The Last War: 357.
Posted: Tue Apr 11, 2023 4:49 pm
D+23
*
1401 hours GMT, 15th May. Dzerzhinsky, off Kaliningrad.
It had taken around twenty-one hours since the last torpedo hit, but the Soviet battlecruiser was within sight of the Baltic Fleet’s base at Kaliningrad. Finally, there was a near impenetrable Combat Air Patrol provided by Naval Aviation, the air force and now as the ship passed the twelve-mile limit, the Polish Air Defence Forces.
Captain Sidorov, whose mood was not improved by the ache in his left ankle, which had been broken when he had been thrown to the deck for a second time, could not help but wonder where the friendly fighters had been when his ship was under attack. Somebody at Fleet H.Q had made a catastrophic error and deserved to be shot. Sidorov just hoped that he would not be made a scapegoat for their mistake.
*
Dzerzhinsky was being towed stern first by Otchayanny when the torpedo exploded aft, blowing off the stern. Taking the screws and more importantly the tow with it. The bulkhead immediately aft of where the stern had been torn off had begun to fail and for around half an hour it had looked like Dzerzhinsky was going to sink. Worse had been to follow; Otchayanny had pulled away, launching an additional Ka-27 and coming about as he joined the hunt for the enemy submarine. However, moments after the destroyer had begun to turn, a second torpedo exploded under his keel, breaking Otchayanny’s back.
While heroic damage-control efforts by Dzerzhinsky’s crew had saved the battlecruiser, the same was not true of Otchayanny. Despite the best efforts of the latter’s crew, the destroyer broke in half and sank within an hour of being torpedoed.
While Ka-27s and other escorts hunted the guilty submarine, two Nanuchka class corvettes had come alongside Dzerzhinsky and attached a tow to the stump of her bows. While towing her by her wrecked bows was not ideal, it was considered the best of a worst set of options. The two corvettes had begun to slowly tow the battlecruiser south, while they waited for a pair of fleet tugs to arrive from Kaliningrad.
*
Once within the confines of the naval base, Dzerzhinsky was moved into a dry-dock, so that the damage could be properly inspected, and a decision taken on whether to begin repairs. Not long after the inspection had begun a Captain 2nd Rank from the base staff sought out Sidrov, who was resting in his cabin.
“Sorry to disturb you, Comrade Captain, but I have some news you may wish to know.”
Sidrov sighed, wondering what bad news the officer had for him.
“Go ahead, Comrade.”
“It’s a rather sensitive matter and you are instructed not to discuss it with anyone on your ship.”
“Get on with it, Comrade.” Sidrov interrupted.”
“Well, when examining your ship’s hull, we found an unexploded torpedo lodged a few meters forward of the stern…well, what remains of it. EOD personnel defused it, and it has been removed.”
“I hope this story is going somewhere more interesting than a NATO torpedo failing to function.” Dzerzhinsky’s captain interrupted for a second time.
If the Captain 2nd Rank was fazed by the interruptions, he did not show it.
“Well, Comrade Captain, that’s the thing. It isn’t a NATO torpedo. It was a TEST-71.”
“WHAT?!” Sidrov exclaimed.
The TEST-71 was the standard Soviet manufactured Anti-Surface Warfare torpedo. One of them should certainly not be sticking out of the hull of his ship.
“We are currently trying to see if we can trace which boat it was issued to and whether we can find any torpedo fragments left behind by the other hits to your ship.
“You can certainly see why this is such a sensitive matter, Comrade Captain. For now, your orders from Fleet H.Q are that the torpedo we recovered was a NATO model.”
“I understand, Comrade. You do not need to tell me twice.”
1510 hours GMT. SHAPE (Forward), near Mons, Belgium.
SACEUR had been cheering himself up by watching some drone footage of NORTHAG’s operations against the Soviet 2nd and 4th Guards Tank Armies. The forward units of both armies had managed to link up, creating what NATO was referring to as the ‘Seevetal Corridor’.
Achieving the link-up had been immensely costly to the Soviets; the footage General Baker had seen of wrecked armoured vehicles serving as testimony to that. Both armies were now attempting to withdraw. COMNORTHAG had ordered I (NL) and I (GE) Corps to maintain pressure on the retreating 2nd Guards, while 2 (Br) and III (US) Corps were to hold their positions along the southern edge of the corridor. COMLANDJUT had issued similar orders to his forces maintaining the northern shoulder.
The space in-between had become a free-fire zone for NATO fast-jets, attack helicopters, artillery and any other weapons that could be brought to bear. Baker could hardly imagine what it was like for the Soviet and East German troops on the ground. Especially now that they were having to drive past the bodies of their comrades and wrecked vehicles on the way back.
Fortified by what was developing into a famous NATO victory, Baker turned to the next item on the agenda. He wished that he had DSACEUR, General Alexander, to bounce ideas off. However, the British officer had business at the MoD in London. Instead, he was going to discuss the issues with his Chief of Staff, Admiral Peter Rühle of the Bundesmarine.
“The Soviets have blindsided us, Peter.” Baker commented. “While we were trying to decide whether they were going to attack in Slovenia, or Thrace they went ahead and did both.”
“Jawohl, Herr General. They certainly did.” Rühle agreed.
“Quite how we missed the build-up of Warsaw Pact forces in the southern region, I don’t know.”
The Chief of Staff did not reply immediately. Instead, he reached behind him and retrieved some folders on a table behind him.
“I have been checking over intelligence reports, Herr General.” He said as he handed SACEUR the folders. “If we missed it, it was not for all the warnings we received. I think we were just distracted by what was going on elsewhere. However, AFSOUTH’s staff should have picked up on it.”
Baker rubbed his chin while he thought.
“Admiral Clark has already accepted responsibility for any mistakes made by his headquarters. So, I don’t see any point dwelling on the matter too much. The question is where we send reinforcements.
“The Italian-Slovenian Front is probably the most secure, not to mention that there are plenty of reserves in northern Italy. The front in Thrace and northern Greece concerns me a great deal more. The Soviets have evidently decided that they don’t care about their own casualties, or indeed those of their allies, in order to push through the Greek and Turkish border defences.”
“We could send forces from the AFSOUTH Amphibious Force and maybe some of the troops from the now disbanded Allied Mobile Force?” Rühle wondered. “I believe that one of the things that General Alexander is in London to discuss is the deployment of British troops from Cyprus.” He added.
SACEUR nodded.
“A very good idea, Peter.” Baker agreed. “In terms of heavier units, the Spanish 1st Mechanised Corps should be able to spare at least one, or two of its divisions. In terms of American armoured or mechanised units, that would mean taking something from the National Reserve. Means a discussion with the Secretary of Defence and Chairman. See if you can get that sorted out. And, yes, the Brits want to send at least a battalion sized battle group drawn from troops they currently have in Cyprus. I’m hoping that General Alexander can persuade London to send some additional troops from their Strategic Reserve.”
“Nobody wants to dig into their last reserves, Herr General, lest they find themselves with a bare cupboard.” Rühle observed.
Baker nodded in agreement.
“That’s very true, Peter. But troops don’t do anyone good if they’re kept in their bases for a ‘just in case’ situation that may never come.” He said.
1551 hours GMT. Gwangju Air Base, Republic of Korea.
Major Klaus Schneider walked from the protected briefing facility to the Hardened Aircraft Shelter that contained a single Tornado ECR belonging to 102 Fighter Squadron, 1st Fighter Wing. Schneider was a former (well, sort of current now) Luftwaffe WSO, who had left the air force to work for Panavia. Being recently divorced, a five-year posting to South Korea to train its air force to operate the Tornado ECR had seemed a very attractive proposition.
Four years on, Schneider had become fully emersed in the culture of the ROKAF and of South Korea itself. He was now, for example, married to the sister of a pilot in 122 Fighter Squadron, and fully intended to make his new home in South Korea when his current contract was up. He had been offered a very lucrative contract by the RoK defence ministry to come work for them, essentially doing what he was doing now.
The Third World War had thrown a huge spanner in the works of his future plans. His situation had become somewhat more complicated when a Luftwaffe officer from the West German Embassy had handed him orders which reactivated his air force commission. The same orders told him that he was to return to West German as ‘soon as practically possible’. The ROKAF had successfully argued that Schneider was a vital member of the 1st Fighter Wing and the Luftwaffe had agreed that he could temporarily remain attached to the wing. Well, now that temporary period was up, experienced ECR WSOs were vitally needed in West Germany.
Tomorrow morning, Schneider would leave his wife, friends in 1st Fighter Wing and what he now considered his home for a country he did not really have any intention of returning to. At least not in the medium term. So, he was going to go out on a high and fly one last operational sortie.
*
“Ready for your last sortie with us, Herr Major?” Schneider’s pilot, Daewi Park Ji-Ho, asked.
“As I’ll ever be, Ji-Ho.” The West German replied as he continued with his pre-flight checks. “I just wish it was not in the middle of the night!”
“Ah, but now is a good time to be out hunting for enemy air defences, Klaus. The visually guided triple-A and MANPADS our northern friends have in abundance are far less effective in the dark!”
“I know, I know. I just prefer to be asleep at this time of day!”
*
An hour later the Tornado ECR had rendezvoused with a pair of F-4E Phantoms. Like the USAF, the ROKAF used the ‘Hunter-Killer’ concept to maximise the value of its fleet of Tornados. While the ECR was equipped with the various electronics that could detect and identify hostile radars and was armed with a pair of AGM-88 HARMs, the two Phantoms added additional HARMs and AGM-65 Mavericks. Once the ECR detected a hostile radar, it would cue one of the Phantoms onto the target in the first place before it would engage itself. If the Tornado still had fuel after the three aircraft had expended their weapons, it would remain on station and join up with any other suitably armed aircraft.
“We’ve got a ‘Straight Flush’ radar locking us up.” Schneider reported. “Okay, let’s ruin his day.”
“It’ll be a pleasure.” Park replied, before assigning one of the F-4E to attack the battery.
The Phantom fired a single HARM at the ‘Straight Flush’ radar, which belonged to a SA-6 ‘Gainful’ (2K12 ‘Kub’) battery. Predictably, the North Korean operator shut the radar down, not that this act stopped the HARM taking out the radar. It also allowed the F-4E to close in and take out two of the four missile TELs with the Mavericks it was carrying. The pilot was tempted to finish the job with the 20mm Vulcan cannon but knew that the North Koreans tended to surround their SAM batteries with Triple-A and MANPAD, so instead let his wingman finish the job.
‘BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’
“Damnit, an SA-5 has fired on us!” Schneider said. “Got his location, take him out!”
“Magnum! Magnum!” Park announced over the radio as he fired a HARM and immediately turned away, hard.
American pilots had back in 1991 discovered that often the simple act of broadcasting ‘Magnum’ made Iraqi SAM operators shut their radars down. It had been rapidly discovered that North Korean operators tended to do the same. Actually firing a missile as well generally guaranteed a shut down.
“Damn, this guy isn’t shutting down!” Schneider exclaimed. “I’m trying to jam the radar; recommend you take evasive action!”
1621 hours GMT. Fort Hood, Texas.
It was good to get out of Washington D.C, President Powell thought. The city existed in a slightly weird universe of its own and it was sometimes easy to forget that the rest of the nation, never mind the world existed.
As a former military man, Powell took his duties as Commander-in-Chief very seriously and attending a ceremony that marked the official standing up of new army formations gave him a good reason to get out of D.C. It also gave him to chance to visit the headquarters of Joint Border Security Command’s Task Force East. There was one more reason for his visit to Fort Hood, he would get the chance to see the production standard version of the M22 Wainwright Future Cavalry Vehicle in the flesh for the first time.
*
“How are you feeling about taking command, General?” POTUS asked once the stand-up ceremony was over.
“Bit nervous to be honest, Sir.” Acting Major General Nicholas ‘Nick’ Brooker, the new commander of the 23rd Infantry Division (Mechanised), replied.
Brooker had until recently been the assistant divisional commander of the 1st Infantry Division (Mechanised). To Brooker’s initial disappointment, his tour of duty in that position had come to an end just before mobilisation had been announced. However, instead of the staff position he had been expecting to be posted to, he had been given the task of raising a new mechanised infantry division.
“I understand, divisional command is one of those special commands, along with your first time commanding a platoon and battalion.” Powell replied. “How are things coming along with getting the division operational?”
“Slower than I’d like, Sir.” Brooker admitted. “All of my sub-units have been formed, but they are generally on a cadre basis. The personnel I have at the moment are mainly regulars combed out from training and admin positions, and members of the Individual Ready Reserve. I’d struggle to field much more than a single battalion sized Task Force at the moment. I don’t expect the division to reach readiness until after we start to receive the first wartime volunteer enlistees and draftees.
“On a positive note, at least I do have a full divisional set of equipment and, unlike my counterpart in the 6th Armoured up at Fort Bliss, it’s all top-of-the-line stuff.”
“One of those bits of equipment is part of why I’m here.” The President replied enthusiastically.
*
The M22 Wainwright drove towards the Presidential party, before turning to the right and halting. Powell could immediately see that it had a lower silhouette than the M3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle. Something that had always bothered him about the Bradley.
“The Wainwright has the latest in surveillance technology.” The captain from the 6-4th Cavalry Regiment, who had been ‘volunteered’ to deliver the briefing, said.
As he spoke the vehicle raised its telescopic mast surveillance system and rotated the head through 360 degrees, before lowering it again. Two scouts emerged from the M22, setting down a pair of drones. One was a small helicopter UAV, the other a wheeled UGV.
“The M22 can act as a ‘mothership’ for a number of drones stored aboard and can control all drones currently in US Army service. Even if they cannot be carried aboard. The vehicle can also transmit footage from drones it is controlling to any suitable terminal, whether that is in another M22, a command vehicle, or a static headquarters. The M22 is a fully digital vehicle, allowing for easy upgrades to its electronic architecture.”
“But can it fight, Captain.” Powell observed deadpan.
The officer looked a little discomforted by the President’s intervention.
“Ah, yes, Mr President.” He said after a beat. “The, ah, M22 is armed with a 35mm Bushmaster III cannon, which can be upgraded to 50mm if needed. The vehicle is not currently armed with an anti-tank missile but can be equipped with Javelin if desired. The Wainwright’s basic armour is superior to the Bradley, and it can be equipped with additional passive and reactive armour, which make it almost as well protected as a Main Battle Tank.”
“Why no anti-tank missile, Captain?” POTUS asked.
The captain was better prepared to answer this question.
“Operational experience with the Bradley has shown that crews sometimes spend too much time engaging the enemy with TOW and not enough time gathering actual recon data, Sir.” He replied. “Moreover, initial plans were for the M22 to be armed with the Follow On To TOW, which has not been fielded yet. Instead, the decision has been taken to give commanders the option to arm the Wainwright with Javelin if necessary. I suspect, Sir, that most commanders will take up that option.”
“And the Javelin gives the vehicle a ‘fire and forget’ anti-tank capability, which means it can shoot, then get the hell out of Dodge.” Powell said.
“Exactly, Sir.” The captain agreed, warming to the topic. “I’d much rather have Javelin than TOW myself. Especially in places like Europe, where engagement ranges are likely to be shorter.
“Would you like to take a ride, Sir?”
The President looked at his Chief of Staff.
“Do we have time, Leo?”
“We do, Sir, so long as the Secret Service are okay with it.”
“We’re okay with it, Sir.” SAIC Ron Butterfield, the head of the President’s Protective Detail, said.
Powell turned back to the captain.
“Okay, let’s fire her up and head downrange, Captain.”
1700 hours GMT. BBC News 24 report.
‘After a special all night sitting for both Houses of Parliament that went into the small hours of this morning, the government’s National Service Bill has been passed by a significant majority. The only amendment to the Act being a provision to conscript eligible citizens of Allied Nations resident in the UK who also have conscription in their home nations, which was added during the reading of the Bill in the House of Lords. That amendment also allows for those same nations to conscript any eligible British citizens who do not choose to return to the UK. The BBC understands that this measure is mainly aimed at Australian and New Zealand citizens resident here, and British citizens resident in those two nations.
‘A government spokesperson has confirmed that the bill was given Royal Assent this afternoon, passing it into law. The first batch of call-up notices for those between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two are expected to be sent out within the next forty-eight hours, although the Ministry of Defence has refused to comment on how big the first group will be.
‘Britain last had conscription between 1949 and 1960, the last National Servicemen leaving service in 1963. This time the National Service Act will also apply to women, the first time that British women have been conscripted since 1945.
‘As part of the call-up process, voluntary enlistment for those within the conscription age group will cease for the duration of the war from midnight tonight. Voluntary enlistment for those younger than nineteen and older than twenty-two will continue.’
1731 hours. Marylebone, London.
Stephen Watkins sat on one of the picnic tables outside a pub on the corner of Devonshire Street and Beaumont Street as he waited. The handgun and two grenades he had in his jacket pockets felt very heavy. The rucksack he had under the table held a Steyr TMP machine-pistol and a couple of spare magazines.
Watkins had been a member of a fringe political group for just over a decade. The Security Service were aware of them, but did not pay them much attention, as they had a history of peaceful if noisy protest. With all the other demands on them during the Polish Crisis, they had missed that a split had developed in the group. The new faction demanding ‘direct action’ to further their cause. Unfortunately, they also missed that at least two members of the new faction were not who they claimed to be.
*
“The target will be leaving the building in the early evening, Steve.” The leader of the new faction had told Watkins. “Get yourself set up at the pub we discussed a couple of hours beforehand. That way you’ll not stand out.”
“Should I ask where we go the ‘stuff’?” Watkins had asked, referring to the guns and grenades.
The other man had smiled.
“We have friends on the other side of the Atlantic who want to see the Revolution Brought Home. Remember, if we get rid of the parasites, we can truly claim to be fighting to protect democracy.”
“When we have true democracy, we’ll show those f*cking Russians!” Watkins agreed.
*
Detective Sergeant Banks was not in the best of moods; his investigation into ex-WO II Thompson had been effectively shut down by the Security Service, which did puzzle him a bit. He could only conclude that someone had decided to either cover-up what Thompson had done or had decided to sanction his operations. He had been temporarily seconded to Close Protection duties, along with DC Booth. Something he knew was a way of keeping them from carrying on with the investigation.
Today they had been attached to an SO14 team who would be protecting a VIP while they were transported from the King Edward VII's Hospital to their home in Windsor Great Park. Since the principle was a serving military officer, injured in the missile attack on the MoD Main Building, they did not normally have a protection detail, which was one of the reasons that Banks and Booth had joined the team. Which was also made up of one SO14 officer, who was in charge and an officer borrowed from the Diplomatic Protection Group. [1]
Perhaps making their task more complicated, the protectee had insisted on minimal protection, on the basis that “there are far more important people than me to look after.” The missile attacks on London had stretched the Met, meaning that there was only a single uniformed PC and PCSO to provide an outer perimeter.
“We’re on the move. Look alive everyone.” Crackled in Banks’ left ear.
*
Watkins downed his pint and picked up his rucksack. He had spotted the arrival of an official car, which no doubt presaged the appearance of his target. Watkins checked both ways before hurrying across Devonshire Street.
PC Keith Micklewhite spotted the man carrying a rucksack hurrying across the road towards him. His ‘cop instincts’ told him that something was wrong, and he stepped in front of the man.
“Excuse me, Sir. Do you mind if I check your bag?” Micklewhite began to ask.
Watkins shot the constable with the P9S pistol he had in his pocket, without even bothering to draw it. Micklewhite, struck in the chest, tried to grab at Watkins, but slumped to the ground. He did manage to press the ‘panic’ button on his radio before he lost consciousness.
*
Banks and Booth had been facing the other direction, towards Waymouth Street, when they heard the ‘pop’ of a pistol shot, followed by the unmistakable tone of a ‘panic button’ activation over the radio.
“Oh, sh*t!” Banks exclaimed as he reached for his Glock.
*
Time seemed to slow down for Watkins as he reached into his other jacket pocket for the first grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it towards the official car as hard as he could. Watkins next ducked down behind a parked car and pulled the TMP out of his rucksack, pocketed the spare magazines before discarding the rucksack. He popped out of cover a second after the grenade went off and started to advance on the car firing short bursts.
There were already a few bloody bodies lying on the ground. Watkins saw a figure stagger to their feet, so he shot them, before putting a few bursts into other prone figures. While he was changing magazines, he saw what evidently plain clothes police officers, guns in hand, running towards him. He lobbed his second grenade towards them.
*
“Oh, f*ck!” DC Booth yelled, as she saw the green, pineapple shaped object bouncing down the road towards them.
She and Banks threw themselves behind a parked car. The world then seemed to explode around them.
*
Watkins could hear sirens in the distance and knew he only had a few moments to get his job done. He walked towards the steps of the hospital where his target and the SO14 officer were lying. The officer, bleeding heavily from grenade fragments and a bullet wound, managed to point his pistol in the general direction of Watkins, who casually shot him in the head. He walked over to his target and stared down at him. The man had been lucky, only picking up minor injuries when his Protection Officer had thrown him to the ground.
“This is for the British people!” Watkins said as he pointed the TMP prone figure. “It’s time for a republic! For true democracy…”
“Get on with it, man. I don’t have all f*cking day!” His target snapped.
The interruption caught Watkins out. He had a whole speech prepared.
“F*ck you then!” He yelled, pulling the trigger.
The TMP fired once before jamming.
“Sh*t! Sh*t Sh*t!” Watkins exclaimed, deciding to drop the machine-pistol and draw his P9S instead.
He took aim and squeezed the trigger.
***
[1] SO14 was the old Royalty Protection Command of the Met Police. As of 2023, it is now part of Royalty and Specialist Protection (RaSP) within the Met’s Protection Command. The Diplomatic Protection Group (SO6) is now also part of Protection Command as Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection (PaDP).
*
1401 hours GMT, 15th May. Dzerzhinsky, off Kaliningrad.
It had taken around twenty-one hours since the last torpedo hit, but the Soviet battlecruiser was within sight of the Baltic Fleet’s base at Kaliningrad. Finally, there was a near impenetrable Combat Air Patrol provided by Naval Aviation, the air force and now as the ship passed the twelve-mile limit, the Polish Air Defence Forces.
Captain Sidorov, whose mood was not improved by the ache in his left ankle, which had been broken when he had been thrown to the deck for a second time, could not help but wonder where the friendly fighters had been when his ship was under attack. Somebody at Fleet H.Q had made a catastrophic error and deserved to be shot. Sidorov just hoped that he would not be made a scapegoat for their mistake.
*
Dzerzhinsky was being towed stern first by Otchayanny when the torpedo exploded aft, blowing off the stern. Taking the screws and more importantly the tow with it. The bulkhead immediately aft of where the stern had been torn off had begun to fail and for around half an hour it had looked like Dzerzhinsky was going to sink. Worse had been to follow; Otchayanny had pulled away, launching an additional Ka-27 and coming about as he joined the hunt for the enemy submarine. However, moments after the destroyer had begun to turn, a second torpedo exploded under his keel, breaking Otchayanny’s back.
While heroic damage-control efforts by Dzerzhinsky’s crew had saved the battlecruiser, the same was not true of Otchayanny. Despite the best efforts of the latter’s crew, the destroyer broke in half and sank within an hour of being torpedoed.
While Ka-27s and other escorts hunted the guilty submarine, two Nanuchka class corvettes had come alongside Dzerzhinsky and attached a tow to the stump of her bows. While towing her by her wrecked bows was not ideal, it was considered the best of a worst set of options. The two corvettes had begun to slowly tow the battlecruiser south, while they waited for a pair of fleet tugs to arrive from Kaliningrad.
*
Once within the confines of the naval base, Dzerzhinsky was moved into a dry-dock, so that the damage could be properly inspected, and a decision taken on whether to begin repairs. Not long after the inspection had begun a Captain 2nd Rank from the base staff sought out Sidrov, who was resting in his cabin.
“Sorry to disturb you, Comrade Captain, but I have some news you may wish to know.”
Sidrov sighed, wondering what bad news the officer had for him.
“Go ahead, Comrade.”
“It’s a rather sensitive matter and you are instructed not to discuss it with anyone on your ship.”
“Get on with it, Comrade.” Sidrov interrupted.”
“Well, when examining your ship’s hull, we found an unexploded torpedo lodged a few meters forward of the stern…well, what remains of it. EOD personnel defused it, and it has been removed.”
“I hope this story is going somewhere more interesting than a NATO torpedo failing to function.” Dzerzhinsky’s captain interrupted for a second time.
If the Captain 2nd Rank was fazed by the interruptions, he did not show it.
“Well, Comrade Captain, that’s the thing. It isn’t a NATO torpedo. It was a TEST-71.”
“WHAT?!” Sidrov exclaimed.
The TEST-71 was the standard Soviet manufactured Anti-Surface Warfare torpedo. One of them should certainly not be sticking out of the hull of his ship.
“We are currently trying to see if we can trace which boat it was issued to and whether we can find any torpedo fragments left behind by the other hits to your ship.
“You can certainly see why this is such a sensitive matter, Comrade Captain. For now, your orders from Fleet H.Q are that the torpedo we recovered was a NATO model.”
“I understand, Comrade. You do not need to tell me twice.”
1510 hours GMT. SHAPE (Forward), near Mons, Belgium.
SACEUR had been cheering himself up by watching some drone footage of NORTHAG’s operations against the Soviet 2nd and 4th Guards Tank Armies. The forward units of both armies had managed to link up, creating what NATO was referring to as the ‘Seevetal Corridor’.
Achieving the link-up had been immensely costly to the Soviets; the footage General Baker had seen of wrecked armoured vehicles serving as testimony to that. Both armies were now attempting to withdraw. COMNORTHAG had ordered I (NL) and I (GE) Corps to maintain pressure on the retreating 2nd Guards, while 2 (Br) and III (US) Corps were to hold their positions along the southern edge of the corridor. COMLANDJUT had issued similar orders to his forces maintaining the northern shoulder.
The space in-between had become a free-fire zone for NATO fast-jets, attack helicopters, artillery and any other weapons that could be brought to bear. Baker could hardly imagine what it was like for the Soviet and East German troops on the ground. Especially now that they were having to drive past the bodies of their comrades and wrecked vehicles on the way back.
Fortified by what was developing into a famous NATO victory, Baker turned to the next item on the agenda. He wished that he had DSACEUR, General Alexander, to bounce ideas off. However, the British officer had business at the MoD in London. Instead, he was going to discuss the issues with his Chief of Staff, Admiral Peter Rühle of the Bundesmarine.
“The Soviets have blindsided us, Peter.” Baker commented. “While we were trying to decide whether they were going to attack in Slovenia, or Thrace they went ahead and did both.”
“Jawohl, Herr General. They certainly did.” Rühle agreed.
“Quite how we missed the build-up of Warsaw Pact forces in the southern region, I don’t know.”
The Chief of Staff did not reply immediately. Instead, he reached behind him and retrieved some folders on a table behind him.
“I have been checking over intelligence reports, Herr General.” He said as he handed SACEUR the folders. “If we missed it, it was not for all the warnings we received. I think we were just distracted by what was going on elsewhere. However, AFSOUTH’s staff should have picked up on it.”
Baker rubbed his chin while he thought.
“Admiral Clark has already accepted responsibility for any mistakes made by his headquarters. So, I don’t see any point dwelling on the matter too much. The question is where we send reinforcements.
“The Italian-Slovenian Front is probably the most secure, not to mention that there are plenty of reserves in northern Italy. The front in Thrace and northern Greece concerns me a great deal more. The Soviets have evidently decided that they don’t care about their own casualties, or indeed those of their allies, in order to push through the Greek and Turkish border defences.”
“We could send forces from the AFSOUTH Amphibious Force and maybe some of the troops from the now disbanded Allied Mobile Force?” Rühle wondered. “I believe that one of the things that General Alexander is in London to discuss is the deployment of British troops from Cyprus.” He added.
SACEUR nodded.
“A very good idea, Peter.” Baker agreed. “In terms of heavier units, the Spanish 1st Mechanised Corps should be able to spare at least one, or two of its divisions. In terms of American armoured or mechanised units, that would mean taking something from the National Reserve. Means a discussion with the Secretary of Defence and Chairman. See if you can get that sorted out. And, yes, the Brits want to send at least a battalion sized battle group drawn from troops they currently have in Cyprus. I’m hoping that General Alexander can persuade London to send some additional troops from their Strategic Reserve.”
“Nobody wants to dig into their last reserves, Herr General, lest they find themselves with a bare cupboard.” Rühle observed.
Baker nodded in agreement.
“That’s very true, Peter. But troops don’t do anyone good if they’re kept in their bases for a ‘just in case’ situation that may never come.” He said.
1551 hours GMT. Gwangju Air Base, Republic of Korea.
Major Klaus Schneider walked from the protected briefing facility to the Hardened Aircraft Shelter that contained a single Tornado ECR belonging to 102 Fighter Squadron, 1st Fighter Wing. Schneider was a former (well, sort of current now) Luftwaffe WSO, who had left the air force to work for Panavia. Being recently divorced, a five-year posting to South Korea to train its air force to operate the Tornado ECR had seemed a very attractive proposition.
Four years on, Schneider had become fully emersed in the culture of the ROKAF and of South Korea itself. He was now, for example, married to the sister of a pilot in 122 Fighter Squadron, and fully intended to make his new home in South Korea when his current contract was up. He had been offered a very lucrative contract by the RoK defence ministry to come work for them, essentially doing what he was doing now.
The Third World War had thrown a huge spanner in the works of his future plans. His situation had become somewhat more complicated when a Luftwaffe officer from the West German Embassy had handed him orders which reactivated his air force commission. The same orders told him that he was to return to West German as ‘soon as practically possible’. The ROKAF had successfully argued that Schneider was a vital member of the 1st Fighter Wing and the Luftwaffe had agreed that he could temporarily remain attached to the wing. Well, now that temporary period was up, experienced ECR WSOs were vitally needed in West Germany.
Tomorrow morning, Schneider would leave his wife, friends in 1st Fighter Wing and what he now considered his home for a country he did not really have any intention of returning to. At least not in the medium term. So, he was going to go out on a high and fly one last operational sortie.
*
“Ready for your last sortie with us, Herr Major?” Schneider’s pilot, Daewi Park Ji-Ho, asked.
“As I’ll ever be, Ji-Ho.” The West German replied as he continued with his pre-flight checks. “I just wish it was not in the middle of the night!”
“Ah, but now is a good time to be out hunting for enemy air defences, Klaus. The visually guided triple-A and MANPADS our northern friends have in abundance are far less effective in the dark!”
“I know, I know. I just prefer to be asleep at this time of day!”
*
An hour later the Tornado ECR had rendezvoused with a pair of F-4E Phantoms. Like the USAF, the ROKAF used the ‘Hunter-Killer’ concept to maximise the value of its fleet of Tornados. While the ECR was equipped with the various electronics that could detect and identify hostile radars and was armed with a pair of AGM-88 HARMs, the two Phantoms added additional HARMs and AGM-65 Mavericks. Once the ECR detected a hostile radar, it would cue one of the Phantoms onto the target in the first place before it would engage itself. If the Tornado still had fuel after the three aircraft had expended their weapons, it would remain on station and join up with any other suitably armed aircraft.
“We’ve got a ‘Straight Flush’ radar locking us up.” Schneider reported. “Okay, let’s ruin his day.”
“It’ll be a pleasure.” Park replied, before assigning one of the F-4E to attack the battery.
The Phantom fired a single HARM at the ‘Straight Flush’ radar, which belonged to a SA-6 ‘Gainful’ (2K12 ‘Kub’) battery. Predictably, the North Korean operator shut the radar down, not that this act stopped the HARM taking out the radar. It also allowed the F-4E to close in and take out two of the four missile TELs with the Mavericks it was carrying. The pilot was tempted to finish the job with the 20mm Vulcan cannon but knew that the North Koreans tended to surround their SAM batteries with Triple-A and MANPAD, so instead let his wingman finish the job.
‘BEEP! BEEP! BEEP! DEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!’
“Damnit, an SA-5 has fired on us!” Schneider said. “Got his location, take him out!”
“Magnum! Magnum!” Park announced over the radio as he fired a HARM and immediately turned away, hard.
American pilots had back in 1991 discovered that often the simple act of broadcasting ‘Magnum’ made Iraqi SAM operators shut their radars down. It had been rapidly discovered that North Korean operators tended to do the same. Actually firing a missile as well generally guaranteed a shut down.
“Damn, this guy isn’t shutting down!” Schneider exclaimed. “I’m trying to jam the radar; recommend you take evasive action!”
1621 hours GMT. Fort Hood, Texas.
It was good to get out of Washington D.C, President Powell thought. The city existed in a slightly weird universe of its own and it was sometimes easy to forget that the rest of the nation, never mind the world existed.
As a former military man, Powell took his duties as Commander-in-Chief very seriously and attending a ceremony that marked the official standing up of new army formations gave him a good reason to get out of D.C. It also gave him to chance to visit the headquarters of Joint Border Security Command’s Task Force East. There was one more reason for his visit to Fort Hood, he would get the chance to see the production standard version of the M22 Wainwright Future Cavalry Vehicle in the flesh for the first time.
*
“How are you feeling about taking command, General?” POTUS asked once the stand-up ceremony was over.
“Bit nervous to be honest, Sir.” Acting Major General Nicholas ‘Nick’ Brooker, the new commander of the 23rd Infantry Division (Mechanised), replied.
Brooker had until recently been the assistant divisional commander of the 1st Infantry Division (Mechanised). To Brooker’s initial disappointment, his tour of duty in that position had come to an end just before mobilisation had been announced. However, instead of the staff position he had been expecting to be posted to, he had been given the task of raising a new mechanised infantry division.
“I understand, divisional command is one of those special commands, along with your first time commanding a platoon and battalion.” Powell replied. “How are things coming along with getting the division operational?”
“Slower than I’d like, Sir.” Brooker admitted. “All of my sub-units have been formed, but they are generally on a cadre basis. The personnel I have at the moment are mainly regulars combed out from training and admin positions, and members of the Individual Ready Reserve. I’d struggle to field much more than a single battalion sized Task Force at the moment. I don’t expect the division to reach readiness until after we start to receive the first wartime volunteer enlistees and draftees.
“On a positive note, at least I do have a full divisional set of equipment and, unlike my counterpart in the 6th Armoured up at Fort Bliss, it’s all top-of-the-line stuff.”
“One of those bits of equipment is part of why I’m here.” The President replied enthusiastically.
*
The M22 Wainwright drove towards the Presidential party, before turning to the right and halting. Powell could immediately see that it had a lower silhouette than the M3 Cavalry Fighting Vehicle. Something that had always bothered him about the Bradley.
“The Wainwright has the latest in surveillance technology.” The captain from the 6-4th Cavalry Regiment, who had been ‘volunteered’ to deliver the briefing, said.
As he spoke the vehicle raised its telescopic mast surveillance system and rotated the head through 360 degrees, before lowering it again. Two scouts emerged from the M22, setting down a pair of drones. One was a small helicopter UAV, the other a wheeled UGV.
“The M22 can act as a ‘mothership’ for a number of drones stored aboard and can control all drones currently in US Army service. Even if they cannot be carried aboard. The vehicle can also transmit footage from drones it is controlling to any suitable terminal, whether that is in another M22, a command vehicle, or a static headquarters. The M22 is a fully digital vehicle, allowing for easy upgrades to its electronic architecture.”
“But can it fight, Captain.” Powell observed deadpan.
The officer looked a little discomforted by the President’s intervention.
“Ah, yes, Mr President.” He said after a beat. “The, ah, M22 is armed with a 35mm Bushmaster III cannon, which can be upgraded to 50mm if needed. The vehicle is not currently armed with an anti-tank missile but can be equipped with Javelin if desired. The Wainwright’s basic armour is superior to the Bradley, and it can be equipped with additional passive and reactive armour, which make it almost as well protected as a Main Battle Tank.”
“Why no anti-tank missile, Captain?” POTUS asked.
The captain was better prepared to answer this question.
“Operational experience with the Bradley has shown that crews sometimes spend too much time engaging the enemy with TOW and not enough time gathering actual recon data, Sir.” He replied. “Moreover, initial plans were for the M22 to be armed with the Follow On To TOW, which has not been fielded yet. Instead, the decision has been taken to give commanders the option to arm the Wainwright with Javelin if necessary. I suspect, Sir, that most commanders will take up that option.”
“And the Javelin gives the vehicle a ‘fire and forget’ anti-tank capability, which means it can shoot, then get the hell out of Dodge.” Powell said.
“Exactly, Sir.” The captain agreed, warming to the topic. “I’d much rather have Javelin than TOW myself. Especially in places like Europe, where engagement ranges are likely to be shorter.
“Would you like to take a ride, Sir?”
The President looked at his Chief of Staff.
“Do we have time, Leo?”
“We do, Sir, so long as the Secret Service are okay with it.”
“We’re okay with it, Sir.” SAIC Ron Butterfield, the head of the President’s Protective Detail, said.
Powell turned back to the captain.
“Okay, let’s fire her up and head downrange, Captain.”
1700 hours GMT. BBC News 24 report.
‘After a special all night sitting for both Houses of Parliament that went into the small hours of this morning, the government’s National Service Bill has been passed by a significant majority. The only amendment to the Act being a provision to conscript eligible citizens of Allied Nations resident in the UK who also have conscription in their home nations, which was added during the reading of the Bill in the House of Lords. That amendment also allows for those same nations to conscript any eligible British citizens who do not choose to return to the UK. The BBC understands that this measure is mainly aimed at Australian and New Zealand citizens resident here, and British citizens resident in those two nations.
‘A government spokesperson has confirmed that the bill was given Royal Assent this afternoon, passing it into law. The first batch of call-up notices for those between the ages of nineteen and twenty-two are expected to be sent out within the next forty-eight hours, although the Ministry of Defence has refused to comment on how big the first group will be.
‘Britain last had conscription between 1949 and 1960, the last National Servicemen leaving service in 1963. This time the National Service Act will also apply to women, the first time that British women have been conscripted since 1945.
‘As part of the call-up process, voluntary enlistment for those within the conscription age group will cease for the duration of the war from midnight tonight. Voluntary enlistment for those younger than nineteen and older than twenty-two will continue.’
1731 hours. Marylebone, London.
Stephen Watkins sat on one of the picnic tables outside a pub on the corner of Devonshire Street and Beaumont Street as he waited. The handgun and two grenades he had in his jacket pockets felt very heavy. The rucksack he had under the table held a Steyr TMP machine-pistol and a couple of spare magazines.
Watkins had been a member of a fringe political group for just over a decade. The Security Service were aware of them, but did not pay them much attention, as they had a history of peaceful if noisy protest. With all the other demands on them during the Polish Crisis, they had missed that a split had developed in the group. The new faction demanding ‘direct action’ to further their cause. Unfortunately, they also missed that at least two members of the new faction were not who they claimed to be.
*
“The target will be leaving the building in the early evening, Steve.” The leader of the new faction had told Watkins. “Get yourself set up at the pub we discussed a couple of hours beforehand. That way you’ll not stand out.”
“Should I ask where we go the ‘stuff’?” Watkins had asked, referring to the guns and grenades.
The other man had smiled.
“We have friends on the other side of the Atlantic who want to see the Revolution Brought Home. Remember, if we get rid of the parasites, we can truly claim to be fighting to protect democracy.”
“When we have true democracy, we’ll show those f*cking Russians!” Watkins agreed.
*
Detective Sergeant Banks was not in the best of moods; his investigation into ex-WO II Thompson had been effectively shut down by the Security Service, which did puzzle him a bit. He could only conclude that someone had decided to either cover-up what Thompson had done or had decided to sanction his operations. He had been temporarily seconded to Close Protection duties, along with DC Booth. Something he knew was a way of keeping them from carrying on with the investigation.
Today they had been attached to an SO14 team who would be protecting a VIP while they were transported from the King Edward VII's Hospital to their home in Windsor Great Park. Since the principle was a serving military officer, injured in the missile attack on the MoD Main Building, they did not normally have a protection detail, which was one of the reasons that Banks and Booth had joined the team. Which was also made up of one SO14 officer, who was in charge and an officer borrowed from the Diplomatic Protection Group. [1]
Perhaps making their task more complicated, the protectee had insisted on minimal protection, on the basis that “there are far more important people than me to look after.” The missile attacks on London had stretched the Met, meaning that there was only a single uniformed PC and PCSO to provide an outer perimeter.
“We’re on the move. Look alive everyone.” Crackled in Banks’ left ear.
*
Watkins downed his pint and picked up his rucksack. He had spotted the arrival of an official car, which no doubt presaged the appearance of his target. Watkins checked both ways before hurrying across Devonshire Street.
PC Keith Micklewhite spotted the man carrying a rucksack hurrying across the road towards him. His ‘cop instincts’ told him that something was wrong, and he stepped in front of the man.
“Excuse me, Sir. Do you mind if I check your bag?” Micklewhite began to ask.
Watkins shot the constable with the P9S pistol he had in his pocket, without even bothering to draw it. Micklewhite, struck in the chest, tried to grab at Watkins, but slumped to the ground. He did manage to press the ‘panic’ button on his radio before he lost consciousness.
*
Banks and Booth had been facing the other direction, towards Waymouth Street, when they heard the ‘pop’ of a pistol shot, followed by the unmistakable tone of a ‘panic button’ activation over the radio.
“Oh, sh*t!” Banks exclaimed as he reached for his Glock.
*
Time seemed to slow down for Watkins as he reached into his other jacket pocket for the first grenade. He pulled the pin and threw it towards the official car as hard as he could. Watkins next ducked down behind a parked car and pulled the TMP out of his rucksack, pocketed the spare magazines before discarding the rucksack. He popped out of cover a second after the grenade went off and started to advance on the car firing short bursts.
There were already a few bloody bodies lying on the ground. Watkins saw a figure stagger to their feet, so he shot them, before putting a few bursts into other prone figures. While he was changing magazines, he saw what evidently plain clothes police officers, guns in hand, running towards him. He lobbed his second grenade towards them.
*
“Oh, f*ck!” DC Booth yelled, as she saw the green, pineapple shaped object bouncing down the road towards them.
She and Banks threw themselves behind a parked car. The world then seemed to explode around them.
*
Watkins could hear sirens in the distance and knew he only had a few moments to get his job done. He walked towards the steps of the hospital where his target and the SO14 officer were lying. The officer, bleeding heavily from grenade fragments and a bullet wound, managed to point his pistol in the general direction of Watkins, who casually shot him in the head. He walked over to his target and stared down at him. The man had been lucky, only picking up minor injuries when his Protection Officer had thrown him to the ground.
“This is for the British people!” Watkins said as he pointed the TMP prone figure. “It’s time for a republic! For true democracy…”
“Get on with it, man. I don’t have all f*cking day!” His target snapped.
The interruption caught Watkins out. He had a whole speech prepared.
“F*ck you then!” He yelled, pulling the trigger.
The TMP fired once before jamming.
“Sh*t! Sh*t Sh*t!” Watkins exclaimed, deciding to drop the machine-pistol and draw his P9S instead.
He took aim and squeezed the trigger.
***
[1] SO14 was the old Royalty Protection Command of the Met Police. As of 2023, it is now part of Royalty and Specialist Protection (RaSP) within the Met’s Protection Command. The Diplomatic Protection Group (SO6) is now also part of Protection Command as Parliamentary and Diplomatic Protection (PaDP).
