The Third World War: August 1985

The Black Horse Regiment were once again carrying the cudgel for their country as they had in the Philippines, Mexico, Europe and Vietnam.

Beside Langtry, Trooper Earl Waite suddenly exclaimed, “Man! Look at that!” Nine of the fifteen missiles had found their targets in sudden shattering fountains of red fireballs and flames.

The Sheridans were already moving to their alternate firing positions when hill 402 seemed to crumble with the impact of Soviet artillery fire. Waite was killed instantly and two other members of the TAC CP were wounded. Langtry, unhurt, quickly moved the command party to an observation post 500 meters further west near Spitzhiitte.

The Soviet armored formation, after pausing for a moment, was now oriented in his general direction and a unit could be seen breaking off in an attempt to outflank L Troop. Langtry knew that this would run into the seventeen XM-1s of the Squadron Tank Company. That was their misfortune. He saw one of 2 Platoon’s Sheridans fly apart when hit by a Soviet anti-tank missile and said aloud, “Why the hell did he have to silhouette himself on the skyline? Haven’t I been harping about tactical driving for eighteen months now?” He then heard the telltale wop, wop, wop of helicopters over the din of battle as the twenty-one TOW carrying ATGW Cobras of the Black Horse Regiment began a hide-and-seek battle with the T-72s swinging off the autobahn in the direction of Heiringen.

Somehow, Langtry felt completely detached from the surrounding battle. He gave his orders as though this was only another field training exercise. His little tactical Command Post functioned exactly as it had so many times before when practising for the battle they all hoped would never come.

“Shovel, this is Six. Execute Alpha 3.” This was the command to fall back to the next delaying position, the high ground overlooking Lauterbach.

The first platoon was soon on the move and already halfway to their next position as the second began to disengage. Langtry waved his arm and the three M-113s of the TAC CP started to move. As the first vehicle crossed the bridge over the Lauter, there was a tremendous flash. The bridge disappeared. Langtry felt himself thrown into the air, hitting the ground with a searing pain in his left shoulder. Two of his three command vehicles were on fire and the third rushing down the track on the other side of the stream in search of cover. Langtry sat up and muttered audibly, “Oh God. I hope the XO takes command in a hurry or the troop will be SOL.” He felt himself passing out. It was 0447Z, 4 August 1985.9 “

Taken from Black Horse and Red Star: American Cavalry at War by John S. Cleghorn, Col.US Army (retd), Houghton Mifflin, Boston 1986.

“It was not yet three a.m. on Sunday 4 August and still dark when the commander of C Squadron of 8 Royal Tank Regiment in 1 Br Corps covering force in the Central Region received over his radio the order to stand-to. The daily routine time for stand-to was just before first light. This was clearly something special.

The line of the low crest 1,000 metres away to the east was dimly visible against a sky beginning to grow paler. He stood in the turret of his tank glued to the radio, heedless of the ordered bustle about him as the fourteen other tanks of the Squadron, with their supporting vehicles, started up to move out into daylight dispersion.

He took the mug of coffee handed up to him but did not want to eat. It was impossible in this time of waiting not to speculate on what might lie ahead. He did manage to remember, however, his promise to make sure that the TV newsmen were alerted if anything special turned up.

The voice from Headquarters came in again. “Enemy reported on the move,” it said. “Stand by at three zero minutes’ notice for Bravo.”

All his tanks and other radio outstations would have heard that transmission; there was nothing for him to add.

“Bravo” was the move to the Regiment’s emergency deployment position, 1,000 metres over the crest, almost on the Demarcation Line. Most of them knew it already from cautious reconnaissance on foot, with the tanks left back out of sight to avoid the frontier incident Division was so frightened of.

In less than ten minutes the voice came up again. “Move out now,” it said. There was a note of urgency in it.

The light was growing as he promptly gave the word to move, on the internal radio channel, with the order to load, prepare for action and be on the alert.

The tanks lurched once again into life.

His own was approaching the crest, bumping over stumpy ground, once forest, now felled to open a field of fire, as his Commander’s voice came up on the radio again.

“Enemy closer than we thought,” it said. “Expect early contact. Report first sighting immediately.”