Chapter 349.
Posted: Sat Nov 19, 2022 2:05 pm
With thanks to Jotun & Matt W.
Chapter 349
*
D+22
*
0031 hours GMT, 14th May. West of Lüneburg, West Germany.
When the Soviet artillery barrage hit it came as a total surprise to the troopers of the ‘Brave Rifles’. 1st Squadron was well spread out, as it conducted reconnaissance operations, so did not take many casualties. However, it was still something of a shock, as the enemy had seemed to be on the run. Attacks from helicopters and fixed wing jets came next, the Soviets and their allies having managed to concentrate enough of both to penetrate NATO’s defences.
The advance of the 25th Tank and 32nd Guards Tank Divisions, and 35th Motor Rifle Division also came as a tactical surprise for the American soldiers on the front lines, although it was less of a surprise to Colonel O’Connell and to, Lieutenant General Allinson, the commander of 2 (Br) Corps. Both of whom had been expecting a Soviet counterattack, although not quite so soon.
*
Colonel O’Connell had no intention of engaging in a ‘stand up’ fight with the attacking Soviet divisions. Instead, like the 3rd ACR’s counterparts, the 2nd and 11th ACR, had done on D +1, he would engage in a mobile defence, delaying the enemy’s advance until the British armoured divisions could join the fight.
What was concerning him was that forward Soviet units had managed to get in between some of 1st Squadron’s troops, threatening to cut them off. For example, ‘Apache’ Troop was being pushed to the northwest, back towards Hamburg, and away from the rest of the squadron.
“Apache Troop is never going to get back to the rest of the squadron.” O’Connell commented. “Message Roughrider, Apache Troop has permission to retreat into the Hamburg defence lines if it needs to.”
“On it, Colonel.”
“Now, just where are the Brits?” The Colonel muttered to himself.
“Colonel, message just in from corps!”
*
To the southwest, outside of Evendorf, the Fife and Forfar Battle Group was digging in, after taking up defensive positions. After a discussion between COMNORTHAG and the commanders of 2 (Br) and III (US) Corps, a decision had been taken to halt the northwards advance. If the Soviets wanted to try and create a corridor between the 2nd and 4th Guards Tank Armies, then NATO was going to let them try, creating a killing zone for the enemy to advance into. With an effective ‘free fire zone’ created, NATO forces could engage pretty much any target without worrying that they might be hitting a friendly unit.
G Company, 7 Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders had dug in on the edge of Evendorf itself. The site of their recent battle against an East German reserve battalion. While most of the bodies of enemy troops had been recovered for burial, there were still quite a number of burned-out T-54 and BTR-60 marking the former and possibly future battlefield.
Captain Fraser could now take the necessary time to study the ground in front of his company group, without having to worry about being overrun by enemy armour. He also took a few moments to watch a detachment of Royal Engineers lay anti-tank mines in front of his positions. Fraser had made sure that the location of the mines was marked on every map in his company. He certainly did not want to lose anyone to their own mines.
Finished with walking the ground, Fraser returned to his Warrior Command Vehicle. As usual, he found that its crew had managed to have a ‘wet’ ready for his return.
“Any news of the Septic cav?” He asked, after taking the steaming mug offered to him.
“Should be with us by dawn, Boss. At least that’s what H.Q thinks.”
“In that case, we’ll plan for them passing through our lines a couple of hours earlier than that. Just in case.
“Do we need anything? This’ll be the last chance to ask H.Q.”
“We’re all squared away, Boss.” The Company Sergeant Major confirmed. “We’ve even received eight replacements from the pool. Not Argyll men, sadly, but six of them are at least from Scots regiments.”
This particular bit of news caught Fraser by surprise.
“And the other two?”
“Ah, one’s a Physical Training Instructor, the other is from the AGC. Was a pay clerk I believe. They’re also both Scots, funnily enough from our recruiting area, but…”
“They’re both women, aren’t they?”
The CSM nodded.
“Right, I see.” Fraser observed. “I don’t want any prejudice from any of you. We’ll judge all of the newbies on an individual basis, whatever their previous regiment, or corps.”
A distant sound of thunder stilled any further conversation.
“Sounds like our friends may be arriving sooner, rather than later.” Fraser said.
0045 hours. Westminster, London.
Like their other attacks on the city, Soviet targets planners seemed to have taken a shotgun approach to Westminster. It would later be remarked that other than the building that was home to Passport and Visa Services, no government buildings had been directly attacked. The closest missiles strike to a government department had been in the upper part of Tufton Street, which had shaken the Home Office and DEFRA, but not caused any real damage.
Quite what the DA had against Tufton Street, Lord North Street, and the health club nearby on Great Peter Street was something of a mystery to the senior members of the emergency services who were dealing with the aftermath. The response to the attack had been hampered by the fact that a missile had demolished Westminster Fire Station, killing all of Blue Watch. The next nearest fire station, Lambeth, was occupied by fires started by another attack, so tackling the situation in Westminster had to wait until appliances from Soho and Chelsea arrived.
*
Watch Commander A Carole ‘Doris’ Webb took her helmet off for a moment, to allow her to wipe sweat off her forehead. Until the previous year, Webb had been a member of Westminster’s Blue Watch, so she had known the firefighters killed in that station very well. She was now in command of Fire Rescue Unit based at Paddington Fire Station. For major incidents, such as this one, an FRU became the core of an USAR team.
At least now that the fires were largely out the fire brigade and other emergency services could concentrate on clearing the rubble. There were already indications that people were still alive but trapped. LFB and NEV rescue teams were using thermal imagers and listening devices to find buried victims.
As Webb’s team continued to work, she became aware of a group of people in hard hats and Hi-Viz jackets watching progress from short distance away. No civilians should have been inside the ‘hot zone’, so she decided to investigate.
“Take charge, Jack. I need to check on who that lot are. If they’re not meant to be here, I’ll get the police to remove them.”
“Right, Sub.”
Webb carefully picked her way across the rubble until she reached where the mystery group was standing.
“I’m Watch Commander Webb, London Fire Brigade.” She said. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“I’m John Reid, Watch Commander.” The man in the middle of the group replied, Webb realising that she was talking to the Home Secretary. “I hope we’re not in the way. I’ll try not to detain you too long, but I wanted to see how things are getting on.”
“It’s tough work, Sir.” Webb replied. “A lot of the buildings that have not collapsed are unstable, not to mention that we have all the various underground services to worry about – you know, gas, water, sewage, etc.”
The Home Secretary nodded his understanding.
“Unfortunately, we’ve already found a few voids where people who survived building collapses, only to drown, or asphyxiate. But we’re optimistic about finding more survivors. Experience from previous disasters shows that people can survived trapped for days, or even longer.”
“Good luck to you and your colleagues, Watch Commander Webb. Is there anything you need?”
“More bodies, Sir. I’m sure the Bronze Commander has told you we’re spread thin.”
“He has.” Reid confirmed. “The Commissioner told me the same thing. My understanding from him is that pretty much all of the brigade is committed to dealing with the various incidents across London. If I can get you any more help, I’ll do it, but I’ll make no promises, mind.”
This time Webb nodded her understanding.
“I’ll pass that onto the lads, Sir, if I may.”
“Of course.
“I’ll not detain you any longer, Watch Commander. I’m sure you have more important things to do than indulge me. Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome, Sir. Just one, thing, can you tell me why the Russians would hit this particular bit of Westminster?”
The Home Secretary shrugged.
“I honestly don’t know. Maybe they were aiming for the Home Office and fell short. Or perhaps they don’t like all the dodgy so-called ‘think tanks’ that are based around here. Your guess is as good as mine.”
0103 hours GMT. East of Kassel, West Germany.
The 244th Guards MRR, part of 8th Guards Army had just been relieved from immediate frontline duty after another hard period of combat, to regroup, reorganize, replenish their significant losses, and absorb another load of reservists. By now, more than forty percent of the formation’s manpower had been replaced and an even larger percentage of the regiment’s armored vehicles now consisted not of T-90s, BMP-4s and corresponding modern AFVs but rather squeaky, rusty and element-bleached T-72s and BMP-1 and 2. Morale was plummeting, and the soldiers had taken out their frustrations on the West German civilian infrastructure and in some cases on the odd civilian caught behind the front. [1]
Being mindful of the importance of camouflage, the regimental staff had located their vehicles and tents in a small group of bushes and young trees and applied lots of camouflage netting. At this time of night, it was next to invisible to the naked eye and surrounded by several tracked AAA vehicles and a bunch of MANPADs armed troops, also well camouflaged.
The regimental CO and his staff were hard at work dealing with the new situation, feeling somewhat safe from attack especially since they were operating under strict radio silence.
*
About ten kilometers away, a small Bundeswehr Heer LRRP group who was shepherding two additional and somewhat exotic personnel had holed up in a well-hidden subterranean hide that had been prepared for just this use days before the FLET had moved past it, and it was now a handful of kilometers behind enemy lines. They had infiltrated on the back of an armored counterattack that had been mainly responsible for pulling 244th GMMR out of the line. Two young subalterns, one a Luftwaffe Leutnant, the other a Bundesmarine Leutnant zur See were half lying, half sitting in front of an array of militarized laptop computers and satellite communications equipment which showed the iconic black-grey-white pictures of IR and low light observation equipment.
Both had been students at the Munich Bundeswehr University before mobilization and in the middle of their cooperative master’s thesis in computer science (the sailor’s field) and aeronautical engineering (the airman’s field) that examined exactly what they were doing right now.
Each was piloting a jury-rigged multi-rotor electrically driven UAV loaded with COTS optical arrays, a military-grade GPS receiver and holding a special something in the center of their fuselages. The officers had built the UAVs themselves and had suggested this mission to the CO of their replacement battalion.
The small size of the UAVs, their mostly plastic composite fuselages, the dark, cloudy night, and the quiet electrical motors had meant that infiltrating Indian Country had been a lot easier than lugging all that equipment through the weeds and setting it up.
Currently, one drone was auto-hovering exactly over the staff vehicle’s skylight which was nicely visible on IR, while the other one was stationary over a large stack of tank ammunition being readied for distribution to the regiment’s MBTs, a few hundred meters away.
“Right, dude.” The Ensign quietly said to his Luftwaffe friend. “My drone’s systems are all green, how ´bout yours?”
“Same here.” Came the casual and quiet answer.
“Good. We have enough data for the post-op analysis and presentation. Suggest delivering the surprise package. Start visual recording. The big heads will be interested.”
“Recording.”
“Ditto. Initiate drop on the count of three. One, two, three, drop, drop, DROP.”
The officers simultaneously pressed the fire button on the gaming joysticks they used to steer the UAVs with. Under both drones, clamps sprung open to release 81mm HE mortar round. Directly after that, the drones automatically initiated evasive maneuvers to make them more difficult targets and put them out of the way of shockwaves.
One mortar round penetrated the fiberglass skylight of the staff vehicle and detonated on the map table the motor rifle regiment’s CO and the rest of his staff were sitting and standing around. The vehicle was armored against small arms which meant that the shockwave bounced off all six interior walls several times, turning the occupants into bunches of roughly butchered meat.
The second mortar round impacted on a stack of 125mm tank rounds and set off the propellant charges, triggering further sympathetic detonations and turning the rearming area into an inferno of fire and shrapnel.
The two young officers began to steer the drones back to a predetermined pickup area a few hundred meters away from their observation post while the LLRP group began to pack up.
The senior NCO leading the patrol was impressed.
“Gentlemen.” He quietly said to the two men, “my unrestrained admiration for this job. If you need a testimonial about the uses of such stuff for LRRP work and direct action, please do not hesitate to call on my help. Let’s boogie as soon as you put them whirlygigs down, alright.”
The two engineering students were pleased with the undiluted praise as well as the way the mission had played out. When the UAVs had touched down, they helped packing up the electronic equipment and made ready to exfiltrate.
0128 hours GMT. Off Gdańsk, Poland.
The fishing boat had leisurely puttered its way out into the Baltic, taking its time. As a regular sight, patrol boats from the Polish Navy had ignored it. Although, they would check it on its return, hoping they could obtain some fresh fish.
Lt. Colonel Cox was not a happy sailor. Despite the sea being relatively calm, he had begun to fell sea-sick not long after the boat had reached open water. Cox had already gone through the stage where he was frightened that he might die and was now into the stage of frightened that he would not die. The worst thing was that he had to stay below, where the smell of fish did nothing to make him feel better.
“American, are you ready?” The boat’s skipper asked, sticking his head into the cabin Cox was in.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Come.” The skipper said, signaling with a jerk of his head.
It was dark when Cox reached the deck, reminding him that he had lost all track of time. He saw the skipper produce a hooded torch and flash it a few times out to port. Cox strained to see what the Pole could have been signaling too. Suddenly, the waves parted a few hundred meters away as the fin of a submarine broke the surface. An inflatable boat was very quickly launched from the forward escape hatch.
“You must go now!” The skipper said urgently, as the inflatable came alongside the fishing boat.
Several fishermen helped Cox over the side, and he was grabbed by hands and pulled down into the inflatable. He had barely sat down when the inflatable had come about and headed back towards the submarine.
*
Cox stood at the base of the escape hatch, still not sure how he had gotten there, so fast had the sailors moved. One of them gently, but firmly pushed him aside and Cox felt the deck began to tilt.
“Lieutenant Colonel Cox?” A man who was clearly an officer asked.
“That’s me.”
“Welcome aboard Halland. I am the captain, Lieutenant Commander Peter Lindh, of the Royal Swedish Navy.”
“The Swedish…” Cox began to say, before remembering that the Swedes were now part of NATO. “Sorry, thank you, Captain. I’m very grateful to you.”
Lindh nodded in recognition of Cox’s thanks.
“We have orders to get you back to our base, Colonel. Of course, we may be diverted, but we will do our best to get you there as soon as we can. I have arranged for you to bunk in my cabin, please follow me.”
“I don’t want to turn you out of your bed, Captain.”
Lindh chuckled.
“I won’t have much use for it for a few days, Colonel. So, please do not worry.
“A Soviet battle cruiser has sortied from Kronstadt, so there is every chance that we may get diverted.”
Having led Cox aft, through the control room, Lindh opened a hatch, which led into a small cabin. A Swedish Navy coverall, minus any rank insignia lay folded on the bunk.
“I have arranged for some fresh clothes for you, Colonel. Please make yourself comfortable and let us know if you need anything to eat, or drink. I will send a sailor to show you where the facilities are in a while.”
“Thank you again, Captain.”
“I must go now. I will see you again later.”
0145 Hours GMT. NAS Whidbey Island, WA.
In the office trailer that had the CO's office for VA-175, Commander Dawn Torres was having a quiet, professional fit. Oh, NAVAIRPAC had made sure that enough enlisted personnel and Petty Officers were available, and the squadron's Chiefs were already whipping people into shape, but it was officers she needed. Commander Torres was furious that she still didn't have a Flight Surgeon or a Maintenance Officer, and though Medium Attack/Tactical Electronic Attack Wing Pacific was doing their best, she had been told that “a few more days” were needed. Namely, she wasn't the only one in search of people in those slots, and someone qualified as an A-6E Maintenance Officer was likely someone who'd been either IRR or worse-just coming back to active duty. Just lovely. What was it not just the CNO, but the Rear Admiral who commanded the Wing had said? “This is a marathon, not a sprint?” Suck it up, Dawn. Somebody across the base is probably in the same boat you are (and she was right)
A knock on the door interrupted her.
“Door's open! Come on in!”
The door opened to reveal a very bedraggled male Lieutenant Commander, who looked like he'd been on several airline flights to get to where he was now.
“Commander Torres?”
“Found her.” Torres replied. “And you are?”
The man handed her his orders and personnel jacket.
“Lieutenant Commander Mark Kearny. I'm your new Flight Surgeon.”
About time, she thought.
“Where'd they find you?”
“Believe it or not, Ma'am, I was at NAS Atlanta, but doing IRR. I drill with CVW-20, but I'm not part of their staff. After I got called up and until somebody at BuPers called yesterday? They had me doing physicals for AOCS and OCS candidates in the Atlanta area.”
Torres nodded. The Navy bureaucracy again.
“Ever been to sea?”
Though she still thought the squadron-and the rest of CVW-16-wouldn't go to sea, you never knew in wartime.
“Yes, Ma'am. Squadron Flight Surgeon for VA-35 and also part of Eisenhower's Medical Department for two cruises,” Kearny said.
“At least you're not a nugget.” Torres grinned. “Okay, Commander. Welcome to the Devil's Diplomats. You have a rack?”
Kearny shook his head.
“No, Ma'am. I was told to check in with you once I showed up on base.”
Torres nodded again. She had the same thing when she arrived at Whidbey and checked in with VA-128. Which had started to also train people on the A-6E... Plenty of those down in Tucson, she knew.
“Very well. The XO's in the next trailer over. He'll find you some quarters. Then show up bright-eyed and ready, 0800 tomorrow morning. There's a Chief Pharmacist's Mate and two Corpsmen who'll be very happy to see you.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“That'll be all, Commander.”
After the sawbones had left, Torres checked her desk. It was clear. And she had blocked out some training time for a night hop. Good. That was one way to get the stress out. She then left the trailer and went to the XO's.
*
Lieutenant Commander Jason “T-Rex” Clark was just getting up from his desk. He knew the Skipper had a night hop in mind, so he was already in his flight suit.
“Skipper?”
“What's your opinion on our new sawbones?” Torres asked.
“Seems nice enough,” T-Rex said. “Though if I was in his shoes? I'd be pissed off that I got pulled out of a cushy slot like that one.”
Commander Kearny had told T-Rex where he had been before he got his orders to the squadron.
“So would I.” The Skipper said. “Anyway, write up travel orders to Tucson tomorrow for two of our crews. There's a couple of Es waiting at AMARC with our name on 'em.”
“Gotcha, Skipper.”
“Sooner we're flying more, the better. And VA-215 across the base is in the same fix we are. So, we're not alone.” Said Torres.
She saw him in his flight suit. Though that was the Uniform of the Day as far as the aircrew were concerned...
“You want to get a night hop out of the way?”
T-Rex grinned.
“Anytime. Though soon, I'm getting a new pilot.”
Pairing up an experienced B/N with a new pilot and vice versa, though not a reg, was very common in the A-6 community.
“When our people come back from Tucson with those two new birds, you'll get one. In the meantime? Let's get prepped. I'll file the flight plan, and you make sure 501's ready. We're going down to Yakima Firing Range, then down to Hanford for some LGB practice marking, then picking out some Interstate bridges.”
“What are we waiting for, Skipper?”
*
After taking care of the flight plan, and the Skipper's bird being prepped, the two went out to the aircraft in what normally was VA-155's hangar. The ground crew had gotten the aircraft ready, with no ordnance other than a practice GBU-12-which was filled with concrete but still had a fully functioning laser guidance unit. They went through the walk-around and pre-flight, then after the cockpit portion, started the A-6's two J-52 engines. After getting clearance, they taxied to the runway, waiting on a pair of Fs from VA-128 to do their own take-off. Once the two Fs were airborne, it was their turn.
The A-6 rolled down the runway and into the air, and after climbing out and heading south, towards Bangor and Bremerton. As they passed Bangor, they noticed on the FLIR that the sub-base was empty, as one expected, but when they passed Bremerton before heading down to Yakima, it was different. The Bremerton Navy Yard was a busy place, with lots of torches active on the flight decks of both United States and Independence. Then Commander Torres headed southeast, towards the Cascades and then the Yakima Range.
0203 hours GMT. Dzerzhinsky, Gulf of Finland.
The Kirov class battlecruiser and her escorts were making their way down the gulf at twenty knots. The group was currently almost directly between Helsinki and Tallinn. Soviet Naval air arm fighter aircraft were providing air cover and there was no discernible surface threat, the remains of the Finnish Navy having retreated to the west to link up with the Swedish Navy. The group’s orders were to push out into the central Baltic, linking up with another group moving north from Kaliningrad, and threaten either the island of Gotland, or even Stockholm itself. This would hopefully bring the Swedish and Finnish navies to battle, and lead to their destruction.
*
Captain Artyom Sidorov was in a good mood. From what he could tell, the work to repair his ship had been properly carried out and Dzerzhinsky himself seemed to be in fine fettle. Now that his ship was able to take to sea, the Rodina’s enemies would not have anything capable of standing up to him. Things might have been different if the island of Zealand was not in Soviet hands. But occupation of that island closed off access to the Baltic for the navies of West Germany, Denmark and Norway, or any other NATO reinforcements.
The only regret that Sidorov had was that he did not have any Granit missiles spare to fire at Helsinki as the battle group sailed by. It was also unlikely that there would be any left after the planned naval engagement, so firing a few at Stockholm would probably be out of the question. A lack of land-attack weapons on Soviet warship was one lesson that would need to be learned once this war was over.
The captain’s thoughts returned to the present as a sailor placed a steaming glass of tea on the arm of his chair. While such hazards should really have been landed, Sidorov had insisted on retaining a few glasses, so that he could drink tea in the proper fashion.
“Thank you, Comrade Seaman.” He said before taking his first sip.
One thing Sidorov had done, that marked him out from his predecessor, was that he thanked junior sailors if they did something like this for him. He was not seeking to court popularity but did want his men to feel that they were valued.
*
High above an RQ-3 UAV circled undetected. Its cameras had picked up the thermal plumes of the Soviet warships and was now transmitting images back to the newly established NATO H.Q Eastern Baltic. That had been established at the Swedish underground at Muskö and essentially consisted of the peacetime Swedish Naval Staff, with liaison staff from other NATO members attached.
The appearance of Dzerzhinsky amongst the Soviet battle group was causing some considerable concern. The largest warships in the Royal Swedish Navy were corvettes, dwarfed in size by the battlecruiser. It was like putting a Great White shark into a lake (ignoring the obvious issues with fresh water); it simply outmatched everything. At least the NATO aircraft redeployed to deal with the attempted breakout into the North Sea were still available.
If only Zealand was still in friendly hands, the planners reflected. Providing an almost exact mirror to Sidorov.
***
[1] This snippet is dedicated to the ingenuous and creative defenders of Ukraine. Slava Ukraini!
Chapter 349
*
D+22
*
0031 hours GMT, 14th May. West of Lüneburg, West Germany.
When the Soviet artillery barrage hit it came as a total surprise to the troopers of the ‘Brave Rifles’. 1st Squadron was well spread out, as it conducted reconnaissance operations, so did not take many casualties. However, it was still something of a shock, as the enemy had seemed to be on the run. Attacks from helicopters and fixed wing jets came next, the Soviets and their allies having managed to concentrate enough of both to penetrate NATO’s defences.
The advance of the 25th Tank and 32nd Guards Tank Divisions, and 35th Motor Rifle Division also came as a tactical surprise for the American soldiers on the front lines, although it was less of a surprise to Colonel O’Connell and to, Lieutenant General Allinson, the commander of 2 (Br) Corps. Both of whom had been expecting a Soviet counterattack, although not quite so soon.
*
Colonel O’Connell had no intention of engaging in a ‘stand up’ fight with the attacking Soviet divisions. Instead, like the 3rd ACR’s counterparts, the 2nd and 11th ACR, had done on D +1, he would engage in a mobile defence, delaying the enemy’s advance until the British armoured divisions could join the fight.
What was concerning him was that forward Soviet units had managed to get in between some of 1st Squadron’s troops, threatening to cut them off. For example, ‘Apache’ Troop was being pushed to the northwest, back towards Hamburg, and away from the rest of the squadron.
“Apache Troop is never going to get back to the rest of the squadron.” O’Connell commented. “Message Roughrider, Apache Troop has permission to retreat into the Hamburg defence lines if it needs to.”
“On it, Colonel.”
“Now, just where are the Brits?” The Colonel muttered to himself.
“Colonel, message just in from corps!”
*
To the southwest, outside of Evendorf, the Fife and Forfar Battle Group was digging in, after taking up defensive positions. After a discussion between COMNORTHAG and the commanders of 2 (Br) and III (US) Corps, a decision had been taken to halt the northwards advance. If the Soviets wanted to try and create a corridor between the 2nd and 4th Guards Tank Armies, then NATO was going to let them try, creating a killing zone for the enemy to advance into. With an effective ‘free fire zone’ created, NATO forces could engage pretty much any target without worrying that they might be hitting a friendly unit.
G Company, 7 Argyll and Sutherland Highlanders had dug in on the edge of Evendorf itself. The site of their recent battle against an East German reserve battalion. While most of the bodies of enemy troops had been recovered for burial, there were still quite a number of burned-out T-54 and BTR-60 marking the former and possibly future battlefield.
Captain Fraser could now take the necessary time to study the ground in front of his company group, without having to worry about being overrun by enemy armour. He also took a few moments to watch a detachment of Royal Engineers lay anti-tank mines in front of his positions. Fraser had made sure that the location of the mines was marked on every map in his company. He certainly did not want to lose anyone to their own mines.
Finished with walking the ground, Fraser returned to his Warrior Command Vehicle. As usual, he found that its crew had managed to have a ‘wet’ ready for his return.
“Any news of the Septic cav?” He asked, after taking the steaming mug offered to him.
“Should be with us by dawn, Boss. At least that’s what H.Q thinks.”
“In that case, we’ll plan for them passing through our lines a couple of hours earlier than that. Just in case.
“Do we need anything? This’ll be the last chance to ask H.Q.”
“We’re all squared away, Boss.” The Company Sergeant Major confirmed. “We’ve even received eight replacements from the pool. Not Argyll men, sadly, but six of them are at least from Scots regiments.”
This particular bit of news caught Fraser by surprise.
“And the other two?”
“Ah, one’s a Physical Training Instructor, the other is from the AGC. Was a pay clerk I believe. They’re also both Scots, funnily enough from our recruiting area, but…”
“They’re both women, aren’t they?”
The CSM nodded.
“Right, I see.” Fraser observed. “I don’t want any prejudice from any of you. We’ll judge all of the newbies on an individual basis, whatever their previous regiment, or corps.”
A distant sound of thunder stilled any further conversation.
“Sounds like our friends may be arriving sooner, rather than later.” Fraser said.
0045 hours. Westminster, London.
Like their other attacks on the city, Soviet targets planners seemed to have taken a shotgun approach to Westminster. It would later be remarked that other than the building that was home to Passport and Visa Services, no government buildings had been directly attacked. The closest missiles strike to a government department had been in the upper part of Tufton Street, which had shaken the Home Office and DEFRA, but not caused any real damage.
Quite what the DA had against Tufton Street, Lord North Street, and the health club nearby on Great Peter Street was something of a mystery to the senior members of the emergency services who were dealing with the aftermath. The response to the attack had been hampered by the fact that a missile had demolished Westminster Fire Station, killing all of Blue Watch. The next nearest fire station, Lambeth, was occupied by fires started by another attack, so tackling the situation in Westminster had to wait until appliances from Soho and Chelsea arrived.
*
Watch Commander A Carole ‘Doris’ Webb took her helmet off for a moment, to allow her to wipe sweat off her forehead. Until the previous year, Webb had been a member of Westminster’s Blue Watch, so she had known the firefighters killed in that station very well. She was now in command of Fire Rescue Unit based at Paddington Fire Station. For major incidents, such as this one, an FRU became the core of an USAR team.
At least now that the fires were largely out the fire brigade and other emergency services could concentrate on clearing the rubble. There were already indications that people were still alive but trapped. LFB and NEV rescue teams were using thermal imagers and listening devices to find buried victims.
As Webb’s team continued to work, she became aware of a group of people in hard hats and Hi-Viz jackets watching progress from short distance away. No civilians should have been inside the ‘hot zone’, so she decided to investigate.
“Take charge, Jack. I need to check on who that lot are. If they’re not meant to be here, I’ll get the police to remove them.”
“Right, Sub.”
Webb carefully picked her way across the rubble until she reached where the mystery group was standing.
“I’m Watch Commander Webb, London Fire Brigade.” She said. “Can I ask what you’re doing here?”
“I’m John Reid, Watch Commander.” The man in the middle of the group replied, Webb realising that she was talking to the Home Secretary. “I hope we’re not in the way. I’ll try not to detain you too long, but I wanted to see how things are getting on.”
“It’s tough work, Sir.” Webb replied. “A lot of the buildings that have not collapsed are unstable, not to mention that we have all the various underground services to worry about – you know, gas, water, sewage, etc.”
The Home Secretary nodded his understanding.
“Unfortunately, we’ve already found a few voids where people who survived building collapses, only to drown, or asphyxiate. But we’re optimistic about finding more survivors. Experience from previous disasters shows that people can survived trapped for days, or even longer.”
“Good luck to you and your colleagues, Watch Commander Webb. Is there anything you need?”
“More bodies, Sir. I’m sure the Bronze Commander has told you we’re spread thin.”
“He has.” Reid confirmed. “The Commissioner told me the same thing. My understanding from him is that pretty much all of the brigade is committed to dealing with the various incidents across London. If I can get you any more help, I’ll do it, but I’ll make no promises, mind.”
This time Webb nodded her understanding.
“I’ll pass that onto the lads, Sir, if I may.”
“Of course.
“I’ll not detain you any longer, Watch Commander. I’m sure you have more important things to do than indulge me. Thank you, though.”
“You’re welcome, Sir. Just one, thing, can you tell me why the Russians would hit this particular bit of Westminster?”
The Home Secretary shrugged.
“I honestly don’t know. Maybe they were aiming for the Home Office and fell short. Or perhaps they don’t like all the dodgy so-called ‘think tanks’ that are based around here. Your guess is as good as mine.”
0103 hours GMT. East of Kassel, West Germany.
The 244th Guards MRR, part of 8th Guards Army had just been relieved from immediate frontline duty after another hard period of combat, to regroup, reorganize, replenish their significant losses, and absorb another load of reservists. By now, more than forty percent of the formation’s manpower had been replaced and an even larger percentage of the regiment’s armored vehicles now consisted not of T-90s, BMP-4s and corresponding modern AFVs but rather squeaky, rusty and element-bleached T-72s and BMP-1 and 2. Morale was plummeting, and the soldiers had taken out their frustrations on the West German civilian infrastructure and in some cases on the odd civilian caught behind the front. [1]
Being mindful of the importance of camouflage, the regimental staff had located their vehicles and tents in a small group of bushes and young trees and applied lots of camouflage netting. At this time of night, it was next to invisible to the naked eye and surrounded by several tracked AAA vehicles and a bunch of MANPADs armed troops, also well camouflaged.
The regimental CO and his staff were hard at work dealing with the new situation, feeling somewhat safe from attack especially since they were operating under strict radio silence.
*
About ten kilometers away, a small Bundeswehr Heer LRRP group who was shepherding two additional and somewhat exotic personnel had holed up in a well-hidden subterranean hide that had been prepared for just this use days before the FLET had moved past it, and it was now a handful of kilometers behind enemy lines. They had infiltrated on the back of an armored counterattack that had been mainly responsible for pulling 244th GMMR out of the line. Two young subalterns, one a Luftwaffe Leutnant, the other a Bundesmarine Leutnant zur See were half lying, half sitting in front of an array of militarized laptop computers and satellite communications equipment which showed the iconic black-grey-white pictures of IR and low light observation equipment.
Both had been students at the Munich Bundeswehr University before mobilization and in the middle of their cooperative master’s thesis in computer science (the sailor’s field) and aeronautical engineering (the airman’s field) that examined exactly what they were doing right now.
Each was piloting a jury-rigged multi-rotor electrically driven UAV loaded with COTS optical arrays, a military-grade GPS receiver and holding a special something in the center of their fuselages. The officers had built the UAVs themselves and had suggested this mission to the CO of their replacement battalion.
The small size of the UAVs, their mostly plastic composite fuselages, the dark, cloudy night, and the quiet electrical motors had meant that infiltrating Indian Country had been a lot easier than lugging all that equipment through the weeds and setting it up.
Currently, one drone was auto-hovering exactly over the staff vehicle’s skylight which was nicely visible on IR, while the other one was stationary over a large stack of tank ammunition being readied for distribution to the regiment’s MBTs, a few hundred meters away.
“Right, dude.” The Ensign quietly said to his Luftwaffe friend. “My drone’s systems are all green, how ´bout yours?”
“Same here.” Came the casual and quiet answer.
“Good. We have enough data for the post-op analysis and presentation. Suggest delivering the surprise package. Start visual recording. The big heads will be interested.”
“Recording.”
“Ditto. Initiate drop on the count of three. One, two, three, drop, drop, DROP.”
The officers simultaneously pressed the fire button on the gaming joysticks they used to steer the UAVs with. Under both drones, clamps sprung open to release 81mm HE mortar round. Directly after that, the drones automatically initiated evasive maneuvers to make them more difficult targets and put them out of the way of shockwaves.
One mortar round penetrated the fiberglass skylight of the staff vehicle and detonated on the map table the motor rifle regiment’s CO and the rest of his staff were sitting and standing around. The vehicle was armored against small arms which meant that the shockwave bounced off all six interior walls several times, turning the occupants into bunches of roughly butchered meat.
The second mortar round impacted on a stack of 125mm tank rounds and set off the propellant charges, triggering further sympathetic detonations and turning the rearming area into an inferno of fire and shrapnel.
The two young officers began to steer the drones back to a predetermined pickup area a few hundred meters away from their observation post while the LLRP group began to pack up.
The senior NCO leading the patrol was impressed.
“Gentlemen.” He quietly said to the two men, “my unrestrained admiration for this job. If you need a testimonial about the uses of such stuff for LRRP work and direct action, please do not hesitate to call on my help. Let’s boogie as soon as you put them whirlygigs down, alright.”
The two engineering students were pleased with the undiluted praise as well as the way the mission had played out. When the UAVs had touched down, they helped packing up the electronic equipment and made ready to exfiltrate.
0128 hours GMT. Off Gdańsk, Poland.
The fishing boat had leisurely puttered its way out into the Baltic, taking its time. As a regular sight, patrol boats from the Polish Navy had ignored it. Although, they would check it on its return, hoping they could obtain some fresh fish.
Lt. Colonel Cox was not a happy sailor. Despite the sea being relatively calm, he had begun to fell sea-sick not long after the boat had reached open water. Cox had already gone through the stage where he was frightened that he might die and was now into the stage of frightened that he would not die. The worst thing was that he had to stay below, where the smell of fish did nothing to make him feel better.
“American, are you ready?” The boat’s skipper asked, sticking his head into the cabin Cox was in.
“Yeah, I guess.”
“Come.” The skipper said, signaling with a jerk of his head.
It was dark when Cox reached the deck, reminding him that he had lost all track of time. He saw the skipper produce a hooded torch and flash it a few times out to port. Cox strained to see what the Pole could have been signaling too. Suddenly, the waves parted a few hundred meters away as the fin of a submarine broke the surface. An inflatable boat was very quickly launched from the forward escape hatch.
“You must go now!” The skipper said urgently, as the inflatable came alongside the fishing boat.
Several fishermen helped Cox over the side, and he was grabbed by hands and pulled down into the inflatable. He had barely sat down when the inflatable had come about and headed back towards the submarine.
*
Cox stood at the base of the escape hatch, still not sure how he had gotten there, so fast had the sailors moved. One of them gently, but firmly pushed him aside and Cox felt the deck began to tilt.
“Lieutenant Colonel Cox?” A man who was clearly an officer asked.
“That’s me.”
“Welcome aboard Halland. I am the captain, Lieutenant Commander Peter Lindh, of the Royal Swedish Navy.”
“The Swedish…” Cox began to say, before remembering that the Swedes were now part of NATO. “Sorry, thank you, Captain. I’m very grateful to you.”
Lindh nodded in recognition of Cox’s thanks.
“We have orders to get you back to our base, Colonel. Of course, we may be diverted, but we will do our best to get you there as soon as we can. I have arranged for you to bunk in my cabin, please follow me.”
“I don’t want to turn you out of your bed, Captain.”
Lindh chuckled.
“I won’t have much use for it for a few days, Colonel. So, please do not worry.
“A Soviet battle cruiser has sortied from Kronstadt, so there is every chance that we may get diverted.”
Having led Cox aft, through the control room, Lindh opened a hatch, which led into a small cabin. A Swedish Navy coverall, minus any rank insignia lay folded on the bunk.
“I have arranged for some fresh clothes for you, Colonel. Please make yourself comfortable and let us know if you need anything to eat, or drink. I will send a sailor to show you where the facilities are in a while.”
“Thank you again, Captain.”
“I must go now. I will see you again later.”
0145 Hours GMT. NAS Whidbey Island, WA.
In the office trailer that had the CO's office for VA-175, Commander Dawn Torres was having a quiet, professional fit. Oh, NAVAIRPAC had made sure that enough enlisted personnel and Petty Officers were available, and the squadron's Chiefs were already whipping people into shape, but it was officers she needed. Commander Torres was furious that she still didn't have a Flight Surgeon or a Maintenance Officer, and though Medium Attack/Tactical Electronic Attack Wing Pacific was doing their best, she had been told that “a few more days” were needed. Namely, she wasn't the only one in search of people in those slots, and someone qualified as an A-6E Maintenance Officer was likely someone who'd been either IRR or worse-just coming back to active duty. Just lovely. What was it not just the CNO, but the Rear Admiral who commanded the Wing had said? “This is a marathon, not a sprint?” Suck it up, Dawn. Somebody across the base is probably in the same boat you are (and she was right)
A knock on the door interrupted her.
“Door's open! Come on in!”
The door opened to reveal a very bedraggled male Lieutenant Commander, who looked like he'd been on several airline flights to get to where he was now.
“Commander Torres?”
“Found her.” Torres replied. “And you are?”
The man handed her his orders and personnel jacket.
“Lieutenant Commander Mark Kearny. I'm your new Flight Surgeon.”
About time, she thought.
“Where'd they find you?”
“Believe it or not, Ma'am, I was at NAS Atlanta, but doing IRR. I drill with CVW-20, but I'm not part of their staff. After I got called up and until somebody at BuPers called yesterday? They had me doing physicals for AOCS and OCS candidates in the Atlanta area.”
Torres nodded. The Navy bureaucracy again.
“Ever been to sea?”
Though she still thought the squadron-and the rest of CVW-16-wouldn't go to sea, you never knew in wartime.
“Yes, Ma'am. Squadron Flight Surgeon for VA-35 and also part of Eisenhower's Medical Department for two cruises,” Kearny said.
“At least you're not a nugget.” Torres grinned. “Okay, Commander. Welcome to the Devil's Diplomats. You have a rack?”
Kearny shook his head.
“No, Ma'am. I was told to check in with you once I showed up on base.”
Torres nodded again. She had the same thing when she arrived at Whidbey and checked in with VA-128. Which had started to also train people on the A-6E... Plenty of those down in Tucson, she knew.
“Very well. The XO's in the next trailer over. He'll find you some quarters. Then show up bright-eyed and ready, 0800 tomorrow morning. There's a Chief Pharmacist's Mate and two Corpsmen who'll be very happy to see you.”
“Yes, Ma'am.”
“That'll be all, Commander.”
After the sawbones had left, Torres checked her desk. It was clear. And she had blocked out some training time for a night hop. Good. That was one way to get the stress out. She then left the trailer and went to the XO's.
*
Lieutenant Commander Jason “T-Rex” Clark was just getting up from his desk. He knew the Skipper had a night hop in mind, so he was already in his flight suit.
“Skipper?”
“What's your opinion on our new sawbones?” Torres asked.
“Seems nice enough,” T-Rex said. “Though if I was in his shoes? I'd be pissed off that I got pulled out of a cushy slot like that one.”
Commander Kearny had told T-Rex where he had been before he got his orders to the squadron.
“So would I.” The Skipper said. “Anyway, write up travel orders to Tucson tomorrow for two of our crews. There's a couple of Es waiting at AMARC with our name on 'em.”
“Gotcha, Skipper.”
“Sooner we're flying more, the better. And VA-215 across the base is in the same fix we are. So, we're not alone.” Said Torres.
She saw him in his flight suit. Though that was the Uniform of the Day as far as the aircrew were concerned...
“You want to get a night hop out of the way?”
T-Rex grinned.
“Anytime. Though soon, I'm getting a new pilot.”
Pairing up an experienced B/N with a new pilot and vice versa, though not a reg, was very common in the A-6 community.
“When our people come back from Tucson with those two new birds, you'll get one. In the meantime? Let's get prepped. I'll file the flight plan, and you make sure 501's ready. We're going down to Yakima Firing Range, then down to Hanford for some LGB practice marking, then picking out some Interstate bridges.”
“What are we waiting for, Skipper?”
*
After taking care of the flight plan, and the Skipper's bird being prepped, the two went out to the aircraft in what normally was VA-155's hangar. The ground crew had gotten the aircraft ready, with no ordnance other than a practice GBU-12-which was filled with concrete but still had a fully functioning laser guidance unit. They went through the walk-around and pre-flight, then after the cockpit portion, started the A-6's two J-52 engines. After getting clearance, they taxied to the runway, waiting on a pair of Fs from VA-128 to do their own take-off. Once the two Fs were airborne, it was their turn.
The A-6 rolled down the runway and into the air, and after climbing out and heading south, towards Bangor and Bremerton. As they passed Bangor, they noticed on the FLIR that the sub-base was empty, as one expected, but when they passed Bremerton before heading down to Yakima, it was different. The Bremerton Navy Yard was a busy place, with lots of torches active on the flight decks of both United States and Independence. Then Commander Torres headed southeast, towards the Cascades and then the Yakima Range.
0203 hours GMT. Dzerzhinsky, Gulf of Finland.
The Kirov class battlecruiser and her escorts were making their way down the gulf at twenty knots. The group was currently almost directly between Helsinki and Tallinn. Soviet Naval air arm fighter aircraft were providing air cover and there was no discernible surface threat, the remains of the Finnish Navy having retreated to the west to link up with the Swedish Navy. The group’s orders were to push out into the central Baltic, linking up with another group moving north from Kaliningrad, and threaten either the island of Gotland, or even Stockholm itself. This would hopefully bring the Swedish and Finnish navies to battle, and lead to their destruction.
*
Captain Artyom Sidorov was in a good mood. From what he could tell, the work to repair his ship had been properly carried out and Dzerzhinsky himself seemed to be in fine fettle. Now that his ship was able to take to sea, the Rodina’s enemies would not have anything capable of standing up to him. Things might have been different if the island of Zealand was not in Soviet hands. But occupation of that island closed off access to the Baltic for the navies of West Germany, Denmark and Norway, or any other NATO reinforcements.
The only regret that Sidorov had was that he did not have any Granit missiles spare to fire at Helsinki as the battle group sailed by. It was also unlikely that there would be any left after the planned naval engagement, so firing a few at Stockholm would probably be out of the question. A lack of land-attack weapons on Soviet warship was one lesson that would need to be learned once this war was over.
The captain’s thoughts returned to the present as a sailor placed a steaming glass of tea on the arm of his chair. While such hazards should really have been landed, Sidorov had insisted on retaining a few glasses, so that he could drink tea in the proper fashion.
“Thank you, Comrade Seaman.” He said before taking his first sip.
One thing Sidorov had done, that marked him out from his predecessor, was that he thanked junior sailors if they did something like this for him. He was not seeking to court popularity but did want his men to feel that they were valued.
*
High above an RQ-3 UAV circled undetected. Its cameras had picked up the thermal plumes of the Soviet warships and was now transmitting images back to the newly established NATO H.Q Eastern Baltic. That had been established at the Swedish underground at Muskö and essentially consisted of the peacetime Swedish Naval Staff, with liaison staff from other NATO members attached.
The appearance of Dzerzhinsky amongst the Soviet battle group was causing some considerable concern. The largest warships in the Royal Swedish Navy were corvettes, dwarfed in size by the battlecruiser. It was like putting a Great White shark into a lake (ignoring the obvious issues with fresh water); it simply outmatched everything. At least the NATO aircraft redeployed to deal with the attempted breakout into the North Sea were still available.
If only Zealand was still in friendly hands, the planners reflected. Providing an almost exact mirror to Sidorov.
***
[1] This snippet is dedicated to the ingenuous and creative defenders of Ukraine. Slava Ukraini!
