Enjoy. Or enjoy not. There is no try
Premature...Escalation
NAS Nordholz, 21st April 2005, 2155 B
Oh man...almost two hours to go until we are relieved. Ensign(R) Sebastian Möburg of the West German navy looked up from his wristwatch and let his eyes wander over the visible and less visible security arrangements at the main gate of NAS Nordholz which housed Marinefliegergeschwader 3 with its P3 Orion MPAs, the Breguet Atlantic ELINT birds and the MH90 helicopters for the navy's frigates. In peacetime.
Nordholz also was a Collocated Operating Base, intended to serve as a host for USAF units in the event of crisis or war in Europe, and thus was earmarked for a USAF fighter squadron, in this case the 510th Tactical Fighter Squadron, forward deployed from RAF Bentwaters/Woodbridge, the first planes of which had arrived only two days after REFORGER had been brought forward. The free space in Bentwaters/Woodbridge was already occupied now by a sqadron of F-15Es from the continental US.
The 510th TFS had started a vigorous training and patrol cycle almost as soon as an alert flight could be assembled and brought in the air. The Hog pilots were already familiar with the area as they had often been visitors to Nordholz during exercises.
Security arrangement placed a company of the Bundesmarine's reserve 3rd Naval Security Battalion reinforced by a heavy weapons platoon responsible for the area outside of the perimeter while a USAF security force of company strength handled physical security inside the fence. Previous joint exercises over the past years as well as somewhat more serious similar events after the crisis deployment had established a good working relationship between the two units.
It was common knowledge in NATO in general and the Bundeswehr in particular that in the event of a war in Europe, Spetsnaz and East German special forces (combat swimmers from Prora on Rügen island and para-commandos of the 40th Air Assault Regiment – believed to be more like a brigade in strength after absorbing its reservists) would certainly turn up behind NATO lines and try to pave the way for the main forces of the Warsaw Pact. A briefing by an MAD (Bundeswehr counterintelligence) representative had been most empathic about this. The commando troops would in all likelihood not respect the rules of warfare and conduct their business in mufti.
Even the most optimistic naval infantryman of Möburg's company now thought of this scenario as being only a question of „when“ rather than „if“. One junior rating of each sub-unit on guard duty was tasked with monitoring a TV set and a computer for any news on the worsening relations between East and West. So far, no side had moved. And they aren't likely to do so, the Ensign thought. The gerontocrats in the Kremlin would lose face as well as their grip on their puppets and NATO cannot be seen to bow to pressure and extortion. It was a cataclysm waiting to happen. And Germany would once more be in the thick of it. At least this time we are the good guys. And still, I could do without this.Who couldn't, anyway? He put the thoughts of his family that popped up in his mind almost automatically as far back as he could. At least they were a long way from the front, in Aachen where they damn well belonged.
Unbeknownst to the officer, things were already coming to an unhappy conclusion. A short distance away on the same road, a small convoy of two Mercedes Benz G-Wagens and one Unimog truck, all three recently stolen from a Heer depot, were making their way to the Naval Air Station. The three vehicles were manned by ten East German commandos in Bundeswehr Flecktarn and army insignia. They were armed with older versions of the G36KE, MG3s on each vehicle and, unseen under the truck's tarp, a Grenade Machine Gun to be used against parked planes on the tarmac, along with a boatload (literally) of RPGs. Oberfeldwebel Stefan Zustrow, the NCO commanding the group posed as an army captain, a rank deemed high enough to bluff or bully their way past most guards one might encounter. Or so he hoped. Truth be told, he was a bit sceptical of the chances of success on this mission. The briefing had been straightforward, as was the job ahead of them. The infiltration, carried out by RHIB in the North Sea from an East German freighter, equipped with hidden troop compartments and posing as a Swedish ship, had also carried out without a hitch. That had been almost four days ago. The squad had holed up in an isolated house owned by a deep-cover agent near Norden. During the course of the last day, they had acquired the vehicles, dressed up as Bundeswehr servicemen after finally having gotten the go-ahead. They had seen lots of NATO units on the move west.
However, there had been no signs whatsoever of indecision, unpreparedness on part of the military or even meaningful dissension between military and civilians in West Germany. On the contrary. The masses of first-line equipment and grim but professional troops they had seen on their brief trip from the shore to their safe house (a small farm in East Frisia) and from their safe house to their destination spoke volumes about the amount of bullshit their political officer had spouted about NATO in general and the West German armed forces in particular. Outside of the staged assault demonstrations the Red Army liked to throw every now and then on a divisional level, he had never seen so many jets, attack helicopters, MBTs and artillery in one place, all moving about, all prepared for seemingly every eventuality. Still, he had a job to do, and he took care to keep his men's minds focused to the task at hand. What he could not distract his men from was the apparent wealth of common people ("workers and farmers", his mind kept insisting) even in one of the poorer regions of West Germany.
Additionally, he wasn't quite happy about the orders to attack that had been given to them via burst transmission on their Western portable communications kit. While burst messages virtually ensured nothing of the content would be garbled or corrupted, the NCO suspected something was amiss with the timetable. 2300 hours local time just did not fit somehow. And yet he had no choice but to comply as the same signal had ordered radio silence henceforth. [1]
"Okay, Genossen", he addressed his men over the squad's radio net, "ETA target about a minute. Put your game faces on. If all goes well, we'll fade into the woodwork after all is said and done and wait for pickup by our first echelon. The plan is good. And, if at all possible, let me do the talking! Lock and load."
In all three vehicles, rifle rounds were chambered and machine guns made ready for action.
At the checkpoint, the platoon saw the dimmed headlights of approaching cars. Linked concrete barriers and razor wire coils formed a cul-de-sac in front of the gate that could only be approached by weaving through a number of obstacles. A seaman signed the lead Wolf to stop in the cul-de-sac. As soon as the vehicles had stopped, a master chief approached the first vehicle while one petty officer each went to the others. The senior NCO shifted uncomfortably in his British-made class IV protective vest, known as 'Bristol' throughout the Bundeswehr, which was a bit uncomfortable and heavy to wear. Its British DPM pattern clashed with the standard Flecktarn. But reservists couldn't be choosy. The regular troops were already issued with proper German-made vests which also were a lot lighter than this old model which had been procured as an urgent stop-gap measure in the mid-90s. Even the new class IV vests were called 'Bristols' now, though.[2]
“Good evening, gentlemen, Herr Hauptmann,” the chief said upon seeing the officer tabs. “Vehicle and papers check. I need to see your military IDs and the driving order papers. And please state your business at NAS Nordholz. Herr Hauptmann.” The last he added almost as an afterthought as he had little use for officers in general and those of the Heer in particular. What was a Heer unit doing here anyway?
The driver of the Wolf handed over the military IDs and the fake driving orders. The “captain” said, “We have urgent business with the technical department of your unit. And I do not think I appreciate your tone, Herr Hauptbootsmann.” The master chief was a bit taken aback. He was used to Heer officers being a bit spit-and-polish and standoffish to the lower ranks but this was something else entirely. “With all due respect, sir [spelled with a c and a u], I am just doing my job. You are, respectfully, also aware of the general situation? Just doing our jobs here.” He rifled through the papers. They seemed to be in order. Wait...this was supposed to be a logistics unit. Why did the truck show the APP-6 symbol of an airborne unit? He glanced into the Wolf's interior again. Hmmmm...G36Ks with just the export sights. Those guys are neither special forces nor was the E version ever issued to the Bundeswehr. This stinks to the high heavens.
“If you'll excuse me for a second...” “Hauptbootsmann, I insist that you let us through, or else I will...” “Wait one, SIR, and remain where you are!” The master chief stepped back a bit and pressed the talk button on his comms headset. “Lead, this is Checkpoint. Something about these guys does not gel. At all. Papers do not match tactical symbols on the cars, rifles are a bit off, too. Over,” he murmured into the mouthpiece.
The East German sergeant became more and more uncomfortable. Something was not right. Obviously, the navy did not let itself be impressed by rank[3]. He signalled his men to unsafe their weapons. Maybe this situation was still salvageable.
Unfortunately, his driver was unable to rein in his temper. A motor-mouthed Dresdener, he had never quite mastered the art of speaking High German and still had at least a trace of the somewhat moronic-sounding Saxony accent even at the best of times. “Vordammd, will you let us through, we have important stuff to do, nüh?”
Time seemed to slow down. The ensign, alerted by his chief and on his way to the small cavalcade of vehicles, was the first to recognize that they were dealing with a bunch of Ossi commandos as soon as he heard the impatient words uttered by the driver of the first Wolf. He gripped his venerable Uzi SMG which hung around his neck on its sling (no fancy MP7s yet for the navy reserve...) and shouted, “OSSIS!”
While pulling the weapon into his shoulder, he screamed at the lead car – and more for the benefit of his somewhat stunned men than those in the cars - “Freeze, no movement or I'll f****** SHOOT!” The next thing he knew he was looking up at the moon, wondering how he had ended up on his back.
The rear passenger of the first Wolf had let fly with a long burst at the officer challenging them, knocking him over in a cloud of dust and pieces of uniform. The occupants of all three vehicles poked their personal weapons out of their rides and started firing in all directions, having the short-lived satisfaction of seeing at least another two navy troopers apparently hit before their world ended. None made it to the MG3s mounted on the vehicles in time to make a difference.
It was all over in less than thirty seconds. After a long Schrecksekunde, a flurry of automatic fire form three MG3s and almost two dozen G36s from all directions peppered the two cars and the truck, riddling them and their occupants in seconds. The heavy weapons sqad ended things when they engaged the truck with their obsolescent but by no means less deadly Rheinmetall MK 20 autocannon. The HE shells made short work of the Mercedes Benz truck. The two commandos in the cab were simply dismembered while the two gunners in the back, fumbling for their RPGs, were effectively vaporized when the cannon's shells hit the cases with the RPG warheads, triggering sympathetic detonations. Parts of humans and truck rained down in a 50 metre radius.
“CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE! ... I SAID, CEASE F***ING FIRE!”, the master chief who had had the presence of mind to jump to safety behind a concrete barrier element, screamed into his communications set. Soon, there was only the sound of the truck burning.
He cautiously glanced over the barrier he was lying behind. The two Wolf vehicles looked like Swiss cheese while the truck's remains were blazing brightly, throwing the whole scene into flickering orange light.
“Somebody check on the Wölfe, maybe there's survivors.” He stood up, his G36 at the ready, and approached the spot where the Ensign had been shot. The figure on the ground was groaning and moving feebly. The chief hurried to his boss' side. He let his rifle fall to his side and performed a quick check for injuries with eyes and hands. No blood, at least a half dozen impacts in the vest, luckily all of them where the ceramic plates were inserted. “I think the damn Ossi only hit your vest. You may have broken a few ribs, though. Can you breathe?” “...Difficult...but...yeah...I think I can.” “Okay, I'll pull you away from the fire, the Sanis are already on their way.” In truth, the chief knew no such thing but the whole base was on full alert by this moment, so it was likely that reinforcements would be on their way in any case. With the officer helping as much as he could, they were soon safely out of harm's way.
“Chief...”
“Yeah?”
“You give the sitrep to the boss. I think this was just the start. We need to get a warning out as soon as possible. And for the love of god, check if there are any more casualties but me.”
“Will do, sir. Ah, there's the Sanis. See you in a few.”
As two medical orderlies began to tend to the Ensign's injuries, the master chief decided to take stock of the situation. He began to move in the direction of the first Wolf. “Herr Hauptbootsmann,” came the voice of one of the seamen inspecting the car, “It seems like we have a live one here...well, barely alive.” This spurred the NCO into a quick jog. “Well, get him out, then, but be careful.”
The NVA Oberfeldwebel managed a low groan as he was gently pulled from the passenger door of the West German military car. He felt and looked a right mess. One of his knees had been shattered by a machine gun bullet and he had several 5.56mm bullets in his torso. [4] He bled profusely and was nearly insane with pain and shock. I hope they'll let me die. I don't know how much longer I can take this. The craggy face of what had to be an NCO came into his field of view. “Genosse,” he said ironically,”You are in a world of s***. Provided you survive this...SANI!,”he yelled with a look back over his shoulder and then turned back to the prone East German whose wounds were already being patched up by the naval infantrymen,”Be sure you will be charged with violation of at least Article 39 of the Additional Protocol to the Geneva Convention[5]. And now lie still, let us take care of you.”
The East German felt a small prick in his thigh as he was injected with a syrette of morphine to take the edge off the pain. The world turned to grey, then black. The Oberfeldwebel awoke several days later in the Central Bundeswehr Hospital in Koblenz, restrained, short one lower leg but very much alive and on his way to recovery and a stay in a Bundeswehr POW installation.There was another survivor of this ill-fated mission, the most junior man who had suffered a head shot and would survive the war, too, with only one eye and half of his face a mass of scars.
At the command level of MFG3, once it was ascertained that no general attack by the Warsaw Pact was in progress yet, urgent phone calls were made and 'flash' e-mails were sent to Fleet Command reporting the incident. With commendable and uncustomary speed, the navy brass in its bunker in Glücksburg informed the West German MoD which in turn warned the Federal Parliament in Bonn. The State of Defence was thus declared less than ninety minutes after the last round had been fired. The invading WP forces thus faced a forewarned and prepared enemy instead of achieving any kind of surprise. The “Nordholz Firefight” entered history as the first shots fired in WW3.
[1] An official examination of the matter of the wrong time of attack after the war – one of the very few actions that could be reconstructed without a reasonable doubt – revealed that one overworked comms rating had committed that most common mistake the world over whenever computers are involved: Wrong copy/paste. His immediate superior had only given the message a cursory glance, greenlighted it and thus given the Bundeswehr and consequently NATO enough of a forewarning to be that much more prepared.
[2] In @, the Bundeswehr acquired several thousand protective vests of Bristol Body Armour from Meggitt Armour Systems in the mid-90s as an urgent operational requirement (Balkans etc.). The vests had the British DPM pattern and became eponymous for all kinds of bullet-proof vests in the Bundeswehr. I found the story too amusing to not adopt it for TLW.
[3] The German Navy traditionally has very little use for what they see as a service of pompous, stick-up-the-butt know-it-alls. One of the most beloved navy sayings is “Gold never salutes silver.” Conversely, the German Army has little use for what they see as an overly informal branch of the German military.
[4] Case in point: In 1999(?), two Kosovan Serbs attempted an attack on a Bundeswehr KFOR checkpoint and got shot at for their troubles. Massively. One was killed outright, the other received nineteen(!) 5.56mm hits to the torso and survived for nearly an hour before succumbing to his wounds.
[5] While the Chief is technically correct, nothing is going to result from this accusation. Nobody in NATO is going to create a precedent especially with NATO special forces having done the very same during WW3, as we have seen in several chapters. If Otto Skorzeny was not convicted for using enemy uniforms during special ops, why shoud anybody else?
