I’m going to give you just ten seconds to surrender and then I’ll have one of my men fire a grenade into your car!”

There was no way that Lowe was actually going to order one of his troopers to fire a 40mm grenade into the Jeep, not with all the civilians that were around, but he was banking on the fact that the surviving gang members would not want to take the chance.

“Okay, okay, we’re coming out! Don’t shoot!”

An FN rifle, a sawn-off shotgun and a pair of pistols were thrown out from behind the Jeep. They landed on the road with a clatter.

“Come out slowly!” Lowe yelled.

The two remaining unwounded gang members stood up from behind the Jeep, their hands above their heads. Four HCMR troopers jogged forward and searched the two men for any hidden weapons before pushing them to the ground and securing their wrists with PlastiCuffs.
By now two police Armed Response Vehicles had arrived at the other end of the street. The police officers had approached cautiously, not being entirely sure what was going on until they had seen the soldiers standing over three suspects lying on the road, one of whom was bleeding from a wound to his left foot.

Lowe peered into the rear of the Jeep. The interior was spattered with blood from the driver’s wounds and one of the bags of money had been split open, spreading £50 notes all over the rear of the car.
The Corporal of Horse picked up one of the bloodied bundles of notes, and shook his head.

“So this is what they were willing to risk their lives for.” He muttered before throwing the bundle back down amongst the rest.

1229 hours. H.Q RAF Strike Command, RAF High Wycombe.
“You want me to do what, Jock?” Air Chief Marshal Johnson said into the phone, incredulous.
“You heard right, Mike.” The Chief of the Air Staff replied. “The MoD wants you to send air defence aircraft and some ground based air defence assets to Shannon Airport in Ireland. The Irish are allowing us to use it for MPAs and transport aircraft, so it needs defending.”
“Jock, I’ll give you and answer Air Vice Marshal Hazel will give to me: where am I going to take the assets from? I do have a small reserve of fighters, but sending any to Ireland will stretch my assets to the limit.
“I also fail to see why we need to handle ground defence of Shannon. The Irish Army has air defence weapons that could handle the job, and this is one area where I have no real reserve. I’ve already lost one flight of Oerlikon guns to Gibraltar, and if I have to send any more GBAD weapons somewhere else it will mean that one of our assets will be left undefended. I trust the MoD has thought of that?” [7]
“I’m just telling you the requirements from the politicians, Mike. The Irish are offering to help us, so we have to help them. To be honest I’m sure they’ve not thought the consequences through fully.”
“Well you’ve got to tell them, Jock, and have they let SACEUR know about this? Those assets are under his command at the moment.
“I’d also be seriously worried about what support Shannon can offer my aircraft. What I would be happy to do would be to move a detachment of fighters to Aldergrove, where we can at least support them until Shannon can be made ready to support military aircraft.
“Anyway, how come we are being asked to do this? The Spams have plenty of spare aircraft. I’m sure they could spare an entire squadron of Eagles to defend Shannon.”
“I’m sure that’s true, Mike and I’m sure the Irish would probably prefer American protection over us. You send your aircraft to Aldergrove and I’ll suggest to the politicians that just maybe our American cousins might be better able to handle this particular task.”
“I’ll let you know when they’re in position, Jock.” Johnson replied.
“You do that, Mike. I’ll speak to you soon, good bye.” The Chief of the Air Staff said before hanging up.

Johnson sat back in his chair and looked out of the window of his office. He could just make out the building that had been destroyed by the Soviet cruise missile.
Despite the continued danger of air attacks on the station, he had decided that he needed to get out of the bunker for a while and see some sunlight for a change.

“Problems, Sir?” Flight Lieutenant Jackson asked as she entered the office.
“Possibly, Susan, very possibly.
“The Chief of the Air Staff has just informed me that our political lords and masters wish to send some fighters and Rock Apes to Shannon Airport in Ireland. They evidently seem to think that I can pull extra assets out of a hat, as if by magic.”
“I imagine you let Air Chief Marshal Stirrup know of the consequences if air defence assets are sent to Ireland, Sir?” Jackson asked.
“I did, Susan. I also suggested that perhaps the Americans might be better able to handle this particular mission. In any case I agreed to the deployment of some fighters to Aldergrove in the interim, so I’ll need to speak to Air Vice Marshal Hazel about that, and put in a call to SACEUR for me, it seems that nobody has thought to inform General Baker that the air defences of his rear base are being mucked about with.”
“Very good, Sir.
“Are you planning on remaining above ground much longer?”
“I am; I rather enjoy the sunshine, Susan. And yes, I am aware of the danger involved. I can reach the bunker entrance inside of four minutes from here I’ll have you know; so there is no need to fuss.”

Flight Lieutenant Jackson knew Johnson well enough to know not to argue the point any further.

“All right, Sir, just doing my job.” She replied with a smile.

1301 hours. USS Theodore Roosevelt, Vestfjørd, Norway.
Vice-Admiral Clancy could hardly believe it; the Striking Fleet had made it to its destination without further loss. The USS Theodore Roosevelt and the USS George Washington were cruising up and down the north-western side of the fjørd, keeping close to the shore, steaming just fast enough to generate enough wind over the deck to allow flight operations.
The other two carriers of the Striking Fleet, the USS Dwight D. Eisenhower and USS Harry S. Truman had taken up residence in Andfjørd, a short distance to the north, while the two British carriers of the ASWSTRIKFOR, HMS Invincible and HMS Ark Royal, were in the sheltered waters of Hadselfjørd, which allowed them to cover both operational areas where the big CVNs were operating.
The TR and the Invincible had both been here before; having exercised the Lofoten carrier bastion concept as far back as 1988 during Exercise ‘Teamwork’, though to most ships this was new ground. [8]

Clancy knew that he had won a major naval victory over the Soviets just by getting the majority of his group to the Lofoten Bastion. Now that they were here there was little that the Soviets could do to remove them, short of using nuclear weapons, and if that happened the admiral knew he would not be around long enough to worry about it.
Enemy submarines would now only be able to approach the group down a narrow couple of corridors, where friendly ASW assets were concentrated and CAPTOR mines had been laid. Similarly bombers could only approach one or two ways, and would have to pass through land-based air defences if they came over Norway. Moreover the multitude of islands that made operating in these fjords so complicated tended to confuse missile radars.

The arrival of four carrier air wings worth of fighters and strike aircraft promised to take a great deal of pressure off NATO’s land-based air assets. The Striking Fleet’s Tomcats and Hornets were already contributing to air defence missions, while Intruders and other Hornets were already attacking the Soviet Army as it advanced south towards the main defence line.
Liaison officers from the fleet had been sent ashore to ensure that the carrier air wings would be fully integrated into AFNORTH’s air defence network and with its strike operations. If the Soviets decided to attack his group, Vice-Admiral Clancy wanted to make sure that everybody was singing from the same hymn sheet.

*

“There we are, Sir, the Big W has begun to launch!” Clancy’s Chief of Staff, Captain Turner called out.

Clancy followed the Captain’s outstretched arm and spotted the first Tomahawk missile streaking into the air on a column of white smoke from the USS Wisconsin, whose Surface Action Group had joined the ASWSTRIKFOR in Hadselfjørd. The battleship and her other cruise missile equipped escorts continued to launch missiles for another minute before ceasing fire.

“Well I hope my counterpart in Murmansk appreciates the little calling card we’re sending him.” Clancy commented with a smile. “It should be a regular occurrence from now on.”

For the moment it was a bit too far for strike aircraft from the Striking Fleet to reach targets in the Kola Peninsula, and besides they were needed to support the ground forces. However there was nothing to stop the fleet from using its ‘other strike aircraft’ to attack targets in the Kola, and until he either ran out of missiles, or targets, Vice-Admiral Clancy planned to continue attacking Soviet facilities.

“In another forty-eight hours we’ll have an additional carrier air wing and a whole lot of extra Tomahawks to play with, Mike.” Clancy said enthusiastically. “I don’t think I’d want to be on the other side right now.”

***

[1] Some background information on HMP Perth.

[2] See here for background on wartime Emergency Laws.

[3] In Scotland a jury in a criminal case has 15, rather than 12 members.

[4] A tea, or coffee with milk and two sugars is knows as ‘NATO Standard’ in the British Army, see link.

[5] WMIK – Weapons Mount Installation Kit, see here for details.

[6] See this short article about the ‘Snatch’ here.

[7] The Irish Army use the RBS-70 MANPAD SAM and the Bofors L70 40mm Light Air Defence Gun for Ground Based Air Defence purposes. See here and here.

[8] See Grove, Eric ‘Battle of the Fiørds – NATO’s Forward Maritime Strategy in Action’ for more information on ‘Teamwork’ and the carrier bastion complex.

1410 hours. Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, Florida.
Captain Harry Caine, commander of Battery D, 4th Battalion 265th Air Defence Artillery Regiment, Florida Army National Guard, looked back towards Pad 39A, which he could just make out from his vantage point near Pad 41. It was quite a thought to think that men had gone to the moon from that pad.
Two batteries, A and D, of the 4th of the 265th ADA Regiment had been deployed to Cape Canaveral AFS in order to provide point air defence for the Kennedy Space Centre; however NASA were still rather reluctant to host military units on their property, even though there was a war on, so the battalion had instead been deployed on air force property.

The 4th of the 265th was a relatively new unit, having been formed from a cadre from its sister unit the 2nd of the 265th, which was now deployed in Germany, only eighteen months ago. While the lower numbered battalions of the regiment were equipped with the new MIM-120 Surface Launched AMRAAM (SLAMRAAM), which the army had procured to replace the MIM-23K HAWK, the newly formed air defence battalions had been equipped with the older missile system, though the eventual plan was for them to be equipped with Patriot, or SLAMRAAM. [1]
As the 4th was not yet considered fully combat ready and until the recent arrival of members of the Individual Ready Reserve had been under strength, it had been decided to retain the battalion in the United States and assign it the job of protecting a vulnerable installation, such as the KSC.

Given the inexperience of his men and women, Captain Caine felt that it was perhaps lucky that the air force had deployed a handful of the HMMWV based SLAMRAAM launchers to back up the battalion. However the unit’s overall lack of experience was not really an issue, was it, who after all were they going to need to shoot at down here? This was Florida, not West Germany.

*

“Good morning, Caine.” The gruff voice of Lieutenant Colonel Rex Trip, a Texan who had moved to Florida a decade earlier, said, breaking the captain’s train of thought. “How are things?”
“Good morning, Sir. I guess I can’t complain; my people are using the time here to carry out some training. We’ve been tracking quite a few aircraft in the area, doing a bit of tracking practise.”
“Good work, Caine, just be careful locking up some air force jets. I once heard a Brit Harrier launched a simulated missile at a police radar gun, so who knows what might happen if you lock up an armed jet.” [2] Trip told him. “I must say I am rather impressed by the fact that you’ve set up defensive positions and wire around your position.
“It’s good practise for us, Colonel.” Caine replied, taking his sun glasses off for a moment. “One of these days the army might send us to somewhere slightly more dangerous than Florida, so I want to be as ready as possible.” He continued, putting his sun glasses back on.
“Well I’d better be on my way, gotta check on Battery A down at the other end of the Cape. You keep up the good work, Caine.”

1430 hours. H.Q AFNORTH (Forward), near Kolsaas, Norway.
A gentle breeze whipped around General Sir Nicholas Sumner, CINCNORTH and the reception party gathered by the helicopter pad. The UH-1Y Venom they were waiting for appeared over the nearest hill and put down on the pad, General Sumner holding onto his black Royal Tank Regiment beret to prevent it from blowing away.
The passenger and a couple of members of his staff, who had recently landed at Oslo Gardermoen Airport, had borrowed the UH-1Y from the Air Combat Element of the 4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade, since it would be coming under his command soon. The passenger approached General Sumner and saluted.

“Good day, General Burns, welcome to Norway.” Sumner said returning the salute. “We’re certainly glad to know that the rest of your marines are only a couple of days away.”
“I’m certainly glad to be here, General.” Lieutenant General Douglas S. Burns, USMC, the commander of II Marine Expeditionary Force, replied. “My marines are looking forward to kicking ass and taking names.”
“Quite, General, I’m sure they are.” CINCNORTH observed, wondering if the Royals propensity to get naked, or wear women’s clothes was preferable to the ultra-gung-ho attitude of the Spam marines. “I suggest we go somewhere a little less draughty to continue this conversation.”

*

“And that, General Burns, is basically the strategic situation in Norway at the moment.” General Sumner said rounding off his short briefing.

Sumner liked to do some of these briefings himself for other senior officers visiting his headquarters. He liked to think it showed he had a grip on the situation.

“So the Soviets are still at least forty-eight hours away from the MLR?” Burns asked, as if this was the enemy being a bit unsporting.
“That’s correct, Sir.” Sumner’s Chief of Staff, a Norwegian Major General, replied. “The sheer distance from the Kola to our main line of resistance in Troms means that even if we were not attacking them they would face a major road march. Had the Soviet plans for D-Day not gone awry, then we would have been facing a major amphibious force in our rear, and probably a series of airborne landings.
“Our air forces were able to destroy the landing force and deter the airborne landings.
“However in two days time the Soviets will be in a position to launch attacks on the MLR, and we believe that their forces advancing though northern Finland will hit the right flank of the line about a day after that, so your marines will be more than welcome.”

Lt. General Burns glanced across at a map of Norway hanging on board on the other side of the trailer. An idea began to form in his head.

“Say, when the rest of my guys arrive we’re going to have one hell of an amphibious force available. Why don’t we use some of it to cut off the Soviets’ communications?” He suggested.
“We’re ahead of you there, General.” Sumner replied with a smile. “We’ve retained the amphibious ships of the UK-Netherlands Amphibious Force in Norwegian waters and held 3 Commando Brigade in reserve for precisely that eventuality.
“If we were to use one of your brigades, then that would be an even stronger force in the enemy’s rear. Of course we would need to wait until he has well and truly committed himself against the MLR for it to have the most effect.”
“I like your thinking, General Sumner. I’m not one for this static line holding game; we need to take the war to the enemy.
“By the way, who will I be reporting to?”
“You’ll be under Commander, North Norway. A Generalløytnant Christian Stubø; a very experienced officer.” Sumner told him. “I’d make sure you pay him a visit once you’ve got your H.Q set up.”
“What sort of force does he have up there at the moment? I don’t seem to have my briefing notes to hand at the moment.” Burns asked.

Sumner reached across and picked up a document from the table.

“Here you go.” He said handing it across.

‘Forces available to COMNON’ it read.
‘Norske Korps:
1st Division,
6th Division,
Brigade 15,
4th Marine Expeditionary Brigade,
5th Airborne Brigade.

‘Under direct command COMNON:
5e Groupe-Brigade Mécanisé du Canada,
3 Commando Brigade.

Notes:
Remainder of II MEF, 10th Mountain Division (Light Infantry), 34 and 36 Canadian Brigade Groups are in the process of deploying to Norway. The 4th MEB will be transferred to the command of II MEF once it is operational.’

“That seems fairly comprehensive, General.” Burns said. “Can I keep this?”
“Of course, we’ve got plenty copies of it.” Sumner replied.

1435 hours. Charlottenburg, West Berlin.
‘WHAM! WHAM! WHAM!’

Private Hargreaves and the rest of her section tried their best to squeeze even further into their foxholes as Soviet artillery shells reduced the buildings around them to rubble. A few meters away a Saxon APC belonging to the Glosters had been reduced to a flaming wreck when it had taken a direct hit from a 152mm shell.
R Company had endured over two and a half hours of intense shelling, which only paused to allow Soviet attack aircraft and helicopters to bomb them. They had not had it all their own way, as a couple of Su-25s had been brought down by ‘Startreak’ missiles and a ‘Hind’ had been brought down by a ‘fin’ round from one of the Challenger 2s supporting the company.

‘BOOM!’

The back blast from the tank gun pulled at Hargreaves’s uniform. If one of their supporting Challys was firing at something that meant that the enemy was attacking again. She risked peeking over the lip of the foxhole and saw a T-72BM burning after being hit by a 120mm HESH round, another T-72 fitted with a dozer blade pushed it out of the way, clearing the street, and returned fire.

‘WHANG!’

The Soviet ‘fin’ round struck the turret of the Challenger 2 and ricocheted off into space in a shower of sparks. The Soviet tanks were not yet close enough for their 125mm guns to have a chance of doing serious damage to their British counterparts.

“Get your heads up!” Hargreaves shouted at the half section that she was now responsible for; in the initial barrage the lance-corporal from the Royal Engineers who was second in command of the section had been eviscerated by a shell fragment and Hargreaves had stepped into the breach without needing to be asked. “They’re coming again.
“We’re ready here, Corp.” She said into her PRR.
“Okay, Lucy, stay sharp. Remember that out orders are to hold here until we’re given orders to pull back. Even if that means…” His voice tailed off.
“Yeh, Tim, I know. Good luck.”

The Soviet infantry were moving forward, using every piece of cover available and leaning close on the rolling barrage. What mortars and machine-guns the British had left had already begun to fire on then, knocking down several Soviet soldiers as they broke cover to continue the advance.

“Open fire!” The voice of the RMP sergeant commanding the platoon yelled.
“Fire!” Hargreaves yelled, repeating the order, before squeezing the trigger on her rifle.

Soviet infantrymen twisted and fell as they were hit by concentrated small arms fire. The more experienced among them took cover and began to return fire, while a couple of Soviet BMP-2s moved forward to provide covering fire, but instead got caught up in a fire-fight with a couple of Scimitars and an FV432 RARDEN, which left both BMPs and one of the Scimitars on fire. [3]
With the armoured vehicles essentially cancelling each other it now became largely an infantry battle.

*

Captain Shaw was listening to the radio traffic from her platoons in the rear of the FV432 that was serving as her armoured command vehicles. Things were sounding pretty grim.

“I think we may have to commit our reserve soon, David.” She commented to the RE lieutenant who served as company 2.i.c.
“You could be right ma’m. Anyway, I’d better get off; it wouldn’t do for both of us to get slotted.” He replied before climbing out of the rear of the FV432 and making his way to the reserve C.P.

Shaw had managed to carefully husband a composite platoon to serve as her reserve and counter attack force made up of a section of the platoon of The Gloucestershire Regiment that was under her command, and the remaining sections made up of RMP, REME and RE personnel. If it did look like the Soviets were going to break through Shaw would commit her reserve platoon and reconstitute a final reserve from the H.Q platoon; if that needed to be sent into action then she would personally lead it.

“Get onto battalion.” She snapped to the radio man in the rear of the APC. “Let them know that now would be a good time to send us any support they may have.”
“Yes, ma’m.”

*

Private Hargreaves bayoneted the Soviet soldier standing in front of her. He had hesitated on seeing the clearly female face in front of him and paid the price. She bayoneted him again, again and again; he collapsed clutching at the wounds in his belly and groin.
He looked up at her, a wondering look in his eyes, just before she shot him twice in the head. She looked up grasping her rifle tightly in full killing rage, looking for new targets to kill.

“Jesus, Lucy, I think he’s dead.” The reassuring voice of Sergeant-Major Collins said. “Calm down, they’re gone.”

She wiped the blood off her face and looked at the CSM.

“They’ll be back, Sarn’t-Major.”
“Yes, Lucy, I’m afraid they will.” He replied.
“Then I’m going to take as many of the *** with me as I can.” She said savagely, slightly shocking CSM Collins.

Her transformation from mild mannered AGC clerk to battle-hardened infantryman was complete.

1501 hours. San Antonio de los Baños Air Base, Cuba.
Colonel Vorishnov read the message that had arrived from STAVKA, via the Group of Soviet Forces Cuba, for a second time and wondered just how many aircraft Moscow thought he had. The message told him that he had two primary targets, CENTCOM H.Q at MacDill AFB and the Port of Miami, and one secondary target, Cape Canaveral Air Force Station; evidently the proposal to attack the Kennedy Space Centre had been rejected; and, if possible, he was supposed to mount a diversionary attack on NAS Key West.
Almost as an afterthought the message reported that all targets now had SAM defences and that a reserve carrier wing had been deployed to NAS Key West. [4]

*

“Well, Comrades, we have been given our orders from STAVKA. It seems that our suggestions were rejected in favour of those chosen by ‘experts’ in Moscow.” Vorishnov told the senior pilots and planning staff of the 168th Fighter Regiment. “We have been given two primary targets, CENTCOM headquarters at MacDill Air Force Base and the Port of Miami, and one secondary target, Cape Canaveral Air Force Station. If that is not enough we have also been encouraged to launch a diversionary attack on NAS Key West.
“To help us in our task the GRU has supplied us some new information on American defences, the most important from our point of view is that an entire reserve navy carrier air wing has been deployed to NAS Key West. Our assigned targets also now have SAM defences.”
“So someone in Moscow has decided to try to get us all killed.” One of the senior pilots commented laconically.

Vorishnov smiled. There was nobody in here from the GRU, or KGB, at least as far as he knew anyway, and besides what could they do to them? Send them to a Gulag? Well, they’d need to find a way to get them back to the Soviet Union first.

“Perhaps, Yuri, perhaps. It brings extra excitement into our sad little lives anyway. The really bad news is that we are expected to launch the mission today because the GRU believes that our fraternal Comrades in the DGI may get wind of our plan very soon.”

A groan rose up around the room from all present. They knew that the chances of coming back alive were reduced by having to launch the mission with not enough time to plan properly.

“The good news is that the navy has a cruise missile submarine off the Florida coast, which will fire its missiles at the same time we are making our approach. We have also been promised that Spetsnaz units in Florida will assist us when the time comes.”
“Comrade, Colonel, a couple of things occur to me.” Another pilot said. “The first is that there are more pilots in the regiment than aircraft, and that our army colleagues are now in the area, the second is that there are a number of perfectly good Cuban air force Migs on this air base that could serve our purposes very well.
“The Cubans are going to intern any of us that make it back from this mission, so why don’t we take over this air base completely and use their Migs?”

The Colonel leaned back in his chair and thought about the proposal.

“That, Comrade Major is a very devious plan.” He said evenly. “Which is why I like it and why I am going to speak to our Comrades in the army about carrying it out. The most interesting part of the plan is that the Americans will see Migs in Cuban markings, which will confuse them somewhat.
“I am now going to turn this briefing over to our Intelligence Officer, who has the most up to date information about the enemy’s defences.
“Comrade Major.”
“Thank you, Comrade Colonel.” The Intelligence Officer replied.

He pulled down a map of Florida showing the main air bases and SAM locations.

“The main threat to our mission is from American fighters. The first fighters we are likely to run into are from Carrier Reserve Air Wing Thirty, which has been deployed to Naval Air Station Key West; what will most concern us are the two squadrons of B model Tomcats and two squadrons of upgraded A model Hornets.
“ELINT also shows that Hawkeye aircraft are providing radar coverage. We also know that NAS Key West is protected by a marine SAM battery equipped with the Surface Launched AMRAAM system.
“Further to the north at Homestead Air Force Base there is the 482nd Tactical Fighter Wing of the US Air Force Reserve, which has one squadron of F-16Cs.
“Alongside the navy squadrons from NAS Key West this unit has been observed on Combat Air Patrol over the Florida Straits.
“The next fighters we are likely to encounter are F-15A-MISP Eagles of the 125th Fighter Interception Wing at Jacksonville International Air Port. We believe that this unit may have dispersed its fighters to other airfields in Florida.
“We must also be aware that we may encounter C model Eagles and even F-22s from Eglin and Tyndall Air Force Bases.
“Now onto the SAM defences; in addition to what I have mentioned a moment ago we know that MacDill AFB is protected by at least two batteries of SLAMRAAM. Cape Canaveral Air Force Station is protected by two batteries of HAWK, and at least one SLAMRAAM battery, and there is what is suspected to be a full HAWK battalion in the Homestead-Turkey Point area to protect both the air base and the nuclear power station.
“Intelligence on the ground has also reported that the various SAM batteries are also themselves protected by Humvee Avengers. There are also two HAWK batteries as yet unaccounted for, however intelligence has reported that there is no SAM defences at the Port of Miami.
“If you do need to eject DO NOT do so over the Everglades unless you wish to be eaten by an alligator. If you eject over land do your best to surrender to local police, or National Guard troops as the local population is to be considered hostile and probably armed. However Spetsnaz units on the ground will do their best to rescue downed air crew.
“If you come down over the sea we will do our best to rescue you, but you must be prepared to be captured by the US Coast Guard, and take plenty of shark repellent unless you want to be lunch for a Great White.
“An extra interesting piece of intelligence is that we have learned that in the next two days that the Americans are planning to launch a reconnaissance satellite using a Titan IVB rocket. It is already on the launching pad and would make a nice bang were somebody to hit it with any item of ordnance.”

The pilots had been making copious notes, and had been updating their maps to show newly identified defences.

“So, Comrade Major, have you any more good news for us?” Vorishnov asked irony heavy in his voice.
“I’m afraid that will have to do for now, Comrade Colonel. Should any more come my way I will make sure you are the first to know.”

1535 hours. USS Harry S. Truman, Andfjord.
Lieutenant Commander Jacqui Wiser, the Operations Officer of VFA-105 ‘Gunslingers’, was tired and aching after returning from a particularly tough combat mission. She had been leading a flight of four F/A-18E Hornets assigned to protect a pair of RAF Jaguar GR.3As on a reconnaissance mission over the advancing Soviet Army. Mid way through the mission they had been jumped by eight Su-27 ‘Flankers’.
The engagement had become a real ‘furball’ very quickly, ending after five of the ‘Flankers’ had been shot down and one of the Hornets damaged. The two Jaguars had escape with their vital photographs, but to add insult to injury, at least in Wiser’s eyes, the fifth Su-27 had been downed by an ASRAAM missile from one of the British aircraft.
The remaining three Soviet aircraft had decided to disengage, while the damaged Hornet had safely landed at Tromsø airfield.

On her way to debrief she was handed a message that had been sent to her via H.Q Second Fleet.

“Goddamn towel heads!” she exclaimed on reading the message. “They’re damned lucky I’m up here!” She continued, adding a string of colourful curses.
“Something wrong, Tiger?”
“Sure is, CAG. The Goddamn Iraqis have shot down my cousin’s fiancée, she’s a POW, though I don’t know if that is much of a comfort to Matt considering the way they treat their prisoners.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, Tiger. Your cousin is an Intruder driver, isn’t he?”
“Afraid so, CAG, despite all my efforts to the contrary, he’s insisted on continuing to fly Intruders. Lisa, his fiancée is an Intruder driver too; birds of a feather, I guess. I was going to be Maid of Honour at their wedding, but I guess that’ll be indefinitely postponed now.”
“Maid of Honour? That’s not something I’d associate with you, Tiger, not after all those bar fights you’ve won.” The Commander Air Wing said with a grin.

Lieutenant Commander Wiser laughed.

“Now I thought everybody knows that it’s the old Rhino drivers that are the depraved perverts.”
“Touché, Tiger.” CAG, who had served as a very junior pilot in the last squadron equipped with the F-4S Phantom II, replied. “Besides, I only ever did one tour in the old Rhino before moving on to the Tomcat. Now that’s a jet I can still kick your young ass in, Tiger, black belt, or no black belt.”
“In your dreams, CAG, and stop thinking about my ass, unless you want JAG chasing you about sexual harassment.”

This time it was CAG’s turn to laugh.

“You get yourself off to debrief, Tiger, and stop being cheeky to your elders and betters.”
“Elders maybe…” Wiser remarked as she headed off to debrief.

The Commander Air Wing smiled; at least he had made her concentrate on something more positive than the shoot-down of her cousin’s fiancée. He shuddered at the thought of what those barbarians were probably doing to a fellow aviator; at least the Soviets were civilised.

1601 hours. Al-Rashid Military Intelligence Centre, Baghdad, Iraq.
“I said I don’t know how the damn AEGIS system works.” Flight Lieutenant Johns said for the second time. “I’m in the Royal Air Force, not the US Navy. They don’t let those outside the navy, let alone non-Americans.
“All I’ve ever been told is to avoid AEGIS equipped ships.”

One of Johns’ Iraqi interrogators slapped him hard enough across the face to open the cut above his left eye again. The British pilot blinked hard to try and clear the blood that was now streaming into his eye.

“You lie!” The man spat, raising his hand to hit Johns again.
“No wait, I think the Flight Lieutenant is telling the truth.” The senior interrogator, a quieter man, said. “The Americans are notoriously tight-lipped with their secrets, even with their so-called allies.
“However I think that the Flight Lieutenant can perhaps tell us about the Tornado and the strength of the RAF in Kuwait.”
“Johns, Peter, Flight Lieutenant, third November Nineteen Seventy Seven…”Johns began to say.

The junior interrogator punched Johns in the stomach; he doubled over and fell to floor of the interrogation cell. His assailant grabbed hold of him and roughly shoved him back in his seat.

“Now that’s not the answer I was looking for, Flight Lieutenant.” The senior man said gently. “Now perhaps you would like to tell me how the Sky Shadow ECM pod works?”
“I don’t know.” Johns replied. “It works automatically; the Sky Shadow was not my responsibility, I’m just a pilot. I just fly the ‘plane to where I’m ordered.”
“Well, it seems that the Flight Lieutenant does not wish to talk to us today, in that case he does not need to eat tonight.
“Take him back to his cell; perhaps he will be more talkative tomorrow.”

*

Lieutenant Commander Lisa Eichhorn was sitting outside the interrogation cell, chained to a bench next to a young army PFC who had been a member of the Maintenance Company that the Iraqis had overrun a few days earlier.
She looked up as a bloodied and bruised Flight Lieutenant Johns was dragged out of the cell. The Iraqis had stolen his flying boots and the guards made a special effort to stand on his unprotected toes.

Despite looking like he had gone ten rounds with a heavyweight boxer, he still managed a wink with his uninjured eye.

“Hello, Lieutenant Commander Eichhorn.” The senior interrogator said. “We’re ready for you now; I do hope that you will be a bit more forthcoming than before.” He said with a satisfied smile.

Eichhorn smiled back, slightly unnerving the Iraqi, who thought he was close to breaking her spirit.

“*** you, Abdul, and the camel you rode in on.” She told him.

She caught a brief glimpse of a guard in her peripheral vision swing a truncheon at he, felt immense pain as it struck her right cheek and then she blacked out.

1701 hours. Fort Knox, Kentucky, USA.
The line of green painted buses made their way through the main gate of the Armoured School, packed with the first batch of draftees for the armor, and cavalry branch.
Private Joseph Kowalski looked around him nervously. This was a long way from college where he had been studying until drafted. He had received his draft notice within a few hours of the President’s decision; it seemed as if the Selective Service System had been prepared to get the ball rolling for quite some time.
The lottery for the first batch of draftees had been televised, coast to coast, and the draft notices sent out almost as soon as it was finished.

*

Kowalski, a native of New York City, had reported to his designated mobilisation centre, where he was issued with his uniform and had filled in numerous forms to arrange for his pay to begin, his medical details and who his next of kin were. Once that was completed, he and the other men of the initial batch of NYC draftees were sent off to the various training schools where they were to begin their training proper.

His father was old enough to have been drafted last time Selective Service was in operation. Joe Kowalski Senior had not talked much about his service; though his son knew he had done a couple of tours in ‘Nam (as he called it) with the 11th Armored Cavalry Regiment. Once war with the Soviet Union had broken out Kowalski Senior had begun to talk a bit more about his experiences, hinting that he thought that his son should considering enlisting.
However before Kowalski could make up his mind the government made the decision for him; but if asked he had decided to say that he would have enlisted anyway.

*

Staff Sergeant Kenneth Taylor watched, hands on hips, as the green buses stopped in the parking lot in front of him. Taylor had not had to deal with conscripts before, even though as a member of the 85th Division (Training), US Army Reserve, preparing to train draftees was part of his job.
He was wondering quite how he was going to treat this particular group of recruits, after all they were not the usual cross section of society that the army usually trained. With the changes to the Selective Service System there were far fewer deferments; claiming to be gay, joining the National Guard, or fleeing to Canada or Britain were no longer options to get out of serving. [5]
He also did not think that rich Daddies would be buying their sons medical deferments.

He decided that it was probably best to treat them the same as any other recruits.
Taylor strode forward to where the draftees were being formed up by other, more junior NCOs.

“Good morning, ladies!” He shouted to the assembled mass. “Welcome to Fort Knox and the 85th Division. Over the next six weeks we are going to be getting to know each other a bit better; you are probably going to learn to hate me, but I am going to turn every one of you into men and more importantly into good soldiers.
“Right now good men and women are dieing to preserve our freedoms and way of life; it is your duty to do your utmost to become good soldiers so that you can support those still fighting. If we are going to defeat the Soviet Union and her allies, we are going to need every soldier we can get.”

***

[1] Similar to the CLAWS system used by the USMC; the USAF have also procured a small number of SLAMRAAM systems for defence of forward airfields not already covered by Rapier, or Roland.

[2] The ZEUS ECM system thought it was a hostile radar and automatically launched a missile at it. In a similar story a Sky Shadow ECM pod on a Tornado caused a radar gun to overheat and explode after sending jamming signals to it.
Sadly it has now been revealed that this story is certainly apocryphal.

[3] The FV432 RARDENs have received the same Bulldog upgrade as the rest of the British Army’s FV430 fleet, including the appliqué armour.

[4] This is CVWR-30. The reserve wing is formed of:
VF-301, VF-302 (both F-14B), VFA-303, VFA-305 (F/A-18A+), VA-304 (A-6E/KA-6D), VAQ-309 (EA-6B), VAW-88 (E-2C), HS-85 (SH-3H), VS-81 (S-3B).

[5] Details of changes to the SSS since Vietnam can be found here.

1745 hours, 26th April. British Army Training Unit Suffield, Canada.
To the relief of Lieutenant Colonel Reece Forty the Canadians had finally found spare railway capacity to move the heavy equipment of his battle group to the nearest port where it would be loaded onto container ships for onward passage to their eventual destination. Someone in the DND had evidently decided that moving a British battle group was as important as moving a militia brigade group.

Some news had just come through from the MoD as to their eventual destination, so Forty had brought the senior officers and NCOs of the battle group together to brief them on the changes.

“Well, gentlemen, it seems that the ‘Box’ has decided that the best place to send us is not Europe, as we had expected, but Kuwait.” Forty told the assembled men, which caused quite a stir. “The Spams, Ozzies, and even the Kiwis are sending reinforcements to the theatre so we have to be seen to be doing the same thing.
“Those with more scrambled egg on their hats than us have decided that they are going to use the resources of our units at Suffield and Wainwright to create a new brigade headquarters and send it and us to Kuwait, where it will also take command of the Royal Irish Regiment battle group.
“From the ‘Box’s’ position it makes sense to send us, like the 1st Royal Irish, we also have a squadron of the 17th/21st Lancers and a battery of the 26th Field Regiment under our command, which would simplify things no end.”
“Well I could certainly do with improving my tan, Colonel.” The Major commanding C Squadron, 17th/21st Lancers commented. “And it will be nice to swap dust and flies for sand and flies.” He added, causing all present to chuckle.
“Means we’ll have to indent for desert kit, Sir.” The Quartermaster remarked. “Wouldn’t do to turn up in greens.”
“That’s a good point.” Forty conceded. “While our vehicles might just fit in, colour wise, I have the feeling we’ll be inappropriately dressed.
“I’ll speak to the GOC and see if the ‘Box’ can get a supply of desert kit sorted out for us.
“Now are there any other questions?”

All those present shook their heads.

“Good.” Forty said. “Well we’ve got a couple of days to get ourselves together before we’re due to fly out to Saudi. Our heavy equipment will take quite a bit longer, but at least it will give us time to get acclimatised.
“Okay, I’m not going to keep you here any longer. Let your lads know what’s going on; I’ll speak to the battle group in an hour to bring them up to date.”

1801 hours. H.Q NORTHAG (Forward), near Reindahlen, FRG.
“We’ve got a serious problem brewing down in the Belgian sector, Sir.” General Horne’s Chief of Staff said. “The 10th Mechanised Infantry Brigade has crumbled and the Soviets have broken through to the southeast of Göttingen. General Dehaese says that he has committed his last reserve elsewhere.”

General Horne studied the map table as he took the information in, studying the unit symbols and their positions. He knew that H.Q CENTCOM had a fancy electronic map table, provided by the U.S. Army, where one could zoom in on areas and examine them in detail. However he preferred the good old fashioned map table, at least it would still work if the power failed, or a shell fragment went through it.

“They’ll bounce the Leine unless we do something to slow them down, though I fear we’ll have to pull back behind the river anyway.
“How long until the 7th Armoured Division gets there?”
“About three hours, Sir, apart from the 9th Armoured Brigade most of the division is still in the process of crossing the Weser, the 3rd Brigade of the American 2nd Armored Division is about an hour behind the British, and the French 10th Armoured Division won’t arrive until this time tomorrow.”
“Time to use the 24th Airmobile and 27th Luftlande Brigades then.” Horne said. “God knows I don’t like putting light infantry, no matter how many anti-tank missiles they’ve got, in front of the sort of armoured juggernaut that the Soviets are going to send through that gap, but we’ve no choice, unless we want them to capture the crossings and cut the Belgian line of retreat.
“We’ll need to put them here.” He said indicating to the map. “They’ll hold until General Dehaese has his forces safely back over the river, and then we’ll form a new line along here.
“Better get me a line to him.”
“Yes, Sir.”

*

“Good evening, Xavier.” Horne said a few minutes later once the secure line had been connected to H.Q I (BE) Corps. “Not having too great a day, are we?”
“Ah, you British and your understatements.” Lieutenant General Xavier Dehaese replied. “It would not be an understatement to say that I am having the worst day of my career. My reserves are gone and the enemy are about to come streaming through a gap and cut off my line of retreat, so I do hope you have some good news for me, Sir.”
“I think I do, Xavier, I’m giving you the 24th Airmobile and 27th Luftlande Brigades. They’ll hold the Leine crossings so you can pull back across them, then we can reform the line using your troops and the other reinforcements when they arrive. More good news is that the British 7th Armoured Division should be in place within three hours and the 3rd Brigade of the American 2nd Armored Division about an hour later.
“The French won’t be in place until tomorrow, though, I’m afraid.”
“That is some good news, Sir. If those two brigades can hold the river crossings for a few hours I can get my troops across, link up with the reinforcements and reorganise the line.
“It’s not going to be an easy job for light infantry, Sir, but the Belgian Army will respect their sacrifice and not let them down.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything else, Xavier. I have the utmost respect for you lads.
“Good luck.”

1823 hours. Outside Hameln, FRG.
Major Craig Vian, O.C B Company 1st Battalion, The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, made a few last minute checks of his equipment, making sure that he had enough magazines, first aid dressings, iron rations and that his PRR was working. All seemed to be in order, so he checked as many members of his company as he could, even though he knew each soldier would have already been checked by his ‘oppo’.
Well it was one way to stop him from getting too nervous. The sound of approaching helicopters made him look skywards.

“Looks like the Soup Dragons have arrived, Sir.” The Company Sergeant-Major observed. [1]
“I see them, Sarn’t-Major. Have the company prepare to mount up.”

*

The 1st Battalion, The Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders, and the rest of the 24th Airmobile Brigade, had been waiting for several hours now for the order to deploy. They knew they would be operating outside of the area where they had expected to operate, though they had exercised down in the Belgian sector in the recent past, and would be operating alongside some old friends, the 27th Luftlande Brigade.
Now the word had come down on high that the brigade was to go into action; the Soviets had broken through down south and now the brigade would get the chance to find out whether forty-two Javelin anti-tank launchers per battalion, supported by artillery and aircraft, would be enough to stop an armoured spearhead.

As a helicopter transportable unit, the 24th Airmobile Brigade could be deployed almost anywhere within NORTHAG’s Area of Operations very rapidly. However, rather ironically, once there they became light infantry, mainly dependent on their feet and a few vehicles, making the brigade not particularly mobile.

*

The Lynx AH.7s and AH.9s, followed by RAF Merlin HC.3s and Chinook HC.2s, set down in the fields around Hameln. Above them Apache AH.1s assigned to escort the brigade while it was being moved, circled, keeping an eye out for any possible threat.

Major Vian and the other eight soldiers he would be travelling with sprinted forward towards their assigned Lynx AH.9, keeping their heads down, so as to avoid the spinning rotor blades. The major threw his bergen into the cabin and climbed in after it, leaning against the rear bulkhead, clutching his rifle tightly.
Once the last man was aboard the helicopter’s door gunner pulled the side door shut.

“That’s the last of them.” He told the pilot.
“Okay.” The sergeant replied. “Are we clear left?” He asked the co-pilot.
“Yup, we’re clear.”
“Right, let’s go.”

The helicopters carrying the men and equipment of the 1st Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders lifted majestically into the air, rather resembling a scene in a certain war film, except these helicopters were really going into battle.

1851 hours. Outside Konjie, Yugoslavia.
Captain O’Hanlon watched the approaching Soviet reconnaissance group; BRDM-2Ms, followed by T-90s and BRMs; as they approached the positions that the Reconnaissance Platoon of 4th Infantry Battalion. His men had deployed a few Javelin and Carl Gustav anti-tank launchers and a couple of MAG GPMGs, their orders were to briefly engage the Soviet vanguard before pulling back to where the rest of the 4th Battalion and the squadron of Swedish Leopard 2s from the Norrbottens regemente supporting them.
Covering their line of retreat were four AML-90s from the 1st Cavalry Squadron, two troops of which were attached to the 4th Infantry Battalion.

“Remember, everybody, one shot then we’re out of here.” O’Hanlon told his men. “If we hang about the Russians will clobber us.”

The Soviet vehicles continued to advance, blithely unaware of the Irish infantrymen watching their progress. The Javelin gunners took careful aim at the T-90s while the Carl Gustav gunners lined up on the BRMs.

“Wait for it…wait for it…
“Fire!” O’Hanlon ordered.

Four Javelin missiles shot off into the air, already tracking their targets. As soon as the missiles were clear of their tubes the Javelin gunners packed up their equipment and jogged back towards the waiting Mowag APCs.
The Soviets were not slow in spotting the missiles streaking towards them, and popped smoke and manoeuvred to try and avoid them, not that it was effective. The four missiles tracked their targets unerringly and destroyed them.

A pair of BRMs emerged from the smoke, surging forward as they tried to locate the source of the anti-tank missiles. The Carl Gustav gunners engaged both of these vehicles, knocking one out and disabling the second, before they too took to their heels, jogging back towards the waiting APCs.
A few soldiers on foot also emerged from the smoke and were immediately engaged by the two GPMGs, cutting down some and driving the others to seek cover.

‘CRUMP!
‘BOOM!’

A 125mm HEAT shell exploded only a shot distance away from the positions of the recce platoon. Another one impacted even closer a couple of seconds later; it was time to go.

“Let’s go!” O’Hanlon yelled. “Move, move, move!”

The remaining men hurried back to the APCs, moving in short rushes, making sure that the enemy were not getting too close. Fortunately the Soviets were continuing to suppress the defences they thought were still in place, even calling down a barrage of 152mm shells, vindicating the captain’s decision to withdraw when he did.

O’Hanlon found the four APC’s impatient to get moving, revving their engines hard as they prepared to escape down the road towards the battalion’s main positions. The captain leapt into the rear of the last APC.

“Okay lets move!” He shouted as the hatch was slammed behind him.

*

Lt. Colonel Morgan had been tracking the brief engagement a few miles up the road via the brief radio transmissions, and now everyone could hear the tank and artillery fire. He knew that he had to hold Konjie for a few hours until the British battalion behind them was in position to repeat what he was doing here.
One thing Morgan was glad of was the support he would be getting from the Swedish tanks, and Brigadier Haines had told him that he was to be given priority for artillery support, though SFOR was somewhat short of artillery tubes, and Close Air Support. Almost to emphasis the fact two aircraft which the Colonel recognised as American Hornets roared over the battalion’s positions.

“Now there’s a sight for sore eyes, Sir.” The adjutant commented.
“It is, to be sure, Captain.” Morgan replied. “Nice to know that the outside world has not forgotten us.”

1920 hours. Charlottenburg, West Berlin.
To Captain Shaw’s relief the Soviets seemed to have decided to leave her company alone for a while. The last attack, though vicious, had petered out and she had not needed to commit her reserve platoon, instead the company was making good use of the lull in the fighting to move forward its reserve ammunition and get a bite to eat.

“Re-supply has arrived, Ma’m!”

Shaw stepped out of the rear of the FV432 in time to see soldiers from the RLC unloading crates of ammunition, and what looked like anti-tank rockets from a couple of lorries.

“What have you got for me?” She asked as strode across to the two vehicles.
“Some 5.56mm and 7.62mm ammo, grenades, a few Javelin rounds, some LAW-80s, though we’re getting a bit short of those, so we’re making up the numbers with old 66s.
“Best I can do Ma’m, I’m afraid. I guess we weren’t expected to hold out for so long.”
“Have you got any 40mm grenades and 12.7mm ammo, Sergeant?”
“I’ll have a look, Ma’m, but I think so.
“You managed to get yourself a few Brownings eh, Ma’m?” The RLC sergeant commented as he looked in the back of the lorry. “Very resourceful that…ah yes here we are, some 40mm grenades for UGLs and 12.7mm ammo. It’s not been allocated to anybody Ma’m, so its all yours.”
“Thanks, Sergeant, I appreciate it.” Shaw told him.

*

In the Command Post at the Olympic Stadium complex Major General Mallinson was wondering just how much longer his forces could hold out. When he was just facing the East Germans he was sure that he could hold out for at least another week, as they seemed to be fighting with one hand tied behind their back, but the Soviets were a different matter, they had no qualms about utterly wrecking West Berlin in order to win.
Mallinson knew the power of Soviet artillery and tactical aircraft at first-hand; the headquarters staff had been forced to relocate underground when the stadium complex had come under sustained artillery and air attack, leaving much of it reduced to smouldering rubble.

“Sir, we’ve just received a message from RAF Gatow.” Mallinson’s Chief of Staff said grimly, insinuating that it was bad news.
“Let’s hear it.” The general said wearily, wondering just how much worse things could get.
“It’s quite short, Sir: ‘Out of ammunition, God save the Queen.’ Signed Flight Lieutenant Andrew Carden, RAF Regiment.”
“Well, they held out longer than anyone could have expected them to.” Mallinson commented.

He crossed to the situation map hanging on the wall and looked at the progress of the enemy advance.

“Well, they’re still largely playing by the script of CENTER.” He observed. “I wonder if my counterpart is congratulating himself on his troops having cut West Berlin in half as planned?”
“Won’t do them much good, Sir; apart from some units of the police who refused to withdraw from the northern half of the city, everyone is concentrated down here.”

There was a deep rumbling off in the distance and dust dropped down from the ceiling. The staff in the bunker reflexively looked up at the roof, as if expecting to see the first cracks appearing.

“Sounds like they’re hitting the stadium again.” Mallinson said. “Persistent, if not all that imaginative.”
“Sir, we’ve lost the radio mast again.” The senior Royal Signals officer reported.
“Switch to the back-up masts.”
“Ah… that was the back-up, Sir.”
“Bugger.” Mallinson muttered.

1945 hours. San Antonio de los Baños Air Base, Cuba.
Taking over the rest of the Air Base had been easier than Colonel Vorishnov had expected. The Cubans had been taken completely by surprise and were now confined to their quarters under armed guard and the air base surrounded by Soviet troops.
Vorishnov was gratified that no Cubans had been killed or injured in the process, though the potential for Cuban casualties was not going to stop him carrying out his orders.

The 168th Fighter Regiment’s technicians were now working on the Cuban Mig-29s, getting them ready to participate in the raid. A worrying number of them were unserviceable, or had potentially dangerous faults. Colonel Vorishnov had decided that the hijacked Cuban Migs would therefore take off after the Soviet ones, just in case one of them crashed on the runway.

*

Colonel Vorishnov finished the external checks of his Mig-29 before climbing up into the cockpit and beginning to turn on the systems. As regimental commander he would be leading the attack against CENTCOM Headquarters and, if he had any munitions left, a secondary attack against Cape Canaveral Air Force Station.
A member of the ground crew helped him to strap-in and he started the two Klimov RD-33 engines and started to taxi towards the threshold of the runway.
Once lined up he pushed the throttles to the stops, engaging full reheat, and began his take-off run.

Within ten minutes the Soviet Migs were airborne and circling above the airfield as they formed up into their respective groups. On the ground the fourth hijacked Cuban aircraft was beginning its take-off run, it had just gotten airborne when the starboard engine briefly lost thrust before flaming out. Knowing that there was no way he was going to be able to maintain height, the pilot ejected, fortunately just a few seconds before the Mig hit the ground and exploded.

As Colonel Vorishnov had feared many of the Cuban Migs had potentially fatal problems and about half of those assigned to the strike had to abort before they even got airborne. A few others had to turn back when only a few miles away from the air base.

1950 hours. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
Rear Admiral Freeman looked down at the flight-deck from his perch on the Flag Deck. The last few sorties of the day were in the process of returning to the carrier before it switched over to night operations.

“You wanted to see me, Sir?” Captain Seavey said.
“Yes, CAG.” Freeman replied. “I’ve got some good news for you; CENTAF has approved ‘BAGHDAD THUNDER’, with a few minor changes. Since they’ve also got POWs in Iraq the air farce wants to participate, the Brits and the Saudis too.
“As you know we’re received intelligence that Saddam is planning a parade of the POWs on the 28th, so at least we have a day to work out the final plan and get everybody prepped for the mission. The parade is also going to be shown on Iraqi TV, so I think it would be good if we could make an appearance.”
“That is good news, Sir.” Seavey replied. “I’ll stand-down most of the air wing for the next twenty-four hours, to give everyone a chance to get some rest before the mission is launched. I presume the air force and the marines can take up some of the slack?”

Freeman nodded.

“Okay, that’ll make our lives a bit easier, then.” Seavey remarked. “My planning staff can concentrate on getting the finer details of the strike worked out. It should make things easier for the guys and gals in the squadrons too if they are not having to worry about planning for CAS and BAI missions on top of this one.”

*

Lieutenant Commander Wiser was working on some paperwork that had been building up over the last couple of days. Taking over as the squadron’s Executive Officer while remaining Operations Officer had increased his workload two-fold.

“Hey, Guru, I’ve got some good news for you.” Commander Compton said as he stuck his head into Wiser’s cabin. “The Brass has given a green light to your plan.”
“They bought the entire proposal?” Wiser asked, having half expected some staff weenie at H.Q CENTAF to have rejected it.
“The whole thing, the only alterations they’ve made is to allow the air force, Brits and Saudis to participate.
“We’ve got a day to make the final preparations; we’re due to launch at 0900 hours on the 28th.”
“Well I sure looking forward to raining on Saddam’s parade.” Wiser remarked with some glee.

1955 hours. Titusville Airport, Titusville, Florida.
Private Nick Townsend did not enjoy having to perform sentry duty; it was certainly not what he had joined the National Guard. Even in the late afternoon the Florida sun was still quite hot, and of course he and his fellow sentry could not stand in the shade, oh no, they had to stand right out in the sun.

Since Battery B, 4th Battalion 265th Air Defence Artillery Regiment had set up at the airport the National Guard had taken over security. The battery had added extra barbed wire and built a few sand-bagged machine-gun posts to protect its equipment.

Townsend looked up as he spotted a small military convoy of two Humvees and a pair of trucks approaching the gate he and his fellow sentry was guarding. He raised his left hand, signalling them to stop and approached the passenger’s side of the leading Humvee.

“Good afternoon, Private, I’m Cap’n Carlin, State Defence Force. Me and my boys here have been assigned to provide additional security for you guys and gals in the Guard.” [2]
“Glad to see you, Sir.” Townsend replied, relieved at the idea that someone might make his life easier. “I’ll need to summon the Corporal of the guard before I can let you onto the airport though, Sir.”
“No problem, Private, wouldn’t have expected anything else.” Carlin replied in a very laid back fashion.

Five minutes later the Corporal of the guard was studying the orders that Captain Carlin had handed to her.

“I’m sorry, Sir, but we’ve not heard anything about reinforcements from the SDF.” She said reading the orders for the second time.
“No problem, Corporal…ah…Delko, I’m sure there’s been some kind of communications snafu somewhere.”
“Wouldn’t surprise me, Sir.” The Corporal replied with a smile. “If you just park your vehicles over there and then follow me, I’ll let you speak to the battery commander. I’m sure we can get this straitened out.”

While the vehicles were making their way to the parking spot that Corporal Delko had indicated Captain Carlin did not spot her radio for the deployment of the Quick Reaction Force.

“You guys keep an eye on them until the QRF arrives.” She ordered the two sentries. “I’m going to take the captain across to speak to the C.O.”
“Okay, Corporal, you can count on us.” Townsend replied, un-slinging his M16 to show his greater readiness.

*

“I’m really sorry, Captain Carlin.” Captain Rory Speedle said once Carlin had entered the battery command vehicle. “I’m afraid we’ve not heard anything about you guys.
“I’ll need to check with battalion H.Q.”
“I’m sure that’s the best thing to do, Cap’n Speedle. I’m sure that the Brass will get this little snafu ironed out.”

As Speedle picked up the radio handset to contact battalion headquarters he spotted some movement out of the corner of his eye. Turning to his surprise he saw that the SDF captain was in the process of drawing his sidearm.
Speedle quickly drew his own Berretta and pointed it at Carlin.

“What the hell are you doing?” He yelled. “Put that damn gun down!”
“Got ourselves a bit of a Mexican stand-off here, eh, Cap’n?” Carlin said jovially, somewhat inappropriately for the situation.

The yelling had attracted the attention of the other Guardsmen in the command vehicle and one reached for an M4 carbine. Carlin shot him before he was even half way to the weapon.
Deciding that this SDF officer had clearly gone insane Speedle pulled the trigger on his own pistol.

‘CLICK!’

“***!” Speedle swore as the weapon jammed and he struggled to clear it.
“That’s just too damn bad, Cap’n.” Carlin said before shooting Speedle in the head.

*

Outside Corporal Delko had heard the first pistol shot, cocked her rifle and had started to sprint towards the BCV. To her immense shock she had barely taken a few steps before she found herself lying face down on the ground.
She blacked out before she realised that she had just been shot by a sniper.
Private Townsend and the other sentry at the gate also did not manage to get a shot off before they were killed by two members of the ‘SDF’, who were in fact Spetsnaz.

The Quick Reaction Force arrived at this point, their vehicles running into a hail of small arms fire and RPGs, which destroyed the leading Humvee. The few uninjured survivors bailed out of their disabled vehicles, took shelter and began to exchange fire with the bogus ‘SDF’ troops.

While the surviving members of the QRF were caught up in a fire-fight with the Spetsnaz covering force, others were making attacks on the battery equipment. The easiest way to destroy, or disable a launcher, radar unit, or any of the other vehicles was through the use of Rocket Propelled Grenades. It certainly saved time when compared to using explosive charges.

*

Stepping out of the BCV, continuing to cover those inside with his pistol, ‘Carlin’ threw a smoke grenade back in through the hatch, followed by a fragmentation grenade. As he expected the smoke grenade came sailing out through the hatch a few seconds later, but there was no time to find the other grenade.
He hurried back towards the vehicles that they arrived in, intending to recall his men. In order for this attack to be successful they had to escape before reinforcements arrived or the remaining members of the battery got properly organised.
Carlin suddenly felt two sharp pains in his side and collapsed onto his back. He looked up and saw a female lieutenant with the name Procter on her uniform pointing an M4 carbine at him.
He began to raise his right hand towards her, but she fired twice more.

***

[1] Soup Dragon is a nickname for the Lynx AH.9, earned because they were often used to carry soup to troops in the field during exercises. An alternative nickname is ‘Wheelybin’. See link.

[2] Florida does not currently maintain an active State Defence Force, though Florida Statutes do authorise the Governor to form one if the National Guard is in Federal Service. See here for details. It is presumed that Florida, like a number of states in @ who have no active SDF have formed such units in TLW

2010 hours. GMT. H.Q SAC, Offutt Air Force Base, Nebraska.
“So boys and girls, I am charging you with a very important job.” General Mike Kozlowski said to the assembled staff officers. “We have been given the mission of hitting military and strategic targets in the Soviet Union in retaliation for the attacks on DC and New York. The only real restriction that the NCA have placed on us is that we should not make the attacks look like they are the first wave of a nuclear strike.”
“Just how are we supposed to do that, Sir?” Brigadier General Mark Sheppard asked CINCSAC. “Unless we are going to cut loose some Beaks from alert duty then our only other option is to use BUFFs firing cruise missiles. We’d be dependent on the senior Voiska PVO man on duty deciding that it was a conventional attack.”
“I’m aware of that, Shep.” Kozlowski replied. “I’m not keen on launching a mission that will invite a one megaton warhead on my headquarters in return.”
“In that case, Sir, we don’t have a whole lot of options.” A colonel from SAC intelligence remarked. “If the NCA do not want us using Beaks for this mission then BUFFs with AGM-129s is our only real option, and such an attack could easily be misinterpreted as a nuclear attack.”
“Can I just point something out, Sir?” Brigadier General Sheppard said. “How did NORAD know that those sub-launched cruise missiles were not nukes, and how did the navy know that the missiles those ‘Backfires’ shot at their carriers did not have nuke warheads? They looked at the context of the attack and made their judgement accordingly.
“My best guess would be that whoever is on duty at Voiska PVO headquarters is going to judge that in the current circumstances we’d not use nuclear weapons against them; after all the Central Front is holding, if only just and there has been no exchange of nuclear weapons on the battlefield. What reason would we have for launching a limited nuclear strike against Leningrad, or Moscow?”
“How are they going to know that it is a limited attack, though, Sir? They may believe that it is the precursor of a much larger attack. If we go after targets in Moscow, for example, they might think that it is a decapitation strike.”
“The Hotline is still operational, Colonel.” Sheppard replied. “We tell them once the missiles have been launched.”

Kozlowski shot his Chief of Staff a surprised look.

“Shep, let me get this straight. You propose to let the Soviets know about the attack in advance?”
“Sure, why not, Sir? Only at the last minute of course, once the missiles are well on their way and the BUFFs are clear. Since they’ll be ‘129s the Soviets will have little way to track them anyway.
“I’d send a message on the lines of: ‘you have no doubt detected American bomber aircraft launching cruise missiles at your country. This is in direct retaliation for the attacks on our nation’s capital and New York City; these missiles are carrying conventional warheads. We retain the right to launch further retaliatory strikes should the Soviet Union attack American soil again’.
“Besides I hear that the navy is hitting the Kola Peninsular with Tomahawk missiles right now. Those are conventional, so the Soviets should have gotten the idea that we just want to beat them, not blow up half the planet.”
“Okay, Shep, I think you’ve made a few good points.” Kozlowski commented. “You guys work me up a target list and I’ll submit it to the boys at the Pentagon.
“I think this sort of thing will need to go to the top for a final decision.”

2025 hours. Over the Florida Straits.
‘BLEEP! BLEEP!’

The Radar Warning Receiver on Colonel Vorishnov’s Mig-29 was letting him know that he was being scanned by an airborne radar, probably a US Navy Hawkeye, or an aerostat radar balloon. The later had originally been deployed to detect drug smugglers flying their ‘product’ into the South-eastern United States, but their radars were equally capable of detecting low flying fighter aircraft.
Vorishnov knew that it was inevitable that his aircraft would be detected; he just hoped that they could get to within striking distance of their targets before they came under serious attack from the American defenders. The Colonel had read about the ‘Charge of the Light Brigade’ during the Crimean War and had the feeling that this mission was a later day recreation of that particular military tragedy.

*

An E-2C Hawkeye of VAW-88 ‘Cottonpickers’ was also flying over the Florida Straits, though to the northeast. While their assigned carrier, USS Forrestal, was made ready for operational service, VAW-88 and the rest of CVWR-30 had been assigned to shore bases in Florida and the Keys. The Hawkeyes and Tomcats of the air wing had been placed under command of NORAD’s Southeast Air Defence Sector (SEADS) to augment its F-15 and F-16 fighters.

The operators in the rear of the aircraft had been monitoring the contacts taking off from San Antonio de los Baños in Cuba. Initially NORAD had assumed that it was normal training flights from the Soviet regiment based there, or Cuban air force routine patrols. However the contacts had rapidly turned towards Florida and descended to only a few meters above the surface of the straits, indicating something very different.
The Hawkeye was linked via JTIDS to H.Q SEADS at Tyndall Air Force Base, a USAF E-3A Sentry flying over the Gulf of Mexico, several aerostat balloon radars and ground radar. As a navy aircraft it had been assigned to control the Tomcats and Hornets that had been forward deployed to NAS Key West. Of those fighters two F-14B Tomcats of VF-301 ‘Devil’s Disciples’ were on Combat Air Patrol.

“Devil 101, COTTON 102, CITRUS FRUIT has confirmed that bogies are to be considered hostile, you are clear to engage, over.”
“Roger that.”

The two Tomcats turned up-threat and engaged their afterburners. Meanwhile on several air bases Quick Reaction Alert aircraft were being scrambled to join the air force and navy fighters already on CAP duty.
Civilians got the first indication that something was wrong when the Emergency Alert System cut into television and radio broadcasting to warn those living in southern Florida that an air attack was immanent.

2030 hours. Outside Katlenburg-Lindau, FRG.
The Lynxes carrying 1 Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders landed in a field outside the town. For a moment a scene from ‘Apocalypse Now’ was transported from the Silver Screen to West Germany. Major Vian leapt out of the helicopter carrying him and part of the H.Q platoon.
The battalion battle group was already spreading out heading for their assigned positions. At the final O Group before take-off Lieutenant Colonel Colin Mitchell had outlined the positions that the various sub-units of the battle group were supposed to take up, so little time would be wasted on landing.
Some German Territorial Army engineers had already begun to construct defensive positions for 24th Airmobile Brigade, so the battle group was largely saved from having to do much of this work themselves.

Vian found that the Germans had constructed a pair of very sturdy semi-sunken sangars, linked by a communications trench, with excellent overhead protection made up of sand-bags and doors taken from houses in the nearby town to serve as his Command Post. All his men needed to do was to set up the company radios.
While his men beavered away setting up Javelin firing posts, GPMGs, Minimis and Heavy Machine Guns, and improved their fox-holes and slit trenches so that they suited their preferences Major Vian took a good look at the lie of the land. It was certainly not perfect tank country, that was certain, even without the Bar Mines the Royal Engineers were currently laying Soviet armoured vehicles would bunch up in front of the battle group, making them excellent targets.
Alternatively they could try bashing through the brigade’s positions by using the road that ran through Katlenburg-Lindau, though presumably the brigadier had taken note of that possibility and planned for it.

Once again the Major wished that the British Army had invested in a long-range anti-tank missile for its ground troops, rather than just relying on medium-range missiles like the Javelin and short-ranged anti-tank rockets like the LAW 80. [1] Any long-ranged anti-tank support would have to come from the Army Air Corps Apaches and fixed wing aircraft that would be supporting the brigade.

*

“Not too bad a position, considering, Sarn’t Major.” Vian remarked as he ducked back into his C.P.
“Could be worse, Sir.” The Company Sergeant Major agreed. “Looks like the battalion snipers going forward.” He added pointing to a few figures in ghillie suits cradling long rifles off in the distance.
“Well that’s the last we’ll see of them for a while.” Vian replied.

Both knew that once in position the men of the sniper platoon would effectively disappear, remaining concealed for hours upon end. From their covert O.Ps they would report on enemy movements and when necessary engage priority targets.
In their hands the powerful L115A3 rifles could be as deadly as any missile, or bomb.

Vian looked up as he heard the sound of aircraft engines. Two Su-39 ‘Frogfoots’ rapidly came into view transiting through the airspace above the battle group, though they were evidently unaware of the British troops below them.
To the major’s horror one of the gunners from 19 Regiment Royal Artillery manning Startreak Light Multiple Launchers that were attached to 1 Argylls swung the launcher around towards the aircraft.

“Hold your fire! You’ll only…!” He began to shout.

It was too late, however, as a missile shot out of the upper tube on the LML, tracking the ‘Frogfoot’. Travelling at 1,250 meters a second the three explosive darts that formed the warhead reached their target in an eye-blink, blasting the ‘Frogfoot’ out of the skies. The second aircraft took rapid evasive action and disappeared out of sight before any other gunners could engage it.
The kill was poor compensation for the fact that the gunner had effectively just telegraphed their position to the enemy. Vian had also heard that soldiers who fired MANPAD SAMs tended to attract heavy artillery, or mortar fire.

“That’s torn it.” The CSM commented. “We’re in for it now.”

2035 hours. HMS Bristol, the Solent.
HMS Bristol and the remaining members of the 2nd Support Group had handed over their convoy to the 5th Support Group, which was made up of French, Dutch and German warships, and had made a fast run up the Channel to re-supply at HMNB Portsmouth.
Captain Yoxall scanned the shoreline through a pair of binoculars. Normally returning warships were welcomed back by a few civilians, usually relatives of the ship’s company, but all Yoxall could see today on the ramparts were armed soldiers.
The day before someone had fired an RPG at HMS Bedford as she entered harbour, causing minor damage and a few casualties. Now the ramparts had been closed off and were manned by armed soldiers, while ships entering and leaving Portsmouth had their close range weapons manned and posted armed sentries on their upper decks.

“Nice to be home, even if it’s only for a few hours, Number One.” Yoxall remarked.
“Quite right, Sir.” Commander Carter agreed. “At least the town looks like it hasn’t been hit.”

Yoxall lowered his binoculars and crossed back to the centre of the bridge. Navigating into Pompey was somewhat harder than it had been pre-war; despite all of the precautions the navy had taken the Soviets had still managed to lay a few bottom mines. Two ships, the Isle of White ferry and the USS Clark had found those mines. Fatally in the case of the ferry, and its wreck was now a navigation hazard.
Hunt and Sandown class MCM vessels were now busily working to find any remaining mines, though it was a slow and laborious business.
Yoxall watched as a Sandown worked on a contact; buoys bobbing about on the surface marked that it had mine clearance divers down working on a suspect device.

“Now there’s a job I wouldn’t do for all the money in the world, Jimmy.” Yoxall remarked. “The army and air force EOD job is hard enough, but to add the danger of drowning, I don’t know how they do it.”
“I know exactly how they do it, Sir, they’re all bloody weirdoes. I’ve met a few of them and not one of them was normal.”

Yoxall nodded his head; he knew exactly what Commander Carter meant. For a number of reasons dangerous jobs seemed either to attract strange people, or turn ordinary people into oddballs. It was probably because of the intense stress they were under on a daily basis.

“Bridge, Ops room.”

Yoxall picked up the handset in front of him.

“Ops room, Captain here.”
“Sir, we’ve just been passed a message from FO Portsmouth, ADOC has just declared Air Raid Warning Red for the Portsmouth area.”
“Very good, make sure the other ships are aware.” Yoxall replied before replacing the handset. “Action Stations everybody.
“Now there’s something I never thought I’d say on the Solent.”
“Do you want to light up the radars, Sir?” The OOW asked.
“Well, we’re not much use without them, Lieutenant.
“Get yourself down to the AIO, David; I’ll fight the ship from here if necessary.”
“Sir.”

*

The Soviet Frontal Aviation lieutenant leading the flight of three Su-34 ‘Fullback’ bombers, the fourth aircraft assigned to this mission had been shot down by a Typhoon of 56 (F) Squadron, was feeling quite please with himself. He had managed to get through the final layer of British defences and nothing now lay between him and his target.
He was just beginning to smile when an insistent bleeping began to sound in his and his WSO’s earphones.

“What the hell’s that?” He asked, genuinely puzzled.
“It’s a SAM radar, but it can’t be there aren’t any near here…”

‘BOOM!’

One of the other ‘Fullbacks’ exploded into a million pieces, scattering its carcass over the Hampshire countryside below.

“***, it must be! They must have moved a SAM battery down here…”

Before the pilot could finish his sentence there was a bright flash.

*

The first Sea Dart in the second missile salvo shot off the rail of the launcher on Bristol’s stern, climbing rapidly, seeking its target, a second missile following soon after it.
Captain Yoxall watched it climb away into the sky on a pillar of smoke before disappearing from sight.

“Bridge, Ops room. One target confirmed destroyed, engaging second target.”
“Well done, Ops room.” Yoxall replied. “Get me those other two aircraft.”
“Second target confirmed destroyed, third aircraft turning away. It’s out of range now I’m afraid bridge.”
“Never mind, two out of three is good going.” Yoxall said. “Stand down Action Stations Officer of the Watch, go to Defence Stations until we’re berthed.”
“Aye, aye, Sir.” The Lieutenant replied.

2040 hours GMT. Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, Florida.
“Look alive people, we have hostile aircraft inbound.” Captain Caine told the crew of the Battery Command Vehicle. “You’ve also no doubt heard the rumours regarding Battery B; well I can tell you they’re true. The battery was hit by enemy Special Forces just under an hour ago and has been put out of action.
“I doubt that there is a coincidence that the attack took place now and just because we’re within one of the most secure locations in the United States does not mean we should not keep our eyes open for enemy ground forces. I want all of you to know where your personal weapon is and make sure you can reach it quickly.”

To emphasise his point Caine picked up his M4 carbine and slung it over his shoulder. He did not think he would need it, but one never knew and it was better to be safe than sorry, as Captain Speedle had found out to his cost.

*

Captain Caine might have been even more concerned had he known about the Soviet submarine that was currently lying off the Florida coast, only a few miles away from his location. It was an ‘Oscar II’ class SSGN that had had some of its missile tubes modified so that it could launch small submersibles carrying Naval Spetsnaz. The submarine had been in position off Cape Canaveral AFS for over a week now waiting for the go code to launch the Spetsnaz it was carrying.
Once they were safely ashore the boat would launch its cruise missiles as part of the general attack on Florida.

The approach to the coast had been difficult for the Soviet frogmen; at least three of them had drowned. However the survivors had set themselves up in a beach house that had been built for Apollo astronauts and their families and changed into the USAF Security Forces uniforms that they had brought with them.
A short time after they had arrived a Security Forces patrol mounted in two Humvees stopped outside the beach house. Inspecting the old building was part of their normal routine. Five minutes later the same number of SFs who had entered the beach house emerged, got into the Humvees and drove off.
The original occupants of the vehicles remained inside.

2050 hours. USS Joseph Hewes, Key West.
‘GENERAL QUARTERS! GENERAL QUARTERS! ALL HANDS MAN YOUR BATTLE STATIONS! AIR RAID WARNING RED!’

“What the hell?” Commander Talbot, USNR, the frigate’s captain, exclaimed as he fell out of the cot in his sea cabin, having been woken by the sound of the GQ klaxon.

*

The USS Joseph Hewes and the FFG-7 USS Samuel Eliot Morison had arrived at NAS Key West two days before in preparation for meeting up with a convoy currently forming up in the Gulf ports. Commander Talbot had taken the opportunity to allow his crew generous shore leave while they awaited the arrival of the merchant ships.
He had idly wondered whether his extremely conservative Senior Chief would approve of letting the crew go ashore at what was reputed to be the Gay capital of the United States.

Alongside the two frigates were three of the Pegasus class hydrofoils, USS Pegasus herself, USS Taurus and USS Gemini. The other three were out on patrol, keeping an eye on Cuban warships in the area.

*

“What the hell is going on, X.O?” Talbot asked as he struggled into the CIC, still putting on his anti-flash gear. “Is this a drill?”
“It’s no drill, Sir.” The Executive Officer replied. “AWACS has picked up hostile aircraft from Cuba heading towards the Key. The Morison has also just sounded GQ.”

Before Talbot could reply there was a dull roar as a pair of F/A-18+ Hornets of VFA-303 ‘Goldenhawks’ passed over the frigates on full afterburner.

“Jesus H…” The captain muttered as he crossed the CIC to take a look at the air picture. “It looks bad.”

A small group of contacts were rapidly approaching NAS Key West. It looked like they would probably reach the point where they would be able to launch their stand-off missiles before the two intercepting Hornets were in AMRAAM range.
As Talbot continued to watch a few small contacts suddenly appeared on the screen to the northeast of the key.

“Oh ***, looks like SLCMs.”

2055 hours. Over southern Florida.
Colonel Vorishnov was amazed that he and his section of six Mig-29s heading towards CENTCOM Headquarters were still alive. He had overheard many of the other members of 168th Fighter Regiment reporting that they were under attack by American fighters, or were trying to avoid surface to air missiles.
Most of the regiment, it seemed, was spread out across the Florida Straits and southern Florida. The attrition was appalling and Vorishnov especially pitied the pilots who had come down over the Everglades.

‘BLEEP, BLEEP, BLEEP!”

Vorishnov glanced down at his ECM display. It indicated that his aircraft was being illuminated by a search radar associated with the Surface Launched AMRAAM system. He armed his weapons and fired off a pair of Kh-31 anti-radiation missiles.
One of the other Mig-29s also fired off a pair of Kh-31s. The SLAMRAAM batteries were perfectly capable of engaging anti-radiation missiles, but it meant that they would probably be too occupied defending themselves to be able to engage the Migs effectively.

Vorishnov selected his next weapons, a pair of Kh-29D missiles, deciding to retain two weapons for his secondary target at Cape Canaveral AFS, and fired them both in quick succession. He was just about to turn away when the third and six Mig in the formation exploded, giving the lie to the idea that the Kh-31s would prevent the SAM batteries from engaging them.

He dove for the ground, releasing chaff and activating his ECM. There was another explosion before he escaped the engagement zone of the nearest SLAMRAAM battery, marking the death of the fifth Mig in his formation.
He pulled up less than a hundred meters from the ground, just avoiding a missile that had been targeted on him and headed towards his secondary target.

2101 hours. Cape Canaveral Air Force Station.
Captain Caine watched as the air force Security Forces patrol approached his battery’s outer guard post. His men had set up a sandbagged position with an M60E3 machine gun, a low sandbag wall with barbed wire in front and on top of it, and a stop stick across the gap in the wall where vehicles were allowed to pass.

One of the guards at the post pulled back the stop stick to allow the two Humvees; Caine reflected that he should not really have done that until the identity of patrol was confirmed, but it was not as if they were enemy Special Forces…

‘BOOM!’

The explosion of the grenade caught Caine by surprise. Before he could react one of the Naval Spetsnaz had leapt out of the second Humvee and had taken over the M60 and opened fire, raking several of the battery’s other defensive positions.
The captain un-slung his M4 carbine, flicked off the safety catch, took aim and opened fire with rapid, aimed single shots. He saw a few spurts shoot up from the sandbags, but it seemed they were doing a good job of absorbing the 5.56mm rounds.
Caine ducked back into cover as the gunner on the leading Humvee opened fire on him with the pintle mounted Browning HMG. The barrage of 12.7mm rounds was suddenly cut off as one of the M1097 Avengers providing point defence to the battery riddled the Humvee with bullets from its FN M3P machine-gun, before proceeding to shoot up the sandbagged M60, killing the gunner.

Unfortunately a minute later the Avenger exploded as it was hit by an RPG round. However the defenders had already turned things to their advantage, the battery’s Quick Reaction Force was already manoeuvring to take the attackers in the flank, while every spare hand who could hold a rifle, or man a machine-gun kept the Spetsnaz pinned down.

Caine and another two soldiers jogged forward to the next nearest cover, firing as they did so. The remaining Humvee began to reverse as it tried to escape the killing zone; Caine pumped round after round into the vehicle as he attempted to stop it. The Humvee was finally brought to a halt by a 40mm grenade from an M203.

‘WHOOSH!’

Caine looked over his shoulder and saw a HAWK missile rapidly climbing into the stratosphere. Well at least the attack had not stopped his battery from doing its proper job.

*

‘WEEWEEWEEWEEWEE!’

Colonel Vorishnov’s RWR was screaming at him now, warning him that a hostile SAM was tracking his aircraft. He held on for a second longer to guarantee that his two remaining Kh-29D missiles would hit the target he had chosen before turning away.
It was too late; the HAWK missile proximity detonated just behind and below the Mig, fragments tearing into the fuselage. Vorishnov pulled the ejection seat handle a second before the aircraft exploded and broke up.

2110 hours. Shannon International Airport, Republic of Ireland.
Just beyond the outer perimeter fence two men had taken up position in a hidden Observation Post, from where they could observe the comings and goings of aircraft using the airport and take note of the defences that the Irish Army had set up to protect Shannon.
The Irish Army had deployed a battery of six EL70 40mm Bofors guns, nine RBS-70 firing posts and the associated Flycatcher and Giraffe air defence radars from 1 Air Defence Regiment to protect the airport from potential air attack. [2] Infantry, backed up by Scorpions of the 1st Armoured Cavalry Squadron, carried out foot and vehicle patrols to cover the possibility of ground attack.

The senior observer made copious notes regarding the various activities, trying to discern any patterns among the movements of the security forces. If the army and Garda fell into predictable patterns, then that might come in handy in the near future. If they were smart and used unpredictable routines, then things would be much harder for his group.
As he continued his vigil an aircraft he recognised as a USAF C-17A Globemaster III touched down. This was something new and interesting and it went in the notebook, here was direct evidence that NATO aircraft were using Shannon. It was now a legitimate target.

2115 hours. RAF Aldergrove, Northern Ireland.
It was no surprise to Flight Lieutenant Darkshade that it was raining heavily as his Hawk T.2 touched down on Aldergrove’s runway. He had read somewhere that the Irish summer lasted around two days, so it was no surprise that it was pouring in April.

“Looks like the Irish were expecting us and laid on some decent weather, Simon.” Flight Lieutenant Jonathan ‘JGB’ commented from the rear seat.
“Sure looks like it, mate.” Darkshade replied.

As part of the deployment to RAF Aldergrove each of the six Hawks that had been chosen to form part of the detachment were carrying a second pilot to save on having to use scarce transport aircraft assets. Once the Hawks had safely landed and taxied to the dispersals set aside for them the four Tornados that formed the real firepower of the detachment landed and took up their assigned positions.
Meanwhile Darkshade opened the cockpit of his Hawk and immediately began to wonder if he had in fact joined the navy.

“Dear God, JBG, I thought that Scotland was wet, but this is something else again.”
“Looks like I should have packed my umbrella, mate.” JBG said, also wondering if he had joined the Senior Service.

2130 hours. ‘Heavy fighting continues on Golan’ – A.P.
Tel Aviv, Israel – Reports from the Golan Heights indicate that heavy fighting between the Israeli Defence Force and the Syrian Army is continuing. The fighting began yesterday after a large scale missile attack by Syria against military and civilian targets in Israel.
Initial fighting was limited to an artillery duel, but it is today reported that tanks and infantry have joined the fighting and that fighter aircraft have clashed over the battlefield. The Ministry of Defence in Tel Aviv has refused to comment on the situation, but has confirmed that the army’s Northern Command, which covers the Golan, has been mobilised, as has Israel’s large force of reservists.
In contrast to the fighting on the Golan, the borders with Lebanon, Jordan and Egypt are reported to be quiet.

***

[1] The only long range anti-tank missiles in British Army service, Swingfire, TOW and Hellfire/Brimstone, were mounted on light armoured vehicles and Lynx and Apache helicopters respectively, but were not issued to infantry battalions.

[2] For details of the EL70, RBS-70, Flycatcher and Giraffe see here, here, here and here.

2135 hours. Cape Canaveral Air Force Station, Florida.
Captain Caine was engaging the remaining Spetsnaz from the cover of the first stolen Security Forces Humvee. Of the two other soldiers who had been supporting him, only one remained, the other having been hit by a burst of gunfire from the M240 from the second Humvee, which the Soviets had dismounted from the disabled vehicle.
On a couple of occasions he had called on the Spetsnaz to surrender, especially once reinforcements from the USAF 45th Security Forces Squadron, who were somewhat annoyed at the deaths of their comrades, had arrived, but it seemed as if the Soviets had decided to die instead.

As Caine bobbed up to fire another couple of rounds at the enemy he caught a glimpse of what must have been a missile heading straight towards the near-by Launch Complex 40, where there was a fully fuelled Titan IVB awaiting launch.

“Get down!” He shouted a second before the missile hit its target.

There was a relatively small explosion as the missile warhead detonated followed by an immense blast as the liquid fuel of the core and the solid fuel of the boosters ignited. The tremendous blast demolished the launch pad and seriously damaged rest of the launch complex, throwing out a powerful blast wave and tossing debris over a wide area.
Caine rolled under the Humvee as pieces of Titan rocket and launch pad began to rain down around him. The explosion stunned everybody for quite some distance, and for a few moments the firing stopped.
The shock wore off pretty quickly and the firing resumed a few seconds later. Caine rolled out the other side of the Humvee and put a couple of three round bursts into a culvert where two Spetsnaz were sheltering, killing them both.

*

About an hour later Lt. Colonel Trip stood contemplating the scene before him, his hands on his hips. Battery D was essentially intact, but it was surrounded by burned out vehicles and corpses. It looked almost like some of the television pictures of the fighting in Germany.

“Must have been quite something for a while, Captain Caine.” Trip observed. “At least your efforts to fortify your position here paid off; I just wish Rory Speedle had been as careful.
“You know why he was killed?” Trip continued.
“I have a good idea, Colonel.” Caine, who had known Captain Speedle fairly well, replied. “He was pretty lazy about maintaining his personal weapon.”
“Well that’s apparently what killed him. When they pulled his body out of the BCV they found that his pistol was jammed, probably because it was dirty.
“Damn shame, but I can’t help feeling that he brought it on himself. I’ve left Lieutenant Proctor in charge over there, but who knows when the goddamned battery will be operational again.”

2150 hours. USS Wasp, the Adriatic.
Lt. Colonel Thompson crouched on the windswept deck of the LHD as he, the rest of H.Q Company, Echo Company and Support Company waited for the return of the MV-22Bs and CH-53Es that had just lifted off carrying the marines of 2nd/6th Marines. It was no real surprise to Thompson that the Americans would want to put their own men ashore before inserting his, though he was slightly concerned that without at least some of his men being on the ground, the American’s right flank was going to be wide open.
Still, if the intelligence was correct, then there should not be a problem, though Thompson had this nagging suspicion that Soviet Special Forces might be in the area. He would have inserted both recce and fighting patrols if he had been on the other side.

Presently the sound of distant aircraft could be heard as the Osprey and Super Stallions returned. Thompson held onto his Green Beret as they touched down on the flight deck, not wanting to lose so prized a possession.
On a signal from the flight deck crew the Royal Marines began to file forward, boarding the MV-22s and CH-53s and loading heavy equipment into the latter, the process taking a little under five minutes, before the aircraft took off again.
Lt. Colonel Thompson was used to travelling in helicopters like the Sea King HC.4 and Merlin HC.3, so flying in an Osprey was a new experience. He had not decided which he preferred yet.
The one advantage it did have was that the Osprey reached its destination far more quickly, the reverse side of the coin to that was that the CH-53Es carrying the heavy equipment were left behind and the AH-1Z Super Cobras could not effectively escort them.

The Osprey began to descend, indicating that it was approaching Dubrovnik airport, and transitioned to helicopter mode. The Osprey landed with a bump at the end of Dubrovnik airport’s main runway.

“Go, go, go!” The US Marine loadmaster yelled to the ‘cargo’ as the rear ramp dropped.

Thompson grabbed his L85A2 and Bergen and followed the other marines out onto the runway. The air was filled by the deafening noise of dozens of aircraft engines running and there was an ever present smell of aviation fuel.
Marines could be seen moving at the double as they spread out, setting up temporary defensive positions. In contrast Lt. Colonel Thompson walked calmly to the spot which had been chosen to act as his temporary Command Post.

“I’m glad to see you all made it in one piece.” Thompson said to this H.Q staff as the Ospreys took off again and the CH-53Es began to arrive. “I think we’ve been very lucky with this insertion, after all nobody was shooting at us.” He added, provoking chuckles from the other marines. “We need to keep on our toes, though. Just because the enemy are still quite a long way away does not mean we won’t come under attack, and I’m sure I don’t need to remind you that we don’t enjoy the same level of organic support that our colleagues in 3 Commando Brigade do.”

2201 hours. Southeast of Hanover, FRG.
Captain Currie leant back in the commander’s seat of her Challenger 2 as best as she could, reflecting that it had not really been designed for comfort, reading a book by the light of a pen torch. While her crew were rather relaxed about her reading matter the fact that she was spending her spare time reading a manual on armoured tactics that she had borrowed from Major Malcolm, the O.C of A Squadron might have worried the rest of B Squadron had they known about it.
The three other members of the tank’s crew did seem to have taken their new commander to their heart however. After returning from collecting the crew’s food she had noticed that the tank had acquired the name ‘LUMPIE’, a clear reference to her. [1]
Currie had also added her own decoration to the tank; her former comrades in The Scottish Horse had heard of her new appointment and had sent out a regimental guidon, which was now flying from one of the Challenger’s radio aerials.

B Squadron has been allocated the role of battle group reserve, which meant that it had all but one of its tank troops. The remainder of the squadron group was made up of a couple of mortar vehicles, an engineer section and two Warriors from the Black Watch company’s anti-tank platoon.

The anti-tank platoon Warriors had originally mounted a Milan firing post on the top of the turret, which was supposed to be an interim measure until the TRIGAT, which would have had a specially designed turret, entered service. The disadvantages of the Milan arrangement was that it was basically a standard infantry firing post welded to the top of the turret of a Warrior section vehicle and to fire and reload it a crew member had to expose themselves out of the hatch. Not ideal in a situation where one was likely to be under fire and even worse if NBC weapons were to be used.
The TRIGAT Warrior would have solved most of these problems as the missiles would be fired from under armour, though they would still need to be reloaded from the troop hatches. However the British Army had cancelled its order for TRIGAT MR, believing it to now be obsolete, and had bought the American Javelin system instead.
This posed a problem of how to adapt the Warrior anti-tank vehicles to the Javelin system. The army recognised that it needed something a bit better than the current method, but there was no Javelin turret, so the army had begun a programme to modify the Warriors to carry a missile canister mount on each side of the turret and modifying the inside of the turret to allow the missiles to be fired from under armour. A standard Command Launch Unit and tripod were carried in the troop compartment, to allow dismounted engagements, along with missile reloads.
Rather than contract the programme out, the army had carried out the modifications at base workshops, as had been done with the first Chieftain AVREs. Firing trials had proven that the Warrior was an excellent firing platform and the combination of 30mm RARDEN cannon and Javelin missiles made the anti-tank Warrior a formidable vehicle.

*

“Looks like re-supply is coming up, Captain.” The loader, who was standing heads out of his hatch manning the GPMG, reported.
“Thanks, Spink.” Currie replied (she had started to use the crew’s nicknames), turning off the torch before opening up her own hatch to take a look for herself.
“Captain, if they’ve got some fin and HESH rounds I wouldn’t mind a few extra.” Corporal Brown said. “Some extra 7.62 wouldn’t go amiss either.”
“A bit of extra fuel would be nice too, Captain.” The driver, Private David ‘Stirling’ Moss added.
“Who, lads, hold your horses, we don’t know what sort of re-supply it is yet. It could just be tea and biscuits.” Currie cautioned.

She swung herself up out of the hatch and onto the turret roof, remembering to grab her rifle, just in case, one never knew when Spetsnaz might be about.
Captain Currie could just make out a couple of DROPS vehicles unloading pallets of ammunition, but just beyond them was something rather more unusual, a pair of Alvis Stalwart Mk.3s fitted with bulk fuel installations. Like the last Centurion AVRE 165s the best of the last Stalwarts had been withdrawn from regular army service; they had been replaced by the DROPS family which did not have the same level of off road ability, or amphibious capability; and handed over to a couple of Territorial Army regiments.
Like the Centurion the ‘Stolly’ had also been upgraded, in its case the old Rolls Royce B81 MK 8B petrol engine had been replaced by the Cummins 6B250 diesel engine, which was also used by the upgraded FV430 Mk.4 ‘Bulldog’. Spare parts were not too much of a problem as the army had retained a large number of worn-out Stalwarts in storage to act as a source of spares. Until a new vehicle with similar capabilities was developed at least some ‘Stollies’ would remain in service. [2]

The leading Stalwart drove up and parked between Captain Currie’s tank and the Chally 2 parked next to it.

“Do you need a top-up?” A female voice asked from the semi-darkness.
“Yes, thanks. I don’t want to run short when it’s really inconvenient.” Currie replied. “Collins, Moss, give them a hand if they need it.”
“Right, ma’m.” The loader and driver replied.

There was a pregnant pause from the ‘loggies’ aboard the Stalwart. Evidently they had not been expecting to find a female tank commander.

“Right oh, ma’m.” The female ‘loggie’ finally replied, stepping across to the tank deck with the fuel hose. “Can’t give you any stamps, or points with this fill-up I’m afraid, ma’m.” She said with a smile, her white teeth very visible in the dark.
“I’m sure I’ll survive.” Currie replied with a chuckle.

*

Some distance to the west another British officer was standing on the turret of a tank. In this case the officer was COMNORTHAG, General Sir David Horne, and the tank was an ex-Soviet T-80UM-1 Bars, captured along with a large number of other Soviet armoured vehicles during Operation ‘TELIC’.
Like most of the vehicles assembled here the T-80 had run out of fuel and had been abandoned by its crew. Fortunately for NATO’s intelligence efforts many Soviet armoured vehicles had been abandoned behind what was now the British frontline.

“So this is the famed Arena system then?” Horne commented, indicating an armoured box on the turret roof. “Is it any good?” [3]
“When it works, Sir.” Colonel Clive Egleton replied. “We’ve found that it is vulnerable to artillery fragments, cannon fire and even large calibre bullets. It does have some trouble with top attack missiles and it can be saturated, or jammed. It’s a bit harsh on any infantrymen close to the tank as well.
“However getting a close look at it like this will make developing counter-measures far easier. Previously we’ve only had photos and reports from BRIXMIS to go on.”

General Horne peered down into the commander’s hatch into the turret.

“Bloody hell, they must be midgets in the Soviet armoured corps.” He remarked. “I know that they are supposed to assign small men to tank units, but it must be like fighting in a telephone box in there.”
“Bit less room than in your old Chieftain then, Sir?” Egleton asked with a wry grin.
“I think I’d get stuck in the hatch, even when I was a young man. I wouldn’t like to have to bale out of there in a hurry.” COMNORTHAG replied.

Horne carefully climbed down from the T-80, rejoining Egleton on the ground.

“Right, I’ve seen enough here. Time to go and have a look at the BMP-3; is it the ergonomic nightmare that the infantrymen say it is?”
“Well to get out one does have to open both the roof and rear hatches and climb over the engine, so I would hardly say that it is ideal from a dismount’s perspective.”
“Clive, when this war is over I’m going to try and ask a Soviet designer why they abandoned what was a reasonable layout in the BMP-1 and 2 and went for something that will impede troops debussing, and it’s not as if the armour on the BMP-3 is significantly superior. The RARDEN has little trouble penetrating it.”
“Well, Sir, the BMP-3 must be one of those strange Soviet enigmas that makes sense to them, but nobody else.” Egleton opined.

2210 hours. USS Kitty Hawk, the Persian Gulf.
Captain Charles Seavey had only just dropped off to sleep in his cabin when he was woken by a knock at the door.

“Yes, what is it?” He said somewhat grumpily.
“Message from CINC-CENTAF, Sir.” The messenger said, hoping to avoid CAG’s wrath for disturbing him. “It’s an Air Tasking Order and a personal message for you.”
“An ATO?” An exasperated CAG asked. “I take it that means that my request for a stand-down before BAGDAD THUNDER has not been approved, then?
“What’s CINC-CENTAF’s message?”
“He, ah, wants to remind you that there is a war on and nobody else is getting a holiday, as he puts it.”
“Yeh, well I’d like to see the blue suits fly at the sort of op tempo we’ve been doing..”

Seavey swung his legs out of the bunk and began to get dressed.

“Okay, I want a staff meeting in fifteen minutes and a meeting with all C.Os and X.Os in an hour. I’m sure that they’re going to love this particular piece of news.”

*

Ten minutes later as Seavey was sitting at his desk waiting for his staff to arrive he had a look over the Air Tasking Order. It was certainly going to keep the air wing busy and at a time where he would rather prefer to keep the operational tempo to a minimum.
The last thing he needed right now would be to have to re-draw the BAGDAD THUNDER plan because key personnel and aircraft had been lost on less important missions. There was one decision he had taken already, though, he was going to participate in one of the missions himself, flying an A-6F; after all he had to maintain currency in more than just the F-14D.

“Good morning, boys and girls.” He said as his staff entered the cabin. “It seems that we won’t be getting the rest I’ve asked for; CINC-CENTAF has just sent us an Air Tasking Order.
“We’ll be spending tomorrow hitting targets in southern Iraq and carrying out CAS and BAI in Kuwait.”

There was a very audible groan from the assembled officers. They were all exhausted and could have done with twenty-four hours of minimal operations.

“We’ve been victims of our own success, it seems. The army has requested our air support as apparently we’re better at it than the air force.
“COMCENTAF also wants us to hit Umm Qasr Naval Base and take out the frigate al-Hammurabi if she’s there and any other smaller vessels if she’s not. It seems that only the navy can attack another navy.” He told them.
“We’re going to be busy then, Sir.” One of the targeteers observed. “At least the SAM sites at Umm Qasr and Al Faw have been taken out, so the only threat should come from the frigate herself, and from MANPADs.”
“I’m afraid we are.” Seavey confirmed. “The only consolation is that we are not on CENTAF’s night flying schedule, the marines will handle that.”

2123 hours. HMS Bristol, HMNB Portsmouth, Hampshire.
“How are you getting on?” Captain Yoxall asked the IT technician, directing his question to the man’s legs.

Beside him was a small bag of tools and two dog-eared, battered manuals, one marked ADAWS-2 and the other ADAWS-4 (Action Data Automation Weapons System Mk.2 and Mk.4 respectively).
The IT tech slid out from the computer cabinet he had been working on.

“Not too bad thanks, Captain. It’s a bit like working on a classic car though, and I can’t say I’ve ever seen anything quite like this set-up.
“From what I’ve seen it seems to be an ADAWS-2 computer system upgraded with some elements of the ADAWS-4, which is used on the ’42s. I’m always pretty amazed that these old systems can do as much as they can, I mean you’ve got a lap-top in your cabin, haven’t you, Captain?”
“Yes I have.” Yoxall replied.
“Well it has more computer power and memory than this whole set-up, though the microwave in the galley probably has more computing power come to think of it. In fact you could probably run everything in here with a couple of lap-top processors.
“Anyway, I don’t think that the system should give you any more trouble.”

Since Bristol was going to be spending a few hours at Portsmouth, while she was re-victualed and had her steam turbines checked, Captain Yoxall had decided to take advantage of the fact that the VT Group had a shipyard within the naval base and have one of their top IT men come over and have a look at the destroyer’s troublesome computer system.
Of course he was more used to working on the ultra-modern Combat Management System of the Type 45 and Type 46. The oldest system he had worked on before he had worked on regularly was the Command System DNA (1) of the Type 23 frigate, which probably explained why the job had taken much longer than expected.

“Well thanks for the chance to work on this system, Captain. It has been a real education.
“Let me know if anything goes wrong before you leave.”
“Don’t worry I certainly will.” Yoxall.

*

About ten minutes later Yoxall was down in the engineering spaces checking on progress on the steam turbines.

“Don’t worry, Sir.” Lt. Commander Stott told him. “Another couple of hours and we’ll have this lot back together.”
“Did you find the trouble, Chief?”
“Sure did, Sir, it was a few bits and bobs loose here and there. I’m glad we caught it though, if anything had come apart it could have been nasty and might well have caused a fire.”
“Good work, Chief. I knew I could count on you.” Yoxall told Stott, patting him on the shoulder and immediately regretting it when he realised that his hand was now covered in grease.

2315 hours. Olympic Stadium Complex, West Berlin.
The Soviet shelling of the complex had let up for a while; Major General Mallinson wondered whether they were running short of shells, or maybe gun barrels were red hot. In either case the break was welcome.

Standing before his desk was Major James Saunders, and the senior American and French armour officers. Saunders was the senior of the three, and had been chosen to make the proposal to the general.

“I believe you gentlemen have a proposal for me.” Mallinson said.
“Yes, Sir we do. Would I be correct in saying that our supplies will probably begin to run out in another couple of days?”

Mallinson nodded; expenditure of ammunition, POL and medical supplies had all been far higher than expected. The situation would probably become critical in the next forty-eight hours.

“Well, Sir we feel that in that case the best use of our remaining armour would be in a counter attack against the Soviets. My American colleague has nicknamed it a ‘Thunder Run’.”
“It has a nice ring to it, don’t you think, Sir?” The American Captain asked.
“Go on.” Mallinson said.

Major Saunders unfolded a map of Berlin and laid it out on the desk.

“I believe that intelligence has identified a regimental headquarters, here and here, and a divisional headquarters here.” He said pointing to the various locations. “My proposal is to push two strong armoured columns made up of tanks and other armoured vehicles up this street and this one parallel to it. They would overrun the regimental H.Qs and converge on the divisional H.Q before withdrawing to our defensive perimeter.
“The tanks will form the main striking force of the ‘Thunder Runs’; fortunately they’ve stood up well in the fighting. For example I still have fourteen out of eighteen Challys operational, we’ve also been able to recover the four disabled tanks and with a good bit of cannibalisation two of those tanks should be operational in the next couple of hours.
“The two American tank companies have twenty Abrams between them and the French have seventeen Leclercs left. We also have plenty of Bulldogs, Strykers and VCBIs left.” [4]
“Have you spoken to your brigade commanders yet?” Mallinson asked.
“Yes, Sir.” The three officers said in unison.
“They’ve all agreed to it, Sir, contingent on your approval.”

Mallinson thought for a moment looking down at the map.

“Why not?” He said finally. “We may have to surrender in a couple of days, so we might as well go out with a bang.
“What else does your plan need?”
“We’ll need as much fire support from the remaining M109s, heavy mortars and Lynx helicopters.” Saunders replied.
“Don’t worry, you’ll get it.”

2336 hours. Engels air base, RSFSR.
Colonel General Vladimir Zelin, the Commanding Officer of the 121st Guards Heavy Bomber Regiment, had chosen to brief the two crews who would be carrying out this mission himself. It was a very sensitive operation, involving weapons that were still considered to be very secret, and he could not risk any sort of leak.
His regiment had been chosen to carry out this mission rather than the 184th Guards Heavy Bomber Regiment based at Pryluky in the Ukraine because they were the only regiment in Long Range Aviation who had trained to use the weapon.

“Good morning, Comrades.” Zelin said to the eight aircrew assembled before him. “Today you will be carrying out a mission of the greatest importance, though I am afraid that it will also be very dangerous. However should you succeed in your endeavour you will have brought victory for the Motherland.”

Zelin crossed the floor to a map board, which was at the moment covered by a curtain. He pulled on the drawstring and revealed the map, which showed southern England, the North Sea and part of the Continent.

“Your targets, Comrades, are in southern England, just outside London.” Zelin told them before pulling down a second more detailed map showing the area around Greater London. “They are the Air Defence Operations Centre at RAF High Wycombe, and the stand-by ADOC at RAF Bentley Priory.
“The Tu-22M boys have already tried to attack these sites with stand-off weapons, but it seems that they did not even manage to scratch the surface of the bunkers. Now it is going to be our turn.”
“Comrade, General, does that mean that we will have to penetrate the enemy’s air defences to employ the weapon?” The senior pilot asked.
“Yes it does, Comrade Colonel. We are planning to lay on a raid by Tu-22Ms and aircraft from Frontal Aviation to coincide with your mission and stretch the enemy’s forces; you should be able to take advantage of the confusion to penetrate their defences and deliver the weapons.” Zelin replied.

The aircrew seemed satisfied with this answer, but even so Zelin could sense that they were nervous at the prospect of penetrating a sophisticated defence system like the UK Air Defence Region with its multiple layers of fighters and Surface to Air Missiles even in a bomber as sophisticated and fast as the Tu-160. Well it would make a change from standing nuclear alert.

“Well, Comrades I wish you luck and I wish I was coming with you.” Zelin told them.

From any other commander this might have sounded like an empty platitude, but Zelin still regularly flew his own personal Tu-160 on training flights and was well known for taking his turn on alert duty.

*

Half an hour later Colonel General Zelin watched as the two Tu-160s assigned to this mission were loaded with the single bomb that they would be carrying. At a weight of 7100 kg it was amongst the heaviest of the Soviet Union’s non-nuclear weapons, and its slightly awkward shape meant that even a large bomber like the ‘White Swan’ could only carry a single example.
He pitied whoever would end up under those bombs when they went off, but war was war.

2350 hours. Extract of text from Presidential broadcast.
“My fellow Americans as many of you are aware the Soviet Union has again struck at our Homeland, attacking targets with no regards to the civilian casualties that they may cause. This time these attacks did not come from missile firing submarines lying off our coasts but from Soviet attack aircraft based in Cuba.
“We do not yet know the full extent of the casualties that were suffered in Florida, nor the damage inflicted on the targets that came under attack. For reasons of National Security I can not tell you what military and civilian targets were hit, or how badly damaged. I hope that you will understand that in time of war we can not give out any information that may be of use to our enemies.
“What makes today’s attacks especially heinous, apart from the civilian casualties attacked, was that it was launched from an ostensibly neutral country. The Cuban government has strenuously denied that it assisted in the attack, or that it had foreknowledge. In the past the Cubans have also pledged to withdraw their forces from Southern Africa, which they have not, so it is doubtful that we can rely on Cuban assurances too strongly.
“I say to the Cuban government you must immediately intern all Soviet military personnel in your country and deny the Soviet Union the use of its bases in Cuba. If not then the United States and her allies will take action to neutralise them. In the meantime I have authorised a retaliatory strike against the Soviet air base from where the attack was launched, by this time the strike aircraft should already be on their way home.
“The United States and her allies have scrupulously avoided violating the territory and airspace of neutrals, such as Cuba and Vietnam, though it would have been all too easy for us to have done otherwise. These two countries in particular have not upheld their duties as neutral countries under International Law and if they do not do so then we will regard them as belligerents and treat them accordingly.
“As always our disagreement is with those regimes that do not live up to their legal and moral obligations, not with people only trying to live their lives. If we do have to act we will do our utmost to avoid any casualties amongst the civilian population.
“I am sure that today’s attacks will not dim the great spirit of the American people, or harm their morale. I do not need to exhort you to continue to go to work, or to live your lives as normally as possible because I am confident that you will do that anyway.
“Our friends and allies in Europe have already demonstrated that civilians will not be cowed by Soviet air raids and I am confident that the American people are no different. These attacks will only strengthen our resolve to see this war through to a victory.”

0001 hours GMT, 27th April. Soviet Embassy, Baghdad, Iraq.
Most of the embassy was in darkness, partly because the vast majority of the staff had been evacuated, and partly because the emergency generator in the basement was only powerful enough to provide electricity to part of the building, mains electricity having long been cut off. Either the Iraqis had turned the supply to the city off, as they had done in 1991, or damage to the grid had caused a black-out.
The ambassador was down in the cipher room, feeling somewhat uncomfortable. Firstly he was physically uncomfortable because there was not enough power to run most of the air conditioning and it was getting oppressively hot within the building. Secondly the use by Iraq of chemical weapons had left him feeling mentally uncomfortable.
When he had first heard the news he had expected to be reduced to radioactive air pollution in short order, though surprisingly the Americans had been very restrained in their retaliation. They had also employed chemical weapons, but only against military forces on the battlefield and on an airbase where further attacks were being prepared.

The Iraqi use of Weapons of Mass Destruction against a number of countries throughout the Gulf Region as well as against American forces and their allies had put the Soviet Union in a very difficult position. On one hand it did not want to be seen to condoning the attack and perhaps inviting such an attack on itself. On the other hand Iraq was an important Soviet ally in the Middle East and the USSR could not been seen to be abandoning its friends.
By not protesting about the American retaliation the Soviets had made it clear that they did not approve of the initial Iraqi attack, a message reinforced by the withdrawal of all non-essential embassy staff. However the military assistance group would be remaining in the country to assist with the operation of Soviet built weapons and to help gather intelligence; similarly the KGB and GRU stations would also remain operational.
The Soviets had also decided to beef up security at the embassy. The regular embassy guards had been reinforced by a company of highly trained paratroopers; included in the company were two platoons of Spetsnaz. They had fortified the embassy compound, officially to protect it from American air attacks, though the message to the Iraqis was pretty clear.

What had made the ambassador especially uncomfortable today was that the Iraqi Government had sent him an invitation to attend a parade of captured Coalition Prisoners of War due to take place on the 28th. Through military liaison officers he had learned that the Iraqis were torturing the prisoners for information, and he felt that the Soviet Union had to disassociate itself from such behaviour if it was going to win the battle of World opinion.
Nevertheless he had sent a message to Moscow requesting instructions and recommending that no Soviet personnel attend.

“The message is just coming through now, Comrade Ambassador.” One of the cipher staff said.
“Good let me see it, Comrade.”

‘CONCUR WITH YOUR RECOMMENDATION RE POW PARADE. WOULD BE DAMAGING TO WORLD IMAGE OF SOVIET UNION WERE YOU, OR ANY SOVIET PERSONNEL TO ATTEND.
‘PASS ON MESSAGE TO IRAQI GOV THAT SOVIET UNION DOES NOT APPROVE OF PARADING POWS IN PUBLIC, BUT DO NOT RECOMMEND THAT PARADE BE CANCELLED. WOULD BE HELPFUL IF YOU COULD ARRANGE FOR SOVIET INTEL PERSONNEL TO INTERVIEW PRISONERS OF SPECIAL INTEREST.’

“Good, we’ll that’s one less thing I’ll need to worry about.” The Ambassador commented. “I can’t imagine that the Iraqis will be too pleased though.”
“Screw them, Comrade Ambassador, if you’ll excuse my language.” The general who commanded the military advisory group, who was also in the cipher room, said. “The Iraqis are barbarians who brought the current situation on themselves; when the current conflict is finished I think we must look at regime change. A saner and more pliable leader would be of use to Soviet interests.”

***

[1] A Lumpie (or lumpies) is a politer slang term for a female soldier.

[2] See here for details of the FV620 Stalwart.

[3] See the following link for details of the Arena active protection system.

[4] In TLW the VBCI is a tracked IFV rather than being a wheeled vehicle as in @.