Dark Earth: Exercise Warhammer

Are they regular mix units like white ore black ore just white units, sorry if i asked that.

Good to hear.

Integration of the Kenyan Armed Forces, does that also include black officer in command.

Exercise Warhammer Part 6: Interview with a Dragon

"No. No, I haven't." Tom gulped.

"Well, I'll tell you what - I'll put in a good word for you and you can go and meet Sagadicius Maximion, the Captain-General of the Royal Flying Corps. He's in the field over here for Warhammer, y'know. That would be quite the interview for a newsman like yourself."

"Oh, wonderful."

"I say, Fowler, that would be one heck of a break! The old creature doesn't give out interviews to almost anyone. I'd give my eyeteeth for a chance at speaking to him on the record." The Guardian chap was obviously much more enthusiastic about the prospect than Tom, who did not particularly relish the notion of a tête-à-tête with a large carnivorous reptile with a reputation for irascibility; the RAF officer had apparently seen this and was beaming at him with no small hint of nastiness to his glistening smile.

"Oh, wonderful."

There was nothing else for it. The RAF officer received clearance from his own superiors, made his way to the communications tree, which apparently was an entirely artificial hollow structure carefully hidden amidst its real counterparts at the WARLOC, and emerged several minutes later that the Royal Flying Corps would be more than happy to receive Mr. Thomas Fowler earlier than scheduled.

The two journalists and their escort of the officer and his two SA-52-toting airmen made their way through the thick copse of trees and the ingeniously camouflaged cleared zone on the other side that would serve as an emergency landing pad for Harriers and helicopters in actual operations into a thinner area of forest that, after a few minutes walk, opened out into a larger clearing.

"Your ride should be here any minute now; they had a few Bulldogs up in the air already that could be quickly redirected."

Tom had the nagging feeling that he was being set up for something, but couldn't quite figure out by whom or why. As he paused to puzzle, a tremendous whooshing sound and scream of jets sent him huddling to the ground as a pair of Harriers streaked overhead, barely feet above the nearby treetops, disappearing out of sight before he could even register their presence.

"Ah, close air support." The RAF man beamed with obvious pleasure.

"Did...did those jets have bayonets on their nose?" asked the Guardian fellow, who had been similarly discombobulated by their overflight.

"Well, our chaps have always emphasised the close part." Hamilton-Massingbird remarked wryly.

"It wouldn't have anything to do with the Royal Flying Corps putting in their bid for a bigger share of said support, would it?"

"Oh, it is quite possible that the Tommyhawks will continue to try their best, but they can't quite compete with us. They've been trying to play catch-up since the Great War."

"So the rivalry is strong?"

"I wouldn't describe them as rivals, anymore than Chichester is a rival of London. Their attempts to get back into the armed fixed-wing game, be it VSTOL or not, are very much in vain."

"Can I quote you on that?"

"Certainly not."

Before Tom had the opportunity to contemplate airmen and their ways, the beating thrum of an approaching helicopter emerged from beyond the green expanse of the wood. It was the familiar sight of one of the ubiquitous Bristol Bulldogs painted in its equally familiar Continental camouflage scheme of green, grey and brown that seemed to ripple and change as it coursed through the overcast sky. The helicopter hovered down and came to a gentle landing on the soft grass of the meadow before them.

"Right, on you go Mr. Fowler. Enjoy your special treat and good luck with the Captain-General!" Hamilton-Massingbird gave a merry wave to see Tom off on his way.

With not a small bit of suspicion, Tom ran forward in that slightly hunched over fashion that one adopted around helicopters that he had learnt back in his own Army days and was shepherded aboard by the crew chief. The interior was comparatively quiet, compared to his previous experiences, and he surmised that the silencing dweomers used on the Rotodynes were gradually trickling down to the more numerous helicopters.

"Good day, sir. You'll be going through to one of our forward operating bases in the field; all of our regular bases have been given over to the reinforcing units from Blighty. We'll have you there in a jiffy." The mustachioed crew chief barked at him as they took off rapidly. He handed Tom a sheet of paper. "This should fill you in on what you need to know."

Tom grunted his gratitude and scanned over the information release, written as it was in fluent Army-ese, that lovely language that mixed bland punctilious detail with an almost dogged determination to avoid disclosure. The Royal Flying Corps was fielding a total of fifty eight regiments in Warhammer, ranging from Rotodynes to Bulldogs and Wessexes, all assigned to the various divisions and corps that the Army had deployed; future plans for further dedicated wings at BAOR headquarters were at this stage still just on paper. These regiments, formerly under the Army Air Corps, were now operational alongside twelve special flying squadrons of the RFC, consisting of its longest serving aerial component.

Dragons.

His editor had been keen on any bits and pieces how the 'old fashion' elements of the Army - cavalry, wizards and dragons among them - worked in this more modern military environment. In Tom's view, this reflected the old man's rather different position of never having seen active service himself back in that brief, brief moment of comparative peace in the mid 1920s; in every war that the British Army had fought in the 20th century, the old and the new had interacted with the practiced smoothness that came only from the experience of battle.

The Royal Flying Corps and its predecessors had come a long way since the last war, when they had primarily operated Lysanders, Austers and helicopters in supporting roles such as aerial observation, forward air control and army cooperation. The rise of the helicopter in Korea and Malaya had transformed their role to incorporate the task of transport, or 'vertical envelopment' as the enthusiasts termed it. They had been used in an armed offensive role in 1956 to an extremely effective extent, although a few Army chaps that Tom had taken a drink with in some dingy West End bars were of the strong opinion that such cannon, bomb and rocket armed helicopters would not be quite as effective against an enemy who had more of an air defence capacity than a few machine guns.

Certainly his own time in the service had reinforced the utility of the British Army's rotary aircraft, with the Fairey Rotodyne truly revolutionising the way that troops in Africa, Malaya and the Middle East had been able to respond with speed, overwhelming force and overwhelming firepower. In particular, in his brief time in the latter area, he had seen how small airmobile strike forces could come down on potential trouble like a terrible swift sword, in conjunction with the supersonic fighters of the Royal Air Force, of course. The merging of the Royal Flying Corps and Army Air Corps back in 1961 came as a harbinger of the massive expansion that followed the Army's return to Germany in force. He'd known some of the more vigorous proponents, who were as in love with the potential of guided missiles that any stable chap could be without listing from enthusiasm into disturbance; full they were with expansive stories of what missile-armed helicopters and Rotodynes could do to Soviet tanks, operating on that forward edge of the battlefield just beyond the Red Army's air defence reach.

Tom hadn't quite drunk fully from their cup, although he could see some of the utility of such developments. In that eternal battle between the sword and the shield, every time that the former gained advantage, the latter would respond in kind. He wagered it had been that way back in his grandfather's day in the Great War, when the machine gun and trench looked to have permanently shifted the balance of power. A machine was just that - a machine. One that could be countered and one that could be destroyed, only as good as the man flying it. Dragons, on the other hand, were something quite different from his perspective. They were not just a platform for weapons, although such they were in some cases. Their very physical character gave them a capacity and unpredictability that made them very, very powerful; at the same time, their rarity made them very, very vulnerable to risk. Perhaps Sagadicius could provide some interesting reflection on that dichotomy.

However long a jiffy actually was, which in Tom's view was approximately seven-twelfths between a trice and the twinkling of an eye, depending on whether it was double summer time, the flight to the RFC base took not much longer than its unspecifiable duration, for the Bulldog now began descending rapidly into a rolling meadow dotted with small copses of trees, around which were arrayed a number of camouflaged tents blending in with the shrubbery. Two Land Rovers sat off near a stand of large spreading oak trees, around which was arrayed an abundance of camouflage netting. Whilst not as well disguised from the air as the Harrier WARLOC, the Forward Operating Base appeared far less permanent in nature. They came to the ground with comparative gentleness and, once the helicopter's blades had come to a halt, Tom was ushered off towards the command post inside the netting.

As he turned through the blind of thick bushes and disguising fabric, Tom's heart skipped a beat. Far from being a small tent within the trees, he beheld a soaring chamber lit by an array of spherical light globes and surrounded by piles of crates, offices, a communications room, two stairwells and a large telescreen. All of these objects and sights, though, seemed slightly less out of place than the vast form of the draconic creature that sat curled in the midset of the room. He thought that it would be easily eighty foot long when extended in full flight and he could really form no decent conception of its height. It's scales shone and sparkled as the electrical light bounced off their silvery-blue hue and it drummed a claw on the floor in apparent vexation. Looking over at Tom, who felt the first shivering signs of wyrmfear course through him, the dragon seemed to give something of a smile, if the sight of dozens of razor-sharp fangs the size of his forearm could be seen as welcoming.

"Ah, Mr. Thomas Fowler, I presume. You know who I am?"

"The Right Honourable Sagadicius Maximion, Captain-General of Her Britannic Majesty's Royal Flying Corps, most fulsome terror of Her enemies and one of England's greatest wyrms!" He replied with chattering teeth, fighting the urge to bolt and trying to lay the flattery on as thickly as possible.

This seemed to please Sagadicius, as he settled back down on whatever he was perched upon, seemed to shrink back in size slightly and dispensed with whatever semi-conscious dweomer of awe that he had been employing. "Very nicely said. I supposed you're wondering why I have deigned to grant you an interview, given that my usual position is to not make any comment to the press." The last word rolled off the dragon's tongue with a sibilant menace and disdain that made him almost sound like a Frenchman.

"N...n..naturally, sirrah."

"Quite simply a matter of returning a family favour, Fowler. Your eight-times grandsire once did me a dashed good turn back in 1772, spotting me a flock of his sheep one morning. We never forget a decent meal, you know."

Tom nodded, remembering some vague tales he had been told as he was toddled on his grandmother's knee. "You have my gratitude, Captain-General. Would it be possible to ask a few questions, Your Munificence?"

"Pray proceed."

"What would you describe the role played by yourselves and your wyrmish brothers and sisters in Exercise Warhammer?"

"To demonstrate exactly how we can participate in modern warfare, of course."

"In what fashion, if I may be so bold?"

The dragon's smile seemed to thin. "Through the provision of aerial support to the Army, the destruction of enemy aircraft and lesser groundling targets and the neutralisation of our kind that dwell in the vile servitude of the Communists."

"And in such, your excellence is most certainly assured, as is our total victory!" That seemed to assuage the beast a bit more.

"Very good, very good. Yes, our role is not just limited to our own extensive capabilities, both natural and arcane, but in the surprise that we can bring to a range of tactical engagements."

"Would anything present a real threat to such formidable treasures of the kingdom, as of course all of you, and Your Greatness in particular, are?"

"We have been exercising with the RAF for some time and we can definitely give as good as we take from the fighters."

"Some more scurrilous correspondents, who I shall not even insult your wondrous ears by naming, have suggested that the Red Army's deployment of new surface-to-air missiles could prove to be somewhat incommodious to your ongoing felicity."

Now Sagadicius ceased smiling altogether and leaned forward, a thin tendril of mist emerging from each huge nostril as it fixed him with the steady glare of its two narrowing eyes. "Let me tell you something, Mister Fowler. If some human on the ground chooses to shoot their little popguns at me, then I shall respond just as I did in Korea and just as I did in Egypt. Do I make myself abundantly clear?"

Tom Fowler had made plenty of mistakes in his life to that point. None of them, by and large, had ever quite threatened his life and limb in any truly serious fashion. Full of the brashness of youth, he made another.

"Of course, O Most Magnificent One. However, would that not be difficult considering the sheer speed of the Red rockets, not to mention the-"

Sagadicius Maximion extended one foreclaw and grasped Tom within it, picking him up off the ground. The interior of the headquarters went deathly silent for a heartbeat as they looked on at the journalist and the angry dragon, then one of the RFC wizards began to edge forward, arms out in a supplicatory fashion.

"Never fear, Master Bournerhys, I will not eat him. This time." It turned back to Tom. "Fowler, This. Interview. Is. OVER!"

With that, our intrepid hero found himself being flicked back out of the headquarters tent with a disgusted gesture of the wyrm's talon. He was pulled to his feet and hustled out by a pair of aides as he heard the Captain-General begin a booming rant on impertinent journalists. The experience was definitely one that he would have rather preferred not to occur, he thought, as they moved towards one of the Land Rovers.

"Mr. Fowler, I think this might be a good time for you to join the Army."

Steve,

Tom was quite lucky, although Sagadicius is more of a prima donna than a literal threat. He had hit on the touchy subject of dragons vs missiles, with their reaction time proving problematic. The matter isn’t going to go away.

Yes, there are the following air forces:

RN: Fleet Air Arm and Royal Naval Air Service, operating shipboard aircraft, land based maritime patrol, maritime strike, naval transport, maritime SAR and air defence of naval bases.
Army: RFC, operating helicopters and rotodynes for rotary close air support, tactical aviation, forward air control, medevac
RAF: Fighters, Bombers, Transport, fixed wing close air support, special operations

There is a fair bit of rivalry.

Simon

They have helicopters and rotodynes in addition to fixed wing aircraft in the roles outlined above. The FAA operates anything that flies from a ship, whilst the RNAS operates rotodynes in shore based SAR.

Exercise Warhammer Part 7: British Army of the Rhine

Tom felt a lot of emotions as he drove through the woods and fields of Northern Germany as the brisk late afternoon sunshine bore down upon him in the open topped Land Rover. There was fear, of course, for who would not be afraid when picked up by an angry dragon, but also confusion, anger, disgust at the rank indignity of it all and above all else, a sense being manipulated. Questions coruscated within his head, even as he kept a cool visage without that did not betray his inner consternation.

Why had he been chosen for this assignment?
Why had he managed to get an interview with the Captain-General of the Royal Flying Corps?
What game were they playing at?
Who were they?

"Did you hear that sir?" He now became aware of the RFC captain who looked ever to the front as he drove at breakneck pace down this old backtrack to goodness knows where.

"No, sorry, momentarily distracted."

"I said, we should be reaching 1st Armoured Division's rear support perimeter directly. At that point, I'll be handing you over to them. They're good lads, for Tommies. We work with them a lot."

"Oh. Super. That was rather quick."

"We're operating on a forward positioning basis for the purposes of Warhammer. Truth be told, we've still probably got to iron out some of the operational concepts for rotary aviation over the battlefield and how we coordinate with each major field unit. The standard structure of a wing per corps and regiment per division is there, naturally, but what we are doing here will let us know where we need to be, in what strength and therefore where we can base from."

"That would ultimately depend on what the enemy does to counter you, I'd say."

"Quite. Having the Germans as the OPFOR for this exercise is rather good in that way; the Yanks are in their own league and a bit too familiar to us, whilst the French, although both traditional and satisfying as an enemy, wouldn't really be the best warm-up for the Krasnaya Armiya, though, would they. The Germans, on the other hand...fighting against them seems just like old times."

"I can't really say. I was only a boy in the war."

"So was I, old bean, so was I!" laughed the captain. "I got in when the Russians were the Great Big Threat in '49 and so they've been ever since. But with Jerry, it is different. It almost seems traditional, after Round One and Round Two, but now there is something else to it, given that we're on the same side now. My older brother, my uncles, my father...they never liked the Huns, but they did respect 'em. Being out here among them now for the last years, though, you find yourself growing to like them. They're quite like us, you know."

"Yes, I do." Tom had never quite had the same mixed feelings about the Germans in his own time in the Army, but he could see how those slightly older chaps could take some time getting used to the changing world and new allies. It was one thing not to be beastly to the Germans, but quite another to embrace them for a certain generation of Englishmen. He had interviewed old Field Marshal Blimp about it last year and he had waxed quite lyrical about the whole business.

Before their discussion of international amity could bridge the greatest of divides and say something nice about the French, Tom could see a roadblock up ahead manned by a section of British soldiers. Two Austin Champions stood beside the road, their mounted Vickers heavy machine guns trained out towards them and further back in the fields and woods before them, he could see sandbagged foxholes, trenches and an FV-432 Saxon armoured carrier partly hidden in the trees.

The RFC captain pulled up to a halt about fifty yards before the checkpoint.

"This is where I leave you. Good luck."

......................................................................................................................

The Royal Navy had been impressive in their ships and hardware, certainly. The Royal Marines had put their best foot forward, in a rather brash and characteristic fashion, without a doubt. The Royal Air Force tried to live up to their own cultivated image of superiority and almost carried it off in some circumstances. The Royal Flying Corps had even tried to do its level best to show that it was contributing as well. However, within minutes of crossing over into the care of 1st Armoured Division, Tom Fowler was firmly convinced that Exercise Warhammer and the British presence in Germany was very much an Army show, if there had ever been any doubt.

It wasn't just the sheer number of vehicles passing in both directions, although that told a story of its own, as the Land Rover which now bore him forward through the rear lines of the division had to frequently pull over to the side of the road to allow the passage of roaring convoys of Bedford lorries, Leyland Rangers and Alvis Stalwarts all loaded down with men and cargo. He knew that this was only a brief glimpse of what went into supplying and moving a division, given that this was not even a main supply route, but only a secondary back road, not to mention that much of what was going forward would also be carried on the Autobahns and the redoubtable German railway network.

It wasn't even the incongruity of seeing mounted cavalry riding through the fields next to dug-in Saxons and missile positions, although that certainly made him look twice. Similarly, field entrenchments that wouldn't have been out of place during the Hundred Days of 1918 surrounding English Electric Thunderbird SAGW sites covered in camouflage netting and TA 25pdr batteries lying next to stationary war machines struck him as different, but not the absolute sealer on the issue.

No, what did it was the scale. The sheer number of men in the supporting units dotted in the German countryside and in the Regular and TA artillery batteries gave some indication that this was a mighty part of a mighty field army. As they wended their way forward through increasingly winding tracks, past more checkpoints, large entanglements of barbed wire, newly dug anti-tank ditches and what he suspected were actual minefields, Tom could now see whole armoured regiments and mechanised battalions lined up in the fields beside the road or deploying out into their set positions. He had known that each division was scheduled to be reinforced by four Territorial Army anti-aircraft regiments, but the sheer number of older Bofors and newer Marksman and Sharpshooter anti-aircraft guns spread out amongst the tanks, carriers and supply dumps spoke for itself.

As they pulled into the thicker trees surrounding what he presumed was the divisional field headquarters, Tom decided that he couldn't put the sight and experience into a single pithy turn of phrase for his article. This was one of twelve Regular divisions now in the field, albeit a division so heavily reinforced that it had the firepower and capacity to roll through an enemy corps without breaking stride.

"Fowler? Is that you" Tom looked up to see a face that was at first only vaguely familiar, but then grew much more recognisable as it approached out of the shadows of the trees. Clad in a camouflaged Army lieutenant's uniform, body armour and a khaki beret was an old and friendly face, one he knew well from school and then from his own time in the BAOR.

"Sandy Ashton! What are you doing here? I didn't know the Grenadier Guards were with 1st Armoured, just the Scots."

"We're not. I'm in the forward Guards Brigade for Army HQ security."

"And how does that bring you out here?"

"Sorry, old boy, can't really say. Zounds, it is good to see you, Tom! Still making a dishonest living, I see?"

"As ever. The Army wasn't quite the life for me."

"Well, you've chosen a bother of a place to come to then." Sandy said with a wink. "The chaps from the RFC got through to our head shed here earlier, so they've squeezed you in for the special briefing. I couldn't quite believe my ears when I heard how and why you were heading out here. Common sense has never really been one of your common virtues, Tom, getting cheeky to a dragon like that."

"Does everyone know?" Tom winced.

"No, just the division, I'd say. It should take until tomorrow to get through the corps and maybe a bit longer to get through to the Germans and the front page of The Times. Call it three, I'd say." Lieutenant Ashton gave a cruel grin.

"Lovely."

.........................................................................................

The special briefing, as it were, was more of an intimate affair than the expansive ones put on by the Andrew and the RAF, with Tom and half a dozen other journalists at one end of a tent and the 1st Armoured's GSO 1 and a pair of staff officers at the other. The bells and whistles had been dispensed with and they were to suffice with a good old fashioned map board and plainly typed handouts. It almost made Tom nostalgic.

"Righto chaps, welcome formally to 1st Armoured Division. I'm Colonel Lethbridge-Stewart. We are currently I Corps' reserve division, located here." Lethbridge-Stewart thumped the map with his pointer. "Currently, we provide the rearmost combat unit of First Army, but that will change by the morning when the Territorials are up and in place. Our role in this exercise will be to counter any penetrations by the Silver Force and reinforce counterattacks. We are currently up to our full reinforced strength, which gives us considerable combat power in the form of the four TA infantry battalions, two AA regiments, two field artillery regiments and the additional armoured regiment. You've probably seen some of them on your way through our lines.

We'll be supporting the frontline divisions of I Corps with our own divisional artillery and aviation assets as necessary and countering any enemy attempts at disrupting their lines of supply and communication in conjunction with the TA troops attached to Corps HQ. This is real modern defence in depth, gentlemen, using every one of the new weapons systems we've recently acquired. It should be a show for the ages. Now, any questions?"

Tom was beaten to the punch by a Canadian fellow. "Colonel, what role are the Commonwealth troops attached to the Corps to play in Warhammer?"

"The South Africans and Rhodesians will operate as overall corps reserve and I can tell you that they are exceptionally keen to come to grips with the Jerries, sorry, the Silver Force, and give a good account of themselves. I gather that there is something of a competition between them and the Anzacs up with II Corps, the New Avalon forces with III Corps and the West Indians of IV Corps as to which Commonwealth brigade will be the top scorer. Jolly good show and all that."

"Colonel, will this exercise involve any simulation of the use of tactical nuclear weapons?" asked Tom

Lethbridge-Stewart fixed him with a level gaze. "An interesting question, Mr. Fowler. Now, don't be worried, I'm not going to try and bite your head off, unlike some. However, in this case, the answer is a plain 'no'. That is a matter better put to Field Marshal Sharpe."

"How do you think the Chieftains will go up against the German Panthers?"

"Very well indeed. The Army has full confidence that we have the very best tank not just in the Western alliance, but in the entire world. Our own internal exercises have definitively proved that. However, our tanks don't fight by themselves, but as part of highly-tuned and exceptionally coordinated combined arms battle groups. When our infantry, artillery, missiles, air support and tanks come up against anything, we'll win."

"How do you think the new 125mm Light Gun will perform in its first major exercise?"

"Outstandingly. I've seen it employed back home in Blighty and it brings a considerable increase in range and lethality over the good old 25 pounder whilst not sacrificing its rate of fire."

"Do you think that the other Allied nations, such as Germany and the United States, should adopt it?"

"No, I'm not biting at that one."

"Colonel, what is your opinion of the cancellation of the planned Indian Army deployment to take part in Warhammer?"

"I don't have one. The decisions of the Indian Army are those of their own government. Delhi have certainly shown their dedication to the defence of the Free World with what they have on the ground in the Middle East and the Orient and it is up to them and the Imperial Council to determine what role they wish to play in Europe. We've still got out own British Army Gurkha battalions at Corps level for the moment, of course. Now, gentlemen, it is time for dinner, so if you'll follow through the mess tent, we'll see you fed before you go off to your various forward units for the night. Hopefully it will be a restful one."

Tom silently echoed the Colonel's hopes, but trusting his luck, it would be anything but.

In this case, they are both saying it and very much meaning it.

The Chieftain is one of the first tanks to field composite armour and that puts it in a different class to the German Panthers (effective 320mm), the French AMX (effective 300mm), Centurion (240mm), American M-48 (240mm), Soviet T-55 (effective 240mm), T-62 (280mm), Italian Leone (280mm) ang Austro-Hungarian Panzer 60 (380mm).

The only comparable tanks are the M60 (800mm+) and T-64 (600mm), with the Soviet T-68 heavy tank not yet in service. The Soviets lack the ability to counter the Chieftain directly at this immediate moment in terms of penetrating its frontal armour with their 100mm and 115mm tank guns and even their 125mm guns can’t do it