For Queen and County

February 11th 1990
The Liebenburg Forest, Lower Saxony, West Germany

It wasn’t paranoia: there were hunters of men in the Liebenburg Forest.

Trooper Jones and his fellow SAS soldiers knew full well that those groups of Polish soldiers weren’t here for no other reason than to track down NATO commando forces. Their actions confirmed that as they searched carefully and cautiously through areas of natural cover as they took their time and protected each other at all times from what they regarded as all conceivable threats. This was clearly a reaction to events the other day when that communications relay tower had been brought down and thirty or forty Poles killed. To do that as successfully as they had was bound to bring some sort of response though this was a strong countermove indeed.

The Poles were now scouring the forest. They were looking for the men who had killed their comrades for what would be personal revenge though of course the legitimate military reason too of engaging enemy forces within their rear area. Jones was certain that if he was in their shoes, back with his home regiment – the Royal Regiment of Wales –, then he would be doing the same thing.

McSherry as team leader agreed with Jones on this and so did Fryatt as well. Bishop though had a difference opinion to his trio of fellow special forces men. The Londoner, whose home regiment was the Royal Green Jackets, believed that those Poles were searching for them not because of what they had done the other day but rather that they had been tipped off that they were active in this area. When asked to explain further what he meant by a patient McSherry, Bishop had stated that there was a good chance that they had been betrayed somehow by a traitor somewhere. After the death and destruction which they had wrought the other day, they had moved onwards afterwards as planned elsewhere to guard against the enemy – once recovered – coming to look for them. That had been done and they were quite a considerable distance away but there were now Poles all around them as they remained hidden and effectively trapped.

Someone had given away their position, he had said, and he would like to know who so he could personally deal with that traitor.


Jones didn’t believe Bishop’s theory of someone on their own side far in the fear serving them up to be killed or captured by the enemy and was convinced that the Poles should be given more credit than that. Their army might have been subservient to wishes of the Soviet-led Warsaw Pact military high command and not used to the best of their capabilities at all times, yet they were still a highly-trained and effective force… at least those he had seen in combat operations rather than on sentry duty when they thought they were safe.

This was something anticipated due to intelligence briefings given to SAS teams who were to operate in areas where there was an expectation that they might encounter Polish forces. Previous uniformed opinions about how the Polish military would be found in terms of morale was stated as something that was false: they would fight and not try to surrender or desert at any given opportunity. The Polish military was regarded as ‘politically reliable’ to the new regime in Warsaw. That had come about due to the change in government there late last year and the subsequent bloody purges and new indoctrination among their country’s armed forces.

Concealed under camouflage on the side of a hill, with the others nearby, Jones now watched the Poles as they operated below him. Everything was true as far as he could see, especially with these men who appeared to be professional soldiers from an elite unit rather than conscripts or reservists forced back to their colours.

These men were moving ever so carefully as they went about the task set for them. They were talking no chances in how they searched the general area as they moved through the undergrowth, among the trees and along a forest trail. The flanks were protected and there were rear guards posted too. Jones believed that they were not just looking for the men they were hunting themselves but also where they might have been hiding previously too in looking for unnatural disturbances in the ground.

They could look all they wanted for the SAS team hadn’t made use of that immediate area below at all.

With his weapon in his hands ready to be put to use, though at the same time the words of McSherry ringing in his mind reminding him to not do anything rash and endanger them all, Jones started to pay attention to one of the Poles in particular. This man was an officer and someone who even among all the other clear professionals below really looked like he knew what he was doing. Select Polish military officers, like a few East Germans and Czechoslovaks too, had spent some time abroad in foreign fields of combat far away from Europe as ‘volunteers’ under Soviet tutelage hunting for guerillas fighting against Moscow-backed regimes. This could easily have been one of those who’d been to Latin America, Africa or Asia. The Pole had his eyes everywhere. He was prepared for combat and didn’t express any visible sights of fear. Others with him were on edge yet he was not. There was confidence there in that man that while he knew there was danger somewhere and he wasn’t able to see it directly, he still felt confident in his ability to meet that head-on… and overcome it too.

Jones decided that this tall, brown-haired man who had a scar along the left side of his face – maybe a combat wound? – would be the first man he’d shoot at if it came to that. McSherry was to be the one to fire first if the Poles were to catch a hold of their trail and come close enough that the most prudent thing to do was to open fire. Should that happen, Jones stared at the man he would then immediately afterwards fire his own rifle at. This would be someone who would lead these men in action at a very competent level and therefore it would be absolutely vital to eliminate as soon as possible.


The Poles moved on; Jones didn’t have to take his shot.

They didn’t look above them at where the four men were hidden and prepared to engage them. The officer who had had Jones’ attention followed behind the searchers and continued onwards out of his field of view as the rest of them did too. This wasn’t the moment to relax though and Jones continued to remain perfectly still and concealed just in case the Poles came back either by accident or design. He concentrated on trying to hear all the sounds of the forest this afternoon for the signs that the Poles were coming back though instead there was only the distant rumble of manmade thunder from artillery as well as the sounds of aircraft up in the skies too.

But the Poles were gone and Jones along with his three fellow soldiers hadn’t been located. They would set about moving soon though and getting far away for the enemy had come mighty too close for comfort and also been well-prepared to take them on in combat. Jones had to be honest and admit to himself that while he would have gotten some shots off and probably killed that Polish officer, they still would have been in a whole world of trouble if it had come to a fight.

He allowed himself to take an exaggerated deep breath – making the only noise he had in the last ten minutes – and finally removed his finger from the trigger of his rifle.



February 11th 1990
Mahon Road Barracks, Portadown, County Armagh, Ulster, Great Britain

In the words of her husband, 2 UDR had been ‘castrated’. The far more polite term which Sergeant O’Brien preferred was that the battalion had ‘had its wings clipped’. Whatever phrase was used, crude or not, they were no longer on operations as before. There was no more active patrolling through Bandit Country and seeking to engage terrorists along the border with the Irish Republic. Instead, they were confined to guard duties around military, police and civil installations. There remained the ever present danger of bomb and gun attacks coming from the enemy – the IRA and the INLA – though those fights would no longer be ones which 2 UDR would seek out.

Supervising the manning the radios here this evening in Portadown, O’Brien was content at the state of affairs as it currently was. She pretended otherwise and had nodded agreement at the right moments when others had complained about how the 2 UDR was being treated. Yet her firm belief was that this was all for the best with how things had gone in the past. There were no longer any incidents taking place in Catholic communities in South Armagh. Arrests based on ‘suspicious behaviour’ – in other words being Catholic – were no longer happening nor houses of such people being burnt down. Those arrested and held prisoner weren’t being shot when ‘trying to escape’. There was no longer any need for cover-ups and lies to be told.

This was why she was not outraged at the recent turn of events as others were.


The radio room was a traditional role for a Greenfinch. It was considered a non-combat role which women serving in the Ulster Defence Regiment were only meant to undertake. Recently female soldiers like her had been doing far more dangerous tasks but with the 2 UDR sent back to their barracks now O’Brien and the other women were sent to the do communications duties and administrative tasks.

Still weary from that bomb blast that had left her only physically unharmed, certainly not emotionally unscathed, O’Brien sat in the corner of the windowless room ill at ease in the chair by the only wall which didn’t have a bank of electronic equipment. Along each of the other sides here in this space there were bulky and old-fashioned receiving and transmission equipment as well as encoding and decoding systems too. This was the main battalion communications post and all of this was necessary; it also needed to be replaced with something more modern too.

The headache which O’Brien had wasn’t coming from being so near to all of this electronic gear nor the stuffiness of the radio room where the air was as stale as it was. The dull pains she felt in her knees and lower back wasn’t from the uncomfortable chair either. Despite what Michael had said earlier to her when he had seen the strain on her face when reporting for duty here, this physical suffering didn’t even come from the IRA bombing which she had walked away from.

O’Brien was certain that she was in this agony due to psychological factors. No one had diagnosed this and she hadn’t told the doctors that had seen her about the pains she was affected with: she just knew in her heart why she suffered as she did in her body.

Her friend Jacqueline had been killed when standing only a few feet away from her whereas she had emerged unscathed from that bomb. Then she had been accused of being in part responsible for all that had gone on down in Bandit Country and there had been an attempt to coerce cooperation from here where she would betray those she knew and loved. Turning traitor was what she had refused to do and her reasons for doing so were because while she was told it was the morally right thing to do, and maybe it was, she just couldn’t do that.

To say these issues weighed heavy on her mind would be a vast understatement.

Those working in the radio room with her were fellow UDR soldiers, male and female. There was a clock mounted on the wall and O’Brien saw that she had less than an hour more on duty here – it was a two-hour task – and didn’t expect that in that remaining time there would be anything for her to do as there hadn’t been for the last hour. Her fellow soldiers here knew exactly what they were doing and there wasn’t much of that either. All that was needed was for someone senior to be present in case there was an emergency reported with where the 2 UDR was deployed guarding many places and the battalion’s superiors needed alerting so they could react to any incident.


The telephone on the desk beside her rang and interrupted her thoughts about how long she had to remain here. At once, she answered the call.

“O’Brien speaking.”

“Hello, Claire. How are you feeling?” It was Major Jackson, the commander of D Company.

“I’m fine, thank you, Sir.” The little white lie was automatic.

“I’m glad.” He sounded truly genuine. “Erm… I have some news, but I don’t want you to worry about it.” There came a pause where O’Brien could do nothing but worry with such a statement as that. “Michael is in with Captain Warren and I’m not sure how long that will take.”

“I see.” Again, O’Brien said the first thing that came to mind. Of course, she took in what was being said yet didn’t want to express that openly even to Jackson whom she knew and trusted. That investigator from the Army Legal Corps was now actively harassing her husband and she was concerned at the potential that could come from that despite the meaningless assurance just given.

“There is nothing to fear, Claire. He’s not under arrest and there is nothing that this officer from the mainland can do at the moment to detain him.” Another of those pregnant pauses. “I didn’t want you to hear this from someone else who might not know all of the facts of the matter and cause you alarm.”

“Thank you for letting me know. Should I…?”

“Oh, no.” Jackson cut her off before she could finish and presumed that he knew her question. “Stay where you are down there and then come up here afterwards and see me. We’ll talk then. Just don’t worry in the meantime, Claire.”

To leave her post at the moment wasn’t what O’Brien had been about to request.

“I’ll stay here then, Sir.”

“Excellent, excellent. As I said, there is nothing to be concerned about and it will all sort itself out in the end.”

“I hope so.” If Jackson had been here he would have seen the brave face O’Brien was putting on this in terms of not just her tone of voice. “I’ll get back to my duties then, Sir.”

“Oh, yes. Go right ahead, Sergeant. Just one last thing,” once more there came yet another frustrating break over the connection with the company commander, “remember that we are all standing with you and Michael.

Goodbye.”

“And to you, Sir.” O’Brien replaced the telephone receiver and shook her head.

When was this all going to be over?



February 11th 1990
The North Atlantic

Lieutenant-Commander Hedges wasn’t sure what exactly he was here to achieve as his Sea Harrier circled low above the warships gathered around the surfaced submarine below. He couldn’t see anything down there visually and little through his infrared display either; no one below could see him too in the dark nighttime sky above. Regardless, his orders – even if he disagreed with them because there was no real point to it all – were to orbit above the pair of frigates which were surrounding the surrendered Soviet vessel. Air cover was required and he and his fighter was deemed as just that.

Those warships were HMS Brave and SPS Cataluna, the latter that Spanish vessel which he had overflown the other day and was one of several NATO vessels up here with the RN in the GIUK Gap. Both of them were near to a submarine that had surfaced after being attacked by a helicopter from the Brave and were assisting in rescue operations to recover crew members from that enemy vessel who were abandoning their submarine. Hedges hadn’t been informed of the scale of the damage that the submarine had been taken nor whether there was a chance or a motivation to recover it. All he knew was that the crew were surrendering and being evacuated. The decision had therefore been made to send him this was to provide air cover.

Another Sea Harrier had been launched from HMS Illustrious to take his previous place in the sky though Hedges didn’t believe that there would be an opportunity for whomever was flying that second fighter to see any action. Enemy air activity had been non-existent in recent days. Of course, should there be a need, he would race off to join the other Sea Harrier if hostile aircraft were spotted but that didn’t look likely. He would stay here, he could only assume, making these lazy circles in the sky above what was going on below.


The lack of Soviet aircraft coming southwards in the direction of the Lucky Lusty and the other warships was something that Hedges and his fellow 801 Squadron pilots were fully briefed upon. As those who were to fly air defence missions in support of the carrier and the warships alongside the Illustrious in these waters they were all being kept up-to-date on what was going on. That air-sea battle which had taken place the other day where the Americans had smashed apart the Soviet flotilla off the Lofoten Islands had been followed up by amphibious landings to recapture isolated parts of northern Norway which the Soviets had been holding on to. Again and again, there had been attempts by the enemy to sink the Americans carriers there along with the amphibious ships too.

Soviet air power had met failure there.

The overall effect of this was that there were no more flights being made down the Norwegian Sea by the Soviets. They no longer had any forward airbases where fighter cover could be established as they broke out from over land to the sea. Instead with those airbases either closed or being reused by NATO forces, there was far too great of an immediate threat to long-range aircraft now. Moreover, there was a greater need to attack those NATO ships closer to what (few) remaining parts of Norwegian territory was held along with where what Soviet warships were left were making a withdrawal northwards.

What did this all mean for 801 Squadron?

They were to stay with the Lucky Lusty because the carrier was to remain in these waters guarding the warships on anti-submarine duties. There were still submarines at sea which needed tracking and engaging. The Soviets were sending their subsurface forces out into the North Atlantic even if their surface and naval air forces had taking the battering which Hedges had been informed that they had. Those submarines heading for the open waters on the other side of the GIUK Gap were on a mission to strike at ships making journeys across the ocean engaged in supporting the war effort. Hedges didn’t have much of an idea as to what the exact situation was with losses to shipping and how many submarines it was believed that were already in the North Atlantic but he knew that it was of vital importance to keep as many from getting there as possible so that no more could join those already in-place. Keeping those trade routes open was of undoubted strategic importance for the war effort.

The submarine on the surface below him was one of those that the warships engaged in defending the GIUK Gap had engaged. Many had been confirmed sunk with others believed to be damaged enough from attacks to stop them being useful in an attacking role. There were not just those warships along the defensive line but also NATO submarines and land-based maritime patrol aircraft as well. This one was the first that he knew of that was in such a situation where it had been hit, brought to the surface and the crew were abandoning it as they surrendered to NATO forces.

Hedges wondered to himself what would happen to those sailors that were being pulled from the freezing water below. He didn’t know how many that there were and whether any of them were injured… or even if that was a nuclear-powered submarine and if any of them were suffering from the effects of radiation. Regardless, he expected that they would be treated correctly as prisoners of war aboard the Brave and the Cataluna and would probably be soon transferred elsewhere away from those warships. It was their future afterwards that he thought about. The view amongst his own side, any decent person at least, could be that as legitimate prisoners they to be cared for as best as possible just as the hope was NATO prisoners were being too. When the war came to an end at some later stage – whenever that was – those men would be returned home as part of any peace or ceasefire agreement. How would their own side see them though? Would every man from the Soviet side be treated like those who ended up in enemy custody during World War Two were when they were each deemed a traitor? It was possible, he believed.

This was all something for another time though. For now he had to continue doing what he was doing and flying his aircraft where he had been ordered to. When he got back to the Illustrious he could think about that some more. At the moment he had a fighter aircraft to pilot and that really should have had all of his attention instead of other matters that were only a distraction.

February 12th 1990
The Liebenburg Forest, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Scarface had returned.

It was the late afternoon and those Poles hunting for the SAS men in the forest had come back with that man wearing such a distinctive scar among them as their leader. Trooper Jones again had the barrel of his rifle pointed at the officer with his finger resting on the trigger. A gentle squeeze would send a three round burst of 5.56mm bullets towards that man to take him out and – hopefully – leave the rest of the Polish troops leaderless. All he needed was the order to fire.

Jones waited for McSherry to give permission for him to kill this man who was imperiling them all.

Though he couldn’t see his team leader, Jones knew where he was: off to the left and at the base of that tree there. As Bishop and Fryatt were, and Jones himself was too, McSherry would be lying flat on the ground surrounded by mud and leaves. He would be soaking wet with all of this rain falling and no overhead cover to give him shelter. Being unseen by the enemy on the ground, rather than looking from up above, was what mattered though and Jones’ team leader would certainly be invisible to anyone trying to locate him unless they physcially wandered directly into his prone figure.

Looking over briefly at where McSherry was, Jones mentally willed for the order to come to open fire. The Poles might have been some distance away and looking in the wrong place for them at the moment but they were again doing what they had been doing yesterday with such careful searches. Jones regarded them as more vulnerable now than they would be close up and believed that McSherry should give the order now to shoot at them to bring their searching to a stop. These men knew what they were doing and went about it in such a determined fashion. This all made Jones certain that they had to be eliminated with haste. No order came though and so he carried on watching Scarface and the others moving closer and closer.

It was an intolerable situation to be in and Jones knew that something had to change soon. They couldn’t go on like this with these Poles continuing to hunt them as they were and allowed to do so unmolested.


As to how this group of Polish military personnel were able to locate them – near enough anyway – once again hadn’t been something Jones had yet to talk about with his three fellow soldiers. For the second time in two days these enemy troops were right on their tail. McSherry had moved them several miles overnight and they had thought they had shaken lose the trail that the Poles had picked up only to find now that Scarface had returned. Once the Poles had been spotted, very quickly McSherry had had them all hide and get their weapons ready to fight though again with the firm instruction that he would open fire first if that was necessary and no one else was to do so unless ordered.

Jones was sure that if he had been given the opportunity, Bishop would have once again mentioned his now firm belief that they had been betrayed by someone. When he had said such a thing yesterday that had been dismissed as paranoia, but now it did seem that that might possibly be the case. Jones wasn’t aware who in the chain-of-command above had access to the operational areas where the four of them were to operate exactly within the Liebenburg Forest yet that didn’t matter after more than a week of war; they had moved far from where they were initially assigned to conduct their raiding and harassment of the enemy’s rear areas. Bishop’s concern might have been spot on though for like yesterday, McSherry had briefly used the radio again. He hadn’t said exactly where they were when reporting in though if there was a traitor in-place somewhere back on the other side of the frontlines then there could have been a manner in which the general area of where they were was passed on to the enemy or maybe the Poles had been told to track the signals to find them. However that had worked, the exact details aside, the more Jones thought of it now, as he carried on watching Scarface supervise his men, the more it seemed likely that something like that had occurred where their position had been betrayed.

He couldn’t see any other way in which the Poles were hunting them as they were.

With so much peacetime practice, Jones and the others knew how to stay undetected in hostile territory such as this forest. There were no people to spot them and give away their presence. There were plenty of hiding spots to make use of. All traces of their physical presence was moved where possible each time they stopped. They stayed away from known tracks and kept away from the few roads as well. Nothing was discarded carelessly with all that they brought with them either carried in their packs or buried.

But still they had been first found and then followed here.


Scarface stopped walking for a moment and bent down to pick up and then examine something from the ground. Whatever the Polish officer had in his hands, Jones couldn’t make it out due to its small size. His full attention was on the leader of these hunters as he tried to decipher just what had attracted Scarface’s attention.

Then there was gunfire.

It took all of Jones’ inner strength to not squeeze the trigger. His rifle barrel followed the Pole’s movement in dropping down in an instant but he didn’t open fire on the man as it was with immediate affect clear that the sounds of gunfire weren’t coming from McSherry, Bishop nor Fryatt. It had been the distinctive rattle of AK-74’s firing.

Somewhere between fifty to a hundred shots were gotten off. Between those and then afterwards there came a great deal of shouting. Jones kept taking his eyes off the prone Scarface, who had moved into some cover, as he looked away to try to work out what had happened out ahead where the Poles were. Each time he returned to stare at Scarface he remained where he was and soon enough was using a hand-held radio too.

All of that fire had been from Soviet-manufactured assault rifles with no pistols, machine guns or grenades used. The Poles had either been shooting at each other in an accidental friendly fire incident or they had engaged someone else – other NATO forces or possibly West German guerillas – using such weaponry as they did. Whatever the cause, there were plenty of Polish dead and the hunting effort for Jones and his fellow SAS soldiers had come to a halt.

Any moment now, Jones was sure that McSherry would give them the signal to move. Once he met up with his team leader, Jones would ask if what exactly had happened was known and also talk to McSherry about his serious concerns over the use of the radio again. The idea struck him – as he continued to target Scarface with his own rifle – to suggest to his team leader that maybe they shouldn’t use the radio overnight nor tomorrow and see if the Poles picked up their trail again. If he was wrong, then he was wrong… but he didn’t believe that he was.



February 12th 1990
Near Steyerberg, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Major Slater watched aghast as the SAM smashed into the helicopter flying above the Yorkshire Squadron. There was a flash and a roar and then the wreckage of that struck BO-105 started falling towards the ground.

“That was one of ours!” Slater called out. “What idiot did that?”

His outrage was delivered to no one in particular. There were two others inside the Fox with him, the gunner and the driver, but both of them were busy with their tasks and Slater was sure that they would have gotten used to now to his expressions of anger which had been made all day. He had vocalised his ire because he needed to though. That was a Bundeswehr attack helicopter shot down in an outrageous friendly fire incident by someone among the Queen’s Own Yeomanry with a shoulder-mounted Blowpipe. It was the last thing he needed to have happen, especially since that helicopter would have been one of many doing their best to support them during their withdrawal back towards Steyerberg and the River Aue.

They needed all the help that they could get and so losing that air support had brought forth Slater’s fury. There were Soviet paratroopers moving south from their Nienburg airhead complete with airmobile armoured vehicles, and their own armed helicopters support too, as they operated on the flank out of the main enemy ground forces which had gone over the Weser there. Already the majority of the Northumberland Hussars along with the seventh battalion of the Light Infantry had been lost as the enemy moved along the western side of the river downstream.

This was far from the right time to be shooting down friendly helicopters!


The smashed remains of the BO-105 were left behind as the Fox’s and Spartan’s under Slater’s command continued with their retreat away from Liebenau. The infantry behind was falling back faster towards what was to become the 15th Infantry Brigade’s new main line of resistance along the Weser tributary which was the Aue with the Yorkshire Squadron to act as the rear-guard. Opposing them was the advance-guard of the oncoming Soviets with their BMD-2 armoured infantry fighting vehicles, BTR-D armoured personnel carriers and many variants of these lightweight tracked vehicles. Those approaching vehicles were carrying Soviet paratroopers in some cases while others were acting as forward armoured scouts. Around Liebenau the Soviets had smashed apart part of the 15th Brigade using heavy fire support but also their maneuverability to maximum effect when on the defensive: Slater was going to stop them doing that to him as the Soviets advanced.

Slater had the Yorkshire Squadron operating in small groups with covering positions established by one group when another fell back. This leap-frogging approach was something that they had long trained to do when attacking and he was now having his men doing it as they retreated. They had recently escaped the grasp of the Soviets and were hopefully falling back faster than the enemy could move forwards. The plan was for when the enemy did make an appearance they would be mistaken in believing that the Yorkshire Squadron was open to attack as it retreated.

He didn’t have that long to wait to find out whether this was the case or not.


Inside the four-wheeled armoured vehicle which was the Fox were Sergeant Ball acting as Slater’s gunner and Lance Corporal Lloyd driving. The three of them had been engaged all day in operations across the battlefield where they had covered a wide area moving with the Yorkshire Squadron though not directly in combat. Ball and Lloyd had overheard the radio transmissions which had been made from Slater as well as what he had listened to over the squadron and regiment nets. Slater hadn’t involved them in that and had them instead take over some of his own duties as vehicle commander while he was busy on the radio in keeping an eye out for the enemy in the form of dismounts, helicopters and armoured vehicles.

It was one of the latter which Ball spotted. He shouted out to alert Slater that he had a BMD-2 in sight coming from out of the trees to the left as he moved to get the Fox’s main gun ready. Slater quickly found the target and called for Lloyd to be ready to move. Then he gave the order for Ball to open fire.

The Fox was fitted with an L21 RARDEN cannon as it’s main armament. There was a coaxial 7.62mm machine gun, but the L21 was the primary weapon. A three-round burst of 30mm armour-piercing shells was fired by Ball and these were sent towards the turret of the enemy vehicle where intelligence information said that the armour was weakest.

There was a series of flashes and then the blasts which came from explosions, all of which lit up the rapidly-darkening evening sky. The target appeared to be if not destroyed then knocked out of action and that was good enough for now; Slater hoped that there had been paratroopers carried so more damage than just the loss of one vehicle would have been done to the enemy.

The radio came alive immediately afterwards with another Fox engaging a second BMD-2 that had too just appeared with little warning. Slater had to force himself to pay attention at the moment to the need to make sure that his own vehicle withdrew successfully from this firing position into a new one before he could discover all that had occurred. The enemy’s advance guard had been encountered and two of their leading vehicles had been attacked before they could strike at the Yorkshire Squadron. This was only the first clash though and not likely to be the end of it all. He expected far more combat all the way back to the Aue and then more fighting there when he and his men would be called upon to directly assist the infantry in holding the line there to deny the enemy the ability to expand their bridgehead over the Weser any more than they had.

Before then though, there would be plenty more clashes with the oncoming Soviets.



February 12th 1990
Alta, Finnmark, Norway

They were back in the trench again, sheltering from the effects of the enemy bombing. Corporal Edwards and the rest of them had jumped in again into the mud and snow to get away from the falling bombs that for the third time today the aircraft above were dropping upon the Para’s in and around Alta. The word had come that the Soviets had terrible accuracy when undertaking such air strikes during the hours of darkness: Edwards didn’t know if that was true as there was so very little that he could see. All that there was were the flashes, the loud blasts and the rattle of anti-aircraft guns which the Norwegians had brought with them when they had arrived late yesterday. Around him were his mates and he couldn’t see their faces but he knew that they were all there.

All of them were in this together.

When the bombs hit the ground and exploded, Edwards couldn’t feel them. He heard and saw the explosions but didn’t physically detect the ground beneath him move as he believed that it should. He supposed that all of the snow which was several feet deep across Alta soaked up the impacts of them. There had been few casualties in earlier bombing attacks with everyone saying that the snow did just that and he could only assume that that was the case. There was now a reason to be thankfully for all of this snow which had so hindered the Para’s like he here in this Norwegian town by slowing their movements like it had.

Where were the Soviets bombing? It couldn’t have been the British and Norwegian troops directly for the enemy surely would have known that across the whole area there were air raid trenches like the one which he was in. If Edwards had to guess he would have to think that it would be the airport and the harbour. It was those facilities which had brought the Soviets here first and then the Para’s to come here and wrestle control of Alta away from them. How much more damage were the Soviets going to do if those were what they were bombing again now? Edwards had seen both places, smashed and ruined as they were. The Norwegians had set off demolition charges before or during the invasion and then the Soviets had done the same when they were being beaten here the other day to destroy what was left.

So, if the Soviets weren’t bombing there then where were they aiming to drop their bombs on then? It didn’t make sense to him.

Sergeant Proctor had said before for them all not to worry about what he called The Big Picture. Their platoon sergeant had been firm in telling them all again and again that they needed to focus on the here and now. Rumours of what was happening elsewhere were to be ignored. None of them were grand military strategists. They didn’t serve on the battalion intelligence staff and The Lieutenant would tell them what they needed to know when they needed to know that. Those Para’s under his command should just focus upon their duty. This had all come with his usual frustration and the explosions in rage which everyone found amusing to see the man have.

Edwards couldn’t help himself but thing about The Big Picture though. He had been doing so since they first arrived in Norway and were subsequently cut off but the scale of the Soviet incursions into the rear areas. Successes had come in retaking almost all of those invasion sites but then they had been sent here all the way to Alta. He hadn’t seen a map of northern Norway in a very long time and had struggled to recall where Alta was. The town was somewhere in the middle between Narvik and the Soviet-Norwegian border though, a very long way to the east. That meant that they were far away from the coast where there was naval air support and also some distance apart from where the majority of other NATO troops would be too.

2 PARA was out here almost on its own with just a small force of recently arrived Norwegians alongside them.


Looking up at the pitch black sky above, Edwards realised that he hadn’t heard any aircraft in a while nor any bombs falling. His mind had been elsewhere because the bombing hadn’t been as terrifying as it had been before and he had been able to distract himself.

“Is it over, Paul?” O’Donnell was right beside him here in the trench.

“Dan, we all thought you’d gone to sleep!” O’Donnell laughed and so did a few others.

Para banter. It didn’t have to make sense but that didn’t matter because they were all mates.

“They stopped,” Massey spoke up, “because one of them bombed another.”

“What?” Edwards didn’t understand, it didn’t make sense what Massey was saying.

Mortimer tried to explain: “Little Jennings says that one of them came in low and another one dropped it’s bombs atop of it. He called it ‘friendly fire’.”

“And we’re listening to that kid now?” This was just silly.

“He’s a clever lad that Jennings.” This time Grant added his opinion.

“I should have stayed asleep!”

They all broke out in laughter at that and Edwards was pleased to be hearing that. These were his mates and their approval of his wit was something to be enjoyed. War was hell, they said, but being with your mates, those you trusted even when in such danger, made it all a little less bad.

There was also the knowledge that his side was winning to cheer Edwards up. 2 PARA had done its job here despite it all and he was sure that the war was being won elsewhere too even with worse setbacks than they had encountered here. It was inconceivable to him that he could be wrong in that – admittedly uninformed – judgment.

February 13th 1990
Tromsø, Troms, Norway

One hundred and sixteen Soviet Naval Infantry marines and officers surrendered at 13:00 local time here in Tromsø. Almost all of those were walking wounded, including the major who was the acting commander of the last of those who still had been able to fight but had been convinced to give in. A further two hundred and fifty plus seriously wounded enemy marines had an hour ago passed into NATO custody here so they could be given urgent medical care following the ceasefire pending the short negotiations which Lieutenant Leigh had been a witness too.

Those enemy casualties were going to be an immediate drain upon the medical capabilities of the joint British, Dutch, Norwegian and (arriving last night) American forces which were making use of Tromsøya Island. The few prisoners which didn’t need such attention were far easier to deal with: they’d all be loaded upon one of the transport ships and sent to Narvik.

The surrender ceremony had been a short affair and with little drama to it. Lieutenant-Colonel Wilson had brought along Leigh and he had witnessed the NATO officers talking formally with the senior surviving Naval Infantry officer and getting him to sign a piece of paper so that he and his men officially surrendered themselves. There had been plenty of NATO personnel present with just that major and a captain of the KGB – a rather scared looking man, no doubt full of worries – from the Soviet side there. In addition, media teams from several nations of the Allies as well as a few from countries neutral in this war were also present. Out of earshot of everyone else, Wilson had told his battalion adjutant that this was something which the whole ceasefire-cum-surrender here in Tromsø had been delayed for. The Soviets had wanted to give up far earlier this morning but they had been made to wait while NATO senior officials flew journalists and cameramen here so that a rather big deal could be made of the beaten enemy forces surrendering here.

There was a much larger force of Soviet marines down at Harstad and news from here would be forcibly shared with them to try to get them to give in too… in addition, events here would be shared worldwide and given great significance by NATO and the Allies.


For a couple of days now, 45 Commando had been out of the low-level fighting which had continued around Tromsø before the Soviets eventually caved in. The Norwegians had taken over as planned with their regular soldiers being joined by those irregular guerillas which had caused so many difficulties with their vengeful behaviour. Taking the city building-by-building, street-by-street had been what the Norwegians had wanted to do despite everyone else on Tromsøya Island – British, Dutch and American – believing that that was a foolish idea which would see many deaths for the sole reason of stubborn pride on the part of the Norwegian and loyalty to a doomed cause from the Soviets.

The Royal Marines had moved over to the western side of the island where the Dutch were and joined the Cloggies there at the airport. Engineering work had been ongoing to conduct emergency repairs to get it operational past the patch-work repairs which had been initially done to the runaway. There was some specialist heavy equipment present but also a need for manpower there and 45 Commando had been involved alongside the Dutch and the Norwegians in sometimes back-breaking work to clear rubble from the limited fighting there. Many of those Royal Marines there had joined everyone else in diving into cover when a surprise enemy air raid had come: a low-flying Soviet Sukhoi-17 Fitter had made an attack run. That Dutch warship which had provided escort for the CASTLE assault, HNLMS Piet Hein, had fired a barrage of SAM’s and taken down the attacking Fitter resulting in an ejection of the pilot. Whilst that enemy flier had then been rescued from the waters surrounding Tromsøya Island, those on the ground who had sought shelter had picked themselves up, dusted themselves down and carried on working.

Wilson had said that the men were happy when they were busy, especially doing something that they knew was worthwhile. Leigh hadn’t been so sure that his commanding officer had the correct grasp on the mood of the Royal Marines who served with 45 Commando though there had been no verbalised complaints made as far as he knew. Regardless of whether or not the men had been content to act as manual labourers for a day or two that they had done so.

The reasoning behind this had been to keep them busy because a decision had to be made as to where 45 Commando and the rest of the UK/NL Landing Force was to move to so they could carry on with their place in this war. Both the Royal Marines and the Dutch Cloggies were well-trained and now combat-proven elite troops whose deployment into a battle against Soviet forces in Norway could easily be the tipping point in winning an engagement. Yet there had been nowhere for them to go. The 3rd Commando Brigade had achieved their objectives back to the west in retaking enemy-held territory from isolated Soviet forces there closer to Narvik and where the Para’s with the 5th Airborne Brigade had struck they too had been successful. In addition, the Americans and the Norwegians had as well managed to defeat the enemy in the fighting which they had undertaken. The decision by NATO command to launch multiple attacks over a wide area against almost all enemy forces spread all over the place had been justified in the successes made. Only the unengaged forces around Harstad remained and those Naval Infantry were going to be attacked by the Norwegians in a slow-moving overland assault where hard fighting was expected with the Soviets dug-in there; not a fight which the striking power of 45 Commando would be useful in.

Leigh had heard his superior discussing the ‘where’ with those higher in the chain-of-command that they were to move to next. There had been surprise that the fighting on Tromsøya Island had gone as it had with 45 Commando doing what they had so fast in defeating the enemy in open engagements and pushing them back to the city in such a quick fashion. No one seemed to have had any plan for further deployment though all were in agreement with Wilson that the Royal Marines here couldn’t stay where they were not fighting an enemy that still had parts of Norway occupied. Across in eastern parts of Finnmark – at Lakselv as well as across near the Soviet border on the Varanger Peninsula and in South Varanger – there were still Soviet forces on sovereign Norwegian soil.

That was where Leigh was expecting that 45 Commando would soon go, off to the east. He anticipated that they would link up with the 3rd Commando Brigade, maybe even the Para’s too, and go fighting there to fully defeat Soviet forces inside Norway. How long that would take he didn’t know. There were some of his fellow junior officers who said that the war was over here in Norway but he didn’t agree. Maybe it had been won, but it wasn’t finished.

He wondered how much longer it would last and couldn’t say yet he was certain that it might be at the very least another month, maybe more.



February 13th 1990
Near Steyerberg, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Both regimental and brigade intelligence summaries had said that the Soviets were to conduct a ‘diversionary attack’ southwards along the Weser valley. There was meant to be ‘light to moderate’ strength in such a move with ‘limited fire support’ due to the main effort being ‘away to the west against the Americans’.

Everything Major Slater had witnessed today gave lie to such statements; the enemy had attacked in strength with this clearly being a major offensive.

It was no longer light airmobile armour and paratroopers mounted in those vehicles attacking forward against the 15th Infantry Brigade but what rather had to be a full division of regular motorised rifle troops in what had to be divisional level numbers. There were main battle tanks and tracked infantry fighting vehicles. Self-propelled guns and anti-tank missile carriers were present too. Thousands of Soviet infantry moved southwards with those tanks and armoured vehicles while above them came thousands of shells in flight and at least a hundred aircraft on strike missions. In the way of this assault, and crushed in its wake, had been the 15th Brigade. That formation of British TA infantry and Yeomanry light armour was no more. There were a few scattered survivors left, Slater among them.


The Yorkshire Squadron was now down to less than a third of its strength. Men were dead and missing, others wounded and evacuated. Six Fox’s and one Spartan remained and if Slater again sent them up against T-64 tanks he would see the immediate destruction of them and the deaths of those – including himself – inside his remaining vehicles. It was getting dark now as evening had arrived on this cold, short February day where so many men had died. He had his shattered command spread out through the fields south of the burning town immediately to the north with infantry all around them. The men of the Yorkshire Volunteers and the Royal Regiment of Fusiliers were digging furiously into the frost-covered hard ground to get themselves some cover ready for when the enemy next turned his attention upon them. Slater had his vehicles find some ready-made cover though his fervent hope was that the enemy would leave them alone… a forlorn hope really. The Soviets might be busy enough following the course of the Weser down its western bank but turning directly westwards to cover their flank would eventually occur.

When, not if, they finally got around to doing that, Slater fully expected there to be a battle where the last men of the 15th Brigade made a fight of it yet it would be one which they would lose.

A Lt.-Colonel from the brigade staff was the senior surviving officer from what Slater understood. That man had been on the radio with panic in his voice telling those who he could reach to dig-in, hold firm and wait for the Americans to arrive and relieve them. That wasn’t someone whom he wanted to be under the command of, not with that evident terror in his tone over the radio. Slater had been alarmed that command had fallen to such a man as that who seemed to have no idea what he was doing. He was issuing orders to units which were no longer combat capable and seemingly getting those who were left really to launch a counterattack at some point. Slater knew that his squadron was the last of the armour left as the majority of the Queen’s Own Yeomanry had been destroyed. The gunners with the 101st Regiment Royal Artillery Volunteers were dead and their howitzers lost. The infantry had taken shocking casualties with few sub-units combat capable and all with transport let alone any armoured vehicles to take them safely into battle. In short, the 15th Brigade was unable to defend itself let alone threaten the enemy.

The man at the top who had taken over didn’t understand that though. Slater had answered his call when it had come and informed the man of his situation with regards to his negligible combat strength and his observations of everyone else plus the ground ahead where the enemy could expected to be found. He had strongly recommended that no counterattack be made. There had come a curt acknowledgment to that before the Lt.-Colonel had moved on to contact others he could reach over the radio network: again and again the same responses had come as Slater had listened in because his new commander was on open channels.


Sitting in his seat as vehicle commander, Slater watched through the sights what was going on outside. The hatch above him was down and the overpressure system on due to the known lingering chemical threat: gas had been used in significant strength earlier by the Soviets and caught many men unprepared therefore dooming them to a horrible death. His view of the men digging as they were was thus limited but he could still see many of them at work. Hundreds of men from three different battalions of TA infantry – recruited from across Yorkshire and the wider North East – were constructing personal firing positions with shovels, spades and their bare hands. They all wore their bulky chemical warfare suits and had their weapons nearby as they dug. They were all waiting for the shells and the bombs to start falling again and then the tanks and infantry to come across the ground rushing towards them.

Slater was waiting for the same thing. His Fox was positioned behind a hedge giving some coverage to observation from the front. The main gun and the machine gun were pointed eastwards across the flat fields where when the time came those weapons would open fire in a last gasp hurrah so when the Yorkshire Squadron finally went out, it went out with a bang.

As he stared at those outside, he moved to looking further too and beyond those men who had made it back this far away from the fighting earlier. He wanted to see if there was anyone else coming this way apart from the enemy which he expected soon enough. There had been men who had returned to their units throughout the afternoon after walking and running this way after escaping the enemy’s attention. Many were in a bad way yet all had wanted to continue the fight to get some measure of personal vengeance against those who had killed their friends.

Captain Chris Wood was out there somewhere. Slater’s friend, his second-in-command and a very good man hadn’t fallen back with the Yorkshire Squadron nor shown up among those scattered men who had reached here. He had been told that Wood’s Fox had blown up when a BMP-2 fired upon it but that didn’t mean that Wood was dead. There was always the chance…

If his friend was still alive, Slater would want to help him. His loyalty to the younger man demanded that he do that yet he had no idea how that could occur. If alive, Wood could be anywhere. He could be hiding with the enemy all around him. He could be injured and trapped. He could be a prisoner with all the mistreatment by the enemy which would come with that.

Slater didn’t know the fate of the man he had so long served alongside and so couldn’t do anything for him. All that he was to do was to sit here waiting for the enemy to make their move to cover their flank and turn against him and his fellow British volunteer soldiers here. They would fight when it came to that but there was no doubt in his mind how that would turn out.



February 13th 1990
St. John’s Wood Barracks, Westminster, Central London, Great Britain

Yesterday's failed attack upon St. John’s Wood Barracks was far from an isolated incident. The terrorist action which had taken the lives of three men and boys who served alongside Lance Corporal Rose had been part of a far wider picture. There had been similar events elsewhere in London, across other parts of Britain and throughout the wider Western World too. Under higher instruction but not direct supervision, armed attacks had been launched by terrorists and separatists on a massive scale. Bombs had gone off and gunshots made alongside incidents such as what had happened here with men in vehicles trying to force their way into military installations – in addition to political targets as well – all throughout February 12th. Most of these were reported to be failures with only a scattered few successes for those who undertook them.

Then there was the body-count too.

A warning had been issued beforehand giving an indication of what was coming. Rose, like it appeared everyone else had as well, had been informed of that far too late for it to have mattered. There had been some sort of communications mix-up where word wasn’t sent out on time for those on sentry duty at military bases to be on their guard for when the Soviets sent their proxies to do their dirty work for them. Moreover, that alert had downplayed how wide-scale and the seriousness of what was coming.

Upon being told that, Rose had had nothing to say. Being given such information afterwards meant nothing, except to those making excuses for others losing their lives.


Spooks in and out of uniform remained all around the barracks and the neighbouring streets too. Those senior officers who had been here last night were all gone now but the people whose field was intelligence were still here. Rose himself had spoken with both civilians from MI-5 and uniformed military intelligence personnel; such people had had conversations with many others here as well as him. They all wanted him to go over the exact sequence of events plus provide insights too which he had been unable to give. What he had seen and heard was all that he knew, not anything else along the lines of whom might have provided assistance in the form of information to those who struck here.

How could he know such information as that? Moreover, if he had, it certainly wouldn’t have been information that he would have kept to himself. His fellow soldier Fenton had died at the hands of those who had tried to kill him as well while Acott and Read – those two youngsters – had lost their lives here as well.

Rose had a firm loyalty to not just his Queen and his Country but those who wore the same uniform as he.


One of the spooks who was still here after almost off of them had eventually left was a young Intelligence Corps NCO by the name of Sergeant Meredith Wright. Rose had been immediately struck by her professionalism and down-to-earth attitude when he had spoken with her. Maybe he was a little bit attracted to her as well despite the large age disparity between them. Her physical attributes weren’t important though, he reminded himself over and over again, but rather how she went about her job here.

Wright had him walk her through the scene of the attack again now. She went about it slowly and carefully, asking gentle questions and asking questions that those others hadn’t. Rose could understand that she was on his side and not looking for someone to blame but rather to understand it all. Away from the two of them the deployed sentries were now far from the main gate and the lorry which remained in-place against the outer wall and atop of where the guard booth had once stood. The bodies of Fenton and Acott had been removed from underneath that vehicle and Read’s remained taken from the road on which he had fallen. Also now removed where the corpses of the three attackers.

Walking with her and listening to Wright’s questions, Rose relived the entire short engagement. He spoke of how the seven of them had been on duty and the lorry had come racing up the road towards the main gate. Fenton had gone rushing to sound the alarm while he had ordered the youngsters to spread out but wait for him to give the word to open fire. He explained how one of those in the lorry had jumped out of the vehicle as it turned and violently slowed down either exactly at the same time as or right before one of the youngsters – possibly Acott though maybe Read, not one of the other three – had opened fire upon it. Then the guard booth had disappeared when the lorry crushed it as the vehicle came to a stop. More gunfire had come with Read dying in that along with at least one of the attackers. Rose had moved forward to try to regain control of the situation as further shots had rang out with the rest of those terrorists being killed here by the youngsters who he had feared that would have been incapable of giving combat should they meet it.

He was about to ask Wright if anything more was known about the identities of those who had attacked St. John’s Wood Barracks when she gave him the most strangest of looks. Rose couldn’t understand why. He had recovered after those few unfortunate moments yesterday when he had momentarily needed a moment to compose himself – in the middle of that gun battle – and was certain that he was okay; okay enough not to have mentioned that to anyone at all who wanted to know what had occurred here.

But the way she looked at him…

…because he was back down on his knees again, frozen and going into shock again at the overwhelming senselessness of it all.



February 13th 1990
Portadown, County Armagh, Ulster, Great Britain

Sergeant O’Brien had repeatedly requested that she be allowed to join one of the patrols which went out of base and into Portadown. Resistance had come from above to her doing so yet she had managed to convince Michael – free for now from interrogation by outsiders – that she was capable and it would also be good for her too. That resistance had therefore eased and so tonight she was able to walk through the centre of the town alongside her fellow UDR soldiers.

Pushing the pains aside and telling herself that she was imagining those, O’Brien moved with the others through the commercial areas of Portadown back on operations with those whom she owed to and received loyalty from.


Like everywhere else, Portadown was under a curfew. Martial law wasn’t in effect and so the civilian authorities remained in charge yet the heavy restrictions upon movement were enforced by those in the military alongside the civilian police of the RUC. This meant that between dusk and dawn no one was supposed to be out of their homes unless they had either specific permission to do so or there was a genuine emergency reason. In this divided town that had kept somewhat a lid on inter-community violence and also maintained law and order.

None of the shops which O’Brien and the others walked past had been looted. There had been no major civil strife here with goods being stolen from them. It was the same in the light industrial areas where those buildings hadn’t faced arson attack. Elsewhere in Ulster, especially in Belfast and Londonderry, the situation was the opposite when it came to looting and burning as those two cities had seen major outbreaks of such crimes taking place as the war had raged abroad and also here in Northern Ireland too. She knew that it wasn’t like this everywhere across Portadown too. The transportation infrastructure of the town, in particular the railway links which made Portadown such an important communication centre, had been attacked by terrorists beforehand.

But this part of the town hadn’t been affected by that.

The streetlights were out and there was no light coming from inside any of the buildings too. The UK-wide blackout was still being enforced with the official word that it would deny targeting to enemy aircraft on bombing missions. Like many, O’Brien doubted that such a move to cover the British Isles in darkness – the Irish Republic had independently decided to do the same despite being a declared neutral – during nighttime would stop Soviet bombs from falling when there would be very modern navigation systems used. Nonetheless the blackout was what had been ordered and so everywhere was covered in darkness.

All of those in the patrol with which she was, including herself, had been issued torches though. None shone that bright when fully engaged yet were sufficient for the tasks at hand. These were used to aid their own movements though the middle of Portadown and to look for any signs of mischief. Doors at the front and rears of premises were checked to make sure that they were shut as well as gates and windows too. There was also looks made for physical disturbances inside such places too so that even if someone had covered their tracks externally they might be spotted by mess they had left inside when engaged in stealing or causing wanton damage.

The torches were also used to search for anyone who might be out past curfew and trying to hide from detection.


“Sergeant, to your left!” Corporal Duffy called out to her with great urgency. In an automatic motion, O’Brien turned to her left with her rifle barrel swinging that way too along with the torch attached to the top of it. Her finger was right on the trigger and ready to apply the necessary pressure.

There was no need for that though, despite how alarmed she had been in the manner in which Duffy had alerted her and everyone else.

It was a dog which her torch illuminated and her rifle was poised to shoot.

“What’s wrong with you, Eddie?” Collins or O’Malley, one of those privates, responded harshly to Duffy. Plenty of guns were upon the dog before it run off with haste.

“I thought that…” And, he didn’t finish what he had to say.

“You frightened the Sergeant.” Another voice, again either one of those two privates, challenged their fellow soldier who may have been technically senior to them in rank yet had just managed to earn their scorn. Part of that was probably because he was the replacement for the deceased Billy Gallagher and there really was no one who could replace a man like that.

O’Brien was far from frightened, just annoyed. “Cut that out will you. Let’s get moving again.”

“Yes, Sergeant.”

“Will do, Sergeant.”

“I’ll lead off, Sergeant O’Brien.”

They were back underway again. The four of them carried on walking slowly through their patrol area with eyes open and ears perked. Anything and everything gained the attention of at least one of them as they prepared themselves for all eventualities. There could be looters or arsonists out tonight. Maybe they might run into someone about to plant a bomb or lay and ambush. The chance was that someone could be out breaking curfew for non-nefarious reasons. Possibility there might be another dog which they would encounter.

Either way, they were to carry on with their patrol looking and listening to their surroundings.

As they did so, O’Brien moved to the rear and let the others take the lead. She kept her attention on what was about but also on the platoon radio net through the headphones she wore attached to her helmet. This meant that she was able to stay aware of her wider surroundings too. Far too much had come as a surprise in the past two weeks – the final few days of official peace and then the opening of hostilities – and she didn’t want to be surprised again. Everything was pointing to the war continuing for a long time on the Continent yet Ulster was far from at peace despite the temporary stabilisation here.

O’Brien suspected that soon enough the situation here would fall apart again and the UDR wouldn’t be patrolling empty streets looking for curfew-breakers but rather back into combat once again.



February 13th 1990
The Damme Hills, Lower Saxony, West Germany

The mobile tactical headquarters column of the Allied II Corps was in retreat like many of the multi-national combat forces under command. Lieutenant-General Maguire’s command staff were trying to make a safe and organised withdrawal of all elements of the Allied II Corps to better deal with the continued attacks by the Soviets which hadn’t ceased with the fall of darkness several hours ago. Fighting on the ground usually petered off during the night, but that wasn’t the case at the moment. The enemy appeared not to be concerned about its attacking units blundering around in the dark and being shot up because they were doing the same to Maguire’s NATO forces which too weren’t as strong other regular troops with different corps commands that had better training to operate, navigate and fight without natural light.

Reports continued to be brought to him of ongoing clashes everywhere throughout and outside the assigned area where his men were meant to fight as they were dragged into combat all over the place. One portion of the Allied II Corps was being crushed in the Weser Valley by Soviet forces moving south and rolling over them, other elements were being pushed back as they were intermixed with the Americans towards the general Osnabrück direction (Maguire’s command column included) while more of his men were retreating away to the west trying to shake free of pursuing enemy forces right on their tail and not allowing them to make a stand where they might have had a chance.

All told, the formations under Maguire’s command, those he had led into battle, were being beaten and there was nothing which could stop this happening.


Among the woodland of the forested ridges which were Damme Hills, Maguire had brought his column to a temporary halt just after eleven o’clock local time. Communication on the move was something that could be done yet it wasn’t the best method of commanding such scattered, multi-national units as those he had assigned to him. The Allied II Corps had senior officers, a large staff and a wealth of junior personnel among the headquarters who needed to set up somewhere out of site for a short time to function properly. Under the natural cover of nature, and away from the enemy air targeting of Autobahn-1, a temporary stop site had been chosen. Vehicles were parked, tents erected and generators got going. Sentries were at once posted and staffs assembled behind their protection. Away from the command post communications array were raised as well – from high points – and wires strung so an attack on them wouldn’t immediately effect those who were using those to talk with those in the field.

Maguire assembled his top-tier staff.

“Johann,” he spoke first to his Operations Officer, a senior Territoralheer man, “give me an update on what we know of our situation, please?”

Generalmajor Schatz was a very capable officer who Maguire had inherited when taking over the West German reserve headquarters from which the Allied II Cops had been created. He was the model of professionalism typical of German military officers and Maguire had nothing but admiration for the man’s organisational ability and his knowledge of warfare.

His English was pretty good too: “Sir, we are spread out all over the place.” He picked up his pointer and moved to the map before them. “The British Fifth Division and two Territoralheer brigade groups are here to the west. They are being pushed back towards Vechta at the moment by enemy raiding units all over the countryside. Every time they have attempted to make a stand they had been hit in the front and also had their flanks and rear opened up too. They are withdrawing back towards the Autobahn at the moment; that is your British units and the Fifty-Second Brigade. Meanwhile the Sixty-Fourth is still trying to hold onto the roads around Lohne and appears incapable of effective maneuver at the moment.

With us, falling back towards the Kanal,” he meant the Mittellandkanal which ran east-west across West Germany, “are the Belgians, Territoralheer Fifty-Third, British First Brigade – two regiment-groups and two brigades, all combat-capable – as well as most of the corps rear-area assets.

Finally, off to the east, and with enemy forces between us and them now in strength, what is left of both your British Fifteenth and Forty-Ninth Brigade’s being pinned back against the Weser as the Soviets roll down the wrong side of the river. Those two formations are with the Second Division headquarters and a shadow of their former selves.”

Though he already knew it, seeing where Schatz pointed to on the map and with him verbalising it all, forced a sense of dread to almost overcome Maguire. His men were scattered and beaten. They were withdrawing in all directions and struggling to stay together when they did so, while others died where they fought as they were unable to get away from the armoured juggernaut which continued to tear them apart.

He turned to another one of his key people, his Intelligence Officer Brigadegeneral Kurt Hahn: “Kurt?”

“Sir,” this was another Territoralheer officer though who spoke English with a terrible accent, “the Americans and us are still being engaged by what is the Soviet Twenty–Eighth Combined Arms Army. It does not consist of its peacetime standing strength nor what we originally saw when it first moved across the border a couple of days after the invasion started. There are many attachments now with Soviet, Polish and East German units identified as being present. Their tank strength remains high along with artillery support. If there is a weakness, it will be in infantry numbers now and possibly combat engineering too as so many of both have been expended getting over the Weser and then during their breakout.

Regardless, the Twenty–Eighth Army is…” he hesitated for just a moment, “now their leading attacking force of the greatest strength available to the Warsaw Pact. Air support in the form of fighter-bombers and attack helicopters continues to be assigned. Tactical ballistic missiles and chemical weapons are being used repeatedly as they drive forward.

They are attacking everywhere at the minute now that they are over the Weser. The main focus appears to be to strike west and south due to the Third Shock Army being on their left-hand side yet they have attacked on a northwest axis too – certainly to take tactical advantage at an operational level. The Ems would be their objective when moving west, while to the south they will be aiming for the Kanal first then towards and through the Teutoburg Forest at its western end.”

Hahn pointed to the map that Schatz had left open. “Here in this triangle between Rheine, Osnabrück and Münster will be the focus of their southern strike. They will avoid the worst of the difficult terrain in the Teutoburg and cross the upper reaches of the Ems… the Ruhr and the Lower Rhine is beyond. Those later objectives will be for the follow-on field armies trailing behind them and moving up to the Weser now to follow.

I am talking of the three tank armies which our air power failed to stop.”

This West German reserve officer was talking about the successful invasion of his country by a sworn enemy of the German people. Hahn would know full well about the atrocities being inflicted upon the West German people caught up behind the lines and what was in the works for the rest of his fellow citizens. Maguire caught that in his voice as he spoke that final sentence about the failure of NATO air power when faced with the strategic challenge that they had when it came to those Soviet third echelon armies.

Hahn was a man upset at what was going on and fearful for his country: Maguire understood that completely because he would be the same if the British Isles had thousands of Soviet tanks pouring over them seemingly unable to be stopped. There had been official and unofficial worries over the loyalty to the NATO cause of various West Germans due to what was happening with their nation. It was said many were considering doing the unthinkable and giving up if there was no immediate reversal of the current situation. Maguire wanted to believe that those West Germans such as Hahn under his command would keep the faith that that turnaround could be achieved, but he didn’t know if that was a foolish hope…


Aided by the corps Chief-of-Staff, a Belgian regular army officer, Maguire got to work. He had instructions from NORTHAG’s commander was to what he was to do and set about following them. Orders were issued here which would then be disseminated down to those at the (moving) frontlines where the enemy was being met in combat.

Those Allied II Corps retreating through the Damme Hills area were to change direction and head westwards to link up with those in the Vechta area. To be mixed in with the American Army and their US III Corps command was not a good situation for the war effort as the two forces got in each other way. The Americans were fighting a highly mobile battle – despite retreating too – and the British and Belgian units with them weren’t capable of doing that in such a similar fashion. The ground away to the west, where a fall back towards the Ems could be made, was better for Maguire’s forces to operate in. Behind them would come significant Dutch support on the edges of the Netherlands’ borders. In addition, their role would be to assist in combating the slower-moving Third Shock Army from cutting off West German and Dutch forces trapped on the wrong side of the lower reaches of the Weser east of Bremen: a mission which Maguire had been told his command could achieve.

When it came to the 2nd Infantry Division, the remains of that formation were to fall under the command of the British I Corps. Both brigades which had been on the Weser south of Nienburg were beaten in battle when their infantry on foot had been attacked by the enemy with tanks – what Maguire had always feared yet been unable to stop – and were now cut off from the rest of the Allied II Corps. Those unfortunate soldiers there were to be transferred away from Maguire, something which, with deep regret, he had to be pleased about. Now was the time to fight with what was left, with those who could still fight and it was something that in spite of everything Maguire was determined to do.

Chapter Twelve – Surprise

February 14th 1990
The Øresund, the Baltic Sea

Captain Brooks had been anticipating with dread that at some point yesterday or over night he would be informed that there had been the further employment of nuclear weapons. He had been waiting to be called to Communications to be told that once again such weapons had been put to use somewhere else apart from in South Korea. It was a pleasant surprise that he hadn’t received such a message of course, though the worry that he had that another Major Event was going to occur had remained.

Whilst waiting, Brooks’ command HMS Campbeltown had been in action again. He had led his warship into a trio of engagements that had taken place in the Øresund against enemy forces near to the occupied shoreline around Copenhagen. There had first been the firing of a volley of Sea Wolf missiles against a pair of heavy transport helicopters attempting to fly away from the collapsing Soviet-Polish position around the Danish capital with both taken out by those surface-to-air missiles. Each Mil-26 Halo was suspected to have been carrying senior officers or key personnel out of Zealand by those on the ground who spotted them trying to make a dash for the East German mainland far away but neither got more than a few miles offshore when the Campbeltown destroyed them.

Afterwards had come the missile-armed corvettes, one after the other. These small warships were active too in the coastal area around where there were attempts at making an evacuation of those which the Warsaw Pact forces hadn’t wanted to fall into victorious NATO hands. Neither Tarantul-class warship would have been able to carry many passengers yet they were there to escort other fast vessels – possible transport hovercraft – which were. As before, external targeting came to the Campbeltown with NAVBALTAP providing the communications link with Danish special forces on the ground. Harpoon missiles were then fired from distance and back came reports that hits had been made with one corvette blowing up when hit and the other left burning bow-to-stern after the crew abandoned ship. Brooks was told the identities of those two warships afterwards: one was the East German Navy’s Rudolf Egelhoffer and the other the Polish Rolnik. Neither of them being Soviet-crewed hadn’t bothered him at all as they were all serving the war aims of the Warsaw Pact.

Finally, there had been a submarine. This vessel – a Kilo-class coastal attack submersible – had attempted to strike at the Campbeltown first when becoming aware of the frigate’s helicopter Normandie about to pounce upon it. Sonar operators in the Operations Room had called out in alert when hearing the sounds of torpedo tubes being opened and flooded aboard that submarine with the implications of that not needing to be stated. Thankfully, the aircrew aboard the Lynx who called the Campbeltown home had been just as ready: that hostile action was all the confirmation which they had needed following last-minute indecisiveness of the possibility that they might have had a West German or Danish submarine below them. A Sting Ray torpedo was dropped into the cold Baltic waters with another one to follow, just to make sure. Before the enemy submarine could get a shot off and as the Campbeltown started to take emergency precautions, the torpedoes hit and killed their target.

Such had been Brooks’ day yesterday. This morning he expected much of the same when it came to fighting against Warsaw Pact forces in this stretch of water between Denmark and Sweden. The enemy was being defeated on land and were losing the last of the territory that they had there. His warship might or might not be called upon again to give naval gunfire support to those NATO troops there, but the Campbeltown still had many other weapons available to deal with air, surface and subsurface threats in the general area. There were many other NATO warships in the general area too as well as friendly aircraft above due to the now more favourable air situation over this part (not all) of the Baltic Approaches. Back in the Operations Room now, with the sun soon to rise outside, he wondered what would happen afterwards. The fight to break the encirclement of Copenhagen had been successful and the enemy driven back almost into the sea there. Here on the water the Combined Baltic Fleet had withdrawn their beaten forces to the south and were using smaller warships and submarines to conduct less dramatic moves than they had earlier in the war. The next stage in what NAVBALTAP should be ordering the Campbeltown to do, as far as Brooks saw it anyway, was to move southwards towards the East German coast.

The war certainly had a lot left to it and there would be plenty for NATO forces to do down there. Brooks was apprehensive about going so close to the enemy as he surely would be sent yet at the same time eager to get on with it rather than wait. Pressure could certainly be applied to the Soviets and their allies fighting in West Germany through their flank and attacks southwards against that could only hurt them.

He would wait upon those new orders, confident that he could fulfill them as the Campbeltown and her crew would continue to play their vital role in this war.



February 14th 1990
Calais, Pas-de-Calais, France

Second Officer Whitaker was not under arrest.

She was here in Calais with an ‘escort’ instead in the form of two senior NCO’s. The male warrant officer and the female chief petty officer were Regulators, the RN’s name for their military police. Those two had travelled with her from Belgium after Whitaker’s several days in an extensive debriefing as part of her journey back home to Britain. A short trip across the Strait of Dover awaited and then further onwards to a destination that she had not yet been told. There had been at least one of these two with her at all times so far and she expected that to be the case until they all reached where they were going.

Calais had been targeted heavily by the enemy during the war with Whitaker able to see much of the damage that had been done here from bombs and missiles. She and her escorts were waiting on a cross-Channel ferry to arrive though because despite all of the destruction here Calais was still operational. That ship was late for reasons unknown and so Whitaker was forced to wait like everyone else who was also supposed to be traveling this morning.

There were many others here in Calais all waiting to go across the English Channel.

Whitaker had asked to come along to the seafront while they waited and neither Regulator had objector. She could tell that the two of them were frustrated with their duty as they felt that they would have been best employed elsewhere. They were both distracted too by all that they were seeing and not paying as much attention to her as they had been late yesterday when they left the Belgian countryside and during their overnight travel. This was pleasing for Whitaker and the decision which she had made as to her fate; the surprise that she had for them was certain to catch them completely unawares with therefore no possible of intervention.

It was just getting light and Whitaker was joined by the two Regulator’s near the seafront. She was looking ahead out towards the water while beside her the warrant officer stood and behind the junior NCO was. They were looking that way too yet they were paying attention to the scene while she was instead focused upon the pistol worn in the service belt of that man. She stared at it out of the corner of her eye and started counting down from three.

Three.

Two.

One.

Whitaker turned and grabbed for the weapon. She grabbed a-hold of it as best as she could and tried to yank it free from the belt. The Regulator called out in what appeared to be shock while there was a more determined call from behind before she felt the woman pulling on her. Regardless, Whitaker fought to get her hands upon that pistol and did her best to ignore all of the pain suddenly coming for all directions as she struggled with these two.

She needed that weapon so she could become free.

Before, she had been pushed and pulled from all sides though now, even when trying to put everything into her aim to get that weapon, Whitaker felt a punch land. The woman behind her hit her in the neck with her fist and then did so. Following that came a sudden weariness and her hearing went. She sought to keep her eyes open and keep on struggling for with that pistol she would be the one making the decisions about her future and no one else.

Then another punch came.

Whitaker’s eyes closed as she told herself that she might be about to lose consciousness.

No, she screamed inwardly, I need to…



February 14th 1990
The Liebenburg Forest, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Trooper Jones and his fellow SAS men had been put at risk by their use of the radio.

Whether it had been a traitor giving them away or the enemy tracking their transmissions using complicated interception means still mattered overall though the importance of that was an issue for later. The here and now, what was important at the moment was that by not using the radio throughout yesterday and again through today those Polish commandos which had been hunting them beforehand were absent. Keeping those trying to track and kill them unawares of where they were meant not being in communication – or even just listening to higher orders without responding – with those on the other end of the radio.

Jones had agreed with both Bishop and Fryatt when the three of them had aired their views when it came to the radio to their team leader McSherry. They still had their mission to preform and didn’t need higher guidance for that. The Liebenburg Forest and the surrounding area was still an active engagement zone for them to operate in with enemy rear area forces all open to being attacked. That was what they had been sent here to do without coordination from above. McSherry had pointed out that being so far behind the frontlines changed hat situation somewhat with a need to have an understanding of the general state of the war so that they could better undertake their assigned mission. Nonetheless, he had agreed with those who he served with that to take a break from using the radio might allow them to shake lose those Poles led by Scarface when nothing else had worked.

McSherry had been a bit taken aback when that had worked, yet it hadn’t been a surprise to Jones and the other two.

With distance between them and the Poles, they were now back looking for the enemy. False trails and lures had been laid – as well as a few mines too – during the evasion of the enemy pursuers and there was a confidence that they were nowhere close. Therefore it was time to go after the logistical and communications network of the Polish Second Army that it had established throughout occupied West German territory to support their fighting forces at the front. There continued to be the use of roads through the forest that the Poles were using as this area of woodland ran north-south across their east-west links.

Fryatt had spotted a pair of trucks moving slowly and in their direction. Those aboard would be on guard against threats against them yet nonetheless when Jones and the other two joined their colleague they saw that there was still a clear opportunity to do some damage to the enemy here. Making this area a no-go zone for the enemy, or at least where they were frightened to travel through, was what they were here to do and so they started to make their move.



February 14th 1990
Wademark, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Guardsman Taylor was pulled apart from the West Germans who he had been captured with. The four of them who had surrendered with him when faced by a full platoon of well-armed East German soldiers were shoved to the left when they got out of the truck after him while he was dragged away to the right.

The shouting came again with the hoarse words from his captors. As he had quickly learnt, Taylor kept his head down and his mouth shut. These soldiers had no patience for him as a prisoner, let alone a black prisoner either. During his short period of custody Taylor had already discovered what the colour of his skin meant to those who truly held his life in their hands. It marked him out as someone to be physically beaten and verbally abused: he was certain that this was just the start of it too.

There was no name of this town that Taylor was able to see after he was pushed to the floor and took a moment to look up at his surroundings. He was in a small square in what appeared to be the middle of this West German locality. There were burnt-out and smashed-up shop fronts. Some cars had been set on fire too while others were in various stages of damage. People had died here with blood stains in the roads and on the pavements – that was recent too because it had rained yesterday evening.

With his head back down after those stolen glances, Taylor tried to understand what was being said by those standing up near to him. Those East Germans were all so loud as they spoke to each other and there must have been an ongoing argument. He had a feeling that it concerned him but he didn’t know if that was the case or not.

What could they possibly be arguing about if they were on the same side? Taylor regarded the East German military as similar to the British Army in the way in which there would be an organised hierarchy and strong internal discipline. Someone would always be giving orders and those below would obey them.

So why the arguing?

Unless, it dawned upon him as he dared raise his eyes just a little bit, not everyone here was from the regular East German military or even East German. Those who were almost shouting at each other right besides and above him could be from elsewhere…

“You, get up!” In English, one of those armed and in uniform around him called to Taylor and then tugged on his shoulder.

He raised himself up of the ground to stand ahead of the man before him yet forced himself to not meet the man’s eyes.

“You will come with me.” This wasn’t a native English speaker though someone who didn’t sound German either. “Hurry yourself. Follow.”

As he was told to do, because the consequences of disobeying were too severe to consider, Taylor walked after the man with his hands still bound behind his back as he did so. Those ahead of his new captor stepped out of the way as they walked towards a parked car.

Who was this man? And what did he want with his British Army captive?



February 14th 1990
Near Alta, Finnmark, Norway

Corporal Edwards wondered whether he would be buried here in Norway.

Once he died, which was going to be soon enough, would he be interned in a grave in Norway with other British, Norwegian and NATO troops who had fought here – even Soviets too – or would his remains be flown back home. If it was in Norway, how would his mum get here to visit his grave? Would Harriet and Jessica make the journey here as well? If it was back home in Britain where he would be buried where would that be exactly?

He had stopped screaming after bringing himself under control. The pain was still there though numbed somewhat by the painkillers he had been given. Private Jennings, laying beside him on the ground because he had been ordered to by Sergeant Proctor to give Edwards some comfort in his final moments, had said that the cold would take away the pain too. It was the injections which he had been given in haste that had done the trick though with all of those chemicals flowing through him: Edwards was sure of that.

Now laying back as he was Edwards was unable to see the blood anymore. When he had been first shot five, maybe ten minutes ago he had stared at it as it oozed out of the wounds in his belly. When it had landed upon the snow-covered ground below him the sight of that had brought about some of that screaming for it wasn’t just the pain but the instant knowledge that he was going to die. Edwards had at once understood that he was going to bleed out and die here because trapped and under enemy fire like he and everyone else was, there was only so much first aid from the combat medic that could be given to him. He needed doctors, surgeons and a field hospital not a boulder to have been dragged behind as he had been.

Gunfire carried on around him as he tried to move his mind off the worries about being buried so far away from home, family and loved ones. There were still those stragglers and hold-outs who had escaped from Alta when 2 PARA had retaken the town. Such people, The Lieutenant had said before they had set off on their patrol this morning, and too before Edwards had been shot, were either Soviet commandos or political officers who didn’t want to join their comrades in custody and were capable of conducting a surprise attack when they considered themselves in danger. They were out in the frozen countryside in the freezing and harsh conditions. These people would be desperate yet still motivated to fight even when they had no hope of successfully evading capture for long.

The platoon commander had said that such people would be dangerous.

Edwards’ mates, his fellow Para’s, continued firing upon the enemy. He had heard them shout that there was more than one of them out there with long-range weapons in the form of sniper rifles. Proctor had spread them out from where they had initially all dived into cover once Edwards insides were opened up and a countermove was underway to take the enemy from all directions with a controlled manoeuvre to eliminate the enemy. He wasn’t to be part of that though. Instead Jennings had been left with him and told to provide comfort.

Letting the eager young Para who just wanted to be everyone’s friend hold his hand as he died didn’t bother Edwards. He would rather it would have been someone else, someone he was close to, but Jennings was all that he had.

Edwards closed his eyes and tried to let the remaining pain do its worst. His own wish was the took his body home afterwards because he didn’t regret anything and more and wanted some peace.

February 14th 1990
RAF Leuchars, Fife, Great Britain

Air Commodore Cooke was told that Magic One Six was directing a Luftwaffe Boeing-707 to land at RAF Leuchars; there was an in-flight emergency necessitating the landing in addition to the fact that those aboard were defecting.

“Defecting?”

Group Captain Walker, the station commander here, was whom Cooke asked such a question of which displayed how incredulous that was.

“That it what the Sentry is saying, Sir. She’s a West German V.I.P transport coming over the North Sea and was already in contact with Magic One Six,” (the US Air Force E-3B Sentry) “discussing their situation, yet we didn’t hear that as it was over a private channel. There appears to be some trouble with passengers aboard and the captain asked to land.”

“Where was the Boeing heading?”

“I would think to the States, Sir, yet there would be a fuel issue with that.” Walker wasn’t someone who knew all the answers at the moment, though he knew more than Cooke did.

“What a day.” Inside the bunker that was the operations centre here that Cooke had only recently arrived at to deal with other matters at RAF Leuchars he walked over to the radios. “Let them know we’ll be expecting the aircraft.

Then, Group Captain, let us get everything arranged on the ground. Make sure there is a clear runaway for them and we’ll direct them away from the flight ramp to the side. We’ll have the Snowdrops alerted as well and they’ll come with me when we go and meet this aircraft.”

Cooke gave these instructions for a standard operating procedure that would be taken if an aircraft in a similar situation was to arrive at an RAF station. This wasn’t an exercise where the exact same thing had been thought out and practiced but those procedures were still the same due to the similarity. The aircraft would be sent to an isolated spot of RAF Leuchars and then the RAF Police – the ‘Snowdrops’ as they were nicknamed – would secure the ground around it as well as accompanying Cooke when he went to meet those aboard.

After giving those orders, there was to be a fifteen minute interval before the Boeing arrived. Cooke left the main work area for the operations centre and went to Walker’s office to the side. He closed the door there and contacted the switchboard so he could contact his superior across at RAF Pitreavie Castle in private without listening ears. He needed to report in and try to get a better grasp of this situation which had come as a complete surprise.

A West German military transport with those aboard wishing to defect to Britain? Trouble among the passengers aboard? That American airborne radar and combat control aircraft giving the Boeing permission to land at RAF Leuchars after beforehand spending time talking to the aircrew over the radio which no one here had picked up?

This was something serious and he needed guidance from above in exactly how to act because of all of the political and diplomatic implications coming his way with this aircraft and passengers.



February 14th 1990
Steyerberg, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Major Slater was told by the commander of the Bundeswehr combat engineers who had joined with the mixed TA and Yeomanry force in Steyerberg which Slater commanded that his men were responding to ‘lawful orders’ to ‘retreat to the west’.

There had been no lawful orders which Slater had heard of. Nothing had come down the multi-national NATO chain-of-command and instead the West Germans – even as apologetic as they were – were withdrawing from here because they were responding to national orders from their new government in direct contravention of their NATO obligations. The response which had come to Slater’s counterpoint had been a shake of the head, another apology and then the West German’s starting to leave the burnt-out town.

Those well-armed and unbeaten regular soldiers were leaving their British allies who they had fought with here in such a desperate defence high and dry.

As they left, Slater observed the West Germans being let through a gap which the Soviet troops surrounding the town had opened up in their lines. Those Bundeswehr men were not being disarmed or taken into custody but allowed to march away. Slater had a feeling that there was too much confidence in them that out of sight and away from here, when they were unawares and thought that no surprise could come upon them, there might be a different fate in store for them: especially the officers. Nonetheless, the Soviets were letting them pass and take away about a half of the defenders of this town which was cut-off.

There wasn’t much doubt in his mind now that the Soviets would soon be in possession of Steyerberg after this betrayal by his one-time Allies. All of the remaining British troops here were reservists who had been beaten in open battle and then pounded when they had fallen back here as a last gasp effort to keep on fighting for as long as there was a reasonable chance of offering significant and effective resistance. That could no longer be the case without the West Germans present.

Slater decided that the only just thing he could do was to contact his superior and ask for permission to surrender. He wouldn’t defect, declare neutrality or accept an offer to march away – all of which would be a cheap propaganda victory for the enemy – but surrender. His position was untenable and those men under his command would be killed for no reason when the Soviets resumed their attack now that they had won their little game which they had played with the Bundeswehr forces which had been fighting here.

He wasn’t looking forward to captivity yet there was nothing else to do.



February 14th 1990
RAF Brüggen, North Rhine–Westphalia, West Germany

Flight Lieutenant Fletcher and the other RAF pilots and navigator/bombardier’s had been left waiting in the briefing room for almost two hours now without word as to what was going on.

Like the rest of them, he naturally assumed the worst: that they were to be prepared to undertake strike missions with WE177 thermonuclear bombs. Their Tornado GR1’s would be loaded with those weapons whose variable yields and various methods of employment would already be determined. He and Hunt would be given a set of targets – two, maybe three at the most – and sent against them and those on the ground.

Would he obey his orders when they came for nuclear release?

Of course he would. That was his duty. There would be no hesitation from him when ordered to go begin the process of destroying the world and humanity alike. He wore the uniform of the RAF and had long ago swore his oath to his Queen and Country. When receiving lawful instructions he would put his personal feelings on the matter and make his bomb runs.

There was no other reason for what remained of the Goldstars – No. 31 Squadron, RAF – which was a nuclear-capable formation to be stood down from combat operations as it was and the aircrews gathered together and cut off from everyone else. They were to get their target briefs, given a short statement of geo-political developments which had brought about the nuclear decision and then sent off to unleash Armageddon. That was how it had happened in exercises and that was how it was going to occur now in a real wartime situation where someone had taken the Ultimate Decision.

If Fletcher and the others weren’t to be sent on strike missions with their WE177’s free-fall bombs then what other reason could there be to have them stood down?

There were the fighting troops at the front who needed their support in tactical air roles and missions to be undertaken into the enemy’s rear areas as well. By being on the ground, even with the Tornado’s and the aircrews in supposedly bomb-proof bunkers (which weren’t, as proved by selected enemy attacks here and elsewhere), they were left open to being hit when most vulnerable.

It had to be a stand-down waiting for a nuclear weapons release that Fletcher was talking part in for he could see no other reason for the air war over the front to have come to a stop for the Goldstars like it had. It was dark outside now and good flying weather. Some rumours he had heard yesterday and earlier today about concerns over the West Germans on the verge of giving up were false as far as he was concerned and that just couldn’t be the reason for this.

No, he assured himself as he continued to wait, the situation must be one of the world about to be set alight. He would take part in that with the certainty that he could do what was expected of him and not live to see the aftereffects. Fletcher was certain that was why the stand-down of the Goldstars was currently happening, not anything as silly as the West Germans giving their allies the worst Valentine’s Day surprise imaginable!



February 14th 1990
Near Giften, Lower Saxony, West Germany

Brigadier Johnson cursed the stupidity of the new West German government and those who were following their ridiculous, short-sighted call for a unilateral ceasefire to begin less than two hours from now at eight o’clock.

They were fools. They were idiots. They were too stupid to see they had been tricked. They had no loyalty to those who had fought and died for their freedom. They had to know the consequences of believing Soviet promises but their absurd stubbornness to accept that the worse wouldn’t happen had won out.

Johnson had never thought that those who led this modern, democratic and vibrant nation would make the decision to doom themselves and all of their countrymen. His surprise wasn’t shared by everyone though plenty of others had like him refused to accept that what they had heard from Division was true.

Yet it was: the West Germans were throwing in the towel as they were.

Orders were for a withdrawal to begin at once. The Soviets and their Warsaw Pact lackeys had preempted the ceasefire by already bringing their attacks against NATO forces – not just the West Germans to a halt – starting about an hour ago. They had ceased their air and artillery strikes, stopped attacking forward and pulled back in most places their armour and infantry units. Those withdrawing enemy forces hadn’t gone far – a mile or too from forward positions where the Desert Rats had been ripping them apart – and were still in sight.

Johnson had been told that the British I Corps, including many West German units which had put themselves under British command ignoring their new government’s orders, was going to pull back the other way…

…across the Weser.

The river was a considerable distance away and the withdrawal there would be hazardous with regard to whether the enemy chose to take advantage of the situation: they hadn’t made any ceasefire agreement with the rest of NATO and others with the Allies. Moving back there would reassert what strength NATO had left on the ground in West Germany by giving them a place which they would defend better than the forward position which currently was the Hannover Salient.

Johnson's command, the 7th ‘Desert Rats’ Armoured Brigade, was to be part of the rearguard for that movement. There were many other troops which were already starting to head for places such as Hameln where they could get over the Weser at natural crossing points. He and his men would play a role in that and continue to do their duty despite others forgetting theirs.



February 14th 1990
Zweeloo, Drenthe, The Netherlands

Lieutenant-General Maguire was informed that the small battle near Dorpen on the River Ems had resulted in a victory for men under his command against those East German tanks who had reached that point so far to the west.

Such fighting had concluded during and after the appointed time of the ceasefire without regard to that where Belgian troops with the Allied II Corps had followed their orders and struck against the enemy who had their tanks on the riverbank and crushed the majority of the East Germans before pocketing the remains. He had given his explicit permission for the attack launched there to cut off that deep penetration by the Warsaw Pact and was more than pleased to see that he would be able to repeat up the chain-of-command to NORTHAG’s commander that a victory had been won on the Ems.

Clearly hamstrung by their own orders to stop attacking and undertake no more offensive action with the approach of the West German-Soviet ceasefire, the East Germans had been easy pickings for such a defeat as they had taken at Dorpen. NATO aircraft had joined in assisting the Belgians including a B-52 strike as only the Americans could do!

It was going to be one of only a few pieces of good news for the day for his superior and Maguire would make certain that the message got through.

As to the Allied II Corps itself, the formation was now running at less than half strength in terms of combat power than when it entered the fighting the other day. By tonight, there were no West German units of significant strength left under command as they had been lost in battle or had refused to follow orders and cross the western parts of Lower Saxony to get over the Ems and establish new positions. A third of Maguire’s British troops had been defeated and crushed though he still had the other two thirds as well as the vast majority of the Belgians too. There were now some Dutch forces – light infantry reservists admittedly – linking up with his remaining men to start to shore up a strong defensive position on and behind the river line.

A surprise had come in the form of the Dutch where Maguire had been informed that what he had earlier been told about the situation in their home country had been overblown. The government of the Netherlands had wavered with very real fears that the end was nigh for NATO but had ultimately changed their minds; the fighting at Dorpen, almost right on their borders, had been one of several instances which had assisted in that about-face. His chief intelligence officer had said that the open worries over whether the Dutch would falter in their commitment to the war had been a factor in the decision which the West Germans had taken to request a ceasefire from the Soviets. That might have been the case but, regardless, the Dutch remained with their NATO allies in the end.

To have lost the Netherlands too would have been a fatal blow in NATO being able to maintain the fight on the Continent. The communications links through the Dutch ports (even after they had been bombed as they had) and the road network were vital. So too were the airbases and airstrips across the country especially when linked with the ground-based air defences to provide a solid line of defence. The Dutch were important too for their military contribution on land, at sea and in the air. Moreover, politically the NATO alliance wouldn’t afford to lose another member with the West Germans having abandoned their allies, at least the leadership anyway.

As to that fight, Maguire’s instructions from above were complicated.


NATO and the other countries which were the Allies had not accepted the ceasefire between West Germany and the Soviet-led Warsaw Pact. That was not something that his command was bound by like all the rest of those actively fighting against the enemy’s war of aggression. Officially, NATO was ignoring that ceasefire and the policy was that the West German change of government was illegal and therefore those men of theirs who surrendered, marched away from their fighting posts or stood where they were declaring neutrality were in rebellion and disobeying orders. From where Maguire now had his command post outside this village in the eastern part of the Netherlands, that was the message which was being broadcast across the Allied II Corps.

In practice, practical matters were different from the public message. Orders had come down from NORTHAG to Maguire that even before the ceasefire came into effect he was to make sure that all of his men pulled away from the enemy and got back over the Weser to take advantage of the lull in fighting that Warsaw Pact forces were bringing about by ceasing their attacks forward as they were. The enemy clearly wanted to demonstrate their intentions to get the rest of NATO to go along with what the West Germans had done but he was to ignore that game which they were playing and instead withdraw from all positions to the east of the river and get over to the western side. This meant withdrawing in the face of the enemy but at the same time a golden opportunity had been there to salvage more of the Allied II Corps than would have been possible had the ceasefire not come into effect like it had.

Dorpen had been an exception though with the fighting there to be completed to knock out the enemy’s furthest reaching attacking force before the withdrawal back over the river tonight.

Maguire was told that his command was to hold the new frontlines between near Papenburg down to Lingen. It was quite a long stretch to defend yet with the main body of the enemy – the Soviet Third Shock Army – far away it was possible for now. To the north would be the parts of the Dutch I Corps which had withdrawn from Bremen area and once they reached the Ems in larger number their area of responsibility would grow with the Allied II Corps having its own shortened as the enemy approached. There would be the American III Corps to the south, also on the Ems as upstream the river narrowed and came from the east. Any West German forces which remained following their legal orders would be brought under command of Maguire's corps or the other two with Maguire being told that there would be plenty of those, especially regular troops rather than reservists.


The Allied II Corps was to fight on the Ems to defend the sliver of West Germany territory behind as well as the sovereign soil of the Netherlands too. Maguire had firm orders that NATO was to continue to oppose the Soviets. Once political wrangling had been overcome with the West Germans the fight was back on.

Well finally made the end and see why there's going to be a 3rd chapter. Also an inevitable resumption to the war. Even if the Soviets were willing to keep their armistice and just control west Germany their not going to now given that many Germans as well as NATO won't accept it.

Think Wittacker did the wrong thing trying to esacape. Whatever the plan she's going to come under much more supition than before.

Hope Slater's forces don't suffer too badly but can't see any alternative to surrender and especially with the continued western resistance their going to face a very rough time , as is Rose, although he may have a better time of it than the 4 West Germans who were captured with him, who may already be dead.

Looking forward to chapter 3. Has that been completed let or is it still being written. Must admit I'd rather the latter as the mass data dumps of chapters make it difficult to keep track of everything. [Although possibly its just me getting old. ]

Anyway many thanks for a fascinating, if depressing read.

Steve