Chapter 351
Posted: Mon Dec 05, 2022 6:41 pm
D+22
*
0706 hours. RAF Stornoway, Isle of Lewis.
“Another day, another dollar.” Squadron Leader Walker commented as he taxied his Tornado F.3 to the runway.
“As much as that, eh?” Flight Lieutenant Barker commented from the rear cockpit. “I prefer same sh*t, different day, myself.”
“You would, pal.”
*
Walker and Barker had been on Quick Reaction Alert duty, ready to crew one of the two Tornados held at immediate readiness to reinforce those on CAP duty. When conducting his walk-around, Walker had been dismayed to see that the two rear AMRAAMs had been replaced by two Skyflash missiles. He did remember the briefing the day before in which the aircrew had been told that they would, until further notice, not be receiving any further supply of AMRAAM and ASRAAM missiles. Instead, older AIM-9L and Skyflash would be supplied instead.
To eke out their supply of modern missiles, the Tornados were being armed with mixed loads of missile – two of each. The aircrew did not mind the Sidewinders too much, they were still regarded as good missiles. However, they did not look forward to using the semi-active Skyflash missiles, even if they were the SuperTEMP variant. [1]
At least being based in the Outer Hebrides made it exceedingly unlikely that the aircrews of XI (F) Squadron and A Flight, 603 (City of Edinburgh) Squadron would encounter anything other than Soviet bombers.
*
The two QRA jets had been scrambled to meet a second wave of Soviet ‘Backfire’ bombers heading south from the Kola. The F.3s which had already been airborne were now by and large heading back to base to re-arm. Leaving gaps in the defences.
*
“Okay, Boss, we’ve got some trade. Buchan have assigned us targets.”
“Right, let’s go get them.”
Walker signalled to the pilot of the other Tornado F.3. He saw the head in the front cockpit bob up and down, acknowledging the hand signals.
“Let’s go in radar silent until we’re within weapons range.” Walker declared. “Don’t want the b*ggers to know we’re coming.”
“Got it, Boss.”
At just under the speed of sound, it did not take the two interceptors long to close the range. To close the gap Walker briefly engaged reheat, sending his aircraft supersonic.
“Okay, Ron, light the s*ds up.”
“My pleasure, Boss.”
The radar quickly sorted the targets in front of it, selecting the four nearest.
“Fox Three! Fox Three!” Walker announced as he fired the Tornado’s two AMRAAMs. “Hope you f*ckers burn in hell!”
Walker had not started the war hating the enemy. The aircrew manning the bombers of the DA were just like him, he thought. They were just doing their job; it was not their fault the USSR had started the war. That had all changed when he had seen the news pictures of the results of deliberate missile attacks against British cities. He had begun to hate those who he blamed for carrying out these war crimes.
“Damn, I think they’re launching…but that’s a kill! There’s another!” Barker commented. “Yup, they’ve definitely launched. I’d say those are Kent-Cs from their speed.”
“Well, here comes the fun bit.”
Walker locked on to two Kh-555 missiles before firing.
“Fox One!”
The Skyflash missile dropped away from the Tornado’s belly, accelerating rapidly up to Mach.4. As it tracked the reflected radar energy from the Foxhunter radar, Walker banked the F.3 gently to keep the enemy missile within the scan of the radar. Just as it was about to reach its target, Walker fired his second Skyflash. Milliseconds after the first Kh-555 was destroyed, the F.3’s radar automatically switched to track the second target. To Walker and Barker’s annoyance, the second Skyflash broke lock just before it got close enough to its target to proximity fuze.
“Damnit.” Walker muttered.
He allowed the Kh-555s to pass by, before reversing course to pursue.
“Fox Two! Fox Two!” He reported, firing both of the ASRAAMs the Tornado was armed with.
To use the pair of AIM-9L, Walker had to get closer before he could fire. As the F.3 had a comfortable overtake speed on the cruise missiles, that did not take long.
“Fox Two! Fox…Jesus F*cking Christ!”
The second Sidewinder had exploded within a few seconds of launch. Walker and Baker heard fragments hitting the fuselage of their Tornado, a sounded like a car driving over gravel. Warning lights lit up and Walker reduced the throttle back to idle and motored the wings forward while he checked for damage.
“I think we might be losing hydraulic fluid, but she’s still flying okay for the moment. I want to land somewhere with cables and a barrier. Where’s our closest airfield with those, Ron?”
“Give me second.” Baker replied.
“I’ll get Five-Two check us over while you’re doing that.”
The second Tornado closed in and performed a few close fly-bys.
“You’re definitely leaking hydraulic fluid and there are some impressive holes in your wings and fuselage. Nothing that’s going to cause a Martin-Baker let down, though, other than the hydraulic fluid, of course. What you thinking, over?”
“I want to put down somewhere with arrestor gear. Ron is just working out the nearest, over.”
“Good idea. We’ll stick with you till you're down.”
“Appreciate that.”
“I’d say Lossie, or Kinloss are our best bets, Boss. I’d recommend Lossie.”
“Right, let’s do it.” Walker replied, motoring the wings back again and turning the Tornado to follow Barker’s directions.
0737 hours GMT. Edirne, Eastern Thrace, Turkey.
“So where are you from?” Eri (Private) Arap asked the man next to him in his best English.
“Kastanies. I was defending my home.”
Arap clapped the Greek private on his right soldier.
“We will free your home. It may take a little time, but we will free it.”
“We save your home first, eh?” The Greek soldier replied.
Arap’s new Number Two had been amongst the equivalent of two companies of Greek soldiers that had been trapped against the Turkish border. He had been surprised to be assigned a Greek Stratiotis (private) as a replacement for his Number Two, who had been killed during the hurried retreat from the border defences. From what he had gathered from conversations with the man, who was called Phillip (he could not pronounce his second name), the Greek soldier had been part of a machine gun team and his Number One had been killed.
The provisional battalion that Arap and Phillip were assigned to, were holding some hastily dug positions that had been thrown up to supplement the existing fixed defences that protected Edirne. Although, in theory, they offered less protection than the network of bunkers and pillboxes built in peacetime, Arap was happier to be in a position less likely to be known to the enemy.
*
The defenders of Edirne were a mixed bunch. Reservists who lived locally were, on mobilisation, used to fill out cadre units assigned to man the fixed defences protected the city. The Jandarma Genel Komutanlığı based in the city also came under the command of the army on the outbreak of war. The 11th Infantry Brigade (Mechanised) was also assigned to protect Edirne, although it was intended to provide a mobile defence. [2]
When the invading Soviet forces had cut-off Edirne from NATO forces to the south, the had cut off a battle group from the 11th, formed of two tank squadrons, and an infantry company. These troops, along with survivors of the troops who had manned the border defences, plus all sorts of ‘odds-and-sods’ had joined those already assigned to the city. The Greeks had joined this already heterogenous force.
*
“The Russians are coming again! Get ready!” Was the message passed from defensive position to defensive position.
Arap opened the breach of his M1919A4 and checked that the ammunition belt was properly loaded and that there were no kinks. Meanwhile, Phillip checked the rest of the belt, and that additional ammunition was readily accessible. Done, the Greek soldier finally checked that his G3A4 rifle was easily accessible.
However, rather than enemy armoured vehicles, a single UAZ, with a white rag tied to its radio aerial approached. Halting just over one hundred meters away, two Soviet soldiers getting out. They started walking towards the Turkish positions, one of them waving a white handkerchief.
“Stop! Do not move!” Arap’s platoon commander yelled in English.
“I wish to speak to your commanding officer!” One of the Soviets yelled back in the same language.
*
“So, what can I do for you?” The Albay (Colonel) who commanded the Edirne garrison asked, after he and the Soviet colonel and his aide had exchanged military courtesies.
“We wish to discuss surrender terms.” The colonel’s aide, who spoke English, replied.
The Albay chuckled. He had never expected in his military career to be given the chance to use one of the most famous of war cliches.
“Sorry, Captain. We don’t have the facilities to take you all prisoner. I’d need to consult my superiors in any case.”
The captain repeated the reply to the Soviet colonel, who shrugged and muttered “how original” in Russian.
“You do realise your situation is hopeless, Colonel?” The captain tried.
The Albay shook his head and chuckled again.
“Captain, say this to your Colonel. Let’s assume that you have gone through all the usual appeals to get me to surrender, and I have rejected them all. Will save us all a lot of time. I plan to stay here and wait for the rest of our army and our allies to come and get us.”
This time the Soviet Colonel shook his head and started speaking. Pausing occasionally to allow his aide to translate.
“My Colonel says, in that case, we will crush you…your army is not coming…and where are your vaunted allies?”
The Albay gestured for an officer in his delegation to come forward.
“Colonel, I would like you to introduce you to Tagmatarchis Angelos of the Hellenic Army. His men are helping to defend my country, just as, in time, we will help him kick you out of Greece.
“Perhaps you will crush us before we can be relieved, but that will take time, blood, and resources that you do not have. So, unless you have anything else you wish to discuss, I suggest we return to our respective headquarters and finish this fight.”
The Soviet Colonel snorted.
“You are brave man, but stupid.” He said in English, before spinning around and heading back to the UAZ.
The Soviet artillery resumed their barrage within thirty minutes of the two officers departing.
0745. RAF Lossiemouth, Moray, Scotland.
“Lossiemouth Approach, this is Alpha Charlie Five-Two, pan, pan, pan! I have airframe damage from a premature missile explosion. I am losing hydraulic fluid and may soon have controllability problems. Request a straight in approach with arrestor gear and barrier, over.”
“Alpha Charlie Five-Two, Lossiemouth Approach. We have you on radar. You have permission to make a straight in approach, the pattern is clear. Arrestor gear and barrier will be in place. Fire and Rescue are on stand-by. We will provide talk-down, there is no need to acknowledge our calls from now on, over.”
“Roger that, Lossiemouth Approach.”
“Good luck, Sir.”
Squadron Leader Walker checked that the straps on his ejection seat were tight and that he had stowed any loose objects. He moved the stick from right to left to test the aircraft’s reactions.
“Stick is getting a bit stiff, Ron.” He told his navigator. “I’m going to blow down the undercarriage, just to make sure.”
“Gotcha.” Barker replied. “You just concentrate on that pilot sh*t, Boss and get us down.”
As the Tornado approached Lossiemouth, Walker blew down the undercarriage, arrestor hook and motored the wings fully forward. He next began to lower the flaps, however, after extending slightly they stopped.
“Oh, hell, there goes the last of the hydraulic fluid. This is going to be a hard and fast landing, hold on, Ron.”
As the F.3 approached the runway it crossed the coast, passing over the golf course and road that bordered the northern boundary of the station. Walker pulled back on the stick, pulling the nose up just before the aircraft touched down. The main undercarriage slammed down on the end of the runway, thankfully it held, and the tyres did not burst. The thrust reverser buckets automatically deployed, and Walker pushed the throttles to max dry power. The nose of the Tornado slammed down, throwing Walker and Barker forward against the straps of their seats.
“F*cking hell!” Walker exclaimed.
While the thrust reversers were capable of stopping the Tornado, the aircraft now had no breaks, or nose-wheel steering. So, it was with some relief to the aircrew that its emergency arrestor hook caught the wires that had been laid out half-way down the runway. The other, less pleasant, alternative, was to take the barrier, which had been raised at the other end of the runway.
“Nice landing, Boss.” Barker said once the aircraft had come to a halt. “Now, let’s see if I can find my teeth.”
0807 hours GMT. South of the Main Line of Resistance, ROK.
A Company, 1st Battalion, 27th Infantry Regiment (Light) was about to go back into the line. It was now well rested and had absorbed replacements, mainly KATUSA personnel.
“LT, you got a visitor.” Acting Staff Sergeant Hammond said, sticking his head into the newly promoted 1st Lieutenant Hathaway’s tent.
“Can you send them in please, Staff?” Hathaway replied, distracted by the letter to the relatives of a deceased member of his platoon that he was writing.
Hammond vanished and another figure stepped into the tent.
“Be with you in a second.” Hathaway said as he signed the letter.
“Take your time, David.”
Lieutenant Hathaway leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the tent pole. He started to salute, then stopped on remembering he was inside and hatless.
“Uh, Dad, I mean, General, Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming.”
“It’s okay, David. I don’t advertise my itinerary.” General David Hathaway, said, a smile on his face. “Sit down, sit down, I’m here as your Father, not as a general.”
Lieutenant Hathaway relaxed and sat down.
“It’s good to see you, Dad. What brings you here?”
“I’m inspecting American and Korean units in this sector, so I thought I might as well drop in on you. Mom, John, and Beth send their regards.”
“Tell Mom I’m asking for them and if you can let Big Bro and Big Sis know I’m doing all the work defending the Free World, while they take it easy in support units.”
The two other Hathaway children were also in the army; John, the eldest, was a captain in a MLRS battalion, the middle child, Elizabeth, was a 1st lieutenant in an engineer company. Both of them were somewhere in Europe.
“I take it Mom got back to the States okay?” David Junior asked.
Hathaway Senior nodded.
“She’s in Seattle with your Aunt Jayne. You know what she did when she got there? Re-upped with the National Guard; she’s a linguist with the 341st Military Intelligence Battalion now.” The General shook his head in amazement.
“Mom is certainly some woman, Dad.”
The General checked his watch.
“Sorry, son, I have to go.”
“I’ll walk you to your transport, Dad.”
Both Hathaways emerged from the tent. David Junior spotted his Father’s entourage gathered around a pair of Strykers borrowed from the division’s 2nd Brigade. Some tough men, American and Korean, armed with M4A1 carbines, stood out amongst the ‘staff weenie’ types. David Junior guessed that they were his Father’s Close Protection Team.
“Good luck, son. Stay safe.” General Hathaway said, shaking his son’s hand.
“You too, Dad.” 1st Lieutenant Hathaway replied.
*
Hathaway’s senior aide, an RoK officer noticed that the General was rather distant, as the two Strykers made their way back to the helicopter Landing Zone.
“Sir, some news arrived from PACOM while you were in your meeting.”
“Good, I hope, Major.”
“Yes, Sir. PACOM has confirmed that several artillery battalions are due to start arriving from tomorrow from the United States.”
The aide handed Hathaway a list. The General recognised the battalions as belonging to the 7th and 34th Infantry Divisions, which were assigned to Joint Border Security Command. A job that did not require both divisions to have their full allocation of artillery.
“That is good news. You can never have too much artillery.
“Thank you, Major.”
0901 hours GMT. Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport, New South Wales.
“Purdey? I’m Patrick Hyde. This fella is Philip Cass, from the High Commission.
“Just the two of you?”
“Tara Chace is covering our backs. She’ll make herself known if she wants to.”
Hyde whistled through his teeth.
“Jeeze, a ‘Deadheader’. Burnside is taking this one seriously. By the way, are you carrying? If not, we can sort you out.”
“I am.” Purdey confirmed. “I thought you were retired, Hyde?”
The Australian grunted and looked displeased.
“He was.” Cass said to break the silence. “Now if you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to the car.”
*
Hyde stiffened as he saw a figure sitting in the front passenger seat of the car. He reached for the Walther P5 Compact that Philip Cass had given to him.
“Sure you locked the car, Phil?”
“Course I did. If somebody has broken in, it’s a professional.”
The two of them could not help but notice that Purdey seemed relaxed. As they group approached, the mystery figure got out, revealing themselves to appear to be a grungy backpacker type.
“Hey, guys. Nice flight?” Tara Chace asked, smiling.
“You looking to get yourself shot, Tara?” Purdey asked.
Chace chuckled.
“I’ve got their spare gun, Purdey. I could put a bullet through old Patrick and Phil’s heads before they could draw. Now, do either of you know a good hairdresser? I’m getting a bit p*ssed off with this ‘Gap Year Girl’ disguise. Could also do with a decent beer if you’ve got one.”
*
“I’d love to know how you got off the plane before anyone else and found our car, Tara?” Hyde asked a while later, as he drove them to the safe house.
“Trade secret, Patrick.” She replied, with a wink. “Seriously, though, got a, shall we say, ‘friend’, in the Customs Service. Why do you think that they delayed disembarking passengers?”
“How secure is the safe house?” Purdey asked, steering the conversation back to more important matters.
Hyde laughed.
“Secure as I can make it. Hope you don’t mind bunking down with me and Ros. Apparently, there wasn’t time for the Service to set up a proper safe house.
“Ros is already p*ssed that I got recalled, so, try not to p*ss her off any further, eh?”
“Who is this Ros?” The Defector asked.
“My Old Woman, mate. She’s not one to take any crap from anyone. Gave C himself a right earful on more than one occasion. Reckon she’ll take to you though. Besides, it’s only for forty-eight hours.”
0914 hours GMT. East of Hildesheim, FRG.
“You wanted to see me, Major? Something that was too important to trust to the radio?” Lt. Colonel Stevenson said, after he had dismounted from his Spartan.
“Yes, Colonel.” Acting Major Currie replied. “We’ve, um, well, captured most of two companies of Soviet motor riflemen and a platoon of tanks.”
“You’ve what?” Stevenson asked, incredulously.
“We were just improving our positions, keeping the enemy on their toes, as we’re supposed to be doing when what looked like half a battalion just f*cked off when we engaged them. Those who didn’t stuck their hands up.”
*
With NORTHAG concentrating its resources supporting operations around Hamburg, 1st (Br) and I (BE) Corps were limited to mounting holding attacks. If the Warsaw Pact forces in front of them could be pinned in place, it would prevent them from being sent to counter the two major NATO offensives currently underway.
*
Stevenson looked with shock at what looked like at least four hundred Soviet soldiers all sitting on the ground in the middle of a field. A platoon of the Black Watch, plus some engineers and signallers were providing a very thin guard around the perimeter.
“Dear God.” He muttered. “Did you also capture their vehicles?”
Major Currie nodded.
“They’re just where they left them.” She replied. “All pretty modern kit too; T-80s and BMP-3s. I’ve got my Challys covering them. If the Soviets try to get them back, we’ll take them out.”
“We need to get them out of here ASAP.” The Colonel declared. “But firstly, we need to strengthen the guard on them. Any trouble and it’ll turn into a massacre.”
*
Staff Sergeant Macragge looked down from the RAF Merlin as it circled the field. Like everyone who had seen it before him, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Warsaw Pact troops had surrendered before, but no Soviet soldiers had surrendered in such numbers before all at once. Moreover, no Soviet battalion had broken quite so comprehensively.
“They’re being guarded by ‘Toms’ from 15 PARA now. The ‘Jocks’ apparently have more important jobs to do.” Macragge told his team of ‘Red Caps’. “The gen is that most of them are Ukrainians and Balts, who have decided that they’ve had enough of fighting for ‘Mother Russia’.”
Once on the ground Macragge sought out the O.C of 111 Provost Company, Major Colin ‘Tiny’ Hammond. He was not hard to spot, standing at nearly two meters high and being built like the proverbial ‘brick sh*t house’.
“Morning, Staff Macragge. Well, this is a bit of a turn up for the books.” He said by way of greeting. “Four hundred and three prisoners at the last count. Going to be our job to guard them while they are transported from here to the nearest POW camps.”
“Going to be one hell of a job, Sir.” The Staff Sergeant replied. “Someone coming in to feed them?”
“RLC are on their way here with lots of Rat packs and some hot food.”
Macragge shook his head.
“Have the poor sods not suffered enough, Sir?” He said, a broad grin on his face. “Isn’t feeding the enemy our own rat packs against the Geneva Convention?”
Hammond laughed.
“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t!”
***
[1] The ‘SuperTEMP’, or officially the 6000 series, was the final variant of the Skyflash missile. TEMP = Tornado Embodied Modification Package. See link for more information.
[2] The 11th Infantry Brigade (M) was previously a ‘leg infantry’ brigade, attached to IX Corps, based on disputed islands in the Aegean. After the Turkish-Greco peace-treaty, it was reformed as a mechanised infantry brigade and transferred from 4th Army to 1st. It had the following order of battle
- Brigade H.Q
- Tank Regiment/battalion: M60T
- Infantry Battalion: ACV-15
- Infantry Battalion: ACV-15
- Artillery Regiment/Battalion: M108T (155mm)
- Recce Company: M113
- Anti-Tank Company: M150
*
0706 hours. RAF Stornoway, Isle of Lewis.
“Another day, another dollar.” Squadron Leader Walker commented as he taxied his Tornado F.3 to the runway.
“As much as that, eh?” Flight Lieutenant Barker commented from the rear cockpit. “I prefer same sh*t, different day, myself.”
“You would, pal.”
*
Walker and Barker had been on Quick Reaction Alert duty, ready to crew one of the two Tornados held at immediate readiness to reinforce those on CAP duty. When conducting his walk-around, Walker had been dismayed to see that the two rear AMRAAMs had been replaced by two Skyflash missiles. He did remember the briefing the day before in which the aircrew had been told that they would, until further notice, not be receiving any further supply of AMRAAM and ASRAAM missiles. Instead, older AIM-9L and Skyflash would be supplied instead.
To eke out their supply of modern missiles, the Tornados were being armed with mixed loads of missile – two of each. The aircrew did not mind the Sidewinders too much, they were still regarded as good missiles. However, they did not look forward to using the semi-active Skyflash missiles, even if they were the SuperTEMP variant. [1]
At least being based in the Outer Hebrides made it exceedingly unlikely that the aircrews of XI (F) Squadron and A Flight, 603 (City of Edinburgh) Squadron would encounter anything other than Soviet bombers.
*
The two QRA jets had been scrambled to meet a second wave of Soviet ‘Backfire’ bombers heading south from the Kola. The F.3s which had already been airborne were now by and large heading back to base to re-arm. Leaving gaps in the defences.
*
“Okay, Boss, we’ve got some trade. Buchan have assigned us targets.”
“Right, let’s go get them.”
Walker signalled to the pilot of the other Tornado F.3. He saw the head in the front cockpit bob up and down, acknowledging the hand signals.
“Let’s go in radar silent until we’re within weapons range.” Walker declared. “Don’t want the b*ggers to know we’re coming.”
“Got it, Boss.”
At just under the speed of sound, it did not take the two interceptors long to close the range. To close the gap Walker briefly engaged reheat, sending his aircraft supersonic.
“Okay, Ron, light the s*ds up.”
“My pleasure, Boss.”
The radar quickly sorted the targets in front of it, selecting the four nearest.
“Fox Three! Fox Three!” Walker announced as he fired the Tornado’s two AMRAAMs. “Hope you f*ckers burn in hell!”
Walker had not started the war hating the enemy. The aircrew manning the bombers of the DA were just like him, he thought. They were just doing their job; it was not their fault the USSR had started the war. That had all changed when he had seen the news pictures of the results of deliberate missile attacks against British cities. He had begun to hate those who he blamed for carrying out these war crimes.
“Damn, I think they’re launching…but that’s a kill! There’s another!” Barker commented. “Yup, they’ve definitely launched. I’d say those are Kent-Cs from their speed.”
“Well, here comes the fun bit.”
Walker locked on to two Kh-555 missiles before firing.
“Fox One!”
The Skyflash missile dropped away from the Tornado’s belly, accelerating rapidly up to Mach.4. As it tracked the reflected radar energy from the Foxhunter radar, Walker banked the F.3 gently to keep the enemy missile within the scan of the radar. Just as it was about to reach its target, Walker fired his second Skyflash. Milliseconds after the first Kh-555 was destroyed, the F.3’s radar automatically switched to track the second target. To Walker and Barker’s annoyance, the second Skyflash broke lock just before it got close enough to its target to proximity fuze.
“Damnit.” Walker muttered.
He allowed the Kh-555s to pass by, before reversing course to pursue.
“Fox Two! Fox Two!” He reported, firing both of the ASRAAMs the Tornado was armed with.
To use the pair of AIM-9L, Walker had to get closer before he could fire. As the F.3 had a comfortable overtake speed on the cruise missiles, that did not take long.
“Fox Two! Fox…Jesus F*cking Christ!”
The second Sidewinder had exploded within a few seconds of launch. Walker and Baker heard fragments hitting the fuselage of their Tornado, a sounded like a car driving over gravel. Warning lights lit up and Walker reduced the throttle back to idle and motored the wings forward while he checked for damage.
“I think we might be losing hydraulic fluid, but she’s still flying okay for the moment. I want to land somewhere with cables and a barrier. Where’s our closest airfield with those, Ron?”
“Give me second.” Baker replied.
“I’ll get Five-Two check us over while you’re doing that.”
The second Tornado closed in and performed a few close fly-bys.
“You’re definitely leaking hydraulic fluid and there are some impressive holes in your wings and fuselage. Nothing that’s going to cause a Martin-Baker let down, though, other than the hydraulic fluid, of course. What you thinking, over?”
“I want to put down somewhere with arrestor gear. Ron is just working out the nearest, over.”
“Good idea. We’ll stick with you till you're down.”
“Appreciate that.”
“I’d say Lossie, or Kinloss are our best bets, Boss. I’d recommend Lossie.”
“Right, let’s do it.” Walker replied, motoring the wings back again and turning the Tornado to follow Barker’s directions.
0737 hours GMT. Edirne, Eastern Thrace, Turkey.
“So where are you from?” Eri (Private) Arap asked the man next to him in his best English.
“Kastanies. I was defending my home.”
Arap clapped the Greek private on his right soldier.
“We will free your home. It may take a little time, but we will free it.”
“We save your home first, eh?” The Greek soldier replied.
Arap’s new Number Two had been amongst the equivalent of two companies of Greek soldiers that had been trapped against the Turkish border. He had been surprised to be assigned a Greek Stratiotis (private) as a replacement for his Number Two, who had been killed during the hurried retreat from the border defences. From what he had gathered from conversations with the man, who was called Phillip (he could not pronounce his second name), the Greek soldier had been part of a machine gun team and his Number One had been killed.
The provisional battalion that Arap and Phillip were assigned to, were holding some hastily dug positions that had been thrown up to supplement the existing fixed defences that protected Edirne. Although, in theory, they offered less protection than the network of bunkers and pillboxes built in peacetime, Arap was happier to be in a position less likely to be known to the enemy.
*
The defenders of Edirne were a mixed bunch. Reservists who lived locally were, on mobilisation, used to fill out cadre units assigned to man the fixed defences protected the city. The Jandarma Genel Komutanlığı based in the city also came under the command of the army on the outbreak of war. The 11th Infantry Brigade (Mechanised) was also assigned to protect Edirne, although it was intended to provide a mobile defence. [2]
When the invading Soviet forces had cut-off Edirne from NATO forces to the south, the had cut off a battle group from the 11th, formed of two tank squadrons, and an infantry company. These troops, along with survivors of the troops who had manned the border defences, plus all sorts of ‘odds-and-sods’ had joined those already assigned to the city. The Greeks had joined this already heterogenous force.
*
“The Russians are coming again! Get ready!” Was the message passed from defensive position to defensive position.
Arap opened the breach of his M1919A4 and checked that the ammunition belt was properly loaded and that there were no kinks. Meanwhile, Phillip checked the rest of the belt, and that additional ammunition was readily accessible. Done, the Greek soldier finally checked that his G3A4 rifle was easily accessible.
However, rather than enemy armoured vehicles, a single UAZ, with a white rag tied to its radio aerial approached. Halting just over one hundred meters away, two Soviet soldiers getting out. They started walking towards the Turkish positions, one of them waving a white handkerchief.
“Stop! Do not move!” Arap’s platoon commander yelled in English.
“I wish to speak to your commanding officer!” One of the Soviets yelled back in the same language.
*
“So, what can I do for you?” The Albay (Colonel) who commanded the Edirne garrison asked, after he and the Soviet colonel and his aide had exchanged military courtesies.
“We wish to discuss surrender terms.” The colonel’s aide, who spoke English, replied.
The Albay chuckled. He had never expected in his military career to be given the chance to use one of the most famous of war cliches.
“Sorry, Captain. We don’t have the facilities to take you all prisoner. I’d need to consult my superiors in any case.”
The captain repeated the reply to the Soviet colonel, who shrugged and muttered “how original” in Russian.
“You do realise your situation is hopeless, Colonel?” The captain tried.
The Albay shook his head and chuckled again.
“Captain, say this to your Colonel. Let’s assume that you have gone through all the usual appeals to get me to surrender, and I have rejected them all. Will save us all a lot of time. I plan to stay here and wait for the rest of our army and our allies to come and get us.”
This time the Soviet Colonel shook his head and started speaking. Pausing occasionally to allow his aide to translate.
“My Colonel says, in that case, we will crush you…your army is not coming…and where are your vaunted allies?”
The Albay gestured for an officer in his delegation to come forward.
“Colonel, I would like you to introduce you to Tagmatarchis Angelos of the Hellenic Army. His men are helping to defend my country, just as, in time, we will help him kick you out of Greece.
“Perhaps you will crush us before we can be relieved, but that will take time, blood, and resources that you do not have. So, unless you have anything else you wish to discuss, I suggest we return to our respective headquarters and finish this fight.”
The Soviet Colonel snorted.
“You are brave man, but stupid.” He said in English, before spinning around and heading back to the UAZ.
The Soviet artillery resumed their barrage within thirty minutes of the two officers departing.
0745. RAF Lossiemouth, Moray, Scotland.
“Lossiemouth Approach, this is Alpha Charlie Five-Two, pan, pan, pan! I have airframe damage from a premature missile explosion. I am losing hydraulic fluid and may soon have controllability problems. Request a straight in approach with arrestor gear and barrier, over.”
“Alpha Charlie Five-Two, Lossiemouth Approach. We have you on radar. You have permission to make a straight in approach, the pattern is clear. Arrestor gear and barrier will be in place. Fire and Rescue are on stand-by. We will provide talk-down, there is no need to acknowledge our calls from now on, over.”
“Roger that, Lossiemouth Approach.”
“Good luck, Sir.”
Squadron Leader Walker checked that the straps on his ejection seat were tight and that he had stowed any loose objects. He moved the stick from right to left to test the aircraft’s reactions.
“Stick is getting a bit stiff, Ron.” He told his navigator. “I’m going to blow down the undercarriage, just to make sure.”
“Gotcha.” Barker replied. “You just concentrate on that pilot sh*t, Boss and get us down.”
As the Tornado approached Lossiemouth, Walker blew down the undercarriage, arrestor hook and motored the wings fully forward. He next began to lower the flaps, however, after extending slightly they stopped.
“Oh, hell, there goes the last of the hydraulic fluid. This is going to be a hard and fast landing, hold on, Ron.”
As the F.3 approached the runway it crossed the coast, passing over the golf course and road that bordered the northern boundary of the station. Walker pulled back on the stick, pulling the nose up just before the aircraft touched down. The main undercarriage slammed down on the end of the runway, thankfully it held, and the tyres did not burst. The thrust reverser buckets automatically deployed, and Walker pushed the throttles to max dry power. The nose of the Tornado slammed down, throwing Walker and Barker forward against the straps of their seats.
“F*cking hell!” Walker exclaimed.
While the thrust reversers were capable of stopping the Tornado, the aircraft now had no breaks, or nose-wheel steering. So, it was with some relief to the aircrew that its emergency arrestor hook caught the wires that had been laid out half-way down the runway. The other, less pleasant, alternative, was to take the barrier, which had been raised at the other end of the runway.
“Nice landing, Boss.” Barker said once the aircraft had come to a halt. “Now, let’s see if I can find my teeth.”
0807 hours GMT. South of the Main Line of Resistance, ROK.
A Company, 1st Battalion, 27th Infantry Regiment (Light) was about to go back into the line. It was now well rested and had absorbed replacements, mainly KATUSA personnel.
“LT, you got a visitor.” Acting Staff Sergeant Hammond said, sticking his head into the newly promoted 1st Lieutenant Hathaway’s tent.
“Can you send them in please, Staff?” Hathaway replied, distracted by the letter to the relatives of a deceased member of his platoon that he was writing.
Hammond vanished and another figure stepped into the tent.
“Be with you in a second.” Hathaway said as he signed the letter.
“Take your time, David.”
Lieutenant Hathaway leapt to his feet, almost knocking over the tent pole. He started to salute, then stopped on remembering he was inside and hatless.
“Uh, Dad, I mean, General, Sir, I’m sorry, I didn’t realise you were coming.”
“It’s okay, David. I don’t advertise my itinerary.” General David Hathaway, said, a smile on his face. “Sit down, sit down, I’m here as your Father, not as a general.”
Lieutenant Hathaway relaxed and sat down.
“It’s good to see you, Dad. What brings you here?”
“I’m inspecting American and Korean units in this sector, so I thought I might as well drop in on you. Mom, John, and Beth send their regards.”
“Tell Mom I’m asking for them and if you can let Big Bro and Big Sis know I’m doing all the work defending the Free World, while they take it easy in support units.”
The two other Hathaway children were also in the army; John, the eldest, was a captain in a MLRS battalion, the middle child, Elizabeth, was a 1st lieutenant in an engineer company. Both of them were somewhere in Europe.
“I take it Mom got back to the States okay?” David Junior asked.
Hathaway Senior nodded.
“She’s in Seattle with your Aunt Jayne. You know what she did when she got there? Re-upped with the National Guard; she’s a linguist with the 341st Military Intelligence Battalion now.” The General shook his head in amazement.
“Mom is certainly some woman, Dad.”
The General checked his watch.
“Sorry, son, I have to go.”
“I’ll walk you to your transport, Dad.”
Both Hathaways emerged from the tent. David Junior spotted his Father’s entourage gathered around a pair of Strykers borrowed from the division’s 2nd Brigade. Some tough men, American and Korean, armed with M4A1 carbines, stood out amongst the ‘staff weenie’ types. David Junior guessed that they were his Father’s Close Protection Team.
“Good luck, son. Stay safe.” General Hathaway said, shaking his son’s hand.
“You too, Dad.” 1st Lieutenant Hathaway replied.
*
Hathaway’s senior aide, an RoK officer noticed that the General was rather distant, as the two Strykers made their way back to the helicopter Landing Zone.
“Sir, some news arrived from PACOM while you were in your meeting.”
“Good, I hope, Major.”
“Yes, Sir. PACOM has confirmed that several artillery battalions are due to start arriving from tomorrow from the United States.”
The aide handed Hathaway a list. The General recognised the battalions as belonging to the 7th and 34th Infantry Divisions, which were assigned to Joint Border Security Command. A job that did not require both divisions to have their full allocation of artillery.
“That is good news. You can never have too much artillery.
“Thank you, Major.”
0901 hours GMT. Sydney Kingsford Smith Airport, New South Wales.
“Purdey? I’m Patrick Hyde. This fella is Philip Cass, from the High Commission.
“Just the two of you?”
“Tara Chace is covering our backs. She’ll make herself known if she wants to.”
Hyde whistled through his teeth.
“Jeeze, a ‘Deadheader’. Burnside is taking this one seriously. By the way, are you carrying? If not, we can sort you out.”
“I am.” Purdey confirmed. “I thought you were retired, Hyde?”
The Australian grunted and looked displeased.
“He was.” Cass said to break the silence. “Now if you’ll follow us, we’ll take you to the car.”
*
Hyde stiffened as he saw a figure sitting in the front passenger seat of the car. He reached for the Walther P5 Compact that Philip Cass had given to him.
“Sure you locked the car, Phil?”
“Course I did. If somebody has broken in, it’s a professional.”
The two of them could not help but notice that Purdey seemed relaxed. As they group approached, the mystery figure got out, revealing themselves to appear to be a grungy backpacker type.
“Hey, guys. Nice flight?” Tara Chace asked, smiling.
“You looking to get yourself shot, Tara?” Purdey asked.
Chace chuckled.
“I’ve got their spare gun, Purdey. I could put a bullet through old Patrick and Phil’s heads before they could draw. Now, do either of you know a good hairdresser? I’m getting a bit p*ssed off with this ‘Gap Year Girl’ disguise. Could also do with a decent beer if you’ve got one.”
*
“I’d love to know how you got off the plane before anyone else and found our car, Tara?” Hyde asked a while later, as he drove them to the safe house.
“Trade secret, Patrick.” She replied, with a wink. “Seriously, though, got a, shall we say, ‘friend’, in the Customs Service. Why do you think that they delayed disembarking passengers?”
“How secure is the safe house?” Purdey asked, steering the conversation back to more important matters.
Hyde laughed.
“Secure as I can make it. Hope you don’t mind bunking down with me and Ros. Apparently, there wasn’t time for the Service to set up a proper safe house.
“Ros is already p*ssed that I got recalled, so, try not to p*ss her off any further, eh?”
“Who is this Ros?” The Defector asked.
“My Old Woman, mate. She’s not one to take any crap from anyone. Gave C himself a right earful on more than one occasion. Reckon she’ll take to you though. Besides, it’s only for forty-eight hours.”
0914 hours GMT. East of Hildesheim, FRG.
“You wanted to see me, Major? Something that was too important to trust to the radio?” Lt. Colonel Stevenson said, after he had dismounted from his Spartan.
“Yes, Colonel.” Acting Major Currie replied. “We’ve, um, well, captured most of two companies of Soviet motor riflemen and a platoon of tanks.”
“You’ve what?” Stevenson asked, incredulously.
“We were just improving our positions, keeping the enemy on their toes, as we’re supposed to be doing when what looked like half a battalion just f*cked off when we engaged them. Those who didn’t stuck their hands up.”
*
With NORTHAG concentrating its resources supporting operations around Hamburg, 1st (Br) and I (BE) Corps were limited to mounting holding attacks. If the Warsaw Pact forces in front of them could be pinned in place, it would prevent them from being sent to counter the two major NATO offensives currently underway.
*
Stevenson looked with shock at what looked like at least four hundred Soviet soldiers all sitting on the ground in the middle of a field. A platoon of the Black Watch, plus some engineers and signallers were providing a very thin guard around the perimeter.
“Dear God.” He muttered. “Did you also capture their vehicles?”
Major Currie nodded.
“They’re just where they left them.” She replied. “All pretty modern kit too; T-80s and BMP-3s. I’ve got my Challys covering them. If the Soviets try to get them back, we’ll take them out.”
“We need to get them out of here ASAP.” The Colonel declared. “But firstly, we need to strengthen the guard on them. Any trouble and it’ll turn into a massacre.”
*
Staff Sergeant Macragge looked down from the RAF Merlin as it circled the field. Like everyone who had seen it before him, he could hardly believe what he was seeing. Warsaw Pact troops had surrendered before, but no Soviet soldiers had surrendered in such numbers before all at once. Moreover, no Soviet battalion had broken quite so comprehensively.
“They’re being guarded by ‘Toms’ from 15 PARA now. The ‘Jocks’ apparently have more important jobs to do.” Macragge told his team of ‘Red Caps’. “The gen is that most of them are Ukrainians and Balts, who have decided that they’ve had enough of fighting for ‘Mother Russia’.”
Once on the ground Macragge sought out the O.C of 111 Provost Company, Major Colin ‘Tiny’ Hammond. He was not hard to spot, standing at nearly two meters high and being built like the proverbial ‘brick sh*t house’.
“Morning, Staff Macragge. Well, this is a bit of a turn up for the books.” He said by way of greeting. “Four hundred and three prisoners at the last count. Going to be our job to guard them while they are transported from here to the nearest POW camps.”
“Going to be one hell of a job, Sir.” The Staff Sergeant replied. “Someone coming in to feed them?”
“RLC are on their way here with lots of Rat packs and some hot food.”
Macragge shook his head.
“Have the poor sods not suffered enough, Sir?” He said, a broad grin on his face. “Isn’t feeding the enemy our own rat packs against the Geneva Convention?”
Hammond laughed.
“Well, I won’t tell if you don’t!”
***
[1] The ‘SuperTEMP’, or officially the 6000 series, was the final variant of the Skyflash missile. TEMP = Tornado Embodied Modification Package. See link for more information.
[2] The 11th Infantry Brigade (M) was previously a ‘leg infantry’ brigade, attached to IX Corps, based on disputed islands in the Aegean. After the Turkish-Greco peace-treaty, it was reformed as a mechanised infantry brigade and transferred from 4th Army to 1st. It had the following order of battle
- Brigade H.Q
- Tank Regiment/battalion: M60T
- Infantry Battalion: ACV-15
- Infantry Battalion: ACV-15
- Artillery Regiment/Battalion: M108T (155mm)
- Recce Company: M113
- Anti-Tank Company: M150
