Chieftains

The lieutenant stared down across the long easy slope towards the frontier. The ridge commanded a broad open section of the plain between two small hamlets. A stream only visible through binoculars and little more than six meters in width defied the distant border, meandering its way between East and West Northwards was rich flat farmland, interposed with bands of young pine forests. 'It's a good position, sir.'

'The best we have, gentlemen,' said the squadron leader to the group of men. 'I pray to God we, never have to use it.' The officer had spent the next hour discussing the features of the terrain and how they could best be used in the event of a Soviet attack. Davis had heard the map reference mentioned during the return trip to the barracks. His mind had grasped it immediately, filed it away for the future. And the future had become the present. Not once in all the many exercises in which Sergeant Davis had taken part had the hidden fire-points ever been used…until now!

TWO

The Field Headquarters of the 1st Battle Group, British 4th Armoured Division, were two Sultans, modified as command vehicles and situated almost a mile to the west and rear of the regiment's battle positions on the eastern slope of the Grosses Moor. The FV 105s, slab-sided and wedge-nosed, had only single 7.62 machine guns for armament and relied on the regiment's armour for protection. They were parked tight beneath the pine trees, the overhanging branches assisting the camouflage netting which draped the hulls. Two Chieftains were at rest nearby, one belonging to Lieutenant Colonel James Studley, the other to Major Fairly, the regimental second in command. A third command Sultan, normally used by the second in command and the operations officer, was sited eight kilometers to the rear with the Headquarters Squadron.

Between the Field Headquarters' Sultans and the regiment's forward armour were a company of mechanized infantry; to the rear, the battle group's two batteries of Abbot 105mm self-propelled guns. On the lower ground of the Elm, where it bordered the plain, six FV-438s fitted with launchers for the Swingfire ATGW missiles were concealed amongst a plantation of immature pines.

The interior of the commander's APC was crowded. Much of its available space was taken up by its two map boards and the radio equipment. Its small penthouse at the rear of the vehicle had been erected and gave a little more working room to the command staff, but even so it was almost impossible to move without jostling someone.

For the hundredth time in the past three hours, Lieutenant Colonel James Studley stared down at the large scale map in front of him, as though its constant detailed perusal might uncover some hidden aspect of the Soviet battle plans. His action was little more than nervous habit; he knew the area as intimately as the Sussex village where his family had lived since his childhood. Knowledge of the terrain was one of the strengths of the NATO armies.

He also knew the positions of the other battle groups of the armoured division. They were all part of the plan, carefully deliberated, debated and practised over all the past years, and soon to be tested. He understood its place in the overall scheme of the defence of Western Europe, although the fullest details remained, for obvious reasons of security, in the hands of the operations staff in Northern Army Group Headquarters.

Flexible defence! He thought it almost Buddhist in principle. Bend like a reed before a gale, against a strong attack give way; but with increasing force turn the enemy in the direction you choose. Lead him unsuspecting to the cunningly prepared traps, the killing zones. And the killing zone for CENTAG was Hannover.

Intelligence indicated that a major enemy thrust was likely to be made at the point where the areas of responsibility of the German and British corps overlapped. Secretly, Studley disagreed. If he were a Russian general, he would base his attack along the highway system from Magdeburg, knowing full well that the NATO powers could not fire a single shot in his direction until the spearhead of his heavy assault armour had crossed the border into their territory – by which time it would have gained too much momentum to be halted.