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Chieftains

During the late 1970s and early 80s tension in Europe, between east and west, had grown until it appeared that war was virtually unavoidable. Soviet armies massed behind the 'Iron Curtain' that stretched from the Baltic to the Black Sea.In the west, Allied forces, British, American, and armies from virtually all the western countries, raised the levels of their training and readiness. A senior British army officer, General Sir John Hackett, had written a book of the likely strategies of the Allied forces if a war actually took place and, shortly after its publication, he suggested to his publisher Futura that it might be interesting to produce a novel based on the Third World War but from the point of view of the soldier on the ground.Bob Forrest-Webb, an author and ex-serviceman who had written several best-selling novels, was commissioned to write the book. As modern warfare tends to be extremely mobile, and as a worldwide event would surely include the threat of atomic weapons, it was decided that the book would mainly feature the armoured divisions already stationed in Germany facing the growing number of Soviet tanks and armoured artillery.With the assistance of the Ministry of Defence, Forrest-Webb undertook extensive research that included visits to various armoured regiments in the UK and Germany, and a large number of interviews with veteran members of the Armoured Corps, men who had experienced actual battle conditions in their vehicles from mined D-Day beaches under heavy fire, to warfare in more recent conflicts.It helped that Forrest-Webb's father-in-law, Bill Waterson, was an ex-Armoured Corps man with thirty years of service; including six years of war combat experience. He's still remembered at Bovington, Dorset, still an Armoured Corps base, and also home to the best tank museum in the world.Forrest-Webb believes in realism; realism in speech, and in action. The characters in his book behave as the men in actual tanks and in actual combat behave. You can smell the oil fumes and the sweat and gun-smoke in his writing. Armour is the spearhead of the army; it has to be hard, and sharp. The book is reputed to be the best novel ever written about tank warfare and is being re-published because that's what the guys in the tanks today have requested. When first published, the colonel of one of the armoured regiments stationed in Germany gave a copy to Princess Anne when she visited their base. When read by General Sir John Hackett, he stated: "A dramatic and authentic account", and that's what 'Chieftains' is.

Bob Forrest-Webb

Документальная литература18+

Bob Forrest-Webb<empty-line></empty-line>Chieftains

AUTHOR'S NOTE

British army signal communications are both complex and classified! To assist the reader, and maintain security, these have been modified throughout the book but still represent the methods and procedures used, with acceptable inaccuracy.

Technical data concerning weapons, vehicles and equipment is based on information at present available from military sources, and speculation on possible but as yet undeveloped weapons has been avoided.

I have honoured the requests of military informants, in Great Britain and West Germany, to gloss over certain tactical features and have deliberately blurred the precise areas of responsibility of various NATO forces. I have, however, made use of hitherto unpublished facts which I believe to be of importance in the scheme of NATO defence of Western Europe, and which would certainly influence the manner in which a future war might be fought in that theatre.

This book is dedicated to the steel of the spontoon within the red diamond. My sincere gratitude to the nameless, and to my close friends retired officers Bill Waterson and Geoff Pratt, who greatly assisted my research.

ONE

19.00 hours. Wednesday 18th September.

Bergen-Hohne. West Germany.

There were six empty bottles on the table in front of the three men. The Chieftain crew's driver, DeeJay Hewett, was leaning forward supporting his head with one hand as though in deep thought, but the fingers of the other were drawing large circles in a pool of spilt beer. Inkester, the gunner, rescued his packet of cigarettes as the pool spread, and stared around the canteen. He could see other men of Bravo Troop, drinking and chatting; a few watched a video film on the television, but the tables nearest Hewett, Shadwell and himself were unoccupied, as though the three of them had some kind of contagious disease.

Eric Shadwell, the loader, said wearily: 'Well, you've done it for yourself this time, DeeJay.'

DeeJay Hewett slapped his palm down into the pool of beer, splattering it messily around the table. 'He bloody asked for it, the long-haired git.'

Shadwell grimaced. 'You didn't have to belt him so hard. Anyway, you could 'ave waited until we met him one night up at Angie's Bar…I've seen him drinking there with his mates.'

'Wrap it up, Eric.' Inkester held the damp cigarette packet towards DeeJay. 'I'd 'ave bloody hit him, too, only DeeJay got there first. Look at the fucking mess the bastard made of Bravo Two. Bloody amateurs! They ought to keep amateurs out of tanks…especially bloody Dutch amateurs; the Dutch ought to stick to growing tulips! You want another beer?' Inkester didn't need to wait for a reply, he twisted himself out of his chair and walked over to the bar. He could sense some of the other crews watching him; fine lot of mates they all were! Just because there was a bit of trouble, they didn't want to know. Once it all blew over they'd be fine again, even congratulate DeeJay, buy him drinks; the Dutch weren't popular with British tankies at Bergen-Hohne, but right now no one wanted to be associated with the incident, even remotely.

Inkester carried the bottles back to the table and handed one to each of the two men. They drank for a few minutes in silence and then Hewett sighed, shrugged his shoulders and said: 'Well, I suppose that's the end of my bloody leave.'

'Aren't you getting married next Saturday?' Shadwell asked.

''Course he bloody was, you daft twit,' said Inkester. 'It's fucked everything, hasn't it?'

Neither Inkester nor Shadwell had witnessed the fight. It had all happened quickly. They had been returning from the gunnery ranges with the rest of the troop when the Dutch tank had driven straight out of one of the camp entrances and into the side of Bravo Two. The unexpected impact had startled them, jarred them as Bravo Two swerved suddenly and there was a heavy crash and the squeal of tearing metal. By the time they had climbed out of the Chieftain there was an unconscious Dutch conscript lying on the ground and Sergeant Morgan Davis, Bravo Two's commander, was dragging an enraged DeeJay away from the man as a group of Dutch military police ran from the guardroom swinging their batons. The police wanted DeeJay in their cells, but Sergeant Davis knew what that would have meant for the British trooper. He almost threw DeeJay back inside Bravo Two and slammed down the driving hatch, then he argued with the police until Lieutenant Sidworth, the troop leader, arrived.

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