' The Longest Night ' & ' Crossing the Rubicon ': The Original Map Illustrated and Uncut Final Volume (Armageddon's Song) (59 page)

A hammer blow struck the Challenger and flames engulfed the turrets interior.

The Coldstreamers were still engaged in clearing Cambewarra and the sound of fighting from there was audible from where Pat Reed summoned the COs of 1IG and 1WG.  A quick O Group and a quick reorganisation followed.

The infantry who were cammed-up now divested themselves of flora and fauna, and hessian strips that broke up the shape of equipment. Fire was a very real by-product of house-to-house fighting so all unnecessary, flammable, items were removed. Oddly enough the section commanders sent out foragers to find thin, strong branches that were also straight and these were snapped into roughly 3’ lengths and brought along. Gaffer tape, PE4 or the nitro headache inducing PE808, guncotton charges, detonators, fuse cord and of course storm matches. The safest doorway into a defended building is one you make yourself, so the sections of branches and the gaffer tape create the ‘X’ frame on which a small charge of PE is likewise secured with gaffer tape to the tips of the upper arms. Placed against a wall and the fuse lit before retiring to a safe(ish) distance the charges blow ‘mouse holes’ big enough to allow the assault team, the Entrymen, to enter once designated ‘grenadiers’ lob grenades inside. If those preparing the mousehole charges had PE808 to work with they wore gloves as they moulded the charges into shape. Nitro-glycerine from ‘808’ is absorbed through the pores and the immediate effects of the poisoning are the mother of all headaches.

Grenades, rope, water and stones. A stone thrown into a room sounds the same as a grenade being thrown in and makes defenders take cover.

The Irish Guards cordoned the north of Nowra as the south of the river received mortar and artillery fire to prevent reinforcement or retreat. With no further ado the Welsh Guards began the process of house clearing, FIBUA, fighting in built up areas.

2
nd
Guards Mechanised Brigade moved past, heading east with A and C Squadron of the Hussars detaching themselves from Pat Reed’s brigade, along with a squadron of Scimitars from the  Life Guards.

The bridge across the wide Broughton Creek remained intact but the wooded Back Forest hill beside it was an obvious defensive position. It commanded both the bridge and the road to their objective, Shoalhaven on the coast. The Scimitars gave
it some clog, intending to go firm once across the bridge but the defenders let the leading troop cross, waiting for the following troop’s commanders vehicle to reach the centre of the bridge before they blew it.

In one fell swoop the Life Guards lost five vehicles. The troops which had crossed was hunted down by infantry with RPGs, and the second troop lost an additional vehicle on the bridge which did not reverse quickly enough to get out of range.

It was five miles to the next crossing and that too was likely to be a trap.

‘Terry’ Thomas, commanding the 2
nd
Guards brigade, was calling forwards the Royal Engineers to survey the blown bridge, and banks, for the suitability of bridging units when a SASR patrol arrived with a solution. They had constructed a sunken bridge months before in order to move about unchallenged. It sat two feet below the surface and remained a secret from the enemy. It was a mile up river at a spot where dairy cattle had watered, before the Chinese had eaten them all of course. The only problem was a weight issue as only the Household Cavalry Scimitars were sufficiently light to cross without destroying the submerged structure. The 432s were twice the weight of the SASR six wheel LRPVs and of course the MBTs were obvious no-no’s.

So, the Grenadiers and Sappers put on a convincing act of preparing to throw a bridging unit over the demolished section under fire, and the mortars put down smoke and HE to enforce that illusion. That smoke screen also covered the Scots Guards as they waded across undetected, followed by the Life Guards Scimitars.

2CG completed the clearing of Cambewarra and rejoined the their brigade in time to hear the sound of bagpipes, the strains of Highland Laddie wafting on the wind.  The Scots Guards had taken Back Forest Hill and the road to the sea was open.

Puckapunyal Army Base, Victoria:
Same day 0800hrs

Turning onto finals and descending towards runway 03 of  ‘Pucka’s’ short tarmac strip, Nikki noticed that the tentage was thinning out rapidly in expectation of moving to HMAAS Albatross once it was recaptured by the British Guards Division.

The Pearce Wing had been revitalised by the arrival of USS
Constellation’s
air wing and the army training establishment was one of three fields they were using.

The wheels screeched briefly and having only 700m to play with she braked firmly. Having completed the roll out she followed black-washed arrows on the grass to a dispersal, flanked as ever by earth filled cargo containers that acted as blast walls.

Gerry was there waiting and she saw his expression when he sighted the damage, a flicker off fear before the façade of rugged humour dropped back into place.

“Steve and Monica?” he asked after she had shut down and exited.

She answered with a brief shake of the head and added a few words.

“Fifty nine milly ess pee.”

“The same one that did that?” he nodded toward the starboard vertical stabiliser which looked like a giants sawn-off had been used on it at close range.

“Yup.”

The crew chief came over, clucking his lips and shaking his head.

“Patching it will take an hour but the avionics took a hit and you have lost a hardpoint somewhere.”

The armourers were removing the unused ordnance and she now saw a cannon round had amputated the rearmost portside ordnance hardpoint. The 500lb JDAM that had been there was now obviously sat in a field somewhere with UXB status. A matter of inches had been the difference between breathing and instant oblivion.

“That could have made your eyes water a bit” Gerry observed.

Nikki looked around for her RIO but Candice was in the shady side of the dispersal, flight helmet under one arm, batting her eyelashes at her latest target, an F-18 driver with Gerry’s new squadron.

Nikki was hungry and she and Gerry left Candy and headed to the RAAF Mess tent which was also under deconstruction but had pre-prepared sandwiches, coffee, tea and rocket fuel, an orange flavoured cold drink that was high in electrolytes but removed your teeth enamel, or so it was rumoured.

They sat outside on a fallen tree trunk, away from the labouring cooks folding away the canvas and trying to jam the end results back into bags they had slid out of with far greater ease a week before. 

“Any news on how it is all going so far?”

Gerry’s squadron was supporting the ANZAC advance back to the coast across the Bega Valley.

“We lost Danny Bigsopp covering the Pom Tornados going in over Merimbula Lake, the Tornados took out the runway okay but Danny ditched in the sea a hundred yards or so off the beach, and those mongrels machine gunned his life raft from the shore.”

“You get them?”

“Oh
, yeah.” That was it, just two words. When Gerry was reticent it meant a lot had gone unsaid. Nothing to describe the flak, the AAA or the ground fire from defences now fully alert as he had settled accounts.

“
You Yanks are doing well, I hear. They are already in Newcastle’s suburbs.” he added and turned to peer off at the horizon, raising a hand to shade his eyes as he tried to make out what type the aircraft were that he had just heard.

“The Brits have a tough nut to crack but they are making progress.” Nikki said, but Gerry did not answer, frowning at something in the distance before a look of alarm crossed his features and he shouted whilst dragging Nikki backwards off the tree trunk, flopping back to lie protectively on top of her.

“AIR RED!…AIR RED!”

The scream of multiple jet engines passing low overhead was painful on the ears, as was the cannon fire that tore into the tented area and those working there. A series of massive explosions made the ground leap beneath her and then the raiders were gone. Only now did the air raid siren begin.

Gerry rolled off her but she remained laying there, her hands covering her head as rubble and debris fell back to earth, the result of the 500lb and cluster bomb units the attackers had dropped in the hit and run raid.

Jumping over the log Nikki ran back towards the dispersal. There had been one canvas wall still standing in the mess tent and that was now peppered, ripped and ragged by shrapnel and the cooks lay still and bloody. Only a middle aged reservist in a white apron that had turned bright crimson was sat upright, deathly pale and muttering to himself reassuringly.

“It’ll be al’right; the doc will fix this easy, just a stitch or two.” He was clutching his belly, trying to prevent any more of the shiny entrails from pouring out.

“MEDIC!” Nikki shouted but did not stop until she could see the rest of the way to where her F-14 had been. One of the hefty earth filled containers was lying some twenty feet from a crater
and the burning wreckage of what had once been an aircraft. The Tomcat, ground crew, armourers and Candice LaRue were all gone. She turned to speak to Greg, to voice her horror but he was not beside her. Only now did she feel the wet stickiness of blood on her neck and it wasn’t hers. The wounded cook was where he had been, still sat upright but silent now, and with eyes glazing over. She ignored him and ran on to the tree trunk, to where Gerry was lying unmoving.

“MEDIC!”

C Troop, D Squadron, 1
st
(AU) Armoured Regiment: Rose Valley, NSW. 19 miles south of Port Kembla.

0
242hrs Sunday 23
th
December.

The Princes Highway was still the axis of advance, a whole week and one hundred and sixty nine miles later, as the crow flies.

The 1
st
Corps of the Chinese 3
rd
Army was drawing in on itself, not running away, so ‘Tango Four Three Alpha’ was not on the highway but to its left, using the elevated roadway as cover from suspected enemy positions near the sea.

This was a
n area of New South Wales that actually looked a lot like the old South Wales, just north of Llanelli, not that any of the crew could vouch for that.

The
long highway from Bega was littered in places with burnt out vehicles, the victims of strikes by the NATO air forces, artillery and nuisance raids by Australian SASR and New Zealand NZSAS Patrols in six wheeled LRPVs.

A narrow strip now known as The Devils Highway to the south of them. A 666 metre wide strip of land between Burrill Lake and the ocean was where a Chinese logistic regiment had been caught out in the open by the air force. Forty seven fuel tankers and trucks carrying stores, ammunition and the like. The lead vehicles were taken out and then the rear, trapping those in between. Of course those remaining tried to either get past the burning vehicles at the front. It had been a log jam and the men below were helpless but it was a high value target. Enough fuel and ammunition to draw out the fighting ever longer. When D Squadron arrived the vehicles were still there, charcoaled along with the occupants. The combat engineers attached to the
pommy Guards had created a detour and thrown a pontoon bridge across the inlet at its narrowest point, but the breeze had been from the west, blowing over the fire blackened causeway and Chuck Waldek, in the loaders hatch next to 2Lt Burley, had up-chucked, no pun intended, down the hatch and down Che Tan’s neck, the smell had been that bad. The inside of the turret of their second hand M1A1 was a small space in which to perform the pugilistic arts but they had nonetheless managed to do each other some damage. 

‘Tango Four Three Charlie’, their venerable
old Leopard 1, had been hit during one of the attempts by the Chinese 14
th
Tank Regiment to clear the way to Canberra. The round had caused damage not repairable within three days and so it was replaced. Their new ride had seen action in Germany and had itself been damaged at some point before being purchased, or donated, to the Australian Armoured Corps. Whoever had taken the time to respray the interior in bright white fire retardant paint had not swept up. Che had found a small section of fire-charred jaw bone wedged beneath the gunners seat.

The regiment had seen changes, the addition of another squadron and the creation of a second battalion, equipped with all used but good condition Abrams. The regimental commander been killed in an air strike and everyone moved up one. Lt Jenkins went from Troop Commander, to Squadron Adjutant, to Squadron Commander in the space of a fortnight, all thanks to air strikes. HMAAS Albatross
and Merimbula had been the bases of operations where all the sorties against the defenders had originated in the ANZAC and Pom sectors.

When they had taken Bega, Pambula Beach and Kalaru the long drive north had begun
, leading them past the Fleet Air Arm base. On the first day of the campaign Albatross had been raided by special forces to curtail those air raids, it was back in friendly hands, but driving past it the wrecked Chinese aircraft were still where they had been when destroyed by the SASR.