The Blue Effect (Cold War) (14 page)

“Radio’s knackered, sir,” came the muffled response.

Oliver checked his watch. “We’re pulling out. You and I will cover. Higgs and Franklin can carry Cliff. Pritchard, Barnes, take point. Let’s go.”

They were finally abandoning the line. What was left of his platoon would have to move quickly on foot with whatever equipment they could carry to the second defensive line. As they moved off, the mortar units supporting the battalion launched their last salvo, mixing the bombs with smoke and high explosive. The three Lynx helicopters were hovering just above tree height, conscious that ZSU-23/4s would soon be brought forward to swat them out of the sky. To a man, the Lynx pilots and crew feared the Shilka the most.

Lieutenant Thorpe took his men southwest, following a farmer’s track that led through the fields. They were moving at a slow run, the injured man sitting on an SLR held between two of his fellow soldiers while he draped his arms around their necks. Progress was slow. The lieutenant was going to lead them southwest, take them through Lauenhagen; then across the Hulse. Once across this water feature, the covering force would give them some breathing space, but first he wanted to find the rest of his men. He looked to his left as he saw a BMP-2 come flying through the trees, taken out instantly by one of the Lynx aircraft covering them. But ammunition and fuel wouldn’t last forever; the helicopters would need to pull back soon. Not too soon, he hoped.

He looked over his shoulder as he heard the growl of engines approaching from behind them, and stopped, ordering the section to continue moving. Two Land Rovers, plus trailers, pulled up alongside. The cabs, back and trailers were packed with pieces of the 81mm mortars, along with their crews.

“We can take your wounded man, sir,” suggested the sergeant in command. “Possibly a couple more.”

“Corporal Jeffries,” Thorpe shouted loudly. “Get Cliff onto the vehicle now.”

“Sir.”

“Thank you, Sergeant, the rest of us will stick together.”

“As you wish, sir.”

They hauled the wounded man up into the back of the lead Land Rover. Then the mortar section left, on their way to set up again somewhere behind Lauenhagen.

Thorpe rallied his men, and after 400 metres they arrived at the track that would take them to the village of Lauenhagen.

One and Three-Platoon were defending a short stretch of ground, and the OC was there to meet him.

“Thank God, Oliver, we thought we’d lost you.”

“Where’s the rest of my platoon, sir?”

“I’ve sent them on ahead. Take one of those Land Rovers. The driver is waiting. Send him back when you cross the Hulse.”

“They’re right behind us, sir.”

“I know, Oliver. Now, get going. We’ll hold for another five minutes then we’ll join you. We have help on the way. Get your respirators back on, it’s heavily contaminated back there.”

The lieutenant looked about him as he pulled on his respirator, and could pick out at least two Milan FPs. At least they had something to hit back with.

“Get going, Oliver.”

“Sir.”

He called to his men and they ran for the waiting vehicle. The last thing he saw as they pulled away was the positions they had just left enveloped by a storm of destruction as two Harriers, flying north to south, dropped eight bombs between them, each bomb containing over 100 sub munitions. Oliver knew, from his time at the Royal Military Academy at Sandhurst, that a single cluster bomb would discharge more than 200,000 fragments. He and his men were leaving a cauldron behind them.

The driver took them beyond the Hulse, turning right to head north, then northeast along an avenue of trees where they would conduct the next phase of the battle. From here, they hoped to hit the enemy again. The OC had confirmed that their final defensive position would be behind the Holpe, another minor run of water that would act as a slight barrier to the enemy. He wouldn’t be sorry to get there, allowing the helicopters of the 24th Airmobile Brigade to pick them up and transport them to the rear where they could rest, regroup and rearm. A Lynx Mk 7 from the Aviation Regiment flew east, no doubt to cover the rest of the Aviation Company. The Land Rover ground to a halt and deposited its passengers before the driver returned to pick up more of the soldiers who were fighting a rearguard action. Now the lieutenant could be reunited with the rest of his platoon, the half section he had sent to prepare their defences for the next line of defence.

A Captain from the Support-Company called him over. “Oliver, you look like shit.”

His face stretched into a smile behind his respirator. “I feel like it, sir. Do you know where Two-Two-Alpha are?”

“I’m sorry, Oliver,” the Captain said, clasping the young officer’s arm. “They didn’t make it. We’ve had a pretty heavy artillery bombardment and some missile strikes. The area is heavily contaminated. We’re pulling out. A flight of helicopters will be here in the next ten minutes. Make sure you and your men are on it. The rest of your platoon is over there.” He pointed to the open ground. “Waiting for a lift. And I’m sorry about your men.”

The Captain left, leaving the young platoon commander with his thoughts. He would find out how many men he had left, soon. He doubted it was a number he would be comfortable with. He had just experienced his first blooding, and he was not sure he had learnt any lessons from it. He called his men over and they headed off to find the rest of the platoon.

C
hapter 13

1
500, 9 JULY 1984. 73RD LOCATING BATTERY, 94TH LOCATING REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. AREA OF RINTELN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

A technician, a Lance Bombardier serving with 73rd Locating Battery, 94th Locating Regiment, Royal Artillery, part of the British Army of the Rhine’s Artillery Division, checked the launch mechanism of the Midge-Drone mounted on the Bedford three-ton truck.

Bombardier Armstrong stood below at the side of the truck and looked across at the hydrogen generator where Met-Troop had just launched a meteorological balloon. “Are we done?”

“Just,” responded the technician who then climbed down off the platform of the Bedford truck.

“About bloody time.” The bombardier smiled.

They both headed over to where the troop commander was waiting in a trench close by.

“All set, Bombardier?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Met-Troop have just confirmed no change, sir,” added the troop sergeant. “Div have also been on.”

“Chasing again?”

“Yes, sir. Seems this is a pretty important flight.”

“Let’s get on with it then.”

Under the control of the Royal Artillery, the Midge-Drone was operated by a troop of the divisional locating battery. The drone carried a single camera, loaded with black and white film. Set on a pre-programmed flight, it would conduct aerial photographic reconnaissance of a particular area of interest to 1 British Corps. This troop had two launchers, along with the necessary facilities to process and analyse the imagery on the drone’s return. The artillery intelligence cell at Divisional HQ of 1st Armoured Division had tasked the troop. The primary use of this asset was to confirm suspected enemy locations, particularly enemy artillery. On this occasion, they had been given a task of extreme importance. The final preparations were made, and the group of four pulled their ear defenders down just before the booster rocket launched the drone. The turbojet then took over, and the reconnaissance drone started on its mission. Its target: the ground amid the gap between the town of Buckeberg and the high ground to the southeast. The two and a half metre rocket flew its course, a difficult target for the Soviets to see. Flying high, at subsonic speed and following its pre-programmed course, the camera switched on as it passed overhead a tank battalion, a line of T-80s camouflaged against the edge of a wooded area. Elsewhere, tanks and BMP-2s were secreted inside barns or spread through the outskirts of villages. Before the tank crews and motor rifle infantrymen had noticed the sound of the passing object, it had already done its job, photographing the positions of the enemy. It banked right, flew for a further three kilometres, banked right again, then flew towards its landing point. On reaching the recovery area, the drone’s engine cut out, the parachute was deployed, and it swung as it was gently lowered to the ground, large inflatable landing bags cushioning it from any impact. The crew, followed by a Land Rover, ran out to it to recover the camera. Once acquired, the vehicle would race with the film to the Photographic Interpretation tent where the film would be developed.

1555, 9 JULY 1984. PHOTOGRAPHIC INTERPRETATION SECTION, 94TH LOCATING REGIMENT, ROYAL ARTILLERY. WEST OF RINTELN, WEST GERMANY.

THE BLUE EFFECT -2 DAYS

The Intelligence Corps Sergeant switched the light table on while the Corporal placed the recently developed roll of film on the glass surface. The lights flickered on, and the sergeant unravelled the first section, comparing each of the first few frames with the map until he got his bearings, matching up the black and white negative he was looking at with a map of the target area. He pulled the film across, frame by frame, until he found a good starting point. Then the analysis began. Using a loupe, he zoomed in to particular areas of interest.

“Got it. Alan, take a look at this.”

The corporal took the loupe out of the sergeant’s hand and stooped over the light table, studying the area pointed out. “I can’t see anything.”

“Look at those farm buildings, by the barn doors.”

“Tracks, tank tracks!”

“Now, look at the woods behind it.”

“I can see tracks, but they could be anything. Ah, I can see where the ground has been churned up. The tanks have spun round and reversed into the treeline.”

“Let’s try looking at it in stereo. I think we’ve found what HQ have been griping about.”

“The Soviet advance regiment?”

“Exactly.”

Chapter 1
4

1900, 9 J
ULY 1984. HMS TURBULENT, SSN TASK FORCE. BARENTS SEA.

THE BLUE EFFECT −2 DAYS

Commander Walcott shifted in his seat, casting his eye over the repeater for the sonar systems before glancing towards the plotting table. Behind him were the two periscopes and mast of the nuclear-powered submarine, a Trafalgar Class SSN. It moved quietly as they barely made way. The submarine was coaxed along the bottom that was barely ten metres beneath the hull. The captain of the British SSN, HMS Turbulent, a nuclear-attack submarine that cost the taxpayer a quarter of a billion pounds, would rather have had a minimum of twenty metres beneath his submarine but, with potentially a Soviet fleet overhead, and only seventy metres above the sail, it was critical that they got close to their target without discovery.

The SSN held its depth as it crept forward at five knots across the Stor Bank. The deeper point, an average two kilometres deep under the Norwegian Sea, had been left far behind them, the shelf shallowing as it got closer to the shelf edge of the Barents Sea. Once it had left the safety of the deep, the submarine had tracked the Barents Trough, covering 400 kilometres before moving north across Stor Bank. Their target, a Soviet fleet, had left the vicinity of Murmansk where it had formed up ready for what NATO expected would be an assault on northern Norway. Commander Walcott and his accompanying submarines, a second Trafalgar class, HMS Trafalgar, and two older SSNs from the Swiftsure class, HMS Spartan and HMS Sovereign, intended to ensure the Soviet fleet didn’t make it.

It had taken the submarine pack over three days to transit to their current position. They had left the North Sea, passing through the Greenland-Iceland United Kingdom Gap, known as the GIUK Gap, and into the Norwegian Sea, keeping Bear Island to their north. Now, they were in the Barents Sea, Svalbard to their northwest and the eastern tip of Norway to the south. Murmansk was less than 1,000 kilometres south southeast. British or US submarines tended not to work in packs, generally working in isolation. But, with a major Soviet Fleet on the move to launch an attack somewhere along the Norwegian or Swedish coast, perhaps in support of a second assault against Northern Germany or Denmark, a larger force was needed. Five hundred kilometres south, a second US submarine pack was making its way stealthily towards the approaching Soviet fleet. Behind them, protecting the GIUK Gap, a US Carrier Group, supported by a British anti-submarine fleet consisting of destroyers and frigates, was already doing battle against the enemy. Soviet SSNs were hunting the hunters, and both sides had lost ships and submarines. Two major assaults by the Soviet air force had sunk two US destroyers and crippled the British Aircraft Carrier HMS Invincible. The second of the British Invincible-class light aircraft carriers in the fleet, HMS Ark Royal, had its final stage of fitting-out accelerated and was rushed into service when the war against the Warsaw Pact seemed inevitable. It had assumed responsibility as the flagship for the British flotilla. Their sister ship, HMS Invincible, was helping defend the resupply route between the British Isles and the European Continent.

The GIUK Gap force had four key missions: help protect the airfield on Iceland, interdict Soviet SSNs attempting to go south to threaten NATO reinforcement and supply routes, and act as a blocking force for any major Soviet surface incursion into the Norwegian Sea. The last mission, jus as important, was tracking down and destroying Soviet SSBN ballistic missile carriers. It was likely that many of their Deltas and Typhoons were already attempting to secure their positions in preparation for a nuclear launch, should it be required. US and British SSN nuclear hunter-killer submarines would be tailing those that they were able, ready to destroy this element of the Soviet strategic nuclear arm should the threat worsen.

The Soviet Northern Fleet, the Red Banner Fleet was effectively responsible for the defence of north-western Russia, and was based at Severomorsk and in Kola Bay. The fleet was significantly larger than the entire British Royal Navy, with over 200 submarines at its disposal. The range started from the coastal diesel-electric (SS) attack submarines to the more powerful nuclear-attack submarines (SSN), along with the deadly strategic ballistic-missile submarines (SSBN). The armada that had assembled north of Murmansk was extremely powerful and a major threat to NATO’s northern flank. The aircraft-carrier/cruiser Kiev carried vertical take-off and landing fighters as well as helicopters, and sported a sizeable array of weapons. It was supported by the nuclear-powered missile-cruisers Kirov and Frunze. Two Slava class guided-missile cruisers, the Slava and Marshal Ustinov, along with at least four Kresta-II class cruisers, backed up this powerful core of the fleet. Of particular interest to the British SSNs was an Anti-Submarine Division, consisting of a mix of Udaloy I and II class destroyers, whose primary mission was to provide an anti-submarine barrier and picket patrol. An element of this Soviet flotilla that was of particular interest to NATO high command was the 175th Independent Naval Brigade. This large military force could be used to threaten a number of NATO locations anywhere from the northern part of Norway to Iceland. A diversion had already been initiated on Zealand in Denmark, but the Danish forces had repulsed the attempted airborne assault and the snap landing by another Soviet Brigade.

Commander Walcott sipped at his coffee; his hand holding the mug seemed to tremble slightly. He swapped hands, holding the drink in his left, and straightened his right hand, flexing his fingers then clenching them into a fist. The fingers relaxed as he opened his hand again, and on further examination he could see it was perfectly still. He looked up and saw his XO watching and nodded, returning his coffee to the appropriate hand and finished his drink. It wasn’t nerves or fear, he knew that. Just tiredness, bordering on fatigue. Operating in these conditions for an extended period of time would put a strain on the strongest man. His 130 crewmen had been in ‘silent mode’ for the last twenty-four hours. The standing order: if you don’t have to move, don’t. He would need to keep a close eye on his crew, perhaps a word with his XO later, although they appeared to be holding up well.

He slipped off his seat and went to check the plotter. The sub was on target. It wasn’t the first time he, his crew and HMS Turbulent had entered these waters. During operations to acquire ‘The Take’, intelligence gathering that would enhance their knowledge of Soviet naval operations, he and his men had slipped past Soviet ships to spy on their exercises, fleet manoeuvres, being conducted by the perceived enemy. Now, though, they were a true enemy. But they must be close to the fringes of the enemy fleet by now. The outer anti-submarine defences would be the first of the barriers they needed to cross. Although, initially, they were part of a submarine pack, they would in fact operate independently as each submarine now had no idea where the other SSNs were since separating on leaving the Norwegian Sea. They would be aware of their respective allocated sectors of operation but beyond that, nothing.

“Sonar, contact bearing 124.”

Walcott moved across the control room and into the sonar space where the operator was bent over his sonar stack, the first stack green, the bottom two white. The operator put his hand to the white cloth-covered headphones, a tattoo showing on his bicep under the rolle- up sleeve of his blue uniform shirt.

“What have you got, Roberts?”

“Still increasing in intensity, sir. Bearing now 125.”

The chess game has started
, thought Walcott.

“Any thoughts?”

“Small, sir, but I can’t be certain.”

“Distance?”

The sonar operator checked his stack. “Eleven thousand yards, sir.”

The XO joined him.

“Udaloy?”

“Possibly.”

“Ten thousand yards, bearing 125.”

Walcott turned to the XO. “We’ll maintain course, keep him to our starboard.”

“New contact, bearing 086, 16,000 yards…a destroyer, I think, sir.”

“Well done, Roberts. Keep on them.”

“Their outer screen. What do you plan then, sir?”

The captain picked up the handset. “Left rudder, ten degrees.”

“Ten degrees, left rudder, aye, sir,” came the response from the helm.

“Need more of the picture, XO.”

They both moved across to the board. Two pieces of the jigsaw were in place, but not enough to provide the bigger picture.

“We need to get a picture of his battle space, and two destroyers won’t give us that,” the captain continued.

What Commander Walcott needed to know was the formation of the Soviet fleet that was slowly heading in his direction.

“Well, at least we’ve spotted two of their pickets.”

“Yes, and they are true submarine hunters. Those SS-N-14s have a range of up to fifty kilometres.”

“So long as they have helicopters in the air to guide them.”

“Oh, they will, XO. They’ll be out there looking for us now. And, if they do find us, those destroyers can push up to thirty-five knots.”

“Get past those, and we can get to grips with the high value targets.”

“Sonar, Contact-One, identified Udaloy-1 destroyer, bearing 126, 9,000 yards.”

“Contact-Two, Roberts?”

“Bearing 086, range 15,000 yards.”

“Identification?”

“Nothing definite yet, sir, but I reckon it’s a second Udaloy.”

“Thank you.”

“Helm, ahead ten knots.”

“Ahead, ten knots, aye.”

“We’ve got two of the pickets, XO, but what about the rest?”

“We must be on their starboard quarter. If we maintain this bearing, we’ll pick them up, but we’ll be right under the Udaloy that’s coming straight at us.”

“That’s why we’re going around them. Helm. Ten degrees port.”

“Ten degrees port. Aye.”

“Bill.”

“Sir.” Lieutenant Commander Bill Legge, weapons engineering officer, known as WEPs, made his way over.

“We’re going to come in behind the Soviet fleet, Bill, so I want another check of weapons. If we can get amongst them, I want to hit them hard and then run. So make sure your team are on the ball.”

“They won’t let you down, sir.”

“Good.”

WEPs went to do another check on his team, those that would be responsible for loading and firing the submarine’s torpedoes. The first contact had eventually moved behind them, and the second contact was now directly opposite their position but, as they were moving away on a ten-degree bearing, a gap of 11,000 yards had developed between them.

A Leading Hand brought a tray of sandwiches from the galley, and the captain, sitting on his green-backed seat, called him over. He and the XO grabbed some badly needed food. They both needed sleep as well. The six hours on duty, six hours off routine had fallen by the wayside as they were now so close to the enemy that an incident or attack could occur at any moment. Both had managed two hours sleep each in the last twelve, but it might be some time before they had that luxury again.

“Sonar. Contact. No, two…three contacts. Contact-Three bearing 155, 9,000 yards. Possible cruiser. Contact-Four, bearing 128, 10,000 yards. Contact-Five, bearing 127, 12,000 yards. It’s big, sir, bloody big. It has to be her.”

The XO picked up the handset and chastised the operator. “Get a grip, Roberts.”

“Sorry, sir. Contact-Three and Four are likely cruisers, but Contact-Five is big.”

The XO, standing next to the captain in the narrow corridor of ‘track alley’, spoke first. “The big one has to be either the Kirov or even the Kiev.”

“A guided-missile cruiser. Now, taking that out would be a good start, eh XO? Helm, dead ahead.”

“Dead ahead. Aye.”

To the right of the captain’s chair, the helm went through their manoeuvres to bring the eighty-four-metre boat back on course.

Commander Walcott reached across and grabbed the handset for the internal communications. “This is the Captain. We are currently tracking a Soviet fleet off to our starboard, but shortly we will be attempting to get right amongst them. Once we can track the elements making up the fleet and isolate the key targets, we will destroy as many of them as we can; then run and hide. I know you’re all feeling a bit ragged, a bit tired, but stay focussed. All our lives depend on it. When we can get to a port or sea of safety, we can all catch up on lost sleep. This is the Captain. That is all.”

He looked left towards ‘fire-control alley’ where the repeater station for the sonar systems sat along with the fire control technicians. He envisaged they would be busy very soon.

“Ten degrees starboard. Make for fifteen knots.”

“Ten degrees starboard. Fifteen knots. Aye.”

“This is it then, sir,” said the XO.

The captain looked at his watch. “Fifteen minutes, then I want to go up and take a look.”

“Is that wise, sir? There are bound to be submarines with the fleet. They’ll have a good chance of hearing us.”

“Unlikely, XO. They would have been at the head of the fleet, the fleet’s first picket line, and they appear to have missed us. I want to make sure we haven’t missed any contacts.”

“Unless they’re tracking us.”

“This is not peacetime. We’d have been blown out of the water by now if a Soviet SSN had been following us.”

After fifteen minutes, a period that seemed like a lifetime, the captain made his decision and picked up the comms handset. “Sonar. Update on contacts.”

“Contact-Eight. Udaloy-1, bearing 268, 7,000 yards. No other contacts.”

“Thank you. No sign of the big boys?”

“Negative, sir,” responded the sonar officer, Lieutenant Powers.

“Periscope depth.”

“Periscope depth, aye.”

The captain bent down and placed his eyes against the search periscope as it slowly rose. He completed a quick 360-degree turn, but could pick out nothing, apart from a quick glimpse of a helicopter, probably on an anti-submarine mission. He zoomed in towards the direction of the fleet and could see dark shapes in the distance. Although it was unlikely that the search periscope would be spotted, as the water was choppy, he had it lowered before the feather from the periscope could be seen by an observant watch keeper; then he ordered the boat to dive.