Chieftains

There was a gentle shuffling within the Scimitar unit's concrete bunker; the sound of the men preparing to move out, nothing metallic, only the brushing of cloth against cloth, webbing against cotton, the pad of rubber-soled boots on the dusty concrete. Teeth gleamed in sharp contrast against camouflaged skin as the men grinned at each other in anticipation of action after long hours of waiting, their conversations were whispered.

Captain Fellows had been watching the parked Soviet self-propelled guns since a little before dusk, hoping they would move on. As the evening light had faded there had been some activity in the line of vehicles, but the hull of the nearest was still silhouetted against the night sky.

He had commented to the SAS lieutenant: 'They're still out there.'

'Probably a reserve battery. They don't matter, we can easily get rid of the crews later.'

Bloody cocky, Fellows had thought. The damned SAS always thought they wm little gods…pink Range Rovers…good God, they even sold plastic model kits of them in toy shops. SAS. They claimed to shun publicity, but somehow managed to grab more than anyone else.

He checked his watch. Twenty twenty-three. 'Sergeant!'

'Sir.'

'Keep an eye on the RTO will you? The orders will be through shortly. For God's sake make sure he doesn't send out a signal…no acknowledgement.'

'Yes, sir.'

Mick Fellows hooked off his beret and ran his fingers through his short wavy hair in one movement. Wearing a beret for several hours at a time always made his scalp itch and gave him dandruff. He had washed and shaved earlier, and changed his shirt. It made him feel fresher, more alert. He had noticed that Lieutenant Hinton had not bothered, and there was already a dark stubble on the man's cheeks and chin. It rankled with him; he would not tolerate slackness in appearance in his own officers, no matter the circumstances. Carelessness in dress and bodily cleanliness indicated a similar attitude towards soldiering; a smart soldier was invariably efficient.

Hinton didn't even look like an officer…at least, not a cavalryman. A Sapper, maybe. He was too bulky, squarer, bull-necked enough to appear the archetypal Prussian soldier of the First World War. In mess kit he would look like an all-in wrestler in fancy dress. Fellows had taken a dislike to the man the moment they had met. Hinton's rough palms during their handshake had felt like those of a labourer.

'Sir…Captain Fellows, sir.' The sergeant was beckoning from beside the radio operator. Fellows hurried across and picked up a spare headset. There were a lot of metallic clicking sounds, atmospherics, cracklings.

The strength of the transmission was fluctuating, but they could make out the distant operator's voice, each word ennunciated sharply and positively. 'Magpie this is Wizard. Apex Echo. Trophy Bacon Sunset Juliet. Repeat: Apex Echo. Trophy Bacon Sunset Juliet. Out.'

A ten second transmission, thought Fellows. It would have been damned easy for a careless radio operator to miss. The RTO had switched off the unit's set the moment the message had ended; it would remain silent for another six hours.

It pleased Fellows to think that his German CO would sweat a bit now, hoping the message that would initiate his pet project had been received. Only future events would confirm it.

Hinton was standing nearby waiting, so Fellows translated the code from memory. 'The Russians have advanced a long way. They're at Wolfsburg.' Apex was the head of the Soviet thrust, Crown the city of Wolfsburg. 'Wizard has given us one K west of Hehlingen as the approximate location of the Soviet Divisional HQ!

'The Russians must have taken the whole of the Werder,' commented Hinton, sourly. 'The bastards haven't wasted time!

'It's only just begun,' Fellows reminded him curtly. 'And it's obvious they're already malting mistakes.'

'Mistakes?' Hinton looked puzzled. To accuse the enemy of errors without knowing their total battle plan was naive.

'Look at the map. If their 12th Guards Army are now in Wolfsburg, then it's certainly a mistake to put a main HQ so close to the front…it's too vulnerable, and not even normal planning tactics. It's more the position far a Forward Command HQ.' Fellows paused for a moment to allow Hinton to digest this observation. 'If we assume their attack has otherwise been in character, then the 12th Guards Army will have advanced on a-narrow front; at most only five or six kilometers in breadth. They will have attacked in echelon, backed by strong reserves to exploit mints of success. The forward command would be up-front and the main headquarters somewhere to the rear of their second echelon. But this isn't the case, Hinton…and why?'

Hinton was resenting the manner in which Fellows had arrogantly turned the briefing into a staff college lecture on tactics, but he kept his feelings hidden. 'They could be over-extended.'